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Hoping for a Miracle

Summary:

Anthony J, assassin and member of the Vipers assassin's guild was growing tired. Tired of the guards, tired of his job, tired of constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to catch him. He needed to leave. The problem was, to do that he needed money. And a ridiculous amount to get as far away as he needed to. So he decides to take one last job.
Escorting prince Aziraphale Fell out of the country sounded easy enough, and he would pay quite a lot for it, but it quickly becomes far more difficult than he could have ever anticipated and with the past he'd been running from finally beginning to catch up to him, the need to leave had never been more apparent. There was only one problem now.
He was falling in love with the prince.

Notes:

Hello hello! It's time guys! I'm finally posting this fic! So this is my first fic that doesn't take place in the canon universe and I'm a little bit nervous about it so y'know be gentle 👉👈🥺 This also wasn't originally a fic. 'Cause you see I started writing it before I was obsessed with good omens with some ocs. I built like a whole world for it and everything. And then I watched good omens and kinda abandoned it and started writing a fic. And I just had the idea one day to rewrite it as a good omens fic and it actually worked surprisingly well. So I basically just did the opposite of when people take a fic and turn it into an original work lmao.
This fic is currently about halfway done so I'll be updating every Monday. Fingers crossed we can keep this schedule for the entire thing.
Also heads up before we get into it I'll probably be putting tws ahead of certain chapters just for things like blood or certain acts of violence, you know. They don't occur often enough that I felt like it needed a tag but I do want to give people a warning just in case.

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The night was warm as Anthony waited by the east gate, a hand on the hilt of his knife.

He blended easily into the shadows along the wall with his dark clothing. It had been lesson number one in his training all those years ago. Learn to use the shadows to your advantage so no one will see you coming when you slip into your target's room.

But he wasn't here for that tonight.

Footsteps sounded to his left, and he instinctively moved further against the wall.

Slow, quiet footsteps. Nervous.

Anthony held his breath, his hand tightening around his dagger, and waited.

A man appeared from around the corner, wearing a tan overcoat, a brown vest, a light blue shirt with a tartan bowtie, and a pair of brown trousers. An outfit that felt far too modest for a prince.

But it was most certainly him. Anthony knew that face. He'd seen it countless times in paintings, and waving from atop a horse during a parade, from behind several guards escorting him to his favorite tavern, and, once, from atop a courtyard wall, when Anthony had grown a little bit too curious and a little bit too cocky.

He’d always thought he looked a bit like an angel, with his curly white hair. And they said if the light struck it just right, sometimes it even looked like it glowed, almost like a halo.

Watching him now, Anthony tilted his head curiously. He still looked, Anthony thought, very much, like an angel, even as he glanced around, confused, unable to see Anthony in the dim moonlight. There was just a strange almost ethereal air about him. Anthony couldn't quite place it. 

Still, he wasn't about to let his guard down. He knew very well that looks could deceive, and there was a very good chance Aziraphale was just as snobbish as the rest of the nobility.

Anthony whistled, getting his attention.

Aziraphale whipped his head around, startled by the sound, it seemed, then smiled, a sight far brighter than Anthony had expected, when he caught sight of him. “Ah. There you are,” he said, coming over. “You're Anthony J, I assume?”

“Just tell the whole town I'm here why don't you?” Anthony muttered. 

Aziraphale’s smile fell. “Oh. Oh, right.”

Anthony almost felt bad for a moment. And then Aziraphale glanced around the empty street, his eyes turning contemplative. “But, I mean, surely, there’s no one around but us,” he said.

And there it was. Well, Anthony just hoped he could get this over with quickly, then.

Anthony laughed. “Oh, you’re never alone in a place like this.”

He walked around the prince, looking him up and down. “You dressed pretty casually. Good. Still reeks of wealth, though. We’ll be robbed in a second out there.” He nodded towards the road.

Aziraphale’s head swiveled to follow Anthony as he circled him. “I... well, I, I’m not sure what I-”

“Those buttons on that vest,” Anthony interrupted, pausing before Aziraphale and motioning to them. “Are they gold?”

Aziraphale looked down. “Oh, no, uh, they’re brass, I believe, but-”

Anthony frowned. Brass didn’t run as high as gold, of course, but if Anthony could mistake the buttons for gold, then some gang of bandits walking along the road definitely could.

That alone would be enough to get them robbed.

He drew his knife and brought it towards one of the buttons.

Aziraphale leaped back. “What- what the Hell are you doing?” He glanced frantically around, seemingly looking for a way out. Ready to bolt at any moment. Though Anthony supposed holding a dagger up to his stomach would do that. 

“I just need to cut the buttons off,” he explained.

Aziraphale somehow managed to look even more horrified at that. “You can't! It's two hundred count cotton, and-”

“I don't care,” Anthony hissed. “It's either this or you can say goodbye to our little deal, because I'm not going to get robbed because of some stupid vest.” He stepped closer, knife angled.

Aziraphale placed a protective hand over his stomach. “But-”

Anthony reached out his other hand to take Aziraphale by the arm. If he had to take them by force he was certainly more than willing. He wasn’t about to risk his life over this.

“Please!” Aziraphale’s hand shot out, catching his wrist, and he stated firmly, “No.” 

And Anthony was so shocked by the strength and the speed with which he’d grabbed him, he listened. The prince had some fire to him. And some balls if he was willing to grab him like that. Most people, those who didn’t really know him, wouldn’t dare.

Anthony cocked his head a bit and slowly pulled his hand away, and Aziraphale stepped back, adjusting his coat.

“Alright. What do you suggest, then, prince ?” Anthony asked. “Got some grand idea to- What, what are you doing?”

Anthony could only watch, brows raised, as Aziraphale removed his coat, then began to undo the buttons on his vest.

He removed that too and held it out to Anthony and said, “There. No more vest. No more buttons, just please don’t damage it. It really does mean a lot to me.”

Anthony looked down at the vest. He supposed, technically, this did work. He could put it in his bag with his—admittedly very few—belongings and keep it safe for whenever the job was done.

Or, he supposed, he could sell it. The craftsmanship was nice, after all, and the brass buttons meant that it would go for an even higher price.

He needed the coin, too. For food and to pay the annual tithe to the Vipers. And it got him just a little bit closer to the one thing he had so desperately wanted all these years.

He gave a hum and tucked the vest away.

“So, uh, where to?” Aziraphale asked.

“Out of the country. That is what you wanted right?” 

“Well, yes, obviously, I just meant, in the shorter term, where are we going?”

“Oh, right, yeah. We’ll just walk down the road, there’s an inn there somewhere. We can stay there for the night, then move on the next morning,” Anthony explained.

“Right. Of course,” Aziraphale said, and Anthony looked him up and down again, taking another look at the clothes. They were plain enough for a prince. Maybe, maybe , enough, without the brass buttons, to keep them from getting robbed. But his face was recognizable and so was his hair. And even if he wasn’t heir to the throne, people would certainly kill to get their hands on him.

Anthony sighed and pulled off his cloak, handing it to the prince. “Put this on, pull the hood up, don’t let anyone see your face.”

Aziraphale nodded and did as he said, surprisingly, without complaint, then motioned towards the gate. “After you.”

*    *    *

They walked for several hours, Aziraphale, thankfully, keeping his head low.

Anthony couldn’t deny he was curious about the man. He was a prince, after all. Had it made. More wealth than even Anthony could imagine. So why would he want to escape so badly that he would hire an assassin to escort him? Unless there was something going on inside the castle that Anthony didn't know about. Perhaps some death threat he was trying to flee.

It seemed odd, though. Why kill the fourth born when there were three older siblings, two of which were currently being groomed as potential heirs to the throne, to target instead? He supposed it didn't matter, though. The man was paying him quite a lot to get him out of the country. Anthony didn't need to know any more than that.

They stopped for the night at an inn that sat at the crossroads between Dourwar and Buryshafte. And Aziraphale, to Anthony’s surprise, didn't seem disgusted by the rundown building. Just smiled politely at the man behind the counter, who booked them their room.

The man gave him a strange look, but otherwise, said nothing.

Anthony shot him a glare that he hoped said, I swear if you let anyone know we're here, I will kill you.  

The man quickly looked away, hurriedly letting them know where their room was. First floor, as Anthony had requested, since it was easier to escape from, if they had to. It was lit only by a single candle burning on the nightstand between the two beds, and Anthony narrowed his eyes at the dark corners, waiting for someone to jump out and ambush them.

No one did. 

Anthony entered the room fully and once he was inside, he immediately began searching the room for any hidden compartments or small slits and holes someone could watch them through.

Aziraphale watched him curiously from his bed. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for places where people could spy on us,” Anthony answered.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and Anthony thought that would be the end of it, but then he added, “Well, I… I’m sure you don’t need to do all that. No one knows I’m missing, not yet.”

Anthony wasn’t so convinced. Sure, it was unlikely his absence would be noted until morning, but it wasn’t impossible someone had figured it out sooner. Perhaps a servant saw him leaving in the middle of the night and decided to follow him. Or maybe a guard, or… anyone who happened to be wandering the castle hallways at midnight. “You can never be too careful.”

“I… Yes, I suppose.”

 Anthony went to another wall and ran his fingers over it, searching for holes, and Aziraphale watched him the whole time. Anthony could tell. Could feel his gaze burning into his back.

“If there’s something you wanna say, prince, just say it.”

“Well, I just… Don’t you ever… relax?”

“Sure. Relax all the time,” Anthony lied as he went to another wall, giving it the same treatment as the other two. He supposed it wasn't exactly a lie. He did relax. Sometimes. Just not nearly as often as he probably should.

“Yes. Uh, of course, I just… You’ll have to forgive my asking but… when? Because it doesn’t seem like-”

“I relax all the time ,” Anthony said. “Just not on the job.” He went to the window and closed the curtains, then paused for a moment, listening.

All was quiet.

He went to the bed and plopped down onto it, removing his shoes and tossing them towards the foot of his bed.

Aziraphale’s had been placed neatly by the door the moment they walked in.

“And it’ll probably save your life one day,” Anthony continued. “S’a dangerous job, y’know. You relax, you die, kinda thing.” He glanced over in time to see Aziraphale look away. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he murmured. His throat bobbed and he glanced back over at Anthony. “But surely this isn’t too dangerous. Escorting me.”

“No. S’not. But, y’know, you are a prince,” Anthony said. “If I got caught with you…” He made a noise of distaste. “Well, let’s just say, that wouldn’t go well.” Regardless of who found them, really. Guards, they’d assume the worst. An assassin with the prince didn’t look too good, after all. They’d probably kill him. Anyone else would probably try and take Aziraphale. Ransom him, kill him, torture him. Whatever general nastiness their minds could conjure up.

Aziraphale looked away, perhaps imagining those scenarios as well. And Anthony couldn’t help but admire him for a moment. The soft frown on his lips, the furrow to his brow, as if he were deep in thought. And in the soft glow of the candle between them, Anthony couldn’t help but notice his hair did indeed look like a halo. “Right. Of course.”

Anthony said, “I won't let anything happen to you, though, an- Aziraphale.” What? What was that? We can’t just start calling him angel because he looks like one. Prince is fine. He is one, but we can’t use angel, that's ridiculous.

Aziraphale's eyes lit up a bit. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice the near-slip. “Oh, well that's very-”

Anthony interrupted before he could finish that sentence, “I want my money, and I'm not interested in sharing.”

Aziraphale looked away. “Oh. Right.”

“Anyway, goodnight,” Anthony said, then turned and promptly blew out the lone candle, plunging them into darkness.

*    *    *

It was bright when Anthony awoke. The light streamed through the small gap between the curtains, managing to catch him right in the eye.

He let out a groan, holding up a hand to blot it out. “Ngh.”

It was way too early to be this bright.

Unless… it was the other way around, and it was way too bright to be this early.

Wait, fuck.

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Aziraphale said, and Anthony rolled over to face him. “Your tea was getting cold.”

“My what?” Anthony bit out.

“Your tea,” Aziraphale repeated, pointing to the nightstand, and indeed, a cup sat there atop a small plate.

Anthony sat up. “Aziraphale,” he said through gritted teeth, “what time is it?”

“Oh, nearly noon. You slept for quite a while. Why?”

Anthony’s hands clenched to fists. “What. The fuck, Aziraphale? We were supposed to be out of here at dawn.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Well, why-” Anthony paused, glancing at the teacup and saucer, knowing for sure he hadn’t brought those with him. And Aziraphale certainly hadn’t either. 

“Where did this come from?” he questioned.

“Oh, the nice man from the lobby made it for us,” Aziraphale said, a smile on his lips.

“For us ?”

“Oh, yes. I drank mine a while ago and brought the dishes back. He was very kind. Actually, I-”

Anthony groaned and put his head in his hands. Oh, how am I gonna handle this for days on end?  

He rubbed his hands over his face, calming himself as much as he could before meeting Aziraphale’s gaze once again. “I’m gonna need you to never do this again, okay?”

“But-”

“That man could've put anything in that tea. He could've killed you! And you weren't even a little worried about that?”

“I… Well, no,” Aziraphale admitted. “I didn't… Didn’t even think about it. I just wanted some tea and figured I'd ask.”

“Well don't do it again. Half the people out here would kill you if they could. You're lucky the man in the lobby wasn't one of them.”

Aziraphale gave a nod, turning his gaze downcast. “Right. Of course.” They sat there for a moment, silent, before Aziraphale bravely spoke up, questioning, “But, I mean, are you sure? Half of them, that’s… Well, that’s a lot of people.”

“Yeah, sure is.” Anthony shrugged. “I dunno, mostly a guess. You are a prince though, lots of people would kill you if they had the chance. For the money.”  

“Of course.” Aziraphale glanced away, his eyes getting that distant, pondering look again before he asked, “Anthony, can I ask you something?” 

Anthony gave a wry smile. “Asking permission for this one, eh? Should I be worried?”

Apparently, he should've been, because Aziraphale asked, “Are you always this… on edge?”

Anthony’s smile fell and he turned his gaze away. The prince didn’t seem to pity him, so that was nice. In fact Anthony would swear he seemed genuinely concerned. But defensiveness came easily to him and honesty did not, so he muttered, “Does it matter if I am?”

“I, well, no, I suppose not, just…” Aziraphale trailed off.

“Oh, spit it out, prince,” Anthony muttered, knowing it was better to get this over with.

Aziraphale shook his head, though. “No, nothing. You're right, it doesn't matter.”

Anthony gave a grunt and got to his feet. They were severely behind schedule, thanks to him sleeping in, which was… odd, if he was willing to admit it. That had certainly never happened before. Not on a job, anyway. He decided not to think about it as he grabbed a pair of sunglasses out of his bag and said to Aziraphale, “Right. Get up and let’s go. And be fast, we’re behind enough as it is.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but slipped on his shoes.

Anthony shoved the glasses on and led them out of the room, slapping the key onto the reception desk without a word and quickly leaving the building, pulling Aziraphale along behind him while he mouthed something at the man behind the desk. Anthony didn’t bother to try and gauge what.

They slowed their pace after getting back onto the dirt road, though only a little, and Anthony quickly draped his cloak over Aziraphale, knowing it would be much harder to hide his face in daylight.

“Now, do not say a word to anyone when we get to Buryshafte,” Anthony ordered. “Let me do the talking.”

“Yes, fine, fine,” Aziraphale muttered.

“You do want to get out of the country, don’t you?” Anthony countered.

“Yes, I do. Just…” Aziraphale looked away. “God, you’re annoying.”

Anthony nearly gaped at him. The nerve of this prince. “Well, you can either deal with annoying, or I can leave you stranded here, and you can say goodbye to our deal.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I understand,” he said through a sigh. He pulled the hood over his head. “Let’s just… get this over with, please.”

Notes:

Fun fact: Wickber street in Good Omens is a play on Berwick street. So when I changed this to be a Good Omens fic, I had to change all the town names to make them Good Omens themed, so I decided to pick two random streets in Soho and give them the same treatment, hence Dourwar and Buryshafte. Wickber and Tadfield will make appearances as well.
Also, this fic is, of course, ongoing and will be updating regularly (hopefully) probably for a while (my last long fic took me an entire year to finish) so if you want to read something between updates, I do have a few other fics you could check out too! The long fic I mentioned and also a couple one shots and couple ofmd fics too, if you go there.

Chapter 2

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It took them hours to arrive in Buryshafte and by the time they did, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon.

They’d have to stay here for a night, something Anthony had been trying to avoid, since it would only cost them more money, but, whatever. He had slept in, which was weird because he never slept in on a job, but it was fine.

Everything was just fine. 

He’d just have to try harder tomorrow.

He glanced over at Aziraphale, who still had the cloak pulled low over his head. Narrowed his eyes. If only this bastard wasn’t here.

Taking this prince out of the country was going to be more difficult than he thought if the man wasn’t going to take a single step to protect himself. He knew not to take any jobs like this in the future, at least. 

Not that he’d need to, he realized with an odd combination of relief and dread. After this, he should have enough coin, after all. So long as the prince was true to his word, and Anthony had a feeling he would be. Princes had… honor, or something. Some of them, anyway. And he had a feeling, despite how much of a nuisance he’d been so far, Aziraphale was one of them.

Aziraphale was surprisingly silent as they made their way to a store that sold various clothing items, Anthony buying several sets of dark clothing and a second cloak. He had a feeling the snobbish little shit would balk at wearing the same pair of clothes during their entire journey. Though he supposed he had only brought one outfit with him. Odd.

He wrapped the cloak around himself, nodded his thanks to the woman behind the counter, then led Aziraphale back outside, whispering, “Alright, we’re staying in an inn for the night. If I am not up at dawn, wake me . Alright?”

“Yes, I quite understand. You made yourself very clear at the last inn we stayed at.” Aziraphale said, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “Though there really was no need for that kind of language.”

Anthony clenched his hands to fists. Did he have any idea what Anthony could do to him? He must have if he had sought him out specifically. So why was he not afraid?

He was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Both, perhaps. Anthony had personally witnessed the latter several times now. The bravery remained to be seen, though.

He nearly laughed out loud at the thought. 

Bravery ? From a prince ? With his soft hands and manicured nails and halo-like hair.

No, bravery wasn’t for him.

When they arrived at the inn, Anthony went through the same motions he had at the other one, again coming up empty and Aziraphale sat down on his bed, watching, though he didn’t say anything about it this time.

“Can I at least ask for an extra pillow?” he murmured instead.

“No.” Anthony moved to the window, slamming the curtains closed.

“Oh, come on,” Aziraphale whined. “The pillows can’t kill me, and I can’t sleep with just one-”

“Fine!” Anthony interrupted. “I’ll ask for your pillow, but you are staying here.” He turned to glare at him. “But sooner or later, prince , you’re going to have to learn how to live without all those luxuries you had, because this,” he threw his arms out wide, “is not your castle. And I think you’ll find the world out here is a lot colder and a lot harsher than the one you grew up in, and it’s not going to bend to your every whim.”

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed, his face falling, and a strange and sudden feeling came over Anthony seeing that expression on his face. A feeling that told him to say, Wait, no. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.

He promptly shoved it aside as Aziraphale murmured, “Right, yes. Of course,” and Anthony left the room to ask the woman at the front desk if they had any spare pillows.

*    *    *

Aziraphale didn’t sleep well that night, despite the extra pillow. They were incredibly uncomfortable actually, and he found himself, instead, thinking about what Anthony had said. 

The world out here is a lot colder and a lot harsher than the one you grew up in. It’s not going to bend to your every whim.

He wondered if perhaps he was right.

This world out here, he’d read about it, sure, and of course he had left the castle on occasion with escorts or in a parade, but that was a lot different than living outside the castle walls.

The castle was already full of vipers. Nobility truly were some of the worst of humanity, Aziraphale was sure of it. He had never quite fit in with them. Even if most of his siblings were kind, the others, the sons and daughters of the various kings and queens or lords and ladies and whatnot… Well, he knew firsthand how cruel they could be. And if the world out here was worse… Well, he supposed it was too late now. He had to try. And he’d taught himself a useful skill or two while cooped up in that castle. Would those skills be enough remained to be seen, he supposed.

After a couple of hours or so of tossing and turning and worrying, he finally managed to slip into an uneasy sleep.

When he awoke what felt like mere minutes later, Anthony was already gathering their stuff, getting ready to leave.

“Oh, can’t- Can’t I have a moment to wake up?” He had no idea how much he’d slept last night but clearly it wasn’t enough. He was utterly exhausted, and he wasn’t sure how he’d make it through an entire day of traveling.

“No.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I envy the people who haven’t met you.”

Anthony snorted. “Meeting me was entirely your choice, prince. Now get up, or I’m walking out that door without you, and you can try to make it out of here on your own.”

Aziraphale groaned, but sat up, saying, “You never know. I might surprise you.”

He turned his head, cracking his neck, then got to his feet. He had changed into his new clothes before going to bed last night—they were far too dark for his liking but as long as it stopped Anthony from complaining, he could deal with them—so all he had to do before following Anthony out the door was throw on his cloak and pull the hood down low.

The two of them continued their journey, now backtracking a bit, to the crossroads, where they had stopped at the inn the day before. And it was then, as they made a left turn, heading towards Wickber, that Aziraphale supplied, “It’s been long enough, now. I’m sure my absence has been noticed.”

“It was noticed the morning after you left. One reason why I’ve been taking precautions,” Anthony explained. “They’ll have every guard in the country looking for you.”

Aziraphale winced. “Yes. Sorry about that.”

Anthony shrugged. “It’s nothing new.” He glanced over at Aziraphale, his face half obscured by his cloak and those sunglasses over his eyes—Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he wore them—making it nearly impossible to read him. “Why’d you leave anyway? I mean, you probably had it made up there. Living in a castle, servants answering to your every whim.”

“Uh, yes, well, I… I suppose you could… think of it that way.” Aziraphale swallowed, glancing away from him. “It’s just… Well, it’s a bit… lonely.”

Anthony tilted his head, an amused smile on his lips. “Lonely? Don’t they have marriages for that?”

“I, er, yes, I… I suppose,” Aziraphale sputtered.

“And you didn’t think, ‘oh, maybe I’ll try that before I abandon my family and country?’”

“Don’t- Don’t put it like that,” Aziraphale muttered, side-eyeing him.

“Oh, but it is, exactly like that,” Anthony said, grinning. “Not judging you, of course, I mean, look at me, but that is definitely what you’re doing.”

Aziraphale looked away. “No, it’s not.”

But it was, and he knew it. 

Not that he would be too terribly missed. His mother and father wouldn’t care much if he was gone, he knew. They rarely spent much time with him, what with grooming two of his older siblings as potential heirs to the throne, training them to be warriors and diplomats.

His siblings would care, though. Would likely be hurt by his abandonment.

Muriel certainly would. The two of them used to sneak into the kitchens at night and steal a few cookies or a slice of cake. Whatever sweet treat the kitchen staff had made that day.

Ramiel would too. He was the oldest of them, the warrior of them, and had taken a surprising liking to Aziraphale. He’d protect him from the other nobles who often cornered him. When he could, anyway. And Errapel, his eldest sister, was always kind enough to treat his bruises when he couldn’t.

“You never answered my question,” Anthony spoke up.

“Hm?” Aziraphale glanced over at him.

“Why didn’t you get married? You’re a prince, you’ve got good looks, surely women were flocking to you.”

“Um, not exactly,” Aziraphale admitted. “Well, I, I suppose, some, but I… I never really…” how should I put it? Liked any of them?

“Never really…?” Anthony prompted.

“I just… I want a connection . I want to feel something with them, and it just never happened,” Aziraphale explained. “And honestly, I think most of them didn’t actually like me at all. I was just the best they could do.”

“Oh, I see. They were settling .” Anthony said the word with surprising distaste.

Aziraphale gave a disheartened nod. “Yes, I believe so. And my parents, they knew that I wasn’t really interested, but they didn’t care. They were going to arrange a marriage if I didn’t pick, so I…”

“You contacted me,” Anthony finished. He gave an impressed hum. “Bold of you.”

Aziraphale gave a weak laugh. “I guess so. But uh, that’s enough questions about me. What about you?”

Anthony raised his brows. “What about me?”

Aziraphale paused, realizing he hadn’t actually thought of a question to ask him, then panicked, trying to come up with one quickly. “Well, um, your… your line of work.” He mentally facepalmed, but it was too late to back out now. “It’s, er, not exactly typical. How did you, you know, get into it?”

Anthony gave a wry smile. “You’re asking how I became an assassin?”

“I- Well, yes, is that not-”

“No, no. S’fine,” Anthony said. “So, what happened was, my dad, he was like, this really powerful wizard type. Like, lived up in a tall tower, flowy robes, you know the ones. But , he was terrible. Left me and my mum when I was fifteen to go on a quest for world domination, kicked a puppy on his way out, and stole candy from a little girl who lived across the street,” Anthony said. “So, I trained relentlessly under the Vipers to get strong enough to find him and kill him.”

Aziraphale’s frown had deepened with each detail of the story and he said as Anthony finished, “You just made all of that up, didn’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Anthony said with a smile. “The real story’s not as fun anyway. Now, was that it, or…?”

“Uh, one more thing,” Aziraphale began, a second question suddenly popping into his mind. “What does the J stand for?”

Anthony gave a grunt and a shrug. “S’just a J, really. Thought, Anthony by itself is a little underwhelming, y’know? The J makes it sound… I dunno. A little bit more .”

That certainly hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. Honestly he’d just assumed it was his last initial. Though he supposed it wasn’t the best idea to go running around as an assassin using your first name and last initial. Even just using his first name was incredibly risky.

Aziraphale gave a hum in response. “It is a bit underwhelming,” he agreed. “Why not go with… I don’t know, Throat-ripper, or… Stalks By Night. Something spooky.”

“Stalks By Night?” Anthony asked incredulously. “What kind of name is that?”

Aziraphale gave a small, amused smile. “A spooky one.”

Anthony shook his head, and though Aziraphale couldn’t see, he had a feeling he was rolling his eyes behind those glasses. “You’re ridiculous.”

They didn’t speak much in the hours that passed after that, but the silence between them seemed slightly more… companionable.

Notes:

Hello hello! We are back. Y'know it's funny going back through these early chapters because most of them I haven't actually looked at in months. This one made me realize that Crowley goes from calling Aziraphale bastard (derogatory) to bastard (affectionate) and I just think that's beautiful.

Chapter 3

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They found an inn around dusk to stop at.

They were getting pretty lucky with these, Anthony knew, but sooner or later, that luck would likely run out. And he couldn’t help but wonder how his traveling companion would handle sleeping on the hard ground. It would likely be a first for him.

But Anthony supposed he had done well so far on their journey, all things considered. And that last conversation they’d had, the reason why he was doing all of this… Anthony doubted he would give up a chance to find love over some uncomfortable sleeping conditions.

Perhaps he could find it in himself to get along with this stubborn, painfully proper, prince. His journey certainly wasn’t noble, but as selfish as it was, it did mean a lot to him. Anthony could relate to that.

He did his usual check of their room, again coming up empty, and Aziraphale mostly refrained from saying anything this time. Mostly.

“You know, you really should try to relax a little,” he said as Anthony kicked off his shoes.

Anthony opened his mouth to mutter some retort but Aziraphale continued, “I know, but perhaps, I don’t know, maybe every now and then you could make some tea, or read a book, or… something. You can’t live like this forever.”

Anthony plopped down onto his bed, deliberately not meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. “I can live my life however I like,” he countered.

“I, I know, but-”

“Enough.” Anthony shot him a glare, and Aziraphale promptly shut his mouth. “I’m not getting into all your business, prince , so why don’t you get out of mine.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, turning his gaze downward. “Right. Of course. Sorry, I was just… trying to help.”

And Anthony got the feeling again. That sudden urge to apologize. He just looked so miserable , and he really was trying to help him, Anthony could see that. He meant well. And oh, he was kind . When was the last time anyone had treated him like that? 

But Anthony didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “Well I don’t need help,” and laid down.

Aziraphale said nothing more, and Anthony blew out the lone candle, plunging them into darkness. 

But Anthony found himself unable to sleep.

Instead his mind remained upon Aziraphale and his painfully sad expression. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. He upset people all the time and it had never fazed him before, but for some reason, seeing Aziraphale truly miserable made him pause. Made him want to go back. Say he hadn't meant it. Because really, he hadn't . Hadn’t wanted to hurt him, anyway, he just… Oh, he didn't know. 

Maybe he was scared. 

Scared of getting too close and all the feelings that came with it. He didn't need those. They only caused problems.

Memories flashed in his mind.

All that blood. Those screams.

He squeezed his eyes shut, banishing them as quickly as he could.

He loosed a quiet sigh. You'd think he would've gotten used to that by now, it had been twenty-five years, after all, but no. 

He took a moment, taking a few deep breaths, then closed his eyes and eventually, fell asleep.

*    *    *

Aziraphale was up before Anthony the next morning, a strangely regular occurrence, it seemed.

Anthony wasn’t used to this. Waking up and having someone just… there with him, but he found he, strangely, didn’t mind it. The prince wasn’t bothering him, after all. He was just sitting on his bed, reading. Anthony guessed he must have brought the book back from the castle. He did have a small bag of belongings with him. 

They left the inn with little conversation and made their way to Wickber without a word. It wasn't until they got to the city gate that Anthony murmured, “This place is extremely busy and crawling with guards, so hood up at all times, got that?”

Aziraphale gave a shallow nod. His hood was already up, and had been since they left the inn, but Anthony wanted to make sure it stayed that way.

“We’re going to the market,” Anthony continued, “and I’m gonna sell and buy a few things, and then we’ll head to Tadfield.”

Aziraphale’s brows knitted together. “Wait we’re not… We’re not staying for the night?”

“No. We’re not.”

“But why-”

Anthony snapped, “Because I said so.”

“Alright, alright.” Aziraphale looked away. “No need to be rude. I just wanted to know, that's all.”

Anthony gave an exasperated sigh and explained, “It’s just too dangerous here. Too… busy, too many guards, too many eyes. I don’t like it.”

He didn’t even want to be here, actually, and would have avoided the town if it wasn’t for the fact that they were running low on food, and he didn’t have a bow for hunting on hand.

Aziraphale clasped his hands neatly in front of him. “See. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut it, prince.” 

They kept their heads down as they moved through the crowded streets, stopping only when they reached the market, the streets growing so crowded he and Aziraphale had to go single file. 

Anthony reached out a hand, grabbing Aziraphale’s arm to keep them together. He was not about to lose a prince in this busy ass market.

He led them past the many stalls and into a small shop simply called Pat’s Antiques. It was a quiet little shop, with only a few older patrons browsing its shelves.

The bell chimed dully as they stepped inside.

Anthony had first found this place last year, when he had taken up a contract from the owner. Pat, still a bit terrified of Anthony, now offered him better deals when he came here.

And sure enough, there he was behind the counter, currently with his back to them. He said over his shoulder, “I’ll be with you in just-” He stopped, his eyes going wide as he caught sight of Anthony. “Oh!” He quickly stopped what he was doing and came up to the counter. “Uh, yes, fine sirs. What can I do for you?”

Anthony turned to Aziraphale and murmured, “Why don’t you go look around for a bit while I deal with this?”

Aziraphale gave a nod and headed a little deeper into the shop. Though not so deep that Anthony couldn’t see him, thankfully. It was his job to get the prince where he needed to go safely and unharmed, and he intended to do it.

Anthony set his satchel on the counter, and without a word, rummaged through it, retrieving several pieces of jewelry he’d stolen from the house of his most recent contract and Aziraphale’s vest, setting them all down.

