Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the third time this month Crowley had landed himself in jail. Which was more of an inconvenience than anything else. On one hand, it did serve to make the day more exciting. He got to check in with his acquaintances stationed over at the city prison - both the inmates and the guards watching over them - and it gave him an excuse to visit his favorite little deli across town. To celebrate with a slice of his favorite home-made oreo cheesecake after he made his grand escape.

And he would escape. That was never the issue. Crowley always made it out, one way or another. Sometimes, he felt bad for the guys on duty and would hang around for a few days, just to make them think they’d figured out a way to finally keep him in. Other times, he was far too impatient to get back to his work and would be gone before all the paperwork had even been processed.

On the other hand, the transfer procedures took forever and it wasn’t like they supplied the inmates-to-be with pencil or pad of paper to write down any diabolical schemes they might have while Mrs. What’s Her Face was processing form P-183B. Crowley couldn’t begin to count how many brilliant ideas were wasted while he was stuck waiting for bureaucratic nonsense to sort itself out. He always seemed to have them at the worst times.

Unfortunately for him, Crowley was very familiar with the prison’s entry procedures, having been admitted many times over his thirty-six year long life. First there was the official statement at the police office. Some bogus charge about ‘disturbing the peace’ or ‘endangering public safety’ or something to that effect. It wasn’t his fault people got in the way whenever he wanted to test out his new gadgets or take his beloved Bentley out for a spin. This time, he’d even waited until two in the morning to take her tearing around the city streets and the cops had still pulled him over the second they’d spotted him racing up 5th Avenue.

Granted, he’d also just escaped from this very prison a week and a half earlier. That probably had something to do with the rapid arrest, but in Crowley’s defense, he hadn’t been doing anything worth jail time then either. He wasn’t like all those other criminals - robbing banks or breaking into people’s homes. He’d never caused any property damage or endangered someone’s life. Not really . Yet he was lumped in with all the rest of them. An inconvenience, but one he still had to live with week after week, as the city’s prison system had yet to find a way to keep him in for more than seventy two hours.

After being formerly charged, there was the bus ride over to the prison. Those were usually dull and uneventful, although the music selection was usually decent. At least, until they pulled off the highway and lost signal. Every once in a while, someone would recognize him and ask for an autograph, which Crowley begrudgingly supplied. It wasn’t every day someone got the chance to meet a supervillain, now was it? 

“Right,” A gruff looking employee huffed as Crowley was pushed forward, a bit rougher than was probably necessary. The man obviously hadn’t slept well the night before, made evident by the dark circles under his eyes and the clear patch of stubble he had missed while shaving,  just below his ear. “Here’s your uniform.” He passed it over with another huff, his attempt to stifle the yawn creeping up on him. “Been here enough times you should know where the bathroom is. Change into it, and then Rodgers will escort you to your cell.”

Crowley glanced down at the bright orange jumper resting across his outstretched hands, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Seriously, Derek?” he asked the man at the front desk, who simply shrugged at him in apology. Another rough push had Crowley stumbling toward the changing room, as he shouted his displeasure over his shoulder. “How many times do I have to ask you guys nicely to change these uniforms?”

Another push. Crowley ignored it. He wasn’t going to fall, no matter how hard they tried. One thing about having superpowers meant his reflexes were a bit higher than the average human’s. “Can’t you work with me on at least getting some color options?” The guard remained silent, although Crowley could see the hint of a smirk on his face. He pushed back his own grin, determined to keep this bit going as long as possible.

“This orange is atrocious!” He stopped walking momentarily, shaking out the garment, as if to prove his point. “Would you look at how horribly it clashes with my hair? You all are making me look like a fool, I’ll have you know. This. This right here is cruel and unusual punishment.”

The guard beside him, Rodgers, rolled his eyes. “Just shut your yap and get it on. We don’t have all day.”

Crowley shrugged. “You’re probably right,” shooting the man a wink before stepping into the nearest stall and closing the curtain behind him, grinning to himself all the while. Unnerving them was always one of his favorite parts of the whole ordeal. He loved to make them think he arrived with a plan in motion. It kept the guards on their toes. Challenged them a bit. Made them think outside the box. He liked to think he was doing the justice system a service. He was helping these guards to improve their skills so they could be better at  keeping people like him where they belonged.

People like him, of course. Not people who were him. Naturally, he’d be out of here soon enough. In fact, he could have been out of here already, had he wanted to. But, if anything, Crowley was a creature of habit, and there were just a few things he wanted to do before finding his way back home.

“Heyyy, look who’s back! It’s El Serpiente,” a voice called from one of the cells as Crowley was lead down the hallway several minutes later. A tall Hispanic man peered out from the nearest cell on his left. “Did you bring us any souvenirs?”

Crowley laughed, raising his shackled hands in front of him, as if to make a point. “Come now, Arturo, you know better than anyone if I had, they would have been confiscated by now.”

“Could have just ‘poofed’ ‘em in here,” another man grumbled from the opposite side of the hall. Crowley turned to see him seated on his bed, leaning forward with his elbows atop his knees. “Isn’t that how your voodoo magic works, Serpent?”

“One,” the man began holding up a finger as Rodgers tugged impatiently at his arm. “It’s The Serpent, not Serpent.” He paused for a brief moment to look the man in the eyes as he passed. “You know this, Malcom. I know you know this because you just heard Arturo say it and I didn’t correct him.” Another finger, “Two, it’s not voodoo - that’s not my specialty, and three , even if it was, that is not how it works. You all should know that by now.”

“I don’t know,” a third voice,this one belonging to long-time inmate Harvey Brooks, teased from just around the corner. “I think we might need to see you bust outta here a few dozen more times to really get the hang of it.”

Laughter chorused all around and Crowley found himself smiling. Maybe the trip here today wasn’t such a bother after all. Sure, for him, a lot could happen in the almost two weeks he was out in the real world, but for these guys? Nothing happened here, apart from the occasional arrival of a handful of new inmates. As far as he knew, watching him escape time after time was the highlight of the week for them.

Maybe he should make it a point to stop by more often.

“Move it along, The Serpent,” Rodgers gruffed, tugging on Crowley’s left arm as they reached the end of the hallway. “You can gab with all your criminal friends during your own time.”

“Uh,” Crowley announced, glancing over his shoulder as they continued to walk past cell after cell containing someone the man knew. “My cell is back that way.” He tried to lift a hand to point behind him, but Rodger’s grip was tight against him, fingers digging into the neon orange fabric covering his lower forearm. 

“Not this time, it’s not,” the man responded, a confident grin spreading across his face. Crowley felt a surge of excitement pass through him, originating from his stomach and spreading outward to his fingers and toes. A new cell meant new challenges! The guards were stepping up their game and he was ready for it.

“What?” the man began to protest, a half-hearted attempt to hide his building glee. Oh! There were so many things he could try. Were they going to stick him in a cell with reinforced doors? Solitary confinement? Some kind of multi-layer structure with guards posted at every door? The anticipation was killing him. “You can’t move my cell. I carved my name on that last one so you guys would always have something to remember me by.”

Rodgers scoffed, subtly rolling his eyes as they passed two other guards doing their rounds. One of them, a younger bloke who had started here not too long ago, looked surprised to see Crowley again so soon. He blinked his wide, blue eyes, shaking his head as if to ward off some kind of hallucination he was sure he was having, before grinning from ear to ear and waving at the supervillain as he approached.

It would have been a difficult identification to miss, even from that distance. With flaming red hair reaching all the way down to his shoulders and striking golden eyes, Crowley was hard to miss.

All for show, of course, but they didn’t need to know that. The tighter a lock he kept on his secret identity, the better. 

“For goodness sake, Milton,” Rodgers barked, shooting a disapproving glance at the young man. “Try to look at least a little bit annoyed.”

“Yes - yes sir!” the boy responded, moving to salute as they walked by. Crowley caught his gaze and winked, grinning from ear to ear as he passed by.

“Swing on by my cell later, and I’ll get you an autograph,” he offered, watching as the young guard’s eye twitched ever so slightly. A nervous tick, he assumed, as a result of the direct interaction immediately after the boy had just been chastised for looking too eager to meet the supervillain. “You can pass it on to your girlfriend.” A pause. “Or boyfriend. Don’t want to make any assumptions, now do I?”

“Yes - I mean no - of course no - “

The conversation was interrupted mid syllable as Rodgers swung Crowley around, pushing him into the nearby concrete wall with enough force to break an ordinary man’s nose. Luckily for him, he was no ordinary man. That didn’t change the fact that it still stung.

He was going to remember this.

“You are not to go near him, Milton, and that is an order ,” Rodgers barked, then took a step closer to Crowley, pressing his knee into the back of Crowley’s left leg. “And you, ” he spat with more vehemence than the interaction required. “You are going into your cell and you are never coming out again.”

Oh, yes. Crowley was definitely going to remember this.

The cell itself was surprisingly very nice. Either there was some rule about wall color in solitary confinement, or the previous occupant had been quite the artist. There was an entire mural painted on every surface of the dome shaped room, except for the two inch thick steel door Crowley had passed through, complete with shrubbery, a rainbow, and several furry critters one might find in a forest.

The technique was juvenile at best, but he had to give it to them. It certainly was more entertaining than looking at a pale, concrete wall all day. He padded to the center of the room, where there was a single chair bolted to the floor and not much else. Crowley assumed that a cot of some sort would be brought in later, probably alongside his dinner and a dozen guards to ensure he stayed put.

Crowley planned to be long gone by then. 

“Now,” Rodgers began, a glint of amusement in his deep brown eyes. The side of his lip curled upward in what Crowley assumed to be his version of a smile, but came off looking like he was constipated instead. “I want you to sit here, by yourself, and think about what you have done. M’kay?”

Putting on his serious face, Crowley sunk down into the chair. It was padded, but not very well. Lumpy in all the wrong places and in need of a wash down. Or a spritz of air freshener. “Any idea when my time-out will be over, dad?”

Murder flashed in the other man’s eyes. His mustache twitched in an attempt to hold it back, gears behind his eyes turning as he fought to come up with something clever to say.

“If things go my way,” Rodgers eventually growled, taking a step back so he was standing in the middle of the doorway, ready to seal it tightly behind him as soon as he removed himself from the room. “Several centuries. At least.”

With one final ‘hiss’ the door closed, sealing itself shut and Crowley along with it. He watched as Rodgers took one last, satisfied look, and then spun around to stalk back down in the direction he came from. Slowly, the man inside the reinforced cell leaned forward, elbows finding their way to his knees as he rested his pointy chin against the very top of his folded hands.

“Oh,” he breathed, amber eyes still staring through the small glass panel they’d left for him, to remind him of the world that lay just beyond his new prison. “I don’t think things will be going your way at all. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Thirty minutes later, the front doors to the prison parted and Crowley strutted out into the open, not a single guard in sight. Normally he would have hung around a bit longer. It would have made the escape so much sweeter if he had a few days to waste on Rodgers’ ego, but the supervillain had experienced enough of this joint for now. He was in a foul mood and just wanted to go home and sulk for a while. Maybe catch some reruns of The Golden Girls if he was lucky. 

He glanced down at his wrist, only to realize that his watch was no longer there. Of course. Crowley shook his head in amusement. He was always forced to give up his personal possessions before his admittance to prison. That’s why he never wore anything worth much whenever he went out as The Serpent. The costumes were cheap throw-aways, the eye-ware a dime a dozen. If he knew the city’s police department, and Crowley was confident enough to say that he did, there was probably a whole room down in evidence that contained every last one of his confiscated items.

One of these days, he may go back to get them. But that day was not today.

“Come on, Minion,” the man muttered as he reached the end of the pavement and looked up and down each direction of the road. “What is taking them so long?”

A sudden, loud beep sounded right in front of him and the man nearly leapt out of his skin. Not five feet before him, where there was once nothing but dried out grass, something started to appear. It began as a simple crack in reality, perfectly horizontal and about two feet in length. The seconds ticked by and it grew wider until Crowley could see it wasn’t a split in reality at all, but the inside of his Bentley, currently being driven by one very self-assured potted philodendron.

“I should shred you for this,” Crowley grumbled as he reached forward, feeling for the door handle that he knew to be there. Flinging the door open revealed the smooth, leather interior that he loved so much, the scent of it bringing with it a calming sensation to the man’s entire body. “Just toss you right into the disposal. Find myself a new minion who isn’t trying to scare me half to death.”

He side-eyed the plant, watching as their roots crept out from the holes at the base of the clay pot and snaked down to hover above the pedal. Minion’s leaves shook in laughter and Crowley had to hold himself back from shoving them onto the car floor in sheer irritation. For one, it would get dirt all over his most prized possession. It also wouldn’t do to disrupt the driver. He’d learned the hard way that was no way to go about doing things.

“Oh, come now sir,” the plant responded light-heartedly, the sound emanating from a tiny voice box Crowley had attached to the stem, right where it first began to poke itself out from underneath all that dirt. “You told me yourself you wanted to see the improvements on our cloaking device. I figured this would be the best way to test it out.”

Crowley grumbled at this, although he had to hand it to Minion. The device had worked incredibly well. It wasn’t a perfect ‘invisibility’ mechanism, per-se. In certain lighting and at certain angles, the general shape of the car could still be seen. But it would hopefully help out with the next high speed car chase he got into with the police. Especially if said altercation happened at nighttime.

“How do you do it, sir?” Minion asked as they pulled out onto the highway and sped back in the direction of the city. They would likely keep themselves masked for now, in case word got out about his escape and they sent a helicopter or two after him. “I’d say, this is a new record!”

“Please, Minion,” Crowley responded with a wink toward his underling. As silly as it sounded, the genuine praise at his abilities from this sentient plant was doing a lot to boost his morale. “If I told you my secret, you’d go blabbing it to the whole world.”

“I hardly see how that’s possible,” the plant protested in the most petulant tone Crowley had ever heard from them. He chuckled to himself, eyes drifting back to the skyscrapers in the distance. From here, he could just barely make out the top of Host Tower, the not-so-secret HQ for any superhero willing to sign their life away to carrying out “the greater good” every second of their lives. “It’s not like any of them would listen to a plant.”

A laugh burst forth from Crowley’s chest, quickly silenced when he looked down at the time and saw he still had several hours to kill that day. What in the world was he going to do for several more hours? Sit at home and watch television? His mood had lifted quite significantly since the jailbreak and now the thought of sitting on his couch seemed utterly infuriating. He was growing restless just thinking about it.

“We could make a detour, down to the park,” Minion suggested, reaching up to signal the merge, even though no one around could see the blinking light. Always with the rules, this one. “I saw a great big flock of ducks hanging around there earlier that could use a bit of terrorizing.”

Crowley groaned, sinking down into his seat in the most dramatic of fashions.

“What’s the point, Minion?” he asked with a whine. “Today is his day off.”

The him Crowley was referring to was, of course, none other than Principality. The angel-like hero who had been assigned to him from the get-go. Super strong, with broad white wings and the ability to manipulate radiant energy, he was a force to be reckoned with. And for some inexplicable reason, seemed to be the only one who would put up with Crowley’s constant shenanigans. Going so far as to draw out their fights with witty banter and dramatic showmanship, just to pass the time.  

It was almost like he, too, had become bored with this life, as crazy as that sounded, and maybe even enjoyed the hours spent in combat with Crowley.

Ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn’t help but wish he’d found a way to entertain himself in the prison one more day, just so he could see Principality’s face during his triumphant return.

“I suppose,” the philodendron ventured, an air of anticipation in their voice, “if you made enough of a ruckus, The Host would have no choice but to send Principality down to apprehend you. It might mean another trip to prison, if you’re caught, but I have a feeling - “

Crowley sat upright, immediately fixing his eyes downtown where he knew the park to be. “Say no more, Minion. I’m implementing a direct course change. Don’t stop for anything - not even my slice of oreo cheesecake,” he barked, anticipating the next question. Excitement welled up in him as he imagined the glorious afternoon that was yet to be had. There wasn't much that could beat a showdown with his arch rival, especially so soon after another victory at the maximum security prison.

“I’ve got a date...with destiny.”

Chapter Text

Tuesdays were supposed to be his days off. 

It was unreasonable to plan for anyone to work every day of the week, even if that person was considered superhuman. Normal humans, for the most part, got two days off. It was designed to help individuals maintain their work-life balance. Give them time to spend with families and friends, or cultivating new skills, or enjoying old hobbies. 

Superheroes, as far as he knew, had always been looked upon as something greater. They were stronger than the average human. Faster. They had abilities normal humans could only dream about. But they were still human , underneath the uncomfortable spandex and flowing capes. And all humans needed a break, every once in a while.

So when Aziraphale’s Tuesday morning was interrupted by the familiar chime of his watch, the man ignored it. He’d taken the fancy device off the previous night and hadn’t bothered to move it from the edge of his mantle. If there was a crisis in the city and The Host really needed him, they had their ways.

Instead of donning his super suit and rushing headfirst into battle, Aziraphale wandered over to the nearest bookshelf. The afternoon sun shone through his bookshop’s front window, casting rays of light across the old, hardwood floors. There wasn’t a soul about, which was odd for a beautiful day like today, not that Aziraphale was complaining. He rather liked days in his shop when not that many people came around. Not only were strangers leaving his prized possessions alone, but the quiet also gave Aziraphale time to enjoy himself.

The watch chimed again, causing the man to tense. He paused, fingers hovering on the spine of an original copy of “The Picture of Dorian Grey” as he glanced over his shoulder. From across the room, Aziraphale could see the touch screen lighting up with a familiar purple insignia. One that made his stomach drop.

Archangel . Of course he would be the one calling. Deep down, Aziraphale wondered if the man had a life outside of superhero work. No matter the day, if Aziraphale got called into Headquarters, Archangel was there to greet him. Always in costume. Always looking down on him with those disapproving, violet eyes.

If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he would have thought the leader of The Host didn’t want Aziraphale on his team.

For a moment, the blonde haired man debated picking up. If Archangel was calling, there was a chance Aziraphale was actually needed somewhere. It wasn’t a very big chance, and it wasn’t like the other hero was his boss or anything. Yes, Aziraphale was paid to be a working member of The Host, and yes, Archangel was often the one to dole out tasks, but he wasn’t the one signing everyone’s paychecks at the end of the day.

That was Metatron’s job.

Eventually, the trilling alarm fell away and silence overtook the bookshop again. Aziraphale hesitated, listening for the tone to rise again, but this time, it remained off. The familiar sounds of cars driving past echoed just outside the window, but that calm, rhythmic hum was calming to him. A lack of honking horns and screaming civilians meant there were no supervillains at work - at least, not in the immediate area. It meant people were safe, for the time being, which meant Aziraphale could relax.

The second he gathered his book and retired back to the faded old armchair, his watch rang for the third time. After five seconds of the most ear-shattering noise Aziraphale had ever heard, an even more unsettling noise sounded through the built in speaker.

Principality, if you don’t pick up right this second I swear to all that is holy or otherwise - 

Aziraphale was on his feet in an instant, carefully setting the book down on his side table before rushing over to the fireplace as quick as his legs could carry him. With a fumbling grip, he turned the infernal device, looking for a way to turn that blasted noise off so he could speak.

“Hello?” he asked, heart pounding in his chest as his fingers danced across the edge, pushing button after button whose purpose he had no clue, jumping at every last noise and flashing light until, finally, the noise stopped. “Hello?”

Principality, do you read me?

Aziraphale’s heart leapt in his throat. Archangel did not sound pleased in the slightest. “Yes, yes. Archangel, I’m here.”

Good heavens, what took you so long? The other superhero asked, giving Aziraphale no time to explain. In the time it took you to answer me, someone like Hellfire could have destroyed half a city block.

“So sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled, imagining the fury that must be flashing through those violet eyes. “Couldn’t get this newfangled device to work. You know how I am with technology. I much preferred the days when we had simple walkie-talkies. One button was much easier to keep track of, wouldn’t you say?”

It was an attempt at a joke. One that Archangel did not seem too amused by. A single, harsh sigh sounded from the other end of the line and Aziraphale quickly jumped to something that would at least make him seem useful in his coworker’s eyes.

“What seems to be the problem?”

Your villain has gotten himself out of jail, again !

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. The Serpent had escaped already? Blue eyes flashed down to the watch upon his wrist, rather than the fancy electronic one still dangling from the edges of his fingertips. “That has to be a new record for him.”

The voice on the other line was not nearly as impressed. Try to sound a bit more outraged, would you? We have an image to uphold, and right now, your villain escaping prison in less than a day, just to reappear downtown terrorizing ducks is the opposite of what superheros should stand for. That villain alone is making our pristine organization look like a joke and that is on you Principality. Get him in line or I will fly down there and take care of things myself.

A shudder coursed through Aziraphale’s body. The last thing he wanted was for Archangel to show up on his day off. Especially at a confrontation between him and The Serpent. Despite his crazy antics sometimes, the villain was, in Aziraphale’s humble opinion, practically harmless. He never hurt anyone, the property damage was minimal and the worst of it usually ended up being downed phone lines or creating extra traffic by blocking roadways for an hour or two. A minor inconvenience at best, and hardly someone worth their own superhero tasked with thwarting them every step of the way.

Deep down, Aziraphale wondered if Archangel saw through his facade and was rewarding his lack of enthusiasm for hero work with the menial task of being this villain's babysitter. Something that was ultimately meaningless, in the grand scheme of things.

“Give me five minutes to get ready, and I’ll go deal with him,” Aziraphale sighed, already dreading the tight spandex of his costume. In his personal life, the man preferred clothes that were much more breathable. Button up shirts and loose fitting pants. Sometimes, a patterned bow tie, should he be feeling adventurous. Not some flashy, skin hugging outfit that revealed every last bit of himself and said absolutely nothing about who he truly was.

Make it three, was Archangel’s response before a harsh click sounded and the line went dead. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Aziraphale placed the now silent watch back on the mantle. He would put that device on last, right after he changed out of his comfortable tan suit and into that loathsome white and gold thing that Archangel and the other superheroes called a “suit”.

Broad, white wings stroked powerfully up and down, keeping Aziraphale aloft as he soared over the buildings downtown. From his vantage point, the hero could see several civilians glancing up at him as a shadow fell over them. Some pointed in excitement, others stopped what they were doing to wave or shout his name. Aziraphale tried his best to ignore them. He had a job to do, after all. Another superhero like Archangel or Prism might stop and greet their adoring fans, but Aziraphale had never cared for that side of being a hero. He wanted to keep people safe, but that was just him doing the “right thing”. Something that Aziraphale felt didn’t deserve praise or adoration.

Absentmindedly, Aziraphale’s hand rose to the side of his face, just to the right of his eyes. The wind billowed around him, sending his tangle of blonde curls flapping wildly around. Somehow, through all of that, his mask stayed firmly in place. He supposed it was to keep his secret identity safe. All heroes and villains had one. It was who they were before they’d stepped into the public eye. It was the life they returned to when they took off the cape and the mask. The life they never fully got to lead.

Downtown. Archangel had said something about The Serpent being downtown. It was not all that unusual for him to wreak some sort of havoc there. The more people that were around, the more of an audience there would be for their show, and Aziraphale’s villain did like to make a spectacle of himself. He seemed to enjoy showing off his fancy toys and gadgets more than the actual fight.

A small smile appeared on the hero’s face as he remembered, with a hint of fondness, an exchange they’d had just a few months ago. At the crux of spring where Serpent had made himself a freeze ray, claiming he would ‘inflict a never ending winter’ on all the citizens who allied this city their home. Their face-off  had been nothing more than an amplified snowball fight that had ended when The Serpent had transformed three major intersections into an arctic tundra and then escaped into the sewers when Aziraphale had been distracted by some children playing in the fluffy white aftermath.

Maximum inconvenience to all the drivers, without a doubt. But no one had been hurt, and the snow had cleared up in just a few hours, slipping down conveniently located drains into the very sewer system the villain had used to escape. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he would have claimed his nemesis picked that location exactly to cause maximum distraction with minimum lasting effects. 

“There you are,” Aziraphale mumbled to himself as his eyes drifted over several more dull grey buildings to a bright and bustling park. The trees were still full with leaves just beginning to turn colors at the very tips. A crowd had gathered at the edge of the greenery, all turned cautiously toward the dark blue pond at the center.

It was the crowd that ultimately gave The Serpent away. Had any other supervillain made a point to come down here today, the people of this city would have run screaming in the other direction. Whether it be from tornadoes of fire or swarms of mosquitoes or something else entirely, the other supervillains would have caused chaos, causing these bystanders to fear for their lives.

Not The Serpent. Why would he focus any of his inventions on the general public, when a paddling of ducks would do the trick?

“Is this really necessary?” Aziraphale asked as he touched down on the edge of the pond, wings still out behind him, but only just. They were only one of his hereditary abilities, the least significant of them, in his opinion. Yes, the wings allowed him to fly, but they were also a vulnerability. Whereas Archangel had wings manifested from pure energy - intangible and invulnerable, Aziraphale’s wings were much closer to that of a simple dove. Beautiful, yes. Even awe-inspiring to some. But easily damaged, should anyone decide to take aim at him.

“You dragged me all the way out here, on my day off, so I could what? Watch you pelt a bunch of ducks with a loaf of bread?”

The Serpent looked up, a wide grin spreading across his face at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. He was dressed in his usual attire. Black and red suit, knee-high boots and those stupid steampunk-esque goggles that made him look so ridiculous. His hair was loose, hanging down to his shoulders in bright red waves almost the same shade as the serpentine markings on his costume, reflecting the dimming sunlight like he was aflame.

“Angel!” he greeted, like they were old friends, drawing surprised murmurs from those nearby who had never seen them interact before. Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the nickname. It was something the man had called him during their very first interaction all those years ago, when he hadn’t known what to call Aziraphale. The Serpent had taken one look at those wings and that was it. No matter how many times Aziraphale corrected him, there was no changing things. The name had stuck.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he announced, loudly, so everyone in the vicinity could hear. Aziraphale huffed a deep sigh, his blue eyes wandering across the dark waters, taking in the figure currently standing in the middle of them, balancing himself atop some metallic structure no larger than a skateboard that likely shot rays of ice or transformed into a hover board, if he knew his enemy well. Which he did. Because they’d been here dozens of times before. “I thought today was your day off.”

Reflexively, Aziraphale’s fist clenched at his side. “It is,” he growled, eyeing the contraption in the other man’s hand. It looked like a plain sort of gun. More of a child’s play toy than anything else. The whole thing appeared to be made of aluminum piping, not dissimilar to those marshmallow guns he used to play with as a child. Except for the giant funnel at the top end, of course, that The Serpent was now stuffing a giant loaf of bread in to reload.

“What is the point of this?” he argued, walking along the shore, keeping an even distance as his nemesis took aim and fired. The machine started whirring, spooking several of the ducks nearby enough to send them rushing into the air, only to return to the surface of the pond moments later, like dogs salivating at the chime of a bell.

“It’s fun!” The Serpent laughed, watching as bits of bread came rocketing out the other end, pelting several ducks in the head while it missed others by several inches. It was incredible how they managed to all stick around, choosing to endure the brunt of the harassment for the free scraps of food left floating on the surface below them. “Spooked a few of them at first, but it’s been an hour now and they’ve pretty much all come back.”

Aziraphale snorted. How utterly ridiculous. “You seem quite pleased for someone who is utterly failing at their ridiculous, self-imposed task.”

At this, the other man stopped firing, looking up with surprise etched all over his face. Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses, but the character defining grin had vanished, to be replaced with an intense frown. “What do you mean?” The Serpent asked, his head cocked just so. “The bread crumbs are hitting the ducks, just like I planned. Did you not see the shot I just made?”

Frustration welled up inside Aziraphale. He’d left the comfort of his home, donned this ridiculous outfit, just to fly all the way over here to stop some bored, middle-aged adult from playing with his toys.

“As fun as this is, Serpent,” Aziraphale sighed, lowering his wings so they were almost completely hidden from the other man’s view. He was still standing there, contraption perched on his shoulder, balancing so easily on the floating device. In a rare feeling for him, the hero wished he could march across that water and punch the smug look right off the other man’s face. Usually, when push came to shove, Aziraphale preferred to solve things without harming others.

That being said, this was his bloody day off and nemesis or not, The Serpent should respect that. He had a life outside of being a superhero. The others could do what they wanted, but Aziraphale was not on duty every second of every day. He had standards.

“I have better things to be doing then stand around babysitting you.” It was harsh. He knew it sounded harsh the moment the words left his lips, but Aziraphale simply didn’t care anymore. He wanted to go home and read his book and drink his hot cocoa before what was sure to be a fun filled day of meetings at Host Tower in the morning.

“So as long as you can manage to get your feet back on dry land,” he continued, wings snapping out as if to leave “without drowning yourself or any ducks in the process, I’ll be going now.”

“Fine.”

The word bit back sharp and cruel and it made Aziraphale’s insides twist with a guilt he knew he should not feel. The Serpent was the enemy. He was a villain. Aziraphale shouldn’t feel pity for him, let alone guilty for saying something that might be considered mean.

“Maybe I should have just stayed in prison,” the man sulked, tossing his bread gun over his shoulder and away from any of the ducks still eating the remnants of his earlier assault. 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

He turned to go, but stopped suddenly when he heard a soft whirring sound approaching at a rapid pace. The superhero spun on his feet, shoulders tensing as he readied himself for battle. A battle that, expectedly, never came.

The Serpent glared at him from behind his goggles as he maneuvered the hover board to the shore nearby, kicking it several feet as his boots made contact with the grass before him.

“They’re bogus charges, you know,” the other man grumbled, face cast towards the ground, hands finding their way into pockets that had no right to exist. How The Serpent managed to get functional pockets into a costume that was that tight against his body was beyond Aziraphale. And completely besides the point.

“You were caught going 90 miles an hour,” the hero informed his opposite, as if the villain didn’t already know this. What was this, anyway? Some half-hearted attempt to distract him? Were there other villains around that he should be seeking out? “In the most congested part of downtown. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.”

“At two in the morning!” The Serpent protested, arms splaying out beside him in exasperation. “With no one else around.”

Aziraphale stared at the man, watching as a small beam of light broke through the canopy above, tracing its way across his well defined torso as he shifted several steps to the side. “Obviously there was someone there,” the hero pointed out, entirely fed up with all of this. “Or you wouldn’t have been caught.”

The villain fell silent for a moment, branches of the trees above reflecting off the black glass of his gold rimmed goggles. Aziraphale still couldn’t see his eyes, but they had been dancing this dance long enough for him to pick up on certain tells. The quirk of an eyebrow, the quiver of a jaw.

This man wasn’t angry or irritated that Aziraphale wouldn’t take the bait today. He was...disappointed. 

Somehow, someway, Aziraphale had let him down.

“Right.” The words forced themselves through gritted teeth. “Well, just so you know, Bealz and some of the others are planning to rob that bank on the corner of Third and Industry on Friday. The diversion is set to start around lunchtime.” He paused, tilting his chin forward just enough so the glare blinked out of sight and the briefest, dulled image of his striking serpentine eyes could be seen.

“In case you and your hero buddies wanted to do anything to save the day .”

Aziraphale froze as the words slowly sunk in. He watched as The Serpent began to walk away, both the gun and the hover board completely forgotten.

“ Why would you tell me that?” The words erupted from his mouth before Aziraphale could rein them in. “You know that I have to take this report to HQ. That is an entire day of paperwork and research and field work you’ve just given me, just on the off-chance that you’re telling the truth.” He couldn’t believe this. The Serpent was doing this to spite him, Aziraphale was sure of it. But even if he was certain the man was lying, protocol was protocol, and Archangel would make him follow it. “Why can’t you let me have a break, for once?”

“A break?” the man shot back. They were drawing attention, more so than when they started. At the edge of his hearing, Aziraphale detected the confused murmurings of civilians who had grown used to full on fistfights when heroes and villains interacted, not petty shouting matches you might stumble across with close friends. “You can have a break anytime you like, Angel. All you have to do is take one.”

Aziraphale scoffed. No wonder he’d found himself among the villains in their community. Just because he didn’t hurt anyone outright didn’t mean The Serpent was a “good” person. “And disobey the rules? I think not.”

If he had powers like Hellfire or Beelzebub, Aziraphale might have been in for a significant fight. The way his nemesis’ body language changed so abruptly was a clear sign how upset he was, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t conjure a raging fire from thin air or summon a legion of arthropods to heed his beck and call. As far as Aziraphale and the rest of Headquarters was aware, The Serpent was a minor villain who had only climbed to the top of the rankings due to sheer determination and persistence. His only superpower was the ability to make gadgets of inconvenience and break himself out of prison.

“You want a break?” the thinner man practically screamed at him as he faced off toe to toe against Aziraphale. They were close now - close enough that Aziraphale could see the individual freckles that dotted his cheeks. “I’ll give you a bloody break.”

Was that a threat? This man hardly seemed like he was in a position to be making any that might matter. For one, Aziraphale could always fly away if things got too intense. If he had to, he could resort to his other power, but blasts of radiant energy had a tendency to do more damage than good, based on prior experience.

“Wait!” Aziraphale called after him as the man spun around and headed towards the nearest street, scattering the crowd as he went. “Where are you going?”

The Serpent lifted a hand, waving Aziraphale off like a vexing fly buzzing around his ear. “The bloody hell away from you! That’s where.”

Open-mouthed and slack-jawed, Aziraphale watched with wide blue eyes as the villain crossed the street in front of them and stalked out of sight.

Chapter Text

“Fate is a funny thing,” Crowley murmured, his chin resting gently on his arms that were resting on top of his desk in the basement of his house. It was a duplex on the west side of the city, right where the edge of downtown turned into a flourishing suburbia. A quaint little place that offered the perfect front for a villain and his secret lair, buried deep underground. 

“I got superpowers just like the rest of them,” the villain mused, his amber eyes remaining fixed on a small, bird-like toy perched a few inches in front of his nose. Yellow arms clutched the edge of a clear, plastic glass, the body of the creature tilting back and forth in a rhythmic motion. Dip down, drink, lift back up. Repeat. Over and over and over again. Hypnotic. Lulling Crowley into deeper, more melancholy thoughts than he was used to.

“What makes the difference, between a Hero and a Villain?” he asked quietly. The fluorescent light above his head flickered for a moment, plunging this corner of the room into a millisecond of darkness. He’d installed them himself when he’d bought the place several years back. There were no windows down here, and as this was his lair, the villain spent many hours tinkering away on one new device or another. He often forgot to take breaks and hardly saw the light of day. The lights helped his overall mood and concentration, increasing his productivity more than anything else he had tried thus far.

“According to the scientists,” the man continued, eyes drifting back and forth with the motion of the bird, “we’re all built the same way. Genetically speaking, you know. All have that same deformity that makes us freaks of nature once we hit puberty.”

He snorted, air rushing out of his nostrils with a dramatic flare. At the other end of the rather large, concrete room, he could hear the soft sounds of Minion’s radio, playing some tune he didn’t recognize. “More so than the rest of our peers,” Crowley amended as the bird fell back down, its beak dipping gently into the empty cup.

“I tried to be a hero once,” the man admitted softly, eyes leaving their target for a brief moment to ensure Minion wasn’t close enough to hear. “Didn’t quite pan out.”

“I suppose even fate has its favorites.”

The bird said nothing, slowly lifting its head to stare off at the nearest wall, several feet away. It looked ridiculous, with its little black top hat and bow tie. Who even wore bow ties these days? Where did it think it was going, some fancy dinner party? The opera?

“You and I,” he sighed, rotating his head so his cheek smooshed upward, contacts shifting slightly out of place. He’d removed the rest of his costume upon returning home, but kept the serpentine contacts in. A force of habit, more than anything else. “We are the same, aren’t we? Always searching for something. Always thirsty , but never satisfied.”

The bird responded by lowering itself once again face first into the bowl, the liquid that had pooled in the spherical head now rising back toward the base.

“I understand you, little, well-dressed bird.” Reaching out, he tapped the very edge of the bird’s beak in solidarity. “Purposeless. Emptiness. It’s a vacuum, isn’t it?” Another sigh. “What is your vacuum like, little bird?”

Before Crowley had time to think up what clever response the bird might offer him, he heard the unmistakable whirring sound of Minion coming around the corner. The music swelled in intensity that by the time the potted plant and his modified Segway came into view, the villain could no longer think straight.

“I’M GOING OFF THE RAILS ON A CRAZY TRAIN, sir!” the voice box sang, almost in sync with the background track emanating from the boom box resting right above the device’s wheels. Minion, themself, was hovering nearly three feet above it, on a small platform Crowley had attached to the handle to allow easy access to the controls. Just because Minion could extend their roots to reach almost anything in sight, didn’t mean they should have to all the time.

“Not now, Minion,” Crowley huffed, sitting back up with his back resting against the black and red gaming chair that served as his main workshop seat. “Can’t you see I’m in a heated, existential discussion with this dead-eyed, plastic desk toy?”

He shifted around, pushing away from the desk and the toy that could provide him no answers, using his feet to spin himself in circles until he finally came to a rest facing the wall that was behind him. Up against it, he saw his rather large computer station, fit with several monitors glowing a soft blue. It had been a few weeks since he’d used it other than as a surveillance device around his lair. 

“Is...is something wrong, sir?” Minion asked, a certain hesitancy to his voice. As if they were afraid that by asking the question, they might upset Crowley more.

The villain sighed, feeling a bit guilty for ruining Minion’s fun. “I’m just so tired, Minion,” he admitted, slumping down in his chair even further as his bare feet marched across the cold, concrete floor, turning him back around to face the concerned plant. The Segway was parked a few feet in front of his desk, Minion’s leaves drooping slightly more than they usually did. “The constant jailbreaks and shenanigans and now Principality won’t even face off with me. What’s the point of it anymore?”

He paused, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, elbow once more resting on the cherry surface. 

“What would you do, instead?”

The question caught Crowley off guard, bringing him into a full and upright position as a frown made its way onto his face as he contemplated his answer. What would he do, if he wasn’t a supervillain? Most normal civilians had a job they went to on a daily basis. When he’d been younger, before all this business with supernatural powers had come along, what had he wanted to be? It had been so long ago - nearly twenty years by now - he’d almost forgotten.

“I always wanted to work in a garden,” he murmured, a soft smile creeping onto his face.

“A garden?” Minion asked, clearly not expecting the response to be so...ordinary.

Crowley nodded his head. It made sense, of course. Back when he was barely old enough to be considered an adult - when he’d been rejected by The Host and shoved to the side, what had been the first thing he’d done? He’d tried to cultivate an army from the vegetation in his home. It had backfired, of course, withering almost everything in sight, except a single, small philodendron who had somehow become a sentient being through the whole process.

And thus, their glorious partnership had been born.

“My mom used to take me to the botanical gardens all the time,” he answered, mind already beginning to drift off in a memory. “I loved how every time I came back, there was always something different. They had rearranged the flowers to make a new design by the welcome building or around the holidays put up a whole new light display. And no matter what the season, the Conservatory always had something in bloom.”

“Do you…” Minion ventured, a hint of disappointment evident in the voice emanating from their voice box. Out of all Crowley’s inventions, he might be the most proud of that little device right there. It had taken months of research and experimentation before he’d come up with something that could translate Minion’s subtle movements into words at all. The first success had been a huge victory for the both of them, but Crowley hadn’t stopped there. He didn’t want a minion that sounded like some generic robot. He wanted one that sounded real. Because Minion was real. 

“Do you want to go work there now?”

Crowley considered the idea for a moment, picturing what his life would look like were he to give up the supervillain shtick completely. After a few seconds, he shook his head with renewed vigor and Minion’s leaves perked up in relief.

“Can’t imagine me working for anyone but myself these days,” he commented, rising to his feet as he headed for the opposite side of the room. In addition to the computer, desk set, and random parts and projects strewn about, Crowley’s lair was filled to the brim with lush vegetation. None but Minion were able to move or communicate. He didn’t need a legion of underlings, not with his sorry levels of ambition. That didn’t mean Crowley didn’t like to look at them all throughout the day, or that tending to them didn’t help focus his mind whenever he had a problem to solve.

Before he could say anything else, the phone attached to his belt began to buzz. Not the sort of buzzing like you would expect from any mobile device set to vibrate, but the literal sound of ten thousand wasps headed straight for you. It was a sound that would strike terror into any normal person’s heart, but for Crowley, the sound only brought a sense of annoyance and a hint of dread.

He reached down for the device on his waist and came up empty. Glancing down, the villain remembered that he was no longer in his costume. He’d replaced that with his usual tight black jeans and v-neck shirt as soon as he’d walked in the door. Long gone were the boots and the goggles and even the rather fancy wig he adhered to his scalp whenever he went out. Short coppery locks replaced the flaming red ones, and were he to remove the serpentine contacts, anyone who happened across him would be met with a normal looking citizen.

The one and only Anthony Crowley.

Where had he put that stupid belt anyway? Most of the time, it was used as an aesthetic piece over something with utility. Although, if needed, it could house some of his smaller devices. His super-string launcher or tiny flash grenades the size of marbles. Even without the gadgets in tow, that belt was where he kept the mobile device used especially for villain duty. The one that was currently about to make his ears fall off in agony.

Crowley scrambled for the device, all previous thoughts of vegetation forgotten. He dug the device out of the pocket, ripping the snap in the process. Gritting his teeth in agitation, the man tapped on the small green phone icon, nearly jumping out of his skin when a shrill voice forced itself through, echoing across the entire basement.

What the hell are you playing at?

Beelzebub. Leader of a gang of villains Crowley had somehow found himself a part of. It wasn’t that Beelzebub was actually his boss. Sure, some of the other villains followed them around, heeding their beck and call. Villains like Hellfire or Chameleon who needed a bit of direction to keep from setting the entire world on fire. Crowley preferred to work alone whenever he could. He had no interest in kidnappings or robbery or property damage of any kind. There wasn’t really anything he wanted that would prompt him to do those things, so when Beelzebub and the others got going on some scheme, Crowley found the first opportunity to quietly bow out.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific there, Bealz,” the villain teased, collapsing back into his chair, the force of the motion spinning him around in several rapid circles. “I tend to play a lot these days, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Oh, I noticed, the voice on the other line snapped. Crowley could just imagine the shorter supervillain glaring at them through the other line, their classic garnet goggles reflecting whatever light was nearby. You and your boyfriend were all over the evening news tonight.

Crowley’s grin faltered. “He’s not my boyfriend,” the villain grumbled, mind flashing back to earlier that evening in the park with that stupid superhero and his stupid costume and his stupid, dumb face.  “I can’t believe you’d even suggest I’d stoop that low.”

Dating a superhero? It was out of the question. Not only were they all superficial, self-righteous assholes, but he imagined they hardly had the time for meaningful relationships in their lives. Now that he thought of it, Crowley could not think of a single one of them taking a break for more than a day. And even then, as evident with Principality earlier today, they were often called in to “save the day” even when they weren’t working.

A bunch of uptight, work-a-holic, self-centered, egotistical, power hungry individuals who were only in the game for their own gain. Even Principality, who was normally decent enough to entertain the idea of fun every once in a while had shown his true colors today.

Losers, all of them. Crowley was glad he’d been rejected from The Host. He was glad he didn’t have to spend day in and day out dealing with a bunch of heros. Never, in his right mind, would he ever entertain the idea of growing romantically attached to one of them if given the chance.

Besides, which one of them, in their right mind, would ever think of him, a villain,  like that?

What were you thinking, telling him about our plan like that? Out in the open?

Crowley scoffed. Was that really what had their knickers all in a twist? “You are the one who said you wanted me to throw them off the scent and create a distraction!”

Not by telling them we’re going to rob the bank we are planning on robbing when we are planning on robbing it!

The villain blinked, flabbergasted by the outrage. Wasn’t this what they’d agreed to? Crowley remembered specifically asking if Beelzebub and the others cared what tactic he used and to his knowledge, they had not. “The bank isn’t even your primary target!” he protested. “Besides, when I asked you how you wanted this done, you said, and I quote ‘whatever fucking way gets the job done’.”

He paused, hearing the frustrated breathing on the other line. Sighing, Crowley leaned forward, placing his hand on his forehead, phone tucked up against his ear. “Look. I told them the time and location, but if you saw me on the news, you know that Principality didn’t believe me. That means they will have heroes in that bank twenty-four seven for the next two weeks at least. More heroes on patrol means less at Host Tower. Is that not what you wanted?”

Silence greeted him and Crowley smirked. He could practically hear the cogs turning in Beelzebub’s head as they tried to figure out a way to put a negative spin on the situation, placing any future blame on Crowley.

Your plan better work, Serpent, they finally announced in a tone Crowley very much didn’t like. He wasn’t a part of this thing they were planning. In fact, Crowley wanted nothing to do with it, but he owed Beelzebub a favor and as one of the only supervillains who could get close to a hero without immediately being blasted into outer space, he’d volunteered to run point on the task.

Because you are going to be the one breaking into Host Tower.

Apparently, that had been a mistake.

“Excuse me?” Crowley asked, eyes flying wide. “I never agreed to that. I did you a favor, and this is how you thank me? By sending me into the lion’s den?”

A laugh of amusement echoed in his ear. Why so worried? You managed to find your way out of prison easily enough. This should be easy for you.

It was a jab. Crowley recognized it instantly. Although they were mostly calling for a separate reason, Beelzebub never wasted a chance to try and tease Crowley’s secret out of him. Always looking for a way to discover the true nature of his power. They couldn’t just leave it at “superior intellect’. Couldn’t let him just be a tinker - a villain who liked to build machines. There was an air of mystery to The Serpent. Something that couldn’t quite be explained away by flashy technology. Most people chose not to dwell on it too long.

Beelzebub was not one of those people.

“Sorry, Bealz,” Crowley responded, using that nickname he knew they hated. It was only fair. Crowley’s secret was just that. A secret. Only one other person knew the true nature of his power, and with any luck, he was going to keep it that way. “Friday doesn’t work for me. I’m going on vacation. But I wish you all the best and I hope you have a great time with your little heist!”

Vacation? You can’t go on vacation! You self-centered, son of a - “

The line went dead with the tap of his thumb. Without missing a beat, Crowley switched the phone off so he wouldn’t be disturbed. The nerve of that villain, shoving the most dangerous task off on him just because he’d managed to break out of jail. Lots of villains could break out of prison. That’s half of what made them the bad guys. If they were easy to contain, they wouldn’t make very good villains, would they?

“What now, sir?” Minion asked in a tone that very clearly said they had overheard most, if not all, of that conversation. Crowley didn’t care anymore. He was tired. He needed a break from it all. Some time away from all this villany and ‘do-badding’. Some space to clear his head. Figure out what he really wanted. 

“Apparently, I’m on vacation,” Crowley announced, a certain sense of relief beginning to overtake him. Vacation. He could do that, couldn’t he? Crowley wasn’t like those stuffy-headed superheroes. Always following protocol. He could take time off if he wanted to. In fact, the general public would be happy if he did.

Not that he cared.

“And what are you going to do with that vacation, sir?” 

Crowley took a moment to look around the room, eyes taking in the general mess of things. It was chaos, but an organized one, despite how to an outsider it may look like some kind of jungle slowly beginning to overtake modern world technology.

Gently, he took a few steps forward, walking over to the nearest vine. Long fingers stretched out to brush up against one of the leaves, looking it over for any spots or signs of wilt. What did he want to do? If Crowley could do anything, go anywhere, what would he choose?

The idea came to him so suddenly he nearly gasped out loud. The gentle whirring of Minion’s Segway sounded from behind him as the plant rolled up next to him, his leaves tilted gently upward as if he was patiently waiting to hear what the supervillain might say.

It was perfect. Exactly the kind of distraction he needed without pulling him away from the city. Despite not having any family around, Crowley was a homebody. He liked his house. He liked the familiarity of his city. Going anywhere else would only make him more stressed and uncomfortable than he already was. What he needed was something relaxing. Something to distract himself during the day but would still allow him to return each night.

Something he loved. Something that made him happy. Something that he could do day in and day out, as long as he saw fit.

“I’m going to open a plant shop.”

Chapter Text

“What are you still doing up here?”

Aziraphale looked up in surprise to find Archangel standing in the doorway of the library. He was dressed in his usual attire - skin tight purple and grey suit with the bright white insignia planted on his well-defined chest. It was a unique symbol depicting six broad wings stretched from the base of his neck all the way down to his naval. A call back to the religious depiction of his namesake. Behind him, a glorious cape billowed back and forth, blowing elegantly in the non-existent wind. An effect of his powers, no doubt.

“P-pardon?” Aziraphale asked, looking up from the collection of maps and blueprints he’d somehow managed to sprawl halfway across the table. The man blinked several times, wondering just what Archangel could be referring to. Their meeting to discuss tomorrow’s plan wasn’t until later that afternoon. “We aren’t meeting with the rest of The Host for another half hour at least.”

The other superhero scoffed, rolling his violet eyes, a vibrant contrast to the dark grey mask secured firmly to the top half of his face. Cloak still billowing behind him, he turned to leave, obviously having far more important things to be doing than talking to Aziraphale.

“There’s a kid in the lobby here for an interview,” he informed as his calf-high boots began to click down the hall, already stealing him from Aziraphale’s sight. “I need you to take care of it.”

Blue eyes widened and Aziraphale found himself bolting out of his chair and stumbling toward the doorway. “An interview?” he called, heart hammering away in his chest. Surely, Archangel couldn’t be serious. He made it to the hall just as the superhero was about to turn the corner. “Are you sure you don’t want to be there for it? I’ve only just been made aware - “

“Can’t talk now, Principality,” the other hero interrupted. “Some of us are actually trying to prevent a bank heist tomorrow, or did you forget?”

He paused, seemingly noticing how Aziraphale’s face fell at that moment. Were he a few paces closer, Aziraphale imagined the other man would have patted his shoulder in that false-comforting way he always did. “I’m sure someone like you can handle this on your own. Feel free to join us in the conference room whenever you finish.”

With that, he was gone, leaving a very confused Aziraphale in his wake. Why would Archangel have scheduled an interview for this afternoon when he knew The Host would be meeting to go over tomorrow’s plan? It was only logical to conclude that one of them would have to miss the meeting. Or if not all of it, at least a portion. Did he want Aziraphale to miss out, or had this potential new recruit shown up out of the blue with no opportunity for him to prepare?

There was only one way to find out. As quickly as he could, Aziraphale tidied up the papers he’d left in a jumble and made his way to the elevators down the hall. Why an organization of barely two dozen superheros needed a skyscraper with fifty stories to serve as its headquarters, he would never know. Taking the stairs was out of the picture, as he was currently thirty-seven floors up. He could always find an open window and fly his way down to the ground floor. It was what Archangel would have done, even though his flight ability was much more restricted. Perhaps that is why Aziraphale chose to take the elevators instead. He was already a superhero. The last thing he needed was more public attention by whipping out his wings for no reason.

“Right,” Aziraphale muttered to himself as the elevator doors closed in front of him. “It’s just an interview. You can do this.” He had no idea what he was doing. When was the last time they’d had one? It had been over a year ago, hadn’t it? The city’s population was large, that much was true, but heroes and villains were still few and far between. Last he’d checked, there had been fewer than fifty altogether. It wasn’t like there was a new teenager showing up at their doorstep every other day, asking to be a part of the team. 

Who was this new, potential hero, anyway? Archangel had given him absolutely nothing to go on. Should he be expecting to meet with a boy? Or a girl? How old were they? Should he take them up to one of the gymnasiums to test them, or would that interaction be best served outside? 

Aziraphale barely remembered his own interview. Seventeen years was plenty of time to forget all the details. Even a few days after the event, the whole experience had felt like a blur. Aziraphale remembered being nervous. How could he not be, when bringing himself forward to face judgement from some of the most powerful people in the city? It had only been Archangel, Prism, and Myosotis back then, when The Host had just been stood up, but even that had been enough to cause a significant lack of sleep before his big day.

An interview with The Host was a chance to prove oneself to the heroes of this city. It was a chance to try and become part of the organization, a part of the team. Despite its many bureaucratic faults, The Host was as strong a support system one could find, in this crazy world of superhuman strength and skills. Their constant presence and extensive knowledge had been what had drawn Aziraphale to them all those years ago, when he’d been barely seventeen and struggling to control these newfound abilities. It was what continued to draw in the new generation of superheroes. A sense of family and stability. A sense of purpose.

The elevator doors opened and Aziraphale stepped out, reaching a hand up momentarily to ensure his mask was still in place. It wasn’t that he was fearful of someone discovering who he was. In his civilian life, Aziraphale tended to keep to himself. He had acquaintances - neighbors he would say good morning to, people in his weekly book club at the library. The chances that any of them would recognize him here were slim at best. Still, it was a habit he had picked up in his early years as an official superhero. He wasn’t about to quit now.

Three steps into the lobby atrium and Aziraphale found himself quickly coming to a stop. There were a few people milling about. A secretary, Caroline, sitting behind the front desk. An older gentleman in a suit and tie reading the morning’s newspaper. Neither one of these were unusual or out of place. What was unusual was the child sitting by the glass entryway. He was sitting in one of the forest green armchairs, feet resting on the edge so his knees practically obscured his face. A stack of magazines sat perched precariously on top of them, teetering back and forth with every slight movement as he shifted around to put the next one in its place.

Was this the ‘kid’ Archangel had been referring to? Surely it had to be someone else. This boy looked to be no older than ten or eleven. He was far too young to be exhibiting superpowers. There had to be some kind of mistake. Something he’d missed.

Quietly, so as not to startle the boy, Azirpahale cleared his throat and took a step forward. Hazel eyes darted up to meet his gaze, then widened in awe as the child recognized who he was. Magazines tumbled to the floor, sliding several feet in all directions as the boy leapt to his feet, a wide grin already spreading across his face like a wildfire.

“You’re Principality!” the child gushed, frozen in place like some voice in his head was cautioning him against coming too close. “I have your action figure in my room! I’ve read all your comics too! You’re, like, my second favorite superhero!”

Before Aziraphale had a chance to respond, the child was spinning around, dropping to his knees as he reached an arm underneath the seat, fishing for his bag. “I’ve got a second edition of The Host Issue 17 where you make your first appearance. Would you mind signing it for me? And my action figure? Archangel signed his last year at the superhero convention downtown, but I don’t remember seeing you there.”

He extracted himself from underneath the furniture, bright red backpack in one hand, comic in the other. Aziraphale sighed, glancing around the room for some sign that this wasn’t the individual he was supposed to be meeting. Although, it would make sense. If Archangel had gotten a report on him and seen their prospective hero was a boy who still needed babysitting, it was no wonder he was so eager to pawn the child off on Aziraphale.

“Look, dear boy,” the superhero began, blue eyes drifting back down to the comic in the boy’s outstretched hand. At least it looked like it had been read. He couldn’t begin to count how many ‘fans’ he’d interacted with over the past fifteen years that hadn’t even opened the things they wanted him to sign. Apparently, the collectible figurines and comics and all other assortment of merchandise was worth more in its original packaging. Aziraphale had never fully understood that concept. What was the point of buying a comic if you weren’t going to read it? Or a t-shirt if you weren’t going to wear it?

“I would love to take the time to sign things for you, but I’m afraid I’m on a tight schedule.” He glanced up at the clock behind him. Just twenty - three minutes until the meeting was supposed to start. He’d be hard pressed to make it on time, but perhaps, if he could keep things moving, he wouldn’t miss the entire thing. “Caroline, I was told there was someone here for an interview?”

“Yes, sir,” the young woman replied, reaching up to tuck a strand of her curly black hair behind her ear. There was the sound of shuffling paper as Caroline withdrew a thin black folder from a stack of documents on her desk, handing it to Aziraphale, who immediately took it. “She went to the restroom not too long ago. I’d expect her back any minute.”

Aziraphale nodded in understanding, a sense of relief flooding through him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the boy. He was certainly enthusiastic enough, but hero work was not meant for children. Knowing that their potential new recruit was of an appropriate age made him feel much better about the whole situation.

Sure enough, a girl of about sixteen or seventeen was making her way over to them. She was on the shorter side, with dirty blonde hair fastened into two braids that reached down past her shoulder blades. The girl was dressed in comfortable clothes - a loose fitting tank and black leggings reaching down to her calves. An outfit that he would expect to be worn to the gym or a yoga or pilates class. Wearing it to an interview at The Host suggested that this small-framed girl might be a heavy-hitter like himself or Archangel.

“Adam!” the girl scolded as she drew closer. “What did I tell you to do? You were supposed to sit here and not cause trouble.” She spread her arms out wide, gesturing to the sea of magazines at his feet. “Just look at this mess!”

The younger boy scowled. “I was bored . And you were in that bathroom for an eternity . I wasn’t bothering anyone. I didn’t even say anything until Principality showed up.”

“Just clean it up.” Sighing, the teenage girl turned to Aziraphale. “I am so sorry, Mr. Principality, sir. I’m aware I should have come on my own, but my mom got called in for an emergency shift and left me in charge of Adam. I couldn’t very well leave him at home, you see, and - “

Aziraphale held up a hand, cutting her off mid sentence. “That’s quite alright.” He smiled and saw the relief flooding the girl’s deep brown eyes. “Your willingness to look out for your little brother is admirable. A true hero quality, in my book.”

He shot the girl a wink and she beamed at him. “Shall we get this interview started?” A shuffle sounded behind her as Adam placed all the magazines back in a slightly misshapen pile on the glass table beside his chair and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, eyes wide with excitement. 

Aziraphale waved the two onward, leading them down the hall to the elevators. They passed no one else on their way, as was to be expected. The other heroes were likely on their way to the conference room on the 23rd floor, and any staff members that worked in the building knew to keep out of his way. A superhero’s interview was a sensitive matter - only performed by other heroes to protect the individual’s identity and capabilities until they were deemed worthy to enter The Host’s ranks.

“It’s really wonderful to meet you, sir,” the girl began, not quite looking him in the eyes as they rode the elevator up, each floor passing by them in a blink. “You’ve done so much for this city - I only hope I have a career here as illustrious as yours.”

A soft smile appeared on Aziraphale’s face as he studied their reflections in the metallic door. He was greeted with compliments and praise nearly everywhere he went, but it was different with her. He could sense that this girl was being genuine - a nice change from the daily applause and cheers from a crowd that was more interested in seeing him topple a building in the name of justice than save a life.

“No need to be so formal, my dear,” Aziraphale tried to reassure her, remembering how nervous he’d been in this very position a decade and a half ago. Back then, the building hadn’t been quite so tall - the heroes not quite so decorated. Back then, they had seemed almost human, not these demi-gods that patrolled the city night and day. He couldn’t imagine how intimidating it would be to march into this tower reaching up toward the heavens, claiming that there was a place meant for you. 

Maybe it was a good thing that he had been given the interview instead of Archangel. Aziraphale liked to think he had a calming presence. That he was trustworthy and could put people at ease. “You are among friends here.”  

The elevator continued to travel upward until it slowed at the final floor. The bright blue 26 morphed into a 27 and a soft ding was heard, followed by the near-silent sound of doors opening to reveal a brightly lit hallway. Nearly all of the hallways were brightly lit in their building. It allowed them to keep an eye on their city, searching for any signs of trouble that might arise that they needed to go out and take care of.

“I probably should have asked,” Aziraphale announced as they stepped out onto the reflective tile floor. “Will this be an outside sort of presentation? Or will the gymnasium suffice?” 

She stared at him with blank eyes for a moment, smile slowly morphing into a worried frown. Realizing that he should be a bit more specific, Azirapahle breathed in deep and took a step back - metaphorically, that is.

“My apologies, dear,” he explained, moving forward again as if the gymnasium was their final destination. A quick glance down at his watch revealed the meeting with the other superheroes was about to start. Ah well. He could always catch up with one of them later this evening. “I’ve been doing a terrible job explaining what to expect here. Your interview will consist of three parts.” He paused, looking behind him to make sure Adam was still with them. The boy was following along eagerly, red backpack slung over his shoulder, comic book still in hand. “A short introduction where you tell me a little bit about yourself - your name, first name only please. Our secret identities are our greatest defense sometimes. Some of your hobbies, perhaps. An interesting fact or two.”

“Right,” the girl nodded, brow furrowed in concentration, committing the information to memory. “And the second part?” 

The trio turned a corner, walking parallel to the wide, reinforced glass windows that looked out over the park downtown. The very place Aziraphale had run into The Serpent two days prior. Neither he nor the rest of The Host had heard from him since. He’d simply...disappeared. Without a trace. Archangel was convinced it was all part of the ruse. Some clever plan a group of villains had come up with to fake them out so they could get away with whatever dastardly deed they had planned. The Serpent was their red herring, A distraction to keep their focus away from what really mattered. 

“Next will be the practical bit - an examination of your powers, as it were.” He paused, waiting to see if she had any questions. When she did not immediately ask them, Aziraphale continued. “Depending on their nature and...intensity, shall we say, some applicants prefer to be evaluated outdoors. Less chance of causing any unintended property damage.”

The girl nodded and Aziraphale noticed that they were rapidly approaching the double set of glass doors leading to the gymnasium. There were three in this building alone - each with its own purpose. This one was the highest off the ground and had a bulletproof glass ceiling that could retract to open up to the outdoors if need be. Most of the time, it remained closed unless several heroes came together for a friendly match. Archangel seemed to be under the impression that to expose themselves and the rest of Host Tower to the outside world would be asking for trouble, and for the most part, the other members of The Host agreed with him.

“How large is the gymnasium?” the girl asked and Aziraphale found himself smiling. He shifted the folder in his hands underneath one arm and tugged at the shimmering golden glove covering his fingertips. Once his hand had been freed from the garment, he pressed his palm up against a reflective black panel by the side of the door. One quick scan and they were in.

“Is this big enough for you?”

The gymnasium was massive - the biggest one in the building, containing a full-scale soccer field, basketball and two volleyball courts, as well as plenty of space for jogging, or flying, for those of them that could. Aziraphale watched, silently replacing his glove, as both children entered the room, eyes wide and trained toward the ceiling and the bright blue clouds drifting by overhead.

“This should do just fine.”

Aziraphale smiled, spirits lifted by her enthusiasm. Yes, the girl was still a bit nervous, but he could tell that the closer they got to her actually demonstrating her powers, the more in her element she felt. He had a good feeling about this one. “Right, Adam, my dear boy, I’m going to need you and your backpack and comic book to take a seat in the stands over there.” He pointed to the bleachers to the side of the door. “We don’t want any mishaps.”

The boy nodded and scurried off, taking the steps two at a time until he’d reached the very top bench - as far away from the gymnasium floor as he could manage. Aziraphale laughed to himself, wondering, briefly, if the rumors about their genetic mutations were true and if, in a few years, Adam would be back for his own chance to join The Host.

“Alright, my dear,” the superhero began, opening the black folder for the first time to look at her file. It was a standard application, listing general facts about her - gender, approximate age, defining physical features. With deft fingers, he slipped the ballpoint pen from its fastening and prepared himself to write. “Take a deep breath, and let’s start with your name.”

“Hi,” she started, lifting a hand to give a small wave. “My name is Sarah Y - Sarah.” She caught herself at the last second, blushing at the near slip-up. It wasn’t that it was against the rules to reveal her full name, but it was highly frowned upon. The more people that knew a hero’s secret identity, the more chances that information could fall into the wrong hands. People they cared about could get hurt. They’d seen it happen before and as an organization, The Host was determined to do everything in their power to keep it from happening again. 

“I’m seventeen, turning eighteen at the end of the year, and uh - “ she paused for a moment, reaching up a hand to play with the braid on her left. “Something interesting...Oh! I’ve been collecting rocks since I was about seven or eight years old. Geodes mostly, but I’ve got various samples of quartz and some amethyst and amber too.”

Oh, how wonderful! Another collector. Yes, their mediums may be different, but the principle was the same. It would be nice to have someone on the team that had a chance of understanding his passion for books and his desire to have somewhat of a life outside of this tower. 

“Excellent!” he exclaimed, subconsciously aware that he probably shouldn’t be quite so encouraging. This was a test, after all. One that she could fail. If the choice were up to him, he’d hire her on in an instant, even if her powers ended up being lower tier. Unfortunately, the choice wasn’t up to him, or Archangel or any of the other senior members of The Host. They could offer their input, but the final ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would only ever come from one man.

Metatron.

“Now,” Aziraphale continued, looking up from the line where he’d just filled in her name. “On to phase two. The stage is yours, my dear. Whenever you are ready.”

She stared at him for a moment, not shifting an inch from her position. Aziraphale kept his eyes trained on her small form, waiting for something to happen. He cleared his throat, and her face flushed a soft pink.

“Sorry,” she murmured, crossing one arm over her chest to grab at her shoulder. “You see, I - uh - my powers are these sort of force fields? Practically invisible barriers that repel anything that interacts with them. It’s pretty useful, but only if something actually gets thrown at me. Useless otherwise.”

Aziraphale nodded in understanding, surprised and more than a bit intrigued at her admission. They didn’t have very many defensive players in The Host. Prism could be, if given enough time to set things up, but her powers weren’t all that useful in do or die situations. If Sarah’s powers could help bridge that gap, she would be an incredible asset to the team. 

He looked around, blue eyes searching for something to toss her way. Aziraphale didn’t want to do anything that might cause her harm - they’d yet to find a healer to add their team, and though there was a hospital on the second floor, Archangel would likely have his head if it needed to be used.

“I could toss this pen?” he asked, ensuring it was alright with her before proceeding. Sarah gave him a brief nod, spreading her legs in a solid stance, reminiscent of some martial arts he’d seen. She’d obviously been preparing for this more than just a couple of weeks. Aziraphale wouldn't have been surprised to see this girl take on a career in some other heroic field, should this path somehow not pan out in her favor.

With one swift move, Aziraphale flung the pen in her direction, watching as the dark object spun end over end through the air. When it was approximately two feet in front of her face, a bright, icy blue light flashed, illuminating for a second this domed shape around her form that wobbled for a moment with the impact, before snapping back into place with equal force.

Aziraphale didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it surely wasn’t to have the pen come rocketing back at him, faster than he’d thrown it. Superhuman reflexes only went so far. He tried to dodge out of the way, but the bright flash of light had stunned him for the briefest of moments, making it physically impossible for him to get out of the way fast enough.

The pen clipped him in the cheek as it soared past, slicing through the skin and leaving behind it a sharp sting of pain. Reflexively, Aziraphale brought his gloved hand up to his face, pressing gently on the stinging wound. As he brought it away, he noticed a thin streak of red running across the fingertips.

“Oh my gosh!” Sarah cried rushing over to his side. He could hear the invisible barriers crackling as they vanished into thin air, leaving just the briefest of icy blue sparks in their wake along with the faintest scent of mint. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize it would shoot back that quickly. When Adam and I were practicing, the stuff he tossed usually just fell to the floor.”

Holding up a hand in an attempt to ease her worry, Aziraphale smiled. “Not to worry, my dear. I imagine I tossed it quite a bit harder than Adam did in the past. This is entirely my fault.”

“Here,” she said, taking one step closer to him so they were less than two feet apart. “Let me help.” Hand outstretched, she brushed her fingertips across his skin. In an instant, the pain was gone and Aziraphale knew were he to run his fingers across the wound again, they would come up dry.

“You’re a healer,” he breathed, eyes wide. This was incredible. She would fit in so well with their group, were Metatron to give her the chance. 

A blush dusted her cheeks as Sarah stepped back. “Just minor scrapes and bruises. It’s not like I can cure cancer or anything.”

The way she said it, almost made it seem like she knew that fact from experience. 

“Well then,” Aziraphale smiled, taking a step back to jot a few quick notes down on her evaluation form. He wanted to ensure that Metatron had every bit of information he needed to make a well-informed decision. “You ready for phase three?”

She nodded her head, brown eyes trained on his face. “What is phase three?”

Aziraphale gestured for her to take a seat on the bleachers, trying to hold back a grin as Adam waved wildly at his sister. “All I need you to do is answer a few questions.”

“Questions.” He could see the nerves entering back into her eyes. “Right.”

“Sarah,” Aziraphale soothed, very much wishing he could promise her right then and there that she could be a member of their team, if that was what she wanted. But it wasn’t up to him. “This isn’t a test you need to pass, alright? This is just a way for us to see how you might fit in here. Just be honest and answer from the heart.”

She nodded and Aziraphale turned his attention to the papers in his lap. There were three main questions they always asked each individual searching for their place here. It was an attempt to better understand their character. To weed out the ‘good’ from the ‘evil’, as Archangel always pointed out.

“Question one,” Aziraphale began, lifting a hand to readjust his glasses, only to realize he wasn’t wearing them. He cleared his throat and lifted his eyes momentarily to Sarah’s face. “Should you be admitted, what do you imagine the best part of being a hero would be?”

Sarah took a moment to answer this question, likely worried that there was a wrong answer she had to avoid. That was what Aziraphale loved about this part of the interview - there were no wrong answers. If someone like Archangel, who cared more for glory than the knowledge that he was ultimately doing good, could find a place here, than it didn’t much matter what was said, so long as the answer was genuine.

“The chance to help people in ways I couldn’t alone,” Sarah responded eventually, all evidence of her nerves disappeared. She was in her element now, comfortable enough to speak to him like a friend. Feeling as though she belonged here. “My powers are fantastical, like everyone else’s, but they have their limitations. I could do much more good as part of a team, watching other heroes backs while they watched mine than I ever could on my own.”

A wise answer for someone so young, but it fit her. Aziraphale nodded his head and recorded the response, eager to see what else she might reveal about herself in these final moments they had together.

“What would you want to do with your life, had you never come into your powers?”

To his surprise, she had an answer prepared for this one. “I’ve thought about being a Pediatrician for a few years now,” Sarah explained. “I think, even if I do become part of The Host, I still plan on pursuing a profession in the medical field. I live kids,” she added as an afterthought, a soft smile spreading across her face that caused Aziraphale’s heart to swell with pride. They’d stumbled upon a soul made of gold with this one. He was sure of it. “And, I don’t know, I just know how scary doctor’s offices can be. And I’d like to do my part to make things a bit easier on them.”

Aziraphale’s pen scribbled across the page, jotting down her responses and adding notes of his own, outlining her drive to succeed and kindhearted nature. Anything he could think of that would show Metatron, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this girl was an asset they couldn’t afford to turn away. 

“Last one,” he announced finally, glancing up to see Adam still sitting at the top of the stands, staying out of the way like he’d been instructed to. The young boy waved again, shooting his sister a double thumbs up the second she looked in his direction.

“What is your greatest weakness?”

Silence fell around them and the smile on Sarah’s face slowly faded. Her hands clenched together atop her knees, slowly turning white with the pressure. Aziraphale waited, not daring to say a word. It was a question that had thrown him too. He’d always been taught that a hero should keep his or her weakness close to their chest. Just like their true name, leaked knowledge of any weakness could be catastrophic.

But there were some weaknesses that could be considered as strengths. And some people you simply had to trust, for an organization like this to work.

“My weakness is my family,” she answered in barely more than a whisper, turning her gaze toward him in the utmost sign of trust. In that moment, she was allowing him a glimpse into her very soul. For a girl so young, she was wise beyond her years. “Adam, and my parents. They’re all I have.”

With that, the interview was complete. Aziraphale finished up his notes, closing the black folder with a soft woosh . With a smile, he went to stand, waving Adam down from the nosebleed section to join his sister in making their way back down to the outside world.

“You did well today,” the hero praised as he saw them to the elevator doors. A single button press from him and the device would send them directly to the lobby where Charlotte would see them out. “I would be surprised if you didn’t hear from one of us by the end of the week.”

Then, without missing a beat, he squatted down to the floor, pulled out the trusty pen still tucked away in the folder, and reached out for the comic still dangling from Adam’s hands. The boy beamed, and Aziraphale signed his name in bold, striking letters across the top, right above a cartoon depiction of a much younger Principality battling an evil robot from space.

The elevator dinged behind them and Aziraphale stood up once more, shooting them both a smile as they turned around to enter. He couldn’t offer Sarah a guarantee of acceptance. That wasn’t in his abilities, but he could offer her some hope, and keep his fingers crossed it wouldn’t be a false one.

“Get that superhero name of yours ready,” he advised, heart soaring as her face broke out in a grin. Gently, Aziraphale tapped the black folder with a knowing smile. “I have a feeling you might need it.”

Sarah nodded her head in enthusiastic acceptance, and then she was gone, the metal doors of the elevators slowly closing to block her from his sight. 

Aziraphale stood there for a little while, eyes dancing over the pages, reading over his notes and making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. For half a second, he thought about making a beeline for the conference room to hand the documents over to Archangel, but then that second passed and he realized how ridiculous it sounded. If Archangel had cared enough to be here, he wouldn’t have missed the interview. Aziraphale could handle this on his own.

Which was exactly what he did. Determination set in his blue eyes, Azirapahle marched up the three flights of stairs separating him from Metatron’s main office, sliding the folder through the flap on the door before he could chicken out. Their leader was a busy man who did not care to be bothered. He wouldn’t have scheduled this interview for today if it wasn’t important, Aziraphale argued with himself, and so he forced the document through, scurrying back down the stairs to the twenty-seventh floor where the others would be waiting for him.

Only to find the conference room completely empty, save for one, purple clad individual.

“Ah!” Archangel remarked upon noticing him in the doorway. “You just missed us. I trust the interview was taken care of properly.”

Aziraphale nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak. He was in shock. They’d finished the meeting without him? He’d only been, what? Twenty minutes late? Thirty, at the most. There was no way they could have gone over every detail needed for tomorrow’s mission in that time.

“Good, good,” Archangel replied, rifling through a bag until he pulled out a small, flat disc. “Sorry you had to miss the meeting. Myosotis made a copy of the notes. Make sure you review them before the brief tomorrow morning. We’re meeting back here at 6 am to review one last time before moving out.”

Archangel handed it over without another word, vanishing from the room before Aziraphale could form a coherent thought. Of all the nerve. How dare they finish the briefing without him. Without Aziraphale’s intel, they wouldn’t even have known about the planned bank heist! And yet they tried to formulate a plan without him. Sure, Archangel had passed along the notes, but that just meant more work for Aziraphale when he got home. 

He seethed all the way home. Past the laundromat and the shoe store and half a dozen places to stop to eat food. Even the familiar smell of freshly baked cookies or the comfortable airiness of his civilian clothing wasn’t enough to ease Aziraphale’s mind. Did they not trust him? Were they worried he might let something slip were he to meet up with The Serpent again before tomorrow afternoon?

How absurd! He’d been nothing but loyal to The Host for seventeen years, and here they were trying to ice him out. Well , Aziraphale huffed as he rounded the corner, finally finding his feet padding along the street that would lead him home, at least he’d been able to complete Sarah’s interview without any interference from the other heroes. With any luck, Metatron would invite her to join The Host and he’d have someone to mentor. Someone to spend his time with besides those self-centered, self-righteous, little - 

The thought vanished from his mind as an overwhelming sweet aroma drifted by. Aziraphale felt his feet slowing to a halt in front of a small shop nestled between a nail salon and ice cream parlor that he was certain hadn’t been there a week ago. 

“What a lovely little flower shop,” he murmured to himself, taking another deep breath as he studied the arrangements in the front window. Bright yellow sunflowers, tiny purple wildflowers, potted ferns and little bonsai trees, all lined up and on display. Preening and flaunting their petals and leaves for the entire city to see.

Now that he stopped to think about it, the bookshop could use something to spruce it up a bit. Just a small shrub or maybe a wreath to stick on the door. It would be a shame not to at least go in and take a look around. If this shop was new, and Aziraphale was almost certain it was, it would be inhospitable to walk on by without introducing himself. Why, he and the owners were practically neighbors, by the very definition of the word.

And so, with a deep breath to both cleanse himself of his frustrations and fill his senses with that sweet aroma that had captivated his attention, Aziraphale stepped inside, bell chiming above him as the door slowly swung shut.

Chapter Text

At 3:42 pm, the bell above his shop door chimed for the first time. Crowley’s heart fluttered with excitement. He turned around from where he’d carefully been repotting a stargazer lily about to bloom, wiping his dirt covered hands on the deep, forest green apron strung around his neck, only to find Anathema’s familiar face beaming at him from the opposite side of the counter.

“Finding yourself strapped for cash these days?” She inquired, looking around the lush shop. There were plants hanging off nearly every bit of empty space. Rows upon rows of shelves lined the walls, vines hanging over the railing lining the second floor balcony. Colorful flowers dotted every inch of greenery, bringing forth a rainbow of color to the room. In his construction of the shop, Crowley had ripped down the old blinds, opening up the front windows as much as possible to let in the natural afternoon rays. Skylights hung a dozen and a half feet over their heads, making the whole place feel like a garden. “Had to sell yourself a garden to make ends meet?”

“Hardly,” Crowley scoffed, greeting his long-time friend and neighbor with a friendly scowl. “Finally got that new mobile game up and running. Sold it to some big tech firm for quite a bit. I won’t need to worry about money for a while.”

“Impressive,” Anathema praised, reaching out for a black, metal stool nearby, plopping herself down on it before Crowley could even invite her to ‘make herself at home’. He wouldn’t have expected anything less of his closest friend. “I can’t believe you’re only telling me this now, Crowley. That’s a huge accomplishment.”

He shrugged, feeling heat rising to his pale cheeks. It wasn’t as if he’d be set for life or anything. Sure, the sum of money he’d been offered might be enough to live a modest lifestyle with the proper investments, but Crowley’s life was anything but modest. Maybe, were he to quit villainy all-together, but even then he felt that he would miss all the tinkering and experimentation. There was nothing quite like the rush he got when a new gadget worked for the first time, or something unexpected happened in his test runs. Gardening was a nice, quiet way to get away from the stress for a while, but the job that Crowley really loved to do cost a pretty penny. Quality electronics weren’t cheap.

“Figured you’d make a big deal about it,” he mumbled, pivoting around to grab the stargazer he’d been working on when she’d walked through the door. If it was only Anathema here, he might as well keep on working.“Try and use your witchy ways to convince me to treat you to dinner.”

She grinned and he knew he had her pegged. They’d been best friends for nearly ten years now - ever since he’d bought the duplex beside her and moved in next door. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d hd her over for dinner or passed out on her couch after a night of too much drinking. Though they lead very separate lives, she was the type of person he enjoyed having around. Witty. As intelligent as him, though admittedly in different ways, and as steadfast as could be. 

“I’ll let it be my treat this time,” she assured him, leaning forward to prop her elbows up on the wooden counter as her deep, brown eyes watched him work. “Your place or mine?”

Crowley frowned in concentration, slowly sinking his fingers down into the dirt, feeling them scrape up against the edge of the pot, wriggling a bit to loosen the plant enough that he’d be able to take it back out again. “I suppose we can do mine. Give me a chance to clean up for once. I haven’t had company over since Halloween.”

Without prompting, Anathema reached over and placed her hand on the rim of the smaller pot, allowing Crowley to pry the plant free with minimal effort. Gingerly, he rotated his upper body just so, lining up the tangle of roots and dirt with the plant’s new home, placing it in securely before reaching down to a shelf down by his knees where he kept some extra potting soil.

“Has it really been that long?” Anathema asked, a frown making its way onto her rose colored lips. “I suppose I did go visit my mother for Christmas, didn’t I?”

Crowley nodded absently, choosing to focus most of his attention on packing down the soil than dwelling on discussions of family. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Anathema’s family. On the contrary, they were a rather fun group to hang around, but seeing as he didn’t have one of his own, the topic always made him a bit uneasy whenever it came up.

“You’re always welcome to join us, you know,” the woman murmured, sliding the now empty pot toward her so she could examine it. “Mum asks about you every year.”

“Ah,” the red-haired man responded, a teasing grin spreading out across his cheeks. “Go with you and miss the fun traditions we have here?”

Both knew exactly what tradition he was referring to, but neither one said a word out loud. There was a time and a place for such discussions, but the middle of a flower shop in one of the busiest parts of the city was not it.

A bell chimed behind her and both Anathema and Crowley looked up. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see much of the gentleman who had just walked in other than he was, in fact a gentleman. Most of his face was obscured by the extended branches of a cypress tree sitting near the doorway, but Crowley could see the outline of a neatly pressed tan pant leg, and the very edge of an elbow hiding underneath what appeared to be a fine, if a bit old fashioned, suit jacket.

Reaching down to wipe his hands on his apron once more, Crowley shifted to the side to get a better look. This would be his first customer, after all, and the man wanted to be accommodating, but not annoying. He hated those sales people that spent the whole time breathing down customers necks, always ready to pounce. Crowley was determined to do better than that. He would be nothing less than an absolute gentleman - offering his assistance and then respectfully minding his own business until the customer asked for help.

He had a plan, a good one at that, right until the man came into view. 

Crowley’s heart thudded in his chest. Good lord was he handsome, and in such an unexpected way. Through the loose fitted suit, Crowley could see that he was strong. Not in a bodybuilder sort of way, or like those other well-built men that magazines and television found attractive. But he was solid and...gentle looking at the same time. Something about the way he carried himself - so proper. Like a prince straight out of a fairytale, or a Lord in his manor. 

And then he turned the corner and stepped beneath the skylight, eyes still dancing over the greenery around him and Crowley’s breath stopped. This man wasn’t just handsome. He was bloody gorgeous . The way his blonde curls turned to gold in the light - he was absolutely radiant. Like a vision straight from a dream.

“....listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

Crowley blinked, turning his face away from the stranger back toward the woman still leaning forward with her elbows perched on the counter. She gave him a teasing quirk of her eyebrow and he struggled to hold back another blush. Clearing his throat, Crowley pointedly turned his entire attention toward her, still fiddling with the apron at his waist, trying to clean his hands as much as possible, in case that customer should ask to shake his hand.

“Dinner, your place tonight,” Anathema announced as she stood to leave, slinging a brightly quilted bag over her shoulder. “I’ll bring the main course. You take care of wine and dessert. Pick up something at the bakery on your way home.”

That minx. She had obviously seen exactly what had transpired and was leaving him to fend for himself. How dare she! Crowley had absolutely no idea what he was doing or how to talk to someone as….whatever as this man so obviously was. What was he going to do? He was going to choke on his own words, that’s what. Make such a fool of himself that this man and anyone else he might come across would never step foot in this shop again.

“Any requests?” he managed to choke out, very aware that his hands were now coated in some strange mixture of fertilized dirt and sweat. What in the blazes was wrong with him? Where had that cool, suave persona gone? He could spend day after day shooting out clever quips and strutting around like he was the greatest supervillain on earth, but the second he was faced with a potential conversation with an attractive man, he turned into a doey eyes schoolgirl.

Anathema pivoted, flashing him a knowing grin as she walked backward across the length of the room, avoiding every potted plant like a professional. “You get anything without chocolate in it and I’ll have to murder you in your sleep.”

This brought out a laugh from him, for which he would be eternally grateful. No matter how this interaction went - whether he ended up with the fellow’s number or dirt thrown in his face or landed somewhere in between - he would always have the support of his very best friend. Apart from Minion, that was.

Then his eyes travelled back to the man’s face for a split second and that laughter died. He wasn’t turned in the direction of any of the plants that he’d passed by only moments ago, or toward Crowley, the obvious owner of the shop.

He was looking, very intently, at Anathema.

Ah well. Crowley tried to swallow his disappointment. It was probably better this way, with his being a wanted criminal, and all. Besides, Anathema was a lovely girl. She was beautiful, if a bit quirky at times, with long brown hair and deep brown eyes. Tanned skin that some girls tried their whole lives to achieve. And she was wicked smart. Graduated University at twenty years old with two degrees - chemistry and history. She was a catch, if there ever was one, and it was only by sheer force of her own will that she hadn’t been coupled off yet.

The bell chimed a third time that day and Crowley forced a welcoming smile on his face as he turned toward the captivated customer.

“Welcome to Eden’s Essentials. Feel free to take as long as you like and come find me if you have any questions.”

“Oh,” the stranger responded warmly, the sound of Crowley’s voice seemingly breaking him out of whatever trance he’d found himself in. “That would be quite wonderful, dear boy.” Gods, why did he have to sound so warm? And kind? And safe? “To be frank, I didn’t know I needed anything before passing by your shop, and now upon seeing the marvelous things you’ve done with the space, I insist on finding something to brighten up my dusty old bookshop.”

Crowley’s ears perked up at this newfound information, completely glossing over the compliment that was obviously just a platitude of kindness. “You own a bookshop? Any one I might have been to?”

“That all depends,” the man replied, coming to stand at the other end of the counter, several feet away, his soft blue eyes fixed on Crowley’s face, “on how much you enjoy the art of reading.”

This comment brought a grin to Crowley’s lips. He was clever too. The whole package, it would seem. Kind, polite, attractive, and smart. If only he were interested in men . “Sure, sure. I love to read. Do it everyday, in fact. Instructions on my microwavable breakfast sandwich, the rectangular green signs that remind me which street I’m on, and those funny little comics they put in the newspaper.” He grinned, hoping his joke would land. “Those are, by far, my favorite.”

It did and the man’s face broke out in a wide smile, displaying dimples on his cheeks and a soft crinkle around his eyes that made Crowley’s heart race. “I daresay you have me beat when it comes to modern literature. I barely ever make it past the nineteen twenties.”

Crowley laughed, wishing he knew what to say next. He wanted to know more about this man. See him smile again. He wanted to say something so clever, so...interesting, that this man stayed around for several more hours until it was time to close up shop. It made no sense, and the red-haired man was certain that if he took the time to step back, he’d realize how utterly ridiculous he was being. But, for now, he let himself get lost in the moment - lost in a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time.

“I own the bookshop just a few blocks in that direction.” He turned around, pointing to the street to Crowley’s left. “A. Z. Fell and Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books. Quite the title, I’m aware,” he chuckled at the obvious look of shock that had crawled its way onto Crowley’s face. “Part of the inheritance, I’m afraid. I like to think it helps deter some of the more...modern customers. An old fashioned name for an old-fashioned shop and shop owner.”

“Nothing wrong with old-fashioned,” Crowley mumbled, causing the slightest hint of pink to appear on the man’s round cheeks. Or was that a trick of the light? Clearing his throat, Crowley tried to steer the conversation into a safer route. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”

The golden haired man gazed at him for a moment, his blue eyes sparkling underneath the naturally lit room. For a moment, he said nothing, and Crowley wondered if he’d heard the question at all. Just when he opened his mouth to repeat it, the man blinked and plowed on ahead.

