Chapter Text
Aziraphale isn’t exactly sure why he decided to meet with Crowley on one of London’s darkest, stormiest nights as if it wasn’t a bad sign of some sort.
It wasn’t that Crowley was the problem, the demon could never be a problem in Aziraphale’s mind. It’s just that Aziraphale hadn’t always been a fan of dark, stormy nights.
Horror stories tend to start in such a way, after all. He enjoys all bouts of literature, truly, but one can feel a bit of unease at the concept of spookiness.
Though, he does know that Crowley hadn’t planned it to be this way. The fault lies in Aziraphale himself, really. It’s possible he could’ve asked to reschedule the meeting at a later time, when the sun shone brighter than the desaturated lights of Heaven and the ducks at St. James’s Park could be fed with the lovely peas from the farmer’s market.
Truth be told, the only reason he decided against rescheduling was that it had been a good ten years since he last saw Crowley. A part of him was afraid Crowley would jump at the opportunity to run, given that the last time he’d seen the demon was when he uttered seven words in a neon pink-lit Bentley that would force distance between them.
Aziraphale feels his heart clench at the memory of ten years of regret that threatened to consume him where he was sitting under a small awning. He was in front of a small cafe affectionately named Coffee For Ghosts of the Night, which Crowley had suggested they meet at in their many letters that they’ve exchanged since Aziraphale first proposed they see each other after feeling Crowley’s presence back in Mayfair a few weeks ago.
The reason for this meeting was that he needed Crowley’s help for an assignment, as much as he wished he could meet with Crowley with no pretenses like he’d promised ten years before. He could do the assignment alone without the demon, but it was better if Crowley helped him rather than risking it by himself.
It was a dangerous assignment, all things considered.
He grips his tea cup, letting out a small breath as the wind swirling around him starts to pick up speed. Aziraphale can’t help but wonder if he made a mistake, contacting Crowley instead of leaving him alone.
It was Aziraphale that said Crowley went far too fast, after all. It was Aziraphale who fled, it was Aziraphale who was too afraid for Crowley’s safety that he had to let Crowley go.
He shivers, looking down at the water droplets now landing in his tea. “Oh, bother,” he mutters, grimacing slightly as the wind continues to pick up around him. He closes his eyes, wishing that Crowley’s arrival will make the squeezing in his chest disappear.
That was the thing about regret, really. Aziraphale did not have many regrets at the present moment, quite confident in his decisions years after they happened (although, he does overthink them and worry about their consequences), but this one he isn’t quite sure of.
He can picture it like it happened yesterday. With his eyes closed, he can see Crowley look at him with a look that says let me take you home, let me show you my gratitude, let me thank you for trusting me like I had with you.
He remembers the bright lights behind Crowley as he hands the demon a water bottle with his signature Heaven’s Dress pattern, remembers the sweating of his palms as he tells Crowley one day, if we are free, if we can be together with no danger, I hope that we can show our love for each other in so many ways in words that only provide hope, “Maybe one day we can go on a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”
The way Crowley’s mouth curls into a frown when Aziraphale chokes out the seven words that would keep the demon at arm’s length, he remembers it more than he’d like it to.
It haunts him, really, the regret of that dark, almost stormy night in 1967.
“This isn’t your style,” Crowley says from behind him, his voice almost a whisper as if this meeting was a secret not even God Herself should know. “Sitting outside, I mean.”
Aziraphale slowly opens his eyes, but he does not face his companion. Not when the memories are still fresh in his mind. He watches more water land into his cup, feeling the chill of it as it lands on his hair and clothes as well.
“Perhaps it isn’t,” he muses, not wanting to leave Crowley in too long of a silence.
“S’not,” Crowley says. “You hate it when your coat gets wet.”
Aziraphale shrugs, feeling almost numb as his chest still clenches at their last interaction. He does hate it, doesn’t he? He isn’t sure at the moment. “Well, it isn’t wet. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he offers, and winces slightly at the lie.
Crowley takes this moment to walk closer, Aziraphale now able to see the demon’s shadow. “Join me inside?” Crowley asks, completely ignoring the lie.
Aziraphale nods, not trusting himself to say anything more. Crowley seems to accept this, walking into the cafe door as soon as Aziraphale gave his affirmative.
Aziraphale grabs his tea with both of his hands, sighing as he takes slow, small steps to the cafe entrance. Has it really been so long that he does not know how to interact with Crowley without his regret threatening to drown him whole?
He opens the door and sees Crowley sprawled across the table closest to the door.
Crowley gives him a small nod as they make eye contact, raising an eyebrow. “It isn’t wet, he says. You’re dripping, angel,” he comments, gesturing at the chair. “Sit.”
Aziraphale plants his tea onto the table as he quickly looks away, sitting down with a small splat from his wet coat. He puts his palms around his tea as he shivers at the sudden temperature change, the cafe much warmer than outside.
Much more than he deserved, not that he’d ever admit to it out loud.
“So,” Crowley starts, looking over at the other inhabitants of the cafe. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”
Aziraphale immediately looks up, ready to deny it, but he pauses his rebuttal. He missed Crowley, really. Especially after ten lonely years of sitting in the bookshop, surrounded by words but not by a wily adversary who knows how to lift his spirits.
He can’t tell Crowley that, though. Not when he put space between them, not when Aziraphale forced them apart to protect Crowley from heavenly forces that he couldn’t protect the demon from.
But, as much as Aziraphale wants this to only be a friendly adversary meet-up, he needed assistance with his assignment.
Fear grips Aziraphale’s mind in an instant, a chill running through his body. What if Crowley decided not to help because of the tension between them? What if there was a part of Crowley that knew that helping him wouldn’t be the best move knowing how they’re acting right now?
