#they were so close but Aziraphale is still brain washed by heaven that he just can’t take the leap to be happy

[yaboibells]

Just finished Good Omens season 2! How are we GO fandom ;)

[justkeeptrekkin]

Prompt: Crowely tells Az he loves him by accident while going on a big long rant about (dealers choice) Az catches right away and just smiles and waits as Crowely comes to the realization of what he said

Anon. Anon. I love you for this. 

***

“See, thing is-”

Crowley’s words elude him- as they have a habit of doing, the sneaky buggers. He watches the white lines in the middle of the road streak by, feels the tarmac roaring beneath the car. It’s a rainy evening and they’re driving home from a restaurant north of Watford that Aziraphale has been banging on about for months. Since the world had ended- and then promptly not ended- the angel’s zest for food hasn’t lessened in the slightest. In fact, it’s only gotten bloody zestier, as if their near-apocalypse experience has made Aziraphale realise that life is too short. Even an immortal life such as his. 

Crowley loses his track of his thought entirely. “Thing is…”

“You were talking about-”

“KINDLES!” Crowley exclaims, taking his hands off the wheel to celebrate this eureka moment. Aziraphale straightens out beside him nervously and grabs a fistful of his corduroy trousers. Crowley slaps the leather of the steering wheel enthusiastically as he continues, “Kindles. Are not. Demonic! We didn’t come up with them- that was all you, I’m certain!”

“Why on earth would I invent the Kindle, dear boy? Do you even know me at all?”

“You-plural, not you-singular. Angels you, Heaven you.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t sanction it.”

“Alright but- listen- what’s the problem with kindles? Why’re- what’s the problem? I mean really, it’s a book, isn’t it. Just a book on a screen. What’s the problem?”

“The problem-” Aziraphale begins confidently, bordering aggressively. Then the wind appears to be knocked out of his sails. “Well,” he tries again, a little weakly. “The problem, the problem lies therein. In that. Well-”

“See! See, it’s clearly a good thing, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about- all these people going ‘oh, ho-ho, oh dear, books aren’t physical anymore, what a travesty! Let’s all- grab our pitchforks! And lament the loss of our children’s education’.” He adds a mocking, whinging voice to this last bit. 

Aziraphale tuts, stretches his legs out in front and crosses them. 

“No, you’re wildly misinterpreting the argument, Crowley.”

“You know it’s true, don’t deny it! People are only against them because humans don’t like change- they get all squirmy and anxious about it. As if, you know, as if the transition from a physical book to a little screen is the end of the world- and! Now that they’ve actually had a taste of the apocalypse, they really haven’t gained any more perspective, have they? I mean, you’d think they’d start worrying about global warming properly, but instead they’re just sad about kindles and- oh! That’s another thing, kindles aren’t paper! Less deforestation! Clearly- listen, come on, that’s got to be angelic work.”

Aziraphale pouts and averts his gaze, brows slightly raised in indignance. 

Crowley snorts. He notices the lines of the road streak by a little slower, presses down on the accelerator. 

“Aha!”

Crowley flicks his gaze over to Aziraphale, who’s turned his whole body towards him in his seat eagerly. A smug finger pointed in his face. 

“What? No,” Crowley shakes his head. “You- don’t try and argue with me on this, I’m absolutely certain-”

“Amazon! Kindles are owned by Amazon, notoriously corrupt!”

Crowley scowls, rolls his head wearily. “No, angel, they weren’t always bad, we only got to them a couple of years ago. You can’t argue that-”

“Amazon. Invented. Kindles! Thereby, kindles are evil. The end, full stop. Fin.”

“That’s just- you’ve been around long enough to know that’s not how it works.”

“And you can’t honestly argue that books are bad just because they’re made of paper. Books are knowledge! Books are the weapons against the armies of ignorance! Righteous tools-”

“Righteous tools,” Crowley snorts.

“Against the dark forces of evil!”

“Not this bollocks again. Look, books are fine, books are all well and good, but not everyone’s into them, are they? Times are changing, angel, you can watch things like Netflix or whatever it’s called and, listen to podcasts and- the way people share knowledge is different now. Listen, I love knowledge, love the stuff. You know I do, I was the one who got Eve to eat the apple after all, but even then, even then I’ve never really read books, unless I really have to, the only reason I read Pride and Prejudice is because I love you, and admittedly, yes, it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever put myself through- actually, I think trying to read A Tale of Two Cities was what really did it for me, Charles Dickens- Christ alive, did you ever run into Dickens, angel? Miserable sod.”

Crowley drums his fingers against the steering wheel expectantly. The road side lights cast an orange glow in the car- brightening and darkening, brightening and darkening as they drive past one after another. Aziraphale is silent. 

And it’s only then that Crowley realises his mistake. 

It dawns on him the way a glass fills up slowly with water in the washing up bowl and sinks to the bottom. Slowly, then a sinking feeling. And then hitting rock bottom. 

He keeps his eyes on the road. His fingers tight on the steering wheel. 

“You…”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t. Just don’t. Alright?”

“But Crowley-”

“I said don’t.”

Quiet fills the car. There isn’t even the sound of Freddie Mercury to assuage the nauseating pain in his stomach, the feeling of his throat closing like he’s having an allergic reaction. He wants to cry. He wants to cry for the first time in a very, very long time. He blinks away the feeling, and holds himself together with pure will power, just like he held together this car a few weeks back. 

Only, he’s been holding himself together for roughly six thousand years. It’s getting close to too much. His metaphorical knees are buckling. Atlas only wishes he were as resilient as Crowley. 

Aziraphale exhales- a long, shaky breath. Crowley doesn’t turn to look, can’t bear it. 

Besides, he’s known him- loved him long enough that he can see him in his mind’s eye easily. Eyes sometimes dreamy, brows sometimes pulled together in concern. Lips sometimes twisted in disapproval, sometimes beaming with so much unreserved joy that Crowley has to tease him. Just so he doesn’t end up gazing, bathing in the brightness of that smile. 

And then Aziraphale huffs to himself- a determined little noise that sets Crowley on edge. And he’s already too close to the edge to handle. He’s only just got a hold of himself as it is, hands shaking on the wheels and knee bouncing. The threat of tears still there, threatening to make him choke on his breath- it gets stuck in his throat. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. So gently. 

That’s almost what does it- it’s almost what makes Crowley lose control, teeth grinding painfully and eyes stinging. The motorway stretching out in front of them, empty. Time stretching out even further. 

Then the angel speaks again. “You can go faster, Crowley.”

The words trickle through his brain slowly, like drops of water building at the rim of a tap. Then- drip. Understanding. Crowley’s throat clicks as he swallows, painfully. 

“That is- of course, only if you want to,” Aziraphale rushes, waves his hands desperately, “You can- drive- go- uh, you can go as slowly as you like, only, don’t feel obliged to go slowly on my account. Anymore.”

The angel clears his throat. And Crowley turns to look. 

He’s smiling. He looks absolutely bloody terrified, eyes a little wide and watery just like that day-

You go too fast for me, Crowley. 

-except now he’s smiling. A quiet, wobbly smile to himself as he stares out of the rain streaked window. Crowley watches the way the orange street light passes through his silver hair, making it appear more like brass. He watches him bite his lip, then continue.

“We could. Oh, I don’t know. We could do that picnic we talked about. Or, perhaps a walk through Wimbledon Common. Together. Or.” He pauses. “Or, if you wanted to, you could drop me off and come in for a night cap. I have some rather nice port hiding somewhere in my office.”

Aziraphale turns to meet his eyes. A look filled with welcome and kindness and understanding. Light catching his face like a Vermeer painting. And Crowley lets himself stare. 

“Eyes on the road, my dear.”

He only realises that his mouth is hanging open when he tries to forumlate his next words. He shuts it, then says, “What?”

“Eyes on the road, Crowley. Before we both get discorporated.”

It takes another moment to register. But then his head snaps forwards and he looks ahead again, the road continuing into the dark towards London. He can feel all the air rush out of him like a balloon. And then something else replaces it- something lighter than air, something that makes his mind feel like it’s drifting to another plane. Something weightless. 

“Picnic,” Crowley eventually says, nodding to himself. He scratches his chin nervously. “Picnic then walk. Or, walk then picnic.”

Because- and Crowley can’t quite believe himself for this- he thinks a night cap might be a bit too fast for him. 

“Lovely,” Aziraphale says. The word comes out in a whisper. “You can pick me up at midday tomorrow. If that’s-”

“That’s.” Crowley stalls. Nods his head compulsively like a nodding car-toy. “That’s. Yeah. Midday’s good. Midday it is.”

“Crowley?”

“Angel,” he replies seriously, business-like.

There’s a moment of hesitation. Aziraphale breathes deeply beside him, like a man stepping off the train from London to Cornwall, taking in the countryside air for the first time in years. 

“I do love you. An awful lot.”

Crowley continues to nod. But he can feel the facade slip. He can sense his bottom lip wobble, so he clamps his jaw tight shut. To no avail. He continues to drive them down the M25, although at this point he could be in St James’ Park, or in the middle of a desert, or on another planet- his mind is entirely elsewhere. 

It’s not a conscious decision to stretch out his hand over the gear stick towards Aziraphale. It’s something desperate in him, something needy and disbelieving. He feels Aziraphale take it without pause, his clasp warm in his own.

[flameraven]

the sacred simplicity (of you at my side)

(featuring ace Crowley and aro/ace Aziraphale)

It had been a long day, but it was ending, Crowley thought, significantly better than it had started. Lunch at the Ritz had turned into dinner, and dinner had turned into drinks, and drinks had led them back here, curled up in the back room of the bookshop, just like always. Except it wasn't just like always anymore, was it? No longer bound to the will of their employers, they were free now, to be something new. Our own side.

Crowley was lounging loose and comfortable in his usual spot on the sofa, sipping from a glass of something dry and red, listening to Aziraphale as he explored the shop and commented on the newest additions to his collection. There had been some rather pointed comments about the wine, earlier-- I know it's not the boy's fault, he's only a child, but Beletti Prosecco Spumante, really? That vintage is barely even fit for cooking; practically vinegar-- and now it seemed the angel had a few things to say about one of the childrens' series Adam had seen fit to grace him with. Crowley grinned as Aziraphale started in with Now, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but-- and leaned back to let what was sure to be a lengthy diatribe wash over him.

It was lucky Aziraphale's focus was mostly on his books, as Crowley was sure the grin he was wearing was positively soppy , despite his best efforts to keep his expression under wraps. He couldn't help it. He felt light , practically floating on a mix of relief and astonishment that their impossible, reckless, ridiculous stunt had actually worked . They'd defied Heaven and Hell and lived to tell the tale, and now they were free to do whatever they liked-- including spending as much time in each other's company as they wanted, and Crowley wanted quite a lot.

He was happier than he could remember being in-- ever, maybe.

Which is why, of course, he immediately managed to bollocks it all up.

Crowley couldn't remember, later, exactly what Aziraphale had said, only that it was something fussy and ridiculous and perfectly him, and before he even knew what he was doing he had blurted it right out:

“G-Sa- Somebody, you're ridiculous, Angel,” he snickered. “ 'S what I love about you.”

A moment later, his brain caught up to what his tongue had said, and he froze. Aziraphale was frozen too, turning to look at him with an expression Crowley couldn't read, but which his mind was all too eager to jump to conclusions about.

“W-wait,” he said, wine spilling everywhere as he scrambled upright. “Ssshit. Aziraphale. I didn't- that's not- I'm sorry,” he gasped, retreating to the edge of the sofa until his fingers met only empty air.

Aziraphale frowned. “Why would you be sorry?”

Crowley hissed in sharply, caught. Much as he wished he could take the words back, the prospect of having to explain was even worse. With nowhere left to go, he curled in on himself, tucking his legs up; coiling as small as he could manage while still in human-shape.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He hadn't ever meant to say it, and as long as he never said it, they'd never have to have this conversation. But now they were in it, and there was no escaping.

He grimaced, turning his face aside, unable to look Aziraphale in the eye for this.

“Because,” he said slowly, fighting to keep his voice even. “You-- you don't love me.” He shivered. He knew it for a truth-- had known for a long time now, but saying the words out loud hurt more than he expected. “It's okay, really,” he continued, wrapping his arms around his knees, drawing in tighter. “It's fine. It- it doesn't matter. Just forget I said anything,”

“I will not,” Aziraphale said. A moment later the sofa dipped as the angel sat down beside him, laying one hand gently on his arm. Crowley shuddered. Aziraphale was so close, Crowley could feel the heat of him, that radiant celestial warmth, and all he wanted to do was curl up inside it, let it sink into the heart of him until he was full up with it-- but he can't, he can't. That dream was never his to hope for.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said sharply, knocking him out of his thoughts. One hand trailed under his chin, tilting the demon's face up, trying to catch his eye. “You think I don't love you?”

“I know you don't,” Crowley said, still looking away. “I mean, I know you love me, you're an angel. You love everything. But it's platonic love. Affection. Friendship. You're not in love with me.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “No, not in the same way you are, I think."

Read the rest on Ao3

[ineffably-good]

Too Close For Comfort

Just a little piece of fluff and nonsense inspired by this tumblr post the other day...