“Is this all?” Pat asked, and Anthony gave a nod. “Alright, I, uh, I can give you-” Pat was promptly cut off by Aziraphale, who had, apparently, noticed his vest sitting on the counter.

Anthony had been hoping he’d be too busy looking at all the things on the shelves to see it. Well, this should be fun, he thought to himself as Aziraphale said, coming back over, “Wait, you can’t- You can’t sell that!”

“Oh, but I can. It was in my possession, wasn’t it?” Anthony said, giving a slight tilt of his head.

“I… Well, yes, technically, it was,” Aziraphale admitted. “But-”

“Oh! Well, then, technically , I’ll do what I like with it.” He turned back to Pat. “How much?”

“No!” Aziraphale’s hand shot out, grabbing the vest, trying to yank it back, but Anthony was just as quick, grabbing a hold of it too.

“You can’t sell it!” Aziraphale insisted. “It’s important to me!”

It is going to get us a lot of money. Which we need, by the way, if we’re going to keep staying at inns like we are,” Anthony hissed, baring his teeth a bit. That normally worked. Freaked people out enough that they listened to him, but Aziraphale wasn’t deterred. Lifted his chin in a way that reminded Anthony that he was, indeed, a prince. Perhaps not a well respected one, not within the inner circle of nobility, anyway, but a prince nonetheless. A prince that would rather die than part with his beloved vest, it seemed.  

Aziraphale said in a voice that demanded respect, “You will not sell this.”

Bold, indeed. Anthony cocked a grin. “Oh, yeah? Plan to stop me, angel?”

Angel. Satan bless it, we can’t call him that; why did we call him that?!  

Aziraphale’s brows raised slightly at the nickname but he otherwise didn’t acknowledge it as he said, “I won’t need to.”

Anthony blinked. 

He was so sure. Why was he so sure? 

And why, most importantly, was he right?

Anthony couldn’t sell it, no matter how much it went for. How could he when Aziraphale was standing right here in front of him, holding onto it with a grip that was surprisingly strong. Anthony had a feeling if he pulled, the thing might very well rip into two.

The vest was well-worn. Loved. It meant a lot to the prince, clearly, and he had been kind . Kinder than Anthony deserved, probably. He couldn't just throw this thing he loved away for a handful of extra gold. Wasn’t sure he could handle the look of devastation that would come after. The look of betrayal that he knew would never leave. 

He certainly didn’t like the man, no, but… he made decent company, when the two of them decided to be civil, and he had tried to help, even if Anthony didn’t want it. Or maybe, more likely, wasn't ready to accept it.

He didn’t want to ruin that.

The prince had said he was lonely, and Anthony, being, well, what he was, was too, even if he’d never admit it. Perhaps the two of them could be lonely together.

He sighed, letting the vest slip from his fingers. “Fine. Just put it away and don’t let anyone see it.”

Aziraphale smiled, his eyes twinkling with gratitude and just a hint of smugness, and said, “Thank you.” 

He held the vest close to his chest and went back to browsing the shelves, and Anthony turned back to Pat, whose eyes widened at his attention.

Pat looked down at the remaining items on the counter. “So, uh, just… just this, then?” he asked nervously.

“Yep,” Anthony answered, popping the P.

“Okay. This will get you about…” He took a moment to examine the jewelry. “How about a hundred gold?”

“A hundred and fifty.”

Pat winced. “I… I can’t-”

Anthony bared his teeth.

“A hundred thirty!” Pat blurted. “Please, that’s the most I can give you.”

Anthony gave a sigh and said, “Fine.”

Pat loosed a breath of relief and quickly counted out the gold, and Anthony scooped it into a sack before grabbing Aziraphale by the arm and leading him out onto the busy street without so much as a goodbye to the terrified man behind the counter.

“Right. Let’s get some food and get out of here,” Anthony said, and led them toward a vendor who sold various breads and dried meats.

*    *    *

They got lots of food. Enough for a week's worth of travel, Aziraphale guessed. 

He had tucked his vest away shortly after leaving the antique shop, knowing the brass buttons would only attract attention. He was grateful Anthony had let him keep it without much of a fight, though he had expected nothing less. He has his own theories about the man. Had a feeling he wasn't really as scary as he tried to appear. 

Aziraphale supposed he wasn't entirely sure if the brass buttons really would attract so much attention, but Anthony sure seemed to think so, and Aziraphale wasn’t willing to test that particular theory. After all, Anthony was right about this place being busy. And crawling with guards.

Shortly after they began walking briskly through the streets again, purple and gold armor caught his eye. Several guards walked the streets, some nailing posters on wooden posts, others just standing, glaring at anyone who dared look in their direction.

One of them turned, caught Aziraphale's gaze, and paused, cocking his head. He elbowed one of the other guards beside him. 

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide and he quickly turned away, a quiet gasp escaping him. Oh- Oh, God. Did he…?

Anthony didn’t seem to notice the exchange, and Aziraphale kept his mouth clamped shut as Anthony led him through the bustling streets. Didn’t dare even look behind.

They probably didn’t get a good look anyway. And even if they did, how would they follow them through the crowded streets?

But as they continued onward, more purple and gold flashed in the corner of Aziraphale’s eyes. Anthony didn’t seem to notice, though. And if he hadn’t seen anything, surely that meant-

A hand clamped down on Aziraphale’s arm, nearly wrenching him from Anthony’s grasp, who whirled to Aziraphale, saying, “What are you doing?” at the same time the guard who had grabbed him said, “Your Highness, what’s going-”

He broke off, noting Anthony’s hand, still clamped around Aziraphale’s wrist, and his eyes hardened, a hand going to his sword. “Who are you? And what-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish.

With the flash of dark clothes and the glint of something silver, the man fell to the ground, unconscious.

Aziraphale stared, mouth agape as Anthony quickly tucked the knife away. And people around them began to scream, calling out for help, and-

Aziraphale was promptly yanked away. Dragged further down the street so fast his legs nearly went out from under him, but he ran, staying close to Anthony as other pedestrians jostled him, fleeing the scene as well.

Aziraphale’s breath was loud in his ears, but soon enough he found himself pressed up against a wall in a quiet back alley, and Anthony’s hand left his arm while he backtracked to peek around a corner.

Aziraphale let himself fall back against the wall, his chest heaving.

Anthony returned a moment later, seemingly satisfied they weren’t being followed. For now, anyway. “Okay?” he asked.

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded.

“Good. Let’s get out of here, then, yeah?” Anthony said and went to the middle of the alley, kneeling down and pulling up the sewer grate.

And oh, that wasn’t… He wasn’t actually suggesting… Aziraphale’s stomach roiled at the mere thought of entering.

“You can’t be serious,” he objected.

“Guards will be posted at both gates. They’ll be checking people’s pockets and pulling back hoods,” Anthony explained. “We don’t have another option.”

Aziraphale swallowed. Glanced around.

“Unless, of course, you’d like to go home.” And the way he said it. Like some sort of challenge. Like it was a bet they’d made and Anthony was close to winning.

And he could go home, he supposed. 

He could fabricate some story. Say Anthony was trying to kidnap him and bring him to some secret organization or… something. Everyone would believe him. He was a prince, after all.

But then he’d be back to square one. Stuck in that damned castle; forced to marry some woman he could never love.

He took a few hesitant steps forward.

“Just… promise me I can get a bath afterward.”

Anthony cocked a grin. “Oh, I was planning on it. Can’t let his Royal Highness have even a speck of dirt on his clothes.”

“There is far more than a speck of dirt down there, thank you very much,” Aziraphale countered, but began the climb down into the dark, grimy space below.

Notes:

Hello hello!
It's so funny trying to think of things to say about these early chapters because it really has been over a year since I wrote these and guys I do not remember a lot of what's in them 😅 But, hey, the nickname angel has been established! And Crowley's trauma's coming to night a bit in this one. He has it rough in this fic. Honestly both of them kind of do, but I do it to them out of love.
This is gonna be a pretty long fic btw. Like right now it's a little over 90k words and we still have quite a bit more to go. I'm guessing it'll be about 150k when it's done, but I tend to undershoot my estimates, so uh, buckle in guys, we're gonna be here for a while.

Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The sewers, as Aziraphale expected, smelled awful. 

They were filled with feces, urine, garbage, and Aziraphale thought he might’ve even seen the decomposing body of a large rodent. And, to make matters worse, the tunnels were small enough that they had to crawl to get through them.

He winced with every squelch of his hands pressing into the sludge.

Oh, he would be taking a long, long bath after this.

“Just a little bit further,” Anthony murmured. “There’s a grate up ahead that I opened a couple years ago. It leads to a pond out in the woods.”

“Please don't tell me that’s the pond we’ll be washing in,” Aziraphale muttered.

“No. ‘Course not,” Anthony said. “There’s a small river somewhere beyond that.” And before Aziraphale could even say a word, he added, “Don’t worry, they don’t connect in any way.”

Aziraphale loosed a silent breath of relief. “Alright, and after that, we get back onto the road? Head to… where was it you said? Tadfield, right?”

That would be the next closest town, though, based on all the maps he’d seen of the continent, he doubted they’d reach it today.

“We’ll go to Tadfield, yeah,” Anthony said, “but we’re not getting back on the road. It’s faster to cross through the forest.”

Aziraphale paused.

“Wait, you… you mean… the woods between Wickber and Tadfield?”

“Uh, yes, obviously. Now keep going. You’re wasting daylight.”

Aziraphale did continue forward, but objected, “We can’t go through there.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Anthony taunted. “Can the poor little prince not handle sleeping on the hard dirt?”

Aziraphale bristled at his blatant mocking. “No, it’s dangerous. I’ve read about it. It’s… inhabited.”

“Well, yeah. S’a forest,” Anthony said. “Lots of things live there.”

“No, it’s… I…” Aziraphale sighed. He knew how this was going to sound. Really, he did. It had come as a shock to him too when he’d first read about it. But perhaps Anthony would believe him, or, at the very least, hear him out. “There are these people who have some sort of… base of operations out there. Underground,” Aziraphale explained. “They summon these, these creatures, worship them, even, and-”

He paused, hearing Anthony… laughing. “You do know how ridiculous that sounds, right?”

Or perhaps not.

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to shoot him a glare, but Anthony wasn’t deterred. “Like… a story you’d tell kids to keep them out of the woods.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I know how it sounds, but it’s real. I have read about it.”

“Oh yeah? And you’re sure you didn’t find that book in the fiction aisle?”

“That’s not… how a library works,” Aziraphale began, exasperated. “They don’t have aisles- Well, they do, technically, but they’re called sections - Look, nevermind. And to answer your question, no , I did not.”

Anthony was quiet for a moment. Long enough that Aziraphale thought he had dropped the subject, but then he spoke again, “Y’know, I never took you for the superstitious type.”

Aziraphale’s hand clenched to a fist. “This isn’t superstition!”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Anthony muttered sarcastically.

Aziraphale huffed. “Look, you can believe whatever you want, but you don’t have to be rude. I’m trying to help. Keep us both out of trouble.”

Anthony didn’t say another word after that, and the sudden silence was stifling. But Azirphale didn’t speak either. Didn’t trust himself to with how hot his cheeks were after those comments. How he had to fight to keep his hands unclenched.

Frankly, he was quite used to being mocked. He’d had to deal with a lot of it in his day to day and had learned, for the most part, how to ignore it. But it felt different when it was him. Stung a bit more. Aziraphale knew it shouldn’t matter. He didn’t know this man, and Anthony certainly didn’t know him, and yet it still hurt.

Aziraphale knew he had assumptions about him. Of course he did. Some of them probably weren’t even entirely wrong. It didn’t mean Aziraphale liked any of it. He didn’t ask for any of this, after all. He didn’t ask to be born a prince. He didn’t ask to be held to the impossibly high standards, to be revered by common folk on the streets but despised by most of the other nobility, to be so well recognized he had to have guards with him whenever he left the castle grounds. He didn’t want any of it. It was just how things happened. And there was absolutely no need for the… taunting and mocking. He had dealt with plenty of that while living in the castle, and he didn’t need any more, thank you very much.

Soon enough, though, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and found, just as Anthony had said, an open grate.

He climbed out, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Air that didn’t smell so bad it made him want to puke. And Anthony followed only a moment after, covered in grime.

Aziraphale could only assume he was in a similar state.

Anthony didn’t speak. Didn’t say a word to Aziraphale. Just started through the forest, and Aziraphale followed, trailing behind him.

He didn’t have much choice. He could leave and go on his own, but the guards would likely not only be at the gate but patrolling the roads as well, and if they spotted him, he would be carted back to the castle. Though he supposed that would be better than the fate that awaited him if they encountered any of those creatures out here.

Aziraphale had read about them pretty extensively in a book about demonic entities. They fed off of the pain and misery of living creatures, but they had found a particular interest in human pain over the years. And, to make matters worse, they could only be physically harmed by sunlight or magic, which Aziraphale doubted Anthony had.

But surely everything would be alright. Maybe they’re reach here wasn’t quite what Aziraphale remembered. Or maybe Anthony was right and they didn’t actually exist at all.

He hoped that was the case as they continued on.

*    *    *

They made it to the river in under an hour, which was good because the smell permeating from them was so bad even Anthony had to try his hardest not to gag, and the moment it came into view, Aziraphale murmured, “Oh, thank God,” and ran forward.

Anthony couldn’t blame him.

Aziraphale paused at the river’s edge, though, giving a nervous glance around. A bit self-conscious, perhaps. But, Anthony supposed, undressing in the middle of nowhere like this was bound to make anyone at least a little self-conscious. It didn’t seem to last long though, as the prince took a deep breath and began removing his clothes, and Anthony promptly, respectfully, turned his back, conveniently hiding his reddening cheeks.

“I thought princes were supposed to be modest!” he called to him, in an effort to ease the tension that had built between them. His own fault, really. He’d been a bit… harsh with his earlier comments. He hadn’t intended for them to come across that way, but the prince had clearly been hurt. 

Anthony didn’t want that.

It seemed to work well enough to his relief, though he guessed Aziraphale was just happy to have a bath. “I can’t care less about modesty when I smell absolutely horrendous,” he said, and Anthony heard the splashing of water as Aziraphale waded in.

Anthony waited until the sounds had mostly subsided before turning around and heading over, finding Aziraphale submerged up to his shoulders.

Anthony glanced over at the pile of dark clothes on the bank. All of them. Aziraphale was wearing absolutely nothing while he soaked in the water beside him, and that was… a thought he most certainly should not be having. That was entering dangerous territory, and he did not need to go there.

“You should wash your clothes too,” Anthony supplied.

“I will,” Aziraphale assured. “I just figured I’d enjoy myself first.”

Anthony cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I’ll, uh, I’ll keep watch, then,” he said, and sat down, his back to Aziraphale. Not that there was any real threat out here. Nothing larger than a deer probably. But what else was he supposed to do?

“You could use a bath yourself, you know?” Aziraphale supplied.

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” Anthony said. “Someone took the tub before I could get to it.”

There was a pause after that, brief but certainly notable, and then, “Well, there’s plenty of room. And I, I would turn my back, of course. While you…” Aziraphale didn’t finish that sentence. 

Anthony decided not to contemplate why.

“Ngk. It’s fine. We’ll take turns, I don’t mind,” he said, and that was that.

A silence followed, filled only by the sounds of birds chirping and squirrels scuttling through the trees and leaves swaying in the breeze. And the light splashes coming from the river behind him, which Anthony was doing his best not to think about.

“Anthony? Can I ask you something?”

Asking permission again. And the last time that happened… well. Anthony braced himself as he said, “Yeah, sure.”

“That guard back there. You didn’t kill him.”

“That’s not a question, angel.” He had decided to keep using the nickname. It did suit him, with his curly white hair and his cream colored clothes. Well, not anymore on the clothes bit since Anthony had made him change, though he had kept wearing that bowtie. And he couldn’t deny he liked the way it slipped off the tongue. It felt natural. Right.

“I know. I only meant… Why?”

Anthony shrugged. “Didn’t want to. Didn’t have to.”

“But… you could have.”

“Oh, sure. Could’ve killed you too, if I wanted. But, lucky for you, I don’t actually go ‘round murdering everyone who inconveniences me,” Anthony said with a scowl. “Despite what you might think.”

Everyone thought that about him. Well, everyone who knew what he was, which, of course, was very few people, but still. It came in handy, at times, like with Pat, but it was annoying too. Everyone flinching if he so much as moved his hand a little too close or a little too quickly.

“I… That’s not… I didn’t mean it like that,” Aziraphale stammered.

“Eh. S’alright,” Anthony lied. “I’m used to it by now.”

Aziraphale said nothing more to that, and when Anthony glanced behind him, he found the man had turned away. And then Anthony watched as Aziraphale dunked his head under the water, then rose back up and shook out his hair.

Anthony swallowed hard and promptly looked away.

That was not good. No, that was the exact opposite of good.

The man was attractive. Fine. Anthony could admit that.

But he was also, for one, a prince, for two, his… client, he supposed, for lack of a better word, and, for three, looking for someone who was not Anthony. And he didn't like Anthony, anyway. Why would he, when he had been, frankly, an ass to him so far?

And Anthony wouldn't be here much longer anyway. Once he got this job finished he'd finally have enough money to put his plan into action, and then he'd never see Aziraphale—or anyone else he'd ever met here, for that matter—ever again.

No, it definitely wasn't worth it to… try. Anthony didn't even know how to try, if he was honest. Being what he was, it hadn't seemed like the most responsible thing to do. He'd tried the whole cloak and dagger meet in a back alley sort of thing, and that had been… fine. Not terrible, he supposed, and sometimes it helped to unwind a bit, but it was still missing something.

But maybe after all of this was done, when he was safe, he could allow himself to try. Allow himself to relax as Aziraphale had said he should. Could be nice.

Soon enough, Aziraphale was done bathing and washing his clothes. He put on one of the other pairs Anthony had bought for him, and Anthony removed his, wading into the river.

The water was surprisingly warm, and he called jokingly to Aziraphale, “You didn’t piss in here did you?” 

Aziraphale whirled to face him, scandalized by the question, it seemed. “No! Of course not!”

Anthony gave a soft laugh. “It was a joke, Aziraphale. I know you didn’t.”

Aziraphale softened. “Oh. Sorry. I’m just, uh…” He rubbed a hand over his shirt, as if instinctively going to straighten out a coat or something, though he wasn’t wearing one now. “A little on edge, I’m afraid.”

“Eh. S’fine. Keep watch though, will you?” he asked, and Aziraphale gave a nod and sat down, his back to Anthony. And Anthony watched him retrieve a hand mirror from the bag he’d brought with him and comb a hand through his hair.

He snorted, but otherwise said nothing.

And with Aziraphale keeping watch, he allowed himself to close his eyes, tipping his head back. Allowed himself to take a breath, to… not quite relax but something close to it. The closest to it he’d gotten in a while, after a series of very stressful contracts, one of which had very nearly ended in his apprehension. 

He tried his best to push those thoughts away, though, and took a moment, taking deep breaths, trying to think about the times where he’d felt the most tranquil, instead. Trying to perhaps draw from those moments.

When his mother would tuck him in at night. When she’d pull the blankets up to his chin and press a kiss to his forehead.

He missed her still, most days and swallowed hard at the thought.

And then those screams crept back in. The smell of blood. The fear and panic that had coursed through him.

His arm twitched instinctually beneath the surface.

He opened his eyes, loosing a quiet sigh of annoyance. Relaxation wasn’t going to happen, it seemed.

Oh well.

He began to wash up.

Notes:

Aaand let the slow burn begin. I realize I didn't actually tag this fic as a slow burn. I meant to, I just completely forgot. But I feel like the tag about how it feels like they pine for 6000 years gets the point across so I'll probably just leave the tags as they are 😂
We get a little bit more of the fantasy elements in this chapter. Basically what I decided when I was making this world is that magic does exist in it ('cause magic is cool) it's just very rare in the area that this story takes place. So Crowley and Aziraphale are just two normal humans in this one. Well, as normal as an assassin and a prince can be, anyway.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Hello hello! So we've earned our first tws this chapter as this will be where things, inevitably, go wrong. I really won't have to do this too much. Probably only this chapter, the next one, and then a few others later on in the fic.

So tws for this chapter are kidnapping and strangulation (nobody dies tho guys I promise. That no major character death tag is there for a reason) and also there's a cult (don't know if that needs a tw but I'm giving one anyway).

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They spent a good half-hour by the river, both Anthony and Aziraphale happy for the rest and bath, but they were moving again once they had both changed into dry clothes. They had to get as far away from Wickber as possible. The guards would likely begin searching the forest soon, and Anthony didn’t want to have to deal with any more of them on this job.

Aziraphale grew notably nervous as the trees began to grow thicker. As they stopped being able to see the sky through their leaves.

Ridiculous, of course. There was nothing harmful hiding in the woods, save, perhaps, the occasional snake, and Anthony doubted any of those would leap out to bite them. He refrained from saying anything, though. The man had seemed genuinely hurt the last time he had, and that wasn’t what Anthony wanted. Not at all.

The sky soon grew dark, and the two of them were forced to make camp, Anthony retrieving a couple of leather tarps from his satchel and setting them up to shield them from any rain, though the sky looked, for the most part, clear. What he could see of it, anyway. And he hung up their clothes beneath them to dry.

Aziraphale hardly spoke throughout, and every time Anthony glanced over at him to make sure he was alright, he found him looking nervously around the forest, jumping at every snap of a stick in the darkness.

“Look, everything’s gonna be fine, alright?” Anthony said, lying down beneath his tarp. “If anything happens, I can protect you.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, you can’t. Not against this.” His throat bobbed.

“I was trained for things like this. Trust me, I know how to handle these situations.”

Aziraphale only sighed, and Anthony turned over, putting his back to him, knowing he had done all he could.

*    *    *

Anthony awoke some time later with the distinct feeling that something was wrong.

His hand immediately went to his knife as he rapidly scanned the space around him, though he didn’t sit up. Didn’t dare for fear of alerting any potential attacker that he was awake.

He saw nothing at first, but he heard sounds of a scuffle. Coming from beneath Aziraphale’s tarp.

His gaze shot to the sound, and through the darkness, he saw Aziraphale, hands scrabbling at his throat, where a ring of darkness had wrapped around his neck.

The tarp had been thrown aside and in its place, stood some sort of… creature. A creature that was made of the same darkness squeezing the life from Aziraphale. It seemed he’d been right after all. Shit.

Anthony was on his feet in a flash and running for the entity, which, strangely, showed no reaction to his presence. He plunged his blade into the creature, but… it didn’t react to that either. Showed no sign at all of being in pain, the shadows merely dancing around the blade, darting away before it could strike them.

He swallowed, and took a step back, looking up into its face. And those eyes, like two black holes, they saw right through him. Every single defense, every wall he put up easily crumbled to pebbles as if they had never been there at all and Anthony shuddered.

A shadowed grin curled across its lips, and a low laugh skittered its way down his spine.

Anthony took a slow step back, glancing between this… thing and Aziraphale. Watching the man’s eyes start to droop as his consciousness began to fade.

Shit!  

He dropped to his knees, trying to grab him, pull him away, anything, but he wasn’t quick enough. Something wrapped around his throat before he could get there, and squeezed.

A choking sound escaped him, and he reached up, clawing fruitlessly at his throat, trying desperately to dislodge the creature. 

His fingers met nothing but his own skin.

His eyes found Aziraphale’s, just in time to watch them close, his body falling limp.

A small, anguished sound came from him and he reached, desperately trying to grab him, pull him away. He could still save him if he just-

That thing behind Aziraphale laughed, a sound that activated every primal instinct inside Anthony to flee, but he wouldn’t. Couldn’t, really. Not this time. 

The tendrils wrapping around Aziraphale’s throat receded. And the voice that came from that creature, low and guttural. Like something not of this world. “Your pain is delicious.”

And then it wasn’t Aziraphale before him. It was the bodies of his sisters, his brothers. Flashing between each of them. 

No, no, no! Stop! He gritted his teeth, trying to shove visions away, but they persisted.

The creature laughed again, and that thing around his throat squeezed tighter as Anthony’s vision began to go dark.

His siblings did disappear then, and the last thing he saw before unconsciousness took him was Aziraphale. 

The faint rise and fall of his chest.

*    *    *

When Anthony next awoke it was to the sound of a door closing.

He let out a groan, forcing his eyes open to find himself… upright. Oddly enough. 

His hands were chained to the ceiling, his feet barely brushing the ground. A quick glance around revealed he was in some sort of dungeon, if the various chains hanging on stone walls were any indication. 

Aziraphale was here too, to his relief, and, simultaneously, horror, and in a similar state as Anthony was. His eyes, wide with fear, met Anthony’s, and he murmured, his voice trembling slightly, “I told you.”

Anthony swallowed.

He gave a more thorough search of the room, noticing all of their stuff, it seemed their kidnappers had yet to look through any of it, sitting on a table to his left. His lockpicks would be there, still tucked away in that hidden pocket in his bag, but he couldn’t get to them chained up like this.

Shit, shit, shit, think, think!

Aziraphale was speaking again, half to himself it sounded like. “I… Oh, God.” Anthony wasn’t even sure he knew he was saying any of it out loud.  “We’re… We’re going to die. They’re-”

“No, no. No one’s dying, okay?” Anthony gave another glance around the room, searching for anything that he could use to somehow get him out of these chains and coming up empty.

“I just need to…” He looked up at the chains instead, twisting his wrists, trying to find some sort of flaw, some way to break them open, or just break them in general. Trying to slip free, anything. He couldn’t.

He let out a growl of frustration.

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed. “We’re doomed.”

“No, listen, I can… I’ll think of something, okay? I just need time.”

The door slammed open, punctuating that sentence, almost like the universe, or perhaps a higher power, was playing some cruel joke on the two of them in particular. A man and a woman entered, wearing black robes with gold embroidery, and one of those creatures followed behind them, slithering along the wall.

All three of them went to Aziraphale, who whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. Absolutely terrified. And Anthony couldn’t do a thing about it.

The woman shushed him, reaching up a hand, running it over his chest. “Don’t worry, pet. This won’t take long.”

Aziraphale shuddered.

“Get away from him!” Anthony snarled, but was ultimately ignored.

The man retrieved a curved knife from his belt, and Anthony immediately began to struggle, panting through his teeth, as he brought it to Aziraphale’s chest. “Stop!”

The man showed no sign he’d even heard, and Aziraphale whimpered as he pressed the knife into his skin, just enough to draw blood. 

It broke something in Anthony to see him in such a state. Broke him even more to know he couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it.

The creature, the one who had been intently focused on Aziraphale, whipped its head around, its cold eyes boring into Anthony’s own, all-seeing. It made his blood run cold.

It held up a clawed hand, silently commanding the man with the knife to stop. 

And then every eye in the room was on him, and Anthony was suddenly painfully aware that his glasses were among the objects lying on the table to his left. He swallowed, schooling his features into the closest thing to neutrality he could manage as the creature floated over, winding around him.

“You’re a curious one.” It breathed in deep, letting out a growl of satisfaction at whatever it found. “So much pain,” it hissed. “So much fear.”

Anthony lifted his chin. “You don’t know anything about me.”

But the thing smiled, wide, knowing. “Oh, I do. I can see it all. Tassste it. Would you like to see?”

A voice rose up in Anthony's mind, female and familiar. “No, no!” she cried. “Crowley, help!” He could see her there, his sister, broken, bleeding, just as he remembered before-

He jerked back, his eyes widening, breaths coming in shallow gasps. “How… how did you…?”

The creature chuckled. “Let’s keep this one for a while,” it said, presumably to the man and woman in robes. “There’s enough here to feed for years.”

Anthony jerked against his restraints, snarling at them, “Bastards! I’ll… I’ll kill you for this! All of you!”

They paid him no heed, and the woman said, speaking to the creature, “Would you like to keep feeding on this one?” She motioned to Aziraphale, whose eyes widened as he was signaled out once again.

“No,” the thing hissed. “I’m full for now. We’ll return tomorrow.”

“Yes, master.”

With that, the three of them left the room, and Anthony loosed a sigh of relief, all tension leaving his shoulders. It was silent for a long while, save his and Aziraphale’s heavy breathing, quieting now.

“What… what was that?” Aziraphale murmured.

“Uh… one of those creatures, I think,” Anthony answered. “Those things you were talking about yesterday.”

“No, I know what that was. I mean, what did it do to you?” His throat bobbed. “It… your eyes glazed over, and then you jerked back. You looked terrified! What did it show you?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Anthony said, then asked before Aziraphale could pester him for more information. “What about you? Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I… I think I’m alright,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t know. I think I may have blacked out for a moment.” His throat bobbed, and the fear returned to his eyes. “I don’t… Anthony, I don’t think I can do that again. I… I’ve never felt like that before.”

“I know,” Anthony murmured. “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can…” He looked up at his bound hands. Fought with everything he could to wrench them free, but only succeeded in rubbing them nearly raw.

“I can’t get out of these,” Anthony said. “If I had my lockpick I probably could, but it’s over there.” He nodded towards the table against the left wall.

Aziraphale paused. Blinked. “Wait, I…” He trailed off, his face screwing up in concentration, fingers scrabbling, trying to get to his hair, it looked like.

“What are you doing?”

“I just… I keep a… pin, a hairpin on me. At all times, usually.”

Anthony couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips. The prince was full of surprises, it seemed. “Really?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Mhm.” He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating further, clearly trying with everything he had to raise himself up and get to the pin, but with the position he was in now, it wasn’t going to happen.

Anthony glanced around, noticing a small stool sitting in front of Aziraphale. Close enough that if he… Oh, this could work.

“Aziraphale.”

“No, no, I can do this, just-”

Angel.”

Aziraphale paused, his hands and arms falling slack. “Oh, what are we going to do?” he whined. “I can’t-”

“Swing.”

Aziraphale blinked. “What- What does that even- What do you mean, swing ?”

Anthony nodded towards the stool. “Swing,” he repeated. “Stand on that. You’ll be able to reach.”

Aziraphale looked down at the stool. It was close to him. Close enough that he might not even need to fully swing to reach it. Just reach out a foot, pull it closer. And he did just that, and then both feet were on it and he was reaching into his hair and-

And then he had the pin in his hand.

He glanced upward and stuck it into the lock, his tongue sticking out a bit in concentration. Not that Anthony was looking at that, of course.

It took a moment, and all the while Anthony held his breath, ears straining for any sign of people outside their cell, but soon a small, click sounded and one shackle fell open.

A smile bloomed across Anthony’s lips.

Aziraphale got to work on the other and was free in a matter of moments, rubbing at his, likely sore, wrists. Anthony knew his own would have taken their fair share of damage after this too.

Still, the prince's eyes grew a bit lost in thought for a moment, prompting Anthony to ask, “Alright?”

Aziraphale blinked. Shook his head. “Hm? Oh, er, yes! Tip-top! Absolutely tickety-boo!”

“Tickety-boo?”

Aziraphale didn’t bother to explain and said instead, “Here, allow me,” and brought the stool over, freeing Anthony from his own shackles. He managed to land on his feet once he was free, though his hand shot out to keep him steady, landing on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Their eyes met and Aziraphale’s widened, a quiet gasp escaping him.

Anthony frowned. “What?”

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed, and he quickly looked away. “Er, nothing, just… Your eyes.”

Oh. Right yeah. They’re, uh… they’re different. Don’t know why,” Anthony explained with a shrug. “I was born with ‘em.” They were yellow. His family had always said it made him special or meant this or that. Anthony just thought it made him a little bit weird.

“They’re beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured.

Anthony went still at that. Wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

And that was not good. No, that was, in fact, very bad. 