“Unfortunately, I’m not all that well versed in horticulture,” he admitted as Crowley quickly shut his mouth before the man could notice him gaping. “Do you have anything that does well with minimal light? I keep the curtains drawn to help protect the books, you see.” He looked around, eyes dancing across the shop like a child being set loose in a candy shop. “I’d hate to have one of your lovely creations die on me within the first day.”

Crowley did his best to hide his blush by walking to the other end of the wooden counter and lifting the side so he could step out into the store’s open area. “You’d have to be mighty determined to kill one of these bad boys in a day.” He paused, walking between two of the shelves, his eyes scanning over each plant, looking for just the right one. “I’m talking ‘taking a blowtorch to it’ levels of determination.”

This brought forth another laugh from the man walking behind him, causing Crowley’s stomach to flip-flop. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to just be cool for a little while longer. Where were those blasted plants, anyway? He’d spent a whole day planning out each individual shelf to best balance the plants needs, their size, and aesthetic appeal. So why, for the life of him, could he not remember where they were when he needed to.

“Here we go,” Crowley announced, finally coming to a halt by three vastly different looking plants. The bromeliad was a colorful houseplant native to the tropical regions of South America. Its central leaves were a bright crimson, a stark contrast to the emerald fronds surrounding it. If he was looking to add a bit of color to his bookshop, this was the way to do it.

Next to the bromeliad was a dracaena, one of Crowley’s favorite plants, if only for the name itself. This particular specimen stood nearly waist high, its long pointed leaves spreading out in every direction somewhat chaotically. There was not as much color variation on this one, but the leaves were bright and would surely lend themselves to sprucing up whatever room he decided to put them in.

Last, but certainly not least, was the maidenhair fern. Much softer in both size and appearance, this was a good choice if he decided to go with something a little less bold in design. The leaves were petite and numerous, bringing a sort of elegance to them that Crowley thought rather matched this gentleman’s persona.

“Oh goodness,” the man breathed, taking a half step closer to examine the foliage. There was still a respectable distance left between the pair, and yet it felt all too close and personal at the same time. Not that Crowley was complaining. He was too busy trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts to complain about this man drawing half a foot closer to him. “These two are especially marvelous. I find myself in a difficult spot with which to choose.”

The hidden meaning in that statement said more to Crowley than the words ever could. The fact that this man did not offer him a blanket compliment on all the options Crowley showed him meant that his praise was genuine. He really did enjoy these two particular specimens - the bromeliad and fern. He thought they were marvelous, which should have been wonderful praise to hear indeed, yet Crowley only felt a twinge of disappointment.

There was a chance that up until this moment, his heart might have been holding out for some sign. Some clue that he’d perhaps read the room incorrectly earlier. If, by chance, the gentleman had offered some blanket statement of praise, Crowley might have convinced himself that it was an attempt at flirting. 

“However am I going to choose?”

Pull yourself together, Crowley admonished as he turned to face this stranger, whose name, he realized, he still did not know. At the very least, he had to find a way to remedy that, without coming across as some starstruck puppy. “Why don’t you take them both,” he suggested, already reaching a hand down to grab the smaller of the two pots to hand to the man. “Set them up in your bookshop and if you can’t find a place that suits them, feel free to bring them back. No charge.”

Blue eyes grew almost comically wide at Crowley’s suggestion. “You are far too kind, sir.” He paused, a quizzical look appearing on his face as he glanced up at Crowley’s. 

“Have I said something to offend you?”

Crowley grimaced, handing over the fern as he stooped down to pick up the bromeliad. “Hardly. I’ve just never been fond of formalities when it comes to names.” He nodded his head to indicate they should return to the counter. “‘Sir’ seems almost disingenuous to me. I’d much prefer you just call me by my name.”

They retreated out from the aisle, Crowley catching the briefest hint of a smile from the gentleman’s face. “I’d be delighted to,” he announced, placing the fern gently on the wooden surface, “should I count myself lucky enough to know it.”

The compliment sent a rush of energy through Crowley’s entire body that he tried very hard to ignore. In the short time he’d known the man, Crowley had picked up on  a few things, the most obvious being that he was kind to a fault. This constant praise was nothing more than just that. He was sure of it.

“Anthony J. Crowley,” he responded after ensuring that his plant was also placed securely on the counter in front of him. Then, a small grin on his face, he gave a sweeping bow, one arm folded across his chest, the other extended out to the right. “At your service.”

The other man laughed, a sound that Crowley found he wanted to hear again and again. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Crowley. Or do you prefer Anthony?”

Crowley rose to meet his gaze. “Just Crowley is fine. All my friends call me that.”

The man nodded, extending his hand for Crowley to take. With one more wipe for good measure, the extended it, relieved to see it wasn’t entirely caked in sweat and dirt.

“Aziraphale,” the man offered up as their skin touched. A tingle of energy shot up Crowley’s arm, from his fingertips all the way to his shoulders, that seemed to linger even after he’d let go. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Crowley.”

He nodded. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Were he a bit more confident in the situation, Crowley might try and make a move. Say something clever that would ultimately award him Aziraphale’s phone number, or if he was lucky, the promise of a date later on that weekend. But then he remembered the way Aziraphale had looked at Anathema and the very unavoidable fact that society had labeled him a villain. He may be on vacation now, but Beelzebub and the others wouldn’t let that vacation last forever. He’d be reeled back in sooner rather than later and Aziraphale seemed like such a good, honest man. He didn’t deserve to be mixed up in a thing like that.

It was best to carry on being polite for the remainder of their exchange and then bid Aziraphale goodbye. No use in starting anything now he couldn’t ultimately follow through on. 

“Would you like a cart to wheel these two back home with you?” Crowley asked as he punched in a few numbers into the cash register perched by the wall. “I’d offer to come with you to help carry them, since you only live just down the street, but Anathema’s already gone for the day, so I’d be leaving the shop empty handed.”

A flicker of something flashed through Aziraphale’s eyes, but it was gone before Crowley could get a good look. “Ah, yes. Lovely girl. Lovely name too. I’ve never heard anything quite like it.”

Crowley chuckled, thinking back to the story behind that particular name. “Her mum thought so too. ‘S why she picked it. Didn’t find out ‘til Anathema was seven what it meant. When Anathema gave an entire, researched presentation on it. Rather funny story. She tells it better than I do, of course. You’ll have to wait and hear it from her, sometime.”

Abruptly, he cut himself off. Was he trying to set Aziraphale up with Anathema? Honestly. Crowley should simply learn to keep his mouth shut.

After Aziraphale paid, Crowley brought the cart out and loaded the plants onto the small wire shelves, assuring Aziraphale that there were several more where that came from and he could return it whenever was most convenient. Aziraphale smiled that brilliant smile and gave a short wave before wheeling the cart back out the front door and onto the street, turning left to head in the direction of his bookshop.

Crowley watched him leave with a sinking heart. He didn’t understand why he felt so overwhelmingly disappointed, all of a sudden. Had he expected the exchange to go differently? Aziraphale had been nothing but polite. They’d had a few laughs and Crowley knew he would see the man again. So what was this nagging feeling in his gut that he’d just made some kind of mistake?

As a general rule, Crowley didn’t date. That’s not to say there wasn’t the occasional fling, but he didn’t get close to people and he surely didn’t wine and dine and plan outings . Not in nearly five years. It had gone disastrously the last time he’d had a boyfriend and Crowley was certain it would end the same way this time around, so why did his stupid, bleeding heart have the sudden desire to rush out those doors and flag Aziraphale down before he slipped away?

This was ridiculous. He would see Aziraphale again, probably later that evening or tomorrow when he returned the cart. It was no big deal. He would take that time to work on his plants and clear his head so that the next time Aziraphale walked through that door - the next time he saw that gorgeous smile - he would be just fine. Perhaps, with time, they could even grow to be friends.

He liked the thought of that, of bringing Aziraphale into their little group. Crowley was sure Anathema wouldn’t mind. She’d have someone to talk literature and history with and Crowley wouldn’t have to pretend to understand what she was talking about half the time.

Oh, who was he kidding? Anathema? Sure, but why would someone like Aziraphale want to spend time with Crowley? He probably had loads of friends to spend the evenings or weekends with. There wasn’t anything here - Crowley was reading into it too much. Aziraphale had been a friendly, polite customer to a new business in his neck of the woods. Nothing more.

Except.

Except Anathema had seen something between them. He knew that much to be fact. She had seen something - enough to make her leave the two of them. Alone. On purpose. 

And that, if nothing else, meant something.

“Oh blast it!” Crowley exclaimed, dropping whatever object had found its way into his hand as he vaulted over the countertop and crossed the room. With a shaky hand, he wrenched the door open and stepped out into the street, eyes peeled for a metal cart and a head of golden blonde hair.

Today was certainly a day filled with surprises. Aziraphale had already witnessed a most remarkable girl applying to be a superhero and been astounded when he’d walked down the street and passed by the quaintest little plant shop that he was certain hadn’t been there in previous weeks.

Nothing could have prepared him for the shock he would feel, however, upon entering the shop to find Anathema Device chatting up the shopkeeper. He was so surprised to see her here in a normal setting, that he couldn’t help but stare as she made her exit, offering him a polite wave as she walked through the door, not a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. 

His relationship with Anathema Device was an unusual one at best. Thinking back, Aziraphale wasn’t exactly sure how it had started. Anathema didn’t know him as he was right now - she’d only ever interacted with Principality. By no fault of her own, Anathema had somehow become The Serpent’s favorite target whenever he attempted to pull off a kidnapping or hostage situation. 

There was a very good chance the first time it had happened several years ago, she had been a purely random selection and Aziraphale had swooped in to save her. They’d got along quite well to the point that he almost considered them friends. As much as two people could be when one of them hid his identity behind a mask. Somehow, The Serpent had picked up on that friendship, and he had made it a priority to go after Anathema whenever the opportunity presented itself to him.

Of course, dressed as just Aziraphale, she hardly paid any attention to him. And why would she when she had such a kind, charismatic boyfriend?

He had never seen a more beautiful man in his entire life. He was tall and thin, with cropped auburn hair and bright hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle whenever the sunlight hit them just right. Dressed in tight black pants and a v-neck grey shirt, he was more than simply attractive and then he’d opened his mouth and made Aziraphale laugh, completely forgetting the foul mood he’d been in as he’d left Host Tower.

 It was all the hero could think about as he wheeled his two potted plants down the street, careful to keep the cart out of anyone’s way. The sidewalks were a bit crowded, but the cart Crowley had given him was small and easy to maneuver. It hardly took up anymore space than he did, and Aziraphale found himself casually strolling past the other shops, mind still replaying the interaction in his head.

Aziraphale was not the dating type. He’d never been the dating type. How could he be when he’d become a superhero in the public eye at seventeen? How could he hope to have a real relationship with someone when he’d always be living a lie? He couldn’t reveal his secret identity. If it were to get out, the very person he cared about the most would be in danger. And if the relationship didn’t last - if it ended poorly - his whole life could be turned upside down. 

That being said, there had been something familiar about Crowley, as they’d bantered back and forth. He’d been so easy to talk to, effortlessly pulling Aziraphale out of his shell as they’d conversed. So much so that he had to remind himself time and time again that this man obviously had a girlfriend. A girlfriend that happened to be a very good friend of his.

Or did he? Surely Anathema would have mentioned a boyfriend, or Aziraphale would have seen Crowley in at least one of his rescue attempts over the years. Was it possible the two were simply close friends? That they weren’t seeing each other in a romantic sense?

His heart raced at the thought, then quickly sunk again when he remembered just how cool and assured Crowley had been. He was the type of man who would have asked Aziraphale out on the spot were he even remotely interested. The fact that he hadn’t meant the hero should just forget about it. 

Except.

Blue eyes drifted down toward the metal handle in his hands. Except Crowley had given him an excuse to swing by the shop again soon. An excuse for the two of them to talk again. Could it be that was his way of offering up a subtle invitation? One that Aziraphale might pick up on?

Did it matter? What was he going to do, ask the man out on a date? Aziraphale didn’t date. It was a matter of principle. The concept had never once bothered him before, and yet, here he was. Walking down the street a mere block from his bookshop, stomach sinking into his feet. Like he’d just lost something very precious to him. 

Suddenly, Aziraphale came to a halt, his blood rushing through his body. What the hell was wrong with him? Wasn’t he just thinking about how much his work as a superhero stole from his personal life? Surely, he couldn’t be expected to sacrifice his personal life forever. He was closer to thirty-five than thirty. At this rate, he would reach his forties and still be alone. 

He didn’t want that, Aziraphale realized with a start. Despite the work environment, he truly did love the work of a hero. Helping those who could not help themselves. Providing them a sense of safety and security, so they could live their lives the best way they could.

Didn’t he deserve that same opportunity? Didn’t he deserve to find someone special - someone to share his life with? Sure, there was the issue of his hero identity, which could be problematic. But with the right person, shouldn’t that not matter? If they really loved him, wouldn’t they understand? He had no way of knowing unless he finally bit the bullet and gave this ‘dating’ thing a try.

And what better way to start than by jumping off the proverbial cliff, so to say?

Aziraphale spun around, narrowly avoiding running over the toes of the man passing him on his left. He didn’t have a plan, but something told him that the right words would come when he saw Crowley again. And if they didn’t? Well, no harm, no foul. At least he would have tried.

He was swimming upstream now and quickly darted to one side of the crowd, keeping his eyes peeled for the gold trimmed sign that would signify he had arrived back at his destination. The odds that Crowley was busy with another customer were slim - no one had been there when Aziraphale had left, and even if there was now, he could wait. It wasn't like he had anything waiting for him at home. 

It turns out Aziraphale was so focused on pinpointing the shop’s location, that he almost missed the bright-eyed, crimson haired individual walking toward him until the sound of his name broke his concentration.

“Aziraphale?”

The hero stopped, turning to the side to see Crowley, cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath, coming to a halt on the other side of the stream of pedestrians making their way down the street.

“Crowley?” The shock was evident in his voice. “Whatever are you doing here? Did I forget something?”

The man shook his head, hands pressed flat against the fabric of his apron. “No!” he shouted over the bustling crowd, then darted forward to join Aziraphale on his side of the pavement, pressed up against the window of what appeared to be some kind of café. “Not at all. I just - “

He broke off, color staining his cheeks bright pink. Was it the exertion that was causing the reaction? Or something more? “Well, it’s obvious that I’m new around here.” He took a deep breath, “and I suppose I was just wondering, well, that is, if it wasn’t too much of a bother…”

Aziraphale smiled, something coming alive inside his chest. True, it wasn’t exactly a promise of a romantic date, but Crowley had come all this way. Wasn’t it only fair for Aziraphale to meet him halfway?

“Would you like to have lunch sometime?” Aziraphale asked him, trying to ignore how his own heart was threatening to burst forth from his chest. “It sounded as though you had dinner plans tonight, but perhaps we could get together for some tea and sandwiches? Or something a bit more adventurous, if you prefer.”

“No - “ Crowley began, then snapped his mouth shut. Nostrils flaring, he released a breath from deep inside his chest in a way that signaled he was very much trying to form coherent thoughts. It was cute, how flustered he was getting, only serving to widen Aziraphale’s grin. “I mean, yes. That would be great. Sandwiches, yeah. Sounds perfect.”

Looking to his right, Aziraphale noticed that this very café had some sort of lunch menu posted in the window just over his shoulder. “Shall we meet up here then?” he asked, noticing that the location was rather central to both their shops. Barely a block away in either direction. “It’s as good a place as any.”

Crowley nodded his head enthusiastically. “Sure. Tomorrow, then?”

Aziraphale’s face fell as he thought about the bank and the heist and the long day he would most certainly have tomorrow. “Oh, I can’t tomorrow.” His stomach twisted in disappointment, fearing he’d already lost his shot. “A previous work engagement I can’t get out of, I’m afraid. Does Saturday work?”

“Sure,” the other man smiled, filling Aziraphale’s chest with the most extraordinary of feelings. Oh goodness, he hadn’t felt like this in a long time. “I will see you here at noon on Saturday.”

One more nod of affirmation and Aziraphale was on his way. “Noon on Saturday, it is.” It seemed forever away, and yet so close at the same time. Based on previous experiences, tomorrow would go by extraordinarily slowly, but it would all be worth it in the end, to spend an entire afternoon getting to know this charming man.

He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

“What, exactly, did The Serpent say to you?”

Aziraphale sighed, looking down at the petite form beside him. The heroine was leaning over the black metal raining in front of her, peering down at the people milling about underneath. Her shoulder length black hair fell forward in a curtain, blocking the left half of her face. Her fingers locked together as she studied the area below, looking for any sign of trouble, glittery, blue-violet fingernail polish reflecting the fluorescent lights up above.

“You really shouldn’t stare at them too much,” Aziraphale murmured, trying to keep his voice down. It wasn’t that he was trying to specifically avoid being overheard. But the vaulted ceiling caused noise to echo and they were on official superhero business. “I think it makes them nervous.”

The woman, Tempest, snorted. “Well that’s their fault, isn’t it? They’re the ones who decided to show up after a public warning was issued.”

He couldn’t argue with that logic. And after being coworkers for nearly six years, Aziraphale knew that Tempest didn’t mean anything by it. She was a ‘down to business’ kind of hero, but ultimately he knew she cared about the well-being of each citizen in their city. She wouldn’t be a superhero if she didn’t.

“You’re dodging the question,” she pointed out, turning her deep brown eyes on him. He couldn’t see the top half of her face, due to the navy blue mask situated around her eyes and across her brow, but Azirpahale could tell she was raising her eyebrows in query. “What did he say to you?”

Aziraphale frowned. “You saw the news. Our whole exchange was caught by the media.”

The edge of Tempest's red lips curled up in the smallest quirk of a smile. “Please. The media can’t be trusted to get anything completely right.”

Blue eyes remained peeled for any sign of trouble as Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders. “I gave my full report to Archangel on Tuesday. I imagine he passed it on during your meeting.”

He tried his very best not to seem bitter about the fact that he’d been excluded from that meeting, but some of the irritation managed to seep its way through. Tempest chuckled to herself, bringing a gloved hand up to tuck a strand of her pin-straight hair behind her ear.

“We focused more on the general plan, rather than who said what to get us here,” she revealed, giving him a look that said everything she hadn’t out loud. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

Once more, Aziraphale took a look around the room. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but it was early yet. The Serpent had said ‘around lunchtime’, which didn’t give them an exact moment to prepare for, but a window was surely better than nothing. If the villains in question did try to rob the bank, he hoped there would at least be some kind of sign preceding the attack, to give himself and Tempest a chance to sound the alarm.

According to the morning briefing, they could not say with confidence that the villains would strike the location given with any certainty. Two full days of research and patrols from all members of The Host had yielded the suspicion that they were, indeed, planning something. The City was entirely too quiet, with not a single one of them being spotted out and about since The Serpent had escaped from prison. 

Unfortunately, they had been unable to pinpoint a single location, so The Host had split up in pairs all over the city, as close to the various “hot spots” as they could. The odds that the bank The Serpent had warned them about was the actual strike point was slim to none, which is why Aziraphale had been assigned it. Tempest had just been the unlucky member to be paired with him.

“We got into a bit of a fight,” Aziraphale admitted. “Not a physical one. More of a verbal altercation. He’d just got out of jail, again, and was pulling the most ridiculous stunts downtown. I told him just that and then he informed me about this heist.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from her rounded face and forcing them to look around the room again. “I am almost entirely sure he told me out of spite, but protocol is protocol, and I immediately informed Archangel of the situation.”

Tempest heaved a great sigh and leaned even farther over the railing. “Figures. I was hoping to get a good workout in this afternoon so I could eat my dessert guilt free tonight.”

A chuckle escaped the hero’s mouth. “You could do what I do and eat it guilt free anyway.” He patted his stomach for good measure, which, naturally, only served to make her laugh. It was impossible to tell now, confined within his super suit, but Aziraphale had somewhat of a rounded belly. Not overly so, like many older men he saw walking about the city, but he wasn’t nearly as sculpted as the a hero-themed advertisements would lead people to believe. 

It was the suit, he’d eventually allowed himself to conclude. They were all provided by The Host and functioned not only as a hero’s identifier to the public, but also as a surefire way that they were always looking their best. These suits smoothed every last wrinkle, tucked away every unwanted fold or roll. Aziraphale didn’t quite understand how, but whenever he put it on, he looked at least twenty pounds lighter.

“If this day turns out to be a dud like I expect it to,” Tempest sighed, standing upright to stretch out her back, hands linked and rising up over her head. “I should have plenty of time to hit the gym before my big date.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened instinctively to inquire further, but snapped itself shut when Tempest uttered a surprise ‘ oh! ’, retracting both her hands rapidly to her side. Both pairs of eyes flickered upward to see a single housefly, zooming about in the air above them. An ordinary occurrence, by any measure, except they were dealing with extraordinary people.

“There’s one on you too,” Tempest whispered, as if lowering her voice would prevent them from being overheard. At this point, if his suspicions were correct, it didn’t much matter what they did. They were already made.

Casting his eyes as far to the left as he could without moving his head too abruptly, Aziraphale searched for the obvious way in. Some sort of window or vent. Something that would obscure those pests from sight until the last possible second.

There . An air conditioning vent on the south wall, behind him and just above his head. Aziraphale was moving in an instant, energy surging within his body. Hand outstretched, a golden light began to materialize within it slowly taking form until it manifested in the shape of a sword.

In addition to his wings, Aziraphale had the ability to manipulate radiant energy that was continually coursing through his body, like the blood through his veins. He could form it into any shape, or give it no shape at all, choosing to send short blasts at his enemies, rather than a heftier, more physical attack. There was no reason he had to manifest a sword, other than that had been the shape his seventeen-year-old self had decided looked the most heroic, and the image had stuck. If there was anything The Host appreciated more than a superhero getting the job done, it was one who got the job done with style. From day one, Aziraphale had been branded as the guardian angel, Principality. Bringer of light and protector of all the citizens in their fair city. 

Having a glowing, golden sword that appeared to be made of fire only added to his image, and so it was heavily suggested he utilize that familiar shape, whenever possible.

One flick of his free finger against the dial and the vent was open. His sword’s golden light cast shadows down the metallic vent, illuminating a miniscule tunnel of open space that was surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of buzzing insects, waiting for their signal to strike.

Aziraphale slammed the vent shut, stumbling back as the wall began to vibrate with growing intensity. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as the hero gripped his weapon tighter, the brightness only increasing in intensity as the energy in his body began to spike.

“We’ve got villains incoming!” he announced, taking several giant steps backward until he was level with the railing once more. Several people below caught sight of the sword in his hand and immediately began rushing toward the doors, both front and back, hoping to make their escape before things got messy.

“I’ve already got Archangel on the line,” Tempest responded, much closer to him than Aziraphale had initially expected. Unlike him, she hadn’t quite prepped herself for a fight, choosing instead to call in the backup they would most likely need. “He and the others are on their way.” 

Aziraphale nodded, torn between keeping his focus on the buzzing vent filled with all manner of nasty, blood-curdling insects, or attempting to find the villain who was controlling them.

Beelzebub.

They had to be somewhere nearby, he knew that much from experience. Although Beelzebub was traditionally paired off with Archangel when it came to dueling their nemesis, Aziraphale had, on occasion, been forced to toe off with the insect wielding villain. It was never a fun time. No matter how many of their miniscule minions he managed to kill off, there were always more to take their place. Stinging wasps, fire ants, and black widows to name a few. Alone, the insects were a nuisance at best. In a swarm like Beelzebub liked to use in their attacks, they could be more than problematic. 

“How long do we need to stall?”

Tempest tore her eyes away from the watch situated on her wrist, glancing first at Aziraphale, then at the entryway down below. “Five minutes,” she concluded. “Ten, tops.”

“Right,” Aziraphale murmured, his eyes following Tempest 's gaze until they landed on the bank’s front entranceway and the figure cloaked all in black that was currently striding through it. “Should be a breeze, right?”

The hero beside him smirked, then stepped forward, hoisting herself up until she was standing on the railing. Beneath his feet, Aziraphale felt the floor beginning to vibrate, rapidly growing in intensity until a fountain of water burst forth from a nearby drinking fountain. It drifted through the air, swiftly wrapping itself around Tempest 's waist as she leapt over the railing, slowing her descent so she landed on the first floor with hardly a sound.

Wings erupted from his back, manifesting into physical space as Aziraphale joined her on the ground, hoping this show of force would at least deter Beelzebub for a little while, giving their allies time to arrive on the scene.

The villain was dressed head to toe in black. Black boots. Black gloves. Shiny black leather jacket wrapped over an outfit of their own design. Spun from spider’s silk, it was breathable, light, and most importantly, bullet resistant.

Not that those characteristics would help them in a scuffle with superheroes, but it did do a lot to impede the efforts of any law enforcement caught in the fray.  

“ So, ” Beelzebub taunted as they took up their place in the center of the lobby, hands on their hips, red eyes staring out at the two heroes standing in their path. They weren’t real red eyes, of course. Likely some sort of colored contact lens. The villains seemed to enjoy altering their image this way, rather than wear a mask to hide their identity. “You decided to listen to The Serpent’s ridiculous claim and come here anyway? How sad.”

Aziraphale frowned. “We’re covering our bases.” He resisted the urge to look down at his watch. The less Beelzebub knew about their plan, the better. By the looks of it, they had come alone, but Aziraphale didn’t trust that front for a second. If the plan really was to get away with robbing this bank, Beelzebub wouldn’t be here on their own. 

If it was a trap, well, the same logic stood. Even with thousands of insects at their disposal, they were no match for Aziraphale and Tempest on their own. 

“What do you want?” Tempest queried. An attempt to draw out more information, no doubt. Was the villain here to rob the bank, even knowing that there were heroes here to defend it? Or was there something else afoot?

Aziraphale chanced a glance behind him, still painfully aware that there was an air duct packed full of hornets and spiders and ants just waiting to attack. How much longer until Beelzebub decided enough was enough. Could the two of them incapacitate the villain before they got swarmed, or would they have to fight their way out? 

Beelzebub laughed, extending their hands on both sides, as they did a quick spin around. “Money, of course. What else would I come to a bank for?”

Blue eyes narrowed as they returned to the villain’s face. It was difficult to gauge the full extent of their expression, as parts of their eyes and upper nose were blocked by ragged strands of deep black hair. Aziraphale wondered if it was some sort of wig, part of the disguise, or if they always wore their hair so haphazardly. 

“You should try coming about it honestly,” he prompted, golden light from his sword still flickering in his hand. He could attempt to blast them with an energy beam as a preemptive strike, but there was an inherent risk to that. The chances that the only insects in this building at Beelzebub’s disposal were those in the vents was unlikely. In fact, as Aziraphale focused his gaze on the villain once more, he noticed pinpricks of darkness crawling out from underneath the sleeves of their jacket.

They had come prepared. 

“What?” Beelzebub challenged, the disgust in their voice evident. “Like you lot do? With your special events and your merchandise . All honestly earned, I’m sure.”

Tempest bristled beside him, but managed not to erupt in frustration. The water collecting around her hovered in midair, casting dappled shadows and highlights on the floor beneath her. It was somewhat reminiscent of the bottom of a swimming pool on a warm summer’s afternoon. 

“Let’s not do this,” Aziraphale tried, aware that Archangel and the others were likely moments away by now. “You were tipped off and we followed through on that information. You can’t beat us in a fight, so best case scenario, you’re looking at an afternoon of pain and a one way ticket to prison.”

Beelzebub smirked, like the truth of the situation didn’t bother them at all. What, exactly, were they playing at? They couldn’t possibly hope to win.

“Come on, now,” he tried to reason with their sensible side. Beelzebub wasn’t like some of these other villains - always out to cause as much chaos as possible. They were clever - driven. As sharp as The Serpent and at least twice as ruthless. “What is the point in this? You must know by now, our backup is practically here!”

Instead of shock or irritation, a hint of glee entered their eyes. Pale lips curled upward in a wicked grin as the villain took a single step forward, the insects crawling across the sleeves of their jacket scurrying away and out of sight.

“So is mine.”

Thank heaven above fire was a source of light. Aziraphale saw the bright flash mere moments before the tornado struck. He had just enough time to grab Tempest by the waist and launch them up and over the counter to their left, taking cover as the funnel of flames barreled through the glass front of the building, shattering it completely.

Heat rushed into the room, casting a bright orange glow over everything. Aziraphale let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he turned toward his companion. Tempest 's eyes were blown wide, but she’d had enough sense to keep the water she’d already collected nearby, sparing it from being scattered right away.

“You’d better be right about that backup,” she teased, a glint of humor in her eyes. Aziraphale just huffed silently to himself. How Tempest could have been a part of The Host for ten years and not be tired of the back and forth, cat and mouse games by now, he would never understand.

“Lend me a hand, why don’t you?” she asked, glancing over toward the wall. There was a single doorway on the back wall several feet away labeled ‘Employees Only’. If Aziraphale and Tempest were on the same page, he knew exactly what he needed to do next. If not, well, the next few seconds were about to get very interesting.

Sucking in a deep breath, trying to ignore the scorching heat still hovering over their heads, Aziraphale lurched forward toward the door, scrambling to his feet at the same time Tempest hurdled back over the counter, wave of water crashing into the figure they knew had to be there.

He flung the door open just as a loud crash was heard from upstairs. Fifteen years of training and experience was the only thing that kept Aziraphale from freezing up in that moment. The vent .

At least the civilians had gotten themselves out. At least property damage was the only thing they needed to worry about. He couldn’t imagine what kind of tragedy might have occurred here if that hadn’t been the case. If they hadn’t been warned. If the villains had decided to strike on another day.

Just so you know…

Why had The Serpent told him the truth about their plan? If he had just kept his mouth shut, Beelzebub and Hellfire might have been able to take the bank by surprise. They would have had hostages and could have negotiated some kind of trade. What was the point of tipping him off? Were they in on this together? Was there something Aziraphale was missing?

A yellowjacket darted at his face and Aziraphale sliced it in half with his sword, watching as the body fell to the floor with a soft tink . Standing in the doorway, he found himself face to face with a janitorial closet. A space barely big enough to turn around in, with a pile of brooms, mops, cleaning supplies, and a single metallic sink.

With a quick flash of his free hand, Aziraphale spun the faucet handles to their maximum position. Tempest didn’t need the water to be flowing in order for her to utilize it, but the fewer barriers between herself and the source, the easier it was to manipulate and replenish. And if Aziraphale had learned anything about his past encounters with Hellfire, she was going to need all the ammunition she could get. 

There he was, standing in the center of the lobby, dressed as drab as ever. All the other villains Aziraphale had ever run into seemed to embrace the showmanship of the hero-villain lifestyle. Even Beelzebub, whose costume consisted of all black, had a theme, their red contacts and insane hair somewhat reminiscent of a fly. Not Hellfire. The villain with arguably the most intense powers could have gone with any number of memorable designs, and instead chose to dress in a faded trench coat and tattered grey pants.

A sharp pain erupted across the back of his neck, and Aziraphale responded instantly, releasing a sharp wave of energy across his entire body, like some kind of zapper. Several spiders dropped to the floor - black widows, if he wasn’t mistaken - their legs curling upward as if they’d been singed. He suppressed a shudder, thankful that he’d gotten rid of them before more bites had been incurred. Three or four, he could probably handle. Any more than that, and his effectiveness in this fight would be significantly reduced.

Beelzebub was approximately two dozen feet away, staying out of the main fray as Tempest and Hellfire went head to head. Streams of fire and water colliding in midair, filling the room with billowing steam so thick it threatened to obscure all visibility in a manner of seconds. Aziraphale flapped his wings and sent another shock of energy through his system, watching as more insects tumbled toward the ground.

Fighting Beelzebub was not a close combat sort of fight. Even now, they had drawn their swarm close to them, blurring the lines around them and making it nearly impossible to tell their exact location. If Aziraphale tried to get too close, he was asking for trouble. For now, it was likely best to keep his distance, continue pulsing energy to avoid being bitten too much, and attack from afar.

It was a great plan, really. An excellent one, until the moment he stepped forward to execute it, and the bright blast of golden energy that had moments ago been coalesced in the shape of his sword, passed through an entirely different person, causing them to disintegrate in mid air.

“Missed me.”

Aziraphale whirled around, all thoughts of Beelzebub vanishing from his mind as another villain made himself known. Replica. A villain whose powers were more defensive than anything else, but still made his job a multitude times more difficult. One version of Replica had already vanished thanks to Aziraphale’s attack, only to be replaced with four others. All identical in nature. Impossible to tell which one was real.

This fight was very different from a face off against Beelzebub. With Replica, Aziraphale could be direct. In fact, it paid to be direct. He didn’t understand exactly how the villain’s power worked. As one of the newest villains in the city, there hadn’t been many altercations with him. But, it would seem that splitting himself into several different copies took some level of concentration. And the more Aziraphale threw at him, the less brain power Replica would have to use his abilities.

In an instant, the sword was back and Aziraphale was pressing forward. He feinted to the left, switching right at the last minute to run the blade through the figure to his right. It exploded in a puff of smoke as another one appeared several feet away, just out of his reach.

He swung again, and this Replica dodged. One of them closed in from behind and landed a solid punch on his left side before Aziraphale swept around, wing striking the figure, knocking him to the ground. Another slice and another copy vanished, leaving only three for the time being.

More steam billowed about them as Tempest and Hellfire clashed once more. A quick glance told Aziraphale that the faucet was still on, which was the only good thing about this situation. Three on two was hardly an easy fight, especially when Tempest 's entire focus was occupied dealing with a single villain. Aziraphale could handle Replica well enough, even with his constant copies disappearing and reappearing. It was Beelzebub he was worried about. Their swarm of insects was only growing by the second, swarming around them like a shield or cocoon. 

What was the main goal here? Did they have a plan, or were they hoping to burst in and take as much as they could? It seemed a bit chaotic to be any formal plan, but then again, there were still plenty of villains that had yet to show. Plenty of time for anything to happen.

The closest Replica lunged again and Aziraphale and he reacted by swinging his sword around in an arc, slicing through one of the copies behind him. Another sharp pain bit at the area where his blonde curls met his neck and Aziraphale instinctively sent out another burst of energy, colliding with the copy currently moving to punch him in the stomach from the front side.

Where the hell were Archangel and the others? They should have been here by now. Did they get held up along the way? Had some of the other villains in the city been hiding around nearby to try and halt them on their way to help? Aziraphale didn’t know how much longer he and Tempest could hold out without completely - 

Aziraphale’s thought completely flew from his mind the moment Beelzebub’s growing swarm was knocked aside suddenly by an invisible force. The dark cloud dispersed with an angry buzz, revealing their form as they tumbled to the floor, red eyes wide in shock.

In a flash, Archangel appeared in the space before Beelzebub, standing over them with a satisfied smirk on his face as he looked at his opponent with shining violet eyes.

“Give it up,” he taunted as Beelzebub sat up on their elbows, swarm buzzing angrily behind them, but not yet going in for the attack. “The cavalry has arrived.

Sure enough, in through the door walked Prism, with her multicolored, skin-tight uniform and golden makeup adorning her dark skin. Aziraphale felt relief flood through his body and immediately stepped aside to assist with Beelzebub. Over the many years they’d been at this hero business, they’d figured out the best way to combat the threat of villains, and that included pairing up each hero with the optimal opponent to play to their strengths. Prism, with her ability to see patterns both in human behavior and in the world overall, was the perfect match to go toe to toe against Replica’s antics. The last thing he wanted to do was stand in her way.

“Outside,” Archangel barked as Beelzebub scrambled to their feet, sending forth a wave of yellowjackets his way. “Vertigo is right on our tail.”

Aziraphale gritted his teeth and took off, narrowly avoiding getting bitten or stung a third time as Archangel let out a hundred tiny bolts of violet light, striking down every insect in the vicinity. Wings beating heavily behind him, the hero took to the air, soaring through the fragmented glass where Hellfire had burst through, eyes peeled for his target.

The key to fighting Vertigo was to keep both feet off the ground. They had a nasty ability, as a side-effect of their powers, to cause dizziness and nausea to anyone nearby. Aziraphale had experienced it many times firsthand - the sensation of the world spinning around him. Like he’d had one too many glasses of wine and was about to faceplant on the floor. At least, in the air, there was no danger of losing his balance and gravity pulling him to the ground. As long as his wings kept beating, he had a chance.

Moments after exiting the building, Aziraphale spotted the black and green spiraled uniform soaring over the street several blocks away, growing closer with each passing second. He sent a blast of energy at the villain, gritting his teeth in frustration as they deftly dodged to the side, spiraling off in one direction with ease, like the desire to keep themselves oriented was a pointless endeavor.

“Give it up, Vertigo,” Aziraphale challenged as the villain pulled up in front of them, hovering in the air much like Archangel did, without the beams of purple energy keeping them afloat. “We’ve got you outnumbered.”

The villain laughed, their eyes hidden behind a pair of wide, black tinted aviator goggles. “Is stupidity a requirement to be let into The Host?” they inquired, harsh smile upon their thin lips. “Last I checked, four against four is hardly outnumbered. And one of ours can duplicate himself.”

 Aziraphale sighed, ignoring the jab in favor of finding a way to talk them out of this conflict. It wasn’t that he was against fighting Vertigo or any of the others, but it all seemed so pointless, in the moment. If their goal was actually to break into the vault downstairs and steal any amount of money or valuables, they would each have to defeat a superhero. A task that was certainly not an easy one. It just didn’t make any sense.

“We don’t have to do this,” the hero started, hoping Vertigo might pause a moment and take the time to reflect on their current situation. You all can walk away now and escape any repercussions.” Normally, as heroes, Aziraphale and the others were expected to wrangle the villains up and send them to jail to serve time for their crimes, but hero and villain both knew that wasn’t how this would go. Each of the villains would make their escape and the heroes would remain behind at the scene of the crime, to make their statements to the police, assess property damage, and ensure that nothing of value was taken.

By the time they completed their tasks, the villains would be long gone.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

All of a sudden, Aziraphale felt the world start to spin around him. His stomach churned angrily as his brain fought to decipher which way was up. He could still see Vertigo hovering in front of him, but the distance seemed distorted. His vision was funneling, making everything seem much further away. Something that would have been a problem, had he needed to make any precise movements.

Luckily for him, Aziraphale did not. His wings flapped roughly behind him, keeping him aloft in the air as the hero sent his radiant sword blasting away, changing form into three short blasts of energy headed straight for his opponent. 

Vertigo nimbly dodged out of the way, avoiding all three attacks, but the assault was enough to break their concentration, lifting the uncomfortable sensation Aziraphale was experiencing long enough for him to get in a decent shot. The blast of energy clipped the villain’s arm, sending them tumbling through the air for a moment before they were able to right themselves once more.

In all his years fighting opposite Vertigo, Aziraphale never fully understood where they got their ability of flight. Of course, he never fully understood how any of them got their abilities. The doctors and scientists said they all had special gene deformities that manifested superpowers when they transitioned from child to adult. For a while, that explanation was enough, but recent studies reported that there were other individuals in the city - not many, but more than an insignificant amount - that had the same deformity, and yet never experienced any changes.

Aziraphale was no scientist. He trusted those who were brighter than him to figure out an explanation for this crazy world they’d found themselves in twenty years ago, when Metatron and Myosotis stepped forward in front of the microphones and the reporters and changed everything.

Myosotis. The Host’s oldest superhero. And, quite possibly, the most mysterious of them all.

Once again, Vertigo tried to send a sound pulse his way, but Aziraphale was able to evade. Fire still raged inside the building and he wondered if he should head back inside and try to assist. Even if they did manage to stop the villains from getting away with any money, the amount of property damage alone was bound to bring a lot of bad publicity. If they didn’t wrap this up fast, there would be hell to pay later.

“Shit!”

The expletive came seemingly out of nowhere. It was so sudden that Aziraphale’s golden blast faded mid strike as his eyes drifted down to the street toward whatever had just caught Vertigo’s attention. He half expected it to be some kind of ploy, and braced himself for another wave of nausea and disorientation, only to find himself shocked to see a familiar looking face casually walking down the street.

Aziraphale had never actually met Myosotis before, though he’d seen her likeness on nearly every poster at every convention or meet and greet he’d ever been to. She’d never actually attended any of them - as the first ever superhero and Metatron’s right-hand lady, she had far more important things to do. But that didn’t mean The Host shied away from capitalizing on every bit of her mystique and fame.

She was wearing her tried and true pale green uniform, with intricate white vines crawling up the sides and across her chest. White gloves covered her hands and an identical mask covered the area around her eyes, tied tightly over the tangle of brown curls that had been pinned up neatly atop her head. An emerald cape billowed behind her as she slowed to a stop outside of the shattered bank doors.

For a moment, she did nothing, and both Aziraphale and Vertigo hung suspended in midair, watching her. It wasn’t every day you saw a literal legend walking down the street. What was he supposed to do? Should he keep fighting Vertigo, even when they were not fighting back? Or did he wait for her to come in and take over?

Three strides and she vanished into the bank, no doubt deciding that her help would best be utilized inside, where the fray was wilder and much more destructive. Aziraphale blinked and turned his head to his opponent. What was Vertigo looking at? What purpose did staring at the building serve? Were they waiting for some kind of signal that some milestone had been accomplished, or had something caught their attention?

Slowly, Vertigo turned back to him. Their eyes were still hidden behind those dark tinted goggles, but Aziraphale was sure that if they weren’t obscured, he would have seen a look of confusion in them. He thought back on their previous interactions, but couldn’t come up with anything that would have happened to confuse or stun them. Had one of his radiant blasts hit them on the head by mistake? As a general principal, Aziraphale tried to avoid doing any permanent damage to his opponents. They may be villains, but they were still human. Wasn’t it their job, as heroes, to be just, but also to be merciful?

Two more seconds passed before Vertigo reacted. They floated backwards, raising their hands to undoubtedly send another blast of disorienting sounds his way. Right before anything emerged, a flash of fire appeared in Aziraphale’s peripherals. Vertigo must have seen it too, because they turned instantly to look back down at the shattered glass doors where Hellfire was currently careening out of in a tornado of fire, hightailing it down the street without a second glance back. 

Seconds later, Replica and five of his mirror images rushed out the door, spreading out in all directions, so it would be impossible to track him down. Aziraphale hesitated, wondering if he should try to apprehend them, or keep his focus on Vertigo, who was still very much near him.

Last, but certainly not least, was Beelzebub, followed by an impenetrable wall of insects at their tail, spreading out to cover the entire front wall in an effort to keep the other heroes trapped inside for the time being.

Aziraphale saw them look directly up at Vertigo and make a very distinct motion with their hand. From left to right, it flew across their forehead, palm against the exposed skin before turning into a solitary fist, single thumb raised. 

Whatever it meant, Vertigo obviously understood. They immediately took off in the other direction, seemingly abandoning Beelzebub to the remaining heroes and law enforcement officials that were surely on their way. However, before any of the heroes could come bursting out of the wall of insects the villain had created behind them, another swarm erupted from a nearby sewer, tossing the manhole aside like it was a piece of Styrofoam. 

Aziraphale watched with wide-eyed wonder as the group of insects swarmed around the red-eyed villain, circling around and underneath them until they’d created a dense, dark cloud. Inch by inch, they lifted Beelzebub up into the air, as if they were riding upon the magic carpets featured in “A Thousand and One Nights.” 

With one last wave in his direction, Beelzebub commanded their legion of miniscule winged beasts to retreat, taking them away from the scene of the crime, over the nearest row of buildings and completely out of sight.

Chapter Text

How early was too early to show up to a lunch date?

Crowley found himself asking that question constantly throughout the morning. As he chose which outfit to wear and styled his hair, changed his outfit, went to check on some of his plants at the shop. Came back to his duplex, waved ‘good morning’ to Anathema through the window. Changed his outfit for the third time. The question always lingered.

How early was too early?

The last thing Crowley wanted to do was seem desperate or pathetic. If he showed up thirty minutes prior and Aziraphale walked in to see him already settled, what would the other man think? It wasn’t as if Crowley didn’t have anything better to do with his time, he was just so utterly and completely nervous, he could barely think straight.

“I should just cancel,” the man muttered to himself as he paced back and forth across the concrete floor of his basement. “This whole thing is a terrible idea anyway. He’ll see right through me. If not today, then the next time we go out. Or the time after that. Might as well quit while I’m ahead.”

No amount of reasoning could force him to pull the trigger. Even if Crowley had wanted to jump ship, he realized the only way to get out of it would be to march down to the bookshop and tell Aziraphale to his face, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that. Crowley didn’t have a phone number to call or an email address to contact. He had nothing but a date, time, location, and the promise that he would be there. The only way he was getting out of this lunch would be to stand Aziraphale up, and no matter how frazzled he became, Crowley knew he would never be able to stomach such a horrid act.

He may be a supervillain, but he wasn’t cruel.

“Any plans for today, sir?”

The question, and proximity of the voice asking it, nearly caused Crowley to jump out of his skin. He whirled around and found himself face to face with Minion. The plant was riding atop their faithful Segway, one root wrapped firmly around the handle as they steered it around. A small tray had been bolted to the front where Minion could place various tools and other items they wished to carry around. Right now, Crowley could see evidence the plant had been making upgrades to their suit - a mechanical device of Crowley’s own invention that allowed the sentient plant to walk around like any other life form. Various nuts, bolts, and screws lay strewn about along with the strangest assortment of tools he’d ever seen.

“No,” he answered far too quickly to be even remotely believable. “Nothing set in stone. Might head over to the shop for a bit. See how the plants are getting on. Grab some lunch, or something. Maybe some tinkering this afternoon. Who knows?”

“Right,” Minion responded, wheeling around to the other side of Crowley’s desk and the multitude of drawers by his right leg. The villain wasn’t entirely sure what his companion was looking for, but he knew by now not to get in Minion’s way. “Is that what you want me to tell Beelzebub when they inevitably call later this afternoon?”

Crowley groaned. For a few blissful minutes, he’d managed to forget all about that annoying pest of a villain. This entire week had been spent at his shop, leaving Minion to mind the lair back home. Normally, this wouldn’t have been an issue at all, but Beelzebub was determined to have him be a part of the next phase of their plan. And for the life of him, Crowley couldn’t understand why. 

“Absolutely not,” he replied, making it very clear Minion was, under no circumstances, to allow the villain any knowledge of Crowley’s whereabouts. “I don’t want you to even answer the phone while I’m out. Let them stew for all I care. They deserve it, for trying to ruin my vacation.”

That last bit was more of a formality than anything else. Crowley honestly didn’t care what Beelzebub was up to, so long as they left him out of it. He knew that eventually, Beelzebub would track him down and he’d either have to go along with their insane plan to infiltrate The Host or find some other reason he couldn’t participate. Avoiding the problem had been working well so far, he might as well keep trying until something changed.

“But sir?” Minion protested and Crowley quirked his eyebrow at the plant. They cut off abruptly, stems shaking slightly as if they were carefully contemplating their next words. Which they should, if they wanted to keep all their leaves. “It seems as if Beelzebub has something big planned for the superheroes. Why wouldn’t you want to be a part of that?”

Crowley sighed, trying not to feel too self-conscious about how close Minion was getting to the root of the problem. He was a villain. He should want to do villainous things, and breaking into Host Tower certainly counted as such. The problem was, after fifteen years of this, Crowley could hardly be bothered to care . The only thing that he actively enjoyed about being The Serpent was his interactions with Principality. It was obvious, based on their last conversation, the hero did not feel the same. 

Well, if Principality couldn’t be bothered to care, then neither would he.

“Until Beelzebub brings me in and tells me exactly what they plan on doing and why I should care, I’m not interested,” Crowley stated in a tone that was very much final. “And I will have that conversation on my terms. Not anyone else's.”

Silence fell between the pair as Minion found whatever tool they were looking for. The machine whirred back to life as they started to wheel away, only to pause and look back, the smallest, uppermost leaves lifting upward as if they were looking straight at the supervillain. “If that’s what you want, sir.”

It was what he wanted. Or, rather, talking to Beelzebub was not what he wanted. Crowley didn’t actually know what he did want, other than to get away from home for a bit and spend a nice meal with a kind and very handsome bookshop owner.

All in all, he made it to the café with ten minutes to spare.

The first time he passed by, peeking in the window as he casually strolled down the street, Crowley didn’t see any sign of Aziraphale. He checked his watch, flashed his eyes once more over the two wide glass windows at the front of the café, and then turned the corner, looping around the block to have another go at it.

On the third such loop around the block, he spotted the blonde haired man, hand on the café door, just about to pull it open. Internally, Crowley cursed himself. If he’d been just a bit earlier, he might have timed it so he could have held the door open for Aziraphale. The other man seemed like the type who would appreciate a gentlemanly gesture like that. Based on his clothes - a similar colored tan suit with a deep green bowtie this time - Crowley assumed Aziraphale was an old-fashioned type. Someone who appreciated polite conversation, doors being held open, and all that other stuff. Acts that weren’t necessarily in Crowley’s wheelhouse, but ones he found himself wishing he could do, just so that this kind man might like him, just a bit.

“Oh Crowley!” Aziraphale greeted with a smile as Crowley entered the building a few steps behind him. As he looked over at the other man’s face, butterflied erupted inside his chest. Honestly. How was he supposed to even think let alone say anything interesting when Aziraphale practically lit up like that? Eyes crinkling, dimples appearing in the center of his cheeks - it was completely unfair how attractive he was. Crowley was absolutely doomed. “So glad to see you!”

Crowley nodded his head silently as his eyes drifted toward the menu behind the counter, not comprehending a single word written in chalk there. It was difficult to be hungry when his stomach was currently twisted in knots, lodged in his throat, making it impossible to say a single word, let alone eat. Had he smiled back at Aziraphale? He must have, or he would seem like an absolute wanker.

He had to say something. Crowley had to say something right now that was clever, and funny, and showed Aziraphale that he was glad to be here, without seeming too desperate. If he came across too desperate, Aziraphale might lose interest. He had to seem cool. Put together. He could do this. All he had to do was take a deep breath and - 

“How was your walk?”

How was your walk? What the hell was wrong with him? Was he trying to make an absolute embarrassment of himself? Biting back a groan, Crowley turned to look at the other man who beamed at him while the line shifted forward and they followed along with it.

“Oh, it was quite splendid, actually!” Aziraphale responded, not looking put out in the least by Crowley’s complete and utter awkwardness. “I’ve been up for a while, you see, trouble sleeping and all, so I took a walk through the park to clear my head. Have you ever been to the park in the early morning?”

Aziraphale paused, and after a few seconds, Crowley realized he was waiting for a response. Quickly, the man shook his head and his companion continued. “This time of year, there’s usually this layer of mist that hangs around until mid morning. One would think it would give off an almost spooky feeling, but the atmosphere is actually quite mysterious. It reminds me of some of the fantastical tales I used to read as a boy.”

He was talking a lot, which Crowley hoped was a good sign. Maybe Aziraphale was a nervous talker. There was no reason to believe he’d be nervous in a situation like this, except, well, he had been on his way back to the shop the other day after they’d said goodbye. Crowley hadn’t stopped much to analyze their previous interactions, for fear that he might find obvious signs that Aziraphale was simply being a kind neighbor.

“You - uh, you read a lot as a kid then?” For a moment, his voice wavered, sticking in his throat like peanut butter to the roof of his mouth, but Crowley pushed past the sensation. He wasn’t about to let Aziraphale grow bored with him because he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Crowley may be a handful. He was fickle, bouncing from one thing to the net without rhyme or reason. When some idea captured his attention, he could vanish for days, not even responding to Anathema to let her know he was alright. He could be selfish, and inconsiderate of others, not to mention he was a literal supervillain.

There were many reasons for Aziraphale to lose interest in him. Being boring was not one of them.

“Oh yes!” Aziraphale responded as they reached the counter. “All the time. My life was a rather dull one, you see. Both my parents worked and while I liked the daycare I attended before and after school, the other children could be...quite rambunctious at times. I much preferred to sit in my comfy chair and be whisked away into other worlds.”

Crowley remained quiet as Aziraphale turned away to place his order, realizing with a rapidly increasing heartbeat, that this might be his chance to take charge. If he did nothing, they might still have a perfectly enjoyable lunch, and that might be all it was. A lunch. Not a date.

And that was what Crowley really wanted. He wanted this meal to be a bonified date. He wanted there to be no way for either one of them to misread the situation. And the only way to do that was to take charge of the situation right now.

“I’ve got it,” the red-haired man cut in as he quickly placed his order, stopping Aziraphale in his place. He reached for his wallet, ready to pay for the both of them before the other man could get a word in edgewise.

Turning toward Aziraphale, Crowley shot him a wink, hoping it came across as flirtatious and not arrogant or creepy in any way. “You can get the next one.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed in the most charming way and Crowley could hardly focus on anything else. He simply smiled as the other man’s response went in one ear and out the other, keeping close to his side as they took their seats and waited for their food to be ready.

“So!” Aziraphale started, leaning forward slightly in his seat as he unfolded the napkin in front of him and placed it gingerly on his lap, reaching a single hand up to straighten out the silverware on either side of him - fork on the left, knife on the right. “A plant shop? What prompted you to take on quite an endeavor?”

Crowley shrugged, leaning back ever so slightly in his chair. “I’ve always liked gardening, I suppose,” he answered, not really wanting to go into all the details of his very unique situation. “Seemed like the thing to do, being on vacation, and all.”

He winced internally, already regretting opening his mouth. Aziraphale was sure to catch onto that. He should know by now to be more careful with what he said, but it had been so long since Crowley had interacted with anyone else in his normal life besides Anathema. At least, on a more personal level than saying ‘hello’ as he passed by people in the grocery store. If he didn’t reign in his tongue, he was sure to let something slip.  

“Vacation?” Damn. Not even a second to figure out what he should say next. “Are you only here temporarily?”

Was that a hint of...disappointment Crowley heard in Aziraphale’s voice, or was he imagining things? Surely, Aziraphale didn’t actually believe he’d moved here to temporarily open up a plant shop, only to leave several weeks later? He may bounce from project to project faster than a cricket avoiding capture, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.

“No,” he assured the other man as their food was brought over by someone from behind the counter and placed on the table in front of them. “That’s not what I meant - ‘vacation’ probably was the wrong word. I just meant I needed a break from my usual line of work.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale smiled and Crowley felt the room brighten around him. “What sort of work do you usually do?”

“I’m an engineer.” Technically, not a lie, but even the half truth made Crowley’s stomach squirm. This was a bad idea. Normally, he could lie with ease. As a city-wide villain, he had to or he’d have been put away years ago. This stomach-curling, nausea was new though. Aziraphale was just so kind. So genuine and trusting, it physically hurt to lie to him. Which was going to be a problem in the future. If they even had a future.

“Mostly mechanical, though I’ve been delving a bit into software development recently. Got tired of doing the same old thing. Do you know anything about mobile games?”

Aziraphale shook his head and Crowley could have slapped himself. Of all the people he could be out with, of course Aziraphale wouldn’t be the type to play mobile games. He probably didn’t even own a mobile phone, by the looks of him.

“I’m afraid not,” he admitted somewhat apologetically, confirming Crowley’s suspicions. Keeping up with the times is a bit difficult for me. My work issued me with a newfangled watch a year or so ago that is also some sort of communication device, and I have a rather dreadful time with it.”

Crowley frowned. “You have a smartwatch as part of being a bookshop owner?”

A soft chuckle emerged from the man’s chest and Crowley’s heart glowed. He hadn’t meant to make Aziraphale laugh, but he was glad for it, nonetheless.

“No, my dear.” Crowley’s cheeks colored splendidly at the term. So much for keeping his cool. “I’m afraid I only tend to the bookshop on my off hours. I’m also a volunteer rescue worker.”

Good Lord, this man was the whole package. Handsome, kind, thoughtful and self-sacrificing. If he had superpowers, he’d be a bloody hero - and not one of those pretentious assholes that made up The Host. A legitimate hero, like the ones Crowley had grown up reading stories about.

“In other news, after their successful encounter at First National Bank yesterday afternoon, the hero Archangel has announced that The Host will be holding a press conference at the end of next week to announce a new hero being added to their ranks.”

Crowley could not have held back the groan if he tried. It slipped out between his clenched teeth as amber eyes took in the scene unfolding on the tv behind the bakery counter. The screen was small and partially obscured by the cashier, but Crowley could still see the right half of a news reporter standing downtown in front of the bank that Beelzebub and the others had attempted to rob the previous day.

With everything said and done, Crowley was extremely relieved he hadn’t taken part in the skirmish. For a fight that only lasted twenty minutes, the contractors and construction workers in this city now had weeks of repair to replace the shattered glass and broken walls inside the building. It had been an all out brawl - one of the worst in recent memory - and honestly, with both Hellfire and Tempest there, it had been a miracle all of them had made it out alive.

“Not a fan of a new cape in town?” 

Crowley turned back toward the man sitting opposite him. Aziraphale was still seated as prim and proper as always, his hands folded neatly on his lap under the table, back straight, shoulders square. His face held the hint of a smile, one eyebrow quirking upright as an amused grin tugged at his lips. A wave of anxiety hit him like a truck. Even though all signs pointed at the opposite, there was still a chance that Aziraphale was like all the other civilians in this city - a fan of The Host. Lining the streets every time one of them decided to speak. Filling his home with collectibles and merchandise and comics about fights that never even happened.

It was a completely plausible concern. One that had a chance of ruining anything here between them, if there even was anything. Crowley hoped there was, but then again, he knew very little about the bookshop owner. Finding out that Aziraphale was just another face in one of those cheering crowds might be enough for Crowley to call this whole thing quits. He may be on vacation, but he was still a villain. He had been, for fifteen years now.

It wouldn’t do well to forget that.

“It’s not that I mind having someone new, necessarily, ” Crowley backtracked, trying not to seem too suspicious. What a disaster of a first date this would be if Aziraphale found out he was having lunch with one of the most wanted criminals in the city, hiding in plain sight. “I’m just not super jazzed about all my magazines being overtaken by articles about this new hero. And about how that’s all the news will be talking about for weeks. No more sweet human interest stories about rescuing baby foxes out of wells or baking the world’s largest pepperoni and pineapple pizza. Just some new teenager who doesn’t quite fit into those big hero boots.”

Another smile flashed his way as Aziraphale lifted a hand to sip at his tea. “You forgot about all the new merchandise and press conferences and publicity stunts and the dozens of advertisements that go with them.”

He was joking . Crowley’s eyes widened as relief washed through him. Aziraphale was dreading this new superhero just as much as Crowley was, perhaps more so. 

“ You hate The Host too?” he asked, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, as if adjusting his position would allow him to hear Aziraphale more clearly.

The blonde man chuckled. “Hate is a strong word, but I will say I find their antics, hero and villain alike, to be quite tiresome. And that’s on a good day.”

Oh, thank the heavens. Aziraphale wasn’t some crazy fanatic after all. He was a sane, normal human being who, like Crowley, had grown tired of this twenty-year long cat and mouse game. If Crowley hadn’t been enamored with the blonde-haired man before, he certainly was now. He could feel his heart thrumming inside his chest and quickly reached for his drink in an attempt to alleviate the sudden dryness in his mouth.

What did he do now? He liked Aziraphale, really liked him. How long had it been since he’d had romantic feelings for someone? What was he supposed to do with them? From what he could tell, this date was going well so far, but he still had plenty of time to mess it up. Knowing him, he probably would.

“Did you want to go together?” Crowley found himself asking as the reporter continued to drone on about the event. It wasn’t exactly the ideal spot for a second date, but it could be fun. There were sure to be some parties around town they could hit if the weather was nice, and it might be interesting to speculate on the way there what this new superhero might be like. Were they a boy or girl? What kind of powers did they have? Who did The Host intend on pairing them with for training? Who would be their nemesis?

All perfectly valid questions that were much more fun to speculate about with someone else. The last time this happened, Crowley and Minion had stayed up all night in their basement, planning a grand welcoming event full of villainous shenanigans. Minor ones, of course. Just enough to get the new hero’s feet wet. He’d obviously be abstaining from such actions this time around, but spending more time with Aziraphale sounded just as grand. 

Aziraphale’s face fell and Crowley knew immediately he’d said something wrong. What could it have been? Was it the specific act of asking the other man on a second date? Had Aziraphale realized already that they weren’t a good match? Or had something else tipped the scales? Crowley wanted to backtrack, but he couldn’t see how. Not when he had no clue what was going on in the other man’s mind.

“Too many people for me, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale answered in a tight voice, and Crowley wondered if there was a story behind that sudden flash of anxiety. He didn’t press, however, choosing to turn his gaze to the partially eaten food in front of him, no longer as hungry as he had been moments before. 

“I would, however - “ Crowley looked up suddenly at the brush of soft skin against his own. Aziraphale was leaning slightly forward in his chair, hand resting gently over Crowley’s as he smiled softly at the villain. “Love to see you again after this, if you’d like.”

Once again, Crowley’s mouth went dry. His eyes widened, heart feeling like it was about to explode all over the table and ruin their moment. “Yeah,” he managed to croak, wishing he didn’t sound so much like a dying frog in that moment. “You, uh, you want to go on a second date?”

There. He’d said it. The words were out in the open now. No taking them back. It was time to see where Aziraphale’s intentions truly lay.

He beamed, squeezing Crowley’s hand once before returning it to his lap. “Very much so. I do believe,” he continued, after a moment, blue eyes training on the wide smile that had found its way onto Crowley’s face. A smile that wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Crowley was sure of it.

“I am supposed to ‘get the next one’,” he said with a wink and Crowley’s heart was gone. If he wasn’t so afraid of messing up what was obviously an invitation for a second date, he might have leaned in and kissed the other man, but somehow, he held himself back. Now wasn’t the time. He’d have another opportunity, because Aziraphale was, right now , in this moment, asking him on a second date.

“Isn’t that right?”

Chapter Text

Thousands of people could be heard out on the mall as Aziraphale and Sarah waited in the wings. A makeshift stage had been set up outside of Host Tower, complete with streamers and banners and all manner of pyrotechnics, ready to celebrate The Host’s newest hero. Sarah had been a shoe-in from the start, and even though Archangel had begrudgingly handed over Aziraphale’s recommendation to Metatron for consideration, he had quickly warmed up to the idea of a hero that could provide the type of support she could.

“What am I supposed to do again?” the teenager asked, a slight quiver to her voice. Aziraphale reached out to place a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Back in his day, acceptance into The Host hadn’t been such an extravagant thing. He couldn’t imagine dealing with all of these festivities on his very first day. If he had, the hero might never have come back.

“First,” Aziraphale began, offering up a smile, “take a deep breath. This isn’t a test.” He watched as she followed his suggestion, chest rising and falling dramatically with the noise. “You’ve already proven to us you are hero material. This is simply a formality. A celebration, if you will. Introducing you to the general public.”

“Right.” Sarah nodded her head, but Aziraphale could tell she didn’t actually feel any better. What could he do to help? Was there anything that might calm her nerves before she took to the stage for the very first time? “Not a test. Got it.”

Aziraphale shifted behind the curtain and peered out at the crowd. A quick scan of his eyes revealed what he’d been hoping to see and he shuffled to one side, allowing the girl access to his vantage point. “See that woman at the front of the crowd, about halfway down? Tall. Brown hair, circular glasses? When you give your speech, go ahead and talk to her. It will make you feel better.”

Sarah turned to look at him quizzically. Her mask had been secured tightly around her face, blonde hair tied back in a single braid down her back. Archangel had suggested she let her hair hang loose like Tempest , but Sarah had insisted on the braid. She wanted to be prepared should a fight erupt.

Have you ever tried to exercise with long hair? She had asked, bringing forth an amused grin from Aziraphale. The braid is a necessity. Unless you’d rather me go with a ponytail. That would be perfectly acceptable too.

“Who is she?” the teenager asked, peeking out at the crowd as they talked amongst themselves, likely hypothesizing all sorts of crazy theories about this new hero. Archangel and the others had done an immaculate job keeping everything under wraps. No leaks of her image or what sort of powers she might have. There hadn’t even been a definitive answer among the masses what gender this new hero would be. Sarah was a mystery to them all, and the crowd thrummed with energy and anticipation as they waited to see what lay behind the curtain.

“That,” Aziraphale said with a smile, “is Anathema Device. A close, personal friend of mine. You find yourself getting nervous, just look down at her. Works wonders for me.”

Sarah looked back at him and beamed, her smile bright beneath her mask. Even from here, he could see the brightness of her blue eyes, rivaling that of the new costume she now wore. Whichever costume designer had been handed Sarah’s file had clearly outdone themselves. Like all heroes, she wore a skin tight, bullet proof suit, sporting sharp lines of white, navy, and a bright, icy blue. Unlike most of the female heroes in The Host, she’d opted for a skirt that fell halfway to her knees. It was unnecessary, as the tights on her legs were made from the same bulletproof material, but the girl had insisted. On the center of her chest was a stylized shield, outlined with tiny, wing-like symbols to really make it stand out.

Sarah’s costume also came with a pair of navy boots she had picked out herself. Sturdy, practical, and decorated with the same wing pattern that sat on her chest. Despite her small stature, she looked striking, formidable even. Aziraphale felt a smile creep its way onto his face as he turned to address the younger girl once more. 

“Archangel is going to open up for you,” he explained patiently, even though Aziraphale was sure she knew the routine by heart. They’d practiced it enough times already. “Once he’s done, you will walk out on stage and say your piece, give a short demonstration of your powers, and then we light off the confetti cannons and start the party. You can mingle and greet the crowd if you wish,” he paused, smiling a bit as Sarah turned to look at him. “Or you can slip away without anyone noticing and get the rest of your Saturday back.”

Sara grinned. “Is that what you normally do?” She asked in a way that made Aziraphale think she didn’t care at all that he disliked certain aspects of the “Hero” gig. What a welcome change from some of his other coworkers.

Aziraphale shrugged, trying not to be too obvious about it. “Sometimes, I’ll stick around a bit. Especially if there’s cake. And, if you want me to, I’d happily stay so you have at least one friendly face in the crowd, but I -”

The man paused, a blush creeping onto his cheeks as he thought about what he might do were he to leave the event early. “Well, you see,” an image of soft hazel eyes and coppery hair entered his mind as Aziraphale struggled to maintain his composure. “I have a very important lunch planned for tomorrow - with a friend of mine - and I, well I was hoping to prepare a little something special today to give him when I see him.”

A wide grin flashed across Sarah’s face. She turned back around to face him, curtain falling shut behind her as she let go. “You’re going on a date ?” she practically squealed, hands coming up in to two small fists by her chest, like the young girl was trying to hold back her sudden excitement. “With who? How did you meet him? Is he your boyfriend? What’s his name?” She stopped abruptly, catching her mistake.

“Sorry,” the young hero replied, reaching up to tug her braid over to one side. “You don’t have to answer all that. I know you said secret identities are important.”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling a familiar fluttering in his chest as he thought about Crowley - happy that there was someone in his life that seemed happy that he was happy for once. “They most certainly are, but that doesn’t mean we can’t share anything about our lives when we are on duty.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “Not everyone here believes it, but I like to think we are stronger together when we know at least a little bit about each other.”

When he’d first joined The Host, Aziraphale had grand dreams of the organization being like a family to him. Where all the heroes worked together to protect the city and spent their down time just being together. He’d learned very quickly that this was not the case and had adjusted his expectations accordingly. The distance he felt between himself and many of the other heroes was one of the many reasons Aziraphale was not entirely happy with his work as a hero.

Sarah simply nodded, glancing back at the curtain, her smile faltering slightly as her nerves likely caught up with her. Wishing there was something he could do, Aziraphale decided that perhaps divulging a little bit of information about himself wouldn’t hurt anything. He already knew her first name, after all. Wasn’t it fair that Sarah learn a bit about him too?

“We haven’t known each other very long,” he admitted with a smile as he thought back to the plant shop and Crowley’s bright smile and the way his eyes lit up when he laughed. “But I am rather fond of him. I was planning on taking him on a picnic if the weather cooperates.” Aziraphale paused for a moment, wondering if he should stop here, but finding he wanted to tell her more. “ I haven’t - it’s been a long time since I’ve fancied anyone,” he admitted softly, not willing to say just how long. “I don’t necessarily know what I’m doing or if he fancies me back, but just being around him is enough. He makes me happy.”

Sarah grinned, the stress of the moment completely forgotten. “Of course he fancies you,” she responded, her words making Aziraphale’s heart flutter. “How could he not? You are the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met in my life. He’d have to be a complete idiot not to see that.”

Before anything else could be said, the roar of the crowd grew louder. High pitched screams of excitement could be heard and the brief flicker of a shadow across the crowd meant Archangel must have arrived in all his glory. Aziraphale turned his attention to the stage, doing his best to hold back a grimace as messages from the crowd finally made themselves clear.

I can’t believe he’s actually here!

Do you think I can get his autograph?

Archangel is my favorite superhero.

We love you Archangel!

“And I love you, random citizen!” the man declared as he touched down on the ground, his violet cape billowing with the force of his powers. Archangel’s abilities were similar to Aziraphale’s in some sense. He, too, could project blasts of energy at his foes and often used that as his main method of combat. Where Aziraphale’s energy felt radiant in nature, Archangel’s was some sort of ultraviolet beam, allowing him to hover across the ground and even turn invisible in the right circumstances. 

“We are gathered today, on this momentous day,” the hero continued, the sound of his voice echoing across the lawn. Several thousand people stood before him, awestruck as Archangel recited his lines to perfection - just as he did each time a new hero was announced. “To welcome a new Hero into our midst. An event such as this hasn’t happened in some time, and we at The Host are proud to introduce, to you, a young woman who will quickly rise through the ranks and might someday go down in history as one of the very best of us all.”

Cheers erupted across the crowd and Aziraphale saw Sarah stiffen before him. He hesitated, wondering if another pat on her shoulder would help calm the girl, or only make things worse. Slowly, the man’s eyes drifted toward the front of the crowd and saw to his relief, Anathema looking directly at them, as if she could sense her calming presence was needed. He watched as she smiled and gave them both a wave. Sarah immediately seemed to relax, lifting her white-gloved hand up to her chest to give a tiny wave back.

“Without further adieu,” Archangel proclaimed with what Aziraphale imagined to be a bit of a smug grin upon his face. “It is my pleasure and privilege to introduce to you the city’s newest superhero. Please give a warm welcome to Seraphim !”

Sarah didn’t have the power of flight. She couldn’t manipulate geysers or set up intricate Rube Goldberg machines out of her environment. The young hero couldn’t blast energy from her palms or turn herself invisible.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make a grand entrance.

Aziraphale watched in awe as the young hero launched herself into the air, the force of the icy blue fields that materialized beneath her giving her the momentum to sail halfway across the stage in a single bound. At the peak of her arc, Sarah tucked her legs close to her chest and spun around, somersaulting in the air twice before landing perfectly on both of her feet.

The crowd went wild. Screams of excitement broke out amongst them as they raised their hands in the air, some raising signs they’d made saying things like “Welcome to The Host” and “Thank you for your service!”. Others simply clapped along as they cheered and welcomed the young hero into the fold.

Incredible . Aziraphale found himself clapping alongside the rest of the crowd as he watched Archangel step to the side with a proud smile, letting Sarah take the stage. He had no idea she could do something like that and wondered briefly if the girl had developed an interest in gymnastics at a young age. Aziraphale had been a hero for years and was nowhere near capable of pulling off a feat like that.

“Um - thank you,” Sarah began, taking a half step back as the microphone feedback rang loudly through the air. “It is an honor to be here standing before you all today.” Aziraphale could hear her voice shaking and he found his eyes drawn to the crowd once more, relief washing over him as he saw Anathema looking directly up at the young hero, flashing her a smile and two thumbs up as she took a deep breath and continued.

“I never really thought about being a hero when I was younger,” she admitted, looking out at everyone who had come here today for the very purpose of meeting her for the first time. “Heroes like Principality and Archangel and the rest are so rare, I never thought the stars would align and choose me to be one of them.”

Aziraphale looked up at the sound of his name, noticing that Archangel, too, was looking in his direction, eyes slightly narrowed in annoyance. If Aziraphale had to guess, he would assume the hero’s ego had been bruised just a bit, not hearing his name as the first among the list Sarah had given. Aziraphale felt a flicker of satisfaction come to life inside his chest for just a moment, before he snuffed it out. This petty rivalry was beneath him. They were supposed to be on the same side, and it wouldn’t do well for Aziraphale to forget that.

“As soon as I realized I had powers, there was nothing that I wanted more than to join The Host. I want to help protect this city. I want to be the hero you all deserve.”

As she wrapped up what she had planned to say, the crowd began to cheer again. Choruses of ‘Seraphim’ could be heard from all corners of the lawn. Young girls begged to be hoisted up on their fathers’ shoulders to get a better look. A group of teenage boys several rows back let out a sharp whistle of approval as chants of her name rang louder and louder. The city had accepted her as their own without hesitation and the relief that shone on Sarah’s face echoed across Aziraphale’s own.

“I would like to invite Principality onto the stage,” she called out, lifting a hand to beckon him forward, “to join me in a small demonstration. If that’s alright with you all.”

The cheers started up again in a wild frenzy. Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder where that shy, nervous girl had gone. She seemed so comfortable up here in front of them all - more so than he ever had. 

Perhaps she could teach him a thing or two as well, should their unofficial partnership be allowed to continue.

As Aziraphale slipped out under the curtain to join the new hero, his eyes instinctually flickered toward the front row, looking for Anathema. His heart leapt slightly when he didn’t spot her right away, then reasoned that he was being absolutely ridiculous. It was entirely possible some young teenagers had pushed their way to the front of the crowd, blocking her out for the time being. They were in the middle of a vast crowd, with heroes all around, and despite the thick cloud cover, it was still broad daylight. There was no way The Serpent would try anything here. Not today. It was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

Aziraphale took his place opposite her on the stage, watching from the corner of his eye as Archangel took several steps back. Normally, he would have been the one to help out with the demonstration, but the hero had been quite busy in the week leading up to this event and had pushed training off on Aziraphale instead. For once, the man hadn’t minded the extra work. Having Sarah around made his days much more enjoyable.

Almost as enjoyable as the days he spent with Crowley.

Gritting his teeth, the man pushed those thoughts aside. There was a time and a place for such things and Seraphim’s welcome ceremony wasn’t one of them. With a soft nod of her head, Sarah indicated she was ready and Aziraphale’s wings burst out from him in a flurry of wind and feathers, drawing gasps and cheers from the crowd below.

It was going to be a simple demonstration - a few blasts of energy directed at her first, to show off those icy blue protective fields as his powers struck hers. They’d practiced this set all week, experimenting until they found the exact combination of strikes to make Sarah’s force fields practically shine in the sunlight.

True, it was a bit overcast today, and there seemed to be some kind of fog rolling in, but Aziraphale was confident that the light from his attacks would be enough to stun the audience. He let loose two blasts, watching as they ricocheted off the space in front of her, revealing the protective barrier she had set up around herself.

Just as he’d expected, the shield crackled with icy blue energy, sending patterns of bright light across Sarah’s suit like ripples of water on the bottom of a clear pond. Collectively, the crowd took in a breath, letting loose a wild cheer as Aziraphale struck again, leaving Sarah completely untouched by his assault.

They danced around the stage for only a minute, Aziraphale’s wings carrying him from one side to another as he tried to break through her defenses with no success. Without skipping a beat, Sarah started manifesting smaller fields, invisible and immovable beach ball sized pockets of energy that he began running into, eventually knocking him out of the air and back down to the ground.

It was clear the young hero was already reaching her limit. Trying to control that much energy at once was surely draining her faster than normal, so, once he made sure was ready for their finale, the hero shot one supercharged beam her way. With a cry, Sarah brought her hands together out in front of her, creating a wall between them that the beam bounced off. Lightning bolts of energy spread out rapidly from the point of impact, reminiscent of a car windshield cracking after being hit. 

The attack bounced back straight at Aziraphale. He could have easily stopped it in its tracks, let it fizzle out before striking him, but that defeated the purpose of what came next. Instead, Aziraphale let it catch his wing, tearing through the feathers and the skin, leaving a painful, but shallow cut in its wake before finally disappearing into the fog.

Aziraphale winced as the crowd gasped and he lowered his arms as Sarah approached. Silence fell across the people gathered before them as they watched with bated breath to see what the new hero might do.

“Sorry about that,” Sarah murmured softly as she approached him, blue eyes flickering down for just a moment. Aziraphale offered her a gentle smile, knowing from experience the pain would be gone in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t be,” he assured her, looking around to find that the fog had crept closer, obscuring the back third of the crowd. He glanced up. It didn’t look like a storm was coming, and fog this late in the day was abnormal. So what in the world was going on. “You did splendidly.”

With a smile, Sarah reached out her hands and placed them one over the other on top of Aziraphale’s wounded wing. The people at the front of the crowd had the best view for the miracle that occurred next, but there were plenty of drone cameras flying around, projecting the image onto monitors scattered across the mall. 

Skin melded itself back together in an instant, white feathers bursting forth to cover the hole Aziraphale’s own attack had left in its wake. Gasps could be heard, spreading far and wide as Sarah healed what had been hurt, displaying the very last of her powers.

Feeling the pain fade away to nothing, Aziraphale turned to signal the demonstration was over, but stopped short before giving his theatrical bow. The crowd, who moments ago could be seen watching in awe, was now almost completely covered by the thick grey fog that seemed to come from nowhere. It was darker than any fog Aziraphale had ever seen - unnatural in a way he couldn’t explain.

Murmurs of uncertainty could be heard drifting through the crowd. Aziraphale’s heart thudded in his chest as he instinctively brought his sword to life. Beside him, Sarah took up a fighting stance, looking around for whatever might be causing such a phenomenon.

How touching.

The voice that echoed around them was an all too familiar one. Bright lights flashed before him and Aziraphale was forced to look away, his eyes almost naturally gravitating to the building standing behind them. 

A building now lit up with the image of a very familiar pair of snake-like eyes, nearly hidden behind thick black lensed goggles.

The Serpent.

It’s always such a special occasion when The Host welcomes a new member into their fold. His voice echoed all around them, likely from hijacking the drones and projecting his voice through them, if Aziraphale had to guess. His eyes focused in on the image, trying to pick up hints as to where the villain had stashed himself away this time, but the swirling fog was making it difficult to make out any details.

Too bad I wasn’t invited, the voice said with a little laugh. Aziraphale felt, rather than saw Archangel land by his side, violet eyes flashing with annoyance as he looked over at the winged superhero. It was his villain, after all, who was crashing the party, but Aziraphale hardly saw how he could be blamed. Last time he’d checked, The Serpent was still on a “break”.

I make a mean crab dip.

“Serpent,” the hero remarked with disdain. "I should have known you’d try to crash the party. What do you want?” Aziraphale took a moment to look around and make sure there weren’t any more surprises waiting for them behind the mists. “You picked the wrong day to start something. The entirety of The Host is here. We won’t let you hurt these people.”

The Serpent laughed - loud and low and just a little bit crazy, drawing out the chorus of ‘boos’ that appeared to greet him. Oh, I intend to do more than crash it, Angel, he answered in a way that set Aziraphale’s skin crawling. His mind flashed back to the moment he took to the stage. Anathema hadn’t been there, but he’d explained it away. It wasn’t possible - he couldn’t have stolen her right out from under his nose, it just wasn’t possible. There was no way.

Right?

This is a day you and the city shall not soon forget. 

Aziraphale gritted his teeth, wishing the theatrical man would simply get to the point. "We all know how this ends,” Aziraphale announced, slipping into the role he knew he was expected to play. “With you behind bars.”

Oh, the man taunted with a smirk as he shifted around to bring something else up to the camera. I’m shaking in my custom baby seal leather boots.

For a moment, Aziraphale wondered if he was telling the truth. For all his plots and tricks, The Serpent just didn’t seem that harmful. Did he really walk around in boots made from baby seals? Or was that all part of this façade he’d created for himself?

Aziraphale doubted he’d ever know for sure.

You and your little hero friends are going to leave this city, or this will be the last you ever hear of Anathema Device.

The camera panned over and Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. He had gotten his hands on Anathema. But how? She had been right here with them all. She had been safe .

And now her life was in danger once again.

“Don’t panic, Anathema,” Aziraphale promised as he tried not to panic himself. Itching to do something , the hero’s wings began to lift himself up into the air, beating wildly with the pace of his heart. “I’m on my way.”

It was a lie, of course. He had no idea where The Serpent was keeping her. Each time they played this game, he picked someplace new. Without any clues, he had no way of knowing where she might be and it could take days to search every corner of this city. There was no way to know how The Serpent had grabbed her from the crowd or whether that woman he’d seen earlier had even been the real Anathema to begin with. Without something concrete to go off of, Aziraphale would never be able to bring her back home.

I’m not panicking, her voice said over the speaker system, and for a moment, Aziraphale hesitated. For a moment, Aziraphale believed her. How could she be so calm, when facing her captor once more? If he didn’t know any better, the hero would have said she almost looked...amused.

The Serpent laughed again. In order to stop me, you need to find me first.

Before he could get a word in edgewise, the speakers surrounding the mall echoed again. We’re at the abandoned observatory. The cameras, still trained on Anathema’s face, picked up the slight smirk of amusement as that rushed breath of information sent The Serpent into a frenzy.

No! We’re not! Anathema’s image shut off, leaving only The Serpent’s likeness on the makeshift screen. Don’t listen to her, she’s crazy!

Aziraphale didn’t stop to hear anything else. His friend was in danger and he now knew where she was. There was nothing stopping him now from breaking down the door, throwing a solid right hook at The Serpent, and flying Anathema out of there, before anything went wrong and she got hurt. 

“Don’t panic, Anathema,” the hero muttered under his breath a second time as he rose up into the sky, high above the fog and the buildings it had obscured. His eyes pivoted around, fixing themselves on the distinct structure in the distance at the edge of the bay. The abandoned observatory. “I’m on my way.”

“I’m on my way.” 

Chapter Text

“Honestly,” Anathema’s voice rang through the empty space as Crowley gently set her down on the chair and removed the bag from overtop her head. “Would it kill you to wash the bag?”

The red-haired villain blushed. He’d meant to do that after the last time he had kidnapped her, but then he’d gotten thrown into jail and had that fight with Principality and it had just slipped his mind. Crowley hadn’t even been planning on doing another kidnapping for quite some time until Beelzebub had come knocking on his door, practically begging for his help.

You don’t need to be involved in any other way. We just need a distraction for a few hours. I’ll owe you one.

Crowley had every intention of turning the other villain down yet again, but that last sentence had stuck with him. Being in a situation where Beelzebub owed him a favor? It was worth considering, at the very least.

And so, on the night before the big Host Celebration, Crowley invited Anathema over for dinner and asked, once again, if she would be willing to lend him a hand.

As always, his best friend said ‘Yes’.

Which is how the pair found themselves atop an abandoned warehouse at 11am on a Saturday morning. Thankfully, it would seem that everyone and their mother had decided to attend the ceremony. There was not a soul on any street leading up to the building. Crowley and Minion drove the invisible car right up to the entrance and the three of them walked in the front door without a single pair of eyes on them. 

Crowley only really put the bag over Anathema’s head for show. The same went for the ropes tied around her arms, pinning them to her side. If she wanted to, the woman could easily wriggle her way out of her bonds - he’d designed them that way, just in case one of his many plans went wrong. The last thing he wanted to do was cause any harm to the one person in his life that actually still cared about him. 

“My bad,” the man mumbled as he took several long strides across to the other side of the room. It was here that the camera controls would be setup. Crowley had everything planned out - he’d double and triple checked it all so things would be ready for today. Almost all of the heroes would be in attendance, but there was no guarantee they would all stick around after the initial introductions were made. 

It was his job to keep them occupied with something else to give Beelzebub and their team time to do...whatever it was they were going to do. Crowley hadn’t asked questions and Beelzebub hadn’t offered up any information other than their need for his distraction. It was probably better off that way. He had a feeling Beelzebub and their gang were planning something big - something he wanted no part in. No, Crowley would stick to his minor public inconveniences and occasional fake kidnappings, thank you very much.

“I promise I’ll have it cleaned for next time,” he grinned, glad to see that Anathema at least seemed relaxed. He always worried, just a tiny bit, that these frequent escapades of theirs were growing tiresome for her. “In fact, I’ll toss that one out and buy you a fresh one - in whatever design you like.”

“In that case,” his friend teased with a glimmer of amusement in her deep, brown eyes, “I’ll take one of the finest silk, hand woven and dyed to look like the night sky in the middle of winter.”

The villain simply rolled his eyes and glanced over at Minion who was standing by a bulky machine the pair had dragged up here the previous night. Instead of their usual Segway, the philodendron was testing out a new mech suit the pair had designed over the past few weeks. It had taken Crowley going on “vacation” from his villainous work to actually sit down and finish it, and so far, the suit had been an overwhelming success. It gave Minion the mobility to move faster, to climb up and down stairs, and to operate machinery like the piece of equipment Crowley had pulled together at the last second for this grand distraction.

“And you’re sure that thing won't hurt him?” Anathema asked, a hint of uncertainty seeping into her voice. Crowley turned around and offered her a gentle smile. As annoying as he found it sometimes, he was glad she and Principality were friends. It made his life so much easier whenever he needed to instigate anything. He knew, no matter the circumstances, the hero would always come to rescue her.

“Pretty sure,” the villain said, patting the machine gently with his gloved hand. He’d gone all out with his costume, making sure the leather shone, reflecting each beam of light. His contacts were so bright they almost shone like the sun and the flaming red wig on his head had been tacked on so tight it would likely take him over an hour to get it off later this evening, but it was all worth it, for the theatrics of it all. “I tested the thing on myself. Worst case scenario, he’s an idiot and looks directly at it when it goes off. He’ll be blinded for about a minute, but no permanent damage. I promise.”

