#I HAVE NEVER FELT SO ANGRY AT AZIRAPHALE. ANGELS ARE DUMB. VERY VERY DUMB.

[drzone]

oh my god . good omens 2. just take me out back and shoot me like a lame horse why dont you

[perhapsitmaybedragons]

A Congress of Newts and Serpents

Shoutout to cassieoh for the title, which I quite like and never would have thought of on my own.

I really wanted to write Newt getting romance advice from Crowley. It didn’t turn out the way I was expecting it, but I like how it went. It’s quite fluffy and has a very happy ending - one shot only.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944687

Or continue reading below:

“The point is,” Anathema continued, “That you had no right to say that!”

“I'm just saying, maybe we should go back home to discuss this?” Newt glanced at Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale looked concerned. Crowley was smirking in that way that meant he thought he was about to get a lot of free entertainment.

“Home?” She was seething. She grabbed his keys off of the table in the entry way. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I will absolutely see you at home. You can find your own way there.”

She slammed the door behind her and Newt stood there, watching her go. He had some inkling he was meant to chase after her, but another part of his brain was arguing that it was something that one only did in romantic comedies. She would calm down. Eventually. Right?

“What exactly did you do?” Crowley couldn't hide his delight. Sure, he was very kind for a demon, but he was still, at heart, a demon. “I don't think I've ever seen her so mad.”

“It's not like we've known them that long, Crowley,” Aziraphale poked him.

“I just said that I thought it was silly to go around lighting sage in the cottage. She said it would cleanse the air or something, and maybe get rid of demons?” he ran his hand through his already messy hair, somehow making it worse in the process. “I pointed out that might mean Crowley couldn't come around and she said something about well of course it makes exceptions for him he's one of the good guys. And it's just...I believe in science and I don't understand all of this new age stuff. I'm trying, I swear!” He spared a quick glare at the leftovers from tonight's dinner – sage encrusted  chicken. It had brought the fight from this morning right back, after he'd thought they'd already worked it out.

“Well, dear boy,” Aziraphale chuckled. “It may be 'new age' to you, but I can assure you it's existed for centuries. Nothing new under the sun, as they say.”

“Who says that? I don't say that,” Crowley shook his head and went to get himself a drink. They were all in his flat. Aziraphale had thought it would be a good idea to get the humans to come around every so often while they all waited to see if Heaven or Hell would make another move. So far, all that had happened was that they'd learned Newt was a lightweight and that Anathema got angry after just one drink (though she never seemed actually drunk ...just ...angry).

“You do have to meet in the middle,” Aziraphale continued as though Crowley hadn't interrupted him. “It's alright if you don't quite believe the same things, but it isn't kind to patronize.”

“I didn't think I was being patronizing...”

“But you may have come across that way, even without intending it. How long have you known Ms. Device?”

“I mean...we met the day we all had to stop Adam from blowing up the world.”

“So just a few weeks, then. It can be hard to build a relationship that quickly.”

Neither one of them could see Crowley rolling his eyes behind his shades. “It was quick,” Newt admitted. “Do you think it means we're wrong for each other?”

“I think, Newton, that you should go home, get some sleep and talk to Anathema in the morning. Perhaps you should sleep on the couch tonight, let her have the bed,” Aziraphale clapped him gently on the back. “Crowley will take you, since she took your car.”

“I'll take him? News to me. Why don't you take him, angel?”

“I couldn't – what would be the point? I don't have a car. He'd have to take the bus and at this hour those can be impossible to come by!”

“You could miracle one up for him-”

“I will not perform a frivolous miracle when you could just take him in your car,” Aziraphale insisted. “It would be much faster than the bus, anyway. The way you drive, so long as you don't get yourselves into an accident, you'll probably be there and back in half an hour.”

“I'm sorry, so long as we don't get into an accident?” Newt repeated.

He was ignored. “Fine!” Crowley threw his hands up. “I'll take him. Are you going home now, then or did you want a ride, too?”

“No, no, I thought I'd stay here until you get back. I have some thoughts I wanted to run by you.”

“Fine,” Crowley said again. “You, awkward human,” Newt frowned but didn't correct him. They both knew that Crowley knew his name. “Let's get going. The sooner we leave the sooner I can get back and take a nap.”

“Haven't you been drinking?”

“He's right, Crowley. Sober up, first.”

Crowley groaned and shook the alcohol from his system. “There? Happy? All back in the bottle for later. Can we please just go?” He flung the apartment door open and gestured for Newt to go out. Newt scurried along, out the door, through the hallway, down the stairs and finally to where the Bentley was parked in all its glory. He'd seen the car before, but he'd never been in it. He didn't know very much about cars, but he knew just enough to know this was expensive and old.

He climbed into the front seat and buckled in. Crowley got in on the driver's side and started the engine.

“Wait, don't you need to turn the headlights on?”

“Ugh...if it will make you feel better,” Crowley nodded and the lights came on. Then he reversed the car and headed off in the direction of Tadfield.

“It's just...” The words poured out of Newt before he could think better of it, “I don't see what the big deal is. I really wasn't trying to upset her or anything. I thought relationships were about sharing your opinions. But ...maybe it's not a great idea to form a relationship based on a book...”

“A book?”

“Yeah. Agnes Nutter. She predicted us together. Apparently marriage as well.”

“Ah.”

“So. Stupid reason, huh?”

“Well, yeah.”

Newt hadn't expected that. “But she got everything right! Agnes predicted every little thing we needed to survive. How can you say that it's stupid?”

“Because you said that it's stupid. I was just agreeing with you. Did you want me to say 'oh, no, you're wrong. Perfectly logical to let an ancient witch decide who you should be with and who you should marry. Most obvious thing in the world, that'?”

“Maybe not,” Newt shrunk into the passenger seat, vaguely aware that he was sulking. “I guess it's not as good as overcoming everything you and Aziraphale have, but you can't really compare us – we're just human. I mean, she's a witch but -”

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Crowley had brought the car to an abrupt stop. Newt's whole body jerked as they went from impossibly fast to standing still. He felt a little fuzzy, but fully aware that had Crowley not cushioned the blow that could have done some serious damage to him.

“She's a witch, literally. I'm not calling her names-”

“Not that, I know about her being a witch,” Crowley was acting funny. His tone of voice was bored, like he didn't want to have the conversation. But Newt knew enough about body language to gather that Crowley was very interested in what Newt had to say right now. “What's that about me and Aziraphale?”

“Well, you're together, aren't you? So I figure you had to fight all of Hell and maybe all of Heaven, too, just to be together.”

“We're not,” Crowley didn't finish his argument. “He and I are friends. I mean...really good friends.”

“Aren't you in love with each other?” And now Newt was absolutely baffled. He'd had best friends before. None of them looked at him the way Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Not that he'd ever seen, anyway. “I thought you were together. Anathema-” now he trailed off, suddenly reminded of the fight. “Look, no matter what you two are to each other, I know you've fought before. How did you deal with it?”

“Probably the same way you dealt with fights with your mates in the past,” Crowley started his car back up again but didn't start driving. They were sitting still, parked on the side of the road. He looked deep in thought.

Newt was many things. Awkward, bad with electronics, maybe a little on the odd side. But he wasn't dumb. “Look, if I fight with friends it's never about anything important. And they get loads of time away from me, so if they're mad at me I don't have to worry about going to bed alone.”

“Those aren't things I have to worry about. I mean, I don't worry about going to bed alone. I do go to bed alone... I just don't worry about it, I mean.” The car started moving, but it wasn't lost on Newt that Crowley was driving the speed limit. He wondered for a moment if it was the first time Crowley had ever obeyed traffic laws.

“Fine. Indulge me. Hypothetical. If you and Aziraphale were in love and you had a fight-”

“Why do you need to bring him into this hypothetical? Why not just say 'if you were in love with someone and had a fight with them'?”

“Fine! If you were in love with someone, anyone, doesn't matter who, and they were very angry at you, what do you do about it? Especially when you never put in the ground work to be together in the first place?”

To his credit, Crowley did seem to be pondering the question sincerely. “Complained to the wrong people, mostly.”

“Complained? Not ...would complain? You're talking like you have been in this situation.”

“Not the part about being fated to be together by someone, obviously. Um...you've heard of the,” Crowley snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the correct phrasing. “The friend zone!” he looked triumphant when the word came to him.

“Yes,” Newt said slowly. He'd used the phrase himself as a teen once, and had been quickly reprimanded by his mother. He had learned to be wary of the kind of people who used it.

“That was mine, but it was an accident, swear it. I was just in a bar complaining to someone, and obviously I'd had a bit too much ...I said to this guy, 'you know, an out and out rejection would be fine, but it's not like I haven't been obvious about the whole thing. I may not have said the words but all my actions were you know...implying, and this person is smart, they can do book analysis and tell you why the curtains were blue or some such so why can't they read between the lines for me?' And this ...this asshole comes up with a  story about some girl he was friends with and was being nice to all the time and how she only wanted to be friends and it was obviously the same as my thing, she'd lead him on by being nice to him. And, Newt?”

“Er-yeah?”

“I was just drunk enough and feeling just evil enough to goad him on with that. That was...I want to tell you the seventies – the nineteen seventies, but I can't remember for sure now. It was stupid.”

“So who was it then?”

“I already told you. Some asshole in a bar.”

“Not the friend zone guy! Who were you complaining about not realizing you're in love with them?”

“You know damn well,” Crowley grumbled. “Everyone knows except that idiot. Especially all the other people in bars I've complained to for the last several thousand years. He's so clever but he's so stupid-”

“Are you sure you sobered yourself up all the way?” Newt checked that his seat belt was fully secure.

Crowley ignored him. “The point is, Agnes got everything else right so she's probably right about you two. Do you like Anathema?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then take an interest in her interests. You ever seen something that makes her just,” Crowley clenched one fist for emphasis, the other remaining lazily on the wheel, “Just light up? Something that makes her so excited it's like the rest of the world drops away and maybe it does for you, too, because you're so focused on how happy she looks?”

“Once or twice...”

“And you don't want to do everything you can to make her look like that any chance possible?”

“Yes. ...Yes, I do. But I'm a little surprised you're willing to give advice on this. Or talk about it at all. You don't usually say much to me.”

“I talk when there's something worth saying. ...what do you know about glaciers?”

Newt stared at Crowley like he thought the demon had gone completely mad. “Uh- just that they're melting awfully fast, what with the greenhouse gases and-”

“Remarkably slow things. Used to be, at least. Then global warming and the polar bears dying and – not my point. My point is, the glaciers were here when we got here. Him and me, I mean. Him and I? Me and him? ...right, anyway, there's this big one that's been there the whole time and it's moving really slowly. Like ...snails are out pacing this bastard, right? That thing is going to somehow circumnavigate the globe multiple times before he's going to want to talk about us.”

“Us?”

“Not you and I us, me and him us!”

“Oh, right. Right. So are you admitting-”

“Yes, yes, we're past all that. I'm in love with Aziraphale, big whoop, you figured it out. Again, you're not the first one to say something to me about it.”

“And you've ...told him since then?”

“Not technically. We got kind of close to talking about it once... He says I go too fast for him. So if I go too fast and there's a glacier out pacing him, where do we meet in the middle?”

“Is that where the 'glacial pace' phrase comes from? I never thought about it before,” Newt admitted.

“Sorry. We're supposed to be talking about you and your witch, right? Look...I don't know what to tell you. Other than that she's an angry drinker so I would keep the stronger stuff out of the house. You can't be with a person just because a prophetess says you're meant to be. If you want to be with her, it should be because you want to be with her. But make that clear to her.”

“I was trying. That was part of the argument, really. I was trying to point out that my not believing in everything was a good sign for us, because it meant I wanted to be with her for her and not because of Agnes.”

Crowley frowned, “Well, I do actually see your point on that one. But sometimes it matters how it's said.”

Newt tried to look less astonished than he felt. Somewhere along the line, Crowley had decided to take the conversation seriously and actually offer help. Some part of the back of his brain tried to remind him that this was a demon, one who wasn't above still messing with people (though usually in mostly harmless ways). But he couldn't see if this was a trap or not. It seemed like friendly advice.

Judging by how Crowley sped the car back up to his normal speeds (the speedometer was not at an angle Newt could see, and even if it were, they were now going a lot faster than it could measure), Newt figured the conversation was over. Crowley turned the radio on, which went from classical to “Bohemian Rhapsody” without either of them changing the station.

They both pretended to be focused on the music until the car rolled up to Jasmine Cottage. “You'll be all right. I think you're kind of good for each other. Just make sure you're listening, but also make sure she listens to you. When you got together the world was ending so you had to do it quickly, but it's not ending anymore, all right?”

“Yeah, all right,” Newt got out but left the door to the car open. “Crowley? Um. Thank you. For the advice and for being honest with me about you and - ...about your stuff. I hope all that works out for you. For what it's worth,” He wasn't sure he should continue. Newt was very good at putting his foot in his mouth, and he hoped this wasn't another one of those situations. “I think if you spoke to Aziraphale... he might be ready now. You wouldn't be rushing him or anything, not if you just told him what you want to talk about and then let him decide if he wants to have that conversation. I'm pretty sure...look, you don't see the way he's looking at you some of the times, but everyone else has noticed.”

“Whatever you say,” Crowley had adopted that bored tone again. He flicked his wrist and the car door shut itself, making Newt jump back in surprise. But the window was still open. “You and Bicycle Girl have a good night. Hope things work out.”

