Part 22 I think, wow that’s a lot. I’m being terrible between chapters, sorry. The whole fic so far is on a03, and the first part of Part 22 is below:
Part 22
“Well, that was certainly different, don’t you think?”
Aziraphale was talking to Crowley, but he also seemed to just be talking for the sake of talking. They had left the poker game some time ago, and had exited the funhouse maze through a side door Lucy had been very kind to show them. The mood at the game had definitely changed after the exchange between Aziraphale and Ben, and Crowley had been grateful when Aziraphale did the motions of slapping his thighs and saying ‘right!’ before making a polite exit. Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of it, his mind still working in endless spirals going over everything the Creature had said.
Aziraphale hadn’t seemed to have noticed the way Crowley was woven around him, his entire head ducked into the collar of the Keeper’s robes, and his tail looped tightly over his head to try and block out some of the intrusive thoughts. He only loosened his hold on himself when he realised that some of the background noise was the rumble of Aziraphale’s voice through his skin.
“What a marvellous game, as well, I’ve read about it but never had a chance to play it. I do think the rules are a little hard to grasp though… I suppose if we were ever to try playing it, we would have to get you some kind of stand maybe? Something to hold the cards on, or do you think you could hold them with your tail?”
The angel was rambling now, but quite happily so. Crowley found himself loosening without realising it, coils slipping with each step of the angel, until he was a puddle of snake barely clinging to him, and his head and neck were being cupped carefully in the angel’s hand.
“I can imagine you would pick up the rules a lot faster than I would, little thing, you’re such a clever little thing, aren’t you?”
Indeed I am, your clever little thing, thought Crowley drowsily, gazing at Aziraphale’s face from his angle cupped into an elbow. With the tension gone from his body, he didn’t realise just how tired he was, or where they were now walking. Instead he just lay there, being held by his angel.
They were walking through the forest again, but there was a muted greyness to it now, rather than the foreboding shadows which loomed over them on their entry. The trees were still twisted and bare, with fierce looking branches that threatened to scrap against one’s skin, but they looked docile and static without the wind whipping them. The greyness was lifting as Aziraphale picked a path through the ugly forest, and when Crowley finally mustered up the effort to twist his head, he saw why. Through the retreating tree line, he could see a glimmer of orange light peeking over the horizon. They were walking towards the dawn.
“Now I think…” huffed Aziraphale, clambering up a small area of broken stone steps, “we’re almost there,”
Crowley didn’t know what he meant, weren’t they heading back to the Library soon? He was so tired in Aziraphale’s arms, he couldn’t conjure up the energy to care. Aziraphale continued to huff up an ancient set of stone steps, side stepping the large cracks and moss threatening to swallow whole steps. There was a large release of air at the top, as Aziraphale leaned one hand against a nearby tree trunk (which did not seem pleased to be of assistance) and looked down a short ways.
“There, little thing,” he pointed, running his free hand across his brow and jostling Crowley a little more upright in his arm. Crowley blinked slowly, pulling his eyes away from the crack of dawn that lined the jagged horizon of the forest, and looking down the short distance to a large structure that sat motionless. It was a giant circle, with a central tower and spokes that each ended in a small basket. It took him a minute to make out its dimensions, the rigid lines of the metal blending surprisingly well against the angular shapes of the trees around it. It was mounted on a small ridge, overlooking the dip of the valley below them and leading to what would be a perfect view from the very top of its orbit.
“It’s called a ferris wheel,” explained Aziraphale, and he was grinning despite the pink in his cheeks from the climb. “I’ve seen many pictures of them in some books, I think it’s meant to be a part of the entertainments with the Funhouse, but it all seems a little quiet at the moment,”
Quiet was an understatement, thought Crowley to himself. In between the unruly trees and the barely accessible path, there seemed to be no real encouragement between the Funhouse they had left behind them, and this silent, towering feature ahead of them.
“Well come on then!” said Aziraphale cheerfully. “No time like the present!”
someone made the mistake of showing me fanart of aziraphale cuddling with serpent!crowley at 2am. this is the result
continue beneath the cut or on ao3
****
Aziraphale stirred as the first weak rays of sunlight crept through the chinks in the curtains. He still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of sleep, and was prone to waking at first light, even in the depths of winter, whenever he did make the effort.
It was all down to Crowley, of course. The demon had spent a good many evenings extolling the virtues (he avoided referring to Sloth in any way) of a decent night’s rest, moved on to pointing out that the book would still be there in the morning and would give him something to look forward to, and then finally resorted to admitting that it was cold in bed with no one to snuggle up to.
That was the argument Aziraphale had been unable to resist.
And so he had capitulated, and every now and again (rather more often than not, as Crowley was rather partial to a good sleep) Aziraphale allowed himself to be cajoled into bed.
(He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he had become incredibly fond of waking to find Crowley pressed against him, his face full of flame red hair, legs entwined, and very little actual cajoling was needed any more.)
On this particular morning, he slowly came to realise that something was different. There were no ridiculously long limbs slung over his body, no mop of hair tickling his nose. Instead, his right leg felt like it had been loosely bound by some kind of rope, and there was a strange weight pressed across his hips, a lump resting in the centre of his chest. He pushed the duvet back, only to find himself looking down at the head of a large serpent.
He jerked in surprise, his sleep fogged brain making the connection just in time to prevent the scream leaving his lips.
“Oh, good lord.”
Golden eyes flickered open, head raising just enough to glare at the disturbance and if a snake was able to look aggrieved, this one managed it.
“Nope. Jusss me. An’ I'm trying to sssleep.”
Aziraphale thought his reaction perfectly understandable, given the circumstances. It wasn’t every morning one woke to find a snake sharing one’s bed, demonic or otherwise. “You gave me rather a shock!”
“Sssorry.” He did at least sound contrite. “Wasss cold.”
“We can cuddle with you in your other form,” Aziraphale reasoned, quite logically he thought. “Or I could miracle up another blanket.”
Crowley’s head swayed, as if he were weighing up the options. “Can be clossser like thisss.”
Oh. He hadn’t considered that. Of course it made sense that Crowley would seek out heat, that he’d try to establish as much bodily contact as possible, make the most of the heat Aziraphale provided.
“You want me to change back?”
“No, no,” Aziraphale hastened to assure him, worried Crowley had misinterpreted his silence as disapproval. “Not if you’re comfortable like this.”