When she didn’t look convinced, Crowley shuffled around until he was standing as far away from her in the circular room as he could. “Go ahead and test me, if you like,” he offered. “I’ll tell you the exact number of fingers you’re holding up and then you’ll see my eyesight has never been better.”

Anathema chuckled, rolling her eyes lightly, but she held her hand up all the same. It didn’t reach up much higher than her chest due to the ropes still wound around her, but it was enough for Crowley to see.

“Four, now two, three, one, seven - do you think I can’t see that other hand sneaking in there?” Anathema grinned and Crowley could barely hold back a laugh. Some days he really did wonder how he’d ever survived without her.

“And how do I know super-sight isn’t one of your powers?” the woman teased as Minion continued to mess with the machine beside them, plugging in cords and pressing buttons, making sure everything was set for their confrontation. Crowley took a moment to glance down at his watch. Ten minutes ‘til noon. Time was ticking. “Or better yet, how do I know you aren’t just reading my mind instead of just using your eyes?”

This drew forth a laugh from the villain’s mouth. “Trust me, I’d much rather have that ability. It would make my life so much easier.”

Silence fell between the pair, and Crowley found himself suddenly unable to look at Anathema directly in her eyes. It wasn’t as though he was afraid of what he might find. There was a reason Anathema was his best friend in the entire world - a very, very good reason. She knew him like no one else did. She didn’t judge him for the mistakes he’d made - for what he had done, what he could do, if he wanted. Anathema trusted him to keep her safe. She trusted that beneath all the costumes and the special effects, he was a good person.

It was days like this Crowley hoped and prayed she was right. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry for interrupting,” sounded a voice from the doorway. Crowley spun around, heart racing in his chest. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here! This was an abandoned warehouse, for heaven’s sake. It’s why he picked the damn building to carry out his plan in the first place. So what was this...nerd doing here?

“Hey, wait a second.” The man standing before them was tall and lanky with tousled dark hair and a pair of square glasses framing his dark eyes. He was wearing some kind of uniform, but Crowley couldn’t exactly tell what it was for. Recognition dawned in the stranger’s eyes as he looked from Crowley, over to where Anathema was seated - tied to her chair, back to Crowley once more. “Aren’t you - “

The stranger was down on the ground before anyone could blink an eye. He gave a startled yelp and then dropped like a rock as a single electrified bolt stuck him square in the chest.

“Crowley!” Anathema scolded in surprise, forgetting for a moment she wasn’t supposed to use his name in the presence of anyone but the three of them. “You stunned him. That was highly uncalled for, don’t you think?”

The villain let out a frustrated groan. “I’m sorry, Anathema. He startled me, it was a reflex .” Slowly, he made his way over to the man’s slumped body, relief flowing through him as he saw the distinct rise and fall of the man’s chest. Carefully, Crowley stooped down and turned him over so he was lying on his back, checking for anything that might be an immediate danger to the man. “He’ll be completely fine . I’ve stunned myself plenty with this thing,” Crowley lifted a hand and patted the holster gently hanging at his right hip. “Worst case scenario, he wakes up in about an hour with a bit of a headache.”

“Alright.” Anathema looked at him in a way that was clear she was not very impressed. “If he suffers permanent brain damage, at the very least you owe him dinner.”

“Dinner?” What in the world was this girl talking about? “Why would I take him out to dinner?”

“Because,” the girl said with a mischievous grin. Crowley glanced down at his watch once more, heartbeat spiking when he saw he had just under two minutes left before things were due to begin. “You knocked him out when he was obviously here to save me.” Anathema flashed him a cheeky grin, “and I think he’s cute.” For a moment, Crowley felt his nerves ease. He’d done this bit a dozen times now and was confident by the end of it that there was a ninety-five percent chance he’d get away without a hitch. There really wasn’t a need to worry, and yet, a part of him was.

It was the other five percent that was a bit worrisome. If Crowley got caught and sent to jail, he would miss a very important date with Aziraphale, and he simply could not let that happen. He had spent all week thinking about the handsome blonde man, wishing they could have found time in their schedules to meet up before Sunday. But even though Crowley still had his week off, Aziraphale’s work schedule was packed to the brim. Sunday was the only day that worked, and Crowley would be damned if he allowed himself to miss it. 

Crowley was surprised at how much he found himself liking the other man. It had been ages since he’d been involved with anyone - friendship or otherwise - apart from Anathema. Their lunch the previous weekend had been amazing and this time, if he wasn’t mistaken, Aziraphale planned to take him on a picnic in the park.

Sure, it was a bit cheesy and old-fashioned, but that was what Crowley liked about Aziraphale. He was so unapologetically himself, it was a relief just to be around him. No, there was no way in Heaven or Hell that he was missing out on this date. His plan had to succeed - all of it. There was no other alternative.

A loud beeping caught his attention and the villain found himself looking over to Minion. The philodendron turned, vines shifting inside the glass cabin to control the metal hand at his side. A single ‘thumbs up’ was all Crowley needed to know it was time for the show to begin.

It went off without a hitch. Anathema said her lines perfectly, as she always did, baiting Principality into the rescue once more. Crowley did his best to have the drones he’d hacked follow the hero, giving him some semblance of how much time they had until the man arrived, but the hero was on his game today, shooting several of them down with blasts of golden energy before Crowley could alter their course to avoid the strike.

Principality approaching, sir.

Sure enough, on the tiny, second-hand monitor beside Minion’s left elbow sat the image of Principality, flying straight for the observatory. Fists pointed in front of him, broad white wings propelling him forward with every stroke. Crowley couldn’t help but stand in awe of the hero, for just a moment. In times like these, the nickname Crowley had given him rang true. He really did look like an angel.

This time, Crowley was careful to avoid the radiant energy rocketing from Principalities fingertips. The drone kept flying ahead of the hero, matching his pace and keeping him in frame as he burst through the domed opening and landed in the center of the main observation room.

Only to find there was nothing there.

“Hold on a second.” The microphones Crowley had planted in the abandoned observatory picked up the echo of Principality’s voice perfectly. Even from several miles away, he could hear the hero perfectly. Phase one was now complete. 

With the single press of a button, the doorway covering where the telescope used to be began to close, the beam of light at Principality’s feet slowly growing narrower and narrower as the winged hero looked around, trying to find where Crowley had stashed Anathema. He wouldn’t find her, of course. Crowley wasn’t stupid enough to give out his precise location - not when his task was to keep the superheroes occupied. Now, instead of spending their afternoon partying back at Host Tower, they would be scouring the city, looking for him.

“You didn’t really think we were at the abandoned observatory, did yo - oh, come on! ”

At the very last second, a flash of violet light appeared and Archangel vaulted himself through the opening before it slammed shut behind him. The villain cursed under his breath. Why the devil was he here? How had he even gotten to the observatory so quickly? Crowley has thought, out of all the superheroes, Principality was the fastest when it came to flying, and yet somehow that violet-eyed prick had managed to sneak his way into Crowley’s grand plan.

Just his luck.

“Why’d you have to bring him along?” the villain sulked, looking down at Principality’s image on the monitor. He’d set up a similar system in the observatory. Assuming everything was working properly like it had been when he’d tested it, the pair of heros should be seeing an image of himself projected before them, just like the projection he’d created on Host Tower. “He’s only going to ruin our fun.”

With a dramatic sigh, Crowley turned to Minion, still manning their station. “Ready the death ray.” He’d wanted those words to come out so much more victorious, but with Archangel here, he just knew things were about to go pear shaped. Might as well get this whole thing over with.

Death ray, readying. With one metallic hand, Minion reached their hand down and pulled at the lever beside them. A whirring sound rang out around them as the machine came to life, several lights flashing, nobs turning this way and that. All for show, of course. This machine didn’t do anything but create a bright flash of light in the small enclosed space where the two heroes now found themselves. But they didn’t know that. And neither did any of the thousands of people watching.

Time to give them a show.

“Over here, Angel,” Crowley taunted, deciding the best thing he could do was ignore the other hero completely and go along with everything as planned. He could improvise later, if the need arose, but for right now, Archangel hadn’t said a single thing. Maybe, for once, he wouldn’t be that much of a problem after all.

At least he had the pair trapped for now. The observatory walls were made from thick steel. Crowley assumed, with enough motivation, the pair could bust their way out of the makeshift prison. For now, however, they seemed content to play his little game.

The clock is ticking, Bealz. Whatever you’re going to do, do it now.

“If you haven’t noticed, you’ve fallen right into my trap.”

For a brief moment, Crowley thought he saw a hint of a smirk on Principality’s face. He tried to direct one of the drones a bit closer, the pre-installed cameras keeping a steady watch on the rest of the darkened room. There were still some lights, of course. Above all else, this was a performance , and the audience needed to see what was going on if it was going to be an effective one.

Before Principality could get a word in edgewise, Archangel stepped forward. Having identified the main camera, the purple caped hero fixed his intense gaze on the lens and proclaimed, “You can’t trap justice. It’s an idea - a belief.”

Crowley resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Really? This is what was going down? A battle of empty words and overused clichés between himself and the “king” of all ego-inflated, self-important superheroes. This is the sort of thing people cheered for in the streets? Pathetic. 

“Even the most heartfelt belief can be corroded over time,” Crowley pointed out, mirroring Principality’s amused smirk. Was he actually having fun with this? Enjoying not having to be the one in the center spotlight, for once? While the villain had thoroughly enjoyed his break, he had missed their verbal dance. Perhaps Principality didn’t find it as entertaining as he had. If he thought the hero might listen to him, Crowley would suggest the angel take a vacation of his own. He sure as hell deserved it, dealing with these pinheads all week long.

“ Justice is a non-corrosive metal.”

Crowley almost lost character listening to that statement. He couldn’t be serious. What kind of person actually thought this was cool?

“But metals can be melted by the heat of re-vange.”

Archangel scowled and Crowley resisted the urge to turn around and look at Anathema. He knew if he did, they both might break. “It’s revenge and it’s best served cold.”

What had this day turned into? Crowley could see it now - there would be no end to the taunting and laughter tonight at their post-kidnapping dinner. Crowley and Anathema made a habit of spending time with each other after she’d been rescued to go over the day’s events and today would be no different. Who was this man? It had to be an act - had to be. No one in real life said things like this.

What was the most ridiculous thing Crowley could say - something that even the high and mighty Archangel couldn’t come back from? Surely, there had to be something. 

He went with the first thought that came to mind, ridiculous as it might sound. “But it can easily be reheated in the microwave of evil .”

“Well, I think your warranty is about to expire.”

“Maybe I got an extended warranty.”

Archangel lifted a finger to point directly at the camera, the lines on his face drawn tight beneath his mask. “Warranties are invalid if you don’t use the product for its intended purpose.”

Behind him, Anathema let out a loud groan. Crowley turned around, the grin he’d been trying so hard to hold back slipping onto his face for just a moment at her exasperated look. “Oh, girls, girls. You’re both pretty. Can I go home now?”

Turning back to the camera, Crowley gave his most mischievous grin. “Of course. That is, if these dashing heroes can withstand the full, concentrated power of the sun. ”

Crowley had no audio feed to the crowd still gathered in front of Host Tower, but if this were some kind of movie, this would be the moment where the audience would gasp in horror. He’d never pulled off this kind of stunt before - never threatened anyone with actual bodily harm. What did the public think of him now? Had he done a good enough job convincing them of his plan, or could they see right through the farce. 

Better yet, what did Archangel think? What did Principality think?

“Fire!”

He lifted a finger, pointing it directly at Minion who slammed his hand down on the lever with as much flare as a potted plant could muster. 

Nothing happened.

Of course, nothing was supposed to happen. That was the whole point. This was the moment in his plan where things went wrong and he gave the heroes a chance to escape. Even if they didn’t get out “in time” the blast of light that would eventually be coming their way wasn’t supposed to be anything more than that. Like he’d promised Anathema, the worst it would do was blind them for a minute and then they’d be totally fine. They'd break their way out of the dome he’d trapped them in and start their frantic search. He’d drop clues, of course, leading them as far away from Host Tower as he could, and when one of them got too close for comfort, Crowley would make his grand escape.

For a brief moment, Archangel and Principality stared at him through the camera. Crowley saw the blonde haired man glance over at his companion, as if looking for guidance, but Archangel said nothing. He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, cape billowing behind him although there was certainly no breeze to be found in the air tight space. Waiting.

Heaving a sigh, Crowley made his way over to Minion, pretending like he was checking in on the progress of the device. “Minion?” he asked the plant in a hushed tone that he knew still carried to all who might be listening. 

It’s uh… Minion hesitated, and for a moment, Crowley feared they had forgotten their lines. But, just as faithful as Anathema, the philodendron plowed ahead in perfect rhythm. It’s still warming up, sir.

“Warming up?” He thought this part in particular was genius. A hilarious failure he had hoped might make Principality laugh. Or smile, at the very least. But here with Archangel at his side, the hero seemed on edge. The furthest thing from happy Crowley had seen in some time. “The sun is warming up? ”

One second more… and juuuusssst a little bit…..a tiny, tiensey bit more….and we are almost there...

“Enough of this nonsense,” Archangel declared, finally turning to acknowledge the fact that Principality was even in the room with him. “Start cutting us a way out of here. The second we break through, Serpent, mark my words there will be Hell to pay for this interruption.”

Crowley resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Even if Archangel knew exactly where he was - which he didn’t - Crowley could take him in a fight. Well, probably. Given enough advanced notice and time to scurry back down to his lab and grab some of the prototype weapons he’d been working on. And maybe that shield. And probably those heat signature goggles, now that he was thinking about it. Archangel wasn’t necessarily the easiest villain to beat in a fight.

“Um, sir?”

For a moment, Crowley thought Minion had been the one to say something, and was surprised to hear the sound coming not from the mech suit’s built-in speaker system, but from the monitors on the opposite side of the room.

It was Principality speaking, not Minion. 

Archangel whirled around to face Principality and Crowley felt a sudden anger burning in his stomach as he listened to their conversation.

“Sir,” Principality was saying in a quiet voice that was just barely picked up by the microphones planted around the room. “I can’t use my powers with you in here with me. Cutting through metal is difficult - it could backfire if I’m not careful and while my powers won’t hurt me, I could inadvertently injure you in the process and -”

Archangel took a step forward and Crowley felt the sudden urge to punch the smug look right off the bastard’s face. “Then I suggest you be careful, Principality. We wouldn’t want you to be the cause of an accident, now would we?”

The way he said those words sent a chill down Crowley’s spine. Heavens, he knew he hated Archangel, but this was something new. What an absolute bastard. How did Principality put up with him?

“Right.” The voice was soft and small and didn’t sound anything like the brave hero Crowley had come to know. He watched in surprise as Principality turned around and faced the metallic wall once more. The hero spread his wings wide and summoned his spectral sword before plunging it straight into the steel standing before him.

Archangel began talking to Crowley after that, but the villain wasn’t listening. Something about what he was going to do to “The Serpent” once the pair got out, but Crowley didn’t care. He was too busy watching Principality, his eyes transfixed, not on the brightly colored sword or the sparks flying from the wall where it made contact, but on the singed, smoking feathers that continued to take the brunt of the attack as they did their best to shield Archangel from harm.

“Your plan is failing,” Anathema sighed, drawing Crowley’s attention away from the monitor just for a moment. “Just admit it.”

Minion turned their suit around to face Anathema. With a wry smile in their voice, they declared, yeah, good luck with that one.

“Whose side are you on?” Crowley accused, the anger melting away momentarily as he bantered back and forth with his friends. It was incredible, to him, the differences he now saw between Principality and himself. Who would have thought a villain might have friends to put him at ease while a hero stood his ground alone? What kind of world did they live in?

“The losing side,” Anathema taunted and Crowley barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. Their script had essentially been tossed out the window, with the interference of Archangel, but both Anathema and Minion played along with the improvised situation like they’d been doing this sort of thing their whole lives. 

Thank you, Minion responded, causing Anathema to grin. At least she looked like she was having fun. They both did.

“Can someone stamp my ‘frequent kidnapping card’? I’m really hoping I’ll be able to cash it in later this month.”

Crowley chuckled, forcing it to take on a more evil tone to cover up the sudden joy that was welling up inside of him. For a moment, he could forget about the heroes hell bent on stopping him and just be in the moment with his friends, playing their little game of make-believe. “Oh-hohohoho. You of all people know we discontinued that promotion ages ago,” he muttered before turning back to Minion and waving at him to ‘wrap things up’. “Ciao, ciao all.”

“See you next week!” Anathema called over her shoulder as Crowley pretended to make an exit. He turned around at the last minute and focused back on the two heroes. Principality was still fighting to cut through the wall, only having managed to slice a small red scar perpendicular to the floor. He was straining, sweat pouring from his brow as his arms shook with the effort, Archangel standing beside him, not lifting a finger to help.

“What is taking so long?” Archangel barked as he spun around to face his companion. Once again, Crowley felt that familiar rage beginning to surface. How dare this hero treat Principality in such a way. Sure, he was Crowley’s nemesis, but he was by far the best hero out there. He didn’t deserve to be shit on like this. No one did. Especially not someone like Principality. 

“Trying, sir,” the hero huffed, his foot slipping out from underneath him for a moment. Crowley felt his stomach seize as he expected Principality to fall flat on his face, but the hero caught himself and regrouped in the blink of an eye, letting out a stifled grunt as he fought to move the sword through the dense material.

A soft whirring caught the villain’s attention. Crowley’s eyes flickered over to the screen in front of minion. The machine he’d set up was no real harm to them. He’d made sure of it - tested it on himself half a dozen times. He knew neither one of them would be harmed by it. And yet - fear suddenly bubbled up inside of him. What if he was wrong? What if he miscalculated? What if something unexpected happened? Did having two people in the chamber instead of one alter the calculations? Was the fact that they had different powers than him enough to change the outcome?

Come on, the villain found himself chanting in his head as the progress bar ticked upwards, faster now, it seemed, than it had before. Come one. Break through. You can do it.

The whirring grew louder, lights and dials flashing and spinning at a faster pace. It was all for show. Crowley knew it was all for show, and still, he couldn’t find a way to keep his heart from pounding. Couldn’t find a way to keep the panic from rising.

“Put your back into it!” The older superhero barked and Crowley found himself rushing towards the nearest table, cutting off the broadcast from his end so no one could see what he did next.

“Is everything ok?” He heard Anathema ask quietly, as the villain fumbled around on the desk for something to help them.

“Yes, yes, quite alright,” he assured her as the man picked up and threw down several scraps of metal and plastic before he found what he was looking for. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Principality had cut through another side of their escape door, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going fast enough to beat the charge of energy that was about to strike the pair and Crowley wasn’t about to let his hero get hurt more than he already had been.

Not on his watch.

He slammed his finger down on the big red button in his hand and watched with relief as the opening to the observatory began to recede once more just as Archangel slammed his fist into the wall beside him. Crowley couldn’t have timed it better. There was no way to prove he had aided them at all - the self-centered bastard would think it was all thanks to him, no doubt.

 Without a second thought, Principality scooped up Archangel in his arms and propelled them both toward the opening just as a beam of white light slammed itself into the side of the observatory, sending a shockwave out in all directions, startling dozens of seagulls up into the air, flying in all directions. Crowley and Anathema both were forced to turn away in an attempt to avoid being blinded by the show. The villain’s heart was beating wildly inside his chest as thoughts began racing through his mind. 

Had Principality and Archangel gotten out ok? Was the blast supposed to be that strong? He hadn’t remembered it being so bright before, but he’d only tested a prototype in his basement. He’d had to make some adjustments to get the beam to fire over a much longer distance. What if that had been too much? What if he had killed them both?

When the dust settled and the light cleared from the sky, Crowley turned back toward the observatory. The building was still standing, to his relief, and he saw no signs of either hero anywhere.

Surely that meant they were alright.

“You should get going.”

Crowley turned around to see Anathema’s dark brown gaze upon him. She spoke softly, as if she still wasn’t entirely sure the microphone system had been shut off properly. He was touched at the reminder of how careful she was with his secret identity, even now.

“The heroes will know where that beam came from,” he explained as she caught sight of the confusion on his face. “They will be on their way to rescue me right now. You don’t have much time.”

Crowley nodded, the shock of what had just transpired still coursing through him. “Right,” he managed to choke out as he fumbled for the buttons on his belt, lifting a hood up over his face before pressing down on one and watching in awe as the black material vanished before his eyes. A bit of invisible car technology to aid in his and Minion’s escape. “We still on for dinner?”

Even though she couldn’t see him anymore, Anathema fixed her eyes on him and gave him a gentle smile. “So long as you don’t get yourself caught.” They shared a quiet laugh, knowing that as long as he left before the pair of heroes arrived, he would certainly be safe from prison this time.

“Right,” Crowley found himself repeating again, not sure what else to say. He had a feeling they would have a lot to talk about later that evening. “Give Principality my love.”

Again, she smiled. “I always do. Now get lost, before you’re forced to tell him yourself.”

With one final glance over his shoulder, Crowley made for the door, stepping over the unconscious body of that nerdy looking young man. He was still breathing. Archangel and Principality had made it out with minor injury to either of them. Anathema would be rescued, as always, and the heroes would spend the better half of the afternoon with all feet on the ground looking to bring him to justice.

All in all, not nearly as disastrous as it could have been. And for that, Crowley was truly grateful.

Chapter Text

Sunday could not get here fast enough. Especially after the day Aziraphale had experienced prior.

Sarah’s welcome to The Host had been an absolute nightmare. She hadn’t even been allowed to finish her demonstration before disaster struck. Why The Serpent had to pick that day of all possible days, he would never understand. What was the villain trying to accomplish? Why kidnap Anathema in the middle of such a huge event? What purpose did such a thing serve?

Aziraphale still had no clue how the villain had managed to grab his friend right out from under his nose. She had been right there , standing before his very eyes. Aziraphale had looked away for a second and then she was gone. 

They’d gotten her back, of course. After the villain had shot off that laser beam, he’d given away his location. Aziraphale and Archangel had made a beeline for the warehouse after their narrow escape and had arrived to find Anathema unharmed and The Serpent gone. Vanished without a trace.

There had been another man there - stunned and unconscious on the floor. If Aziraphale had to guess, he’d been another innocent caught in the crossfire. Someone The Serpent had not been expecting to show up, so the villain had attacked to take him out of the equation. For a moment, Archangel had assumed the man was in on the kidnapping and had wanted Aziraphale to take him back to Host Tower for further questioning. Anathema stood her ground against the hero - something Aziraphale had always admired about her. It didn’t take long for Archangel to see the...errors in his ways.

All in all, it had been an exhausting day, and one that still didn’t make complete sense. After tossing and turning all night, those questions that had begun nagging softly at the back of his mind had turned into an all out rumble. How had The Serpent gotten his hands on Anathema without anyone noticing? Had his plan really been to try and eliminate both Aziraphale and Archangel with his sun ray? It had certainly looked that way, but in all his years of facing off against the villain, he’d never known The Serpent to be intentionally harmful. And what about their grand escape at the end? Aziraphale had been using all of his strength to try and cut through that wall. He would have been able to do it eventually, but not with enough time to escape the blast. Yet, Archangel had simply struck the side of the wall with his ultraviolet energy and gotten the door to open? How had his powers been able to do that?

It didn’t make any sense.

Aziraphale shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his mind. He would not be thinking of any of that today. With his new assignment as Sarah’s mentor, Archangel had switched his schedule around. Tuesday became Sunday and he was not expected to suit up at all the second half of the weekend, which meant only one thing.

The hero had scheduled himself a date.

Just the thought of seeing Crowley again sent a thrill through the man. They’d spent such a short time together and already, Aziraphale was finding the copper haired man sneaking his way into Aziraphale’s thoughts. A day hardly went by where he didn’t think of his new friend at least half a dozen times.

Is that what they were? Friends? Was that what Aziraphale wanted them to be?

You, uh - you want to go on a second date?

Heat filled the hero’s cheeks at the memory. He’d wanted their previous lunch to be a date, but Aziraphale hardly dared to presume. He had no clue how to go about this dating thing and, despite how little they still knew about each other, Aziraphale found he was rather frightened of doing or saying the wrong thing.

Maybe he wanted them to be more than friends after all. Or, at the very least, he wanted to get to know Crowley more - to figure out if pursuing a relationship with him was worth all the risks that went along with it. 

And what better way to get to know the man than with a lovely summer picnic in the park?

Aziraphale’s stomach churned the whole time he was getting things ready. What if Crowley didn’t like the food he packed? What if the weather reporters got it wrong and rain moved in? What if Crowley was allergic to grass or hated being out in the sun?

There were so many things that could go wrong. So many thoughts that swirled around his head as Aziraphale locked the door to the bookshop and made his way down to the park. The very same park where The Serpent had gone after the last time he’d escaped from jail. The time he’d taken it upon himself to ruin Aziraphale’s one day off by shooting a bread gun at innocent ducks. The most ridiculous waste of time the hero had ever seen.

This was a terrible idea. What made Aziraphale think he could keep a secret of this magnitude. He could barely go ten minutes without thinking about his villain. There was no doubt -  he was bound to let something slip, and then what? Crowley would know who he was and….and…

And Aziraphale didn’t know what the man might do. He didn’t seem like the type to fawn over any hero, let alone Principality. That was one of the things that had initially drawn Aziraphale to him. Crowley seemed to be just as over this hero/villain situation they’d found themselves in as he was. Maybe, should the worst befall him, Crowley would be amenable to keeping Aziraphale’s secret. Or maybe, he’d tell the entire world and Aziraphale would never be able to live a normal life again.

He should go home, turn around and walk away from this. He still had time - he could swing by Crowley’s shop another day and explain he just wasn’t feeling that well. Or, perhaps Aziraphale could look him up in the phonebook once he got back to the bookshop. He didn’t exactly know the best thing to do in this case, but his worry was mounting with every step. Aziraphale knew he had to do something before this day turned into a complete disaster. He just had to.

Somehow, someway, as Aziraphale rounded the last corner and that familiar freckled face came into view, he found all his fears vanish with the summer breeze.

“Aziraphale!”

Crowley’s joy soared through him and Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from grinning back. He gave the man a friendly wave with his free hand, as the other muscular arm held both the picnic blanket and a basket filled to the brim with food and a bottle of Rose tucked safely at the bottom.

“Saved us a spot, I see?” Aziraphale asked as he approached. Sure enough, Crowley had already laid out a makeshift blanket of his own, made out of a faded black jacket and what looked like a hand-knit scarf. Although, the hero struggled to understand what Crowley would be doing with either item in the middle of summer.

The man shrugged with a gentle smile. “Figured you’d like a nice view of the lake. Depending on how long we stay, we might get to see a show. The science center is doing a summer camp this week and apparently the kids are racing boats this afternoon made out of cardboard and duct tape.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows as he placed the basket down on the ground and started to lay out the blanket in the place Crowley had chosen. “Really? I hadn’t heard anything about it. Not that I should have,” he amended as the blanket settled upon the grass and Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to take his seat. “Outside of work and my bookshop, I don’t see much else of the city.”

His heart leapt in his chest as once again, Crowley offered him a bright smile. His short hair was styled with some kind of gel, causing it to stick up just at the front. The way it fluttered ever so slightly in the wind was endearing and Aziraphale wondered, for a brief moment, if he should have spent more time preparing his own appearance, rather than spend it all fretting over what to bring. 

“It’s pretty fun,” Crowley remarked, leaning back with his palms flat against the blanket behind him as support. Legs splayed out in front of him, Aziraphale realized just how tall this man really was. Of course, Aziraphale wasn’t that far behind, but where his overall appearance came across as a bit stocky, Crowley was lean and fit and far more stylish than Aziraphale would ever be.

It made him wonder, just what was this man doing here with him, of all people?

“They do it every summer. A few years back, parents started bringing dishes to share and it sort of turned into a big festival. They give out trophies and everything to the winning team.”

“Huh,” Aziraphale remarked as he settled in beside Crowley. His blue eyes turned to gaze out across the water, spotting the very set of picnic tables where the event would be taking place in just a few hours. “How did you hear about it?” he asked, curiously. “I thought you were new to the area.”

A light flush made its way across Crowley’s cheeks as the man sat up momentarily, lifting a hand to brush at the hair at the base of his neck. “I - uh. I am. Sort of. I mean,” he heaved a great sigh and offered up what Aziraphale assumed was an apologetic smile. “I’m new to that part of town - where I set up my shop. I’ve lived here in the city my entire life. Well, the south side mostly. ‘S where I was born and raised.”

“How delightful,” Aziraphale beamed, reaching forward to begin unpacking the basket. It wasn’t as if he minded one way or another if Crowley was new to the city. So long as they were talking and he was learning more about the man, the hero was happy. “I’ve lived the majority of my life here as well. My family moved here when I was six and we’ve been here ever since.”

“Big family?”

The question came as a bit of a surprise to Aziraphale, although he supposed it shouldn’t have. It was a completely reasonable thing to ask about considering where the conversation had started. “Small,” he replied, offering up some grapes - a mixture of red and green as he hadn’t known which Crowley preferred. A pair of thin fingers reached out and plucked three of the green ones from the container, hesitating just a moment before Crowley popped them into his mouth. “Just me and my parents. They tried for more, but it just wasn’t in the cards, I suppose.”

“Only child, eh?” The knowing smile Crowley flashed him sent butterflies erupting inside Aziraphale’s stomach. Was the other man trying to flirt with him? Should Aziraphale flirt back? How did one do that exactly? Were there books on that sort of thing? And if so, why hadn’t he thought to look into them before now? If there were any occasion for such a thing, it would be this. “Another thing we have in common, then. No siblings here either.”

He couldn’t explain why, but Aziraphale felt a sense of comfort in hearing that. He’d spent so much of his life alone - partially because he had parents too busy with work to spend much time with him, and partially because he’d become a superhero at the age of seventeen. No one had forced him to keep the secret from his parents, but doing so only made sense. The fewer people who knew that he was Principality, the better. 

Crowley may not understand the loneliness that came with a secret that great, but he could at least understand what it was like to grow up on his own. It was something, which was more than Aziraphale had with anyone else.

“Just you and your parents too?”

A flicker of something stirred behind those hazel eyes. For the briefest of moments, the hero thought he must have said something wrong. Had Crowley tensed up there for a moment, or had it been a trick of the light? Did mentioning his parents bring up bad memories? Or had the man simply spotted a bug nearby and was waiting for it to pass.

Before he could fully register it, the moment passed and Crowley was offering up another soft smile. “Just me and my mum. Never knew my dad. Never really missed the guy. Mum and I did just fine on our own.”

If Aziraphale wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of wistfulness to his voice, wasn’t there? Part of him wanted to press a little further and the other part warned that if he did, Crowley might decide it was best to simply get up and walk away and Aziraphale would have blown his chance.

And so, the hero kept his mouth shut. Better safe than sorry.

“They still around?” A hint of relief began to spread through Aziraphale as Crowley stayed on topic. If he had abruptly switched it, the hero might have worried he’d already stepped too far, but Crowley hadn’t. He still wanted to learn more about Aziraphale’s family. That had to be a good sign, right?

“My parents?” Aziraphale asked in clarification. “They retired a few years back. Moved down south to be in the warmer weather. I still make a point to visit once a year, whenever work allows it.”

He hadn’t meant it to, but Aziraphale’s voice had most certainly soured at the mention of his work. Had Crowley caught onto it? If he had, what would he think?

At the sound, Crowley turned his head, but instead of questioning Aziraphale on his work, the man simply offered him a smile, making Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat. How was he so gorgeous? The afternoon sun peeking in through the trees cast dappled light across his entire face, turning sections of his hair a brilliant reddish-orange. Every strand of hair appeared to have a distinct shade, all blending together in a bright, textured rainbow of reds.

For a moment, Aziraphale worried that might be the end of the conversation. He had so many things he still wanted to learn about Crowley and no idea how to go about asking for the information. But then his date leaned forward, grabbed a stack of cheese and crackers that he was barely able to hold between two fingers, and began to talk.

They talked about everything . They talked about their hobbies - about the bookshop and Crowley’s garden. They talked about places they wanted to visit and things they wanted to do before they got too old. Aziraphale learned that Crowley had never been out of the country, and he’d always dreamed of seeing the northern lights - despite the fact that he hated the cold.

“I’m convinced I’m actually cold-blooded,” the man teased with a wild grin. They’d broken into the wine already and were watching eagerly as the summer camp kids began showing up with cardboard monstrosities in tow. “Put me outside in the sun and I’ll find the comfiest rock to curl up and sleep on, but stick me outside in the middle of winter? I’ll lose feeling in my fingers and toes before you can even blink an eye.”

They talked about their favorite restaurants and foods they liked to cook. Aziraphale admitted, a bit sheepishly, that he wasn’t all that good at cooking his own food and without missing a beat, Crowley offered to cook for him some day. Just another casual date idea that made Aziraphale’s palms sweat and his heart race. It seemed everything Crowley did made him feel like he was soaring high over the city, watching the sun set across the horizon for the very first time.

As the conversation flowed through its natural twists and turns, Aziraphale found himself so enthralled in Crowley that he was forgetting to eat. Every once in a while, the man would feel the familiar grumble of his stomach and he would reach out and grab a handful of whatever looked most appetizing in the moment. He’d take a bite, settle back onto the blanket, placing his hand just a fraction of an inch closer to Crowley’s. Aziraphale tried to act casual, but internally, his mind was screaming at him to just grab onto Crowley’s hand. You’re a superhero, for goodness sakes. You fly into burning buildings and stop bank robberies and go toe to toe with people who can summon storms of fire and plagues of insects, and yet you’re too afraid to hold this man’s hand? What is wrong with you?

It was just - Crowley was so handsome, and smart, and funny. Everything he said seemed to make Aziraphale smile or laugh out loud. The sun was slowly starting to sink through the sky. The summer camp students had slipped their boats into the water and were going over the rules once more before starting their race. Aziraphale probably only had a few more hours with Crowley. They’d made plans for lunch, after all, not dinner. When was he going to see the man again? Did Crowley want to see him again? He’d offered to cook them both dinner sometime, but maybe he’d meant a group sort of dinner, with Anathema and his other friends.

Just ask him. Aziraphale did his best to hide the frown currently creeping onto his face. Why did this all have to be so difficult? Being with Crowley was so easy. Talking to him, laughing with him, learning more about him. Aziraphale found he wanted to do it every day. Forget being a hero. Forget working for The Host. Aziraphale would give all that up if it meant he could keep feeling this way.

Minus all the anxieties and uncertainties, of course.

“Pass the tarts please?”

And so polite. Aziraphale had never run into anyone apart from himself that minded their manners so closely. In all the time they’d been here, he didn’t think Crowley had made a single demand of him. The man always attached a polite ‘please’  or ‘if you don’t mind’ to each of his requests and Aziraphale was happy to oblige him. He would have given Crowley anything, if he’d asked.

Was this what falling for someone felt like? Aziraphale had never been in a relationship before. He’d never been in love before. Aziraphale didn’t think he was in love now, but he could see how he might be, someday, with this handsome man sitting beside him, scooting closer as the whistle sounded and the children took off with their makeshift paddles and boats, racing from one side of the pond to the other and back.

He could see how, someday, he might find himself in love with this man who had just laid his hand atop Aziraphale’s and leaned in to rest his head gently on the hero’s shoulder.

Good heavens, Aziraphale panicked as he felt the bright copper hairs brush at the side of his neck. What do I do?  What should I say? Did Crowley want him to do something? Or was he happy to simply sit here and watch as the race continued? Already, two of the half dozen teams had sunk beneath the waves, their neon life vests turning them into brightly colored apples bobbing up and down in the wakes.

Slowly, so he could pull back if Crowley reacted in an unfavorable way, Aziraphale shifted his hand so it was facing up. He shifted his fingers apart ever so slightly and Crowley filled in the space immediately, intertwining their hands and giving his a gentle squeeze that sent butterflies erupting in Aziraphale’s stomach. It was a sensation unlike any he’d ever experienced and the hero found himself wanting more.

“Would you tell me something?” Crowley murmured softly, his head still resting gently on Aziraphale’s shoulder as Aziraphale’s thumb began to softly brush against the back of his hand. “Something you’ve never told anyone before.”

Aziraphale paused for a moment, knowing that he would happily do so, but struggling to come up with anything that wasn’t ‘I’m a superhero. Have been for the past fifteen years or so. But don’t you worry. I can be a normal guy, just like you! ’

“I hate my job.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them and Aziraphale tensed, half expecting Archangel to jump out of the bushes and reprimand him, but the only thing that happened was a soft squeeze of his hand as Crowley shifted his head around to look up at him.

“Then quit.”

The response was so simple, Aziraphale almost laughed out loud. He almost did, except for the lightning fast realization that Crowley wasn’t joking.

“Some days, I wish I could,” the man sighed, thinking about how different his life would be if he chose to leave his Hero identity behind for good. How much free time he’d have. How many new things he could try.

How many people might be hurt because he wasn’t there to save them.

“But it’s not that simple. I’m important.” Wow. How conceited did that sound? “I mean, what I do is important. I’m the only one that can do what I do, and if I’m not there - if people get hurt - I just can’t let that happen. Not while I’m still able to help.” He took a deep breath and sighed, not really expecting Crowley to understand, but needing to get the words out anyways. “The work may be exhausting, and the people I work with might be insufferable sometimes, but at the end of the day, I’m helping people. I’m saving people’s lives. And I can’t give that up. Not yet. I can’t just quit. It’s not that simple.”

Crowley was quiet for a while. Long enough for Aziraphale to start to worry he’d said something wrong. But the man’s hand still lay firmly entwined with his and he was making no move to pull away. 

Eventually, the other man sat up and turned his head. Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his throat as he gazed into those bright hazel eyes. Crowley’s face was so close - closer than it had ever been before and Aziraphale found himself yearning to lean forward and close the distance between them. To feel the other man’s lips on his and find out once and for all if they really were as soft and gentle as they looked.

He’d only ever kissed one person before, about a year before he became Principality. An older student at school had asked him out to prom at the end of the year. Not wanting to seem rude, and not having anyone else to go with, Aziraphale had agreed. They’d had a nice time and he’d walked her to her door, like any gentleman would. She’d kissed him goodnight with a smile and a wave and Aziraphale had felt nothing. Confusion was the closest emotion he found himself stewing over on his drive home, wondering why he hadn’t felt any spark like all the books he’d read had mentioned.

There were sparks now. The two men weren’t doing anything more affectionate than holding hands and Aziraphale felt like he might combust any second. Did he affect Crowley in this same way, or were these feelings entirely his own? How in the world was he supposed to find that out? How in the world was he supposed to do any of this?

Crowley blinked and smiled. Squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and whispered, “it could be,” so softly, it was barely a tickle of breath across his skin.

This was his sign. This was Aziraphale’s chance to kiss Crowley. It was what the man wanted, wasn’t it? Why else would he be sitting so close? Holding Aziraphale’s hand and looking at him this way? There could be no other explanation.

Aziraphale wanted to kiss Crowley, but a sudden panic welled up inside of him. What if it wasn’t as good as he’d made it up to be in his head? What if Aziraphale wasn’t a good kisser? What if he kissed Crowley and the other man didn’t feel a spark? What if Crowley decided this just wasn’t working out and walked away?

He was a coward. At the very last moment, Aziraphale turned away with the pretense of wanting to see how the race was faring. He kept a tight hold of Crowley’s hand, not wanting the man to think that he wasn’t interested at all, wishing he’d had the courage to take that first leap.

“What about you?” the hero found himself asking as he turned back toward Crowley. Relief washed through him as he saw the man smiling. “Now you tell me something. What is something you’ve never told anyone?”

Again, Crowley was silent for a long time. Long enough for the water race to finish and the winners to be crowned. Aziraphale thought, maybe Crowley wasn’t going to say anything at all, and then the man sighed quietly, brushing his thumb gently against the back of Aziraphale’s hand as he began to speak.

“My mom left when I was seventeen.” His eyes fell to the picnic blanket, glazing over at the emptied containers of fruits and cheeses and pastries, until they landed at a spot by his feet. “And it’s my fault.”

“Oh Crowley…” What a terrible thing to have to go through. Aziraphale couldn’t even imagine. Beside him, the red-haired man drew his shoulders in a bit, moving to slip his hand out from Aziraphale’s. Without thinking, Aziraphale chased after it, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach for once as the other man looked up in surprise. 

“I am so sorry that happened to you,” Aziraphale murmured, once again moving his thumb to brush against the back of Crowley’s hand. His eyes flickered down for a moment, marveling at the thick veins and galaxy of copper marking scattered across the back of it. Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale looked back up, meeting the man’s gaze. “And I won’t pretend to understand what that feels like. I understand I have no concept. But I refuse to believe it was your fault she left. How could it be, when you’re so amazing?”

Crowley chuckled, a bit sadly, but Aziraphale could see the smallest hint of a blush creeping up the side of his neck. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Aziraphale.” He sounded sincere, but Aziraphale’s heart still sank inside his chest. He’d messed up, somehow. Aziraphale could sense it. He had overstepped a boundary and Crowley was going to say a polite ‘thanks, but no thanks’ and this would be it. He’d lose his shot before he even had a chance.

“‘S very noble of you, ya know?” A soft smile peeked out at him and Aziraphale's heart stuttered in his chest. Please don’t tell me you want me to leave. I’ve only just started getting to know you. I don’t want to have to say goodbye.

“We’d gotten into this huge fight,” Crowley explained as his hand squeezed tightly around Aziraphale’s for just a moment. Cheers could be heard erupting from across the park as all the summer camp students crowded around the teams and their new trophies. “It was so... stupid. ” Crowley laughed, and empty and hollow sound and Aziraphale found he never wanted to hear that sound again. “She wanted me to go to college. I had other grand plans. We argued and I said some things I shouldn’t and, she just left.”

The man offered Aziraphale a weak smile, as if such a thing could make his story any better. Aziraphale had the sudden desire to wrap Crowley up in a hug, place a soft kiss on his forehead, and promise never to leave him. For a second date, the action seemed a bit extreme, but that didn’t mean the hero didn’t still want it.

“I’ve been alone ever since,” the man continued, at first with a somber look on his face that slowly turned soft as he looked up at Aziraphale. “Well, not entirely alone. Anathema and I have been friends for years now. She’s always around to hang out if I ever find myself feeling down. And she’s good company for holidays and such - for the ones she's in town for, anyways.”

“Is she in town a lot?” Aziraphale found himself asking before he could think the whole question through. What if Crowley’s answer was no? What was his plan then? Invite Crowley to spend the holidays with him ?

On second thought, would that be so bad?

“For most of them, yeah,” Crowley nodded. “Usually the only one I really spend by myself is Christmas. She goes down south to visit family then.”

Aziraphale nodded in return, trying his very best to push past the rapid increase of his heartbeat and the sudden lump that had formed in his throat. Was there any wine left? Or some water he could use to take care of his suddenly parched mouth?

Be brave, Aziraphale. You are a superhero. You face down villains all the time. You can do this 

“You’re welcome to spend Christmas with me this year, if you like,” Aziraphale offered before he could chicken out a second time in the same afternoon. “You know - if we’re still. I mean, if you wanted -”

Goodness. It was no wonder he’d never had a boyfriend before. Aziraphale was a bumbling mess. How did people do this all the time ? He would never understand it.

And then Crowley looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes reflected the mid-afternoon sun, turning the hazel into a soft, dark amber. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered in his chest as the other man smiled, murmuring softly in the space between them.

“Yeah. I’d love that. If we - like you said. If we’re still…”

He trailed off, realizing that, like Aziraphale, he didn’t know what they were either. Was Crowley his boyfriend? Did he want to be? Would partner be a more preferred term? Perhaps something else entirely. How was he supposed to know? How did he say the right thing so that Crowley would say ‘yes’? 

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale smiled, gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze and offered, “if we’re still us?”

Crowley grinned and Aziraphale did the bravest thing he’d ever done in his life. He tightened his grip on the other man’s hand, leaned in closer, and placed his lips gently on Crowley’s cheek. It was a soft kiss, so soft that Aziraphale was barely able to feel the itch of the stubble just beginning to grow there. But it filled him with so much warmth and joy that it took every ounce of his superhuman strength to pull himself back.

Is this alright? Please say it’s alright. I want this oh so very much, but I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’m so worried I’ll do something wrong, even though everything about this just feels right.

He sounded like an idiot, and for a moment Aziraphale was glad Crowley was just a normal human being and not someone with superpowers. Imagine how embarrassing it would be to find out his panic and uncertainty had been on display this whole time. 

The contented sigh he heard in the space between them told Aziraphale everything he needed to know. Crowley wanted this - wanted him . He was happy. He wanted them to be an ‘ us’ . He wanted them to be together. 

“If we’re still us. Yes. I’d love to spend Christmas with you.”

It was a date, and Aziraphale had a feeling it would be far from their next one. He had a feeling he would be seeing quite a bit more of Crowley now and the hero couldn’t be happier. 

Chapter Text

There was no League of Villains, despite what all the comics and tv shows and the media might say. There was no secret lair where they all met up on Thursday nights to discuss whatever dastardly deeds they had planned for the next week. No secret fortress cloaked in invisibility and surrounded by impenetrable walls. For the most part, the villains of this city operated independently of each other, and only asked for assistance if their particular skill set wasn’t up to the task. 

The fact that Beelzebub was calling him less than a week after he’d “kidnapped” Anathema asking for another favor meant nothing. There was no League of Villains. And if there was, it certainly wouldn’t be headed by Beelzebub, of all people. 

“Last time I checked,” Crowley replied with a hint of a smirk filtering into his voice, “you were the one who owed me a favor. Not the other way around.”

Only able to hear one side of the conversation, but having enough information to put the pieces together, Minion stomped over to where Crowley was currently standing. After the successful test run of the mech suit, Minion had officially left their Segway behind. According to them, it was a much better toy than the original device had been, and their new mode of transportation still had wheels that could be activated, should the need to roll around ever arise.

Beelzebub again, sir? There was no need to ask, but Crowley appreciated the excuse to give a dramatic roll of his eyes before placing his hand over the bottom half of the phone. 

“They are sooooo persistent, it’s actually becoming a bit nauseating.”

I can still hear you, you slimy serpent.

Crowley laughed, bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Calm down, Beelz. I’m only joking. But my point still stands. Why do you need my help again?”

Turns out, we didn’t get as far as we would have liked in Host Tower during your little...distraction. We ran into some complications. I can’t say anymore than that.

Crowley scowled. What was the point in him helping them if they wouldn’t even reveal what all of this is for? “Listen, I’d love to help. Really I would, but today’s no good. I’ve got an afternoon jam packed with prototyping and developmental tests and a hot date this evening, so maybe check back again next week.”

The first part was absolutely a lie. Until Crowley had any use for new gadgets and gizmos, he wouldn’t be spending any of his free time working on them - unless he thought of something really interesting, like a sludge gun that activated with water, or some kind of particle that would stick to clothing, making the invisible visible again.

Actually, those were both pretty good ideas. He should probably write those down. 

The second part of Crowley’s statement was absolutely true. He did have a hot date tonight. At 7pm sharp, he would be showing up to Aziraphale’s bookshop with a bag full of groceries in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other and he would be cooking them both a delicious meal. Apparently, Aziraphale lived in the apartment right above the bookshop and after their wonderful afternoon in the park, he had invited Crowley over for some more quality time together.

I don’t care what you’ve got going on, Serpent. This is far more important.

Pushing down the sudden, wonderful thoughts of time spent with Aziraphale and how warm his lips had felt on Crowley’s cheek and how Crowley wondered if they would still feel as warm were he to summon the courage to actually kiss Aziraphale, the villain released a deep sigh. “Look, I’d love to help, I really would. You know I’ll take any excuse for my genius to be recognized in the way it deserves, but unless you’re willing to tell me what the hell you all have planned, I’m not interested in playing your games anymore.”

Come to The Basement and we’ll talk.

Whatever he expected to hear next, it was not that. The Basement was an underground bar owned by one of the villains - though to this day, Crowley had no idea which one of them it was. He’d been a few times, mostly back when they’d all just been starting out. It had been years since he’d stepped foot into that building. Perhaps it was time to have a little meet-up with Beelzebub. Crowley would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t curious about what was clearly going on behind the scenes. This seemed to be the best way to find out.

And so, less than an hour later, Crowley found himself sitting in a darkened room with low hanging chandeliers casting a mixture of gold and blue light across the room. There were tables set up around the space, the mismatched assortment of wood all clashing with the grey tiled floor that was so clean Crowley could see his own reflection in it.

He’d worn the newest version of his costume, complete with a light refracting outer component that made him near-invisible when activated. It was the easiest way for him to maneuver through the city with his villain disguise in place where no one would try to have him arrested. The other villains didn’t know his real name or face, just as he didn’t know theirs. Crowley wanted to keep it that way, so even in the midst of the dark, hidden tap house, he kept his disguise firmly in place. Just in case.

There was no League of Villains and this was not a secret lair. It was all just pure coincidence.

“I’m surprised you actually came,” Beelzebub murmured, their gloved hand wrapping itself around the edge of a very large mug of ale. “Mr. Independent, and all that.”

Crowley glanced around the table, first at Vertigo, then at a man he assumed had to be Chameleon. The stranger was sitting there, nursing his own drink, his face constantly shifting from one form into another. It was a subtle thing, one that Crowley hardly noticed when looking directly at the other man, but was strikingly obvious when he looked away and then looked back a few minutes later.

“Clearly, something big is going on here,” Crowley started, wondering for a moment if he should have brought Minion along. He’d debated it for a while but ultimately left the philodendron behind. Crowley was in no danger here. They may not be an organized group of villains, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have each other’s backs. Why waste effort fighting each other when there was a whole host of heroes to take down?

Pun intended. It always was.

“I figured it’s about time I figured out what it is.”

For a moment, Beelzebub and Vertigo simply looked at each other. Beelzebub nodded and Vertigo reached a hand into their pocket and pulled out a small ear-piece looking device, handing it silently over to Crowley. The villain turned it over in his hand, examining what he could from the outside, trying to piece together what it was supposed to do before blindly sticking the thing inside his ear. 

“To keep us from being overheard,” Vertigo explained as Beelzebub and Chameleon each took out their own and placed it in their left ears without a word. Crowley looked around. There were other people in this bar, people not dressed up in fancy costumes. Were there other villains here, hiding among the populace, or did this establishment invite outsiders into its walls? People with similar reputations? Family or friends? Crowley had no idea.

“How’s this thing work, anyways?” Crowley asked as he placed it inside his ear. “It’s not like we need an earpiece to talk to each other. You’re all sitting right here - “

Crowley broke off immediately as he felt the air around him shift. It was subtle, almost imperceptible. He wondered if those without superpowers would even have felt it. Even if they hadn’t, they certainly would have felt the effects of what Vertigo had just done.

It was clever, loathe as he was to admit it. The bit of metal and rubber inside his ear was a stabilizer. Crowley was certain it was the only thing keeping himself, Beelzebub, and Chameleon from growing lightheaded and passing out or doubling over in pain or suffering from whatever other effect Vertigo was currently manifesting.

“I see.” Crowley shut his mouth, pointedly ignoring the amused smirk that Vertigo flashed in Beelzebub’s direction. “So, lay it on me. What dastardly deed have you all been working behind the scenes?”

He expected to see some kind of change in demeanor as he looked over at Beelzebub. They weren’t the leader of the League of Villains, because there was no League of Villains, but if there was anyone among them that would be in charge of a singular, cohesive plan, it would have to be them. Beelzebub didn’t move. There was no satisfied smirk, no frown of annoyance. The red eyes behind their mask were reflecting the colored lights scattered across the room and there were hard lines in their cheeks and across their forehead.

“The ultimate goal is to get our hands on all the secret identities of the heroes in The Host.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. He would have spit out his drink had he decided to order one, but with it barely being eleven in the morning, the villain had opted not to. Steal the secret identities of all the members of The Host? Was that even possible?

“I didn’t think they kept that sort of information,” Crowley remarked, trying to make it sound as offhand as possible. “Last I heard, applicants didn’t even use their full names.”

At this, Beelzebub’s eyes flickered up to Crowley’s, their brow furrowing ever so slightly. Crowley held his ground, trying not to let the minute action shake him. It probably didn’t mean anything. And even if it did, it probably wasn’t that important.

“We’ve been unable to confirm that,” Vertigo picked up where Beelzebub had left off without missing a beat. Like they’d rehearsed this conversation countless times. “But we have reason to believe the records exist. They are likely hidden deep inside The Host’s computer system, which naturally, will have an access point hidden somewhere inside the building.”

Crowley frowned. “Is that what you lot needed the distractions for? To try to sneak your way into Host Tower?” He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, partially wishing he’d been there just to watch them fail. No matter how great their powers were - there was no way a ragtag team of villains was going to be able to break into Host Tower and steal what was likely the highest guarded information in existence. If it even existed in the first place.

“The first time, we were successful,” Chameleon pointed out. Apart from Crowley, he would have been the only other member of this “group” who had been elsewhere during the attempted bank robbery - when Crowley assumed the first event had occurred. “I successfully infiltrated Host Tower and was able to retrieve the most up to date blueprints they had on their server. Our second trip, however, didn’t go exactly as planned.”

Of course. He’d spent all that time and effort to stage a kidnapping and the villains he was doing it for didn’t even get anything out of the event. Why was he not surprised?

“Have a bit of trouble locating their super secret servers, did you?”

Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed. From this proximity, Crowley could still see the glowing red orbs peeking out from beneath a pair of dark lashes. He was almost certain the villain used similar contacts to the ones he was wearing to create a similar effect, but he supposed it was possible their eyes had been changed when they’d first developed their powers. Such things weren’t unheard of. At least, he didn’t think they were. It wasn’t as if he knew anyone well enough to ask.

“We ran into...complications.”

Crowley quirked an eyebrow. How very non-specific of them. “Well, I know for a fact that those complications couldn’t have been related to Principality or Archangel, since I had them on my tail for a better part of the day. I assumed most of the other heroes would have been out and about, too, searching for me.” He paused with a frown, “though I guess I don’t know for sure that’s what they were doing. I had my hands full, you see.”

Beelzebub heaved a great sigh, bringing both of their hands up to fold together on the very edge of the table. “No, no. Your distraction worked fine. Just as I expected it to. We just - “ they paused for a moment, a flicker of what looked like uncertainty crossing through their eyes. “We didn’t expect to run into Myosotis so soon.”

Amber eyes widened. Myosotis? Crowley had heard of the hero - everyone had - but no one had actually seen her before. Not in person. She never came to any of the promotional events, and as far as he could remember, the villain had never seen her involved in any of the altercations since all of this had started nearly seventeen years ago.

“You met Myosotis?” The question slipped out of his mouth before he could apply a filter. Of course they had met the hero. Why else would they have claimed such a thing? “What did she do? How did you get out of there without every news station knowing you’d tried to infiltrate Host Tower?”

“We don’t know.” It was Vertigo’s turn to cut in. Crowley watched in silence as the villain to his right fished around in their pocket for something, finally pulling out a single polaroid photograph and sliding it across the table in Crowley’s direction. “This wasn’t from that day. This was taken about a year ago, by the train station downtown.”

Crowley leaned forward to get a better look. Even in the dim light, he could very clearly see that in the center frame was Beelzebub and a female superhero in her recognizable green and white attire. They were facing off from each other, fists drawn, eyes locked in on their targets, standing in front of the giant clock that hung overtop the station doors.

“Looks like you’re more than enough of a villain to take her,” Crowley remarked, not really understanding where this conversation was going. In terms of stature, Myosotis was slightly taller, though that wasn’t a difficult thing to accomplish when compared with Beelzebub. The cloud of black insects behind them looked far more intimidating than Myosotis’ gloved fists, but it was obvious from their demeanor that Beelzebub had lost this fight. Or, at the very least, not accomplished what they set out to do.

A black, gloved hand reached across the table, placing a single finger on the photograph. Crowley slowly lifted his eyes, meeting Beelzebub’s. “I don’t remember this fight,” they murmured and Crowley found himself hanging onto every word. “I don’t remember ever seeing Myosotis in real life. Chameleon, here, doesn’t remember taking the photograph, but here we are, with solid proof she exists. That we’ve all met her, at least once. And none of us remember.”

Wild. Crowley’s eyes drifted back to the photograph as his mind started to spin. He reached for it, then lifted his gaze to check with Beelzebub first. “May I?” The villain simply nodded their head and Crowley brought the photograph closer to inspect it. He turned it over in his hands, looking for any sign of manipulation or falsification, but there was none. The villains were right. This was an authentic image of Myosotis, likely one of the few out there.

“So how do you know you ran into Myosotis at Host Tower if none of you remember ever meeting her?” It was all so bizarre. How could their memories have been altered to such a degree? Was that a side effect of her powers? Or was something else at work?

“We’ve established a...code of sorts since this photo was taken,” Beelzebub explained. “A way to signal to each other if one of us currently has her in our sights. Or a way to remind ourselves we’ve encountered her, in case we forget.”

Instinctively, Crowley’s eyes fell to Beelzebub’s wrist. There, he noticed for the very first time a thin, leather armband wrapped firmly around their wrist with a black circular disc to one side. A quick glance to either side revealed Vertigo and Chameleon were sporting identical bracelets. 

Without a word, Vertigo extended their arm for Crowley to get a better view. With precise hands, they lifted the edge of the circular portion of the bracelet and flipped it around, revealing the image of a small, blue flower.

“Are you telling me,” Crowley began as his mind began to piece it all together. “That you all forget Myosotis while she’s standing right in front of you?”

For a moment, there was silence as the villains struggled with how to answer his question. 

“Not exactly,” Chameleon finally answered. “We don’t entirely know how it works since we haven’t been able to document any of the encounters but this one. We think the moment she is out of eyesight, all memories associated with her disappear. We also have reason to believe she’s capable of messing with video and digital surveillance. I’ve tried hacking into every system I can think of, looking at events where she might have been, and it all comes up blank. Just an empty, static void of nothing .”

If this was true...this changed everything. A hero that could manipulate people’s memories? How many times had they gone up against her and lost simply because they blinked and forgot she was even there?

Crowley found it hard to believe. Yes, their powers were extraordinary. That was the point of being superhuman, but to completely wipe someone’s memory? It seemed insane, but here they were. What other explanation could there be?

“Alright,” he sighed, realizing he was far too invested in this situation to walk away now. “So your last break-in attempt didn’t go as planned. Myosotis showed up and kicked your butt and you’ve got to try again. What I want to know is, how do I fit in?”

Vertigo reached out and took the photo back, tucking it safely away in the inner pockets of their suit. “We can’t make any plans until we know more about her. This photo was a lucky shot by Chameleon - we can’t count on that same luck to get us what we need. Videos of interactions with her would be ideal, but from what we can tell, she’s able to scramble those from quite the distance. We’re running out of options.”

“Myosotis knows who we are,” Beelzebub continued. “And not all of us have our old identities to fall back on. We need someone to infiltrate Host Tower and do some digging. See if they can’t figure out more about Myosotis, or better yet, find out how it is she’s blocking the cameras from picking up her likeness.”

Crowley didn’t say anything. Not right away. A thought had just occurred to him. What if - it was possible wasn’t it? If he’d been able to figure it out, there was no reason to believe a superhero working for the most powerful man in the city couldn’t have done the same.

After his first visit to prison, Crowley had discovered that the cameras installed all over the joint made his daring escapes a bit less...mysterious. It wasn’t as fun if everyone could see how he escaped, so Crowley had thrown together a little piece of tech. A device he planted under his wig that sent out a signal, jamming any electronic recording equipment within a certain range. He didn’t have to think about it, the device just worked on its own, and each time, he slipped away without anyone realizing how he’d done it.

What if Myosotis did the same thing? What if she had some sort of similar device that prevented others from recording her likeness. Chameleon had been able to snap a single photo, but he’d used a polaroid camera - creating photos using a chemical process, not a digital one.

It was a long shot, but it might be possible. If he could sneak into Host Tower and find out more, maybe he could figure out a way to neutralize it. If this wasn’t just some big hypothetical. If this was a technological effect, and not one of her mysterious powers.

There was only one way to find out.

“Alright,” Crowley nodded. “I’m in. What did you all have in mind?”

The tension that had filtered throughout the room dissipated slightly as the villains once again shared a glance amongst themselves. Crowley felt a soft grin slip its way onto his face. They really had no idea if he was going to agree to help them. As much as Crowley despised the whole concept of Heroes and Villains, it was nice to know he was needed. 

“How do you feel about going on a tour?”

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, you’re busy this afternoon?”

Crowley couldn’t believe it. After years of friendship, Anathema was abandoning him during his hour of need. After over a decade of ‘yesses’ to his outrageous plans, she was saying ‘no’ when he needed her the most.

From the other side of her doorway, Anathema laughed, lifting her hand up to cover her mouth. “I do have a real job, Crowley,” she teased, brown eyes sparkling in amusement. “And I happened to miss a day last weekend because of you, in case you had forgotten.”

Crowley scowled. “That’s hardly my fault,” he pouted, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. “Who works on a Saturday? Honestly…”

Anathema laughed again. At least she was having fun with all of this. Technically speaking, Crowley didn’t need her to come with him. But he’d feel a lot better if she was there. Waltzing into Host Tower without any sort of protection was more than just a little anxiety inducing. Anathema brought, not only her comforting presence, but also the knowledge he’d be with someone who was in good graces with the heroes. Hell, half of them still thought she was Principality’s girlfriend.

“Why don’t you ask Newton to go with you? I’m sure he’d love to take a tour of Host Tower. You must know by now that superheroes are one of his favorite things.”

Crowley did his best to suppress a groan. It wasn’t that he disliked Anathema’s new boyfriend. Newton Pulsifer was fine , he just - well, he was a bit of a nerd. And not in the helpful, endearing way that Crowley was. Newton could be obsessive at times. He rambled on for hours about the most menial things like computers and obscure old cars and he knew entirely too much about The Host and all of their corresponding villains.

Newton Pulsifer was one of those people who as a child had likely borrowed every comic from the library hundreds of times. He’d seen every movie, been to every convention, and likely had a signed collection of action figures lining the shelves in his bedroom. Crowley couldn’t fathom why Anathema was so intrigued by him. Yeah, sure, he’d been there when Crowley had “kidnapped” her and according to Anathema, that was enough to claim he’d been trying to rescue her. That was enough for her to ask him out on a date.

“Please, Crowley?” she asked just a little bit softer, her brown eyes growing wider behind her circular glasses. “It would mean a lot to me if you spent some time with him. I know we’ve only been on a few dates, but I really like this guy. I want you two to be friends.”

Crowley finally released his groan. “Alright, fine. But if we get into any trouble, you’re my one phone call. So you better have it handy.”

Anathema just smiled in a way that made Crowley feel like she knew something he didn’t. She had a habit of doing that more often than he would have preferred, but Crowley supposed that was just part of her charm. 

Then she closed the door in his face and Crowley was left wondering just how he was meant to ask Newton to accompany him without any way of contacting the man.

He should have known Anathema would have put Newton’s number in his phone already, just as he should have known Newton would immediately agree to meet him at Host Tower so they could spend the afternoon going on tour.

“May I help you?”

Crowley’s eyes shifted up to the front desk. They’d made it inside Host Tower without incident, which was to be expected, but was no less astonishing from his point of view. In all these years, Crowley had never once desired to actually come here. What if someone here recognized him without his mask? What if he ran into Principality? Crowley’s secret identity was the only thing he had - it was the only thing keeping him sane. He didn’t know what he’d do if he somehow lost it.

Was that how the other heroes felt? Did they cherish the time they spent just being normal? For the first time, Crowley began to wonder. Just what did the other villains want with the heroes' secret identities? Did they plan to blackmail them? Find out who their families were? Was someone going to get hurt?

Inside, Crowley’s stomach began to churn unpleasantly. He didn’t want to be responsible when Beelzebub kidnapped some innocent kid just because they were related to Archangel or Prism. But he had this deep, nagging suspicion that something big was going on behind the scenes. Something that had been kept hidden for far too long. Something that he and the other villains had the right to know. 

But at what cost?

“Uh, hi,” Newton stepped forward with an awkward smile, wrapping his hand around Crowley’s wrist and dragging him forward. “We were hoping to join the tour starting at 3pm today?”

The woman behind the counter began clicking her fingers across the keys before her. “Name?” she asked, without looking up.

Newton looked over at Crowley, who simply shrugged. He had never done this before and had no idea what the protocol was.

“Um, sorry. We don’t have an appointment,” Newton began, taking a guess as to what she needed their names for. “Is that going to be a problem?”

The woman looked up and sighed. “Sorry, but anyone going on a tour of The Host has to undergo a brief background check. It takes a few hours to complete. If you like, I can get you scheduled for a tour later this week.”

From the corner of his eyes, Crowley saw Newton frown. And not in a frustrated sort of way like Crowley was experiencing. Newton was genuinely upset they wouldn’t be going on this tour. If this wasn’t getting directly in the way of his plans, the man might have laughed.

“And there’s no way to get our names on the list for today?”

The woman shook her head. Crowley was surprised to find that she didn’t seem annoyed. He was sure she must deal with hundreds of crazy fans every day trying to get in to see the place. Tourists from other cities and citizens that simply wanted a chance to see a hero up close and personal. But Newton came across so genuine, that despite how ridiculous such emotions seemed to Crowley, they were obviously appreciated by this woman.

“Unfortunately, no. Not unless you could get one of the heroes to vouch for you. Obviously if they felt comfortable allowing you into the building, that would be good enough for our records.”

“I knew we should have brought Anathema,” Crowley muttered under his breath, pausing to take a look around the room. About a dozen people were currently sitting down in the waiting area, a mixture of adults and children alike. How many people did they take on tours like this? Surely they could fit in a few more. If only they had someone to vouch for them. 

Ah well. He supposed he couldn’t win every day, could he? Crowley supposed he and Newton could put their names down for later in the week. Would that be too long a wait for Beelzebub and the others? They seemed to be in a bit of a hurry to figure this whole Myosotis mystery out, but it wasn’t as if there was a ticking clock, was there? So what if it took him a few extra days? He could always come back another time - maybe when Anathema was actually free. He’d much rather be doing this tour with her.

“I’ll vouch for them.”

Crowley turned his head at the familiar voice, trying his best to keep his emotions in check as he took in the powerful form of Principality walking their way. The chatter in the room died to a quiet hush as the superhero approached the front desk with a hesitant smile. Crowley found himself looking over at the hero’s face, unable to look away. What in the world was Principality doing here? Didn’t he have more important things to do? Things far away from here .

“Oh?” the receptionist queried. There was no judgement in her voice, just a hint of surprise at how quickly the hero had volunteered to vouch for two individuals he’d never met. This obviously didn’t happen very often and for the briefest of moments, Crowley panicked, sure that the hero had somehow figured out he was The Serpent and was only offering to help to get Crowley alone.

Principality smiled, first at Newton who had clammed up completely due to shock, and then at Crowley. His intense blue eyes met Crowley’s and the man felt his entire insides seize up. This was it. He was done for. In a second, recognition would dawn in Principality’s eyes and Crowley would be hauled off to prison. Sure, he’d find his way out, he always did. But then what? He’d have to go into hiding. Leave the city. Change his name and his appearance and leave behind what little he had left.

“Of course,” the hero continued with a grin. He walked over to stand beside Newton, clapping his hand on the man’s shoulder. “These here are Anathema Device’s friends. Newton Pulsifer, right?”

Relief washed through Crowley and he resisted the urge to let his panic out all in one go. No need to make Principality suspicious of him. All he had to do was be cool and the hero would be none the wiser.

Newton, on the other hand, was the opposite of cool. He stood frozen in place, eyes wide and fixed directly on the hero standing beside him, unable to make even a squeak. It was only after a sharp jab from Crowley’s elbow that was he able to pull himself together enough to form a semi-coherent sentence. 

“Um - er, yes. That’s me. I’m Anathema’s, I mean, we - she’s a rather good friend of mine. Well, sort of. You see - “

“Urgh,” Crowley groaned, wanting to put the man out of his misery as fast as possible. “He’s Anathema’s boyfriend. And I’m her next door neighbor. Pleasure to meet you, now can we move on?”

This brought forth a laugh from Principality’s lips. Odd. Crowley didn’t think he’d be the one to enjoy rudeness in any form. Perhaps he thought, deep down, Crowley was only messing around with Newton. That the two were old friends. That he didn’t really find Newton’s complete lack of composure as annoying as he made it seem. 

“Quite right, my dear boy. And do you have a name, neighbor?”

Crowley resisted the urge to glower. Who did this hero think he was, calling Crowley ‘dear boy’? The utter ridiculousness of it all. “I’m shocked.” He tried his best to look offended at the question. “Are you telling me Anathema has not once mentioned her best friend in the entire world. The one and only Anthony Crowley?”

Principality smiled and Crowley felt heat rush to his cheeks. Was he…. flirting with a superhero? What in the world had gotten into him? He had a...he had Aziraphale for goodness sake. Aziraphale, who he was meeting tonight for a very romantic dinner. Aziraphale who he constantly daydreamed about, night or day. Had he no shame?

“Of course she mentioned you, Crowley.” Was that a hint of fondness in the hero’s voice, or was Crowley making it all up inside his head? Principality and Anathema might not be dating, but it was clear to him that the hero must have some sort of residual feelings for her if he greeted all Anathema’s friends with such care. “I was just checking to see if she’d given me a false name. People do, sometimes. You can never be too cautious, with the ones you care about.”

Crowley fought back a second blush. You have a boyfriend. A partner. A...whatever you want to call him. They hadn’t discussed labeling their relationship, and Crowley wasn’t sure he was ready for something like that just yet. But that didn’t mean he was going to go about...fraternizing with the enemy. He must be out of his mind.

“Right,” the auburn haired man breathed, breaking eye contact with Principality and glaring over at a group of elementary students who were currently staring unabashedly at them, mouths hanging open wide. “So we’re all set then?”

Principality gave a silent nod and then beckoned the pair over to the group that was already waiting for the tour to begin. Crowley kept his eyes on the back of Principality’s neck, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was so focused on the hero that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a soft pressure of something against the side of his arm.

“You forgot your badge.”

Crowley’s eyes darted over quickly to Newton’s hand, snatching up the laminated piece of paper quickly before anything could happen while his back was turned. Clipping it to the front of his shirt, the villain turned back to put his gaze on Principality once more.

The hero was standing awkwardly in front of the crowd, his hands folded in front of him, rubbing together and twisting so tightly the edges of his fingers were turning purple. A collection of four children had gathered just in front of him, looking up with wide eyes and excited smiles on their faces. Crowley resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Didn’t Principality interact with fans all the time? What possible reason would he have to be so anxious now?

“Are you going to be taking us on the tour?” the boy in front asked eagerly, hazel eyes wide with excitement. “I thought they were gonna hand us off to some intern. This is the best day ever!”

Crowley’s stomach dropped. Please, if there is a god up there somewhere looking down on us all, please don’t let his answer be - 

“Yes, Adam, I am!” Principality declared and Crowley closed his eyes, taking a moment to imagine he was back in his basement, working on some exciting project with Minion, or maybe the better place would be in his new plant shop, tending to some hydrangeas. In all honesty, he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Anywhere else that took him far away from the hero most likely to recognize him, given enough time.

Hang on. Crowley opened his eyes and glanced over at the boy and the three friends who had accompanied him that day. How in the world had Principality known the boy’s name? He’d said it with such assurance - like the two had met before. Crowley couldn’t remember hearing anything about the angelic hero rescuing a boy around this...Adam’s age, but he had to admit he hadn’t been paying as close attention recently to Principality’s comings and goings.

His eyes fell from the boy’s eager face down to the badge on his chest where the name ‘Adam’ was printed in clear white letters against the navy blue background. Of course. How did that saying go again? The simplest explanation is always the most likely. 

He should have known.

“Archangel was supposed to participate today,” Principality was explaining to the crowd that had gathered before him. “But he is a bit....busy at the moment. So I volunteered to take his place.”

The school aged children in the room hardly looked upset about the revelation. Adam was beaming from ear to ear as he looked up at the white-haired hero, the other three taking their cue from him as to the appropriate level of excitement to display after such a change in plans.

Once again, Crowley fought the urge to roll his eyes. He turned his head to undoubtedly say something snarky to Newton, then stopped himself short when he saw the look of pure joy on the adult man’s face.

Ugh. Someone get him out of this nightmare before it was too late.

They began the tour with Principality giving them a bit of a lecture on the creation of Host Tower. How Derek Goodwin, one of the most successful businessmen in the city, had used a portion of his amassed wealth to have the building constructed when the first heroes had been discovered nearly two decades ago. As time went on, more heroes joined the ranks and used Host Tower as their forward operating base.

Goodwin, who had taken on the name Metatron at the start of it all, became a sort of leader to them all. He didn’t have powers of his own, but his vast fortune was able to provide the heroes with whatever equipment they could ever dream of. He funded not only the operations inside this building, but also the research and development that went into their communication devices, their suits - anything that touched or interacted with the heroes, Metatron had his hands in. He was their sponsor, their publicist, and their manager, and according to Principality, the heroes were grateful for all his help over the years.

Of course, this was all common knowledge. There wasn’t a single thing Principality had revealed to them that Crowley couldn’t have found with enough time at the library, looking through old records of interviews and press conferences. He had half a mind to ask a few questions of his own, instead of letting Adam and his crew take the lead, but Crowley didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. Not any more than was necessary. Get in, grab what information he could about Myosotis, and get out. 

Problem was, Crowley had no idea how to go about finding out the information he needed. Sure, they’d passed by a portrait of The Host several floors back that had included Myosotis front in center, framed by Archangel, Prism, Principality, and Tempest , but that hardly counted as evidence or useful information of any kind. For all he knew, the artist had simply taken her likeness and added it to an already existing group photo.

Even if she had been there to pose for the piece, if what Beelzebub said was true, Principality wouldn’t have remembered her presence anyway. How in the world was Crowley supposed to discover anything useful if no one could remember any interaction they had with the mysterious superhero?

“Are we going to get to meet any other superheroes?” the girl in Adam’s friend group asked as she bounded up on the other side of Principality. Crowley had strategically positioned himself toward the center of the group, close enough that he could still hear the hero whenever he answered questions like this, but far enough back not to draw too much attention to himself. Blend in with the crowd. That was the plan. Blend in with the crowd and make sure his starstruck companion didn’t make a complete fool out of himself before the tour was over.

“I was hoping Tempest or Prism might be here,” she explained, listing off the two most popular female heroes apart from Myosotis. “They’re my favorite. No offense.”

Principality chuckled and the sound of it caused something to stir inside Crowley. Images of Aziraphale’s smile swirled around in his mind and the man hastily pushed them away. What the hell was going on with him today? He had all afternoon to think about Aziraphale - for the next forty-five minutes, he had a job to do.

“No offense taken.” Crowley couldn’t see the hero’s face, but he could tell just by the sound of his voice that Principality was smiling. “If I had to pick a favorite, the pair of them would certainly be toward the top of my list.”

Crowley frowned. There was something about the way he’d said it that caused the villain to doubt. The sentiment felt...empty was the best way he could think of to describe it. Like Principality didn’t really believe what he was saying. Like he’d rehearsed the lines thousands of times and was simply going through the motions.

Before anyone could question the hero on who his favorite co-worker actually was, Principality turned to answer her question. “I’m afraid there aren’t many of us in right now. The afternoon patrols went out about an hour ago and they won’t be back until later.

“What about Seraphim?”

Both Crowley and Principality turned their attention to Adam. From the corner of his eye, Crowley thought he saw the corner of Principality’s mouth tighten just a fraction, but then it was gone, like it had all been part of his imagination.

“I’m afraid she’s busy too. There’s a convention scheduled this fall, a few weeks after school starts up. If I’m not mistaken, I believe the school system has agreed to give you all that Friday off to attend. All of the heroes will be there, so if you’re patient enough, you should be able to meet any and all of The Host you wish.”

“Myosotis too?”

He hadn’t meant to say it. By the reaction of the people standing near him, they had also been surprised at Crowley’s sudden question. Principality actually paused mid-stride and turned to look back, his eyes locking instantaneously on Crowley’s face. The action unnerved the villain slightly, his mind beginning to panic, wondering just how the hero had known it was him so quickly.

“It’s just - “ he felt the sudden need to defend himself from all the eyes suddenly looking in his direction. “She’s never actually around, is she? Not at any of the event’s I’ve ever been to. You said ‘all’, and I was just curious if that meant her too.”

Principality paused long enough to make the whole exchange extremely awkward. Offering up a tentative smile, he finally broke his gaze and turned to direct the answer towards the entire group. “As far as I’m aware, she plans to be there,” he replied, “but the life of a hero is not exactly predictable. If something come up, any one of us could miss out on the event.”

It was a reasonable enough answer, and as Principality’s eyes fell back on him, Crowley found himself nodding in affirmation. Sure, the response didn’t tell him anything useful about her, but maybe Principality was telling the truth. Maybe she would be there at the event a few weeks from now and Crowley could test out this little theory of Beelzebub’s.

They passed down another hallway and up several flights of stairs on the way to their next destination. It would be impossible to give a tour of the entire building. And Crowley was sure half the space would be utterly boring to look at if they were able to visit every room.

“What are these rooms?” One of the other boys asked as they walked down yet another hallway on their way to what Principality claimed was one of the training gyms. They’d passed by nearly a dozen of them - blank white doors that practically blended in with the bare walls. The only thing setting them apart were the thin strips of reflective metal - each with a single name carved into the surface.

“Our offices,” Principality answered without skipping a beat. “Each hero has one, though not all of us choose to use it. It’s a place where we can spend our down time when we have some. A place to do research and fill out paperwork and just rest, if we need to.”

Once again, Crowley couldn’t see the children’s faces to gauge their reactions, but their voices conveyed enough clues on their own for him to paint a fairly accurate mental picture.

“You guys do all that? That sounds so boring!”

This brought forth an amused chuckle from Principality’s lips. “I suppose it can be. But it has to be done. And who better to do it than the people that were actually there?”

After the gymnasium was the final stop on their tour. Other than the small tidbit of information they’d gotten about Myosotis’ potential presence at the upcoming convention and the fact that there may or may not be an office with her name on it that she may or may not even use, this whole afternoon had been a bust. Crowley hadn’t even managed to make small, friendly talk with Newton, as the man had been far too preoccupied by the hero walking beside them.

“This is our display room,” Principality explained as they entered through a pair of glass double doors into a room with dozens upon dozens of display cases. “The museum downtown has quite a bit of hero paraphernalia, but even they can’t fit it all. So we store the rest of it here for folks like you to see at the end of our tour.”

The four children who had been front and center this entire hour rushed forward, pressing their noses up against the glass across the room in front of where a replica of Archangel’s suit stood proud and strong. Crowley took his time, circling the room, looking for...well, he didn’t really know what he was looking for. Only that he knew he’d recognize it when he found it.

Each hero had their own station, complete with costumes, sometimes several if they’d gone through several iterations over the years, weapons if they fought with any, and a small biography about the origin of their powers and any notable accomplishments they may have achieved over the time they’d spent with The Host.

As he rounded one corner of the room, eyes glazing past the explanation of Prism’s pattern sensing abilities, Crowley’s eyes locked on a familiar white and green outfit. It was one he’d never seen in real life before, but unmistakable in who it belonged to.

The plaque beside her suit was nondescript at best. It spoke very little on her powers - something nature related, giving credence to her hero name - and focused almost entirely on her history. How she’d been the very first of the heroes. How she had helped Metatron build the entirety of The Host. How she was his right-hand woman and often left the day to day conflicts to the other heroes.

All in all, it was absolutely useless. Crowley didn’t know why he and the other villains thought that Host Tower would have anything on display that might prove useful. Any secrets they were hiding would be locked far away, under dozens of layers of security they would never be able to penetrate. 

This was a lost cause. Might as well go home and forget all about Myosotis. Forget about the whole thing.

“Is she your favorite?”

Once again, Principality’s sudden desire at conversation coupled with his close proximity almost caused Crowley to jump out of his skin. Thank goodness his powers didn’t involve summoning lightning or manipulating wind because he likely would have set something off in his surprise.

“Not exactly,” Crowley found himself replying, despite his desire not to interact with his enemy. “I don’t really have a favorite. I just find her interesting. Being the first and all.”

Principality listened quietly as Crowley’s gaze swept over the costume once more, knowing there would be nothing there, but wishing all the same that he would find something to take back to Beelzebub. “Sometimes I get to thinking about how we got here. The reason behind it all. And every time I look, it just seems like the reason is boiled down to random chance.”

In the glass, Crowley could see Principality’s reflection nodding solemnly. “Random chance does seem to play a part in it all. Not just on how we came to be, but everything that seemed to fall out after.”

It was a strange thing to say, and Crowley found himself turning to look over at the hero, wanting to understand what he’d meant. As his eyes drifted over toward the pair of bright blue ones he knew awaited him, Crowley paused. He turned back and looked once again at the mannequin dressed in the original hero’s costume and the tiny shape formed just underneath where her collar bone would be.

“What’s that?” Crowley found himself asking as he pointed toward the upper part of the costume. He could feel Principality’s gaze lingering on his face a moment longer before the hero turned back to see what he was talking about. 

“Oh?” he seemed a bit surprised by Crowley’s inquiry, but there was no hint of suspicion or panic in the hero’s voice. “It’s a tracking device. We all have one.” He lifted his hand and Crowley turned to see the small spot on his chest where a similar shape stood out against the smooth surface. Crowley couldn’t see the device, it was sewn into the inside of the suit, but he could see evidence of its presence, a small circular disc no bigger than the head of an eraser hidden just beneath the white fabric.

“We use them to check in on each other. Best way to know if one of us finds ourselves in a pinch. The last iteration had a distress beacon programmed in.” He patted his chest softly, cupping his hand so that no pressure was put on the tiny device. “I’ve never had to use it, but it's comforting to know it's there.”

Crowley simply nodded, not knowing what else to say. It wasn’t exactly the kind of information he was hoping for, but maybe it would work? Could they find a way to hack into the system and track the heroes individually? Could they isolate Myosotis that way? Or would they be blocked by the top tier Host security again.

Hazel eyes fell upon Myosotis’ suit again, then paused as he took it in. Something in the back of his mind tugged at Crowley’s consciousness as he took in the shape of the hidden device, nearly two times the size of the one on Principality’s chest.

It was possible the device they’d left in Myosotis’ display suit was an older model. Out of anyone, Crowley understood the progress of technology and how it affected things like this, but as he glanced over at the suit to his left and right, he saw their immediate similarity to the one Principality wore. Only Myosotis’ was different. Larger. In fact, now that he thought about it, this device looked far too familiar to be anything but…

Crowley smiled, trying to keep his satisfaction hidden beneath the surface as he willingly engaged Principality in conversation for the first time today. He didn’t want the hero to catch onto the fact that he’d finally stumbled upon something here. Something he could actually use.

Maybe today wasn’t such a bust after all.

Chapter Text

The weeks flew by. Green leaves on the trees rapidly turned a mixture of golden yellows and deep reds. The air grew chilly, the days slightly shorter. It was Aziraphale’s favorite time of year. The bright colors always lifted his spirits in the mornings on his way into Host Tower, and the cooler temperatures made for perfect reading weather in his limited free time.

Now that Sarah had joined The Host, Aziraphale’s work life had gotten much better. For the most part, Archangel left him alone, tasking him with teaching Sarah all she needed to know while he focused on some other task. The Host Convention was coming up in less than a week and apparently preparing for that was significantly more important than spending time with a teenage girl. 

Aziraphale liked Sarah. She was dedicated, hardworking, bright, and actively enjoyed holding a conversation with him. They limited their talks to hero stuff, mostly. Aziraphale was still hesitant to reveal much about his personal life and he wanted to make sure Sarah and Adam remained safe. The less he knew about them both, and them about him, the better.

Still, there was only so much a person could hide about themselves while spending nearly every day with someone else. It was obvious Sarah was in high school. She was the oldest of two, Adam being her younger brother. She enjoyed art, as evidenced by the sketch pad she toted around during their down time at Host Tower. 

Sarah had come to learn a few things about him too. Aziraphale made it extremely obvious he’d rather spend his time in the library than out fighting villains. He knew little to nothing about technology, and Sarah had been patient in trying to teach him. She knew he lived alone and that he was in a very new, very exciting and yet terrifying relationship.

Keeping Crowley a secret had been utterly impossible. Sarah may not know his name, but she would have to be blind to miss the way Aziraphale’s face lit up whenever he was asked about weekend plans or whenever he got a message on his newfangled cell phone. Crowley had made him get one - mostly because Aziraphale was away from home during the majority of the day and if Crowley decided he wanted to have an impromptu meetup after work, there was no other way to reach him.

Things with Crowley were going extremely well in almost every aspect. Despite his initial reservations, it appeared the man wasn’t growing bored with Aziraphale in the slightest. The hero’s busy schedule made it difficult for them to spend time together every day, but for now they had the weekends entirely open. Crowley had also invited Aziraphale over several times for dinner during the week, where they would settle down on the couch after with a nice bottle of wine and watch television for a few hours before one of them fell asleep on the other. 

Just thinking of his time spent with Crowley these past few weeks made Aziraphale’s heart flutter and his insides turn all warm and fuzzy. The only thing that made the situation less than perfect was the fact that after nearly seven weeks of being a couple, Crowley still hadn’t kissed him.

Sure, there had been several cheek kisses, initiated by both parties. A couple of kisses on the back of his hand or his temple, and those had all been wonderful, but no matter how many romantic dinners they had or cuddle sessions on the couch, Crowley hadn’t once tried to take things further than they’d already gone.

Aziraphale thought he’d given all the right signs, but all of this was still so new. What if Crowley thought he wasn’t interested. What if Crowley didn’t want to kiss him?

What if he expected Aziraphale to make the first move?

Well, after weeks and weeks of waiting, today would be the day Aziraphale would find out. He was determined, and as much as the thought terrified him, he was going to kiss Crowley before the night was out. On the lips. It was happening.