“Thanks, I-” But Crowley was already driving away. “Thanks, anyway. Right.” Newt squared up his shoulders and headed into the cottage, ready to talk. But he heard a honking noise and realized Anathema was pulling up in Dick Turpin now.

“How did you beat me home?” she demanded as she got out. “I was just about to turn around and go back for you, but I got this feeling that I shouldn't and-” she shook her head.

“Crowley gave me a ride. Literal speed demon, that guy. Look, I wanted to talk to you..”

“I wanted to talk to you! I've done some reflecting and-”

“Anathema?” He interrupted. “I promise I'm going to listen this time, but can we please go inside first? We're literally in the middle of the road here.”

“Right...right.” She moved the car to its appropriate parking spot before they both went inside. And talked. And listened. And talked some more. They took turns talking and listening for the next several hours before they went outside to watch the sunrise the next day, neither of them having gotten any sleep.

“Think we'll be all right?” He asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing.

“Yeah, I think we will.”

Crowley had headed back immediately after dropping Newt off. Aziraphale, as he'd promised, was still in the flat where he'd been left. He'd brought a whole collection of books to keep himself occupied. He was curled up in a chair Crowley hadn't had before today (“Heaven's sake, more tartan?! Crowley thought to himself as he saw the plush chair Aziraphale had conjured up). He was reading an ancient looking book, a steaming cup of tea next to him.

“Crowley! How did it go?”

“S'Alright. I got him home in one piece, anyway.”

“Do you think they'll be alright? Human relationships can be so ...fickle.”

“Angel?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I still moving too fast for you?”

The question hung between them momentarily. Aziraphale sat up and put his book down on the floor. He seemed to be carefully considering his options. “I -what brought this on?”

“Does it matter? We've never talked about it. I am asking if you are ready to talk now – and telling you that if you aren't, it's ok.”

“No, I want to talk about it,” Aziraphale wiggled so that he was sitting up straight. “I'm sorry. You've done so much for me all these centuries and at first I thought – ah, well, this must be a trap. Then we had the Arrangement and I thought, well, fine, he just wants some time off from doing this work. But it was never about that, was it?”

“See, I thought I had been astoundingly obvious about it. Too obvious. Like one of those American John Grisham novels-”

“I don't like John Grishams-”

“I know, I know, cause they lack subtlety and all have the same plot. You've told me. But that's my point, isn't it? You were the Enemy, but you were the enemy who gives away a flaming sword God gave him because the humans might need it. I thought you were intriguing.”

“I'm not sure I'm ready yet. Not fully,” Aziraphale admitted. “I think my feelings are obvious enough at this point?” His eyes met Crowley's. “I hope so, at least. And if not...you can consider this a formal declaration.”

“A formal declaration?” Crowley repeated. He tried very hard not to smirk. The smirk won. “So this is your ...declaration of Intent to Begin Woo, then?”

“Ah, yes, exactly!” Aziraphale looked delighted by the idea. All these centuries and he still didn't always get sarcasm. Or he purposely chose to disregard it, in Crowley's case. Crowley could never be certain which one it was.

“And how would that look?”

“It would be slow, but I could start coming around and bringing you flowers and talking to you about your day-”

“Other than the flowers, how is that different from what we're currently doing?”

“Because my intent is stated, of course!” Aziraphale looked affronted. “And now you know I'm not doing it just to be your friend, though I do still quite value your friendship. I rather like this idea...”

“It does let you set the pace,” Crowley admitted. “I want you to be comfortable with this.”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you. Comfortable enough to suggest that I ...sleep over?” A blush crept to his cheeks, but before Crowley could start teasing, he corrected. “I just mean sleep in this chair. It's quite comfortable. Not the bed. You'd take the bed. But it would make it easier for me to begin my wooing of you.”

“All right, then, Angel. You're on. But I expect to be uh...thoroughly woo-ed starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow morning, then! It's a date.”

[wanderingalicewrites]

So Much Discounted - Chapter 10

Genesis - III

(also on AO3)

Aziraphale returned down the path to the clearing in which he had found Compassion. He half expected that other, angry aspect to have vanished while they spoke, but there he was. Still dressed in the same robes Crowley had worn in Eden, with the gold of Heaven dusted across his skin. He was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, glaring at Aziraphale as the angel came around a bend in the path, the creature riding draped across his shoulders.

“Took you long enough,” the aspect sneered. “Did that goody-two-shoes tell you all about what a mess you landed in?”

“He did.” Aziraphale could feel the anger radiating off of this aspect of Crowley, hot and hard and heavy.

“And I expect you’re looking for a way out?” the aspect asked, scowling. He stood and stalked into the center of the clearing, where the sunlight glinted off of the gold in his skin. “You’re here to ask me how to get back up, aren’t you? Well, surprise, I have no idea. You’re just gonna have to help yourself, like you angels always do.”

The creature hissed around Aziraphale’s neck, its fire flaring as it stared down the angry aspect.

“And what would you know?” the aspect snapped. “You’re just a dumb animal. Instinct and nothing more.”

“It’s been invaluable to me in getting this far,” Aziraphale told him, lifting a hand to stroke the creature, which had started vibrating so hard he feared it might fly apart.

The aspect laughed, harsh and guttural, like nails on glass. “Sure. Sure. Defend that, why don’t you? A monster out of nightmares, and you’re wearing it like a scarf. Do you have any idea what that thing could do if it got out?”

Aziraphale shuddered, remembering the creature as it had been in the cell, an insane mass of negative emotion, attacking anything that came near it with all of its pain. He didn’t even want to imagine the kind of damage such a creature could do, if it had not been contained.

The angry aspect rolled his eyes. “Fucking typical. You have no clue the consequences of your actions, do you? Just like all angels, off living in your own ideal world where everything’s sunshine and rainbows while some of us are struggling just to keep alive without falling apart.”

“That’s not fair,” Aziraphale cried, stung. “I’m not- I- I’ve never-” He wanted to protest, but a voice inside pinched at him, preventing him from speaking. You didn’t think before you lied to him, did you? it asked. You just lied to protect yourself, and Crowley suffered because of it.

The aspect exhaled a violent huff of air and spun on his heel, walking away from Aziraphale. “Whatever. Go on then. Find a way out, if you can. Leave us alone.”

Aziraphale hesitated for just a moment. Then he strengthened his resolve and stood straight and firm in the center of the clearing. “No.”

“No?” the aspect demanded, whirling to face him. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“No, I’m not leaving.” He met angry gold eyes and held his gaze. “I mean to return Crowley to himself, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

“Why?” the aspect snapped, harsh and cold. “What could a demon be to an angel?”

What could a demon be to an angel? That was the question, wasn’t it? He was an enemy and nothing more, if you looked at it from Heaven’s point of view. And yet, he had never really looked at Crowley in that way. They had never been enemies, as such. Merely…. Pieces on opposite sides of a giant chess match. Pieces whose roles had become so intertwined and interchangeable over time that they sometimes took on each other’s moves. But even that was really the wrong way to look at it.

“It’s not like that,” he told the aspect. “It’s not, we’re not ‘an angel and a demon’. That’s just, as Crowley would say, ‘our job description’. And it isn’t even really that anymore. We’re just two supernatural entities that happen to care very much about each other.”

“Care?” the aspect scoffed, but he seemed unable to look away from Aziraphale’s steady gaze.

Aziraphale found himself smiling faintly, remembering how hard Crowley had argued to get him to accept this very thing. And now here he was, their roles reversed. The irony was not lost on him. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Crowley is my dearest friend.” It felt odd, saying that to someone who was both so like and unlike his Crowley. This aspect felt… harder. Certainly angrier. Where Compassion had been like Crowley with the edges filed away, this aspect was all edges and sharp corners, with none of the gentleness he had come to know within his friend.

“There is not one being in this entire universe that I care for more,” the angel added. “I suspect I could not have gotten to this place if that were not the case.”

“And you think I would believe that?” the aspect growled. “You positively stink of Heaven. And I can smell the guilt on you from here. All this,” he waved his hands in the air, indicating the garden around them, the creature on Aziraphale’s shoulders, and the mirror in Aziraphale’s hands. “This is your fault, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale looked down. “Yes,” he admitted in a small voice. “I was… thoughtless, like you said. I didn’t notice how much pain Crowley was in. If I had…” he shook his head and gritted his teeth. “But he’s to blame as well. He knows I’d help him, if he asked. All he had to do was tell me.”

“And what expectation did he have that you would?” the aspect demanded. “Did he even know how much you supposedly care about him?”

“I…” No. The answer was no, Crowley hadn’t known. Aziraphale had kept it to himself for thousands of years, expecting the demon just to infer from the fact that he didn’t leave that he liked being around him. Hell, he’d flat-out told Crowley he didn’t like him that evening under the bandstand. He’d caused his friend so much pain, and he hadn’t even realized until it was too late. The knowledge cut at him deep inside, like knives in his heart, but he had no one to blame but himself.

“I should have been more honest with him,” he admitted. “I expected he would understand without my saying so. I was wrong. I won’t make that mistake again.”

The aspect laughed at him. “You won’t get the chance again. Your demon is gone. All you’ve got left is that thing,” he pointed to the creature. “And some bits of a soul. You’ll never succeed in putting us all back together, and the sooner you accept that the better it’ll be.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “I will not. I refuse. Yes, I should have done better. I should have told him how much he means to me. But I absolutely will not give up on him now. I will put him back together.”

“Oh you will, will you?” the aspect sneered. “Sure, right up until it’s too much effort and you give up. Until you decide that I’m really not worth all this and fuck off back to Heaven where you belong.”

The angel took a long, steadying breath. He had never seen Crowley this angry before. Perhaps it was because his rage was usually tempered by other emotions, or perhaps he simply had better control over himself, but Aziraphale had never thought to see him like this - vibrating with barely contained anger and snapping like a wild animal.

“You don’t remember me,” he told him. “So I don’t expect you to know this. But I do not just give up on things once I’ve started them. I do not give up on people. I have never, not once, given up on Crowley. And I certainly don’t intend to start now. My place, ‘where I belong’, as you put it, is not in Heaven. It’s on Earth, at Crowley’s side. Just as his is at mine. It has been for the past six thousand years, and will be for however long we both exist.”

The aspect stalked forward, leaning in to glare into his eyes. “You say that, and maybe, just maybe I can believe you mean it. But then tell me this, angel. You hold his soul in your hands. Everything he is is right here.” He grabbed the mirror from Aziraphale, holding it up and scowling at its empty depths. “Are you really going to put us back together just the way we were?”

In the glass, an image formed. Crowley, face contorted in anger, screaming at his houseplants.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise at the question. “What? Yes! Of course I am!”

“Really?” the aspect lifted an eyebrow. “When it would be so easy for you to just… scratch in a little change?” He drew one sharp nail down the glass inside an empty circle. “Write out the bits you don’t like and replace them with something else?”

The image in the mirror changed, becoming clouded and faded. The expression on mirror-Crowley’s face went eerily blank.

“No.” Aziraphale snatched the mirror back, scrubbing frantically at the scratch. “No. I like Crowley just how he is. I would never try to make him into something else.” He saw with relief that the scratch had vanished under his fingers. The image of Crowley yelling returned for just a moment, and then disappeared entirely.

“No?” the aspect asked, stalking closer, forcing Aziraphale to take a step back. And then another. And another. “Not even to calm that demonic temper?” His voice was quiet, even, almost emotionless. He took another step. Aziraphale could feel a tree at his back now. “Or remove that pesky stubbornness?” He leaned in, bracing a hand on a branch above the angel’s head. “Or how about that forbidden curiosity, that got him cast out in the first place?” He kept moving forward, until Aziraphale was pressed against the tree, no more than an inch between them.

“No,” he repeated. “That would be wrong.”

The aspect laughed, harsh and bitter. “Sure, sure. Admit it, though. There are parts of him you don’t like. Things that annoy you, hurt you, even anger you. Wouldn’t you like to get rid of them? Make him into the perfect companion? Someone worthy of an angel’s company?”

Pain flared hot within the anger the angel could sense flowing from the aspect, ancient and terrible. This was an old, old hurt. How long, Aziraphale wondered, had Crowley felt like this? How many times had he told himself he wasn’t worthy of Aziraphale’s companionship? And how many times had Aziraphale let him feel that way, because it was easier than admitting that Heaven might have been wrong? Well, that could not, would not continue.

Aziraphale looked up into those angry golden eyes, and brought a hand up to cradle the aspect’s face. “My dear,” he said softly. “You are, and have always been, worthy. I was a fool for not seeing it from the very start. And while you can do some things that upset me, I am certainly guilty of more than a few faults of my own. No one of us is ever perfect. Your faults are a part of you. To remove them would not only be the gravest of violations, it would make you less than you are. I would never do such a thing, even if you were to request it.”

The aspect stayed silent, breathing heavily and staring at Aziraphale as if entranced. Around his neck, the creature vibrated and let out a low buzzing hum.

“You can’t just… cherry-pick the pieces of a person,” the angel continued. “Decide ‘I like them this way, but not that’. That’s not how people work. And even when you say things that hurt me, or make me angry, I still love you. Just as I love you when you drive that infernal car far too fast, or when you ask me uncomfortable questions I don’t want to answer. Which is also just as much as I love you when you make me laugh, or take me to dinner, or do all those wonderful things you do. So no, to answer your question. I will not be leaving out pieces of your soul. I will put you back together exactly as you were, faults and all.”

