I've been watching the mini-series again and I'll admit that while I enjoyed the series there were certain things that troubled me, especially this scene. Aziraphale says some things that are very (at least to me) out-of-character for him, and the more I watch this scene the more I think that Aziraphale didn't mean a word he said. I've seen a lot of very good fanfics address the bandstand scene and I wanted to approach this from a friendship angle, because I just can't see Aziraphale saying what he did in this scene and meaning them. Which led to this particular plot bunny.

Special thanks to 29-pieces and LadyWallace for helping me to inspire this fic; we had some awesome Tumblr discussions about Sandalphon, so she deserves as much credit for this fic's existence.

Also, this is written from Aziraphale's POV as I wanted to experiment with different writing styles.

Aletheia

I remember the War in Heaven.

All angels do, but we don't talk about it. HR sent out a memo shortly after the War that it would be best not to bring it up again, that doing so would destroy morale and, well…I can understand that. But I had often wondered, in the millennia that followed the War, if not talking about it had only done more damage in the long run.

After the War there was a huge dust-up in management. Gabriel had already been a high-ranking manager but after his service in the War he had been officially appointed God's messenger to humanity. The Metatron would remain God's mouthpiece while the rest of us tried to pick up the pieces and move on from the memories of our fallen brethren.

Things had never been quite the same since then. I watched as Gabriel's eyes grew hard and steely, how Uriel became cool and aloof, Michael became even more obsessed with battle and vanquishing evil, and Sandalphon…

I'm still not sure what happened to him in the War, but no angel should enjoy smiting as much as he did. It just seemed wrong.

I had witnessed firsthand (as had Crowley) the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, and the slaying of the priests in the temple when Ezekiel was first called to be a prophet. Those images were burned into my memory, especially Sandalphon's expression whenever he was sent by the Almighty to smite the wicked.

I had seen similar expressions on the faces of the most evil humans in history.

That's the thing about angelic memories. We never forget, no matter how much we may want to.

I wasn't exactly afraid of Sandalphon, but I had never quite trusted him and certainly never liked being alone with him. I know that's terrible for me to say about a fellow angel but it's true. He just seemed too…unstable to me, that one wrong move would set him off on rampage like he had done during the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem.

I saw less of Gabriel and upper management as the second millennium dawned, except for a few emergency meetings during the two world wars.

Angels aren't supposed to feel, not in the same way that humans do. But both angels and demons were created in Her Image, and She saw fit to give us the ability to feel, to think, to question, and to choose.

The only thing that separated us from humanity, as Crowley had told me one night, his voice laced with bitterness, is redemption. Humanity received a beautiful gift in redemption, but not fallen angels.

Why that was, I do not know. It's ineffable, I suppose.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to simpler times, back to when the world made sense and right and wrong, good and evil, were more…well, clearer.

Perhaps that's a bit harsh of me. Hypocritical, Crowley would say.

Crowley had once accused me of cowardice, of using my bookshop to hide from the world when it grew too harsh and ugly. I will admit that was partially true; I so often felt lost in the twenty-first century with its rapid pace of technology. Sometimes I felt like I could scarcely keep up with these remarkable, infuriating, incredible humans. Not like Crowley, who could sleep for almost an entire century and then be caught up in three days' time.

I mean, they supposedly even have e-books now (whatever that means). Absolutely abdominal inventions!

Maybe I was a coward. And after the events of earlier today, I had to agree with Crowley.

Oh, Crowley.

I stared into the cold, empty grate of my fireplace, still unable to believe what I had done just a few hours earlier.

I had deceived my best friend, and also lied to my superiors. I'm not sure what kind of angel that made me, I thought as I rubbed at my face wearily, suddenly wishing I could sleep.

Thinking of my earlier argument with Crowley brought my thoughts to Gabriel and then back to Crowley in a whirling maelstrom of confusion. I dimly heard the shop's clock chime but I was scarcely aware as I recalled my earlier conversation with Gabriel and the other archangels before I had met with Crowley.

"There was War in Heaven long before the Earth was created, Aziraphale. Crowley and the rest were cast out but nothing was ever really settled," Gabriel's voice grew softer and colder on the last few words and I knew he wasn't just speaking in abstracts.

This was personal for Gabriel, I realised. He hadn't always been so petty. When had that changed?

"I suppose it wasn't," I replied, suddenly feeling exhausted. "But," I added softly, ignoring the other angels as I raised my eyes back to Gabriel's, "there doesn't have to be another War, does there?"