Aziraphale wasn’t talking about him . And it was just a compliment, it didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean what Anthony was starting to want it to. And that in and of itself was dangerous.

Don’t get too close, don’t get too attached, Anthony J, he silently chastened himself and hoped to God, or someone, anyway, that none of these thoughts were present on his face. He’ll be gone soon enough, and then so will you, and you’ll never see him again.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, they’re pretty recognizable, y’know, which is why I have,” he went to the table and retrieved his sunglasses, “these.” 

He put them on.

“Where’d you learn to pick locks like that?” he asked, grabbing up the rest of his things.

“Oh, well, my sibling Muriel and I used to sneak into the kitchens at night, and the door, well, it was locked, you see, so I had to learn how to unlock it.”

“And you just… what, learned through trial and error on your own?”

“Oh, no. I read books!” Aziraphale explained. “And, well, I suppose there was a little trial and error involved. I had to practice, of course.”

“Right.” Anthony grabbed up the prince’s bag, handing it to him. “Now listen, before we attempt our escape I need to say a few things, okay?”

“Uh, yes, of course. Just you know, try and make it quick. I think perhaps we are running out of time.”

They were, Anthony knew that. Someone was bound to come and check on them again soon, and if they found them like this, well, their freedom wouldn’t last very long. “Right. Yes, I know. I just wanted to say… sorry. For, y’know, making fun of you earlier and not believing you. You were obviously right, and this is all my fault, and I just…” He paused, realizing he was starting to ramble, and took a deep breath. “Basically, what I’m trying to say is, I will fix this, okay? I will get us out of here, I promise.”

Aziraphale blinked. “That was… an actual apology,” he said. And then a smile bloomed across his lips. “And a very good one at that. Well done.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t get used to it, angel.”

He started towards the door, then paused, realizing they didn’t have those robes like the others. And Anthony wasn’t willing to wager on whether or not every member of this group—Organization? Cult?—wore them or not. Because if so, the moment they were spotted out there they would just be carted right back here. Or worse, killed on sight.

He turned to Aziraphale. “Right. I have a plan.” Or the beginnings of one, anyway. “Now, we need to play this smart, so, tell me everything you know about those creatures.”

Notes:

So this is an interesting one, okay. This was one of the chapters I wrote before I turned this into a fic (I think I wrote up until like part way through chapter 7 as an original work) so I wrote this expecting absolutely no one to read it, it was all purely for myself, and one thing about me is that I like to give my ocs really tragic backstories. They're more fun to write that way. Now, when I turned this into a fic, I was able to keep the entire plot I originally devised completely intact (a lot of it actually plays really well into good omens I was kind of surprised), which means the backstories are also the same. So yeah. Crowley gets to have a really tragic backstory in this one and I genuinely felt bad for him.
Crowley's real name also makes it's first appearance this chapter. Honestly, the only reason why that isn't brought up by Aziraphale sooner is because he genuinely just believes Anthony is his real name and doesn't find out it isn't until way later.
The lockpicking thing too was an interesting one to convert to the fic because I was like, what would prompt Aziraphale to take up lockpicking? 'Cause my oc did it because he liked to explore all the hidden rooms in the castle (he's a curious lil guy) but I didn't think Aziraphale would do that. But he probably WOULD learn to pick a lock for some really good chocolate cake, so that's what I went with.
Also another thing I learned while writing this, here in the US we call the hairpin Aziraphale uses to pick the lock bobby pins (idk why) but I was almost positive that they called it something different in the UK and since Crowley and Aziraphale are basically British I looked it up and apparently they're called kirby grips??? You mean kirby as in the little pink ball of like clay or whatever he's made out of that inhales everything??
So I was like... yeah we're not calling it that, and I used what I think is a more universal hairpin instead 😅

Chapter 6

Notes:

Some quick tws before we get into this chapter

 

blood and also a stab wound (the actual stabbing is not described though, just the aftermath)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They had made a plan.

It was a risky plan and probably a stupid one, but it was the best one they had besides bursting out of their room and running around until they found the exit, so Anthony would take it.

He had set Aziraphale up against the far wall and shackled his wrists, but he had the hairpin in his hands just in case things went wrong, though Anthony didn’t intend for that to happen. For this to work, their captors had to believe that they were still locked up in here. At least, until Anthony found the right moment to strike. It was a longshot and Anthony knew that, but they didn’t have many other options. Certainly not any that were more likely to succeed, so they would have to make it work.

Anthony was sitting against the opposite wall, hands behind him, but unshackled.

They had been waiting here for an hour so far, hearing nothing but the occasional scuff of boots against stone from outside.

So far, no one had entered.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Aziraphale murmured, his first words the entire time they'd been waiting.

“No,” Anthony admitted. “But I don’t think we have much choice.”

Aziraphale nodded, waited a beat, then murmured, “If we do get out of here, do you think perhaps we can get some better food? Go to a restaurant or something. As a celebration for… not dying?”

Anthony huffed a laugh. “I think that could be arranged, yeah.”

All of this was Anthony’s fault, after all. Aziraphale had tried to warn him, and he’d ignored it. The man certainly deserved some decent food for all the pain Anthony had caused.

“And it’s not if,” Anthony corrected. “I told you I’d get us out of here, so I will.”

Aziraphale nodded, though by the look on his face, Anthony wasn’t sure he believed him. “Right. Of course.”

They waited silently for another few moments before the door creaked slowly open, and Aziraphale stiffened, his eyes going wide.

Anthony’s hand tightened around his blade.

Two men holding trays of food entered. Anthony didn’t recognize either of them. Good. That means they don’t know we moved.

One of them went to Aziraphale, who pressed himself further against the wall. The fear in his eyes, Anthony knew, was not feigned, and it had his muscles tensing further. Ready to leap to his defense at any moment. 

The other went to Anthony, setting the tray down in front of him. “Enjoy looking at it,” the man taunted. “No way in Hell we’re letting you out of those chains.”

But the other man, he was freeing Aziraphale. Letting him eat.

Anthony watched their captors intently, waiting for the perfect time to strike. They were both in the room, and the door was closed behind them, so that was good. Meant they couldn’t escape so easily. But that one, he was far too close to Aziraphale for Anthony’s liking. If he leaped into action now, he would likely just use Aziraphale against him.

Neither of their captors tried anything while they waited. Just stood there, watching them with their arms crossed.

Anthony waited until the other man had stepped a few feet away from Aziraphale. Until he had finished his food and the man chained him back up again. Until both of their captors had nearly reached the door.

And then he lunged, grabbing the closest man by the hood of his cloak and yanking him back, pressing his knife to his throat, hoping like Hell they were scared enough not to try anything.

“Don’t move,” he ordered. “Don't. Say. Anything . You got that?” He glanced at the other man whose gaze was flicking between the door and his friend. 

Anthony tensed, waiting for him to bolt. 

Instead, he lifted his hands and nodded.

“Good. Now, tell me exactly how we get out of here,” Anthony demanded.

Another glance at the door. “I… I can’t-”

“You can ,” Anthony insisted. “And I won’t kill you or your friend if you do.”

The man's throat bobbed.

Anthony added, “Or, of course, you can try and run, and I can cut you into little pieces. I’m an assassin. Trust me when I tell you, I know how to get the job done.”

The man gave a shallow nod. “Alright. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

*    *    *

The man told them everything, and, as promised, Anthony left them both alive. Though he did chain them up and gag them. Couldn’t risk them running to alert their friends, after all.

Once Anthony was sure they were secure, he and Aziraphale donned the men’s robes and calmly left the room and began walking down the hall, trying their best to look like they belonged.

They kept their hoods up. Not too odd, it seemed. Several others had their hoods low as well, and thankfully, with the man’s directions, they were at the door within a few minutes, so Anthony didn’t have to worry about it too much.

They walked right through it. Made it out into the fresh air, one single staircase separating them from the forest, and then-

 “Stop.”

Anthony whirled, noting two people standing guard on either side of the large double doors. 

“What are your orders?”

“Oh, uh…” Shit, shit! Anthony cleared his throat. “ We were sent out to deal with some more people near the edge of our territory. We… were told to capture as many as we could. Bring more food for our masters.”

Come on, come on, buy it.

One of them stepped forward, eyes narrowing in distrust as a hand went to the hilt of their sword. “We’ve already sent out a group to look for them.”

“Uh, no, these are different people,” Anthony said. Shit, shit, shit!

They narrowed their eyes. “What are your names?” they asked with a glance at Aziraphale.

Anthony swallowed. “I, uh…” Don’t give them your real name, whatever you do, don’t- “Crawly.” Well, it was good enough. He didn’t like it though. A bit too squirming-at-your-feet-ish.

“Crawly…?” the person trailed off, clearly waiting for a surname.

“Just Crawly,” he said, unable to come up with one quickly. Not too odd, he thought. He'd met people before who didn't have a surname. Or who perhaps had one but didn't use it.

“Just Crawly?” the person said disbelievingly.

Anthony nodded. “Yep.”

“Pull back your hood, Mr. Crawly.”

Shit!

“That’s really not necessary-”

They lunged forward, ripping the hood from his head, snarling as they scanned Anthony’s face, apparently recognizing him. 

They turned to the man beside them. “Sound the alarm!”

Anthony was turning and bolting up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him before they could even finish their sentence, fisting a hand in Aziraphale’s cloak to drag him along.

It was still dark, but Anthony could see the beginnings of dawn through the trees. They just had to outlast them, just for a little while, and then those creatures wouldn’t be able to reach them. But there were footsteps behind them. Gaining quickly, it sounded like.

Anthony risked a glance back.

Just the person who had spoken to him for now. But Anthony knew it wouldn’t remain that way for long.

He pushed himself to go even faster, Aziraphale, to his surprise, mostly keeping pace. Dodging trees, leaping over roots and even a fallen log.

And then something hit his foot, a root of a nearby tree, he thought, sending him face first into the dirt.

He groaned, rolling onto his back and retrieving his knife in time to see their pursuer stop mere feet away, sword drawn.

Anthony stood, panting through his teeth, and hissed, “I think it’s in your best interest to leave us alone .”

They said, “I’m not letting our masters’ dinner escape beneath our nose.”

Anthony didn’t take his eyes off them but said, “Aziraphale, get behind me.”

Their pursuer laughed. “He’s not going to save you. Nothing can.”

Anthony let out a low growl and didn’t waste any more time before lunging for the man, striking with his free hand. Non lethal, for now. He hoped he could keep it that way.

They jumped back, slashing at Anthony and catching him across the arm. 

Anthony glanced down briefly, noting the red streak now dripping down his forearm.

It wasn’t enough to stop him. 

He lunged, striking again and again and again, landing blows of his own across the man’s chest, his arms. The hits seemed to be doing some damage, slowing them down enough that Anthony knew this would be over soon.

Or it would’ve been if Anthony hadn’t heard more footsteps, and, moments later, people, and one of those creatures appeared through the foliage.

“Shit,” Anthony muttered. He retrieved his dagger, then looked over his shoulder, shouting at Aziraphale, “Run! Get to the road.”

He didn’t wait to see if Aziraphale did, just kept on fighting while the others rushed in quickly surrounding him. But that was fine, so long as Aziraphale made it out. His job was to protect him and he was damned if he wasn’t going to do it. Or at least do everything he could to.

He ducked and dodged as many of their blows as he could, cuts appearing on his arms, his hands, his chest. Honestly, he was lucky that’s all they were. But if he could just keep them distracted, he could buy Aziraphale enough time-

The creature let out a growl that shook Anthony to his very core and hissed, “Kneel!”

“No,” Anthony answered and ducked beneath the sword of one man, plunging the blunt end of the dagger up, right into his jaw, and he fell into the dirt, out cold.

The creature snarled, and then images began to flash in his mind again, clouding his vision. His sister, those awful people, the stench of blood. How it had soaked the rug, squelching beneath their feet.

Anthony reached a hand to his temple, fingers curling like claws as he let out a growl of frustration. “Stop!”

The thing only laughed, and pain burst over his temple as it did. 

“Kneel,” it commanded, and Anthony had no choice but to obey, the pain far too intense to do anything else.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Pressed a fist into the dirt while his other hand remained at his throbbing temple, growling. Fighting with everything he had to get to his feet.

It wasn’t enough.

He could only hope he had bought Aziraphale enough time to get far, far away from here.

*    *    *

Aziraphale didn’t run.

He couldn’t really. Anthony would surely die if he did. Or end up captured again and tortured. And though he had been rather rude on this trip, Aziraphale knew he didn’t deserve that. There were glimmers, after all. Glimmers of something far softer, kinder, than the front he put out.

Aziraphale wanted to uncover more of them.

He knelt, rummaging through his bag for anything he could use to help. But there was nothing. Only a large bag of coin, two of his favorite books, some stale bread, and a hand mirror.

He glanced up, watching Anthony touch a hand to his temple, clearly in pain. Watching him sink to his knees.

Oh, no. Oh, dear.

He reached into the bag, grabbing what seemed to be the most viable weapon, the mirror, and slowly got to his feet, lifting it as their remaining three attackers turned to him.

He swallowed hard, beginning to tremble, watching as the light of dawn, reflected in the mirror and shining on the trunk of a nearby tree, shook with him.

He blinked, a sudden realization hitting him.

It was a bit of a longshot, but… He glanced down at Anthony, still kneeling, clutching at his head, clearly not getting up anytime soon.

It seemed they didn’t have much choice.

He turned the mirror, shining the light directly at the creature tormenting Anthony.

It screeched, its body immediately beginning to burn, and tried to move away from the light, but Aziraphale followed it, gritting his teeth, watching in satisfaction as its body slowly burned away, until it was nothing but ash on the wind.

And then the remaining attackers were on him, shoving him down, onto the dirt, both of their swords pointed at his throat.

He swallowed hard, glancing between the two of them, trying to determine if he should attempt to stand and fight. It would likely only end in disaster, though. He was not nearly as… adept in combat as Anthony. He wasn’t exactly a fighter. Well, he could fence, but he had a feeling those skills wouldn’t be nearly as useful in an uncontrolled environment with people who didn’t exactly play by the rules.

He was about to do it anyway when one of the men was pushed aside, nearly tackled to the dirt by Anthony.

Aziraphale, realizing he should take advantage of the distraction, quickly got to his feet, striking the remaining attacker, who looked ready to run and help his friend, in the head with his hand mirror.

It shattered on impact and the man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Aziraphale turned towards Anthony, finding the man he had pushed already on the ground, unconscious as well, it seemed. 

The two of them were alone in the clearing now, breathing heavily, Anthony hunched forward in pain.

Aziraphale went over, touching a hand to his arm. “Are you alright? What did that thing do to you?”

Anthony didn’t answer, and his eyes weren’t on Aziraphale. Instead, he was looking down.

Aziraphale followed his gaze, finding Anthony’s hand gingerly pressing against his stomach. He slowly pulled it away, revealing crimson covering his palm, beginning to soak his clothes.

“Oh. Oh, dear.”

Aziraphale looped an arm around Anthony’s waist just as Anthony’s arm fell over his shoulders to keep himself upright.

“Here, come this way,” Aziraphale said, and began leading Anthony away, towards the southeast. “It’s too dangerous to stay here.”

Aziraphale hovered a hand over the wound for a moment as they walked, trying to determine whether or not he should press down on it. That was, after all, what you were supposed to do, he knew that much, stop the bleeding and all of that. Though he, admittedly, did not know much more. But he also knew that doing such a thing would hurt, quite a lot, probably, and he didn’t want to hurt him. He supposed it was that or let him bleed all over the place, though, and Aziraphale certainly couldn’t have that.

He pressed his hand to the wound and Anthony inhaled sharply, then loosed a shaky breath that turned to a whimper.

Aziraphale immediately lessened the pressure. “I- Sorry-”

“No.” Anthony placed his own hand atop Aziraphale’s, pressing down hard, squeezing his eyes shut, face contorting in pain as he panted through his teeth. “You can’t… You have to keep the pressure up.” He let out a quiet, pained sound. “Stop the bleeding. Shit.”

Aziraphale could only give a quiet, “Okay,” in response.

“Just… let’s just get as far away from here as we can,” Anthony managed to get out. “I have some bandages. We can stop in a little while and wrap the wound, and then we’ll keep moving until…” He let out a groan. “Until we’re out of their territory.”

“Of course. And I… If anything happens, Anthony, I’ll protect you.”

Aziraphale half expected some sort of remark in response. He hardly had any experience in that realm after all, and he guessed Anthony knew that. Especially taking into account his rather unskilled attack—that had still miraculously worked—earlier.

Instead, Anthony glanced over at him, those yellow eyes still obscured, but his face had softened, just a bit. “You… You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

But they had just been kidnapped and tormented. Anthony had tried to give his life to save him. Practically a stranger.

He wanted to.

Notes:

Hello hello! So we get a little bit of bamf Crowley this chapter 'cause he's an assassin and assassins are cool. Also guys, they technically held hands! Just ignore the fact that they're trying to cover a stab wound, there is hand holding going on!
Also, remember when I said that this would be the last chapter for a bit that needed any tws? Well, I lied, the next one actually needs some too but after that we should be good for a while.

Chapter 7

Notes:

Tws for this chapter are

 

Blood and stabbing (the actual stabbing is described this time)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony’s state deteriorated as they went on.

They had paused briefly a good ten minutes ago and wrapped a bandage around his wound, but he was leaning heavily on Aziraphale now, and he had a feeling that single bandage wasn’t going to be enough to stop the blood flow.

Still, they kept going. They didn’t really have much choice. They weren’t out of that group’s territory yet, and staying in it overnight would get them captured again. And with Anthony’s injury, Aziraphale knew they would not escape again.

It took another hour or so before Aziraphale was finally sure they were out of their territory, and he set Anthony down gently onto the grass. The man was conscious still, but in obvious pain. So much pain Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much longer he would remain so.

“Alright, we’re safe now,” Aziraphale said. “Now tell me what to do. How do I…” He glanced down at Anthony’s bloodied stomach, knowing that without treatment, infection was likely iminent. “How do I help you?”

Anthony cracked open an eye. Closed it again. Then let out a groan and opened them both.

“Uh, we need… We have food, what about water? How are we on water?”

“I… filled my canteen at the river,” Aziraphale said. “I assume you probably did too.”

Anthony nodded.

“But what about your wound? What do I do; how do I…” He hovered his hands over the wound, noting the blood indeed beginning to soak through the bandage.

“Just… use my shirt, my cloak, any cloth you can find. Cover the wound, stop the bleeding.”

Aziraphale nodded vigorously and began to remove Anthony’s cloak, pressing it to the wound. “Alright. Anything else? Do you have any healing salves, anything that could stop infection, anything at all?”

Anthony groaned. “No. This was supposed to be… an easy job.” He let out a sigh. “Look, Aziraphale, you should… You should go. S’not safe.”

“But I…” I don’t want to leave you . “I don’t know if I could make it. On my own, I…”

“With how you were back there, I think maybe you could do it.”

Aziraphale turned his gaze downward. “I… I don’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could.” He looked back at Anthony. “And I can’t just leave you!”

“Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but you should think about it. No sense in us both dying here.”

“You’re not going to die!” Aziraphale inisted. “We can figure something out. I can get help-”

 “Help is miles away. And I don’t think I could…” He sighed. “Look, I’m exhausted just talking to you, a trip like that is…”

Out of the question. Aziraphale knew it, but, “I’ll… figure something out.”

Perhaps he could make it to the nearest town. Find a healer and somehow convince them to make the trip back with him. He was willing to at least try if it indeed came to that. 

Aziraphale swallowed. “Perhaps you should sleep. It’s, er, the best medicine, right?”

“Mm. Right,” Anthony murmured, his eyes already drooping.

He let them fall closed, and soon enough his breathing turned deep, even, and Aziraphale watched him for a long, long while, swallowing the thickness in his throat. Blinking back the burning in his eyes.

*    *    *

Anthony was in and out of consciousness for the next few days. 

Aziraphale had found a stream and was able to clean and change his bandages daily, keeping him as stable as he could.

And in the days that followed, when Anthony was more out of consciousness than in, he helped him eat and drink as best he could. Did everything possible to make sure he was healing alright, but the wound wasn’t getting any better.

If anything, it looked worse.

And as Aziraphale peeled the bandages away one morning, the wound, which had been swollen and red before, was now leaking a yellowish fluid.

Azirphale swallowed.

He hadn’t read much about infection or anything medicinal related, but he knew enough to know this was not a good sign.

He changed the bandage, his fingers, though gentle, shaking, and Anthony flinched in his sleep.

Sometimes, though, Aziraphale wondered if it wasn’t always due to the pain of his wound. Those quiet moments, when he’d hear the man mumbling in his sleep, sometimes clearly enough that he could make out a few words.

Mostly things like, No, no, stop , or don’t . But once, through the incoherent mumbling, he’d heard a name.

Mara.

It had made him go still the first time he’d heard it.

He didn’t recognize the name. Anthony had never mentioned her. In fact, he hadn’t said much about himself or his life at all. Which, Aziraphale supposed, made sense. He was an assassin, after all.

But that creature in the dungeon, it had spoken like there was something far more to Anthony. So much pain. So much fear , it had said, and then it had shown him something.

Aziraphale had no idea what, and Anthony had deflected his question about it, but it certainly made him wonder what the Hell the man was hiding, and why he was hiding it.

Aziraphale glanced over at him now. Sweat gleamed on his brow, and gosh, was he shivering? Aziraphale leaned over, placing a hand against his forehead, finding it hot to the touch.

He sat back, chewing on his lower lip, racking his brain for any herbal cure for fevers that he could try to find out here and coming up empty.

Oh, why didn’t I read up on medicine? Errapel certainly would’ve been glad to teach me!

He had nothing. Absolutely no idea what could help him. But he couldn’t just leave him here.

He swallowed hard, glancing at Anthony once again.

The poor man was helpless. Trapped in his own mind, having nightmare after nightmare. And the pain he was in.

I have to do something , he thought. I can’t just leave him like this.

He glanced around, looking for anything that might help, his gaze snagging on Anthony’s satchel. He’d said he didn’t have anything useful for this sort of thing in there, but Aziraphale supposed it wouldn’t hurt to look.

He pulled the bag closer and rifled through it, pulling out a sack of coins, food, a map, a lockpick set, and several small knives.

Nothing even remotely useful.

He huffed and quickly began shoving it all back inside, but paused when he picked up the map. He knew where they were, relatively at least, and perhaps with the map, he could find his way to the closest town and get help.

He’d have to leave Anthony behind, he noted, with a glance at the man, who remained unconscious. But if he came back with a healer, wouldn’t it be worth it? Even if Anthony had to go a day without company? Would he even know Aziraphale was gone?

Aziraphale looked between him and the map. Swallowed hard.

Anthony wasn’t going to make it without a healer’s assistance, and as much as Aziraphale hated the thought of leaving him here alone, the thought of him dying was even worse. 

He opened the map and quickly scanned it, looking between Wickber and Tadfield and figuring out which one was closest. 

Tadfield.

And then he folded up the map and shoved it into his sack of things. It would be a good thing to have on him, just in case.

After a moment of thought, he grabbed up Anthony’s satchel too, slinging it over his shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’m not stealing your things, I promise,” he murmured, though he doubted Anthony could hear him. “Just… borrowing them for a while.”

And then he helped Anthony eat, giving him small pieces of the dried meat that he wouldn’t have to chew, and bringing the canteen to his lips, pouring lightly, so he wouldn’t choke.

“Alright,” he said once he finished. “I’m going to get you help, okay? I’ll be gone for… I… I don’t know how long, but I promise, I’m coming back.” He reached out, taking Anthony’s hand, and squeezed gently. “I won’t leave you on your own.”

Anthony didn’t answer, of course. Didn’t even crack open his eyes.

It made Aziraphale’s heart clench.

The man had tried to sacrifice himself so Aziraphale could get away. Had done, quite literally, everything he could to keep Aziraphale safe, like he’d promised. So Aziraphale would take care of him in return. In whatever way he could.

He stood and started for Tadfield.

*    *    *

Aziraphale made decent time. He arrived before nightfall, which was quicker than he’d hoped and immediately began asking around for a healer, keeping his hood low.

And when he finally, after nearly an hour of searching, found the healer's shop, he burst through the door, just before closing, his hood falling from his head.

The dark haired woman with round spectacles standing behind the counter didn’t seem alarmed to see a prince at her door at all, however. In fact, she seemed to be expecting him. Had a bag packed and everything, Aziraphale noted as she came around the counter.

“Where is he?” she asked, and Aziraphale could see the freckles dusting her cheeks.

“Uh, I, er. Who, who are you?” Aziraphale stammered.

“Anathema,” she said, then repeated, “Where is he?”

“You… do you mean Anthony?” Aziraphale asked, wondering how she could possibly know that’s what he was here for.

“Yes,” she said, then corrected. “I mean, I, I don’t know, probably. I knew you’d be here asking me to help your friend. The Book didn’t say who that was though.”

“The… Book?”

“A book of ancient prophecies, dating back hundreds of years ago,” Anathema said, as if that cleared everything up.

“Oh. Well, I…” Aziraphale began, deciding not to question it further. What did it matter if it was going to save Anthony’s life? “I could, I could take you to him. You… you are a healer, yes?”

“I run this shop, don’t I?” she said.

“I, well, I believe so. I’m not exactly… from around here.”

“Well, I do,” Anathema said. 

Luck of the devil , Aziraphale thought. He’d come in here expecting to have to spend several minutes first explaining the situation, then several more convincing her to go back with him to save Anthony. But it seemed thanks to this Book, he didn't have to.

“Now, we should go,” Anathema said. “Your friend, he’s hurt pretty badly, right?”

“Oh, uh, right, yes,” Aziraphale said, and led the way out of the shop, just remembering to pull his hood back up as he did so. “And, if I could, please, ask for your… discretion. I’m, um. I’m not exactly supposed to be here.”

Anathema gave a smile. “So I can’t tell anyone I met a prince?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, no,” Aziraphale said as the two of them walked down the near empty streets, their path lit only by the moon, and the occasional lantern lining the road. “But thank you, really. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Well, I… sort of did, actually,” Anathema said, “But I’m happy to help.”

*    *    *

Anthony was alone. 

He wasn’t sure how he knew that, trapped in this dark, festering pit, but he did. Could feel it deep in his bones.

Aziraphale had left him here.

He wasn’t upset, though. If anything, he was glad. It meant Aziraphale would find his way out. Find the love, the life, he was looking for, if God smiled upon him. 

The same God who hasn’t granted me a moment of peace in years , he couldn’t help but think bitterly. Though part of him wondered if he deserved it. He’d made his bed, after all. Now he had to lie in it.

It showed him images sometimes, this void. His sister, broken, bleeding, dying. And sometimes those images warped. Became… real. So real Anthony could swear he was living them again.

And sometimes, the void showed him things that had never happened at all.

It showed him his sister, now, standing several feet before him, bleeding profusely and broken, but still alive. She had a knife in her hand, and she was glaring down at him.

Anthony slowly crawled backwards. “Mara. Wait, wait.”

She said nothing, just stepped closer, knife raised, ready to strike.

Anthony’s back hit a wall, and he raised a hand in a placating gesture. “Mara, listen. I’m sorry, alright, I-”

“You did this to me,” Mara at last growled, knife raised, ready to plunge it into his heart.

“I know. Believe me, I…” He paused, his voice breaking, and swallowed. “I know. And I’m sorry, I am.”

It was likely quite the sight. A grown man, cowering before this twelve-year-old girl. And he supposed he could fight back, technically. But he couldn’t bear to hurt his sister. Not anymore than he already had.

He could see the blood pouring from the wounds on her arms, the deep gashes on her side. See the way her head was tilted, her neck obviously broken.

She knelt before him, the knife still angled. Ready.

Anthony reached out, hands shaking, and gently cupped her cheeks, no longer caring if she plunged that blade into his heart. What did it matter when she was hurting this much?

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Mara, I…” He trailed off, not sure what else to say. A million more apologies on the tip of his tongue, but none of them enough.

“No,” was all she said before plunging the knife in his stomach.

He screamed, the blade digging into the already aggravated wound there.

She bared her teeth. Pushed the knife in further.

Anthony writhed against it, his screams turning to sobs as tears streamed unbidden down his cheeks. Until she ripped the knife free, and the vision faded, leaving him in darkness once again, the pain fading moments later.

But he’d swear, as he sat there, panting, he felt phantom fingertips at his cheeks, gently wiping away his tears.

*    *    *

Aziraphale sighed as Anthony’s whimpers at last quieted. Cleaning and draining the wound was rather painful, it seemed, and found him even in his fever induced sleep. But he’d gently wiped away his tears and silently vowed never to bring this up to him. The man likely would’ve been rather embarrassed to know this pain had brought him to tears.

Thankfully, it didn't take Anathema long, and soon she was rubbing a salve over the wound and bandaging it.

She had been very kind to journey all the way here with him, Book or no Book. And though Aziraphale hadn’t repaid her yet, he certainly planned to. He had plenty of gold to go around, after all, and she more than deserved it for this.

She had also told him plenty more about the Book, which, supposedly, had been written by one of her ancestors and had led her down the path of becoming a healer. A path that had been laid out long before she was born.

Aziraphale only wished his life was so simple. That he could simply look at a book and know immediately which way to go, which turn to take. Instead, he was left guessing, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

He glanced over at Anthony.

“How… how long, do you think, until he heals?” he asked Anathema, who was currently putting away her things, it seemed. He hoped she wasn’t getting ready to leave.

“Fully?” she asked, and Aziraphale nodded. “It could be weeks. Months, even, for some.”

Aziraphale winced. “Alright, and how long until he’s able to walk? Until he wakes up?”

“Oh, he could wake up as early as tomorrow,” Anathema said. “Now until he’s able to walk… That is probably several days down the road, I’m afraid.”

Aziraphale gave a nod, murmuring, “Alright.”

He looked down at Anthony’s still shivering form, and Anathema got something else out of the bag she’d brought, bringing it to Anthony’s lips. Coaxing him to swallow it.

“Should help with the fever,” she said, noticing Aziraphale watching.

Aziraphale nodded. “And you’ll… you’ll stay here for a while, won’t you?” he asked, nodding towards the bag of belongings she’d brought.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “I’ll stay until he can walk, and then we can bring him back to my shop, and I’ll keep taking care of him there.”

“Oh. Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale said, shoulders sinking in relief. “I… I really don’t know how I would care for him on my own, I- Well, you saw how it turned out when I tried the first time.”

He looked down at Anthony, scanning his features, softer now that he wasn’t plagued by the constant pain of his wound or the nightmares he’d been having. More at peace than Aziraphale had ever seen him. 

He had a tattoo in the shape of a snake on the side of his face. Aziraphale had never asked about it before, but found himself curious now. He had no other tattoos, that Aziraphale could see, anyway, so why that one?

Perhaps he’d ask him when he awoke. Get the story behind it. He hoped it wasn’t too sensitive a subject.

“Anathema?” Aziraphale began.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I made the right choice?”

Anathema paused her work, turning to him, perplexed. “What do you mean? Right choice in what, saving Anthony?”

“No, no. In leaving the castle.”

“Oh.” A silence followed, lasting long enough that Aziraphale looked up and met her gaze. “I… don’t think I can answer that question,” she said.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Right. Of course not.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I just…” He looked down at his soft hands. “I just don’t know if I’m… cut out for life out here. I guess I’m just looking for answers wherever I can find them.”

“I wish I could be of more help,” Anathema said, “but the Book doesn’t say anything more about you.”

“It’s quite alright. I’ll just have to… think on it more, I suppose.”