“Then name me,” the aspect growled. “Tell me, what part of that soul am I?”

That was simple. He knew this one already. “Rage,” he said. “You are Crowley’s anger. And you are as vital to him as his Compassion and his Curiosity.”

Rage leaned in, so close now their foreheads were almost touching. “You would return me to his soul?” he demanded, voice barely above a whisper. “Knowing what I am? That I am an aspect of sin?”

“I would.” Aziraphale told him calmly, and watched those familiar eyes widen in surprise. Rage pulled back, stepping away, and Aziraphale followed, reaching out and taking up his hand. “It’s as I said.” He stroked the back of Rage’s hand with his thumb and guided it down to press his fingers to the mirror, holding them there in the empty circle beside Compassion. “To remove you from him would make him less than he is. I do not love Crowley in spite of his rage. I love him because of it, and every other aspect of his soul.”

“You mean that,” Rage said, wonder in his voice.

“I do. And I am so very, very sorry for all times I made you feel like I didn’t. You have every right to be angry, my dear. At me, at Heaven, at God, and anyone and everyone else that has hurt you. I can only beg your forgiveness for my actions, and hope that I can do enough to earn it.”

Rage sighed, the tension falling from his body. “You have it, angel.” He smiled, a genuine smile. “I think it must be hard for me to stay mad at you for long.” His free hand came up to grip the metal frame of the mirror. “Good luck,” he said as it flashed. “Give that asshole in the center a good kick for me when you see him.” And then, he dissolved into a bright stream of light. When his eyes cleared, Aziraphale saw the sigil for Rage now etched into the glass beside the circle for Compassion.

[vennfiction]

Even Still

A/N: Good Omens fic, also unedited because it’s now 5am ans I feel an urgent need to get this out for some reason. Ineffable Husbands Fluff duh, no trigger warnings I think

Summary: Crowley gets to writing while Aziraphale buys some flowers, each in an attempt to confess 3 little words. They can’t help the onslaught of emotions that seem to come with

Story Text:  Crowley groaned frustratedly at the paper before scrunching it up and throwing it at the wall. This time the pen went with it. He’d been sat there for most of the day and still he had nothing. Throwing himself out of his chair, the demon started pacing around his desk. He was angry, he was fed up and he- He caught sight of his plants out of the corner of his eye. 

“What are you lot looking at?!” He spat at them “Like you could do any better, huh?! HUH?!” Crowley sighed, he was never going to get this done. He knew he had to though, for his own sake, so he grabbed a new pen, sat down, and began writing.

~

Aziraphale took the bouquet and the receipt in his hands, walking off with a smile and a wave to the florist and a plan in his head. He hummed dreamily to himself as he dialled Crowley’s number, grinning when he saw the call pick up.

“Angel!” the demon greeted.

“How are you, dear?” He replied with a chuckle.“

I’m great, just on my way out!”Aziraphale’s smile faltered 

“Oh” he said nervously “Where are you headed?”

“The bookshop of course, Zira, where else? I’ll be around at 7?” and he could hear Crowley laugh as he sighed in relief and agreed with the plans. That man was going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

“Why, angel? You worried about me or something?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he answered, hanging up and tucking the phone back in his pocket. “Something like that,”

~

The angel sighed as he entered the warm, familiar space that was his bookshop. Setting the flowers down near the winerack, he checked the time. “6:30,” he groaned, knowing he still had a half hour before Crowley’s arrival. ‘Well’ he thought, grabbing a book ‘might as well make it an easy wai-’ 

“Angeeel!” A familiar voice sang out. 

Aziraphale didn’t even have time to finish his thought as the shop’s doors were flung wide open. ‘Early? Crowley’s never early...how positively queer.’ he thought, placing his reading down. And he found himself pondering this even as he staggered out of his small back room into the demon’s embrace.

“Well hello to you too dear,” Aziraphale chuckled fondly. “I didn’t expect you so early,”Crowley pulled back slightly 

“Oh uh, I-I do hope it’s okay, I mean I-I can-” 

“It’s absolutely fine, Crowley,” The angel laughed, cutting off his friends rambling. “Now let’s do go in, eh?” 

“Of course, of course,” the demon agreed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he followed after the other. 

~

They walked together through to the small backroom Aziraphale spent most of his time in. He did have a small apartment upstairs but it was, all-in-all, function only. This room, however, was just as warm as the shopfront and even more inviting. The place always put a smile on Crowley’s face and this time was no different. He was snapped out of his thoughts, though, when Aziraphale spoke.

“What wine would you like, dear boy?” Aziraphale questioned, casually.

“You always liked that one we picked up at Isabella and Ferdinand’s wedding in 1469. Do you still have a bottle left?” 

The man’s face lit up. “Yes yes, I’ll go get it! I think I may still have a bottle of Madeira from 1662 as well!” 

“Sounds delightful, Angel” he replied as Aziraphale hurried out of the room to fetch the drinks.Once the angel was out of sight, Crowley sighed. He anti-miracled up 2 glasses as he always did when they stayed in but he also pulled a paper from his pocket. ‘This is it, huh?’ he mused, reading it over ‘my one chance and what do I have?’. The paper stared back at him, a jumble of words scrawled on its surface. “Shit,”

“What do you have there, Crowley dear?” The demon looked up to see Aziraphale looking at him curiously as he set the wines on the table. He blushed and shoved the note back in his pocket, explaining it away as a receipt or something of the sort. 

~

The night drew on and after 2 glasses of wine and a lot of working himself up Aziraphale finally stood, excusing himself for a moment. He walked over to the winerack and swiped up the flowers that sat on the cabinet nearby. How dumb he’d been for putting this off. 

It only took him moments when walking back into the small seating area to realise something was going on. Crowley was standing now and his half-finished glass of wine was sat on the table. It was easy to spot the piece of paper in his hands, easier still to spot the shock on his face at the flowers Aziraphale held out to him. He masked it with his signature smirk of course but the nervous smile still remained in his voice. “Zira?” 

“I um, well I bought these you see, for you. I bought them because they, well they reminded me of us,” An anxious tone edged its way into his voice “Th-the red peonies represent you and...”

“The daisies are you,” The demon finished quietly “Angel, they’re beautiful,” and a soft smile curled across his lips. He turned to set down the bouquet but Aziraphale wasn’t finished,  it seemed, as the angel grabbed his hand and pulled him back. 

“But I didn’t just buy them because of that, I mean, I-I just-” The blonde sighed and took a deep breath. “I just bought them to say that I care about you Crowley. In a way angels don’t typically care...especially about demons. I see you as more than that though- us as more than that. I can’t help it and yet it’s also a perfect choice that I told myself to make. I really think... I love you. A-And you don’t have to feel the same, I mean it always felt like you did but I’ve always been irrational so I just-” 

Aziraphale stopped dead as Crowley stepped forward and brushed the hair out of his face, playing with the blonde curl for a moment before tucking it behind his ear. In that moment, the world, no the universe, made sense to Crowley. They had been building towards this moment for almost 6000 years, but it still shocked him. He knew it though, he did deep down, and that was what really took him aback...he knew. He shook his head and chuckled fondly, smiling now.  “Of course I love you Angel, what do you think this dumb piece of paper is? I spent all day on this hoping to get myself to say those words, like you wouldn’t say them back if I didn’t have some cheesy speech but I guess I knew. We both did...we just couldn’t admit it,” he grinned “But I guess now here we are,” and for a while they stood, just like that, quietly basking in each others subtle touch. It felt like days before Aziraphale broke the silence, a tiny request slipping from his mouth. 

“Can I hear it?”

“What?” Crowley couldn’t help but ask.

“The writing, whatever it is, can I hear it?” he reiterated and Crowley sighed.

“One day, Angel, one day. For now, dance with me?” So that’s what they did. It wasn’t the most graceful thing, it wasn’t at all structured, but it was their moment and they danced knowing just as such.

~

And one day Aziraphale did get to hear what Crowley had written. 

It was a sunny day, exactly 2 years, 3 months and 11 days after Armageddidn’t, a year to the day of those words being written and it was, most importantly, their wedding day. It may have seemed slightly stupid for 2 of the oldest ethereal beings in the universe to do something so very human, but, after all of the rebellion, it felt that maybe that was just what they were; a part of humanity. The ceremony was held in one of the large fields of Lower Tadfield and Crowley held Aziraphale’s hands in his own as he spoke. 

“My Angel, 

There was rain, even in Eden and there is rain even still. 

There was a flood and She took it all maybe She takes even still 

There are battles, there are wars, there are fights, and they seem to fight even still 

But through it all we have had each other, we protected each other, we fought for each other 

We do all these things even still 

Through every twist and every turn I’ve known you’d be there and I hoped that you’ve known all the same 

Because to me, from the first rain to the end of the world, we’ve always made it and it’s always been us 

It’s us even still 

I love you Angel, I have for as long as I can remember, through rain, through loss, through war, through the end of the world and I love you even still 

And I swear to keep loving you until we’re no more and after that, even still 

But only if you let me,”

“I do,”

[elphenfan]

Nesting (Good Omens) 9/9

Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I Chapter Seven I Chapter Eight I Chapter Nine

Here you go, last chapter for people. And yes, I forgot again. Hectic life. Sorry

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

It was an incredibly legitimate question to ask, considering, and it wasn’t as though it was posed in a way that could be called accusatory at all. In fact, it sounded as though it was a genuine question.

Even so, it hit Crowley like a bucket of ice water to the face, assisted by the realisation that opened and cascaded, or possibly more accurately snowballed, inside of his mind.

The realisation that he had managed to miss and misinterpret a vast amount, if not all, of the things that Aziraphale had done since Crowley had first discovered that he’d started to…well, to nest, really, there was no need to call it anything else now.

All of those changes had been for Crowley’s sake, not anybody else’s and certainly not for what had turned out to be an entirely fictional rival. The one he’d been angry with for…for so many reasons, that had been nobody but himself.

He was the one who hadn’t accepted the nest, had in fact run from it, even if he had physically walked, and not just the once, either. Because he couldn’t face the rejection, yes, the knowledge that his angel was in love with someone but how could Aziraphale be expected to know that? To him, it must’ve felt like he had put himself out there and Crowley had…he’d basically rejected Aziraphale, hadn’t he?

Why on earth hadn’t the angel reacted to that? No wonder he’d looked downcast and dejected but he should’ve been screaming – or had given up. That would’ve been the logical thing to do.

But he hadn’t given up, had he? Unlike the demon, who hadn’t even had the courage to keep his attempts at nesting up for Aziraphale to see, the angel had not just kept it up, he had made alterations to it in an effort to make it more to the perceived taste of his intended.

Alterations which, Crowley further realised with a sinking heart, hadn’t been to appeal to an angel used to heavenly aesthetics but to mimic the style he had at his flat. The lack of clutter, the general streamlining of the interior, the gold ornamentation, the look and feel of the sofa and pillows. For crying out loud, there were marble surfaces and pot plants! How the fuck had he managed to miss that significance?

Furthermore, those alterations had come about after Aziraphale had been to his flat and…oh, bugger, the poor angel must’ve thought that he needed to change it to appeal to the demon. That he had to change something so essential about himself as what his bookshop looked like in order to make his nest a worthy prospect to present to Crowley.

No wonder, then, that he’d made comment about trying to get it right but that he thought he might’ve gone off in the wrong direction.

Crowley’s heart sank further, twisting as it did so. All of that, that effort and dedication and persistent hope and he had failed to pick up on any of it. Nor had he properly realised until now, when it was brought up directly and not when he should’ve done, when Aziraphale had confessed that the nest was for him, that he’d been harbouring wrong assumptions and what those assumptions had wrought on his beloved.

He had, in fact, completely failed his angel and his earnest attempt, all because he was scared, terrified, of losing his angel.

Satan, he was an idiot, wasn’t he? A cosmos-class one, to boot.

His hands found their way back to the blond’s back and he grabbed onto the jacket, fingers digging into the fabric as he tried to pull Aziraphale closer. Meanwhile, he buried his face in the other’s front, both to reassure himself that he was actually there and to keep from seeing the angel’s expression.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, confused and concerned about the reaction to a question. “I…was that the wrong question to ask?”

Crowley shook his head, against the waistcoat as he tried to pull the other closer still, feeling tears, of anger with himself as well as hurt and guilt, prickle. He didn’t want to, certain he’d make things worse, but he knew he needed to say something, to apologise.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his words muffled against the fabric. Wait, that wouldn’t do. If he was going to apologise, it wasn’t going to be unclear. They’d had enough misunderstandings as it was, hadn’t they?

Slowly, reluctantly, he raised his head back up to look Aziraphale in the eye. He didn’t let go of his hold, though, nor did he move his wings back. He couldn’t.

“I’m sorry I’m such an idiot,” he said. “I should’ve realised that you wouldn’t be interested in someone up there…but it seemed the only possible explanation for why you were nesting all of a sudden.”

No, that was making excuses, wasn’t it?

His gaze flickered down, his nerves faltering. “I couldn’t believe it because it didn’t make sense that you’d choose me, but…” He had to fight to keep his breathing under control, “…but I still should’ve seen the truth, though, sooner or later, and I didn’t, not at any point. You made it bloody obvious, didn’t you? And all I could see was further evidence that someone else had managed what I have always wished for. I couldn’t even spot that I was in the wrong and apologise for it when you said that it was for…for me, I just ploughed on like a complete moron!”