Enjoy!

Read this on AO3

It had been a perfectly ordinary Tuesday morning, Crowley thought. He’d slept in quite late, misted and shouted at the plants, and made and downed a total of seven espressos with his nifty new kitchen toy, a shiny espresso maker that somehow never needed to be plugged in or washed. He was just downing the seventh one, standing up at the kitchen counter in the way of true Italians, when there was a sudden shimmer in the air behind him and everything went haywire.

“You got DISCORPORATED?” Crowley thundered at the shimmering, misty shape behind him that still somehow managed to retain the distinct appearance of wearing a bowtie. “How in the everliving fuck did you get yourself discorporated??”

The mist that was Aziraphale couldn’t blush, of course, but it nonetheless managed to communicate the sensation that it was blushing. “I stepped in front of a bus.”

“You stepped in front of a bus,” Crowley repeated, deadpan. “And why was that?”

“Well obviously because I was distracted!”

“You were distracted!” Crowley scrubbed a hand over his face and hair, messing it up wildly. “Oh, fine, you were DISTRACTED. There’s just the small problem with the fact that Heaven isn’t likely to give you another body, you realize. They’re not particularly cooperative about these things now that we’re on our own side!”

Mist-Aziraphale made a shushing gesture and Crowley, never having been shushed by a noncorporeal being before, found himself quieting down just at the novelty of it.

“I know, my dear, I know,” Aziraphale said. “But I have a plan. Just calm down and listen to me for a moment, please? You can yell at me later.”

“Oh I WILL,” Crowley threatened, looking grim. He plopped down on a kitchen stool and folded his arms over his chest. “Start talking.”

 --

“I don’t know whether that plan is brilliant or stupid,” Crowley groused.

“In that case,” the mist said primly, “let’s go with brilliant. It will work, Crowley, I know it will.”

Crowley frowned and considered making himself an eighth espresso just to gain some thinking time, but he discarded the notion. His nerves were on edge enough.

“So you want to merge with me,” he said. “Angel and demonic in one corporeal shell. How do you know we won’t both explode? We couldn’t do it the last time you were floating around like this.”

“Well yes,” said the mist, “but we weren’t together back then. I think it’s safe to say that we have both gotten our corporeal selves much more used to each other’s essences now. I don’t think my presence will harm you at all. And if it seems to, I will back out quick as a snap. No harm done.”

“It’s not like you have much of another option, I suppose,” Crowley said, resigned to his fate. “All right, let’s give it a try.”

He braced himself on the kitchen counter and waited. And waited. And waited.

“Anytime now, angel,” he snipped, looking up. “What’s the hold up?”

“Oh,” dithered the misty shape. “I just feel… like I’m imposing on you. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, hard. “Just get on with it.”

Mist-Aziraphale took a deep breath, managed to somehow look apologetic, and flowed into him.

No one combusted.

It was, Crowley thought, a positive sign.

 --

It was an unusual thing to be inhabiting a body with one’s boyfriend, thought Aziraphale. He had thought that he knew every inch of Crowley’s body rather intimately at this point, after over a year of dating and even once swapping bodies completely, but he found it was rather a different thing to be locked inside someone’s body while they were still in it. He found himself feeling unexpectedly shy, and rather unsure of the etiquette of the whole thing.

For example, when one wanted to take a turn using the vocal cords, did one just – do so? Or did one clear their throat politely first?

He decided to try the throat clearing trick. “Ahem,” he said politely. Crowley instinctively fought the sensation at first, then relaxed when he realized it was Aziraphale trying to speak. “I wonder, might we make a cup of tea? It’s rather… jittery in here.”

“Sure, angel, whatever you want.” Crowley headed for the kitchen and began filling a kettle.

“Ahem,” the other voice inside him said again. “Would you mind terribly if – that is to say – oh dear, this is complicated to manuever…”

Crowley turned off the water and put the kettle down. “You want to make the tea, don’t you.”

“Well, I do make it better than you do,” Aziraphale said politely. “Could I perhaps drive the body for just a moment?”

Crowley sighed and did his best to relax. “I suppose?”

Aziraphale manuevered around and happily took over the demon’s brainstem to control his physical movements; there were an uncomfortable few moments not unlike when you are changing gears in a strange car for the first time, but then everything proceeded smoothly as Crowley sat back inside his own head and watched Aziraphale put together the tea in the same fussy way he always did.

When the water had boiled and the bone china cup had been appropriately warmed before being filled with just the right amount of tea with just the appropriate dash of sugar and a saucer had been found and both had been carried to the living room and the angel-driving-the-demon had finally been seated and taken his first indulgent sip and let out a contented sigh, Crowley finally nudged at him to relinquish control of the steering wheel, so to speak, which the angel did immediately.

“Great,” Crowley said, back in control of the vocal cords. “Let’s move this into the office – I need to get on the computer.” Without waiting for Aziraphale to agree, he picked up the cup and saucer and sauntered them both into the other room, where he sprawled down in the chair and opened his laptop.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale complained, “I wanted to actually drink the tea.”

Crowley sighed and picked up the cup in a rather big hurry and took a huge gulp.

“That’s hardly the way to enjoy it, my dear,” Aziraphale said.

“Is that a pout?” Crowley said. “I absolutely refuse to let you make me pout, angel.”

He felt the angel sigh and release his control over the mouth muscles. “Very well,” he said primly. “Just give me a drink every now and then while you’re using the arms, ok?”

“They’re not ‘the’ arms,” Crowley reminded him, “they’re ‘my’ arms. And you are a guest in there.”

“I’m well aware, dearest,” Aziraphale said, sounding a little hurt.

Crowley stuffed down a vague sensation of guilt, which he was oddly aware that Aziraphale was well aware of, since they were sharing a brain, and got to work pulling up his infernal email account.

“Let’s get moving on this,” he muttered. “Time to contact the powers that be.”

 --

“I can hear you thinking,” Crowley said as he worked on writing his most threatening email to Michael, the archangel who had already demonstrated a slight moral ambiguity and willingness to play by slightly more shaded rules than the others.

“It’s just that you’re being so rude,” Aziraphale said. “Also you misspelled ‘wanker’ in line seven.”

“I’m being rude on purpose,” Crowley said, “it’s a threatening email.”

“Nonetheless, manners are important,” Aziraphale prodded.

“So, you’d like me to write a polite threatening letter.”

“It can certainly be done,” Aziraphale said. “If you’ll just give me control of the arms for a moment, I can make a few edits for you –”

Crowley shut the laptop lid. “Forget it. I’ll call her instead.”

“Oh well now, that’s a very good idea.”

 --

“Michael!” Crowley said jovially. “How’s tricks?”

“Demon Crowley,” Michael said coolly. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“Need to talk with you,” Crowley said. “You see, Aziraphale’s been discorporated, and you’re going to help us out with getting him another body.”

“And why on earth would I do that?” Michael asked. “I can’t think of anything that would possibly entice me to get that traitor another body.”

“Well you see,” Crowley said, “Aziraphale has set up shop inside my corporation for the moment.”

Crowley could almost hear Michael wrinkling her nose in distaste. “That sounds unpleasant, but is hardly my concern –”

“No,” Crowley cut in. “It’s quite largely your concern. Because I now have all of the powers of Hell at my disposal, plus all of Aziraphale’s grace. Imagine what I could do with that combination?”

Michael thought for a moment. “That’s preposterous. Such a thing isn’t even possible. Your base matter is incompatible.”

Crowley gave in to the incessant nudging and allowed Aziraphale to take over the vocal cords. “Was incompatible,” Aziraphale said. On screen, Michael blinked as Aziraphale’s voice somehow began emerging from Crowley’s mouth. “We have mingled our essences enough times prior to this, however, that this is no longer the case.”

“I really don’t need to be privy to that type of information,” Michael sighed.

“And you know,” Aziraphale continued, “I can’t really do anything to stop Crowley while he’s –” he stopped and grasped for the right word – “hosting me. I can take control for short periods of time but only if he allows it. And he’s quite right that he has access to all of my powers. And all of my knowledge of heavenly infrastructure. Battle plans and whatnot.”

Michael’s eyes glittered. “You wouldn’t dare let him have full access to your memory banks.”

Crowley nudged Aziraphale and took back control. “He certainly would,” he said, “and even if he didn’t want to, he couldn’t stop me.” He waited while Aziraphale quietly fed him a few alarming bits of information. “Taking a look around right now,” he said airily. “You have exactly 124 battle regiments at present, armed with – what is that Aziraphale? Oh, stop fighting me, you idiot. I’m going to see it anyways – armed with a combination of light and heavy –”

“All right, all right,” Michael shouted, leaning forward anxiously. “What is it you want me to do?”

“You’re going to steal us a corporation,” Crowley said. “The same corporation he’s had, I know you have extras. And you’re going to deliver it to the bookshop.”

“That will take some time,” Michael muttered.

“How long?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

“Fine.” Crowley gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Nice doing business with you, Michael.”

--

“Oh, can I drive?” Aziraphale asked as they settled into the driver’s seat of the Bentley.

“Can you –” Crowley sputtered. “Absolutely not! And if you so much as touch a single neuron while I’m driving us over to the bookshop I will wait until you’ve got a body again and then kick your ass. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” sniffed Aziraphale.

 --

 Crowley swung into the bookstore and headed directly for the liquor cabinet.

“I didn’t mean to,” Aziraphale said. “It was just – you almost hit that old woman and her cart!”

“Not my fault she’s out there taking terrible risks, is it?” Crowley said, uncorking a bottle of gin and taking a long swallow.

Aziraphale spluttered. “Oh, must you, my dear? You know I dislike the taste of gin.”

“My tastebuds, my rules,” Crowley said.

On the desk to their left, Frederick awoke from that deep stillness that meant sleep and examined his pointy friend.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I’VE BEEN HUNGRY FOR DAYS!

It had been six hours at most. Crowley huffed and went to the freezer for a mousicle. He took one out, popped it in the microwave to thaw, and turned his focus back inward.

“Anyway,” he said. “Don’t change the subject. You took control of the wheel and nearly wrecked us.”

“What was I supposed to do, close my eyes? That would have wrecked us too, since they’re your eyelids.”

“I don’t know,” Crowley sputtered. “just mentally read a book or something.”

“I will try that next time,” Aziraphale said consolingly.

The microwave dinged and Crowley made a disgusted face. “You feed him, angel,” he said.

Aziraphale, feeling agreeable, quickly popped the mouse into Freddy’s cage. “There you are, dear friend,” he said. “So sorry about the wait.”

Frederick reared up his head and examined Crowley closely.

WHY DO YOU SOUND LIKE THE FLUFFY ONE? he shouted.

Crowley took back control. “It’s a long story,” he said. “Suffice it to say that Aziraphale is in here with me for the moment.”

SOUNDS CROWDED, Frederick said doubtfully. DON’T GET ANY BIG IDEAS ABOUT PUTTING ME IN THERE TOO. YOU MIGHT HAVE EATEN YOUR FRIEND, BUT THAT’S ALL YOU GET.

“I didn’t eat him!” Crowley insisted.

LOOKS THAT WAY FROM HERE, SNAKEBIRD.

Crowley sighed and headed for the bottle of gin again.

It was going to be, they both thought in near unison, a long two days.

[elphenfan]

Grooming (Good Omens) 1/7

Sequel to 'Nesting'

As new nestmates, there's a few things that need to be navigated for Crowley and Aziraphale, even though so many things are the same. One of them is the ritual of grooming that is done between nestmates.

------------------------------------------------------------

Nothing had changed. Well, obviously, things had changed, quite significantly, even; they were now nestmates, honest-to-goodness nestmates, and there was no changing that. They’d promised themselves and each other that. No matter what happened, they would not give up on each other.

That being said, neither of them could help feeling apprehensive, to put it incredibly mildly. This wasn’t a case of a pair of teenagers disobeying their parents by being together. Well, perhaps there was an element of that, what with the role of Heaven and Hell and everything, but the penalty was rather more severe. It was like comparing a lighter to a star. Technically, they were both burning, but beyond that, there wasn’t much to compare with.

But as the days became weeks, and there still wasn’t so much as an increase in assignments or the amount of paperwork they had to deal with, Crowley couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief – while simultaneously feeling even more tense.

This couldn’t be right. They had to know. Somehow, they would have to know, so why wasn’t anything happening?

Another part of his brain argued that well, they’d kept their Arrangement a secret for almost a thousand years by this point, without either side suspecting a single thing. If they had, neither of them would’ve been able to carry on as they had, they knew that.

Why then, knowing that, did he suddenly bestow the powers above, or below, the accolade of observatory skills they had never yet exhibited? When they could be fobbed off with a well-placed memo why did he then think that they would instantly suss out that Aziraphale and he had become nestmates?

Unfortunately, he could answer his own question, at least to some extent. To the extent that explained why he was afraid, anyway.

What they had managed to…well, yes, fool them with was about what they did. The jobs they’d been sent to do, which none of the other angels or demons really had much track with. Not in the way that Aziraphale and Crowley had, in any case, nor to the extent. It was always easier to lie to someone who only had the vaguest idea at best of what the truth actually were.