Anathema nodded her agreement and advised, “You should take some time. Really figure out what you want before you're so far along, you can’t go back.”

Aziraphale nodded.

And with Anthony down, it seemed he had nothing but time.

He reached out a hand, idly running a finger over Anthony’s arm. Didn’t even realize he was doing it until Anathema said, “You seem to really care about him.”

He moved his hand away. “Oh, uh, yes, I… I suppose,” Aziraphale admitted. “He nearly gave his life to save me.” Aziraphale swallowed, remembering those moments. The fear of knowing he could very well end up chained and tortured again, but unwilling to leave Anthony behind to suffer. “We… went through a lot together. Had to rely on each other, however briefly.” Though he supposed Anthony was still relying on him now.

He hoped he did a good enough job keeping him safe.

Anathema said nothing more, just smiled, her gaze following Aziraphale’s hand, which had gone right back to Anthony’s arm.

He was really going to have to keep that in check.

Notes:

Man, I really wish I had a more comforting chapter to drop for you all today. I know we're all still very upset over the news last week. I know I definitely am. I've mostly accepted it, but it still hurts knowing how much we're not going to see all because of one terrible person. I do have a Halloween fic I've been working on for the past couple of weeks now that I'll hopefully be dropping within the next few days, so that should be more comforting. No stakes really, just Crowley and Aziraphale falling in love with a kitten. So if anyone wants to read that, it'll be up soon. For now, the most I can offer are virtual hugs 🫂🫂
We'll be okay ❤️

Chapter 8

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale and Anathema spoke amicably for a long while before both of them grew far too tired to hold a conversation and ultimately retired for the night.

Aziraphale didn’t mind. Was grateful for the company that could actually talk back. Grateful that she was sitting here, willing to help save Anthony’s life.

Anthony did not wake the next day, and Anathema soon left as well, telling him she’d be back soon. There were some herbs in this area that she could use for some of her salves and potions that she wanted to gather. So Aziraphale was left alone with an unconscious Anthony.

He took a long moment to scan the man. His shivering seemed to have lessened, though it was still present. He’d need more of whatever it was Anathema had given him last night. But overall he seemed to be doing… better. His wound still looked just as bad, but Anathema had promised it would get better with time so long as she kept rubbing that salve over it, and Aziraphale trusted her.

He reached out, against his better judgment, and ran a finger along Anthony’s hairline. Traced the snake tattoo. “You know, you’re rather handsome,” he murmured. “So long as you clean up the sweat and dirt,” which, there was, surprisingly, a lot of caked on the side of his face. Perhaps he’d turned his head in his sleep and gotten all muddy.

Aziraphale suddenly wished he had some clean cloth to do so for him. The man would never know, after all. He supposed he could just take Anthony’s shirt—which had been put aside long ago so Aziraphale could properly bandage his wound—wash it in the stream, but he refrained.

Anthony likely wouldn’t want that anyway.

But Aziraphale let himself have this. The gentle brush of his fingers on Anthony’s skin.

It was harmless, really. Nothing more than perhaps a little crush, that he certainly didn’t intend to act upon, mind you. And that Anthony certainly needn’t know about.

“Thank you, by the way,” he murmured, bringing his hand back to his side. “For trying to save me. I know you can’t hear me, but I wanted to say it.” He swallowed. “Maybe I’ll tell you properly when you wake up.”

He loosed a sigh and reached out again—couldn’t help himself—gently taking his hand. He gave it a squeeze, murmuring, “Please wake up.”

*    *    *

Anathema returned several hours later, seemingly happy with what she’d found, and knelt to examine Anthony’s wound again.

He still hadn’t woken up, and Aziraphale couldn’t lie, he was really starting to worry.

It had only been a day, of course. Nothing to really be alarmed about. But he couldn’t help but wonder, what if he never woke up? What if it was just this forever? Trapped in his own mind, having all these nightmares. Like some curse from those damned creatures for daring to defy them and escape.

He hoped that wasn’t the case.

Anathema cleaned the wound and rubbed some more of that salve over it, then gave Anthony some more of that medicine that seemed to help his fever. 

Aziraphale couldn’t describe the gratitude that flowed through him while he watched her. He wasn’t sure why, really. He’d been relying on people his whole life. They cleaned his room, made his food, sometimes drew him baths if he was feeling particularly lazy, and on rare occasions, even picked out his clothes. But this was different.

Because he could do all those things, if he so desired.

But this… he couldn’t do this. Would have no idea where to even begin. What salve was she using? What was it made out of? Were the materials found easily in the nearby woods or did they have to be imported? He didn’t know.

Anthony’s life was entirely in her hands. And it seemed she was taking very good care of him.

“Thank you, again,” Aziraphale found himself murmuring. “You, er, you never told me how much this would cost.”

“I didn’t,” she agreed. “You don’t have to pay me.”

Aziraphale looked over at her, mouth agape. “But, I-”

She shook her head. “I don’t need it, and honestly, you two deserve this.” She nocked him with a shoulder. “Go live your life together.”

Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, I, I’m sure it’s not like that,” he said quickly. “We’re just friends, not even friends. We barely even know each other.”

“Right,” Anathema said disbelievingly, and Aziraphale kept his gaze firmly on the ground, hoping she didn’t notice his reddening cheeks.

“Well, either way,” she continued. “You still deserve to be happy. Both of you.”

“Well, I… Thank you,” Aziraphale said. “That’s very kind of you.”

The two of them shared a meal after she changed Anthony’s bandages, and she spoke a bit more about her life. The struggles with being a healer, small annoyances, the farmer’s assistant who she was, apparently, rather fond of.

He wasn’t sure if they were friends yet, but they were certainly acquaintances by now, and Aziraphale was happy to know her.

They settled down to sleep soon after, the sun having dipped below the horizon. But Aziraphale looked at Anthony, who was still unconscious, loosing a sigh, before lying down and, after a while, falling asleep.

*    *    *

Anthony was no longer alone.

He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did.

Aziraphale had returned. Brought someone else, too. And this person was… healing him. He could feel it.

He was still trapped here, in this strange abyss he’d stopped trying to escape from. But it didn’t show him those images anymore, and he wasn’t having nightmares. It was just dark and quiet.

Anthony felt and heard nothing, save, every now and then, the whisper of fingertips against his skin. He guessed it must’ve been the healer at work.

“What is this?” he found himself muttering to the void.

He received no answer and swallowed the bile in his throat.

“Please,” he breathed. “I don’t wanna be here.”

Nothing.

He tucked his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around them. 

“Haven’t I suffered enough?” he asked the darkness, hating the way his voice broke.

He knew the answer to that question already, though. In fact, he didn’t even know why he bothered to ask. It’s not like this place would answer.

“I know I’m not dead,” he continued anyway. “I can still feel everything that’s happening to me.”

No response.

Anthony grunted. “Like talking to a brick wall,” he muttered, then raised his voice, as if to intimidate whatever was trapping him here. “Who are you? Who’s doing this? I swear I’ll…” He trailed off, unsure of exactly how he should threaten a void of literal nothingness.

And then a whisper sounded from the darkness. “ Crowley .” And that voice… low and guttural and not of this world.

Anthony sat up a little straighter, the hair on the back of his neck rising as a shiver ran down his spine.

One of those creatures appeared from the darkness, its eyes boring into Anthony, and a cruel smile on its lips.

“That’s… that’s impossible,” Anthony said. “You’re not real; you can’t be.”

The creature laughed. “Oh, I can assure you, I am as real as the rest of your memories.”

“But that’s all you are. Just a memory. You can’t harm me.”

The creature had reached him now, touching a clawed hand under his chin and tilting his head up. He could feel its claws gliding over his mind. Digging in, just a bit.

“I know everything about you, assassin,” it hissed. “I know your worst fears, your hopes and dreams. The people you hold dear.” The face of his mentor, Beelzebub, flashed in his eyes. Aziraphale’s face too, though he didn’t dare think too hard about that. “And all the people you couldn’t save.” Mara’s face flashed before him and those of his other siblings too, and the creature let out a growl of satisfaction and breathed in deeply.

Anthony tried to jerk away, but the thing dug its claws deeper into his chin, holding him in place. He bared his teeth, snarling again, “You can’t harm me. You can’t; it’s not possible.”

The thing just laughed and reached up its other hand, pressing a clawed finger to Anthony’s temple.

“You will never know peace,” it growled, and dug the finger, slowly, agonizingly, into Anthony’s brain.

*    *    *

Anthony gasped awake, his eyes flying open, finding stars shining above his head. The moon just off to his left.

He placed a hand over his racing heart, feeling it start to slow as his breathing settled, then tried to sit up to get a better look at his surroundings. 

Immediate pain burst over his abdomen, prompting a slight whimper and sending him back down.

Right. He’d been stabbed and was only just starting to heal.

He winced, a hand going to the wound, and lifted his head. Tried to get a good look at it. His chest was bare, he noted immediately, and the wound was bandaged. Everything seemed… fine.

And this is real , he realized, glancing around, taking in as much as he could while only lifting his head. Aziraphale was lying a few feet from him, still asleep, and there was a woman lying several feet to his other side. The healer, likely.

And he was here with them. No longer trapped in that darkness. He was free , and Aziraphale was here, which wasn’t strange at all, really. He’d known that. But for some reason, it was a huge relief to see him.

“Aziraphale.” His voice was barely a rasp, his throat far too dry to manage anything more, but Aziraphale still lifted his head, his eyes immediately locking onto Anthony’s.

They lit up, his features softening as a smile bloomed on his lips. “Oh, you’re awake. Thank goodness. I was starting to worry.”

“Yeah, I-” He broke off. Tried to clear his throat. “Do you have any water?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes, of course.” He lunged, grabbing up Anthony’s satchel and pulling out his canteen.

He brought it to Anthony’s lips, helping him drink, though he didn’t need to. Anthony wasn’t sure why he let him.

“Sorry. We tried to give you food and water, but it was hard with you unconscious,” Aziraphale said as he drank. “We did what we could.”

“Thanks,” Anthony murmured, then chuckled softly, a smile blooming across his lips as a thought crossed his mind. “My guardian angel.” That nickname really did suit him after all.

Aziraphale glanced away at that, though Anthony swore he caught sight of his reddening cheeks, even in the dark.

“How long have I been out?” Anthony asked, deciding it best to change the subject.

“Oh, days by now,” Aziraphale answered. “Maybe… maybe a week? Perhaps more. I lost track a bit.”

Anthony nodded, head still reeling from the fact that he was awake. That he was alive and Aziraphale was here with him. And did his best to shove away the memories of that dark place he’d been trapped in for so long.

He glanced over to his right, at the healer, another laugh escaping him.

“What are you laughing for?” Aziraphale asked, though there was a smile on his lips.

“Just…” Anthony shook his head. “I can’t believe you really walked all that way to find her. You really did all that for me.”

“Well, I… Frankly, I wouldn’t know how to get anywhere without you.”

“Liar,” Anthony muttered. “You got to Tadfield and back just fine, I think you could manage.”

“That was… different.”

Anthony snorted. “Oh, was it?”

“Yes, it was,” Aziraphale countered.

Anthony tried to push himself up just an inch or so more to get a better view of the clearing they were staying in, then winced as his wound pulled at the slight movement.

Aziraphale’s brows immediately furrowed in concern. “Are you alright? Do, do you need something; I can wake Anathema.”

He moved to do so, but Anthony reached out a hand, telling him to pause. “No, don’t. M’fine, I promise.” 

Aziraphale sat back on his heels, giving another glance at the healer, as if debating to wake her anyway. “Alright, but just… Please, let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, I will,” Anthony said, but his concern warmed him. He had spent days here, watching over him, taking care of him. And when that hadn’t been enough, he’d gone so far out of his way to find someone who could help. He had killed one of those creatures. He had stayed behind even when Anthony had told him to run. And all the courage that took.

“Y’know, I was wrong about you,” Anthony murmured.

“Oh?”

“Thought I had you all figured out before I even knew you.” He gave a soft laugh. Shook his head. “I had no idea.”

“I do hope that’s a compliment.”

“It is, yeah,” Anthony said, then added, “Don’t get used to it. M’in a good mood right now.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, but he was smiling. “I wouldn’t dream of it, dear.”

Anthony was grateful for the darkness obscuring his features because he wasn’t sure what effect that ‘dear’ had on his face, but it was probably best if Aziraphale didn’t see it.

He cleared his throat. “Right, well, you can go back to sleep now. Sorry to wake you, I just…” wanted to see you. Wanted to talk to you. “I dunno. Wasn’t really thinking.”

“Oh, uh, right. Yes, of course. Are… are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine,” Anthony lied, but Aziraphale seemed to buy it.

He smiled and said, “Alright, then. Sleep well,” then soon curled back up and fell asleep.

Anthony waited until he heard his breathing turn deep, even, before loosing a quiet sigh and murmuring, “Shit.”

Notes:

Anathema #1 Aziracrow shipper, we love to see it.
Man I am so excited for you guys to get deeper into Crowley's backstory. It's so very painful and I do feel bad for him but it's sooo fun to write.
This fic has officially hit 100k words btw. We're over halfway through (I think idk. I hope so. Otherwise this thing might end up being 200k words 💀) so the road map for the end of this fic is starting to come together. There's still a lot more to go (I'm still guessing this fic will be about 150k words in total) but I'm seeing more and more things fall into place now and it's making me really excited.

Chapter 9

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It was, as Anathema had said, several days before Anthony was able to walk again.

Aziraphale and Anathema had been working with him, first getting him to a point where he could sit up, then, over the course of a few days, where he could stand, though he’d had to wrap both arms around Aziraphale and Anathema’s shoulders. 

They had tried to get him to walk then, and that had resulted in lots of wobbling and cursing from Anthony, and Anathema had ultimately decided to stop. In the days after, however, Anthony got much better, and only had to have his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders when they walked for a long while. Which, of course, they would be doing as they made their way back to Anathema’s shop today, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. Was more than happy to help, really. 

Just before they set out, though, Aziraphale retrieved a handful of gold from his pocket, pressing it into Anathema’s hands, murmuring, “Take it, my dear.”

“What, no. I told you-”

“Yes, I know. But you’ve been very helpful and awfully kind, and I have plenty of gold to go around.”

Anathema looked down, seemingly contemplating trying to shove the coins back into his hands.

“Please,” Aziraphale insisted. “I want to give this to you. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t.”

Anathema relented with a sigh and pocketed the change. “Fine.” She started over to grab her things, then turned back and added, “And thank you.”

They walked for around an hour before Anthony stumbled a bit, a hand going to his stomach.

Aziraphale was there immediately, wrapping Anthony’s arm around his shoulders while Anathema had them pause so she could check to make sure his wound hadn’t reopened, and Anthony grumbled the entire time, insisting that he was fine and that it, ‘didn’t even hurt that bad.’

Anathema agreed that the wound was fine and they were soon on their way again, and as they walked, Aziraphale became painfully aware of their proximity. Of Anthony pressed up against him, the warmth seeping into his side, and that was…. that was nice. Far too nice, even.

But he couldn’t step away. That would be incredibly rude, and, not to mention, it might hurt Anthony.

You’re friends . Not even really friends. You’ve only known each other for a little over two weeks, and half of that time he was unconscious, Aziraphale told himself. He’s letting you do this because he has to, and for no other reason whatsoever. Obviously.

He let himself enjoy the warmth, though.

He didn’t often enjoy being close to people. 

He enjoyed certain company. His siblings, normally, were nice to be around, but the balls often became too much. Especially when he was meant to dance with a multitude of women who didn’t really like him but pretended to because, well, they had to. And then there was the matter of avoiding Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon.

They were at every ball his parents held, or, most of them, anyway, their parents either being close with his own or attending out of obligation from being one of the many Lords and Ladies within the country. Aziraphale had never quite learned which one, and wasn’t sure it even mattered. The four of them had been especially cruel and that was all he needed to know.

He liked the balls, he did. The music was nice, and he liked to see all the pretty dresses and fancy suits, and he didn’t even mind the dancing so much as the ladies, who were sometimes very polite and kind and other times let slip some snide remarks about him. He couldn’t help but feel on edge every time they held one. Just waiting for something to happen. For Sandalphon and Michael and the others to find him out in the courtyard, where he often went to escape when things became too much.

He thought he quite liked being this close to Anthony, though.

It was several hours before they made it to Anathema’s shop and Anthony seemed utterly exhausted by the time they did. 

Aziraphale couldn't blame him. This was the most he'd moved in days and, on top of that, he was still healing.

He helped him lie down on a cot in a back room in Anathema's shop that, Aziraphale assumed, was for patients who were traveling or were too weak to go back to their homes or who, perhaps, had no home to begin with.

Aziraphale silently claimed one of the other cots, setting down his sack of things off to the side.

Anthony shot him a questioning glance, “You don't mind staying here?”

“Oh, I've slept on the ground for over a week, this is a welcome change,” Aziraphale said, and Anthony’s eyes turned thoughtful, though it seemed he was having a hard time keeping them open.

“Yeah. S’pose… Thanks, again. For that,” Anthony said. “You really didn't have to.”

“Oh, but I did. And really, I should be thanking you. You tried to save me, after all. Tried to give your life to do so,” Aziraphale countered. “I think that's a bit more meaningful than sleeping on the ground for a while.”

Anthony considered this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess if you put it like that, maybe, but I dunno. You're a prince . You've never had to sleep anywhere uncomfortable in your life, and yet you didn't even hesitate, did you?”

“Of course not,” Aziraphale said. “You needed my help. I wasn't going to leave you.”

Anthony smiled. His eyes were drooping again. “Mm. Very kind of you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled too and said, “Get some rest, Anthony. You need it.” And perhaps while he slept, Aziraphale could scope out the town. Look for any restaurants he could have Anthony take him to, like he'd promised. Because oh, Aziraphale had not forgotten about that, not in the slightest.

Anathema entered the room a moment later, offering Anthony a blanket and Aziraphale took his leave, trusting her to handle him. He found the kitchen where he ate a small meal of the dried meat Anthony had bought. They were getting low, actually and would need to buy more soon. He'd have to bring that up to Anthony tomorrow, when he wasn't so exhausted.

Anathema soon joined him, saying, “Oh, I have some food here, if you want it.”

“Oh. Would, would you mind if I…?” Aziraphale motioned towards the stove behind him.

“Of course not. Go ahead,” Anathema said. “Just… if you make anything with ginger or nutmeg try not to use too much. It's hard to come by.”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said. “I was just going to cook up some eggs. Would you like some?”

*    *    *

Aziraphale was not the greatest cook. 

He tried his best, but, well, he rarely had the chance to cook in the castle so his skills weren't exactly finely honed. Still, the eggs he made were certainly edible. He may have just gone a bit overboard on the salt.

Anathema, bless her, said nothing, though she did grab a glass of water halfway through the meal and did not finish her food. Aziraphale couldn't blame her. But she did strike up a conversation and Aziraphale took the opportunity to ask about any restaurants around that she recommended, filing all of the ones she mentioned away to ask Anthony about later.

He took his leave soon after, donning his cloak and scoping out the restaurants and discovering a couple more on his walk. He kept his hood low, knowing Anthony would be very upset with him if he didn’t. In fact, he’d likely be upset with him just for going out alone, but Aziraphale was capable of handling himself for a little while. He'd proven that much. And it wasn't like he intended to go around talking to every new person he came across. It was just nice to get out a bit. Enjoy the town in a way he never had before.

It wasn’t exactly the most glamorous place. He saw several drunkards on his walk, two of which were throwing up on the side of the street. But there was joy here too. Children running through the streets, playing games and shouting with glee, young couples holding hands as they walked.

It all seemed rather ordinary, and a part of him wished he had grown up in such a place. Would things have turned out differently then? Would he have fit in better here or still been considered different and outcast by his peers? Belittled and laughed at and called terribly rude names.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers.

He swallowed, and continued his walk, getting a better mental map of the town, before turning and heading back to the shop. 

His posture was a bit more slumped than when he left.

*    *    *

When Anthony awoke the next morning he found Aziraphale beside him, reading a book. 

Anthony gave a small smile, watching him frown a bit at whatever it was he had just read. He was cute when he frowned, Anthony couldn't help but think, but quickly pushed that thought from his mind as he grumbled, “Morning.”

Aziraphale started, his gaze shooting to Anthony, who gave him an amused smile in return.

Aziraphale immediately relaxed. Seemed relieved, even,  as he said, “Oh, you're awake. How do you feel?”

“Like I got stabbed a week ago,” Anthony answered. “What about you?”

“Oh, fine,” Aziraphale said. “A bit tired, I suppose. I didn't sleep well last night.”

Anthony frowned.

But ,” Aziraphale continued, “I did scope out some restaurants we could go to. Because you did promise me.”

“Oh, I know. I remember.” And he did intend to take him. Perhaps not today. He had only started being able to walk again yesterday, and he didn't want to risk putting too much strain on the still healing wound. But soon, definitely. Sometime before they left Tadfield.

Anthony loosed a long sigh, then slowly sat up. “Right. Tell me about ‘em. Let's work through our options.”

Aziraphale did and Anthony frowned at a few of them and nodded thoughtfully at the others. He didn't know every restaurant in the area, but he did know several, most of which he had tried, either out of boredom or curiosity or sometimes a mix of both. Most of them had been alright, but there was one that he had found particularly exceptional. And someone like Aziraphale, someone who was used to exceptional food, would certainly appreciate it.

And they had the money. Well, Aziraphale certainly did, anyway. And if they grew really pressed for coin, Anthony could always resort to thievery. Or, if he had no other option, he could take a contract from the Vipers. He didn't want to do that, though. He hated taking contracts. It only made things… messy. Complicated. And he certainly didn't need any more of that right now.

He suggested that particular restaurant to Aziraphale who said, “Alright. I'll be sure to keep that one in mind. Oh, and while we're on the topic of food, most of ours ran out while… well, while I was trying to heal you. Anathema has some, of course, but I don't want to use up all of her things so, if you could find us some more, that would be preferable.” He then quickly added, “Once, once you're feeling up to it, of course! I… I wouldn't want you to injure yourself.”

Anthony snorted. “M’not gonna hurt myself buying us food, angel.” But his concern was… nice. It had been a long, long while since anyone really cared about him or his safety.

He took a deep breath, then gingerly pushed himself to his feet. “Right. I'll go find us something to eat. You stay here, you'll be safer inside.”

But Aziraphale stood with him, arguing, “I'll have you know, I went on a walk yesterday and was perfectly safe. I'll go with you.”

Anthony sighed, but he wasn't exactly in the best position to argue, considering he was still healing from a stab wound. “Alright, fine, just… stick close to me and-”

“Keep my hood up,” Aziraphale finished. “I know. I remember.”

Anthony fought a smile and said, “Good. If there's one thing you learn from me, let it be that. It'll save you a lot of trouble.”

The two of them left Anathema's shop, Anthony leading the way. He knew the town pretty well, certainly better than Aziraphale did, and he knew where he could find shops selling what he was looking for. And now, since they were staying with Anathema for a while, he had a kitchen.

A smile spread across his lips, his mind already whirring with ideas. It had been some time, after all, since he had been able to cook for someone.

He bought everything he needed, and Aziraphale was more than happy to chip in. It would be for the both of them, after all. Though he refrained from buying anything too expensive. It was best to save as much coin as they could. You never knew when you might have need of it.

Soon enough they were back in Anathema's shop and Anthony was setting their haul on the counter, already measuring out ingredients in his mind. Oh, he was practically buzzing with excitement. Hardly even felt his wound as he moved through the kitchen, looking through cabinets, figuring out where things were kept, pulling out whatever he needed.

He figured he'd start with something simple for now. It sounded nice, too, considering it was easy on the stomach.

Aziraphale watched him the entire time, looking slightly concerned but also curious. “You seem to know your way around a kitchen,” he said.

“I do,” Anthony said, grabbing a large pot out of a lower cabinet. “Is that so surprising?” 

He placed the pot on the stove, then put the vegetables he'd bought on a cutting board and got to work.

“Um, no, I suppose not,” Aziraphale said. “How did you learn?”

“Trial and error. And, well, we had some cookbooks around the house,” Anthony answered. “I was the oldest and my parents were busy a lot, so it was up to me to make sure everyone ate.”

“Oh.” A silence followed, filled only by the sounds of the knife against the cutting board, and Anthony winced, realizing he probably shouldn’t have said that. He avoided talking about himself for a reason, after all. It only invited questions.

Sure enough, a few more moments passed, and then, “You, er, you never mentioned your siblings. How are they? Do… do you know?”

The stench of blood filled his nostrils. The screams filled his ears. The cruel laughter that still, to this day sent a shiver down his spine-

The knife slipped from his hand, slicing into his finger. “Ah, shit!”

He immediately brought his finger to his lips, tasting blood, then reached for a cloth.

Aziraphale was on his feet in an instant, going to Anthony's side, and asking, “Oh, dear. Are you alright?”

“Fine. M’fine,” Anthony said, pressing the cloth against the small wound.

“Are you sure? I can get Anathema-”

“I'm fine. Would you just stop ?” Anthony snapped, and Aziraphale stepped back, his eyes wide and- Not scared, never scared, but certainly taken aback. And rather upset.

Anthony sighed. “Sorry. I… I'm sorry, just… Maybe you should… go wait in the other room. I'll let you know when it's done.”

A moment passed in silence. Anthony didn’t dare look up. Didn’t want to see the look of disappointment he was sure was etched across Aziraphale’s face. The hint of distrust that likely came with it. 

Then quiet footsteps sounded as Aziraphale left without a word, and Anthony waited until he was gone before groaning and putting his head in his hands.

Notes:

Hello hello! This chapter... oh boy the trauma. This is the first time it stars to effect Crowley's relationship with Aziraphale and it won't be the last, I'm sorry. I'm also realizing the past several chapters have ended on not the best note, so, uh my bad 😅 We'll get to some that end happier soon (ish) I promise.
Also, hey, I made a bluesky account! All it took was Michael Sheen moving to the platform and I was like, yep, we're jumping the twitter ship 😂 I mostly just repost art and other (mostly good omens related) things. Maybe one day I will be brave enough to actually post something but I have social anxiety so 🤷🏻‍♀️ But if you want to follow me there, you're more than welcome. I need more good omens accounts to follow anyway. I'll link it here .
Also, one more thing, I don't really want to get too deep into politics here but as this will directly effect my ability to post, I felt like I should mention it. So as I'm sure most of you know, we have elected the orange piece of shit again. This means that project 2025 is now imminent and a part of that is that he wants to ban porn. Naturally this would include ao3 as well due to the explicit content you can find here. Now I don't know when he plans to do this, I think he has other things he wants to get done first like mass deportations and a national abortion ban (I hate it here) but when he does it's possible that I might still be posting this fic. So if that happens, I'll try to find a way around it. I'm sure a vpn would work fine, but I just wanted to let you all know, just in case this causes me to miss an update or two.

Chapter 10

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony didn’t eat with them once the soup was finished, instead opting to eat in the other room. Which was a shame, because it was delicious and Aziraphale wanted to tell him as much.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong. The question he’d asked was rather ordinary, innocent, even, but perhaps Anthony hadn’t parted on good terms with his siblings. It was quite likely, considering, well, what he was.

Whatever the issue, it was clearly a sensitive subject that Aziraphale would make sure not to mention again. He didn't want to upset Anthony any further, after all. And he hoped the man would be willing to forgive him eventually. Right now, though, it seemed best to simply leave him alone, despite how Aziraphale was itching to find him and apologize.

Anathema, of course, noted something was off very quickly. Aziraphale could tell as she watched with a frown as Anthony left the room immediately after filling his bowl. 

Aziraphale had been a bit on edge the entire meal, waiting for her to mention it. He wasn't even sure why, per se. It wasn't like they'd had a huge fight or anything, and he trusted Anathema to have some words of wisdom about the whole situation. He just couldn't help but feel like he'd made a terrible mistake. Even though he was sure things would be alright and he could fix it soon, once Anthony was feeling more up to talking.

Anathema waited until they had finished eating before she brought up the elephant in the room. Just when Aziraphale was starting to relax a bit. He wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. “So, what happened with you and Anthony?”

Aziraphale couldn't meet her gaze as he said, “Oh, nothing really. I just…” He sighed, his voice quieting. “I believe I may have made a mistake.”

“What happened?”

“I… Well, I said something, mentioned his siblings, and he got upset,” Aziraphale explained. “I think perhaps he may not have parted with them on the best of terms, so my mentioning them may have… well, struck a chord.”

“Oh. Well, can't you just talk to him? Maybe apologize?”

“I can. And I will. I would just like to give him some time. If he's still upset I don't want to make things worse by trying to talk to him.”

“Just make sure you do,” Anathema said. “I'm sure he'll understand that you didn't mean to upset him.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Of course.” But all he could think about was the way Anthony had snapped at him. The way he couldn't even look at him as he told him to go.

They had been on good terms ever since… well, ever since they had found themselves locked in that dungeon, really. Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how to approach now that that wasn’t the case.

It had been one thing when they’d had no choice but to suffer each other's company. Now, they had rooms, had a whole town they would be staying in, likely for some time now. Perhaps Anthony would want his own space for a bit. He was a man used to his solitude, after all. Perhaps he had grown a bit tired of Aziraphale’s company, and his patience had worn thin.

Things had been… different, after Aziraphale had saved him, of course they had, but perhaps the change had merely been gratitude. Perhaps they really weren’t friends like Aziraphale was beginning to think.

Aziraphale swallowed. Oh, all of this was starting to make his head ache. Too many things. Variables. Possibilities. Why was nothing ever simple?

He stood and washed his dishes, setting them off to the side to dry before murmuring to Anathema about taking a walk. And then he donned his cloak and stepped out onto the warm, sunny street, feeling rather out of place in his dark, warm clothing. 

Still, people didn’t pay him much mind as he walked and tried very hard not to think about Anthony, which, inevitably, made him think about Anthony.

Perhaps he would try talking to him when he got back. Clear things up. Or maybe it was best to wait. Let Anthony come to him when he was ready. And if it turned out Anthony did, indeed, need space, then Aziraphale would give it to him, of course. 

He tried to ignore what the thought of doing so made him feel.

Anthony didn’t owe him anything, after all. Well, nothing except what he’d promised, which was to get Aziraphale out of the country. And Aziraphale doubted the man would want anything to do with him after that. Why would he? Aziraphale was a prince, after all. Not at all someone Anthony would want to have around.

He was so deep in thought that when he, at last, began to pay attention to his surroundings again, he realized he didn’t actually recognize this part of town.

He paused and glanced around, finding the buildings around him smaller here. A poorer part of town, likely, but it was no less lively. Several children were running about, mud caked over their clothes and faces, a woman watered some plants growing by the side of her house, neighbors smiled and greeted each other by name. 

It all seemed rather lovely.

That was, until a man spotted him and yelled at him, asking him what he was doing.

Aziraphale whirled, shocked by the sudden hostility and said, “Oh, I, I’m so sorry. I may have gotten a little lost. I didn’t mean…”

The man gave a grunt in response. Looked him up and down for a moment. Apparently he didn’t deem him to be a threat, because he relaxed slightly, but said, “You should leave. Nothing good comes from getting lost around here.” He nodded towards a news bulletin several feet back the way Aziraphale came, and he glanced over, noting now, several posters pinned to it. They were drawings of different people, and below them, in large lettering, was the word missing.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Right, uh, of course.” He half-turned back the way he came. “I suppose I… I should be getting back.”

How long had he spent wandering the streets? He glanced upward, noting with a wince the sun had dipped notably lower than when he’d left Anathema's shop. He hoped Anathema and Anthony weren’t worried about him.