Gabriel's vivid eyes (I had heard a rumour that he had stolen them from Elizabeth Taylor – I had no idea who that was. Perhaps I'd ask Crowley; he would know) narrowed but he didn't immediately respond. I held my breath, wondering, praying…

'Don't do this, Gabriel,' I pleaded silently even though I knew he couldn't hear my thoughts. That was one thing we could not do – supernatural entities we were, true – but angels and demons could not read each other's minds. We still had free will and that was considered untouchable.

After that conversation I had come to a decision. Heaven would show the world no mercy, and neither would Hell for that matter. I knew where the Antichrist was, true, but I was torn between what I ought to do and what I wanted to do.

And I had wanted to tell Crowley everything, Heaven be…well, never mind Heaven. I wanted to tell him about the book, about how I had discovered the Antichrist's identity, and so many other things I hadn't dared tell him over the centuries.

So many times I had tried to help humanity without Heaven finding out, torn between guilt over disobedience and shame every time Crowley pointed out the hypocrisy of Heaven, starting with the Great Flood.

That whole debacle with the Bastille had nearly made me give up the pretense, as I hadn't truly planned on Crowley showing up (although it had been part of Plan C, subsection A).

I knew Crowley didn't really believe my fumbling excuse about crepes (it was the only excuse I could come up with on such short notice). My ridiculous outfit had ensured that I would be locked up but it had been part of a larger operation to smuggle more French nobles out of the country to England.

Not that I wasn't glad to see him, but it was becoming harder and harder to balance my loyalties.

And just a few hours earlier today, I had effectively burned my bridge with the only other being that I felt truly understood me.

Earlier that day…

Crowley was pacing back and forth when I arrived at the rendezvous point. I spared a quick glance over my shoulder, terrified that I had been followed and feeling absolutely nauseated at what I was about to do.

I had to protect Crowley from Heaven. Gabriel was implacable and they would show no mercy. I still believed Heaven would win, but the cost was too high. The ends never justified the means; I had always believed that even if Crowley would argue otherwise.

And the only way to protect Crowley was to push him away.

I of course knew which was the third alternate meeting place; I had just been trying to buy time when Crowley had called.

Crowley finally slowed his frenetic pacing as he saw me approach.

"Well, any news?" he said, still fidgeting restlessly as I joined him on the bandstand.

I swallowed. "Um, well…what kind of news would that be?"

"Well, have you found the missing Antichrist's name, address and shoe size yet?" he snapped impatiently.

I blinked, momentarily forgetting my doubts as I tried to understand what Crowley had just said. "His shoe size? Why would I have his shoe size?"

Crowley gave me a familiar, exasperated look. "It's a joke. I don't know mine either."

Oh. Well, right, to get back on track then.

"I-It's the Great Plan, Crowley," I said, trying for calmness but failing.

"Yeah?" he sneered and I fought the urge to wince. Crowley had never believed in the Great Plan and I could not have chosen a worse time to bring it up. It had been one of the few things we ever truly argued about.

"For the record, great pustulant, mangled bollocks to the GREAT BLASTED PLAN!" he screamed to the sky.

I winced as a flock of birds took off, squawking indignantly.

"May you be forgiven," I muttered more out of habit than anything.

Crowley stopped his furious pacing and stared at me.

"I won't be forgiven, not ever," he said, trying for a light tone but I could hear the anger and despair in his voice. "Part of a demon's job description. Unforgivable – that's what I am," he added bitterly.

Oh, Crowley.

"You were an angel once." I'm still not sure what possessed me to say that. We never, ever discussed Falling. The few times Crowley had brought it up there had always been substantial amounts of alcohol involved.

Maybe I was trying to give Crowley a little bit of hope. Regardless of the reason, Crowley didn't seem comforted by my ill-timed reminder of his former state of grace.

"That was a long time ago," he said flatly before we both fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Crowley must have sensed some of my thoughts because he stepped closer until his sharp nose was nearly touching my own.

"We find the boy," he said in a calmer tone, clearly trying to reason. "My agents can do it…"

"And then what? We eliminate him?" I snapped back, appalled. I desperately wanted to change the topic, to get this over with, but Crowley was as tenacious as a dog with a bone.

"Someone does. I'm not personally up for killing kids."

I was starting to panic. This wasn't working. I knew what to say next to push Crowley away, and I knew he wouldn't forgive me for my next words.

"You're the demon, I'm the nice one," I added, inflicting as much haughtiness into my voice as I could even as I felt bile rise in my throat at the words. "I don't have to kill children."