Aziraphale lets out a small breath, opting to not say a word. His tendency to overthink still is unwavering, it seems.
Crowley only watches him, chuckling bitterly. “Knew it.”
His eyes follow Crowley as he frames his body away, trying not to think of the implications of Crowley facing the other direction. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, sighing. “So, where’s your blessing? Want me to do it?” he asks.
Aziraphale tries not to wince at the bitterness that has seeped into Crowley’s voice. He supposes it’s fair, though. This wasn’t a social call, no matter how much Aziraphale missed him. And he can’t erase the past, not even ten years later.
“It isn’t a blessing,” Aziraphale starts, putting his hands around his teacup to warm them up a bit. “It’s more of a… demonic smiting, I’d say.”
At this, Crowley raises an eyebrow. “You don’t like smiting,” he says, rather matter-of-factly.
Aziraphale hums, feeling his face flush a bit at the confidence of Crowley’s statement. “I do not. I can’t just stray from my duties, though. That's why I need your help.”
Crowley’s expression turns dark, opting to look at the wall instead of towards Aziraphale. “You want me to smite demons for you, eh? Afraid to get your hands dirty, angel?”
Aziraphale fights a wince. He knows Crowley is teasing, but there’s a bitterness that he cannot escape from. It lingers in Crowley’s words, and Aziraphale can hear Crowley telling him that he has some audacity to call him and request help on a smiting of all things loud and clear.
“I just need some information,” he says, sipping some of his tea before continuing. His mouth was getting rather dry. “It won’t be long, really. I thought you might know the demon Belial?”
Crowley tenses slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. “Belial? Heaven wants you to smite Belial?” he asks, raising his voice in the silence of the cafe as if there was no one else there.
“Yes, well. There's no need to shout,” Aziraphale says, hoping to calm him down.
“There definitely is!” Crowley suddenly stands up, his chair scratching the floor as he starts to pace. “Are those archangels aware they’re sending you into a death trap? Do they know that?” He narrows his eyes. “Do you know that?”
Aziraphale rolls his eyes, of course he does. Belial isn’t a new name anywhere. “Crowley, my dear,” he says softly, noting the waves of anger coming off of the demon. He feels guilty for angering him, he certainly didn’t need that at the moment. “Please let me explain. You know I won’t smite him.”
Crowley stops pacing, letting out a sigh. “I don’t care about the smiting,” he says, gritting his teeth.
Aziraphale frowns, then what was Crowley so angry at? “Crowley…”
“Look, I’ll give you whatever you want to know,” Crowley interrupts, flopping down into his chair a bit dramatically. “But you have to promise me something.”
Aziraphale raises an eyebrow, concern creeping into his mind. “I just need information, my dear,” he repeats, albeit a bit softly to reassure Crowley.
“Promise me something,” Crowley says again, completely ignoring Aziraphale’s statement.
“I don’t understand why you’re so worked up over this,” Aziraphale says, in turn ignoring Crowley. “All Heaven wants me to do is gain valuable information on Belial, including where he frequents on Earth, and follow him around a bit before Sandalphon comes down to smite him with his holy light.”
Aziraphale hoped that the explanation on his assignment would calm Crowley’s angered state a bit, but he watches as Crowley only shakes his head, clearly still upset. He starts to smoke a bit, and Aziraphale feels as though everything he's saying isn't helping the the demon’s fury at all.
“Please, angel,” he says, and Aziraphale lets out a small, surprised breath. Crowley takes off his sunglasses, glancing around the room and performing a small miracle so that the humans wouldn’t look over at them.
Aziraphale stares at Crowley’s eyes, ones that are pleading him to listen, to agree and to hear him. He gulps, he owes Crowley this much. He owes Crowley even more. “Of course,” he says, his voice almost a whisper.
Crowley visibly relaxes, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s own. “Do not engage with Belial,” he says. “Whatever you do, don’t let him see you. Don’t even let him sense you. Stay as far away from him as you can. Carry holy water wherever you go, take precautions, just don’t let him near you.”
Aziraphale bites his lip, worry filling his mind tenfold. Belial hadn’t seemed like much of a threat when Gabriel told him about the assignment, but seeing Crowley’s reaction had him feeling a bit disoriented and unsure about the assignment.
He wanted to reach out and reassure Crowley that it’d be okay, that he won’t do anything that may get to him, but he wasn’t exactly sure where they stood at the moment. “My dear…”
“Aziraphale, he could kill you,” Crowley grits out. “I mean it. You’re dealing with an archduke, someone almost as powerful as Beelzebub and bloody Lucifer! Hell, I haven’t even crossed paths with him.”
Ah, sod it. Aziraphale takes this moment to reach out to Crowley, putting his hand over Crowley’s on the table. “I doubt it will get to that,” he says, squeezing Crowley’s hand slightly. “If it’ll ease your mind, I promise I won’t do anything that will endanger my corporation. You have my word.”
“It definitely does,” he mutters. Crowley turns his hand to hold Aziraphale’s, squeezing back. His expression remains unreadable, but Aziraphale watches as Crowley slowly unfolds on the chair, no longer tense. “Carry holy water too, yeah?” he asks.
“I will,” he says, although he isn’t sure he has any left. After giving it to Crowley, he hadn’t wanted to see holy water for the next forty years in the least.
Crowley hums, not letting go of Aziraphale’s hand. “Right.” Crowley uses his free hand to rub his face, letting out a breath. “You only need information?” he asks.
“Precisely. Then after you provide me with it, you may go your merry way,” Aziraphale replies, smiling sheepishly. “Or, wherever you must go. I’m sure I’m taking up some of your time.”