“Oh, Crowley…” the angel sighed after a moment or two of horrible silence.

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, the threat of tears clearer. “Yes, I know! I know! I’m so sorry. I’m a colossal idiot that doesn’t deserve – “

“That was not what I meant,” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice gentle even as it was also slightly sharp, at least in part in order to cut through. “Look at me. Please.”

Crowley opened his eyes as he was bid but not immediately.

“I did not say you were, or are, an idiot or moron or whatever else you’ve called yourself, nor do I believe that you are.”

“I clearly am!” How the Heaven could Aziraphale say that he wasn’t? “I know you’re being kind but there’s no need to when I can finally see it myself!”

“Crowley…my dearest, I don’t consider you stupid – “

“I hurt you!” The words, while he hadn’t quite intended for them to come out, he didn’t regret. They were true and he needed to communicate to Aziraphale that he was aware of his blunder. “I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve been – you’ve been miserable for weeks and it’s all my fault. Because I was too fucking dumb to see what was right there, even when – “

“Anthony J. Crowley, stop!”

There was that steel again, wielded like…like the demon imagined he would’ve wielded his flaming sword back before he’d given it away.

His jaw clacked shut, hard enough that his teeth and jawbone ached.

“That does matter!” the angel retorted. “In fact, that is what matters. I cannot deny that I was very much hurt that you didn’t seem to like what you saw and have not been able to stem that afterwards, or that I’ve been struggling to understand what I’d done wrong since you turned away from my first attempt.”

Crowley’s heart, still in the region of his intestines, twisted horribly. “There, you see – “

“However, that does not equal that I blame you nor that I think you stupid for missing things. You were not to know that it wasn’t an attraction that just suddenly manifested and, well…” He smiled but it was somehow a little off. “It’s not as though I’ve given you much reason to think otherwise, is it?”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“To me, it does, my dearest, as it explains it quite sufficiently and I do not blame you. I never would.”

“But – “

“Do you blame me?”

The demon’s nose wrinkled as he made a face of incomprehension. “Blame you? What on earth would I blame you for?”

“For taking so long to see what was inside of me and not mistake it for anything else, never mind gather up the courage to nest for you.”

“No, of course not! I said earlier, didn’t I?”

“Then why can’t you extend that same forgiveness to yourself?”

Crowley opened his mouth, to give a clever answer or perhaps merely a retort. Either would do really, but nothing would come out of his mouth.

Aziraphale smiled again, a more genuine one, as he brought his hands up to cup the demon’s face. For a moment, he just stared at Crowley without saying anything and the ginger looked back at him in turn, confused and nervous but somehow managing to hold the gaze.

Then, after his smile had widened and yet softened, the angel leaned forward. Crowley would have thought he meant to kiss him, and it did seem that way. Except that he stopped far too far away to make contact.

“I forgive you,” he said softly, his voice warm and loving. “I do not believe it’s needed but I forgive you.”

“Angel…”

“My dearest Crowley, you are my beloved and now, at long last, you are my nestmate, too. I will not blame you for making mistakes or wrong but plausible assumptions. Do you understand me?”

“I…yeah. I do.”

“Good.”

And with that, he closed the remaining distance between them.

Even though this was only their third kiss – second if you counted the first two as one with a slight pause in between – it felt as natural to slide into it as if this was their thousandth kiss instead.

It started off as just a press of lips against lips and that was perfect lovely. They could take it slow or even keep it at that, if that was what Aziraphale wanted. There was no actual need to take it further. The intimacy was quite strong as it was.

Within the span of only a few minutes, though, the angel pressed his tongue against the seam of Crowley’s lips. More asking than outright demanding entrance, the demon willingly opened his mouth for the questing tongue, curious to see where and how far the angel would take it and thrilled that he would dare do it at all, considering.

The tongue moved forward slowly, though it seemed as much to be due to a want for slow exploration as hesitation about what he was doing, which made it somehow even better.

Once it reached Crowley’s own tongue, he no longer sat idly by, though. Instead, he came to meet it, pressing against it and twirling around it. Taking it slow so he could explore thoroughly in turn and just get to enjoy this very first moment between them.

At some point while they kissed, one of Aziraphale’s hands slid from its place cupping the side of Crowley’s face, further along until it reached the back of his head, where his fingers slid into the short, soft, thick strands of ginger hair.

There, they didn’t exactly tug but they did still somehow wind themselves into whatever locks they could find, which sent signals down into Crowley’s brain, signals which were very pleasant and just a little distracting.

He didn’t stop the kiss, though. It would take a lot more than that to get him to stop at this point, and even then, he wasn’t sure he would be willing.

Aziraphale wasn’t the greatest of kissers, technically speaking, but he was both trying earnestly and, to his credit, learning quite fast. In any case, it didn’t matter; he could’ve been the sloppiest, worst kisser in the world and Crowley wouldn’t give a flying fuck.

What mattered was that it was his angel. Everything else could take a flying jump.

His own hands slid, too. One went up to grab at the junction where neck became shoulder, somehow managing to slide its way under not just the jacket but both the waistcoat and the shirt as well. The other slipped down to cup the curve of a plush arse cheek. Not with any ulterior motive…well, except for the fact that he’d always wondered what it would feel like. To be honest, he’d wondered at the exact shape, too, the angel always managing to somehow cover or otherwise obscure the shape of his butt, either through relatively loose-fitting clothing or a covering jacket or both.

The best chance he’d gotten was when he’d sauntered into the Globe and had seen just what the angel had been wearing. If he’d been a bit slower going around him from behind just to get a better look at it, what of it?

Not that he was focused exclusively on Aziraphale’s arse. Of course not. That would hardly be fair, for one thing. Actually, he’d wondered what all of him felt and looked like and had formed, he’d thought, a fairly good estimation of it. He’d had quite a long time to work it out, after all.

When his hand made contact, he realised his estimation didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Furthermore, much to his consternation, Aziraphale broke the kiss to gasp.

“Crowley…!” There was a hint of protest in there but no more.

“Hmm? Am I not allowed to touch?” He didn’t even loosen his grip despite his words.

“Of course, you are, that’s not the point!”

“What is the point, then?”

“That – that you’re deliberately trying to distract and disrupt me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, angel. Not when you’re kissing me like that.”

The angel bit his lip. “Now you’re mocking me.”

“Teasing you at best and I meant it.”

Aziraphale still didn’t look convinced. “Meant what, precisely?”

“That I would never stop you kissing me.”

“Then we could be stuck kissing for quite a long time.”

Well, now…the implications of that…well. Definitely something to explore at a later point.

“I fail to see the problem,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

The blond giggled a little at that. Then he laid his head down on Crowley’s shoulder, shifting himself even closer while his wings tucked in further to keep them inside the circle of the demon’s.

“You know, you’re going to hurt them if you keep that up,” Crowley pointed out.

With them as close as they were, he felt the urge to reach out and touch the other’s wings again, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Not least because they might be as sensitive as his own and for all the kissing and touching, that wasn’t really the direction this was headed. Perhaps at a later date it would, maybe, but not now.

Aziraphale turned his head slightly to plant a kiss on a prominent cheekbone. Then he lifted his head back up enough to look the other in at least one yellow yes.

“I would…I was rather hoping that you would take one,” he said, voice quiet, eyes hopeful.

Take one? One what? Oh. Oh.

But that…

He turned his head to look more directly at the other, even if they were a bit too close to properly focus. “Angel, are you…but there’s no need to do that.”

There really wasn’t, not from a nesting perspective. Aziraphale had been the one to start nesting, after all, and had placed more than one feather, even though only the one was required, around the nest to signal his intentions – and some other time, the demon needed to go around to take in just what kind of feathers they were. The feathers Crowley had given was a token of reciprocation of the feelings and intentions the nest represented. That he’d gone above and beyond, as it were, was a different matter.

The point was that for Aziraphale to then give one back to Crowley would be…a reciprocation of a reciprocation? Something like that, anyway, and it felt…not wrong, per se, it never could feel outright wrong. But it did feel an unnecessary kindness that would also be painful.

“I know there isn’t,” Aziraphale answered. He didn’t sound hurt, however, nor dejected. In fact, he now had a small smile playing on his lips, which puzzled the demon a little, adding to the pile of confusion, which rather seemed to be the expression of the day.

“Why are you asking me to…to pluck a feather from you, then?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Yeah, I got that. Why?”

“Do I have to have a reason beyond wanting you to?”

“As it’s painful and unnecessary, yes!” He watched an odd emotion flicker across Aziraphale’s face. “No, I didn’t – I just meant that…I don’t need…I do understand. About the nest and everything that…you know. There’s no need for you to be hurt.”

Further, his mind added, quite unhelpfully if truthfully.

Aziraphale, smile coming back, lifted his head up the rest of the way but only so that he could press his forehead against Crowley’s. A part in the back of the demon’s mind wondered at the amount of touch they were both giving now, as though now, when they had permission, they wanted to touch in as many places as they could.

The rest of him knew that that wasn’t exactly it but, in any case, the rest of his mind was otherwise occupied.

Such as with the fact that Aziraphale was willing to pull a feather for him, or have Crowley pull a feather, for no other reason, it seemed, than he wanted to do it. Which didn’t make any sense.

“There is,” the blond said.

“Is what?” Crowley asked, having momentarily lost track.

“Is a need. I want you to pull one, to choose one to take. One that is yours.”

“You’ve already done that.”

Aziraphale shook his head, lightly as their foreheads were still touching.

“No. I have taken ones for the nest. That is not the same. No, my dear,” he added when he saw Crowley’s expression shift, “they were all meant for you. But they were for the nest, for part of…well, how nesting goes.”

“So were the feathers I gave you.”

“Yes, and then again, no.”

“They are!” the ginger protested.

“Yes, they are. But you chose to give me four. Four different feathers, working together to…and they are mine. Mine to keep with me. You wouldn’t do that with the ones I put in the nest, would you?”

Guiltily remembering the thought he’d had about the feather he’d found before Aziraphale had returned, Crowley restrained himself to shaking his head, after pulling back just enough that their foreheads were separated. He wouldn’t really take it, especially not now when he knew who the nest was made for. Feathers for the nest were supposed to stay in the nest.

Granted, many nesting couples placed the reciprocation feathers in the nest, too, but they were not required to as per the norm and ritual of nesting. Just as often, separate feathers would be given to the nesting angel for them and for to be placed in the nest alongside the original ones, signalling their new status.

“No, I didn’t think you would. So…it hardly seems fair that I should be the only one who would have that joy.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue. Then he shut it again as something clicked. Something which almost made his jaw drop again as it sank in.

‘To keep with me’, Aziraphale had said. With him. Implying, together with the pocket it seemed definite he’d just created for them, that he wanted to keep them on him at all times. Well, ‘imply’ with a clue-by-four, really, even for the idiot that the ginger evidently was when it came to these things.

A part of Crowley, and such an intimate part, as well, for angels, fallen or not, that would always be with the angel. Right next to his heart, too, in a specially created pocket that would keep them safe.

In that light, they not only gained even more significance, if that was even possible, it became rather clear, not to mention incredibly heart-warming, why Aziraphale might want to reciprocate.

The thought of having his angel’s feather with him at all times, a tangible reminder of his angel and what they now shared…

He swallowed around a lump he hadn’t been aware had manifested in his throat. It was the good sort, though, if one could put it like that.

“I suppose not,” he managed to get out, his voice somewhere between a croak and a rasp.

“Of course, only if you would – “

“I would,” Crowley interrupted, not giving the uncertainty time to manifest. They’d had quite enough of that as it was. His gaze dropped down to where his feathers had disappeared, where they would live from now until forever, and when he lifted it back up to meet green eyes, Aziraphale’s smile became at once broader and a little bit shy.

“I would love to, angel.”

He slid his hand up the side of the blond’s neck to rest against his cheek, a touch which Aziraphale leaned into immediately.

“Pick one for me,” Crowley said after a moment or two had passed but Aziraphale shook his head.

“You should be the one to pick it, my dear,” he said.

“You didn’t pick the feathers from my wings.”

“No, but now I’m asking you to do it for me. Not because I don’t want to,” he added. “I would but I would rather that you make the choice.”

“Why?” Possibly he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t rock the boat. But then again, that was always his problem, wasn’t it? One of many.

The angel didn’t seem fazed, however. “Because it is your choice.”

The words sank in and then a moment later, so did the implications thereof.

Oh, fuck, Aziraphale.

Eyes wide as he continued to look his angel in the eye, heart full to bursting even though he’d thought it already was and couldn’t get any fuller, Crowley’s hand slipped from the other’s cheek. It slid down to land on a shoulder which it briefly gripped, as though for anchoring. Then it trailed further down the back, slowly, down to where the fabric of the jacket had somehow moved aside to make room for the wing sprouting from it while staying exactly where it was.

All the while, the hand trembled minutely. It was stupid but he couldn’t have helped it if he tried.

When he made tentative contact with the joint of the wing, that tremble only strengthened but he pressed on, spurred on by the look in Aziraphale’s eyes and the small hitch in his breath.

Oh, and the fact that the wing was, when he continued the path very gently, just about touching, pushed more firmly into his touch, of course. That did help just a bit.

Ignoring the thought he’d had earlier about what reactions touching the angel’s wing would cause, in both Crowley and Aziraphale – he had a purpose now, a reason for it, bless it – the demon trailed his hand further along, not just in terms of the width of the appendage but the length of it, too.

Aziraphale wanted him to choose. To pick the one that he would carry with him always.

