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Chapter Text

Crowley’s breath was strained with effort, harsh and rasping, his wings aching in every sinew as he pushed to his very limits to get away. At least his superior night vision meant night flying wasn’t as difficult for him as it was for most other demons, or angels for that matter, but in the darkness, obstacles like huge trees could loom out of nowhere, and, at Crowley’s speed, even a brief snag on a branch could catapult him to the ground quicker than he could react. He’d been lucky not to crash at least once already over woodland, recovering with the flick of a wing sending him darting sideways between the trunks before he could regain height again. 

He had a tiny head start but the demons behind him were closing in fast. Crowley was struggling to think as he flew, wracking his brain for something that could either get him out of danger, or at least buy him time. He’d been ducking and dodging for hours now, using every trick he knew to keep them on his tail and draw them along without letting them catch him, but he couldn’t keep it up forever. He needed a solution. 

Then about a quarter of a mile away he spotted it - a red flashing light in the distance. It might just work. He had millennia of experience topside, and knew humans and their technology inside out. The demons chasing him didn’t. He hoped they’d be stupid enough not to know what they were dealing with. 

He made a beeline for the ground, landing in the field well short of where the red light flashed continually high up in the air, and ran the remainder of the distance on foot, until he reached a thick metal door, firmly locked against intruders. A locked door had never stopped Crowley before however, and it wasn’t going to stop him now. While he could have picked it manually, first, that’d have eaten up valuable seconds, but he also needed the padlock to be shut again after him, so that meant a quick miracle instead to unlock it, followed by a second once he was inside, to replace, and relock it again on the outside. He stepped inside.

And then he looked up. 

He supposed he’d always imagined there’d be stairs inside one of these, like a lighthouse - some huge spiral staircase, but no. It was one long - very long - ladder. No chance of flying in the narrow confines of the tower, so his wings would get a rest, and he tucked them away on another plane of reality. His legs, however, were about to get some real punishment.

Crowley sighed, and began to climb the inside of the wind turbine. 

By the time he got to the top, Crowley’s legs were shaking with exertion, burning with pain, and he collapsed into the narrow confines of the nacelle, by the constant thrum and whine of the turbine machinery, trying to get his breath back for a moment. He knew he didn’t have long though, and his eyes were already darting about searching for the hatch to the top of the pod that housed the machinery. He found it, and scrambled to his feet to unlock it, and cautiously poked his head out. 

The blades were spinning, terrifyingly fast at this close proximity, and just as terrifyingly enormous. Nothing from the ground prepared you for quite how big each blade was in reality. This one wasn’t even the largest he’d seen, but still mind bogglingly huge as it was.  Crowley clambered out onto the top, just feet from the spinning blades, but remained crouching, rather than risk standing upright, so that he could hook his fingers into the metal loops on the structure, designed for engineers to hook their safety harnesses to. The blades were illuminated in the darkness only by the regular red flashing warning light meant to alert aircraft of the wind turbine’s presence. Each one caught the red glow in a mesmerising pattern as it whooshed past, the light sliding along the blades in a devilish hypnotic repetition. 

He carefully called forth his wings once more, keeping them folded at first, and only gradually opening them halfway, wary of the strong buffeting winds up here. Even just having them out this close to the turbulence of the blades tugged at his muscles as errant eddies caught on his wings like sails and tried to buffet him around. He gripped tighter and braced his muscles to try to prevent his wings being forced open by the updrafts, which could send him tumbling.  The very danger he was aware of was the same one he hoped that the demons chasing him wouldn’t be. His wings were open enough only to help make him visible, and to imply he’d landed up here from flying. 

Crowley waited, finding his gaze drifting to the spinning tips of each blade barely visible in the gloom - it was watching the tips that really drove home just how fast each one was moving. He tried not to get distracted, he had to keep his wits about him and be ready. 

(Illustration by Licorne. Can’t see the image? Click here.)

He didn’t have long to wait - they may have smelled him even if they couldn’t see him so well in the dark, and he saw the first change his flightpath to head straight for Crowley, a triumphant look on his face. The second caught on and followed suit. 

They were only half as stupid as Crowley had hoped, and yet still stupid enough as it turned out. They spied the spinning blades between them and their target, and adjusted their course to fly around them to approach Crowley from the back instead, their wings spread wide, battling the turbulent wind as they aimed to come in fast to hit him hard on landing. 

But neither had experienced the unique vortices generated in the turbulence around the top of a modern wind turbine, especially one of this size. The first was abruptly blown down and sideways, crashing hard into the side of the tower top, breaking bones on impact and falling away into the darkness below. The second found himself sucked into the wake of a spinning blade, only to be smashed into by the following one in the blink of an eye. The enormous, uncaring hunk of composite travelling at such speed, pulverised his body in a second, and his remains slid along the leading edge, to be cast off like rags from a slingshot from the tip, hurling what was left of him toward the ground to join his colleague in a bloody mess on the grass far below. 

Crowley sighed in relief, and tucked his wings out of existence again, crawled back into the relative safety of the nacelle, and lay back on the narrow walkway next to the turbine, the chequer plate steel cold against the overheated muscles in his back, uncomfortable and yet welcome in their refreshing chill. He realised he was still shaking. His heart was hammering in his chest, and every muscle was quivering from a combination of exertion and acute stress. 

He’d have to climb down and get away before any humans turned up, but for now, for a short time at least, he could just lie here, and recollect his thoughts, let the adrenaline dissipate away. 

After his breathing was a little more under control, Crowley stood, albeit still shakily, to face the long descent. He got to the bottom and shoved at the door in confusion for a good couple of seconds before remembering he’d locked himself in, as another layer of deception to hopefully make his pursuers think he’d flown to the top, thus encouraging them to do the same, if they’d approached from ground level at least. He snapped his fingers to remove the padlock again, and re-attached it once more after he closed the door behind him. 

Scattered around several metres away (and ranging much further than that) were the shredded remains of the other two demons. Crowley briefly wondered if he should bother doing anything about the corpses, then realised that he had neither the energy, resources, nor the inclination to have anything to do with it. Let Hell deal with any cleanup they wanted to do. They could either remove the evidence themselves, or let humans find suspiciously non-human remains, have their little freakout, and then Hell could deal with whatever fallout that entailed as well. It wasn’t his problem to deal with. 

He walked some distance clear before taking to the sky once more, and then only far enough, with his exhausted body, to get to a likely looking hotel several miles away, where he checked into the first available room, face-planted on the bed, and slept for the next 48 hours straight. 

Chapter Text

As Crowley was unlocking his hotel room door, Aziraphale was starting to get stressed. He paced the bookshop anxiously. Crowley should have been here several hours ago, but there wasn’t a sign of him. Not even a phone call. He’d tried phoning the flat but there’d been no reply. He’d tried Crowley’s mobile, and that just rang and rang. 

It was ringing right now… from the depths of a pile of muddy leaves in woodland hundreds of miles away, under what had been Crowley’s manic flightpath while evading the pursuing demons on his tail. He never even noticed it falling from his pocket. Unfortunately the only ears to hear it belonged to a small wood mouse, who was far too busy evading the attentions of a barn owl to investigate the strange new technology in his territory, although later on a fox did pick it up, chewed it a little, then dropped it a puddle when it lost interest.

Aziraphale fretted. 

Earlier that day…

Crowley had begun the day on cloud nine. In their post-Armageddon lives, everything now seemed possible. He’d arranged to head over to Aziraphale’s that evening; they'd planned to walk down the street for dinner at a new restaurant in Soho. So he’d spent the day relaxing, and decided to take a leaf out of Aziraphale’s book and actually buy some snazzy new clothes for once, instead of merely miracling them into existence as he usually did. 

Aziraphale had chided him for simply copying designers’ latest clothing himself instead of purchasing it, so he’d headed down Savile Row to pick up a new suit he’d been measured up for a few months previously. Quality took time. They had plenty of that now.

It felt good. It fitted as perfectly as when he miracled his own suits up - in fact, better. He hadn’t worn real clothing in so long that he hadn’t noticed all the invisible little details that real tailors put into their work to make the fit absolutely unique to each client, or how different it felt when that workmanship hugged your body just right. 

Crowley turned and studied himself in the mirrors of the fitting room with a faint smile. He was thinking of how young Adam had asked them, after things had settled down, why his and Aziraphale’s jackets weren’t all torn up after their wings had been out. Trust the kid to ask that kind of question out of all the things that he could have asked after that day. True, he had asked others as well, and angel and demon had felt obliged to supply some answers on what had led up to Armageddon. His question about the wings, though had made Crowley laugh, and Aziraphale had gently explained that wings exist on another plane of reality, so when they called them forth, a bit of our reality, namely whichever layers of clothing happened to be directly in the way, simply made way at a molecular level, and afterwards returned to their original state undisturbed. 

Just as well, really - Crowley definitely wouldn’t want to ruin a suit as nice as this. He was beginning to understand what Aziraphale saw in fine tailoring. He paid up and headed off to Soho Wine Supply just off Tottenham Court Road. He wanted to pick up something extra nice to take with him. 