“Nnh, not in the slightest,” Crowley says. “Was gonna ask if I could join you, actually,” he says, even quieter.
At this, Aziraphale furrows his eyebrows. “Join me?” he asks. “You just said he’s dangerous—“
“Yeah, so you’ll need backup,” Crowley interrupts. “My demonic presence will cancel out your angelic one, we’ll be balanced. Belial won’t even notice that you’re stalking him.”
“Following, my dear,” Aziraphale corrects, rolling his eyes at Crowley’s word choice. “But I, in good conscience, cannot have you join me. What would happen when Sandalphon showed up to smite him and I was with you, canceling out my presence?” What if you get caught in the crossfire and I lose you?
“Then I’ll leave,” Crowley says, shrugging. “What did you say? I doubt it will get to that.”
Aziraphale huffs, he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to have Crowley join him. Aziraphale promised to carry holy water, after all. Belial wouldn’t be able to do a thing, and he could convince Sandalphon to lessen the blow of the smiting before it happened. Sandalphon should know he’d be there following the demon. At least, he hopes the archangel is aware.
Though, the main reason he hadn’t seen Crowley for so long was because this distance was necessary. He couldn’t risk Crowley’s safety just so he could be with his adversary who is his friend. Not when he pushed him away and hurt the both of them for this.
Not when the wound was still so raw.
“I’m afraid joining me would be a bit redundant,” Aziraphale says, and he tries not to think about Crowley’s wince once the words leave his mouth. “I’d rather do this myself, if you please.”
Crowley only stares, his expression unreadable. “I don’t, actually,” he says. “How is it redundant? I’ll just be following you and Belial around.”
Aziraphale huffs. “You cannot be spotted with me, Crowley,” he reasons, and hopes this is enough, hopes he doesn’t have to hurt Crowley anymore than he’s already done just so he could stay away. “Sandalphon can smite more than one demon at once, you know.”
“I’m a serpent. Can use my other form to spy, y’know. Plus, you need some backing. You don’t look too good, angel. Finding you in the rain and all,” Crowley says a bit softly, and Aziraphale is a bit suspicious as to how Crowley keeps pushing.
Crowley can’t possibly know the outcome, that Aziraphale would resort to anything to keep Crowley away from Sandalphon and Heaven, not to mention one of Hell’s most powerful demons.
Aziraphale sighs, looking down at his reflection in his tea cup. His eye-bags were darker than they’ve ever been, and considering they don’t need sleep it was a bit of an… issue. His pale complexion that was even paler than usual wouldn’t help his case, either.
He looks back up at Crowley, furrowing his eyebrows. “I still have to refuse,” he says. “I can get another angel to help me, I assure you it will be fine.”
Crowley’s expression is blank, an unsettling change from his unreadable one earlier. Aziraphale fights a chill as Crowley scoots backwards. “Mm, right,” he mumbles, his tone turning dismissive.
Aziraphale supposes this is fair, and he regrets it the moment Crowley continues to scoot backwards. His heart starts to beat faster, but he ignores it. This is good, this will protect Crowley. This will protect him from Heaven and Hell.
And from Aziraphale himself.
“I, er, would like to know anything you have on Belial,” he requests, and he tries not to wince at the obvious change of topic. He doesn’t deserve it, not after that. Not after establishing their distance.
Crowley sighs, humming. “He’s an archduke of Hell that lives in America somewhere,” Crowley starts, sitting up slightly. “Loves sloth more than I do, s’fascinating, really. Don’t think I’ve ever met someone so close to the Morningstar himself, even Lord Beelzebub would be jealous.”
“Noted,” Aziraphale says, a bit concerned with the closeness that Belial had with Lucifer Morningstar himself. How could Heaven smite someone like that without something horrendous coming back to bite them?
“Nnn, yeah. The sloth thing is an issue, you see,” Crowley says, pointing at Aziraphale. “Can put anyone to sleep if he gets close to you and knows exactly what to hit, he isn’t unlike what humans call the Sandman because he can leave you like that forever, really. Can’t wake up unless he snaps you out of it, so humans have endless nightmares. I’ve only ever seen the shit he’s done, but those nightmares he curses them with sound bad. Humans thrash around and…” Crowley looks away, a pained expression on his face, sighing as he trails off.
He doesn’t continue, and Aziraphale can only imagine what Crowley’s seen. He aches to comfort Crowley, to squeeze his hand again and say it won’t happen anymore, you won’t feel that pain anymore, but the distance between them is too far.
Aziraphale’s heart starts beating faster. Oh, bother. He can’t stop thinking about how cruel it is, for an angel to love a demon so much it aches to want to reach out and love him no longer from afar. For Aziraphale to love Crowley so much that he can’t help but want what he can’t ever have.
“I… I’m so sorry you had to see that,” Aziraphale says, his voice not above a whisper, and he hopes it’s enough as a replacement for everything he can’t do. For everything he can’t convey.
Crowley only laughs bitterly, and Aziraphale knows it isn’t a replacement for what he can’t do. He aches for the demon in front of him and wishes more than anything that he can cut their distance.
“Yeah, well, that’s Hell for you,” Crowley says, putting on his sunglasses.
Aziraphale lets out a small breath as Crowley stands up, looking between Aziraphale and his tea. “See you around, then. That’s all the information I have.”
Aziraphale freezes, and searches his mind for something to say. Anything to make this last, to get one last look of the demon he loves so much before another ten years passes and he’ll drown in guilt and shame.
“Thank you,” he rushes to say, fidgeting as he feels more than sees Crowley level his gaze on him. “The information is most helpful. I’ll keep it in mind. And that promise.” He adds the last one for good measure.
Crowley nods, turning around again. “Yeah. Good luck, Aziraphale.”