For a moment, he felt too overwhelmed to choose. No, it was more than that, really. It was the fact that for the claim, the assertion that it was up to him to choose, not that he didn’t believe the sincerity of that, the symbolism of the feathers still remained. It would still speak volumes which feather he picked in turn.

So, he had to get it right.

One might argue that he could pick any, as he’d already shown what he wanted to say through the feathers he’d given the angel. That if it was that important this feather also communicated something, it really ought to be Aziraphale who plucked it, to signal what meaning he wanted Crowley to carry with him rather than leaving it up to the demon to gain his own meaning and importance.

It wasn’t a bad point. In fact, it was a very good one, but it was nevertheless trumped, or at least countered, by the point that Crowley was given the choice to pick the feather he wanted to have on him at all times. Then again -

The hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by Aziraphale, though. Instead of being uncertain or questioning, however, he seemed to understand immediately this time.

“Don’t think about the symbolism,” he said, smiling in understanding. “Not now. Just the one you’d like best.” He stretched the wing, still within the confines of Crowley’s own circle of feathers, just a little for emphasis.

“I can’t…angel, I can’t not think about the symbolism. It’s bloody well wired in. Well, as good as. You might as well not expect me to…to not hiss!”

“You very rarely do.”

“That’s hardly the point. The point is…the point is that any feather I pick, we’ll both inherently know the symbolism of it is and will form assumptions based on it. Doesn’t mean I don’t get what you’re driving at.”

“Driving at?”

“With the choice. That I am free to choose. But I’m not. Not really. I appreciate the thought, though.” He smiled a genuine smile because he honestly did appreciate it.

“Crowley, please. You are. Forget the symbolism.” The demon opened his mouth to argue but the angel ploughed on. “This isn’t about nesting, my dear, it isn’t about instinct or symbolism or tradition. This is just you and I, together, making a choice. From now on, it’s just the two of us.”

“Even against Heaven?” This wasn’t a case of the words being out of his mouth before he could stop them or even meant as remotely pointed or barbed. It was a genuine question that he wanted, no, needed, to know the answer to.

Why it hadn’t occurred to him before now that this was dangerous, what they’d just done, becoming nestmates despite supposedly being hereditary enemies – of sides that had even less grasp of nuance and grey areas than a recently politically-awakened teen and were capable of the same kind of hyperbolic retribution – he had no idea. It ought to have been flashing in enormous neon lights, surrounded by frantically waving flags, that they’d be at risk from now on.

Of course, there was the undeniable fact that they had always been at risk from either side for associating or, as Aziraphale had put it back at their falling out in the middle of Victoria’s reign, fraternising. It was a risk that they’d worked around for millennia and had, he would say, become rather good at.

This was different, though; it went far beyond their normal interaction. That wasn’t to say it’d be immediately detectable by the denizens of Heaven or Hell even if they were to move their arses down or up here, respectively. Not if they were careful.

Even so…if either side did find out…destruction would be a blessing in comparison.

He looked to Aziraphale, who he expected to look rather like he felt himself; uncertain and worried to the point of terror as the implications set in.

Instead, he found an expression of determination and steel, not unlike what he’d seen before but significantly clearer and stronger.

“Yes. Even against Heaven. And Hell, for that matter. I made that decision when I first became aware that I was nesting, and I am not going to renege on it.”

Crowley felt quite a mixture of feelings at that, the worry and fear didn’t go away but pride at his angel flooded in, mixing with the love, and so did a small amount of guilt.

“Then we’ll have to be incredibly careful that they don’t find out,” he said. “Not exactly known for being understanding, are they?”

Something pained and conflicted flitted across the angel’s features. Despite his determination and decisiveness, it was clear that the decision hadn’t come lightly to him, and why would it? It would be going against the side he’d been on for actual aeons. Which would also go a long way to explain why he’d needed time to come to terms with wanting to nest.

The expression was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, however, the steel back in full force.

“They cannot separate us,” he said.

“They can destroy us,” Crowley pointed out. “Doesn’t mean I would ever want to give this up, mind.” He tightened his hold as the blond simultaneously moved closer.

Aziraphale’s smile could power the entire city. “No. Neither do I. Not for anything.”

“Till the end, then?” he asked, the addition ‘however long that might or might not be’ remaining unspoken but nevertheless distinctly heard.

The angel nodded, moving his wings tighter around them still, which the demon reciprocated instantly. “And beyond, my dear. No matter what happens.”

“The two of us.”

That thought alone, that they were now nestmates and that he was Aziraphale’s as much as the angel was his, in all senses of the word, that was something not just uplifting and warming, but mentally fortifying.

They’d make it through. He had no idea how but if either side, or indeed both, did try to separate them or punish them in some way, he…well, he’d picked up a thing or two from human ingenuity over the years, hadn’t he? Nothing that couldn’t be adapted, really.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, still smiling. “The two of us – and I am certain it will turn out fine.”

“If you’re about to say anything about ineffable plans, angel – “

“Well, why not?”

“Because an angel and a demon becoming nestmates is hardly going to be the part of any Plan, divine or ineffable or whatever!”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know that it is, either. You’re just looking for excuses.”

For a split-second, Aziraphale looked guilty but it was gone so soon Crowley wasn’t sure he’d seen it. Then the smile, which had momentarily faltered, returned.

“I choose to believe that She would not have instilled the nesting urge in angels in the first place if She didn’t want it utilised, as it were. It is built into us, after all. It’d be like blaming the architect for putting door in a house.”

“But you chose to nest for a demon,” the ginger pointed out. “Nesting is meant for angels.”

“And you are fallen angels. Such a lot was taken from you all when you fell, why not take that as well, if that was the case?”

“Why not take our wings, then? Remove all the painful reminders, which isn’t going to happen, because it’s supposed to be – “

“But nesting is something positive, isn’t it?” Aziraphale interrupted. His smile was tinged with a slight sadness. “Hardly painful, at least no more than it is for any angel if it’s rejected by the intended. So why not take that away?”

Crowley blinked. That was…he’d have to concede the point.

“Good point,” he said. “I still don’t believe that Heaven or Hell’s going to look at it like that.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said. There was something else to his smile now, just the hint of…steely devilment? Surely not? “Perhaps not. They haven’t found out yet, have they? And if they do…as I said, I have no intention of giving you up.”

He touched their foreheads together. “I made my decision, my dear, and I don’t regret it.”

“My nestmate. My beautiful angel,” Crowley said, and he let the deep, all-consuming love for his angel that he’d held inside of himself for so unfathomably long, restrained and contained and yet nurtured, show on his face fully, letting go of all restraints.

He pulled back a little and kissed, not the soft lips, tempting though it was, but instead the nose, lingering and soft. “My Aziraphale.”

That last sentence, that declaration, simple and short though it was, contained just about everything, really, assisted by his tone of voice.

If the smile before could’ve powered the city, then the smile now could power the entire South Coast, at least, and that paled in comparison with the love shining in those green eyes.

Yes. This was worth risking discorporation or outright destruction for.

Crowley leaned in again, but he was met halfway and the kiss he got had everything poured into it.

Perfect.

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

I do have a sequel planned and I’ll most likely write one chapter from Aziraphale’s POV as suggested (so please stay tuned) but otherwise, this is it. A thank you to those who’ve read and especially those that have given feedback! <3

[citrontartellete]

Nanny!!!  Really wanted to see them reunited and happy.

South Downs 2022

Warlock was bored. Extremely so. He didn’t know why he came on this school trip anyway, just to see some dumb chalk mountains or hills or whatever they were gone to do there. The boy adjusted his earphones on his ears and watched the landscape change through the windows, his forehead resting on the cold glass,his earphones playing TheGhost of You loudly, none on the seat next to him. He did not have many friends at school. It seemed that none wanted to be friends with him, just because of his father oh well, is his father. Sometimes Warlock wished that Nanny and Brother Francis would have taken him along with them. He watched the small cottages, sighing heavily, their inhabitants tending to their gardens or doing something equally domestic. He missed his Nanny and the Gardner terribly. They went away when he turned 8 years old, although they were just a tad bit weird, the boy loved them and still did, even if he didn’t know what have happened to them but he did what Brother Francis told him to do everyday and sometimes Nanny would do to: Pray. He prayed every night. he aleays asked for the same thing over and over.

‘Please dear Lord, let me find Nanny and Brother Francis again. I`ve been so good lately’

He would say eyes tight shut, kneeling in front of his bed, his hands joined. Praying with all his heart.

When the bus stopped for full five minutes in front of the last cottage at the end of the road something caught his eyes. The garden so well taken care of , the peonies shining bright even on the British autumn, the bushes surrounding the small walls were very verdant. Then he saw a tall, lean person with medium length red hair, talking with a boy, the boys’ curly hair bouncing a little while he helped the lean person. Sunglasses, dark clothes. Warlock´s heart stopped and raced altogether. Nanny. Nanny Ashtoreth was right in front of him, living in South Downs. The boy got up and ran down the bus corridor. after menacing his teachers and the bus driver with his father’s influence, he stepped outside the bus running into the small garden to his Nannie´s arms.

‘Nanny !!!!’ He screamed wrapping his arms around Crowley´s lithe waist making the demon puff some air out of his lungs and look down in confusion to the teen who was hugging him tightly shaking in his arms. Adam watched the scene a little confused. Who is this boy that just ran in and hugged Mr.Crowley ?

‘Adam call Aziraphale here, please’ the demon said, wrapping his arms around Warlock´s shoulders, kissing his hair. Adam only obeyed still casting confused glances

‘Hello little one’

‘I found you, nanny ! I found you…’ the boy chanted through tears, soaking Crowley´s shirt making the ginger smile a little ‘…..I found you, I can´t believe I finally found you….I´m never gonna let you go again nanny. Ever !!’

‘Oh dear….’ Aziraphale said when he was closer to them, smiling fondly. The angel got worried when an angry teacher walked through their garden.

‘Warlock Dowling go back inside that bus right now or I will call your father’

‘No’ the boy answered defiantly, squeezing Crowley on his arms ‘Tell him Nanny, tell him that dad never answers the phone…’ the boy said making the teacher arch an eyebrow at the nanny. ‘Do a magic trick nanny, please. I know you can do magic tricks, like the ones you did when I was a kid…To make him shush’ the boy said and the demon looked helplessly at his husband. Aziraphale chuckled at seeing his husband so helpless and so happy, the angel talked to the teacher making a little miracle, so the teacher would remember to pick up Warlock at the end of the day.

***

Warlock stared at Aziraphale in confusion. He was sitting on their kitchen table. Nanny at his side, the man he knew be Brother Francis and the blonde boy watching him. A mug of cocoa and biscuits in the middle of the table. The blonde boy, Adam, he recalled seemed very amused.

‘So you are Brother Francis ?’ Warlock asked, fidgeting with his mug.

‘Yes’ the blonde man answered ‘But my actual name is Aziraphale’

‘And you are married to Nanny ?’ Az laughed getting a little flustered.

‘Yes, Warlock’

‘And you are also a magician ?’

‘That too’ The boy made a small noise of acknowledgement, nodding, his hair falling on his face, still fidgeting with his mug ‘Why did you leave ?’

‘Our contract ended, little one’ Crowley answered, reaching for the teen´s hand and giving it a squeeze. The demon could not bear the hurt in Warlock´s blue eyes ‘We didn´t leave you on purpose, you see, Az and I, we used to work to opposite companies and if they knew we were friends, and we liked you, they would make us do bad things to each other’

To Warlock´s surprise Adam laughed and said in a rush, his eyes sparkling in delight :

‘Mr.Crowley and Mr. Fell are an angel and a demon, we know a witch!  An actual witch! I´m the antichrist, my friends are the horsepersons and we defeated my father, the devil itself. Three years ago’ Adam finished excited.

‘Adam !!” Aziraphale and Crowley screamed at the same time. Making the boy laugh harder and shrug.

‘You don´t have to hide anymore’ Adam said. Warlock chuckled, despite the boy´s words.

‘Is that true, nanny ?’ Defeated the angel and the demon sighed.

‘Yes Warlock, it´s true’ The boy beamed excited that his Nanny and Mr.Fell are magical beings as he knew they were. He never brought it up, but once when he was 7 he saw Nanny conjuring his cocoa and biscuits.

‘I knew it !!’ Warlock said excited. He was so happy right now.

‘Well, Adam why don´t you go and show Warlock what you can do and tell him our little adventure while Crowley and I clean this mess, huh ?’ Aziraphale suggested cheerfully  ‘And remember Adam…’

‘Nothing too big, I know Mr.Fell’ Adam said and grabbed Warlock´s hand taking him back to the garden. Warlock was mesmerised at seeing what Adam could do, amazed by the stories about the Them, he was delighted when Nanny and Mr.Fell joined them half an hour later showing him actual nice tricks, conjuring up sandwiches. He couldn´t wait to meet Adam´s friends, and come back to Nanny´s and Mr. Fell house again. He felt so loved here and so, so happy. At six o´clock, Warlock´s school bus stopped in front of the cottage.

‘Already Nanny ?’ the boy asked sad

‘You must go home, little one. You can come here whenever you want to now, I put mine and the angel´s number on your phone, didn´t I ?’ The boy nodded, small tears on his eyes.

‘You aren’t going to leave again, are you nanny ?’ Crowley hugged the boy and kissed his hair

‘Never’ Aziraphale hugged him too and cleaned his tears

‘Don´t cry, love’ The angel said ‘We will always be here and you can go and visit Adam in Tadfield, right Adam ?’