Nights were drawing in earlier this time of year, with a distinct autumnal chill in the air, and it was already dark by the time Crowley stepped from the vintner’s, having selected a particularly nice looking and exceptionally pricy bottle of wine. The moment he left the shop however, his senses immediately leapt to high alert as he tasted an alarming scent on the air. He flicked his tongue between his lips to place it better, heart rate already spiking in fear. 

Demons. Fresh from Hell, still with the stench of brimstone clinging to them. 

He spun around trying to place the direction of the scent frantically. He’d be able to do it with pinpoint precision if he were able to take his serpent form, but that wasn’t an option right here on the street. He did his best, casting about a little until he discerned a subtle increase in potency of the scent from one direction more than any other, and headed off toward it cautiously, afraid of what, or who, he might find. 

He followed his nose down the street, the stench increasing and building as he got closer, leading him toward Soho Square Gardens. He slowed. He could tell now there were two individuals, each with a slightly different scent profile - coming together at an innocuous public area just as he and Aziraphale used to so many times over the centuries - it spoke of something suspicious. Why would two demons be meeting up here in the human world, especially so close to Aziraphale? 

Crowley had to get closer, without being seen. He pondered his options for a moment, before deciding to skirt away slightly, taking a side road to bring him to the other end of the tiny park, so he could approach from an angle that would leave him some cover. He approached from the North, fortunately the breeze blowing from them to him, also blew his own scent away from them, although their sense of smell was nowhere near as advanced as his own.  He was expecting to find them seated on the benches at the South end, and as he peered around the little folly in the middle of the park, he saw he was right. 

Angels and demons unfamiliar with being on Earth tended to make the same mistakes - clothing either out of date, out of geographical area, both, or a hilarious combination of several time periods and geographical locations mashed together. On at least one occasion, Crowley had been sent a messenger from Hell who was dressed in a sarong on his lower half, moon boots, and Georgian period lady’s blouse, topped off with a Bolivian bombín hat. He hadn’t been able to keep a straight face. 

He almost regretted sending corrective memos to try to get Hell’s wardrobe department to get it together, as they had made significant improvement since then. Still - there was still generally something a bit off about demons’ attire, even if you couldn’t always put your finger on it exactly any more. These two stood out like penguins in the Sahara, rather than looking like a pair of perfectly normal humans sitting in a park. 

Although they had the region and time period correct, the demon in charge of earth outfitting had clearly been taking inspiration from some catwalk fashion shows, in theory a commendable approach, except the kind of fashion they’d chosen was at the more ridiculous and extreme end of experimental costuming, rather than the ‘ready to wear’ collections, and peculiar cut-outs and moulded hoops integrated into the jackets made them resemble some kind of speculative live art installation. 

Crowley slunk closer, making the most of any foliage he could spot between them and him to work his way into listening distance. It helped that the demons were sitting with their backs to him, and seemed to lack his astute sense of smell, so were blissfully unaware of his presence. 

The park had been sparsely populated to start with, but now it was emptying fast - the end-of-work-day rush on the streets had abated, and people were getting down to the chaotic business of dealing with various London transport systems in order to get home for dinner as soon as possible, creating a lull in activity in public spaces like this. 

London flowed like that - in ebbs and tides at various times of day and year. Crowley was familiar with the heartbeat of the city, and while the “get home to dinner” lull meant he had less cover from the usual mass of humans, it meant he was better able to sneak closer and overhear what the demons were talking about. The only cover left to him was a large tree. Not perfect, but Crowley was slim and the trunk wasn’t, so it was just enough for him to dart behind it without being seen and get close enough to listen in. One seemed to be a porcupine demon, the creature on his head doing its best impression of a punk hairstyle, and doing a fairly good job of it. The other had the cadaverous stench of a marabou stork,  and was equally as tall and thin.

“... Well it’s not a lot to go on is it? I’ve been asking humans around here for hours. Blonde, pale suit, blue eyes. They’re all saying that’s far too vague if they even answer me at all. I can hardly tell them it’s a fuckin’ angel can I? Besides, how’d they be able to tell? As far as they know he looks like one of them.”

The blood drained from Crowley’s face. His stomach dropped. He gripped onto the bark of the tree trying not to drop to his knees as his legs had suddenly gone weak. They were after Aziraphale. They had to be. Why else would they be here of all places? Looking for an angel fitting his description? Presumably they didn’t know about the bookshop or they’d have that bit of information as well and would have found him immediately. It was still only a matter of time, though. 

He had to think fast, he had to DO something. Anything. He had to get them away from Aziraphale, away from Soho, away from London altogether if he could. He couldn’t let them get any closer than they already were - only streets away from the only being in the universe that Crowley ever cared about. 

Crowley looked around the now deserted and darkened park. He could make this work. He had to. Hefting the wine bottle in one hand, he stepped out from behind the tree, coughed loudly and called out “OI! PRICKHEAD!” at the porcupine demon.

Their heads snapped around, then one of them immediately snapped back again as a rather expensive bottle of Chateau Margaux 1983 hit him in the face.  Although it didn’t smash as Crowley had hoped, it definitely got his point across. 

They scrambled to their feet as Crowley spread his wings wide, grinned at them with more confidence than he felt, and leapt into the dark skies above. He flew higher as he heard them yammering in confusion below. 

“Can he do that? We were told not to do that up here!”

“No humans here right now, if he’s doing it we can do it, get fucking moving!”

By the time they were airborne, Crowley was already making a beeline north. North and as far away from Soho as he could lead them. 

Chapter Text

It was late morning and Aziraphale was pacing back and forth and unable to settle for more than a minute or two at the most. He’d walked over to Crowley’s flat but the concierge there said that Mr. Crowley had gone out before he came on duty, and hadn’t been home again since. The Bentley remained parked outside as usual, confirming Aziraphale’s speculation that its owner had left on foot. 

So he couldn’t be far, surely? Crowley would never deign to get a taxi when the Bentley was an option, and only ever lowered himself to the level of stepping on a bus for the benefit of their clandestine meetings in the years before Armageddon. Trains? No, Crowley would still take the car for longer journeys.

Planes, perhaps? Where would Crowley take a flight to? Especially when he’d already agreed to come around to the bookshop that evening. But to disappear without at least calling was very unlike him. He pondered over possibilities as he returned home again.

Aziraphale was dithering in indecision over what to do next. How would he even start? Fortunately the answer to his opening line of enquiry rather rudely stomped through the door of the bookshop a few moments later, the abrupt jangling of the bell over the door making him jump in alarm, and seeing who had just stormed in, and the look on her face, did nothing to calm him either. 

It was Michael. Archangel Michael. At least it wasn’t Gabriel, or worse still, that odious hench-angel of his, Sandalphon, but Michael was a force to be reckoned with, and she looked furious. 

“It’s not going to work, you know!” She snapped irritably. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“That ship has sailed. You’re persona non grata up there, Aziraphale. No amount of demon slaying to curry favour is going to get you back into the fold again. You’re on your own now - you made that abundantly clear at Armageddon, so whatever ridiculous ruse you’re up to, you can drop it - we don’t care any more.”

“D… demon slaying?”

Michael glared at him as if he were a few saucers short of a full tea set. 

“The dead demons up at Hagshaw Hill wind farm in Scotland. A human out walking her dog found them this morning. All Hell broke loose, metaphorically speaking. Well, it came up via back channels to me. They’re furious. They had to do a few mind wipes on humans as part of the cleanup operation. And did you have to make it quite so… messy?” She curled her lip in distaste. 

“Messy?” Aziraphale’s mind was going at a hundred miles an hour, and he felt faint. “Demons? More than one? How do they know?”

“Yes - bits of them everywhere, black wings, completely unidentifiable. Wait - do you honestly now know what I’m talking about?”

“N…no.” He replied weakly, sinking down into a chair by the cash register, face blank, imagining all sorts of horrors in his mind. His gaze flicked over to his desk, where a single black feather from Crowley’s wing lay hidden in a top drawer.  “It wasn’t me, I promise you. I’ve been right here in London.”

“Well if it wasn’t the only angel currently on Earth who despatched them, then who did it?”

Aziraphale’s resolve returned in a wave of righteous anger, and he surged up to his feet again, stepping so swiftly up to Michael, with such a terrifying expression on his face, that she took an involuntary step back in alarm. 

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” he declared angrily, then lowered his voice, and hissed in her face: “Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Shop.” He stepped forward, forcing Michael to stumble backwards, and kept on going until she tripped over the threshold, and would have fallen on her backside in the street if he hadn’t caught her by her frilly shirt front in one fist. 

He held her balanced there, teetering on the front step of the shop, flustered now and her face finally registering fear that this angel she’d always thought of as somewhat like a sheep, now had a terrifyingly wolf-like expression on his face. 

“And never darken my door again.” Aziraphale finished, before carefully picking her up, and placing her, safe on her feet, on the pavement. The shop door closed and locked itself behind him, and he strode off down the street, leaving Michael standing there in shock. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t have thought of flying with his own wings, not in this day and age, and certainly not in broad daylight. It didn’t even occur to him. Instead he headed off to Euston. It’d be over eight hours by train to Scotland, and unbeknownst to him, Crowley was well into day one of his exhausted sleep. 