“Right,” Aziraphale whispered to himself one more time in the mirror before he had to leave. Tonight was the big Autumn Festival. The first week of October had arrived, and with it came the promise of hayrides and corn mazes. Stands with hot chocolate and cider and an assortment of snacks, where people could set up by a cozy bonfire or set their blankets out under the stars. There would be games and stories and dancing - every perfect date idea wrapped into one. Aziraphale could hardly stand the suspense. “You can do this. It’s just another night with Crowley and this time you are going to show him how you really feel, you big softie.”

He poked at the mirror, finger landing directly over his chest and the pale blue sweater he’d recently acquired. Normally, Aziraphale would have opted for something a bit more...neutral in color, but he liked how soft the fabric felt against his skin and hoped the blue would help bring out his eyes.

“Hey!” Crowley called as he caught sight of Aziraphale later that afternoon. It was nearing dinnertime and the couple had agreed to meet up on the west entrance to the park at precisely 5:30. “We’re twins! Well, sort of.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he took in Crowley’s attire. The red-haired man was always fetching, usually choosing to dress in tight, dark pants and v-neck shirts, but this time was different. This time, Crowley was donning a comfortable pair of slacks and a deep burgundy sweater, not unlike the one Aziraphale had on, with one minor difference.

Crowley’s sweater was tartan.

While the sleeves remained the same black color Aziraphale was so accustomed to his partner wearing, the rest of Crowley’s sweater was the most intense black and red checkered pattern he’d ever seen. Before Aziraphale’s mind could catch up with what he was seeing, the man felt a wide smile break out over his face as Crowley approached him, the slightest of blushes adorning his freckled cheeks.

“It wasn’t exactly my first choice of outfits,” the man admitted, voice quieting as he closed the distance between them. Glancing back over his shoulder, Crowley then said, “but Anathema insisted I wear something warm, and, well, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered up for a brief moment, catching sight of Anathema and Newton close behind. His grin widened as he reached out to take Crowley’s hand in his, tugging gently on Crowley’s arm to turn him around.

A double date . How absolutely marvelous.

Aziraphale had never been on a double date before. In fact, before Crowley, Aziraphale hadn’t really been on any dates before, unless you counted the spring dance at the end of the year. Even then, he’d only gone because he hadn’t known how to say ‘no’. And here he was, about to have a lovely evening with Crowley and to be joined by another one of his favorite people and her boyfriend.

How absolutely marvelous.

“Nice to see you Aziraphale,” Anathema greeted him as warmly as she might have had he been wearing his white and gold suit. So far, Aziraphale had come across Anathema a few times as himself. Crowley had invited her over for dinner a few times - or, rather, he’d invited Aziraphale to crash what would normally have been a dinner between two neighbors and friends. 

“Anathema,” Aziraphale greeted back with a smile, ignoring the way his heart fluttered just a little as he felt Crowley squeeze his hand. It was so nice to be able to interact with her without the entire city’s eyes on them. Anathema was such a genuine person. He counted himself lucky to have her as a friend. “Newton.”

For the briefest of moments, panic surged through Aziraphale’s entire body. What had he just done? Had he done anything? The hero couldn’t, for the life of him, remember if he should know Newton’s name. He knew, for certain, that he’d never interacted with the man using his secret identity. Aziraphale had met Newton Pulsifer all of two times - the day Anathema had been kidnapped and when Crowley and Newton had come to Host Tower for a tour.

Both of those times, he’d been dressed as Principality. Oh, surely Newton would notice his slip up. Maybe there was a way for him to signal to the taller man. Convince him not to say anything just yet. Newton was a fan of The Host. He would agree to keep Aziraphale’s secret, wouldn’t he? Aziraphale knew Anathema and he liked to believe if she was dating Newton, he had to be a stand up sort of guy. 

“Aziraphale, right?” Newton asked after a moment that felt like a lifetime. He smiled and stuck out his hand in greeting. “Anathema’s mentioned you a few times now. Nice to finally meet you.”

And just like that, the panic was gone. Anathema had mentioned him to Newton. There was no reason to believe she hadn’t also mentioned Newton’s name to him.

Crisis averted, for now.

“Shall we get going?” Anathema asked, her deep brown eyes coming to rest on Aziraphale’s face in such a way, with such a look, that made him suddenly feel uneasy. Like she could see right through him. Like she knew his secret.

But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

He sure hoped so.

The four friends made their way into the park. Almost immediately, they were surrounded by crowds of people already waist deep in enjoying their evening. Aziraphale took a moment to simply look around, marveling at all that was going on around him. Without thinking, he let Crowley take the lead, following along in whichever direction his partner tugged him. 

“See anything you like?” Aziraphale turned at the question, a slight blush rushing to his cheeks as he realized how lost he must have looked in that moment. Crowley smiled at him and Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat and if Newton and Anathema hadn’t been right beside them, he might have kissed Crowley then and there.

There would be time for that later.

“Oh,” Aziraphale had no idea what he wanted to do. There was so much, it was impossible to choose. “I uh - it all looks so exciting.”

“Really?” Crowley’s eyebrows quirked upward, creating wrinkle lines across his forehead as he looked at Aziraphale disbelievingly. “All of it? Even the fortuneteller .”

Anathema turned around at Crowley’s question and stuck her tongue out at him. “Anthony Crowley, I will disown you if you step foot under that woman’s tent. So help me.”

Laughter echoed from Crowley’s stomach and Aziraphale felt his heart take off again. Oh, how he loved that sound. Laughing came so naturally to Crowley, it filled him up, making his hazel eyes sparkle no matter what sort of lighting they were under. Aziraphale wanted to hear Crowley laugh every single day.

“Not a believer in the mystic arts?” Aziraphale asked his friend as Anathema turned her gaze to him and smiled.

“No, I most definitely am,” she clarified, making no sense whatsoever given what had just transpired. “I just don’t believe in scamming people and giving them false hope for some quick cash.”

“I thought you said you were a witch?” Newton pointed out, a bit muffled as he had just taken a bite full of caramel apple. Aziraphale had no idea how the man had gotten one already, when they’d barely entered the festival, but he had to admit it looked quite delicious. 

Anathema turned to her boyfriend with an exasperated sigh. “I’m an occultist.”

Newton looked up, mouth full, a dollop of caramel on his chin, and shot Aziraphale a look that very much said ‘There’s a difference?’ Aziraphale shrugged innocently, having no idea what any of them were talking about, but happy that he was here with friends, and not alone in his bookshop like he would have been had he never stumbled his way into Crowley’s shop.

Before the foursome could make much progress in their evening, they were interrupted by the most unlikely group. As Aziraphale turned his attention back to the festival, he spotted a very familiar blonde braid, with four equally familiar children in tow.

“Hey!” Adam piped up as he spotted the group, and once again Aziraphale feared his cover had been blown. How in the world had the young boy recognized him so quickly in a crowd of hundreds of people? This is why he never left his bookshop. It was much safer to stay inside. The more people that he interacted with, the more chances he created for someone to guess he was Principality. And then it would be all over. He would never have a quiet life ever again.

“You’re Anathema Device, right? Principality’s friend!”

Oh, right. Out of all of them, Anathema was the one most likely to be spotted in a crowd. She tended to keep a low profile most days, but with the number of times Aziraphale had rescued her, she had made it on to more than just one news station. It wouldn’t be surprising to find some people knew who she was. Especially a boy as big of a superhero fan as Adam was.

“I am,” she answered with a patient smile as she looked down at the group of children who had suddenly surrounded her. There were four of them in total, with Sarah acting as some sort of guardian, if Aziraphale had to guess. He met her eyes accidentally and offered up a hesitant smile. Of course, Aziraphale knew exactly who she was - he’d been there for her try-out. But so far, she had no clue who he was. In fact, he was fairly certain she didn’t know anyone here at all. “And these are my friends, Crowley and Aziraphale. And my boyfriend, Newton.”

The taller man turned beet red from head to toe and Aziraphale had to bite back a laugh. At least he wasn’t alone in his complete awkwardness when it came to the object of his affections.

“See?” the lone girl of the group pointed out with a satisfied smile on her face. “I told you clowns she wasn’t dating Principality.”

One of the boys turned to look at her, scowling behind his glasses. “Just because she has a boyfriend now doesn’t mean she and Principality have never dated,” he pointed out and Aziraphale had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Is this the sort of thing the younger generation worried about? How amusing.

“She could also be dating both,” the last boy pointed out as the chocolate ice cream he possessed dripped down the cone and settled comfortably onto his hand. Aziraphale had no idea where the boy had even gotten any ice cream - it didn’t seem like the sort of thing that fit into a ‘fall’ themed festival, but he seemed to be enjoying it, nonetheless. “You can’t rule that out, Pepper.”

The girl, Pepper, scowled back. She then turned to Anathema and with an exasperated look that rivaled the older woman’s, asked, “Can you please tell these two clowns that you have never in your life dated the hero known as Principality?”

Anathema laughed, and Aziraphale was thankful she was engaging with the children. Doing so kept their focus off him and the sudden flush that had filled up his entire face. He was supposed to be pretending that he wasn’t secretly a superhero during the majority of his days. And here he was experiencing firsthand embarrassment that Aziraphale, the normal bookshop owner, shouldn’t in the slightest.

A gentle squeeze against his hand caused Aziraphale to slowly turn his head toward Crowley. The other man was looking over at him, looking so softly at him, Aziraphale thought he might melt. Quietly, Crowley leaned, his lips brushing up the very edge of Aziraphale’s ear. “You are absolutely adorable,” he whispered and the color in Aziraphale’s cheeks doubled.

“I could do that.” Aziraphale quickly turned his attention back to Anathema, pointedly ignoring the proud grin appearing on Crowley’s face as the man squeezed his hand yet again. “But that would erase the mystery. And who doesn’t love a good mystery?”

It wasn’t exactly the answer any of the children were looking for, but after glancing at each other, it appeared to be one they could live with.

“Come on,” Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s hand as Pepper launched immediately into another question, this time about the pendant Anathema was currently wearing around her neck. Some sort of constellation, although Aziraphale didn’t recognize which one it was. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

Aziraphale was surprised. He hadn’t expected Crowley to want to show him anything tonight. Weren’t they just supposed to enjoy the activities that had already been set up for them?

“And what might that be?” the hero asked as he followed his partner through the crowd, meandering this way and that, past stands of carnival games and various fall themed drinks and treats. Crowley turned his head and smiled mischievously at Aziraphale and the man suddenly wondered if he should have stayed back with Newton and Anathema.

“If I tell you, I’ll ruin the mystery.”

Aziraphale laughed and gave up his half-hearted resistance. He’d follow Crowley anywhere he wanted to go at this point. As long as he got to keep spending time with the man, Aziraphale was sure he’d be completely content. 

The couple zig-zagged back and forth until the throngs of people finally began to thin out. Aziraphale was surprised to find that the sky had darkened significantly since he’d last looked. The very last bit of sunlight was disappearing behind the city’s skyline, leaving a vast, cloudless sky above them.

Looking up at the clear air hanging above the park made Aziraphale want to release his wings and fly away from here. He could scoop Crowley up and together they could soar over the city they called home. They could watch the sun setting in the distance, hear the waves lapping against the shore. It would be lovely and romantic and a perfect setting to sit Crowley down on the edge of a building and kiss him like Aziraphale had been dreaming about for weeks.

You’re going to have to tell him eventually.

Aziraphale knew he couldn’t keep this secret forever. Not if he wasn’t serious about retiring from The Host. Crowley was smart - one of the smartest people Aziraphale had ever met. All it would take would be one emergency where Aziraphale had to cancel plans with Crowley to go deal with The Serpent or another villain and his cover would be blown.

That wasn’t the way Aziraphale wanted Crowley to learn his secret. He wanted to be honest with Crowley, not make it look like he was keeping things from his partner, but Aziraphale would be lying if he said these past few weeks hadn’t been the best of his life, for more reasons than one. Being with Crowley as just himself...it was just a relief. When he was with Crowley, there were no heroes or villains. There was no saving the city, no adoring fans that just wanted to get a photograph or have him sign some collectable they never planned to use. It was just the two of them. It was real , and if Aziraphale told Crowley the truth, well, what if that changed everything? What if Crowley looked at him differently?

What if he never got to be normal again?

“See that star up there?”

Crowley’s gentle question brought him back to the present. They had tucked themselves behind a large oak tree at the edge of the park. Away from prying eyes, but still out in the open enough to still see the darkening sky.

Aziraphale followed where Crowley was pointing and noticed a single, solitary bright star alone in the vast expanse of space behind it. Logically, Aziraphale knew there were millions of other stars out there with it, but for now, it was the only one that could be seen by a naked human eye. Even one belonging to a superhero.

“Which one is that?”

“Venus,” Crowley answered without missing a beat. “The brightest one up there. S’why we can see it so early on in the night.”

Aziraphale smiled, looking back down at Crowley’s face. The red-haired man was still looking up at the sky, his bright hazel eyes scanning the visible space, trying to pick out any others he could show Aziraphale.

Quickly, blue eyes flickered down, falling to the tartan sweater once more before drifting back up to Crowley’s face. He was so handsome, Aziraphale could hardly stand it. However had he gotten so lucky?

“You know,” Aziraphale found himself saying, not entirely sure he even knew where the thought was going as the words tumbled from his mouth. “Venus was named after the Roman goddess of Beauty and Love.” Crowley nodded his head and turned back towards Aziraphale, the softest of smiles upon his face.

“‘S a nice name,” he murmured and Aziraphale felt his heartbeat beginning to spike. Was this it? Was this the moment? Should he kiss Crowley now or wait until later on in the evening? This was all so confusing - he hated it. And at the same time, he wouldn't have it any other way.

“It’s also the only planet named after a female deity,” Aziraphale pointed out, eyes fixed on Crowley’s face. Did he just...stop talking and do it? Should he wait for Crowley to come closer? “Seems only fitting,” he continued, not sure what else to say. “Like you said, she’s the brightest star out there.”

Just like you. The words caught in his throat as Aziraphale felt his free hand twitch at his side. What a ridiculous thing to say. And yet…

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale shut out his fleeting thoughts. He shut out the worry and the uncertainty and lifted his free hand to rest gently against Crowley’s cheek. Thumb brushing against the smooth skin, blue eyes locked with Crowley’s hazel ones, Aziraphale softly tugged the man’s face closer. His eyelids fluttered shut instinctively mere moments before their lips finally met in the middle.

Crowley’s lips were warm, and gentle, and the sharp intake of breath that reached his ears sent a thrill of energy through Aziraphale’s entire body, starting in the center of his chest and spreading rapidly down his arms and legs until it reached the very edges of him and beyond.

The sensation of kissing Crowley was better than he’d ever imagined it could be, and when Aziraphale pulled back and saw tears hovering on the surface of those brilliant hazel eyes, he felt an overwhelming joy and relief. 

“Thank goodness,” Crowley breathed, leaning in to kiss him again. Aziraphale allowed this one to linger a bit longer, now that he no longer had to fear such an act might be unwanted. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea.”

A laugh escaped Aziraphale’s lips as Crowley tilted his head, eyes closed, leaning into the hero’s palm. Savoring the moment. Making a memory. “Why didn’t you just kiss me, you silly creature?”

Crowley’s eyes opened and there was a glimmer of something there that Aziraphale didn’t understand. Sorrow? Guilt? Regret? It didn’t match up with everything that had just transpired and Aziraphale found himself wishing for just a small peek into his partner’s mind.

“I, uh,” Crowley’s eyes flickered down, as if he couldn’t stand to keep Aziraphale’s gaze any longer. “I don’t necessarily have the best track record with...things like this. Knowing when stuff like this is wanted. I didn’t want to presume.”

Aziraphale smiled, softly, tenderly, as he slid the hand on Crowley’s cheek down underneath his chin, guiding it up until their eyes met once more.

“No need to fret, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured as he took a step back into the safety and seclusion of the oak tree, pulling Crowley close against his chest. “Things like this will always be wanted by me. I can promise you that.”

To prove his point, Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed another kiss to Crowley’s lips. He felt the man sigh against him, lifting the hand that wasn’t currently entwined with Aziraphale’s to rest gently on his partner’s waist. Aziraphale’s free hand found its way back to Crowley’s cheek as he deepened the kiss, mind drifting to just how perfect this moment was. A canopy of red leaves above them, the bright light of Venus just beyond. The perfect start to what he hoped would be an even more perfect night. 

“No need to fret at all.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had barely walked two steps across the threshold of Host Tower before the alarm began blaring, signaling an emergency was at hand. The hero heaved a sigh, wings not even fully stowed, and lifted his head toward the ceiling many stories above. No expense had been spared in the design of the Superhero Headquarters. Not only had it been created to be a major identifying part of the city’s skyline, but it had also been constructed with the abilities of the heroes - present and future - in mind.

The main lobby opened up to a grand foyer that reached nearly a dozen floors in height before closing off to the more secured floors above. If a hero could utilize the power of flight to get where they wanted faster, a villain could too. Their usual briefing room was directly above him, a few stories above where his current ceiling began. Aziraphale would have to walk part of the way no matter which route he took, but that didn’t mean he had to wear himself out on countless flights of steps before the day had even properly begun.

It was an emergency, after all, which meant he had to get to the others quickly. The sooner he found out what was going on, the sooner he could arrive on scene to help.

The quickest way was up.

Extending his wings to their full height, Aziraphale pushed off from the ground. A handful of people looked in his direction as he began to climb, but most paid him no mind. Even without a crisis on their hands, the people who worked in Host Tower saw this sort of thing every day. After a while, even superhuman abilities got old. 

Halfway up, Aziraphale spotted Sarah, dressed in full gear, waving him down frantically as she hung over the glass railing. He veered off course slightly, landing gently at her side as the young heroine quickly filled him in on the situation at hand.

“A group of villains were spotted downtown,” she exclaimed in a rush, eyes darting down to the gadget on her wrist. “Hellfire and Beelzebub so far. The reports are still coming in, but we think there could be more.”

“Where downtown?” Aziraphale asked, already playing through his next steps in his mind. If Hellfire was there, the heroes needed to get there fast. He hoped Tempest was already on her way. She was the only one of them that could go toe to toe with the villain for long.

Sarah checked her watch again, already moving down the hall towards the nearest balcony. Aziraphale briefly considered interrupting her, to remind her that the stairs were the other way, but quickly decided against it. While he couldn’t fly her all the way downtown, he supposed getting her to ground level was the least he could do. “The convention center.”

The convention center? Aziraphale didn’t understand. The annual Host Convention wasn’t due to start until the weekend. Volunteers had only just started setting up the space. What in the world could a couple of villains want now that couldn’t have waited a few more days?

Before he could ask another question, the watches on both their wrists chimed. Aziraphale didn’t bother looking down, knowing from experience that Sarah would figure out what the message said long before he would. One of the many reasons they made such a good team.

Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his throat as the heroine’s face fell. Sarah was a pale individual to begin with, nevermind the fact that it was nearly winter and she’d long lost her summer tan. Her face went as white as the walls on either side of them as she looked up at him with wide blue eyes.

“Tempest is on a path to engage. She’ll be there in less than two minutes.”

This was not good. Not good at all. Sure, according to all the marketing - all the comics and movies and even the newscasting - Tempest and Hellfire were arch nemesis. Water and fire. Equally skilled and charged with power. In every fight he’d ever seen them in, the pair had seemed evenly matched. Alone, Tempest could take Hellfire. She could contain him long enough for backup to get there, he had no doubt.

But Hellfire wasn’t alone. Beelzebub was there. And Beelzebub was a force to be reckoned with. They were calm, precise. They had a knack for finding the opportune moment to strike. And Aziraphale wasn’t confident Tempest had enough in her to take on both villains at the same time.

“We’d better get moving.”

The pair had reached the balcony, standing just six stories high above the city streets below. From here, the convention center was only a few miles away. A distance Aziraphale could travel in about five minutes, if he took the most direct route.

He could get to Tempest in time, but doing so would leave Sarah behind.

Sarah’s abilities were incredible. Some of the best he’d ever seen, but every hero had their strengths. And every hero had their weaknesses. 

As far as he knew, Sarah could only move as fast as her two feet could carry her.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale began, reaching out to offer Sarah his hand. He could get her down to the ground floor, but any further and they may not reach Tempest in time.

But Sarah didn’t seem sorry at all. She simply grinned at him with a knowing look he didn’t quite understand. “Don’t be,” she responded, taking a few steps back, away from the railing. “You go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

And then she took a running leap off the building.

Heart in his throat, Aziraphale lunged after her, only to realize that she wasn’t, in fact, in any danger. Aziraphale expected her to fall through the air, but instead the most miraculous thing happened. In mid air, right at the base of her foot, a shimmering, icy blue surface appeared - just for a moment. Sarah’s foot made contact and she launched herself forward a dozen or so feet. Much further than he’d ever seen her jump on her own.

Aziraphale took to the skies, beating his wings hard to catch up with her as he looked over at the heroine, running through the air like it was nothing.

“What in the - ?” he broke off, not knowing what else to say.

Sarah grinned at him, her blonde braid streaming behind her. “Figured out I could do this a few weeks ago. I’ve been practicing a ton so I could actually use it when real trouble came. Pretty cool, right?”

Pretty cool? Pretty cool was an understatement, if he’d ever heard one. Sarah had figured out how to use her powers to walk through the air. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the same as flying, but it accomplished the same goal. Somehow, she was able to control her force fields with enough precision to create the maximum amount of energy - enough to propel herself forward much faster than she could ever hope to run on her own.

“Incredible,” was all Aziraphale could say, and even though her mask was fixed firmly to her face, he could see the glimmer of pride in her eyes.

“So,” Sarah began after another leap through the air as she dodged around the very tip of a building in their path. The clouds hung low this morning, causing them to have to fly lower than Aziraphale would have preferred. Most of the main streets were wide enough for him to fly through, despite the large expanse of his wings, but Aziraphale knew the quickest way into the fray was a direct path. The lower they flew, the more obstacles they would inevitably encounter. “What’s the plan?”

Aziraphale glanced down at his watch. Not the fancy, newfangled one Archangel had instructed him to wear, but the trusty, mechanical one that never let him down. “Tempest should be arriving there right about now. We’re probably only a few minutes behind, but anything could happen in that time.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts as they took a sharp left and headed down Central Ave. The convention center was only a few more blocks away. “I’ll take care of Beelzebub until Archangel arrives. You run point on Tempest . Make sure she’s alright.”

Sarah gave him a sharp nod of her head before turning back to check where she was going. One more turn and they’d have a straight shot to the convention center. Aziraphale felt an uncomfortable weight settle in his stomach. He looked over at Sarah one more time. She had some exposure to the villains of this city - an encounter here, a skirmish there. But something told him this was going to be a big one. He wouldn’t be surprised if the others joined Hellfire and Beelzebub. Vertigo, Chameleon, Replica.

The Serpent.

“Seraphim,” Aziraphale started, just barely remembering to use her heroine name. “If things start to go south - if the others don’t get to us in time. I need you to promise me - “

“Not going to happen,” Sarah responded without looking at him. “I passed my test, I was welcomed as an official member of The Host. And I turn eighteen at the end of this month.” Finally, she tilted her head in his direction, a determined look set upon her face, even despite the glimmer of apprehension in her eyes. She may be taking a stand, but he could tell Sarah wanted his approval more than anything. She looked up to him in a way no one else at The Host did. The very thought warmed his heart enough to banish his anxieties just for a moment.

“I’m not a child anymore, Principality,” she assured him as the first glimpse of flames could be seen up ahead. “I’m a superhero. Give me a chance to prove it to you.”

All Aziraphale could do was nod his head as he summoned his sword and prepared himself for whatever they were about to encounter. The fire was closer now, billowing up into the distinctive funnel that practically screamed Hellfire to anyone in the vicinity. It was his signature move, after all.

Aziraphale watched, wings beating furiously, trying to sprint the rest of the way, as the tornado of fire crept closer to the convention center, the decorations and banners only half hung in preparation for the weekend. Before the fire struck, a wave of water came crashing down upon it, sending up billows of steam into the already saturated overcast sky. 

Tempest was here, and by the looks of things, she wasn’t doing so good.

He spotted her in an instant, one knee on the ground as she pulled even more water from the fire hydrant beside her, one arm lifted, pointing at the tan figure down the road, the other clutching at her side.

Sarah was already on her way, taking one more flying leap through the air before changing course and racing to Tempest 's side. Aziraphale angled himself downward as well, landing in the middle of the street, Hellfire to his left, Beelzebub to his right.

“Spider bites,” Tempest gasped, trying to explain what had happened. “Half a dozen or so black widows. Maybe some wasp stings in there too. Hard to tell the difference right now.”

Aziraphale left them to it. He’d never actually seen Sarah heal bites or stings before, but he had full confidence in her abilities. For now, he had another task at hand - keep the two villains occupied until Tempest was back on her feet.

“Where’s your fearless, ego-inflated leader?” the figure covered in black taunted. Aziraphale’s eyes flickered to the side, watching as the cloud of insects hovered nearby. There were surely more of them around, especially if Tempest had been bitten by black widows. So far, Beelzebub seemed content to keep the swarm there, but the hero readied himself anyway, ready for the small creatures to descend upon him. “Didn’t he want to join the party?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be here,” Aziraphale responded in kind, not entirely sure when any of the other heroes might be arriving. It wasn’t like he’d bothered to check when he and Sarah had left Host Tower. “It’s not like him to miss a chance at seeing you.”

Beelzebub stiffened at the remark, the swarm buzzing at their side. At this point, Hellfire had regrouped himself and taken a few steps forward, the next wave of fire already burning up his arms. He sneered in Aziraphale’s direction and the hero braced himself for whatever was coming his way. Hopefully, Sarah would be done healing soon and would be able to protect herself and Tempest if either one of these heroes let loose.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Hellfire grunted, standing his ground. “Go back to Host Tower where you belong.”

“I beg to differ,” Aziraphale continued, hoping he could keep them talking long enough for backup to arrive. At their peak, the three of them could take Hellfire and Beelzebub, but it wouldn’t be without severe damage to the surrounding area. Anything he could do to keep the convention center from ending up like the bank had earlier this year was a good thing. “We belong out here, stopping people like you from hurting others.”

Beelzebub took a step forward, the swarm of insects repositioning like a cape behind them, remaining eerily still when it should have been fluttering freely in the breeze. ”You give us far too much credit, Principality,” the villain responded. There was something about the inflections in their voice that made Aziraphale hesitate. His eyes darted around, looking for signs that anyone else might be nearby. “We’re not here to hurt anyone, right, Hellfire?” The fiery villain grinned in anticipation. 

“We’re simply here to make a few...corrections.”

Beelzebub took a step forward, the cape of insects following close behind. Aziraphale gripped the sword in his hand, resisting the urge to turn around and see how Sarah was coming along with her healing. The villains were putting on a show. But why? With the exception of a few news station crews standing several hundred feet away, there was no one here. The civilians had likely cleared the area the moment Hellfire arrived in his signature, grimey trench coat. So what purpose did these theatrics serve? What were they hoping to gain?

 “You plan this grand, celebratory event every year,” Beelzebub went on to say, moving another step forward. “And every year you leave out the most important pieces. Us.”

There was no way that was what this was all about. Beelzebub wanted them to believe the villains were attacking the annual superhero convention because they felt left out? This convention had been going on for years and the villains had never made a move on it before. Something else was going on here, but for the life of him, Aziraphale couldn’t seem to pick up on what that might be.

“We’re the bad guys!” Their hands exploded outward in a grand gesture and Aziraphale felt his heart leap into his throat. He winced, waiting for the bites and stings to come, but the cloud of insects remained in front of him, hovering behind Beelzebub as they continued on with their proclamation. “The villains to your heroes. You can’t do any of this without us, and yet you choose to forget about us whenever it seems most convenient.”

Aziraphale didn’t have a good answer to that. Everything Beelzebub was saying was true, but at the same time, they had it all wrong. In his ideal world, the villains would all just...go away. There would be no need for heroes - not to battle against superhuman threats, at any rate. Aziraphale could finally retire. Or maybe take up a job actually fighting fires or joining a rescue squad. He wouldn’t have to worry about his secret identity being found out. He wouldn’t have to worry about anyone going after the people he cared about, as few as they were.

He wouldn’t have to lie to Crowley anymore.

And somehow, that had become the worst part of it all. Aziraphale had grown tired of the hero work a long time ago, but he’d stuck with it because he believed it was important. He’d hated the people he worked with for years until Tempest and now Sarah had come along. In the span of a few months, Aziraphale had gone from miserable over his position as a hero to miserable over being unable to tell the person he cared the most for the truth about who he was.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to tell Crowley the truth about it all.

“And how is that fair?” Beelzebub lifted their hands again and the cape behind them billowed outward to form two identical figures, one on their left and the other on their right. “We have powers, goals, camaraderie. And yet somehow, someway, some of us get put up on pedestals. The city worships the very ground we walk on. And the rest of us?” the villain paused, locking their blood red eyes on Aziraphale’s. “We’re just here to be crushed beneath your boots. Even though, when you really look at things, we’re just like you.”

“You’re nothing like us.”

Finally, Aziraphale turned to see Tempest and Sarah moving forward to take their places beside him. Tempest was no longer clutching at her sides and a bit of the color had returned to her face. She flashed him a quick, reassuring smile as the water that had been pooling behind him began to take form again. 

“You steal from people and frighten them and actively cause them harm,” the heroine continued, the strength of her voice resounding across the buildings nearby. Aziraphale hoped they’d be able to keep this encounter from reaching an all out brawl. There was some amount of open space on the lawn in front of the convention center, but there were also plenty of regular office buildings with glass windows running all the way up their dozens of stories. Easily destroyed if what happened at the bank a few months ago was any indication.

“You could easily have chosen to do something worthwhile with your gifts, but you chose to be selfish.” Aziraphale turned, surprised at the sudden hostility in Tempest 's voice. “You chose to squander them. You chose to be the bad guys!”

Silence fell across the street as villains and heroes stared each other down. Aziraphale resisted the urge to look at his watch. How long had it been? Two minutes? Five? How much longer until backup would arrive from either side?

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Once again, the intensity of the conversation caught Aziraphale off guard. Before his mind could catch up, he saw Tempest step forward, taking her place in front of them, ready to strike. “Oh, don’t I?” she practically snarled in Beelzebub’s direction. The villain was maybe two dozen feet away from them now, red eyes locked on Tempest 's form. Aziraphale took this moment to glance around them one more time, looking for any sign that anyone else might be approaching - friend or foe.

“Fine,” Beelzebub grinned, their red eyes flashing with a momentary intense light. “If it’s a villain you want.” They stepped forward, flexing their arms, swarm buzzing around them. From the nearby trees and out of the storm drain climbed thousands more and Aziraphale sent a wave of energy across his body, just in case.

“It’s a villain you’re going to get.”’

“Bring it on.”

Chaos erupted in that moment. Tempest surged forward in the exact same moment Hellfire let loose twin streams of fire aimed at the more senior heroes. Aziraphale snapped his wings in a downward motion, just managing to dodge the blow as he lifted himself up into the air. Glancing behind him, he was relieved to see the familiar crackling blue shield appear around Sarah before the fire blew past her, scattering in all directions before dissipating into nothingness.

Aziraphale had worked with Tempest enough by now to know that she had herself handled against Hellfire. Quickly, he turned to face Beelzebub, a chill running down his spine when he noticed the expression on their face. All amusement and theatrics was gone. Instead, the villain met his gaze with a cold, hard stare, a certain anger flashing in their eyes that Aziraphale didn’t understand.

The swarm came in a wave, spreading out like a tsunami behind Beelzebub as it rushed toward him. Aziraphale dismissed his sword, sending out several blasts toward the black cloaked villain, but Beelzebub was already lost to the cloud of buzzing darkness. Energy crackled around him as hundreds of the insects fell to the ground, only to be replaced by hundreds more.

He gritted his teeth, sending out another wave of energy as the cloud of stinging wasps and biting flies surrounded him. Before he lost sight of the streets completely, Aziraphale spotted the wave of insects and arachnids on the ground, marching toward him from all angles at a steady pace.

A sharp pain stabbed at his shoulder as another wave of insects fell at his feet. Aziraphale winced and summoned his sword once more, ripping his hands apart as he split the golden energy in two identical blades. With both hands, he began to swing, remembering to send a wave of energy across his body with every breath he took. A few bites and stings snuck through, but not nearly enough to cause any real damage. Blow after blow, the tiny beasts fell to the ground and soon Aziraphale found himself unable to move without his footsteps bringing about the sound of crunching exoskeletons along with them.

It was no use. No matter how hard he swung his blades or flapped his wings or how much energy he sent out into the air around him, the blanket of darkness that had surrounded him never let up for more than a second. The brief glimpses he did catch of his surroundings didn’t offer him much comfort. Aziraphale managed to catch flashes of fire and the occasional crackle of Sarah’s force fields, but he had no grasp of how his companions were faring or if anyone else had shown up to enter the fray.

All of a sudden, the cloud of insects dissipated. Aziraphale’s eyes flashed around, briefly hovering over Tempest and Hellfire locked in a sizzling exchange of blows before they landed on a new figure who had just emerged. A figure that was hovering a few feet off the ground, violet energy pulsating from the palms of his hands, keeping him adrift.

“How dare you.” Archangel’s voice was level. Calculated. Filled with more hatred and quiet rage than Aziraphale had ever witnessed. Once again, he felt like he’d stumbled in on something he couldn’t fully understand. Like he was missing some key bit of information that would suddenly cause everything he’d witnessed today to finally make sense. “How dare you show your face today, of all days.”

“Why?” Beelzebub taunted, that self-satisfied smirk slipping back onto their face. Something about it seemed off this time, like it didn’t quite reach their eyes. Aziraphale assured himself he must be seeing things. How many times had he been stung? Hopefully the effects of the fight weren’t already going to his head. “Is there something special about today? You should have told us! We could have celebrated together.”

An almost animalistic growl ripped itself from Archangel’s throat as he launched himself toward the villain. In an instant, the flying insects closest to Beelzebub came together like a shield in front of them - a shield that Archangel punched through with little effort.

What happened next caused Aziraphale to freeze in his tracks. He watched, stunned, as Archangel’s glowing purple fist made contact with Beelzebub’s jaw, sending the villain flying several feet back through the air. Before they had even made contact with the ground, Archangel was on them, pummeling strike after strike downward on their prone form without mercy.

Cheers rose up from behind him and Aziraphale whirled around. With the arrival of another hero, those people who had remained in the area must have decided it was safe enough to venture out to witness the fight first-hand. Around two dozen people stood on the sidewalk in front of the office buildings. Some had their phones out and were recording the events in real time. Others were simply looking on with awe, shouting out words of encouragement toward their favorite heroes.

“Yeah! Way to go Tempest !”

“Look at Seraphim! Isn’t she amazing? I think she’s my new favorite!”

“Give it to ‘em, Archangel! Show them who’s boss!”

The swarm of insects on the ground had changed course and were high-tailing it toward Beelzebub and Archangel as fast as their little legs could carry them. In the mix, Aziraphale spotted an army of fire ants, black widows, brown recluses. Even a handful of scorpions. They rapidly started to climb up Archangel’s legs, but he quickly blasted them away with a similar technique to the one Aziraphale had been using. Then, before the insects could regroup, the hero launched himself in the air, his fist wrapped firmly around Beelzebub’s collar, bringing them along with him.

Aziraphale felt his stomach drop. Surely he wasn’t going to - He turned to Tempest , eyes frantically searching for what to do, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was still locked in combat with Hellfire, doing her best to keep him away from the convention center doors.

“Archangel, stop!” he called out, wings moving too slowly to get to the pair in time. His heart thudded inside his chest as his mind began to play out the events that were undoubtedly unfolding right in front of him. “You don’t have to do this!”

“Why should I stop?” the hero growled back, pausing in his flight to stare down at the villain in his grasp. Beelzebub was still conscious, but even from the ground, Aziraphale could see the blood streaking down both sides of their face. The swarm of flying insects made a beeline for the violet clad hero, but Archangel made quick work of them all. Thousands of bright, white-hot bolts of electrical energy burst out from every inch of him. As one cohesive unit, the swarm fell to the ground, littering the street with more bodies than Aziraphale could ever hope to count.

“This insect has been a thorn in my side for far too long.” Again, Archangel’s voice was low, but the intensity of it carried throughout the city block. “I say, it’s time we end this. Once and for all.”

He drew back a gloved hand and landed one final blow, directing Beelzebub downward toward the pavement once more. A quick judge of distance put them at about sixty feet in the air. Even if they did survive the initial fall, the followup from Archangel’s dive would be enough to certainly do them in.

This was more than just protecting the city now. They were talking about murder. Beelzebub may be a villain, but even they didn’t deserve to die.

Aziraphale didn’t think, he simply acted. He bolted into the air, aiming himself straight for Archangel’s trajectory. “Seraphim!” he called out as he went, hoping against hope that she would understand what he needed her to do.

Thank the lucky stars, she did. An icy blue force field appeared around the falling villain, cushioning them as they landed against the asphalt below. Aziraphale held nothing back as he barreled into the diving hero, not confident Sarah’s shield would be able to withstand the full brunt of Archangel’s attack.

Both heroes tumbled to the ground. Aziraphale winced as he felt the gravel scrape against his wings, tearing out chunks of his feathers as they skid across the street and landed in a tangle of limbs at the edge of the green.

Disoriented, his wings screaming at him in protest, Aziraphale made to stand. Archangel was already mostly vertical and looked down at Aziraphale with a disappointed sneer.

“I’d always pegged you as a half-rate hero,” he growled, lines on his face deep and menacing, “but I didn’t think you had enough in you to go full traitor, Principality.”

He was wrong, of course. Aziraphale hadn’t jumped ship. He hadn’t taken the villains’ side or moved against The Host. He had simply stood in the way of Archangel making the biggest mistake of his career. Heroes didn’t kill. That was what set them apart from the others. They had to be a beacon of light, had to do the right thing, even in a world where there was so much wrong around them. Archangel knew that. Aziraphale knew he knew that. But somehow, in this moment, he had allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement. He’d forgotten the most important thing about being a hero.

Aziraphale wasn’t going to let Archangel fall. He’d stand in the way of this mistake again and again and again if he had to. No one would be dying today. Not if he could help it.

He darted in front of the hero once more, positioning himself between Archangel and where Seraphim and Beelzebub now knelt. Archangel sneered, lifting his arms and lighting them up with energy as he faced off against Principality and his famous sword.

“Get out of my way,” he ordered. “Or you’ll live to regret it.”

Before Archangel could make good on his word - before he could take another step forward to engage Aziraphale, the entire world turned upside down.

Chapter Text

Once the combat started, Crowley found it extremely difficult to keep watch like he was supposed to. Four of them had accompanied Beelzebub and Hellfire to the convention center, one to keep watch on each cardinal direction for their target. Crowley had a plan, but that plan only worked if Myosotis actually showed up. 

The best way to do that was to lure her into the fray. Target something that meant a great deal to her. None of the villains knew much about Myosotis’ history, other than she had been the first ever superhero. She may not spend much time on the streets keeping the city safe, but it would be impossible for The Host to leave her out of their annual convention. She was too integral to their history - too important to gloss over. If this year was like any of the others, Crowley was sure there would be a whole display dedicated to her. Maybe even more. 

Not that he would know , really. It wasn’t like he’d ever been to one of these conventions before. At least, not that he would ever admit out loud to anyone except maybe Aziraphale.

Crowley’s stomach lurched at the thought of his partner. They’d been going on two months of being a couple and more and more he found himself wishing he could just give this whole supervillain thing up. He hated lying to Aziraphale, hated putting himself in harm’s way. What if something happened to him? Or worse - what if someone figured out who he was and went after Aziraphale instead? He would never forgive himself if something happened to Aziraphale because of him. But he couldn’t back out. Not yet. Not until he figured out what was really going on. He was in too deep to turn his back now.

It had been pure luck that Tempest had shown up first. Out of all of them, she was the one who posed the largest threat to their plan. Hellfire was, by far, the heaviest hitter on their team, followed closely by Beelzebub. Their whole plan hinged on the ability to draw out the fight as long as needed until Myosotis made her appearance. If Hellfire got knocked out, that goal would be much more difficult to reach.

He tried his best to keep his attention on the road leading to the north side of the city. Myosotis was most likely going to come from Host Tower, so Crowley had positioned himself on the rooftop of the convention center, tucked behind the curved glass ceiling. Directly behind him, Tempest was facing off against Hellfire and Beelzebub. They were winning. 

Until they weren’t. Until Principality showed up with his new stooge and turned the tides. 

Crowley forced himself to look away. He had a job to do, after all.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself under his breath, anxiously wondering how the fight was going. He could tell Hellfire and Tempest were still going at it, and Crowley hoped he’d chosen a location far enough away that his life wouldn’t be in immediate danger. Hellfire knew to keep his attacks away from the actual convention center, but that didn’t mean the villain wouldn’t get a bit carried away. He had a tendency to do so.

Briefly, he glanced down at his wrist, taking in the plain black disc facing upward toward him. No Myosotis. Not yet. Unless his bracelet had somehow gotten turned around. A slim possibility, but one that would certainly throw a wrench in his carefully formulated plan.

“Archangel incoming,” a voice sounded in his ear. Over the past week, Crowley had made some adjustments to Vertigo’s stabilizing devices. He figured, if they were really going down this path of being a team, they should have some way to communicate with each other. “I’m going to engage.”

“No,” Crowley responded immediately, gritting his teeth as he flipped the switch at the side of his goggles, amplifying his vision as he scanned the streets for their target. “You should hold your position. We need to spot her early. If you leave your post, we won’t have anyone to cover you.”

“Replica can cover me,” Vertigo shot back. Even though they were across the green from each other, Crowley could tell the villain was pacing anxiously back and forth. “He could cover all of us if he tried.”

Crowley shook his head, forgetting for a moment that while the others could hear him, they weren’t able to see him. “Not yet. Beelz can handle themself against Archangel. They’ve fought him hundreds of times before. If you go in there now, you’ll give us away.”

He was met with silence on the other end. Breaking his line of sight, Crowley turned back towards the fray, expecting to see Vertigo hurling themself towards Beelzebub at a breakneck pace, but the only thing he saw was the familiar forms of Hellfire and Tempest going head to head in front of the main convention center doors. Every once in a while, he caught a glimpse of Principality with his flaming sword, facing off against Beelzebub’s swarm, before the view was obscured once again by a tornado of fire or cloud of billowing steam.

“Fine,” Vertigo growled and Crowley could tell it was very much not fine. “But the second I see Beelz in trouble, to hell with your plan.”

“Fair enough.” Crowley had to admire the dedication. He had no idea what their relationship was - he didn’t know if either of them even had any friends, but it was clear that Vertigo cared about Beelzebub’s safety, at the very least. “Just...please keep your eyes open if you go out there.”

Like he should be doing now. 

Crowley turned his attention back to the main road. It was mostly quiet, with the occasional civilian stopping to catch a glimpse of the waves of fire and water periodically shooting up into the sky. Most weren’t brave enough to venture much closer, but a small crowd had started to appear several feet behind the reporters, each hoping to record their own story on the little cameras they each carried around in their pockets.

He wondered, briefly, if such videos would be worth anything should Myosotis appear. How far did her reach carry? Did it affect previously recorded video, or just the parts she would have been in? Crowley was extremely eager to get his hands on that device planted in her super suit, to help Beelzebub and the others, but also because digging into this mystery was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in a long time.

Amber eyes flickered down to his wrist again. Still nothing. He didn’t know whether to be relieved by that notion or annoyed they couldn’t get this part of the plan over and done with so he could slink back to his lab and start getting some answers.

“Fuck.”

A chill ran down the villain’s spine as he turned back to the chaos behind him. Archangel had arrived, in all his self-centered glory, and was currently pummeling Beelzebub’s head into the ground.

“Holy shit,” Crowley echoed, not believing his eyes. He’d seen some intense fights in his fifteen years playing this game of theirs, but he’d never seen someone this...ruthless before. A quick flick of his wrist and the goggles zoomed in further. He could see the fury radiating off Archangel like a fire, and Crowley found himself frozen to the spot, unable to do anything.

He’s going to kill them, Crowley realized in horror. Archangel was going to kill Beelzebub right in front of them and there was nothing he could do to stop the hero. Words bubbled up inside him, but Crowley knew they would be no use. Even if he allowed himself - he couldn’t get there in time.

Archangel was lifting them up into the air now, about to deal the final blow. Crowley shouted into his earpiece for Vertigo to move, but the weight in his stomach told him it was already too late. If Vertigo struck now, Beelzebub would still fall over sixty feet to the ground and their aerial swarm had been all but obliterated. It would take them time to summon more of the winged insects - time that they didn’t have.

This was it. It was all over for them.

At the last second, another voice tore out through the air. For the second time in less than a minute, Crowley found himself frozen in shock, unable to do anything but witness the events unfurling before him.

“Seraphim!”

Seconds before Beelzebub’s body hit the ground, a shimmering blue force field appeared around them, cushioning their fall. A heartbeat later, Crowley saw Principality slam into Archangel with more force than he’d ever used against anyone else - not even Crowley himself. The pair of heroes hurdled through the air, striking the ground a hundred feet away.

Hellfire and Tempest had stopped their fight, giving Crowley a clear view of the lawn below. He watched with bated breath as Archangel and Principality picked themselves up off the ground, the winged hero positioning himself between Beelzebub’s prone form and Archangel as the pair faced off. The new heroine, Seraphim, was kneeling at their side, one hand cradling their head while the other rapidly brushed across the wounds on their face, healing them in front of Crowley’s eyes.

“Fuck your plan, Serpent,” he heard Vertigo’s voice in his ear once more, and Crowley had to agree whole-heartedly. His plan wasn’t worth shit if they lost Beelzebub. His plan wasn’t worth shit if they lost any of them.

“Fuck my plan,” he concurred, stepping forward towards the edge of the building. Crowley stopped short of the actual edge, knowing what was coming and not being entirely convinced he wouldn’t simply fall off if he got too close.

Time seemed to slow down as Vertigo appeared in the center of the lawn, clad in their familiar black and green costume. Crowley watched as they lifted their hands. He could feel the air shifting around him. Pressure began to build in his head and he knew that without that stabilizing device in his ear, he’d be falling to the ground just like each of the four heroes before him.

“Come on,” Crowley found himself muttering again as he looked down at Beelzebub’s still motionless form. Seraphim had been struck by Vertigo’s dizzying blow and was struggling to get back up on her feet. Beyond them, he spotted Principality’s wings stretching wide, as if he knew the disorienting effects would be much less severe once he got himself into the air. “Get up, please. You have to get up.”

And they did. Seconds crawled by as Crowley watched Beelzebub roll over onto all fours and slowly rise to a standing position. Blood still stained the side of their face, and they were clutching at their head as if in a great deal of pain. There was no way to know if that was because Seraphim had failed to heal them properly before Vertigo’s attack went off, or if their stabilizer had somehow been damaged in the fight.

Crowley’s first instinct was to grab his gear and get down to Beelzebub’s side. Vertigo could hold the heroes for a little while, but if Archangel or Principality got into the air that hold wouldn’t last. The disorientation Vertigo subjected their foes to worked much better when gravity was a factor in remaining upright. Heroes who could fly or levitate, while they could still become disoriented, fared much better against the green and black clad individual.

Turning his head, the villain’s heart leaped into his throat as he saw a familiar figure dressed in white and green walking down the street toward them. A figure that was a stranger to him, but that he would recognize just about anywhere.

Hand flying to his wrist, Crowley flipped over the charm on his bracelet. He kept his amber eyes peeled wide, not daring to blink as he called out a warning to the others.

“Myosotis sighting, coming south on Central.” She was still walking casually toward the fray, clearly still outside of Vertigo’s range. Either that, or the villain’s powers didn’t affect her like the rest of them. “She should make contact in a few minutes. Beelz, you have enough firepower to mark her?”

“That all depends,” the villain’s voice was strained, breaths shallow and short, “on whether or not you idiots still have those packages I gave you.”

Without thinking, Crowley turned to look at the canister beside him. Each one of them not entering the fray to begin with had been given one. It looked to be a simple, repurposed oxygen tank with a latch at the top to open the whole thing up. He had been given strict instructions not to open it until Beelzebub gave the word and had absolutely no idea what was inside, although knowing Beelzebub, he could garner a guess.

Was now that time? Crowley wasn’t sure. Didn’t they want to wait until Myosotis actually showed up? Or did Beelzebub need a little bit extra, given how poorly the fight was going in their favor.

“You sure you want that now?” Crowley asked. “I thought whatever this thing is was supposed to be for when Myosotis shows up.”

“God, fucking - “ Beelzebub exclaimed as Crowley turned around to take in the scene one more time. The black clad villain was making their way toward one of the trees centered at the edge of the green. Tempest was in front of them, stumbling over her own two feet as Hellfire watched with amusement, the fire on his arms still glowing brightly in the overcast morning light. “You fucking looked away, didn’t you?”

Crowley was surprised at the tone of their voice and was about to snap back at them when their gaze caught a hint of something white against their wrist. He looked down and sure enough, staring back at him was the familiar white flowers that signified someone had spotted Myosotis nearby. By the sound of Beelzebub’s retort, it had likely been him.

Which way had he been looking? Crowley turned back toward the direction he was supposed to be watching and sure enough, there she was, walking down the street at a casual pace, directly toward them.

“Keep your eyes on her, Serpent,” Beelzebub growled, and Crowley resisted the temptation to turn and face them again. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on behind him, but Crowley knew this was important. It was the only way they were going to succeed. “I don’t care if all hell breaks loose back here, you don’t lose her for a second , understood? And all of you, open up those canisters for me. We don’t have much time.”

Crowley did what he was told, feeling around with one hand until he found the latch. It stuck for a moment as he tried to get it open, and Crowley feared he would have to break line of sight to troubleshoot. Moments later, he felt the machinery give way and heard the distinct buzzing of thousands of honeybees as they started to swarm out of their container and flock toward their master.

Although he did not turn around to verify it, Crowley imagined a similar swarm was flocking toward Beelzebub from two other stations - three, if Replica had been able to cover Vertigo’s position in time. Crowley had no idea how much longer Vertigo could hold on, but it sounded like Beelzebub had at least cleared some distance between themself and Archangel, should the hero finally break free of the spell he was currently under.

“Principality’s in the air,” Vertigo warned and Crowley almost looked away again. He gritted his teeth and widened his eyes, feeling the familiar burning sensation and urge to blink them closed, if only for a little bit. “You’ve got about five seconds before I lose the rest of them.”

Where did that put them? Tempest against Hellfire. Vertigo against Principality and maybe the new girl. That still left a murderous Archangel facing off against a very tired Beelzebub who was currently concentrating on another, more important task.

“Replica,” Crowley started as the very front of the bee swarm entered his vision. Myosotis had spotted them too and shifted seamlessly into a fighting stance, pulling both a shield and some sort of sling from where they’d been strapped to her back. The woman had come prepared. “Can you - “

“Already on it, Serpent,” the villain responded and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. His powers wouldn’t do much against someone like Archangel or Principality, but he could at least cause enough chaos to stall for some time. Hopefully, it would be long enough for Beelzebub’s swarm to extract the device they needed.

“You’ve got her surrounded,” Crowley announced, finally allowing himself to blink. It was an insane experience - how quickly the memories faded. That short lapse in vision was all she needed to wipe all memory of her completely from his mind.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub grunted. “I know. I can see her now too. Reposition now, if you have to. I can get my swarm to - aahrgh!”

On instinct, Crowley whirled around again. His eyes found Beelzebub instantly, lying flat on the ground as a blast of violet energy dissipated into the air above them. Archangel was hovering now, around two dozen feet away, violet energy rocketing out of their palms and feet. Vertigo was on his tail, sending blasts of invisible energy in his direction. Archangel deftly dodged each one, his flight only faltering slightly due to Vertigo’s dizzying effects. 

Beelzebub rolled over, sending a swarm of bees at Archangel’s head. The hero cried out in pain, hands flying to his face as he tried to bat them away. Heart in his throat, Crowley scrambled to the edge of the building, trying to figure out where his help was needed most. Hellfire still appeared to be holding his own, even as Principality had joined Tempest in her crusade to bring the trench coat wearing villain to his knees. Replica had stepped forward to engage the new heroine, but he was confined to the ground, and Archangel was high enough in the air by now to be unreachable by anyone but Vertigo.

“Which one of you spotted Myosotis?” Chameleon’s voice echoed in his ear and Crowley’s eyes flashed to his wrist, where the familiar flowers stared up at him, teasing him. Taunting him. 

Myosotis was here? Where? Crowley glanced around in the direction he was supposed to be watching, but didn’t see any sign of her. He caught a glimpse of several hundred bees hovering off on their own in the middle of Central Avenue, but there was no heroine figure to be found.

“No idea,” Beelzebub huffed, grunting as they sent more insects in Archangel’s direction. The grounded swarm had finally reached the trees nearest to the hero and were scaling the bark faster than he thought possible. One by one, the ants within the swarm began climbing over each other, creating a bridge-like structure between them and where Archangel was currently hovering, still fending off the honey bees swarming around his face. “Kind of busy at the moment.”

They all were, Crowley realized with a start. Each one of them was locked into some sort of task except him. Even Chameleon, who they had purposefully planted on the sidelines, was keeping watch, an analog camcorder perched on his shoulder, recording as much as he possibly could for them to review later on. As far as he was aware, none of the heroes even knew he was there, which meant it was his job to locate Myosotis and alert the rest to where she was. And the sooner he did that, the better. 

Amber eyes scanning the ground below, he began his search. Starting at the congregation of bees below him, Crowley began sweeping his gaze back and forth. If he were Myosotis, and he somehow knew he’d been spotted, where would he go? He’d want to stay out of eyesight as much as possible. Somewhere that had a lot of cover - that would allow her to duck out of the way should one of them spot her again. She wouldn’t get up close, that was for sure. If Crowley had to guess, he would say she’d stick to the shadows, attacking in at them with some sort of ranged weapon, if she had one.

Which one of them would be her first target? Crowley knew next to nothing about the heroine. Was she more likely to team up with Archangel to take down Beelzebub, or would she go for Hellfire instead? In any normal circumstance, Crowley thought she might go for the arthropod wielding villain, but given what they’d already been through, and how he didn’t know how long Myosotis had been here already, he hoped she would aim for the strongest of them instead.

There. He spotted her around the southeast corner of the convention building, peeking around the brick wall, aiming her sling directly at Hellfire’s back. Crowley fixed his eyes on her, widening the muscles around them so they stayed open as he reached for the gun at his side.

It wasn’t a real gun. Not one that was meant to cause harm to anyone. Crowley wasn’t trying to take Myosotis out, although he supposed that may have worked just as well. All he needed was to get Beelzebub’s attention.

He aimed high, shooting the flair with deadly accuracy so it shot up from his location and exploded directly above Myosotis. He didn’t look to see if Beelzebub had heard, but the sound of the swarm buzzing to life was enough to assure him they had.

Seconds later, a blast of violet energy struck the building at his feet and Crowley felt the rooftop crumble beneath him. He pitched forward, arms swinging out to try and stabilize himself, but it was too late. He was already falling.

Is this how I go? He wondered as, for the second time, the events unfolding around him seemed to slow to a crawl. The convention center wasn’t nearly as tall as the office buildings surrounding it, but he was still five very tall stories high. It was at least an eighty foot drop to the ground below. A drop that he knew he wouldn’t survive on his own.

He shut his eyes, knowing there was no way Vertigo would be able to make it to him in time. Hellfire was likely grounded as well - too busy trying to not get hit in the head by falling bricks to summon a tornado and try to catch his doomed ally. Crowley didn’t want to witness this - felt bad for everyone around that was going to have to watch what happened next.

He should have worn his rocket boots. Minion had advised him too, but they were still in the prototyping phase. They were heavy  and slowed his movement and made a dull clunking sound when he walked. Not exactly conducive for the sort of stealth mission he was supposed to be on today. He’d opted against it, and now here he was, paying the price.

I’m so sorry, Aziraphale . The couple was supposed to have another date tonight. Crowley was supposed to go over to the bookshop and cook Aziraphale dinner. They were going to have lasagna and freshly baked bread, and maybe even a few bottles of wine. And then they were going to sit on the couch and put on a classic holiday movie, either Miracle on 34th Street or It’s a Wonderful Life, based on Aziraphale’s suggestions,  and promptly not watch the majority of it because there were certain other things they’d much rather be doing.

Tears pricked at his eyes. He wasn’t ready for this. He shouldn’t have said ‘yes’ to this insane task. He should have quit while he was ahead. Should have given all this up while he still had the chance. He could have been happy, just being normal. He could have been happy, with Aziraphale.

Crowley took a deep breath and braced himself for impact. The scent of old parchment with hints of lavender surrounded him and the villain could have cried with the cruelty of it all. Of course his mind would supply him with the one thing he wanted in this moment. His last moment. The smells he associated with Aziraphale, that made his stomach flip and his heart flutter each time he leaned in for a kiss or rested his head on Aziraphale’s lap on a cozy Sunday afternoon, listening to the man read aloud a passage from one of his favorite books as Crowley dozed in the sunlight. 

All he wanted in the world was for Aziraphale to be here with him now. And perhaps he was. Perhaps Crowley was already dead, and in his final moments before shutting off forever, his mind was summoning sensations of the things he loved most.

His legs and back struck something solid, jolting him and stopping his momentum as suddenly as the fall had started. Crowley’s eyes flew open and the first thing he saw was the depiction of a flaming sword attached to a familiar white super-suit.

“How - wha - “ the villain spluttered as he looked up at Principality’s face. At the head of golden curls whipping wildly in the wind, the wide, white wings stretching across the sky as the superhero carried them both away from the falling rubble and towards the safety of the ground.

Aziraphale. Crowley’s heart clenched in his chest. No, it couldn’t be. His mind was just playing tricks on him. This was Principality. A hero of The Host. His sworn enemy.

And the man who had just saved his life.

Principality smiled softly at him and the familiar twinkle in his blue eyes cut Crowley to his core. “You didn’t think I was going to let you die, did you?”

He was speechless, not because the hero Principality had saved him - hell, Principality had saved Beelzebub’s life less than ten minutes ago. But because, unless he’d actually been struck on the head during the fall, his Aziraphale was here beside him, just as Crowley had hoped he would be.

Gently, Principality landed on the grass and lowered Crowley to his feet. For a moment, the villain stumbled, arm reaching out to grip the gloved hand before him in support. He looked over at the hero, marveling at the similarities, wondering if he was, in fact, going crazy.

“You really are an angel, aren’t you?” he breathed, only sincerity in his voice.

Principality looked surprised and unsure of how to respond. Before he got a chance, a voice spoke up in Crowley’s ear, snapping him back to the situation at hand.

“I’ve got the device. Ripped it right out of her costume. Time to make our retreat.”

Crowley knew that was his signal to disappear. He was wearing his new suit. One quick motion to draw his hood and a touch of a button and he would be gone, but the villain found himself still frozen to the spot, staring at Principality, trying to imagine what he might look like without that ridiculous costume on.

“Your friends seem to be leaving without you,” the winged hero responded softly, looking around at the aftermath of their skirmish. Sure enough, Principality was right. Vertigo had already swooped down to scoop up Beelzebub, leaving Archangel in a crumpled mess of debilitating bites and stings on the ground. Injuries he was sure Seraphim would be able to heal in time. Replica was running off in five different directions, knowing the heroes would never be able to regroup fast enough and track him down. Chameleon had never exposed himself to begin with and all that was left of Hellfire was the cloud of smoke he’d left in his wake.

Gathering every last ounce of his wits, Crowley flashed what he hoped to be a cheeky grin in the other man’s direction. He lifted his hood, eyes never leaving Principality’s face as he declared with bravado. “Let’s call this one a draw, shall we?”

Before the angelic hero could say another word, Crowley vanished before his sight, the material of his suit reflecting the light in just a way that would make him near invisible to even the superhuman eye. Then, without another word, the villain turned around and began the long trek back to his base.

No matter what he had learned, no matter what Crowley thought he might know, there was still much work to be done.

Chapter Text

Twenty-four hours - to the minute- after their encounter at the convention center, Aziraphale was summoned to Metatron’s office. 

He’d known this was a possibility, and quite frankly, was shocked it had taken the older man this long to request his presence. Yesterday had been...well, it had been a disaster. Not only had Aziraphale turned against Archangel in a public setting, but he’d also saved the lives of two notorious villains. And he’d let them escape without punishment.

Was Metatron going to fire him? He’d scoured the news channels the previous night for any indication of what the public was saying and had come up completely blank. Even though he had spotted multiple reporters nearby the previous day, not a single bit of footage had been aired on the evening news on any of the news stations. It was impossible to gauge how much trouble he might be in. Aziraphale was going into this meeting completely blind. There was a very real chance that Metatron would fire him. Had he been in Metatron’s shoes, Aziraphale might have done the same.

Would that really be a bad thing? Aziraphale had been wanting to retire from The Host for years now, and that was before he’d met Crowley. His heart fluttered at the thought of his partner. He’d been in such terrible spirits the night before that he’d asked Crowley if they could switch their plans to the weekend. Aziraphale would be expected to attend the convention Friday and Saturday, but Sunday would be all Crowley’s. Of course, the man had been nothing but accommodating. 

If Aziraphale got fired today...well, maybe Sunday could be a new start for them. No more lying about where he was going or what he was doing during the day. No more pretending to be something he wasn’t. He could finally just live his normal life. Sure, in an absolute emergency, he could break out his super suit and help save the day, but his normal, everyday life? It could finally be what he’d realized he wanted it to be.

The elevator was empty when it arrived on his floor. Had he wanted to, Aziraphale could have flown up to Metatron’s office from the outside of the building, but he was still a bit early and didn’t mind taking the long way up. Without a word, Aziraphale stepped inside, his arm flying out instinctively as he heard a familiar voice echoing from down the hall.

“Hold the door!?”

Sarah appeared around the corner, stepping swiftly into the elevator by his side. Aziraphale offered her a smile as he allowed the doors to close and was surprised when Sarah didn’t smile back.

“I got summoned to Metatron’s office,” she admitted after a floor and a half of awkward silence. Metatron’s office was located on the penultimate floor of Host Tower, directly below the rooftop gardens. Aziraphale had been there a few times over his fifteen year long career, but not in a very long time. At the beginning, when it had been just him and Archangel, they had met with Metatron often. As The Host began to grow and Archangel had taken on a more managerial role, Metatron had faded into the background, working with Myosotis behind the scenes to help grow and expand their sphere of influence.

“Me too,” Aziraphale responded and Sarah released a breath, the tension seeping from her body. Aziraphale was touched to see she felt more at ease, knowing he was going to be there beside her. “If I had to wager, I’d say he wants to talk about what happened yesterday.”

The tension was back, starting in the tightening of her shoulders and the clench of her jaw. Aziraphale’s eyes drifted down to her hands, clinging tightly to the skirt of her costume as she subconsciously began to play with the material.

“Is he going to fire me?” she asked timidly after another three floors had passed. Aziraphale turned toward her, shocked at first by the soft quiver he heard in her voice.

“Of course not,” Aziraphale responded, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder and turning her around to face him instead of the elevator buttons slowly going up one by one to mark their place. “You behaved admirably yesterday. Much more so than I did on my first few outings. Metatron would be out of his mind if he removed you from The Host.”

That didn’t seem to be enough for Sarah. “But I went against Archangel ,” she protested, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I sided with the villains, I - “

Aziraphale shook his head. “You did nothing of the sort,” his voice was quiet, but firm. There was no way he was about to let Sarah walk into that office thinking she had been anything but a true hero yesterday. “The way I see it, not only did you offer vital healing assistance to both Archangel and Tempest , but you also saved an individual’s life. That is something that should never be taken for granted.”

“Even if that life was a villain’s?”

The hero paused, hearing the familiar ding signaling another floor had gone past them. “What do you think?” he finally asked her, wanting Sarah to come to her own conclusions about the kind of hero - the kind of person - she wanted to be.

Sarah was silent for a moment, her left hand lifting up to wipe the moisture from her eyes. “I think I would have felt much worse if I’d watched Beelzebub die,” she admitted softly. “I don’t want to just take down supervillains and throw them in jail or get rid of them. I want to help them stop being villains. Everyone’s life is worth something, even when they make the wrong decisions. Beelzebub didn’t deserve to die - no one does. I’m glad I saved them.”

Aziraphale smiled, and for the first time, Sarah echoed the gesture. “I’m glad you saved them too.”

The elevator dinged it’s final ding and the doors opened, leading out into a well lit hallway. Framed posters lined each side of the walls, documenting momentous occasions in The Host’s history. Some that had actually happened and some that had been….embellished.

“Did you really do all that?” Sarah asked, her eyes drifting up to the grand, heroic poses and action scenes following them as they went. 

“Most of it,” Aziraphale responded, eyes glazing over a rendering of himself and Archangel fighting off an army of demons followed by a poster of Tempest facing off against a tidal wave. “In some way or another.” 

“Even the demons?” she asked, stopping at the painting as they passed. Aziraphale found a smile tugging at his lips as he remembered the events that had lead up to that particular encounter. “I didn’t think demons existed outside books and movies.”

“Robots, actually,” he answered with a smile, watching as her eyes widened, even beneath the cover of her mask. “I can promise you, they didn’t look nearly as ferocious in real life.”

“Robots?” Sarah’s voice filled with awe. “All of them?” She turned back to the painting, eyes sweeping over the dozens of forms that had been captured within the canvas.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale smiled, folding his hands behind his back as his mind drifted to memories of the very beginning of his hero career. “The Serpent made them all, actually. He found it quite humorous to go along with Archangel and my angelic theme at the beginning. He even managed to get some of the other villains to dress up as famous demon lords to really sell the whole thing.” He paused, a frown of concentration appearing on his face. “I think that’s when Beelzebub took their villain name.”

Sarah was hanging onto his every word, which Aziraphale found strange and unfamiliar. Before she had arrived, none of the other heroes had cared much about what he had to say. Tempest had been around for a few years, and he had no complaints about her, but the younger woman didn’t spend much time in Host Tower outside of her scheduled shifts. Aziraphale didn’t know much about her, but he’d picked up that her schedule was more sporadic than some of the other heroes. He assumed that meant she was still in school. Perhaps college or some kind of higher level education.

“It backfired on them for a little bit.” The hero started walking again, wanting to make sure they weren’t late for their meeting. He hoped they weren’t in trouble over what had occurred the previous day, but even if they were, showing up late wouldn’t do them any favors. “For months, the public kept calling them Beelze bug .”

Sarah let out a laugh and Aziraphale’s entire body filled with relief. He hated the thought of her feeling nervous about any of this. No matter what happened once they walked through the set of double doors at the end of the hall, Aziraphale would make sure she came out the other side without blame.

“I kind of like that name better,” she admitted with a smile. Aziraphale returned it in earnest.

“Me too.”

They’d reached the office doors. Aziraphale had a brief moment of wanting to stop and knock, but figured doing so might pull Sarah out of the relaxed mood he’d been able to get her in. Besides, Metatron had summoned them both. He would be expecting them.

Instead, Aziraphale marched right in, Sarah close behind him. He stopped short, surprised to see Archangel already standing before the large oak desk at the back of the room. Most of the space was empty - the walls left bare, the floor polished so clean he could see his reflection. The only other thing of note besides the desk and the man sitting behind it was a bookshelf on the wall to their left, packed to the brim with unmarked journals, surrounding a large computer monitor with many buttons and dials on the panel below.

“Ah!” Metatron exclaimed, not bothering to rise from his current seat. Archangel was standing before him, a few feet in front of the desk and off to the left, hands clasped firmly behind his back as he stood at attention. “Principality. Seraphim. Welcome. So glad you could all make it.”

The man’s laid back tone did little to encourage Aziraphale as he and Sarah approached. If Archangel was here too, they must be here to talk about yesterday’s events.

Derek Goodwin - the man otherwise known as Metatron - was an unassuming man. He wore a three piece suit every day, but often removed the jacket and vest when he got absorbed in a certain task that required his concentration. Not overly fond of computers and machinery, he did most of his work in small, leather bound journals. One of which was lying open on his desk to a fresh page.

“I wanted to discuss the events that transpired yesterday,” he announced with little flair. Straight and to the point. It was one of the things Aziraphale admired about the man. Today’s suit was a charcoal grey, paired with a pastel blue shirt and patterned tie. A bit more adventurous an outfit than the usual black and whites Aziraphale was used to seeing in all his posters around the city, but it suited the man. Metatron was older than the three of them, by at least twenty or thirty years in Aziraphale and Archangel’s case, but he had the build of a man who took exceptional care of his health. His hair was cut short, small streaks of grey showing through the dark color. His beard was neat and trimmed, not a hair out of place, and showing much more white than the rest of him. He smiled with a sparkle in his brown eyes, but underneath it all, Aziraphale could sense there was a man who knew what he wanted - who knew how much power he held - and wasn’t afraid to use it.

“There was a bit of a snafu,” the man explained, uncapping his fountain pen and placing a pair of black framed reading glasses on his nose as he began to write. Aziraphale was too far away to read the words as they appeared on the page, and even if he had been closer, he had never quite mastered the art of reading text upside down. “Normally, I review the events myself through traffic camera footage and other media uploads and corroborate what I see with your reports, however,” he paused, brown eyes drifting from Archangel to Aziraphale and finally to Sarah, “it would appear the villains you encountered yesterday had some sort of scrambling device. Any recordings made within several blocks of them were completely unwatchable. Very unfortunate.”

Aziraphale nodded his head. So that was why he hadn’t seen any reporting on the news. No one had been able to get any usable footage of the fight. How had the villains managed to do that? With the exception of The Serpent, they’d all been engaged in the fight. Was it another one of his contraptions that had scrambled the tapes? Or had something else been at work?

“I figured the best way to get to the bottom of things,” Metatron continued, glancing back down at his notebook as he wrote, “was to get you all in a room together and go over the details. Archangel tells me you and Seraphim were first on the scene after Tempest, is that correct?”

It took Aziraphale a moment to realize Metatron was talking directly to him. “Uh, yes, sir,” he responded, glancing over at Archangel as he spoke. “We arrived a few minutes after her.”

Aziraphale’s eyes remained on the other hero’s face. Archangel had been in the room first, and it was clear the two had talked. How much had Archangel revealed? Had he fessed up to almost killing Beelzebub already, or was he waiting to see if Aziraphale would rat him out? If there really was no video footage of the fight, it would be Archangel’s word against his own, and Aziraphale really didn’t want to get into a fight like that. Especially since Sarah was so involved.

It was then that Archangel turned back to him, the look in his eyes causing Aziraphale to pause. Aziraphale had never been the best at reading people. He often second guessed himself and mixed up similar type emotions, but it would have been impossible to mistake the indisputable flash of guilt that crossed Archangel’s face the moment their eyes met.

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale made his choice. 

“I would say Tempest was on her own against Hellfire and Beelzebub for four or five minutes tops,” he started, turning back to face Metatron as the man began to take notes. Aziraphale launched into his version of events, making sure to highlight how rough Tempest had looked when they’d arrived and how essential Sarah had been in healing her. He mentioned the reasons Beelzebub claimed the villains were there and the way the fight had broken out again after Tempest was on her feet. 

Aziraphale was not the best liar, but he’d read enough comic books and seen enough movies to be able to weave a story around the events of the previous day. “Archangel appeared right before Vertigo and the others revealed themselves,” he announced, knowing this next part could go one of two ways. Either Metatron would believe him or he wouldn’t. Either Archangel would speak up, or he would let Aziraphale talk. The man’s stomach clenched in anxiety, but he pressed on, reminding himself that no matter what happened with the two of them, at least Sarah would be in the clear.

“He engaged Beelzebub, just as he always does, but - “ Aziraphale took a chance and glanced over at Archangel once more, trying to gauge if the hero was about to explode at him in rage, just as he’d done to Beelzebub the day prior, but Archangel had his eyes fixed front, not bothering to acknowledge Aziraphale at all. “Either the attack was more effective than usual, or Beelzebub wasn’t as prepared as we assumed they were. Archangel zapped the majority of their swarm right around the time Vertigo launched their attack.”

To her credit, Sarah did not react to his lie, and for that, Aziraphale was grateful. If she had, Metatron may not have even noticed, but it was better to be safe than sorry. His nose was still buried in his notebook, writing every last detail down.

“They fell from nearly sixty feet up,” Aziraphale explained. “Archangel and I - we were too disoriented to catch them in time. Things would have ended a lot worse had Seraphim not been there to cushion their fall.”

At that, Metatron looked up, eyes glancing from Aziraphale’s face over to Sarah’s. “You saved Beelzebub’s life?”

Sarah glanced over at Aziraphale briefly before turning back to Metatron. “Yes, sir. I didn’t think - I just reacted. I don’t know if they would have died, but they would have been severely hurt - perhaps more than I could have aided with had I not caught them.”

Silently, Metatron nodded his head, raising his left hand as a gesture for Aziraphale to continue. His attention was back on his notes once more, and Aziraphale wished he knew what key elements this man was taking away from their tall tale.

He continued to describe the encounter - detailing how both Vertigo and Replica had shown up. How he and Archangel had managed to get themselves into the air to battle the disorienting villain. How none of the other villains seemed to be affected by Vertigo’s power, no matter how close or far away they seemed to stand.

“And the damage to the convention center?” 

Aziraphale’s voice caught in his throat. Archangel had been the one to throw that blast, nearly killing The Serpent in the process. Aziraphale remembered how his heart had seized in his chest. How he’d been so afraid that something was going to happen to the man who was supposed to be his nemesis. Like Sarah, he’d reacted without thinking, launching himself into the air to catch the villain before it ever occurred to him to do anything else.

Thank goodness he’d been able to make it in time.

“One of The Serpent’s devices malfunctioning, I assume,” Aziraphale responded, hoping that sort of claim wouldn’t poke any other holes in the rest of his story. “We hadn’t even realized he was stationed on the building until it went off. If I had to guess, the other villains were meant to be a distraction while The Serpent laid the real trap. We were lucky his plan backfired before he could set the entire thing up.”

“What happened to him?” Metatron asked, not looking up from his desk as his hand flew across the page. Aziraphale swallowed, wishing he’d thought to bring some water. He hadn’t been expecting to be the one doing all the talking and something about this man unnerved him, even though Metatron was being nothing but professional.

“He started to fall after the rooftop gave way beneath him,” Aziraphale admitted, glad he didn’t have to come up with any more lies. “I was able to catch him in time. After that, the villains counted themselves defeated and vanished, leaving us to clean up the pieces.”

Metatron nodded, writing down the last line of notes before looking up at the trio of heroes standing before him. “I believe that’s all I need for now. The three of you behaved admirably, I must say. Tempest too.” He turned his attention to Sarah, peering at her over the glasses perched across his nose. 

“I think I’ll be meeting with our creative department later this week,” he announced, more to himself than any of them, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “This encounter has given me a few ideas I want to explore further. Some interesting ways I think we can introduce you to the franchise.”

Without another word, Metatron turned back to his notebook, flipping the page and jotting down more notes as he lifted his free hand, waving them all away.

“Thank you all. I have more than enough of what I need. You are dismissed.”

Aziraphale was the first to move, desperately wanting to get out of that office before Metatron realized something in his story didn’t add up and started to question him more. Aziraphale reminded himself even if the man figured out he’d been lying, it was really Archangel who would get in trouble. He was the one who had almost killed someone, and even though he seemed to be in a better headspace today, that didn’t change the fact that - 

“Thank you.”

The words were soft, but full of sincerity. The strangeness of it all caused Aziraphale to stop in his tracks and turn to face the hero behind him. At the other end of the hall, the doors had closed tightly behind them, and though Aziraphale could see the elevators several dozen feet ahead, there was no sign of anyone else nearby. They were entirely alone.

Archangel stood a few steps back, allowing Sarah to take her place beside Aziraphale. The hero looked over at the other man, trying to read him now. Masks always made such a thing more difficult, but Aziraphale could tell Archangel meant what he said. He didn’t understand why the hero had been so ruthless yesterday - didn’t understand what had caused him to lash out so violently, but Aziraphale had to assume whatever was going on, it was something big.

He didn’t know what to say in response, though Aziraphale could tell Archangel and Sarah both were waiting for one. What could he say? It’s ok, everyone makes mistakes. Except what Archangel had almost done yesterday wasn’t ok, was more than just a mistake. Of course. I’ve always got your back. A complete, outright lie. Aziraphale would do what he could to keep any of his fellow heroes safe from harm, but that didn’t mean he was willing to cover up anything they did that might be considered dangerous.

So why had he done it? In the moment, Aziraphale had been so sure of things, but now? What if Archangel took this free pass to heart? What if he lost his temper again and seriously hurt someone next time, or worse?

Blue eyes drifted to the young woman standing beside him and Aziraphale relaxed. He knew exactly why he’d said what he had, and despite the potential consequences, he didn’t regret it for an instant.

Turning to look Archangel directly in the eyes, Aziraphale’s face hardened ever so slightly as he gave his response.

“I didn’t do it for you.”

If Archangel was taken aback by the sentiment, he didn’t show it. Aziraphale made a move for the elevator, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him, turning him back around once more.

“I know.” A frown had appeared on Archangel’s face, his eyes glistening in the fluorescent lighting that hung above them. “I just - I’m sorry. For all of it.”

A ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ in one day? Aziraphale didn’t know what to think.

“We’re not the ones you should be apologizing to.”

Aziraphale turned to look at Sarah, surprised at her boldness, but proud, nonetheless. He’d always known she was braver than he’d ever been, but seeing evidence of her strength of character, even faced with someone as intimidating  as Archangel. It gave him hope for what The Host could become.

Instead of arguing or shooting her down like Aziraphale expected him to, Archangel simply lowered his hand and turned to face the younger woman. 

“I know.”

Their conversation could have ended there. It would have been easy for Aziraphale and Sarah to walk away. To return to their regularly scheduled day - the last normal one before the convention kicked off for the weekend. Aziraphale would have likely preferred it to be that way, but Sarah’s next question stopped him in his tracks.

“Are you alright?”

Pain flashed through Archangel’s eyes as he looked down at her. For a while, he was silent, and Aziraphale wondered if he would respond at all. It wasn’t like the man was the most forthcoming with his true thoughts or feelings in any circumstance. Especially when Aziraphale was concerned. 

“I...no,” he admitted softly, and in a strange turn of events, Aziraphale’s heart went out to the other hero. “But I’m working on it. Yesterday was…” he trailed off, hand reaching up to brush at the hair on the back of his neck. “It was a very personal day for me. I was upset at the interruption and lost control of my emotions. It was irresponsible of me and I promise, it won’t happen again.”

Aziraphale nodded his head, not sure what else he could say. It wasn’t as if it were up to him to dole out punishment or absolve Archangel of his wrongdoings. He was just another member of The Host. Another hero just trying to do the right thing, day in and day out.

“I just wanted the two of you to know,” he continued, lowering his hand to his side as he stood a little taller. “You kept me from making a huge mistake yesterday. The both of you.” Archangel turned to Sarah and offered her a tentative smile. Or, at least, the closest thing to a smile he could muster. “So, thank you. For everything. I won’t forget this, I promise.”

And somehow, someway, Aziraphale believed him.

Chapter Text

Crowley’s third time around the block was no more successful than the first two. Grey clouds clung to the December skies, threatening signs of rain as the man fought against his rapidly beating heart and sweaty palms, urging himself to just get it over with already. He’d been out here long enough that the cold air was starting to seep into his very bones, threatening to freeze him solid. 

“It shouldn’t be that hard,” he reasoned with himself, shifting the paper bag in his hands from one arm to the other. It was jammed to the brim with all sorts of dinnertime ingredients for the meal he’d promised to make Aziraphale later. Pasta and tomatoes and cheese. Freshly baked bread. A dozen roses. Nothing that would spoil if he hovered out here a few more minutes. Although, the roses were looking a bit put out at the notion of staying in the cold a moment longer.

“Just walk up to the door.” His heart skipped a beat. Crowley felt like he was going to be sick. “You don’t even have to knock. You can just walk right in. Aziraphale won’t mind.”

His heart skipped a beat again. Or rather, several beats as it seized in his chest. Aziraphale. Principality. Or was he? Crowley hadn’t seen Aziraphale since last week. He hadn’t seen Principality up close since the hero had saved his life. Sure, he’d spent almost the entirety of the weekend staking out the convention. Keeping his eye on the white-clad hero. Trying to figure out the mystery. Trying to figure out the truth. But he was no closer now than he had been three days ago.

Crowley hadn’t learned much at all over those few days except Aziraph - Principality liked interacting with children the most. The younger the better. He always got that soft grin on his face when a small child raced up to him, arms out wide to give him a hug. The same soft grin that appeared on Aziraphale’s face when he and Crowley took an afternoon walk around the park and saw families squatting by the side of the pond, feeding the ducks, their young children squealing with joy all the while.

He’d also learned that Principality had a side-kick. Or mentee. Or whatever new superheroes called themselves these days. Her name was Seraphim, he was pretty sure, and she’d been the one who had saved Beelzebub’s life the other day when Archangel had gone off the rails. She seemed young, but growing more sure of herself every day. It was clear Principality was fond of her. The pair hardly left each other’s side. Crowley hadn’t seen the hero laugh this much in a very long time.

This was absolutely ridiculous. Crowley scowled at the burgundy door leading into the bookshop. Aziraphale’s apartment was on the second floor and while there was a secondary access point around the corner, he’d always just gone in through the bookshop. Why was this so difficult? Even if Aziraphale was Principality, what did it change? It wasn’t like Crowley was planning on telling him the truth about himself. Even a normal, everyday man would break up with him over that.  No, he would go on pretending everything was fine and if Aziraphale ever decided to tell him the truth, well, he would deal with that as it came. It was probably better off this way anyways. Knowing the truth now made it easier not to give himself away should it be made known later. He’d had plenty of time to process it and now Crowley was ready to get out of this frigid air and settled by a fireplace where he could hold Aziraphale’s hand and cuddle up on the couch and maybe even steal a few kisses under the light of the man’s ridiculously old television.

Mustering up the deepest breath he could, given the circumstances, Crowley faced off against the bookshop door and commanded himself.

“Go. Inside.”

It didn’t work. It was almost...ironic, if he stopped to think about it too long. Which he didn't.

Sighing, Crowley unstuck his feet from the pavement and moved to make another lap around the block when he spotted movement in one of the downstairs windows. Moments later, the door to the bookshop opened and Aziraphale poked his head outside.

“Crowley, my dear,” he began with a smile, the warmth of his greeting all but melting Crowley’s frosted interiors. “Whatever are you doing standing outside? Come in this instant.”

And where his own directions had failed, Crowley instantly followed Aziraphale’s. He crossed the street with three very long strides and found himself ushered through the door as Aziraphale immediately took the bag from him, setting it on one of the many tables scattered throughout the store. The warmth inside the building was more than welcome, even if it burned at his nose and ears while they warmed up far quicker than they were ready for.

“I hope you weren’t out there long,” Aziraphale began to fret, and Crowley felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was the one who had chosen to stand outside an extra twenty minutes, but of course Aziraphale would be the one worrying over it. It was adorable how much he cared. “I would have gotten the door much sooner for you had I known you were waiting.”

Crowley shrugged, realizing the polite thing to do would be to remove his coat, despite the fact he felt he might turn into a popsicle without it. “ ‘S my fault, really. I left too early. Didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Aziraphale smiled that brilliant smile of his and Crowley recognized it as the same one he used with Anathema each time he rescued her. The same one he shared with Seraphim each time she said something to make him laugh. That was Principality’s smile. Aziraphale’s smile, when he was looking at someone he cared deeply for. And here he was, sharing it with Crowley of all people.

“You could have come in early,” the blonde man murmured as he took a step forward, placing both his hands on the lapels of Crowley’s jacket. Leaning in, he placed a soft kiss on Crowley’s lips. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

Tears pricked at Crowley’s eyes as he tried to ignore the stabbing guilt in his heart. He didn’t deserve this. He should just go, before the truth came out and he lost Aziraphale for good. Wasn’t it better for him to just go, now, before he ruined things like he always did?

“My dear,” Aziraphale started, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright? Whatever is the matter?”

Crowley felt a warm hand pressed against his cheek as Aziraphale’s thumb brushed against the corner of his eye. He chuckled to himself, lifting his own hand to intertwine with Aziraphale’s. “Nothing. I just - I missed you.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. Crowley had missed Aziraphale even before he’d almost fallen to his death. He’d missed Aziraphale before he’d stumbled upon this mess of secret identities. Despite all of this, Crowley missed Aziraphale. He would always miss Aziraphale.

Aziraphale beamed up at him and Crowley couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and planted a firm kiss on Aziraphale’s mouth, closing his eyes and wishing it all away. All but the two of them, here, together. No heroes. No villains. Just him and Aziraphale and a home-cooked dinner and a couch fit for two.

When he opened his eyes again, he found that Aziraphale, too, was crying. For the briefest of moments, panic entered Crowley’s chest. This was it. Aziraphale had somehow put it together. He’d figured it out, just as Crowley had - figured out Crowley’s secret identity. Figured out Crowley had been lying to him this entire time.

“Wha - what’s wrong?” Crowley forced out through the lump that had gathered in his throat. His chest tightened as Aziraphale lifted a hand to dry his eyes, not bothering to relax, even when the other man practically beamed up at him.

“Nothing, my dear.” The warmth and affection in his voice finally caused Crowley to relax. His hand reached out to take Aziraphale’s in his, painfully aware how cold his fingers must feel. “You just make me very happy, that’s all.”

Aziraphale brought their entwined hands up to his lips, placing a soft kiss on each of Crowley’s freezing fingers before tugging him forward even further into the bookshop. “So sorry about the mess, my dear. I wanted to have it all decorated before you got here, but doing so took a lot more time than I remembered.”

Crowley glanced around the bookshop. Sure enough, there were dozens of boxes strewn about in an almost haphazard fashion. Tinsel, lights, ornaments, all sorts of holiday decorations poked through the cardboard flaps, just begging to be hung up. So far, the only bit of festivity he saw in the bookshop were a handful of fake poinsettias hidden amongst the bookshelves. Crowley made a mental note to fix that the next time he came by.