‘Right’ Adam said

‘And remember, you can’t tell anyone about our powers, okay ?’ Crowley reminded him and let go of him. Warlock headed back to the bus, after giving everyone an extra hug and was happy that nobody seemed to miss him or care if he was back there or not. He sat on his place again and put his earphone again, watching Nanny, Mr.Fell and Adam waving him goodbye.

As a promised Nanny and Mr.Fell never moved. Warlock cried a little in happiness when he found that they were still in their place on his second visit, which happened on Saturday, this time the Them were there. They spent the whole afternoon making plans of how much they could change the world, their world, eating magical sandwiches and helping Nanny scream at the peonies .Warlock never wanted to leave.

[aha-my-villainous-thoughts]

Please, keep me. (Good Omens)

Part 6! So my pattern seems to be write a bit on one day and then the rest of the second day, so it’s a bit clunky but it’s getting there! Still in love with this little tiny universe, I’m excited to get into some adventures. 

I really hope someone enjoys the dumb IASIP reference I put in this one. 

Part 1

Crowley waited quite a long time for the angel to reappear. 

He understood what had transpired, Paschar was one of the Speakers of the Word who worked with Metatron and relayed all of Her words and instructions to the rest of them. There was a certain level of smugness that accompanied this passing on of instructions, one that Crowley found more amusing than irritating; unless, of course, that smugness was being aimed at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale! 

Even just thinking of his name was a pleasure akin to sleeping in a patch of sunlight. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue, somehow capturing the combination of diffidence and the anomalistic glint Crowley had witnessed in snatches from the little Keeper. 

Still full of pleasure at his find, Crowley eyed the leftover belongings from the angel. There were two piles of books - one of books needing mending, and another of freshly mended books ready to be rehomed, or more likely read through and then rehomed. The long list that Aziraphale habitually kept on his knee during his work was left unfolded and scattered, one of the wooden scroll ends rolling off a little ways. His ink pot and pen were also left, one without a cap and the other with ink still drying. Crowley looked either way down the corridor and listened carefully, but heard nothing. He hadn’t seen any other Keepers since he had entered the library. He had heard one, maybe, down a corridor while stalking Aziraphale but he had yet to see another. Moving with caution he poured himself over the edge of the books and out into the open, moving towards the books. He read the titles, tilting his head to the side to do so. Apparently once the Earth was going to be finished and filled with humans, they were going to have some sort of system called ‘Law’ to help them with disputes, and it was these extensive volumes that the Keeper - no, not just the Keeper, Aziraphale - had been working his way through. 

A little disappointed, Crowley ignored the books and looked at the list. It seemed very long, almost too long to be practical. On it were thousands of book titles copied out in steady tiny handwriting. Descending from the top of the list the titles were crossed out. Looking at the next handful waiting to be crossed out, the titles had nothing to do with the books Aziraphale had been working through. 

Crowley didn’t really know what to make of that. 

There wasn’t much to look at left here, and Crowley could feel himself getting bored without an angel to stare at. Huffing to himself again, he crossed over and slid himself up the first few shelves, finding himself a spot so that when Aziraphale returned and sat back down, Crowley would be directly in line with the pink lobes of his ears. 

He truly was a self indulgent creature. He had already created a form, invaded the library space, gained the sound of the angel’s voice and - most dearly - the angel’s name for himself, and yet here he was wanting more. Always, wanting more. If he could get close enough to Aziraphale’s vessel he might be able to catch his scent. 

Yes, Crowley really was a glutton. 

Resting his head along the pages of a slightly less dusty volume of something called ‘Bird Law’, Crowley sighed heavily and let his mind wander as he waited in the slowly darkening hallway. He hoped whatever needing Writing wouldn’t be too long. Aziraphale had promised the books he would return, and whether the books were aware or not, Crowley was certain that he would. He would just have to wait… and be patient… ever so patient. 

Sighing again, his eyelids dropped as the glowing light above them ebbed away. His body coiled in between the shelf and the books in such a way as to create his own pillow, and to nestle into a surprisingly comfortable arrangement of snake. It wouldn’t hurt to have a short nap, he was sure. He would hear Aziraphale’s return. He was just resting his eyes. After all, he was usually asleep at this time, having stayed up the entire Dawn and Day shift to indulge his spying. 

Just a short nap… 

Crowley wasn’t sure what woke him first: the light, the sound of approaching footsteps, or the painful lump digging into his thigh. What, his thigh?

Eyes snapping open he cursed to himself, suddenly very aware of his arrangement of arms and legs and bones all squished into various parts of the long shelf. The books that had created a rather nice ledge to rest his head on had been unceremoniously shoved onto the floor when he had slipped back into his two legged form. The light above him was glowing strong, and he felt another pang of alarm run through him as the footsteps grew closer. He wriggled, trying to untangle himself from himself, as well as unwedge himself from the narrow, and surprisingly deep, shelf. 

It all happened very quickly - Crowley gave an almighty thrust against the back of the shelf to free himself, just as the panic in his brain short wired and stretched him long again, crashing to the floor in a heap of scaled coils and sore patches, just as the bare feet of the Keeper turned the corner of the corridor. 

Crowley didn’t look, he didn’t need to look, he simply slithered as quick as he could back into the darkness of the lowest shelf, pulling his confused and aching form behind him. 

He laid himself as low as he could, hiding behind the heavy books and closing his eyes, a little voice in his head whispering to be invisible. The angel’s feet had slowed but not stopped, and he could hear his breathing close by. He heard the rustle of robes as the angel knelt and began carefully picking up the books Crowley’s ill-timed transformation and fall had displaced. 

Crowley held his breath. He counted the seconds as they passed, the sound of steady hands and bruised pages the only thing in the suddenly deafening silence. 

The Keeper slid the last book back into place, his hands tracing the leather bound spines carefully. 

“There we are,” he sighed, his voice so soft Crowley almost missed it. The angel sat down, moving his list and inkpot to find the most comfortable part of the stone floor. There was another moment of silence. The angel made a small noise with his tongue as he noted the dry ink on his pen, replacing the cap on his inkpot. 

Crowley didn’t dare move. 

It seemed to last forever. 

“I know you’re there,” 

An immediate flash of panic. Crowley squeezed himself further down into the wooden shelf, trying to flatten himself as if hiding like this was still an option. The angel didn’t sound angry. He was angled away from Crowley, his head turned to speak softly over his shoulder. “It’s ok,”

Crowley’s tongue flicked out of his mouth, tasting the air carefully. He didn’t move. 

A beat of silence passed. 

The angel moved carefully, twisting his body towards the bookshelf. 

“You don’t have to be scared of me, if you are,” 

His voice was so gentle. Crowley felt himself soften to it, hearing that lyrical voice ease over his words in such a careful manner. The angel moved again, deliberate and slow as he lowered himself to the floor. Crowley could hear the puff of breath squeezed out of him as he bent towards the shelf. 

“Let me see you, little thing,” came the voice again. Crowley couldn’t move. He felt something warm and sharp inside his chest, caught somewhere between exhilaration and sickening dread. How in Paradise was he even to begin explaining this? 

One of the books by Crowley’s head twitched, causing all logical thought to exit Crowley’s brain. He watched as the book was slowly pulled free, light spilling from behind it as a hand moved to remove another, and then another. Crowley stayed frozen, the light almost overwhelming him as the Keeper - Arizaphale - bent his head to look inside. 

Such blue eyes. 

Blue eyes that crinkled into a soft smile. The angel crossed his arms over themselves and rested his chin on them, and smiling at Crowley like he was pleased to find him there. Crowley’s tongue flicked out again, and was rewarded by a new scent that differed from the books and the dust. A warm scent with hints of full bodied sweetness, and more that Crowley couldn’t identify. Crowley’s tongue flicked again, immediately wanting more of it. Arizaphale’s smile widened as his eyes focused on Crowley’s tongue. 

“Oh, how marvellous,” he said gently. “What a lovely tongue you have, little thing,” he said so softly. 

If a coherent thought had managed to pass through Crowley’s head, it would have short circuited him all over again. 

“Won’t you come out into the light? I would so like to see you,” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows tinged up in the middle with this request, a look of sincerity on his entire face. Crowley found himself moving his head forward before he knew he was doing it, his gaze fixed on the sky blue eyes that tracked his movement with delight. 

“Oh, look at you! What beautiful golden eyes you have,” 

The angel’s smile broke into a grin, the crinkles around his eyes growing deeper and Crowley blinked steadily, overcome. They stayed there for a moment in time, face to face. Aziraphale just smiled at him, his eyes flicking from the cascade of scales along his neck, to his golden eyes, to his flicking tongue, and he looked as if he’d never seen anything so unique. Crowley felt a feeling well up inside him, caught between pride and devotion as he himself was caught in the angel’s glowing attention. 

He had dreamed of what this moment would have been like, and yet his imagination had failed him entirely. 

“I think I know what you are, little thing. I’ve read about you, I’m sure.” Aziraphale told him. “Would you like to come out so I can see all of you? I might be wrong, I suppose it depends entirely on your legs - or lack of them, possibly,” 

Crowley blinked slowly, and began to slide his body out of the shadows. Any leftover tinges of discomfort or pain were washed away by the Keeper’s attention. Aziraphale moved back up from the floor, his robes in a terrible state from the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice as he took in all of Crowley’s long glittering body. His mouth was open in an expression of surprise and wonder, like he’d been handed something so entirely precious. Crowley felt more beautiful than every star in the Heavens. 

“Oh!” 

That one little syllable made Crowley feel like he was overflowing. 

“You are beautiful!”

Aziraphale suddenly moved to get up, holding his hands in such a way as he had with the pile of books by them. 

“Don’t move, let me go get- you stay there, beautiful little thing!” 

Crowley blinked again as Aziraphale got to his feet, tripping only once on his robes. The angel seemed swift with excitement, looking back at him with the same big grin on his face. “Don’t go anywhere!” 

Crowley watched the angel almost run to get something. The shock of discovery and pleasure of admiration were both wearing off a little, letting conscious thoughts return to Crowley. He had been discovered, sure, but he had never expected such a wonderful outcome. The Keeper didn’t seem to realise he was an angel in a tertiary form. He must not have seen Crowley’s embarrassing exit from the bookshelf in his limbed form, only the failed escape back into the bookcase. 

More than that, the Keeper seemed absolutely delighted with this discovery. He had yet to question why there was a snake in the library, which was probably for the best. 

Very soon he heard the angel return, still hurrying, only this time he was carrying a large book in his arms. Sitting back down with Crowley in front of him, he placed it down on the floor and opened it, his eyes quickly scanning the page with one finger running down a long list, before making a noise with his tongue and began rifling through pages. 

“Ah! Here we are,” he said finally, looking up at Crowley expectantly. He pointed to the page, which was upside down from Crowley’s perspective. “Snake, of the suborder Serpentes,”

The angel began to read from the book, Crowley moving to the side and tilting his head to follow the angel’s voice along on the page. The angel’s voice took on an airy tone as he read, as if savouring the words. 

“’Snakes are elongated, legless, carnivorous reptiles of the suborder Serpentes. Like all other squamates, snakes are ectothermic, amniote vertebrates covered in overlapping scales. Many species of snakes have skulls with several more joints than their lizard ancestors, enabling them to swallow prey much larger than their heads with their highly mobile jaws.’” 

Crowley wanted to follow along with the words, but he found his gaze wandering back up to look at the angel’s face as he read, something about the calmness from his words flowed through every one of his glittering scales. 

“It’s fascinating stuff, what a clever creature you are! Although I will have to look up what ‘amniote’ is, it sounds very biological,” the angel had turned his bright gaze back towards Crowley with another smile. They stayed like that for a moment, and then Aziraphale grinned again. 

“Oh, we should look up what species you are! Did you know that many of the Animals are going to have dozens of varieties of themselves? It’s astounding, She really has thought of everything,” Aziraphale told Crowley as he turned his attention back to the book. He flicked a few pages and then pointed again to a picture of a mottled brown version of Crowley. 

“See, here, this is one of your many, many siblings - an Adder! Oh, and there’s a lot of different Adders too, it seems. Shall we try and find your name in here?” 

Crowley looked up from the picture of a coiled snake looking rather cross and found the angel’s face smiling down at him so sweetly. Crowley could have melted in the wake of that gaze. 

They sat there for some time, with Aziraphale reading the name of each snake in turn, admiring each picture closely, and laughing at some of the names. 

“Oh, look at this one! What a marvellous name Beolen python is!” Aziraphale said, tracing the snake with one finger. “Oh, and this one - An Eastern Hognose snake! Look at those splendid markings.”

Crowley looked at the snake, agreeing that the markings were indeed very splendid, and suddenly wondering if he should have made more of an effort. 

“I haven’t seen any yet that even come close to your wonderful colour, little thing.” Aziraphale said absentmindedly, turning the page. “The red-bellied one maybe, but your scales do catch the light in such a beautiful way - like you have every colour hiding inside all that lovely black,” 

Crowley could have purred, suddenly very aware that none of the pictured snakes could hold a candle to his form. 

“Oh, here we go!” 

Crowley swallowed his pride as he looked at the page. A large black snake with touches of iridescent blue and gold that caught the light. It was close, he supposed with a sullen flick of his tongue. 