When it came to something like this, however…this was about what they were, not what they did, and he couldn’t help the tendril of fear that on something like that, at the very least Heaven would be much more on the ball. It did, after all, split the focus of the angels that were involved in the nesting, on who and what they should love. In theory, anyway, as angels tended to fail to live up to their own brief, as it was.

Which in turn brought him back to the thought, the question of why the Almighty had created Her servants with such a handicap as that, in the sense of their intended, purported purpose.

He brought it up to Aziraphale, more than once and increasingly animated each time he mentioned it. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the angel didn’t seem as worried about the whole thing, despite the fact of…well, everything, really. He listened but didn’t make any comments or even any plans as to how they could deal.

At long last, after he’d asked flat out why he wasn’t worried, Aziraphale sighed heavily, put down the books that he’d been cataloguing – why he bothered when everything was neatly organised, even if it was to a system that only he knew and understood, was beyond the ginger – and pulled Crowley close.

“I am worried,” he said, quietly. “Very much so.”

“Then why the bleeding blazes have you been acting as though it doesn’t matter, or you aren’t bothered by it?” Crowley demanded, his arm waving animatedly in its gesticulation.

Aziraphale, surprisingly in the demon’s opinion, didn’t pause or falter. “Because I would be helping neither of us, but especially not you, if I were also to panic.”

“Panicking? Who says I’m panicking?” Crowley’s gesticulation was almost flailing at this point, mainly hampered by their closeness. “I’m not panicking, that’s absurd!”

“Of course not.”

“Why would I be panicking?”

“Because you’re understandably terrified of what they will do if they ever find out what we have done.”

“They will not merely send rude notes, that’s for bloody sure.”

“Destruction by rude note, that will certainly be novel.”

Aziraphale!”

The angel gave a small smile, which was warm but showing hints of both genuine worry and fear but also that inner core of steel. “I know how you’re feeling, dear. Honestly, I do. Don’t mistake me. But tell me…what other precautions can we take than what we are taking right now?”

He brought a hand up to caress a defined cheek gently, then cup the side of the jaw, thumb continuing to brush across the cheek. Crowley instinctively leaned into the contact, savouring it as he continued to look at his angel. He didn’t answer, though, because he had no answer to give. That was one of the problems, wasn’t it?

Silence reigned for a few long moments.

Then, very quietly “Would you want us to…divorce, for instance? Cease being nestmates?”

The words, the very suggestion that they would possibly stop being nestmates made Crowley snap for breath hard, his heart feeling as though it had just suffered an actual, physical punch. He would’ve shouted ‘no’ instantly and at the top of his lungs, if only he’d had the breath for it.

Aziraphale seemed to have been ready for the reaction, in a sense at least, as he made sure to steady his demon when his knees buckled a little.

Long-fingered hands came up to grasp hold of softened shoulders, hard and almost digging, as if that would somehow prevent him from leaving.

“No, I didn’t think so, either. Nor do I. As we’ve discussed before, I would never want to lose you as a nestmate. Apart from the option of returning to how we were, however – and even that is not a guarantee they won’t detect either of us are…divorced, as it were – I quite honestly cannot see what we can do about it.”

Crowley, still trying to get his breath back and stop the panic that had exploded inside, didn’t answer. He just moved somehow even closer and bent his neck so that he could rest his forehead against the angel’s shoulder, between his hand and where shoulder became neck.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the shape of his nestmate, as if to further ensure he wouldn’t go anywhere, no matter what happened.

“Please don’t leave,” Crowley said, his voice a little muffled from where his mouth was situated but nevertheless, it was insistent and Aziraphale heard him quite clearly.

“I won’t, dearest, I won’t. Never. I promise.” He turned his head and pressed his lips to the flaming red hair. “I hope you won’t, either.”

Crowley shook his head as though he was trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn wasp in his ear.

“In that light, I think all we can do is carry on as we always have and if things do turn south…then we’ll have to take it from there.”

Strictly speaking, they’d discussed that before as well but even so, it was a relief to the demon to have it confirmed.

Perhaps it was remnants of the unreality of it all, the sheer beauty and utter joy that went with their change in status and all that that had entailed for them, and the subsequent pure fear and dread that this was somehow indeed too good to be true. God could still be pulling the most massive prank on him.

What was it he’d read somewhere? “All this good fortune, all this fierce joy … it was wrong. Surely the universe could not allow this amount of happiness in one man, not without presenting a bill. Somewhere a big wave was cresting, and when it broke over his head it would wash everything away”?

Something along those lines, and didn’t it feel incredibly apt in the circumstances, even if he was a demon rather than a man?

Wait, hang on. Why could he remember something he’d read? When the heaven had he actually read, anyway? Maybe Aziraphale had read it aloud to him, as he sometimes did with books he truly loved and wanted to share. Crowley would never have his love of books, not even close to it, but he did enjoy the audiobook experience when it was tailored specifically to him by a very specific narrator.

So maybe it had come from there, a quiet evening where they just got to enjoy the other’s company.

Wherever it had come from, though, it had stuck and he couldn’t help but feel its aptness, perfectly summing up how he was feeling, even in the midst of his Paradise-on-Earth – which was infinitely better than the original, in his opinion, whose only benefit had been a fortunate meeting.

He tried not to let it take over his thoughts and, more importantly, not to let it show. Seeing as it tied into not only his fears and worries about the potential punishment from their headquarters but to all the negative and self-deprecating thoughts which he’d had prior to the two of them becoming nestmates about the impossibility of just that thing, it became a significantly more difficult prospect, even as he felt the relief from Aziraphale’s words.

The fact that he had his face hidden from view wasn’t much of a comfort.

But Aziraphale only held him tighter, turning his head to plant kisses on every part of Crowley’s head that he could reach, gently, lovingly. Being the anchor that he needed without saying a word.

Eventually, though he wouldn’t have thought he would, Crowley began to feel calmer. Not entirely so, the thoughts were still present, but in that silent interlude, he managed to…not so much push it into the background as pen it in and quieten it to a low murmur. Corral it into something manageable rather than outright banish it, helped by the words that Aziraphale had spoken and the reassuring calm that exuded from his body.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he straightened up. He didn’t try to otherwise put distance between them, though, and Aziraphale didn’t make him.

“No need to apologise. It’s a very legitimate fear to harbour.”

Crowley paused then came to a quick conclusion as he looked at the other’s face. “And you’re putting on a brave face for my sake.”

“I am not.”

“You are. That’s why you’re that calm about it.”

“I told you, I am not, neither that calm or putting on a brave face for you. I would not lie to you like that, dear.”

“You would.” It was an accusation, but it lacked any bite, the void of that filled with concern. “You would if you thought you were protecting me by doing it.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, presumably to protest, then closed it.

“Yes, I suppose that is a very valid point,” he said after a few but long moments of silence, voice quiet. “But I promise you that that was not my intention. I won’t hide from you, Crowley. Not anymore, not on purpose. I cannot control everything, but I will try and won’t put protection over honesty. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” That he could believe, that he could lean against to face things, to rely on as his rock. Well, as part of the rock that was his angel, really, when it came down to it. Softness, love and chub concealing a steel core. “Sorry about – “

He was silenced by a kiss. “Shush now. No need for that. Not now nor ever. I understand.”

Crowley regarded Aziraphale for a moment. Then, his heart full of warmth now, the murmur of his fears very low indeed, he said, earnest and heartfelt, looking into the warm green eyes, “I love you, angel. I love you.”

The beam he got from saying that out loud was one that beat every other iteration of Aziraphale’s arsenal of smiles, all of which were wonderful on their own, and still did a number on his heart in the best possible way. He hoped that would never ever change.

“I love you, too, my dearest,” Aziraphale returned. “Nothing will ever change that.”

Crowley touched their foreheads together after stealing another kiss, saying ‘thank you’ without speaking the words. It seemed to get through to the other just fine.

They stayed like that for quite some time and then Crowley decided that it was time for bed.

Aziraphale protested that it was far too early to go to bed, quite apart from the fact that neither of them needed to sleep. Crowley ignored him.

Sleeping was one of his favourite things in the world and now that he had the option to do so with his angel – and his fears about what Heaven and Hell was going to do to them had been soothed enough that he wasn’t a nervous ball too tense to fall asleep anymore – he wasn’t going to pass it up.

Well, he had up until now, in a sense, he would have to admit. But there’d been other things for him, for them, to do and to explore with their changed circumstances, apart from the worry about whole being found out business.

Six millennia is a long time to wait and, for Crowley’s part pine, and even if Aziraphale had only become aware of his feelings very recently, comparatively speaking, he’d assured the demon more than once that it was more a case of realising what had been there for a very long time, it crystallising inside his mind in that moment rather than being born.

Given that, this change was new and fragile and oh so precious to them both and they were handling it delicately in terms of what they’d done since, as though it would shatter if they charged ahead.

Perhaps that was what he’d meant when he’d thought that nothing had changed. They’d thrust themselves into this whole other plane, as it were, of being nestmates rather than ‘only’ friends all at once. That was enough of a change to settle into, especially for being who could well regard a century ago as recent. There was no need for a radical change in behaviour or routines on top of that, not straight away, and so it felt safer, perhaps, to take it slowly.

There might be someone who’d point out that a lot of what they’d done, how they’d interacted for the last millennia or so, at least, could qualify on their own as dating and so it would only make sense that things might not feel that different, if different at all.

Nesting and consequently becoming nestmates were on quite another level compared to human dating, however, even if it wasn’t immediately visible by the standards that humans set for themselves. But Aziraphale and Crowley knew that it was there, and it resonated between them like the echoes of…well, the harp that the angels didn’t play.

Not to mention, of course, the little things, such as the touches, including kisses, and the general closeness and openness they now enjoyed. Being more explicit about the little gestures and tokens of love that they had hid from each other before.

And there were the feathers. In the bookshop, yes, on display but hidden so that they wouldn’t be inadvertently snatched by some customer Aziraphale somehow hadn’t managed to keep out of the shop, which would just be…no, that didn’t bear thinking about, either.

But there were also the ones that they carried with them. Which ought to be beyond stupid to do if they wanted to remain hidden if not for the fact that other angels, fallen or otherwise, would be able to detect the bond, for lack of a better term, they now had regardless.

And it was wonderful, Crowley had to admit, to be able to be parted from Aziraphale – and they were not joined at the hip, thank someone for that, and they never would be, however much they cherished the other’s company – and still carry a physical reminder of him that was part of him. It certainly beat what humans came up with, such as jewellery out of teeth and hair. Just…why?

Now, though…now he couldn’t help the want, the need for a bit of sleep and to have Aziraphale be there with him. Not for anything intimate or the like, just…being there.

The angel kept protesting all the way up the stairs to the small…well, to call it a flat was a tad overly generous, really, seeing as it was actually just a small set of rooms that had come with the building back when Aziraphale had bought it. What they had been intended for wasn’t clear, but it had been used for extra storage by the blond. That was, until Crowley had seen it one day after, well, and had miracled a bed up there.

Aziraphale had protested then, too, that there was no need for it, and it would only be in the way and where on earth did all his books go, really, Crowley, you can’t just –

And he’d shut up when the demon had pointed upwards to see the books neatly stacked all the way around the wall and underneath the ceiling. That he’d have to employ a bit of, well, trickery, to make more room than there actually was, it was certainly worth it.

He’d used it once or twice on his own since then, the smell of old books practically part of his nasal make-up at that point, but now he got to experience it with Aziraphale there.

The angel protested one more time when they made it up the stairs, though Crowley noted that he hadn’t made any proper attempts to pull out of his grasp or just stop.

“Crowley, this is ridiculous,” he tried, sounding only slightly exasperated. “We cannot go to bed at this hour, there are things I need to do. I’m not going to waste time – “

The demon looked at him, then, and his expression shut the angel up.

“I’m not asking you to stay for a long time or anything,” Crowley said, voice quiet. “I just want you to be there while I fall asleep, that’s all. I’d like to know what it feels like.” He couldn’t deny that ‘waste time’ had hurt, just a little, even though he knew Aziraphale hadn’t meant it like that.

The guilty expression had already started to form as he closed his mouth and realised what he’d said, but now it took over the soft face. “Oh. When you put it like that, then…”

He hesitated, then bit his lip. “Oh, good lord, I am an arse, aren’t I? I didn’t even think of that and I should’ve known – of course I’ll stay with you, dear.”

Crowley frowned. “You’re not an arse.” It was hardly his fault Crowley hadn’t made himself clear or that it hurt to hear him phrase it like he had, done entirely unintentionally.

“I’m afraid I am. I should’ve known better, in both regards, and I do apologise.” He squeezed the hand gripping his. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

Part of Crowley wanted to say, ‘there’s nothing to make up for’, while another wanted to ask how he would, and a third, albeit small part, wanted to make a smart-arse comment.

Instead, for once, his brain and body were clever enough to make him purely give a nod.

The apologetic but grateful smile from Aziraphale started to melt what little hurt was left.

--------------------------------------------------

I had forgotten I hadn’t uploaded this, sorry.