“Sssure?”
Aziraphale smiled, touched at the consideration, and wanting to reassure Crowley it was perfectly alright. “Yes, my dear boy. Now, go back to sleep.”
Crowley stared at him a moment longer, then turned away, his sinuous body looping back on itself. Aziraphale assumed he was curling into a different position, only to jump in surprise when he felt Crowley’s head slip beneath the hem of his nightshirt and make its way over his stomach and back up his chest, until his nose peeked out of the collar.
“Oh my!”
“Isss thisss okay?”
Aziraphale blinked, taking a moment to adjust to the feeling of smooth scales flush against his skin. It was… Certainly not disagreeable. In fact, it was really rather pleasant.
“Oh, yes. Very much so.”
A forked tongue flickered out, tasting the air a fraction of an inch from Aziraphale’s lips. Crowley was rather too pleased with himself, but Aziraphale was too content to complain.
They fell back into sleep, Crowley’s nose pressed against Aziraphale's neck, and Aziraphale’s hand finding a home atop the coil of Crowley’s long body resting over his hip.
It took me forever to finish this chapter and the one after it, I meant to have them done for Halloween and it’s January... nevermind. If anyone is interested in starting from the beginning, you can read the entire fic so far here.
Part 20
The whole business with the books and the attic had been forgotten quite quickly, possibly a little too quickly for Crowley’s liking, but he found he didn’t seem to mind. He found he could put up with quite a lot of his angel’s shenanigans as long as there were kisses involved for him.
And kisses there were indeed, as Crowley found himself scooped up and curled around Aziraphale’s shoulders and his head held in two hands, being peppered with affection all over his snout.
“Hello, my lovely little thing,” sighed Aziraphale heavily, simply holding Crowley close to his face and giving another great big contented sigh. “I feel as if I haven’t seen you in an age,”
Crowley knew what he meant. Any time away from each other seemed to go on forever, like he was living a completely separate reality away from his angel’s touch, and then slipping back into his true life, the one he was meant to be living. Aziraphale breathed in again, nuzzling his face into Crowley’s neck coil before pulling back to smile at him dazzlingly.
“Someone’s been sliding around in the dust, haven’t they?” he smirked, eyes twinkling.
Crowley looked down, but couldn’t see any traces of dust on himself, his scales gleaming as usual.
“You smell a little...well, metallic maybe?” continued Aziraphale, going in for another sniff. “Maybe a hint of… oh, what is that? Woodsmoke?”
Crowley gave a half hearted shrug, moving to wind himself once more around Aziraphale’s neck and hide himself under the angel’s chin. It didn’t work, as Aziraphale simply unlooped Crowley’s tail from under his armpit and ran his nose along it.
“Hmm, it’s an interesting aroma, whatever it is,” he concluded. “But perhaps not as nice as your normal smell,”
Can we just change the subject , thought Crowley morosely. He had already spent enough time as it was trying to hide the new additions of starlight that had been leftover on his scales when he had transformed; he was less than pleased that he had overlooked the leftover influence of the furnaces.
“Well, anyway, let’s get a wiggle on, shall we?”
Aziraphale checked his pockets for his supplies, ink, quill, paper, checked once more for Crowley, and then they set off.
--
The morning turned out to be a little dull, with Aziraphale actually attending to his duties as expected for once. Crowley tried to stay present, listening to all the gentle things Aziraphale would say, either to himself, Crowley or to the books. When there was nothing to comment on or share with Crowley, Aziraphale would lapse into thoughtful quietness and then slip a little further into humming to himself. His throat rumbled gently as he hummed, and with the gentle rise and fall of his chest Crowley found himself being lulled to sleep.
He woke to a little squeeze of Aziraphale’s fingers to the coil of him that roughly translated to his armpit - his rather ticklish armpit - and immediately gave an involuntary little squirm. His head popped up so quickly from where it had been tucked into Aziraphale’s collar that he bumped himself on Aziraphale’s chin.
“Oh goodness, sorry my little thing, did I startle you?”
Crowley gave another little squirm, moving as to tuck away his more sensitive spots as he blinked away the sleep. They were in one of the more chaotic corners of the Library, where the unusually black lacquered bookcases were much closer together forming narrow corridors, absorbing the feeble amount of light that the orbs threw out. There were a few candles dotted about in sconces at shoulder height, the flickering light showing the spiderwebs that criss crossed the narrow pathway, the books slowly being cocooned in the darkness.
“It’s a little spooky, isn’t it?” said Aziraphale in an excited voice, lifting a hand to push a web away from his face as he tiptoed a little further into the darkness. His wings were gone again, once again folded away on another plane so he could forget about even pretending to look after them, the poor things. Crowley mused on what it would be like to offer to groom them for him, when he realised Aziraphale was speaking again.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come down here with a duster in hand to tidy up, but I simply can’t bring myself to do it,”
Aziraphale ducked under another larger web which spanned the space between two towering bookcases that seemed to loom down. He straightened, thinking he had successfully avoided the web, but then gave a small splutter as he went face first into another one directly behind it.
“Urgh, really!” he complained, lifting a hand to remove the web from his face and spit it off his tongue. He turned towards the centre of the web, still fussing the web from his curls, and gave a cross look to the occupant.
“I don’t mind you making your home with the books, but you know how I feel about walking through them!”
Well this certainly took a while to circle back to. Between depression, the election and Destiel I think I’ve lost several years worth of braincells in the last month. I haven’t forgotten about the husbands though, and hope that another chapter makes up for the long absence.
Part 19
That angel was going to be the death of him, thought Crowley with a heavy sigh, as he made his way down towards the metal workshops.
It was only a simple sentence, but no matter how hard Crowley eyeballed Aziraphale, the angel refused to say it.
“This might have been a mistake,”
He refused to say it while the shop assistant rung up the wall of books all while sneezing from dust and grumbling under his breath as he and another wizard hauled the full boxes one on top of the other.
He refused to say it as they packed the books away in several large trunks and brought them out onto the street and, finally free of their expected remit of duty, left Aziraphale standing there with five large trunks of books, and one very late snake.
He refused to say it as he used the very last of his miracle allowance to lift the cumbersome trunks and trek them back towards whichever exit the library offered up this time.