As far as Aziraphale knew at this point however, Crowley was already a corpse, and he had no idea what to do. He was praying for a mere discorporation, but even then, now neither of them was beholden to Heaven or Hell, could Crowley even come back from a discorporation any more? How would he get back to Earth with no body? Would he be trapped in Hell forever, at the mercy of whatever sadistic whims the other demons had planned for him? Aziraphale had to investigate, and that meant starting at the beginning. 

The long train journey was followed by a bus to a small village, and then Aziraphale was on foot for the last stretch, walking out of the village and upwards to the wind farm on the hillside. The wind blew bitterly cold in the late autumn chill. There were no police cars in evidence, as presumably Hell had done their mind wiping already to forestall any suspicion of the supernatural nature of the victims, but there were a pair of engineers in a Land Rover doing maintenance work. 

Aziraphale’s angelic wiles, which had stood him in good stead for centuries of filling-in for Crowley under The Arrangement, were just as effective as Crowley’s temptation skills for talking to humans and getting them to open up. While he couldn’t get past whatever mind manipulation the demons had clearly done to the humans to make them forget what actually happened, he could pick out some information still. 

As far as they were aware, there was damage they were fixing on turbine three after a “heavy bird strike incident.” Further gentle questioning revealed that they believed it was a flock of swans or large geese who had hit the turbine en masse. 

“Bad damage,” one said, shaking her head sadly. “They’re going to have to replace at least one blade. That’ll be at least a million and a half easy, not counting de-mounting the damaged one and fitting the new one.” She waved up at the turbine in question. Aziraphale couldn’t see any visible breakage, just some very grisly blood smearing. But the engineer went on to explain that the hairline cracks in the composite had compromised the structure and left it vulnerable to catastrophic failure, so it was shut down until further notice. 

Aziraphale used his angelic persuasion to suggest to the engineers that he was an ornithologist sent to carry out some investigations regarding the bird strike, collecting data and such like, and so he was guided to the base of the affected tower, and left to carry out his work undisturbed. 

He cast about, swallowing back tears and trying to concentrate on the task in hand.  Looking up, he could see a dent and smear of blood high up on the tower just below the nacelle where one impact had happened - it seemed strange for something to have hit the static part of the tower, rather than the spinning blades. He saw disturbed grass in several areas, where someone, or several someones, had traipsed around clearing up the bodies. Aziraphale followed the tracks to a few impact sites. 

The blood smears on the grass showed where many… lumps of bodies had splattered, with larger pieces causing small impact craters in the soft wet soil. All that remained other than that however, were many small black feathers. 

Aziraphale picked one up cautiously and sniffed it, then pulled a face. It stank of brimstone. Not at all like Crowley, who always smelled enticingly pleasant to him. Woodsmoke, whisky, and musk. He’d long ago left the stench of Hell behind him due to his infrequent visits there, and he cared about his appearance too much to want to reek like the other demons did. 

The angel carried on, quartering the site inch by inch, checking every single feather he found. The odds of all the feathers being another demon’s, and none at all giving off the familiar and comforting scent of Crowley were slim. With the first, there was a glimmer of hope. With each subsequent feather he found however, his optimism grew, albeit along with his confusion. He couldn’t find any with a trace of Crowley at all. His heart still hurt with a searing agony, but until he saw cold, hard evidence that Crowley was really gone, he was going to hope.

And what led these two demons up here in the first place to die? Were they fighting on the wing and accidentally blew into the turbine blades? It must have been recent and presumably in the dark for them not to have seen the danger. They were in the middle of nowhere; what reason would they have to be here, of all places? And how did Crowley’s disappearance fit into all this? 

He stood, staring blankly ahead, feather twirling between his fingers as he wracked his brain for something that might give him a clue. With a sigh, he finally pocketed the feather and headed back down towards the village. As he walked, an idea finally came to him, but he’d need somewhere secluded to do what he needed, and some more equipment.

In the village of Douglas, he found a little convenience store combined with the local post office, and was able to gather together some of what he needed there. As to where to do what he planned, that could be a little more tricky. He took a walk around the village and spotted a long-derelict hotel - no chance of a room for the night there, it looked like it had been closed for decades. As far as food shops went, there was an Indian takeaway, and a deli.

There was also a small second-hand bookshop where he decided to explore to take his mind off the seemingly vast gulf of time he had to fill between here and nightfall, when he could put his plan into action.  Much as it pained him to delay, he had to be patient. The selection of books was of such low quality that it provided absolutely no distraction, he looked through almost every book twice, pretending to read while his mind skimmed over every line, not taking anything in.  Occasionally he peered out of the window, scanning the sky for signs of impending nightfall. 

The fish and chip shop looked likewise long-closed down, the Indian having taken up the dual mantle of local chippy, presumably in its absence.  Further exploration found another slightly larger shop where he was able to get some better candles than the silly birthday candles he’d got at the post office shop.  He found traces of many long-gone shops: a barber’s, butcher’s, pub, boarded up newsagent’s, and many more places which looked like old pubs or shops which hadn’t survived the cruel combination of a small countryside location, depopulation, and crushing pressure of larger commercial businesses further away.

As in most small country villages and towns, local businesses died out as time went on, grinding them away until only echoes remained in faded signs on walls. 

Before long, the shops were closing and night was falling. So Aziraphale took his purchases and headed back up the hill again, heading out on the lane back towards the wind farm and the wooded areas either side of the lane further up. He left the lane and made his way into a forested area off to the side, pushing further into the woodland until he was a good distance from the road. Hopefully he’d be undisturbed here.

He cast about to find things that would suffice for what he needed. He grabbed a fallen branch and began to draw a circle in the thick carpet of fallen pine needles that covered the ground.  In order to mark the sigils that he needed, he drew them, with a thick marker pen, on pieces of paper from a notebook he’d bought, and placed them inside the circle at the right points, pinning them to the soil below with slivers of twigs so they wouldn’t blow away. 

Next, he sat down and used the tip of a cheap biro to stab holes in some disposable plastic cups, (only a couple, low down), then popped a little tea light candle in the base of each. The plastic would probably melt after a while, but at least it’d keep the wind from snuffing the candles out for long enough. He wedged each cup in place with twigs and small branch pieces to bolster them from tipping over. It had to be the most cut-price, makeshift bit of occult magic he’d ever had the indignity to perpetrate, and he half-smiled imagining how insulted Crowley was going to be if it actually worked. 

Chapter Text

Aziraphale lit the last candle, and began to recite the incantation from memory. The convention of such things meant that, provided he used the correct basic formula, and a language at least Latin or something older, it’d get the desired result. He wasn’t entirely sure why, it just seemed to be the way things worked. 

Twenty miles away, Crowley began to dream.

Something wasn’t right. But it wasn’t an issue that Aziraphale had ever experienced before. In fact no one had. He was the first to ever see it. 

The problem was twofold.

First: Aziraphale’s circle was aimed at summoning a spirit, he having made the assumption that Crowley was at least discorporated, he was attempting to summon his soul. Crowley’s soul however, was still firmly attached to his body. 

Second:  the body in question was currently very much asleep.  No one had ever tried to summon a sleeping demon before, because Crowley was the only one who slept. Which meant no one had realised that the demon in question being conscious was a prerequisite of being able to communicate with them, in an occult sense or otherwise. 

Aziraphale was getting the occult equivalent of an error in connection tone. 

Of course, Aziraphale put it down to the jerry-rigged ritual materials.

But, although he wasn’t getting a demon in his summoning circle, he was instead getting misty flashes of something. 

He was seeing Crowley’s dream. 

Dreams rarely make sense, and it was only sheer luck, combined with Crowley’s recent traumatic experience, which meant he dreamed anything even remotely related to what had happened. 

But Aziraphale did get the sensation of flying for certain, and black wings, which at least told him he was on the right path. He briefly saw the wind turbine, which confirmed that Crowley had been involved in some way, but most of the rest of it was jumbled chaos, and petered out into nothing after a while. 

Then one of his candles blew out, and the whole thing evaporated. 

Aziraphale, of course, had no idea what he’d just experienced. He’d done a summoning ritual expecting either Crowley or at least his discorporated spirit to appear, and instead he seemed to have had a vision. 

Muttering under his breath, Aziraphale fumbled in his pockets for the matches and hastened to re-light the candle, then started all over again. 

This time, when the connection was made, he tried talking. 

“Crowley?”

The vision changed. Aziraphale saw his own face, smiling and almost glowing. Then he watched as his other self opened his mouth, took a bite of cake off a fork, and chewed it with an ecstatic look on his face, eyes closed as he appreciated the flavours. Then that faded, and he saw himself again delicately dabbing at his lips with a napkin. After that, another scene, showing him carefully turning the pages of a book, focussing on his hands and their movements. Then another scene, watching himself from the back as he climbed some stairs. 

Aziraphale was confused and frustrated - why all these visions focussing on him? Was it prompted by his voice?  It wasn’t as he saw himself, that was for certain - this was as Crowley saw him. 

“Crowley?”

There was a soft murmur. 

“Angel…”

“Yes, it’s me, can you hear me?”

“Angel…”

“Crowley, where are you?”

Just an incoherent but content sound. 

“Hmmm-mmm.”

“Where are you? Crowley, tell me, where are you right now? Are you alright?”

“Soft.”

“That’s not very helpful, Crowley. What’s soft?”

“Soft like ‘n’angel. Floofy cuddly soft.”