[eturni]

Day 13 - Gift wrap

Day 13 of @drawlight​​ ‘s advent calendar challenge. https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/189391982184/drawlight-drawlight-aziraphale-crowley-for Today is technically wrapping paper. Instead it’s gift wrap as there’s an early form of wrapping presents in cloth called furoshiki. Featuring a hot spring in the winter, a female presenting Aziraphale and a writer who is just so tired guys.

I’m travelling all day today so I wanted to get it posted but set straight to writing after getting finished working overnight counting votes. Please either forgive or point out any glaring errors.

“You know I am absolutely not getting out until spring, right angel?” Crowley groused as he lowered himself into a sinfully warm hot spring with a low groan of relief. There were dozens upon dozens of yuzu floating in the water; filling the air with the rich tart scent. That and the mixture of heat and steam were almost enough to make Crowley forgive Aziraphale for deciding that a crowded onsen halfway up a mountain in the middle of winter would be a god place to bring a demon with a serpent aspect for a meeting.

Almost.

As it was he planned to grouse and bitch as well as Aziraphale himself until he felt suitably mollified or at least got an apology. Then he would go find the gift that he had left with his clothes, carefully wrapped in furoshiki cloth and kept cool and dry away from the spring, just to watch the angel light up from within and no doubt immediately give in to his hedonistic tendencies.

He soon found his sunglasses fogged up and absently expended a minor miracle to keep them clear while he was here. Even the new clarity didn’t reveal Aziraphale to him. At least the angel had blessedly chosen a suitably busy spot that they could blend in to a degree. They might stick out like a sore thumb really but most angels and demons likely didn’t have enough clue about humans to notice the difference.

It made it all the more alarming that he hadn’t spotted Aziraphale yet. He could definitely get the sense that the other was here.

“Aziraphale?”

Startled by the very sudden and obvious accent a young man next to Crowley spun around. Then craned his neck a little upwards. “Over there. I think.” He offered, a slightly nervous smile that Crowley brushed off. Even with his eyes covered humans often somehow knew that there was something unsafe about him.

“Come on what the heaven are you pla-”

The demon all but froze in the water, mouth going a little dry as the heat of the water and the air around him suddenly became so much more noticeable. He thought he’d been prepared for this. He was not prepared at all for Aziraphale to have chosen a more feminine presentation. Even in a more masculine corporation Aziraphale was softness and gentle rolling hills. Feminine she’s all curves with barely a hint of a hard edge on her and thankfully, blessedly, terribly covered from the chest down by the water.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/51964078 or:

Crowley could see, if he ventured. He could glance below the rippling water and drink up what he found there. He wouldn’t survive it, like taking in holy water willingly, would be changed forever and unable to go back. He kept his gaze up; where slightly longer hair just grazed the edges of shoulders. Pure white like a halo in the light coming down from the mountain.

“Oh, Crowley!” The voice tipped a little higher than usual and Crowley felt his own throat constrict. The exclamation sounded almost breathy with the new voice and Crowley wondered that he might discorporate or worse if he didn’t get his thoughts under control. “I’m so glad you could make it. Sorry. I was just speaking with this gentleman here about procuring an early copy of the Tale of Genji. You see it’s the most wonderful story-”

Crowley felt himself smile despite the cold outside and despite his insistence that he would be mad as hell about it. There was something about listening to Aziraphale go on about books that made him feel terribly fond and he almost lost track of the conversation just letting the lilt of her voice wash over the core of him.

“Are you even paying attention?” Finally came through. Aziraphale sat there with a single eyebrow raised and a pout to her lips that Crowley desperately wanted to press a thumb against, just to watch the water press its sheen there.

“Yeah just, you were going on a bit and did you have business you wanted to discuss?” He swallowed down the uncertainty and moved up a little closer to Aziraphale regardless, watching the angel narrow her eyes and continue to rest in the water with an air that, while equally haughty as a man, had some edge to it in a more feminine corporation that gave Crowley pause.

Indeed, though Aziraphale had taken to Japan like -whichever animal takes well to water-  there was evidently a certain amount of distance that she commanded from those around her.

Crowley had no way of knowing it at that precise moment but it was partially because the angel’s pale skin and paler hair had very nearly had her mistaken for a yuki-onna recently. While on closer inspection she was clearly just a very odd sort of foreigner there was still a certain degree of anxiety that her presence caused over winter.

“Well yes. I had rather hoped we could take in some of the more traditional activities first but if you are going to be a bother about it.”

Crowley was already scrambling for a ‘no bother at all, just wondering’ or something of the like when Aziraphale stood and the world tipped on its axis threatening to buck the demon off. He had the hysterical thought for just a moment that he should grab something to stop himself falling off but the only thing close to him were bobbing yuzu and soft thick <i>thighs</i> and the thought alone stopped Crowley from being able to think at all.

When reason returned to him Aziraphale was already gently folding a towel over herself; furoshiki gift wrap over a present Crowley didn’t deserve and wouldn’t dare ask for but desperately coveted nonetheless.

“Now, there’s a wonderful tea house nearby that we can certainly sit in to discuss business. It is, perhaps, just as busy but they do offer private rooms for sensitive matters.”

A sound caught in Crowley’s throat that tried to be an assent but just wrapped itself around a few random consonants and hoped for the best. He was following Aziraphale’s pointed tilt of the head before he had time to remember that the air was frigid and he’d been in a bath. Luckily a towel was pressed into his hands by someone thinking a lot more pragmatically than his poor, lust-addled brain could even try to. She even did him the favour of rerouting him to the men’s area when he was about to follow her blindly out of the baths.

All the time in the world to try and press those images, and reactions, down would never be enough so it was unsurprising that Crowley remained mute and pliable when Aziraphale met him outside of the establishment.

Her kimono had been hand made at some point while she was here and somehow having more of her skin covered under more layers only made Crowley think of how slow he could take the unwrapping if he ever dared to reach out and try. If he could ever be allowed.

Instead he allowed himself to be led and shown where to sit and offered tea. Aziraphale was already halfway through explaining why she needed a hand on this particular mission when Crowley finally remembered his gift to her.

He pulled it from his sleeve, a box wrapped in delicate, colourful fabric with a little knot at the top that Aziraphale deftly undid with one hand as she spoke, barely looking.

Crowley knew without a doubt that she could undo him just as easily and it punched the breath from his lungs.

“Oh Crowley how very thoughtful, they’ll go perfectly with the tea.” The bright smile at the array of mochi was indeed everything Crowley hoped it would be but he still shrugged a little as though to deny he’d put much thought into it at all. “You’re really very kind when you want to be.” The smile lost some of it’s brightness but only grew in warmth as Aziraphale slid the gift-wrap cloth out from under the box and methodically folded it with a  precision and slowness that made Crowley quake as her fingers moved along the fabric.

“Alright, don’t go shouting it to-”

“There’s nobody here to shout it to. For now we’re safe enough, even with whatever this is. Do try to relax just for now. There’s a dear.”

Crowley nodded and picked up his tea, not caring that it scalded him as he took a drink and watched, helplessly transfixed, as Aziraphale ever so gently brushed the furoshiki against her cheek before reverently tucking it into her own sleeve. Crowley could see where it grazed wrist and inner arm as it was put away and had to close his eyes against the thought of following the path with hungry lips.

Years later he would find the cloth again among Aziraphale’s treasures hidden away in a room of the bookshop that was scarcely used and that even Crowley had not been allowed in until the Apocalypse had been averted.

He might even hope, though he couldn’t know if he was correct, that Aziraphale might occasionally take it out to brush against his skin and remember a cold Touji day part way up a mountain. He most certainly would never get the courage to ask and so the truth of the matter lies only with a very tight-lipped angel.

[doctortreklock]

The Abduction of an Angel - June 12, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: I Know Heaven Is Real Because I Saw It And Abducted An Angel (x)

Fandom: Good Omens

Note: The character of Kazariel belongs to ImprobableDreams900′s Eden!verse (I just stole her for a while)

Words: 849

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Gabriel lets him go.

Crowley very carefully doesn't run out of the room. Because Aziraphale wouldn't run, no matter who or what was chasing him. So Crowley very calmly smiles and waves goodbye to the angels and casually strolls away from the towering pillar of hellfire that should have destroyed him.

He moves much faster when he's out of sight. As soon as he's escaped earshot of Gabriel and Uriel, he stops and braces himself on the white wall next to him, breathing deeply, struggling to get enough air into Aziraphale's lungs as the sheer magnitude of what he and his counterpart just attempted washes over him. He gasps quietly for a bit, his knees weak as jelly, his hands trembling where he has them pressed flat against the wall.

He breathes.

"Excuse me," someone says from behind him. The voice is female, and decidedly authoritative, though with a touch of uncertainty.

Crowley turns around slowly. The angel behind him is a cherub with flaming red hair and a sword strapped to her waist that he's sure would be equally flaming if she were to wield it. Her silver armor gleams against white leather in the brilliance of heaven. She would seem very sure of herself indeed, if it wasn't for the way she keeps shifting minutely on the balls of her feet.

"Hello," he offers tentatively, wracking his brains for any mention Aziraphale might have made of any angel who wasn't one of the dreaded holy triumvirate. "Do I know you?" he asks, hoping he might be able to play it off as a joke if it turns out she and Aziraphale have been chums since the Tower of Babel or something.

"You may," she allows. "I am Kazariel." She looks both directions down the hallway they're standing in under the guise of flipping her hair over her shoulder. She lowers her voice. "You are the principality Aziraphale. The one who allowed the Serpent into the Garden. The one stationed on Earth." These are not questions.

"To be fair to Az--me," he corrects quickly, "the Serpent got himself in. I just happened to be standing by the gate he left through."

Kazariel doesn't look impressed by this information.

"You will take me to Earth," she says flatly.

Crowley's not sure he heard her correctly. "Pardon?" he tries. Maybe there's something wrong with Aziraphale's ears? Something that carried over when he shifted forms?

"You will take me to Earth," she repeats, the demand clear in her tone.

Now, Aziraphale may be an angel, and thus capable of wondrous miracles by mortal standards, but he's pretty small potatoes up here. Crowley, who had been a throne before his Fall, still wields seven times more power than Aziraphale does on a good day. Cherubim are a choir above even that. Before his demotion, Aziraphale had been a cherub, complete with sword, and would have been Kazariel's equal. Now, she beats out Crowley sevenfold and towers over Aziraphale - the principality whose form he has assumed - by a factor of forty-nine.

So when Kazariel demands something of Aziraphale, Crowley sort of has to follow through.

"Can I ask why?" Without conscious thought, Crowley's hands come up to adjust his bow tie and straighten his vest. He's not sure if it's borrowed muscle memory or the product of too much time spent watching Aziraphale. (He doesn't really examine it too closely.)

Kazariel looks uncomfortable. "You may not."

He watches her for a moment. Sometimes specific groups - without any cause - with migrate to one of the infernal and ethereal agents settled on Earth or the other. Crowley gets the adulterers, but for some reason all the rebellious kids running away from home latch onto Aziraphale. (Crowley doesn't understand this, since he's the one hanging out with the original rebellious teen. (This might also explain why they orbit around Aziraphale. (He doesn't really examine this too closely either.)))

"Let me guess," he says gently. And his tone's too gentle for Aziraphale, but she doesn't seem to have noticed, her green eyes watching him closely. "You were getting ready for an all-out, knock-down, drag-out fight with Hell, then the Apocalypse got called off because an angel, a demon, and the Antichrist all decided Earth was better than Paradise. Now you're curious and there's no one watching you closely, so you're dying to take a look for yourself."

As he speaks, he can feel Kazariel leaning closer as he draws her in. He's not even sure she knew what she wanted before he had articulated it. The Serpent is known as the First Tempter and it didn't all have to do with the apple.

"Yes," she tells him, then looks surprised that the word escaped her. "I mean--" Crowley watches as she tries to find a different excuse. "Yes," she admits.

"Well, then," Crowley says, straightening Aziraphale's jacket and smiling Aziraphale's smile, "No time like the present. This way." He gestures in front of them, pointing the way to the down escalators that will bring them back to Earth.

And Crowley leads an angel out of Heaven.

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 3 Part 2

wow, I finished this ages ago and then dragged my feet posting it for no reason. Going to aim for Sunday updates for a few weeks, see if it encourages me to write faster.

Anyway! Rome.

He/him pronouns for Crowley again.

Link to the next part at the end.

---

(last part)

(chrono)

Chapter 3, cont.

AD 41

Aziraphale spotted a familiar figure at the bar.

He was one cup down, the taverna’s house brown having been miracled into something far more palatable. That must be why he called out without thinking.

“Crawly - Crowley?”

Crowley’s back stiffened. Aziraphale cringed and kicked himself.

Crowley didn’t look around. Aziraphale considered forgetting the whole thing and pretending he’d never seen him. Crowley would go along with it, he was sure.

With a surge of feeling, he changed his mind. He crossed the room and sat down beside Crowley at the bar.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, determinedly.

Crowley’s face was stony. He was wearing funny little eyeglasses, opaque and dark, which hid his eyes and made it hard to tell which way his expression would break. Then he softened fractionally and turned toward the angel.