Crowley leaves, and Aziraphale feels like a hole has burned through his chest.
Again, and again, he hurts the ones he loves the most to keep them safe. He feels numb, the illusion of safety an excuse. Aziraphale regrets it more than anything, but he can’t take it back. Not when an archangel was coming to smite a demon, not when he knows the pain that Crowley had seen and felt under Belial’s reign on humanity.
A cruel existence indeed, to be an angel who goes along with Heaven as much as he can.
Aziraphale spends most of the next morning fretting around his bookshop. Sandalphon was to meet with him, and he assumed Gabriel was to ride along. He can’t help but be nervous, really, knowing that he would have to give them the information Crowley had given him.
He doesn’t know how they’ll take it, what they’ll have him do, and for some reason it terrifies Aziraphale to his core.
He is an angel, though. He knows he shouldn’t be scared, they wouldn’t do anything that would endanger his corporation or his mind. Right?
Aziraphale shakes his head, taking a deep breath as he stands in the middle of the bookshop. It wouldn’t do good to doubt the archangels, they wouldn’t hurt him on purpose. Nor would they tell him to do anything dangerous. He’d be fine. He didn’t need to be so unsettled.
Gabriel and Sandalphon all but enter the bookshop silently, the doors slamming open. Aziraphale fights the urge to jump at the sound, his unease getting worse.
“Aziraphale!” Gabriel exclaims as Sandalphon miracles the bookshop door closed, the blinds closing as well. “Hey there, got the information we asked you for? It’s okay if you don’t, I am aware we gave you like, only seven hours to get it. As I’ve always said, we know you’ll fail, so it’s fine.”
Aziraphale blinks, trying not to think about how Gabriel was sort of… wishing on his failure. He’s afraid to find out what Gabriel would’ve done if he didn’t get the information.
“Ah, I-I believe so,” Aziraphale replies, trying to calm himself down. Anxiety was always something he dealt with, but with this assignment, it seemed to become a bit more prominent. “My source tells me that the Archduke Belial is in America somewhere. He also has some sort of curse that allows him to put humans, as far as I know, to sleep and have rather horrid nightmares. He is rather fond of sloth, you see.”
Gabriel hums, crossing his arms. “Huh, somewhere in America? Did you get somewhere specific, or did you forget you’re supposed to spy on him?” Gabriel asks, giving him a wide, unsettling smile.
Aziraphale fights a chill that runs through him, chuckling nervously. “Ah, well, I’m sure there are not many demons in America. I supposed I would… er, sense him,” Aziraphale says, hoping that it’s enough. He’s also sure his source had no idea where Belial was, either, or he’d give Aziraphale an actual location.
“Relying on your senses? That’s a new one,” Gabriel comments, looking at Sandalphon. “What do you think about Aziraphale’s strategy to spy?”
Sandalphon smiles at Aziraphale, chuckling slightly. “I think it’s a rather bad idea. We must smite Belial quickly considering the circumstances at hand, so no spying at all,” he says, a false sense of mirth in his voice.
Oh, this was going downhill a bit quicker than Aziraphale would’ve liked. He rubs his hands nervously, glancing between the two of them as they have some sort of silent conversation that he had no idea how to interpret.
Gabriel nods. “Exactly right, Sandalphon!” he exclaims, throwing a glare at Aziraphale’s direction. “Look, Aziraphale, there’s an easy way to get to Belial without having to sense him. Really, I don’t know why you thought your solution would work.”
Well, that was news to Aziraphale. “Oh, really?” he asks, genuinely curious. Perhaps they had kept tabs on him already?
Aziraphale falters as Gabriel throws him a smile, one way too wide to mean something good. “Yeah. Wanna tell him, Sandalphon?”
Sandalphon flashes him another toothy smile. “Let him come to you,” Sandalphone says.
Aziraphale relaxes a bit, letting out a small, relieved sigh. He wasn’t sure why he was so unsettled, anyway. “Ah, let him sense me instead?” Aziraphale asks, only to be sure that was what they wanted. It wouldn’t be smart to do something completely different, after all.
“No, no, you’re misinterpreting me,” Sandalphon replies, clasping his hands together. “Let him curse you.”
Aziraphale tenses, his eyes widening. He can feel his heartbeat pick up, remembering how Crowley talked about seeing Belial’s curse, how he trailed off because he couldn’t bear thinking about the agony the humans must’ve felt, how Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed in pain and hurt remembering the humans that went through the pain Belial put them through.
“You… you want me to get cursed?” Aziraphale asks, his breaths getting shallow. Oh, dear lord. There was no way Heaven was asking this of him.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Aziraphale,” Sandalphon scolds, still smiling. “It would be easier for us to find and smite him. Don’t you want to get rid of this demon quickly?”
“I do, but surely there’s a better way to go about this,” Aziraphale says quickly. He wasn’t doubting them at all, but he wasn’t sure he wanted endless nightmares as he was unconscious for eternity. Oh, he should’ve asked Crowley for more information, but to see him in more pain would’ve broken Aziraphale’s heart even more.
“Then you understand that this is the quickest way, yeah?” Gabriel comes in, raising his eyebrows. “Come on, Aziraphale. We don’t sleep, so who’s to say you’ll actually be cursed? Just pop into America, get ‘cursed,’ and let Sandalphon handle it and wake you up, which we’ll be sure to check! Simple as that!”
Aziraphale does not think this will be simple, not at all. Angels don’t need sleep, but they can sleep. Demons can sleep, too, Crowley’s done it multiple times. Aziraphale will surely get cursed, and he will be plagued by nightmares until Belial decides to wake him up.
Plus, how would Sandalphon know when to arrive and smite Belial? How was he to know that Belial would even stick around?