“Want a hand?” he asked as he followed Aziraphale towards the back stairs. His apartment lay just one story up and, if Crowley knew Aziraphale at all, was just as strewn with unhung decorations as the bookshop. “I don’t need to start dinner for another few hours.”

Aziraphale spun around and looked at him in shock. “Dinner! Oh, all the food you brought. I left it over by the door. Oh, goodness. We should get that upstairs to the kitchen as soon as possible and - “

“It’s alright An - Aziraphale.” Crowley almost slapped himself at the near slip of his tongue. Was he trying to ruin everything? If he slipped into the familiar pet name he reserved only for Principality, he was surely done for.

Luckily, Aziraphale was still muttering to himself and had hardly taken notice of the near mishap. Crowley cleared his throat and quickly continued. “Nothing in there’s gonna go bad right away. If anything, it could use a good thaw. I know December is supposed to be cold, but honestly.”

Aziraphale grinned as he scooped up the bag with one arm. One, well-defined, strong, muscular arm that Crowley couldn’t believe he’d missed after all these months of spending time with the other man. Yes, Crowley had always known Aziraphale was strong, but it was another thing seeing evidence and knowing he was looking at superhuman strength.

Before Crowley’s thoughts could get away from him, he reeled them back in, focusing all his attention on Aziraphale as his partner began to climb the stairs up to his apartment. “I know it isn’t your favorite, but I rather like the brisk air. Makes my morning walks all the more refreshing. Plus, if it stays this cold, we may actually get a White Christmas this year.”

Crowley’s heart stuttered at the thought. You’re welcome to spend Christmas with me this year, if you like. Months ago, on the shores of a pond, Aziraphale had invited Crowley to spend the holiday with him and Crowley had accepted. They’d been together now nearly five months and Crowley couldn’t imagine anyone he’d rather spend the day with.

In fact, buried at the bottom of that paper bag Aziraphale was now setting down on the granite countertop was a surprise gift for the both of them. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s actual Christmas gift, that would come later, but it was something Crowley was very excited to give him. Something that would, hopefully, make their first Christmas together one to remember.

“Have you ever had a White Christmas before?” Crowley asked, trying not to let himself get too distracted by the implication that first Christmas meant there would hopefully be more. And wasn’t that what he wanted? Given the choice, wouldn’t Crowley spend every Christmas from here until Armageddon by Aziraphale’s side?

Aziraphale frowned in concentration, his hand hovering just above the bag, box of lasagna noodles in hand as he continued to unpack Crowley’s groceries. “Once, I think, when I was very young. It may not have been Christmas, exactly. But it was close. I remember being at my grandmother’s house, pressing my nose up against the window as she baked cookies in the kitchen.”

Crowley simply smiled, Aziraphale’s description of his childhood filling his mind. He could practically smell the sugar cookies filling the room, the soft sound of a Christmas record playing in the corner. He was surprised at how much his heart ached for a memory like that. Growing up, it had been just Crowley and his mother, and while he had many happy memories of Christmas traditions with her, he hadn’t seen her in over fifteen years. Not since she’d left. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a Christmas memory that didn’t hurt so much? Just this once.

“We should bake cookies together,” Crowley offered, moving to help put his ingredients away until later in the evening. “Not today, of course. I didn’t bring anything to make the dough with. Maybe on Christmas sometime.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh good,” he announced, a bright twinkle in his blue eyes. “I was hoping you’d want to spend the holidays together.”

Crowley rolled his eyes in the most playful of ways, heart filling with excitement. “Of course I do, assuming the offer still stands.”

If it were possible, Aziraphale’s smile grew even brighter. “Oh, yes, of course! We can bake cookies together, and exchange gifts and listen to music. And if you come over Christmas Eve, the neighborhood does this lovely caroling event. Just a few blocks around town - we wouldn’t be outside too long. I could make us hot chocolate afterwards, of course, and we could watch a movie together on the couch. And in the morning, we can do all those other things, or just nothing at all. Whatever you like would be just fine with me.”

He was rambling, that much was extremely obvious, and Crowley wouldn’t have it any other way. Aziraphale had a tendency to talk a lot when he got excited about something. He talked a lot when he got nervous too, but Crowley could tell this wasn’t one of those cases. Aziraphale was happy . Somehow, someone like Crowley made him this happy. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all. Maybe they could be happy like this, together. If they just left all the superhero nonsense behind them.

Color flooded Crowley’s cheeks as his mind caught up to what Aziraphale had just said. Was Aziraphale asking him to spend the night with him on Christmas Eve? He had imagined doing so many times, but would not impose himself until Aziraphale made it clear he was ready.

Seconds later, Aziraphale’s eyes met Crowley’s and his face turned a very similar shade of red. “Oh - I uh, that is - I don’t want to presume anything. I just thought - it does seem rather silly of you to leave, just to have to come back the next day. And, well, it's not like my bed isn't big enough - and I do have the couch, if you'd prefer -  “

Now this was nervous prattling. Crowley stepped in closer to Aziraphale, placing his slightly still-cold hand on the man’s cheek as he leaned in for a kiss. He allowed himself to linger, relishing the gentle sigh that escaped Aziraphale’s lips as the other man leaned into him, the soft fabric of his Christmas themed sweater brushing up against Crowley’s free hand still dangling at his side.

“If you’ll have me, I’ll stay as long as you like. All the way until next Christmas, if you insist,” Crowley responded, only half teasing. Brushing his thumb against Aziraphale’s soft, round cheek, he thought about leaning down for another kiss, but figured there would be plenty of time for that later. “Sounds almost perfect.”

“Almost?” So Aziraphale had caught onto his hint. He felt a soft pressure on his waist as Aziraphale’s hand moved to rest on his hip, slipping inside the jacket he still wore, gently tugging him closer. “What would make it perfect, then?”

To answer, Crowley had to step away. He removed his hand from Aziraphale’s cheek and stuck it deep into the brown paper bag, fishing around until he felt the familiar manila envelope. Silently, he handed it to Aziraphale, waiting to see what the man’s reaction might be.

“Tickets?” Aziraphale asked, curiosity seeping into his voice as he turned the pair of documents over in his hands.

Crowley nodded softly. “To the Christmas Eve party at Town Hall. You know - tuxes and gowns, dancing and music and all that. I heard there was supposed to be a great spread this year, and that they got a whole orchestra to play in the ballroom. I was hoping you’d be my date?”

Would Aziraphale agree to go with him? It had seemed like a good idea when he’d bought the tickets, but that had been before he’d realized who Aziraphale really was. The heroes of The Host often went to events like these, even if their attire didn’t quite align with the theme. It was all a publicity stunt - for all he knew, Aziraphale had been to the last fifteen Christmas Eve parties and would have no interest in going as his normal self. But he’s bought the tickets, so Crowley reasoned, the least he could do was ask.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, looking up with tears in his eyes once more. “What a wonderful, touching gift. Yes, I would love to go with you. As your date. It sounds absolutely wonderful.”

A wide smile broke out across Crowley’s face as he pulled Aziraphale in for a hug. Both Aziraphale’s arms slipped around his waist as Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. For a moment, the two men simply held each other. Crowley breathed in deep, his mind filling with memories of strong arms and kind eyes catching him as he fell. The scent of books and lavender filled his senses and Crowley felt a wave of emotion threaten to overtake him.

He’d almost died not more than four days ago. In those last moments, all Crowley could think about was this man - this man whose arms were wrapped around him now in this moment. This man who he held tightly against his chest and never wanted to let go. This man whose smile filled him with warmth and whose presence made him feel more worthwhile than he could ever remember feeling before. 

Words bubbled up inside of him, but Crowley silently willed them back down. Now wasn’t the right time. He would have another chance to say them soon enough, on Christmas Eve, in a hall decorated from head to toe in magical lights and festive ornaments. Maybe out on the dance floor, or under the cover of a romantic horse drawn carriage. Somewhere meaningful. Somewhere they'd remember for many Christmases to come.

They were words that he hoped would show Aziraphale just how much he meant to Crowley - how much his life had been changed by Aziraphale. Words that meant he wanted to do better - to be better - all for Aziraphale. And that was what he wanted. Forget all the rest of it. This was the only thing that mattered to Crowley now. Just being here, with Aziraphale. Making him laugh and smile every day. It was all Crowley wanted in the whole wide world. And he could have it - Crowley believed that with all of his heart.

There was just one last thing he had to do.

Chapter Text

December rains were the worst kind of rain. Really, any winter rain was, but December seemed to hit harder. The holidays were almost upon them and people should be free to wander the streets, admiring the lights strung on every tree and lamppost, children pressing their noses into toyshop windows, adding last minute requests to their wishlist. The rain put a damper on everyone’s spirits - not just Crowley’s - and he found himself hunching even further beneath his umbrella as he trudged down the street toward his destination.

Tucked safely underneath the arm that wasn’t struggling to hold his umbrella aloft was a single manila envelope containing a journal. He’d gone out and bought it special for this occasion. It wasn’t like he could have handed over one of his already used notebooks - there was far too much information hidden within them. Information he didn’t need getting into the wrong hands.

So he’d bought a new notebook, and he’d written every last detail down that he thought the other villains might need to know about what he’d discovered, and here he was, going to hand deliver it to Beelzebub themself.

It had taken Crowley a while to decide what to wear on such an occasion. Turning up in a supervillain suit was asking for trouble. But he couldn’t just show his real face. Not after what he was about to do. If the other villains found out who he was - if they came after him, they could come after Aziraphale. And, of course, Crowley knew Aziraphale could handle himself, but then Aziraphale’s cover would be blown too and it would be all his fault.

No. Best to do this as surreptitiously as possible. Strike a compromise, such that no one would be able to recognize him. Not even Beelzebub, at first anyways.

The black pants and coat were easy. He owned almost nothing but black in those departments. Given the meeting had been arranged to be outdoors, Crowley had opted for a thick wool sweater underneath. Not the one Aziraphale had given to him. That one was Crowley’s and he would fight anyone who tried to take it from him. He’d bought another one, specifically for this occasion. An oversized bright green one with actual Christmas lights sewn into it. Just so he could burn it afterwards.

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” he grumbled to himself as he took a left turn off the pavement and entered the wide gates of a cemetery. A gust of wind rushed by him and for a moment Crowley thought he might lose his grip on the umbrella, or worse, have his wig fly right off his head, but both stayed firmly in place and he quickly continued along his way.

Beelzebub had been the one to choose the location, and Crowley had gone along with it to keep the peace. He was already going to rock the boat enough with what he planned to do - putting up a fight over where to meet was the last thing he wanted. Slowly, the man made his way down the gravel pathway, keeping an eye out for...well, he didn’t know exactly who he was looking for. Crowley assumed, like him, Beelzebub would come in some sort of disguise. And he realized as he walked further and further down the main path - he had no idea who that might be.

What did he do if he couldn’t find them? Did he call them up on his phone? He’d brought a burner, just in case, but that would assume that Beelzebub had thought to do the same thing. What had they said earlier that morning? Meet me in the cemetery. Three rows in front of the giant oak tree. Crowley didn’t make a habit out of visiting the cemetery, but he did know which tree Beelzebub had been referring to, so he counted the rows as he walked and sure enough, spotted a figure halfway down that appeared to be the same height as the villain, based on what he could see through the rain.

The figure was standing alone in front of a short, plain headstone. Hands in their pocket, hood pulled up over their head, Crowley couldn’t see many identifying features at first, but as he approached, they turned to face him and he recognized Beelzebub instantly. There were no bright red eyes. No shaggy black wig or goggles strapped to their head. There was just an individual dressed in black combat boots, ripped jeans, and an oversized hoodie, shivering slightly against the wind each time it blew by.

Crowley sidled up to Beelzebub and stuck his hand out, sheltering them from the worst of the rain. “Thanks for agreeing to meet up,” he began, not knowing what else to say. Not having the faintest idea how to start this conversation.

Beelzebub nodded, hands still buried deep in their sweatshirt pocket. Their hair was longer than Crowley expected it to be, reaching down to just past their shoulders, and as black as the material they wore for their costume. Beelzebub didn’t look up, instead keeping their eyes fixed on the headstone before them.

He wasn’t necessarily the biggest fan of graveyards, rarely coming to them as he had no one to mourn, but Crowley bowed his head anyway in a moment of respect. His heart twinged in his chest as he read the inscription. Beatrice Anne Martin. September 12, 1987 - December 2, 2004.

Only seventeen years old. Who was she to them? A sister? A best friend? There was a part of him that wanted to know, but Crowley knew he would never ask something so personal. Not when he was trying to keep his own secret identity very much under wraps. 

Beelzebub didn’t respond beyond the head nod, so Crowley tried again. He slid his free arm around to the front, grabbing the envelope from under it while trying to keep the umbrella as steady as possible. Beelzebub was already soaked to the bone. Anything he could do to keep them dry, if only for a little bit, seemed like the thing to do.

“I’ve compiled all my notes. Everything you may need to deal with your memory issue,” he began to explain, choosing his words carefully as he handed the information over. There hadn’t been anyone else around them when he arrived, but Crowley wanted to be as safe as he could be. He was doing this so he could finally live a normal life. So he could be with Aziraphale. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally ruin things by blowing his cover.

“I’ve laid out how the mechanism works, a few different solutions on how to disable it to help with your surveillance. I diagramed prototypes, in case you or the others wanted to build any of my designs and wrote up a few theories on how you all may be able to better utilize your assets if you decide to move forward with your plan. But - “

He paused, surprised at how difficult this next part was to say. Crowley had no idea if it was because he actually cared what Beelzebub thought about him, after all this time, or if he’d been doing this so long - he’d been a villain for so long - that it had become a part of him that was difficult to let go of.

“I can’t be a part of this anymore. Something personal came up, and breaking the law, being a villain - putting my life at risk. I just - I can’t do it anymore. I hope you understand.”

“What’s her name?”

The question came softly and unexpectedly and it took Crowley’s mind a moment and a half to catch up.

“His,” he answered just as softly, and the vulnerability of it all took him by surprise. “And I’d rather not say.”

Finally, Beelzebub looked up to meet his gaze. Crowley was surprised to find tear stains on their cheeks, their dark brown eyes shimmering in the overcast light.

“I get it,” they murmured, breath rushing from their lungs as they tried to keep themself together. Crowley had never seen them this vulnerable before and didn’t know how to react. It wasn’t as if the two were friends. They’d been on the opposite side of arguments far too many times to be considered as such. Crowley felt as if he barely knew them, and yet they’d been such a huge part of his life for so many years. Doing nothing felt just as wrong. 

“I do, I really do.” Beelzebub took another deep breath in, steadying their nerves as they lifted a soaked sleeve to wipe at their face. “You have a life. Someone you care about. You’re tired of this ridiculous game and you have another name you can use. Another identity. You can disappear from the limelight and live your normal life and I’m happy for you. I really am.”

“I’d give anything to have that option again.”

Not all of us have our old identities to fall back on.

The memory flashed through Crowley’s mind as a frown appeared on his face. “Why don’t you?” He found himself asking, despite his better judgement. “If you’re as tired of all this as I am, why not just stop?”

Pain flashed across Beelzebub’s face, though they did not appear angry at the question. Slowly, they turned back to the grave before them, eyebrows furrowed as if they were struggling to find the right words. As if, maybe, there were no words to be found. 

Crowley turned back to look at the headstone, and as if he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning, everything seemed to fall into place with sudden clarity.

“This is your grave.”

Beelzebub chuckled darkly, reaching up again to wipe the tears from their eyes. “Yeah. It is.”

“But -” he was at a loss of what to say. “How?”

He half expected the other villain to snap at him. To tell him it was none of his business and that he should be on his way. Their transaction was done, after all. Beelzebub had Crowley’s notes. He’d gone and handed in his resignation. There was nothing left for him to offer.

“When I was sixteen,” they began, eyes never moving from the tombstone. “My best friend discovered he had superpowers.” Their voice was soft, vulnerable, displaying over a decade of pain and struggle. “He was over the moon. The Host was just getting started and all he wanted to do was sign up - to help people.”

A small smile appeared on their face. “When we got the results after his try out, we celebrated all week. It didn’t matter to me that I didn’t have powers - I was just happy that he was happy. We made plans together. I came up with his training regime. Thought up different ways to try out his new powers, really test what he could do. For a while there, it was perfect.”

Slowly the smile fell, and Crowley found himself hanging onto their every word. “Six months after Gabriel discovered his powers, I stumbled into mine. I kept it from him at first.” Beelzebub scoffed. “I had these grand plans to surprise him. To get into The Host so we could fight side by side.”

Silence fell between the pair. After a while Crowley felt the overwhelming urge to break it, even if doing so got him yelled at or punched or worse.

“I’m guessing those plans didn’t exactly plan out the way you wanted them to?”

Once again, Beelzebub laughed. It was a hollow sound that cut Crowley to his core. “Far from it. The Host turned me down. Said my powers didn’t fit their image. I was devastated.”

Crowley nodded his head. He could understand how that rejection cut to the very heart of a person. He’d been rejected from The Host at around the same age. They hadn’t even bothered to give him a reason and Crowley had no idea if that made things better or worse for him in the end.

“Is that why you…” he trailed off, unable to find the words. “How you ended up here?”

“No.” The reply was soft and disheartened and so unlike the bold, self-assured Beelzebub he’d come to know. Crowley had no idea why they had decided to open up to him now - to tell him their whole life story, but he couldn’t say he was against it. They seemed more human in this moment than they ever had before, and once again Crowley was reminded of the ridiculousness of it all - of this game they’d been forced to play. He and Beelzebub and Hastur and Vertigo and all the others were people . Just as much as anyone else. Sure, they caused a bit of mayhem and made bad choices sometimes, but they weren’t bad people. Not really. They were simply playing along. 

“There was an accident,” Beelzebub continued, and Crowley watched their face, not daring to look away in case he were to miss something important. The wind picked up and he did his best to suppress a shiver, wishing they’d chosen to meet somewhere inside where it was warmer and he could order a large vat of hot chocolate. “A tractor trailer transporting multiple colonies of honeybees overturned on the highway. Somewhere around twenty million of them got loose.”

A vague memory began to surface in Crowley’s mind. He remembered that happening. He’d been only fourteen at the time. There had been a concert going on in the park, only a few miles away from where the accident occurred. A celebration to bring in the holiday season.

“They swarmed the park,” Crowley breathed, hearing the newscasters announcing it as if he were sitting in his old apartment living room, listening to the broadcast right now. “Hundreds of people had to be hospitalized. People died that day. Did you - “ he stopped himself, already knowing the answer.

“You didn’t do that.”

“Of course not.” Beelzebub was openly crying now. Another gust of wind blew through the cemetery bringing with it more curtains of rain. Crowley took a half step closer to Beelzebub, holding out the umbrella at an angle, trying to shield them from the brunt of it. “I tried to help . Tried to call the bees to me, but there were too many. I wasn’t strong enough - I barely knew how to control my powers. I - “

They took in a deep, gasping breath, trying to reel their emotions back in. “Someone spotted me, I guess. Called in The Host. Gabriel showed up.” Beelzebub shuddered, closing their eyes at the memory. “I was so scared he would end up getting hurt. That he would think it was all my fault. That I was some sort of monster. So I ran away. And the bees followed me.” Another deep breath. “I finally lured them all away, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.”

Silence fell once more between the pair. Crowley was at a loss of what to say. It was a lot to take in, far more than he had been expecting to hear when he’d left home that morning. He couldn’t begin to imagine all the hardships they’d had to endure because of such a bizarre and tragic accident.

“There was a little boy,” they sniffed, breaths still ragged, tears still falling. Crowley wondered if this was the first time in fifteen years they’d opened up to anyone about all that had happened to them back then, and all they’d had to deal with since. “Ben. He’d just turned six. And Dottie who was there with her grandchildren. Lisa played piano in the band. And the mayor’s nephew, Dennis. Most of the injured ended up just fine. A normal human adult can withstand over a thousand stings and though it hurts like hell, they won’t die. But kids? They aren’t as resilient. And people have allergies and it was fucking December . I know you’re supposed to have it on you at all times, but honestly, who thinks to bring an EpiPen with them for bee stings in fucking December ?”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” Beelzebub breathed. “And I know that sometimes accidents just happen, but I tried so hard, and I just couldn’t save them.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Crowley agreed, finally finding his voice. “Isn’t your fault. Discovering your powers can be scary, and learning to use them even more confusing and frightening. You did the best with what you were given. Doesn’t make you any more of a monster than the rest of us.”

A wry smile tugged at the edge of Beelzebub’s mouth, quickly fading as they spoke again.

“There’s more.”

And then Beelzebub told them the story of what happened next. How they woke up the next morning to find their name among the deceased. How they rushed to the hospital to report the error but were turned away. How a grainy image of their likeness had been plastered on every storefront, every lamp post - the announcement of a new villain. The city’s first real villain.

“I was so scared,” they breathed, voice little more than a whisper. “I had a shit family growing up. No one I could go to for help. No one who would believe me if I tried. The hospital had ID’d my body. A doctor had signed my death certificate. They’d put me in the ground, for heaven’s sake. I had nothing. No one.”

“What about Gabriel?” Crowley found himself asking. Surely, if Beelzebub had gone to their friend for help, Gabriel would have been overjoyed to find they were alive. Sure, Archangel was a stuck up prick now, but by the sounds of it, he hadn’t always been. What kind of person would he have been to turn Beelzebub away in their hour of need?

“I tried.” Their voice darkened ever so slightly. “It was hard to get them alone, but I managed to a few hours before the funeral. Tried to explain what happened. Where I’d been. He - he didn’t believe me.”

The pain of that admission cut deeper than anything Beelzebub had said so far. Crowley felt it resounding in his own heart, like a knife had been driven deep into his chest. “He thought I was some sort of crazy fan, dressing myself up like his best friend to try and get close to him. Or someone trying to play a trick on him. He was grieving - apparently he was the one who flew my body to the hospital. The trauma of it all - it was messing with his head. Nothing I could say would make him see reason. He thought I had somehow stumbled upon his secret identity. That I was using it against him, to try to find his weakness and take him down. So he went off the grid. He and Metatron and all those people at The Host erased Gabriel Simmons from existence.”

“They erased everyone,” Beelzebub admitted softly. “His parents. Siblings. Aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone . Everyone I’d ever met was just...gone.”

Shit. Beelzebub turned their head to finally look at Crowley and for a moment the man wondered if he’d said that sentiment out loud.

“That’s why you want to break into Host Tower. To retrieve the heroes' secret identities.”

They sighed. “I was so angry. At him. At The Host. At everyone. For so long. I’ll admit, I made some poor choices. I made mistakes. I held onto that anger for much longer than I should. And now?” In that moment, they seemed to age years within a single breath. The lines of worry deepened on their brow as a strand of black hair came untucked from their ears, flying across their face. 

“Now I’m just tired. I’m tired and I want this to end. One way or another. I want to come clean. I want to stop being a villain. I just want to be me again. And I want Gabriel or Archangel or whoever he is now to know the truth.”

“I want my best friend back.”

“Shit.” This time he definitely said it out loud. “Bealz, I’m so sorry.” His eyes drifted down to the tombstone once more, the dates starting to stand out a bit more against the stone surface.

December 2nd… ”That’s why Archangel was so pissed last week - why you chose for us to attack the convention center that day. That was - “ 

“The day I died,” Beelzebub finished with another dark chuckle that came nowhere near meeting their eyes. “Yeah. I honestly wasn’t sure if he still cared. Looks like I was wrong.”

Crowley couldn’t believe it. Archangel had fallen into a fit of rage, had tried to kill Beelzebub for interrupting the day he’d dedicated to mourning his best friend. His best friend who he believed to be dead, who in all actuality was standing right here. “Is that why - “

Beelzebub nodded again. “He thinks I killed her.” They nodded their head toward the ground at their feet. “Beatrice. Bea. His best friend. That’s why he hates me so much.”

What kind of twisted world were they living in? Once again, Crowley was at a loss for words. This was ridiculous. If they could just sit down - the heroes and the villains - and just have an open conversation, they could fix so many misunderstandings. Clear up so many things that had gone wrong between them over the years. 

“Thank you,” Crowley finally said, offering up what he hoped was a grateful smile. “For sharing all that with me. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you.”

Slowly, they shrugged, flashing him a grin that finally started to look like the Beelzebub he knew. “Not gonna lie, it felt pretty good to unload all that on you. Finally get it off my chest.”

Crowley grinned back. “I’m always happy to be the punching bag for you to unload on. Even if I’m leaving my villain days behind me for good.”

Beelzebub’s face fell and Crowley felt his stomach clench rather unpleasantly. What now? Surely, there wasn’t anything else to be said. “There is one more thing you should know.”

Crowley waited, hardly daring to breathe as Beelzebub spoke one more time. 

“My villain origin story wasn’t the only one that coincided with reports of an accident. May 30th, 2006 an orphanage burned down killing five children. October 14th, 2009 three people fell off a rooftop wedding venue where guests had been complaining about feeling dizzy and disoriented most of the night.” Beelzebub paused to let the news sink in. 

“It’s not all of us,” they admitted quietly, knowingly, as a cold dread began to fill Crowley’s entire body. This couldn’t mean - it wasn’t possible, was it? “But it’s enough of us to be more than just a coincidence, don’t you think?”

What Beelzebub was implying - it was outrageous. That somehow The Host had set them all up? That Metatron or the heroes or someone working for them had done their research, had staged all those accidents - put all those lives in danger, to what? To create villains the public would begin to fear. Villains for the heroes to fight. For them to protect the city against.

It was absurd, and it made so much sense that Crowley felt his mouth run completely dry. His heart raced inside his chest, hands shaking, barely able to keep the umbrella straight above them.

He tried to think back to his own villainous story and was coming up blank. What had happened after he’d tried out for The Host? He’d been rejected and then what? Decided to blow off some steam in the park by creating an army of robotic ducks and The Host had sent Principality after him. That had been the beginning of their little rivalry, and as far as Crowley was concerned, he’d never done anything to purposefully harm anyone. But as far as he knew, The Host saw him as a tinkerer and nothing more. As far as he knew, they saw him as a normal , albeit, highly intelligent person. Maybe that hadn’t been enough to warrant them making him a villain on their own. But the others…?

“You don’t think - “

Beelzebub cut him off. “I don’t know. I don’t have any proof. Not yet. But we’re hoping we might find some. Maybe in the same database as those secret identities.”

“I just -” they paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m not trying to convince you not to give up on us and go live your life. God knows I would if I could. I just… I want you to know what’s at stake here.” They paused, giving Crowley a look that could only be described as one of complete trust and respect. “I owe you that much and more, after all these years.”

Slowly, Crowley found himself nodding. They’d been through a lot together over the past fifteen years. It wasn’t always pleasant, and they weren’t exactly friends, but Crowley felt as if he owed Beelzebub just as much. But was it enough to give up on him and Aziraphale? Or, at the very least postpone his official retirement as a villain for one last go-round?

Part of him - a huge part - wanted to walk away right now. He’d delivered his information, heard Beelzebub out. As far as he was concerned, he was in the clear. Sure, he still had to break the news to Minion, but he could do that another day. After Christmas. Where such news wouldn’t ruin the plant’s overwhelming holiday spirit. Aziraphale and Anathema and, sure, even Newton were all that should matter to him. He’d finally found happiness and Crowley was hell bent on keeping it for as long as he could.

But this...this was bigger than him. This was bigger than all of them. If Beelzebub and the others were right? This changed everything . And if Crowley could help uncover the truth. If he could prevent another frightened, underprivileged teenager from going through the same trauma Beelzebub and some of the others had, didn’t he owe it to them all to try?

Bringing his free hand up to rub at his face, Crowley heaved a sigh. He was going to regret this - he just knew it. But his hands were tied. There wasn’t any other way he knew how to respond.

“This is your last favor,” he said with a forced smile, knowing very well that proclamation would never hold true. “One more, and I’m out. I help you find out the truth about The Host. Maybe help take them down if it turns out they are the bastards we think they are, and then I’m on a train to retirement for the rest of forever.”

Beelzebub grinned, eyes puffy from their previously shed tears, their nose red from the cold. Without hesitation, they stuck out their hand in silent agreement.

With a surge of determination, Crowley took their hand, surprised to find it was much warmer than his own. Even though Beelzebub was out in this monsoon, dressed in nothing but an overly damp hoodie, they managed to retain more body heat than he ever could.

“Deal.”

Crowley shook his head, a blossom of affection blooming in his chest. They weren’t friends. Not yet. But he’d made an unlikely ally in Beelzebub and he knew, no matter what came next, they would have his back.

“Come on,” the red-haired man muttered, nodding his head in the direction of the main road. “I think I hear a cup of hot chocolate calling my name. Care to join me? Your treat.”

Beelzebub laughed, and for the first time that day, the sound of it actually reached their eyes.

“I can’t think of a single thing that sounds better, except maybe a warm sweater, and socks that aren’t soaked completely through.”

This time, it was Crowley’s turn to laugh. “Fine. You can buy the warm drinks. I’ll buy the warm clothes. I bet you five dollars we can find you a sweater that is twice as warm and twice as ugly as the one I’ve got on now at that thrift shop two blocks down.”

A mischievous spark appeared in Beelzebub’s eye and Crowley knew he was in for a much more entertaining day than he’d originally planned. One that he was not entirely opposed to. Aziraphale was off being a hero, after all. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

“Make that ten dollars and three times as ugly and I’ll take you up on it.”

And so, Crowley offered up his hand one more time, anxiously looking forward to whatever this strange day might bring.

Chapter Text

Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa La Lalala, La La. La. La. tis the season to be jolly. Fa La Lala La, La La. La. La.

Crowley did his best to stifle a groan as Minion stomped around the basement, dragging coils of rainbow colored lights after him as he walked. The whole place looked like Christmas had thrown up over it and the philodendron still wasn’t anywhere near done with decorating.

Music blasted from the radio fixed to the back of his mech suit, echoing off the brightly lit walls, only seeming to amplify the sound. Crowley couldn’t decide if he preferred things that way, or if he’d rather listen to Minion’s enthusiastic, if very off-key singing.

What bothered him the most was that Minion knew how to sing. It wasn’t like the voice box Crowley had supplied him was faulty. Minion had a decent voice. It wasn’t Bing Crosby or Michael Bublé levels of holiday wonder, but he could sing. He was just of the incorrect opinion that Christmas music needed to be belted in order to be appreciated, and the more animated he was, the more enjoyable an experience it was for everyone nearby.

“You know,” Crowley announced over his shoulder as he peered at his reflection in the mirror. He ran a comb through his hair, adjusting the copper locks for the half-dozenth time that evening. “Those lights are meant to be hung on some kind of Christmas tree . Not all over your mech suit.”

Who’s to say I’m not some sort of Christmas tree? Minion asked without turning around. Crowley watched as he extended the suit’s legs, lifting him up to the support beams up above. I’m green. I’m festive. You could put presents at my feet if you wanted. Like an offering of sorts. Lord knows I deserve some.

Crowley bit back a smile. He turned away from the mirror before him for just a moment, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Minion as he tossed the strand of lights from one beam to the next. “You’re not a tree, for starters. You’re a houseplant. And the only reason I would give you an offering would be in conjunction with a prayer to the heavens that you would stop with your infernal racket.”

Please . Minion responded, piping his response through the series of Bluetooth speakers he’d placed all around the room. You love my singing. Why else would you have given me such a majestic voice and access to all these speakers?

Crowley rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the reflection before him. It was Christmas Eve and he was less than an hour away from meeting Aziraphale at the bookshop for the start of their romantic evening. He’d spent nearly the entire day picking out just the right outfit for the occasion - gone through three different vests, six ties, and four pairs of shoes to get everything perfect. Tonight was going to be perfect, he would make sure of it.

Why are you all dressed up anyways? Minion asked, his mech suit practically hanging from the rafters as he tossed another bundle of lights across to the other side. Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to see you getting into the Holiday Spirit for once.

Holiday Spirit? Crowley looked down at his attire. He was dressed in a slimming black suit with red satin lining. A crisp white shirt and burgundy tie peeked out from beneath the vest, completing what he thought to be a rather dashing look. In fact, the only bit of holiday anything he was wearing were the pair of silver, tree shaped cufflinks he’d added into the mix, and only because he knew they’d make Aziraphale smile.

“Oh, no reason,” Crowley lied with ease, suddenly feeling the urge to be anywhere but here. Minion was asking too many questions. Questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Glancing around, his hazel eyes scanned the room for his car keys, but there were so many blasted decorations still strewn about, he couldn’t spot them anywhere. “Minion, have you seen my keys? I could have sworn I left them on the desk somewhere.”

Keys? A string of lights fell to the floor. Crowley sighed as he heard the familiar whirring of the philodendron lowering himself back down to the ground. Why? Where are you going?

“Nowhere!” he exclaimed, turning to face the now six and a half foot tall potted plant. Why had he made that suit so tall? “Nowhere, important really. I just need to...run a few errands.”

Errands? Crowley supposed he should have been proud of the suspicion in Minion’s voice, if it mean he was learning to think more critically of people. He just wished that ‘people’ didn’t always have to mean him. You don’t run errands. And you certainly don’t run errands dressed like that. What’s going on here?

“What?” There was still time to pretend this wasn’t a big deal. That he’d slip out for the evening and be back by mid-morning at the latest. There was no reason for Minion to be getting this upset about things. Crowley was allowed to have a life too - he was allowed to have a reason for getting so...giddy about the holiday, just as much as Minion did. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking abo -”

He cut off as Minion leaned in directly into his personal space. The glass dome around his form brushed up against the edge of his nose as the leaves within them rustled ever so slightly.

Are you wearing Jean Paul Gaultier’s, Pour Homme?

Crowley scoffed, knowing he’d been made, but not willing to come clean just yet. “It’s just my natural musk.” He paused looking around the room once more. “Now, where are the car keys?”

He spotted them on a shelf in the middle of the room. There were still an assortment of tools strewn about on the shelves, but the majority of the items had been replaced with Christmas décor. Snow globes, frosted pinecones, tiny villagers with their tiny toy shops and ice rinks. And there, in the center of the faux frozen pond, lay a set of black car keys, glinting in the Christmas lights.

Black car keys that were currently being scooped up by a mechanical arm that had no right to move that far that quickly.

“What the hell, Minion?” Crowley snapped, irritated at the sudden hiccup in his perfectly planned night. “What has gotten into you?”

This is about Aziraphale, isn’t it? Minion asked, cutting directly to the point. He reached a hand out and lightly poked at Crowley’s chest, earning himself a scowl of disapproval. You’re going on a date with him!

“Wha - no!” Crowley exclaimed before he could stop himself. This was ridiculous. Why was he defending himself? And to Minion, of all people. “Of course not, my main man. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Minion wasn’t listening anymore. He’d quickly transitioned into muttering to himself pacing back and forth across the room. Oh, no no no. This is bad. This is very, very bad.

Bad? What was Minion on about? How could Crowley going on a date with Aziraphale be bad? They’d been on plenty of dates before - it wasn’t like this was newsworthy. As a matter of fact, how could Crowley spending any time with Aziraphale be considered bad.

You’ve fallen in love with him, haven’t you?

The accusation caused Crowley’s heart to leap inside his chest. He was too caught up in the moment to know whether the visceral reaction was from excitement or fear. Perhaps, just the tiniest bit of both.

“You are forgetting your place, Minion,” Crowley warned, heart racing inside his chest as he eyed the keys still in Minion’s hand. He didn’t actually care what Minion thought about the whole situation, he just wanted those keys . And if he had to use a little bit of authority to get it, well then so be it. “Now, give me those keys, please .”

The ‘please’ was unnecessary with Minion, but Crowley made it a habit anyways, just in case. He made a lunge for them, letting out a frustrated growl as Minion extended his arm nearly fifteen feet in the opposite direction.

What happens when Aziraphale finds out who you really are?

Fear stabbed at Crowley and he turned to face Minion, scowl planted firmly into place. He shouldn’t have to deal with this...this nonsense . Not on Christmas Eve. Wasn’t tonight supposed to be about spending time with the people he cared about? And so what if he was in love with Aziraphale? Didn’t that make things all the better? Why was all of this such a big deal all of a sudden?

“He will never find out,” Crowley assured the philodendron with more confidence than he had the right to possess. “That’s the point of lying .” Reaching out, the man pressed his finger onto Minion’s chest, pressing in one of the left-most buttons. With a surprised cry, all fifteen feet of Minion’s extended arm clattered to the ground, leaving the car key completely in the open.

“Honestly,” Crowley sighed, forcing out a cheeky grin, trying not to panic as images of Aziraphale’s cold expression filled his mind. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was your first day of being evil .”

He didn’t mean it. Of course he didn’t mean it. Crowley knew it, and Minion knew it, but a part of him felt it still needed to be said out loud. Part of him felt this overwhelming urge to keep playing the part until everything was over and done with. Then he wouldn’t have to lie anymore. He wouldn’t have to pretend to be something he wasn’t. Crowley could just...be himself. Be the man he wanted to be, for Aziraphale.

Crowley walked toward the car, hoping the garage remote was still tucked away inside. He’d hate to have to go on a quest to find that one too, considering his car was currently underground and needed to be lifted back up into the garage for him to get it out onto the street.

No , Minion declared and the car vanished right before Crowley’s eyes. Not able to get the message from his eyes to his feet fast enough, the man plowed right into the vehicle, the force of it knocking the keys from his hand. They landed on the hood of the invisible car, seemingly suspended in mid air as Minion appeared on the opposite side, reaching for the keys before Crowley could so much utter another word.

He scowled, spotting the big red button instantly in Minion’s hand. This has gone far enough, the plant declared, lifting his hand up over the top of his glass dome. A glass dome that Crowley had just now realized was wide open.

With growing frustration, he watched as Minion dropped the keys directly down into his mech suit, the series of clatters indicating it had fallen far, far down into the interior. Much further than Crowley could hope to reach on his own.

He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing at the plant as, finally, his body managed to catch up with him. “Oh, real mature,” Crowley grunted right before he launched himself over the invisible car, aiming directly for Minion’s head.

In the background, behind the distinctive voices of their rising argument, the record shifted to a beautiful rendition of “Silent Night” by The Piano Guys. It was one of Crowley’s favorite, mostly because the melody was performed by Cello instead of a choir of voices Minion could sing along to.

Sir, sir please, Minion begged as Crowley chased him around the vehicle. They’d perfected the cloaking technology, making it impossible to see and yet Minion, with his grand total of zero eyes, was able to dodge around the structure with ease whereas Crowley stubbed his toe at least twice. It’s for your own good.

“Oh?” Crowley countered, panting from the exertion. He leaned against where he thought the invisible car to be, only stumbling slightly as he miscalculated. “What do you know?”

Minion stopped moving as Crowley struggled to catch his breath. It was impossible for his expression to change - he was a plant after all - but that didn’t stop Crowley from sensing his face fall in that moment. Guilt tugged at his heartstrings, but the man ignored it. He had other things that were more important to deal with, and if Minion made him late to pick up Aziraphale, he’d have more to worry about than a few hurt feelings.

I may not know much, the philodendron began and all of a sudden, all warmth in the room faded. Not the actual temperature of the room - Crowley would never let in so much as a chill - but despite the holly and tinsel and millions upon millions of Christmas lights hung all over the place, the basement felt...devoid of anything that resembled holiday cheer. But I do know this. The villain never gets the guy.

“Maybe I don’t want to be the villain anymore!”

There it was. Minion had forced his hand. Crowley had wanted to wait for a better time, for a better way to break the news but Minion just couldn’t let it go.

You - what?

The shock and heartbreak in his voice was almost too much for Crowley to take. There was no way for him to win. Minion was right about at least one thing - Crowley was in love with Aziraphale. That’s why tonight was so important, he was finally going to tell Aziraphale how he felt. But he realized now that there was no way for him to win. There was no way for this to play out where he got everything he wanted and didn’t hurt anyone in the process.

Minion’s whole life had been villainy. He’d been created to assist Crowley in being a villain. People in the city knew him as The Serpent’s sidekick. If Crowley stopped being The Serpent, there was no purpose left for Minion.

Of course that would hurt to hear. Especially like this. Crowley reached a hand to the back of his neck, scratching at the recently combed hair. What did he do? What could he say to make this better. 

“Look, Minion,” he sighed. “It’s not that big a deal, alright? I was always going to retire at some point. You knew that. So what if it came a bit sooner than we’d planned? It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

Inside the glass case, Minion’s leaves drooped ever so slightly. But...what am I supposed to do? My whole life - my whole purpose is looking after you.

“Minion, I don’t need you looking after me.”

He hadn’t meant it to be cruel. Crowley was thirty-four years old, for crying out loud. He could make his own decisions. He could look out for himself. He had been for years.

What are you saying? You don’t - you don’t need me?

The hurt was evident in Minion’s voice and Crowley closed his eyes, trying to see where this night had gone so wrong and what he might do to fix it. “That’s not, - “ he lifted his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

No, Minion responded. He heard the clattering of metal against metal and opened his eyes just in time to see a set of black car keys hurtling towards his face. Message received loud and clear.

“Come on,” Crowley protested, shoving the keys into his pocket as he frantically checked the time. Less than thirty minutes now. If he wanted to get to Aziraphale’s on time, he had to leave now. A groan escaped his lips. Why did Minion have to be so difficult? If he would just calm down enough to let Crowley explain, Crowley would stick around the extra few minutes to do so. But he had plans, and Minion showed no signs of being willing to listen anytime soon. “Please don’t do this Minion.”

No, I’m doing it. I’ll do whatever the heck I want because unlike you, I still know how to be evil!  Minion shot back with a glare. 

Go on, he huffed, finally turning his back to Crowley. Get out of here. Wouldn’t want you to miss your precious date.

Fury welled up inside of Crowley’s chest, but he quickly let it go. Images of walking with Aziraphale, eating with Aziraphale, dancing with Aziraphale filled his mind and he was able to let go of the frustration for the time being. He could deal with all of this later, when it wasn’t Christmas Eve and when he wasn’t expected at Aziraphale’s front door in - he checked his watch - twenty-three minutes. 

“Fine!” he huffed, unable to resist getting the last word in, no matter how much he may regret it afterwards. “I’ll gladly get out of your hair. Have fun turning the rest of this place into a commercialized Christmas wonderland all on your own!”

The last words were shouted as he clambered into the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He jammed his thumb into the button above him, watching with grim satisfaction as a section of the floor separated beneath him, lifting the car up and up until Minion and all his decorations disappeared completely from sight.

Crowley was alone, in a garage that looked like any other, in a now uncloaked car that looked like any other. So long as Aziraphale didn’t go about pushing all the buttons up front to see what they might do.

Instead of pulling out onto the street right away, Crowley took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. Closing his eyes, he leaned the back of his head up against the driver’s seat headrest and sighed.

“Call Anathema.”

She picked up on the second ring.

I told you I’d text you as soon as we got here, but I didn’t expect you to call me up the second I was late on that promise.

She was teasing him, and on any other night, he might have joined in on the banter, but Crowley’s heart wasn’t in it and somehow, from his silence, Anathema could sense it.

What’s wrong?

“Minion and I got into a fight,” he admitted, surprised at just how much it hurt to admit out loud. “A pretty bad one, about Aziraphale.”

Ah, he heard her breathe on the other line. You can’t blame him for getting so upset. Christmas is his favorite time of year, and this will be the first one he will be spending alone.

Crowley’s stomach sank. He hadn’t even considered that angle. While Christmas had been a sore subject for Crowley for over a decade, Minion only had good experiences, because Crowley had made them good. They’d never spent one apart, and technically they would still get to spend Christmas together this year - it would just be a bit later, that was all. Crowley hadn’t seen an issue with the arrangement, but maybe Minion had a different perspective on it all.

“Should I go apologize?” he asked his best friend, genuinely not knowing what the right answer was in this situation. “He’s still pretty upset with me.”

Although he couldn’t see her, Crowley imagined Anathema was shaking her head slowly. Give him time to cool off. Maybe swing back over later tonight if you can find the time. I promise, Crowley, he is happy for you. We all are - for you and Aziraphale. He’s just not used to being on his own. Make sure he knows you’re not going to leave him behind.

A soft smile appeared on Crowley’s face, and in the silence of the night, he could tell Anathema could sense it there. What she said made a lot of sense, and he could absolutely sneak away for a short while to have that heart-to-heart with Minion. After the party was over, Crowley would simply claim he’d forgotten Aziraphale’s present at his place and run back to get it. Aziraphale could get the movie and popcorn ready to go and he’d be back before the credits started rolling.

Knowing he had a plan made Crowley’s anxieties vanish from sight. While not perfect, tonight was still going to be a wonderful night. He’d get to spend it with Aziraphale and in the morning, he’d still be with Aziraphale and when he eventually parted ways, he and Minion would have all the time in the world to celebrate as much of the Holiday Spirit as Minion wanted.

“Thanks, Anathema,” Crowley breathed and he genuinely meant it. “Happy Christmas.”

Another smile through the silence. Happy Christmas, Crowley. Love you.

“Love you too.”

He hung up after that, knowing Anathema had better things to do than spend time on the phone with him. Still, he was grateful she’d taken the time to talk him through the situation at hand. He could always count on her to do that and so much more. Once again, Crowley tried not to think too hard about how fortunate he was she’d decided to be his friend, lest the universe try and take her away from him. His life had certainly been improved through her friendship and he had a hard time imagining what it might be like without her.

As far as best friends came, she was the best of the best, and Crowley vowed to make sure she always knew how important she was to him. Even if doing so took the majority of the rest of his natural life.

After everything she had done for him - continued to do for him? She was well worth it.

Chapter Text

Thank goodness Aziraphale had thought to start planning his attire for Christmas Eve starting several days prior. If he hadn’t, the night surely would have been a complete disaster. He had absolutely nothing to wear. Nothing that wasn’t either a tan suit, oversized Christmas sweater, or superhero suit hidden in the depths of his closet behind a false wall.

It was obvious the super suit was a dealbreaker. Aziraphale hadn’t exactly decided when he was going to tell Crowley about his secret, but as the days and weeks flew by, he was beginning to realize the question had, at some point, turned from an ‘if’ into a ‘when’. He trusted Crowley, more than he trusted anyone else in his life and he wanted Crowley to stick around as long as possible. Forever would be the preferable option, of course, but Aziraphale would take whatever he could get for as long as Crowley wanted.

It wasn’t fair, he realized, to want so much from the man and give so little of himself in return. Aziraphale had to tell Crowley the truth. He’d never done this sort of thing before. He had no idea what to expect and he desperately wanted Crowley to understand and to be ok with the concept of dating a superhero, and whatever might come after, should they be so lucky.

“I’ll tell him after the holidays,” Aziraphale promised as he examined his reflection in the mirror. Blonde curls that had been cut short and cleaned up a week prior. Three piece emerald suit with a crisp white shirt and a silver bow tie. He’d even dug out his old pocket square from his senior prom, surprised at how well the color matched with the attire he’d chosen for this night over fifteen years later. “I will. I just want us to have one normal Christmas as a couple. Just one.”

It seemed like a fair enough bargain. One that would allow him to make it through tonight and tomorrow without feeling an overwhelming amount of guilt. Having to continually lie to Crowley was the worst feeling in the world and the only thing that was stopping him from admitting the truth now was the fear that Crowley might leave him.

He turned slowly from side to side, looking himself over once more. Was he missing anything? Was his outfit too festive? Too formal? He wished he knew what Crowley had chosen to wear so they could have coordinated better.

On the wall behind him, the clock began to chime. Aziraphale whirled around, shock coursing through him as he realized it was already 6 pm.

“Oh heavens,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed his coat from the bed and practically raced down the stairs. Crowley was supposed to be picking him up at six sharp and Aziraphale was still tuttering about up here. What if Crowley had come early and had been standing outside the bookshop doors for the past ten minutes? He would have had no idea.

Without stopping for anything else, Aziraphale raced to the front door, throwing it open wide only to find Crowley standing there, a hint of pink in his cheeks, his fist raised halfway up, as if he were about to knock for the first time.

“Oh wow.”

Aziraphale’s face flushed as he took in the slender form standing before him. Crowley looked absolutely breathtaking in his suit - sprinkled with just enough crimson to feel within the holiday spirit. He couldn’t believe this man wanted to be with him. Crowley was handsome enough to have anyone. And he wanted Aziraphale.

“Wow yourself,” he managed to respond, eyes still taking it all in. The cold, December air filtered in through the door and Aziraphale found himself peering up, a thrill of excitement rushing through him as he noticed thick clouds stretching out over the city.

His eyes fell back to Crowley’s face, who was looking at him with the same awestruck expression. Aziraphale offered him a tentative smile, not sure where his sudden wave of anxiety had come from. He raised a fist to his mouth, clearing his throat quietly before saying, “you look gorgeous, my dear. The red suits you.”

Gorgeous? Was that the sort of word one used to describe someone like Crowley? Aziraphale truly believed he looked that way, and the soft smile that appeared on the man’s face only intensified that beauty. 

“We make quite the couple, you and I,” Crowley announced, nodding his head in Aziraphale’s direction. “I’ve never seen a more festive pair.”

Aziraphale smiled, shivering slightly as he suddenly realized how rude he was, to keep Crowley out in the cold. “Oh my goodness, Crowley dear, you must be freezing! Would you like to come in?”

To his surprise, Crowley shook his head. As far as Aziraphale was aware, the Christmas party was sort of a rolling thing. Dinner would be served at seven, but until then, people could come and go as they wished. Was Crowley that anxious to get there so soon that he didn’t want to come inside and get warmed up?

“As wonderful as the warmth and comfort of your bookshop sounds,” Crowley began with a soft smile that Aziraphale thought he could gaze at forever. “I believe our ride just arrived.”

Silently, he stepped aside, gesturing to the road just beyond him. Aziraphale’s eyes followed, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he took in the open black carriage and twin white horses waiting for them to climb in. 

A horse drawn carriage? On Christmas Eve? Tears pricked at Aziraphale’s eyes as he looked back at Crowley, just barely holding back from tackling him to the ground with an over-enthusiastic hug.

At the sight of his tears, Crowley’s smile instantly vanished. “What’s wrong?” he asked, an edge to his voice as he glanced back over at the waiting carriage. “Do you not like it? Are you afraid of horses? We don’t have to - I just thought you might like it. The Town Hall isn’t far. We could walk if you like. Or I could drive us there. I parked my car in a spot around the corner.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, placing his hand in the crook of Crowley’s elbow, “It’s wonderful.” He hardly felt the cold at all now as he excitedly tugged his partner toward their waiting chariot, shutting the bookshop door behind him. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he heard Crowley scoff behind him and Aziraphale waited until they were both seated side by side, blanket tucked around their laps before he slipped his arm fully around Crowley’s and leaned into the other man’s shoulder. 

“I’m being serious,” he murmured, eyes drifting to the road before them. This time of year was Aziraphale’s favorite. The trees that bordered the street were strung with white lights. Snowflake patterns were outlined up above, blinking in turn to appear as if they were falling on the cars that passed underneath. “Maybe a night like this doesn’t mean that much to you, but before you, I never dreamed of finding someone to share such an evening with.”

Instead of responding right away, Crowley shifted his head and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. “You think far too highly of me, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale leaned back as the carriage started to move, his eyes drifting upward to Crowley’s face. “I find that hard to believe,” he teased, echoing Crowley’s earlier sentiment. Hazel eyes met his gaze and with a surge of boldness, Aziraphale shifted forward and captured Crowley’s lips inside his own for a long overdue kiss.

Crowley sighed against him, lifting a hand to rest against Aziraphale’s cheek. A chill shot through him at the contact.

“Crowley, dear,” he started as soon as the kiss ended. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves, it’s freezing out here.”

A wry smile appeared on the man’s lips, his hazel eyes sparkling with the reflection of the Christmas lights overhead. “Says the man who was too excited to even throw on his coat.”

Aziraphale scowled in a playful manner. “That is hardly the point. Here. Put on mine.”

Crowley’s eyes widened as Aziraphale produced a pair of slightly worn, but perfectly useful mittens. He’d bought them at a craft fair a few years back and hadn’t had too many opportunities to wear them. Before Crowley, Aziraphale hadn’t had too many excuses to venture outside his bookshop during the coldest months of the year. 

“I’m not sure,” his partner murmured as he slipped the first one on, turning it over in front of him like he was examining it. “Do you think it clashes with my outfit?”

A laugh escaped from Aziraphale’s lips. The pattern was a bit outlandish. Navy blue with bits of green and yellow and brown thrown in the mix. He was pretty sure the design on the center was a snowflake. Or maybe some sort of flower. It was difficult to tell exactly, but Aziraphale hadn’t bought them for their style. He’d bought them because they were the warmest, most comfortable mittens he’d ever run across. “I think it makes your outfit.”

The two settled in for the ride, Aziraphale returning his head to rest on Crowley’s shoulder as he gazed outward at the lights passing them by. In the distance, he could hear carollers going from door to door as businesses began to close up for the night. Everyone wanted to be home to enjoy the evening with their families and those they loved, and Aziraphale couldn’t blame them. He tucked his hand inside Crowley’s and squeezed it tightly, feeling warmth blossom in his chest. He understood exactly how they felt. 

Back in the summer, when their relationship had just begun and they sat side by side on a blanket in the park, he remembered feeling this sensation of overwhelming affection and happiness. It wasn’t love - not then. Now, as he sat in a horse-drawn carriage on Christmas Eve, gazing up at the twinkling lights, listening to the music of the season surround him, his head resting comfortably on this wonderful man he’d come to know, Aziraphale realized it was love. At some point, this feeling he had for Crowley had turned into love and the joy of that realization made Aziraphale’s heart thrum with anticipation.

Do I tell him? How does one go about doing that for the first time? It had to be special - Aziraphale knew that much. And so far, tonight was shaping up to be a very special night indeed. Maybe later, when they were back at the bookshop, tucked under a blanket in their pajamas watching Miracle on 34th Street. He wanted to do it somewhere private, in case things all went wrong. He didn’t think they would - Crowley had stuck around this long, so surely he must have some sort of romantic inclinations for Azirapahle. But they had been together almost six months so far and Crowley hadn’t brought himself to say those words either. What if he didn’t love Aziraphale? 

I don’t necessarily have the best track record with...things like this. Knowing when stuff like this is wanted. I didn’t want to presume.

That had been what Crowley had said after they had kissed for the first time. He’d been relieved when it happened, but hadn’t made a move to do so prior to Aziraphale taking control. What if this was the same thing? What if Crowley wanted to tell Aziraphale how he felt, but wasn’t sure if it would be appreciated?

“Still awake over there?” Crowley’s soft voice whispered against the side of his hair. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just thinking about how absolutely lovely this evening is,” Aziraphale breathed as he snuggled a bit closer to Crowley. “One might say it is almost perfect.”

Even though he wasn’t facing his partner at the moment, Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s smile against his hair. “Almost perfect, eh? Who do I have to talk to in order to make tonight reach perfection?”

Aziraphale smiled, leaning up to look at Crowley. He was surprised, but not at all put out when the man leaned in for another, chaste kiss. “If you could call up Mother Nature and see about getting her to throw a bit of snow our way, that would be grand.”

Crowley leaned in for another kiss, his gloved hand much warmer on Aziraphale’s face this time around. Slowly, Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut and he melted into it, just allowing himself to feel. The warmth of the blanket around his lap. The sound of the carolers walking down the street. The feel of Crowley’s lips against his and the way he held Aziraphale with such care and tenderness. It was heavenly.

I love you. He hoped Crowley understood what he was trying to say as eventually the pair pulled away. Town Hall was just another block away. Soon enough, they would be inside, eating and dancing and simply enjoying each others’ company. Part of Aziraphale wished Anathema and Newton had stuck around for the holidays. It would have been fun to experience such festivities with them as well.

“It would appear, we have arrived,” Crowley announced as Aziraphale reluctantly pulled himself away. He offered Crowley a bright smile as the man clambered out of his side of the carriage and walked around to offer his hand to Aziraphale.

“If you want to leave at any point,” Crowley started as the pair began to ascend the stairs to the brightly lit hall. “You can just say the word and we’re gone.”

 Whoever was in charge of such an event had spared no expense. A large tree several dozen feet tall had been set up outside, strung with more lights than Aziraphale could ever hope to count. Couples posed to one side of it, taking pictures as they walked in, wanting to remember this night even if they had to brave the cold for a few minutes to do so.

Aziraphale nodded his head as they walked through the front doors, his eyes opening in wonder as he took it all in. The theme was obviously some sort of ‘Winter Wonderland’ as fake snow was all around them. White lights hung from the columns and railings on the second floor and tiny snowflakes had been strung from the ceiling, hanging down at different lengths to make it feel like it really was snowing whenever he happened to look up.

“What shall we do first?” Crowley asked as he handed his coat to the lady at the front, gently slipping Aziraphale’s from his hand soon after. “Tonight is all about whatever you want to do.”

Moments later, his eyes fell on the table at the opposite end of the room, littered with every appetizer imaginable and his mouth dropped.

“The snack table it is!” Crowley declared, giving a polite wave to the coat check hostess and leading Aziraphale by the elbow through the main hall toward his destination. On the way, they passed by another room off to one side that was currently being set up with tables and fine china for the dinner portion of their night, and to the rear of the building, past the snack table and outside the glass doors was a beautifully lit garden with several christmas light displays Azirapahle already knew they would have to visit before they left.

“What about you?” he asked as the pair loaded their plates up with food and went to find someplace to sit. Crowley looked over at him in confusion. “What is it you want to do tonight?”

A soft smile lit up his face and Aziraphale felt his stomach flip. How was it that this man wanted to be here with him of all people? He’d never get over how lucky he was that Crowley had stumbled into his life - how much happier he was now that Crowley was around. Not for as long as he lived.

“I’m already doing it,” he pointed out, taking a bite of deviled egg - colored green for the occasion. “I’m spending time with you.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes playfully. “Well that’s obviously a given.”

“Obviously.”

“I meant what sort of activities did you want to do, you know, together?” He paused face flushing at the obvious look of adoration Crowley was sending his way, not even trying to hide it. “What would make your Christmas perfect?”

Crowley’s hand shifted across the table to lay overtop Aziraphale’s. “Aziraphale,” he started, voice soft and gentle. “You’ve already made my Christmas perfect by agreeing to spend it with me. Before you, my Christmases consisted of staying at home, listening to records on repeat while binge eating my weight in ginger snaps before I passed out on my couch. My only company was a potted plant.”

He paused there, seemingly lost in his own thoughts for a moment before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the conversation at hand. “I’m just happy to be here, and I’m even happier to be here with you. That’s what Christmas is all about, isn’t it? Spending time with someone you care about?” He paused for a moment, hazel eyes locked on Aziraphale’s gaze.

Oh my goodness, is he going to say it? Is he going to tell me he loves me? Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to look or put his hands or anything. His heart was beating so rapidly he thought he might just pass out.

“I’d be just as happy sitting on your couch watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the fifth time. So long as I’m with you, that’s all I care about.”

Ok, so it wasn’t exactly an ‘I love you’, but the sentiment was still there. Maybe Crowley just wasn’t ready to say it. Or maybe, like Aziraphale, he’d prefer a more intimate setting.

An intimate setting like a beautifully lit garden walk.

“Any interest in going to see the lights out back?” he asked before remembering that they’d already turned in their coats and Crowley absolutely hated the cold. “Or would you rather stay inside where it’s warm?”

Crowley smiled, rising to his feet and holding out his hand for Aziraphale to take. Couples shifted all around them, some moving to the dining hall to find their seats early. Others heading for the dance floor to work up an appetite before their dinner was served. Aziraphale barely noticed any of them. He only had eyes for Crowley.

“As long as you promise to be there to keep me warm,” he began, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, “I think I could handle a little cold, just to see the way you smile when you look at those lights.”

Aziraphale smiled past the anxious fluttering of his own heart as he rose to meet Crowley. Quietly, he slipped their hands together and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before leading them toward the back doors and out into the garden beyond.

Chapter Text

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Not the garden, although Crowley had to hand it to whoever maintained the place - they were doing a bang up job of it. But the way Aziraphale’s eyes seemed to shine in the light of the Christmas display all around them. He’d never seen so many lights in one place, and while Crowley enjoyed looking at them, while he felt they certainly added a special feeling to the holiday season, he’d realized early on how enamored Aziraphale was with them. He would happily spend all evening out here if he got to keep seeing that smile - that look of wonder in his partner’s eyes.

“Why do you like the lights so much?” he asked as the couple walked arm and arm down the path. Whoever had designed the display had created a sort of labyrinth. Not a maze where they might get lost, but a single winding path that would eventually get them both back to where they started. “I’ve never seen you so excited about something before.”

A blush rose to Aziraphale’s cheeks, although in hindsight, it could have been because of the cold. “I’m not sure, exactly,” he explained, turning his head to look to their right at a family of deer positioned  between the bushes like they were leaping from one to another. “They just...remind me of my childhood, I suppose. My parents used to take me to these sort of light displays all the time. I’d strap myself into the back seat and we’d drive all around town, making a game of trying to find the most unique display.” He looked over at Crowley and smiled so bright the man thought he might just faint. How was it that this incredible man wanted to spend time with him ? 

“Afterwards, we’d go home and make hot chocolate and all watch a movie together until I fell asleep.” Crowley’s eyes followed Aziraphale’s as they moved past the jumping reindeer and on to a series of presents stacked in the shape of a Christmas tree.

“Did you have any other memorable traditions?” Crowley found himself asking, wanting to know as much about Aziraphale’s life as possible. “Things you keep doing, even now?”

Quietly, Aziraphale nodded his head. “My mother really enjoyed caroling. She’d drag my dad along every year around town, always ending the evening at the homeless shelter in town. That was where my dad liked to spend his time. It was sort of a...compromise the two made. A way for them both to carry on their own traditions with me and build something new.”

Crowley realized, with a start, that all the things Aziraphale was describing were things he’d done with his parents. Parents who, as far as he understood, were very much alive.

Stopping suddenly in the middle of the path, Crowley tugged Aziraphale around and fixed his gaze on the other man’s face. “Aziraphale, did I - did our plans for tonight keep you from spending the holidays with your parents?”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes widened in shock. “Oh, of course not, dear.” The surety in his voice caused a wave of relief to wash through Crowley’s entire being. He was already, unknowingly, putting Aziraphale through so much. The last  thing he wanted was to be the reason his partner wasn’t spending time with his family. “My parents really took to the whole ‘giving back’ spirit of the season, now that they’ve retired. They spend the whole week helping out in the community. If I took the time to visit now, they’d hardly be around. We decided several years ago to celebrate the first week of the new year instead. I promise, you’re not causing me to miss out on anything.”

Crowley smiled, wondering just how he hadn’t seen it before. No wonder Aziraphale had turned into one of the most powerful and kind-hearted superheroes in the city. With parents like those, it was practically in his blood.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Crowley vocalized as they continued their walk again. “I’d have felt awful if it turned out I was keeping you from the people you care about. Especially at Christmastime.”

This time, it was Aziraphale’s turn to stop them, thoughtfully pulling Crowley to the side of the path in case anyone else decided to join them in the gardens and wanted to slip by. So far, most of the guests were choosing to remain indoors, waiting for the first signs dinner was about to be served.

Around them, soft piano music filtered through the trees. Crowley assumed there were speakers planted throughout, piping music in for their guests to enjoy. Currently, it was a beautiful, instrumental rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”, playing just loud enough for Crowley to still hear interspersed throughout their conversation.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began, facing him head on. “When will you get it into that beautiful, thick head of yours that I care about you as well? Very much so.”

You shouldn’t. Crowley’s heart fluttered inside his chest as he struggled with what to say. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself that it was almost over. That he would leave his villain days behind him as soon as this matter with The Host was settled. That he was only doing all this to help people, it was never enough. By lying to Aziraphale, by omitting who he was - he was hurting the man he loved.

Even if everything went off without a hitch. If he and Beelzebub and the others infiltrated Host Tower and found out the truth and fixed everything without being caught, he would still have to lie to Aziraphale - for potentially the rest of his life. He would have to lie about having been The Serpent. Lie about knowing Aziraphale was Principality. Lie about having superpowers. It wasn’t like he could just turn them off whenever it was most convenient for him. He dealt with them every day. All the time. Always being vigilant, cautious. Afraid.

If this relationship with Aziraphale continued to progress. If they someday moved in together or got married or started a family - he would still always have to deal with it. And all it would take would be one slip up for Aziraphale to figure out the truth. And then he would leave, like everyone else did.

Everyone except Anathema, that is.

Shaking off his thoughts for the moment, Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it lightly. He wanted nothing more than to step forward and have Aziraphale wrap his arms around him and tell him everything was going to be alright. He loved Aziraphale so much and was terrified to tell him because he had so much to lose.

As if he could hear Crowley’s very thoughts, Aziraphale stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist. In a moment of vulnerability, Crowley buried his head in the other man’s neck, simply breathing in his scent and wishing they might stay like this forever.

“I know you’ve been on your own for some time,” Aziraphale murmured into the space between them, gently rubbing his hand down the length of Crowley’s back. “And I know it may be difficult, sometimes, to believe that someone might ‘think highly’ of you, but it’s true. It may have been an accident I stumbled into your shop this summer, but everything that has happened since then has been anything but.”

All too soon, Aziraphale pulled away, only to pull him into a kiss moments later. Emotions erupted inside of Crowley’s chest. Twisting torrents of joy and guilt warring with each other for total domination. 

I love you. So very much. And I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you yet, but I will be. I’m working on it - I just need some more time. Just give me a little more time.

“Dance with me.”

Crowley’s eyes flew open as Aziraphale pulled away. He was smiling up, blue eyes brimming with adoration as he waited for Crowley’s reply. The music around them had changed again, to another instrumental tune of a song he did not immediately recognize. Behind them, several steps away was a clear, if small, path through the bright red bushes, leading to a patch of open, grassy ground where they would be more secluded and out of the way.

“Do you even have to ask?”

He followed Aziraphale through the garden until they were tucked behind a tree illuminated in white. It was always so strange to see - the multitude of lights that defined the bare branches of winter, in complete contrast to the Christmas trees that always seemed so full of life.

The music picked up and Crowley found his arms wrapping around Aziraphale’s waist on their own. Aziraphale took a half a step closer and placed his hands comfortably on Crowley’s shoulders, the weight of them seeming to anchor him to the earth below.

Crowley’s eyes glanced past his partner, taking in the lights around them. In the distance, he could see what he assumed was the center of the garden display - a single star hovering over several figures kneeling on the ground, each one of them surrounding the form of a sleeping baby.

He’d never been much for religion at any point in his life, nor had his mother, when she’d been around. Still, there was something comforting about the image of that small family huddled together, only the stars watching over them. Glancing up, he saw the clouds from before were still firmly in place. For Aziraphale’s sake, Crowley hoped it did snow, but somehow he doubted it would. While he was struggling to stay warm, it didn’t seem quite cold enough for a white Christmas.

“I’m having a lovely time tonight.” Aziraphale’s voice cut through his thoughts and Crowley turned his attention back to Aziraphale. He couldn’t believe how distracted he was right now when it was obvious his partner was trying to orchestrate a romantic moment for the two of them.

“Me too.” He smiled at this, genuinely, trying to push all the negative thoughts away. He was here on Christmas Eve with Aziraphale. Dancing with Aziraphale. As far as he was concerned, the night couldn’t get any more perfect. “Thank you. For agreeing to come with me.”

“Of course.” Their bodies shifted around as they swayed back and forth to the music. “I can’t imagine anywhere else I’d rather be.”

A few more sways and they were each now facing the opposite way. Crowley knew the instant Aziraphale spotted the nativity, his eyes lighting up even brighter than before. For a moment Crowley wondered if there was an actual glow behind him, like some of Principality was leaking through. 

“How lovely,” he heard Aziraphale breathe and Crowley resisted the temptation to lean in and kiss him. Standing here, the glow of the lights illuminating his skin and the curls at the top of his head - he looked almost angelic.

“Were your parents big on the whole religion thing?” he asked, figuring it would make sense if they were, given what Aziraphale already knew about them.

“In a way,” he replied, bringing his gaze back to Crowley’s face. “Not so much in title. They didn’t claim to belong to any one religion or creed, they just...wanted to help as many people as they could.”

Crowley nodded his head. The explanation made sense and he briefly wondered what it might be like to meet Aziraphale’s parents someday. If he were so lucky.

“Growing up,” Crowley began, a bit of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “I used to think that was a wishing star. People always talked about Christmas wishes, so I just assumed this was the star they always wished on.”

Aziraphale glanced back up at the decorative star, hanging on the opposite side of the garden. He looked back, eyes shining in the darkness. “What would you wish for, this Christmas? Right now, if that was a real wishing star?”

The first thought that came to mind was utterly impossible to say out loud. If he could have any wish at all, Crowley would wish for the heroes and the villains to disappear. He’d wish for all of it to just be make-believe. No more unnatural powers. No more city-wide fights that ended in millions of dollars of property damage. No more world of black and white. Good and evil.

No more secrets.

But Crowley couldn’t lend voice to those thoughts. If he did, it wouldn’t end well. Aziraphale wouldn’t understand why the hero and villain conflict meant so much to Crowley. He’d become suspicious, or he’d simply figure out Crowley’s secret outright and that would be it for them.

“I’d wish to live a normal life,” he found himself answering, dancing precariously around the truth. “I’d wish for a family and someplace to call home that I could hold onto forever and that would hold on to me.”

When he looked at Aziraphale’s face, there were tears in his eyes. Panic gripped at his chest. What had he done wrong this time? Had he shared too much? He should have gone for something more romantic or cliche. Wished to be able to spend next Christmas with Aziraphale or have a simple, long healthy life. 

“Crowley, dearest,” Aziraphale breathed with so much emotion behind the words Crowley found himself wanting to pull him close and run as far away as he could at the same time. I don’t deserve this. I’m a villain. I’m evil. He wouldn’t want me if he knew the truth. “I - “

“What about you?” The words erupted out of him like a volcano, completely interrupting whatever Aziraphale was about to say. He opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so rude, but Aziraphale simply gave him a gentle smile to go along with his patient, well thought out reply.

“I’d wish for a calmer world. One where people didn’t have to know so much fear and hatred. I know that’s a tall order, and a complete cliche, but I just want - “ he broke off, eyes drifting away from Crowley’s face for the first time. “I just want the world to be a place where I can be myself and not have to pretend . Like you, I want to build a family and a home with someone that I love.”

His eyes flickered back up to Crowley’s face and Crowley’s breath stilled in his chest. Was Aziraphale saying what he thought Aziraphale was saying? Did Aziraphale - did he truly - 

“Aziraphale, I - “

This time it was Crowley’s turn to be interrupted as the music faded away and a voice began to speak over the intercom.

Dinner will begin in the next five minutes. All guests are invited to please return to the dining area and take your seats. Thank you.

Aziraphale had turned toward the glass doors as the speaker had made their announcement. The pair had stopped dancing, but Crowley’s arms still rested on Aziraphale’s waist. He was taken with the sudden urge to kiss Aziraphale, afraid of either of the two things that had just been on the surface of his mind, about to seep out through the cracks.

Aziraphale, I love you. A dangerous proclamation to make for someone who was so skilled in lying. Crowley feared he might regret it forever if he confessed his true feelings for Aziraphale before his days as The Serpent were truly over.

Aziraphale, I need to tell you something . As equally as frightening and as equally as damning. If he admitted to this fact to clear his conscience, there was no question what would happen next. He would lose Aziraphale forever.  

As he turned back, Aziraphale met Crowley’s gaze with an expectant look. Like he was waiting to see what Crowley might say next. When the man said nothing, Aziraphale dropped his arms, hand shifting to find Crowley’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Was there something you wanted to say?”

Crowley shook his head as the notes of “Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy” began to play. A fitting song, if there ever was one. 

“No,” he managed to croak out, voice forgetting how to work momentarily as he forced a smile upon his face. What happened to wanting to live a normal life? Wasn’t that the whole point of this evening? To make a normal, happy memory with Aziraphale? No secrets. No heroes or villains. No guilt . Just the two of them.

“Not right now. It can wait. I promise. It can wait.”

Chapter Text

“There’s one more place I want to visit, before we turn in for the night.”

Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale as they walked arm in arm down the streets. He was in much better spirits, now that their bellies were full and the pair had fallen into a familiar sort of rhythm. The effortless conversation, light-hearted jokes and banter. It had put Crowley at ease. Made him realize there was nothing to worry about, as long as he kept his head on straight. This was Aziraphale . Aziraphale who cared very deeply about him. Yes, there were still problems hidden in the shadows, but there was a light at the end of his tunnel. Soon enough, he would leave that world behind and he’d never have to lie to Aziraphale again.

Aziraphale seemed to enjoy the rest of their evening immensely. They’d been offered several different plated options at dinner. Unable to decide between the fish and the turkey, Crowley had offered to order them both and split the dishes so Aziraphale could sample as much of the food as possible. They did the same with dessert, Crowley gifting the last few bites of his soufflé to Aziraphale after claiming he would burst if he took one more bite.

“Oh?” Crowley asked, curiosity seeping into his voice. After dinner, they hadn’t hung around the party too long. It had grown crowded and they’d already seen the majority of the light display. Aziraphale had brought up the idea of walking back to the bookshop, hoping that doing so might finally persuade the skies to open up on them, showering them in snow.

Though night had fallen a few hours ago, Crowley reasoned it wasn’t that late. Plus, he was a night owl if any such thing existed. If Aziraphale wanted to stay out until the sun rose the next morning, he’d be more than happy to oblige. So long as he could either keep his coat bundled around him, or they found somewhere to go that was indoors. 

“Where might that be?”

A mischievous glint appeared in Aziraphale’s eyes and Crowley was at a loss for words. What in the world was going on? What place was still open at nine o’clock on Christmas Eve that Aziraphale would want to visit? 

Crowley began to get some idea where they might be going when the sound of “The First Noel” reached his ears. He let Aziraphale take the lead, a soft smile appearing on his lips when they rounded the corner and found a collection of people huddled together in the middle of a small urbanized garden.

The couple slipped in seamlessly, offering a smile up to one of the men standing toward the back of the crowd. Without stopping the song, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small booklet, handing it over to Aziraphale with a wink. For just the briefest of moments, Crowley thought to be jealous, but the feeling was quickly washed away when Aziraphale leaned into him with a soft sigh, opening his mouth to sing.

In the six months they’d been together, Crowley had never heard Aziraphale sing. It wasn’t for his lack of interest - Aziraphale loved music. He was just quiet, not wanting his participation to get in the way of the song. He much preferred to hum along whenever they played music in the bookshop or in his apartment, which suited Crowley just fine. It was a welcome change from what he had to deal with at home.

Guilt stabbed at his chest as he thought about Minion and the fight they’d had earlier that evening. Maybe after they were done caroling, Crowley could sneak away for a bit and go apologize. He didn’t want to end the night the way they had. He wouldn’t want to end any night that way with Minion, never mind the fact that it was Christmas Eve.

Pushing away the negative thoughts once more, Crowley joined in with the song. He carried the melody solidly enough and was surprised to hear Aziraphale drop down into some harmony when they reached the chorus.

“I didn’t know you studied music,” he whispered as the group finished their song and continued on in their walk. “Those harmonies were really good.”

Arm wrapped around his, Aziraphale leaned in closer, pressing his lips into Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley couldn’t feel the kiss through his winter coat, but his heart warmed at the sight all the same.

Good Lord, I’ve fallen in deep.

“I didn’t,” Aziraphale whispered back as the leader of their little group started up a new song - Hark the Herald Angels Sing. “These are the only songs I know any harmonies to. Side effect of singing them so much every year.”

Crowley smiled and looked back up in the direction they were walking. He’d grown up in this city, but couldn’t remember ever coming down this particular street before. It was quietly lit, just a few strands of white lights stringing from one lamppost to the next. At the end of the street, he spotted a tall, grey building that he soon realized was some sort of church.

“Are we going in there?” Crowley asked as the people up front continued straight up towards the stairs leading to the front door. He wasn’t necessarily against sitting through a Christmas Eve church service, but Aziraphale had already made a point that he and his family hadn’t been overly religious. So why were they here?

Aziraphale turned his head toward Crowley, the chorus of the song echoing all around them. “Just for a little while, if you don’t mind.” He smiled up at Crowley and...well, how could Crowley ever tell him ‘no’? 

“Of course.” He would go anywhere Aziraphale wanted him to go.

The pair ascended the steps, following the crowd as their song once again faded to a close. Once inside, people started to remove their coats, hanging them up on one of the several coat racks standing nearby. Crowley lingered, waiting to see what Aziraphale might do and only started removing his coat and scarf once Aziraphale’s was already hanging.

“We may be a bit overdressed,” Aziraphale murmured and Crowley took another look around. Surely enough, the majority of men and women were dressed in simple, comfortable clothes. Jeans, sweatshirts, he even spotted a few women with only leggings and knee high boots. “But I’m sure it won’t matter in the end.”

Overdressed...for a Christmas Eve church service? Crowley frowned, feeling very much like he was missing something important.

“I would have expected people to dress up more for church,” he noted as the group began to move down the hall. “Especially for Christmas Eve.”

“Oh,” a blush appeared on Aziraphale’s face. “We’re not here for a service,” he explained. “Every year, this particular church is the host for the WARM shelter from Christmas Eve to New Years. I thought it would be nice to end our evening here to sing a few songs and help hand out gifts. I - well this is where I usually spend my Christmas Eve.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. Of course Aziraphale was here to help with a shelter. He didn’t know exactly what WARM stood for, but it was pretty obvious this was some kind of converted, temporary homeless shelter. One that Aziraphale apparently volunteered at this time every year.

Before he could find the words to respond, the group entered a large hall, almost like a gymnasium with a small stage at the opposite end, windows lining each side. Dozens of cots were set up in rows all around the room. People were milling about inside, some sitting on their beds, others standing up by a table with hot coffee and tea and snacks. 

When the group of carolers fully entered the room, a plump woman with greying hair and soft brown eyes appeared from what appeared to be the door to a kitchen. She waved when she spotted the group and, beside him, Aziraphale waved back. Crowley was a bit surprised at first, but he quickly put together that this must be the woman who ran this shelter. It only made sense Aziraphale would know her, if he spent every Christmas here.

“Ok, everyone, it looks like our carolers are here!” the woman announced in a voice that was much too chipper for Crowley’s liking. “We’ll go ahead and let them sing a few songs and then they’ve brought some gifts to hand out to everyone after.” She paused, turning to look at someone toward the front of their group. “Do you all take requests?”

“Sure!” he heard a man’s voice respond. “We’ll sing whatever you like, though depending on the request, I can’t promise it will be any good.”

This elicited a chuckle from some of the adults already seated on their cots. Those who had been congregated around the coffee mess moved to take their seats, some returning to empty beds while others chose to sit beside a neighbor, sharing in the delight of the season together. 

The words of the first song started up  - O Little Town of Bethlehem this time - and Crowley did his best to keep up. He didn’t know the harmonies like Aziraphale and he had to glance at the booklet in his hands for some of the verses, but his voice blended in with the others, bringing a warm sound to the people listening.

He thought he might have been nervous, had Aziraphale not been here, but with the other man’s arm wrapped firmly around his, the heat of his body pressed up against Crowley’s side, there was suddenly nothing he couldn’t do. 

They sang half a dozen songs as the requests kept pouring in. Many of their audience joined in, some singing only the chorus when they didn’t know the verses, and all of them with a bright smile upon their faces. 

“I think we’ve got time for one more,” their leader announced as the whole room finished out the final notes of “Silent Night”. “What about you, Dahlia? What is your favorite Christmas Carol?”

All eyes turned to look at the woman who had welcomed them. There were other volunteers dispersed about the room, no doubt there to help out with setup, serving meals, and tear down come morning, but it was clear the older woman, Dahlia, had been doing this sort of thing for years. Crowley thought it a wonderful idea to let her choose how they would end out the night.

“I think the only way to end tonight would be to sing ‘Joy to the World’. Don't you agree?”

There were choruses of approval as the song started up. Crowley started off singing with the rest of them, but quickly dropped out to focus on the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. He was happy, more happy than Crowley could ever remember seeing him and he hoped a little part of that was due to him. The lights had been dimmed in the room as they sang, but they had left the hall light on and it spilled through the door behind them, illuminating Aziraphale’s curls like a halo around him.

He was so beautiful. Crowley couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the other man. If they had been alone, he likely would have swept Aziraphale up in his arms and kissed him until the sun finally rose in the sky, signaling the very beginning of Christmas morning.

In that moment, Aziraphale turned to look at him, his eyes widening as he realized Crowley had been staring at him this whole time. His voice caught in his throat and Crowley offered up a smile, leaning in to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple.

Soon enough, the song ended, the lights turned on and applause broke out among the crowd. With one last look his way, Aziraphale released Crowley’s arm and made his way across the room to where Dahlia was seated on a folding chair up against the wall. The rest of the carolers were still standing, and Crowley looked around awkwardly, not exactly sure where he fit in. 

There were about fifty homeless utilizing the shelter that night. From what he could see, their ages were all over the place. Crowley spotted a group of men with long grey beards and thinning hair. A few women who looked to be in their mid forties or fifties. But he also noticed several younger people - much younger than he expected to find, though he supposed he’d never given it much thought before.

“Crowley.”

He turned to find Aziraphale had returned to his side. The lights had been turned back on and Crowley could see the thin silver lines reflecting the light in Aziraphale’s bow tie. It brought a nice festive touch to his outfit, one that Crowley hadn’t noticed before that moment. 

“Would you mind helping me grab some of the gifts? Dahlia said they are in the same back room where I left them.”

Where he left them? When had Aziraphale had an opportunity to leave anything anywhere? He’d been arm in arm with Crowley for the last three hours.

“Were you here earlier?” he asked, following Aziraphale to a room out in the hall where several black trash bags were sitting in a pile, each with a hand-tied festive bow.

“Oh,” Aziraphale remarked, as if he’d just realized something. He leaned down to pick up several of the bags, handing them to Crowley before fetching the rest for himself. “Yes, I came by around lunchtime today to help a bit with the setup and to drop some of these off.”

Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. Could he be any more perfect? “You bought all these presents? For everyone here?”

“No, not all of them,” Aziraphale responded, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. “A lot of the local churches do coat drives and have trees set up in their lobbies where people can hang scarves and hats and gloves to give to others in need. I just volunteer to pick everything up in the morning and deliver it here.”

Just. There was no just about any of this. Crowley had never known another person to be so selfless. Not even Anathema, who he considered to be the best person he knew. Aziraphale was something else. The greatest blessing he could have ever asked for.

They were still tucked in the darkened room, the door open to the hallway, but with no one in sight. Crowley dropped the bags gently on the ground and lifted his hands to cup Aziraphale’s round face. The man’s eyes widened as they gazed up at him with shock, at first, and then something more.

Slowly, Crowley drew him into a kiss. The sharp intake of breath he felt against his skin sent a rush of energy through his body and it took every ounce of self-control he still possessed to keep himself from pressing Aziraphale up against the wall behind him and losing themselves to the moment.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed as he finally pulled away. Aziraphale’s breaths were coming in rapid succession, like he was struggling to catch his breath, and his entire face was nearly as red as the inside of Crowley’s suit. “I hope you know that.”

“Well,” Aziraphale breathed, eyes flickering to Crowley’s lips for a brief moment, in a way that made the man wonder if he might come back for more. “I certainly do now.”

Crowley laughed, leaning in to press one more lingering kiss before picking up the bag’s he’d dropped and stepping out into the hallway. “Come on then. Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

Together, the volunteers made quick work of the bags. One by one, they went around to the cots, conversing with the men and women, helping them try on all sorts of options until they found items that fit properly and would keep them warm throughout the colder months. 

Instead of stopping by one of the beds, Aziraphale led Crowley toward the kitchen. The lights had been turned off, the dishes washed and food put away for the night, but Crowley spotted Dahlia the instant they stepped across the threshold. She was standing in the corner, alone, a single framed photograph perched on the counter in front of a flickering candle that smelled faintly of pine trees. 

Dahlia looked up from the picture as they entered, a warm smile appearing on her face as she spotted Aziraphale. He paused in the doorway, Crowley bumping into him slightly at the sudden change. 

“Did you want us to give you some privacy?”

Dahlia shook her head. “Your company is never something I’d turn away, Aziraphale. You know that.”

Aziraphale approached her, reaching an arm out to give her a comforting hug before he turned to introduce Crowley. “Dahlia, this is my boyfriend, Anthony Crowley. Crowley, this is Dahlia Lee. She runs the WARM shelter during the wintertime. You’ve been doing this for...how long now?”

“Sixteen years,” she sighed and Crowley’s eyes widened. He was impressed. Organizing an effort like this couldn’t be easy, and though she seemed to have a good number of volunteers at her side, there were certainly things that had to be done on her own throughout the year.

His eyes fell to the photo before them. The candle didn’t give off much light, but it was enough for him to see that the picture was of two girls, close enough in appearance to be sisters. They were standing side by side, arms wrapped around each other, dressed in identical, oversized red sweaters. The brightest smiles lit up their faces and Crowley wondered with a sinking feeling where this other girl was now.

“That’s Emily,” Dahlia sighed, reaching out to brush her hand against the corner of the frame, fingertips just barely brushing the teenager’s dark hair. “My little sister.”

Neither one of the men said anything at first. Aziraphale, likely, because he was trying to be polite, and Crowley because he couldn’t seem to find the words. His heart ached inside his chest and he knew, without having to ask, that Emily was no longer with them.

“It’s strange,” the woman continued, speaking more to herself than to either of them. “You would think that I would miss her more this time of year, but somehow, Christmas is the time I feel closest to her.”

“What happened to her?” Crowley asked softly, his arm finding Aziraphale’s waist in the darkness, pulling him closer. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

A sad smile appeared on Dahlia’s face. “Emily wasn’t always the happy girl in this photo. She struggled with a lot of things growing up. Ended up on the streets when she was eighteen, after a huge fight with our parents. I tried to convince her to stay with me, but I was a college student working two jobs just to afford my own bills. She told me she didn’t want to feel like more of a burden than she already was.”