He refused to say it when they finally found their way back into the quiet, and once again dark and deserted, library.
He had refused to say it as he had navigated the trunks through the tight twists of the library, or when they had squeezed them into the hidden ladder space which led to their attic. He had refused to say it when he had ruefully taken his pink robes off and placed them carefully to one side, as to avoid getting them any dustier than they already were. He had even refused to say it after many, many trips up and down the ladder, lugging stacks of books up one after another, all the way growing a little pinker in the face, a little messier in the hair, and all the while steadfastly ignoring Crowley’s pointed stare.
Eventually - finally - the books were all stacked carefully along the side of the attic wall, each one welcomed and dusted and in its place. Aziraphale’s new robes had been hung up with care on the other side of the attic, next to the dress from their garden party with the Colonel, and the picnic basket gifted to them by Dorothy. Not once did Aziraphale say anything about the whole affair, but Crowley could tell by the slight purse of his lips and the forced casualness of his expression that the angel was only too aware of his impulsive decision, and of Crowley’s deep amusement of the whole spectacle.
Even now, as late as he was, as rushed as he was, Crowley couldn’t help but smile to himself as he remembered how the angel had managed to kiss him goodbye while still avoiding eye contact.
Read the rest of the chapter on ao3 if you fancy it
I’m so behind, I’m so behind, I’m so behind! This chapter was planned to be done for Halloween 2020. It’s February. I’m a mess. Anyway, here’s some more ineffable idiots getting into a deep conversation with a bunch of movie monsters, because I like to set myself challenges and then resent them for weeks on end while I try to actually do them.
Please, keep me. on a03
Part 21: The Poker Game
Crowley had experienced many incredible things since his first foray into the Library. Between mad tea parties and enchanted gardens, talking rabbits and bewitched books, he still never would have expected to find himself involved in a game of poker surrounded by such an odd and mismatched array of people.
Seated to Aziraphale’s left was a figure wrapped head to toe in dusty bandages, with dried out decayed fingertips holding their cards rather stiffly, leaning forward now and again with a creak to observe the brightly lit pot in the middle of the table over their sunglasses before retreating away from the pool of light. Next to this silent mummified figure there was a man slumped so casually in his chair that it was only the flicks of his eyes towards the other players, and the occasional languid movement of a hand rearranging his cards which proved he wasn’t actually asleep. He wore a loud Hawaiian shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick muscular arms which were covered in a dark layer of silky hair, leading to his hands which were tipped with wicked looking black talons. The mane of hair on his head was slicked back from his face and occasionally he grinned to himself, flicking a blood red tongue across his pointed teeth. Crowley saw a flicker of the gold canine tooth flash in the light as the carnivore laid his cards down.
“Three of a kind! How’s that for a mutt?” he growled, a heavy New York accenting twisting his gleeful words. He was addressing the female opposite him, as the only other player still active in the round and had fixed all eight of her large shiny black eyes on him without blinking. She was wearing a baggy midnight blue hoodie, with a matching pair of sweatpants with all eight legs tucked under the table and crossed in a complicated array of limbs. Instead of a chair, she was seated on a low stool to allow her sizable thorax the space behind her. Crowley wondered what she was wearing at the end of her legs, and whether driders preferred to wear slippers during their downtime. She leaned forward, her messy hair twisted up and away from her face in an unruly bun, and smirked a little.
“Not bad, but doesn’t beat a flush, does it?” she hissed lightly, laying her cards down for the wolfman to see, before leaning over to help herself to her winnings: a stack of poker chips, a few crumpled notes, and the wolfman’s gold watch.
“Aw crap,” muttered the wolfman, dragging a hand across his face. “I thought you were bluffin’,”
“And that’s why you lost, Vincent,” she grinned back, showing a rather large set of needle sharp fangs.
“Gosh, that was exciting,” whispered Aziraphale to Crowley. He was holding a handful of cards, but clearly had no idea what to do with them. He was perched on his chair very primly, leaning forward and watching everyone else at the table with wide, excited eyes.
“It could have been a bit more exciting if you had stuck on in there,” came a voice next to them, and Crowley twisted to look at the woman sitting next to them. She was very tall and angular, her bronze coloured skin shining with scales very similar to Crowley, but she maintained a humanoid shape all except for her hair, which Crowley could barely tear his gaze away from now that he had realised exactly what they were.
“What do you mean?” whispered back Aziraphale above him, a little giddy. She flicked her chin towards his cards, which he had done a terrible job hiding to himself, and smiled.
“You have a full house,”
Aziraphale blinked, still with that happy but confused look on his face.
I am in love with this sweet lil fic, it’s made me so happy writing it. I hope others enjoy it too.
Read the whole thing on a03 (so far!)
Or read it in parts on Tumblr (up to Part 17!):
Part1 - Crowley watches a little Keeper who caught his eye.
Part 2 - Crowley gets the barest minimum work done and sneaks into the greenhouses to annoy some flowers.
Part 3 - Crowley is late for his usual spying, so finally enters the library looking for the Keeper.
Part 4 - Crowley needs to up his spying game, so he gets some inspiration.
Part 5 - Crowley debuts his new form in the library, and gets more than he expected.
Part 6 - Crowley dozes off, which is both a curse and, it turns out, a blessing.
Part 7 - Crowley and Aziraphale explore the library together, and find somewhere very surprising together.
Part 8 - Crowley finds Aziraphale some blackberries.
Part 9 - Crowley and Aziraphale meet some lovely new friends, and a few peculiar ones.
Part 10 - Crowley treats Aziraphale to a lovely afternoon with a friend.
Part 11- Crowley and Aziraphale have a picnic, and Crowley gets in trouble.
Part 12 - Aziraphale looks after Crowley after a bad night apart.
Part 13 - Crowley goads Aziraphale to join him for a wonderful wintertime walk.
Part 14 - Crowley and Aziraphale take a detour and meet a friendly figure in from the snow.
Part 15 - Crowley accompanies Aziraphale to his appraisal by a superior.
Part 16 - Crowley and Aziraphale attend afternoon tea and Aziraphale has an admirer.
Part 17 - Crowley and Aziraphale find their way into a fully formed world of magic and delights, and Aziraphale finds himself under the influence of temptation.
Part 18 - Crowley and Aziraphale explore Diagon Alley.