Aziraphale knows better than to fight back, though. At the end of it all, after words were said and sharp reprimands were delivered, Aziraphale would still have to catch Belial in the way that the archangels wanted him to.
So, reluctantly, Aziraphale gives them a small smile. One so disingenuous that it almost hurts. Almost. “Of course, Gabriel. I’ll get right to it,” he says rather hurriedly, hoping it hides his nervousness.
“Good!” Gabriel exclaims, clapping a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He winces, failing to hide it in time. “I knew we could count on you, sunshine. Our best and brightest, aren’t you?”
Aziraphale nods, and he doesn’t feel like the best and the brightest when he’s getting commanded to fall under a curse that guarantees an eternity of nightmares that will haunt him as much as his real life already does.
He remembers Crowley’s pain at remembering seeing humans under the curse, and he shivers. He’s, if anything, very very afraid.
-
Aziraphale feels rather uncomfortable, seeing as it's another dark and stormy night. Although, it’s in America, and not in London, which he supposes is quite suspicious. Two rainy days in a row in different areas in the world.
It’s a bit odd, considering he’s in California during the summer. The bad sign continues, he supposes. There’s nothing he can really do about it, other than shield himself with a miracle and hope he’s displaying enough angelic energy for Belial to sense him and fly over.
And, oh, he’s been trying to ignore a demonic presence following him around ever since he landed in a random neighborhood in Bakersfield, California an hour ago.
He isn’t alarmed by this certain presence, he knows this presence better than anyone. It’s been the only presence that he’s attuned to his entire time on Earth, one of the first demonic presences he’s ever welcomed into his life.
Aziraphale sighs, wiping his brow as he continues his walk down the sidewalk. Telling Crowley not to join him didn’t work, apparently, and now Crowley would have to witness himself getting cursed willingly.
He’d watch Aziraphale break his promise, and there was nothing more cruel than that. He didn’t want to break the promise, not at all.
That’s all he tended to do, apparently.
He adjusts the holy water sitting in his pocket, fidgeting with it. He supposes the most he can do to keep Crowley’s promise is bring something that can protect him from Belial. Though, he doesn’t want it anywhere near Crowley. Not in the slightest.
Another hour or so passes before Aziraphale gets a bit antsy on Crowley following him around. It’s possible Belial couldn’t sense Aziraphale at all because of Crowley, which would be a big issue, really. Aziraphale wanted to get this over with, especially since he did not want to think about the nightmares he’d have to endure. Goodness, he really did not want to do this.
“My dear,” he says, in case the demonic presence wasn’t his demon. “It would do you some good to not follow me, you know.”
Aziraphale hears a small hiss by his feet, and he can’t help but chuckle at the small red-bellied snake that curls up around his right foot. “Hello,” Aziraphale greets, smiling as Crowley looks up at him. “You’re rather stubborn, aren’t you? I said not to join me, you fiend.”
Crowley takes this time to uncurl himself from Aziraphale’s foot, turning into a human right before Aziraphale’s eyes. He fixes his shoulder-length hair before facing Aziraphale, rolling his eyes.
“Had a job in Bakersfield, actually. Ghost’s been haunting an abandoned house here. Gotta get it to come to Hell, or something like that,” Crowley explains. He raises an eyebrow at the angelic power Aziraphale is projecting. “Why are you being so… bloody holy right now? I thought you were supposed to spy on Belial?”
Aziraphale huffs, pleased that Crowley seemed to be in a better mood than last night. Well, here goes nothing. “If you must know, Sandalphon suggested a way to get to Belial quickly. I am simply going along with what he and Gabriel suggested I do,” he says, a bit nervously. Remembering what he has to do has him uneased, anxious for what is to come.
Crowley raises an eyebrow, tilting his head in confusion. “So, spying’s off the table now?” he asks.
“Yes,” Aziraphale confirms, fidgeting with his hands as he meets Crowley’s gaze.
Crowley narrows his eyes. “And?”
“You won’t like it.” Aziraphale is almost confident Crowley will have a small outburst from it, so he figures the warning will be enough.
Crowley only rolls sighs, crossing his arms. “I don’t like any of this, so it doesn’t really matter. Tell me what those wankers want you to do.”
Aziraphale puts his hand into his pocket, once again playing around with the holy water inside of it. He lets out a small breath, giving Crowley a sheepish smile. “They want me to get cursed by Belial.”
Crowley stands there, his expression blank. “Don’t joke around like that,” he says, shaking his head. His bitter tone is back, the way his mouth curls into a frown making Aziraphale feel almost guilty.
“I am not,” Aziraphale says, hoping that it would put… a better expression on Crowley’s face. It pains Aziraphale, how all he manages to make Crowley feel is hurt. “I would not lie to you like that, my dear. I apologize for… for what is to come. You do not have to stick around to see it, I assure you I will be far away once it happens,” he adds, for good measure.
Crowley exhales, his breathing picking up slightly. “What on Earth makes you think I’m leaving you?” he asks, starting to circle around Aziraphale. Aziraphale lets him, knowing that pacing helps Crowley with getting his emotions out. “Satan, are they trying to get rid of you? Are they fucking trying to hurt you? What did you even do to them? This is insanity, angel!”
Aziraphale frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks at Crowley, who has stopped in front of him. “I know,” he says. He doesn’t bother to call out Crowley’s language, knowing full well that it is justified, if anything. “I don’t like this either, dearest. If I’m honest…”
Crowley furrows his eyebrows at Aziraphale’s pause, Aziraphale squirming a bit under the demon’s intense, concerned stare.
“Angel?” Crowley asks, softly. Aziraphale tries to ignore the beating of his metaphysical heart in his ears.