“A D’Albertis python, what a lovely name. Oh, it says here white-lipped, but I do think your scarlet suits you very well, such a wonderful array of colours,” 

Crowley froze as his felt a finger trace at the underside of his jaw gently. He looked up again towards the angel, hoping that the small trace of warmth would stay present as the angel looked at his crimson belly. The tiny moment of contact hummed through his skin like pure light, indescribable. Crowley wanted to lean into that touch more than he had ever wanted anything in his existence. He yearned for it.  

“You are entirely a perfect creation, little thing,” smiled the angel. “You should be very proud,” 

Crowley was, if only because Aziraphale told him so. 

“I suppose you’re here because of the mice. After all, a clever creation like you can’t be kept cooped up in the workshops, much more interesting places to be,” 

The book was shut now, and Crowley moved up onto it and slithered into a circular coil, resting his head on his tail to look upwards at the angel who looked down at him, still with that wonderful smile. 

“I am so happy to have found you, little thing,” 

Crowley felt a shiver of happiness pass through him.

Please, keep me. 

[loxare]

The Trials of Humanity, Petrol and Lactose Intolerance.

Happy birthday to @redrobin-detective!!! Here’s some idiots being dumb. (I haven’t actually seen the show yet, so this is based on what I know of the book.)

Anathema grunted as she dropped another box on the pile. “Why are we doing this again?”

From his stack, about four piles over, Aziraphale looked up. “Rotating stock. Regrettably, my shop isn't able to hold all of the books I've collected. I rotate them out every once in a while, so they all get a chance at some sunlight.”

The shop downstairs, while gorgeous, was stocked full of books, even if the space sometimes seemed larger than the outside of the shop suggested. Anathema conceded the point. But that didn't fully answer the question. “So why not just miracle the books up here?” She grabbed a book and waved it, making a whoosh noise.

“Oh, I could never!” Aziraphale bustled over, grabbing the book and cradling it protectively against his chest. “Books hold far too much power. Doing so could rip a hole in the fabric of reality, connecting the shop to other large collections of books. That, of course, runs the risk of getting an orangutan in here. Not that he's not a nice orangutan,” Aziraphale said quickly, completely misinterpreting Anathema's look of bafflement, “There isn't an ape that treats books better. But I noticed a few missing after the last time he came by. No,no, it's much better to do it manually.”

Anathema thought about that sentence. She really thought, and then she decided that yes, she absolutely had to know. But before she could ask, Newt took the last step up the attic ladder, put down his box with an, “Oof,” and pointed at Anathema. “Don't -huff- ask. Please.”

Crowley grinned from behind Newt. He was carrying two boxes at the same time. Behind him, the Them had their own boxes, a bit smaller, very well taped, and filled, not with books, but with blocks of wood the same size and weight of books. Aziraphale had welcomed their help, of course, but feared that a moment of inattention would lead to dropping the boxes, and possibly damaging the books. As Adam poked Crowley with his box, trying to get him to move out of the way, Crowley asked, “Getting a little tired there?”

Newt just wheezed, unused to any kind of physical activity. He did make a gesture at Crowley, after making sure it was out of sight of the children, one which had Aziraphale gasping lightly and averting his eyes. Crowley's grin just widened.

Anathema took offense at that grin, as many people did. It was an offensive kind of grin. “Well of course. Not everyone here has supernatural stamina. You two have all the luck.” The last sentence was muttered, but Crowley heard it anyways. Because of course he did.

“Luck has nothing to do with it. We were created this way.” He finally moved, dropping his boxes with what looked like careless abandon, but to Aziraphale's practiced eye was really the utmost of care. “Besides, this is pathetic, even for a human.” Crowley, who had witnessed both the best and worst of human endurance over the millenia, knew what he was talking about. Newt wasn't the most gifted, physically or otherwise.

Behind him, the Them darted about the attic, looking for an open place to drop their boxes of not-books. Wensleydale dropped his on his foot and yelped. Brian laughed, and then dropped his box. Aziraphale tried not to smile too widely at his foresight.

She laughed. She'd been around, of course, and had seen many people who would have wheezed going up a flight of stairs carrying something heavy once or twice. But, as Newt was her... friend, Anathema felt it necessary to defend him. “I'd like to see you two try being a human, just for one day. Then you'd see how difficult it is.”

Crowley dipped his head. “How hard could it be? Lurching from place to place, never knowing what's going on?” With that, he turned, grabbed a box of books that hadn't been aired in a few years, and headed back down the stairs, throwing a careless wave behind him.

Anathema grumbled about demons and angels for a few more minutes, then followed the others downstairs. Less than an hour later, all the books were transferred safely. Aziraphale thanked them by taking everyone out to ice cream. The conversation was largely forgotten by the time Anathema and Newt bundled the Them into Dick Turpin and drove off, back to Lower Tadfield.

Largely forgotten. But not entirely.

In a place that could, in the most general sense of the term, be called Upstairs, She felt the shifting of the universe. Felt it, and smiled. She could have stopped it, but she thought it would be fun to let things run their course.

The next morning, Aziraphale woke up. This was unusual in that he didn't remember going to sleep, and also that he didn't usually require it. A nap here and there, for the sheer pleasure of it, definitely. And there had been that time Crowley had slept for most of the 18th century. He had been a bit annoyed when he'd woken up and found out he missed several important wars and quite a bit of Victorian fashion. But in general, Aziraphale chose to relax with a cup of tea and a book.

So that was unusual. What else was unusual was a horrid pain in his lower abdomen. He couldn't remember ever feeling something like that. Confused, he got up to make himself some tea.

Except that when he picked up the kettle, it was cold, and it felt lighter than usual. He turned it around and around, confused. Water splashed out of the spout and down onto his foot. Curious, he lifted the lid of the kettle.

Empty. Strange. No matter. There was that charming tea shop that had just opened up down the street. He grabbed a book and headed out.

The tea was just what he needed. The warmth of it even relaxed his stomach, and he was feeling much less sleepy. Another odd thing. When he'd awoken that morning, it was like the sleep had clung to him. Like a cobweb that he'd walked through, and he hadn't been able to get all the strands off. Still, no matter. He enjoyed his tea, and a biscuit, and spent an hour reading on one of the outside tables.

And then the waitress had dropped a small piece of paper on his table. It was the bill. “Oh, of course.” Aziraphale reached into his pocket. Money always appeared there. He didn't miracle it into existence, of course not. But after a few millenia, he had, rather without intending to, amassed a small fortune. Even his bookstore, despite his best efforts, did decent enough business so as to keep him in tea and ice cream for years. And money from his register always appeared in his pocket, and always exactly as much as he needed.

Except “always” seemed to be a poor choice of words, considering the money didn't appear now. Aziraphale blinked, then checked his other pocket. And then his coat pockets. And his inside pockets. He laughed, although there wasn't anything funny. “Oh. Dearie me. I seem to have left my... wallet,” he wasn't entirely sure that was the correct term. When had people stopped using coin purses? But the waitress didn't react, so he continued, “at the shop. It's just down the street there, if I could just run and grab it?”

The waitress gave him a suspicious look, but shrugged. Aziraphale scurried to the shop, took the proper amount out of his till, then hurried back. He paid, then, book tucked securely against his chest, went back to the shop. The Closed sign flipped around.

What... Just what exactly was going on? Aziraphale stood in the middle of his shop, feeling lost for the first time. Which was ridiculous. He knew exactly where he was. And, more importantly, he knew where every book in the shop was, and his relation to them. For example, standing as he was, his nose was pointed at Silt Through the Ages. Aziraphale knew exactly where he was. Despite this, the lost feeling persisted.

Right up until, about five seconds later, when Crowley burst into the shop, completely ignoring the Closed sign. “Angel, we've got a problem!”

“Yes, I'm beginning to see that.” Aziraphale thought a moment. “Incidentally, how did you get in?”

Crowley halted. This wasn't the question he'd been expecting. “I opened the door.”

Aziraphale huffed a sigh. “Yes, I saw that. But how? I have the closed sign up.” He walked over to the door and checked the handle. It turned, with the same sort of turning motion as every door handle in existence. “That's odd. The door never opens when I have the closed sign up.” He flipped the sign a few more times, checking the handle as he did.

“That's what I was trying to tell you.” Crowley pulled his shades down. Aziraphale gasped. Instead of the yellow, slitted pupils he had come to know very well over the past six thousand years, there were normal, human, brown ones. Oh, the colour was a bit more gold than humans usually had, but it was nothing that would cause an upset should his sunglasses slip.

“Oh dear.” As far as exclamations went, it was decidedly underwhelming, especially given the situation. But it was all Aziraphale could manage. He tottered back, leaning against a shelf, feeling the comforting press of book spines against his apparently human one. Cautiously, he tried letting his wings out. It would wreck the jacket, but that wasn't what occupied his mind currently.

Unfortunately, and not unexpectedly, this didn't happen. Crowley noticed him rotating his shoulder blades and nodded. “Tried that too. I think we're actually hu-”

“Don't say it!” Aziraphale recoiled after his outburst. Saying it, or not saying it, wouldn't make it any more or less true, but still. He didn't like the thought. “Sorry. Whatever shall we do? And how did this happen?” An idea bounced into Aziraphale's head, and he put his palms together. “Oh Lord, I beg. If you are angry with us, I am sure you have every reason. But perhaps you could tell us why?”

When a heavenly voice didn't descend from the rafters, Crowley snorted. “Don't know if you've noticed, angel, but the Presence Upstairs doesn't really do things according to our wishes.” He grabbed Aziraphale's arm, pulling his hands apart. “This is probably the work of the Antichrist.”

“Adam?”

Crowley nodded. “He was in the attic yesterday when me and Anathema were arguing. He probably thinks it's some sort of funny prank.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale pulled out of Crowley's grip, bustling around the counter and digging in one of the drawers. “Good point! And if it isn't him, he can probably fix this. We need to go to Lower Tadfield immediately!”

“That's the spirit!” Crowley waited a moment while Aziraphale kept digging. “Uh, what're you doing?”

Aziraphale had started emptying the contents of the drawers on the counter, to better spread out his mess. Many bookmarks made out of leaves, interesting stones miraculously flattened to paper thinness and more than a few painted by Michelangelo were unearthed, as well as pocket books, a couple of artifacts that the Vatican would sell Italy for, and some spare bow ties. Finally, he pulled out a ring of keys triumphantly. They looked pristine, never been used. “I'll need to lock the shop. Now, let's see. How do mortals do this...?”

Crowley waited with what could be considered angelic patience on anyone else as Aziraphale stood outside his shop, trying key after key, eventually figuring out that they had to be inserted and then turned for anything to happen, trying the knob every few seconds to see if it worked. Finally, the shop was locked and the former angel and former demon strode down the street.

Of course, unbeknownst to Aziraphale, he had neglected to lock the back door, or close any of the windows. However, nothing particularly unfortunate happened as a result of this. What did happen is a man who needed money climbed in through the window, grabbed a book with the intent to steal and sell it and instead found himself reading it. It inspired him to not give up on himself and he put the book back. Then he went to the swimming pool, took a shower, changed into his good clothes, and went to go ask his wife if they could perhaps talk. The talk went well. The wife agreed that if he stopped using, she would see about getting him a job at the sandwich shop at her firm. Four months later, he was clean, his wife no longer saw him as the scum on the bottom of her shoe, and he could make a mean tomato and cress. There were still things he needed to work on, but working on them he was.

This has no bearing on the story at large, but it makes for a nicer read than, for example, Crowley and Aziraphale walked back to the car. Although that makes a nice segue into, where they encountered another problem.

“Why isn't it starting,” asked Crowley. Aziraphale shrugged. He'd never driven Crowley's car, or any car for that matter. He thumped the steering wheel in a way that would never convince the Bentley to start, but made him feel slightly better.

Aziraphale pointed. “Look. Another keyhole! Do you think cars need keys as well?”

Crowley leaned around the steering wheel. “Huh.” He reached over and popped open the glove box. When that didn't reveal keys, he looked up to his apartment building. “Maybe they're up there.”

Of course, the problems kept arising. Because his apartment building was locked. Of course, it had never done that before, not for Crowley. Doors opened for him. The one exception being Aziraphale's bookshop when the Closed sign was up, but that was mostly because he respected Aziraphale too much to force the issue. However, this door was solidly locked.

They walked around the building, looking for another way in. Then returned to the entrance when they didn't find one. Crowley glared at the door, trying to frighten it, and Aziraphale poked at the little box next to the door. It had a keypad on it. After a minute, a speaker crackled. “Front office.”

“Oh! Crowley, look.” Aziraphale waved to his friend, then said to the box, “Hello. We could use some assistance. We're locked out of the building.”

The box paused for a minute. “I'll need your name and apartment number.”

Crowley rattled them off. After a moment, the door buzzed. They made their way inside. Luckily, Crowley hadn't locked his apartment. Twenty minutes of searching eventually revealed car keys hidden behind the sofa, the resting place of all misplaced keys.

Before he left, Crowley turned and regarded his house plants. “Don't even think about trying anything. I'll be back.”

The plants, of course, could sense that the words were slightly less intimidating than they usually were. However, like most plants, they were far too smart to test that. They just focused on being green and lively, despite the lack of materials which would allow them to do so.

They got into the car, figured out how to start it and set off, The Seven Seas of Rhye filtering out of the stereo. The drive was mostly uneventful. Even crossing the M25 didn't spark any unpleasantness. They mostly just told each other about their days. Crowley's had started rather later than Aziraphale's and he'd noticed something was wrong as soon as he'd tried to do his morning wing stretch. Then, when that hadn't worked, he'd gone to the bathroom to do his hair. Then he'd noticed his reflection and ran all the way to the bookshop.