Aziraphale sighed in exasperation. “Crowley you’re not making sense. Where. Are. You?” 

“Sof’ bed snuggly.”

“Soft bed? You’re in bed? Wait - you’re asleep? Where are you sleeping?”

Crowley’s voice sounded mildly annoyed but still sleepy. 

“Sleepin’ in a bed , Angel, tol’ you, silly.”

“WHERE is the bed, Crowley?” Aziraphale tried with strained patience. 

“Hotel.”

And at last, Aziraphale got another visual snippet - classic Scottish baronial castle, it put him in mind of a Balmoral style, somewhat smaller, but the revival style, almost a pastiche. It wasn’t much to go on, but hopefully it meant somewhere close. 

“What’s the name of the hotel, Crowley?”

“Dunno. Hotel. Sleep.”

And with that, he faded away again. Aziraphale checked the candles but all were somehow still lit - he’d just lost the connection somehow. Perhaps Crowley dipped out of the right phase of sleep for the dreaming link to remain. All he had was that brief snippet, so Aziraphale quickly fished out the notebook again and scribbled down a rough drawing of the castle as best as he could from what he could remember from the quick glance. 

There was a porch on one side which resembled that of a church entrance, and two of those little corner tower details - a small one on one side and even tinier one on the other. An almost French style rooflet between them on one side, an archway and a slightly newer building on the left… and that was all he could see. He wished he was better at drawing, but it was better than nothing. 

Aziraphale began to realise the benefit of those little clever phones everyone seemed to have - Crowley said he could look up all sorts of things on them wherever you were. All Aziraphale could think of was taking the drawing back down to the village and asking around to see if anyone recognised it, but he’d have to wait until morning for that.

Aziraphale cleaned up the summoning paraphernalia, making sure to extinguish all the candles, to brush away all sign of the circle itself, and leave the little clearing in the woods just as he found it. He wasn’t sure what to do next. Walking back towards the village, he had plenty of time to think. Even if he knew where he needed to go, there wouldn’t be any busses until the next day, and castle hotels were not usually located on main bus routes in rural areas anyway. 

He slipped his hand into his pocket, and felt one of the feathers there; He’d forgotten he’d kept it, and drew it out again as he walked. It wasn’t one of Crowley’s, and he knew now at least that Crowley was still alive, so his fear over him being discorporated and trapped in Hell was assuaged.

But he still needed to find out where this hotel was. That meant finding someone local who would be awake and open to talking to a stranger at this hour. He was in the middle of nowhere. Where could he find someone without having to wait until morning? There were few places open 24 hours a day in rural areas, but there was a motorway not too far away - and motorways meant cars, and service stations which often remained open all night. Although it’d take Aziraphale hours to walk there. 

He twirled the black feather between his fingers as he followed the train of thought. He couldn’t even see it in the dark on the unlit lane. Then he stopped abruptly. How could he have failed to notice something right in front of his face? No one would have seen the demons flying in the dark - just as perhaps the demons couldn’t see the wind turbine in the dark. 

… Just as out here, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, no one would see Aziraphale flying in the dark. 

He didn’t need a car, taxi, or bus. Neither had Crowley - that was why the Bentley was still in London - Crowley had flown, and Aziraphale could too. It quite simply never occurred to him. He hadn’t flown for so many years, being so used to presenting as a human, fitting in with them, and taking pains not to be seen being anything other than human, that even having his wings out was something he hadn’t done in such a long time he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done it. 

In central London he’d never have dared, but here - who was there to see or care? He called his wings forth and stretched them out wide, feeling unfamiliar muscles again, then relaxed them with a contented sigh. It felt so good, so freeing. At least the road he was on, from memory, did lead out in the direction of the motorway, so all he had to do was follow it, and then carry on until he spied the telltale bright lights of a service station somewhere along it, where he could land a little distance away, then approach on foot, and start asking questions. 

With a pleased smile, Aziraphale leapt into the air, feeling a little uncoordinated from lack of practise at first, but he slowly gained height - enough to evade easy identification by any outlier insomniac below, and followed the road off into the cold night. 

Iona glanced up in surprise as the service station doors slid open, she hadn’t been alerted to any cars pulling up at the pumps, there were none out there, and the CCTV screens didn’t show any parked out the side or back either, except for her own, but she had a walk-in, which wasn’t particularly common at night, especially on this road. 

Nonetheless, he looked like a lovely, friendly, and well-dressed guy, (if a little old-fashioned).  For some reason he put her in mind of her granddad, he gave off an aura of absolute warmth. 

“Good evening, I was hoping that you might be able to help me? I was looking for someone who might know the local area.  Can you tell me if you recognise this place? I believe it’s a hotel.”

The gentleman held up a pencil sketch in a notebook showing a castle-type building. It definitely did look familiar. 

(Illustration: GayDemonicDisaster. Can't see the image? Click here.)

“Hang on - that looks like the hotel where my cousin got married last year, what was the name of it now? Oh I can’t remember. Hang on, I’ll look it up, she’ll have it on the photos in the facebook album, gimme a minute…”

Aziraphale nodded happily while Iona scrolled on her phone for a while, swiping and tapping, occasionally muttering under her breath while she tried to track down the thing she was looking for. He thought he should probably buy something to be polite, besides he was a little peckish, so picked up a packet of biscuits, although nothing could tempt him to have service station tea from the machine. You had to draw a line somewhere. 

After a minute or two there was a triumphant little exclamation from Iona, who held up her phone screen proudly to him. 

“Found it! It’s not too far from here, I’ll write down the address for you.”

“Oh wonderful, do you have a map of the local area I could buy as well and you could show me on there?”

“I can show you on your phone if you like?”

“Oh I don’t have one of those things, I’m dreadfully sorry, you must think me rather old fashioned, a map would be fine.”

“Well there’s some on the display down in that corner if you really want, we rarely sell any of them any more though. Grab one and I’ll show you on the right page.”

Several minutes later, Iona looked up from her phone with the distinct impression that something had happened, that she’d lost a chunk of time somewhere. She remembered up to giving the nice gentleman directions on the map, and then there was a blank, and she couldn’t quite pin down what, but he was gone, everything was in order, the money was all present and correct in the till for his purchases. 

She checked the CCTV and it looked like they’d spoken for a minute or two more, with her looking rather confused by whatever he was saying, but no audio, and then he’d smiled, snapped his fingers and left, then Iona had carried on looking at her phone. 

Once out of sight of the petrol station, Aziraphale had taken to wing again. He’d had to expend a minor miracle on settling the service station cashier’s mind when she had begun asking him where his car was, how he’d got there and how he was going to get to the castle as there wasn’t any public transport or taxis that time of night. In lieu of being able to come up with any kind of response which would make sense on the spot, he’d simply had to ensure she would think she’d received an acceptable answer to her curiosity and leave it at that. 

Finding the hotel in the countryside following unlit roads in the dark while flying proved to be trickier than Aziraphale had anticipated, not least because occasionally he had to make a minor diversion to whichever source of light he could see nearby, land, check the map, and then get his bearings and take off again, all without being seen. The more it went on, the more he was beginning to understand the appeal of those self-illuminating phones with internet searches and built-in maps and all those newfangled things on them after all. 

It had only taken a couple of decades, but he realised he was finally open to taking up a little new technology. He felt sure Crowley would tease him about it somehow, that is, if he could find that accursed serpent. Aziraphale had been standing there in the woods, getting pine-pitch on his clothes while Crowley was snoozing away in some plush hotel without a care in the world.

He was unacceptably dirty, cold, exhausted, and frustrated, and his wings were aching from the effort. Eventually he simply landed on the right road and resolved to finish the journey on foot. He should probably exercise his wings regularly so they wouldn’t tire so easily if he needed them in future. 

Chapter Text

The woman on the reception desk on the night shift had no idea why the strange gentleman in the pale beige suit was so persuasive, or why she had felt so unconcerned about telling him which room Mr. Crowley was in - something she’d never have done usually. After he’d left the desk and headed upstairs, she told herself there must have been a good reason. He must have been a police officer, that was it. Now why would she have forgotten an important detail like that? Her mind struggled around the concept and every time she tried to replay the conversation in her mind, even more of it slipped away into nothing. Five minutes later, she didn’t remember he’d even been there at all. 

Aziraphale charged up the stairs and along the corridor until he found Crowley’s room. Knocking got no response, and, not willing to mess about, he simply miracled the door unlocked and went in. 

He heaved a huge sigh of relief to see Crowley there, apparently unharmed, sleeping, fully-clothed, face-down on the bed. He hadn’t even bothered pulling the duvet back. His shoes were filthed with mud and dangled off the edge of the bed.  Aziraphale sat down on the bed next to him. 

“Crowley?”

No response. He took Crowley’s hand in his own and squeezed it gently. 

“Crowley? It’s me. Are you alright?”

“Sof’ ‘ngel” Crowley murmured in his sleep, sounding very much as he had when Aziraphale had infiltrated his dreams. 

“It’s time to wake up, dear.”

“No. G’way. Dreamin’.” Crowley protested. “Nice dream. Got Angel in it.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m here too, Crowley.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Promise? Soft n’ cuddly?”