People were going missing around here , Aziraphale pondered as he started back the way he came. Anthony certainly hadn’t known that. Wouldn’t have let him out of his sight, let alone out into town by himself, if he did. 

It was certainly alarming, and Aziraphale looked over his shoulder several times as he slowly found his way to a part of town that was familiar, and then, from there, back to Anathema’s shop.

He made it back fine, though, as he had the last time he’d gone out on his own, so perhaps it wasn’t quite as dangerous as that man made it out to be. Best not to worry Anthony with it, then. The man seemed to worry enough as it was, Aziraphale didn’t need him having that on his mind too.

*    *    *

Anthony had opted to stay in the back room for a while after he ate, trying to think about how he should explain. Or should he? Aziraphale probably would want an explanation as to why Anthony had suddenly snapped at him after a very simple question about his family, but Anthony didn’t really want to get into that mess of… well, everything.

Any answer he could give would likely only lead to more questions anyway. Unless he outright lied, which, he supposed, was also on the table.

He just hoped Aziraphale wasn’t too upset. He hadn’t meant to yell, not really. Things had just gotten a bit too much and it just happened.

And then Aziraphale had stormed away, and granted, Anthony had told him to go. He’d needed a minute. But now Aziraphale still hadn’t come to try and talk to him and… Shit, had he ruined it? That fragile… thing they’d had going. Friendship. Was it a friendship? Were they friends? Anthony wasn’t quite sure.

He knew they shouldn’t be. That only opened him up for more heartbreak and pain and he certainly didn’t need that. But he did like Aziraphale. He was different than he’d thought. Brave and so, so clever. He’d freed them both from their chains back in the dungeon and destroyed one of those creatures using a trick with a mirror! How utterly brilliant?

And he was beautiful.

Sometimes, Anthony would glance over while he wasn’t looking, and the light would spill over his features just so, lighting up his brilliant white hair, and oh, this wasn’t fair. How cruel of the universe to show him the thing he wanted most, but couldn’t have. To dangle it temptingly right in front of him, like a branch of an apple tree, hanging over a precipice. And if he reached out, if he tried to take the fruit, he’d fall to his doom.

And now Aziraphale was angry with him. Or if not angry, at least upset. And Anthony wasn’t sure how he should go about fixing that .

Maybe he shouldn’t. 

Just let him be upset. Let him simmer, let him think whatever he wanted about Anthony. It would certainly make Anthony’s job of not falling off that precipice easier.

But he didn’t want Aziraphale to be upset with him. He was one of the only people who didn’t tiptoe around him—well, besides the other assassins, but he wasn’t sure how many of them really counted as people , considering all the horrible things they’d done—and he didn’t want to ruin that.

Anthony let out a sigh, then grabbed up his bowl—it had been in here for hours with him and, frankly, was starting to stink—and got to his feet, figuring he might as well just get this over with.

He rehearsed a quick apology in his head as he made his way to the door, hoping that would be enough and Aziraphale wouldn’t ask too many questions, then left the backroom and headed into the kitchen, where he found… 

No one. 

The kitchen was empty.

Where did he go? Surely he hadn’t just… left and gone back home. He wouldn’t do that, would he? Leave without even saying goodbye?

Anthony went to the sink and washed his bowl, then, with a heavy sigh, took a seat at the table.

He wouldn’t leave , Anthony reassured himself. He wouldn’t . He didn’t leave us when we were hurt and dying, so why would he now?

He’d probably just gone out for a walk. Clear his head, maybe. 

Anthony just hoped that, wherever he’d gone, he was alright. If anything happened to him because of Anthony, because of what he’d said… he wasn’t sure how he’d deal with that. Wasn’t sure if he could deal with that.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Oh, he never should’ve taken this stupid contract. Because now, he had a person he had to watch out for, and take care of, and keep safe . It wasn’t even a contract, really. Not an official one, anyway, but he had found that letter shoved beneath the door at the inn and figured, why not? It was different. New. And it sounded easy enough, right? Just take the prince, lead him out of the country, take the money, then he could be on his way, and he’d never have to think about it again.

“Nice, straightforward job,” Anthony muttered to himself. “Not the kind of thing any assassin’s gonna screw up right?”

A door opened in another room and Anthony’s head shot up, hope bubbling in his chest, but it was not Aziraphale who entered the kitchen, but Anathema, whose eyes widened briefly when she saw him at the table.

“Where’s Aziraphale?” he asked as she went to the counter and grabbed an apple out of the basket, hoping he sounded casual and not desperate and worried.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Anathema said. “He said he was going on a walk.”

“Oh. Okay.” Just a walk, like we thought, Anthony reassured himself. Just a walk; he’s coming back. He’s fine.

Anthony glanced around briefly before getting up out of his chair. It was starting to get a bit uncomfortable and the way he was slouching had started to make his wound act up. Better to lie back down. Wait for Aziraphale to come back in the back room and apologize then. And hope that would be enough, and that he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

And so he laid down, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He heard the bell at the front door chime. Heard what sounded like Aziraphale talking to Anathema.

Waited some more.

Aziraphale never entered the room, but an hour later, Anathema did, a plate of food in her hands.

Anthony pushed himself up and murmured his thanks, and Anathema looked over his wound while he ate. Neither of them said much, and he wondered briefly if Aziraphale had told her anything. If she was now mad at him too.

That was fine. Anthony didn’t really care so long as she kept healing him, which, it seemed, she was. But if Aziraphale was so upset that he wouldn’t even come in here to see him… Oh, Anthony hoped that wasn’t the case. Surely it wasn’t so serious. It was hardly the worst thing he’d said to the prince.

But that didn’t necessarily mean it hadn’t hurt.

Anathema soon finished up and started towards the door, but she paused there, saying, “You really should talk to him.”

“I know,” Anthony muttered, his gaze glued to the now empty plate in his lap. “I will.” Once he’s ready to talk, anyway. Anthony wasn’t sure when that would be, but he would be here, waiting, for whenever the time came.

Anathema left, then, and Anthony waited, hoping she would, perhaps, relay the information on to Aziraphale. Hoping that he’d finally come in here so Anthony could get his apology over with and then hope everything would be fine after that.

Another hour passed.

Another.

Anthony sighed and pulled up his blanket, then closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Notes:

This is the point in the fic when I realized that the miscommunication trope can be fun when I do it.
I know they're being really dumb right now, but they'll fix this guys, I promise. With Anathema's brain cell, anything is possible.
Also I've been thinking about maybe changing the update schedule for this fic to twice a week instead of once. Methinks maybe Mondays and Fridays? I'm like thirty chapters ahead of you guys right now so I feel like I can keep that schedule going for a while without any issues. And if I ever need to slow it down again we can just go back to the usual Mondays.

Chapter 11

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony didn’t leave the room. 

Aziraphale had waited for hours, until the sky had grown dark and Anathema had, at last, retired to bed, giving him a sympathetic smile. 

And then he took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and stood from the kitchen table, heading into the back room. He had given Anthony quite literally all day, and even if he didn’t want to talk, Aziraphale still needed to sleep.

But when he stepped inside, he found Anthony already fast asleep, and he looked so incredibly peaceful that Aziraphale paused right there in the doorway.

There was no anger here, not while Anthony was out cold, and Aziraphale took advantage of the moment, scanning his softened features, the red curls that had fallen in front of his face, one dipping as low as his eyes.

Good Lord, he was beautiful. 

It took Aziraphale's breath away, and oh, how he wished he could step closer. Maybe brush the hair out of his face, feeling the whisper of his fingertips against Anthony’s skin. Thinking about how the man might shift a bit, into the touch, but wouldn't wake.

As it was, he walked past him and settled onto his own bed. Sleep did not come easy that night, and when he awoke, he felt like he hadn't really slept at all.

Anthony was still out cold beside him, he noted immediately, and Aziraphale quietly stood, so as not to wake him, and left the room, finding Anathema sitting at the kitchen table, reading.

She looked up as he entered and sat down, commenting, “You look exhausted.”

“Yes, I… I didn't sleep well.”

“You didn't talk to him, did you?”

“No, he… was asleep. When I went in,” Aziraphale answered. “He's still asleep now.”

Aziraphale kept his gaze on the oak table, noting several scratches marring its surface. Worried his lower lip. 

“You should just talk to him,” Anathema said. “Stop waiting for him to come to you.”

“I just don't want to make things worse. What if-”

“You're making things worse by not talking to him,” Anathema countered. “Both of you are.”

Aziraphale sighed.

She was probably right, of course. And really, how much worse could he actually make it? They hadn’t spoken since before lunch yesterday and if they continued like this, they likely wouldn’t until Anthony was healed enough to leave. The only thing worse he could think of would be if Anthony decided he didn’t want to do this anymore and to take him home. 

Though, really, that might’ve been more of a blessing, considering Aziraphale still wasn’t sure if he’d made the right choice. So far, it had only seemed to cause harm. Perhaps, if things somehow did get worse, it was a sign he never should’ve done this in the first place and he should just run back to the castle with his tail tucked between his legs and face whatever criticisms or harsh words the other nobility would give him. 

At least that way he wouldn’t make things more difficult for Anthony. He seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage from Aziraphale’s decisions so far. All Aziraphale had to show for it was a small cut that had already healed over days ago. Hadn’t even scarred.

Perhaps it would be best, then, to save Anthony any potential suffering.

Anathema sighed, then got to her feet. “Fine. I’ll get him myself.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to,” Aziraphale said quickly, beginning to stand to try and stop her.

But Anathema whirled to face him and said surprisingly sternly, “ Sit .”

Aziraphale did as she said.

He couldn’t avoid the problem forever, he supposed. And if Anthony was still upset then they could just call this whole thing off. Aziraphale would admit that he’d made a mistake, and then he’d go back home, and…

Be miserable. For the rest of his life.

Aziraphale swallowed.

Anathema went to the back room, and Aziraphale waited, wringing his hands in his lap, silently praying that everything would be fine and Anthony wouldn’t be too mad about being woken up early or the conversation Anathema was about to force them to have.

She returned soon enough with a grumbling Anthony in tow, glasses already on. He rarely went anywhere without them, Aziraphale had noted, even within Anathema’s shop, though he wasn’t sure why. Aziraphale already knew what his eyes looked like, and so did Anathema. She had been rather intrigued by them but had stopped asking questions after a few curt responses from Anthony.

He sat down across from Aziraphale and made a face at Anathema who just smiled before walking away, and a moment later, a door closed in the other room, signifying Aziraphale and Anthony were alone.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Right. Well, um, I suppose we should just… get this over with,” he began, and glanced up, his eyes meeting the dark shades of Anthony’s glasses. He quickly looked away again. “I, I’m sorry. I know I upset you yesterday, when I asked about… Well, you know. And then I was too afraid to talk to you, and I thought maybe you would come to me, but you didn’t, and I didn’t know what to do.” Aziraphale swallowed. Took a breath. “I, I know I made things worse, but… well, I just hope you’re not too upset. I never meant-”

“Angel,” Anthony interrupted, and Aziraphale’s gaze shot upward. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “What- What do you mean? I-”

“Wait, hang on. You thought-” Anthony pulled off his glasses, tossing them onto the table, then got to his feet and motioned for Aziraphale to do the same.

He did, far too confused to do anything else, though slowly, and the air promptly left his lungs as Anthony marched right around the table, those beautiful yellow eyes settling onto Aziraphale’s own, and took him by the shoulders, saying, “I’m not upset.”

Aziraphale blinked, taking a full moment to process that.

“You… You’re not?”

“No! It was just… a lot. I’m sorry. And I thought you were upset, so I didn’t…” He trailed off, but Aziraphale understood him well enough.

“You thought… Anthony, why would I be upset?”

“I don’t know! You seemed… I dunno, certainly not happy. And you walked off.”

“You told me to!” Aziraphale countered, but he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his lips.

Anthony wasn’t upset. Far from it, it seemed. So they had both been avoiding each other for absolutely no reason at all. A wave of relief washed over him at the realization. And a bit of joy at the ridiculousness of it all.

Anthony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just-” He looked up, his gaze first finding Aziraphale’s smile before settling on his eyes, and a small smile bloomed across his own lips. “So we’ve just… This whole time neither one of us was angry at the other?”

“It would seem so.”

Anthony huffed a laugh. Shook his head. “Right. Well…” He took a step back and glanced around. “Do you want breakfast? ‘Cause I can…” He motioned towards the stove.

“That sounds absolutely lovely.”

*    *    *

They were laughing by the time they finished eating, to Anthony’s relief. 

They were both idiots, and Anthony found himself, unfortunately, grateful that Anathema had dragged him out of bed this morning. He wasn't sure they would've solved the problem otherwise.

Of course, he'd never tell her that. Didn't want to deal with the inevitable I told you so. But he could think it. Privately. And he hadn't had to answer—or, more likely, avoid answering—any questions, so it was a win-win.

“How has your wound been?” Aziraphale asked. They had yet to leave the table, despite both of their plates having been cleaned hours ago. “Are you feeling any better?”

Anthony nodded. “It hurts still. Medicine helps, though. Should be good to go in a week or so, if that's what you're worried about.”

“That's not what I'm worried about,” Aziraphale said, and Anthony glanced up at that, hearing the words he hadn't said. I'm worried about you . I want to make sure you're okay.

He saw that apple tree again. The branch hanging over the precipice, the fruit just barely out of reach.

Or was it?

Should he reach for it? Was it worth the risk?

Anthony swallowed and promptly shoved those thoughts away. No! Not fair, not fair, not fair!  

Why did he have to be so kind ? Why did he have to be brilliant and caring and gorgeous? Why couldn't they just go back to when they couldn't stand each other and wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible?

“Do you get hurt often?” Aziraphale asked, pulling Anthony from his thoughts.

“Uh, not really, no,” Anthony answered. “M’careful. Avoid confrontation if I can, so that probably helps.”

Aziraphale only gave a slight hum in response, his gaze turning downcast, almost as if he were upset by this response, though Anthony couldn't imagine why.

“I was thinking maybe we could try that restaurant tomorrow,” Anthony said, hoping the change of subject would smooth whatever that was over. “If you wanted.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh, uh… Yes, of course.” An easy, warm smile broke out across his lips. “That sounds wonderful.” Then the smile slipped a bit. “But, are you sure you'll be alright?”

“Oh, I'll be fine,” Anthony assured with a wave of his hand. “Really, angel, you act like I'm gonna crumble apart any second.”

“Well, you were stabbed.”

“Yeah, and I'm doing a lot better now. M’fine, I promise,” Anthony said. “I wouldn't do anything I thought I couldn't handle.”

“Very well. Tomorrow, then. Do be careful though, my dear.”

Anthony tried very hard to ignore what the term of endearment did to his chest. He probably calls everyone that, he chided himself, remembering how he had called Anathema the same thing before they'd returned to her shop. It's just something that's become part of his everyday vocabulary. Something very unlike angel, which you still insist upon calling him.  

“I'll be fine,” he assured, though as his gaze flicked to Aziraphale’s pink lips, he wasn’t quite sure.

He fought the urge to loose a sigh. Get a grip, Anthony! Step away from the precipice!

He cleared his throat, then got to his feet. “Actually, I think I’m gonna take a walk.”

He left the kitchen, hearing Aziraphale follow behind him, and donned his cloak. “Well, then, I should accompany-”

Alone .” He nearly added another angel onto the end, but stopped himself. He really would need to start watching that. Didn’t need to get too comfortable with the pet name.

Aziraphale’s face fell, and Anthony reassured, “I just need to… think. M’fine, I promise. Not upset or anything,” he added, knowing that’s likely what Aziraphale was worried about, with what had happened yesterday. “ And this should help you feel better about us going out tomorrow.”

Aziraphale seemed to relax a bit after that. “Yes, I suppose so.” He folded his hands neatly in front of him. “Well then, I’ll see you when you get back.” He gave a warm smile that had Anthony’s heart doing funny things in his chest.

Would his lips feel soft if he reached out and touched them?

Anthony gave a two finger salute in response and promptly fled the shop, a steady stream of “fuck,” falling from his lips as he got further away.

He waited until he could no longer see the shop behind him before slinking into an alley and falling back against the wall, loosing a breath and trying very hard to push all thoughts of Aziraphale's lips from his mind.

Clearly, these… feelings he was developing were going to be a problem.

Maybe he shouldn't have been grateful for Anathema. Now that their problem was solved, he had no reason to avoid Aziraphale and hide from those warm smiles that looked so very enticing.

But Aziraphale was a prince. 

He didn't want someone like Anthony, why would he? He would want someone softer. Someone who wouldn't snap at him just because things became a bit too much. Someone who was kind, and would take care of him.

And probably someone who didn't kill people for a living. That was likely a big turn off, too.

Anthony sighed. 

Perhaps when the job was done and he left and got far away from here, he could start over. No one would know him, after all. It'd be a clean slate.

He could try something new. Be a… baker or something. Bartender, maybe. He wasn't actually sure. Maybe he should think about that a bit. And maybe there, he could find another Aziraphale. Or someone who was even a fraction as kind and clever as the prince.

He wasn't sure that was possible, but he supposed he may as well try. What other option was there, really?

Because regardless of what his future held he knew one thing for certain, Aziraphale would not be a part of it, and it was probably best if he burnt that bridge now rather than later. It would only get harder and more painful to do the longer he waited.

Perhaps dinner tomorrow hadn’t been the best idea on his part after all. Because how was he supposed to draw that line, then go out to dinner with the man?

He supposed it didn’t have to be a dinner. He’d never specified what time of day they’d go. It could just be a… friendly lunch. A friendly lunch with a man he desperately wanted to kiss. To find out if those lips were as soft as they looked.

It was perfectly fine.

Totally normal and good.

He let his head fall back against the wall. “How in Hell’s name are you gonna get out of this one, Anthony?” he muttered.

Notes:

Everyone say thank you Anathema. Oh boy the miscommunication with these two. I tagged it for a reason guys. They get better eventually, though. Sort of.
Also I made a point throughout this fic where not quite every time but almost every time Crowley is being vulnerable in some way, his glasses are off. It's just a fun little detail I added and I wasn't sure if anyone would notice so I wanted to mention it. There is an actual plot reason as to why he wears them too, but that is several chapters down the line so we'll get into it later.

Chapter 12

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It had been several hours and Anthony still hadn’t returned, and Aziraphale was trying very hard not to worry about him. 

He was more than capable of handling himself, and Aziraphale trusted that he knew his limits, but he couldn’t entirely quell the anxiety. Anthony was still hurt, after all, and there were, apparently, people going missing around here. And if he were to get into a scuffle, they'd likely be able to overpower him with his injury, and-

Oh, he needed to stop thinking about this.

He delved a little bit deeper into the book he was trying—and failing—to read, hoping it might distract him enough to ease his worry. 

So far it hadn’t.

He was getting to a good bit too, the protagonist and his partner about to share their very first kiss, and would've been completely enraptured in it had it not been for his unnecessary worrying.

He closed the book with a huff and got to his feet, figuring that perhaps walking around a bit might help. He wandered into the kitchen and plucked a grape out of the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter, popping it into his mouth with a small hum.

Food. Yes, that had been the right idea. He wasn’t one to stress eat, per se, but well, he certainly wasn’t going to ignore a perfectly good fruit bowl. And it did provide a much needed distraction.

He ate a few more, and by that time, Anathema had joined him, going to a cabinet and grabbing something—Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what, but it looked like a jar of some sort of herb—and immediately asked, “Everything alright?”

“Oh, uh, yes, of course! Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Your aura’s off,” she said, as if that made perfect sense and was a completely normal thing to say, “and you seem stressed.”

“I… Well, I’m a bit worried about Anthony. He’s been gone for quite a while. I just hope he’s alright.”

She grabbed a few other items out of the cabinet and then began to crush them in what Aziraphale recognized to be a mortar and pestle. Making some sort of healing salve, then, most likely. “I'm sure he's fine,” she assured. “If you're really worried, though, you could just go look for him.”

“I suppose so, but he said he wanted to be alone,” Aziraphale said. He didn't want to encroach on any boundaries. Anthony had said he wasn’t upset, and Aziraphale believed him, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would appreciate Aziraphale checking up on him. In fact, it might even offend him, and Aziraphale certainly didn’t want that.

“How about you help me with this, then?” Anathema suggested. “I've got a lot of restocking to do.”

“Oh, of course, yes. What do you need?” Aziraphale asked, immediately stepping closer, grateful for the distraction and more than happy to lend a hand.

She named off a few other herbs that Aziraphale didn’t recognize, and he stared at her blankly for a moment before she sighed and described the herbs to him as best she could. 

He pulled out several jars, examining their contents to make sure he had the right ones and murmured as he did so, “You know you really should consider labeling these.”

To which she replied, “I don’t need to label them because I know what they are. And I don’t… usually have people help me.”

“Has it been particularly busy for you?” Aziraphale asked, setting the jars on the counter. He, admittedly, hadn’t noticed, a bit too caught up in… well, in Anthony really. And the whole mess yesterday when they thought they were mad at each other.

“A little, yeah,” she admitted, scooping whatever she had made in the mortar and pestle into another, smaller, jar. “It’s nothing I couldn’t handle alone, but it is nice to have some help.” She added with a glance in his direction, “Thank you.”

“Oh, well of course. I’m happy to help, my dear.” She handed him the small jar, asking him to set it on the lower shelf in the cabinet. He did so, continuing, “And really, I should be thanking you. I’ve been trying to read ever since Anthony left, but I wasn’t able to focus.” Which really wasn’t like him. Reading was normally where he found solace. Where he could escape from the stresses of life. But this time was different. No, this time, he needed to be doing something. Keeping his hands occupied as much as his mind.

He tried not to read too much into that. Tried to convince himself it was perfectly normal to worry about someone this much. They were friends, after all. Or, they certainly seemed that way. Nothing wrong with worrying about a friend. But Aziraphale knew better. 

His worry, while justified, was a bit more than that.

Anthony was gorgeous. He was kind. He cared about Aziraphale. 

It was not often Aziraphale felt that way. Felt that the people around him truly cared. Muriel did, he was certain. And Errapel and Ramiel. His other siblings probably cared to a degree as well, but he didn’t speak to them much. Beyond that, Aziraphale was fairly certain he was hardly noticed, let alone cared for.

But Anthony noticed.

He saw him . He called him his guardian angel. He had protected him in whatever way he could. Tried to save him. Aziraphale had never met anyone like him, and he knew those feelings that were blossoming in his chest were not just friendship. And that thought terrified him.

Anathema passed him another salve, pulling him from his thoughts, and Aziraphale placed it into the cabinet beside the last one. 

“He really is fine, Aziraphale,” Anathema said. “If I didn’t think he was well enough to leave the shop on his own, I wouldn’t let him,” she said as she worked, and Aziraphale certainly believed her. “He’s on his way to being fully healed.”

Aziraphale took a moment to fully take in those words, allowing a bit of relief to wash over him. “Oh, that is very good news. And I am glad to know that you’ve been… well, keeping an eye on him, I suppose.”

“Keeping an eye on who?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the way his eyes lit up at the voice. The way a smile immediately blossomed at his lips as he turned to face Anthony, who stood leaning against the doorframe. “Anthony. You’re back.”

“I am,” Anthony said, sauntering into the room. “What’s going on in here?”

“Oh, I was helping Anathema restock,” Aziraphale explained, deciding to leave out the part about how he was so worried about him that he hadn’t been able to focus on anything else.

Anthony’s only response was a hum as he went to the table and sat down. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said, turning his gaze to Anathema. “Who are you keeping an eye on, and is it something I should worry about?” Something, or, Aziraphale got the sense, some one he needed to take care of.

“It’s you, and no, you don’t,” Anathema explained. “Aziraphale was worried, and I was telling him you’re perfectly fine.”

“Mm, good,” Anthony said, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe if you tell him he’ll believe it.”

“I believe you!” Aziraphale said indignantly. “I just… I worry, that’s all.”

Anthony’s lip quirked up to one side in an amused, perhaps even teasing, smile that vanished a moment later. “Right. Well, don’t let me stop you. Keep doing your…” he motioned vaguely, “restocking.”

And though Aziraphale did want to go over and talk with Anthony, ask him how his walk through town had been, if he’d seen anything particularly interesting or perhaps walked by the restaurant they were going to tomorrow, it would’ve been rather rude of him to leave Anathema to finish up by herself.

So he dutifully helped her get things out and put stuff away instead, having her explain a bit about what she was making, hoping that some of it might stick in case Anthony did indeed get hurt again and they weren’t lucky enough to have a healer willing to travel to him.

Anthony wandered the kitchen as they worked. Aziraphale could hear him, opening up cabinets and pulling out this or that. Preparing to make dinner, most likely. 

Aziraphale wondered what he planned to cook up for them tonight. He had a feeling, though, that whatever it was, it was going to be absolutely delicious. That soup he’d made definitely had been. And that was certainly saying something, considering Aziraphale had grown up eating only the finest food the kingdom could offer.

By the time he and Anathema had finished, the kitchen smelled of garlic and mushrooms and something else Aziraphale couldn’t quite place, and a steady sizzling sound had filled the space.

Aziraphale went to Anthony’s side. 

“Hope you like garlic,” Anthony said. “Might’ve slightly overdone it on the mushrooms.”

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” Aziraphale reassured. “It certainly smells delicious.”

“Good. That’s what we want to hear.”

A brief silence followed, filled only by the sizzling of the mushrooms in the pan, and then Aziraphale said, “You do seem rather at home here. Do you enjoy cooking?”

“Yeah, I do,” Anthony answered. “Used to hate it, actually, when I first started. Felt like a chore, but I had no choice but to keep at it really. Got better, and started to really like it.” There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice as he spoke, and Aziraphale again wondered just what his family dynamic was like. He did seem to look back on those years with fondness, but when Aziraphale had mentioned his siblings, he’d gotten upset. So something must have happened. Something that perhaps drove a wedge between him and the rest of his family.

It wasn’t any of Aziraphale’s business, of course, so he didn’t ask, but he certainly wondered. And he hoped perhaps one day he could reconnect with them. If he wanted to, of course.

“Well, I’m glad,” Aziraphale said.

“What about you?” Anthony asked.

Aziraphale blinked. “Hm?”

“Any hobbies? Besides reading?”

“Oh, well, I… I suppose I did fence now and again. Ramiel insisted I learn, you see, just in case.” Not that those skills had ever done him any good. “I did get quite good. Or so he told me, anyway.”

At this, Anthony’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Did you now? How long’s it been since you’ve practiced?”

“Ah, well, certainly not since we left. Um…” When was the last time he had practiced with his brother? A while, likely, if he couldn’t even remember. Ramiel was busy, after all. Their parents had him running all around the castle doing this or that. Training to potentially be the next king. He didn’t have a lot of spare time to fence with his younger brother.

“Perhaps a few months?” Aziraphale, at last, finished. “I’m really not quite sure, but I am certainly out of practice.”

“Not as out of practice as I am.”

Aziraphale blinked. “You… You fence?”

“Mhm,” Anthony said with a nod. “Well, I haven’t tried in years, but I used to.”

“Really? Well, perhaps…” No, no, don’t suggest it; this is a terrible idea and you know it- “Perhaps we ought to. Practice, I mean. Together.”

Anthony’s gaze shot to him, and with his sunglasses on, it was impossible to read his expression, impossible to see if he found this a ridiculous suggestion, so Aziraphale quickly backpedaled, “Well, I… That is… if you want. And if we can find the necessary equipment, of course.”

At this, an amused smile spread across Anthony’s lips. “Not worried I’ll hurt myself anymore, then?”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open and he sputtered, “I… Well, I… Of course, I’m still…”

Anthony’s smile only grew.

“Oh, you wily serpent.” Aziraphale gave his shoulder a light shove.

“S’not my fault you're so easy to rile up.” Anthony turned back to his mushrooms. Messed with the dials on the stove. “And I’ll do it. If you want. Could be fun ”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips, even though he knew he was likely going to hate himself for this later. Just the thought of having Anthony pinned against the wall, rapier pointed at his chest, or vice versa… Well, those were certainly not friendly thoughts. No, those thoughts were the opposite of friendly.

Oh, this was a terrible idea! 

“Not sure where I’ll find the stuff for it,” Anthony continued, heedless of the thoughts running rampant through Aziraphale’s head, “but I’ll look around. M’sure there’s a shop around here selling it.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Right, yes. Jolly good.”

Anthony’s brows furrowed a bit in concern. “Alright? I promise I’ll be fine, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Anthony said, unknowingly giving him an excellent cover for his sudden awkwardness, and perhaps a way to stop this before it even got started.

“Are you sure? We really don’t have to if-”

“No, no. It’s fine; I’ll be alright,” Anthony insisted. “We aren’t doing it now anyway. Have to wait until I find all the stuff.”

“Right. Of course. I suppose that settles it then,” Aziraphale said, and then another thought struck his mind. “And do play by the rules.” If they really were going to do this, then it should, at the very least, be fair. Even if it seemed like the cards were already stacked against Aziraphale. Perhaps by the time their practice rolled around he could get these not friendly feelings under control.

Anthony chuckled. “Alright, fine. I’ll play by the rules for you, angel.”

Aziraphale was glad they weren’t eating at the moment, because he likely would’ve choked and made an absolute fool of himself.

Instead, he cleared his throat and sputtered out something along the lines of “Uh, er, yes, uh, thank you,” then promptly took his leave, giving some excuse that he couldn’t even remember, which was, arguably, worse.

Oh, this was going to be a disaster.

*    *    *

“Well that was a thing,” Anthony muttered as Aziraphale quickly left the room, saying something about needing to finish up a book.

And then he continued to cook while his mind positively raced trying to figure out why he had just agreed to that. What the Hell happened to burning that bridge? Drawing that line?

Technically, there was nothing too significant about fencing. They could practice as friends. It didn’t have to… be anything. Certainly wouldn’t be anything. Aziraphale had just noticed they had a hobby in common and decided to utilize it. Nothing more than that.

I’ll play by the rules for you, angel. And what the Hell was that ? We needed to stop calling him angel, not use it to flirt with him!

And they still had lunch tomorrow. 

Oh, Someone help him.

Anathema reentered the kitchen about that time, seemingly to grab a few more supplies, and teased as she walked past, “You like him.” So she had heard all of that, then.

“Shut up. I don’t.” Oh, but he did. He really, really did and it was becoming a problem.

“I can see auras,” Anathema said, opening up one of the cabinets, “and yours is tinted pink.”

Anthony’s only response to that was a grunt, and Anathema left again a moment later.

Anthony had never heard of people being able to see auras before, but it didn’t surprise him at all that Anathema had somehow figured it out. She had a Book that told her the future for Hell’s sake. In fact, perhaps it was the Book that somehow taught her.

So she was just going to know everything.

That was fine, so long as she kept it to herself. He didn’t need anyone finding out about that. Certainly not Aziraphale. The prince would likely never talk to him again. Or perhaps he would, but there would be a certain distance there. An awkwardness that would never go away.

Anthony didn’t want that. Wouldn’t be able to stand it. 

So he would simply hide everything behind his dark glasses and hope for the best. It had seemed to work well enough for him in the past, anyway.

He finished up the food and made two plates. One for himself and one for Aziraphale. That alone was an indicator for how much he liked the man, but, thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice that when Anthony poked his head in the backroom to let him know the food was done and that he had a plate on the table waiting for him.

Anathema certainly did notice, however, and stuck her tongue out at him as she made her own plate. 

Anthony shot the gesture right back at her when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, privately very grateful that she was keeping his secret. 

He idly wondered if she knew that too, and judging by the smug smile she shot him, guessed that she did.