Something in Aziraphale’s chest cracked open. He had to hold it in before it beamed right out of him.

The conversation wasn’t friendly, exactly, but Aziraphale was willing to overlook it. The night was balmy, and the air smelled… honestly pretty ripe, which was normal in this part of town, but in a way Aziraphale had grown fond of. He wanted nothing but to sit and talk with Crowley and share the same atmosphere. The demon had obviously had a bad day. Which was probably a good thing, the wiles of the evil one going unfulfilled and all that. Nonetheless, Aziraphale found himself wanting to cheer him up.

Then Crowley spoke the magic words.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster.”

Well, that tore it. Arrangement be damned, they could be friends for one meal.

~*~

One meal, plus many, many rounds of drinks. The good stuff, this time. Aziraphale barely had to miracle it.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he said, mostly un-slurred.

“Satan’s truth.”

“You’ve never eaten human food?”

“Don’t want to mess around with all that digestion malarkey.”

“Well...” Aziraphale gave a pointed look to the six glistening half-shell oysters arranged in a circle on Crowley’s plate. “I’m afraid your number’s up, my dear.”

Crowley groaned, picked up an oyster and slurped out the contents in one go.

Aziraphale beamed and gave a polite little clap. Crowley downed his wine, refilled his goblet miraculously, and downed it again.

“Oh, that’s weird,” he moaned.

Aziraphale was sure he was just being dramatic. “You clearly have no problem with alcohol.”

“Please. I invented it.”

Aziraphale’s skepticism vanished. He stared at Crowley, eyes enormous. “Gosh, really?”

Crowley coughed. “Well. I was… nearby, shall we say. I was present. I inspired.”

“Well, then.” Aziraphale tipped his glass to Crowley. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” The demon grinned and reached for another oyster. As it went down, his expression changed from smugness to deep regret.

“Maybe I should have started you out on something simpler,” Aziraphale mused. Some nice bread, perhaps. Or an apple. An apple would be nostalgic.

“You saying I’m too simple to eat a ball of fish goo?”

Based on the evidence, yes. Aziraphale cast around for a change of subject. “You know, of the two of us, I think I might be the bigger hedonist.”

Crowley spluttered. “Excuse you? You haven’t even tried sleep yet, what’s that about?”

Aziraphale waved an arm and miracled away the bits of oyster spackling the table. “Oh, sleep. That’s basically just fainting, and not even in a dramatic way. I mean, you’re already lying down when it happens. Nothing daring about it, my dear boy.”

“It’s plenty daring when you’re used to the office politics in Hell! Demons don’t pass out down there recreationally, I can tell you that much. Backstabbing doesn’t cover it - s’no part of your corporation they won’t stab. Best part of being on Earth, if you ask me, letting my guard down for once.” [1]

“So the most novel experience this world can offer you is… boredom?”

“Yeah. Well - not boredom like Heaven-boredom -”

Aziraphale did a good impression of someone who didn’t know what he meant by that.

“- more like… peace. Taking a load off. Even demons need a break occasionally.”

“Hardly sounds like hedonism to me.” Aziraphale took a demure sip of wine.

Crowley jabbed his empty oyster shell over the table. “I can live it up with the best of them. And then I can lie down somewhere very soft and sleep it off.”

Aziraphale, hampered by alcohol, considered this. He knew about dreams now. Sleep didn’t merely involve closing one’s eyes and skipping ahead several hours. Perhaps there was something to be said for turning his corporation off and going to a fantastical plane where Gabriel couldn’t bother him.

The memory of being discorporated came back to him. That endless queue, the brain-numbing white light. Being suspended in the void, like a body quietly washed out to sea. The lack of urgency he had felt. Was that a property of the place, soaking into him, making him docile? Or was it just him?

He shivered. No, maybe dreaming wasn’t for him.

Was it the same for Crowley? He had to imagine Hell’s waiting room was a little... spicier. Maybe it was exactly the same, but demons stood by and pelted you with flaming rocks. Crowley probably had quite a hard time of it, really. It was his own fault, working for The Adversary, but still. Aziraphale had to admit he’d be a nervous wreck if their positions were reversed.

And yet, when he wasn’t trying too hard to be aloof, there was a peculiar jovial optimism to Crowley. A determination to make the most of things. It was as though, faced with a fickle and vindictive Lower Management, he chose to embrace all experiences going, because who knew when they would be taken away? Even experiences that weren’t, objectively, fun. Like eating a slimy fish ball. Or boredom. Or reaching out in friendship to an angel, knowing all he’d get for his pains was his hand slapped away.

Silence descended on the table. Crowley shifted closer, looking awkward.

“Something wrong?”

Aziraphale rubbed his left thumb over his gem, leaving a smudge.

Without meaning to, he said, “I’ve still got your coin.”

The pause returned, with reinforcements.

Crowley took a careful sip of wine. “Yeah?”

“I never called it, of course.” Aziraphale tried to smile. “You probably knew that.”

“I… hoped. Didn’t know for sure.” Crowley’s little black glasses didn’t really hide his eyes. They shifted, flicking from the tabletop to Aziraphale, and fell short of his face every time.

“I’m surprised you gave such open-ended instructions.” Aziraphale gave a brittle laugh. “You know, I could have lied to you. Pretended I’d called it and you lost.”

“You could’ve, yeah. Not very angelic of you, mind.”

“Wouldn’t it bother you? If I showed up one day and told you... that’s it? Time’s up, get off this planet, I’ve got a very commanding coin?”

“You’re asking me how I’d feel if an angel arrived on my doorstep and booted me downstairs? Honestly? Nostalgic.”

Aziraphale blushed.

“Sorry,” said Crowley, making Aziraphale feel worse, because he didn’t know why Crowley was apologising to him. “Look - it wouldn’t be the end of the world, to tell you the truth. That’s a demon’s lot, right? Lone wolf, etcetera. Sometimes you’ve got to read the room, know when you’ve outstayed your welcome. That’s what makes the difference between ‘sauntered vaguely downwards’ and ‘pitched, shrieking, out of the nearest window’. One of them’s much calmer and you get to keep your dignity.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say. He felt far too sober, an experience that had not so far defined this meal.

Crowley reached across the table. Aziraphale thought, delirious, that the demon was about to take his hand. Crowley’s arm faltered at the halfway mark. Instead, he made a jabby motion over the detritus of food and drink littering the table.

“Look. I like this place, but it’s not all that. Smells funny, I can’t understand what the taxi drivers are saying, and I’m sorry, but I’m not getting on at all with this oyster. You’re the one who loves the Earth, angel. Properly loves it. So. Maybe you should get it.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley.

“Poppycock,” he said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

Aziraphale jutted out his chin. “You know what I think? I think you’re afraid of Hell.”

Crowley cracked up.

“Of course I’m afraid of Hell! Bloody - well, Hell! That doesn’t even qualify as an insight.”

“Humans fear the possibility of Hell, you fear the certainty of it. That’s why you won’t admit that you love the Earth just as much as I do. You couldn’t bear it being taken away from you on the whim of some Lord of the Pit. Better it be taken away on my whim. At least then you get time to prepare.”

Crowley looked taken-aback. Aziraphale felt a flare of triumph that instantly nosedived towards guilt.

“I’m sorry, dear boy, that was unkind of me -”

Crowley held up a hand for silence. He took off his dark glasses and rubbed his eyes. It was startling to get a full glimpse of them again. The gold had long ago shrunk down to the size of human irises, with slits for pupils. They wandered over the restaurant, taking in the lounging humans, laughing or squabbling or digging into Petronius’s excellent food. So much invention had gone into this silly little world, where people could lie in comfort and drink wine and bicker and be fond of each other.

The gazes of angel and demon wandered slowly, like amiable drunks, back to their own table, and then to each other. Aziraphale felt as if he’d been briefly hypnotized, but was not unhappy about it. He smiled at Crowley, and saw the demon was wiping his eye.

“They’re funny, aren’t they?” he said, happily. He nodded to the world outside their little pool of candlelight. “So foolish and clever.”

“S’alright.” Crowley returned his dark glasses to his face. He cleared his throat and sunk lower on his seat. “I see ‘em at their worst more than you, mind.”

“I see a lot more venality in my line of work than you might think. But they can be extraordinarily kind, too.”

Crowley nodded. “I know. Still. Be different if I could see through your eyes.”

Aziraphale wished then that they were holding hands. Ridiculous thought. He smiled at Crowley with all the warmth in his heart.

“Your eyes are fine, my dear.”

---

[1] Crowley exaggerated. The armies of Hell hadn’t yet perfected surveillance - that would come when humanity invented electronic devices - but they still popped up in random mirrors and pools, distorted voices booming out when Crowley was just trying to go about his day. It bred an air of paranoia that followed him into sleep. The side-effects were some weird dreams, and the ability to spring from full unconsciousness to fully-dressed and upright, with a winning smile, in less than a quarter of a second. He wasn’t about to let Aziraphale know this, though. It showed weakness and, more importantly, might cost him the argument.

---

(Next part)

[not-a-space-alien]

Exposed

Title:  Exposed

Rating:  Explicit/Mature

Word count: 3,000

Warnings: Explicit descriptions of sex, body horror, body horror, body horror

Summary:  Heaven sends a little reminder about true natures.

On AO3

This work is also available in Chinese thanks to a wonderful volunteer translator :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711192

Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship had been changing.

It changed that first night they slept in the same bed.  It had been the first night after the world had almost ended, and neither of them could bear to part.  But Crowley had gotten into the habit of sleeping, so he’d simply crawled into bed and asked Aziraphale if he wanted to join him, which he had.  Aziraphale made a show of saying he was going to read while Crowley slept, but when the demon woke up the next morning the angel was sprawled out with his mouth hanging open, snoring more loudly than Crowley himself ever had.  So much for being ever-vigilant.

They had slept in the same bed in the past, occasionally, when space or circumstances made it necessary. But this felt different.  It was a step up.

Without consciously agreeing to it, they slept in the same bed the next night.  And the next.  They alternated between Crowley’s flat and the upstairs apartment in Aziraphale’s shop. It became a habit.  It seemed natural.  And in the same way they slipped into something else when they woke up to find that not only were they cuddling, but neither of them really minded it, and would in fact prefer to stay that way for a few more minutes before disengaging.

Things progressed from “accidentally” holding each other while half asleep to going to bed in each other’s arms.  Aziraphale stubbornly insisted on pretending he was ostensibly using the bed as a comfortable place to read, but Crowley could tell he was not actually reading because he never turned the pages and sometimes the book was open but not in his line of sight.

Aziraphale gave that up eventually and put his book on the nightstand when Crowley crawled into bed beside him.  His newly freed-up hands found places on Crowley’s body previously unexplored, at first staying on his chest, then moving gradually lower with each passing night. Crowley eventually switched from sleeping facing away from Aziraphale to sleeping facing him so he could reciprocate.

This, too, seemed natural. Enveloped in the dark, calm safety of a bedroom, with no sensation but the light breathing and warmth of the body next to them, it seemed like it would be natural to do anything together.

And they did.  They started small and worked their way up, testing and laughing when they made embarrassing mistakes but getting it right most of the time and being so, so satisfied with the results.

Much was left unspoken between them.  But their feelings were clear enough.

They were clear to each other, but they were also clear to an interested third party who had been watching this progression with a certain amount of disgust, waiting for the line to be crossed after which punishment was appropriate.

“Get that out of the way, would you?”

Crowley reached behind him and scooted over a potted plant he had left in Aziraphale’s shop.  This made room for his arse as Aziraphale pushed him against the counter, kissing him deeply with his arms firmly around him, leaning him back.  Crowley returned the kisses hungrily, his fingers working at the hem of Aziraphale’s ugly jumper, eager to begin.

“Go ahead,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley ripped the jumper off, impatient to get it out of his sight. He attacked that horrendous tie next, unraveling it while Aziraphale’s hands worked at Crowley’s expensive trousers.

Clothing was one of the things they had never been able to see eye-to-eye on, but luckily it played no part in their plans.

“Upstairs,” said Aziraphale simply when it became obvious they could not continue where they were, in view of the shop window.  He made sure the door was locked while Crowley scampered upstairs, shedding his coat and shirt on the banister.

He hopped up onto the bed in just his trousers, and Aziraphale came in behind him, shutting the door, pulling them into that bubble of safety and comfort once again.

They continued on the bed. Crowley lay back, and Aziraphale straddled him, leaning over to kiss him greedily.  Crowley struggled to get Aziraphale’s shirt off while the angel did not cooperate, focusing instead on running his hands down Crowley’s body. He elicited a delicious curve of the spine and a sharp intake of breath when his hands reached the small of Crowley’s back, and he used the space to cup his arse.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments.

“You’re so beautiful,” said Aziraphale, lowering himself to murmur it in Crowley’s collarbone.

Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s hair.  “I dunno, my body’s a bit funny-looking compared to yours.”

“I love everything about you,” began Aziraphale.  He planted a kiss on top of his head.  “Your dark hair.”  Another on his forehead.  “Your magnificent brain.”  Another on the bridge of his nose.  “Your cute little nose.”  A full-on kiss on the lips.  It was a few minutes before they pulled apart so he could say, “Your absolutely delightful and kissable lips.”