Part 19 - Crowley runs an errand and makes a fateful acquaintance.
So when I first had this idea, it was centred around this particular chapter, a soft quiet place together watching the rain and reading books together. When I’m having a bad day, for whatever reason, I will go online to watch videos of people reading through my favourite children’s books and it’s very comforting, and I wanted that for Crowley and Aziraphale. This chapter is pretty long and took the longest to write because it felt pretty personal and I wanted to get it right.
The last book they read is my childhood favourite, I’m not sure how many people will have heard of it, but it’s perfect for these two cuties.
Part 1 of this is here, and you can follow through to read the rest in the tags ‘please keep me part 1/2/3/etc’. I either need to create a masterlist of posts or put it on A03 but I haven’t yet, for whatever reason. Not many people are reading this, so it’s more for me than anything else.
I hope whoever does read this enjoys it, thank you!
The Dawn before the Day saw Crowley unable to sleep.
He had done exactly as he had been told during the Night, he had continued to paint and blend and throw ink around until his little area of the Heavens beamed with colour. Somehow by becoming so utterly focussed on creating a beautiful mess, he was able to keep himself from descending into the mess left in Sariel’s wake in his own mind.
Come the Dawn, and that changed. For the first time in his memory, sitting alone in his room felt like some form of binding trap, a form of suffocation that did nothing to ease his thoughts. The silence was almost overwhelming.
Usually Crowley valued his privacy, thoroughly enjoying his hours left unbothered in his room to do as he pleased. Typically what he pleased was to sleep, to stay wrapped up in his own mind and glide wherever his dreams took him. More recently it had been reliving his days with Aziraphale, but instead of his serpent form, he would join Aziraphale as himself. He would see the Keeper smile up at him, standing a few inches above him. He would answer Aziraphale’s questions with witty remarks, making the angel laugh. Sometimes annoying him like a little fly in his ear, just to have the angel scold him, but always to smile again. Maybe even to reach out and cup his jaw the same as he did with his serpent form. Press a kiss to his forehead and call him his ‘little thing’.
These dreams were a secret, even to Crowley himself. He would wake and remember the best fragments of these visions, but wouldn’t let himself dwell too close to them. There was a feeling trapped underneath these sweet dreams that he didn’t want to get too close to, a sweet kind of sadness that threatened to overwhelm him.
This Dawn was nothing like his others. This Dawn saw him restless and jittery and tense. He laid on his bed and no matter how often he twisted and turned, rearranged his limbs, refluffed the pillows - sleep never came, and the stupid questions in his head didn’t leave him alone.
He even got up halfway through the Dawn to go back to the washroom and have a long selfish shower in light, but it did little to improve his mood. He even pulled his wings out into the open and soaked them thoroughly and a little roughly. Unfortunately he may have been a little too rough, and upon stepping out of the stream of light he found his wings in total disarray. He ground his teeth a little, using his hands to try and coax the light out to drain away but his feathers seemed resolute to stay as messy as his mind was.
Returning to his room, at least he now had something to occupy the remaining empty hours. He sat cross legged on his rumpled sheets and began the methodical task of combing through his feathers one by one and resealing the crisp edges, whisking the traces of light out to bleed away into the air and laying them flat against each other. His fingers worked quickly, his eyes almost glazed over and unfocussed. Every so often his fingers would pause against a feather and he would pinch it, giving it a slight tug to test its hold. The small twinges of pain did little to refocus him, but he moved on until he found one that was loose. He pinched the base carefully and gave a swift hard tug, and the feather slipped free without much resistance.
Crowley turned the feather over in his fingers critically. His brow was furrowed and his eyes stared, but he was still unseeing.
What did Sariel mean with his unsettling words? Was what Crowley doing in the library somehow against Her plan? If Crowley was doing wrong, would his actions lead to Aziraphale as well? Could Aziraphale also be in trouble?
He hoped not. He wouldn’t let Aziraphale get into any trouble, he certainly wouldn’t lead him astray if that was what Sariel had been implying.
If Sariel had been implying anything…? Maybe Crowley was misinterpreting everything. Maybe he wasn’t.
Crowley made a frustrated sound, somewhere between a hiss and a growl. The feather in his hands found itself twisted by strong fingers, and Crowley shifted, lifting the corner of his mat up from the floor and tucking the feather away with a great many more cast out feathers.
He quickly continued with his second wing, and found no reprieve from his thoughts.
Aziraphale had asked him to come back the next Day, he had said it so sweetly. Crowley found he had to move on quickly from thinking of the little angel’s face as he had asked, he couldn’t picture the soft glimmer in Aziraphale’s eyes as he asked him not to go without feeling a grip take control of his chest.
He shook his head, trying to wriggle away from the blue of Aziraphale’s gaze. He had asked him to meet him again, to return to him. Should he? With Sariel’s words in his head he knew he should stay away. He should stay here, alone, in his room. If he was going to protect Aziraphale - if Aziraphale needed protecting, Crowley should do it. He should stay away.
But he didn’t want to. And Aziraphale didn’t want him to.
Another errant feather, another strong tug but this one came away with a jolt of pain that stung its way through into Crowley’s shoulder and he hissed. A shiver passed through his wing, and ended up vibrating through his chest as well as he regarded the feather. A small point of red gleamed on the tip of the quill. He dipped his finger tip into the space now vacated and felt a small point of wetness, pulling back to see a smear of blood.
Crowley sighed heavily, sitting back and feeling his wings shunt down in defeat. He was exhausted. He needed sleep. He needed rest, calm, comfort.
He wanted Aziraphale. More than ever, he wanted his angel.
Even up to the point when he finally found his angel, he had been unable to rest his thoughts. He went back and forth internally without pause, arguing to stay away, even just for a day, but then following his feet back towards the library without hesitation. Lurking near the entrance to the library he had made to walk away at least twice, but each time slowed to a halt before moving back towards that unassuming doorway.
Entering the library and changing forms did nothing to quieten the noise in his head, and he practically felt like tying himself into knots to cope with the aching sick feeling he couldn’t escape. He was late, even if an exact time had not been agreed. He would always be here before the Keeper, but several hours had passed since Aziraphale would have entered the library and found the corridors empty.
The guilt of Aziraphale’s disappointment weighed on Crowley heavier than any of the worries and fears that had made themselves known all through the Dawn.