It wasn't until they were twenty five minutes from Lower Tadfield that the next thing went wrong. Slowly, the car sputtered. And then the Bentley slowed to a stop. Crowley got out glared at it. “What now?”

“Haven't the foggiest idea.” Aziraphale got out also, leaning his arms on the hood of the Bentley and pressing his palms together again. “Dear Lord. Please bring your healing unto this car.”

“You know that's not going to work.” Crowley stood in front of the Bentley, glaring at it.

Aziraphale snorted. “And neither is that.”

Crowley glared at him, which didn't affect the angel at all, never did, then rolled up his sleeves. He'd seen this on a television program once. When cars broke, you lifted the hood. It was easy. Except that lifting the hood gave him no greater insight. It was all a mass of metal and bits and things. He poked one. It hissed at him. He closed the hood.

They ended up sitting on the hood of the car together, hoping it would start. The Bentley stubbornly refused to do so. Finally, Crowley broke the silence. “Why does my,” he waved in a way suggesting the entirety of his abdomen, “hurt?”

“Oh. I had that this morning.” Aziraphale leaned back a bit. “It went away when I had my tea and a biscuit.”

“Huh.” Crowley stared at his stomach for a minute. “Do you think that's why humans spend all their time eating?”

Aziraphale considered this. “You know, it could be. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.”

“It definitely isn't. Come on, I saw a shop a few minutes back. Maybe we can buy some food.” He slid off the car, walked a ways, turned back, locked his door, continued walking, then remembering part of Aziraphale's day, turned back again, unlocked his door and grabbed the wad of cash he had in the glove box. He didn't have it in there for any particular reason. He'd just driven up to someone once to ask directions and they'd given him the money and run.

Money in pocket, he sauntered off. Then had to amble back again to lock his door.

The shop was called Gas Station, and was filled with lots of treats. Aziraphale grabbed a few cookies from the shelf, as well as a bag of chips and a candy bar. Then he picked out an ice cream cup from the freezer. And, since it was past lunch time, he grabbed four sandwiches too.

Crowley was talking to the shopkeep. “Yes, our car stalled a ways down the road.”

“Ah. Out of gas were you?” The shopkeep was too busy restocking the candy bars to notice Crowley's confusion. “We've got gas cans for sale if you need one. They're 'round the corner, next to the magazine carousel.” The shopkeep waved her hand in the general direction.

Crowley went to investigate. Red plastic can, spout on the top, with a handle. Interesting. He picked one up. And completely empty. Still, if this would make the Bentley go... He carried it to the counter and plopped it next to Aziraphale's food.

The shopkeep nodded. “Right. And I'm assuming you want it filled up?” Crowley didn't know what that meant, so he just nodded. “So twenty five litres of petrol. And a funnel,” a cone was plopped onto the counter, “you'll need it, trust me. That's forty four eighty.” Crowley reached into his pocket, grabbed all the money, and put it on the counter. The woman straightened the bills out, counted what she needed and handed back the rest, as well as the change. “Have a nice day.”

Crowley and Aziraphale left the store. Then leaned against it while they ate their sandwiches. Well, Crowley leaned. The wall hadn't been washed since the last rain, so Aziraphale gave it a respectful amount of space. “So. Petrol.”

Aziraphale nodded. “You know, I think I've heard of it. Humans use it to make things work.”

“Like cars?”

“Probably.”

“Hm.” They lapsed into silence, watching other people roll up, fill their cars, then go in to pay. Their cars all seemed quite content to putter and vroom and make all those noises that cars generally did. Crowley rattled his gas can. “So I supposed this is used to transport the petrol from here to the Bentley.”

“That seems right. A temporary vessel.” Aziraphale looked at the pumps. “We should probably go and give it a go.”

Crowley finished his sandwich and nodded, unleaning and meandering towards the pump. He put the can on the ground and unscrewed the lid. So far so good. The pump had instructions on it, which he read. Then he lifted the nozzle, selected his grade, put the nozzle into the gas can and pulled the trigger.

Right. This was going well. He had to stoop over, which wasn't comfortable for his newly-mortal back, but he'd manage. And after a minute, the nozzle clicked itself off. Crowley nodded and put it back into its cradle. This human thing wasn't so hard.

Ten minutes later, he took it back. “Why is this so heavy?”

Aziraphale, walking beside him and eating his ice cream cup, shrugged. “I think things do that. Maybe gravity affects humans differently, so everything is heavier for them.”

Crowley switched hands. It didn't help much, mostly owing to the fact that his left hand hadn't recovered from the last time it had had to carry the gas can. “Can't it be your turn?”

“Oh, sorry.” Aziraphale quickly ate the rest of his ice cream then, lacking anywhere to miracle the trash away to, put the empty cup back into his plastic bag. Then he switched the bag for the can. “Well that's not too bad.”

“Yeah? Give it a few minutes.”

And after a few minutes, Aziraphale did have to admit that the can got heavier with every second that passed. He told Crowley this, then added, “Isn't that a punishment in your place? Things that get heavier and heavier as time passes, but those poor souls can't put them down?”

“It is.” Crowley was still massaging his wrist. Another sandwich and the bag of chips were helping enormously, although he wasn't sure why. He passed another chip to Aziraphale, who ate it gladly. “I always told them that whatever we do, humans have done worse. And look. One of our top tortures, and they just... do it. Every day.” He shook his head. “There's nothing we can do to them that they haven't done to themselves.”

Aziraphale didn't say anything. This was mostly because he saw the car around the next bend in the road and started walking faster, wanting to put his burden down as soon as he could.

With the careful air of a child copying their mother as she sweeps, they located the hole for the gas, uncapped the gas can, lined it up and poured. Then, after wiping up the resulting spill with the napkins that the shopkeep had put in the bag, put in the funnel and poured in the gas. Hardly a minute passed and the can was empty. Crowley tossed it, Aziraphale retrieved it and stuck it in the trunk.

The moment of truth. Crowley inserted the key. Aziraphale prayed. He turned it. The engine sputtered. He turned it again. And it came to life with a purr. Both currently-not-angel and currently-not-demon sighed in relief. Aziraphale sent up a thank you, and they carried on to Lower Tadfield.

Finally, finally, they pulled up in front of the gorge that the Them usually plays in. No, it did not occur to either of them to look for Adam at Adam's house. It was far more likely to find him here. And find him they did, covered in mud and with a crown made out of twigs and even more mud atop his head. Pepper was wearing an old piece of tarp tied around her shoulders like a cloak. She had a stick shoved into her belt loop. Brian was carrying a trash can lid. There was a large piece of bark tied around his chest like a breastplate. And Wensleydale was holding a vary large stick with a knob on the end.

Aziraphale looked over the party. “Oh. A king, his knight, his defender and his wizard! Just like in Arthurian times, remember Crowley?”

Crowley did. “Yes, yes, all well and good. Adam Young, what did you do to us?”

“Oh, hello you two.” Adam remembered himself. “I mean. Hello my loyal subjects. I have granted you a boon. By my own words, thou hast been made human for a day. Art thou enjoying it?”

“No. Undo it.” Crowley crossed his arms and glared. It hadn't worked on the apartment door and it hadn't worked on the Bentley. It did work on Adam Young, who squirmed. He had practice being under the disapproving eye of an adult.

“I uh... I can't. Human for a day. That's what I said.”

Aziraphale leaned forward. “But why?”

“You asked how hard it could be,” Adam said to Crowley. “I thought you wanted to try it. That's usually what happens.”

“Yeah,” said Brian, “Like when Wensley said, 'how hard could it be to use a slingshot,' and then he tried it and it smacked him in the wrist.”

Crowley was about to launch all the vitriol that millenia of avoiding Hell had given him when Aziraphale grabbed his upper arm.

He'd noticed it in the car, but getting out and walking had made it worse. And now that he was standing still, he was in a great amount of pain. Much worse than this morning. “Crowley. It's my stomach. I think it's trying to eat me.”

“I'd go to Anathema were I you,” said Wensley. “She's got a great stomach aid.”

“No, she doesn't,” said Pepper, “she just gave you a sports drink and told you it was medicine.”

“And it worked, didn't it?”

Adam looked worried. “I'm sorry. But there really isn't anything I can do.” He pointed. “What ho, my court! Let us concregate over yonder hill!” And the Them scurried off to congregate.

Luckily, Anathema's cottage was close by. She opened the door to Crowley's frantic knocking with a surprised, “Crowley? Aziraphale? What-”

“Adam turned us human for a day and it's been terrible, sorry about that, and now Aziraphale is dying, help him.” He said the middle bit very quickly, and a little quieter than the rest, in hopes that she wouldn't notice.

“Dying?”

“Horrible stomach pain,” said Aziraphale helpfully. Newt took the bag that Aziraphale had refused to leave in the car (“The chocolate bar could melt Crowley.”) and started digging through it.

“Hm. That's not uncommon, and not usually as a symptom of death.” Anathema helped Crowley sit Aziraphale on the couch. “IBS, gas, Crohn's, a virus-”

“Lactose intolerance maybe,” said Newt, holding up the empty ice cream cup. “I have it. It won't kill you, don't worry. And it'll pass.”

Aziraphale looked interested. Rather pained, but interested. “What is lactose intolerance?”

“It's when you can't digest dairy products. Milk, ice cream, cheese, that sort of thing.” Newt went over to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Anathema got up too and pulled a box of tea from the cupboard, as well as a mug. “Your angeliness probably protected you. Or maybe angels don't get lactose intolerance.”

Aziraphale thought back to the day before. “But wait, you ate ice cream yesterday Newton.”

“Yes, I did. Hurt like the dickens on the way home. And it was worth it.” The kettle whistled and Newt poured a mug. Tea bag in, mug handed off to the stricken former angel. “Here. This is the tea I drink when I decide to ignore my body's wishes and indulge in a pizza. It'll help a little.”

And it did help a little. Enough that Aziraphale felt up to a quick dinner at Anathema's where she teased Crowley relentlessly on his difficulty being human. Finally, Crowley snapped out, “Yes, fine, it's difficult being a human. But remember, this is my first day. You two have had years to practice at it. If I had as muc-”

Aziraphale's hand clapped over his mouth, the suddenness of the action enough to shock Crowley into silence. “Let's not tempt anyone's sense of humor, shall we?”

Crowley dislodged the hand from his face. “Good call angel.”

Anathema laughed at them. “Oh, and Crowley, I just wanted to let you know that your eyes are lovely like this. Can you try keeping it that way?”

Crowley shook his head. “Not possible. And I wouldn't want to. I like my eyes.”

After supper, Crowley decided he wasn't able to take any more teasing. So he loaded Aziraphale up and drove to the top of a nearby hill. Together, they sat on the hood of the Bentley and watched the sun go down. “It wasn't all bad,” said Aziraphale.

“What?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, incredulous. “Name one good thing, just one.”

“Well.” Aziraphale considered. “This.” He waved out at the sunset. “I don't usually take the time to enjoy them. They usually feel so... beneath it all, you know?”

Crowley leaned back against the windshield. “I think so. Seen one sunset, seen 'em all.”

“Exactly. But this one.”

Crowley knew what Aziraphale was talking about. The sky as it turned from blue-yellow-orange-red. The breeze, smelling of agriculture, petrol and, slightly, the sea. The sound of it weaving through trees and blades of grass, filling the spaces better than any key in any lock. The feel of the Bentley, cool against his back and legs. The warmth of Aziraphale as he leaned back so their shoulders were touching. “Yeah,” was what he managed to say about the beauty of it all.

“And Anathema and Newt. And the shop keeper. They were all kind to us today.”

“We paid the shopkeep for that. And those two wouldn't stop teasing.”

“Yes, but they helped us. They didn't have to, but they did. If it had been your lot, they would have stabbed us in the back and left us for dead.”

Crowley snorted. “Your lot too. Except they would have paid someone else to wield the knife. We've been too much of an annoyance to them.”

Aziraphale hesitated. Then, with a cautious look upwards, he ventured, “Yes, I suppose you're right.” When nothing happened, he allowed himself to relax again.

Crowley grinned. “I suppose it hasn't been the worst day we've had in the past six thousand years.” Another few minutes of silence. “Newt made a delicious chicken. I didn't know chicken could taste like that.”

“Neither did I.” More silence, then, “Anathema was right you know.”

“Hm?”

“Your eyes. They do look lovely. I like your usual eyes better, of course, but these are nice too.” Aziraphale smiled gently at the sun. “There is nothing we can give them that they haven't given themselves already.”

Crowley hummed.

The sun set, taking with it their mortality. Divinity settled on them like a familiar blanket. Crowley sat up, snapping his wings out and giving them a good stretch. Aziraphale miracled away the last of his stomach ache. And the eye damage that came from staring directly at the sun healed itself. “Come on angel. Let's get home. I have plants to terrorize and you've got books to coddle.”

The car started without any sort of key. The tank was full, despite being three quarters empty an hour ago. And when they got home, the doors opened without any sort of fuss. Aziraphale made sure the Closed sign was up, then settled in his favourite chair with his favourite mug of tea and a book he hadn't read in a long while. Crowley gave all of his plants a stern talking to and the one that hadn't focused enough on being green and perky was evicted from the living room. Then he settled on the sofa and groomed his wings.