He moved down to Crowley’s shoulder.  “Your collarbone, right here.”  Lower. “Your tummy.”

“Tummy,” Crowley repeated.

Aziraphale snorted a little. “Is that not dignified enough?”

Crowley raised himself up, hips grinding against Aziraphale, pressing his erection against him. Aziraphale let out a small noise.

“Nothing about this is dignified,” Crowley answered.  “And that’s why we love it.”

Aziraphale, shaking with barely suppressed desire, tugged Crowley’s trousers down.  Crowley returned the favour.  The pants came off next; then they lay there completely naked and tangled in each other’s limbs, Crowley’s legs wrapped around Aziraphale’s hips and his arms around his shoulders.

“Do you want to do it this time?” said Aziraphale.  “Like we talked about?”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “Put it in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Are you sure?”

“Yes, I want to also.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Blast!” said Aziraphale. “All right, let’s do it.”

“Hold on,” said Crowley. “This is my first time, so we should…”

“Should what?”

“I don’t know.  What did we say we were going to do again?”

“Safety.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale held his hand up and materialized a condom in-between his fingers.  “Is this good?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale lowered it to try and open it, but Crowley snatched it from him and tore it open. Aziraphale resumed kissing him while Crowley unrolled it onto Aziraphale’s erection.  Aziraphale suspected Crowley was taking his time on purpose, lingering on his shaft with those torturous fingertips.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed when he could take the teasing no longer.  Crowley let out a devilish giggle and finally finished up. He lay back, and Aziraphale positioned himself between Crowley’s legs.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Crowley bit his lip to keep from crying out as the penetration happened.  Aziraphale pushed all the way in, barely able to suppress a moan of his own.  They stayed like that for a moment, Crowley’s thighs squeezing Aziraphale’s hips, his hands frantically grabbing Aziraphale’s shoulders, and Aziraphale’s hands planted on either side of Crowley.  Aziraphale lowered himself down to kiss him once again.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale gave a few experimental thrusts, withdrawing and pushing back in with small bucks of his hips. Crowley let out a new and different sound each time, in the throes of pleasure.  His hand found Aziraphale’s and guided it to his own cock. Aziraphale obligingly wrapped his hand around Crowley’s length, but he got revenge for Crowley’s teasing earlier by only making small movements, squeezing it.

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Fuck.  Fuck.”

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to maintain some sense of dignity and suppress the sounds, but the heat and tightness was too much for him.

There was suddenly a change in the sensations.  The warmth was replaced by something cool, and the pressure lessened as though Crowley’s flesh were becoming less coherent somehow, and something was wiggling against him through the condom.  Simultaneously, a sharp pain lanced through his hands.

Aziraphale’s eyes flew open. He was lying on top of something dreadful.  His cock was buried in rotting flesh swarming with maggots and roaches and crawling insects.  A bloated tail patterned with diseased scales was squeezing his midsection, and the arms wrapped around him felt clammy and wet.  White pus and black ooze squelched against midsection, festering decay alternating with patches of spines pricking him.  Aziraphale’s hands were wrapped around some appendage thornier than a cactus, needles sunk into his skin all the way up to the base.

And the face.  Oh, God, the face.

Never in 6,000 years had Aziraphale ever had an erection wilt as fast as his did now.  Aziraphale pulled away immediately.  The monster in the bed with him flailed, letting out inhuman sounds, raking tracks in the mattress with its claws.

Aziraphale could not suppress the cry of distress that welled up in his throat.  Crowley’s bestial eyes flashed on him.

The demon dissolved with a shriek, exploding into maggots and flies that flowed away in every direction almost instantaneously.  They disappeared through the floorboards, the cracked window, under the door, and between the ceiling tiles.

Aziraphale lifted his hands, dismayed.  Blood welled from the cuts in his hands and streamed down his forearms.  He cursed.

“Crowley?”

When he did not get a response, he went to the loo, holding his bloodied hands upright, trying not to get blood on the floor.

He flicked the light on with a miracle.  Red droplets dripped into the sink as he turned the water on, trying to wash the cuts out.

He cursed as he felt something writhing near his groin.  He looked down to see a few maggots were still writhing on the condom, and he tore it off, brushing himself off with repulsion.

“You disgusting little creatures!” he said, stomping on one.

He went back to washing his hands, trying desperately to clean himself off, trying to wash that revolting feeling off himself. He healed his hands with a miracle, unable to bear it any longer.  Then he jumped in the shower, steaming hot water scalding him, but he stood under it for a solid five minutes until his skin was bright red, anything to flush that memory out of his mind.

He shut the water off. And then he stood there in the billowing steam with his arms around himself.

Aziraphale’s answering machine kicked on without the phone even ringing first.  “Hello?  Aziraphale? This is Gabriel.”

Aziraphale let water drip off from his hair.

“Did you like that?” said Gabriel.  “You seemed to be getting quite cozy with your adversary, so we thought it might be a good idea to give you a little reminder about his true nature.”

Aziraphale tensed up.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice, Aziraphale?  It’s one thing to fudge your paperwork a bit to make it look like you’re doing more work than you are, but surely you must have realized we would take note of this.  That you were using a demon as your personal whore.  I thought that his human form was probably what was making him palatable to you, so I took it upon myself to remove it so you could see the real him.”

“Stop it,” said Aziraphale sorrowfully.

“I think I’ve made myself plenty clear,” said Gabriel.  “And I won’t iterate this any further.  Goodbye, Aziraphale.  I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

The machine clicked off. Aziraphale stood in the shower as the steam dissipated.

“How dare you?” said Aziraphale.  “What gives you the right?”

Aziraphale stepped out of the shower, getting angry.  He was angry at Gabriel.  But he was also angry at himself.

His eyes fell to the maggots he had smashed earlier, now lying motionless on the floor.

And then he knew what he needed to do to stick it to Gabriel.  He did not really want to do it.  But he could imagine what Crowley was feeling right now, and he knew it needed to be done.

Aziraphale guessed that Crowley would have gone back to his flat, and the maggots on the doorknob of his front door in Mayfair confirmed that.  Aziraphale brushed them off and let himself in without asking.

A trail of dead flies and still-twitching cockroaches led from the front door into the bedroom. Aziraphale braced himself and made his way over.  He miracled the bedroom door open and peeked inside.

There was a lumpy shape trembling under the covers, odd spines poking up here and there.  A forked tail had been hanging down from under the duvet, but when Aziraphale opened the door and let light into the room, it withdrew from sight.

“Crowley?”

“Go away,” said Crowley’s voice.  His voice was warped now, deeper, gravelly, and halting as though he were speaking with a mouthful of broken teeth.

Contrary to instructions, Aziraphale came inside and shut the door behind him.  He fingered the knob idly, trying to decide how to start.

“Crowley,” he said again, softer this time.

A cockroach crawled out from under the duvet.  Aziraphale forced himself to ignore it.

“I can’t remember how to change back,” said Crowley.  “I was always afraid of this happening.”

Aziraphale walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

Crowley shied away. “We both know you don’t want to see me like this, so just get out of here until I’m acceptable again, all right?”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, fingers hovering at the edge of the duvet.  “Come on.  I’ve seen you like this before, remember?”

Aziraphale pulled the duvet back a little bit, exposing a pair of yellow eyes set in a head with horns spiraling out from clammy, decayed skin.  In lieu of tears, black goo oozed from his eyes down his cheeks.

“Don’t try and coddle me, Aziraphale,” said Crowley, hunkering down.  “I can’t even cry properly like this.”

Aziraphale swallowed and reached out, cupping his cheek—or at least, what he guessed was his cheek based on the relative position of his eyes.  He wiped the tar from his cheek with his thumb.

“You’re always acceptable to me,” said Aziraphale.  “Because I love you for the things we share together.  For the way you really are, deep down.”

“This is how I am deep down,” Crowley hissed angrily.  “No matter how I dress myself or how many flats I live in or what kind of alcohol I drink or however many humans or angels I befriend or bloody apocalypses I try to stop—”  His voice cracked. “It doesn’t change what I am.  I’ll never be anything other than a disgusting beast that others want to crush under their heel.  I’ll never be like you or the humans.”

Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley’s horns, caressing his hair.

“Stop it!” Crowley cried, jerking his head away from him.  “Stop pretending like it’s all right!  I know you’re repulsed by me!  Humans walk around with their free will, touching each other and liking each other and I was a fool for thinking I could ever have that.  I’ll never have anything like that.  I’m no different than Hastur is.”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “You can have me.  Would that be so bad?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to be human or angel, Crowley.  You can just be what you are—without shame or guilt.”

The duvet fell down as Crowley reared up.  “No shame? Are you serious?  Look at me.  Look me in the eye and tell me you like me like this.”

Aziraphale braced himself, wrote the outfit he was wearing off as a loss, and crushed Crowley in a hug.

He felt something seeping into his shirt as he did so, but he didn’t dare look down to see what it was. He also felt insects squirming on his arms, but he endured it.

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s deformed body relax in his arms, then begin to shake with silent sobs.

“It’s all right,” said Aziraphale.  He drew back to see that Crowley’s eyes were leaking black ooze again.  He tried to wipe it off with his sleeve.

Crowley let out a choked laugh and said, “Looks like I finally found something that will make you not want to wear that horrible outfit again.”

Aziraphale stood and faced Crowley, taking his jumper off.

Aziraphale’s true form was normally quite large, but he forced it to manifest small enough that he would still fit in the room.  His body vanished, leaving a figure glowing faintly, one with four different faces and hoofed legs.  Crowley watched with blurred vision.

Aziraphale folded his strangely bent legs to kneel by the bed.  His lion’s mouth brushed lightly against Crowley’s shoulder.

“We aren’t human,” said Aziraphale gently, his voice reverberating softly.  “There’s no point in trying to pretend that we are, no matter how much we love this planet. You’ll cause yourself nothing but misery trying to be something you aren’t, Crowley.  You are a demon, and you always will be.  But what makes you different from someone like Hastur isn’t your body or your appearance.  It’s your heart.”

Aziraphale’s oxen nose brushed Crowley’s head.  “I love everything about you.  I love your stringy hair.”  He nosed at his horns next.  “I love your horns.”  He moved on to Crowley’s cheek.  It took all his willpower to touch it, but he did it.  “I love your face.  I love your nose and your yellow eyes.”  He nosed his shoulder, carefully.  “And I think I can even love all the spines and pointy things all over you.  The point is I love you, Crowley.  However you are.”

Crowley threw his arms around Aziraphale, burying his face in his chest.  Aziraphale returned the gesture, this time getting muck and bugs all over his true form.

“Come on,” said Aziraphale. “We don’t need to be so overdramatic.”

“Sorry,” said Crowley, sniffling.

Aziraphale lumbered up onto the bed, curling up around Crowley.  “Why don’t we go to sleep like we usually do, hm?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley balled up in Aziraphale’s flank, wrapping his tail around himself.  Aziraphale draped his wings over them both, all six pairs, and they remained like that in their tent of safety and comfort until they were good and ready to face the world again.

Now with an illustration owo

[not-a-space-alien]

Aziraphale’s Legion, Part 10: Feast

Art by @petimetrek (link for bigger version cause tumblr compresses it)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Series masterpost 

On AO3

Crowley excused himself from the clean-up job halfway through and did not return.  Aziraphale thought he had probably found some excuse to get distracted and stay inside the shop, since he had been complaining that Aziraphale wouldn’t let him use miracles to get most of it done.

When the job was finally finished, everyone joined him to go back inside, dirty and sweaty.  As soon as he opened the door, a delicious scent wafting through the air hit his nose.

Aziraphale went upstairs and popped his head into the kitchen in the adjacent flat to see Oryss at the hob stirring an enormous pot.  Crowley was there too, tossing a salad, as well as an angel who was balancing two trays of dinner rolls on his arms and seemed to be listening to some directions Oryss was giving him.

“What’s this?” said Aziraphale.

“Angel!” said Crowley. “Oryss wanted to cook dinner for everyone tonight.  Thought it would be nice to celebrate and all that.  Wouldn’t do to leave her in the kitchen all by herself with all these mouths to feed.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “That’s wonderful.”

“My lord,” said Oryss shyly, and with her gesture Aziraphale realized he was in the way.  He stepped to the side, and Adramelech came into the kitchen past him carrying an enormous bag of potatoes, which he set about washing off.

“Ah, anything I can do to help, then?” he said.

“You could take a bath,” said Crowley, gesturing with the salad fork.  “You’re filthier than those potatoes.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, drawing a nice hot bath and finding it so relaxing that he accidentally fell asleep in the tub.  He was only woken by Botis’s concerned queries as to his wellbeing.

It was starting to get late by the time he came out, and they were still working in the kitchen. There was only one oven, and he suspected they must be cheating judging by the amount of food coming out.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” he asked Crowley, who was rolling croissants on a tray.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a low hiss.  “You shouldn’t help cook.  You’re the lord; it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh,” said a disappointed Aziraphale, who had been picturing a small accident in which Crowley smudged something sweet on his face and Aziraphale was responsible for cleaning it off, perhaps with his tongue.