“We still saw each other every week. I made sure of that, and then one day, she didn’t show. She vanished a few weeks before Christmas and I never heard from her again.” Dahlia paused, giving the pair a soft smile as if she was trying to tell them everything was alright. That she’d come to peace with everything a long time ago. "My parents are convinced she skipped town with one of her druggie boyfriends, but I could never shake the feeling something happened to her.” 

She paused again, turning around to gaze back out at the room behind them. The conversation had risen to a dull roar again as gifts were passed out and tried on and everyone got their last minute drinks and snacks. “She’s the reason I started all this. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being alone in the cold. Especially not at Christmastime.”

Aziraphale reached out his hand and placed it gently on her shoulder. “She would be so proud.”

Dahlia lifted a hand to wipe at the corner of her eye. “Thank you so much for coming - the both of you.”

“It was our pleasure,” Crowley found himself saying, and meaning every word.

Before any of them could continue the conversation, they heard a loud shout from the other room. At first, Crowley thought something was wrong, and he took a step back to let Dahlia get through. But then the shouts turned to cries of joy and he finally stopped to listen to what they were saying.

“Snow!”

“I see it! There, against the lamp post.”

“I can’t believe it. We’re getting a white Christmas!”

Like a young child on Christmas morning, Aziraphale bolted through the nearest door, heading for the closest window he could find. Crowley looked up to thank Dahlia for what had become a truly wonderful evening, but found that she, too, had vanished, running in the opposite direction to join the others inside the gymnasium.

For some reason known only to him, Aziraphale had made a beeline for the front door instead
. Crowley followed closely behind, smiling to himself as he came up behind his partner, gazing out the front window with his nose pressed up against the glass.

“So,” Crowley asked, stepping up behind Aziraphale as he placed his chin on the man’s shoulder. “What’s the verdict?”

The reflection staring back at Crowley beamed. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

Sure enough, there it was. Just on the other side of the door, Crowley could see the tiny white flakes illuminated by the golden street lights beyond. It was obvious it hadn’t been snowing for very long, and Crowley doubted it would stick, but it was worth it just to see the look of wonder on Aziraphale’s face.

Leaning in, Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek. He was tired, and very much looking forward to cuddling up with Aziraphale on his couch and likely falling asleep to the sounds of Kris Kringle on display within Macy’s department store.

Aziraphale turned in his arms, placing a soft kiss on his lips, causing Crowley’s heart to soar. His eyes fluttered shut and for a moment, he forgot everything else around them. For a moment, it was just the two of them, alone in a church with snow falling down outside. Soon, they would bid everyone else a goodnight and walk home in the snow and it would be a perfect end to a perfect Christmas Eve. The most perfect holiday Crowley had experienced in a very long time.

“You know,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice low. Trying to keep Aziraphale all to himself just a little bit longer. “It may not be a wishing star, but I say wishing on a Christmas snow works just as well.”

Aziraphale looked up at him with shining blue eyes, his face full of warmth and joy. “I suppose you have a point, my dear.” Crowley’s heart stuttered in his chest as Aziraphale closed his eyes, nose wrinkling at the end as he pretended to wish very hard about something Crowley was not privy to.

“I was thinking,” he started, tugging Aziraphale even closer up against him. “You could tell me what your wish was, if you wanted.” He offered up a teasing grin. “I promise to keep it our little secret.”

Crowley half expected Aziraphale to turn him down. Wishes were meant to be kept secret after all, but Aziraphale simply smiled and said. “I suppose, if you promise.”

Eagerly, the man nodded his head. Aziraphale laughed and took a step back, reaching for both of Crowley’s hands as he held them up in the space between them. “I wished,” he began, in a soft, yet dramatic voice. “That you would always feel that you had a home and a family, either in this city or elsewhere. With Anathema or Newton or...me. I wish for you to never have to feel alone again.”

Tears pricked at Crowley’s eyes and he moved to wipe them away, only to realize that Aziraphale had his hands trapped tightly in his grip. There would be no escape for him. Not tonight.

“You ridiculous man,” he chided with a soft chuckle. “You’d waste your Christmas wish on me?”

“It’s not a waste, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes were serious, gazing up at him with such intensity that he felt his breath leave his lungs and refuse to return.

“Why?” Crowley managed to choke out, past the sudden thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears. Had the church always been this warm? Maybe they should step outside for a bit - get a breath of fresh air. He was feeling a bit lightheaded.

Aziraphale looked confused. “Whyever not?”

“Because it’s your wish!” He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation right now. Crowley was deeply touched by what Aziraphale had said. He was overjoyed to hear Aziraphale’s wish was for him to never feel alone - but what about wishing for himself? Why did he have to be so selfless all the damn time? Yes, Crowley loved him for it, but it was still infuriating. “You’re supposed to wish for something for yourself.”

Aziraphale shook his head gently. “I’m allowed to make whatever wish I want. That’s the whole point of a Christmas wish.” As much as he hated to admit it, Aziraphale had a point. “And I chose to use it to wish for your happiness, Crowley, because I love you. And nothing would make me happier than to know that you are happy.”

A wide grin broke out over Crowley’s face and he wriggled one of his hands free of Aziraphale’s, using it to gently grab the man’s face and pull it closer to him in a deep, emotion-filled kiss. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, but it didn’t matter at all because Aziraphale loved him. 

Aziraphale loved him.

"You really are an angel,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s as he spoke, eyes fluttering shut. “Aren’t you?”

Time seemed to slow down in that moment. Crowley’s eyelids opened to find Aziraphale looking up at him with a confused expression. His eyes shone with the reflection of the street lights outside and he was slowly pulling away from Crowley. Taking a step back so he could see the entirety of Crowley’s face.

He blinked, blonde eyelashes extending down over his bright blue eyes, then back up again. His pupils dilated, what was once a smile slowly turning into something else.

Panic began to build inside Crowley’s chest. What was it? What had he said that could elicit such a reaction? He played back the conversation in his head over and over again as the seconds dragged by like minutes until he felt like he might burst.

Angel .

He was going to be sick. No. This couldn’t be. It had to be some trick of the light or his panic ridden mind running away from him. Everything was fine. There was no way that Aziraphale would figure things out after just one word - 

Recognition dawned in Aziraphale’s bright blue eyes, and Crowley knew . He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was it. It was finally over - this wonderful, beautiful thing between them.

And it was all his fault.

Chapter Text

“What did you just say?”

The words almost didn’t come as he stared up at Crowley, waiting to see what would happen next. Aziraphale’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest, his eyes wide as his mind raced to put all the pieces together.

He took another step back, dropping Crowley’s hands as he studied the man’s face as if seeing it for the very first time. Wide hazel eyes stared back at him, framed by sharp cheekbones and dusty copper hair. So different than what he would have expected, and yet there it was. He couldn’t believe he had been so blind.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley began, taking a hesitant step forward. “I can explain.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. How had Aziraphale missed it? How could he have been so stupid ?

Crowley was The Serpent. He’d been The Serpent this entire time. How had he pulled it off? How had he figured out Aziraphale’s secret identity? Did he set up near the bookshop knowing Aziraphale would walk in one day? Had he been using this time to spy on Aziraphale and the other heroes? What had been his goal? How much had he found out?

He took another step back, eyes widening in horror. “How could I have been so stupid?” He had to get out of here. Tears were welling up inside of him and he wasn’t about to let his enemy see him break down. Not here. Not until he was safe at home in the bookshop, surrounded by his books and his tea and memories of Crowley he’d probably never be able to shake.

Aziraphale ran. He turned away from the man - the stranger - standing before him, wrenched open the door, and flung himself out into the street as fast as he could. Snow fell like a blanket around him, but where it had once been a magical sight, now it only reminded Aziraphale of a cloud of ash, falling to the ground as his entire world burned around him.

Aziraphale could still feel the warmth of Crowley’s hands as he held them, the ghost-like feel of Crowley’s lips against his. He desperately wanted to be back in that moment, but the knowledge that it was all a lie - it had all always been a lie - poisoned the memory, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

He thought he might be sick.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley was in the street behind him, calling out after him, but Aziraphale didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He wasn’t ready to face this - this realization that Crowley had used him. That these feelings of hope and joy and love that he thought he’d felt for Crowley were nothing but a lie used to manipulate him. To get under his skin, tease out his secrets, get him to reveal something that might damage them all.

You really are an angel, aren’t you?

It had been the look on Crowley’s face that had made it all make sense. He’d heard those words in that familiar voice and Aziraphale had been transported back in time, to a place where he held his enemy close to his chest, catching him as he fell. Saving his life.

Did you think I was going to let you die?

He hadn’t been sure, at first. It could have been a coincidence - could have been a misunderstanding on his part, but the second his eyes had met Crowley’s, he saw the answer. Aziraphale had seen the pain, the guilt, the fear flash across the other man’s face and he just knew it had to be true.

Crowley was The Serpent. He always had been.

He should have seen it coming. If only he hadn’t been so blind. So damn trusting. He should have known no one could genuinely want to be with him. There was another reason. A white winged, energy blasting, obvious reason that he hated, as much as it was a part of him.

Why did that have to hurt so damn much ?

“Aziraphale, please.” The voice was closer now. Less than twenty feet away. He should just pull out his wings right now and fly away. It was late enough. There weren’t that many people on the streets, and even if there were, what did it matter? The Serpent already knew who he was. And now his plan had been foiled. How much longer until Aziraphale’s identity was leaked? A day? A week? Did it matter if a few people saw him tonight if it allowed him to finally get away .

“It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

Aziraphale whirled around. “Not as bad?” He asked, the anger and the hurt seeping out in his voice. “Is that so? So - so you don’t go gallivanting around the city, causing chaos everywhere you go, dressed in a mask and a black spandex suit? That’s someone else I’m thinking of, then? You didn’t lie to me for months about who you were?”

Tears flooded Crowley’s face, but he did not move to wipe them away. In his hands, Aziraphale saw his coat and hat, folded neatly over Crowley’s arm. The man noticed where his gaze had fallen and silently held the items out for Aziraphale to take. Aziraphale ignored him, hardly feeling the cold. He could barely feel anything at all, except the fracturing of his own heart.

“Well?”

Crowley’s gaze fell. “No, I am - you’re right about that bit. But,” he looked back up, anguish in his eyes and for a second, Aziraphale almost believed this wasn’t some elaborate performance he’d been practicing for months, preparing for the day Aziraphale would eventually figure it all out. “There’s more to the story than all that. If you’d just give me a chance -”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”

“Lies?” Crowley’s voice broke and Aziraphale had to applaud his efforts. He really was talented. “Is that what you think? Aziraphale, none of this has been a lie.”

He frowned. “So you conveniently forgot to tell me you were a villain? The thought just...slipped your mind.”

Aziraphale was angry. He was angrier now than he’d ever been in his life. He was angry at Crowley, for lying to him and manipulating him and getting him to care. And he was angry at himself. For not being quicker to catch on. For putting his friends and family at risk. For putting the other heroes at risk. They may never have talked about The Host in their time together, but Aziraphale had welcomed Crowley into his home . Into his life.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Crowley admitted softly, a large snowflake landing on the top of his head, melting before it had much of a chance to stick. “At first, I was embarrassed. I’d met this wonderful bloke and I really liked him and I didn’t want that part of me to ruin things before it had even started. And then after I found out who you were, I - “

“After?” Aziraphale couldn’t believe this. Crowley actually expected him to believe that their meeting had been pure coincidence. 

Crowley took a step forward and, instinctively, Aziraphale reached for his powers. He felt the rush of energy that always accompanied them and even though there was no sword, no manifestation of his wings, he could tell Crowley had sensed the shift.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured softly, breath coming out like clouds of smoke in the cold. “I swear to you, I had no idea who you were until a few weeks ago, when you saved my life.”

Was that why he’d done it? In the moment, Aziraphale had just reacted. He’d seen someone in trouble and all his training had kicked in. At the time, he’d saved Crowley because he’d believed it had been the right thing to do, but now? What if the only reason he’d done it was because, deep down, he’d known who it really was he was saving?

Aziraphale took a deep, steadying breath. His chest ached with the weight of it all, but he would not cry. He was a hero, and he had a certain composure to maintain. Especially in the face of someone like The Serpent. “I don’t know how you expect me to believe anything you say ever again.”

Another breath of smoke-like air escaped from Crowley’s lungs as all of the air seemed to deflate from him. He looked exhausted and cold and more defeated than Aziraphale had ever seen another person, but he forced himself not to care. For all he knew, this was still part of his act.

Lifting his head one more time, Crowley’s gaze met Aziraphale’s. “Aziraphale, please, you have to believe me. I only wanted to be normal, just for a little while. I was tired of the lies. Tired of the games. I just wanted a chance to be myself. And then I met you and you were so wonderful and I never wanted it to end. Aziraphale, I love - “

“Don't.” He squeezed his eyes shut at the onslaught of tears, turning his head away. He couldn’t do this. Not now. Not ever. Aziraphale kept his voice steady and low, forcing the words out, despite how his throat felt like it was constricting on itself. “It’s over. In case that needed to be said. We’re over. So just - don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

I can’t bear to hear it. Not when he knew those words he’d dreamed of hearing for months would be one more lie among many.

Silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity. Aziraphale felt the overwhelming urge to run again, but something kept him there, waiting to see what Crowley might say next. Praying for something that might make him feel less like he was falling to pieces.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

The question caught him off guard. A snowflake landed on the tip of his nose and he hastily lifted a hand to brush it off, never taking his eyes off the other man’s form.

Slowly, Crowley lifted his gaze. “Five minutes ago, you told me you loved me, and now, you won’t even look me in the eyes. Is The Serpent really that bad of a person? What has he - what have I ever done to hurt you? Or anyone else for that matter.”

There it was. That echo of a claim Aziraphale had made to himself countless times before. The Serpent isn’t all that bad. He’s never actually harmed anyone. He’s just a nuisance who likes to stir up trouble.

And he was a villain, just like the rest of them. No matter what, that couldn’t be overlooked.

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Aziraphale asked, his anger still seeping through. He wanted to scream into the sky and punch a wall until a building came crumbling down. He wanted to fly until his wings couldn’t carry him any longer and he fell into a deep sleep. One that lasted until his broken heart had mended completely. “You constantly break all the rules. You’ve terrorized the city more times than I could count, and you actually got me to care about you.” A pause as tears hovered on the surface once more. “Why are you so evil ? Tricking me? What could you possibly hope to gain?”

It was in that moment, as Crowley looked upon him with such sadness, that Aziraphale wondered if, maybe, he had misunderstood the situation. Maybe, a little part of him reasoned, Crowley was telling the truth. Maybe he hadn’t known Aziraphale was Principality at first. Maybe he had just wanted to be normal.

That didn’t erase the lies. Didn’t erase the damage that had already been done. Even if he could find it in himself to believe Crowley about this, how would he ever learn to trust the man again? Crowley would have continued to lie about who he was forever , had Aziraphale not realized what was going on. And how could he hope to ever be with someone like that? It was impossible.

Crowley’s face fell, his eyes remaining on Aziraphale’s, displaying so much emotion, he didn’t know where to start. Guilt. Pain. Sorrow.

Love. Hope.

“Did you really think that I would ever be with you?”

It was a cruel thing to say, but Aziraphale had gone past caring. Crowley had been right about one thing - in the span of five minutes, Aziraphale had gone from believing he loved this man to having his heart shattered. All the memories they’d built together, poisoned by Crowley’s lies. There was no coming back from that. Aziraphale didn’t even want to try.

He just wanted to go home.

Without another word, Aziraphale reached out to retrieve his coat, then turned his back on the other man. There was nothing left to be said. Aziraphale would deal with alerting The Host later. For now, he just wanted the chance to sleep and pretend this all had been a terrible nightmare.

He wanted the chance to be alone.

“Aziraphale, wait!”

The blonde man had gotten all of two steps before Crowley called out after him again. He’d planned on ignoring his former partner, but at the sound of his voice, Aziraphale’s legs seemed to stop on their own, rooted to the spot as if they’d been frozen in place. He sighed, keeping his head fixed forward, waiting for whatever final words Crowley might leave him with. Wanting this night to just be over.

They never came.

Slowly, the man turned around, his feet planted in the same spot as he turned to meet Crowley’s gaze for what was quite possibly the last time.

He’d expected to see another show of sorrow. Expected Crowley to beg for forgiveness or explain once again how he hadn’t meant any harm. Instead, he was faced with a man who looked paler than a ghost. Crowley was staring at him with wide-eyed horror, his entire body trembling, though Aziraphale suspected that last bit was due to the cold.

For a moment, he thought about asking what was wrong. He’d never seen Crowley so troubled before and though he was still angry and hurt, the sight unnerved him. Still trembling, Crowley took a step back, his hands lifting to cover his mouth as a fresh wave of tears poured down his cheeks.

“I’m - I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean - ”

Crowley took another step back, looking like he might run. He was trembling so violently, Aziraphale thought something definitely had to be wrong. He moved to step toward Crowley but found himself still rooted to the spot, as if his body were protecting him against what his feeble, emotional mind could not.

“Was there something else?” Aziraphale asked, hoping the sound of his voice might snap Crowley out of whatever this was.

Slowly, Crowley removed his hand from his mouth and took a deep breath. “The Host isn’t all what it seems.”

Aziraphale blinked, not understanding the words he was hearing. It was as if a mask had been drawn over Crowley’s face. Gone was any trace of emotion from his voice. It was dull and robotic and sounded an awful lot like someone reading out a report than any kind of real conversation. 

“December 2nd, 2004. May 30th, 2006. October 14th, 2009.”

“What are you on about?” Aziraphale barked, growing frustrated with the very little sense any of this was making. Why couldn’t Crowley just be forthright with him, for one in his life? Why couldn’t he just tell the whole truth?

“No sane person would ever choose to be a villain,” he responded, eyes looking past Aziraphale’s face as he spoke. “You have to know that.”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale argued, even though he had no idea what Crowley was referring to.

“I’m just - “ he stopped, snowflakes finally beginning to gather on the top of his head. Crowley turned his head away in shame and Aziraphale found that he could finally take a step forward. He hesitated, not knowing if he wanted to.

“Just be careful, please?” Crowley asked, a quiver of emotion back in his voice. He met Aziraphale’s gaze one last time, the tear stains on his cheeks glinting under the strings of holiday lights above. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

And then he was gone, hands shoved deeply in his pockets as he disappeared down the street. Aziraphale stared after him a long time - long after his figure had disappeared from sight. Above him, the clouds sat as thick as ever, the wind blowing by fiercer than it had before.

For the first time since he’d last felt Crowley’s arms around him, Aziraphale shivered. Slowly, he turned around, the twinkling lights above him doing nothing to fill the chasm that had opened up inside his chest. One foot after the other, he began to make his way home as little by little, flake by flake, the snow turned into rain.

Crowley was soaked to the bone by the time he returned home, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. Not now that Aziraphale had left him. Not now that Aziraphale knew the truth. He was freezing, likely due to the fact he’d left his coat back at the church, but that hardly mattered either. Even with the coat, he doubted he’d ever feel warm again.

He’d forgotten his car too, back at the bookshop, but it was too late to go back there now. Crowley could retrieve it another day, maybe when Aziraphale was out of town visiting his parents or one of the days he went to work for his precious Host.

Step by step, Crowley trudged down the stairs to the basement. All he wanted to do was change into his pajamas, climb into his bed, and sleep for a century, but there was still one broken thing he had to try to fix. This time, he hoped things would work out in his favor. 

The mech tank was empty when he arrived, propped up in the corner of the room next to Minion’s workbench. Crowley smiled fondly as he saw the string of small fairy lights still woven around its form. He lifted his head, looking around the room for any sign of the philodendron. Minion likely wouldn’t have gone far, but he had been pretty upset over everything they’d said before Crowley had left. Maybe he had packed his things and left too.

What happened to you? A voice called out from behind him. Did you fall into that fountain out front of your fancy party?

Crowley spun around, spotting his friend over by the tool closet, power drill in one tendril-like root, hammer in another. For a moment, neither one of them said anything. Then, Crowley lowered himself to the ground, pulling off one shoe after the other as he leaned into the mechanical suit for support.

“You were right, Minion,” he sighed, the sorrow he’d spent the whole way home fighting to keep at bay, creeping right back in again. “You were right about everything.”

He expected Minion to gloat. To meet him with taunts of ‘I told you so’ before returning to whatever upgrades he’d decided to make this time.

Instead, Minion climbed over to him, placing the tools gently on the ground before clambering up into Crowley’s lap. The soil at the bottom of the pot was still moist and would likely stain his pants, but in that moment, Crowley didn’t care. He was just happy to know he hadn’t lost everything.

I didn’t want to be.

Crowley looked down at the plan in surprise. “But after all you said? I thought - “

Minion’s leaves rustled gently as one of his roots crept forward and laid itself lightly on the back of Crowley’s exposed hand. He hadn’t bothered to put on gloves either. It was a wonder his fingers hadn’t all fallen off in the cold.

I may have said a lot of things before you left, the plant explained. But I didn’t mean most of them. I was just feeling left out.

“And I never should have made you feel that way,” Crowley admitted softly, reaching his free hand up to brush at one of Minion’s uppermost leaves. For a while, they were silent, each one absorbed in their own thoughts. There was so much Crowley wanted to say, but struggled to find the words.

He felt awful. Lower than he could ever remember feeling in his life before. Lower even than when his mother had left him. Maybe Aziraphale was right about him. Maybe he really was just a villain at his core. Evil. Unforgivable.

Did you really think I would ever be with you?

“Forgive me?”

Minion pretended to consider it for a moment. I suppose I could do that. But you have to let me keep the decorations up until at least February.

This brought a chuckle from Crowley’s lips, despite the heaviness of his heart. “You can keep them up all year, if you want to. I promise not to complain a word.”

The pair sat there in the silence for quite some time. Minion had turned the main overhead lights off, so the only light was created by the patterns cast by Christmas lights upon the wall. Crowley tried to clear his mind of all that had just happened and just focus on the softness of the glow around him. Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out. 

You know all I really want is for you to be happy, right? Minion’s voice was soft. Unsure. And Crowley’s heart clenched in his chest, thinking about all the things he’d said earlier. How much they must have hurt his friend. And if Aziraphale makes you happy, I don’t think you should give up so easily.

“I wish it were that easy, Minion,” Crowley breathed, and he meant every word. “He knows the truth now. He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. It’s over.”

I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Minion declared. I’ve seen enough romantic dramas to know how this sort of thing ends.

Crowley laughed, despite the sudden tears in his eyes. Even if Aziraphale did come around to forgiving him, Crowley wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forgive himself. Not after what he’d done. And to Aziraphale, of all people. He was so glad Minion was still here. If he’d had to make it through the night alone, Crowley wasn’t sure he’d have been able to keep himself from falling to pieces.

“I know you don’t sleep,” he started, shifting around as he placed Minion firmly on the ground. “But I really need to get out of these wet clothes and get some shut-eye. Want to join me in my room? You can put on as many Hallmark movies as you like - I’m so exhausted, I’ll sleep right through them.”

Sounds like as good a plan as any to me. Minion stretched out his roots as Crowley stood so he was walking at a reasonable height. And tomorrow, I can show you all the new modifications I was thinking about adding to the suit. Something that will really pack a powerful punch, if you catch my drift.

Crowley did, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it, just a little bit. Minion may be nosey, and sing far too loudly far too often, and have an unhealthy obsession with Christmas decorations, but he was still one of Crowley’s closest friends. Like Anathema, he was ride or die, and this Christmas, Crowley realized how much he needed that. Despite the way his fractured heart ached, he still had much to be grateful for.

It wouldn’t do well for him to forget that.

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you Minion, that’s never going to work. There’s no way.”

Minion and Crowley sat side by side at the workshop table in the basement, pouring over notes and diagrams and journals, trying to find a solution to their very obvious, very difficult memory problem.

I don’t see why not, Minion protested, turning the stun gun over from one root tendril to another. If you can get the drop on her, she can’t use her powers on you. It’s elegant in its simplicity.

Crowley rolled his eyes. They’d been going back and forth on this for weeks . Christmas had come and gone and in an attempt to keep himself busy, he’d thrown himself into his work, trying time and time again to figure out a way to get past Myosotis. The last time Beelzebub and the others had snuck into Host Tower, she had been their roadblock. If they were going to do it again, they had to have a plan to deal with her, should they be unfortunate enough to run across her.

“We can’t just get the drop on her, Minion,” Crowley explained for what felt like the dozenth time. “The moment we blink, we forget all about her. She’ll always have the upper hand.”

They’d acquired very little intelligence on Myosotis since the villains had made their last play. Crowley had been able to identify the object hidden within her suit and design a device to disable it, should they cross her again, but all that did was make it so video recording devices could capture her image. It didn’t help in the least with whatever was going on to scramble their brains each time they interacted with her.

You could always send me in, Minion argued, a slight huff to his voice. I don’t have as delicate a brain as you humans.   

Crowley rolled his eyes. They’d had this discussion a dozen times too. “Sometimes, I wonder if you have a brain at all,” he muttered to himself, loudly enough for Minion to hear. A light ‘thwack’ of roots against the back of his head caused the man to chuckle. “One person thinks to grab a blow torch, and you are literal toast. I’m not risking you like that, my main man.”

If plants could blush, Minion would be colored red at that comment. Not if I was in the mech suit , he argued, but both he and Crowley knew it was a lifeless argument. It would appear, with the exception of Archangel on a bad day, the heroes of The Host were fundamentally opposed to killing supervillains. Crowley had seen evidence of that during their last face off. What he didn’t know was where their morals landed on plants and plant-based creatures. If Minion was, in fact, immune to Myosotis' powers, just as he was to Crowley’s, would that be enough? Or would she use that as an opportunity to take him out of the equation for good?

Crowley couldn’t risk that. He already lost one person he cared about. He couldn’t go through that again. Especially not with Minion. There had to be another way.

“Everyone decent down here?” a familiar voice called from the basement doorway.

Crowley opened his mouth to respond, then shut it just as quickly as his heart leapt into his throat. He shut his eyes as memories flashed through his mind in rapid succession. The sound of his mother slamming the door on her way out of his life. Aziraphale’s silhouette frozen in place against the falling snow.

Only Minion’s gentle touch against the back of his hand brought him back. He blinked, forcing a smile as he looked sheepishly over at the plant perched on the table beside him.

“That all depends on how you define ‘decent’,” he eventually managed to call back, careful with each word that he chose.

Anathema replied in earnest. “Are there any live explosives, ray guns, or giant robots that are going to try and kill me?”

“No,” Crowley hollered back over his shoulder. “Nothing of the sort! Unless you count Minion in his mech suit as a killer robot. Then, yes, you should stay far away.”

Minion gasped, as if he’d been offended. How dare you, sir. I would never.

Anathema’s footsteps grew closer and soon enough, he spotted her darting around one of the tool shelves, hair up in a bun on top of her head, dressed head to toe in matching navy sweatshirt and sweatpants. In her hands, she carried a tray of what appeared to be miniature sandwiches, some small oranges, and a very tall pitcher of water.

“You both have been down here for weeks,” she pointed out, setting the tray down in front of them. “When was the last time you had a decent meal?”

Crowley shrugged, not really wanting to get into things right at this moment. Anathema knew he and Aziraphale had broken up over the holidays, and she knew most of the reason why - that Aziraphale had found out his secret identity. The only part Crowley hadn’t gotten around to telling her was that Aziraphale was, in fact, Principality. The very same hero who, time and time again, rescued her from his clutches.

At first, Crowley wondered why he had bothered to leave that part out. Anathema was his best friend. He told her everything. She was the only one who knew he was The Serpent. The only one who knew what his true powers were. Aziraphale had broken his heart, and yet, Crowley still protected him. 

Ultimately, it wasn’t his secret to tell.

After everything he’d been through, Crowley still believed that. It was obvious Aziraphale’s real identity meant a lot to him. If he wanted, Crowley could be vindictive. He could make a big show of it, revealing Aziraphale’s true name to the whole city, but what would that accomplish? It wouldn’t make him feel any better. It wouldn’t bring Aziraphale back.

With all his heart, Crowley knew that he still loved Aziraphale. And so, he would do everything in his power to make sure that secret stayed safe. Even if it meant keeping the truth from his best friend.

“Does a package of animal crackers and some carrot sticks count? Because I had those last night.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “I suppose I’ll give you partial credit for the vegetables.”

Crowley felt a smile tug at the side of his mouth. Leave it to Anathema to swoop in and save the day. Somehow, she always knew exactly when she was needed. Exactly what to say. It was uncanny, sometimes, how insightful she was. But it was one of the reasons he loved her so much.

“I know things are difficult right now,” she said, her voice lowering to a much more serious tone. “But you really should try and get out there sometime today. Or if not today, sometime this week. You can’t spend your entire life locked away in your basement, Crowley.”

“I can’t, Anathema,” Crowley protested, once again surprised at how easy it was for him to open up to her. By now, he should have been used to it. “What if he’s out there and I run into him? What if he told everyone my secret and someone spots me? What if I hurt someone else. I - “

“Crowley,” Anathema interrupted with a stern voice. Her brown eyes were level on Crowley’s face as she took his hand in hers, squeezing it much more strongly than he would have expected. “I know how scary the world out there can be. Especially when you’ve gotten into your own head like this.” She sighed and offered up a gentle smile. “That’s why I’m here. To remind you that you are a good person. Aziraphale is a good person. He’s not going to tell anyone your secret. And you're not going to hurt anyone. It’s not in your nature.”

“How can you say that?” he protested. “When I - “

Anathema shook her head. “Mistakes happen , Crowley. That’s what makes us human. But they don’t make us bad. They don’t make us evil . They just make us like everyone else.”

He had no response to that, which was nothing new when dealing with Anathema. Still, even if she was right, which he wasn’t admitting to, what was he supposed to go and do? For one, it was January and it was freezing outside. And two , what would he even go out and do? Grocery shop? Go for a jog? He didn’t need to do any of those things. In fact, he couldn’t think of a single thing Anthony Crowley needed from the outside world.

The Serpent, on the other hand? Well, maybe there was something to what Anathema was saying.

“Fine,” Crowley heaved a great sigh, making it very clear he was messing with her. “I’ll go out and stretch my legs. Minion can come with me and we can test out those upgrades you made to your suit.”

Alright! Minion cheered as he scrambled over the table, making a beeline for the mech suit. Anathema chuckled softly to herself, fixing a knowing gaze on Crowley’s face. 

“Try not to get into too much trouble,” she cautioned with a smile, reaching over to slide the tray of food closer to him so he could at least eat something before he left.

Crowley scowled, reaching down to grab an orange. He could eat it on the way. “I don’t see how it matters that much. It’s not like he’s going to show up anyways.”

Again, Anathema smiled. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Like I said before, he’s a good person. Yes, he’s hurt and confused and likely angry too. But that doesn’t mean he won’t come around eventually. You just have to be patient. Give him some time to sort everything through. Just like you did.”

 Crowley paused for a moment, his mind churning over her words, slowly digesting them until they began to make some semblance of sense. “Hang on. How did you - “ No. It couldn’t be. She knew? “When did you -?”

Anathema laughed. “The first time I saw him in the plant shop, Crowley,” she explained, a smile on her face. “I know a look of recognition when I see one, and I had certainly never met Aziraphale before, by that name or face. It didn’t take much to put two and two together.

He was stunned. Anathema had known that Aziraphale was Principality since the beginning and she’d said nothing? Why? “Why didn’t you tell me, Anathema?” he all but cried. “You knew this was going to blow up in my face and you kept it a secret ?”

“Of course.” Her answer was so immediate, so precise, that Crowley was taken aback. “For one thing, I didn’t know anything. Except for the fact that the two of you had a strong connection. One of the strongest I’ve ever seen. Bringing all of that into the mix would have only complicated things more. It would have been unfair to the both of you. Besides,” she paused, that knowing look on her face never once faltering. “It was his secret to tell. Not mine. My friendship goes both ways, Crowley. You both are very dear to me, and I have full faith you two will figure things out eventually. You care too much about each other not to.”

Crowley’s face fell. While that may be true for him, he had no proof Aziraphale felt the same. He’d said as much to the opposite when he’d told Crowley it was over. Even if, by some miracle, Aziraphale found it in his heart to forgive Crowley for lying. If he finally realized none of their relationship had been a trick - that Crowley really did love him, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself for what he’d allowed to happen as they said their final goodbye’s.

“Anthony Crowley,” Anathema’s finger moved to hook under his chin, guiding his eyes up to hers. “You are not a bad person. If you were, we would not be having this conversation, because you wouldn’t feel any guilt over what happened. But you do , because deep down, there is good inside you.”

“How do you know?” he whispered, a lump forming in his throat. “How can you know for sure what I am?”

“I know that you’re my best friend,” she argued, a sudden seriousness coming over her. “I know that you’ve been there for me more times than I could count. I know I love you like family and I trust you with my life. Over and over again, Crowley, I trust you, and you’ve never let anything happen to me. That’s how I know. And I also know I can’t force you to believe it. But I can hope someday you will see yourself the way I see you.”

She smiled, and despite the weight in his own heart, Crowley had to smile back. He didn’t deserve someone like Anathema Device, but she had decided that he was someone worth holding on to and he doubted once she made a decision like that, she was the type to ever let go. He was stuck with her, and Crowley couldn’t be more grateful.

Are you ready yet? Minion demanded as the mech suit came to life. We only have so much daylight left and you are wasting it.

Crowley rolled his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. He still had to get changed into his costume - it would be too suspicious not to with Minion there, but that shouldn’t take long. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

Alright. One minute, exactly. Sixty seconds. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.

Anathema laughed, shaking her head as she, too, moved to stand, wrapping her arms around Crowley in a tight hug. He had to admit, the human contact felt nice after several weeks without it. He was glad Anathema was home again and they could get back to their dinner dates and movie nights and him crashing on her couch when he was too tired to walk back across their shared porch to his own. He’d missed her more than he’d realized, with everything going on, and was looking forward to regaining some sense of normalcy in the midst of his chaotic life.

Fifty-one. Fifty. Forty-nine.

“You’d better get a move on,” Anathema teased, finally pulling away, a twinkle of amusement in her brown eyes. “I’m fairly certain he’s going to explode when he gets to zero.”

Crowley laughed, ignoring how Minion began to protest at first, shifting to a multitude of complaints as he lost his place and had to start over from the beginning. 

“Keep him distracted for me, will you?” Crowley asked as he rushed off toward the wardrobe where he kept his most up to date super suits. "I’m not sure that fifty-three seconds is enough.”

Hey! Minion protested again as Crowley darted away. I was on forty-five. Or was it forty-four? Argh! Now I have to start all over again.

Crowley laughed, joy filling his heart for the first time in weeks. To his surprise, he was actually looking forward to getting out of the house, even if only for a few hours. He and Minion could test out a few of the upgrades to his suit and cause a little bit of mayhem and maybe stir up some trouble for the heroes. He was doubtful they’d find out anything useful, but worst case scenario, nothing happened. Best case scenario, he ran into Myosotis and found out something useful that would finally give them what they needed to make the next step in finding out the truth and taking The Host down.

“We should have brought a target.”

We should have brought a target.

Crowley and Minion turned to face each other as they stood in front of the pond where Crowley often went to antagonize the ducks. It was mid afternoon - about an hour or so after lunch, and the streets were relatively quiet. There were certainly people out and about, and some of them had definitely spotted him with his flaming red hair and Minion’s seven foot tall mech suit, but they’d been here all of twenty minutes so far and no superheroes had come to apprehend him.

I was hoping there would be ducks here.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley scoffed, feeling a sharp pang in his chest when he thought about them. He had so many fond memories with the city’s ducks- more than he’d originally realized. He and Aziraphale had spent countless afternoons at this very park, sitting side by side on one of the benches as they fed the ducks. Even before he’d met Aziraphale, tormenting the city’s waterfowl had become one of his favorite pastimes. Mostly because it frustrated Principality to no end. He supposed, now, he understood why. “They’ve all flown south for the winter. Besides, I'd never let you hurt the ducks. They’re Aziraphale’s favorite.”

Minion sighed and shifted to look at the pond once more. The edges of it had started to freeze, creating a thin, opaque layer of ice about a foot in. It was nowhere near thick enough to walk on yet, which was a bummer. Crowley could really go for a bit of ice skating right about now.

“Hey Minion,” he asked, a mischievous grin starting to slide onto his face. “You incorporated my Freeze Ray design into your suit a few months ago, didn’t you?”

The mech suit glanced over at him. You mean my Freeze Ray design? Yes.

Crowley smiled at the quip. “Oh, potato tomato, potato tomato. The point is, you have a beam of energy that can freeze water.” He paused dramatically for effect, sweeping his arms out in front of him as he gestured toward the pond. “And we have all this water right here at our disposal.”

“What say you to a little bit of ice skating?”

It was impossible to explain how, but in that moment, Crowley knew Minion was grinning like a fool. With a loud ‘whoop’-ing sound, the mech suit charged forward, arm extending out as a flash of blue light appeared, turning all the water within a few feet of it into solid blocks of ice. 

Crowley raced after him, heart only catching in his throat once as Minion nearly misstepped, foot sliding precariously close to a portion of the pond he hadn’t yet painted in ice. To his relief, the plant corrected himself with ease, finishing up his masterpiece with a pointed blast to the sky, freezing the moisture above them and blanketing them in a soft layer of snow.

Reaching up to dust the flakes from his hair, Crowley stepped onto the ice. He didn’t have any skates at his disposal, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t come up with some sort of makeshift temporary solution.

Hand flying to his toolbelt, Crowley pulled out his heat gun, swiftly cutting two blade shaped chunks from the ice behind him. “Hey, Minion,” he called out, sliding elegantly to the ground as he propped one of the blades up at the bottom of his boots. “Give a man a hand?”

Minion knew exactly what to do. With precision aim, he shot the freeze ray in Crowley’s direction, hitting his foot at exactly the right spot to meld the makeshift blade onto Crowley’s shoe, encasing the whole lower half in ice.

That should hold for ten minutes, I would say.

“Bet I can make it to fifteen.”

Oh, you’re on.

He made it to twelve minutes before the first skate gave way to the constant friction and slight rockiness of the uneven surface. For a moment, Crowley wondered if Minion had purposefully made the pond so rocky for this very reason, but he ultimately decided against it. Minion may be many things, but he was no cheat.

Crowley was able to hold on to his balance for another thirty-seven seconds after that before the second skate broke and he went sprawling forward. Quick thinking as ever, Minion sent a blast of energy ahead of him, turning the bank of the pond into a giant pile of snow, cushioning his fall and surrounding him in a blanket of white and cold.

For a while, he just lay there, looking up at the clouds, watching as each thin tendril shifted slowly by. Crowley could almost forget about the snow and the cold, just for a moment, pretending instead that he was lying in a grassy field after a picnic lunch. Looking up at the sky as he lay beside Aziraphale, their hands almost touching.

Gods , he missed Aziraphale.

“Are you alright?”

Crowley looked up, surprised someone had chosen to approach him. Most of the time, civilians gave him a wide berth, happy to simply watch the action from the sidelines where it was safer. He was even more surprised when his brain finally caught up to what his eyes were seeing and he identified the individual as none other than Seraphim. The newest member of The Host.

He sat up immediately, mind on high alert as he tried to identify Minion’s location, along with any other signs that Seraphim had brought some friends. For the briefest of moments, Crowley’s heart stuttered in his chest. Was Aziraphale here? Seraphim was his sidekick, for lack of a better term, wasn’t she? There was no way he’d let her take on a villain alone, even if that villain was The Serpent. But no matter where he looked, he couldn’t spot the white-winged hero.

To his relief, Minion was still here. Still safe. He was standing not too far away from them, still out toward the center of the pond, watching. Waiting to see what might happen. 

“Oh good,” Seraphim breathed, a puff of white condensation dissipating into the air around her. “I thought you might have been knocked out or something.”

“Knocked out?” Crowley asked, moving to stand. To her credit, Seraphim didn’t step back or flinch away or move to engage him in any way, although her anxiety was obvious in the tightness of her shoulders and clenching of her jaw. She faced him just as if he were any normal human being. As if they weren’t dressed head to toe in ridiculous costumes, their identities hidden away by masks and contacts and wigs. “By Minion? You insult me.”

Hey! Minion protested as he began to slide towards them, inch by inch. What is that supposed to mean?

Seraphim laughed, some of the tension leaving her body. “Glad to hear it.”

“Did The Host really send you down here alone to make sure I didn’t kill myself on a bunch of ice and snow?” He found the thought extremely hard to believe, given what he knew about whoever was calling the shots. Still, Seraphim was here, so surely someone had sent her. He just had no idea why.

The barest hint of pink rose to her cheeks. “No, uh. I was actually on my way there. I saw you and thought you needed help, so I stopped.”

What an unexpected thing to do. Crowley chuckled to himself as he flashed her an amused smile. Is that why they’d stuck her with Aziraphale? Because the two were pure beings of light, down to their very core? What hero stopped on her way to working on actual hero things, to check and see if a villain was ok? He shook his head, more amused than anything else.

Before he could think of any clever response, an alarm sounded in the distance. At first, Crowley thought it might be a signal from other members of The Host, waiting in the wings. He lifted a hand to the button hidden beneath his collarbone, ready to make his exit. At the first sign of anyone but Aziraphale, he was out of here.

The alarms grew louder and Crowley finally recognized them for what they were - sirens. He looked over toward Seraphim and sure enough, the girl had her watch out in front of her, looking for any update on the situation. The Host may be many things. Well-informed being one of them.

Her face paled and Crowley felt his stomach clench. Looking up, her wide blue eyes met his, the tension returning tenfold into her body. 

“There’s an apartment fire on 52nd street,” she breathed, jaw clenching as she slipped her sleeve back over the device and prepped herself to run off. “Several families are trapped on the top floors. Firefighters requested backup already and I’m the closest one.”

Sure enough, as Crowley turned north, he spotted the column of smoke rising in the distance. How had he missed it before? He must have been too distracted.

“And the others?” Crowley asked, not liking where this conversation was going at all. How old was this girl? Sixteen? Seventeen? Even if she was a legal adult, sending her into a raging inferno alone would be suicide. No matter how strong her powers were. If one thing went wrong, there would be no one there to back her up.

“The next closest is Prism. She’s ten minutes away.”

Ten minutes. A lot could happen in ten minutes. Including suffocation, severe burns, and death by an entire building collapse. They didn’t have much time. And as far as firefighting heroes went, Prism and her powers were only a step above completely useless.

Crowley had a choice to make. Except it really wasn’t a choice at all, was it? There really wasn’t anything else he could do given the circumstance.

“Right,” the man said, gritting his teeth as he turned back to the plant piloting a mech suit behind them. “Minion, I need you to head back to our base. See if you can get me eyes in the sky. I’ve got an open comms link ready to go.”

But, sir, Minion began to protest as he stepped forward. I can help.

Crowley shot him a sharp look. “You know the rules Minion. I don’t want you within a kilometer long pole of any fire. No fireplaces, no candles, no raging infernos about to topple a whole building. It’s too dangerous.”

Minion looked like he was about to protest, but Crowley didn’t have time to listen. The sirens were almost deafening now, racing their way down parallel streets to get to the blaze in time. Quickly, Crowley glanced over at Seraphim, wondering just how they were planning on getting there. He had seen her do some pretty amazing things during their previous fight, but wasn’t entirely sure they would extend to him. Unless she wanted to carry him in her arms or on her back.

“You can go,” he urged her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right behind you.” The rockets in his boots wouldn’t last for long, but they could at least get him to the scene of the accident.

“You’re coming with me?” Seraphim seemed frozen to the spot, not able to mask the shock in her voice at his admission.

“Of course,” Crowley responded without hesitation. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you run into a raging inferno alone. If your hero buddies can’t have your back, then I will.”

She still looked shocked, like she couldn’t believe what he was saying. Crowley had to admit, it was a tall order for himself to even believe. The Serpent? Helping out a superhero? What had this world come to?

To show her he meant business, Crowley fired up the boots, hovering a few feet into the air as he extended his hand for her to take. Finally, with a brief nod of her head, Seraphim rose to meet him, her feet landing softly on thin blue disks in mid air. From this angle, they almost looked like glowing, floating pieces of ice.

She took his hand and offered him a tentative smile. Crowley grinned, reaching up to pull his goggles down firmly into place, eyes turning to fix themselves on the smoke now starting to blanket the sky beyond.

“Let’s go save some lives.”

And then they were off.

Chapter Text

It was much worse than he’d thought.

Crowley and Seraphim arrived side by side at the scene to find the entire top third of the complex engulfed in smoke and flames. There had to be nearly two dozen apartments caught in the blaze, the heat and the smoke detectable even from the ground where they now stood.

Below the chaos, inhabitants of the building huddled nearby, across the street. Firefighters had just arrived on the scene and were rapidly readying their gear. Sobbing children could be heard behind them, their parents trying to keep it together long enough to provide some semblance of comfort.

“Shit,” Crowley muttered, looking up just past the blaze. He could see the briefest of glimpses through the smoke and identified at least six people standing on the roof, calling down for help. “That’s a long way up.”

“Take my hand,” Seraphim ordered, her voice suddenly firm and direct. “And get ready to run.”

“What?” His heartbeat spiked inside his chest. “You can’t be serious.”

But her hand was already wrapped around his, tugging him along as she launched them into the air. Crowley saw balcony after balcony rush past his eyes faster than he could keep track. His vision blurred for a moment and he grabbed for his stomach like he might be sick.

Then their momentum slowed, and Crowley thought they might just fall back to the ground, but then his foot made contact with something solid. A thin, crackling blue platform just large enough for the two of them to stand on.

“Stay with me,” Seraphim ordered, her hand tightening on his as, before his eyes, another platform appeared. Nodding his head, Crowley kept his gaze fixed in front of him, matching her stride for stride as they leapt from one force field to the next. They were firm enough under his boots that he didn’t feel in danger of falling, but there was a pliancy to them, one that sagged beneath their weight before launching them forward much further than they could have run on their own.

Fire raged before them, and for the briefest of moments, Crowley panicked, thinking Seraphim’s intention was to run directly through it. He could feel the heat of the blaze against his face as they approached and though his suit was fireproof, that didn’t mean Crowley was prepared to run headfirst into the blaze.

At the last second, Seraphim veered to her right, creating one final force field in a sphere-like shape around them as they passed through the wall of fire and smoke. Crowley could see the flames licking at them, smoke curling around them, but none of it passed through. The air was as comfortable as if he’d been sitting inside his house, with just the barest hints of smoke filling his nostrils.

The duo landed side by side on the rooftop, about two dozen feet away from the worst of the blaze. Crowley took a moment to catch his breath, looking around to take in their surroundings and figure out what sort of situation they’d found themselves in. A total of fourteen people stood huddled on the rooftop toward the opposite side of the building. The smoke was thick, even up here, and Crowley was thankful he’d thought to bring his goggles.

“Everyone, remain calm,” Seraphim announced, taking control of the situation like she’d been doing this sort of thing her entire life. How old was this girl? She couldn’t be any more than 20, and that was Crowley being generous. “We’re here to help. If you’ll just give us a moment, we will get you all down to safety.”

“Help?” One of the men toward the back questioned. A portly fellow with a bushy grey mustache and plaid colored robe. “But he’s a supervillain. Why would he help us?”

Crowley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really? A pile of burning wood beneath their feet and this was what they were worried about?

“Let’s just say, I’ve had a change of heart,” he replied, glancing down at the belt around his waist to take stock of what the hell he’d even brought with him that might be of some use. He had his suit, which was heat resistant. A good start, if ever he saw one. He’d also strapped on a heat gun, some smoke bombs, and a small metal disc that, when activated, would counteract Myosotis’ jamming device.

None of which were very helpful. Not to mention his boots were nearly out of fuel. He hadn’t planned on going for a flight today and hadn’t bothered to make sure all his gadgets were in tip-top fighting condition.

“How do you plan on getting them down?” Crowley asked Seraphim softly as she slowly gazed around the rooftop’s perimeter. There were several fire escapes scattered around - two on the wall facing the main street and another two in the rear - but like the building itself, their top portion was engulfed in flames. There was no way for anyone to reach the safer area.

He also notices a single access door to the lower floors that Crowley assumed they’d eventually have to go down. If anyone was left stuck in that building, it would be up to the two of them, alongside the firefighters below to get them out. But getting these people down safely in one piece was just as important. “I’m not sure how much help I can provide with limited flight, or hovering, or….whatever vertical momentum abilities you have. But I can probably carry a few down before all my juice runs out.”

To show her what he meant, Crowley reached down and tapped the top of his boots. He wasn’t entirely looking forward to getting himself back up again after carrying people to the ground, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Seraphim step foot into that building on her own.

“I think I can handle it,” she responded, a hint of uncertainty seeping into her voice for the first time since they arrived. Her eyes were fixed on the ground below, over a hundred feet away. “I just have to figure out the best way to get them all down there. Preferably all at once.”

“Can you move your force fields?” Crowley asked curiously. Seraphim hadn’t been part of The Host for long and he’d only had one real interaction with her. An interaction where he’d been tasked with keeping eyes on Myosotis. Thinking back on that encounter was so strange. Obviously, Crowley had been successful, because they’d managed to steal her jamming device, but he didn’t remember a single second of Myosotis’ presence at all.

Seraphim frowned. “Not very well. I’m working on it, but the further away from me I make them, the more unstable they become. I’d be scared I’d drop them halfway down.”

Crowley nodded his head, mind racing for other ways they could go about it.  Having her run back and forth and individually guide each person down would take precious time away from saving everyone else. He was no civil engineer, but Crowley didn’t think this portion of the building had much time left.

“Can you get them part way?” he questioned again. “Just down to the fire escape? They can probably make their own way from there.” That’s what fire escapes were for, anyways. 

Slowly, her head began to nod. Brow furrowing in concentration, Seraphim held her hands out in front of her. A large platform began to hover in the air a few inches from the ground. “I need everyone to hop on. Stay as close to each other as you can, and I’ll get you down.”

Everyone on the rooftop obliged. Crowley watched in wonder as each footstep caused an echo of crackling blue light beneath them that vanished seconds after. It was almost like the shield was dispersing any energy it came into contact with, spreading it out over the whole and making it near ineffective. 

Once she was sure everyone was in place, Seraphim rose into the air herself, spreading her hands as a dome of translucent light appeared around everyone. Crowley watched as a few parents hugged their children closer, looking up and around them with awe.

“You don’t have to worry,” Crowley attempted to comfort her as he stepped forward, placing an arm gently on her shoulder. “You can do this. And I’ll be right there to spot you.”

Seraphim shot him a hesitant smile and walked them forward. The giant bubble filled with people drifted alongside her, tendrils of energy dancing across the surface like lighting.

In retrospect, it probably took them no longer than two minutes to lower the sphere past the fire and to a section of the fire escape that was safe to use, but to Crowley in that moment, the time seemed to crawl by. He fired up his boots and moved to hover opposite her, ready to lend a hand to the civilians as they crossed from Seraphim’s makeshift platform to the metal stairs below.

As expected, Crowley was met with gazes of suspicion and mistrust as, one by one, the people crossed over. Most of them didn’t even bother to take his hand, choosing to climb from one structure to the other on their own. One person met his gaze and offered him a smile - a young mother with a baby sound asleep, strapped to her chest. Crowley attempted to smile back, but he wasn’t certain she could tell it was genuine with his eyes hidden behind shaded lenses.

Crowley stayed, hovering in the air until the first of them reached the ground below. He could see some of the firefighters starting to rush into the building as their companions took aim and fired their hose at the most terrifying of the blaze.

Sir? How’s it looking out there? Minion’s voice was music to his ears. I’m en route to you. Should be there momentarily.

Sure enough, in the distance Crowley could spot the tiniest of black specks in the distance. One of the drones he’d equipped for surveillance. He wasn’t willing to have Minion physically help them, on account of all the bloody fire , but this was just as good, if not better. The drone was small and agile. It could fly in and out of places faster than they could. Scout the area and see who else might be in need of rescuing.

“That’s everyone,” Seraphim murmured as the last person made their way onto the escape and began climbing down the half dozen remaining flights of stairs. She looked up to find the drone closing in on them quickly. “Is that Minion?”

Crowley nodded his head. “I’m going to send him in ahead of us.” He pressed a button on his wrist adding a bit of thrust to the boots as he began to climb back up through the air. “He’ll be able to clear the apartments faster than we could.”

Sarah nodded again, and together, the pair returned to the rooftop with a single drone in tow.

“Start from the top, Minion,” Crowley spoke, knowing the earpiece he’d commandeered from Vertigo would pick up the sound of his voice. “I need you to sweep every apartment. Every room, understood? We need to make sure we get everyone out.”

On it, sir. The drone hummed for a second, then disappeared through the nearest open window. Crowley hoped he’d built it strong enough to withstand the heat. He hadn’t intended on using it in a fire of any kind, so he had no idea how long it might hold up.

“Ready?” Seraphim asked him as they turned to face the door that would lead them down.

Crowley nodded grimly. “We should make sure to stay away from the front facing windows,” he reminded her. “I’d hate for either one of us to take a torrent of water to the face.”

Seraphim smiled as she took his hand, pulling him along. “I think I have a pretty good solution for that.” Around them, a protective dome emerged into existence, once again blocking out the majority of the heat and smoke. Crowley had to hand it to her. Out of all the heroes he’d ever interacted with, Seraphim was, by far, the most creative with her powers. It would serve her well in the future. Of this, Crowley had no doubt.

They moved as quickly as they could down the stairs to the uppermost level of the apartment. In his ear, Minion was calling out apartment numbers as he cleared them one by one, allowing Crowley and Seraphim to bypass them with ease as they continued to make their way through the inferno.

“Hello!” Seraphim called out. “Is anyone here?”

The smoke was thick around them. So thick, it was impossible to see some of the apartment numbers unless they were right up against the door. 

There’s a kid! Minion shouted and Crowley stopped in alarm. Next floor down. Apartment 1102. He’s hiding in the bathroom.

Crowley relayed the information to Seraphim and together they began to rush down the hall to the nearest staircase. More smoke billowed out as they opened the door and Crowley had to lift his arm to shield his face and lungs from the onslaught. The shield around them tightened in diameter and suddenly the smoke and heat wasn’t so bad anymore. He turned to Seraphim and gave her an appreciative nod as they continued.

“Eleven-ten. Eleven - oh - eight. There!” Seraphim spotted the door at the end of the hall. Some of the apartments had been left wide open. Crowley could see the inferno raging inside, a bright, angry orange color that shimmered as they passed. 

Gods , he hoped the apartment they were about to enter wasn’t so far gone.

Seraphim reached the door first, pushing it open as quickly as she could. She winced as her gloved hand made contact with the door handle, but didn’t cry out in pain. Either her gloves had offered her enough protection or her healing abilities also extended to herself and she’d fixed the burn before she’d experienced much of the pain.

“Hello?” Seraphim called out as she halted a few steps into the foyer. The entire apartment was covered in fire. Everything imaginable that could catch fire was burning, filling the room with intense heat and smoke so thick Crowley’s eyes began to water at the sight of it. “Is anyone here?”

Together, they stepped into the room, leaving the door propped open behind them. Crowley stuck close to Seraphim’s side as she drew the force field even closer to them so it was just a few inches away from his shoulders. He glanced at her, noticing the sheen of sweat on her brow and the tremble of her hands for the first time.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, not entirely sure why. It wasn’t like there was anyone else here to overhear them should she admit she wasn’t. What was it with heroes anyway? Not wanting to admit they had any faults or weaknesses. It drove him insane.

“Does it matter?” Her answer caught him off guard. There was a ferocity in her eyes, a determination he hadn’t expected to see in someone who had never done anything like this before. She was afraid - that much was obvious. And who wouldn’t be? They’d just charged into a burning building without a second thought. But Seraphim was also determined to see this through. She wasn’t going to leave anyone behind.

“I suppose not,” was all Crowley could manage as a response. He fixed his eyes forward, peering through the smoke, trying to figure out where they needed to go. The apartment was nice. Or, it used to be, before all this. He could still see remnants of furniture scattered about the living room and dining room areas. Most were still flaming, with a few chairs laying in a pile of smoldering ash on the floor. The only bit of the house that seemed to still be standing was a solid wooden table he assumed the family had used at dinnertime.

“Alright, Minion,” Crowley muttered just loudly enough for the plant to hear. “Which way is the kid?”

Down the hall to your right. Crowley was moving before he’d even finished the sentence, his hand reaching down to pull Seraphim along. It wasn’t as if he could move far without her. From everything he’d gathered so far, her force fields were near impenetrable. Minor amounts of smoke and heat were still reaching them, but he doubted there was any way he’d be able to pass through without her dropping it completely. 

“Hello?” Seraphim tried again as they came level with the door. It was the only one closed in the entire apartment. Crowley wasn’t sure why a child would still be in here with no one else. Had their parents left them home alone? “Is someone there? We’ve come with The Host. We’re here to help.”

Crowley shot her a look. Seraphim simply shrugged in response. He supposed it didn’t much matter if she claimed he was also here with The Host or not. What matters was getting the kid out before this whole place came down around them.

There was no response. Crowley and Seraphim shared a glance of uncertainty. Without a word, he lifted his hand to reach for the door handle, stopping mere inches too short as his fingertips brushed up against her force field.

“I’m going to have to drop it for you to get in.” She seemed nervous, and Crowley understood why. Smoke billowed past them as flames were beginning to peek out from the bedroom next door. He was already sweating profusely through his suit and couldn’t imagine how unpleasant things were about to become. “Get the door open quickly and I can cover all three of us again.”

Crowley nodded his head, taking a deep breath to match hers as his fingers hovered right above the handle, ready to strike the moment the translucent field vanished.

He felt it almost as quickly as he saw it. The crackling blue energy dissipated into nothingness and Crowley was hit with a wave of heat so intense, he thought he might turn to ash on the spot. Despite knowing what was supposed to happen, Crowley gasped with the impact, inhaling a lung full of smoke as he reached forward and shoved the door open.

It was stuck. Crowley gritted his teeth and tried again, this time throwing his whole shoulder into the action. Pain shot up his arm, but the door finally gave way and he was able to quickly stumble his way inside, nearly tripping over a soaking wet towel lying in a scrunched up pile on the floor.

A young boy, no older than ten or eleven, sat huddled in the bathtub staring fearfully at the door. He had shoulder length black hair that was plastered to the side of his face, with angular features and wide brown eyes.  

Those eyes widened even further as he took in Crowley’s appearance and the smoke now billowing into the room behind him. “You - you’re not The Host. You’re a supervillain. You’re The Serpent.”

“Astute observation,” Crowley coughed, trying to catch his breath. The heat was no less obvious here than it was in any other part of the house and he wondered briefly how the boy could stand it.

And then he saw the water.

He didn’t know if it was insanity or a stroke of pure genius. Unable to flee from his home, the boy had barricaded himself in the bathroom and filled the entire tub to the brim with water. Pajamas soaked through in their entirety, the boy was sitting neck deep in the water, the very ends of his hair floating across the surface.

“We’re here to help,” Seraphim announced as she joined them in the small space. Instantly, the force field was back and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, sending him into another coughing fit as he tried to clear out his lungs.

“You’re Seraphim!” the boy exclaimed in delight as he went to stand, water draining off him like a waterfall. “What are you doing with one of the villains?”

Crowley scowled. Didn’t they have more important things to worry about? Like getting the hell out of this building before they were all buried by it?

“That doesn’t matter,” she frowned and Crowley felt a surge of affection for the young hero. How was it that she was so different from all the others? Even Aziraphale had turned his back on Crowley when he’d discovered the truth, but Seraphim didn’t seem to mind she’d been forced into a situation where working with a villain was her only option. “What matters is he’s here to help get you out. So let’s move.”

The hallway was a bit of a tight squeeze, but they made it back to the living room in one piece. Once again, the thickness of the smoke made it difficult to see anything at all other than the faintest outline of furniture scattered about the room. A charred bookshelf with ashes lining each shelf. A couch still burning brightly up against a wall that was barely standing. And a firm, solid table now positioned in the center of the living room.

Nearly two dozen feet from where it had been before.

“I never thought I’d see the day when a villain put his life on the line to save anyone. But here we are.”

Crowley whirled around to find a dark-skinned woman clad in a multi-colored spandex suit. Even in the dim, smoky light, he could see the reflection of gold against her skin as she stood, examining the three of them from just in front of the doorway.

Prism.

She’d come prepared, a silver mask adorning her face, allowing her to breathe easier in the current conditions. Instinctively, Crowley moved to position himself between her and the younger ones behind him, causing the woman to sneer in his general direction. 

“I wonder,” she began, taking a purposeful step forward, shifting around the moved table, giving it a wider berth than was necessary, “what is your motivation? A change of heart, perhaps? Another distraction? Or maybe, it’s all an act. Maybe you’re just trying to manipulate the younger generation. Sway them to your side.”

This was utterly ridiculous. Did Prism really want to pick this fight here of all places? 

“Maybe, he’s just trying to do the right thing,” Seraphim countered, placing herself in front of him so Crowley was now at the young boy’s side. Quickly, he glanced behind them. There was a set of double windows centered against the back wall, leading out to the street below where he could hear firefighters still battling to get the blaze under control. Did he have enough fuel left in his boots to get the boy safely back down? Or would they both plummet to their deaths if he stepped foot outside? And what about the other apartments? What if there were others like this boy still trapped inside with no way out?

As if he could hear Crowley’s very thoughts, Minion’s voice appeared in his ear with an update. I just met up with the firefighters below you. Together, we’ve swept the whole area and that kid is the only one left. I can’t tell them that, though. This drone doesn’t have speakers, so you’re going to have to - “

“On it,” Crowley responded shortly, eyes shifting to Prism once more. She was looking at them both with a curious expression on her face. For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw her eyes flash silver and then she was moving toward them faster than Crowley realized she could.

“Everybody get down!”

Reaching over with one hand, Crowley yanked the boy to the ground with him. He didn’t know why he’d followed Prism’s command so absolutely, but the tone of her voice was no longer haughty or condescending. In that moment, she’d sounded alarmed and his gut had told him to listen to her, afraid of what the consequences might be if he didn’t.

Less than a second later, a torrent of water blasted it’s way through the window, sending waves of water down upon them. Seraphim’s shield was still in place, preventing the three from getting soaked to the bone. At this point, Crowley wasn’t sure which outcome he would have preferred.

“So much for getting out the window,” Crowley muttered as he looked around the room, trying to see what their other options were, but he was coming up blank. They couldn’t stand now, due to the intense pressurized stream of water that would meet them if they did. And judging by the bits of debris starting to rain down from the ceiling, if they attempted to crawl to the door, they just might be buried alive.

“On my signal, you three head for the door,” Prism ordered, her entire demeanor changing from before. “Go underneath the table and wait there for five seconds. Then make a break for the hallway.”

What the hell? Crowley was about to fight back, arguing how ridiculous a plan that was when he saw Seraphim not her head, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

Out of all the heroes of The Host, Prism’s powers were the most...unique. Some called it fortune-telling. Others used the phrase ‘pattern sensing’. Whichever way you wanted to spin it, she had the uncanny ability to see how certain events were connected together and how small manipulations could change the outcome of entire chains of those events.

Somehow, Prism was able to see or sense what was coming next and had determined their best chance out was to follow those exact instructions. It was clear Seraphim trusted her, despite the initial animosity he had experienced. It wasn’t like he had a better way out. Might as well put his trust in a second hero for the day.

“Now.”

Crowley shifted so the boy could pass by him. Together, guided by Seraphim’s shield, they crawled forward toward the table, trying to ignore everything else around them. About three seconds before they reached it, Crowley realized the only way they would fit would be for Seraphim to drop their protection once more, and he braced himself for what would come next.

Heat struck him again as he huddled underneath the wooden structure, peeking out at the door not ten feet away from them. Surely they could make it there in time. What was the point in waiting when they could get out now?

“One. Two.” Prism had joined them beneath the table, counting out the seconds as they passed by. Waiting for what she had determined as the exact right moment.

Beside them, the hose shifted, striking the bookshelf up against the other wall. It teetered precariously for a moment, then crashed to the ground, burned books and all. The shock of the impact sent vibrations through the whole apartment, shaking the entire foundation.

“Three. Four.”

Debris crumbled all around them, the largest amount of it striking the table above them and splitting in two, a flurry of embers scattering around them like snow. Crowley reached out an arm and wrapped it around the boy, pulling him close and shielding him from the worst of the heat. 

“Five.”

They darted forward, Crowley still holding his breath, his eyes tearing up even though he had goggles on to protect him. The smoke was so thick, he feared they would all fall unconscious, but somehow, all four of them miraculously made it through the door and out into the hallway beyond.

“What do we do now?” the boy asked with a muffled voice. Crowley turned to see he’d lifted his damp pajamas and perched the collar of his shirt over the bridge of his nose to keep the smoke at bay. 

“You can head with Seraphim and Prism,” Crowley suggested, trying to offer the boy a brave smile. He turned to catch Seraphim’s gaze. “Minion cleared the rest of the area. I need to go warn the firefighters so they can get out.”

Seraphim moved to stand, creating another dome around the four of them. Crowley could see the entire length of her arms shaking with the effort and knew he had to get her out of here as soon as possible.

“It looks like they’ve put out most of the fire on the south side,” Seraphim panted, looking behind her at the single window toward the end of the hall, leading out to the fire escape. “It will be faster if the three of you head that way. I can go talk to the firefighters. Besides,” she added with a wry grin, despite the immense strain they were all currently under. “They’ll be more likely to believe me.”

Crowley didn’t like it, not one bit, but he couldn’t argue that her words made a lot of sense. Who knows what the firefighters below might do if he was the one carrying the message. For all he knew, they’d think he was lying and proceed to sweep the rest of the building unnecessarily, just to prove a point.

“I’m not so sure that’s the best of ideas - “ Prism began, but Seraphim was already on her way. She dropped the field around them, slipping through with ease as she rushed down the hall. To his surprise, Prism made a grab for Seraphim’s arm, but the girl was too quick. She was already half a dozen steps away before the older hero’s fingers made contact with the rest of her palm, closing around nothing.

An instant later, the floor collapsed underneath Seraphim’s weight and she went tumbling out of sight. Instinctively, Crowley launched himself forward, calling out her name in a panic. Naturally, without her force field there to protect him, he only succeeded in filling his lungs with smoke a second time.

Both hands flat against his chest, Prism forced him backward toward their escape, urging the child along with them. Retching, Crowley tried to regain control of his own body, ignoring the searing heat against his skin and the way his lungs and eyes burned.

“Stop fighting me!” Prism shouted as Crowley wrenched away from her and bolted for the hole where Seraphim had fallen through. He cried out in pain as Prism’s hand clenched around his wrist, almost pulling his arm from its socket. “You go down there and you’re as good as dead. Now isn’t the time to be a hero.”

Crowley stopped, looking her dead in the eyes as the words tumbled from his lips, bypassing his brain entirely. 

“If not now, when the fuck is?”

He wrenched his hand away and raced down the hall, hand fumbling for the button on his wrist. As he approached the edge, Crowley pressed down on it, leaping over the gaping hole in the floor as his boots came to life and he slowly began to lower himself down into the still blazing room below.

“Seraphim!” He called out, choking on another cloud of smoke rushing up through the gap. “Where are you?”

Only silence greeted him and Crowley felt his stomach begin to clench with fear. She had to be alright. He’d only come on this blasted mission to make sure she stayed safe. If something had happened to her - he didn’t know what he would do. 

Crowley coughed violently, eyes flying shut as a wave of tears threatened to spill over. His chest ached with the effort, burning him slowly from the inside out. Slowly, he forced his eyes open and immediately they fell on the still form of a familiar white and blue super suit, buried beneath the rubble.

Beneath him, his boots spluttered and died, sending the villain tumbling the final few feet to the ground. Crowley didn’t let it stop him. He was by her side in an instant, shifting the shattered boards and plaster to one side as Crowley reached for her head, lifting her up into his arms.

“Oh, no, no, no.” He pressed his ears to her face, feeling the faintest of breaths against his skin. It was as good as anything else he was going to get. She was alive, for now. And the only way she was going to remain that way would be if he got her out of here .

One arm tucked under her neck, the other hooked behind her knees, Crowley raced to the closest window. To his relief, he found it to be open. There was no fire escape positioned here, but maybe he didn’t need one. Maybe he had just one more trick up his sleeve. 

Crowley knelt to the ground and reached for his belt. His hands were shaking more violently than he cared to admit, and he fumbled with the gadgets on his waist until finally retrieving his heat gun from its holster. 

Pointing it at the nearest pile of embers, Crowley flipped a switch and closed his eyes as a loud sucking sound filled his ears. The heat closest to him vanished as, bit by bit, a tiny bar of angry orange energy slowly began to fill up.

A ragged sound reached Crowley’s ears and he looked fearfully down at Seraphim’s face. The only wound he could see was a thin trickle of blood running down the side of her face, but she had been buried under a pile of smoldering rubble. What if she had broken ribs or internal bleeding? He had to get her out of here now. Crowley was out of time.

“Well,” he coughed, trying to keep himself from inhaling any more smoke. “Here goes nothing.”

He jumped, Seraphim’s limp body hanging over his shoulder as they fell together. In only a few seconds, the smoke and fire cleared and Crowley could see the pavement below them approaching with a rapid pace. He clenched his arm tighter around Seraphim’s waist and pointed the gun down toward the ground. The moment he pulled the trigger, Crowley felt a jolt of pain shoot up his arm, the shock of the recoil like electricity shooting through him. A blast of energy erupted from the tip of the gun, rocketing downward until it made contact with the ground. 

The jolt of the impact made Crowley feel like he might just throw up, but it dramatically slowed their fall. It wasn’t as elegant a solution as the rocket boots, but the heat gun served the same purpose and, in the end, got him where he needed to be.

On the opposite end of the building, Crowley could see the first wave of firefighters exiting the building, their search and rescue mission complete. Water still poured from the trucks, fighting to get the blaze under control, but Crowley didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it except making sure Seraphim was alright.

Crossing the street as quickly as he could, the man fell to the ground, laying Seraphim gently on the grass beside him. He lowered his head once more, feeling a jolt of panic when, this time, he couldn’t detect any breath against his ear.

“Seraphim?” Crowley fought the panic rising in him as his trembling hand fought to remove his glove. Feeling around at the side of her neck, he detected the faintest hint of a pulse, convincing him she was still alive.

For now.

“Seraphim,” he tried again, tapping her lightly against her face. “Seraphim, I need you to wake up. Please , wake up.”

She didn’t respond. After all this, she was going to die here. And somehow, some way, Crowley knew it was all his fault.

“Dammit, Seraphim!” Crowley cried, closing his eyes to stave off a fresh wave of tears. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t fair . Out of all the possible outcomes this day could have brought, nothing could be worse than losing her. “ Breathe!”

And she did.

A huge gasping breath echoed around him and Crowley felt the tears pool over. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it. Didn’t care about the building crumbling before him. Didn’t care that Prism was likely waiting within arm’s reach, ready to take him into custody. Didn’t care that hundreds of people were standing on the sidelines, watching him cry over the limp body of a young hero.

Seraphim was alive. And that’s all that mattered.

“Serpent…” her eyes fluttered open and she fixed him with a confused gaze, mind trying to make sense of all she’d experienced. “What happened? You...you saved me. Why?”

She sounded so surprised, Crowley had to laugh. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked incredulously, then stopped to think. Maybe to her, it wasn’t. Maybe to everyone watching, he was acting irrationally, or maybe they thought this was all an act, just like Prism had suggested earlier. But to him? He couldn’t have imagined doing anything else.

“Principality loves you.” He said it like it was the most obvious statement in the world. And, in a way, it was. Everyone who knew the pair, knew how much Aziraphale cared for this girl. And Crowley, who knew him better than most, knew that ever since Seraphim joined The Host, Aziraphale had rediscovered his passion for his work. She inspired him - inspired everyone she interacted with. She ran into burning buildings and saved the lives of villains and wasn’t afraid to do what she thought was right, no matter the consequences. Who wouldn’t come to love a person like that?

Taking a deep breath, Crowley finally pulled back away from her, sitting back on the ground as Seraphim slowly sat up. She leveled her gaze on him, waiting to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“And...and I love Principality,” he admitted, finding a strange sense of relief course through him as he finally said it out loud. Even if Aziraphale wasn’t here to hear it. Even if Aziraphale never wanted to hear it. That didn’t change how Crowley felt about him. He loved Aziraphale. Somehow, despite everything, he felt he always would.

“I’d never let anything happen to you. You have my word.”

Chapter Text

The weather today - cloudy and a bit chillier than it was last week. Highs only getting up to about one and a half degrees - 

Traffic is backed up on the M25 as it appears two tractor trailers collided around the - 

Students received a rare day off school as nearly half a meter of snow fell over the weekend -

Aziraphale looked up from what he was reading, eyes quickly finding the only other person in the room. Tempest was reclining in one of the office chairs, feet perched up on the table as she absentmindedly flipped through the news channels one by one, lighting up one of the large monitors mounted on the wall with varying colors that shifted every few seconds.

“Are you looking for anything in particular, my dear?”

Tempest looked up, surprised to find him seated behind her. Aziraphale had waved at her as he’d come in, a mountain of old newspapers tucked up underneath his arms, but she’d barely responded, eyes fixed on the television ahead.

“Oh, Principality!” She really hadn’t noticed him before. Aziraphale tried not to laugh as the younger woman reached up and tucked a loose strand of black hair behind her ears. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were even in here. Is it too loud?” She gestured to the screen, waving the remote in her right hand. “I can turn it down.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not at all. I was simply curious as to what sort of information you could be looking for flipping through the channels that fast.”

Tempest shrugged, placing the remote down on the table as she lowered her legs and pushed off from the ground. Her chair shot across the room, guided along by her hand on the underside of the table as she swiveled around to rest at his side. “Not really sure. Something to go help with, I suppose.” She paused, brown eyes drifting down to the sprawl of newspapers in front of him.

Aziraphale’s heartbeat spiked and he had to sternly remind himself that there was absolutely nothing wrong with what he was doing. What did it matter if he wanted to read fifteen year old papers in his spare time? They were easily accessible enough to do so. He’d grabbed these particular copies from The Host’s library, itself. So why was he suddenly so nervous?

“What are you reading?” She reached over and tugged one of the newspapers closer, scanning the front page for any information that might be interesting. “I didn’t know they even made newspapers anymore.”

A chuckle escaped Aziraphale’s lips as he looked back down at the paper in front of him. December 2, 2004. One of the dates Crowley had mentioned before he’d walked away several weeks before. “Of course they do. Although,” he paused, eyes drifting to the picture front and center before him. A black and white rendition of a stage set outside with thousands of people in the crowd. Beside it, a blurry figure, face obscured by a cloud of black specks he knew to be hundreds of honeybees. 

“These weren’t exactly printed yesterday.”

Tempest laughed. “I’ll say. I think I was, what, seven when this fire happened?” She was holding the paper detailing Hellfire’s origin story - the orphanage that had burned entirely to the ground. It had been a tragedy. One of the worst the city had ever seen. All of these stories had. The concert. The orphanage. The wedding.

No sane person would ever choose to be a villain. You have to know that.

What did it mean? What had Crowley been trying to tell him? And why did he care? For all he knew, this could be another distraction. Another lie. Just like all the others. So why couldn’t he seem to let it go?

“Hey, these are all the villain’s -”

Aziraphale nodded his head. “Origin stories, yes.”

“Why?” She didn’t sound accusatory or suspicious. If anything, Tempest seemed curious.

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to shrug. “Just doing a bit of research. Figured these old newspapers might be more informative than anything I could find at a comic book store.”

New reports are coming in about the apartment fire yesterday afternoon. We now have footage of the daring rescue of eleven-year-old Warlock Dowling. First on the scene was the newest superhero in town, Seraphim, towing someone who appears to be dressed like none other than The Serpent behind her.

Aziraphale’s head snapped up at the sound of Seraphim’s name, eyes darting to the television as grainy footage appeared before them. He could see the blaze blowing out every side of the building, the smoke billowing in the air. It was a truly terrifying sight, and there she was. Seraphim. Charging up to the rooftop without fear, her hand firmly wrapped in that of another.

Crowley.

His heart skipped a beat. What was Crowley doing charging into a burning building? With Sarah of all people? He hadn’t even realized the pair knew each other.

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked, a lump forming in his throat as he watched the events play out before him. The chopper footage wasn’t great, but both were easy enough to identify in a crowd. Crowley’s flaming red wig was hard to miss, even amidst all the fire around him. “How did I miss this?”

Tempest turned to look at him. “It happened yesterday afternoon,” she responded. “Didn’t you just get back from visiting family? You must have still been out of town when the alert was sent out.”

Aziraphale couldn’t believe it. Crowley had been there...helping people? Why? Had he been hoping to lure Aziraphale to him? Was that why he’d been with Sarah in the first place? Or had it been pure coincidence?

“Wait - “ Aziraphale’s voice caught in his throat as on screen, both Sarah and Crowley disappeared into the burning building. “They went in there? Whatever for?” Didn’t she know how dangerous that was? Especially when she had no backup - no way of getting herself out should things go south.

“There was a kid trapped inside,” Tempest explained. “Prism showed up not long after this. She helped get the kid out while - well…”

The footage cut to a scene several floors down. Aziraphale watched in horror as a figure clad in black leapt from the window, Sarah’s limp body slung over his shoulder. Was she hurt? What had happened in there? Where was she now? Why hadn’t he been informed of any of this?

“Woah,” Tempest called as Aziraphale shot to his feet, panic evident on his face. “Chill, man. Seraphim is fine. Watch.”

Watching was all he could do as Crowley landed a bit roughly on the ground, carrying Sarah’s body across the street and away from the building.

“He…” Aziraphale trailed off, not daring to believe what he was seeing. “He saved her life.”

“Yeah,” Tempest almost sounded impressed. “No one can figure out why, but there’s a ton of theories going around right now. My guess is it’s some sort of payback. For the way she saved Beelzebub last month. I get the sense that those two are an item, ya know? Makes sense he’d want to repay Seraphim for saving his partner.”

At the mention of Crowley and Beelzebub being partners, Aziraphale visibly tensed. His stomach twisted violently inside him and he had the sudden urge to run his fist straight through the nearest wall. There was no way it was true, was it? Crowley...he’d claimed to love Aziraphale. And while Aziraphale wasn’t entirely convinced that had been the truth, the thought that Crowley was romantically connected with someone else hurt more than he’d expected it to.

“What are the other theories?” he managed to choke out, hoping she’d reveal something that didn’t make him feel so...ugly inside. “You said there were plenty going around.”

“Oh yeah!” Tempest exclaimed, leaning forward against the table as she reached for the remote. “I heard on the radio this morning that some people think The Serpent is making a play for The Host. Trying to do some good deeds to repeal the decision they made about him. Others think he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. They seemed convinced he’s not actually a bad person.”

Perhaps they had a point. Aziraphale’s eyes flickered down to the papers spread across his side of the desk. Was there one of these that explained the events of Crowley’s origin story? The Serpent was his villain, and Aziraphale knew what all the comics and cartoons said about him. That The Serpent was some kind of evil, scientific super genius. One whose inventions had been turned down time and time again until he eventually broke, declaring he’d show the entire city just how much of a genius he was.

“And then there’s those crazies out there that have turned this whole thing into some kind of daring, romantic rescue. A forbidden love, of some sorts. The sickos.” She grimaced at the thought and Aziraphale had to agree. Crowley would never do something like that. Not with Sarah. He barely knew her.

“How old is she anyway?” Tempest asked, shaking her head. “It’s gross. She’s like, half his age.”

Not quite, but close to it. Not that Aziraphale was going to tell Tempest he knew The Serpent’s exact age. Or his birthday. Or the color of his real eyes and how his brow wrinkled ever so slightly when he smiled.

Aziraphale’s heart ached at the thought. He tried his best to ignore it.

“Technically, she is eighteen,” Aziraphale argued, though he had to agree, the age gap made the idea utterly repulsive. “Though, I agree. He’s much too old for her.”

Tempest looked surprised at the revelation. As far as he knew, she was only a few years older, herself. Aziraphale supposed that, up until this moment, the woman hadn’t realized how close she and Sarah were in age.

“She could do so much better.” Suddenly, Tempest paused, head swiveling to look at the door as the sound of footsteps approaching reached their ears.

“Speak of the devil!” she cried, standing up to cross the room in several long strides. Aziraphale’s eyes drifted to the door, his body flooding with relief as he saw Sarah standing there, clad in a pristine new suit, looking very much alive. “You absolutely killed it yesterday.” Tempest reached out, wrapping her arms tightly around Sarah’s shoulders who looked surprised at the greeting. “The hero of the year, and it’s only January. Way to go, kid.” 

Aziraphale had to bite back a smile at the annoyed scowl that appeared on Sarah’s face. “You’re only three years older than me.”

Tempest grinned as she pulled away, keeping her arm slung over Sarah’s shoulders. “Yeah, but, you’re the newbie. So I get to call you ‘kid’ until the next superhero joins our ranks.” She shrugged, finally letting go of Sarah as she started walking backwards toward the door. “Those are the rules. I don’t make them up.”

“I very much doubt that,” Sarah muttered, but Aziraphale could detect a hint of a smile in her voice. He realized, suddenly, that he was still standing after his initial panic earlier and awkwardly considered if he should sit down.

Tempest hung around in the doorway, her focus entirely on Sarah as she bid them both goodbye. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I skipped my morning workout to sleep in today and if I don’t get some practice in, Archangel is going to kick my ass at practice tomorrow.” She grinned, giving them a wave as she vanished into the hallway. “You two nerds have fun!”

Sarah sighed, finally turning to face Aziraphale. His heart relaxed even further as she sent a genuine smile in his direction.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” he breathed, crossing the room to wrap her in a hug. “I feel terrible I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s ok,” Sarah started. “It’s not like I went in alone. And everything worked itself out, in the end.”

Everything being Crowley saving her life, of course. Aziraphale was still struggling to come to grips with that bit of information, although a part of him believed it shouldn’t be so surprising. The Crowley he thought he knew was kind and caring. He had a good heart. Was it so farfetched that, even though he’d lied to Aziraphale about his secret identity, he might still be that person underneath it all?

“What are you working on?” Sarah asked, moving to sit in the seat beside where he’d been earlier. Aziraphale shifted around, returning to his seat and uncovering some of the newspapers, passing them gently over to her.

“Just doing a bit of research,” Aziraphale answered truthfully. “I thought it couldn’t hurt for us to dig into some of our opponents’ backgrounds a bit. Maybe it will help us to understand them better. I was hoping I might discover what their motivations are.”

Sarah frowned, flipping through the headlines one by one. “Is there anything in here about The Serpent?”

Aziraphale shook his head, not surprised she was suddenly interested in learning more about Crowley. After everything she’d been through yesterday, he would have been more surprised to hear she didn’t care at all. “Not that I’ve been able to find.” And he’d been looking. Despite how hurt and angry he still was, Aziraphale still felt himself drawn to Crowley. He wanted to know more about the man - understand how such a seemingly wonderful man was also one of the most notorious villains in the entire city.

His eyes fell on Sarah’s face, noticing how her brow furrowed in concentration, teeth biting at the corner of her lip.

“Is everything alright?” Aziraphale found himself asking softly. She seemed troubled over something, and while he had no clue if he’d be able to help, Aziraphale found he wanted to try. “You seem distracted.”

“Sorry.” The girl tore her eyes away from the page, fixing them back on Aziraphale’s face. “I just - well,” a blush appeared on Sarah’s cheeks and to his surprise, her gaze flickered away. “The Serpent said something to me. Yesterday. Right after he saved me. And I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

Instead of saying anything to her, Aziraphale chose to wait. He trusted Sarah to know when it was right for her to share what was on her mind. Naturally, he wanted her to open up to him. To confide in him. But he wouldn’t force her to do anything. If she was ready to tell him, Aziraphale trusted that she would. 

“I’ve watched the footage over a hundred times,” Sarah admitted softly, hand lifting to fiddle with the end of her braid. “He was right by the exit when I left him. He could have easily gotten out with Prism and that boy, but he didn’t. He came after me without hesitation. A supervillain saved my life. And, I don’t know. I never expected it to happen. I want to understand why.”

Aziraphale nodded his head in understanding. Part of him wanted to jump to Crowley’s defense and explain how he wasn’t as much of a supervillain as she might assume. And then he remembered the lies and the manipulation and how Crowley had broken his heart, causing him to fall silent.

“Did he indicate a reason?” the hero finally asked, trying to ignore the rapid beating in his chest. He had to remain impartial here. Although he trusted Sarah, if any of the other heroes found out everything that had happened between Crowley and himself, he would be kicked out of The Host for certain. Fraternizing with the enemy? It was unforgivable.

Sarah’s fiddling became more pronounced, her eyes focused intently on the bottom half of the closest newspaper. Eventually, after a very long, drawn out pause, she sighed. “He said he did it because you love me. And he loves you.”

Aziraphale’s face paled. Crowley had really told her that? Why? Was he hoping that by getting Sarah on his side, he could worm his way back into Aziraphale’s life? Or did Aziraphale dare to hope he was telling the truth? That he’d been telling the truth the whole time?

Lies? Is that what you think? Aziraphale, none of this has been a lie.

What if what Crowley had told him had been the truth? Is that what Aziraphale wanted? There was a part of him - a relatively large part - that wanted to turn the clock back. Go back to the way things had been when he’d been happy. When he’d been normal.

I only wanted to be normal, just for a little while. I was tired of the lies. Tired of the games. I just wanted a chance to be myself. And then I met you and you were so wonderful and I never wanted it to end. 

Tears pricked at his eyes and Aziraphale forced them away. Heroes didn’t cry. Not over villains at any rate. He needed to pull himself together. The bottom line was Crowley had lied to him. He’d known Aziraphale was Principality and said nothing about his own secret. If Aziraphale hadn’t figured it out, he would have continued lying for the rest of their lives. It was cruel . So why did he still care so much?