His only response was a scowl.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Not too much happening this chapter. We do go into Aziraphale's trauma just a little bit. His is subtler than Crowley's but it's definitely there and we get into it a lot more later. And then y'know there's me just slowly turning the dial up on the pining. They will get worse btw.
Oh yeah also I know this is like a medieval fantasy setting ish but they still have fridges and like electric ovens and stuff. Does it make sense? No, but shhh.

Chapter 13

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony wasn’t nervous. 

He told himself that as he paced around inside the backroom, running a hand through his hair.

He had no reason to be nervous. He was just going out to lunch with a friend. Nothing nerve wracking about that. In fact, it was a perfectly normal and friendly thing to do, and did not, in any way, equate to a date. 

Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t want it to be. He was the type of man who had standards. Standards that Anthony most certainly did not meet. Not even close.

Once upon a time, he might’ve, just barely. But that had been a long time ago and really wasn’t even worth thinking about, considering it was no longer possible. Wouldn’t have even been possible then, really. He hadn't been a noble. But he had been to a ball or two. Had his brief brush ups with the upper crust. He’d found most of them to be annoying at best and absolutely insufferable at worst, but he didn’t think he would’ve thought the same of Aziraphale. Maybe at first, but after a dance or two, after getting to know him a bit…

Aziraphale knocked on the door, pulling him from his thoughts, then poked his head into the room, and Anthony whirled to face him, eyes wide—though, thankfully, Aziraphale couldn’t see that—as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Oh, uh, sorry to… interrupt,” Aziraphale said. “I was just wondering when you were thinking of leaving?”

Anthony cleared his throat. “Right, uh, yeah. Sorry. I was just…. thinking. Nothing important, just… things.” He sucked in a breath and hurried on before Aziraphale could question that. “We can leave now, if you want.”

“Oh, uh, yes. Yes, that sounds wonderful,” Aziraphale said. “I am getting quite peckish.”

Anthony couldn’t help the way his lips twitched towards a smile. “Peckish?” he teased. “Oh, you really are a prince, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am,” Aziraphale said, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Shall we go then?”

“I think we shall,” Anthony answered, heading towards the door, fighting the urge to loop his arm through Aziraphale’s.

Already off to a fantastic start, he muttered internally and led the way out of the shop, hoping to Someone he could get these feelings sorted and thrown in the trash by the time they made it to the restaurant.

Somehow, he wasn’t so sure he could.

*    *    *

Aziraphale should not have been nervous.

He had no reason to be. It was just lunch, after all. Lunch with a man who was his friend and nothing more. It certainly was not a date. No. Nothing of the sort. 

It was just lunch. Just lunch. And he repeated that over and over on the walk there, trying very hard not to fidget too much.

He glanced over at Anthony, finding him keeping his gaze on the path ahead, giving him a wonderful view of his side profile. And was that top button of his shirt undone beneath his cloak?

Aziraphale swallowed and looked away, promptly shoving all of those thoughts away. Think about anything else! Absolutely anything else, for God’s sake!  

He followed Anthony’s lead and kept his gaze firmly ahead of him on the rest of their walk to the restaurant. 

They walked in a silence that should've been companionable, but instead held all this tension, and oh, that most certainly wasn’t fair to Anthony, who had no idea of the current war being waged in Aziraphale’s mind. They were still friends, after all. All of these… other feelings were entirely his own, and Anthony shouldn’t have to suffer for it. Things were already strange enough with their current circumstances. He didn’t need Aziraphale muddling things further.

Aziraphale shoved those feelings very far off to the side, where he would only notice them if he looked, and firmly decided not to look. No matter how tempting.

The restaurant was in the richer part of town, where the buildings were large enough that Aziraphale wondered if he perhaps knew some of the people who stayed in them. None of the homes had guards posted outside, though, and nobility certainly wouldn’t risk being unprotected, even in a lovely little town like this, so he supposed not. They likely wouldn’t want to live so close to the townsfolk either. Likely thought even the rich beneath them.

He knew Gabriel certainly would’ve. Probably Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon as well.

Anthony led him to a table near the back, where two menus had already been set out for them. So they had been expected. Perhaps that’s why Anthony had taken such a long walk yesterday. He’d been setting all of this up for them.

How very kind of him, Aziraphale thought as he took a seat.

Anthony picked up his menu, immediately flipping to the wine section, and Aziraphale scanned the meals on his own.

It all sounded delicious, and he found himself stuck between two dishes that he thought sounded particularly delectable.

He frowned.

“Trouble deciding over there?” Anthony asked, a small, teasing smile on his lips, and Aziraphale sighed.

“Oh, they just sound so wonderful. How am I supposed to choose between them?”

“Well, let’s hear ‘em,” Anthony said, looking down at his own menu. “I’ll help you pick.”

“I’m between the Filet Mignon with Truffle Mash and Asparagus and the Lobster Risotto with Saffron Cream Sauce,” Aziraphale answered with a small frown.

Anthony gave a hum, really considering it, apparently, before he answered, “The filet mignon. You’ll like that one, trust me.”

And Aziraphale most certainly did. Anthony had more than earned that trust too, doing everything he could to keep Aziraphale safe like he had.

A waiter came to their table a few moments later and the two of them ordered their food and drink. 

Aziraphale knew the wine Anthony had selected rather well, and realized with a happy little wiggle that it would indeed pair nicely with the filet mignon. It seemed he did know his wines, probably about as well as Aziraphale himself did if he knew which ones would pair nicely with which foods, and for one to be so intimately acquainted, well, perhaps he had found some time to relax.

Aziraphale couldn't deny he was certainly curious. The man clearly had free time, though how much, Aziraphale couldn't be certain. He couldn't help but wonder what he did with it. He had hobbies clearly, cooking being one of them, and fencing, he supposed, though it had been a long time since he'd practiced. But Aziraphale found himself wanting to know more, to learn things he, frankly, had no right to know. Wanting to put together the pieces of the puzzle that was Anthony J.

He supposed he could start with a simple question, though last time he had asked one it had turned out to be not so simple after all. And someone like Anthony with a past that, if the creature in the dungeon was to be believed, was rather painful, any question could lead to a similar outburst. But if he didn't ask he'd never learn, and- Oh, to Hell with it.

“Do you live in the capital?” Aziraphale asked, prompting Anthony to look up.

“Uh, no, no,” he answered, leaning back in his chair. “I live over in Boroughmarl. We'll pass through there on the way, actually. Could stop by and show it to you if you like.”

Aziraphale smiled in delighted surprise. “Oh. Well that sounds wonderful.”

“Alright. We'll have to be careful, though,” Anthony said, leaning forward a bit. “The Vipers’ Nest is there too. They technically own the flat and they usually leave me alone but we'll be quick just in case. Only stay the night if we have to.”

Aziraphale nodded. That sounded perfectly fine to him. Anthony, so far, had not spoken of his colleagues, but Aziraphale doubted they were like Anthony, and it was probably for the best if he didn't meet any of them.

“I've actually been needing to stop by,” Anthony continued. “Make sure the plants are alright.”

Aziraphale brightened at that new bit of information. Information that Anthony, to his surprise, seemed to be giving rather freely. He hadn't even had to ask. “You have plants?” Aziraphale questioned. “But don't you spend a lot of time away? Don't… don't they wilt?”

“Not if they know what's good for them,” Anthony muttered.

Their wine arrived before Aziraphale could question that, though he'd swear it sounded like he was threatening his plants, which was certainly a bit odd. But, as long as they were getting the nutrients they deserved, he supposed, Anthony could care for them however he liked.

Anthony swirled his wine around in his glass. Took a sip. “Right, well, you got to ask me a question. Can I ask you one?”

“Oh, well, er, certainly. Yes, of course.”

He couldn't imagine what Anthony could possibly want to know, though. His life had been rather boring, really. He spent most of his time reading, he attended the balls when they held them, his parents mostly ignored him, though that was the case for most of his siblings, he snuck down to the kitchens with Muriel some nights. Honestly, most of it he probably already knew.

“How did you get on with some of the other nobles?” And the way he asked it… almost like a test. Like there was a correct answer to this question, despite how open it was. Aziraphale hoped he got it right.

“Oh, well, I… with my siblings, rather well, I think. I mean, the occasional squabble, of course, but that’s just siblings for you. My brother Ohnjel and I never did get along all that well, I suppose, but he’s still family and I do care about him. As for the other nobles, well…” He remembered Uriel’s hand fisting in his lapels, shoving him back against the courtyard wall, the stones digging painfully into his back. Remembered the fear rising up as he realized he was once again cornered by the four of them. Well, three that day. Gabriel hadn’t been to that particular ball. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why, though it wasn’t too out of the ordinary for one or sometimes even a couple of them to be absent.

He cleared his throat, realizing he was taking too long to continue.

“Alright, angel?” Anthony asked.

“Er, yes, fine. Tickety-boo!” he lied and took a long sip of wine, trying to quickly remember where he’d left off. The other nobles. Right. “But, uh, well, I’m sure they mean well, the other nobles, but I didn’t always get along with them the best. Never really fit in, I suppose.”

Anthony gave a grunt at that and took another sip of his wine. “You can say you hate them if you want, y’know. I don’t care. Most of them can be right pricks given the right circumstances.”

Aziraphale gave a soft, surprised laugh at that. “You talk as if you know them personally,” he said and took a sip of his wine.

Anthony shrugged, and Aziraphale’s eyes widened. 

He quickly swallowed and asked, “Do you really?”

“Might.”

Aziraphale leaned forward excitedly. “Oh, Anthony, you must tell me who,” he said, then backpedaled, “Well, I… That is, if you want to, of course.”

Had he met Gabriel? Uriel, Sandalphon? Michael? Oh, he hoped not. He wouldn’t wish meeting them on anyone, and certainly not on Anthony who was proving to be rather kind, despite his original standoffishness.

An amused smile curved Anthony’s lips at that, but he shrugged and said, “Don’t know names, but I met quite a few of them briefly. Didn’t like ‘em.”

Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. And he certainly wondered just how he had met them, but well, he had asked several things of him already, and he guessed if Anthony wanted him to know, he would’ve offered the information up in his answer to the question, so Aziraphale held his tongue.

Their food arrived soon after and Aziraphale dug into his happily, letting out pleased hums as he did so, and Anthony watched him intently. So intently in fact, that it was almost unnerving. Likely would’ve been if it was anyone but Anthony looking at him in such a way. 

His attention brought those thoughts back to the forefront of his mind, and though Aziraphale tried, he couldn’t quite push them far enough away. He looked down at his plate, spearing some asparagus with his fork, because if he looked into those dark shades for too long he’d start to wonder if the eyes hiding behind them were staring at his lips. If they tracked the way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. He was almost grateful for them then, hiding those beautiful yellow eyes. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the full intensity of that stare right now. Certainly not if he was looking at his lips. Which he, of course, wasn’t.

Aziraphale took a bite, banishing as many of those thoughts as he could and letting out another pleased hum. “I do hope I’m not bothering you,” he said, because Anthony was still looking at him and it seemed only polite to say something. They had eaten together before, though, and this hadn’t been the case. Or perhaps it had, and Aziraphale simply hadn’t noticed.

Anthony answered, leaning back in his chair, “Not at all. Enjoy your food, you’ve more than earned it.”

Aziraphale wasn’t so sure about that, but he was happy to indulge. Even if the food didn’t quite compare to Anthony’s, it certainly could hold its own against the food he’d been eating at the castle, and he made sure to tell the waiter to give his compliments to the chef when he returned to pour them some more wine.

“I might take a look around after this,” Anthony spoke up, and Aziraphale looked up from his food. “See if I can find any fencing equipment around here. You’re welcome to join me if you like. If not, I can walk you back to the shop. Probably won’t be too interesting anyway.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his lips. “How very gentlemanly of you.”

“No, not- M’not a gentleman , that’s what your lot are,” Anthony objected. It seemed he was rather easy to rile up as well. Aziraphale probably shouldn’t like that as much as he did.

Something must’ve shifted in his face because Anthony muttered, “Bastard.” But he hadn’t said it with much bite at all. In fact, Aziraphale would swear it sounded almost affectionate.

“I would be happy to accompany you,” Aziraphale said and meant it. Couldn’t get enough of their time together. Which was rather selfish, he knew, they’d spent most of their day together already. But Aziraphale knew if Anthony didn’t want him to come along, he wouldn’t have offered.

“Alright. I’ve got some ideas where we can look, but if we don’t find anything there, we’ll just wander for a while. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale answered, unable to dim the smile that blossomed over his lips.

Notes:

Happy Thanksgiving!! Or for my non Americans reading this, happy Thursday! I decided this week (and by this week I mean yesterday) that I would post on Thanksgiving because it felt kinda fitting for this chapter since it's the one where they definitely don't go on a date *wink wink*
Anyway, hope you guys have a good day! I'll see you on Monday for the next one.

Chapter 14

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The first two shops they checked had nothing.

That was fine. Expected, honestly. Fencing wasn’t exactly common outside of nobility. In fact, part of the reason why Anthony was so out of practice was because there was no one to practice with . And the other part was because, frankly, he couldn’t be bothered to buy the gear he needed for it.

Aziraphale remained cheerful, despite their lack of findings, a smile blossoming on his lips that Anthony tried very hard not to look at, lest he consider reaching out to touch them again.

The third shop they stopped at, however, claimed that they did carry such equipment. It was out of stock at the moment, but they would be getting a shipment within the next several days. The shopkeeper had promised to save two sets for them, thanks to a couple gold coins Anthony tossed his way. 

Anthony wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the further delay in their little sparring session or not. On the one hand, it was sure to be a disaster and would only fuel his desire to be closer to the prince than he had any right to be. On the other, the thought of Aziraphale pinning him to the wall with a sword to his chest was so very enticing. Unfairly so.

“Well, it seems we got that sorted out,” Aziraphale said as the two of them left the shop. “What should we do now?”

“Could go back to Anathema’s, if you wanted,” Anthony suggested. “Or…”

“Or…?” Aziraphale asked, seemingly intrigued.

“I might know a place. If you're up for it,” Anthony said. “It's not exactly easy to get to, and also probably not entirely allowed, but…” He glanced over at Aziraphale to gauge his reaction.

He was frowning. Contemplating. “So, you mean, if we were caught…”

Anthony gave a sly smile. “Well, I've never been caught before.”

Aziraphale still didn't seem entirely convinced so Anthony nudged his shoulder with his own, “Oh, come on, prince . Where's your taste for adventure?”

Aziraphale's throat bobbed, but there, a slight gleam of intrigue in his eyes. “I… Well, I… What exactly is this place?”

“Old building just outside of town,” Anthony explained. “Abandoned. Overgrown. But I think you'll like it.”

Truly, Anthony didn't know if he would. Honestly, everything in him was telling him that he wouldn't . It wasn't near as grand as the ballrooms he danced in, or the library he got his books from, or his bedroom, or even the damned hallways he walked through, for Hell's sake!

But Anthony had always liked the spot. He didn't go there too often but if he was in the area and had some time to spare, it was an excellent place to sit and have a bottle of wine.

Really, it was a bit private and Anthony wasn't sure why he wanted to share it with Aziraphale, but he did. And he hoped he liked it.

And it was large enough that they could likely fence there, if Aziraphale wanted to.

“I suppose… going somewhere abandoned, and perhaps a bit off limits, is rather thrilling,” Aziraphale said. “Will it be dangerous?”

“Nah. I've never had a problem with it,” Anthony answered. “Well, maybe the odd snake now and again. Spiders. It is an abandoned building.”

“Oh, those don't bother me.”

Anthony smiled, trying very hard to pretend his stomach wasn't knotting with nerves. “Alright. I'll lead the way.”

*    *    *

“Oh… Oh, that is rather high,” Aziraphale said, glancing up at the three story building before them, part of which had crumbled away, likely due to weather and time.

“Yeah… Main entrance caved in. Probably years ago,” Anthony explained. “But there's a window just there,” he pointed upward, towards the one on the second floor. “Climb up. You have access to the whole place. Stairs are intact too, so you won't have to worry about that once you're inside.”

Aziraphale's throat bobbed. “Yes. Well, I…” He cleared his throat. “Of course, it's just… I don't believe I've ever really climbed up something quite so tall.” He glanced up again, the trepidation so very clear in his eyes.

Which is why I'm going to help you. C’mere,” Anthony said, motioning him over with his head. And oh, this was a bad idea. But Aziraphale was already walking over and Anthony was moving behind him, gently taking his wrist in his hand. 

He'd swear he heard Aziraphale's breath catch as he did, but no, no that couldn’t be right. He ignored it as he lifted his hand, guiding it to one of the stones jutting out from the building. An easy one to grab ahold of.

“Start here,” Anthony explained, curling Aziraphale's fingers around the stone. “Now put your feet up here.” He nudged a small ledge with his foot.

Aziraphale climbed up onto it.

His other hand was now trying to find another hold, and he gave a nervous glance upward. “Anthony, ar- are you sure I can…”

“I'm sure,” Anthony said, and meant it. It wasn't a hard climb. Now, for a beginner, he could see how it was a bit daunting, especially if one was afraid of heights—he probably should've asked that first—but Aziraphale could do it. Anthony was sure of it.

Anthony reached up and guided Aziraphale's other hand to another stone, curling his fingers around it.

“That should give you a hold there,” Anthony said. “Now, here's where it gets a little harder. Next hand hold is up there,” he pointed up to a stone a foot or so above his right hand. “You grab that, pull yourself up, and get your foot on this handhold,” he tapped the stone beneath Aziraphale's hand.

“Oh-” Aziraphale frowned. “Oh.”

“I know, this bit's hard but you can give yourself a little boost if you can get your other foot up here,” he tapped another stone that jutted out a few inches above the ledge.

Aziraphale did, though he still didn't look entirely confident, and though Anthony knew he was going to hate himself for this in a second, he suggested, “I can… hold onto you. If you need me to.”

He wanted Aziraphale to feel safe. Safe as he could in this situation, anyway.

“Yes!” Aziraphale answered quickly. “Er, I mean, that would… probably be preferable. I could use the help.”

Anthony wasn't sure what that was about. He hoped the suggestion hadn't bothered him, but it hadn't seemed like it had. In fact, he had seemed… almost eager, and-

No. No. Anthony quickly banished the thoughts from his mind.

He reached up and placed his hands not quite on Aziraphale’s waist but somewhere just above it. Somewhere that would be appropriate for a friend helping a friend. Something that wouldn’t suggest anything.

“Alright, I've got you,” he said. “Now try it. I promise, I won't let you fall.”

Aziraphale did, reaching up and grabbing the new hand hold, and then in a swift movement, lifted his foot onto the old one.

“Alright, there you go. Good. Next hand hold is there.” And slowly Anthony guided him up, Aziraphale growing slightly more confident in his movements. Seemed to trust the stone to hold him and trust that he could keep his grip.

He was nearly there too. Over halfway up when he reached up for the next handhold. But the stone crumbled and broke away from the wall, and Anthony’s heart leaped to his throat as Aziraphale let out a panicked cry, now hanging there by one arm, his feet scrabbling desperately for purchase.

But he hadn’t fallen. Not yet.

Anthony had time.

He leaped up onto the wall, fingers finding purchase with ease, the climb practically muscle memory at this point, and made it up to where Aziraphale still struggled, panting, desperately trying to get a foothold.

“Angel. Angel, it’s alright,” Anthony reassured. “It’s alright, just breathe. You’re gonna be fine, just… Stop kicking your feet, let me-”

He reached up a hand, gently touching Aziraphale’s ankle, guiding him to a foothold.

“There you go. See? S’all fine, I've got you.”

Aziraphale's breathing indeed seemed to steady a bit, comforted by Anthony's words and his newfound footing.

He found a new hold for his other foot and soon reached up with his other hand, searching for another stone or ledge or vine to grab ahold of.

Anthony pointed one out to him and he tested it briefly before putting his full weight onto it. More cautious now, but still trusting in Anthony. Anthony was glad to have earned that trust.

He guided him further up, following close behind so that he could help him if he lost his footing again. But he didn't. The stones held and then he had his hands on the window sill and was pulling himself through.

Anthony followed, finding him lying on the floor breathing heavily but seemingly relieved. Anthony couldn't blame him. And as Aziraphale slowly recovered, Anthony at last noticed the ache in his abdomen. 

He pulled up his shirt, glancing down at the still healing wound. It wasn't bleeding, thankfully, but it seemed the climb had aggravated it. He hadn't noticed it in the moment, far too focused on making sure Aziraphale made it up safe, but he was certainly feeling it now.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked. He was sitting up now and had noticed Anthony looking at it.

“Oh, yeah. Fine.” He covered the wound again. “Just… maybe wasn't quite ready for the climb, that's all. S’not bleeding.”

“Good.” Aziraphale got to his feet. “Will you be alright to make the climb back down?”

Because they would have to do that. Eventually, anyway. “Oh, yeah, sure,” Anthony said with a shrug. “I mean, got no choice really.”

Aziraphale didn't seem fully satisfied with that answer, but he took it anyway, then glanced at the space around him.

Light spilled in from the windows, illuminating the room. It was filled with greenery. Vines that had grown through the windows, now spread along walls. Other, smaller plants had taken up roots wherever they could. Dirt had piled up in some corners too, the plants having found that very quickly. He noticed some new, smaller ones that had grown since the last time he'd been here. They weren't nearly as nice as Anthony’s own—he had tried to discipline them but to no avail—but he liked it here nonetheless.

In the middle of the space was a large hole in the floor, where wood had splintered, either with something very heavy falling into it or erosion and rot over time, or perhaps a combination of the two, leading down to the first floor.

“Right. Well, what do you think? Alright?” Anthony asked, trying very hard to play it off like he didn't care what the answer would be.

He glanced over, finding Aziraphale slowly looking around, lips slightly parted. His gaze paused on one particular corner, where a bunch of dandelions and some other small flowers had sprouted.

“Oh, Anthony,” he murmured, “it's beautiful.”

Anthony blinked. “It is?”

“Oh, yes. It's wonderful.” He went over to the dandelions and knelt, running a finger over one.

Anthony huffed a laugh. “They're just weeds, angel. Not exactly-”

“Oh, hush. They're wonderful,” Aziraphale insisted. He picked one, placing it in his breast pocket, then grabbed up one of the small white ones as well and held it out to Anthony, who shoved his hands into his pockets, warmed by the gesture but…

“Nah. S’not really my color.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale insisted. “It'll look lovely on you. Here.”

He stepped forward, into Anthony's space, and Anthony let him reach out, hardly breathing, as if any sudden movements might have Aziraphale pulling back, stepping away. 

Anthony didn't have a breast pocket, but Aziraphale gently tucked it in under the collar of his shirt, his fingers brushing over the skin there, sending goosebumps crawling in their wake. And yet Aziraphale didn't step away. Instead he smiled faintly, seemingly admiring his handiwork. And Anthony certainly didn't step back either.

Really, he probably should've. There was no reason to be standing here, so close. It was only fueling thoughts he shouldn't be having. And how many times had he called him angel today? He couldn't remember, but he knew the answer was far too many.

He cleared his throat, and Aziraphale's gaze shot up to his once more, his eyes widening. He quickly stepped back, away, and Anthony found himself missing his warmth immediately.

“There,” Aziraphale said. “It looks wonderful.”

Anthony ducked his head. “Ngk. Thanks.” 

Oh, it really wasn't fair, was it? How was Anthony supposed to stay away when he was so kind? How was he supposed to keep his distance when Aziraphale seemed to want to stay close? Why did he want to stay close? Did he feel safer with him? Was that it?

Anthony wasn't sure, but he supposed it made about as much sense as anything else. It was his job to protect him, after all.

Anthony cleared his throat. “Right, well, let's head upstairs. If you like it down here, you'll love it up there.” He started towards the stairs on the left. “Come on.”

He led Aziraphale up to the third floor. It was smaller than the second, partly due to the fact that part of it had crumbled, leaving one wall entirely open to the outside. And against the right wall, exactly where Anthony had left it, was a small wine rack.

Aziraphale noticed it immediately. “Oh. You… you have wine here already?”

“M’yeah. Seemed like the best option when I started coming here more.” That way he didn't have to try to make the climb with a bottle in his hands every single time.

“And how often do you come here?”

Anthony shrugged. “Whenever I'm around and have a minute. S’a nice place to stop in. And, as far as I know, nobody knows about it except me. And you now, I suppose.” He glanced over at Aziraphale, but he wasn't looking at him. Instead he gave a contemplative frown at the bottles. 

“Don't… Won't they shatter in the cold?” Aziraphale asked. “How long have these been here?”

Anthony shrugged. “Probably… I dunno, a month or two. I haven't been here in a while. Normally, I drink them all before winter, and if I don't, I take whatever's left with me back to my place.” Usually it was only a bottle or two. 

“Want a bottle?” Anthony asked, prompting Aziraphale to turn and face him once again. He added apologetically, “We'd have to share one, I don't… I don't have any glasses.” There had never been any need for them. He'd been by himself.

“Oh, uh… Certainly. Yes.”

Anthony grabbed up a bottle. Uncorked it. “Right then. This way,” Anthony said and headed over to the open wall.

He sat down, letting his legs hang over the edge and glanced back to see Aziraphale several feet behind him, hesitating.

Anthony raised a brow. Held up the bottle. Come on, angel, he said silently. You know I wouldn't let you fall.

Aziraphale swallowed, then headed over and sat beside him.

Anthony took a swig. Handed Aziraphale the bottle, and watched him take a sip, trying very, very hard to ignore the small thrill that went through him at the indirect kiss.

He looked away, towards the view of the forest. They could see for miles up here. See the trees stretching out before them, mostly unexplored. Who knew what laid out there, just waiting to be discovered.

Anthony had heard stories. Tales of vicious monsters that he had once thought to be just that, stories. But after their encounter in that forest near Wickber, he could no longer be certain.

He hoped if there truly were such things hiding out there, they stayed far, far away from them. He didn't need any more trouble on this trip.

Aziraphale handed the bottle back to him, and Anthony took another drink.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. “For showing this to me.”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

“I can tell it does mean something to you. If you've put this much into it.”

Anthony shrugged, handed the bottle back. “Not that much. S’just a wine rack.”

“Yes, I just… Well, I get the sense that you don't want to… settle in anywhere.”

Anthony made a noncommittal noise. “No point in settling when you move around as much as I do, but this place was different, I guess. Kept coming back.”

He glanced over at Aziraphale, watching him take a drink. Tracking the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

He took a deep breath, then said, “Can I… be honest with you?”

Aziraphale turned towards him, eyes widening briefly, and said surprisingly softly, “Yes. Of course.”

Anthony turned away, looking back at the forest stretching out before them. The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon now. They'd likely need to head back soon.

Anthony loosed a sigh and laid down on his back, staring up at the half-crumbled ceiling, at the spaces where he could see the slowly darkening sky, anywhere but at Aziraphale as he said, “I don't have many places I can go where I feel… eh, I dunno. Safe, I guess. But this place is that for me.” He sighed. “And I know I said it would be dangerous if we got caught, y’know, but… Nobody knows it’s here. I mean, maybe the guards do. Some locals, I dunno. But I’ve never seen anyone else.”

“Do you… like being alone?” Aziraphale asked quietly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid that if he spoke too loudly, too suddenly, the moment would shatter.

“Y’know sometimes I think I do.”

“And… other times?”

“Other times…” Anthony sighed. “I don’t know.”

A long silence followed.

He heard Aziraphale take another drink, then felt the bottle press up against his side.

He glanced over, seeing Aziraphale offering it to him with a small smile. “I think some more wine might be in order.”

“Mm, yeah. I think so too.”

He sat up and grabbed the bottle, taking a long drink.

Notes:

It's funny going back through these chapters sometimes. Because I remember in general what happened y'know but I often forget some of the smaller details. Anyway, this one made me realize that Aziraphale was DOWN BAD down bad. I was reading this like GIRL GET UP 😂
I like this chapter a lot though because Crowley's little secret hideout place was something that I came up with completely on the spot just because their little shopping trip didn't take very long and I didn't really want them to just go back to Anathema's cause that felt boring, so I wrote this instead. And then it very very quickly became an important place for them and made me realize exactly how I wanted this fic to end.

Chapter 15

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Anthony awoke it was to cold stone pressing against his cheek, and a bit of confusion, as he could tell immediately that this was not Anathema’s shop.

And then the events of the night before came back to him.

He’d brought Aziraphale to his little wine drinking spot. They’d shared a bottle. Anthony had… admitted things he probably shouldn’t have. And then… Well, they must have gotten drowsy and fallen asleep. Who had dozed off first, Anthony couldn’t remember, but it seemed Aziraphale had been the first to wake up. Anthony spied him immediately as he opened his eyes, finding him sitting exactly where he had been the night before, staring out at the slowly brightening sky.

Anthony gave a grunt, letting him know he was awake now too, and slowly sat up.

“Oh, good. I was hoping you’d be up soon,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make the climb back down without your help.”

“Mm. Have you tried already?” Anthony asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh, Heaven’s no! I did go peek my head through the window but no, I did not attempt to climb down. I… fear that would’ve gone rather poorly.”

Anthony shrugged. “I dunno, you did alright yesterday.”

“With your assistance,” Aziraphale countered, and though Anthony knew Aziraphale had it in him to make that climb on his own, it was far too early to think of a good argument to that.

So he just shrugged and said, “I still think you could do it.”

He turned to face him, noting the way the sunrise glowed on his features, setting those white curls atop his head glowing like a halo. Brighter than usual, he thought. Or… wait.

He looked frantically around, patting the stone, searching for-

“Oh, right! Your glasses,” Aziraphale said and reached beside him, retrieving the pair of dark shades. “You must have fallen asleep with them on. They were lying on the floor, and I was afraid they would get scratched or that you might roll over and break them, so I figured I’d hold onto them. Sorry if I overstepped.” He held them out to him, and for a moment, Anthony could only stare in something like amazement. That Aziraphale had taken such care, that he had even thought about it… He must have known, then, that these meant a lot to him too, even if he didn’t know entirely why.

“Thanks,” Anthony murmured and took the glasses from him, noting that they looked like they’d even been cleaned recently.

He hesitated a moment, then hung them on his shirt.

He’d put them on soon enough, before they headed back into the town proper, but here, with Aziraphale, he didn’t need them.

He looked out at the forest. Scanned the treeline. It was peaceful out here. He'd always liked that about this place. It was quiet, secluded. Gave him a nice break from the crowded towns.

“I can see why you like it here,” Aziraphale said. “It's nice, if a bit… uncomfortable. Could be improved with some cushions, I suppose, but… it's wonderful regardless.”

“Thought you might like the view,” Anthony said. “Sorry about the lack of cushions . I never bothered. Didn't usually stay long enough to need them.”

Anthony made a mental note to buy some when he had the chance, though, imagining the delight on Aziraphale's features when he realized his suggestion had been taken into consideration.

“We should probably go soon,” Aziraphale said. “I'm sure Anathema has started to worry.”

“M'yeah, probably.” He didn't stand, though, and neither did Aziraphale, who sighed.

“I just… I never knew something like this could be so… lovely. It’s so much different from what I’m used to, but it… Well, it’s wonderful.” He glanced over at Anthony, a small smile on his lips, and Anthony wished so badly for him to continue that sentence with something like, even more wonderful since I’m here with you .

But he didn’t say that. And Anthony was delusional for hoping he might.

Anthony got to his feet. “Right. Well, we should go. We didn't eat dinner last night and I'm sure you're getting hungry.”

“I am a bit peckish, I suppose,” Aziraphale agreed, though he didn’t stand. Instead, he gave a nervous glance behind him. “The climb down. Do you think it’ll be any easier?”