“I promise, Crowley, I suppose you’ll have to find out for yourself how cuddly I am. I daresay you’ve waited long enough.” He squeezed Crowley’s hand again, and this time Crowley squeezed back. He began to stir. 

After a little while, he turned his head and tried to focus on Aziraphale, squinting. 

“‘Zrphle? Nooo, ‘m meant t’be wakin’ up…”

“You are.”

“Then why’re you here? You live in the dreaaaam.” Crowley protested. 

“I live here too, Crowley.”

“But you’re in my bed .” He protested, still not entirely awake.

“I can move if you like…” Aziraphale went to stand up, but Crowley gripped his hand more firmly with a mumbled “noooo,” so he sat down again. Crowley blinked a few times and peered up at him, then tried to roll over onto his back awkwardly, stiff from his sleep. 

“I’m awake?”

“It appears so.”

“And you’re real.”

“Indeed.”

“And you’re on the same bed as me.” Crowley blinked again. “Nope. Still dreaming.”

Aziraphale pinched him. 

“OW! Bastard!”

“I told you you’re awake, now, come on, get up, I’ll put the kettle on and make you a coffee while you tell me what on earth has been going on.”

Aziraphale got up and investigated the complimentary kettle and drink options, while Crowley rubbed at his arm irritably. 

“Where the fuck am I?”

“Scotland,” Aziraphale replied, tutting at the sachet of instant coffee and instead opting for some English Breakfast tea. 

“I know that,” Crowley replied, stretching and yawning. “Where? I didn’t even see the name of the damn place when I got here. Speaking of which, how did you even find me?”

“We’re in South Lanarkshire, Cornhill Castle. Do you recall having any odd dreams recently?”

Crowley blinked and looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time. 

“Uh, nope, just regular old dreams, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Wasn’t I in your dream? You were talking to me.”

“Well yeah, of course.”

“What do you mean ‘of course’?”

“Well you’re always there.”

“And that’s normal?”

“Um… I guess so? I mean more times than not, certainly.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose, wrapping his head around the casual confession that Crowley dreamt of him most nights. He filed it away to deal with at a later date. 

“Anyway, yes, I was there, but really there. Not like, well, not like usual I suppose. Normally I’m not part of your dreams from my point of view, but last night I was. We were talking.” 

“You were really there?” Crowley looked shocked. 

“Yes.”

“What? Even the bit with you riding a unicorn wearing nothing but the St Andrew’s flag?”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to look incredulous, and he turned on his heel slowly to stare at Crowley. 

“I think, perhaps, that was not part of your dream that I was involved in visiting.”

“Or the bit where…” 

But Aziraphale cut him off sharply. 

“I’d probably rather not know all the scenarios, but the part at least where I asked where you were. As you didn’t seem to know the name yourself, it was fortunate that you at least showed me a glimpse of what the building looked like, and with a bit of detective work, I was able to track you down.”

“All the way from London? Why?”

“Because you didn’t show up for our dinner…” Aziraphale petered off. He had almost ended the sentence with ‘date’ but didn’t quite dare, as while he’d been hoping that’s what it would consist of, he didn’t want to presume, nor get his hopes up. “Anyway,” he carried on briskly, “You disappeared, I couldn’t get hold of you, I worried, and I had to find you.”

Crowley was patting down his pockets frantically. 

“Fuck, where’s my phone?”

“I have no idea,” Aziraphale replied, stirring the tea, then adding a few sugars and one of the tiny pots of milk. 

“Must have lost it. Anyway, how did knowing what the building looked like get you all the way here?”

“It didn’t. By that point I was already a few miles away. What led me up here was the report from Michael that the remains of a couple of demons had been found at a wind farm nearby. I assumed the worst. Michael had thought I’d been the one doing some smiting. Putting it together with your disappearance, I panicked.”

He brought the cup of tea over and handed it to Crowley, then sat down on the edge of the bed again. Crowley looked wretched.

“I’m sorry, Angel, I didn’t mean to stand you up, I…”

“I worried that I’d lost you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I thought you were discorporated and trapped as a bodiless soul down in Hell. I doubted they’d give you a new corporation and thought you’d be held prisoner there forever. So I tried summoning you, hoping I could rescue you that way.”

“So what happened?” Crowley took a sip of the hot tea gratefully. 

“Apparently attempting to summon a sleeping demon gives you a portal to their dreams.”

“Huh.” He knocked back more tea. 

“So are you going to explain what the dead demons were all about?”

Crowley stared into his teacup silently. 

“Crowley?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d never find out.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

Crowley felt something give way in his head, and snapped back irritably. Partly in annoyance, partly as an attempt to deflect Aziraphale away from his line of questioning. 

“I’d just flown the entire way from London to Scotland on wing power alone in a single night, at top speed, while trying to evade not one, but two other demons determined to kill me, I was exhausted. I honestly didn’t even have enough energy to think about calling you with an excuse, I just needed to rest.”

Aziraphale levelled a steely-eyed gaze at him, unblinking. Crowley tried to return it, but looked away first. Aziraphale carried on sternly:

“I don’t want an excuse, I want to know why they were trying to kill you.”

Crowley squirmed. Admitting the truth would mean admitting to all the other things he did for his angel. He muttered the words towards his feet, avoiding eye contact.

“Because I was distracting them from trying to kill you.”

Aziraphale paused. Because of course Crowley would do that. All the time they’d known each other, so many convenient coincidences where he’d had close escapes tended to have one thing in common: Crowley’s intervention; Every. Single. One. He sagged back slightly as Crowley continued. 

“I overheard them discussing you, it was only a matter of time before they found you.  I had to get them away as quick as possible, I couldn’t bear the thought of…” He broke off and looked away. He changed tack.

“Anyway, I got their attention and just went for it, decided I’d drag them all the way to the North Pole if I had to, but I was struggling, then I saw the wind turbine and decided to try something. I pulled it off. Lured them to the top, and their overconfidence got them blown into the wake vortex.”

“It didn’t leave much of them behind, by all accounts,” Aziraphale replied. 

“Yeah, that was the idea.”

“So,” said Aziraphale, finishing his own cup of tea and setting it aside as he tried to collect his thoughts.  What next?”

Crowley shrugged. “I dunno, what if they come after you again? I mean, can we hide you from them? Ward the shop, or, or…” 

Aziraphale cut him off.

“Crowley, what if they come after you?”

“Look, you and I are the only angel and demon with enough experience of being on Earth, the rest of them are just… just… they’re so ignorant they’re honestly a danger to themselves. They haven’t got a clue.”

“And yet it took you until Scotland to come up with a solution to them.” Aziraphale replied drily. 

“Ok, fine, maybe not the fastest thinking on the planet but I got there in the end. But I can be ready for next time.”

“And you think they’ll fall for the same trick twice? Crowley, you did well, but you don’t need to protect me like this. I could have defended myself if they’d come for me, I’m more worried about them coming back after you again,” Aziraphale stressed. He took a breath. “...Especially after what you’ve done. “

Crowley had been trying to avoid thinking about that part, but as always, Aziraphale’s safety took precedence over his own in his mind. It hadn’t really occurred to him before that someone should care about his safety. 

“So we’re each more worried about the other than ourselves.” 

“It appears so.”

“So what do we do? Move to a home with a holy water moat and Hellfire murder holes?”

“We need to persuade them we’re not worth going after. Perhaps if we were to talk to them…”

Crowley cut him off with a bitter laugh. 

“Oh TALK to them is it? TALK to them? Because that worked SO well in the run up to Armageddon, didn’t it?” Crowley shook his head and lay back on the bed again with a deep sigh. 

He looked up again after noting the cold silence emanating from Aziraphale’s direction, and swallowed nervously.

“Um. I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No. You shouldn’t. But thank you for apologising. I think we’ve both been rather stressed by events over the past two days. I’d like to say that perhaps now isn’t the time to discuss such matters, but then again, we have no idea if or when they may make another attempt on our lives. Although I’m not sure if Heaven would - given that Michael came to see me, thinking that I’d killed the demons. I’m sure, if Heaven wanted me dead, that she’d have taken care of me right then and there as she had ample opportunity to.”

“Now wait just a minute - you may be onto something there…” Crowley sat up again, mind racing.  “Each of our own sides tried killing what they thought was us, and failed, thinking us immune to hellfire and holy water. So they know that doesn’t work, but then instead of Hell coming after me, or Heaven coming after you - this time HELL came after YOU. D’you think they were testing the waters? Seeing if they could achieve what the other side couldn’t before?”

“Which might mean Heaven coming after you?”

“Maybe, but then again, does Michael know who the two demons were? Did she think one was me? That perhaps you’d killed me in an attempt to get into their good books, or because we’d fallen out?”

“I genuinely don’t know. She never mentioned you. I just assumed the worst.”

Crowley hummed to himself, deep in thought. 

“The almighty doesn’t talk to anyone any more does She?” Crowley asked after a moment.

“Apparently not.”

“Even Gabriel?”

“It doesn’t seem so. I’m not even one hundred percent certain she talks with the Metatron, for all his claims.”

“I have a train of thought, but you might not like it.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“It might be a bit… heretical.”

Aziraphale blanched. He may be persona non grata in Heaven, but he wasn’t Fallen. This sounded like dangerous ground. 

“What are you suggesting?”