He looks up at his reflection in Crowley’s glasses. He looks at himself, pale and rather sad looking, and purses his lips.
“I’m scared,” he whispers, getting the sudden urge to grab Crowley and pull him closer for comfort. He doesn’t, but he clenches his fists at the need to say it again. “I-I’m a bit afraid, Crowley—“
Crowley reaches out immediately, grabbing Aziraphale’s hands. “Angel,” he starts, rubbing Aziraphale’s knuckles slowly. “Angel, it’s okay. You— we can find a way to avoid that. Just think it through: they don't need to know you're actually cursed, right? So, y’know, we could fake it. They smite their demon, you don't get nightmares, and it’ll be– what do you like to say? Tickety-boo?”
Aziraphale chuckles, Crowley’s words reassuring him more than he thought it would. He lets out a small, shaky breath. “You… you’re right. Perhaps I should calm down a little. Think this through, as you said,” he murmurs. “Though, faking it? Wouldn't Belial realize?”
Crowley shrugs, rather nonchalantly. Aziraphale can see right through his facade, the small crease in between his eyebrows conveying his worry for how this will play out. “Perhaps. S’long as Sandalphon gets to smite his arse, no one will notice. Then, we can go hop over to one of those twenty-four hour diners while we’re here. What do you say?”
Aziraphale is rather compelled to agree, he does very much want to spend time with Crowley. There’s a small part of him telling him to keep his distance, though.
This was already risky, having to fake a curse in front of a trigger-happy archduke of Hell and being in proximity to Sandalphon the entire time.
He doesn’t want Crowley to be in danger, nor does he want Crowley to be around if Aziraphale can no longer fake it. What if the Sandalphon catches his lie? What if Belial curses him despite it all?
He thinks about Crowley’s haunted expression. He can’t have Crowley go through that again, not when it hurt him so much. Not when Aziraphale was constantly putting him in situations that were rather painful.
If Aziraphale can spare him some of the pain, then he doesn’t mind taking most of it. Crowley deserves better than what he can offer, and it is a mercy to deny his temptations when Heaven was so closely watching him.
“I’m afraid I will have to decline,” Aziraphale says, and he watches Crowley’s expression fall over so slightly. Crowley lets go of his hand, and he doesn’t mourn the loss of the comforting warmth of it. He doesn’t.
Crowley, however, seems set on his resolve. “We could just walk afterwards. In a park, dunno any, but I’ll find one,” he suggests, crossing his arms. “Come on, don’t you want to have some fun after we wreak some havoc on our fellow angels and demons?”
Aziraphale sighs, he does. He really, really does. He just can’t stop remembering the grim expression on Crowley’s face when Aziraphale refused a ride to wherever he wanted to go those ten years ago.
His chest aches, knowing that he had given Crowley something that could very well end his life, knowing that his time with Crowley was always limited.
He can’t bring himself to look at the demon, looking at his own shoes. They were rather dirty from the mud that had come from the rain, but in an uncharacteristic fashion, he finds he doesn’t care.
He wants to desperately say yes, but he can’t. He won’t let Crowley be caught in his rather clumsy failures, he refuses to have him in any more danger than he already is.
“Crowley, I can’t,” he says, rather firm. He doesn’t dare look up in fear of seeing Crowley’s distraught expression. Aziraphale fears he’ll break from seeing it.
The air around them turns sour, and Aziraphale tries not to wince at the sudden change in atmosphere.
“No, yeah, I get it,” Crowley huffs, and Aziraphale feels his heart drop as he hears the hurt in Crowley’s voice. It’s laced in bitterness, enough so that Crowley can’t hide it. “Don’t want to spend your precious time with a demon, I reckon?”
Aziraphale wants to argue, say it wasn’t anything like that, but he can’t find the words. He can’t bear to hurt Crowley anymore, to give him hope for a future that isn’t for them.
He’s so afraid, so terrified that Crowley will be taken away from him from forces he cannot bear to stop.
He looks back up, and sees Crowley looking at him with nothing short of blankness, his expression unreadable. Somehow, this hurts more than seeing anger on his face.
“That… you know it’s not like that, Crowley,” he mumbles, stepping closer. He wrings his hands together, letting out a small breath as he sees Crowley back away. “I– I’m sorry, dear. I’m just…” Afraid. A coward. Pathetic.
Aziraphale squeezes his eyes shut. Oh, good lord. He won’t cry, not in front of Crowley. Not now. “Shall we get on with finding Belial?” he asks, forcing his voice to not shake.
He fails, he thinks, when Crowley tilts his head at him.
Crowley’s face softens in understanding, and Aziraphale aches even more. “Sure, angel. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to grab anything after?” he asks, holding out his arm for Aziraphale to grab.
Aziraphale recognizes this for what it is, knows that Crowley is trying everything he can to lift his spirits, and he only feels so much more guilty for everything. Every meter of distance he puts between them is a stab in the heart when Crowley does things like this.
Maybe, just once, he can let himself have this. In case things go awry, in case he gets cursed to stay into his nightmares for a long time, he wants his last moments with Crowley to be happy.
All of his guilt rises up to his chest, making it a bit hard to breathe. It would be dangerous, and he’s spent a good part of six thousand years putting Crowley at risk through their interactions.
But, oh, he wants to spend time with Crowley. He wants to be with Crowley, be able to watch plays with him in their entirety, be able to go out to multiple places without being afraid of someone catching them. He wants Crowley, in his entirety.
It is cruel, he thinks, to be able to want something he knows he cannot have.
He slips a hand around Crowley’s arm, watching as the demon’s lips turn slightly upwards. “I wouldn’t mind a nightcap,” he whispers with a small smile, which gets a rather excited nudge from Crowley.