“Uh… probably not,” Anthony said apologetically. “I’ll help you, though. I'll get you through it, I promise.”

Aziraphale nodded, and though he still looked a bit nervous, he said, “Well then, I guess we’d better get going.”

Anthony held out a hand to help him up and Aziraphale took it, his hand, so impossibly soft, sliding into Anthony's own, the mundane touch sending electricity sparking over his fingertips and shooting right up his arm, sending goosebumps following in their wake.

Anthony suddenly found himself missing his glasses then, as he struggled to keep his features neutral. He couldn’t help but wonder, if a simple touch of the prince’s hand could do all of that, what would a kiss do to him?

Aziraphale got to his feet with Anthony’s help, and as their eyes met for just a moment. Anthony swore something flickered across his features, so fast Anthony wasn’t even sure it had been real. And then he quickly turned away, dropping his hand.

Anthony cleared his throat. “Right. I’ll, uh… I'll go down first, probably. Guide you from the bottom.”

“Er… Right, yes,” Aziraphale agreed.

Anthony could’ve sworn his cheeks were tinted pink, but… No, no, that couldn’t be right. Must be the sunrise and his lack of sunglasses changing up the lighting a bit.

He led the way down to the second floor and made the climb back down, a bit more gingerly this time, so his wound wouldn’t ache. He then guided Aziraphale down, thankfully, with minimal difficulty.

Anthony had his sunglasses back on by the time Aziraphale landed beside him on the ground, and began to lead the way back into the town proper.

“That was quite nice,” Aziraphale said as they walked, the town slowly waking up around them. “I wouldn’t mind stopping by again sometime. Even though it… is rather difficult to get to.”

“It gets easier,” Anthony assured. “Keep practicing and soon enough you’ll be able to get up there as quick as I can.”

Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, I… I don’t think so.”

“No, you would. Practice makes perfect, and all that,” Anthony said. “Not sure it’s something a prince would care to get exceptionally good at, but you could. If you wanted.”

“So are you saying you consider yourself exceptionally good at it?” Aziraphale joked.

“Yes. I have climbed walls much harder and much taller than that one back there.” Anthony shrugged. “It comes in handy.”

“I’m sure it would.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale insisted. “I just… I’m sure you’ve had your run-ins with guards and used your skills to get away.”

Anthony said with a shrug, “Well, comes with the job, I suppose.” He took a deep breath, then asked, “That doesn’t bother you at all? Friends with a known criminal? Not exactly very princely of you.”

“Well, neither is running away from my title and home, but, well, I suppose I never was very ‘ princely’ as you put it,” Aziraphale said with little hesitation. “And to answer your question, no. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

Anthony gave a hum, trying very hard not to show the way his heart sang at that answer. “Good. Otherwise we might have a problem.”

Aziraphale laughed. A lovely, joyous little sound that Anthony wanted to bottle up and keep forever. So that even when all of this was done and Aziraphale was gone, he could still keep a piece of him.

He wondered briefly if it was actually possible to do such a thing and if he could somehow figure it out before this little adventure ended.

It would be a nice thing to have, to look back on. A little jar sitting on his nightstand that he could open up and listen to, hoping that Aziraphale found that same joy wherever he went off to.

“You know, Anthony,” Aziraphale spoke up, “I know you do have a… well, reputation, I suppose, but…” He trailed off, sounding suddenly almost unsure.

“Oh, come on, prince. What is it this time?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry. Nothing at all. Oh! Do you think we could stop and get some pastries before we go back to Anathema's? I saw a lovely little shop yesterday, and the smells coming from it were absolutely divine ,” he said in an obvious attempt to change the subject. 

Anthony let him, saying, “Sure.” But he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been about to say and why he had changed his mind about it so suddenly. It was odd, especially with what had happened the night before and all the things Anthony had laid bare. Things he’d never told anyone before. 

He had thought they trusted each other quite a bit now. Anthony certainly trusted him . Though… not with everything, he supposed.

The stench of blood filled his nostrils.

Screams sounded in his ears.

The drawing of a blade.

“Anthony? Are you alright?”

Anthony blinked back to the present and quickly cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, fine, sorry. Just got a bit lost in thought.” He shook his head. “M’fine.”

Aziraphale, it seemed, wasn’t convinced. His eyes narrowed in concern. “You just… stopped walking,” he said. “Are you sure your wound isn't-”

Yes , I'm sure,” Anthony insisted. “Can we get on?”

He continued onward, bumping Aziraphale with his shoulder as he did, though he really hadn't meant to, he was just a bit disoriented, making him bristle. “I… Well, there really is no need to be rude,” Aziraphale said, catching up to him. “I was just checking to make sure you’re alright.”

“Well, I told you, I’m fine. So let’s drop it now, yeah?”

“What on Earth has gotten into you?” Aziraphale questioned. “I was just asking-”

“Yeah, and I answered,” Anthony said, pausing to turn and face him. “So that’s it. It’s done. No more needs to be said.”

“But…” Aziraphale’s throat bobbed, hurt flashing across his features briefly before fading into anger, and then… He put on a carefully neutral expression, folding his hands neatly before him. “Very well. You know, I rather think I would like to continue the walk back alone, thank you.” And then he moved past him, stepping to the side to ensure their shoulders didn’t even brush. “I’ll see you back at Anathema’s.”

Anthony watched him go. Waited until he turned a corner before loosing a long, tired sigh.

And then he continued on, wondering just how he was going to explain this one away.

*    *    *

Aziraphale wasn't there by the time Anthony trudged through the door of Anathema's shop, despite leaving first. Anthony guessed he had stopped by that pastry shop he was talking about on the way. So Anthony was left to face Anathema on his own. Probably for the best, honestly.

She was in the kitchen, cooking up some breakfast for herself.

“Oh, good, you’re back. I was getting worried.”

Anthony said nothing in response, just headed into the back room, closing the door with a soft click.

He paced around in there for a few minutes, trying to decide what he should tell Aziraphale when they inevitably ended up being forced to talk to each other again. Probably an apology first. He had snapped at him, after all, and sure, Aziraphale had pushed when perhaps he shouldn't have, but he did have good intentions, Anthony knew that. He always had good intentions. But that didn't mean they always led to the best outcomes.

Maybe… maybe a little space would do them both some good. Though he supposed they had only recently had an argument similar to this one in which they had both gotten plenty of space.

But Anthony wasn't sure he was ready to face Aziraphale right now. Or anytime soon. And Aziraphale… he was probably upset with him. Anthony doubted he'd want to see him now either.

Anthony wasn't angry. Not really. He was just… Oh, he didn't know. He didn't know, but he knew he didn't want to be here, where Aziraphale could walk in any second, and then he'd be forced to try and explain things he didn't even want to glance at.

He left the back room, finding Anathema leaving the kitchen, likely on her way to talk to him. “Anthony, what's wrong?”

“Nothing. I'm going to the nearest tavern. Don't come looking for me, I'll be gone for a while,” he said as he walked past her, heading down the hall and towards the front of the shop.

“But… Anthony, wait! What happened? Where's Aziraphale?”

“He's fine. He's upset, and I don't want to think , so I'm leaving. I'll be back… eventually. I don't know.”

He opened the door and promptly left the shop, finding, as he'd said, the nearest tavern and buying a large bottle of whiskey. A waste, really, he had wine, and he should be watching what he spent, but right now he couldn't be bothered to care. And , he supposed, whiskey was a lot cheaper than wine.

He glanced around.

Very few people were here at the moment. It was, after all, barely past sunrise. Much too early for any sensible person to be drinking. But despite the number of seats open he found he didn't want to stay here.

No. Right now he needed safety. Right now he needed someplace to run and curl in on himself like a snake and hide.

And lucky for him, he had just the place for it.

He left the tavern, heading back towards the edge of town. Towards the half-crumbled building he had left only a mere hour before.

Notes:

Hello hello!
The angst is back, unfortunately. Things were going well for them so, obviously, we had to ruin it. They'll figure this one out too though, don't worry. Oh, and we get to meet Adam soon too!

Chapter 16

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The pastries were delicious.

Aziraphale had taken some much needed time to enjoy them and quietly stew about everything that had happened a little while before.  

It was odd. He’d known it was odd, that’s why he had questioned him, but there really was no need for Anthony to be so rude . Aziraphale had only wanted to help. Perhaps he had been a bit too insistent. Pushy, even. But surely not enough to warrant such a response from Anthony.

So he had decided in his short time in this little shop that he would go back to Anathema’s and make it very clear that such behavior would not be tolerated. He was sure they could find some middle ground. It wasn’t a huge issue, after all, and… they had been getting along rather well, Aziraphale thought. 

Sometimes it made him wonder if perhaps… No, no. That was ridiculous. 

And he was upset . He shouldn’t be thinking about… about anything like that! No, what he needed to be thinking about was exactly what he would say to Anthony once he got back.

He stood from the table, paid, and thanked the kind server, then headed to Anathema’s shop and silently rehearsed the speech, giving a contemplative frown as he walked.

It would probably be something along the lines of, Anthony, I understand I upset you. I'm not entirely sure how as I only wanted to make sure you were alright, but I am sorry. However, there really was no need to be rude, and I will not tolerate such behavior.

Anathema found him almost immediately after he stepped through the door, saying, “There you are. What the Hell happened?”

“Oh. Anthony’s here, then, I assume?” Not too surprising, considering Aziraphale had taken a detour for those pastries.

Anathema shook her head, “Not anymore. He left. He looked… stressed. What happened?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Aziraphale admitted and explained it all to her. “It’s all rather strange. Really, I don’t know exactly what came over him, but…” He straightened his shoulders. “I would like to have a stern word with him about it. You… said he’s not here?”

“Not anymore, no,” Anathema said. “He said he was going to the tavern so…”

Aziraphale frowned. So if he went to find him now, he’d be in a drunken stupor. Hardly a state for a conversation like the one they needed to have. 

Aziraphale loosed a frustrated sigh. “Did… He didn’t say when he was coming back, did he?”

“He just said eventually , so not really, no.”

“Right. I'll… I suppose I'll read, then,” Aziraphale said. “I'm sure he'll turn up… well, eventually, like he said.”

“Yeah,” Anathema agreed, though she didn't sound entirely sure, and that was certainly worrying. “Do you want some breakfast? I just finished making some hash browns.”

“Oh, uh… certainly.”

*    *    *

Aziraphale did try to read.

He wasn't sure what it was about Anthony that seemed to hinder his ability to focus on his books, but he really would need to figure that out because all he could do was think about him. About all that had transpired hours before.

And as he took the time to look back, it was truly a bit worrying. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what had set Anthony off, but something had definitely agitated him, and if it truly wasn’t his wound acting up, then what was it?

It didn’t make any sense. They’d had a nice evening. They’d shared a bottle of wine. Anthony had opened up and shared some very vulnerable things with him. And the morning hadn’t been bad either. Not until that moment, anyway. Nothing that Aziraphale could think of that had seemed odd or out of place. So what could have possibly elicited such a reaction? Aziraphale didn’t know, and he wished Anthony would just talk to him instead of snapping and insisting he was fine when he clearly wasn’t.

Aziraphale was still upset. He had every right to be upset when Anthony had snapped at him like he did while Aziraphale was just trying to help. But one could be upset and worried at the same time and Aziraphale was, most certainly, both.

Still, he kept on reading, even if he had to keep rereading the same paragraph over and over because he kept getting distracted. And eventually, the day faded to night. 

He ate dinner with Anathema. The two of them didn't speak much, but he knew his worry had to be palpable. Anthony hadn't returned, after all, and Aziraphale knew he was upset and needed his space but… he couldn't help but think of the worst possible scenario.

Anthony could handle himself, Aziraphale knew that. But he was also likely drunk, and not to mention injured, and people were going missing, and, well, that wasn’t exactly the best combination for Aziraphale’s nerves.

Still, he managed to push them aside and clean his plate.

Anathema gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, saying, “I'm sure he'll be fine,” before heading off to bed.

Aziraphale found his way to his own, unable to entirely quell the nerves. But he hoped Anthony would be here when he awoke the next morning. At this point the worry was beginning to outweigh the upset, and… Oh, Aziraphale just hoped that he was alright.

He fell asleep regardless, frankly, exhausted and when he awoke the next morning, immediately looking to his left, he found that Anthony was not lying in his usual spot, and the blanket hadn't been moved at all.

He had not been here.

Aziraphale swallowed the lump in his throat and left the room, finding Anathema currently standing at the counter in the shop proper, helping a young boy with what looked to be a small cut on his arm, there were three other children there with him who now looked curiously at Aziraphale as he stepped up to Anathema’s side.

“Er, Anathema, my dear, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt but-”

“Anthony. I know,” she said, glancing over at him. “He didn’t come back, did he?”

“No. No, I’m afraid he didn’t.” Aziraphale swallowed. “I… I am rather worried, I… Did he tell you exactly where he was going?”

“He said the nearest tavern,” Anathema said. “I can give you directions-”

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered immediately. “Please.”

Anthony was out there somewhere, after all, and if he wasn't back yet, then it was time Aziraphale went to him. If he was hurting, Aziraphale needed to be there for him. To help him. Everything else could be talked about and worked out later, right now, he just needed to know Anthony was safe.

Anathema wrote down the directions and then Aziraphale was out the door and- “‘Scuse me,” a voice said from behind him.

He turned, finding that one of the boys had followed him out. The blond, curly haired one.

“Uh, yes?” he answered, glancing over his shoulder, knowing that time was likely of the essence. He needed to find Anthony quickly. He didn’t exactly have time to indulge in questions from some random boy.

“Are you alright?” the boy asked.

“Oh, um, well, technically, yes. I-”

“You said you were lookin’ for someone?”

“Yes. Which is why I really-”

“I can help you look for him,” the boy said. “Me and my friends, we know everyone around here. I bet we can find him.”

“Oh, I… Well, thank you for offering, but I’m sure you don’t know Anthony. He’s not from around here.”

The boy gave a contemplative look, then asked, “Is he a prince like you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “N-no! Certainly not.” He quickly glanced around, realizing in his haste he had forgotten to pull up his hood. “Oh… Bugger ,” he hissed, quickly pulling it up.

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Is it that other man in the dark cloak we’ve seen wandering about?”

“Er…”

Wicked . Have you hired him to help you battle the monsters in the forest?”

“Uh-”

“Or maybe you're hunting the shapeshifter that goes ‘round at night stealing kids from the streets.”

“The what?”

The boy shrugged. “I dunno. My mum told me about it. She said it only goes after kids who aren’t in bed by nightfall.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, immediately relaxing as he realized this was just a story told by the kid's mother to ensure he was back home before bedtime. He glanced over his shoulder again. “Well, er, thank you for your concern, um…”

“Adam,” the boy answered, holding out his hand. “Adam Young. I live at Hogback Lane. In case you need any help finding him.”

“Yes, thank you.” Aziraphale doubted he would need the boy’s help, but it was kind of him to offer. He shook his hand, then started to continue on but quickly turned back to add, “Oh, and please don’t… tell anyone I’m here. I’m afraid it’s… Well, nobody’s supposed to know.”

“Right,” Adam said with a grin and a nod. “Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, good. I, er…” He glanced behind him again. “I really do need to go, but it was nice meeting you, Adam.”

“Nice meeting you too,” Adam said, then turned back and headed into the shop, where his friends waited.

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what to make of the interaction, but he did keep in mind Hogback Lane, in case he did indeed grow desperate and needed to enlist the help of a handful of children.

He followed Anathema’s directions, glancing upward, noting the dark clouds on the horizon. 

It would likely rain soon. He hoped he found Anthony and brought him back to Anathema's before it did. 

Aziraphale did indeed find the tavern but upon a quick glance over the mostly empty establishment, found no Anthony.

He tried to push down the growing dread in his stomach and walked up to the counter, saying to the man standing there, “Um, hello. Sorry to bother you, but have you seen a man in a cloak come here recently?”

“You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that, mate.”

“Er, right. Um, well, it’s a black cloak, like this one.” Aziraphale held up his own. “And… he was probably wearing dark glasses. Tall, thin.” Utterly gorgeous , he didn’t add.

“Uh… Yeah, I remember him. Came by early yesterday. Bought a bottle of whiskey and left. Don’t know where he went after that.”

“So he didn’t stay here?”

The man shook his head, then retrieved a cloth and began to wipe up the counter. “Was that all or do you want a drink?”

“Oh. Nothing for me, but, uh, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Sure, mate.”

Aziraphale promptly left the tavern, his mind positively whirring. So if Anthony hadn’t stayed at the tavern for longer than a few minutes, and he hadn’t gone back to Anathema’s, where would he have gone? It’s not like there were many places where-

Aziraphale stopped, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Oh, of course.”

He turned and started for the edge of town, and as he did, thunder cracked above him, and droplets of rain began to fall.

*    *    *

It took him over an hour to reach the half-crumbled building. He’d gotten a little lost on the way but had ultimately figured it out and now bent over his knees, soaked to the bone, breathing heavily. 

He looked up, squinting against the rain, staring at the climb that now awaited him.

Nausea roiled in his stomach but he did his best to swallow it down.

Anthony was up there, Aziraphale was almost certain of it. And he was likely hurting and drunk and alone. Aziraphale had a feeling he needed a friend, and he was determined to be there for him.

He took a deep breath then reached up and grabbed the first handhold Anthony had pointed out to him a couple days before.

And then the next, and the next.

The stone was wet beneath his fingertips. Slippery. Far more precarious than his previous climbs, but he kept going. He couldn’t leave Anthony to deal with this alone. He would be there for him. Whatever it took. 

He reached for another stone. A vine.

His foot slipped once, and a quiet gasp escaped him, his stomach dropping.

He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, readying himself for the fall, for the pain that would come after, but… his grip did not fail him and he soon found his footing once again.

He allowed himself a shaky breath of relief, then continued onward, and in just a few moments more, his hands were closing around the window sill and he was hauling himself up over it.

He glanced about the darkened, damp space, finding again, no Anthony. He swallowed and hesitantly called out, “Anthony? Are… are you here?”

He got no answer, but he went upstairs anyway, hoping. Because surely he had to be here, surely-

The space was empty. Wine rack untouched. No new bottles littering the space.

Aziraphale blinked back the burning in his eyes. No. No this can't be right. He has to be here. He-

A clink sound from somewhere downstairs, like glass on stone, and Aziraphale jumped, whirling towards the noise.

He hesitantly took a few steps towards the stairs, his hands balling to fists, ready to defend himself if need be—not that he’d ever really fought someone before. Supposedly, only Anthony and himself knew about this place, but, well, that was only as far as Anthony knew. It was certainly possible someone else had discovered it. 

Of course, it was also possible that it had been a snake or perhaps a small rodent, but, well, one could never be too careful.

He crept slowly down the stairs, to the first floor, peeking over the railing as he did so, seeing no one. But, then again, it was also quite dark. 

He had not been down here before, but it seemed there were no windows—perhaps there had been, at some point, but no longer—and the only light peeking through was from the hole in the ceiling.

He stepped down onto the stone, startling slightly at the crunching sound beneath his shoes. 

Glass littering the floor beneath his feet and he frowned down at it, idly thinking that whoever had dropped a bottle—probably Anthony, unless this was very old glass—should’ve cleaned up after themselves.

Lightning flashed as Aziraphale looked back up, scanning the space, and he’d swear he saw shoes, and a pair of long legs, clad in black.

He swallowed and stepped closer, thunder cracking and wind howling around him and… Oh, he was quite cold. Still utterly soaked from the run here.

It was indeed Anthony sitting there, hidden from view from the stairs by a pile of rubble, likely at least partly caused by the hole in the ceiling. He looked to be sleeping. At least, Aziraphale certainly hoped he was sleeping.

Aziraphale knelt beside him, reaching out to grab his shoulder. “Anthony,” he whispered, though still loud enough to be heard over the storm, and shook his shoulder. “Anthony, are you alright?”

Anthony gave a grunt and shifted slightly. 

His eyes cracked open, stunning yellow meeting cool blue. They widened.

“Angel?” he rasped. “What… What are you doing here?”

“Well, looking for you, obviously,” Aziraphale said. “I was worried. You didn't come back yesterday-”

Yesterday ?”

Yes ! You've been here a whole day, haven't you noticed?”

“Mm.” He reached up a hand, and rubbed at his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Aziraphale could only imagine the hangover he must have if he didn’t even know how long he’d been here. “Right. You didn’t… You didn’t come here to yell at me did you? Listen, just give me like… a couple hours-”

“No! I came here because I was worried about you,” Aziraphale said. “You didn’t come home, I was worried something might’ve-”

“Home?”

Aziraphale blinked.

Right. This wasn’t… This wasn’t home, and they most certainly did not… live together. That would be preposterous.

“I meant, Anathema’s. Look, I just wanted to make sure you were alright, which you clearly are not. Anthony, what were you thinking?”

“Mm. Thought you said you weren’t gonna yell at me,” Anthony muttered, shifting to sit up a little better. Thunder cracked overhead, making him wince. “Bloody storm.”

He looked back up at Aziraphale, eyes widening. “Wait, you… You came all the way here in the middle of a storm ?”

“I… Well-”

“Angel, you’re shivering,” he said, his eyes scanning him up and down rapidly. “You’re soaked ; what-” He shifted over a bit, then patted the ground beside him. “C’mere.”

Aziraphale hesitated. This was a bit more than… well, anything they had done so far, and while Aziraphale knew it was just to help him keep warm and certainly didn’t mean anything, he didn't want it to cause any further issues either.

“Angel, you need to keep warm. You'll get hypothermia.”

“It's not cold. I'll be fine,” Aziraphale insisted.

“No, it's not, but you're soaked and it's windy, and the rain’s not letting up any time soon.” He motioned him over again. “Come on.” And then his lips quirked up in that familiar, teasing smile. “Thought you were alright having a criminal for a friend.”

“I… I am- Oh, alright.” Aziraphale sat down, scooting close. And Anthony was warm. Cozy, even, Aziraphale couldn't help but think.

Anthony reached out, carefully pulling Aziraphale's cloak off of his shoulders and grabbing up his own, dry one, draping it over him like a blanket. And then Anthony wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, pulling him just that extra inch closer.

“There. Let me know if you get too warm, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” Aziraphale murmured. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

They were quiet for a moment, the only sounds being the storm still raging outside. It sounded like the roof upstairs was beginning to leak, and Aziraphale wondered how long until that trickled down to this floor.

Perhaps he should've brought an umbrella.

“Anthony, I… You know, I did actually want to talk to you,” Aziraphale said, and at Anthony's guarded expression, added, “ Talk , not yell, I assure you. I… I'm not upset about yesterday, not anymore.” Aziraphale turned his gaze downward. Wrung his hands in his lap. “Honestly, Anthony, I just want to make sure you're alright, and whatever that was, I know it bothered you. And you don't have to tell me any of it, I just… Don't… push me away. Please.”

He glanced over, watching Anthony's throat bob.

“Yeah, I… I am sorry. About that. It gets… hard sometimes.” He shrugged trying to appear nonchalant, but Aziraphale could see the pain in those beautiful yellow eyes. “I try not to think about it.”

“So sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale murmured.

Anthony loosed a long sigh. “Yeah.”

“Well, you know I… I'm always here. If you ever want to… well, talk about it,” Aziraphale offered, knowing he wouldn't take it. But he had to at least try, didn't he?

“Don't wanna talk about it,” Anthony muttered.

“I didn't think so. But I thought I should offer, just in case. I… I do know what it's like, to…” He trailed off. Swallowed. “Well, I, I- Probably not anything close to what you've been through, but, I do understand. A bit.”

He glanced over at Anthony, finding him staring at him, eyes sad, lips parted in something like shock, and Aziraphale found himself regretting those words immediately.  “Angel, who hurt you?”

Aziraphale shook his head. Turned away. “No one. Really, I… It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing ,” Anthony argued. “Tell me their name. I can make them, y’know, disappear.”

“There is no need for such… drastic measures. Really, Anthony, it's… it's fine.”

“You can barely talk about it, it's not fine ,” Anthony countered, and Aziraphale supposed he would know. But Aziraphale was away from them now, and really, that was all that mattered. As long as he stayed far, far away, it was fine. Anthony didn't need to go… do what it was he did.

Anthony sighed, likely seeing all of that in his eyes. “Listen, I won't… do anything, alright, but you can… y’know, talk to me too. If you want.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured. “Is… is your head any better?”

“Eh, not really,” Anthony answered, likely more than happy to change the subject.

Aziraphale frowned. “I'm afraid I didn't bring any water. I'm sure that would help; perhaps I should-”

He started to get up. He could go back out and find some water easily enough he was sure, but Anthony touched a hand to his arm, saying, “No. Stay. I'll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Anthony nodded. “Go when the rain lets up. I don’t mind waiting.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, settling in once again.

He glanced over at Anthony. The storm was still raging outside, but in here, it was calm, warm. Safe.

Aziraphale smiled at him, so much warmth filling his chest, despite the slight chill of his soaked clothes. Amazing, really, what Anthony’s mere presence was able to do. And oh how he wanted to just… Well, he supposed this time, just this once, he could try. He felt like he had earned it, after all he had done to make sure he was alright. After fearing that something terrible had happened to him.

He took a deep breath, then slowly let his head fall against Anthony’s shoulder. Waited a moment for Anthony to pull away or ask him to stop or say literally anything about it at all.

He never did.

Notes:

See guys, I told you they'd figure it out.
Also, hey, fun fact about me guys, most of the time I can't write one thing at a time. Usually I get bored if I work on one story too much so then I have to start a new one. So, I may have started writing another fic (technically I actually started two but I don't know if I like one of them yet). I'm not gonna start posting it yet, though. I'll probably do what I did last time and wait until this one is done before I start posting it. I think it'll probably be a shorter one, for me anyway. I'm guessing maybe 50k? I'm not very far along yet though, so that could change. It might even end up being shorter.

Chapter 17

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare even breathe, lest he disturb the angel sitting beside him. The angel who currently had his head on Anthony’s shoulder.

Aziraphale was resting his head on Anthony’s shoulder, and oh, Anthony was going insane. He was still drunk and unconscious and all of this was some dream. It had to be. Some wonderful, absolutely amazing and incredible dream, and it was just a damn head leaning against his shoulder. It shouldn't be doing all of this to him and yet…

Oh, did he have a chance? Was it possible? Should he reach out, try to grab the apple? It seemed so very close now, but was it worth the risk?

Aziraphale had come all the way here for him, and in a storm no less. He had climbed up that wall that he hadn't believed he could manage by himself, and the stone must have been slick from the rain. He had to have been terrified, and yet still he had…

Oh, Anthony wanted to kiss him. Wanted to take him gently by the chin and tilt his head up and press his lips to his. But no. No, that was too much. He had no idea how Aziraphale would react to such a thing, and honestly there was a very good chance he wouldn't like it. 

But maybe… maybe touch he could get away with. That could be played off as an accident, so long as it was something small.

He glanced downward, at Aziraphale, at the black pants Anthony had made him wear to better blend in that really didn't suit him. Perhaps he could remedy that soon. Let him wear his old clothes again. The man certainly deserved it, and Anthony didn't think it would cause any harm. Not anymore.

He took a very slow shallow breath in, then subtly shifted his hand, letting his pinky brush against Aziraphale's leg and settle there, against his thigh. 

And then he waited. Waited for any sort of reaction from Aziraphale, waited for him to shift, to move away.

He didn't.

In all honesty he probably hadn't even noticed, small as the touch was, but Anthony knew, and that was all that mattered, really.

He breathed shallowly, watching Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye, acutely aware of every place they now touched. They were sitting quite close, after all. Anthony’s doing. But he couldn't make himself regret it. He wanted to have soft little moments like this with him all the time, for the rest of his life. 

And that was terrifying.

Because he couldn’t have that. It wasn’t possible, even if, by some miracle, Aziraphale actually did like him, there was no way Anthony could stay with him. He couldn’t put him in that kind of danger.

“You know, Anthony,” Aziraphale began, pulling Anthony from his thoughts so suddenly that Anthony actually blinked. “I… Yesterday, there was something I was going to ask you, and then, I decided not to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, but I think I've changed my mind.”

“Alright. Ask away then,” Anthony said. He was an open book when Aziraphale was asking the questions. Well, except for a select few things.

“Well, I… I suppose it's not really a question just…” He loosed a breath and Anthony got a bit worried then. He didn't know what this was about but if Aziraphale was worried about saying it… Don't snap at him , he silently told himself. Don't push him away. Just talk it out like a reasonable adult .

“I’ve, um, well, I've taken the liberty of looking into your, well, job, I suppose,” Aziraphale began. “When you… you know, do what it is you do, I've noticed that you never leave a trace. Except for some expensive jewelry missing here and there.”

Anthony loosed a silent breath of relief. This was fine. He could talk about this. “Oh, yeah. I'm just, y’know, good at what I do. S’a bit of a calling card I guess. Kind of like my signature thing.”

“Yes, well, I…” Another deep breath. “I believe I know why.”

Anthony went still, his gaze shooting to Aziraphale. “You what?”

Aziraphale turned his gaze downward. “I, um, I met a man in a tavern once. He was very, very drunk and struck up a conversation with me, telling me about the assassin who had decided to spare his life in exchange for him changing his name and going somewhere very far away. Naturally, I got curious so I went to the library, found some records and, well…”

He continued on, but Anthony wasn't listening anymore. Instead, his mind was positively whirring. Someone had told him. Someone had told him , which meant they could have told anyone else, or someone could've overheard… Oh, this is… Shit!

Anthony got to his feet and began to pace the room.

“An- Anthony?” Aziraphale said, confused.

“What was his name; did he tell you?”

“Um, no. No, I'm afraid not, I-”

“When was this? Recent?”

“Er, well, probably a month or two ago. Perhaps three.”

Okay. Not that long, but not too recent either, so the Nest probably doesn't know about it. If they did, he had a feeling he would've noticed by now that he was being hunted down.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Anthony jumped, then relaxed remembering Aziraphale was right here with him. And also concerned.

“Anthony, what… I… I'm sorry if-”

“No, no, it's not that, it's…” Anthony ran his hands through his hair. “Oh… Listen,” he paused and turned to meet Aziraphale's gaze, taking him by the shoulders, “no one else can know about this, alright? No one . Because if this gets back to my boss they will be very unhappy.”

“Why? You've technically still done the job.”

“See, but that's the thing, I didn't . They're still out there, alive, meaning the contract wasn't technically fulfilled, meaning that it is now a stain on the guild's record, and that is very bad for business.” Anthony turned and began to pace again. “I don't think they know. If they did, I would have noticed assassins coming to try and kill me or drag me back to the guild or… something.”

But if one talked, then how many others had too? How long until word got back?

Oh, this… This complicated things a bit. Meant that they now needed to get Aziraphale out of here and away from him before things took a turn. And hopefully by the time they did, Anthony would be on a ship heading somewhere far, far away.

“They… They wouldn't really kill you, would they?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly.

“Oh, they would.” Anthony turned and continued his pacing. “Listen, this is… This is fine. It's fine, we'll just be careful. The Nest doesn't know yet, and maybe they never will, but we still need to keep an eye out-”

He stopped, nearly running right into Aziraphale, who had stepped in front of him. “Stop, my dear. Please, sit back down. I didn't mean to worry you this much.”

Anthony sighed, but did find a wall to sit against, and Aziraphale joined him. They didn't sit nearly as close as they had been, though.

“You don't need to feel bad, y’know,” Anthony murmured. “Honestly, it's better that I know. Then I can be ready if anything happens.”