“Not suggesting, not yet, just throwing some thoughts around and seeing what sticks.” Crowley paused. “D’you reckon there may be any way to bluff and pretend She has given us some kind of pardon or immunity…?” He caught Aziraphale’s expression and stopped. “Ok, nope, off the table, that’s ok, just thinking aloud.”

Aziraphale had gone quite still. Crowley didn’t miss his expression and looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

Aziraphale was staring off blankly into the middle distance. It took him a moment to reply. 

“How do I know I’m not fallen? I mean… maybe I am? Perhaps after Armageddon…”

Crowley cut him off abruptly. 

“You’re not.” he stated firmly. 

“But how do you know?”

“You’d know, Aziraphale, trust me on this.” He gave a shudder. “You’d know. It’s not the kind of thing you forget.”

“So we have to make our own immunity. We have to take it up a notch from hellfire and holy water somehow, prove to them we’re more trouble than we’re worth, that we’re dangerous. Honestly I thought we already had. We need to push the point home.”

“Well…” Crowley mused. “We only did a threat display didn’t we? They’re trying to call our bluff. I mean I breathed hellfire towards Gabriel and those bastards, but missed them on purpose…”

“...And I flicked holy water at the window separating me from the demons in Hell,” Aziraphale replied. “Again, I stopped short of flicking it at any demons in the room. I thought it best not to go too far.”

“Needs must as the devil drives,” Crowley mused with a sardonic smile. 

“Well your driving can be somewhat furious,” Aziraphale commented drily. 

“Yeah, and furious is what I am about this whole situation. Push has come to shove, no more half measures.”

Chapter Text

“So what do we do now?” Aziraphale asked, fiddling with the hem of his threadbare waistcoat uncertainly. Crowley drained the last of his tea and set the mug aside, then lay back on the bed with a sigh. 

“We’ll think of something.” He peered at his watch. “It’s not even morning yet.”

Aziraphale looked mildly annoyed. “Well excuse me for waking you up because I was worried you might be dead.”

Crowley glanced at him with a cheeky smile. “You worried? About me?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale snapped and swiped at him in playful irritation. “I didn’t help you avert the end of the world and defy orders just because I wanted to be able to eat sushi whenever I wanted. This world is mainly special to me because you are in it, Crowley.”

Crowley looked momentarily stunned. 

“D’you really mean that?”

“Of course I do, you ridiculous demon.”

“Are you blushing?”

Aziraphale immediately brought his wings out and wrapped them around himself to hide his face, embarrassed by his confession. Although only having one pair of flying wings, the sentiment reminded Crowley of the triple winged angels who would have one pair to fly, one pair to hide their face, and another to hide their heart. Aziraphale was clearly multitasking with his. 

Crowley sat up and inched closer, before reaching out to carefully touch the edge of one wing. He didn’t remember ever touching Aziraphale’s wings before, and they were incredibly soft. He gently tugged it aside and peered in. 

“You are,” he whispered with a smile. 

“Well at least I’m not the one dreaming about me and saying how soft and cuddly I am,” Aziraphale retorted. 

“You said I could find out,” Crowley reminded him teasingly. Aziraphale relaxed both wings slightly and looked up, he’d been afraid to meet Crowley’s gaze, but now braved it. 

Their eyes met in a long, unreadable silence. Finally Aziraphale hid his wings away slowly and sat a little straighter, lifting his chin as he gathered together his nerves. 

“I stand by my words,” he said. 

Crowley, hardly daring draw breath, inched closer, heart almost painfully fast in his chest, hesitated, reading Aziraphale’s expression carefully, then closed the distance - not to kiss - that wasn’t what Aziraphale had said, and Crowley hadn’t asked, but instead to fall into soft angelic arms and simply surrender himself to the warmth and safety he found there. He breathed deep, and felt Aziraphale’s muscles untense after a moment as well. Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around that warm, soft body. 

Aziraphale had lifted his arms to accept the hug, and cautiously lowered them to rest lightly around Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley squeezed a little tighter, and Aziraphale responded by holding his demon a little more snug in response. Finally he buried his nose in Crowley’s soft red hair just as he’d always dreamed of doing, and closed his eyes.

They’d waited 6,000 years for this moment, and each of them realised it had been worth every single second of it. Neither wanted to let go. The hug went beyond awkward and floated into the realms of simply enjoying it and not caring any more. They were one, like they’d always meant to be. 

Eventually though, Aziraphale did shift position slightly. 

“You ok?” Crowley mumbled into his shoulder.

“Just getting more comfortable.”

“Well we could…” Crowley, without letting go, tugged Aziraphale over sideways so they were now lying on the bed, still hugging. “More nap before morning?” Crowley asked, finally lifting his head to look Aziraphale in the eyes. Aziraphale smiled, nodded, and leaned in to kiss Crowley’s forehead. 

“Yes, I could go for that, Heaven knows we need it.”

Aziraphale held Crowley and felt his breaths slow as he drifted off. He found himself mirroring Crowley’s breaths, and feeling more relaxed than he could ever remember, even despite the stresses of the past 48 hours. Aziraphale had tried sleep before once or twice, but never much seen the point of wasting time he could have been using more productively, but now he was here, with Crowley, he felt like indulging, and allowed himself to doze off, a faint smile on his lips. 

Crowley nudged into wakefulness again after feeling Aziraphale nuzzling into his hair in his sleep. Aziraphale usually haunted his dreams, but this time seemed far more real than ever before. He was momentarily confused, then delighted, and closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation a bit more. After a while it became clear that Aziraphale had also woken and was merely keeping still so as not to disturb Crowley, so he decided to give in, and squeezed his angel a little tighter. 

“Mornin’ Angel,” he murmured. 

“Good morning, my dear.”

“I take it you enjoyed that then?”

“Mmmhmm. You?”

“I think I can safely say that I could get used to that, yes.”

“Gonna hold you to that, you realise?”

“Happy to be held.”

“Evidently.” Crowley paused. “You kissed me on the head.”

“I’m sorry, dear, you just…”

“Noooo, not a complaint. Not a complaint at all. Carte blanche to repeat that whenever you like.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale beamed. 

“Yup.”

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Crowley’s forehead again, eliciting a delighted little noise from his demon. 

“How about…?” Aziraphale asked, then kissed his temple, prompting another contented sound from Crowley. “Or…?” he leaned in and kissed Crowley’s cheek, making him squirm happily. 

“Perhaps even…?” and kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose with a fond smile. 

“Carte blanche, like I said,” Crowley replied, returning the smile. 

“In that case…” Aziraphale closed the gap and kissed him softly on the lips. Just a brief kiss, but it still left Crowley stunned. He felt like he couldn’t move at all, and seriously considered the possibility that he was still dreaming. 

Making a decision, Crowley sat up, and slapped himself. 

“What on earth was that for?”

“Just checking,” Crowley replied, grinned, and closed in to return the kiss, with rather more energy, until they were both quite lost in each other. 

Over a leisurely and particularly fine breakfast in the hotel dining room, they discussed plans for getting Hell’s attention, and ending that attention in them once and for all. Afterwards, quite apart from the broad daylight making it unfeasable, the soreness in both of their wings from the overexertion of flying after so long, particularly in Crowley’s case, meant they opted for a taxi into Glasgow to spend the rest of the day there to relax a little, before taking the Caledonian sleeper train home again overnight with a first class cabin to share. 

Upon getting back to London, Crowley insisted that they head back to his flat; He didn't want Aziraphale to be anywhere near the bookshop with the experiment he had in mind. He went straight to the kitchen and poured each of them a stiff drink, while Aziraphale watched on, then grabbed a mini fire extinguisher which was mounted on the wall near the hob in case of kitchen fires, and set it on the counter ready. 

They each knocked back their drinks, then Crowley selected a huge kitchen knife from the stylish set on the countertop - a beautiful Japanese-made kiritsuke with damascus steel blade, and passed it, handle first, to Aziraphale. 

“Go on, give it a go.”

“I don’t even know if it will work, I’ve never tried with anything but the sword before.”

“Don’t know if you don’t try. Go on.”

Aziraphale swallowed, and hefted the beautiful knife in his right hand, he stared at it and concentrated. 

‘It’s a blade. It’s a very fine handcrafted blade, it’s a little short, true, but it’s still a weapon if held with such intent, this is my sword, because I’m holding it. It’s mine. I’m an angel, and thus this is MY angelic blade. Mine…’ He thought to himself. 

He flicked his wrist, and the kitchen knife burst into heavenly flame. Crowley smiled wide.

“See? I knew you could do it! Now, can you touch it? Hold it?”

Aziraphale looked worried. “I’ve never tried before. I don’t know any better than you do how holy flame might work…” he cautiously waved one hand through the flames quickly - which was about the same as one could achieve with any normal flame - if done fast, no damage would occur. But when he held his hand closer and steady, he could feel the heat. 

“No. it’s going to burn me. I’m not immune it seems. It’s not like you and hellfire.”

Crowley screwed up his face in thought for a moment. 

“Ok, let’s try this instead. Put that one out.”

Aziraphale flicked his wrist again to extinguish the flaming blade, then Crowley passed him a smaller knife. 

“Try with that next.”