“At first,” Sarah continued when he did not respond, “I thought he had to be making it all up. He’s a villain, he must be trying to trick me. But I couldn’t think of any other reason that he might have risked his life for mine. Unless, maybe he’s not as bad a person as the stories make him seem.” She glanced down at the spread of papers one more time, a serious expression suddenly coming over her face. “Maybe none of them are.”

Aziraphale’s heart stuttered in his chest as more of that night came flooding back.

The Host isn’t all what it seems.

No sane person would ever choose to be a villain. You must know that.

For a moment, Aziraphale hesitated. It would seem Sarah had independently come to the same conclusion he had. There was no reason not to talk to her about what he was really doing here, except for this nagging fear he had that Crowley might be onto something. He felt like he was standing at the precipice of something big. If he opened up to Sarah now, he was in danger of pulling her in with him. Something Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was willing to do. Not until he knew what was at stake. 

“Sometimes, I wonder the same.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. It was a statement that landed somewhere in between.

Guilt tugged at his heart and Aziraphale forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Was that not the same logic Crowley had been using this entire time? It wasn’t like Aziraphale had ever directly asked him if he was The Serpent. It had been a lie of omission. The same exact thing he was doing to Sarah.

Sighing, the man turned to face her. “A few weeks ago...I got another tip off from The Serpent. That’s why I’ve started this little investigation of mine.” He paused, watching as her eyes finally rose to meet his. “It could be some sort of elaborate trap,” Aziraphale mentioned, hoping she understood his hesitations to involve her at all. “Or, he could have been telling the truth like he did with the bank heist. It’s impossible to tell.”

Sarah shrugged, reaching down to turn one of the papers over in her hand. “It’s been pretty quiet recently,” she pointed out. “I guess a bit of research wouldn’t hurt.”

Suddenly, her eyes lit up. Aziraphale watched as Sarah pushed off from the ground, wheeling her chair around the corner as she reached for a thin, wireless keyboard sitting at the front edge closest to the television. A few short clicks later, the news station shifted and a plain internet page was displayed across the big screen.

Seconds later, several links were displayed in a list on the screen. Copies of the several news articles he had in front of him, alongside plenty of pictures that hadn’t made the cut. Aziraphale stared at the screen, his heart sinking as he thought of all those innocent lives that had been lost to that fire. The fact that those children didn’t have families to mourn them didn’t change how heartbreaking it had been to hear about, especially when he’d been too late to save any of them.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah murmured as she took in the look on his face. “I shouldn’t have - I didn’t think how difficult this would be for you to see.” She moved to shut it off, but Aziraphale lifted a hand to stop her.

“It’s alright, my dear,” he explained, forcing a smile. “It was a long time ago. I’ve grown a lot since then. The entirety of The Host has. Back then, we just didn’t have the talent and numbers we do now. It was just Archangel, Prism, and I. There weren’t enough of us for shifts or patrols or anything like that, and the fire started so quickly. Even if we had been awake and at Host Tower, I’m not sure we could have made a difference.”

Sarah was silent, eyes shifting back to the frames of burned doorways and still smouldering rooftops. What he wouldn’t give to know what was going on in her mind this very moment.

“You two look hard at work.”

Aziraphale looked up, shocked to see none other than Myosotis standing in the doorway. His eyes widened, mouth dropping open slightly as he wondered, briefly, whether he should stand in her presence.

“Myosotis,” he began, trying to cover up his shock with forced pleasure. “What an honor.” And it truly was. Aziraphale had heard many stories about the original superhero, but had never had the pleasure of meeting her before today. She and Metatron had come into the public eye several years before Aziraphale had discovered his superpowers. He wasn’t sure exactly how long she’d been around before then, but she’d always been seen as Metatron’s right-hand woman. He suspected she was often busy helping him run the organization behind the scenes.

She leveled her gaze on him, a soft smile appearing on her face. For a moment, Aziraphale feared something was wrong. There was almost a look of sadness filling her brown eyes as she looked down at the pair. Slowly, her gaze shifted to the television and Aziraphale followed it, taking in the images of the skeletal orphanage just days after it had been burned to the ground.

“The important thing is,” Aziraphale continued when the silence between himself and Sarah continued, “is that with the way things are now, we can make a difference.” He shot the younger hero an encouraging smile. “You are proof of that very fact.”

Finally, Sarah looked up, returning his smile in earnest. Her eyes drifted over to the doorway, widening slightly at something she saw there. Aziraphale shifted his attention to follow hers and saw, to his astonishment, Myosotis lingering before them, an indistinguishable look on her face.

“Myosotis!” Sarah’s face lit up in excitement. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” She moved to stand and Aziraphale wondered if he should have done the same. “I’m Seraphim. The newest hero.”

Myosotis regarded her for a moment, nodding her head and not making a step forward to greet her. “Yes. I know.” She kept her eyes fixed on Sarah as she continued to speak. “Doing a bit of research? Anything interesting?”

“Nothing yet,” Aziraphale responded, glancing back at the screen in front of him. He shivered, the blackened wood and smoking walls reminding him of that tragedy all those years ago. It was true, what he’d said to Sarah. While he hadn’t been able to make a difference back then, it was clear they could now. That boy - Warlock Dowling was his name? He was evidence that The Host was a growing force for good in this city.

He turned to look at the door, surprised to see Myosotis standing in the doorway, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Sarah must have noticed her first, as she was already standing beside him. Aziraphale moved to stand beside her.

“Myosotis. It’s an honor.”

She stared at them silently for what felt like an eternity before heaving a sigh and taking a step back. “Of course it is. When is it ever not?” Two steps later, she was vanishing behind the doorway and walking down the hall and out of sight.

Aziraphale blinked, looking around in confusion. He was standing next to Sarah in the conference room, staring at the doorway for some odd reason. For a moment, he thought maybe they had heard footsteps approaching, but when no one showed up, Aziraphale realized he must have been mistaken. Reaching down, he pulled his chair closer, sitting down once more as the beginnings of an idea began to form in his mind.

Eyes drifting up to the large screen in front of them, Aziraphale focused in on one of the pictures to the far right. Following his gaze, Sarah moved her mouse and clicked on it, expanding it to take up almost the entire space before them. 

It was a picture of an interior room of the orphanage. A charred desk. Some bookshelves that were barely standing. A pile of rubble in the corner. It wasn’t much, but it was more than the concert or the wedding had to offer them.

“Do you want to get out and stretch your legs for a bit?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes never leaving the photograph. “I’m feeling the need to go on a little flight.”

Sarah nodded her head, closing out of the window and turning off the television. Aziraphale reached down to gather the newspapers into a nice, neat pile, intending to put them in his office for safekeeping until he had time to swing by the library once more.

He met Sarah’s gaze, and a knowing look passed between them. He couldn’t explain this uneasiness inside his chest, but once again, Aziraphale felt like he was standing on a precipice, one step away from falling in headfirst. By the looks of it, Sarah felt it too.

The Host isn’t all what it seems.

What had Crowley meant? What had he been trying to say? Despite everything that had happened between them, Aziraphale realized he had to know. For better or worse, he had to see this through - if only to prove to himself that everything was just fine. That it always had been.

“Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

“You surprised me, Crowley,” Anathema breathed, a cloud of white erupting from her lips as it struck the cold afternoon air. They were linked arm in arm, walking down the street toward the park. “After what happened yesterday, and how cold it is today, I didn’t expect you to step foot outside again until at least April.”

“Nah,” Crowley responded, trying to ignore the way the air on his cheeks and his nose burned with an intensity he would never understand. “April’s much too wet. May is when things start to get decent again.”

Anathema laughed, hugging closer to Crowley and he felt a strange stab of simultaneous joy and pain. He loved spending time with Anathema and was relieved she’d been free today to go on a lunchtime walk with him. He also missed being able to walk like this with someone special. With someone like Aziraphale.

It had been nearly a month since Aziraphale had ended everything and Crowley had done his best to move on. And by that, of course he meant he’d thrown himself into his work, doing his very best to help get everything ready for the day Beelzebub declared it was time to break into Host Tower.

Crowley sighed, looking down at Anathema. They had a lot to talk about.

Anathema remained silent as they rounded the final corner, the park coming into view. There was no particular reason Crowley had chosen to come here, but he wanted to talk to Anathema alone. He wanted to talk to Anathema soon . And she’d been at work. There didn’t seem to be many other alternatives. So he’d braved the cold, donned his new coat, and here they were.

They walked a few more steps, passing underneath the maple trees and by a pair of park benches. One on either side of the pavement. For a moment, Crowley thought Anathema might choose to sit down. He was letting her lead the way, after all, and as stylish as those shoes were, they couldn’t be comfortable to walk around in all day.

Instead, she chose to keep walking, her arm hugging tightly onto Crowley's, like she might be blown away if she let go. If he stopped to think about it, he wasn’t entirely sure if the firmness of her presence was for his benefit or her own.

“It’s something big, isn’t it?” the woman finally asked as they took their first turn. This particular park had one of the nicest walking paths - a half mile long loop framed by trees that encircled the whole thing. “Whatever it is you’ve been working on this whole time? I’ve never seen you so...absorbed in your work before.”

Crowley frowned, nodding his head ever so slightly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Anathema the whole truth. He just knew that doing so would likely put her at risk. Especially if they were right about The Host and the things that had likely been going on the past decade. It wasn’t fair to drag her into all this. Crowley had been fine having Anathema play the damsel in distress for years because it had just been a game back then. But this? This was real and this was dangerous. He didn’t want her anywhere near it.

But… it also wasn’t fair to shut her out without giving her a choice in the matter. Anathema was an adult - a competent one, at that. She could make her own decisions.

“Yeah,” he sighed, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders. “It is. And you know I’ll tell you if you ask me to. I’ll tell you everything, Ana, but I don’t want to put you in any danger that I don’t have to.”

For a moment, Anathema looked like she might protest, but then she released a sigh, another puff of while rising into the air. “Alright. I’ll hold my questions for now.” She looked up at him, face suddenly very serious. “But I hope you know that just because you have superpowers doesn’t mean you have to do everything alone.”

Crowley nodded his head. He wouldn’t be alone, that much had already been decided. Whichever way this all went, he and the rest of the supervillains were in this together. It was the only way their plan would work.

“So what do you want to tell me?”

He looked down at her. Always so perceptive. Sometimes Crowley wondered how it was possible she seemed to know so much.

“I’m selling my house.” Better to get it all out there before he caved completely and lost his nerve. “You’re right. There is something big going on and the way I see it, things are going to go one of two ways. Either we fail and they arrest me - in which case, I won’t need the house. Or, by some miracle we actually succeed and I...well, if we do manage to pull this off, I’m leaving the city. Don’t need a house for that either.”

Anathema remained silent for a long time. Long enough for them to complete their first lap around the park and start on their second.

“You’ve broken out of prison before,” she pointed out, not exactly arguing with his decision, but not willing to accept it either. “What makes this time any different?”

Crowley shrugged, but he knew the act alone was a lie. And he didn’t want to lie. Not anymore. “This - what we’re trying to do - it’s a direct move against The Host. Don’t worry,” he amended at the look that appeared on her face. “We’re not planning on hurting anyone. We just want to...air out some information. If we’re caught - they aren’t going to let that go. They’ll never stop hunting me. Figured it wouldn’t be the worst idea to get out of town.”

“And if you succeed?”

Inside his chest, Crowley’s heart withered just a tiny bit more. He was surprised it had any further to break. “Even if the entirety of The Host toppled to the ground, he’d still be here. Being a hero is part of him, and I -” he broke off, cursing the emotions swirling inside him, threatening to choke him. “It hurts too much. I see him everywhere I go. I hear his laughter sitting by the pond. I feel his hand in mine when I walk down the street. Every time I pass by a television, there he is and I - I can’t escape it. Not while I stay here and I - I need to escape it.”

Once again, Anathema was silent. There was no judgement in her eyes, no disappointment on her face, and for that, Crowley was grateful. Just because he couldn’t stand to stay in a place that reminded him so much of Aziraphale, didn’t mean he’d ever want to leave her behind.

“You’ve thought a lot about this.”

He nodded. “I have.”

Anathema released a sigh. “You know me, Crowley. I’m not going to argue or try and convince you to stay. You are my best friend and I trust you to know your own heart.” She hugged his arm tightly. “I’ll miss our dinner dates.”

Crowley forced a laugh. “We can still have them. Just maybe not as often.”

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, still walking arm in arm as they circled the park a third time. The cold air was finally starting to make it past the protective barrier his clothes had to offer, seeping into his skin, making him wish he could have had this whole conversation from the comfort of his living room.

Hey , a familiar voice spoke into his ear, bringing with it a brief second of feedback, causing the man to wince in pain. Are you decent? Chameleon found something you’re going to want to see.

Crowley grimaced. He’d taken to wearing the little earpiece almost anytime he was awake. It made communicating with the others much easier, especially since they were actively working together on what was likely to be the biggest heist of any of their careers. Still, it made for annoying interruptions the few times he was actually off doing something else. Like this moment, right here.

“What kind of something?” Crowley asked, reaching up to find the tiny button on the surface that turned the microphone on. He kept that switched off more often than not. The others didn’t need to be privy to every conversation he held during the day. Especially not when they were all focused on their individual jobs, getting ready for their big day.

For the past several weeks, Chameleon had been hard at work infiltrating The Host. He’d posed as numerous individuals - security guards, receptionists, tour guides. He’d even convinced them to give him a job as one of the night time janitors. Bit by bit, he’d been verifying the blueprints he’d stolen months ago. Marking off which rooms to focus on. Which ones to ignore. Apparently, in one of those many rooms, he’d found something worthwhile.

Honestly? Beelzebub sounded unsure. Like they’d worked their way through a list of things it could possibly be and come up entirely blank. It looks like some kind of weird magic potion. Like the one you used in one of the early arcs of The Host. To animate your plant army.

Crowley opened his mouth to argue that he’d done no such thing. That those bozo writers with The Host had got it all wrong, but held himself back at the last second. Of course Beelzebub would know that. Wasn’t that the whole point behind all of this? The stories The Host had created. The truths they’d stretched. The lies they’d told.

“Right.” Crowley turned to Anathema who was walking patiently at his side, eyes fixed on the path in front of them. His heart thudded in his chest. A magic potion? He wasn’t foolish enough to believe such a thing existed. But that didn’t mean Chameleon hadn’t stumbled upon something worth looking into. 

He glanced over at his best friend, an idea starting to form in his mind. Crowley was smart and had always had a knack for all things science related, but Anathema had a PhD in chemistry. She worked as a researcher for the university. Crowley was smart, but if Beelzebub wanted to identify what this substance was, he may need to bring in some backup. 

“Can you meet me at the university? Outside the science building. I may know someone who can help us get to the bottom of this.”

I’ll be there in ten.

The line went silent and Crowley reached up to shut the microphone back off. Anathema was looking at him expectantly and he suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash through him. Hadn’t the whole point of today’s conversation been to involve her as little as possible? And here he was, about to ask for her help preparing for the very act he’d been trying to keep her away from. What kind of friend was he?

Anathema stopped walking, shifting her body around so it faced Crowley’s head on. “Hey,” she murmured, offering him a soft smile. “I told you. There will be none of that. Not with me. Just because I’m a normal old regular human doesn’t mean I don’t want to be there for you and help you however I can, Crowley.” She reached up, straightening his scarf and resting her gloved hands against his lapels. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Crowley chuckled, feeling a bit of relief at the strength of her conviction. “You really should invest in a mirror of sorts. There’s nothing remotely normal or regular about you. Sorry to be the one to have to tell you.”

Anathema laughed, shifting around so she was walking side by side with him again. The pair fell into step together, finally leaving the park as they headed back to the university. A place where, hopefully, Crowley could find a nice spot to sit, preferably in front of a massive heating vent.

“You know,” Anathema began as they rounded the corner and left the park behind them. “You still owe me lunch. Just because we had to cut our outing short doesn’t mean I’m not going to hold you to your promise.”

A grin made its way onto Crowley’s face. “Anathema, darling. After everything I’ve put you through these past few years, I will buy you lunch every day for the rest of your life. You have my word.”

Anathema laughed, squeezing onto his arm like she might never let it go. Despite the gravity of the situation and the fear and anxiety that seemed to follow him wherever he went these days, Crowley would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy that she was here with him.

“Don’t tempt me. Or I might just take you up on that promise.”

“Are you sure we can trust her?”

Despite his initial intention of spending the rest of the day indoors , Crowley somehow had found himself wandering the streets with Beelzebub on a quest to find lunch for Anathema. She’d requested grilled cheese and tomato soup and it had taken them walking into three different bistros before they found what they were looking for.

Keeping their word, Beelzebub had met them outside the science building, handing over the vial of liquid with barely a word at Crowley’s insistence. It hadn’t looked all that special in the brief time he’d laid eyes on it. There was an iridescent sheen to it in certain lights, but otherwise the vial appeared to contain nothing but clear liquid. It was a bit thicker than water, but not by much, and held no scent. As much as he hated to involve her, Crowley was glad he’d thought to bring Anathema in to help with the investigation. If anyone could figure out what that substance was, it was her.

“With my life,” Crowley responded, without hesitation. “I trust her more than I trust the lot of you, that’s for sure.”

He’d meant it as a joke and was relieved to see the barest hint of a smile appear on Beelzebub’s face. The villainous duo walked down the street side by side, not a single suspicious glance on them. Crowley didn’t know when he’d reached the point where he felt comfortable showing his true face around the other villain, but he felt no hesitation doing so now. Beelzebub must have felt the same, because they had shown up without costume, mask, or any trace of an insect in sight. Just a simple pair of black jeans and oversized hoodie.

“Let’s hope she figures it out soon,” Beelzebub muttered. “The longer we take to make our move, the more chances we have of being found out.”

Crowley had every ounce of confidence in Anathema’s abilities, but he understood where Beelzebub was coming from. If any of the heroes figured out what they were planning, they would lose any chance they had at finding out the truth.

Finally, they reached the building and all the warmth that it brought. Even though he could feel the heaters blasting in the hallway as the duo made their way past the various classrooms and lecture halls, heading for the chemistry labs, Crowley kept his coat firmly wrapped around him. He wasn’t taking it off until literal pools of sweat started to form at his feet.

“Did you find anything?” Beelzebub asked the second they walked into the room. It was pretty standard as far as labs went. Plenty of cabinets filled with beakers and Bunsen Burners and all manners of chemicals. Tables set up around the room where students could perform their experiments. Sinks to wash out their supplies. An eye washing station, in case of an emergency. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, although it had been a long time since Crowley had taken anything resembling a chemistry class.

Apart from Anathema, the room was empty. Her colleagues must either still be out to lunch or they were off teaching a class, which suited Crowley just fine. It was still entirely possible this substance was nothing more than a glorified cleaning agent. But on the off chance it was something significant? Better that they make that discovery alone.

“Not yet,” Anathema announced without turning to look at them. She’d set up several stations across the back counter. A handful of beakers. A microscope, and a large notebook sandwiched between them, pen at the ready. “Hope you brought something to do. It’s impossible to tell how long this will take.”

Crowley simply nodded his head, eyes already falling to the unopened brown paper bag sitting in the center of the room. His stomach growled in anticipation. Anathema had been right before. It had been weeks since he’d had a proper meal and after the ordeal he’d put himself through the previous day, he sure as hell deserved one.

“Where did Chameleon find this anyway?” Crowley asked as they settled in to eat. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been until Beelzebub had opened that bag and the scent of hot soup and melted cheese had filled the entire room. “Was it just in some random office he was cleaning? Or…?”

Beelzebub frowned, slowly prying the lid off their food, sniffing it once before plunging the spoon in. “I’m not entirely sure. He was posing as a security officer the other day. Someone on the night shift. Said he saw one of the scientists acting real shady. He followed the bloke and confronted him. Said the guy practically pissed himself, he was so scared. That vial was the only thing of interest he had on him.”

Interesting, but it didn’t explain what, exactly, they’d stumbled across. If a Host scientist had been trying to smuggle out some secret formula, it had to be good. But was it a health potion or poison? Was it a miraculous cure for cancer? Or toxins they planned to dump in the city’s water supply? There was no way to know. 

“What happened to the scientist?” If Chameleon had confronted him, why not just interrogate the bloke? Surely he knew what this stuff did. If Chameleon had bothered to try and figure things out, they wouldn’t have had to involve Anathema at all.

“Chameleon had him hand over his badge on the spot.” A smug grin made its way onto Beelzebub’s face at the thought. “Said he’d have the guy arrested if he ever set foot in Host Tower again. It was actually quite clever of him.”

Understanding dawned on Crowley’s face. He felt a new sense of appreciation and respect for the newest of the villains. If Chameleon had managed to swipe that scientist’s access badge and had given the man a reason never to come back? It was a bloody brilliant thing to do.

“We have our way in.”

Beelzebub nodded. “We have our way in.”

“Oh.”

Their conversation was stopped in its tracks by that still, small sound. Crowley’s head whipped up at the sound of Anathema’s voice echoing throughout the empty room. She was standing in front of the microscope, eyes still practically glued to the device as she lifted a hand to adjust a few settings. The entire atmosphere inside the room shifted and he suddenly felt the need to shed his winter clothing, feeling like he might suffocate if he didn’t.

“What is it?” Beelzebub breathed, voice so quiet it barely carried through the room. Like Crowley, they were on the edge of their seats, waiting for Anathema to explain.

She was silent for a moment longer, causing Beelzebub to practically vibrate in their seat with anticipation. Finally, Anathema took a step back and looked up at the pair with concern shining in her brown eyes.

“This formula,” she began, hands reaching down to pick up the vial, turning over in the light as if that might reveal all its secrets. “Whatever it is - it has DNA inside of it. Human DNA.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open. There was no way he’d heard that correctly. Human DNA. What use could The Host possibly have for anything of that nature. And, more importantly, whose DNA was it?

“What use would they have for human DNA?” Beelzebub asked, echoing the same questions that had just flooded Crowley’s mind. “What can you even do with something like that?”

Anathema frowned, her hand clenching firmly around the vial and its remaining liquid. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s some kind of new medication that cures cancer. Or it could reduce the loss of eyesight with old age. Or maybe it does something else entirely.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Without knowing the exact formula and what compounds were used, I couldn’t tell you for certain one way or another. ”

She took a deep breath and turned to fix her gaze first on Beelzebub, then on Crowley. “If you want answers, I’m going to need more information. Lab notes, documentation. Access to the lab where it was created, if you can manage it. If not,” she paused, reaching out to hand the vial back to Beelzebub, brow furrowed in concern. “I’m afraid that’s all the help I can give.”

Beelzebub studied the vial in their hands for a long time, brown eyes flicking back and forth rapidly, as if they were running through every possible scenario they might run into if they brought Anathema into the mix. She was clever and level headed. She had an uncanny sense about her, but she was also a normal citizen. Anathema had no powers that might benefit her in a pinch. She had no criminal record. If she was caught alongside them, her life would be over. It was an impossible burden to ask of her, and yet here she was. Offering it up willingly, if they wanted it.

“Let me talk to the others,” they finally said, pocketing the substance and moving to stand. Glancing over at her, they lifted a hand out in front of them, which Anathema took with no hesitation on her part. Brave as ever - to a fault, Crowley sometimes thought. Even still, he couldn’t think of another person he wanted by his side through all this insanity.

“I’ll see what we can do.”

Chapter Text

The Walter Goodwin Home for Children was located at the very edge of the city, where they could maintain a lawn for the children to play on and a scattering of trees that could almost be considered a forest, depending on how you looked at them.

In an effort not to draw too much attention to themselves, Aziraphale and Sarah had taken the long way there, travelling up and over the cloud layer. Staying out of sight to anyone except the occasional plane taking off from the airport below. 

They were silent on the way over, each hero absorbed in their own thoughts. Aziraphale kept the corner of his eyes on Sarah the whole time, just in case she lost her footing or got tired, but the young heroine matched him stride for stride. She was more powerful than he ever imagined she would be. Up until now, he considered Tempest to be the strongest of all of them, when it came to sheer power. And maybe she still was, but even though the nature of Sarah’s powers were more defensive, her combat abilities had improved dramatically over the past several months.

It was a thing that should have made him proud, as her unofficial mentor. And he was proud! But Aziraphale couldn’t escape that twinge of guilt that he felt whenever he thought about it. Of course, there were plenty of non-villain related threats they’d been asked to help with over the years. Fires, floods. Armed robberies. And all of those were important. But he couldn’t ignore the large percentage of encounters that did include the villains, and how there was a part of him that wished none of this had come into existence at all.

I only wanted to be normal, just for a little while.

Aziraphale shook his head, trying his best to ignore the stabbing sensation in his heart and the wave of guilt that washed through him at the memory. Despite everything he’d said - everything that had happened between them, Aziraphale missed Crowley more than he’d ever care to admit out loud.

Would Crowley take him back, if he sought the man out and apologized? Was that what Aziraphale wanted? He’d be lying if he hadn’t imagined how an encounter like that might go. But in the end, it was impossible, wasn’t it? Them being together. It would never work. Crowley was a villain. Aziraphale was a hero. They didn’t mix, regardless of whether Aziraphale wished they could or not.

“I think I see it.”

Sarah’s soft words pulled Aziraphale back into the present. He angled his wings slightly, beginning his descent. A chill ran down his spine as the cool moisture from the clouds brushed up against his face, but the unpleasant sensation was quickly forgotten as the orphanage came into view. 

The orphanage was a shadow of its former glory, jagged framing reaching up toward the sky like a skeletal hand reaching out of the ground. The rooftop was almost completely gone, with the exception of a few pieces still clinging to the corners. Weeds blanketed the ground and the remnants of great leafy vines clung to whatever remained of the walls. Aziraphale imagined, in springtime, this place might actually look serene. 

“Part of me is surprised it’s still here,” Sarah murmured as her feet touched down softly on the grass. The old road was still visible, though cracked in more places than he could count. “I would have thought they’d tear it down. Maybe try to build something new.”

Aziraphale nodded gravely, hesitating in his steps. “They tried,” he explained, eyes falling to the front of the abandoned building and the statue that still stood out front. It was newer than everything else around it, but held the same sense of brokenness and sorrow. The base had been cracked, along with several faces of the children it had been meant to immortalize. Vines clung to every limb, hanging like curtains over some parts, making them impossible to see.

“Each time a company announced their intention to rebuild, a fire would break out in their office. If they showed up on sight, their supplies would be reduced to ash. Even the memorial they had installed was demolished beyond recognition.” Aziraphale looked up sadly, finding his footing as he began to walk forward. “Eventually, they all gave up.”

Sarah was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the statue as they walked by. When she paused, Aziraphale slowed to stand beside her, watching in silence as she squatted down to read the inscription.

“In loving memory of the children whose lives were lost to the fire of 2009. Though their time was short, their light shone brighter than many.”

An ache tugged at Aziraphale’s heart, once again feeling that overwhelming guilt that he’d been unable to do anything to stop this. Unable to do anything to save those children. 

Still kneeling on the ground, Sarah looked up at him, tears hovering in the corners of her eyes. “Is Hellfire the one who keeps attacking all the people who want to rebuild this place?”

Aziraphale frowned. “It would appear so,” he answered, unable to give anything better than that. They had no proof, of course, but the evidence had been damning from the start, and in an industry like this one, rumors spread like wildfire. 

“ Why? ” And wasn’t that the question of the year. “If he’s the one who started this fire, why would he want the memory of this to stick around?”

To that, the hero had no response. He could give her the standard ‘he’s a supervillain. Who knows why they do what they do, but Aziraphale found that he didn’t quite believe that anymore. That he hadn’t believed that for a very long time. If Hellfire caused the fire - if this was the true source of his origin story, was that reason enough to keep the memory in the public’s eye? Or was there something else going on here?

“I hope that’s what we are here to find out.”

Slowly, Sarah rose to her feet, reaching down to brush off the dirt from her knees before meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. He felt as if he should say something else. Something comforting, but the words would not come. There was something about this place. An eeriness that seemed to sap the breath from his lungs. He wasn’t afraid, exactly. It was more of a sense of defeat that permeated the air, sorrow clinging to every surface that remained.

And yet, Aziraphale could feel this sense of quiet peace. It was winter now, but despite the chill that clung to the air around them, he could see evidence that nature had begun the slow process of reclaiming this place. And for some reason, Hellfire seemed fine with letting that happen.

In a way, Aziraphale thought it was fitting. This location had been chosen to give the children a place to run and play. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, it felt like he could almost still hear their laughter still dancing in the wind. Maybe it was best that the city simply let this place be until a forest grew up around it and Mother Nature reclaimed it as her own.

Wait a minute.

Aziraphale paused, his brow wrinkling in concentration as he shifted his attention not towards the remnants of the orphanage, but the trees clustered just beyond.

That was the sound of children laughing. Right here. Right now. 

“I hear it too,” Sarah murmured, eyes gazing off in the same direction. A collection of trees stood about fifty meters behind the orphanage, spreading out much further than Aziraphale could see from this vantage point. The laughter was most certainly coming from that area.

Side by side, the two heroes advanced. Aziraphale kept his wings out, but his feet firmly planted on the ground. Though flying would have gotten him there faster, it wasn’t an outrageous distance to travel, and the thought of navigating through trees that dense filled Aziraphale with unease. It had been years since he’d dealt with a clipped wing and he would like to avoid revisiting such an experience at all costs.

As they entered the tree line, Sarah slipped ahead by a few paces. Her eyes were fixed forward, a frown of concentration on her face. At first, Aziraphale thought she must be focusing so hard on trying to locate the sound of the laughter, but it seemed pretty obvious to him they were heading in the right direction. So why did she look so focused all of a sudden?

“You can’t say yes, Wensley. You have to say no. If you were really a witch and we were the inquisition, you wouldn’t go around saying ‘yes’ each time someone accused you of witchcraft. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

“But I thought I was supposed to be the witch.”

“You are . But you can’t tell us that. We have to torture it out of you first.”

From the sounds of it, there were likely three, maybe four children nearby, playing in the woods. What were they doing all the way out here? Did their parents know where they were?  How had they even gotten this far from the city on their own?

“Oh,” Sarah said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “I know that voice. He is so dead.”

Granted, Aziraphale didn’t actually believe Seraphim would harm anyone. Especially children. But that didn’t stop his heart from leaping into his throat as the young heroine strode forward through the underbrush, beelining towards the sound of the conversation in front of them.

“Adam!” she scolded. “What do you think you are doing all the way out here? Do - “ she stumbled over her words, realizing mid sentence it had likely been a mistake to call her brother by his name. “Do your mom and dad know where you are?”

Aziraphale was impressed. That had been an incredible catch on her part. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to do the same at her age. Aziraphale would have been much too petrified by the slip up to cleverly think of a way out of it.

There were four children in all. The same four children Aziraphale had run into at the Autumn Festival all those months back. His heart thudded in his chest, cheeks flushing red as he remembered how nervous he had been back then. It had been the night he and Crowley had kissed for the very first time.

Thank goodness. I’ve wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea.

Tears pricked at Aziraphale’s eyes and he hastily blinked them away. Now was not the time to dwell on his aching heart. He and Sarah had come here for a specific purpose. And now they had another issue to deal with, on top of everything else.

“Hey,” the one with glasses - Wensleydale - mused. “How did you know his name? I don’t remember us telling you.”

Adam scoffed, rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion. “Honestly, Wensley. Do you ever pay attention to anything I say. I told you before the holidays that I met Seraphim at the convention. Remember?”

The boy was as clever as his sister. And loyal to a fault, it would appear. Aziraphale wondered, briefly, if superpowers were more likely to be shared between siblings. They didn’t have any sibling pairs in The Host that he knew of, but the research that had been done would point to it being a possibility. Would Adam someday acquire powers of his own? If he did, would they be similar to Sarah’s, or something completely new? 

“That doesn’t mean she automatically remembered your name,” the girl, Pepper, protested. “Do you know how many people she met at the convention? Probably thousands.”

“That may be true,” Aziraphale cut in, wanting to steer this conversation away from Sarah’s secret identity as quickly as possible. “But most of us have excellent memories, Pepper.” The girl looked shocked he knew her name as well. “For example, I remember that the four of you visited Host Tower a few months ago for a tour that I lead. You all had nametags on then. I can picture them clearly in my head now, as if they were still sitting there on your chests.”

All four children looked down at their jackets, then back up at him with wide-eyed wonder.

“You know all our names?” the fourth child, Brian, asked incredulously. Aziraphale smiled, barely holding back a laugh.

“Of course I do, Brian.” He paused, giving all four of them a serious look before continuing. “What I don’t know is why the four of you are out here in the first place.”

“It was my idea,” Adam responded, taking a step forward so he was out in front of all his friends. “We had off school today and wanted to go play in the park, but when we got there, it was too crowded. This place wasn’t too far away. I thought we could come play for an hour or so and then go right back.”

Aziraphale frowned. It wasn’t exactly his place to punish the children for coming out here without their parents’ knowledge, but he couldn’t just let them off the hook either. There was also the question of what to do with them. Aziraphale and Sarah couldn’t exactly carry them all back to the park on their own and even if they could, they would be leaving the orphanage without any answers.

Not that Aziraphale expected there to be any answers here. The only reason he’d thought to come at all was because, out of the three dates he’d been researching, the only location that had any chance of still having something useful lying around was this one. He fully expected to walk away empty handed, but that didn’t mean Aziraphale was above trying. He had to see this through. For better or for worse. To prove Crowley was lying or that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

The Host isn’t all what it seems.

“It wasn’t very safe of you all to come out here without anyone knowing where you were,” Aziraphale started, noticing as Sarah flashed him a grateful look. Though the brother and sister seemed close, he imagined Adam might not take too kindly to orders from his older sister. Even if she was a superhero. “Seraphim and I have some business to attend to, so I am going to have to ask the four of you to come wait outside the orphanage and then the two of us will escort you all home.”

Instead of arguing like he thought they might, the four children glanced at each other, looks of excitement flashing in their eyes. 

“You’re going to the orphanage?” Pepper asked, her brown eyes shining in the afternoon sunlight. 

“What are you doing there?” Wensleydale chimed in. “Are you doing research?”

“I bet it’s about Hellfire,” Adam said matter-of-factly. “Everyone knows that’s where his secret hideout is.”

The children immediately began talking amongst themselves, shooting out a dozen or so theories and ideas all in the span of a few seconds. It was impossible for Aziraphale to keep up, but he was able to latch on to one piece of what was being said, interjecting himself back into the conversation as soon as he found his footing.

“Hellfire?” What was it they’d just said? “What makes you think he has a secret base at all?”

Adam skipped forward, leading the group of children forward, back in the direction Aziraphale and Sarah had come from. “They revealed it in Issue 303 of The Host: Unlimited. That was the same comic when Hellfire’s brother showed up.”

Aziraphale turned to look at the young boy. “Brother?” That didn’t seem right. “Hellfire doesn’t have a brother.”

“Oh, I know that!” Adam chimed, reaching down to grab a stick he spotted against the ground, dragging it behind him as he walked. Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale shifted over to the other side of him, fanning out as they crunched through the layer of leaves littering the forest floor. “That was in a different multiverse.” He turned to face Pepper, a frown appearing on his face. “Was that the one where Principality was Metatron’s long lost son? Or the one where he married Prism and they had a kid that destroyed the world?”

Pepper shook her head. “It’s the one where he got caught in a factory explosion and got Hellfire’s powers instead.”

Aziraphale shook his head, turning his attention back to where they were going. He wasn’t up on all the crazy stories The Host had been putting out every year. Even if he was partial to comic books, he doubted he’d ever have enough time to read them all. And what would be the point? Hardly any of it was based in reality, other than their costumes and the powers each hero and villain held. 

“What are you guys looking for?” Wensleydale asked curiously as Adam and Pepper’s conversation devolved into assumptions about what the next comic arc would be. On the far side of him, Brian walked in step with the rest, simply content to listen as the pair yammered back and forth between themselves.

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale answered truthfully. “I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it.”

The young boy nodded, glasses sliding ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. “We could help look, if you like,” he offered, reaching a hand up to push them back into place. “The four of us are really good at finding stuff. Just last week we found a whole stash of acorns buried beneath that big tree in Bradwood Park. It was like finding buried treasure.”

They’d left the woods behind them now, the charred remnants of the orphanage coming into view. It wasn’t exactly evening yet, but the sun was certainly on its way down toward the horizon. Aziraphale had no concept of how long it would take to find anything useful or decide that this venture had been a waste of their time, but he was anxious to get started. 

“I appreciate the offer, Wensleydale,” Aziraphale responded, and he truly meant it. The children had made a foolish decision coming all the way out here, but they weren’t bad children. “But I think this is something we ought to do on our own. The building isn’t exactly structurally sound. Seraphim and I have ways to keep ourselves safe if something were to happen, but it’s probably best you four keep your distance.”

Thankfully, they all nodded in understanding, Aziraphale walked them over to the statue, a location that was far enough away should the roof decide to collapse, but close enough that he and Sarah could keep an eye on them until it was time to leave.

“You should check the second floor,” Pepper offered as Aziraphale turned to face the building, taking stock of all the places they had to look. He turned back, perplexed at her sudden suggestion, waiting patiently for her to elaborate. “I’ve seen pictures - there’s an old office up there, with this great big wooden desk that’s still standing. I bet you could find some secrets in there.”

Aziraphale was doubtful. If this orphanage had any secrets to hide, they likely burned up in the fire with everything else. But he had come out here looking for some answers. And now that she mentioned it, that picture had shown up in Sarah’s image search earlier today. It was possible Pepper was onto something.

Only time would tell.

They started on the first floor, sweeping one room after the other, looking for anything of value. With the exception of a few beetles and earthworms and one very grumpy looking garden snake, he and Sarah came up empty handed. With the sun quickly approaching the horizon, the pair set their sights on what was left of the upper floor, careful to always keep one eye on the children weaving crowns out of patches of tall grass around them.

“Here,” Sarah murmured as Aziraphale moved to extend his wings, unsure if he’d be able to hold a hover in such tightly spaced rooms. He watched as a platform appeared in front of his feet, a few inches off the ground. Without hesitation, Aziraphale stepped on, watching as the blue light crackled against its surface. Sarah stepped up beside him and before he knew it, they were rising into the air.

Quickly, Aziraphale tucked his wings away, not wanting them to accidentally hit any bit of the remaining walls and send this whole structure toppling to the ground. A wind blew through the shattered windows and Aziraphale shivered, despite how his suit was designed to regulate his body temperature. Oh, how he wished he was curled up in the bookshop right about now with a hot cup of tea and someone to share it with.

Give it up, Aziraphale, he chastised himself, looking around at the only room still standing they hadn’t looked through. Most of the floor on the outer corridors had been entirely burned away, but this part of the orphanage still remained. Just like he’d seen in the pictures, there was a single charred desk in the center of the room, surrounded by bookshelves full of ash and a sea of debris littering the floor everywhere they walked.

You told him it was over. It’s time to let him go.

Sarah was careful to place the platform hovering just above the debris, so not a single bit of their weight landed on the unstable flooring. Slowly, they made their way to the other side of the room, the younger heroine diverting her path so she ended up standing before the bookshelf while Aziraphale made a beeline for the desk.

“Nothing here,” Sarah admitted, disappointment seeping through into her voice. “Unless you think a bunch of charred paper might be useful.”

Aziraphale shrugged, reaching down for one of the drawers. “Depends.” The handle popped off in his hand without a struggle, leaving the bottom drawer still stuck tight. “Do those charred bits of paper have words on them?”

A dark chuckle echoed around them. “If they did, it would take a miracle to read them now. A miracle or a time-turner.”

The second drawer proved to be almost as difficult as the first. At least this time, Aziraphale managed to rip the entire face of the drawer off, placing it gently on the ground before he peered inside. A pile of ash and a few ballpoint pens were all that greeted him from the other side. 

“Any luck on your end?”

He was down to the last drawer. The thin one sitting dead center. Aziraphale placed his fingers on the handle, slipping his other arm underneath to help provide some leverage. Getting down on one knee, the hero slowly began to shift it back and forth until, with a loud scraping sound that set his heart thudding into his chest, the drawer slid open.

Like the other drawer, there appeared to be only ash and remnants of office supplies buried underneath. Some old pens he doubted still worked. A ruler and some paperclips and not much else.

Frowning, Aziraphale slipped his hand in, feeling around for anything he might have missed. When he got to the far right corner, his fingertips brushed across something solid. It took a few tugs to pull the object free, but once he had it in his hands and had brushed the loose ash free, Aziraphale realized it was a small leather pouch, practically untouched by the fire other than a few scorch marks at the base.

“Seraphim,” he breathed quietly, beckoning her to his side as he turned the pouch over in his hand and began to undo the tie, securing the top flap shut. “I think I may have something.”

With a few extra tugs, the pouch came open and Aziraphale flipped it upside down. A set of photographs fell out into his ashen palms. Those old polaroid ones that had been popular long before he’d been born. 

The first one was a photograph of the orphanage with at least two dozen children lined up out front. Almost all of them fell between the ages of five and fifteen, each wearing an identical uniform that designated one of the private schools just a ten minute bus ride into the city. Despite the circumstances they had found themselves in, Aziraphale thought they looked genuinely happy, bright smiles on their faces as they jumped, waved, and laughed in the camera’s direction.

Beneath that one was a second photo, this one of two boys looking to be around eight and twelve years old. The younger one was seated on the ground, holding a stuffed rabbit in his arms as he played with some blocks on the floor. The older boy, dressed in a brown coat entirely too large for him, was kneeling beside the younger one, one hand on either side of the block tower, as if he were ready to keep it from toppling over, should the need arise.

Both boys had identical smiles on their faces. The same sandy brown hair. The same dimples in their cheeks. Aziraphale didn’t need to look at the writing scrawled in the corner to know that these two were brothers. 

“James and David Hastur,” he whispered to himself, the sound of them tugging at something in the back of his mind. “April 2, 2005.”

Were these two boys some of the ones who had died in the fire all those years ago? Or had they been some of the lucky ones? Aziraphale remembered seeing that placard on the statue as they’d arrived. Perhaps it could provide some answers.

Sarah seemed to pick up on his nonverbal cue. Slowly, she began to transport their platform over to a portion of the orphanage that had burned completely away and lowered them back down to the ground.

Eyes still on the photograph, Aziraphale began to walk forward. Why did these boys seem so familiar? He was certain he’d never met them before. Besides, if the date was any indication, they would have to be around his age by now. And Aziraphale was certain he hadn’t run across anyone in his personal life that had once called this place home - 

Hang on.

Aziraphale blinked. The coat. He’d seen that coat before, he was certain. It was far too big for the boy in the photograph, but kids grew up. Children became adults and clothes they’d grown attached to faded with time and use. Aziraphale had several coats of his own he was quite fond of that were well past their prime, but that hadn’t prevented him from hanging onto them for sentimental reasons.

It was true, the hero had never seen this coat in such a pristine condition, but he’d seen a tattered one. One scarred with years of use, with patches upon patches, clothed with grime and dirt and ash that only came with time and regular exposure to fire.

“James and David Hastur,” he murmured again, the pieces finally coming together. The pit in his stomach grew deeper as he looked from one boy to the other, taking in their bright smiling faces, wondering just how something like this could have happened. Knowing that there was no universe in which the story they’d been told about this tragedy could ever be considered the actual truth.

The Host isn’t all what it seems.

James and David Hastur.

Hellfire and his brother .

Chapter Text

Their plan was simple enough.

Chameleon would head in first, disguised as the Security Officer from earlier that day. They’d waited until dark to infiltrate the Tower, but they needed to make sure none of them were seen before they got the information they needed. Crowley had offered to build hundreds of tiny cameras to mount on Beelzebub’s swarm, but the research and development alone would have taken more time than they’d had. If that scientist decided to come forward about what happened and Metatron found out? They would be made for sure.

Thanks to Chameleon’s play, they had a small window to get in, get the data, and get out. There would be time to worry about what to do with it later. For now, just getting their hands on that computer was top priority.

Once Chameleon was in, he’d take care of disposing of the other guard on duty. They weren’t planning on hurting anyone - Crowley and Beelzebub both wanted this heist to go off as smoothly as possible. But that didn’t mean they weren’t above knocking people out. Either via sleeping gas or with Vertigo’s powers.

Good ol’ Chuck is out cold, Chameleon’s voice sounded in their ears as the five other villains lurked outside the main doors. Checking the routes now. Standby.

Crowley glanced to one side, meeting Beelzebub’s gaze. The majority of them had chosen to come in full costume. If they were found out and some sort of fight broke out - well, if they were going down, best to go down in style . That was how Crowley saw it, and how the others saw it.

All the others except Beelzebub.

They were dressed in a very similar outfit to the ones Crowley had seen on them before. Ripped jeans. Black hoodie. Worn out shoes. The only thing that hinted at their supervillain alter-ego was the hint of grey, spider silk fabric poking out the sleeves of their jacket.

I’m not going to give him the chance to kill me before I tell him the truth, Beelzebub had said to him as they’d made their final preparations that evening. Not if I can help it.

Was that what it was going to come down to? A final face off between the heroes and villains? If Crowley stepped foot inside that building, would he find himself eventually face to face with Aziraphale? If so, what would the hero do? Would Aziraphale ignore him? Try to deal with him quickly? Crowley couldn’t imagine Aziraphale ever lifting a hand to hurt him, but he’d been so angry when they’d broken up. And he had every right to be. 

Alright. I have eyes on Metatron in his office. Archangel just left for patrol and Myosotis is in the library. All the other heroes have gone home. You are clear to approach your entry points.

Crowley reached a hand up to readjust the earpiece. “You have actual eyes on Myosotis? Or you know where she is based on which cameras are out?”

Yes, Chameleon responded without hesitation. I have actual eyes on her. She’s not in her suit, but it’s definitely her. Either her jamming device doesn’t work on security cameras in Host Tower, or the counter-devices you and Beelzebub planted in the vents are working the way they should.

They had better, after all the work they’d gone through to get their hands on that jamming device. Two of them had almost died getting that device. It had better have been worth it.

“Good.” Beelzebub’s voice was soft and low, but carried a heaviness to it Crowley understood all too well. “Don’t let your eyes off her for a second. Your memories still intact when you blink?”

Yes. Crowley’s heart leapt in his chest. If that was true, maybe they really could pull this off after all. I’ve closed my eyes for up to five seconds and when I look back, I still remember seeing her there before. It would appear her powers don’t work unless she’s physically in the same space.

Slowly, Beelzebub turned to Crowley. He gave them a short nod, fist clenching at his side in anticipation. This was it. They were less than an hour away from uncovering something big . Something that would change everything. Crowley could feel it in every fiber of his being. It was a strange combination of thrill and dread and he tried not to let it go to his head. They couldn’t claim victory until the information was secured and all six of them were safely out.

“Team computer is en route,” Beelzebub murmured, voice barely making it over to where Crowley and Vertigo were crouched between the  hedges that lined the exterior of the building. “We’ll let you know when we’re inside.”

Team Lab is in position, Crowley heard Replica’s voice echo as he followed Beelzebub’s lead down the side of the building until they were directly underneath an open window several stories up. Waiting on your cue.

Crowley tuned them out, focusing his attention on their first stunt of the night. With the recent revelation that someone in The Host was making a super secret serum, the villains decided to split up. Chameleon would hide out in the security room, feeding them information about any heroes that happened to turn up while simultaneously guiding Replica and Hellfire through the tower to their final destination while Beelzebub, Vertigo, and Crowley - the three villains that could fly - would let themselves in through an open window and head straight to The Host’s central computer system.

It had taken them a while to figure out where Metatron and the others kept it. And by “them”, Crowley obviously meant Chameleon. It had been Chameleon who had stolen the blueprints to the building. Chameleon who had spent weeks walking the halls, floor by floor, detailing each room and its contents right under The Host’s noses. Without him, they would be walking in blind, or likely, not walking in at all.

Silently, Crowley’s trio of villains approached the wall. Beelzebub moved to go first, hundreds of honey bees crawling out from the bushes and trees nearby, but Vertigo held up a hand to stop them. Without a word, they took to the air, zipping up the side of the building so fast, Crowley wondered how they didn’t get dizzy and disoriented themselves.

As soon as they were in, Crowley nodded at Beelzebub to go next. He’d stuffed his boots full with fuel this time, so out of the three of them, it was the black-haired villain’s mode of transportation that was the least reliable. If the bees found themselves to be not quite up to snuff, Crowley would be there to keep Beelzebub from harm.

He needn't have worried, however. Apparently, breaking into superhero headquarters was a walk in the park when they had a man on the inside. Before he knew it, Crowley was standing behind Beelzebub and Vertigo inside what appeared to be some kind of storage room.

There were boxes everywhere, piled higher than he was tall and taking up nearly every bit of walking space between them and the door. Scrawled handwriting littered the sides, attempting to provide some context as to what might be inside. Comics. Posters. T-shirts. Pins.

“This is all leftover merch from the convention,” Crowley realized with a start as his eyes fell on a pair of action figures packaged side by side. There he was, Principality, with his broad, white wings and his plastic sword of radiant energy. They’d got his eyes wrong. More of a grey than the bright blue he knew them to be. And he was too tall compared with the miniature version of himself he found staring right back at him from within the packaging.

“How much do you think they make off this stuff?” He was talking more to himself than the others, careful to keep his voice no louder than a whisper. Vertigo was still in the lead, picking their way around boxes and piles of unpackaged merch on the way to the door opposite them. “We should sue them for copyright infringement. I’m pretty sure I never gave them permission to plaster my face on a shirt that says ‘The devil to your angel’? I mean, come on . It’s not even clever.”

“You can add that to the ever growing list of their sins,” Beelzebub huffed. Their swarm had already dissipated, wriggling up through the gaps in the ceiling vents and out of sight until they were needed. Crowley hoped they’d stay hidden for the rest of the night.

“Not only is it not clever,” Crowley continued to mutter, tossing the shirt into a corner of the room, “but it’s inherently incorrect. If anything, I’d be considered a demon . Not a devil.”

Vertigo paused before the closed door after signaling to Chameleon they were at their next checkpoint. The next bit of their path was the longest stretch with little to no cover. Chameleon had left them that open window in the closest spot they could, but it made sense they’d keep their most precious resource as far interior as possible. Behind plenty of locked, reinforced doors. The stretch of hallways between here and there was long, and held very little offshoots if someone else were to approach them. They had to make sure they were completely alone.

“I didn’t realize there was a difference,” Vertigo mused, turning their attention to Crowley for the first time that night. 

He nodded his head, thankful for some bit of conversation to distract him from the gnawing anxiety that was quickly rising. “Oh yeah. Devils are the orderly type. They’ve got laws and codes and all that junk. Demons are pure chaos.”

“Will you two shut up ?” Beelzebub hissed, moving to press their ear up against the door. “Try to keep focus for ten minutes. Can you do that?”

Right. It was probably for the best that they kept their eye on the prize until they were safely back home.

You three are clear to leave, Chameleon announced in their ear. I’ll let you know if anything changes.

Beelzebub hesitated. “Do you still have eyes on Myosotis?”

Yes. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. Part of him was shocked they hadn’t been arrested the moment they’d crossed the threshold. They’d spent nearly a month planning this heist, and Beelzebub and the others had done it before - a time when they would have been successful, if Myosotis hadn’t shown up. She’s still sitting at one of the tables in the library, scrolling through stuff on her tablet. You are in the clear.

That was all they needed. Without another word, Beelzebub wrenched open the door and took off down the hallway, purpose in each one of their steps. Crowley was glad he wasn’t doing this alone. As clever and creative as he was, there were some things his mind just wasn’t good at. Like memorizing directions.

One left turn. Then a right. Then through a door that surprisingly hadn’t been locked. Then another right and they were there. The door was remarkably unremarkable. Dull grey, solid, with a single keypad mounted on the wall beside it. From what Crowley could see, there wasn’t even a handle there that they could bust off to get in.

“What now?” Crowley whispered, hand reaching down for the heat gun at his hip. He’d come prepared with as many gadgets and gizmos as he could stand to carry, just in case trouble broke out.

Beelzebub’s hand was on his wrist in an instant, keeping him from drawing any weapons. “Give Vertigo a minute before you go blasting any doors off their hinges, alright?”

Crowley took a step back, allowing the black and green clad villain access to the keypad. They hesitated a moment, pulling out a thin black notebook from inside the bag slung across their chest. Inside it, Crowley could see a series of letters and numbers stacked up on top of each other.

They got in on the first try. Crowley’s eyes widened in wonder as he slipped in behind the pair. How on earth had Vertigo known what the combination was?

As if sensing his very question, they turned to look at him. “Chameleon took a picture of the keypad. The keys for 2, 4, 6, and 7 were fading, but 6 was worn down the most. They don’t have to be, but combinations like this tend to spell out words. It makes them easier to remember. There were only so many options I could have chosen.”

“What word did you end up going with?”

Vertigo smiled. “Mangos.”

Beside them, Beelzebub stepped forward into the room, leaving the two of them in their dust. Crowley couldn’t blame them for being anxious to find answers. Their whole life was on the line here. Not in the literal sense, although, maybe for Beelzebub it was. If they could find some sort of definitive proof they’d been framed - that their death had been falsified, maybe they had some hope of returning to a life of normalcy. Could the same be said for the other villains? Crowley didn’t know as much about Vertigo or Hellfire or any of the others’ backstories, but he’d wager they weren’t quite as evil as everyone originally thought.

The room was huge, lit with a low blue light and rows upon rows of whirring machines. Their footsteps echoed off the walls as they slowly made their way through the room. He wasn’t exactly sure what they were looking for, but Crowley had faith he’d know it when he saw it. 

We’re in, Hellfire grunted out of nowhere, causing Crowley to nearly leap several feet into the air. Was he trying to give them a heart attack? What exactly are we looking for?

Before any of the three of them could respond, Chameleon was in their ears again. Anything that can tell you what that serum is, where it came from, how much of it they have, and what they plan to do with it. 

That’s going to take a while. Crowley’s stomach sank at the defeated tone in Replica’s voice. There have to be a million notebooks on these shelves. I don’t think a single bit of information has been digitized in the last twenty years.

“Better get reading, then,” Beelzebub ordered. “We don’t know how much time we have. Make it count.”

The line went silent as the trio rounded the corner, finding themselves face to face with what appeared to be some sort of desk. It wasn’t the most lavish of things - in fact, given what Crowley knew about Metatron, it seemed rather sub-par. 

The desk was essentially a small office cart. Two monitors had been squeezed into the top shelf, cords running down to a small black box at the bottom of the structure. Crowley also spotted a keyboard, a mouse, and a whole stack of sticky notes scattered about.

“What is the point of putting a computer on a portable cart if it has to be plugged into the wall?” Crowley asked as they approached. There was no chair nor any other signs that this was someone’s office space. Yet it was obvious someone came here regularly enough to leave themselves notes. Taking a step forward, Crowley reached for one of them, squinting his eyes in the dim light to try and make out the writing. 

“Talk to...Sandalphon about Seraphim origin story.” Crowley frowned, reaching for another. “Review Myosotis video. What are these? Reminders? Who for?”

Vertigo reached out a gloved hand and plucked a different one out of the pile. “They look like notes for an old man who isn’t a fan of computers and can’t seem to remember his username or password.”

Crowley’s eyes fell to the slip of yellow paper before him. Surely, it couldn’t be that easy. Would Metatron really leave information this important lying out in the open where anyone could find it?

He supposed, locked away in a reinforced room in the most secure facility in the city didn’t really count as “out in the open”, but Crowley still found it odd the piece of paper was here. In public, Metatron put forth this air of confidence and superiority, but Crowley supposed underneath it all he really was some sixty year old man who, according to what the others had found, preferred black notebooks to computer systems any day of the week.

A few clicks of the keyboard and they were in. The computer sprung to life, displaying a background of The Host’s logo and little else. Crowley watched with bated breath as Beelzebub navigated to the folder structure. The thumb drive in his pocket suddenly felt inexplicably heavy.

This was it. They were really going to do it. They were going to find out the truth, once and for all.

The majority of the top level folders were terms Crowley recognized. Names of various products Metatron’s company had produced before transitioning into The Host. 

There was one name, however, he didn’t recognize.

Origin .

“What’s that?” he asked, Beelzebub already shifting the mouse in that direction. Crowley’s eyes widened when he saw the contents of what was inside. Folders upon folders of information on all of them. Beelzebub, Hellfire, Archangel, Principality. His fingers itched to open them, wanting to read every single bit of documentation, knowing they didn’t have the time for that.

Beelzebub turned to him. “You’ve got the flash drive?”

Crowley nodded, dropping to his knees as he fished it out of his pocket, slipping it inside the computer as fast as his shaking hands would let him.

“Right,” Beelzebub sighed, the tension in the air palpable between them. “Now we wait.” Crowley’s eyes fell to the timer at the lower right of the screen. Five minutes. Twelve minutes. Eight minutes. Heavens were these countdowns ever accurate? 

“Surely we’ve got time to read a few of them,” Vertigo pointed out. “Where do you want to start?”

Crowley knew where Beelzebub would want to start. This whole thing had started so they could get information of Archangel’s true identity. If the villains walked out of here with just that one piece, Crowley knew it would be enough for them.

The names were listed alphabetically, Archangel’s hovering at the very top. Beelzebub opened the folder and a list of documents began to populate. Scans of newspaper articles, a birth certificate, driver’s license, home address, a copy of notes from his application to The Host. It was all there - a dossier of his entire life.

“John Gabriel Martin,” Beelzebub whispered, the barest hint of tears reflecting in the corner of their eyes. Crowley was sure they were noting down the address on his license too, but it was the name that had caused this reaction in them. For once, Crowley understood why.

“He took my name.”

Crowley smiled over at Beelzebub who, surprisingly, sent a smile back at him before moving on to the next file. 

More newspaper articles. More notes on Beelzebub’s audition for The Host. Copies of their birth certificate and death certificate. Information on the doctor who signed it nearly fifteen years ago. Vaccination records - The Host had every record imaginable for both heroes and villains, it seemed.

“What are those?” Crowley asked, gesturing to some of the documents listed toward the bottom. Beelzebub brought one up and the constant churning of Crowley’s stomach increased tenfold. They were looking at a list of shipping records for a company that specialized in transporting livestock across the country.

Livestock that included honeybees.

“Those bastards ,” Beelzebub hissed and Crowley worried for a moment they might pick up the whole computer station and smash it to a million pieces. “I knew they were behind that attack. I knew all this was their fault.”

Beelzebub buried their head in their hands and Crowley’s heart went out to them. He’d never been a fan of The Host, but discovering they had been behind the events of these so-called villain origin stories? It was a lot to take in.

“Who is Emily Lee?”

Crowley turned to look at Vertigo, who had been mostly silent so far as they’d opened document after document. His eyes glanced down at the download, teeth biting back a groan when he saw how much time was left.

Four minutes, fifty-three seconds.

They were going to get caught for sure.

Beelzebub opened up the document to find a series of pictures of a young teenage girl. She had dark hair, brown eyes, and was dressed in torn, grimy clothes that reminded him a bit of Hellfire’s chosen attire. There were nearly a dozen of them, some close up shots, some of her from a distance. Beelzebub suddenly picked up their scrolling pace, intent on finding one bit of information he couldn’t place. The pages flew by faster than he could read until, all at once, they stopped.

He had no idea how long he looked at that page - a single document listing Emily’s medical history along with a single photograph of her dead body, face unrecognizable thanks to the immense swelling that accompanied an allergic reaction. A reaction she’d suffered thanks to an overturned tractor trailer and hundreds upon hundreds of bee stings.

“That’s why he thought it was you,” Crowley breathed, looking over at Beelzebub in shock. “You’re allergic to bees, aren’t you?”

Beelzebub chuckled, a dark, hollow sound that seemed to echo across the room. “Ironic, isn’t it? That I can now control the one thing I used to fear.”

This was insane. Not only had The Host engineered the accident, releasing all those bees out into their city, but they’d also been able to set up the death of Archangel’s best friend, all the while keeping Beelzebub alive to take the fall for it. He’d consider it ingenious if the situation weren’t so horrible.

There were other stories like Beelzebub’s. Ten years ago, Hellfire had been framed for the orphanage fire that had killed his younger brother, but in this database, they found evidence of purchases for everything a person who didn’t have fire-starting superpowers would need to start an intense blaze of their very own. Vertigo’s story also finally got some substance, the victims at their brother’s wedding having been drugged earlier that evening - the coroner bribed to report there had been no foul play.

A movement from the corner of his eye caused Crowley to freeze, relaxing an instant later when he realized it was Beelzebub signaling for him to turn his microphone off.

“The Host has created every single one of us,” Beelzebub murmured once they were sure the others wouldn’t be able to hear them. It wasn’t that they wanted to keep any of this secret from Chameleon and the others, but revealing to Hellfire that The Host had murdered his brother was probably not the best of ideas when he was standing in the middle of a chemistry lab. He might blow the entire building to pieces out of spite.

“Hang on,” Crowley said, reaching for the mouse as he scrolled down to the bottom of the list. “Where’s my name? Why haven’t they got anything on me?”

Beelzebub frowned, turning back to the monitors. They quickly navigated through a handful of other files until they landed upon one toward the bottom entitled ‘MISC’.

There he was, right at the top. What the hell was “The Serpent” doing in a folder labeled miscellaneous? He had superpowers, like the rest of them, dammit. So why shove him off in a corner? It made no sense.

“Here,” Beelzebub murmured, opening up the third file from the top. “It says here you auditioned for The Host and were turned down due to…” they trailed off, meeting Crowley’s gaze with a stunned look on their face. “For lack of evidence of superpowered traits.”

“What?” Crowley leaned in, trying to see exactly where Beelzebub had seen that bit of information. It was a mistake, of course. It had to be. Crowley knew he had powers. He may not like to use them often, but there was no mistaking he had them. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

But there it was, sitting there in black and white, scrawled in Metatron’s own hand. “Shows traits of elevated intelligence and creativity, but nothing more than an insightful engineer or inventor. He may prove useful in the future, but there is a sufficient lack of evidence to point toward anything superpowered in nature.”

He couldn’t believe it. Crowley had been turned down from The Host because Metatron believed his inventions weren’t evidence enough of superpowers. Granted, Crowley hadn’t used his real powers during the interview, and now, knowing what he knew, he was grateful he hadn’t. Who knows what would have happened if he had made a different choice back then.

The mouse shifted on the screen, hovering over the back button when something caught Crowley’s eye. “Hang on,” Crowley stopped them, leaning in to point at a folder a few below his. Warlock Dowling . “I recognize that name. That’s the kid Seraphim and I pulled out of that fire. What’s he doing in here?”

Beelzebub clicked on the folder and a smaller list of documents appeared. Crowley’s eyes widened when he saw two copies of what appeared to be birth certificates. One for Warlock, and another for a boy born on the same day, in the same hospital named ‘Adam Young’.

“Holy shit,” Vertigo breathed, putting the pieces together faster than they had. “Back up to Seraphim’s file again?”

They did and Crowley finally saw it. Seraphim. Aka. Sarah Young. Older sister to a boy named Adam Young. The very same boy Crowley had pulled from a burning building just the other day, although that day he’d gone by a very different name.

“They switched the two of them at birth?” Beelzebub sounded completely floored. “Why?”

Crowley frowned. “Makes for an interesting story, doesn’t it? Warlock hits puberty, discovers his powers and suddenly brother and sister are reunited. It’s way more interesting than having a simple brother-sister pair in The Host. More drama this way.” He paused, a shiver running down his spine at the next thought that entered his mind.

“Maybe they were planning on turning him into a villain too. We each have our nemesis, right? Maybe he was meant to be Seraphim’s.”

They were silent for a while after that, each absorbed in their own thoughts as they watched the download time slowly tick down. They were at just above two minutes now. Anxiously, Crowley looked back at the door, but so far, it had remained fully shut. 

Hey, Replica’s voice sounded on the other line. We might have something here. You guys are in the database, right?

Crowley lifted up a finger to turn his microphone back on. “Yeah. A few more minutes and we’ll be out of here. What is it?”

See if there’s anything in there about something called ‘Compound M’. I’ve read through nearly two dozen of these notebooks, and it’s listed in their notes a ton. I’m pretty sure it’s the name they use for this stuff, but I can’t seem to find out what it does.

And that was the reason they’d sent Replica to the laboratory. If the notes were all hand-written, he was the only one who would be able to get through them in a timely manner. It was an uncanny thing to watch - Replica splitting himself into half a dozen versions of himself, each one completing a different task at the same time. An ability that certainly came in handy tonight.

“Here it is.” Crowley’s eyes drifted back up to the screen. Beelzebub had pulled up a file containing photocopies of some handwritten notes as well as what appeared to be an entire scientific report on the substance.

They began to skim.

“Developed in the year 2000….blah blah blah, science….derived from - hang on.” Beelzebub stopped, their eyes narrowing as they read on to the next page. “Derived from isolated DNA from subject 001, Michaela Elizabeth Dawson. The first recorded human with superpower-like tendencies.”

The three of them shared a look before turning back to the page. Crowley felt the pit in his stomach growing as he read on, feeling like they all were standing on the precipice of something that was about to change their world forever.

“Initial trials of the serum were found to be ineffective,” Beelzebub continued, “but after thorough testing, we have concluded that the effectiveness is directly proportional to the age of the administered subject. Recommend administration to individuals sixteen years or younger for desired effect.”

Crowley pointed to the screen again. “Why don’t you search that?” he suggested, referencing a string of letters and numbers he’d seen pop up several times so far. Beelzebub copied the text into the search bar, slim fingers tapping down on the ‘enter’ key with far more force than was necessary.

A series of nearly identical files populated the screen, one with each of their names on it, with the exception of Crowley and Myosotis. They’d glanced over these records already, taking no stock in a list of vaccinations each of them had acquired over the course of their lifetimes. There were certainly many documents on this server that were directly involved with The Host and what was going on here, but some of the information they’d gathered was just information. Metatron was a thorough man, it would seem. A man who didn’t like to leave any i’s undotted or t’s uncrossed.

“Holy shit,” Vertigo murmured for the second time that night. “I don’t believe it. They’re making superheroes. They’re fucking making super-powered beings like some kind of sci-fi movie. Holy fuck.”

Crowley couldn’t believe it either. This whole time? Metatron and the others at The Host had been engineering super-powered beings? How many people knew about this? How much of this serum had they created? If they had the power to turn any child into someone who could fly or summon water or shoot laser beams out of their eyes, why wasn’t everyone in the city able to do something miraculous?

“But why?” Beelzebub asked, turning to look at the pair of them. “What purpose does it serve? Making us villains was fucked up, but in a way, it makes sense. Metatron’s got a franchise to promote, and you can’t have interesting heroes without more interesting villains for them to play off, but this? If the heroes were made too, then what’s the fucking point?”

Beelzebub was mad and getting more furious by the second. Crowley didn’t blame them. Metatron and The Host had ruined their life. To learn it was all a hoax - he couldn’t possibly imagine what that felt like.

“Can you go back to Myosotis’ files?” Crowley asked, wondering if there might be anything of use there. His eyes flickered down to the timer. One minute, ten seconds. Stomach in his throat, the villain began to scan the titles of the documents they hadn’t opened. He paused when he got to the bottom, seeing a list of pdfs with only the date as their title.

Sensing his unspoken thought, Beelzebub clicked on the first one. A photocopy of Metatron’s scrawling handwriting appeared on the screen. Crowley’s breath stilled in his throat as he began to read.

February 2, 1999

The strangest thing happened to me today. I was sitting in my office when a young woman barged in demanding to see me. My secretary and none of my security officers were on her tail, and I haven’t the slightest clue how she managed to get past them all. She introduced herself as Michaela Dawson and claimed she needed my assistance with something of the utmost importance. 

Michaela claimed to have woken up earlier this week to find that everyone in her life was forgetting her. Not that they’d forgotten her completely - just that their minds were unable to create any additional short-term memories. She revealed to me that her husband still knew who she was, but no matter how many times she had a conversation with him, he would seemingly forget the moment she left his line of sight. She was quite desperate to find out the cause of her ailment and, intrigued with her story, I agreed to help.

February 6th, 1999

The scientists in my lab began experimenting with Michaela today. It’s an odd thing to observe. They are aware of what they are supposed to be doing, but each time they look away from her, it is clear they forget her presence. What must it be like living in her shoes? To constantly have people forgetting every interaction they have with you? It seems like a lonely existence. I hope we are able to find a cure soon so she can be reunited with her family. I imagine her son misses her very much.

October 21, 1999

Progress was finally made today on Michaela’s case. We were able to isolate the strand of her DNA that caused the abnormality. Hopefully with some time and careful trials, we will be able to reverse-engineer a cure. Or at the very least, some sort of substance that can block the effect of her abilities and give her back some semblance of a normal life.

April 3, 2000

Something extraordinary happened. It’s been months since we’ve had a break in the case, but today that changed. I was down in the lab, going over our notes and searching for reasons why none of our remedies were having any effect when I noticed something peculiar. So far, whenever we introduced our solutions to samples of Michaela’s DNA, nothing would take hold. The newest trial, however, actually seemed to work, in a way. Based on some preliminary tests of the new substance, we didn’t create something to block her abilities, but something that would turn them into something new. I am curious to see where this route takes us. Much more research must be done before anything can be concluded, but I believe we are making progress.

December 13, 2000

We have decided to call this newest creation Compound M. After administering it to a batch of lab rats, we observed the most miraculous results. While physically staying the same, these rats took on unique abilities. Abilities that can only be described as...supernatural. One of them started to grow plants from the seeds inside its food bowl. Another learned to cling to the side of the glass walls of its habitat. Through Michaela, we have been able to produce a serum that bestows unbelievable abilities to creatures that have no right to have them. Just think of the possibilities - of all we could achieve with a product like that.

There was more. Pages upon pages of records they didn’t have the time to sort through now. They were down to seven seconds on the clock and disaster had yet to strike. Crowley’s heart pounded in his chest as the timer ran down to zero and he slipped the thumb drive out, keeping a tight hold of it in his fist.

Uh, guys? Crowley’s stomach sank at the tone of apprehension in Chameleon’s voice. I’ve lost sight of Myosotis.

Shit. Crowley glanced behind him, sure she had to be coming for them, even though they had no reason to believe she knew they were inside Host Tower at all. 

“Well you had bloody well find her,” Beelzebub hissed, already moving to shut the computer down. They needed to get out of there fast . Before anyone found them out. “You were supposed to be watching her!”

I was, Chameleon argued. But Hellfire was messing with a Bunsen burner and - you know what, it doesn’t matter. The camera I was using to observe them got cut off. Doesn’t matter whose fault that was. I was trying to redirect a different camera to keep eyes on them, and she must have slipped out while I was distracted.

Crowley gritted his teeth. This wasn’t good. They’d come too far to be caught now. 

“Everybody split up,” Beelzebub ordered, already making their move toward the door. “Those of us who get out, meet back up at The Basement tomorrow at 7. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”

The line went dead and Crowley practically sprinted after Beelzebub and Dagon on his way out. His mind was racing, heart pounding in his chest as he thought through every possible route. Was it better to try and make it back to the storage room? Should he pull out his heat gun and blast a hole through the nearest wall until he reached the outside? What about the others? Did he stay back to help Beelzebub and Vertigo escape? Or was it more important for him to get the flash drive out?

“Get that drive as far away from here as you can,” Beelzebub ordered as the three rounded the corner, door finally coming into sight. “Don’t worry about us. None of this matters if you get caught. So get it out.”

Crowley nodded, throat tightening, threatening to cut off his flow of oxygen. He could do this. He’d get this information someplace safe and they’d reconvene and find a way to reveal it to the world. They would bring Metatron and his empire to its knees and Aziraphale would finally have to believe him. He wasn’t the bad guy. It had been The Host. It had always been The Host. 

Vertigo reached the door first, wrenching it open with enough force to pull a normal door off its hinges. Suddenly, the villain stopped, causing Crowley and Beelzebub to skid into their back, nearly sending all three tumbling to the floor.

With a quick arm, Vertigo grasped the other side of the door frame, catching themself at the last moment. Crowley blinked, shaking his head at the sudden shift in momentum.

Oh, shit.

The voice sounded in his ear, and for the briefest of moments, Crowley thought Chameleon had stumbled across Myosotis on his way out.

Until he saw her standing in the middle of the hallway, facing the door they’d just come out of. Like Chameleon had said, she wasn’t wearing her usual costume, but there was no mistaking - this was Myosotis. Michaela Dawson. 

The first superhero. The one who had inadvertently created them all.

“Right on cue,” she murmured, a smirk lighting up her face. Crowley was stunned. How had she found them so quickly? How had she known ?

And then, right before their very eyes, she vanished. 

Chapter Text

Aziraphale couldn’t sleep.

He’d been tossing and turning in his bed for hours with no success. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw visions of smoke and flame and that precious young boy in the photograph.

It didn’t make any sense. Aziraphale sat up and reached for the lamp beside him. He’d left a glass of water out on the bedside table and he lifted it with a shaky hand. If Hellfire had really burned down the orphanage, he would have made sure his brother wasn’t inside. It was clear from their photograph that the boys had cared about each other immensely. Aziraphale couldn’t even imagine the heartache Hellfire must have endured after such a tragedy. He couldn’t believe such an act was done deliberately.

So what had happened? Had it been an accident? Aziraphale remembered what it had been like when he’d first discovered his powers. He’d smashed at least three of his mother’s favorite lamps learning how to control them and keep them stowed away until he needed them. It was far more likely the fire had been an accident. Aziraphale could easily see if Hellfire had gotten frustrated or angry enough about something, how he might have lost control. 

But if it had been an accident, surely The Host would have known that. Why hadn’t they stepped forward to take him in? They could have worked with him and taught him to use his powers for good. He could have been an asset to them, but instead, they’d labeled him a villain and tossed him to the side like a piece of garbage.

Aziraphale’s heart sank. Was it the same with the other villains? Had the swarm of bees been an accident too? And those poor people who fell off that building? Could it be they’d all been accidents and The Host had simply jumped to conclusions? If so, why had the villains never tried to speak up and clear their names?

His head was beginning to hurt. None of this made any sense. Aziraphale was sure if he just kept thinking on it, he could figure things out, but he couldn’t escape this gnawing feeling that he was missing something important.

The Host isn’t all what it seems.

Crowley’s words echoed again in Aziraphale’s mind, and he had the sudden urge to get up out of this bed and run all the way to Crowley’s house. As much as he’d been trying to avoid thinking about it, Aziraphale missed Crowley. His heart ached every time Crowley came to mind, which was multiple times a day, even though several weeks had passed since he’d last seen the man. 

What would Crowley do if Aziraphale showed up at his door? Would Crowley be glad to see him? Or would he slam the door in Aziraphale’s face? Aziraphale glanced over at the clock on his wall. 1:20 am. Sighing, Aziraphale shifted back down into the bed. It was far too late to bother him now. Maybe, in the morning, he’d have found the courage to stop by and see Crowley again.

Leaning forward, Aziraphale reached for the light one more time, but stopped halfway, his eyes falling to the photograph on his desk. Tears pricked at his eyes, and before he knew it, Aziraphale was sitting up, his feet resting softly on the cold hardwood floor. Guilt washed through him as he gazed down at those smiling faces. So happy. So innocent.

He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. And Aziraphale didn’t know what to do, but he knew Crowley would. As nervous as the thought made him, Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. Not if he didn’t go talk to Crowley. 

Decision made, the only thing left Aziraphale had to figure out was transportation. It was the middle of the night well into winter. Walking to Crowley’s house from here would take nearly an hour. He liked brisk walks more than most, but an hour in freezing temperatures didn’t sound appetizing in the least. And Aziraphale didn’t own a car, so he couldn’t drive to Crowley’s house.

There was only one solution that made sense. He just hoped most of the city would remain asleep and let him travel in peace.

The air was frigid flying above the city, and for once, Aziraphale was thankful for his super suit. While it often made him feel ridiculous, he couldn’t deny it had been designed well, the white fabric keeping him more insulated against the cold than any of his winter coats ever could.

Aziraphale wasn’t thrilled about interacting with Crowley under the guise of a hero, but he didn’t see many other options. Flying was the quickest way to get to Crowley, and Aziraphale had this nagging feeling the sooner they talked, the better. Something was going on with The Host and the heroes and the villains. It wasn’t a game any longer, and Aziraphale found himself desperate to figure out the truth of it all.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale called as he knocked on the plain green door. Through the window, he could see a single light in the back of the house still on. A small spark of relief shot through him. At least he wasn’t waking Crowley up, on top of everything else. “Crowley, dear, it’s me. Will you open the door? I have something I need to discuss with you.”

Silence greeted him as Aziraphale watched the puff of white steam dissipate in the freezing air around him. Although his suit kept him quite warm in the January chill, he did wish he’d thought to grab a pair of earmuffs on the way out. They would have proved useful right about now.

“I understand if you don’t wish to see me,” Aziraphale murmured, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. Now wasn’t the time for such things. It was his fault Crowley wasn’t speaking to him now. He’d been overwhelmed when he found out the truth about Crowley’s identity and had reacted less than ideally. Of course, he hated the fact that Crowley had lied to him - hid so much of himself, but it wasn’t fair to be upset with him when Aziraphale had done the same. 

“I said some horrible things to you before, and I - “ A lump formed in his throat, cutting him off mid sentence. What did he even say? Sorry I dumped you, but you see, I wanted to ask you about a different villain, if you have the time. At 2 AM. Aziraphale groaned. Why was he so terrible at this?

“I’m so sorry, Crowley.” He took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves. “You were right. About everything. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, and I’m sorry it took me so long to come around, but I’m here now, and I could really use your help.”

Something sounded on the other side of the door. Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. This was it. He was really going to see Crowley after everything that had happened. Feeling a sudden wave of nervousness, Aziraphale reached down for the only thing he could grab onto - his hands. Subconsciously, he began wringing them together, eyes fixed on the door handle, waiting for it to move.

It never did.

Seconds ticked by and Aziraphale wondered what was going through Crowley’s mind at this moment. Was he surprised to see Aziraphale? Happy? Saddened? Did he just want Aziraphale to leave him alone?

Why wasn’t he answering the door? Aziraphale lifted his fist and knocked again. “Crowley? Are you there? Please, will you open the door? I want to see you.”

Did you really think I’d ever be with you?

A single tear rolled down Aziraphale’s cheek and he hastily wiped it away. He’d been absolutely horrible then. It would be well within Crowley’s rights to never speak to him again. Aziraphale wouldn’t deny it - he deserved it.

“I miss you.”

He leaned forward, resting his head against the door. This had been a mistake. Crowley didn’t want him anymore. Aziraphale had ruined everything and there was no coming back from this. It was probably best if he just went home and put this whole interaction from his mind. It was time to let Crowley go.

“Aziraphale? Is everything alright? I’m not sure - “

Aziraphale turned around in shock as Anathema poked her head out the door. She stopped mid sentence as her eyes locked with his. Fear pulsed through him. Anathema knew ? How? Had Crowley told her who he was? Had she figured it out? He’d gone fifteen years with no one but his parents knowing who he was, and now within the past few months two more people knew. What was he going to do?

“Oh,” Anathema breathed, a soft smile appearing on her face. She was dressed in a pair of plaid pajamas and a fluffy white robe decorated with pale pink blossoms. Her hair was down in a single braid, resting over her left shoulder. “It’s you.”

Aziraphale stared at her for a while, trying to decipher what she might be thinking. Anathema was one of the brightest people he knew. It was entirely possible she’d figured out who he was. It was entirely possible she knew who Crowley was. If she did, she’d kept such information to herself. There was no reason to worry. Right? 

“Do you want to come inside?” Her expression was soft, inviting, and Aziraphale suddenly felt the weight of his loneliness crashing in on him. When he had given up on Crowley, he’d lost his relationship with Newton and Anathema too - the only friends he had in his personal life. Of course, there was Sarah, and she was lovely, but she didn’t know him as Aziraphale. Not many people did. And he suddenly found himself yearning for those who knew the real him. “You look like you could use a cup of cocoa.”

Anathema’s house was the very definition of the word cozy . The front hallway lead directly into a living room crammed full of furniture. Plush couches, bookshelves lined with nearly as many books as his own bedroom, and piles upon piles of knitted wool blankets. The light in the kitchen was already on, and as he rounded the corner, Aziraphale spotted Newton already at the stove, boiling a pot of hot cocoa.

“Did you find out who it was?” he asked Anathema without turning around. “I can’t imagine why anyone would be out and about this late in the middle of winter. Seems like a rather ridiculous thing to - “

Newton’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he met Aziraphale’s gaze. The spoon he’d been holding to stir the brew clattered to the ground.

“You - you’re - “ he seemed at a loss for words. “What are you - “

Anathema rolled her eyes. “Oh, pull yourself together Newton. It’s not like you haven’t met him before.” She reached out, pulling him by his arm over to the nearest armchair. His eyes were still frozen wide, unable to look away from Aziraphale’s face.

For a moment, Aziraphale began to panic. Anathema may know who he was, but Newton clearly did not. What did he do now? She’d just revealed his identity to Newton like it had been nothing at all. This whole outing had been a horrible mistake. He should have kept to himself - figured things out on his own. It was the way he’d always done things before and it had worked out for him just fine.

“Well, yeah,” Newton replied, like it was common knowledge. “At Host Tower . Not in the living room of the house where I’m living .”

And then Aziraphale remembered. He had met Newton as Principality, when he and Crowley had come for a tour of the facilities.

“You two don’t happen to know if Crowley is home, do you?” he asked, a sudden wave of exhaustion rolling through him. Maybe this conversation should have waited until morning. “I had something important I wished to discuss with him.”

Anathema and Newton exchanged a look. “No,” Anathema finally said as she began ladeling the cocoa into three separate mugs. “I haven’t seen him since earlier this evening, but I can find out for you, if you like.”

Aziraphale nodded his head, accepting the drink graciously as she handed it to him. He wasn’t sure exactly what Anathema could do that he hadn’t already tried apart from walking around back and knocking there.

When she picked up the telephone, Aziraphale could have smacked himself.

Of course. Why hadn’t he thought to just call Crowley. He’d had the man’s phone number for months now. It would have been much easier than flying all the way over here in costume. He really wasn’t thinking very clearly, was he? Aziraphale wasn’t sure he ever had when it came to Crowley.

“Hello?” Anathema’s voice echoed throughout the small space. “Is Crowley there?” A pause. Aziraphale’s eyes remained glued on Anathema’s face, watching every shift in her expression. The wrinkle of her brow, the tightness of her lips. “I see. Do you know when he was supposed to be back?” A frown appeared on her face and Aziraphale felt a sudden ache in his heart. Was she talking to someone else inside Crowley’s house? Was that who he’d heard on the other side of the door?

It had been nearly a month since they’d broken up, so, logically it didn’t seem fair to expect Crowley to continue being single. Especially not when Aziraphale had been the one who’d ended things. Still, the thought of Crowley wrapped up in the arms of another man - another man who felt comfortable enough to stay the night - it hurt more than Aziraphale cared to admit.

He had no right to be upset. Aziraphale had been absolutely horrible to Crowley. Did you really think I’d ever be with you? Honestly, who said something like that? If this other individual made Crowley happy, well, Aziraphale would do his very best to be happy for them. Because, in the end, that’s all that mattered, wasn’t it? More than anything else, Aziraphale wanted Crowley to be happy with him , but if he couldn’t have that, he wanted Crowley to be happy.

“Right, well I promise to let you know if we hear from him. Of course. Good night.”

Anathema placed the phone back on the receiver and moved to sit down on the couch on the corner closest to Newton. She met Aziraphale’s gaze for a moment before he looked away, embarrassed to find he had tears in his eyes.

“I gather he’s not home?” Aziraphale forced the question out, pushing his hurt and sorrow as far down as it could possibly go.

Anathema shook her head. “Minion said he left a few hours ago to run some errands. He hasn’t checked in since.”

Aziraphale frowned, looking back up in confusion. “Minion?” What an odd name for someone to go by. Anathema gave him a pointed look and suddenly everything clicked into place.

There was no new man in Crowley’s life. Anathema hadn’t been talking to a man at all - not in the human sense, anyway. She’d been talking to Minion . The Serpent’s right hand sentient plant.

Relief flooded through him first, followed by a wave of guilt. He had no right to be happy Crowley hadn’t found anyone else. It was selfish of him and Aziraphale vowed to do better.

A hint of a smirk appeared on Anathema’s face and Aziraphale knew she had just clocked every single thought that had ran through his head. He sighed, bringing the cocoa up to his lips to take another sip. It was impossible to get anything past that woman.

Hang on.

Aziraphale paused, looking from Anathema, over to Newton, then back over to Anathema. “You...knew? You both knew about Crowley - how long?”

Anathema smiled softly. “I’ve known he was The Serpent for about...five years now? A few months after I moved in here, actually. Crowley and I had grown quite close in that time and he decided it was safe to tell me.”

Of course it made sense Anathema knew. No wonder The Serpent had always involved her in his games. Aziraphale always assumed it was because he thought Anathema was attached to Aziraphale, but it made way more sense for Crowley to have just asked his best friend for help whenever he needed to provide a distraction.

But what about Newton? Aziraphale turned to face him, the unspoken question evident in his eyes.

“Oh,” Newton began, clearing his throat as he set his mug on the table beside him. “Right. I found out about a month ago. On accident. I spent the night, you see, and I was down here making Anathema breakfast when Minion walked in. Pretty sure I fainted on sight.”

Anathema laughed, reaching out to weave her fingers through Newton’s. Jealousy flashed through Aziraphale for just a moment as he thought of all the times he had held Crowley’s hand in just the same way. What he wouldn’t give to be able to do so again. Just one more time.

“Crowley was very gracious about the whole thing,” she admitted, “and I don’t think Minion stopped apologizing for a month.”

“And…” Aziraphale couldn’t believe he was asking this. “You all...don’t mind? That he kept that secret from you? That he spends his free time masquerading as a villain?”