He shuffled out of the kitchen, not feeling much like a lord of anything.  He eventually lost himself in a book in his study, although he found it especially difficult to concentrate when they started dragging furniture around.

When it began to grow dark, Botis appeared in the doorway, still fully dressed in his armor.  He saluted.  “Lord, I was sent to inform you dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Botis,” said Aziraphale, sliding his chair back, quite hungry by now.

He followed Botis into the flat next door.  The dining room had not been big enough to hold such an enormous banquet table or this many people, he was sure.  Angels and demons lined the table and the walls. The demons all cheered when he came in.

“Goodness,” he said to Botis quietly.  “What are they cheering me for?”

“Our lord has kept us alive and safely seen us through a battle with an archdemon,” Botis answered him.

“I didn’t really do anything, though.”

“Lord,” said Botis, directly into his ear, pushing him towards the head of the table, “it is a rule of thumb that one never gets anywhere in Heaven, Hell, or Earth without taking credit for things they are not responsible for.  Let them celebrate.”

He noticed with astonishment that everyone was here.  The entire garrison of angels had gathered alongside his demons, and they were mingling.  Rosia and Rava were feeding each other pieces of fruit, and the angel and demon Aziraphale had caught in the closet before were getting just a bit too handsy for public view.  Adramelech was trying to explain something about the food to the angel next to him, who listened with the bare minimum of polite interest, more focused on the turkey leg that was just barely out of reach now that someone had moved the tray.  Even Victoria, who had been in the habit of staying relatively aloof, was there in the kitchen doorway helping Oryss bring in the remainder of the food.  Maltha and Beth were squished together in one chair, their words lost in the general buzz of conversation, but looking very content with each other.  Noah was sitting on Adam’s lap, drinking what Aziraphale sincerely hoped was apple juice out of a wine glass.  And Michael was in the corner, holding Angelo’s hand, and for once nobody looked nervous around him.

And there was Crowley, his beloved demon, smiling at him with those glittering yellow eyes, in the seat next to the head of the table. He felt his heart swelling.

He took his seat and watched as the last few trays of food came out. The table was, if anything, too small. It reminded Aziraphale of a feast he had been to in ancient Greece.  It was the only thing he had been to that rivaled this atmosphere.  

A few years ago—even a few weeks ago—he would never have believed this were possible.  And here they were.

“That’s everything,” Oryss said, nudging a wine bottle aside to make room for a bowl of rolls.

“Let’s give our compliments to the chef, everyone,” said Aziraphale, and the room erupted in cheers and applause. Oryss gave a slightly embarrassed bow.

As everyone scooched their chairs in and piled food onto their plates or poured drinks, Aziraphale felt like it would be proper for him to say something.  He tapped a fork on his wine glass until everyone settled down, looking at him expectantly.

It was only then that he realized he did not know what to say.   “Ahm…  A toast!”

He lifted his glass, and all the angels and demons followed suit.  “A toast to…” he continued.  “To, ahm…”

He looked over at Crowley, who had amusement dancing in his yellow eyes.  Aziraphale knew then what he wanted to toast.

“To love,” he said.

Everyone murmured low approvals, tapping their glasses against each other, and drinking.

Aziraphale regained his seat, preparing to tuck in.

“Hold on,” said Michael. “Aren’t we going to say grace?”

The room fell coldly silent. Aziraphale had no idea what in Michael’s fever-brained mind would have made him think that was an appropriate suggestion.  Even Victoria was cringing, waiting for the reactions of the demons in the room.

“Actually…” said Oryss. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Murmurs and whispers peppered the room.

“If the angels are used to saying grace before they take their meals,” said Adramelech, “then we can suffer through it for their sake.”

“Really?” said Aziraphale.

“Why not?” said Abraxas. “It’s merely a formality.  It’s not like He actually pays attention to it.”

Nobody made any objections.

“All right, then,” said Aziraphale cautiously.  “Let’s join hands.”

Hands reached out and found each other, from beside one another, across the table, across the aisle, occult and ethereal beings partaking of a gesture that had probably never occurred before in history.  Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in one and a second angel’s in the other.

Aziraphale bowed his head, and everyone else followed suit.

After a few seconds of silence, Aziraphale lifted his head to look at the room

Everyone had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Except Maltha.  She was holding Beth’s hand, but she had flatly refused to take the hand of the angel next to her, and she was staring straight into Aziraphale challengingly.

Aziraphale gave her a pleading look.

He felt a tentacle in his brain as Maltha inserted her thought directly into his ears without speaking.  I’m the only one here who looked God Himself in the eye as I fell, and I will die before I bow to Him even one more time.  You’ll be waiting a very long time indeed unless you proceed without me.

Aziraphale looked at the faces of the lesser demons around him, heads bowed in respect for someone who had rejected them, and he could sense that perhaps they had wanted to do this all along, but like Oryss approaching Michael, they had been too scared and needed his help.

But Maltha.  She was too proud.  That was just who she was.

Aziraphale nodded at her. That’s fair.

He bowed his head once more and began.  “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts…”

The generic grace prayer seemed ill-fitting for this group. But what he really wanted to say, he could never say aloud in this company.  So he started a separate prayer in his head, sincerely, that maybe God would listen to.

Lord God, I know I cannot question your ineffable judgement.

“…which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Be present at our table, Lord.”

But I care very much for those around the table with me here now.  They are kind and merciful and so good.  I do not know why you would cast them out…

“Be here and everywhere adored.  These mercies bless and grant that we may feast in fellowship with Thee.”

...But perhaps you could find it somewhere, in your infinite mercy and grace, to forgive them—forgive us all—and to bless this strange gathering.

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.  In the name of God, the gracious, the merciful.  Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone murmured.

Angels rarely pray directly to God, because they simply get their directions from their supervisors and few of them have anything important enough that they would dare speak to God about. And God does not really speak to one, per se.  When He wants to communicate with someone, He puts His words directly into the recipient’s brain, similar to what Maltha had just done, except He does not put words in, because that would not be ineffable enough.  When one hears from God, they more are left with a sort of impression that they just suddenly remember hearing Him speak a few seconds ago, and are now left with whatever thoughts and feelings they would spawn from hearing that, since He presses it directly onto their brain in a way that’s hard to describe.

And the feelings Aziraphale had as soon as he finished his Amen were associated with the following message God sent to answer his prayer:

Fuck off, you disgusting little creature.

Aziraphale’s hand clamped on Crowley’s, so hard Crowley flinched.  Whatever opportunity there might have been to say something to the group as a whole after the prayer was lost as the meal finally began amid the clinking of silverware and the buzz of conversation.

“Angel, are you all right?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes roved the dining hall, then finally came to rest on Crowley, bewildered. Crowley’s serpentine eyes grew serious with concern.  “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…”

“Did…”  Crowley returned his grip just as fiercely.  “Did He answer you?”

It was a mistake. Just a mistake.  He had gotten a message intended for somebody else.  Haha.  Of course God wouldn’t have said something like that to Aziraphale.  Not to him. He was an angel. That kind of talk was only reserved for demons.

Right?

“Angel?  Talk to me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed.  A demon nearby put down their silverware and looked at him with concern.

“He said something I rather did not expect,” said Aziraphale quietly.  “But I would prefer not to share it.”

Crowley squeezed his hand again.  “Okay.”

“Now why don’t we enjoy this delicious meal our friends have prepared for us?” said Aziraphale.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Aziraphale’s phone rang.

Aziraphale’s phone never rang.  His number was not really a secret, but there were not many people who wanted to get ahold of him.  He had thought all of them were here with him.

He still had on the generic ringtone, and its beeping was barely audible in the loud room, but it was insistent.  He felt his stomach sinking deeper with each ring, as though the call would be from God himself.

“Angel, you’re phone’s ringing,” said Crowley.

“I-I’d better take this.  Please continue on without me,” said Aziraphale. He stood and wobbled out of the room unsurely, holding the vibrating device in his hand.

Crowley watched him go, concern growing in the pit of his stomach.  In his absence, Crowley made do with sucking down the hors-d’oeuvres.

Relax, he told himself.  Just relax.

Crowley had no idea what response to his prayer Aziraphale could have gotten to unsettle him, but surely it couldn’t have been that bad, right?  Otherwise God would have smitten them all by now.  Surely it was just something that startled him.  And that phone call could be from anyone.  A human customer, even.  There was nothing to worry about.

He should just enjoy the meal.  Everyone seemed to be having a good time already.  He took a breath and steadied his nerves, determined not to be shaken so easily.  He reached for the wine, poured himself a glass, and began to drink it, resolved to enjoy the evening if it killed him.

Botis appeared in Aziraphale’s seat.

“Botis,” said Crowley, eyeing him strangely.  “You can take your armor off, you know.”

“I’d rather keep it on, sir,” said Botis.  “I’m going to keep watch after I’ve eaten.”

“….all right,” said Crowley, thinking it was rather unnecessary, but knowing personal defense of his lord seemed to be Botis’s hobby.  And with that phone call, who knows, it might be a good idea…

“Sir,” said Botis, colouring.  “I…um, I didn’t recognize you until I saw you in your armor.  With your staff.”

“Recognize me?”

“The healer.  The only healer besides Maltha who fell.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to flush red.  He had never been treated very well once other demons found out he was a healer. “What’s your point?”

Botis ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword.  “I…I was among the group of angels who pressured you to join the rebellion in Heaven.”

A shockwave of recognition flashed through Crowley.  Take away the horns…Yes, he had known him as an angel.

“You must hate me,” said Botis.  “I’m so, so sorry.  If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have done it.  We were all young and stupid.”

Botis had a look of genuine sorrow and distress on his face.  Crowley could tell it had been eating at him.

He put a hand on his shoulder.  “Botis, that is quite literally ancient history.  I think you’ve redeemed yourself by now.  The way you threw yourself in front of me and Aziraphale when you thought we would have to fight Agares is plenty.”

Botis’s face dissolved into relief and happiness, but he suppressed it with a serious expression soon enough.  “Thank you, sir.  I’m just doing my duty.”

“Of course you are.  Now, why don’t you get smashed while you have the opportunity?”

Botis saluted and marched off.

Aziraphale did not come back for a worrying long time.  Crowley sipped his wine slowly, tension building in his stomach.  Victoria caught his eye, staring at him from down the long table.

Crowley broke eye contact and went back to his wine, but Victoria got up and navigated the crowded space to him anyway.

“Is everything all right, Crowley?” she said, slipping into Aziraphale’s empty seat.  “You look nervous.”

“Aziraphale got a phone call,” he said.

“Oh,” said Victoria, “is that all? For a minute I thought you were concerned Michael was going to start a fight.”

Crowley looked over at Michael. He could not help but notice the archangel was not eating anything and was starting to look like he was enjoying the meal progressively less and less. Crowley hadn’t been concerned about that before Victoria mentioned it, but he was now.

“I wanted to reassure you I’m committed to making sure everything stays peaceful,” said Victoria.

Crowley nodded. “Thanks.”

Victoria’s fingers idly reached out for a handful of grapes on the table.  “So why is it so concerning that Aziraphale got a phone call? Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know.  Not many people have his number.  I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

“Intuition?”

He shook his head, then occupied himself with emptying his wine glass to avoid meeting the power’s eye. She had taken another handful of grapes by the time he set it back down.  “Hey, Victoria?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“What for?”

“For saving my life when Kabata attacked us. When we showed up in Heaven and you took me back down and got Raphael to treat me.”

“Oh, that?  It already feels so long ago.”

“Yeah.”

“I was just doing my duty.”

Crowley peered into his empty wine glass, swirling the remnants on the bottom.  “To be honest, Victoria, when I opened the portal to get into Heaven, I didn’t expect anyone to save me.  I figured the odds of anyone in Heaven being both willing and able to treat a demon’s injuries and being available right then and there were low enough.  And that was assuming the person at the gate cared enough about me to try and keep me alive, if they didn’t actively kill me first.  When I saw you come out, I half expected you to take Aziraphale off me and then leave me there to die on Heaven’s doorstep.”

Victoria flushed with embarrassment.  “Crowley, you really think I’d do that to you?”

He did not dare look up to see her expression.  “It wouldn’t be the first time Heaven’s gates closed on me when I needed help.”

“You thought Heaven would let you die, but you still went there?”

Crowley looked away, pretending like he was trying to find a refill for his wine glass.  “I knew you’d save Aziraphale.  He may not be very popular, but he’s still an angel.  I figured at least one of us could survive the attack.”

Crowley took the ensuing silence as a cue that he should finally look up at her.  He was shocked to find that her eyes were watering.

“Crowley, I had no idea demons were capable of such selflessness.”

He could have been insulted by it, but he knew she had meant it as a great compliment.  He did not know how to respond.  So he lifted his wine glass and tipped it to get at the leftovers on the bottom.

“Crowley, you are a creature of great honour and nobleness,” said Victoria, holding out her hand. “I’m so glad that I could get to know you.  I’d save your life again in a heartbeat.”