Having got the knack, Aziraphale managed to ignite the smaller kitchen knife, and then when Crowley passed him his smallest paring knife, managed with that as well. A quick rummage in the drawer turned up a pen knife, and Aziraphale found he was able to ignite that as well. Once lit, from a distance, you couldn’t make out the shape of the blade within the flame, so it merely looked like Aziraphale was holding a flame in his hand.

“Perfect!” Crowley beamed at him. “No one ever heard of an angel able to hold flame before, so as far as they’ll be aware, if you tell them it’s hellfire, they’ll believe it’s hellfire. Now - are you sure you can do the other thing?”

Aziraphale nodded hesitantly. 

“I want you to promise me you’ll be nowhere near though, Crowley…”

“It’s fine, I promise, I’ll make sure I’m well clear.” 

Aziraphale felt a little unsure, but he needed to trust Crowley. He nodded, as Crowley carried on.

“So, if I send the letter to Hell, how sure are you that Heaven would hear of it too?”

“Michael went on about her ‘back channels’ again when she visited me. I’m pretty sure they’ll take an interest, at least to sneak down and see what’s happening, then we can draw them in perhaps.”

“We only need them to see. Anything more is a bonus, but I’d still rather invite them directly, to be certain.”

“Ok, we’ll each write one then.”

So the letters were composed, Crowley took them to the dead drop at Broadgate Tower that served as an Earth to Hell or Heaven message portals, without the added risk of going down himself, and then returned to his flat where Aziraphale waited anxiously for him. 

“Well, now we should have at least twenty four hours. Let’s hope they don’t decide to come earlier.” Crowley flung his jacket off and slumped down on the huge modular sofa next to Aziraphale, then reached up to rub at one shoulder with a wince. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale shuffled closer. 

“Ngh, yeah. Just still sore muscles from all that flying. I’m not used to it.”

“I can only imagine, my shoulders and wings are sore as well and I only did a couple of miles - nowhere near the four hundred-odd that you flew.” Aziraphale nudged Crowley to lean forward, and began kneading at his shoulders with surprisingly strong but gentle hands. Crowley melted into the touch. 

“I can do better than this, would you be amenable to taking your shirt off, dear? It would be better if you were lying down as well.”

“Sure, I’ll go lie on the bed. Then I can let my wings out too and you can work on those if you like. They’re bloody sore.”

Crowley wiggled out of his shirt as he made his way through to the bedroom, then face planted on his enormous soft bed, and shook his wings into existence, his huge wingspan draping well off both sides and almost reaching the walls of the sizable room. Aziraphale knelt on the bed and continued to work down his back muscles, then up to his neck and shoulders again, taking things slowly, before starting to work down each wing in turn. 

Every now and then there was a quiet pained hiss as he found a particularly sore spot, before Crowley relaxed down under his skilled hands. After a little while, it became clear that Crowley had fallen asleep. 

Aziraphale eased off his touches gradually, massaging lighter and lighter, then gently folded Crowley’s wings up for him, and rolled him onto his back so he could lie down next to him. His demon roused slightly, blinked sleepily at him, smiled, then wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, nuzzled into his chest, and fell asleep once more. 

Aziraphale must have dozed off as well, as he woke with one of Crowley’s wings draped over them both, like a huge soft feathered blanket. He stretched out with a yawn, making Crowley stir as well, instinctively wrapping his arms and wing a little tighter around his angel. 

“Don’t have to go yet, still got ages,” Crowley murmured, “s’ry, fell asleep without kissing you.”

“We can rectify that now, if you like,” Aziraphale told him with a soft smile. 

“Mmm, I’d like that. Should definitely do more of that…” he agreed, kissing Aziraphale’s neck. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think, at the back of his mind, the words ‘while we still can.’ His nervousness about what was to come lingered despite Crowley’s soft touches. Either way, now they’d finally allowed themselves closeness, Aziraphale wanted to indulge as much as his demon did. He felt like there would never be enough time in the world for him to love Crowley as much as he deserved, so he resolved to take their time as they could make it. 

His entire existence, Aziraphale had been told that demons were incapable of love. But for as long as he’d known Crowley, he’d known different. Every little thing Crowley had done had always shown him exactly how much he was capable of loving without words. 

It had always been gestures and thoughtful little details, and if he had one regret, it was that it had taken them this long for Crowley to be able to express it in physical touch. Aziraphale thought he’d never be able to get enough of it, but in a few hours, they had work to do - in order to ensure that they would have the opportunity to spend more time together, without fear. 

Chapter Text

The angels waited nervously in the alley behind the vacant office block they’d been told to go to. There were three of them, all fairly low ranking with the exception of Sandalphon, and one glanced across where Michael was hiding, crouched behind a van, to observe. The angels were ready to grab and detain if possible. Michael had received some kind of letter and hadn’t liked the tone of it, apparently. 

They were on edge, she’d told them to be ready for anything, that the angel they were here to meet could be dangerous, but she hadn’t been any more specific. The fact that she was hiding behind a van however, spoke volumes. Sandalphon had his suspicions as to who it related to, and relished the chance to set his cruel fists loose again and finish what they’d started before armageddon. 

Then a door creaked open into the alleyway, and Aziraphale stepped out, looking strangely unafraid. 

“Where’s Michael?”

“She sent us,” replied Sandalphon. “Explain yourself.”

Aziraphale gave them a shrewd look, then licked his lips, sniffed the air, and glanced sideways. 

“I know you’re there,” he said calmly. “I can smell you. A particularly self-righteous stink, if I’m honest.”

Michael stood up and yelled at the angels. 

“Grab him!”

With a satisfied grin, Aziraphale spun around, opened his hands, and flung a ball of flame towards the advancing angels. The blast caught Sandalphon on the arm and he dropped to the ground, screaming, grabbing at it. 

“It’s hellfire! HELP ME!”

The other two stalled to a halt, eyes wide in horror. One ran immediately, the other glanced at Michael, who seemed as shocked as they were, then back at Aziraphale, standing there cool as a cucumber, then dropped to at least grab the stricken Sandalphon, and dragged him off. Aziraphale gave a sarcastic salute at Michael then turned and ran back indoors, as she scrambled to give chase. 

As soon as he was through the door, Crowley, in the shape of Aziraphale, flung himself under a desk, grabbed the real Aziraphale, swapped back, then the real Aziraphale clambered out and ran for a door on the other side of the room, pausing just in the doorway as Michael barged in. He drew his hand from his pocket and held up a hand full of flame. 

“Would you like the same?” He asked, raising his hand. 

Michael ground to a halt, then grinned, as realisation dawned, and she knew what she had to do. 

“So that’s how you did it,” She called across the room to Aziraphale. “You had us going there, for a moment, at least. But it’s not going to work this time.”

Drawing on her power, she opened her own hand to throw an arc of holy water at him. She then stared in horror as it hit, and Aziraphale merely smiled back. 

“I suppose that wasn’t what you expected then?” he asked. 

Michael shook her head slowly, then backed out again and fled. 

Crowley scrambled out from under the desk, Aziraphale extinguished the holy fire on the tiny pen knife blade in his hand, and they shared a brief kiss, wishing they could linger but knowing time was of the essence, before they swapped back and Aziraphale headed on upstairs, back in Crowley’s body once more. 

Hell’s contingent waited in a vast empty office space a few floors above where the angels had their stand-off on the street outside, not overly concerned over the meeting, knowing that they had a Duke of Hell among them, far more powerful than Crowley. 

While Hastur smoked and paced, the frog on his head occasionally blowing smoke rings, the other two laughed about the recognition they’d get for helping bring down Hastur’s nemesis. They broke off when they heard some commotion going on downstairs. A scruffy demon with an aye-aye on his head made his way to the window and looked down, just in time to see Aziraphale throwing hellfire at a group of angels. Moments later after Michael followed him through the door, she just as quickly ran out again.

Just as the scruffy demon relayed this new intelligence back to Hastur, the door from the stairwell creaked open, and a familiar red-haired demon sauntered into the room with an easy smile. 

“Afternoon, folks. Sorry to keep you waiting. Now, I had the displeasure recently of dealing with a couple of hellish assassins sent to kill my angel. I think you know what happened to them. And I’d like to make my point very clear now.”

He fixed them with a terrifying glare. 

“... Aziraphale is off limits, now, and for all eternity, as am I.”

Hastur grinned at him. “You? And who are you, exactly? We just saw an angel throwing hellfire.”

“And?” Aziraphale-as-Crowley asked, unafraid. 

“We’ve worked it out. You’ve swapped bodies. That’s how you cheated your executions.”

“Swapped are we? Well then, if I’m an angel, then hellfire should burn me shouldn’t it? Well. Do you feel lucky? Do you?”

“Crowley said that to me before, it was a bluff then, and it is now,” Hastur snarled, nodding to the two demons flanking him.

All three lit up their hands in hellfire…

… Triggering the sprinkler system over their heads…

… Which Aziraphale had taken the liberty of blessing that very morning…

Holy water blessed by an angel is far more potent than that blessed merely by human priests. It immediately gushed out over everything, and everyone, in the room. Aziraphale-as-Crowley watched on grimly as they melted, screaming. 