Slithering his way through the library, he didn’t think of anything other than Aziraphale, knowing that the library would lead him to his destination. Even knowing this, turning the corner and seeing the angel’s form was a welcome relief. Crowley felt something inside him start to break a little, releasing the slow trickling warmth meant only for his angel.
Aziraphale would make everything better.
He approached his angel, already feeling some of the weight peel away from him like a second skin. Aziraphale was facing away from him, sitting with his wings left lazily sprawled behind him. His shoulders were low, his head dipped down towards his chest. Crowley came closer, flicking his tongue and tasting just a tinge of salt in the air. Just then Aziraphale gave a great sniff, and lifted a hand to rub at his face and sighed. A sigh so heavy and weary that Crowley felt it inside his very being.
He hissed gently, and came forward to nudge his head against the Keepers knee in greeting.
“Oh! Oh, little thing!”
Aziraphale’s voice was rough, a little choked but so warm towards Crowley. Looking up at the angel he could see his eyes were a little red, the beginning of dark circles now being banished away by a wide crinkling smile.
“There you are, little thing,” he said. A flicker of gold caught Crowley’s eye and he looked just in time to see Aziraphale close his hand around the ring Crowley had given him. He had been twisting it between his fingers, the list and pile of books forgotten in front of him.
“I… I waited for you, but…” his voice trailed off as he slipped the ring back onto his finger. “But nevermind, you’re here and-”
The weight of guilt that had been peeling away from Crowley was back. He laid his head on the angel’s knee and coiled his body closer to the angel, curving under his knee and around his legs in an effort to hug the angel close.
Nothing could describe the wretchedness he felt.
Aziraphale’s hands came to Crowley’s head, both hands reaching to gently cup him under the jaw and lift him, forcing him to meet the angel’s sweet blue eyes.
“My little thing, what is the matter?” he said softly. So softly.
Crowley blinked slowly, trying to look away from Aziraphale, maybe to look away from the guilt he felt, but that wasn’t possible. He felt a shift of Aziraphale’s thumb against his scales and realised the angel was brushing away what could only be described as a tear.
“Oh, my sweet thing, please don’t,”
Crowley couldn’t take this. Making Aziraphale wait for him was bad enough, but to make Aziraphale feel sorry for him! He pushed forward, along Aziraphale’s arm and brought his coils with him, crawling into Aziraphale’s embrace without a second thought. The angel’s hands guided him close, bringing his tail up onto his lap and holding his long body across both arms, Crowley’s head now laid against his shoulder and resting with his snout just shy of his right ear.
“Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”
Aziraphale’s voice was a gentle caress just behind Crowley’s head, and a cheek was pressed down against him. He could feel Aziraphale’s fingers stroke soothingly against his ribs, and he felt another tear slip free and fade into Aziraphale’s robes.
“Oh, my sweet little thing,”
Such softness only She could create in the form of Aziraphale’s voice.
A hand moved away from him, the other still holding Crowley’s form in place as he gathered his few things together, pulling his list into his pocket, capping his ink. Books were slotted back into shelves. Then Aziraphale was standing, and his arms were both around Crowley firmly, hoisting his coils into an arrangement where Crowley was looped over him and still cradled close to his chest.
“I know where we need to go, my little thing. I know just the place,”
Aziraphale moved quickly but smoothly, holding Crowley carefully as he navigated the corridors. He would stop to check around corners every so often, holding his breath, but they didn’t stay still for long. Crowley gave up trying to follow Aziraphale’s movements and let himself be carried.
“We’re almost there, little thing. I may need you to hold onto me so I may climb,”
Crowley twisted his head out of the opening of Aziraphale’s robes by his neck, where his snout had been comfortably nestled against Aziraphale’s bare collarbone. They didn’t seem to be anywhere in particular, just another series of corridors that met in a six way crossing point, with a single pillar of books in the centre. If he had thought about it, he would have recognised passing through this intersection at another time, but he didn’t. Instead he curved his head over Aziraphale’s shoulder, easing his body over the Keeper and placing more of his weight on his shoulders and the joints of his wings to allow his arms to release the main weight of his body. Aziraphale’s hands came to greet him the other side of his body, guiding Crowley until he was once against tucked around his neck with his nose resting almost entirely in the crop of milky curls under his right ear.
Aziraphale checked their surroundings again, before stepping forward and sliding a few books free on the middle shelf of the pillar in the centre of the crossway. He reached into the dark bookcase behind and Crowley heard a soft click, followed by a groan of hardwood that isn’t used to moving, and the slow creak of hinges. He lifted his head to watch as Aziraphale swung the side of the pillar away, a secret door made of curved shelves that revealed a ladder in the very centre, leading up into somewhere unknown. But of course it was known to Aziraphale.
The Keeper stepped inside and turned to pull the shelf back into place, tugging it until another soft click was heard. Inside the pillar it was a little bit of a squeeze with both Aziraphale and Crowley tangled together, not to mention Aziraphale’s wings which were probably the dustiest and more untidy Crowley had ever seen them.
Aziraphale, unbothered by the small space and its lack of wing room, reached into his pocket and drew out a small glass ball. He held it to his lips and blew on it gently, igniting the pocket of light trapped inside it. Crowley had seen these orbs before, a smaller variety of the orbs that lit the rest of the library and other places in Paradise. Aziraphale looked up and tossed the orb in a confident and straight throw directly up. It didn’t slow, but merely continued to rise up the long passageway.
Aziraphale took ahold of the ladder and began to climb, moving steadily. There was only a soft glow of light above them to suggest where this ladder might go, but it seemed such a far way off. Crowley tucked himself closer to Aziraphale and watched as the small patch of light grew closer. After some time - they must have climbed a few long way - Aziraphale stopped just below the orb and reached out. His fingers felt at the wooden panel above them until they found a latch, turned it, and he pushed open a trapdoor. The thud it made hitting the floor beyond them made both of them wince a little, but it was that solid kind of noise that would be absorbed through all that dark wood and heavy parchment. Crowley’s tongue flicked as Aziraphale pocketed the orb and climbed up further. The only thing he smelt at first, aside from Aziraphale’s warmth, was dust.