"Ah!" said Crowley, raising a finger and I knew he was thinking of the Flood. I raised a finger at the same time; the thought of speaking of the Flood again was nearly unbearable and I had to stay focused.

"If you kill him the world gets a reprieve and Heaven does not have blood on its hands," I said, unable to look at Crowley's face.

Crowley gave me a look of utter disbelief, his mouth hanging open for a moment.

"Oh, no blood on your hands? That's a bit holier-than-thou, isn't it?" he sneered.

I could not do this. I had been wrong to think that I could be even half as skilled at Crowley at duplicity. I had to end this.

I braced myself for my next words. "Well I am a great deal holier than you," I said, amazed that my voice didn't shake. "That's the whole point."

Crowley stared at me for a moment before leaning in close, deliberately crowding me.

"You should kill the boy yourself, Holier-Than-You," he hissed, disgust clear in his tone.

"I am not killing anybody!" I exclaimed, nauseated by the very idea of doing what Sandalphon had done so many times before.

Crowley glared at me, his expression furious even with his sunglasses on, before huffing and turning away.

"This is rid – you are ridiculous. I don't know why I'm even still talking to you."

"Well frankly, neither do I," I snapped back, no longer able to hide the stress in my voice.

"Enough, I'm leaving." He turned sharply on his heel and began to walk away.

No! I couldn't let it end like this, I suddenly thought. I called after him, desperately wanting to explain.

"You can't leave, Crowley," I said before I could stop myself. My chest felt as though there was a leaden weight tied to my sternum, making every breath agony.

Crowley slowed but didn't turn to face me yet.

"There's nowhere left to go," I added, more softly.

Crowley turned back to me and stared at me for a moment, considering.

"Even if this all ends up in a burning pile of goo we can go off together," he said, a bit calmer now and he spread his arms and gestured to the empty park and evening sky above us, where a few stars were beginning to emerge.

I stared at Crowley, stunned. "G-go off together? Wha…listen to yourself," I stammered.

"How long have we been friends? Six thousand years."

"Friends? We're not friends!" I exclaimed, stepping forward and pushing myself to say the words that would end our friendship permanently.

Because Crowley was my friend – my only friend – and this was the best I could do for him. I couldn't change the fact that he fell, but I could keep Crowley from being hurt any further.

"We are an angel, and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don't even like you!" I turned to go but Crowley's words stopped me.

"You do!"

Oh no, I knew that tone. I can hear the long-suffering amusement under his annoyance – he didn't believe me.

Desperate, I whirled back around and strode back to Crowley. Dear God, I wanted to end this before I gave away the act completely.

"Even if I did know where the Antichrist was I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!"

"We're on our ssside!" Crowley hissed, stalking closer to me, his teeth bared.

"There is no 'our side' Crowley! Not anymore," and it's all I could do to get the next words out. "It's over."

Crowley stared at me and I could see the stunned expression on his face even with those ridiculous sunglasses.

"Right, well then…" he looked as though he was about to say something else but broke off with a disgusted huff.

He turned and walked away, his back rigid with tension.

I watched Crowley go and bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, but I didn't care. I had the horrible feeling that this is the last time I would ever see him again.

I don't remember how I got back to the bookshop, but some time later I found myself on the stoop to my beloved home (and yes, I was finally able to call it 'home' after so many years).

I waved my hand to unlock the door but in my emotional state my powers weren't working.

Suddenly desperate to get inside, I fumbled for my keys only to drop them in my haste. I suddenly had the urge to curse but I hadn't done so since the Beginning and I would not start now.

"Here you go, sir," said a voice. I blinked and looked up to see a middle-aged woman holding out my keys. She gave me a puzzled look, her green eyes concerned despite her tired features.

When I just stared at her in exhausted confusion she nodded towards my bookshop.

"Do you want me to open the door for you?"

I nodded and stepped aside as the woman stuck the key into the lock, twisting a bit (must oil that lock, I told myself before remembering it wouldn't matter soon). The lock opened with a click and she handed the keys back to me.

"There you go. I hope you have a good night," she said, giving me a soft smile as she turned and disappeared down the street.

"I, yes…thank you, my dear. Good night," I mumbled in reply, barely remembering my manners.

As soon as I was inside and the door was shut and locked I dropped my face into my hands, suddenly unable to breathe despite my heaving chest.

"It's for the best, it's for the best…" I kept repeating to myself.

"I'm sorry Crowley, I'm so sorry…oh God in Heaven, please…just keep him safe…"

And now here I was, hours later, staring at my empty fireplace, still unable to believe what I had just done.