Once it was over, and the demons were nothing more than a stinking puddle on the floor, a very soggy Aziraphale went over to a small GoPro camera that Crowley had set up hidden in a corner to record the entire exchange, and removed it. He held it up to his face in one hand, flicked his wet hair from his eyes, then out of shot, withdrew the pen knife from his pocket with his other hand. He ignited it, then held it up next to his face, as if holding a handful of hellfire. 

“We can each do both. Feel free to ask Michael,” he said simply, and then turned it off. 

Aziraphale then made his way outside, wiping all traces of holy water off it with a miracled up towel, before remembering and simply miracling himself dry. 

Crowley emerged in Aziraphale shape from around the corner, and as they embraced, they changed back, and then kissed. This time they took their time, wrapped up in each other, clinging tight in relief, they kissed for all they were worth. 

“I was so worried you hadn’t got out of the building in time,” Aziraphale confessed. 

“I told you I’d hit the alarm if I didn’t. I’m fine. Are you ok?” Crowley stepped back, still holding Aziraphale’s shoulders, and looked him up and down, still anxious. 

“Not a scratch,” Aziraphale reassured him. “Now let’s deliver that little camera of yours to Hell’s drop box, and I think a bit of a holiday might be in order.  I have a feeling no one is going to come looking for us this time.”

“Holiday?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

Aziraphale kissed him on the tip of his nose, making his demon recoil jokingly with a fond grin and mock-bite in his direction. 

“Somewhere warm, no…” Aziraphale got a sly look and glanced up at Crowley again, an impish expression in his eyes. “Somewhere cold. Very cold. Ice and snow, and the northern lights at night.”

“Cold?” Crowley pulled a face. 

“Yes. the colder the better, because then we can bundle up together in cosy blankets, with a nice log fire, and watch the snow fall around us while snug together in bed..”

“Hmm, I could go with that, yeah. I like where this is going,” Crowley pulled him closer for a slow kiss. 

“And then what do we do?” Crowley asked, teasing at Aziraphale’s collar playfully. 

“Whatever we desire, my dear boy,” he replied with a smile. 

(The following final section does involve sex, so if that's not what you're here for, you can safely exit the story now without really missing anything. It is fairly obvious when it's coming up so you can still read on a little further if you like, and safely skip out when things become more heated.)

They flew. Not with their own wings of course, not all the way to Norway and up to the Arctic circle. In a plane, first class of course. Crowley found a place with glass igloo cabins where you could lie in bed under the stars, cosy under thick blankets, and watch the northern lights side by side. 

Aziraphale went to the wooden cabin part at the back of the igloo to make some hot chocolate in the little kitchenette, while Crowley glared at the skies. Starry, yes, but no northern lights yet. They were notoriously fickle. 

So, while Aziraphale made the drinks, Crowley wrapped himself up in a thick faux fur blanket, stomped outside into the snow, and looked up. Stars had been more his remit, but a little light tinkering with atmospheric conditions was nothing to someone who once wove entire galaxies with his bare hands. 

A few minor miracles later, and he stomped back indoors, and bundled Aziraphale to the bed, pre-warmed with an electric blanket, to sit with their hot drinks and enjoy the most spectacular aurora borealis that the hotel staff the next morning said they’d ever seen in their lives. 

Aziraphale finished his hot chocolate, set the mug aside on the bedside cabinet and snuggled closer to Crowley. 

“It really is beautiful, thank you, dear.”

“‘S no problem.”

“They said tomorrow we could go on a reindeer sleigh ride together.”

“That sounds like something I’d have to give you lots of cuddles afterwards though, to give you a good warming up.”

“I daresay you’re right. I look forward to it.” He glanced sideways at Crowley. “Or you could warm me up now,” he suggested with a sly wink, and wriggled closer, resting a hand on Crowley’s chest. “I think I might like that.”

“Yeah?”

“MmmHmm.”

“Not something you’ve expressed an interest in before,” Crowley set his mug aside and rolled over to face Aziraphale. “You sure that’s what you’d like?”

“Well looking at the skies tonight, you do make such beauty with those hands of yours. I’m feeling rather inspired, and intrigued as to what other skills they possess.”

“Didn’t think that was your cup of tea, if I’m honest,” Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand in his own, and kissed it. 

“Neither did I, for the most part, but rather like a richly flavoured delicacy, even if it’s not something that one wishes to partake in every day, it strikes me that the odd treat for the senses is something I’d like to indulge in from time to time, on special occasions.”

“Mmm?” Crowley murmured, shifting position, wiggling down the bed and nuzzling into Aziraphale’s neck, giving it a gentle nip. “Well I do enjoy indulging you.”

“I know, so I’d rather hoped you might be amenable to this indulgence.”

“Absolutely.”

“So…,” Crowley began, teasing open Aziraphale’s pyjamas and continuing to kiss down his neck to his chest, “... speaking of delicacies, there’s something of yours I’d rather like to taste, if you’d indulge me…”

Aziraphale ran his hand down his chest, took Crowley’s, and guided it down to his pyjama bottoms, guiding his hand inside the fabric in encouragement. 

“Is this what you had in mind?”

Crowley pressed a slow kiss to his middle, and carried on working his way lower. 

“MmmHmm.” He ran his fingers up and down Aziraphale’s shaft, it wasn’t entirely soft, but not yet hard. He felt Aziraphale tugging his pyjama bottoms down, then raised his hips to pull them lower as Crowley’s kisses carried on heading southward. 

And then he was kissing his way up and down Aziraphale’s warm length, pressing soft lips to soft skin over and over, feeling it respond to his touches. Filling, twitching, and just begging for his tongue, so he applied it. 

Crowley licked long and slow, taking his time to savour every inch as it grew harder. Aziraphale was murmuring sounds of approval, one hand stroked Crowley’s hair as he worked, the other teased at his own nipples in turn. Finally, Crowley enveloped the tip in his warm, wet mouth, swirled his tongue around the head, and sank all the way down and up again, ever so gently at first, making his lover groan. 

He began to work his way up and down in a steady rhythm, sometimes with lips a little tighter, sometimes circling his tongue around, up and down, side to side, or pausing at the top to circle the tip, easing off again before the sensation became too much, then deepthroating him once more before starting again. 

Aziraphale’s noises grew ever sweeter, and his free hand now gripped at the blankets on the bed, opening and closing, murmuring alternating endearments and curses through gritted teeth. Much as he wanted to see the amazing light show overhead through the glass dome, Aziraphale’s gaze kept getting dragged back to the head between his legs, seeing Crowley’s lips stretched around him, those golden eyes closed in concentration, but occasionally remembering to open them to gaze up and meet Aziraphale’s with gentle love in his expression. 

“Would… would you give me some more, my darling?” Aziraphale whispered. “Just a little more - your hands…”

Crowley reached down to stroke around his rim, and looked up, a question in his eyes.

“Yes, there - please.”

He nodded, and with a blink, his fingers were lubed up, and carried on teasing around for a little while, before sliding in, and working in time with his mouth. Aziraphale’s cock twitched against his tongue, and he began to squirm and whimper. Crowley gently rubbed circles around Aziraphale’s prostate as he continued to suck and lick at his shaft, getting good coordination after a little hesitation at the beginning. 

“Oh Crowley, you’re simply divine…” Aziraphale gasped, before catching the mock-annoyed expression in his demon’s eyes as he glanced down, and chuckling through his gasps. “Of course I meant devilishly good, my dear.” Crowley nodded approval at the re-wording, and redoubled his efforts, beginning to speed up both mouth and hand, ensuring that anything more that Aziraphale had intended to say was thoroughly wiped from his mind, as he was reduced to helpless whining at the sensations. 

Aziraphale’s whining rose in pitch and while the hand on the blankets now gripped so tight his knuckles went white, he retained enough presence of mind that the one twined in Crowley’s hair didn’t grasp too painfully hard. His body tensed, and Crowley dove as deep as he could. 

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Crowley, oh…” he looked down to see his demon gazing calmly back up at him, swallowing around him and trying not to smile at his achievement. He stilled his hand and withdrew his fingers carefully before licking up and off Aziraphale’s softening cock. 

“Oh, my dear…”

“I take it you enjoyed that then?” Crowley grinned, shuffling up the bed and cuddling up to Aziraphale. 

“You know I did, love.” He glanced down. “May I return the favour?”

Crowley shrugged. “It’s fine, I just wanted you to enjoy the moment.”

“You don’t want me to do something for you?”

“I’m ok. I enjoyed making you explode. I don’t need anything right now, just want to be with you.”

Aziraphale wrapped him up in a hug for a deep, slow kiss, then turned his head to gaze up at the aurora once again with a happy sigh. 

“You will tell me if you change your mind though, won’t you?”

“‘Course.”

“Tonight has been truly beautiful, in so many ways.”

“Feel more relaxed than, well… ever, I suppose. I think this is the first time in my existence I haven’t had the feeling that I have to be on full alert and watch my back - and yours.”

“Thank you for giving us this, Crowley. It means the world to me, as do you.”

“Feeling’s mutual, Angel.” He paused.  “Did I ever tell you yet that I love you?”

Aziraphale gazed at him fondly. 

“Crowley, you never needed to. You showed me every single day, in everything you did. And I love you too.”

Together, they looked back up at the entrancing lights dancing across the sky, snuggled deeper under the cosy blankets, and eventually, fell asleep in one another’s arms.