They had come out in a room made from slatted wooden boards, with a sloped ceiling forming a pyramid shape, much like the attic of an old house. There were boxes around them, stacked onto each other. An old clock lay on its side behind the trapdoor, the pendulum lolling out of its case like a tongue. A dress mannequin with a dusty feather hat stood nearby. Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of this place.
Aziraphale didn’t say anything, he bent down (taking care to hold Crowley’s tail clear) and shifted the trapdoor back down into the floor with another creak of wood. He turned and followed the only path Crowley could see not covered in a layer of dust through the boxes and towards the triangular outer wall of the room.
Now Crowley understood why they had come.
At the far end there was an enormous arched window, the outer sections panelled in old stained glass colours and free of spiderwebs. Light poured in through the glass, an unfocussed foggy kind of light. It illuminated the space Crowley knew that Aziraphale had created for himself, and was now sharing with Crowley.
It looked like Aziraphale hadn’t really known what to do with the furniture already up in this attic. He had brought over what looked like a very lumpy and threadbare chaise lounge to one side, the pale green silk and embroidered cherry blossoms on it’s cushions having seen much better days. The large spring jutting out from the seat meant it probably wasn’t the angel’s first choice of seat. Instead there was some sort of bedding mat under the window, similar to the ones in their rooms, but thicker and a little less appealing. Heaped on top of the mat were a collection of cushions that maybe once had been vibrantly patterned, but now resembled old teabags in various colours, a few worn holes here or there spilling out clumpy stuffing.
“It’s not much…” Aziraphale said softly, walking over to his little nest with a slight air of embarrassment. “I mean, there’s not much to be done-”
Crowley slipped free of Aziraphale’s shoulders and wriggled his way onto the floor. He regretted it immediately, the wooden slats of the floor were cold and uncomfortable even without the comparison to his angel’s soft touch. He ignored them, slithering over to the little nest and climbing up into it. He coiled himself neatly, before looking back towards Aziraphale with a pleased little hiss.
Aziraphale had followed him, and was smiling at him with a slight sparkle in his eyes.
“Oh, you like it,” he beamed, crouching down to sit on the mat and smooth some of the pillows out. He pursed his lips and blew across the cushions carefully, the breath that left his lungs carried a trace of miracle to it. The dust and greyness peeled away from them, bleeding away and leaving behind Aziraphale’s vision for his little hidden space - a stylishly comfortable chaise lounge, a tasteful raised floor mat and an eclectic array of throw pillows.
Crowley looked around him at the transformed space before looking back at the angel, who was steadily avoiding his gaze and rearranging the pillows. Crowley stared at him.
“What?” he asked innocently, his eyes flicking to Crowley and then away again, but that little smirk was back and a slight tinge to his cheeks. “It’s not cheating, it’s restoration,”
Crowley hissed a small chuckle, moving to make room for the Keeper who was now finding the most comfortable spot on the mat, his back to the window and his wings laid gracefully over the pile of cushions to allow him to lounge in a very practised and almost indulgent way. Crowley moved to allow Aziraphale’s feet to stretch out along the mat, noting the way the angel’s toes wriggled a little in delight to be stretching out in such a languid motion. His angel certainly did enjoy his little delights. Having this little window further into Aziraphale’s life opened something up in Crowley which he felt move through him with a prickle of his scales. A kind of deep happiness painted in sadness, a feeling of need that reached out but failed to grasp with its tendrils. A yearning he could not pull back inside of himself and hide away.
Looking back up at his angel’s face, he was met with a gentle smile and felt the little crack inside of him push forward further. Despite everything he feared, he knew he would never be able to give up what he had found here. He would never be free of this encompassing feeling.
He did not want to be free of it.
Aziraphale’s hands reached out for him and he slid into them without thought, feeling the smooth warm palms pull him closer until he was draped across his angel’s stomach and hip, one arm cradling him close to his chest and soothing him as if he were something precious to be be shielded. Crowley laid his head against Aziraphale’s chest and flicked his tongue out with a heaving sigh, his eyes cast up to catch the edge of Aziraphale’s face, the shutter of eyelashes and the wisps of curls.
“Now, little thing,” came Aziraphale’s voice gently. “Will you tell me what could have happened to make you so sad?”
Crowley gave a ripple of a shiver, and pressed himself closer into Aziraphale’s warmth. He hid his face away from Aziraphale by moving his head into the crook of his neck, avoiding those intelligent blue eyes.
“You won’t tell me, little thing?” came a coaxing voice, and a finger stroked along his nose and onto the ridge between his eyes, tracing down his neck slowly. It tickled, and Crowley gave another ripple. He felt, rather than heard, Aziraphale sigh.
“Things can be so complicated, can’t they?” he heard the angel say softly. “Some things are hard to put into words, I can understand that,”
Crowley fought down what felt like a stone trapped in the length of his neck.
“Try not to overthink it, my lovely little thing, if that helps,”
Aziraphale’s voice was so gentle with him, Crowley could feel the careful choice of his words rumbling out of his chest, through his skin and into Crowley’s scales. Crowley gave a soft hiss, flicking his tongue out to brush against Aziraphale’s neck.
He was a creature made almost entirely out of over worked thoughts.
Aziraphale hummed a little as Crowley’s tongue flicked again, tickling his skin. His lips came down to press softly against Crowley’s back.
“If it would help, give your thoughts to me, little thing. Let me carry them for you, just for a while,”
That gentle finger was back, resting on the crown of his head before slowly running down along his neck and spine.
“First, let me take away the sadness,”
Aziraphale’s voice was so soft. His words were only for Crowley. His finger traced down carefully, following the coils of Crowley’s body until it reached the tip of his tail.
“There we go, all that sadness just flowing away, let me take that for you,” came that comforting voice. “Now, let’s make a start on that large knot of messy thoughts, let’s wriggle out all those little anxious threads, one by one,”
Aziraphale’s finger returned to his head, and gave a little caress along his snout before trailing down his body again, his voice coaxing at the imaginary threads he was pulling away. His finger made the journey from Crowley’s head to his tail several more times.
“There we are, look at all these little worries, maybe so little on their own, but when they get all knotted together, that must be so difficult for such a little thing to have to carry around,”
With every gentle glide of Aziraphale’s fingers, Crowley felt himself relax a little further into Aziraphale’s embrace, his body going slack under the attentive touches.