I couldn't save anyone…the Flood….the burning of Rome…the Holocaust...all the wars, all of the death and suffering…and now I had hurt Crowley because I hoped I could at least protect him.

I had told Crowley once that he went too fast for me. I hadn't meant just his driving (although I do wish he would go a little bit slower in that infernal contraption of his whenever I'm in it).

He was always pushing, probing at me, asking me questions that I couldn't answer, or perhaps just didn't want to know the answer to.

Sometimes I still wonder if I had done the right thing by giving Crowley the holy water, just as I had done with my flaming sword so long ago.

My hands had trembled as I handed over the holy water to Crowley, a small part of me still fearful that Crowley would do something drastic with it. But another part of me was glad that Crowley had some sort of protection. We had both heard increased talk in the past few decades about the approaching war, that something big was going to happen soon, so I wasn't really surprised when he had first asked me for the holy water.

Crowley had seemed to pick up on my anxiety because rather than pressing me for further explanations, he had simply asked me if he could drop me off somewhere.

That was something I still couldn't quite grasp about Crowley. On one hand, he was constantly pushing me, cornering me into moral quandaries and hypothetical "what-ifs" that usually left me feeling raw and unguarded and more than a little troubled.

And then, sometimes, like on that night, Crowley could be incredibly…well, gentle I suppose is the best word. He had seemed to sense just what it had cost me to give him the holy water, because he hadn't joked or made any snide comments and had kept a distance, as though afraid I would bolt like a frightened deer.

And honestly, I had felt ready to jump out of the car as soon as I had handed over the holy water.

When he had offered me a ride I had wanted to accept but by that point I was too terrified of an agent from Heaven suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Perhaps it was cowardly of me, but all I had been able to say was, "you go too fast for me, Crowley."

I'm still not certain if Crowley fully understood my meaning – that I wasn't referring to only his driving – but perhaps he did. I could feel the weight of his gaze despite the sunglasses he always wore.

He hadn't pushed me any further on the matter, and never again mentioned the holy water to me. Perhaps he did understand just how terrified I had been that night.

At least he had that for protection, I thought despondently as I listened to the clock tick away and the end of the world draw nearer.

The next day, the Last Day of the World…

To say I was upset over the encounter with Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon would be a bit of an understatement, but I would worry about filing a formal complaint later.

Sandalphon's violence was disturbing but not particularly surprising. He had simply smiled at me, flashing that hideous metal cross that rested between his front teeth, as I gasped and wheezed from his blow.

But to see Michael and Uriel just stand there and allow it…for the first time in my existence I felt true anger towards my own brethren.

"You ba-bad angels!" I had exclaimed furiously after they had returned to Heaven, closer to swearing than I had ever been in six thousand years.

My only hope was to continue with my original plan. But would She even take my call? I doubted it.

But I had nothing left to lose. I had been so happy to see Crowley again but he was gone. And even if I had wanted to, I could have never gone with him.

I was the Principality of Britain, and angels were guardians as well as messengers. I would not abandon my post and leave these amazing humans to fend for themselves in the approaching war.

I quickly returned to my shop, making sure the door was locked and the shades drawn before going into my back room. I removed the carpet and decided to try to call in directly.

The Metatron was the one who answered but as the conversation carried on I felt my earlier hope turn into sinking despair. Crowley had been right after all.

"We can save everyone!" I exclaimed but the Metatron proceeded as though he hadn't heard me.

"…a nuclear exchange would be a nice start," the Metatron was saying and I tried hard not to grimace in disgust as I remembered the horrors from the second World War and Chernobyl.

"Very imaginative," I mumbled, suddenly feeling as though the entire world was resting on my shoulders.

As the Metatron spoke I could only replay the past few days in my head.

Nothing was ever really settled. Gabriel's cold, steely voice.

It's time to choose sides, Aziraphale. Michael's ruthless expression.

We're on our side! Crowley's rally against fate and destiny.

You are ridiculous. Uriel's contemptuous glare.

How can anyone as clever as you be so stupid? Crowley, dismissing my hope that God would answer my prayer.

Torn between Heaven, Hell and humanity, I suddenly couldn't bear it any longer as I stared at the circle after the Metatron had ended the call.

My distraction cost me dearly, as I was now being pulled up towards Heaven, my human body having been discorporated by Sergeant Shadwell no less.

Gabriel was going to be furious, was my last thought before the white light engulfed me completely.

Well, here we go, folks! The first installment of my 'State of Grace' AU series is up and posted. I hope you enjoyed this first part. The second installment will be 'State of Being'.