“Takeaway, then? I know you enjoy those positively scrumptious cheese balls.” Crowley wiggles his eyebrows, which Aziraphale almost laughs at.
Instead, he rolls his eyes. He very much appreciates Crowley’s attempts to make him feel better, and it does make his heart feel much lighter knowing that his dearest companion is by his side.
It feels as though Crowley is telling him that it’s okay to pretend, even for a few moments, that they’re supposed to be hereditary enemies. For just this assignment, Aziraphale can forget the regret that surrounds his heart and just be here with Crowley, having an adventure like he wasn’t ordered to do this.
He relents, and lets himself have this. Oh, God, he lets himself have this. Would this be blasphemy? Would he even care for the answer?
“We’ll have to see once this is over, dear,” he says, giving Crowley a small smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, from what he can see in Crowley’s glasses, but it’s as genuine as it gets.
Crowley seems to accept this answer, a satisfied look filling his face. “Sounds good to me, angel. Now, let's get that demon, shall we?”
Aziraphale nods, his worries dissipating as he leans in more against Crowley. Call him a selfish angel, but he feels as though he’ll never receive this much touch from Crowley in a long time.
They walk around Bakersfield for a bit, marveling at how the rain makes the ground very shiny. There isn't a lot to see in this area, but there are a lot of farms, which Crowley finds very fascinating.
They're walking near a vineyard when a demonic sense starts to overpower Crowley's. Dread fills Aziraphale's bones as he remembers what he's here to do, and he grips Crowley's arm tight. “Oh dear,” is all he can say, feeling for the holy water in his pocket.
“Fuck, he's close. Probably staying in one of those houses,” Crowley says, gritting his teeth.
Aziraphale takes this chance to look up, and is met with Crowley's glasses as per usual. But, his expression looks gaut, almost afraid of what could happen should they face Belial.
He feels guilty, having Crowley go through with this. Crowley had seen the horrors of what this archduke could do, and here he was subjecting Crowley to it once more.
An angelic presence fills the air alongside Aziraphale's, which makes him jump towards Crowley. “Sandalphon,” he breathes, which makes Crowley look down at him.
“Shit, thought we’d have more time.” Crowley adjusts his glasses, looking away from Aziraphale. If he's being honest, Aziraphale wishes that Crowley could keep his eyes only on him in their short time they have until Aziraphale has to fake a curse.
“I suppose we must get on with it, then.” Aziraphale pats Crowley's arm, and watches as the demon’s lips quirk up a little at the action. Cute. He hates to ruin the mood with his next words, but it has to be done. “How am I to act when he ‘curses’ me? Does it happen right away?”
Guilt threatens to ruin Aziraphale's chest almost instantly, seeing as Crowley's expression turns dark. He hates this so much, hurting Crowley in more ways than he could ever imagine.
He just wants Crowley to be happy, and there's no way he can be so with an angel such as Aziraphale. That much hurts Aziraphale's heart more than he wants to claim.
“Just fall down and pretend you're asleep for, nnnnyeh, a minute or so.” Crowley lets go of Aziraphale as they walk into the vineyard, and he can't help but mourn the loss of their closeness. “Then thrash around like you're in a particularly horrid nightmare, maybe cry a bit. Don't stop ‘til Belial and Sandalphon are gone.”
Oh, goodness. “How long will it take? I’m not quite sure one has the energy for moving like that for a while.”
Crowley turns to him, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth in a scowl. “That's the bloody point. S’supposed to make your corporation exhausted and eventually turn on you. Can’t eat or drink in that state. Can't even open your eyes for a moment of peace.”
Aziraphale aches to reach out, to comfort the demon in front of him. It sounds terrible, what Crowley had to witness, and the fact that he has to reenact it in a few moments makes him feel incredibly bad.
“You don't have to stick around to watch it, my dear,” he decides to say, their plans afterwards be damned. “I know it's not easy.”
At that, Crowley seemingly becomes less tense. Aziraphale can't see much in the pale moonlight, but he's rather attuned to all of Crowley’s movements at this point.
“S’not, but it's better that I stick around to pull you aside when they start fighting,” Crowley says, shrugging. “Just so you don't risk actually getting cursed.”
Before Aziraphale could say anything to that, the larger demonic presence overwhelms him. He looks to his left, watching as a particularly large figure starts to make his way towards Aziraphale.
That was… quite the sight, to say the least. A very frightening one at that. Aziraphale hears rustling behind him, which he assumes is Crowley hiding. Good, because this was going to be a tough thing to do.
As the figure in front of him comes closer, Aziraphale can see the demon that Heaven wants to smite in a clearer light. He looks threatening and… rather hungry at the sight of an angel.
Aziraphale is nothing but a guardian, though, so he does not falter when Belial gets close to him. The rain slightly messes with his vision, but he doesn’t let it deter him from looking up at the demon. He refuses to show him any weakness, in case the demon decides to curse Aziraphale for real.
They don’t say anything, mostly because Aziraphale doesn’t want to engage so that Sandalphon could smite him as quickly as possible. Now would be a perfect time, seeing as they were just looking at each other.
“What’s a little angel like you doing out here in sunny California?” Belial asks, his voice not what Aziraphale was expecting. It wasn’t deep and nasally, instead something sounding a bit more friendly than he’d like to admit. His American accent does throw him off a bit, not that it matters.
He feels Crowley’s demonic presence, and even if the demon isn’t standing next to him, he still feels the comfort of it all. Crowley was here, and everything would be fine.
At least, that was what Aziraphale wanted to believe.
“It is none of your business,” Aziraphale replies, crossing his arms. “I should ask the same of you.”