“Now let’s take away the stress. There might be a lot there, but let me take some of it for you. We can put it down here with the sadness and the anxieties, and maybe leave some of them there when we’re finished,”
Aziraphale’s finger made its journey again, taking its time to trace the markings on Crowley’s inky body as it went.
Once Aziraphale was satisfied all of the stress had been plucked away, next came the worries, and then the concerns, and lastly - with a gentle kiss to his forehead - his fears. One by one Aziraphale traced away everything that had been vibrating through Crowley for the past day.
Crowley found himself drifting into an odd state, feeling the tension drain away from his body with every movement of Aziraphale’s hand. He let himself ease into it, believing it as if the little Keeper were really extracting all of his worries from him and pushing them out of their warm little bubble.
Opening his eyes Crowley found himself focusing on the windowsill just beyond Aziraphale’s white hair, the light making the angel glow even brighter than he had in Dorothy’s garden. A warm white light. Starlight. He had thought it was daylight, but it was something much more precious. Looking beyond the glass, Crowley could glimpse a silver haze of stars grouped together. It looked like their little attic space overlooked an area of the Heavens still being worked on, someone had left their stars tossed to one side, wanting to be hung up. As he stared at the stars, a small patter on the glass drew his attention.
Aziraphale heard it too, moving his head around to look over his shoulder and brush Crowley’s head with the underside of his chin.
“Oh, isn’t that lovely,” came the gentle voice. “I’ve read about it, but how lovely to hear it with my own ears,”
Crowley lifted his head dozily, bringing himself even closer to Aziraphale somehow. He felt Aziraphale’s lips move against his scales as his eyes tracked the trails that now traced their way down on the other side of the glass.
“Nothing quite like being curled up, all safe and warm, while it’s raining outside. All the books say it’s a wonderful thing, to stay inside with a book and listen,”
Aziraphale was correct, Crowley had never experienced anything quite like this quiet space with the angel. This gentle intimacy.
“I think, maybe in the spirit of the weather, we could borrow from that idea, couldn’t we?”
A gentle hand guided Crowley back into Aziraphale’s embrace, curling him into him again as the angel got a little more comfortable into the cushions. Meeting the angel’s smile, Crowley felt that last little remaining space of worry fill only with his Keeper’s warmth.
“What would you say to curling up with a good book, my dear little thing? I could read you some of my favourite books?”
Crowley blinked slowly, a small incline of his head. Of course, anything.
“I have a few here,” smiled the angel, a slight tinge coming to his cheeks. “Sometimes, before I met you, I would come here and read them, just because… well, it’s silly maybe,” he started to chide himself, but Crowley nudged forward, flicking his tongue onto Aziraphale’s nose.
Aziraphale smiled, a smile which reached the crinkles around his eyes.
“Sometimes a little comfort can go a long way, can’t it, my little thing? Simple pleasures,”
Crowley inclined his head again.
“The humans write all sorts of splendid things, you know. Their capacity for creativity is extraordinary. It seems to me though, that some of their most wonderful creative efforts are just for their children,”
Aziraphale had arranged them both in such a way that when he moved his hands to reach for a hidden stash of books, Crowley was still laid perfectly arranged across his chest and stomach, the end of his tail looped over the angel’s hip and the tip tucked away somewhere underneath the angels knee. Aziraphale fished a few books out, small little things with bright covers. They were quite different to some of the heavy leather bound tomes Aziraphale spent part of his day organising, and different from their adventures among the horticulture and baking sections.
“Here, let’s start with this one, it’s simply marvellous,” said Aziraphale, showing Crowley the front of the book, which appeared to show a small girl similar to Dorothy sitting next to a large orange striped animal which Crowley recognised as a tiger.
“‘The Tiger Who Came to Tea’,” Aziraphale read, a fond smile on his face. “This one is charming,”
Watching Aziraphale read was always a pleasant experience for Crowley, even if that’s all the angel did for hours at a time. The angel had an incredibly expressive face, and his entire being seemed to hang on every word as he read - his eyebrows would furrow and tilt, his eyes full of emotion as they flickered across the page. His mouth would open in small gasps, or sometimes even pout. Even the angel’s shoulders would play a part, tensing up at a crucial moment, or sighing with relief after a pleasing resolution. Watching him was always amusing, but being read to by him was far, far better.
Aziraphale took his time with the words, his voice gliding through the pages with a steady pace. He obviously knew the words almost off by heart, and Crowley was delighted to find that the angel’s expressive nature was carried through to this live performance, Aziraphale meeting Crowley’s eyes at the end of every sentence. The angel’s passion for the book was so sweet that Crowley sighed, letting his head rest on Aziraphale’s chest and just staring at that lovely face. He might miss the illustrations of the book, but the way Aziraphale told the story gave Crowley such a clear picture that he didn’t need anything else.
He could also see why this was one of Aziraphale’s favourites - a story about a charming, clever animal inviting themselves over for tea and eating everything in the cupboards, drinking everything in the fridge, and then leaving without having to do any of the actual work.
“Mummy said ‘I don’t know what to do. I’ve got nothing for daddy’s supper, the tiger has eaten it all!’”
Crowley almost smirked, his tongue flicking playfully at Aziraphale as the angel’s eyes widened and he looked stricken at the concept of no supper.
The story was a good one, and the one that followed after it was even better - a lovely little book about a man who lived alone and liked to dress up in fancy dress and go on little adventures through a magic door. Again, Crowley wondered if his companion had any self awareness of his favourites. It didn’t seem likely, given the way Aziraphale was excited showing Crowley the illustration of a sulking green dragon explaining his woes to Mr Benn. Whilst the story about kings and knights seemed to be the primary focus of the story, Aziraphale actually seemed much more interested in the street Mr Benn lived on. It had a row of terraced houses with neat front gardens and colourful front doors. Children were playing in the street, and there was a cat minding its business on the fence.
“Doesn’t that look like a splendid place to live?” asked Aziraphale, showing Crowley the page. “Oh, but look at this wonderful shop! So full of wonderful costumes, so much to spend your time looking for, and the wonderful things you would find hidden away,”
The wistfulness was clear in his voice, as was the glint in the angel’s eye as he soaked up all of the details. Aziraphale seemed to linger on the page, looking at all the little houses with all the people. Crowley watched him for a moment, watching how the angel’s lips parted and formed the ghost of a smile. His eyes suddenly seemed to snap back, and he looked at Crowley with a widening grin.