Anathema gazed at him for a moment. “Why would it bother me?” she finally asked. “The Serpent is a part of him. It’s always been his secret to tell. He could have chosen to go our entire lives and never said a word and I still wouldn't have minded. He doesn’t owe me any explanation other than the one he chooses to give.”

“As for the villain part,” Newton supplied, “even if you believe every single word written about him in all the comics and books and movies - he’s, like, the most tame villain out there. The writers use him for comedic effect more than anything else. I can’t think of a single instance where he’s harmed anyone in any way, and that’s in the made up stuff. I doubt he’s worse in real life. Especially now I know Anathema was always in on all the kidnappings.”

The couple shared a smile and Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment. They both had a point. Crowley didn’t owe him an explanation - not if he hadn’t been ready. What had he said that night, while they’d been standing out in the cold? I didn’t want to tell you. At first, I was embarrassed. I’d met this wonderful bloke and I really liked him and I didn’t want that part of me to ruin things before it had even started. 

I only wanted to be normal, just for a little while. I was tired of the lies. Tired of the games. I just wanted a chance to be myself. And then i met you and you were so wonderful and I never wanted it to end.

Aziraphale hadn’t believed him then, but somehow, he believed Crowley’s words now. He had to find Crowley. Had to let him know how very sorry he was. About everything.

“I’ll admit,” he began softly, looking down at the brown liquid swirling before him. “You two reacted more admirably than I. I - well, I nearly went to The Host to expose him.”

How awful that would have been. He’d have ruined Crowley’s life for certain. Maybe gotten him locked up in jail for good or worse. Aziraphale blanched at the thought.

“Why didn’t you?”

Aziraphale looked up at Anathema’s question, surprised to see genuine curiosity in her expression. Sometimes he forgot that, as insightful as she was, she wasn’t always privy to every piece of information that passed through her friends minds.

“I…” he trailed off. Why hadn’t he gone through with it? “I was afraid how such a revelation might reflect back on me. I’d been romantically involved with the enemy for months and was already on thin ice with Archangel and some of the others. And despite everything I was feeling, I didn’t want to hurt Crowley. I feared for his safety, if The Host found out. I worried about what knowing might do to the both of you. I didn’t want you to feel the same sense of betrayal I had, even if it meant keeping the truth from you.”

He sighed. “And I think, deep down, I came to the same conclusion you had. This has always been Crowley’s secret to tell. I knew how devastated I’d feel, if someone revealed my secret. I couldn’t do that to him, no matter how hurt I was.”

As he let his words settle, Aziraphale looked up to meet their gaze. He reached a hand up, slipping his mask off so he could look at his friends face to face, no longer as Principality, but as Aziraphale. The bookshop owner who just happened to be dressed in the costume of a hero.

Newton’s mouth dropped. Anathema had tears in her eyes. She quickly rose from the couch and wrapped her arms around him tightly, resting her head lightly on his shoulder.

“Thank you for trusting us enough to tell us,” she murmured, stepping back to take her seat once more.

Aziraphale smiled. “How long have you known?”

“Since the day you first walked into Crowley’s plant shop.” Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his laughter at her response. No hesitation. No holding anything back. “You took one look at me and I could tell you knew exactly who I was. It didn’t take long for me to figure out why.”

Aziraphale wiped at the sudden tears in his eyes. He was surprised at how...relieved he felt, knowing that two of his closest friends now knew the truth about who he was. Maybe tonight hadn’t been such a grand mistake after all. The only thing that could make it absolutely perfect, was if Crowley - 

He was interrupted mid thought by a loud beeping noise at his wrist. Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. That was a beacon from Host Tower. He glanced at the clock. What in the world could The Host be summoning him back to Headquarters for at two-thirty in the morning.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, placing his half full mug on the counter behind him. “It would appear duty calls.” Aziraphale reached up to secure his mask once more before turning to the couple seated before him. “If you see Crowley, would you let him know I came by? I have something I need to tell him.”

Instead of nodding her head or verbally agreeing to do so, Anathema rose to her feet. A sudden worry began to gnaw at him as Aziraphale took in her serious expression. Something was wrong. He could sense it.

“You may need to tell him that yourself,” Anathema began, eyes drifting down to the watch still sounding its alarm. “I think I know which errands Minion was referring to and it looks like he may have hit a snag.”

What was she talking about? Aziraphale’s eyes fell to his watch, looking for some kind of message or reason they’d be calling him so late. What errands could Crowley possibly have that would be related to a call from The Host.

Dread filled him slowly, like icy water trickling from his head all the way down his back to his toes. “He’s in Host Tower, isn’t he?”

Anathema’s frown remained in place. “I don’t know for certain, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was.”

Aziraphale’s wings were out in an instant, barely managing to avoid smacking into the furniture as he made his way to the front door. He had to get to Crowley now . If there was any chance he’d been apprehended breaking into Host Tower, Aziraphale had to get to him. To make sure he was ok. 

He had to be ok.

“Aziraphale, wait.” Anathema’s hand wrapped itself firmly around his wrist, spinning him back around. “Be careful, alright? I don’t know all the details, Crowley hasn’t told me, but I know enough to know that something is going on with The Host. Watch your back, ok? And bring Crowley home safe. Bring both of you back home safe.”

The Host isn’t all what it seems.

No one would choose to be a villain. You have to know that.

Just, be careful, please? I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.

Crowley’s last words to him echoed around him as the image of two young boys playing together filled his mind. The same image he now carried with him in his pocket. The orphanage fire - it had to be an accident. Unless it wasn’t. And if Hellfire hadn’t started it, there were only a small list of people that could have.

Dread filled Aziraphale, but he pushed it away. He would deal with all of this later, once he had Crowley safe by his side once more. Until then, nothing else in the world mattered. Not until he had Crowley back.

“You have my word.”

Chapter Text

When Crowley came to, he found himself inside an office. It was sparsely decorated - a handful of bookshelves, some sort of computer monitor, and the very large desk currently digging into his back.

Crowley groaned, looking around as he fought to clear his vision. Beside him, Beelzebub lay slumped on the floor, Vertigo just beyond them. In fact, all six of them lay piled in the room, hands and feet bound with plastic ties so tight he could feel them beginning to cut off his circulation.

“There’s no point in struggling.” Crowley resisted the urge to look in the direction of that familiar voice. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t be doing himself any favors. 

Instead, the villain took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He strained his ears, listening for any sound of footsteps against the spotless tiled floor or the scrape of a chair indicating Myosotis was on the move. She was somewhere behind them, he was almost certain. Unless the acoustic properties of this room were extremely misaligned, capable of distorting sound to another location. 

“I’ll just knock you out again if you manage to break free.”

Crowley gritted his teeth. He opened his eyes, chancing a glance at the others. No one else was awake yet, but he could hear the quiet breathing of Beelzebub beside him, their head resting on Vertigo’s shoulders. Once again, his eyes fluttered shut as he turned his head from side to side, trying to figure out exactly where Myosotis was and whether or not she was alone.

“Six on one hardly seems fair,” he taunted, shifting forward slightly so he could test out the strength of his bonds. The plastic bit into his wrists every time he moved, causing the man to wince in pain. He wasn’t going to break free by sheer force. Maybe, if he tried to rub it up against the edge of the desk? Subtly, so Myosotis wouldn’t notice at first.

Crowley didn’t have a plan, exactly. Even if he managed to get his hands and legs free, then what? Myosotis had taken all his tech - the freeze ray, heat ray, smoke bombs, everything. Even his boots, which meant smashing his way out the window behind them was out of the question, unless he wanted to end up in a slightly flatter orientation dozens of stories below.

He wished the others would wake up. Hellfire or Beelzebub could get them out of here in an instant, and Vertigo might be able to keep Myosotis occupied long enough for someone to get the flash drive and get out.

Crowley’s heart leapt in his chest. The flash drive! Where was it? The last thing he remembered was having it in his hand as he, Beelzebub, and Vertigo had left the server room and then….nothing until he ended up here. He groaned. Myosotis must have been waiting on the other side of the door. Had she taken the drive? Was it still in one piece, or had she already disposed of it? There was no way for him to know.

“I managed fine on my own before,” Myosotis responded. She was on the move, footsteps echoing around them as she shifted from behind the desk more toward the center of the room. “There’s no reason to believe I couldn’t do it again.”

Crowley resisted the urge to open his eyes as he heard her stop a few paces before him. He had a theory - one that he hoped might finally get them to see eye to eye. Not literally, of course. If he did that, he’d forget her the moment he looked away.

“You had the element of surprise on your side,” Crowley pointed out. “Now that we know you’re onto us, we won’t be so easy to take on.”

Myosotis laughed, the bitterness of the sound cutting Crowley to his core. How had she survived so long living like this? With no one in her life remembering her face? It sounded like such a lonely existence. What about her family? Based on what they’d read, she had a husband and son out there. Did they know what happened to her? Or in their eyes, had she simply disappeared?

“I always have the element of surprise.” The truth of the statement did not make the implications any easier to bear. “One of the benefits of being me.”

What did he say next? Crowley felt a sudden urge to keep her talking. Maybe if he kept the conversation going, it would give his companions enough time to wake up. Maybe, he could find a way to slip in what they’d come to do. Did Myosotis know about Compound M? Had she helped Metatron create it, or had she been kept in the dark just as much as the rest of them?

“Aren’t you the least bit curious why we’re here?” Crowley asked as he felt Beelzebub stir beside him. Good. At least now he wouldn’t have to do this alone. 

“Oh, I know why you’re here.” Myosotis sounded so sure of herself, and for a moment, Crowley thought maybe she did. Maybe she’d been watching them this whole time. How would they have known? Even if they had spotted her, they would have forgotten the moment they blinked. “You want the secret identities of all the heroes. Why else would you break into Host Tower and head straight for the main computer, of all things?”

“That’s only part of the story,” Crowley argued, but another laugh from Myosotis cut him off.

“Do you really think I care about your story?” she asked. “Thanks for offering, but I’m not interested in a bunch of lies.”

“We aren’t the ones lying to you,” Crowley groaned through gritted teeth. “We never have.”

“And how do I know that isn’t a lie?”

Beside him, Beelzebub stirred. “How are you doing that?” they murmured, softly enough that Crowley wasn’t sure Myosotis would be able to hear. “You’re having a conversation with her. A long one. How are you not forgetting?”

They sounded completely exhausted, like they’d just woken up from a year long nap and weren’t quite sure if it was time to get out of bed or roll over and sleep for another twelve months. This wasn’t just the effects of being knocked out. Something else was going on here. Had they been drugged? Crowley didn’t feel nearly as woozy or groggy as Beelzebub sounded, but he couldn’t imagine why Myosotis would feel the need to drug all of them except him. Maybe his ears were simply playing tricks on him. He wanted to turn his head and look at his friend - make sure they were ok, but if he did and saw Myosotis, he might lose the progress he’d already made.

“If you want to talk to her, you need to close your eyes,” he explained loud enough for the whole room to hear. He had no concept of whether the others were still unconscious or slowly coming to, but if there was any chance they could hear, he wanted them to hear this. “Her powers are triggered by sight. If you can’t see her, they don’t work.”

“What?” he heard Myosotis echo and imagined she had quite the stunned look on her face. Had she really not known this? After twenty years of research, not one person had thought to tell her how her powers actually worked?

Crowley turned in her direction, keeping his eyes shut tightly to make his point. “Your powers are triggered whenever someone sees you. That’s the bit they don’t remember. If I don’t look at you, I won’t forget you.”

“Impressive.”

A more masculine voice sounded from behind the desk and Crowley felt his heart sink. With just Myosotis here, they’d had a chance to convince her of all they knew. They’d had a chance to convince her of everything The Host had done and maybe, just maybe, she would have agreed to help them. But if Metatron was here? All bets were off.

A chair scraped across the floor and Crowley fought the urge to turn and look at the old bastard’s face. Maybe there was still a chance they could sort this out without resorting to a fight. A fight Crowley was convinced they would lose in their current state of disorientation.

“I always knew you were clever,” Metatron continued as he walked across the room to stand between Crowley and where he thought Myosotis was. “That much was clear from your interview. Such a pity you didn’t have any real powers for me to work with. You would have been an asset to The Host in any other circumstance.”

Crowley bit his tongue to keep himself from ruining everything. The temptation was strong to let himself have this. He wouldn’t feel guilty for using his powers on Metatron - he was sure of it, but then everyone in the room would know what he was capable of. He’d be cast out, or imprisoned in a place he wouldn’t be able to escape. Crowley was already planning on leaving the city, but a part of him wanted to leave that door cracked open, for the one in a billion chance Aziraphale decided to forgive him. If he was driven away, he’d lose that shred of hope he’d been clinging to for weeks. It would undo him.

“I have powers,” he protested, still needing to keep the conversation going. If Beelzebub was awake, surely the others would be soon enough. Maybe they still had a shot to get out of here in one piece. They could figure out what to do about the missing flash drive later. Right now, Crowley just wanted them all to escape. “I just never found you to be a person worth showing them to.”

He could practically hear Metatron smirking as he responded, voice mere inches from Crowley’s face. “Your delusions always served us better than any power ever could.” Oh, how he wanted to pitch forward in that moment and just smash his face into Metatron’s. For once, Crowley and the others had the truth on their side. Metatron was just an old man. Rich? Sure. Powerful? Not where it counted. Not with this. He was a normal human being. Alone, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“I once thought you might make a useful employee for The Host, but then you decided to become the perfect villain for Principality, all on your own. The dynamic between you two worked better than I ever could have imagined. The public went crazy for the two of you - we made billions over the years thanks to your clever little inventions and that desperate need for attention.”

If Crowley gritted his teeth any more, he was sure he’d shatter them completely. For once, he was thankful for the anger that flared to life inside of him, masking the pain of Metatron’s words so he didn’t have to feel the raw wound of them. He’d always felt a connection with Principality, long before he’d met Aziraphale. There had just been something about him - how he carried himself differently than all those other heroes. How he genuinely seemed to care, not just about the other heroes or even the citizens of this city. He cared about everyone. 

Did you really think I’d let you die?

Tears pricked at Crowley’s eyes as he tried desperately not to think about Aziraphale. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and his nose wrinkled when he laughed. How his eyes looked as blue as the ocean, and ten times as bright as any start that lit up the sky. What Crowley wouldn’t give to have Aziraphale here right now. He didn’t care that Aziraphale was angry with him. He didn’t care that Aziraphale was no longer interested in him. Aziraphale had been a part of his life for nearly half of it now. To have him just be gone hurt more than anything else he could have imagined. It was his mother abandoning him all over again. He couldn’t bear it.

“How did you do it?” Crowley asked, trying to steer the conversation away from thoughts of Aziraphale and his own broken heart. “How did you convince her to go along with your insanity for twenty years? ” He pivoted his head in the direction he thought Metatron was still standing. “You’re nothing special.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he heard Myosotis protest, her foot echoing against the floor as she took a step forward. Crowley was tempted to open his eyes, to try and gather some more information about his surroundings, but he was worried even the sight of Myosotis’ reflection would be enough to tamper with his memories.

“He’s the only one who could help me.” Her voice filled with emotion and Crowley truly believed that she believed that statement to be true. Somehow, Metatron had convinced her no one else would be able to bring her normal life back. “For twenty years, I’ve lived my life alone apart from him. My powers don’t affect him. That on its own makes him special.”

Crowley scoffed, but held his tongue. After everything they’d learned about the creation of the heroes and the framing of the villains - Crowley knew that Metatron was lying to her somehow. He’d figured out a trick - some way to make it look like her powers had no influence over him, to get her on his side. He didn’t know exactly how Metatron had done it, but there was no way in hell out of the millions of people in this city, Metatron was the one person Myosotis couldn’t touch.

It was far too convenient.

“That’s a load of bull shit .”

Crowley tensed as Beelzebub shifted beside them. They sounded much more awake than they had a few minutes ago, which filled him with a small sense of relief. Were the others starting to wake up too? Was there still a way for them to get out of this? Preferably before the other heroes showed their faces.

Someone shifted further down the line as footsteps approached them. Crowley turned his head away from where Myosotis had last spoken, blinking rapidly to clear his vision as he watched Metatron squat down in front of Beelzebub and grab their chin roughly, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Get your hands off them!” he heard Vertigo snarl as they attempted to shift themself forward between Beelzebub and Metatron. The older man simply sneered, brown eyes sparkling behind a pair of round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even bother with a retort, simply watching in amusement as Vertigo fell to the ground, the sudden expense of effort proving to be too much for them.

Metatron turned back to Beelzebub, squeezing the side of their face hard enough to leave a mark. “If it’s such bullshit , why don’t you prove it?”

Beelzebub spat in his face, causing Metatron to snarl, rise to his feet and take a step back. He kicked down, hard, foot coming into contact with Beelzebub’s stomach so violently it knocked the breath from their lungs as they doubled over in pain, head resting on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley felt bad for Beelzebub, he really did, but he wasn’t currently thinking about how much a blow like that must have hurt or how Vertigo was straining against their bonds, trying to use their powers to knock Metatron off his feet. Crowley wasn’t thinking about anything except for the briefest of glimpses he’d just gotten to the inside of Metatron’s glasses.

Maybe he knew how the bastard had pulled it off after all.

Before Crowley could say a single word to test his new theory, a knock sounded at the door. 

“Ah,” Metatron declared as Crowley shut his eyes once more. His heart was lodged halfway up his throat, beating so rapidly he thought he might pass out. Was the air getting warmer in here, or was his mind playing tricks on him? “That will be the rest of them.”

The rest of them. The heroes. Would that include Aziraphale? Crowley’s eyes flew open on their own accord, gravitating toward the door as several individuals poured through. 

His blood turned to ice as he caught sight of a familiar pair of purple boots. Instinctively, Crowley shifted to block Beelzebub from Archangel’s line of sight and winced as Beelzebub’s foot came into contact with the small of his back. Crowley turned around to glare in their direction, but felt his expression soften at the look in their eyes. Fear. Pain. Sorrow.

Hope.

Crowley turned back, eyes glazing across the floor, avoiding the shape he was pretty certain belonged to Myosotis. More figures passed through the doorway. He recognized the colorful patterns Prism usually wore, alongside Tempest 's deep blue uniform. Seraphim was here too, and Crowley resisted the urge to look up and meet her gaze, a sudden shame coming over him. He could only imagine how this must look to her.

“What’s going on here?”

Crowley’s head snapped up at the familiar voice that sounded from the door. He half expected Aziraphale not to look at him at all, or perhaps meet his gaze with a look of disdain or apathy. 

What he didn’t expect to find was the spark of true fear reflecting behind those intense blue eyes. Aziraphale met Crowley’s gaze for the briefest of moments and that moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity. He fought back tears, not wanting the others to see through him - to know how they might hurt him. Crowley would never forgive himself if something happened to Aziraphale tonight.

I’m so sorry. He wished he had some way to speak directly into Aziraphale’s mind. To tell him all the things he’d left unsaid. You were never supposed to be a part of this. I was leaving that life behind me, I promise. I just needed to help a friend. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m not a bad person. Not for the reasons you think. I want to do better, to be better. I’d give anything to be better for you. To be worthy of you.

I love you.

And then Aziraphale was looking away and Crowley had no sense as to whether the hero had picked up on a single thing his heart had been screaming. Even though he knew it would give him away, Crowley kept his eyes trained on Aziraphale’s face, looking for any sign the man might need help. He knew any that he could give would be giving himself away, but Crowley didn’t care. He’d ruin his entire life, reveal his closest held secret, if it meant Aziraphale would be alright.

“These villains were apprehended breaking into Host Tower,” Metatron explained, moving toward the center of the room to face them. He had his back to Aziraphale and most of the heroes now, and Crowley saw the smallest hint of movement behind the older man’s right shoulder. Aziraphale’s hand twitched at his side, motioning for Seraphim to trade positions with him. The blonde man took a step to one side as the younger girl slid into his place, putting her directly in line of sight with Crowley and the other villains.

Crowley’s heart leapt - out of fright or joy, he didn’t know. Aziraphale and Seraphim were trying to protect them. Why? Did they know something now they hadn’t before? Did Aziraphale finally believe he was telling the truth? Or was it just within their nature to do their best and ensure no one got hurt?

“They were trying to smuggle secrets from our database,” Metatron continued, reaching into his vest pocket to pull out the very same flash drive Crowley had been holding earlier. His heart sank. What were they going to do now? Even if they managed to escape, Metatron had the evidence. Who on earth would believe their word over his? They were done for. “Including information on all of your secret identities.”

The heroes stiffened, all except Aziraphale, who turned to look at Crowley without a second thought. Crowley could see the question in his eyes and as inconspicuously as possible, he shook his head in response. Crowley already knew Aziraphale’s identity. If he’d wanted to, he could have revealed the hero to the whole world. Aziraphale knew that, and for some reason known only to him, Aziraphale trusted Crowley to tell him the truth now.

“It wasn’t enough for you to ruin our lives once?” Archangel demanded, taking a step forward. Once again, Crowley moved to defend Beelzebub, and once again his back was met with a solid kick. He winced. At least Beelzebub was feeling more alert. “You just had to come crawling back.”

“I didn’t ruin your life,” Beelzebub protested, frustration already seeping into their voice. Crowley couldn’t imagine how difficult a confrontation like this must be. Did Archangel really not recognize them? Had they changed that much in fifteen years, or was he so absorbed by grief he just couldn’t see? “ He did.”

Crowley was still trying to keep his eyes toward the ground in case Myosotis’ powers started to cause issues, but from what he could tell, she had moved herself toward the back of the room, out of the way of everyone else. Staying in the shadows where her influence would be less noticeable. Where she would be less likely to interfere with her so-called teammates.

Archangel’s eyes were as cold as ice. It was the complete opposite of the last time Crowley had seen him. There was still anger present - more anger than Crowley thought a person could hold within their heart, but in a way, he understood. The Host had manipulated Archangel for years. He’d been made to believe he was born with unimaginable powers. Made to believe his best friend had been taken from him. Crowley didn’t know what he would do if the same thing had happened to him - if he had believed Anathema or Minion or Aziraphale were gone forever.

The hero took another step forward. “You murdered my best friend.”

Beelzebub shifted beside him. “I am your best friend.”

Archangel scoffed, forcing his gaze away as if he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. Metatron took this as his cue to take over the conversation once more, turning to address his host of heroes once more.

“How much longer are we going to allow these lies to spread through our city?” he asked, arm sweeping out as he gestured toward the villains still piled on the floor by his desk. Crowley glanced to his side, heartbeat spiking when he saw that all of them had finally woken up. Hellfire looked the most disoriented of the group, eyes still shifting slowly from open to closed, but he was conscious. For the life of him, Crowley didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. “It’s time to hold them accountable for the things they’ve done.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Vertigo snapped. “Coming from you.”

Metatron turned around, flashing a grin in their direction. “I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.”

“Then let me remind you.” The smirk on Vertigo’s face held an equal amount of malice and disdain. “You caused a tractor trailer to overturn on the highway, sending twenty million bees into a holiday crowd. You set fire to an orphanage where half a dozen children died and many more were severely injured. You poisoned guests at my brother’s wedding, causing them to topple over the side of a building. And then you framed us all. To make villains for your little game.”

Crowley’s eyes darted up to find Aziraphale’s. Did the hero know? Had he figured all this out, or was all of this a surprise to him? Crowley had hated The Host for nearly half his life, but Aziraphale? It had been all he’d ever known. What were the chances he’d believe such a tall coming from one of them?

Aziraphale was looking at him, the pain and the fear evident in his eyes. Without speaking a word out loud, he was asking Crowley to tell him the truth. He was telling Crowley he trusted whatever he said, right here in this moment.

Slowly, heart aching for the man he loved, Crowley began to nod his head. He watched the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth tighten, fists clenching at his side. Crowley wanted nothing more than to wrap Aziraphale in his arms and promise everything was going to be alright. It didn’t matter if everything The Host had created was built on a lie. It didn’t change the fact that Aziraphale was a hero in Crowley’s eyes. 

He always would be.

“You killed my brother.”

All eyes in the room turned to face Hellfire, still crouching in front of the wide oak desk. The stench of burnt plastic hit his nose the same moment the villain lifted his hands, free of their bonds, and locked eyes with Metatron.

And then all hell broke loose. Quite literally.

Fire erupted throughout the room, the heat and brightness of it caused Crowley to slam his eyes shut and shrink away. He felt it rush over him like a gentle wind, not leaving a single mark against skin. Despite the sudden intensity of the situation, Crowley was impressed. He’d had no idea Hellfire had such control over how his powers burned. Normally, whenever he was involved, everything turned to ash.

Tempest was on him in an instant, exploding the pipeline attached to the sprinkler system above their heads. Crowley forced his eyes open, trying not to inhale too much of the steam and smoke as he scrambled to get out of the sudden fray. The ties on his wrists and ankles had been melted away by Hellfire’s blast, making it much easier to maneuver his way around the room.

Blasts of purple energy collided with the desk behind him and Crowley flattened himself against the ground. He shut his eyes and lifted his hands to cover his head as more debris rained down from the ceiling. There was a standing half inch of water now, but Hellfire was showing no signs of backing down. The other villains had leapt to their feet at the first signs of a fight and were now hidden somewhere in the throngs of battle.

Crowley’s first instinct was to call out for Aziraphale, but he held himself back. He couldn’t give Aziraphale away. If there was a chance he and the others could lose, Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to be thrown under the bus with them. He would do whatever it took to keep Aziraphale safe.

Another pipe burst above them and Crowley shut his eyes, bracing for impact. Upon feeling nothing, he looked up to see a familiar crackling shield of blue energy, and the young woman who was responsible for protecting him.

“Come on,” Seraphim hissed, ducking behind the desk and pulling Crowley along with her. “Principality asked me to get you out before Hellfire burns this place to the ground.”

And he would. Of that, Crowley had no doubt.

Quickly, he shook his head. “I can’t. Seraphim, I can’t leave him here.”

She tugged on his arm again, pulling them back toward the large wall of windows at the far end of the room. “He’ll be fine. He’s a hero. He’s been through worse before. You’re the one we’re worried about.”

His heart thudded in his chest at her admission. Somewhere along the lines, she’d come to care for him too. “I can take care of myself.”

The look Seraphim gave him made it very clear she didn’t believe him. “All your gear has been confiscated. You’re not even wearing any shoes. There’s nothing you can do for him here except let me get you somewhere safe before it’s - “

Too late.

Crowley’s vision swam before him as the room began to pitch forward. He yanked his arm out from Seraphim’s grasp as she cried out in shock. All four limbs planted on the ground made withstanding Vertigo’s powers bearable, but only just. He felt like he was on a rollercoaster ride, spinning faster and faster, around and around again until he became sick to his stomach or blacked out completely.

Fire still raged around them. Water poured down from the ceiling. Everyone else had been swallowed whole by the steam and the smoke and it was all Crowley could do to hang onto the last thread of consciousness he had left. He heard shouts of anger and fear behind him. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. In and out. That had been the plan. No one was supposed to get hurt.

“What’s - what’s going on?” Seraphim gasped, trying and failing to catch her breath. Tears were pooling in her eyes, streaming down her cheeks as she tried to summon a shield around her. He doubted her abilities would do much good against Vertigo, but it was obvious that’s what she was trying to do. Trying to buy herself a hint of relief before she lost herself completely to the void. 

Her shield flickered several times before disappearing completely. “Help me. I - I can’t - I can’t.”

Suddenly, it was all too much. The smoke, the fire. The screaming and the fear. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and curled in on himself, wishing with all his might he could just disappear. Wishing he could zap himself home in his bed and this whole ordeal could be a bad dream and nothing more.

“Please,” he cried, hands pressing in on his ears, looking for some sense of relief. Vertigo had never held an attack this long before and Crowley had a brief moment of panic that he might actually die from it. “Please, I can’t - I can’t bear it. Not like this. Please.”

He’d hate himself until the end of his days for this, but Crowley had no other choice. Not if he wanted to keep Aziraphale and Seraphim safe. Not if he wanted to save his friends. Not if he wanted to reveal the truth once and for all.

Slowly, he struggled to his feet and turned to face the blanket of smoke. The urge to fall back down to the ground nearly overcame him, but Crowley stood strong. He had to do this. For his friends. For Seraphim.

For Aziraphale.

Closing his eyes, took a deep breath to steady the fear inside his heart, and then Crowley began to speak.

“Everybody STOP!!!” The intensity of Crowley’s voice filled the entire room, traveling to every set of ears that was present. All at once the fighting stopped. The fire sputtered out. The water grew still. And each and every person in the room stopped moving completely, exactly as Crowley had commanded them to.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale couldn’t move.

It felt as if his entire body was frozen in ice. The feeling wasn’t cold, exactly. How could it be with the way the adrenaline was rushing through his veins, setting his blood on fire? There wasn’t a better way he knew how to describe the sensation. One minute, he’d been enfolded by chaos – heroes and villains striking out at each other left and right and the next, he’d heard Crowley’s voice ringing out over the chaos and everything had gone unnaturally still.

The fire subsided. The water trickled down over their heads. The steam and the smoke slowly cleared away and Aziraphale found that he wasn’t the only one who had suddenly lost control of his own body. Everyone in the room was unnaturally still. They were breathing, eyes wide in confusion, glancing around as far as they could, looking for some kind of explanation.

Aziraphale had felt this sensation before, on a cold winter’s night with snow falling around him as his heart had been broken in two. But…how was this possible? How had he not noticed it before?

Aziraphale, wait!

In the moments after, he had looked back at Crowley and been shocked at the expression of horror on the other man’s face. Aziraphale hadn’t understood then. He did now.

My mom left when I was seventeen, and it’s my fault.

Aziraphale’s heart ached as all the pieces fell into place. The evidence of how ridiculously polite Crowley was, always saying things like ‘please’ and ‘if you don’t mind’. The way he so carefully chose each of his words and took a little extra time before he spoke.

We’d gotten into this huge fight. She wanted me to go to college. I had other grand plans. We argued and I said some things I shouldn’t and she just left.

Aziraphale could see that look of absolute horror in his memory so clearly now. Crowley had looked so undone the night he’d used his powers on Aziraphale. The hero was sure it had been an accident then. Crowley had been overcome with guilt and practically run from the scene after. Despite how much he had pleaded with Aziraphale to listen up until that point – after, he hadn’t bothered to reach out at all.

What must he be feeling in this moment? There was no look of horror on Crowley’s face now. He was angry, eyes burning with an intensity the likes of which Aziraphale had never seen from him. He stood behind the desk, facing outward toward the rest of them. Aziraphale couldn’t see everyone in the room with the current restraint on his range of motion, but he did spot both Beelzebub and Archangel, along with Vertigo, Hellfire, Tempest and three copies of Replica. He assumed the others were somewhere behind him, but only time would tell if that was true.

“Come stand in front of the desk,” Crowley commanded, gesturing with both arms in front of him. “Heroes on my left. Villains on my right. Do not move once you have reached that location.”

The sudden motionless that fell over him broke and Aziraphale now found his body moving on its own. He tried to break free – tried to stop the march of his feet across the polished floor. At least now, he could turn his head and get a proper look at Crowley’s face. His strange serpentine eyes were glinting in the dim overhead light, jaw clenched, brows furrowed in concentration. How much power did it take to exert his will over all these people? Was there a danger of someone breaking free? What would happen if they did?

All Aziraphale cared about in the world was getting Crowley out of here safely. He’d been hopeful Seraphim would have been able to pull that off in the midst of the chaos, but now? Crowley had shown his hand – and ultimately, maybe that was for the best. But it made it so much more difficult to get him out of harm’s way. And Aziraphale had to get him out of harm’s way. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Crowley now.

It was amazing to watch the true nature of Crowley’s power unfolding. Aziraphale had no idea if he was controlling each minute movement of all of them, or if there was something about how his powers took hold of them that made it impossible the group of them to collide with each other. It was like a well-choreographed dance that they had practiced for hours, weaving their way in between each other to get to the spot designated for them.

As they walked, Aziraphale spotted Sarah in the crowd. She met his gaze immediately, eyes wide with uncertainty. He didn’t think she was frightened, not exactly. Sarah hadn’t hesitated when he’d asked her to get Crowley out of danger, so it was obvious she either felt indebted to him, cared for him in some way, or trusted Aziraphale enough to do what he asked. Given all of that, he could understand how being subject to someone else’s commands without a chance to fight back would be more than just unsettling. Aziraphale tried to offer her a comforting smile, but with the way his heart was filled with fear for Crowley, he wasn’t sure the gesture came across as genuine as he’d hoped.

When everyone had reached their destination – villains on Crowley’s right, heroes on his left, and Metatron in the middle – Aziraphale’s feet froze beneath him again. He looked over at Crowley, wishing the man would turn and look at him, but Crowley was keeping his focus entirely on Metatron. The older man looked outraged. His face remained composed, but Aziraphale could see the emotion pouring out of his deep, brown eyes.

“What is this sorcery?” Archangel spat from his end of their line, positioned right up next to the desk. “Release us this instant!”

Crowley turned to face the hero, eyes glazing over Aziraphale, not displaying a single hint of emotion. “Do not use your powers to harm each other. Do not speak when someone else is speaking. Listen to what is being said and only speak the truth.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt. What was Crowley doing? Could he really force them to do all of those things? How far did his powers reach? How long could he hold them here?

It was strange. Fear continued to course through him, but there was not one second where Aziraphale feared for his own safety, or even Sarah’s. The reason Crowley had revealed his true power was to keep them all from fighting. He wouldn’t then use it to harm them – it wasn’t in his nature. Aziraphale knew Crowley. He would never hurt any of them.

Finally, Crowley turned to Metatron once more and met his gaze. It would have been impossible to miss the pure venom in his eyes. What had happened before Aziraphale had gotten here? What truths had Crowley and the others uncovered?

The Host isn’t all what it seems.

He had a feeling they were about to find out just what The Host really was.

Aziraphale’s gaze never left Crowley’s face. He watched as the man took a deep breath, coming to some decision. To Aziraphale’s surprise, he then turned toward Beelzebub, offering them up an apologetic smile before he continued to speak.

“We can start with you, if you like.” His voice was soft. Aziraphale could feel the man’s previous commands still in effect, but recognized that even now, Crowley was choosing his words carefully when interacting with those he saw as friends.

“Tell him as much as you wish.”

Beelzebub nodded, turning not toward Metatron like Aziraphale had expected, but towards Archangel instead.

“I’m so sorry,” they began, genuine tears hovering in their brown eyes. For the first time that night, Aziraphale realized they weren’t in their usual costume. Without the wig and the goggles and the black fabric head to toe, Beelzebub looked like a normal human being. “For taking so long to come and find you, but I need you to believe me now. I am telling you the truth when I say I am your best friend. I am Beatrice. And Beelzebub. I have been this whole time.”

The look on Archangel’s expression made it very clear he did not believe a single word they were saying. Aziraphale glanced between the pair. It was obvious they meant something to each other at some point in their lives. What had happened? Was this why Crowley and the others had broken into Host Tower? To find information that would convince the hero of everything Beelzebub was trying to say?

“You are lying.” He was angry. Not as angry as he had been the day he’d tried to kill the villain, but Aziraphale would have seen the heartache in the man’s expression, even if he had been blind. “You have to be.”

Beelzebub shook their head. “I’m not.” A pause. “I can’t. Not anymore.”

“It’s not possible.” Tears pricked at the corner of Archangel’s eyes and Aziraphale felt like there was a knife being driven into his own chest. He knew this feeling. He knew and understood that expression more than he thought possible. Archangel loved this person – Beatrice. And somehow, some way, something had happened to them. “I carried you to the hospital. I sat by your bedside for hours. I watched you die.”

There it was. Aziraphale’s stomach clenched in grief. How absolutely horrible. His eyes immediately flew to Crowley’s face, wondering how he would be able to survive if the same thing had happened to him. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to face it.

Once again, Beelzebub shook their head. “That wasn’t me.” A single tear rolled down their cheek. “The whole thing was planned. The truck, the bees, the concert. The Host knew about my powers – I’d tried out to be a part of them. I was going to surprise you. But they needed someone to play your villain, and what better way to do that than frame me for killing the person you cared about most?”

Ice trickled down Aziraphale’s spine, and it wasn’t from the leaky pipes overhead. As much as he didn’t want it to be true, he believed in Crowley’s abilities. He’d told them all not to lie and there was a part of him that realized without even opening his mouth that if he tried, not a single word would come out.

Archangel closed his eyes. “It can’t be.” Aziraphale’s heart went out to him. He couldn’t imagine how difficult this must be to comprehend. “I talked to the doctors. They said it was you – I saw your family at the funeral. It just can’t be.”

“What do I need to do to convince you?” Beelzebub asked, voice cracking as tears continued to fall. Aziraphale didn’t know if they were still frozen in placed and couldn’t physically wipe them away or had decided the act wasn’t worth it. “What can I say to make you believe me?”

Archangel’s eyes opened, falling on Beelzebub’s face as if he was really looking at them for the first time. Aziraphale’s heart stuttered in his chest. Was this it? Was this the moment Beelzebub must have been waiting for the last fifteen years?

And then he turned away, fists clenching at his side, refusing to look the villain in the eye. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can say to convince me. Bea would never have done the things you’ve done. She never would have hidden from me this long. You can’t be her. You just can’t.” Then, he looked up again, meeting Beelzebub’s gaze one more time.

“I don’t want you to be.”

A sharp intake of breath reached his ears as Aziraphale looked over at Beelzebub one more time. Something had shifted in their expression – something Aziraphale couldn’t place. Their eyes looked more distant, the muscles in their face tense like they were about to strike, but Aziraphale knew they couldn’t. Crowley had commanded them to do no harm to each other. Even if Beelzebub was furious at Archangel and wanted to lash out, they physically couldn’t. Crowley’s words were keeping them all hostage.

Suddenly, a motion caught Aziraphale’s attention. Something stirred in the gaping hole above them. A single, black and yellow honeybee drifted down from the ceiling, landing comfortably on the back of Beelzebub’s outstretched hand. Aziraphale watched as it crawled around on their skin, turning in small circles like a dog might before coming to rest on a bed.

“Bea,” Vertigo’s voice was hoarse, speaking for the first time since this whole ordeal had started. Aziraphale’s attention turned to them, taking in their expression, noticing the fear that covered their entire face as they looked in Beelzebub’s direction. Hearing the emotion they were trying so desperately to hide. “Bea, don’t do this.”

Beelzebub ignored them. Their attention was entirely focused on Archangel. “Remember when we were kids, and we used to play in that field out behind your house?” Tears were still streaming down their face, chest heaving with the exertion of trying to keep themself from falling apart. The bee was still perched comfortably on their hand, antennae flicking gently back and forth. “I was teaching you how to make flower crowns, for your sister’s birthday.”

The smallest hint of a smile appeared on Archangel’s face. “She was determined to have a tea party, with real tea.”

Beelzebub laughed. “Even though she thought it tasted terrible and spat it out every time.”

For the briefest of moments, Aziraphale thought this was it. That Archangel was going to finally see the truth. But then his smile faded and it was replaced with only sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Aziraphale felt he actually meant it.

Beelzebub shook their head. “I don’t blame you for not believing me,” they murmured, something shifting in their expression that Aziraphale couldn’t quite place. “All I can do is hope this might change your mind.”

“Bea, please.” There were tears in Vertigo’s eyes as they tried once more to get the other villain to listen. “He’s not worth it.”

Beelzebub turned to face Vertigo, shooting them a small, sad smile before responding.

“He is to me.”

Everything after that happened so fast, Aziraphale’s mind could hardly keep up with it. The bee still perched on the back of Beelzebub’s hand shifted and the villain hissed in pain, instinctively clutching their hand to their chest, cradling the fresh sting.

For a moment, nothing happened. The entire room fell silent as they watched Beelzebub standing there, hand against their chest, eyes never once looking away from Archangel’s face.

Aziraphale glanced over at Vertigo, watching as their face contorted in pain. He could see the muscles in their face and shoulders straining, as if they were fighting against invisible bonds, trying to get to Beelzebub’s side.

“Do you remember?” Beelzebub asked, eyes still fixed on Archangel’s face. “What happened next?”

Slowly, he nodded his head. “Bea wanted to make Mary’s crown special. She wanted to use flowers from my neighbor’s garden. She didn’t know – “

“Didn’t know…there was a…beehive nearby.” Beelzebub’s breaths sounded oddly labored as they continued to share the story, everyone else in the room captively watching the events unfold before them. Aziraphale tried to shift his feet below him, but they were still rooted to the ground. Out of his control.

“You have to release me,” Vertigo pleaded in Crowley’s direction. “I can save them. I swear, I won’t do anything to anyone else. Just let me help them.”

Save them? What was Vertigo talking about? Nothing had happened so far – Archangel and Beelzebub were just talking.

“Bea was stung,” Archangel breathed, eyes widening as they looked at Beelzebub’s face, perhaps seeing them for who they were for the first time in fifteen years. Something about the events unfurling in front of them was triggering a memory. A memory that was finally bringing him some semblance of clarity. “It was just a single sting on her hand, but she almost died. I remember being so scared I was going to lose her.”

“Serpent!”

Vertigo lurched forward, arms out in front of them, catching Beelzebub as their eyes fluttered shut and they fell to the ground. An angry red mark was evident on the back of their injured hand, rash spreading up their arm. Beelzebub’s breaths were labored, straining to get any oxygen at all. Aziraphale watched in horror, fearing the worst. How could Beelzebub, of all people, be allergic to bee stings? How could they have this intense a reaction and not be frightened for their life every day they chose to use their powers?

Archangel was torn apart. It was clear at Vertigo’s request, Crowley had released them and only them. Archangel and the others were still frozen in place. The anguish on his face was evident, made worse by the obvious truth that he’d finally come to believe Beelzebub’s claim. For fifteen years, he’d believed his best friend was dead, and the moment he realized they weren’t, they were moments away from being taken from him again.

A flash of light caught Aziraphale’s attention. From within their boot, Vertigo pulled out a thin tube with several orange and yellow labels he couldn’t read. Moving faster than Aziraphale thought possible, Vertigo removed the cap, tossing it aside, before they drove the needle straight into Beelzebub’s thigh.

Relief swept through Aziraphale as Beelzebub took a single, deep, gasping breath. Thank goodness. Aziraphale didn’t know when, exactly, he’d come to care for the villains in this room, but this was the second time he’d panicked thinking Beelzebub’s life was in danger. Maybe it was the simple fact that he hated to see anyone hurt. Or maybe it was because he knew Beelzebub meant something to Crowley. Or, what was more likely given the way this evening was going, maybe he cared because these people were no longer villains in his eyes. They were people, just like him.

“You idiot,” Vertigo cried, pulling Beelzebub close to their chest as their eyes fluttered open once more. “What did you think that was going to accomplish? What good is any of this if you end up dead?”

Beelzebub smiled softly as they looked up at Vertigo, giving them a comforting pat on their arm. Then, slowly, they turned toward Archangel, still rooted to the spot less than a dozen feet away.

“Did it work?”

Archangel took a hesitant step forward, Crowley’s spell over him finally breaking. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped to Crowley’s face, searching to see if they were all about to break out fighting each other again, but no one else in the room moved. Everyone was still frozen in place, mere spectators to the reunion now taking place.

Without a sound, Archangel knelt down next to the pair of villains, violet eyes wide in shock and sorrow and hope. Beelzebub sat up, shifting away from Vertigo’s arms as they shot their oldest friend a lopsided grin.

“Believe me now?”

Tears poured from Archangel’s eyes. “Yes. I’m so sorry, Bea.”

“Me too.”

Aziraphale had to look away in the next moment as they two closed for an embrace. His heart ached, arms itching to be able to do the same with Crowley. He wanted to gather Crowley in his arms and fly them somewhere far away. Somewhere where they could be alone and where he could apologize for how horrible he’d treated Crowley. Somewhere where he could finally tell the man how much he loved him.

“How touching.”

All eyes in the room turned to Metatron, the disdain evident on his face. Aziraphale felt his heart skip a beat, the fear that had been lying beneath everything else came bursting back to life. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

“Old friends reunited. The truth coming to light. What a story this will make.”

“If you think we’re done with you,” Crowley began, his voice colder than Aziraphale had ever heard. “You are sorely mistaken.”

Crowley turned to look at Beelzebub and Archangel, still seated on the ground, their arms wrapped around each other. Vertigo had backed away, their attention turned back to Metatron and whatever else was about to happen between him and Crowley. “You two may stay there, if you wish, but my other statements still apply. Do not use your powers to harm anyone.” He gave Beelzebub a pointed look, making it very clear he was now covering the way they’d gotten around his powers before. “Speak only the truth, and listen to what else is said.”

Slowly, silently, they both nodded their heads and Crowley turned back to his real target. Metatron’s face was unreadable, as was Crowley’s as the two stared each other down for what felt like an eternity.

“I am going to ask you some questions. Answer them truthfully. Do not intentionally hide any information or details.” Crowley paused for a moment, his brow furrowing as he appeared to be deciding where to start. “Who was behind the accidents that served as our origin stories?”

Instead of nodding his head in acceptance, Metatron countered with a question of his own. “How are you doing this? Nothing in our data suggests you have any powers at all.”

Crowley frowned. “Your data was wrong. I don’t blame you, not really. I’m not overly fond of using them unless absolutely necessary.”

That was a surprise to Aziraphale. Based on how Crowley had reacted the night he’d used it on Aziraphale and his recount of how his mother had left him, Aziraphale assumed Crowley avoided these powers at all costs. Just another reason why Aziraphale knew, deep down, Crowley was a good person. He couldn’t imagine the kind of nightmare they may have found themselves in had anyone else had access to the same sort of power.

Anyone else like Metatron, as an example.

“Answer the question,” Crowley commanded, his eyes still locked on Metatron’s face.

The older man gritted his teeth, obviously attempting to resist the compulsion to do as Crowley bade him. After a few seconds, he took in a deep breath and began.

“It was originally my idea,” Metatron announced, keeping his eyes fixed on Crowley in return. “When Beatrice first auditioned for The Host. I hadn’t considered the idea of villains until that point, but her power was so unique and her relationship with Archangel was already established. It seemed too perfect to let slip by. I made a few calls, paid a few people off and watched it unfold more perfectly than I could imagine.”

“And the others?”

Dread began to fill Aziraphale’s entire body as Metatron continued. He spared no details as he told them all about how he had planned out each event. How the media had been fed what story to tell. How those stories had been passed onto The Host’s creative department and they’d written the comics that eventually became part of the city’s history.

Part of him couldn’t believe it, and another part of him thought it made a chilling amount of sense. How long had he been saying the stories told about the heroes were farfetched – complete hogwash, really. Of course, the stories about the villains would have the same foundation.

It got worse. As the seconds ticked by, Crowley asked his questions, painting a picture of manipulation and betrayal. Metatron had started down this path to try and help Myosotis. He’d discovered a way to morph Myosotis’ powers into something else. He’d bribed doctors to administer the drug to children. He’d created the heroes and the villains all the same. It had all been a pile of lies. They weren’t hereditary enemies at all.

They were one in the same.

“Why?”

“I was building an enterprise,” Metatron announced, with no hesitation. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if that was due to the amount of time he’d been under Crowley’s control, or the fact that he wasn’t ashamed to admit the reasons behind two decades of manipulative actions. “I was bringing the stories to life. My whole childhood, I dreamed of a world where I could be a hero. Where I could wield unimaginable power. It didn’t work on me, but I found I could create something legendary. I could be at the head of it all. The Host wasn’t a perfect realization of my dreams, but it was damn close. And I found over time, that was enough.”

Aziraphale felt sick to his stomach. His whole adult life, he’d felt this obligation to live out his life as a hero. He’d been gifted with these miraculous powers and he needed to use them to help people. To find out it was all a lie – that he’d been manufactured to be this…mutant of a person. It hurt more than he cared to admit out loud. Not with all the others around at any rate. There would be time to mourn later, once he was sure Crowley was finally safe and sound.

“One last question.”

The muscles in Metatron’s jaw twitched, but there was nothing he could do. Crowley would get the truth out of him, for better or for worse.

“How did you convince Myosotis her powers don’t work on you?”

Metatron was silent for a very long time. Aziraphale found himself looking back and forth between the pair, trying to figure out the bit of the story he was missing. Was Crowley talking about her control over plants? That’s what Myosotis’ powers were, right? Aziraphale hadn’t ever seen them used in person, but he’d seen plenty of comics depicting her on the cover with vines and roots breaking out through the ground around her. What else could he be talking about? And if that was it, how would powers like those not work on Metatron?

“Answer the question.”

“My…glasses.” The words were strained, like he was fighting to keep every syllable back.

He didn’t elaborate, and Aziraphale turned to Crowley, wondering if he would force the older man to explain more. Instead, Crowley kept his gaze leveled on Metatron, his face completely void of emotion.

“There are mirrors on the inside.” Crowley sounded so sure of himself, like he’d been the one to solve some sort of puzzle and was taking time out of his day to explain it to the rest of them. “When you wear them to talk to her, she can see your eyes as clear as day, but you only see a reflection of yourself. Not her. If you can’t see Myosotis, you can’t forget her.”

“Is that true?”

Aziraphale turned his head toward the sound, eyes coming to rest upon a woman standing at the end of the line of heroes, closest to the door. She wasn’t dressed in her usual outfit, but there was no doubt in his mind her resemblance to Myosotis. How long had she been here? He hadn’t realized she’d been called in along with the rest of them.

“Do you really not remember me?”

She sounded completely heartbroken, like she’d just lost something precious to her. And maybe she had. If Aziraphale was to believe what Crowley and Metatron were saying, Myosotis’ powers caused everyone to forget every interaction they ever had with her. What a lonely existence. Aziraphale couldn’t even imagine it. And if she’d spent the last twenty years believing Metatron to be the one normal relationship in her life – to find out it had all been a lie would be more than devastating.

Metatron gritted his teeth. The vein at his temple was bulging with the effort of holding his response back. Out of all the things Metatron had divulged this evening, this was clearly the one thing he couldn’t bear for them all to know. But Crowley’s powers were all consuming. Aziraphale had no concept of how long they had been standing here. Whether it had been a minute or an hour, the hero still couldn’t move his feet even an inch. No matter how much his heart wanted to pull Crowley into his arms and never let the man go again.

Instead of forcing Metatron to answer, Crowley waited in silence. He knew that the older man would break eventually. Metatron didn’t have the capacity to resist for long. No one did.

“I take notes on our conversations in my notebooks.” Metatron’s words exploded out in a rush of air, like he was gasping for breath after holding his breath underwater for afar too long. “And record them with the cameras so I can play them back later.” He turned to face Myosotis, keeping his glasses firmly in place. “I needed you to believe that I was on your side – that I was the only one who could help you. It was the only way to get what I needed to build all this.”

Tears pooled in Myosotis’ eyes and Aziraphale forced himself to look away. He didn’t care if he forgot about her the moment she disappeared from his line of sight. This moment was meant for her and her alone. He had no part in it.

Silence fell once more and Aziraphale looked around, slightly confused. What exactly was going on? Crowley’s powers were still in place, but no one was talking. What was the last thing that was said? Metatron admitting to tricking Myosotis for the last twenty years. What did she think about that? Was she even here with them to find out the truth?

Footsteps echoed across the floor as someone began to move. Aziraphale’s eyes fixed themselves on the sound, catching sight of the back of someone’s head as they made for the door. Aziraphale half expected to hear Crowley’s voice echoing around them once more, confining them all to this room until everything was said and done with. He said nothing, letting her pass through the door and disappear out of sight.

Once again, footsteps sounded and Aziraphale turned the other way. Hadn’t he just heard someone moving in the other direction? Or had it been Crowley the whole time? The man stepped forward, his flaming red hair shining in the brightly lit room. Aziraphale’s heart stuttered in his chest as Crowley moved around the edge of the desk and came to stand a few paces in front of Metatron. He was less than an arm’s length away. If Aziraphale could just lift his hand, he could finally touch him.

“Give me the drive undamaged.” He waited, palm outstretched as Metatron fished inside his pocket and handed over item. Crowley did not smile. He simply put it away safely in his pocket, eyes still fixed on Metatron’s face.

“Your legacy is over,” Crowley declared. “We all now know the truth and we refuse to play along with your games anymore. You will leave The Host. You will go to jail. And you will see your dream crumble before your eyes and you will know, deep down, that you deserve much, much worse.”

“If you destroy The Host, you’ll destroy yourselves,” Metatron responded, voice just as level. He turned toward the line of villains. “You think the people of this city will accept you because your origin story was a lie? You think any of them will continue to worship you if you reveal the truth about how you were made? How I made you? They will turn their backs on you in the blink of an eye. You will have nothing. You will be nothing.”

“That is for us to figure out on our own. It’s our story now, and we will write it how we see fit,” Crowley responded, finally turning to face Beelzebub and Archangel.

“Can I trust you two to wait with him until the police arrive?” he asked. “I imagine they’ll send someone soon, given how Host Tower was on fire not too long ago.”

Both individuals moved to stand, Archangel’s arm wrapping firmly around Beelzebub’s waist, helping them to stand. Just behind them, Vertigo stiffened, pointedly looking away. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if anyone else in the room noticed, but he doubted it mattered much to anyone else. They were likely all exhausted and hurt and confused and focused on their own turmoil of emotions. The chances of noticing anyone else’s was slim.

“Of course.” Aziraphale felt control of his body finally return to him as Crowley nodded sharply and moved back toward Metatron. Everyone in the room parted and allowed him to approach, waiting to hear what the final exchange would be.

“Wait here until the authorities come.” To his credit, Metatron did not look away. Aziraphale supposed it wouldn’t have mattered. Crowley’s power was based on the sound of his voice. It didn’t matter if Metatron looked at him or not. “Do not give them any trouble. Tell them the truth. Do not withhold any evidence. Do not harm Archangel or Beelzebub or anyone else in any way.”

He was covering his bases. Aziraphale’s heart leapt. What did that mean. Was Crowley not staying with them until Metatron was taken care of? Wasn’t he the best person to have around should another emergency arise?

Upon hearing their confirmation, Crowley made to leave the room. Aziraphale didn’t know if he was attempting to run after someone or flee the scene or something else entirely. And he didn’t care. All the hero knew is he had to catch up or he would risk losing everything he’d ever held dear.

“Crowley, wait!”

They’d reached the end of the hallway – just the two of them, alone. Everyone else had stayed behind, for reasons Aziraphale didn’t care to discover. All he wanted in that moment was to pull Crowley into an embrace and tell him everything was going to be alright. It didn’t matter what Metatron had done. It didn’t matter what Crowley was capable of. None of it mattered. The only thing Aziraphale cared about was he had Crowley back in his life. Hopefully for more than the next few moments.

To his relief, Crowley stopped. He turned around. The confident, emotionless mask had fallen to reveal a man overcome with guilt and sorrow. Tears streaked down his face, amber gaze unable to meet Aziraphale’s.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed, shoulders sagging in defeat. “Aziraphale, I’m so sorry. I never meant – “

Aziraphale cut him off, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms firmly around Crowley’s shoulders, drawing him close. Bringing him home.

“There’s no need to apologize, my dear.” Aziraphale hoped Crowley heard his words and understood how truly amazing Aziraphale thought he was. “What you did tonight was very brave.”

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulders, hands reaching up to grasp at his back. His whole body was shaking, arms tightening around Aziraphale’s form. Clinging to Aziraphale like a life vest in the midst of a vast ocean storm.

“It was cruel,” he all but sobbed, the moisture of his tears soaking through Aziraphale’s suit in an instant. “I forced all those people – “

Aziraphale cut him off again, not willing to let Crowley speak ill about himself for a moment longer. He slipped his finger under Crowley’s chin, forcing his gaze up, meeting him with a gentle smile.

“You uncovered the truth,” Aziraphale argued. “You stopped us all from fighting, from hurting each other or worse. You’re a hero, Crowley.”

Crowley stiffened in his arm. “You don’t – you don’t hate me?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Of course not, dearest.” His heart leapt into his throat as his next words bubbled to the surface. “Crowley, I love you.”

More tears poured down Crowley’s face. Aziraphale’s heart went out to him. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been to do what Crowley had just done. How many terrible memories it must have drug to the surface.

He took a step back, wiping the tears from his face as quickly as he could manage. “You shouldn’t.”

Aziraphale frowned. “But I do.” What was Crowley talking about? Why was he pulling away? “Crowley, I am so sorry for everything I said. It was terrible of me to jump to such conclusions about you and the others, and I feel absolutely awful about it. Can you ever forgive me?”

Crowley shook his head and Aziraphale thought he truly meant he couldn’t forgive what Aziraphale had done. Then, without explanation, he took out the flash drive from his pocket and handed it to Aziraphale.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he assured Aziraphale, eyes flickering to the ground. “You should take this. You can get it to the people who need it most – who can help reveal the truth once and for all.” Crowley fell silent again as Aziraphale took it from him, not understanding what was happening. He’d apologized – told Crowley he loved him. Crowley had said there was nothing to forgive. So why did he look as if he were about to bolt at any minute?

“Wont you stay?” Aziraphale asked, reaching a hand down to gently encircle Crowley’s wrist. He felt the hand shift beneath him, moving to interlock their fingers for a moment as, finally, Crowley looked back up to meet his gaze.

“Aziraphale,” he started with a deep sigh, a sudden calmness coming over him. “I’m no good for you. I was a fool to think I ever could be. You saw what I did in there. I’m a monster. You’d be better off if you just forgot all about me.”

His heart stopped beating. No. Crowley couldn’t be serious – that couldn’t be what he wanted. What he planned to do. It would never work. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine it.

“As soon as I’m done speaking,” he began, gazing down at Aziraphale’s face. “Remain still, close your eyes and count to ten. After you reach ten, open them again and forget all about me. Forget me and be happy, Angel. You deserve it. You deserve everything I could never give you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes close on their own the moment Crowley stopped talking. Panic began to take hold as his mind began to count the seconds as they ticked by, one by one. Counting down to a worse tragedy than he ever could have imagined.

One. Two. Three.

Crowley’s hand left his and Aziraphale tried to chase it down, but he was rooted to the spot. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Crowley loved Aziraphale and Aziraphale loved Crowley. They were meant to be together. How could Crowley ever think Aziraphale would forget him?

“Crowley, please don’t do this!” Tears flowed from his eyes as Aziraphale struggled against the invisible force holding him there. “Don’t run away, please. I can’t bear to lose you. Not again!”

Four. Five. Six. Seven.

“Please!” He tried again, hoping to somehow appeal to the part of Crowley that Aziraphale knew still cared for him. “Please, Crowley. You’re all I have. You are the most important person in my life. I love you more than I ever thought I could love another person. Don’t push me away now, when I’ve finally found you again.”

“Please don’t make me forget.” He couldn’t bear it. Surely, he would wither away without the memory of Crowley. The warmth in his hazel eyes. The familiar creases of his smile. The way he melted into Aziraphale’s embrace and kissed him so gently and so lovingly, it took his breath away. Without those memories, what would be left of him? How could he ever hope to be happy again?

Eight. Nine. Ten.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and found himself completely alone.

Chapter Text

“And you’re sure about all this?” Anathema asked, the distant sound of the approaching train finally reaching their ears. “This is what you want?”

Crowley glanced down the tracks, trying to see if he could see anything coming around the corner. “I’m sure.” He wasn’t, but there wasn’t much to be done about that, was there? “This is for the best.”

Anathema frowned, giving him a look that very much said she knew exactly why he was leaving, and she wasn’t convinced it was for the reasons he claimed.

What are you going to do, sir? Minion had come along for the ride, tucked safely underneath Anathema’s arm. Are you ever coming back?

“I’ll come back in a little while,” Crowley assured him, reaching over with his free hand to pat the topmost leaf on Minion’s head. “To deal with the house and all. And to come get you, if you want.”

What should I do, in the meantime? Crowley had come straight home after the events of the previous night to pack a bag and buy his train ticket. He’d filled Minion in on everything that happened – both the good and the bad. Crowley knew the second he’d opened his mouth and unleashed his powers that he would have to leave. Not only to escape the guilt threatening to swallow him whole, but also as a precautionary measure to protect himself. Those cameras in Metatron’s office had captured everything that had happened, and Crowley was thankful for that. He wanted Beelzebub and Archangel and the others to have every shred of evidence they needed to make sure Metatron was properly dealt with. But that didn’t mean the authorities wouldn’t come after him, too, once they saw evidence of what he could do.

Crowley was dangerous. He’d known that from the moment he’d told his mother to leave him alone and she’d walked out of his life and never came back. If he wasn’t careful with his words, he could force people to do anything he wanted them to do. It was a horrible thing and each time he used it, a little piece of himself shriveled away. Now that his secret was out, if he were caught, they would be able to lock him away for good. He wouldn’t be able to escape this time. So it was about time The Serpent disappeared. And Crowley? Well, the only reason he’d even want to stay in the city would be for Aziraphale. And he’d burned that bridge in glorious colors last night, convinced that he would only hurt Aziraphale more if he allowed the hero to remain anywhere near him.

“You could always go talk to Beelzebub,” he offered up a weak smile. “I can’t say I know what they’re going to do with Metatron gone, but I’m sure they could find a place for you, if you wanted.”

Crowley met Anathema’s gaze and she smiled back. Like his, it didn’t reach her eyes.

You really think so? Crowley nearly shed a tear at Minion’s obvious joy. I don’t know how good a hero I’d be. I’ve never done anything heroic before.

“Sure you have,” Crowley argued as Anathema shifted Minion’s weight from one hand to the other. They’d all thought it would be a little less conspicuous for Anathema to transport him here, rather than use the Segway or mech suit. “You helped Seraphim and I rescue that kid. That should be more than enough for any sort of interview they might want.”

Minion’s leaves lifted ever so slightly, almost as if he were beaming up at the both of them. I wonder if they’d let me use the mech suit. I could spice it up a little! Make it look more heroic. Do you think I should add a cape? Or would that get in the way of my jet pack?

Crowley smiled, keeping his answers to himself. Though Minion was asking questions out loud, Crowley knew he wasn’t really looking for any answers. Not from him, at any rate. Crowley’s days of villainy were behind him now. It was time for a fresh start.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Anathema murmured as she stepped forward to give him one last hug. Crowley smiled into her shoulder as he felt Minion’s roots sneaking around his waist, up underneath his coat where they wouldn’t be so easily spotted.

“You know why I do.” Tears pricked at Crowley’s eyes, and he closed his eyes to force them away. He knew this goodbye wasn’t forever. Anathema had made it very clear that there was nothing in this world or on any other that would keep her from being a part of his life. But after today, everything was going to be different. No more dinners together on weeknights. No more staying up late to watch their favorite movies. Sure, Crowley would visit sometimes, and he would invite Anathema and Newton and Minion over to his new place whenever he got settled. But things would never be the same. How could they? After what he’d done.

“Do I?”

Crowley averted his gaze as he took a step back. Anathema had also made it very clear that she did not approve of his running away. He’d broken down in her arms the second he’d gotten home the previous night, and she’d held him all the while, telling him everything was going to be alright. That things weren’t too far gone to be fixed. She believed if Crowley found Aziraphale, his powers could reverse the damage he’d done. When he’d admitted to her he didn’t want to, she had grown still. It was a quiet sort of anger – more disappointment than actual rage, and it cut Crowley deep. Anathema thought he was making a mistake, and yet she was still here to see him off, to allow Minion to say his goodbyes, and to make sure Crowley knew he wasn’t alone, even after everything.

Anathema sighed a deep sigh and reached down to hand him his suitcase. “Go on then,” she glanced off toward the train as the doors swung open. “Don’t forget to call when you get there.”

“I will,” he promised, and he meant it. As awful as he felt about himself and everything that had happened, and as disappointed as she was in him, Crowley knew he would never make Anathema worry about him unnecessarily. If she wanted him to call – if she wanted to continue to be his friend – he would let her, without question.

With one final look, Crowley boarded the train, placing his single suitcase above the nearest empty seat he found. He hadn’t brought much with him on this trip. Since Crowley didn’t exactly know where he was going, he figured it would be easier to retrieve the rest of his things later, once he’d found someplace to stay.

Crowley had chosen a seat by the window on the side of the train facing away from the platform. He wanted to put the city behind him as quickly as possible and, deep down, Crowley knew if he looked out that window and saw Anathema’s sad expression, he’d fall to pieces surrounded by a bunch of strangers.

This was for the best, Crowley tried to remind himself. He’d made the right decision. He couldn’t stay here, not after he’d done. Not after what he’d learned. It had been a shock to discover the heroes and villains had all been created from Myosotis’ original power. Crowley couldn’t even imagine what the others must be thinking now, to know that their whole lives had been a sham. But him? Crowley hadn’t been on their list. Metatron hadn’t known he’d had powers, which meant he was just like Myosotis. A freak of nature. Destined to hurt the people he cared about and forever be alone.

Once again, tears pricked at Crowley’s eyes and he pushed them away. What he wouldn’t give to turn the clock back. To have none of this be real. To just be normal, for once in his life. How might have things turned out if superpowers had stayed a fantasy? Would his mother have stayed? Would he and Aziraphale have remained happy?

He wished for it to be true, harder than he’d wished for anything else in his entire life.

“Is this seat taken?”

Crowley looked up, heart nearly leaping out of his chest as he found himself face to face with Aziraphale. The man was dressed in a tan suit, with a baby blue dress shirt and a blue tartan bow tie. On any other man, the attire would look absolutely ridiculous, but on Aziraphale? Crowley had never seen another man look so handsome.

“Oh,” Crowley looked down at the seat, then up to glance around the train. The seats had started to fill quickly as he’d been stuck in his own thoughts. Upon seeing Aziraphale, Crowley had been so sure his powers had failed – that Aziraphale was here to talk some sense into him. But there didn’t appear to be any recognition in his eyes, or emotion on his face other than the pleasant countenance that followed the man wherever he went. “Of course. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he said, sitting down quietly beside him. Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin as Aziraphale’s shoulder brushed up against his.

What was he going to do? Did he just make polite conversation until Aziraphale’s stop arrived? It was clear Aziraphale didn’t know who he was – which was exactly what Crowley had intended. How could he continue the interaction knowing everything he knew, feeling all the feelings he felt, when Aziraphale knew nothing. It felt dishonest, it felt wrong.

“Where are you off to?” Aziraphale asked as the whistles began to blow, signaling they were moments away from setting off on their way.

“Oh, uh,” Crowley looked down at his ticket, forgetting completely where he was going. As far away as he could wasn’t exactly a helpful response. “End of the line, it looks like.”

“Heavens, that’s a long way. Do you have family out there in the country?”

Crowley bit the inside of his lip. What did he say? He couldn’t very well tell Aziraphale the truth – that he was running away from a broken heart. But he’d spent the whole time he’d known the man lying to him. He didn’t want to do that anymore, even if Aziraphale didn’t remember their past.

“No, no family.” Crowley decided the best thing he could do would be to turn the question around. “What about you?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered away for a fraction of a second, a telltale sign that he was nervous. Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. Whatever did Aziraphale have to be nervous about? His mind drifted back to the first interaction they’d had and how he’d turned into a complete idiot trying to impress Aziraphale. Had the other man been this nervous back then? “I’m off to visit a dear friend of mine.”

“That’s nice.” This was absolute torture. Out of all the possible days he could have chosen to leave town, out of all the possible trains he could have chosen, why had Aziraphale picked this one? How was he meant to spend the entire afternoon having polite conversation with the love of his life when Aziraphale had no idea who he was.

Maybe this was what he deserved, after everything he’d done. He hadn’t been lying the previous night when he claimed to be a monster. What kind of person could do the things he could do? What kind of person did the things he’d done? He’d stolen Aziraphale’s memories, for someone’s sake. Erased them like they’d meant nothing. And yes, he had done it because he truly believed Aziraphale would be better off without him, but what had given him that right?

This was the universe getting back at him. There was no other way to explain this coincidence, and there was nothing else Crowley could do except sit here and take it. Make small talk and smile politely at the man who’d captured his very soul for likely the rest of eternity.

“Well,” Aziraphale started with a bright smile that tore Crowley’s already shattered heart apart. “I imagine if we are going to be seat mates for the next few hours, we might as well get to know each other a bit. Is there a name you’d prefer I call you?”

Crowley shifted back in his seat as the train blew its final whistle and pulled out of the station. “Erm, yeah. It’s Anthony. Or Crowley. Anthony Crowley. You can call me whichever you like.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose, soft crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes that Crowley desperately wished he could lean in and kiss. Their knees brushed as the other man turned to face him a bit better and Crowley had to bite back a whimper. This was his own personal hell, and yet there was a part of him that never wanted Aziraphale to leave. That believed these tentative, half-lived moments were better than not having Aziraphale in his life at all.

He’d never be able to start over, not with the knowledge he’d be lying to Aziraphale every time they interacted with each other. If only there were a way to make himself forget too. To orchestrate them meeting again. Crowley knew in his heart if they could somehow have a new start, he’d fall for Aziraphale just as hard. Aziraphale was the only one for Crowley and he’d gone and ruined things for good.

“Do you have a preference?”

Did it matter? Crowley forced a smile, conscious about the fact that it didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to smile for real again. “My friends call me Crowley.”

Aziraphale beamed and Crowley felt like he was being stabbed in the chest. “Then Crowley it is. Although, I will admit, Anthony is a lovely name.”

Crowley blinked. Was Aziraphale flirting with him? What was he supposed to do about that? He couldn’t very well flirt back. It would be a complete and total lie. But he couldn’t very well ignore Aziraphale either.

“What about you?” He asked, knowing it was the next logical step in the conversation. In the window across from him, Crowley could see the city rushing by, giving way to flat farmlands and the forests beyond. Soon enough, it would be gone for good and they’d reach Aziraphale’s stop and Crowley would say goodbye and watch, again, as Aziraphale walked out of his life forever.

“Well,” Aziraphale started, folding his hands gently on his lap as he faced Crowley with a soft smile. “My God-given name is Aziraphale, but I’ve grown partial to the nickname ‘Angel’. Given to me by a very special friend of mine.”

Crowley forced another smile, unable to find the words to say. He wasn’t going to survive this. How long had he been on the train with Aziraphale? Five minutes? Ten? He was one more sentence away from falling to pieces, he just knew it.

Aziraphale leveled his gaze on Crowley, looking at him like he was expecting some sort of response. Which made no sense, of course. Why would Crowley react in any special way to Aziraphale revealing his name? It wasn’t as if Crowley was supposed to know it.

“A very dear friend,” Aziraphale continued when Crowley said nothing in response. “Whom I love more than life itself.”

Another smile he didn’t mean. “Well, that sounds great. For you, I mean.” Tears rose again and Crowley cursed himself. Why did he have to be so damn weak? “Erm…congratulations, I suppose.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s blue eyes were looking at him so intensely, Crowley thought he just might faint. He almost did the moment Aziraphale’s arm shifted forward and his hand came to rest directly over top of his own.

Oh. Crowley looked up, eyes wide as he finally allowed himself to see the recognition and love shining in the depths of those crystal blue eyes. Oh. How could he have possibly missed this?

“How -?” He didn’t understand. Crowley had told Aziraphale to forget him. He’d chosen his words so carefully, so there would be no way it wouldn’t hold. How had he done it? And more importantly, how the hell was Aziraphale here talking to him? After what he’d done. “I don’t understand.”

Aziraphale’s hand squeezed gently against Crowley’s and the man finally felt tears overflow against his cheeks. “What made you think there could be a universe where I would forget you and ever be happy?”

A choked back sob escaped Crowley’s lips and Aziraphale was suddenly tugging him closer, pulling him in and wrapping his strong arms around Crowley’s lithe form. His hands came to rest on the other man’s chest, fists grabbing onto his shirt as he began to tremble with emotion. Aziraphale was here. Aziraphale was holding him. Stroking his hair. Whispering to him that everything was going to be alright.

Aziraphale remembered. Aziraphale still loved him.

“I am so sorry,” he gasped and Aziraphale pulled back, silencing him with a palm against his cheek.

“There will be none of that, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, conscious they weren’t alone. Not yet, anyway. “Even though I disagree vehemently with your reasoning, I understand why you made the choice you did. I am not here to make you feel guilty, but to ask you a very important question. Or, rather, a series of questions, if you will allow it.”

Crowley leaned into the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand, nodding his head to show that he did allow it. He’d allow Aziraphale to ask him anything in the world, if he wanted. Whatever he wanted, Crowley would give it to him.

“I wanted to ask you if it were possible for us to try again,” Aziraphale breathed, brushing his thumb across Crowley’s cheek, making him shiver in pleasure. “I don’t want us to start over – the experiences and memories we have brought us both here and I believe those are worth remembering, the good and the bad. But I would very much like us to try again properly. If you’d like. If you want me. No more secrets. No more lies. From either of us. What do you think about that?”

Crowley’s heart felt as if it were about to burst. He leaned forward, resting his head against Aziraphale’s as he breathed in the familiar scent he’d been missing for weeks. “Of course I want you, Angel. I never stopped.”

“Oh, excellent,” Aziraphale smiled and for the first time in weeks, the sight of it made Crowley genuinely happy. “I was hoping you might say that.”

Crowley laughed. “Did you really think I might not?”

Aziraphale shrugged, eyes flickering down for just a moment. “I feared that might be the case. Not because you didn’t love me – I know you do – but because of all we’ve been through. You and I both have just had our lives turned upside down. I recognize you carry a lot of pain and guilt with you. Things that I hope, in time, we can work through together. But I feared you may not want that. That you may not be ready.”

“I want to be,” Crowley admitted, truthfully. “Ready, I mean. I want to be better. For you.”

Aziraphale smiled again. “You already are.”

They sat there for a moment longer, foreheads pressed together, simply taking comfort in each other’s presence. Crowley’s mind was completely frazzled. He couldn’t believe any of this was real, and yet, it felt more real than all the days since Christmas put together. Life felt more real with Aziraphale as a part of it, and if the hero thought Crowley was worth it, despite all he’d done, who was he to turn Aziraphale away?

“Did you have another question?” Crowley asked, pulling away so he could look Aziraphale in his eyes. He wanted to lean in and kiss the other man, but was worried they’d already said too much in such a public setting. “You mentioned before you had more than one.”

Aziraphale smiled again, his hand sliding away from Crowley’s face as it shifted to take his hand once more.

“Will you let me take you home?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his response, despite what was waiting for Crowley there. With Aziraphale at his side, he felt like he could suddenly face anything. With Aziraphale at his side, there was nothing left for him to fear.

Without another word, Aziraphale stood up and tugged Crowley along with him. He had no idea where they might be going, with the next train stop nearly half an hour away still, but Crowley didn’t protest. He’d follow Aziraphale anywhere he wanted to go, for the rest of forever if he asked.

Step by step, they made their way to the back of the car. Crowley’s hand stayed securely in Aziraphale’s, not wishing to be anywhere else.

When they reached the back, Aziraphale stepped to one side, sliding the back door open. A gust of cold air struck Crowley in the face and he squeezed his eyes shut against the shock of it.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

Crowley turned toward the gentle voice, marveling at the way Aziraphale’s gaze made him feel like the most precious treasure in all the world. “Won’t it be dangerous?”

“Trust me,” was his only response. “I won’t let you fall.”

Step by step, Crowley began to climb. Halfway up, he remembered he left his suitcase overtop his seat, but at this point Crowley didn’t care. It was only a handful of shirts and pants – he was gaining so much more, they hardly seemed important.

As Crowley reached the top of the train, frigid winter air striking at his cheeks and buffeting his hair, he felt a strong hand on the side of his waist, steadying him. Seconds later, Aziraphale stood behind him, arms wrapping around him, drawing his close.

“What’s your plan?” Crowley shouted against the wind. “Are we going to jump?”

Aziraphale leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Crowley’s cheek before replying. “You are going to hang on. I am going to fly.”

Before Crowley could utter a word in protest, he found his legs being knocked out from under him. One arm cradling his knees, the other at the small of his back, Aziraphale lifted off into the air, a pair of dazzling white wings manifesting behind him, carrying them up into the air.

Reflexively, Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck in the same way he had when Principality had caught him tumbling from the top of the convention center. The wind was cold and stung his exposed skin, but for the first time in his life, Crowley didn’t care. He was in the arms of the man he loved, being flown high above the clouds like he might in a dream. Heart thudding in his chest, the man looked up, eyes fixing themselves on Aziraphale’s face as he tried to convince himself that this was really real. That it wasn’t a dream.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Aziraphale asked as his wings extended outward and a gust of wind blew them upward, high enough to finally see their home on the horizon.

"I meant it when I said it, you know,” Crowley found himself saying, holding on tighter as he rested his forehead against the side of Aziraphale’s face, his lips resting right up against the other man’s ear. “You really are an Angel.”

He could feel Aziraphale grinning beside him. “If I am an angel, then you are my beacon. Guiding me home in the darkness. The warmth in my winter. The color in my life when everything else is black and white.”

Crowley’s face began to burn. He buried it in Aziraphale’s neck, placing a soft kiss on the skin under his jaw. “You are incorrigible.”

Aziraphale laughed, holding him just a bit tighter as he banked slightly to one side, the motion causing Crowley’s stomach to tumble just as much as his proximity alone.

“Kiss me?”

It was a request, just as much as an invitation, and Crowley found he couldn’t have resisted, even if he’d wanted to. Luckily, nothing stood between them and the city beyond, because once Crowley’s lips met Aziraphale’s, he knew it would be a long time before he allowed them to be parted again. It didn’t matter where they were – sitting on the couch in the back of Aziraphale’s bookshop, standing by a large oak tree underneath the stars. Looking out the window at the freshly fallen snow, or flying a thousand feet above the ground. As long as Crowley was here in Aziraphale’s arms, he was content.

As long as Crowley was here in Aziraphale’s arms, he was home.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale awoke to find his bed empty. A month prior, this would have been of little consequence. Aziraphale’s bed was always empty, apart from himself. At least, it had been until the day he’d flown Crowley back home to the city.

Now, apart from the time he spent at Host Tower helping Archangel and Beelzebub in their reorganization efforts, Crowley was always by his side. To wake up in the early hours of the morning and not feel the other man’s body beside him - not hear his gentle snoring filling the space of the tiny, cluttered bedroom - it was worrisome, to say the least.

“Crowley?” he asked, voice still laden with sleep. Aziraphale rolled over, reaching his arm around to the other side. Perhaps Crowley was sleeping silently for once and Aziraphale had just missed him.

His hands came into contact with cool, empty sheets and Aziraphale’s heartbeat spiked. Where could Crowley have gone? He never got up this early. Had something happened? Had he left in the middle of the night? Surely, if something had come up, Crowley would have told Aziraphale. And the thought of him leaving was impossible. Crowley wouldn't leave without telling Aziraphale. Not again. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked again, voice louder this time. He sat up, tossing the covers to one side as his bare feet made contact with the cold floor below. A crash sounded on the other side of the door and the man was on his feet in an instant. He launched himself across the room and wrenched open the door, o nly to find himself face to face with his partner, still clad in his pajamas, completely covered from his chest all the way down to his bare toes in flour.

“I am so sorry,” Crowley whispered, as if keeping his voice low would somehow erase the fact he'd already woken Aziraphale up. “I was trying to surprise you.”

“I see,” Aziraphale struggled to hold back a laugh. He took a step into the room, the first rays of morning light filtering in through the nearby window. “I’m as much a fan of wintertime snow as any other man, but wouldn’t it be more enjoyable to experience it outside?”

Crowley frowned. “I didn’t expect you to be up for another hour. Your voice startled me and everything in the bowl sort of...slipped out.”

This time, Aziraphale did laugh. He placed his palm gently against Crowley’s cheek, brushing his thumb across the stubbly skin to wipe some of the flour away. “I’m teasing, love. It’s very thoughtful of you to surprise me with breakfast.” His eyes danced around the room. “Pancakes, I’m assuming?”

Crowley nodded his head, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “I even got a bag of those miniature chocolate chips you like so much.”

Aziraphale’s mouth watered. It sounded truly delicious. “What’s the special occasion?” He shifted away from Crowley and headed to the pantry where a broom and dust pan would be waiting for him. There wasn’t much to do about Crowley’s clothing, but Aziraphale could at least help clean up the rest of the kitchen.

Placing the now-empty bowl down gently by the sink, Crowley moved to help, taking the pan from Aziraphale’s hand without a word before kneeling down. “It’s a ‘Happy Retirement’ breakfast. I’m still planning on making it, just so you know.” He looked up and Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat when their eyes met. “You deserve an entire feast in celebration for all you’ve done.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I think Seraphim may be organizing something in my honor later this week. So you needn’t worry about that.”

Crowley rolled his eyes playfully. “Yes, but today is your first official day as a normal citizen. It should be cause for celebration - one that you can actively enjoy in the safety and comfort of your own house. As you . Not Principality." He paused, voice growing just a bit softer. "One we can celebrate together.”

The unspoken words hung in the air around them and Aziraphale tried not to let them get to him. Of course Sarah would come up with something wonderful to send him off, but he and Crowley both knew Aziraphale would be attending that event alone. At Aziraphale’s request, Beelzebub and Archangel had purged The Host’s database of all records of Crowley’s identity, but there was no getting around that tape of Metatron’s confession. In order for justice to be served, The Serpent’s secret had to be revealed.

Aziraphale and Crowley had talked a long time about what to do. Ultimately, it had been an easy decision. Together, they would leave their super-identities behind and finally be able to focus their full attention on this next chapter in their lives. This chapter they would be starting together.

“Are you going to miss it?”

Without hesitation, Aziraphale shook his head. He waited patiently as Crowley moved to toss the spilled flour away before reaching out to rest his hand lightly on Crowley’s wrist, tugging him closer. 

“I was having doubts about my career as a hero long before all of this started.” Once again, he lifted a hand to cup the side of Crowley’s face, heart skipping a beat at the soft smile greeting him there. “And I have full confidence Beelzebub and Archangel will be able to handle things from now on.”

“Besides,” he teased, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “I have to say, I’m thoroughly impressed with the new hero they’ve hired to replace me. Plantman is going to go far.”

Crowley groaned, leaning into Aziraphale’s touch. “ Please tell me that isn’t the name he’s actually going with.”

Aziraphale laughed, his heart filling with joy. Unable to hold himself back, the man leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s as his eyes fluttered closed instinctively. Being here, with Crowley, was the greatest blessing he ever could have asked for. And now, with his retirement from The Host officially underway, he finally had the opportunity to fully enjoy this beautiful thing blossoming between them.

“He has a whole list he plans to test out before making his official announcement. Don’t you worry. There’s plenty more atrocious names where that came from.”

Crowley smiled. “Of course he does.”

There was a moment of hesitation there, so brief, Aziraphale almost missed it. His stomach twisted unpleasantly and subconsciously, he began to brush his thumb gently against Crowley’s cheek.

I don’t necessarily have the best track record with things like this. I didn’t want to presume.

The memory hit him like a gale of wind, causing his heart to ache. While things with Crowley had been going extremely well since they’d reunited, Aziraphale wasn’t blind enough to miss the obvious issues they were still dealing with. After everything that had happened between, and everything Crowley had spent his entire adult life believing about himself, it was no surprise he had his doubts. Aziraphale did too, but he also knew how much they loved each other, and how hard they were willing to work at it, whenever things got tough.

Slowly, Aziraphale leaned in, closing the distance between them. The kiss was soft, gentle, and the sound of Crowley’s quick exhale of breath brought a sense of relief to Aziraphale’s entire being.

“No need to fret, my dear,” he murmured, echoing the words he’d said all those months ago. “Things like this will always be wanted by me.”

Tears pricked at Crowley’s eyes and he surged forward for another kiss as Aziraphale wrapped his arms firmly around the other man’s waist. He knew such an action would leave him a powdery mess as well, but Aziraphale didn’t care. They could always clean things up later. What mattered now was making sure Crowley knew he was safe. Here. In Aziraphale's arms.

Eventually, Crowley took a step back, breaking away from Aziraphale’s embrace to grab two glasses from the countertop. He’d already filled them three quarters of the way full with champagne, likely meant to go along with the breakfast he hadn’t quite finished making.

Aziraphale took his glass eagerly, grinning as he looked down at himself. The flour residue didn’t show up quite as obviously on his tartan patterned pajamas, but he and Crowley looked enough a mess to make his heart soar. He couldn’t remember the last time this apartment had felt so much like home.

Crowley raised his glass. “To a wonderful breakfast, once I finish making it,” he began, smiling widely over at Aziraphale. “For the most wonderful man I have ever met. To celebrate his heroic career and to wish him a long, happy, normal life filled with all the joy and contentment and love he could ever wish for.”

Aziraphale lifted his glass, knocking it gently with Crowley’s before bringing it up to his lips, blue eyes never once leaving Crowley’s face.

It was the end of an era. The start of something brand new. And as much as Aziraphale didn’t enjoy change, he found that he was looking forward to this new chapter more than he ever thought possible.

“To...being normal.”

Chapter Text

A warm hello to anyone still subscribed to this fic, or who is stumbling across it for the first time. I know it has been literal years since this one was completed or since many of you have heard from me. The past few years have not been easy, and both my mental health and enthusiasm for writing took a turn for the worse. I won't go into all the details here, but just know that I missed writing for you all terribly, even if I couldn't bring myself to work on much.

However, you all didn't give up on me. I've read so many warm and heartfelt comments on this story and many of my others over the past two years and even though I wasn't in a place where I could continue creating, they reminded me how much my works are appreciated and brightened my days when I was in a rather dark place.

I'm doing a lot better now and have finally felt the spark of creativity again. This sequel has been living in my mind all this time and I finally feel like I'm in a place where I can do it justice. The entire thing is plotted out, and I plan to post as I go. With a full-time job and an almost 5 month old baby, I may not have as much time to write as I used to. I can't promise you regular updates, though I will try my best to set aside time to work on this project as much as I can. What I can say is, if you stick with me, I would be honored to bring you all on another adventure with these characters I've grown to love so much.

Thank you to all who have believed in me over the years. This one is for you <3 Happy Reading!

https://archiveofourown.info/works/56329237