“Well, I live here,” Belial replies, gesturing at the vineyard. “Sometimes. Hell doesn’t let any demons sneak out unless they need us to because this place already has a Hell representative. But, there’s no one permanently in America, so. Here I am.”
Aziraphale dislikes the false sense of security that Belial is presenting here. He knows that this is all a trap, that Belial would never act like this unless he wanted Aziraphale to be comfortable.
“I suppose I’m imposing on your property, I apologize,” Aziraphale says, trying his best to sound sorry. Although, he’s not sure he was able to pull it off, considering that Belial raises an eyebrow at that.
“So, what are you doing here? Sensed a demonic presence and came to smite me, have you?”
Aziraphale tenses a bit, but he does not let his guard down. He can most likely pretend to be cursed now, and fall to the ground so that Sandalphon can swoop in and save him. But, as he tries to sense for Sandalphon’s presence, he finds nothing.
Oh, this was bad. Where had he gone?
He supposes he has to stall, which he’s afraid of doing, seeing as the demon in front of him seems to be suspecting him of being a threat. “I have no intention of hurting you,” Aziraphale says, because it’s true. It’s all Sandalphon rather than him. “I must admit, I did sense you and wondered what was going on.”
Belial regards him for a bit, which makes Aziraphale squirm where he’s standing. He is not a fan of this, not at all. “Got a name, little angel?” he asks, instead of replying to what Aziraphale had said.
He lets out a small breath, reaching out for Crowley’s presence once more. “Aziraphale,” he replies, his breath hitching as something in the air changes slightly. He doesn’t let it stop him, though. “And you?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of me, little angel.” Belial walks forward, and Aziraphale can’t help but take a step backwards. The air gets a bit stuffy, and he realizes that he might be too late to start pretending.
He places his hand in his pocket, gripping his holy water. He doesn’t want to use it, but he fears he might have to in order to avoid any other altercation. “I’m afraid I have not. You would be surprised with how little Heaven talks of demons,” he says, opening the bottle in his pocket.
Belial takes another step forward, and Aziraphale feels his eyes start to get a little… a little heavy. Oh, this was terrible. Where was Sandalphon?
“Let me teach you a lesson, principality Aziraphale.” Belial performs a miracle before Aziraphale could splash him with holy water, and he immediately feels as though there’s something weighing him down. “Don’t talk to demons, especially one that is an archduke.”
Aziraphale sways, and everything disappears to him as if he was in a haze.
He collapses to the cold, grassy ground, his eyes slightly open as he watches Belial regard him with curiosity. He struggles to keep his eyes open but then he sees a burst of light from the sky land right next to the demon, so he supposes that’s all he needs to shut them.
He has never slept, not once in his time on Earth. But, everything just feels so far away. Perhaps if he slips away, he’ll be safe and sound from the fighting in front of him.
“Angel, angel, no,” he hears from above him. “Aziraphale, wake up. Come on, angel, please. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Belial, that stupid fuck.”
Aziraphale turns towards the voice, opening his eyes just a slight bit. He sees Crowley looking down at him, his glasses off of his face. His golden eyes were visible, right next to the moon above them, and he looks very beautiful in spite of the rain. “Cr– Crowley….”
“Shh, just keep looking at me,” Crowley says, cradling his face. “Stay awake, alright? I’ll fix this, and you’re going to be fine. No nightmares, no sleep. Nothing.”
Staying awake seems difficult, because Aziraphale feels as though his eyes are being forced shut. “Can’t,” he says, attempting to find something to hold. He finds Crowley’s knee, and squeezes it.
“Yes, you can,” Crowley pushes, looking down at him in concern. Aziraphale feels as though he’s floating, and he desperately wants to fade away. But, he doesn’t dare leave Crowley. Not when he looks so afraid.
“I… I’ll try,” he whispers, forcing his eyes open as they threaten to close again. “It’s hard. So heavy.”
One of Crowley’s hands gravitates to his hair, smoothing it away from his face. “Good, just keep looking at me. Do not fall asleep, ‘kay? No matter what.”
Aziraphale nods, blinking slowly. He feels terribly, having gotten cursed when he and Crowley discussed how exactly to fake it. He feels so guilty, to have to subject Crowley to this again. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut. “Sorry.”
“Hey, stay awake,” Crowley says hurriedly, patting his face. “Angel, come on, look at me. Look at me, please.”
Aziraphale forces his eyes open again, but he can’t open them much. He’s almost squinting at this point. “Crowley, I… I can’t—”
“You can, angel. I won’t let you go to that realm. I’ll force Belial to break the curse later after that fighting ends, but you have to stay awake,” Crowley whispers, and it almost sounds like a plea.
Aziraphale can’t open his eyes any more than they already are, but he wants to believe in Crowley. With everything, he trusts his demon to help him get out of this curse. “Sorry,” is all he can say, because he feels so horribly for leaving him behind like this. “Dearest… sorry.”
“S’not your fault. It never is, angel.” Crowley leans down, pressing his lips against Aziraphale’s brow. “Just… just stay awake. Please, don’t sleep.”
“Crowley,” he whispers, his eyes closing. He wants to stay awake, more than anything, but this damned curse… it’s calling at him to leave, to never resurface from the haze he finds himself in. “C-Crowley, I… I want to stay…”
“You will,” Crowley insists, shaking him a bit. He sounds a bit scared, and that alone breaks Aziraphale’s heart more than anything he’s feeling. Aziraphale can no longer open his eyes, having gone limp in Crowley’s hold. His hold on Crowley’s knee only tightens for a moment before he feels himself start to go unconscious. “You will, angel. Promise, I’ve got you.”
Aziraphale feels a small pressure on his forehead before he succumbs to the throes of unconsciousness, falling into the realm of nightmares.