“Shall we read another, little thing? I have such a good one to show you next!”
Crowley inclined his head, flicking his tongue up to brush at Aziraphale’s cheek.
Aziraphale was careful with the next book, as if it were something beyond precious to him. He showed Aziraphale the cover, a picture of children’s wooden blocks with features of a large mammal abstracted across them and the title of Lion. Opening the first page, Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his excitement.
“It’s about angels, little thing! About all of us up here in Heaven,”
He showed Crowley the pages of angels flying through illustrated clouds to a place that looked a little more outlandish than their own Paradise - it started with a curving slide into a series of bizarre looking buildings.
“The Animal Factory,” said Aziraphale, pointing to the words and then tracing along the buildings. He paused on two angels playing a game of badminton out on the terrace, before reading the next lines.
“It had three rooms. There was a white fur room for cold days, and a white feather room for hot days. It had a roof made of silver fish scales,”
Sounds impractical, Crowley huffed a small hissing laugh. Aziraphale was too busy reading to notice.
Crowley learned about the hundred and four angels who worked up in the top of the building in a giant room under large glass windows, all of them designing and drawing all of the animals of the world. They had gold tipped paint brushes and colourful boxes of crayons, and would make all sorts of sounds of the animals they were designing. It sounded like quite a noisy affair.
“When he was quite young, Artist Foreman won a medal for the first animal he made up. It was called Worm,”
I doubt She’s giving out medals for worms these days… thought Crowley with another smirk. He’d only snuck into the studios where they made all the animals a few times, and never had a chance to stick around that long and get in the way. The studios had far more than a hundred and four angels, and they seemed to be far more equipped at engineering than at design. At least, that’s what it seemed like to Crowley. Apparently all sorts of difficult bits and pieces go inside these animals to make them do all the things they needed to do, and whatever the outside looked like was mostly decided by how it needed to go about it’s business.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts to find that Aziraphale had moved on without him, the Artist Foreman now fully involved in the process of declaring his new animal name and painting it in enormous letters across his page. He hasn’t left much space for his animal, and apparently was struggling to remember how to actually design an animal.
Typical.
Turning the next page, Aziraphale paused reading the prose to excitedly point out the admittedly beautiful animal illustrations and show them to Crowley.
“Look at this alligator, isn’t that green colour so lovely? Oh, and the zebra has such wonderful stripes - and look at its little tongue!”
Once inspired, the Artist Foreman returned to his page under the large window and drew a small, fat, very brightly coloured little creature with feathers and a fluked tail and odd little legs. It even made a small sound, a ‘peep peep’ noise. It was rather charming, or at least Crowley thought it was charming. Aziraphale seemed to agree, but the Artist Foreman wasn’t satisfied. He spent the next few pages asking other angels for a single word to describe what was wrong with his Lion design. Apparently it was too small, and also far too colourful. Soon after the fish scales and the feathers were corrected as well, with an embarrassed angel smudging them together to form a shaggy brown mane crowning the head and a flame tipped tail. A few more corrections followed this, with more angels consulted, and very soon Lion started to look much closer to the lion painted on their murals downstairs in the Hall. After a haircut, it began to look actually quite regal, and Crowley found himself fighting back a small surge of pride at the fictional Artist Foreman’s creation as he showed it to the Chief Designer.
“‘Lion is a nice name,” said the Chief Designer. “Let us look at Lion. Lion is handsome. Lion is well drawn. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lion were welcomed there as The King of Beasts. What sort of noise does Lion make?” read Aziraphale, dropping his voice to make a booming, important voice of the Chief Designer. The Keeper had puffed up his chest to embody the Chief Designer, even dropping his chin to create folds in his neck and widened his eyes dramatically, making Crowley hiss in amusement again.
“‘Lion goes ‘peep peep!’,’ said the Artist Foreman. “I mean, no! You are right. Lion roars like thunder!””
Reading as the Artist Foreman, Aziraphale squinted his eyes and made his voice go high and wobbly to make the ‘peep peep’ noise, before switching into a voice that made it obvious that the Artist Foreman was trying to imitate the Chief Designer’s booming voice for ‘thunder!’. Aziraphale was a surprisingly good actor, Crowley mused, watching his angel pantomime with unfiltered affection.
Aziraphale read the last page with an unhurried enjoyment, once again hamming up his roaring as the Artist Foreman celebrated his creation. Turning to the last page, Aziraphale’s eyes grew wretched and he pouted terribly.
“Oh, but this is such a shame, I don’t know how, but this copy of this book has this awful blue crayon all over the best page - look at this poor, wonderful Lion!” he said, sounding genuinely affected by this mistreatment of his precious book. Crowley looked, and found himself sighing too. The final colour illustration of the book was meant to be a Lion in all of its glory, but a rough hand had awkwardly scribbled the face and paws blue. The rest of the book had been untouched, albeit a little worn around the edges. Crowley looked back at his angel, who was tracing the lion’s mane with his gentle blue eyes.
Aziraphale sighed, running a finger over the blue before shutting the book.
“I suppose I could miracle it away, but I would always know it was there… underneath,”
Crowley watched him put the book down with the others, before turning his attention back to Crowley.
“Anyway, little thing. How did you enjoy that?”
Crowley wriggled, moving further up the angel’s body to coil around his neck and across his shoulders. Aziraphale made a pleased noise and stroked Crowley’s scales absentmindedly as he looked out the window at the rain.
“What a wonderful day to be here, like this,” he sighed. “I could ask for nothing more than what I have here with you, my dear little thing,”
Silently, Crowley agreed, brushing his face alongside Aziraphale’s cheekbone to join him looking out at the soft patter of raindrops. His eyes were following his angels, but his tail had slipped out of Aziraphale’s hold, down onto the mat and across the small pile of well loved children’s books. He took his time to focus, letting a trickle of intent run down his spine and into the book laying on top. Within its pages, he felt the blue wax of the crayon fade away into nothing. Once done, he settled his head down against Aziraphale’s neck.
A finger came up to stroke under his jaw.
“No more sadness, little thing,” promised Aziraphale, turning his head to press his lips to the top of Crowley’s head in a soft kiss. “If you and I are together, we’ll only make happy memories,”
It was a promise Crowley had no trouble in believing.