Crowley looked down at her hand; it took a moment to realize she wanted him to shake it.  He took it, slightly embarrassed, not feeling very noble at all.  “Erm, thanks.”

After the handshake was over, they both just sat there, slightly awkward.  Victoria sniffled and pushed her chair back.  “Well, I’d better—I’d—Look, your friend wants to talk to you.”

He saw that Maltha was motioning to him to come over.  

“I’d better go see what she wants.  Thanks, Victoria.”

“Hey, um, Crowley?”

He turned back towards the angel.

Victoria refused to meet his eyes.  “Your friend. Beth.”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell her it’s orange?”

“What is?”

“My favourite colour.”

He smiled.  “All right, Victoria.”

Crowley navigated his way through the packed room until he could wheedle his way into the space in front of the archdemon.  “What is it?”

“I was just talking to Beth,” said Maltha.

“Maltha told me that all demons have an animal form,” said Beth.

“Er, yeah,” said Crowley. “Nobody’s really sure why, it just kind of works out that way.”

Maltha downed an entire glass of wine in one go and then continued, “Yes, and I told her—”

“I asked her what your form was—” Beth slurred.

“But I didn’t tell her—”

“She made me guess—”

“She thought—”

“Shh, babe, I want to tell him!” said Beth, slapping Maltha’s arm.

It was at this point that Crowley noticed the gaggle of empty wine glasses surrounding the pair and their flushed faces.  “Are you two drunk already?”

“Yes,” said Maltha, while Beth simultaneously answered, “No.”

“How are you finding the wine?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Crowley,” said Maltha as more wine appeared in her glass.  “Of all the things I put effort into learning about in my time on this plant.  Planet.  Alcohol was not one of them despite my fondness for it. Once I tried to get drunk off of sparkling grape juice.  Beth had to explain to me why it wouldn’t work.  That’s why I keep her around.”

“Awww, babe,” said Beth as Maltha shook her with drunken revelry.

“My point is I don’t know good wine from grape juice,” said Maltha.  “Anyway, that’s not important.  I made her guess what your animal was—”

“I thought you were a cat,” said Beth between bouts of laughter.

“A cat?” Crowley exclaimed. “No, no, no.  If anyone were a cat, it would have to be Abraxas, wouldn’t it?”

Maltha sloshed wine out of the glass in her hand as she leaned in closer to Crowley.  “Abraxas thinks I don’t know what her animal form is, but I do.”

“Erm…” said Crowley. The two of them apparently found it totally hysterical, because they were having trouble breathing between fits of giggling. Abraxas was across the room letting Mittens eat turkey off her plate, too far away to hear them.

“Tell him,” said Beth.

“A mouse,” said Maltha in a strangulated voice.  “She’s a mouse.”

“What?  No!” said Crowley.

Maltha nodded and waved her wine glass.  Beth had been trying to give her a refill and missed.

“No wonder her cats like her so much,” wheezed Maltha.  “They’re probably waiting for her to turn her back so they can eat her.”

“And I wanted to ask you,” said Beth.  “Crowley, since you’re a snake—”

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, don’t say it.”

“Have you ever eaten a mouse?”

“Well of course!” said Crowley, a tad irritated.  “I had to eat while I was in a snake’s body, didn’t I?  Couldn’t exactly prepare a sandwich with no hands, could I?”

“No, no, I meant while you were in a human body.  You suppress those reptilian instincts all the way?”

Crowley grabbed the wine bottle out of Beth’s hand as she spoke and took a swig from it.  “I’m not answering that.”

“You did, didn’t you!” said Beth, unimaginably delighted.  

“I’m not answering that.”

“Hey, Crowley, are you all right?” said Maltha.

“Your girlfriend is harassing me.”

“No, seriously, though. You look a little…”  One of Maltha’s red pupils drifted off to the side drunkenly while the other remained fixed on Crowley.  “On edge?”

Crowley set the wine bottle down.  “Maltha, you’re the only one in this room who can protect us, but you’ve gotten too drunk to walk straight.  I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”

Maltha put a hand on his arm.  “Crowley, I can sober up at the drop of a hat.”

Crowley flushed with embarrassment; he had nearly forgotten about that.

“Nobody can get in at us.  And I’m sure by now word of Agares’s death will have spread, and that will make everyone think twice about coming after us.  I wouldn’t be surprised if even more came over to our side because of it.  Nobody is going to attack us so quickly after that. We’re as safe as we can be right now. Relax.  Enjoy yourself.  You’re always so tense.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that Aziraphale got a phone call.”

“Why is that a problem? Expecting trouble?”

“Only because it always seems to chase me.”

Maltha agreed that was fair enough and left him in his tension.  Beth also remarked about Michael’s apparent decline with concern, which did not help his nerves at all.

As time passed and the food disappeared, the wine bottles emptied and refilled multiple times, and the drunken merriment climbed higher and higher.  At one point, when there was enough space on the table, some board games came out of the closet and appeared amidst the food, and those nearest entered an intense competition.  Maltha and Beth decided to play as a team, but they wanted to use the dog token, which one of Michael’s angels had.  The angel said he would only give up the dog in exchange for the hat token, but Adramelech had the hat piece and wasn’t willing to part with it no matter what. Maltha ordered him to give it to her on her authority as an archdemon, but Adramelech said the sacred ritual of dibs was of utmost important on Earth and superseded even Hell’s authority. Maltha looked taken aback and believed him, and Beth couldn’t explain anything to her because she was laughing too hard.  The Monopoly game started considerably later than the game of Sorry! across the table, which was already in full swing with several murderous eliminations in the bag by the time someone had purchased their first property.

Crowley found himself unable to take Maltha’s advice and let himself relax.  Michael got up halfway through the festivities and exited briskly, Angelo chasing after him a minute later.  And Crowley kept his eye on the door, hoping Aziraphale would come back soon and tell him the call had just been a wrong number or something.

Aziraphale moved to the bedroom to answer the call, but it was too late and it went to voicemail.  The caller did not leave a message, but his phone vibrated in his hand with a call from the same number a few seconds later. He had to steady himself for a few deep breaths before flipping it open.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s blood turned to ice.  He knew that voice.  He had taken orders from it.

“Camael.”

There was an animalistic hissing on the other end of the line.  “Do not call me that.”

“Kabata, then.”

There was silence, as though he hadn’t expected getting Aziraphale to use his preferred name would be so easy.  Aziraphale felt like he wanted to catch up.  Haven’t spoken in a while.  How’s it been?  How’s life as a demon?  But he thought that it would be inappropriate.

“I know you have the antichrist,” said Kabata.

“I’m not denying that I do.”

Another pause. Perhaps Kabata was struggling because he was still new at being evil.

“Give him to me.”

Aziraphale actually had to stifle a laugh.  “No, I’m afraid you won’t get him that easily.”

“What happened the last time we met wasn’t personal, Aziraphale.”

“‘What happened’?  You mean when you tried to murder me and Crowley?”

Another hesitation. “Yes.  But I don’t have any interest in getting revenge on you, Aziraphale. I want the throne.  Now that Agares and her crew aren’t lurking about, you and I can talk about it.”

Aziraphale choked back laughter again.  “Kabata, you just fell.  Doesn’t that seem a bit…ambitious?  You’re competing with archdemons who have served under Satan for millennia.”

“I’m aware,” snarled Kabata. “Which is why I need the antichrist. If I can ignite the apocalypse with his son, Satan’s forces will have no choice but to recognize me.”

“You’re seriously trying to convince me to just give him to you?  Surely you must know that won’t work.”

“Well, I’m not just asking for him,” said Kabata.  “I’m offering you a deal.”

“…a deal?”

“You can be my second in command in Hell.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll let you keep all your demons.  Unharmed. Just as they are now.  I’ll personally guarantee Crowley’s safety against any of those still thirsty for his blood after what he did.  I’ll even let you keep any of those angels who strike your fancy.”

Aziraphale considered it. Just for a moment.  He wasn’t proud of that.

“Ahh…” said Kabata. “I see I’ve struck a chord.  I know what it is you want.”

“No, Kabata,” he said.  

“I’m not going to hurt Noah. I’m going to give him power. Aziraphale, there’s so much we could gain from this.”

“I will not ever participate in any plan that involves the destruction of Creation, do you understand?” Aziraphale shouted.  “That’s always been the point.”

“Please reconsider.”

“Kabata,” he said through gritted teeth, “I am currently sitting in a building laced with occult sigils that bar your entry, surrounded by a legion of Heaven’s finest warriors, including the archangel Michael—who I might add has been raring to kill an archdemon for weeks now—as well as a horde of demons that would die fulfilling my commands if I needed them to, and the archdemon who almost bested Satan for his throne while he was still alive. And you are alone, newly fallen, and have made enemies of everyone powerful in Hell already since you’re competing for the throne.  I very much doubt you have any ace up your sleeve.  If you want the new antichrist so badly, you are free to come and try to take him.”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath after this outburst.  Kabata was silent.

“Even when I had authority over you, you never did as you were told, Aziraphale,” said Kabata’s voice, which seemed to ooze out of the telephone and prick his neck with a slimy tendril.  “And when you’re at your lowest moment, when you’re asking yourself why things turned out this way for you, I want you to remember it’s because you do not do as you are told.”

The line went dead. Aziraphale kept the phone at his ear for a few extra moments, his mind racing.

He snapped it shut, wishing he had not gotten quite so mouthy.  Kabata had deserved it, but still.  He lay back on the bed and sat there for a while, his head in his hands, feeling positively overwhelmed, not sure what to do.  

He lost track of time as he lay there.  He heard heavy footsteps thump in the hallway, and he levered himself upright just in time to see Angelo scurrying past the room looking concerned.

“Is everything all right?” Aziraphale called.

Angelo stopped.  “Oh. Um.  Yeah, everything’s fine.  Michael’s just not feeling so well.  All the noise was getting to him. We’re going to keep watch on the roof.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, thinking that might be a good idea.  “All right.  Thank you. Let me know if you see anything.”

Angelo disappeared. Aziraphale flopped back onto the bed, then suddenly realized the time.  He’d better go tell everyone about the call so that they could be on alert.

When he walked back into the dining room, he saw that the food was mostly gone, and that several board games had appeared.  The group closest to him was boisterously fighting over candy-coloured money and small plastic houses and metal tokens in the shape of shoes and cars.  

They were all drunk and happy.  He could not bring himself to interrupt them.  He turned back around, going down the stairs quietly, the loud noises and warm smells fading with the distance.

He found Botis in the main shop standing facing the door, silhouetted against the night through the glass shopfront, weakly illuminated by moonlight.

“Evening, lord,” he said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, obviously also a bit drunk.

“What are you doing down here?”

“He’s keeping watch,” said Crowley’s voice behind him, appearing on the staircase.  He padded down the stairs and across the shop, coming up beside them.  “I told him to relax for once, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I just want to be sure my lord is safe,” said Botis.

Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.  “Thank you. Botis, Crowley.  Will you help me strengthen the anti-demon sigils on the shop?”

“Of course,” said Crowley. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ve gotten a call from an old friend.  Nothing to be alarmed about.  But I’d rather make sure he can’t get in.”

Crowley seemed to immediately understand who he meant and did not ask questions.  Botis did not see any point in asking too many questions of his lord, so he also did not ask questions.

They tightened the glyphs so that no demon was able to enter, full stop.  He was sure that Kabata wouldn’t have somehow grown to love the Earth so quickly, not someone like him, but he wanted to take no chances that he would be able to exploit any loopholes the exception might allow.  Aziraphale was sure that everyone was already inside the perimeter, and Botis assured him he would make certain nobody left that evening.

He could have a talk with everyone tomorrow about the change.  There was no way Kabata would be able to get in, no way he could make good on his threats.  And they could pass the night in safety, laughing and drinking, and deal with him tomorrow, whatever pathetic move he decided to try and make.

The universe would have to pull out a lot more than this to scare Aziraphale.

“Michael.  Michael, look at me.  Look at me.”

Michael was panting, his wings drawn out, his eyes half lidded, covered in sweat.

“It’s okay,” said Angelo. “You’re okay.”

“I wanted to kill her,” said Michael.  “Me, I should have killed Agares.  I’m the bearer of divine wrath.”

Michael seemed to have a bit too much wrath built up inside him. Angelo took Michael’s head in his hands. “It’s okay.”

“Metatron said this was going to happen,” said Michael, wiping an eye with his palm.  “That my bloodlust was going to get worse the longer the war was put off.  That I would start to deteriorate.   Because I’m…I’m…”

“How can I help you, Michael?  What do you need?”

“I need to kill something.”

Angelo could only say “It’s okay” so many times when it obviously wasn’t true.  He moved a strand of hair out of Michael’s face.  “I’m here.”

They both caught a spark of light and a fizzle out of the corner of their eyes.  A piece of parchment fluttered down, landing seal-upright.  It was from Gabriel.

Angelo picked it up. It was addressed to Michael, but he opened it anyway. And then he tried to hide it from Michael, but it was too late, because the archangel had been reading it over his shoulder.

“Michael, don’t.”

Michael pushed him off and drew his sword.  “Get out of the way, Angelo.”