“I understand. It’s just… You have so much on your plate already.”

Anthony shrugged. Honestly, he was right. He did have a lot on his plate. And his head was positively aching making it nearly impossible to think, and the thunder certainly wasn't helping. But it was better to add this now rather than later, when there were assassins knocking on his door. It was alright. He would get by. He always did.

“Are you sure you don't want me to get you some water?” Aziraphale asked.

“M’sure.” He glanced over at him, watching him shiver slightly. “And you're still cold; come over here.” He reached out, taking him gently by the arm and pulling him closer. Aziraphale went willingly. “You can't go back out there like this, you'll catch a cold.”

“I'm sure a cold would be worth it,” Aziraphale murmured, but he didn't move. “Your head must feel terrible.”

“Mm, yeah, but it's fine. I'll be alright.” He'd felt worse, to be honest. It was a bad hangover, yes, possibly the worst he'd ever had—and that was certainly saying something—but it would pass. “Once the rain stops you can go. If you're so worried about me,” Anthony added with a teasing nudge to Aziraphale's shoulder.

Aziraphale didn't smile back. Instead, a small frown graced his lips. “I was rather worried, you know,” he murmured. “When you didn’t come back yesterday.”

“Mm, right, yeah. I…” He blew out a breath. “I mean, in my defense, I don't think I was really conscious enough to know the time.”

“Oh, I'm certain you weren't,” Aziraphale agreed. “But next time, would you at least tell me where you're going? Just so that I would know where to look.”

“Sure,” Anthony said. “But honestly, angel, I really can take care of myself.”

“I believe you, but I'll still worry,” Aziraphale murmured, wringing his hands in his lap. “You've done a great deal for me. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“Oh, I'll be fine,” Anthony assured. He always was. No matter the chaos that unfolded around him, he always seemed to make it out. Broken, battered, and bruised, sure, but alive, and that was all that mattered.

“If you say so, my dear.”

Anthony understood his worry, though. Honestly, he did. If the roles had been reversed, he knew he would've panicked, wondering where the angel was, if he was alright. Would have probably gone looking for him within the hour.

He glanced over at him now, watching as he fidgeted worriedly beside him. His care for Anthony was endlessly endearing and Anthony found himself wanting to give it right back.

“But, uh, thanks,” he murmured. “For coming to find me. You didn't have to do that.”

“Well, someone has to look out for you,” Aziraphale said.

Anthony swallowed. How long had it been since anyone had actually, truly cared about him? He supposed Beelzebub, maybe, but even if they did, they weren’t like Aziraphale. Bit too rough around the edges. More of a ‘learn to take care of yourself, ‘cause I’m not doing it for you’ type. They meant well, though, Anthony thought. Unless, of course, you got in their way.

“Mm. Guess so, yeah.”

He could get used to it, though. Especially if it meant Aziraphale would sit this close to him again. Oh, and that was a dangerous thought, wasn’t it? He was getting far too comfortable with this. With… wanting to be close to him. Wanting… well, him, really.

You can’t have him. I don’t care how much you love him, or how much you want to spend every single moment with him. You can’t have him, so stop thinking about it.

Easier said than done.

Oh, what had he gotten himself into?

*    *    *

It was another hour or so before the storm cleared up, and Aziraphale, as promised, went out and found somewhere to fill up his canteen, bringing it back for Anthony, who downed nearly the entire thing.

Aziraphale couldn’t blame him.

“Now we just need to get you some food,” Aziraphale said. “Did you eat at all yesterday?” Aziraphale guessed not, considering by the time he’d returned to Anathema’s, Anthony had already left.

“Don’t think so,” Anthony said, running a hand over his face. “Was a bit busy wallowing.” He sighed. “We should probably get back to Anathema's, too. Let her know we're not dead so she doesn't send out a search party.”

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh. “Yes, that would be preferable. We don’t need Adam and his friends running around looking for us.”

Anthony’s brows furrowed. “Adam?”

“Oh, yes. He and his friends came by Anathema’s shop before I left. One of the boys had a cut on his arm,” Aziraphale explained. “He offered to help look for you, but I declined. Though I suppose, if we ever need anyone found, we can find him at Hogback Lane. I’m sure he’d be happy to assist.”

“Huh. Yeah, alright.” 

Aziraphale doubted they'd ever need anyone found that badly, though.

Anthony slowly got to his feet, and Aziraphale followed suit, ready to reach out and help steady him should he become dizzy. 

He didn’t.

“Will you be alright to make the climb down?” Aziraphale asked. “I could bring back…” He trailed off, realizing he wasn't sure exactly how he would climb back up with their food in hand. “Well, I'm sure I'd figure something out. Perhaps we'd have to settle for a light snack instead of a full meal.”

Anthony gave a soft laugh. “I'll be fine. Trust me, I've made this climb with a hangover loads of times before,” he said as he sauntered over to the stairs. And considering there was a wine rack upstairs, Aziraphale believed him.

He followed him, giving a pointed frown at the glass littering the floor. “You know, you really should refrain from littering. Especially glass. It could harm the wildlife, you know.”

Anthony gave a noncommittal grunt. “How do you know that was even me? Could’ve been anyone.”

Well, considering you’re probably the only person who’s been here in years, one can only assume you were the one who made the mess. And Aziraphale had not seen an intact bottle of whiskey anywhere. “Call it an educated guess.”

Anthony sighed, and said as he headed up the stairs, “Look, I’ll get to it eventually, alright, just not when I'm hungover. Is that alright with his Royal Highness ?”

Aziraphale could tell that last bit was most definitely sarcasm, but decided to answer as if it wasn't. “Quite.”

Aziraphale could practically hear the eye roll he got in response. “Yeah, whatever.”

They made the climb down without issue, Aziraphale was indeed finding it easier after so many times. Not muscle memory like Anthony but, well, he was just happy to be more comfortable with it.

“Right,” Anthony said as Aziraphale's shoes touched the ground, “do you want to eat out or do you want me to cook for you?”

“Um, well, if… if you're feeling up to it, I do enjoy your cooking,” Aziraphale admitted. “But, I- of course, I wouldn’t want you to feel like-”

“Angel,” Anthony interrupted, prompting Aziraphale to look over and note the surprisingly fond smile on his lips. “I’ll be fine. If I didn’t wanna do it, I wouldn’t have offered.”

Aziraphale knew he was telling the truth. Really he had no reason not to be, but, well, Aziraphale just didn’t want to be a bother. He had spent a majority of his life making himself very, very small, having learned quickly that drawing any attention to himself only ended poorly—of course, it usually ended poorly anyway, but he had to try and protect himself somehow. But being here with Anthony, he was finding that perhaps it was alright to take up a bit of space.

“Alright. To Anathema’s, then,” he said.

Anthony nodded and led the way back towards Anathema’s shop. 

He seemed to be alright. His typical saunter was in full force and his wound wasn’t bothering him, as far as Aziraphale could tell, anyway. Still, Aziraphale kept close, and he told himself it was purely out of concern for Anthony’s wellbeing, and not at least partly because he desperately wanted to be this close to him. Closer, even.

Anthony hadn’t said a word about Aziraphale leaning his head against his shoulder, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for that or not. Probably, considering the man was likely just being kind. Oh, Aziraphale hoped he hadn’t made him uncomfortable. That was the last thing he wanted.

Anthony gave a soft laugh, pulling Aziraphale out of his thoughts. “What? Did you see something?” Aziraphale asked, glancing around. There were plenty of other people out, though none of them were doing anything that Aziraphale thought was particularly funny.

“No, no, just… It makes a lot more sense now,” Anthony explained. “You were never scared of me.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Well, you’re not very frightening. Especially not when I got to know you.”

“Wha-” Anthony looked at him incredulously. “I am very frightening. Just ask…” He motioned vaguely. “Everyone who’s ever met me.”

Aziraphale gave a small smile that he knew was far too smug, and said, “Very well. I’ll ask Anathema when we get back.”

“No, not… not Anathema . Ask… anybody else. They’ll tell you.”

“Yes, I’m sure all the people you saved would have truly terrible things to say about you,” Aziraphale said with heavy sarcasm.

“Excuse me, I’m still a criminal,” Anthony countered. “I steal things.” Oh, yes, of course. How very evil of you, my dear , Aziraphale thought, though he couldn’t deny it was oddly endearing. A thought that he most certainly shouldn’t be having. They weren’t anything and likely never would be, especially since there was no way in Hell someone like Anthony would be interested in someone like him. But, well, Aziraphale couldn’t help but find him just a little bit adorable. Couldn’t help but hope for some sort of miracle.

“Well, petty theft is a lot different than murder.”

“Pett- It’s not petty theft! Don’t call it petty theft,” Anthony objected.

“Thievery, then,” Aziraphale corrected, shooting him an amused smile. “Is that better for you?”

Anthony rolled his eyes as Anathema’s shop came into view, Aziraphale could tell as much because he moved his entire head while he did it, likely for Aziraphale’s benefit. And Aziraphale shook his head, an amused smile on his lips.

Anathema seemed relieved when the two of them walked in. “There you guys are. You were gone for hours, I was starting to get worried.”

“We’re fine,” Aziraphale assured. “Anthony just had a very bad hangover and, well, there was that storm. We were taking shelter until it passed.”

Anathema gave them both a once over, noting Aziraphale’s still wet clothes, though they were dryer now then they’d been. “Right,” she said, shooting Anthony a knowing look that had Aziraphale’s brows furrowing in confusion. “I want to look at that later,” Anathema added before Aziraphale could question it, pointing to Anthony’s stomach. The wound he had there.

“Right. ‘Course,” Anthony said. 

Were his cheeks tinted pink? Aziraphale couldn’t help but question. What was going on? Was there something between him and Anathema that Aziraphale had somehow missed?

He supposed it was possible. Anathema was rather pretty, and Anthony, well, he was drop dead gorgeous, but he couldn’t help the disappointment, the brief stab of jealousy, even just at the thought. Which wasn’t fair, and he knew it, but Anthony was… Oh, he was just perfect

Aziraphale liked him. He really, really liked him, and he didn’t know what to do about it because Anthony almost certainly wouldn’t feel the same. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine why someone like Anthony would like someone like him as anything more than a friend. Honestly, even the fact that he thought of him as a friend was astounding.

“Well, I’m gonna make some lunch,” Anthony said, pulling Aziraphale out of his thoughts. “Anything in particular you want, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the sudden attention. “Er, um. No. No, I’m sure whatever you decide will be perfect.”

“Alright, I’ll surprise you, then,” Anthony said, and headed towards the kitchen, and added with a glance over his shoulder and a smile that had Aziraphale’s heart fluttering, “I’ll let you know when it’s done, ‘kay?”

Aziraphale could only manage a nod in response, his throat suddenly far too dry. 

Good Lord, he was beautiful. It really wasn’t fair, but it was just his luck, he supposed. Of course, he finally finds that connection he’s been looking for, someone he truly could love, spend the rest of his life with, even, and he's utterly gorgeous and absolutely perfect. And he's the most unobtainable man on the planet.

He glanced over at Anathema, finding her eyeing him curiously, and he gave a reflexive smile. “I, er, suppose I should go find something to read. I’m not doing any good just standing around here am I?”

At that, Anathema’s curious expression vanished, and in its place, a warm smile appeared. “You’re not in the way, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Aziraphale glanced around the empty shop. “No, I suppose not.” He did need to find some way to occupy his time, though. One that, preferably, did not involve thinking about Anthony. 

And then a different thought entered his mind. “Actually, Anathema,” he began, going up to the counter. “Do you know of any bookshops around here? I brought a couple of books with me for the trip but, well, I could always use a few more.”

“Oh, yeah, there are a few around,” Anathema said. “There’s one just down the street on the corner, actually. I bet you’ll like that one.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, good. Perhaps I’ll check it out later.”

There was just one problem with this plan. 

Aziraphale found himself wanting to go with Anthony.

Notes:

Hello hello!
So a couple things this chapter. For one, we have finally reached the point where we find out that Crowley doesn't actually kill people. It just felt too ooc for me. 'Cause yeah he's a demon but mostly he just likes to inconvenience people rather than harm them. And for two, we get a tiny little bit of jealous Aziraphale at the end. That little interaction with Anathema and Crowley btw is basically just Anathema looking at Aziraphale and Crowley and deciding that they definitely banged, which is also why she wants to look at his wound to make sure he didn't hurt himself 😂 Alas, she was wrong, but one day, guys, one day, I promise, these two WILL figure out their feelings for one another.
Also one last thing, I'm in a bit of a writing slump right now unfortunately. For this fic especially. I have not been able to get anything done on it for like weeks it's been bad. It's not really writers block because the ideas are all there I just don't have the motivation to act on them right now so we might have to go back to the once weekly update schedule until I get back into it again. I think I'll give it one more week and then we'll see.

Chapter 18

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony tried very hard to focus on the food. 

It wouldn’t do well to be distracted when you were cooking, Anthony had learned that the hard way when he had nearly caught fire to his parents’ kitchen. He just couldn’t get Aziraphale out of his head.

Aziraphale had found him. He had come all that way in the pouring rain just to make sure he was alright. He had leaned his head on Anthony’s shoulder and taken care of him. He had been worried for him. He cared about him. 

A part of him knew this shouldn't have been surprising. Aziraphale had shown his care for him in a million different ways before today, but there was something about Aziraphale’s worried expression as Anthony awoke. How he had come to find him despite his fear of climbing up that wall. 

Anthony should really tell him not to do that again. Not in the rain, anyway. Anthony didn’t even like climbing then. It made everything slippery and all the more precarious and harder to plan for, and he didn't need Aziraphale getting hurt. They had already stayed here far longer than Anthony liked, especially considering his little secret might not be entirely secret anymore.

He'd do it for him, though. Without question. Would stay as long as he had to to make sure he was alright.

It was about that time Anathema entered the kitchen, and Anthony inwardly groaned, Don't try to talk to me about Aziraphale. Don't. I don't need you playing matchmaker right now.

“Okay, so,” Anathema began, her voice low in a way that suggested she was about to do just that, “I was going to ask if you two boned in… wherever it was you went, but then I noticed Aziraphale seemed a little upset, so I'm assuming no.”

“What- No! Of course not!” Anthony objected immediately deliberately not meeting her gaze in a vain attempt to hide his reddening cheeks. “We just…” He shook his head. “Whatever. What do you mean he's upset?”

“I don't know. But I looked at his aura earlier and he seemed sad,” Anathema explained. “You didn't say anything to upset him, did you?”

“Not… that I know,” Anthony said, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “Is he alright?”

“I think so,” Anathema said. “He was asking me about bookshops.”

Anthony huffed a laugh, turning back to the food. “Yeah, sounds like him.” He sucked in a breath. “I'll… talk to him after I'm done here.” Anthony nodded towards the pan of vegetables he was frying. “Just to make sure.”

We didn’t say anything, did we? He wasn’t upset on the way here, right? It hadn’t seemed that way. They’d just been talking. Bantering, really. Nothing that would’ve upset him. But Anthony supposed he didn’t know for sure. Maybe one of his comments had rubbed him the wrong way and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Okay,” Anathema said. “And, just so you know, I’ve been seeing some pink around his aura too.” She nudged him lightly with a shoulder. “I think he likes you too.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, even as his heart rate spiked at the possibility. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” Anathema pressed. “I think he does. And I think you two would be very cute together.” She poked him in the arm as she said it, and Anthony shrugged her off. 

“Ugh. Shut up , Ana,” he snapped.

She wasn’t deterred in the slightest. Just stuck her tongue out at him and walked away, and Anthony loosed a quiet sigh once she was gone, his mind positively whirring. Did he…? No, no, he couldn’t. Why would he? 

But Anthony couldn’t help but remember the head he’d laid on Anthony’s shoulder mere hours before. Did it mean something, maybe? Was that his way of trying to tell me he- No! No, it wasn’t. Ana’s wrong. She has to be.

Still, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head as he finished up the food, thankfully managing not to burn any of it, even in his distracted state. And then he went to the backroom, knocking lightly on the door before opening it, finding Aziraphale sitting on his cot, a blanket over his lap, nose buried in one of his books. 

His fluffy white hair looked so incredibly soft in the warm light of the nearby lantern. He looked soft and inviting and-

He looked up, closing his book as Anthony entered, and Anthony couldn’t help the way his eyes widened, as if Aziraphale had just heard every thought that ran through his head. His cheeks, he knew, were turning a light shade of pink that he hoped Aziraphale didn’t notice.

He cleared his throat. “Food’s done,” Anthony said, grateful his voice didn’t crack. God, was this really what he’d come to? Blushing and worrying about his voice cracking. His heart fluttering when Aziraphale so much as laid his head on his shoulder.

Come on. Get a grip, Anthony! he told himself. But still, some small, pitiful part of him said, But what if he likes me too?

Anthony promptly shoved that thought aside as Aziraphale set down his book and got to his feet. “Oh, wonderful. It smells divine, my dear.”

“Ngk. Thanks, uh… Are you alright, by the way? Anathema said she thought you looked upset.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened briefly before a smile that seemed a bit forced spread across his lips and he said, “Oh, er, yes, of course. Tip-top!”

Anthony couldn’t help but think that answer was a little odd, but he supposed he tended to avoid such conversations too. And with what Aziraphale had revealed hours before, whoever had hurt him… Well, Anthony couldn’t help but wonder if it was about that.

“Are you sure?” Anthony asked. “I mean, we don’t… have to talk about it, y’know. But you can tell me if you’re not alright.” He, of all people, would understand.

“Oh, no, it’s not… Really, I’m fine,” Aziraphale assured, and then he reached out, touching a hand to Anthony’s arm, and every other thought promptly left Anthony’s mind. He hardly even heard what Aziraphale said next. There was only the warmth of his hand resting against his arm. It was casual, nothing to him, probably, but to Anthony…

He cleared his throat. “Right. ‘Course, uh…” He stepped aside, Aziraphale’s hand sliding from his arm as he did so, making him wish he hadn’t, and motioned towards the doorway. “Food?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said and walked past him, into the hallway, as if nothing remarkable had happened at all, and Anthony promptly let his head fall into his hands, groaning inwardly.

Oh, this isn’t going to get any better, is it?

He composed himself as quickly as he could, preparing to follow after him. The sunglasses helped. Gave the appearance of a cool collected persona when he was, in fact, internally screaming and trying very, very hard to convince himself not to flirt with the gorgeous prince. Or more likely attempt to do so and instead embarrass himself on a catastrophic level, if the reaction he'd just had to a hand placed on his arm was any indication. And yet still, he couldn’t help but crave it. His touch, his smile, absolutely anything, all of it.

This is a disaster. Why did we ever think this would be a good idea? But he supposed he knew the answer to that question already. Because how could he have possibly foreseen that he'd develop feelings for this man?

He was a prince. Utterly unobtainable on a good day. And Anthony was what? A thief? A murderer? A man who had spent years running, hiding away from his past, too afraid to look it in the eye. Too afraid to acknowledge what he'd done.

He could still hear her voice, echoing in his mind. No matter how hard he tried to forget, to turn away, she haunted him. “Crowley, help!”

And then a different voice filled his mind. Low and guttural, otherworldly, and familiar dark, soulless eyes filled his vision. “ You will never know peace ,” the creature growled, reaching out a clawed finger towards Anthony’s temple. 

A quiet gasp escaped him that, thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t seem to hear, and in a blink the creature was gone, replaced by the eggshell walls of the backroom.

Anthony loosed a shaky breath, running a hand over his face. Right. Just in case you were getting too comfortable , he muttered silently. 

He took a deep breath, collecting himself as best he could, then turned and followed Aziraphale to the kitchen.

*    *    *

Aziraphale seemed to enjoy his food.

Anthony was glad. It wasn’t often he got to cook for someone. If he was being honest, he hadn’t cooked for anyone but himself since he was fifteen, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until he’d gotten the chance again. And not only that but to have him genuinely love his cooking, if his pleased hums were any indication, oh, it meant the world to him. And Aziraphale probably didn’t even know it.

Maybe one day Anthony would find the courage to tell him.

“Anathema told me you were asking about bookshops,” Anthony spoke up part way through the meal, and Aziraphale looked up. 

“Oh, yes, I… Well, I was actually wondering if you’d care to go with me,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t know if it’s really your cup of tea, but-”

“Sure,” Anthony answered with a shrug. “I’ll go. Why not?” He tried to ignore the smile that immediately brightened Aziraphale’s face at his answer. Like such a trip was made better by his presence.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Could be fun.” Honestly, he didn’t know how fun a bookshop could be, but as long as Aziraphale was there with him, he knew he’d be just fine. “Actually, we need to go out anyway and see if the fencing stuff is in yet.”

“Yes, I suppose we do,” Aziraphale said. 

“We have time. Could go today if you wanted.” And then they might even be able to fence tomorrow, if Aziraphale wanted to. And if Anthony’s wound decided to behave.

It hadn't been much of a problem so far. He'd been taking it pretty easy, and it’d had some time to heal, but one bad fall was all it would take, and they certainly didn’t need any further delays.

It was going to be painful whenever they parted ways already, there was no getting around that, not anymore. But he wasn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t be able to move on once it was all over. So long as he ignored Anathema and that small voice in his head that told him maybe it was possible, that there wasn’t really much harm in trying, it would all be fine.

Aziraphale smiled, and that voice suddenly became all the louder. “That sounds wonderful.”

Aziraphale took another bite of his food, and Anthony couldn't help the way his eyes tracked the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

It would be so simple, Anthony thought, to reach out and touch him. He could reach across the table, touch a hand to his cheek, run his thumb over the soft skin there. Or even just brush his fingers over the back of his hand.

Oh, God, this was getting embarrassing. Maybe he should just go for it. At least if he got rejected now it would calm all of this down a bit. Or it wouldn’t and Anthony would continue to pine even more miserably than he was now.

“After we’re done here, then?” Aziraphale asked, and Anthony blinked.

Right. They were making plans. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure, sounds good,” he agreed.

Maybe if we just… don't look at him. Just… look down at the table, the walls, anywhere else.

“Anthony?” Aziraphale questioned, and Anthony's gaze immediately snapped to his. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

“Oh, yeah, mhm, fine. All good.” Oh, yeah, real smooth, Anthony. Nice one.

Aziraphale's brows only furrowed in concern. “Are you sure? I mean, I- I don't want to pry…”

“I'm fine, really, an-” no, don't call him angel, you idiot! Stop it. This is enough; I've had enough ! “Aziraphale. You don't need to worry.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale murmured, and dropped the subject, but the concern was still evident in his eyes as he went back to his food.

Anthony couldn't help but like him all the more for it. Which was bad. Very bad . But he couldn't just stop not while Aziraphale was here, worried about him, and he couldn't go anywhere else, not now that they had plans. That would only worry him more. But sitting here, he was just falling deeper into this pit he'd dug himself. He needed to figure something out before-

“Anthony.” It wasn't his name falling from the prince’s lips that had Anthony jolting but the warm, soft hand Aziraphale had placed over his. Anthony was hardly breathing as Aziraphale continued, “Forgive me if I'm prying into something I shouldn't but are you sure you're okay?”

No. No, I'm not. I like you. I really, really like you and I don't know what to do about it. He couldn't say that, though. Of course not. But what was he supposed to say? Should he just lie again and say everything's fine? Should he try to make up a different excuse? 

And Aziraphale was looking at him, his eyes soft and expectant and worried and- Oh, he couldn't do this.

He pulled his hand back a little too quickly and stood. “I… I'm sorry, I can't-” He tried to move back, towards the hallway, anywhere but here, but his back hit a wall instead.

“Wait, Anthony!” Aziraphale was standing now too, hands out as if Anthony were some frightened, cornered animal, and oh, this was worse, wasn't it? This was far worse than just sitting quietly through the longing. But it was too late for him to back out now. He glanced around, his gaze snagging on the entryway.

He went right for it.

“Anthony, please! I, I’m sorry. I didn't mean-”

Anthony paused then. This wasn't Aziraphale's fault, not at all, and he couldn't let him believe that it was. “No, it's not… It's not that. I'm sorry, I just can't.”

“Can't what?” Aziraphale questioned.

“It's nothing. I just… I need a minute.” Anthony made it out into the hall, Aziraphale on his heels.

“But… wait! Can't we just talk?” And oh, he looked desperate. And worried and confused.

I wish we could, angel. I really wish we could. But there was no way Anthony could even begin to have that conversation. Far too many risks. And as painful as it was to turn away from him, Anthony knew losing their closeness, their friendship, would be far worse. So Anthony did what he did best. 

He ran.

Notes:

Hello hello! Apologies for the impromptu break friends. Pmdd was kicking my ass this month and then on top of that had some rsd stuff going on with this fic in particular that was making it really difficult to get back into it so I decided to step away from it completely for a while. But, I'm back now and I'm feeling a lot better AND I realized I'm actually a lot farther ahead of you guys than I thought, like 20 chapters still, so we should be able to keep going on twice weekly updates for at least a little while.

Chapter 19

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale could only watch, dumbfounded, as Anthony ran from the shop without answering his desperate plea.

He had half a mind to run right after him. To demand some sort of answer, anything other than that parting look. The conflict, the sadness. The devastation Aziraphale could see so plainly etched there, despite the sunglasses covering his eyes. And it had come about so suddenly, too.

He didn’t follow him, though. Clearly whatever this was, he needed some space to work it out, and Aziraphale would grant it. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry. 

Anthony had said it wasn’t about… the mysterious thing that it usually was. So what was it this time? Aziraphale had an idea, and he didn’t like it. 

He couldn’t help but remember how quickly Anthony had pulled his hand away, as if burnt by Aziraphale’s touch. He remembered the conflict in his eyes, and couldn’t help but wonder, was he conflicted because he’d clocked Aziraphale’s feelings for him and didn’t feel the same? Was he trying to figure out how to let him down easy? How to keep their friendship intact but also make it clear he wanted nothing further?

Aziraphale swallowed.

He should’ve been more careful. He shouldn’t have reached out to him, shouldn’t have touched him or leaned his head against his shoulder. Oh… damn him and his stupid, worried, lovesick heart!

He ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps I should go after him. Maybe I could try to explain it away, assure him that it certainly didn’t mean… that ; of course not, that would be ridiculous. But he had a feeling anything he tried to say would only convince Anthony of the opposite.

No, best to leave it alone. And then whatever came of all of this, well, Aziraphale would endure it, and he would be fine. Eventually.

“Aziraphale?” His gaze shot up at the sound of his name, but it wasn’t Anthony standing at the end of the hall.

Anathema made her way toward him, concern evident in her eyes. “Are you okay? I saw Anthony…” She motioned towards the front of the shop.

“Ah, yes, he… Well, I’m not sure exactly what happened but, um…” I’m afraid I may have ruined everything. “Well, he said he needed a moment, so…”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t say when he would be back,” Aziraphale murmured. Or where he was going, but Aziraphale had a feeling he knew where he would end up. He could find him if he grew worried.

“Well, if you’re worried about him,” Anathema said, “you should probably go look for him now. You’ll be more likely to find him.”

“Oh, no, I… I’m sure I know where he’s going. I just… Well, we were going to go to that bookshop together. Now I’m not sure.” Aziraphale frowned. Would he even want to, now that he knew how Aziraphale felt? Aziraphale couldn’t go by himself, not now, after that , but he didn’t want to be stuck here either. 

“You know what, how about this?” Anathema began as if seeing those thoughts in his eyes. “I have some errands to run, and I could use an extra set of hands.”

Aziraphale glanced towards the door, knowing Anthony was probably well on his way to their little hideout by now, but he could catch up to him if he tried.

Still, he swallowed and nodded. He needed to take a moment. To give Anthony his space and keep himself busy. “Alright. Yes. I can do that.”

*    *    *

Anthony didn’t know where he was going. The moment he'd left the shop he'd found an alley to turn down and from there he'd navigated a maze of them, soon ending up on a small, empty street. 

Good enough place for a break down.

He paced in a small circle, running a hand through his hair. Right. How do we fix this? There has to be something. We can't just keep running away. But that was all he'd ever done. It had always worked before, but this… This was different. This wasn't some danger he could escape, a guard he could outrun. This was Aziraphale, who looked at him with the softest, kindest blue eyes Anthony had ever seen. Aziraphale, who worried about him and cared for him. Aziraphale, who had climbed up the side of a building in the rain to find him and make sure he was alright.

How was Anthony supposed to run away from that?

“Argh, fuck!” Anthony yelled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck !” He turned and slammed his foot into a nearby barrel. An action he immediately regretted as pain burst over his toe.

He let out a hiss of pain, hopping around comically for a moment before sitting down against a nearby wall with a huff.

“‘Scuse me?” Anthony's head whipped up at the voice, finding a group of children had wandered over to him, three of which were carrying large sticks.

“What? I'm a little busy.”

The girl snorted at that, and Anthony shot her a glare.

“We just couldn't help but notice you were yelling,” the blond, curly haired boy said. “Are you alright?”

“M’fine,” Anthony said. “Shouldn't you be,” he motioned vaguely, “y'know off playing pretend or… something?”

“We were actually,” one of the boys, the one wearing spectacles, said. “We were playing knights.”

Anthony supposed that explained the sticks.

“We heard you and thought maybe you might need help,” the blond one said.

“Well, Adam did,” the remaining boy spoke up. He had a large stain on his shirt. “The rest of us figured you were fine.”

“And we were right,” the girl said. “Now let’s go. I wanna get a turn to slay the dragon.”

“Hang on,” the boy with the stain spoke up. “Aren’t you that man we’ve seen about? The one walking with the prince?”

The girl grabbed his arm, hissing, “Shh! We’re not supposed to tell anyone.”

Anthony sat up a little straighter at the mention of Aziraphale. They were just kids, of course, they weren’t going to cause any harm, but had they let that slip to anyone else? Did others around here know?

And that name. Adam. That was familiar, when had… Oh, yes. He and his friends came by Anathema’s shop before I left. He offered to help look for you, but I declined.  

Anthony pointed at him. “You. You're Adam, you… You met him this morning.”

Adam nodded. “‘Scuse me for asking, but, what are you two doing all the way out here?”

“Ngh, it’s… a long story,” Anthony said.

“Are you protecting him?” the girl asked.

Close enough. “Something like that, yeah,” Anthony answered. “You haven’t… told anyone he’s here, have you?”

The girl nudged the boy with a stain on his shirt, who said, “I’m sorry ,” he motioned to Anthony, “I just thought…” 

Adam shook his head, and Anthony loosed a silent breath of relief. Good. No one he had to worry about, then.

“Do you work in the castle?” the boy with spectacles asked. “Are you a knight?”

“Of course he does,” the girl said before Anthony could respond. “Why else would he be with a prince ?”

Anthony got to his feet, but answered without really thinking, “Don’t work in the castle. Not a knight.” And he didn’t want to be. Not in a million years.

“Then what do you do?” the girl asked incredulously.

Now this was a tricky one, wasn’t it? He supposed he should’ve seen it coming, though. “I…” Well, he could lie. Probably should lie, actually. If word got out there was an assassin in town, with a prince , well, that definitely wouldn’t go well. But what was he supposed to say? Oh, don’t worry, I’m just some lowly peasant traveling with His Royal Highness for important… royal things. We do this all the time. Totally normal.

They wouldn’t buy anything like that, especially not the girl, who was still looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Anthony sighed. “Oh, alright. I’m an assassin,” he said, keeping his voice hushed. “But don’t tell anyone, I’m not…” He took a breath. “I’m just here to keep an eye on the prince. Nothing else.”

The girl snorted. Didn’t seem impressed or afraid. Just indifferent. Perhaps mildly amused. “Well, you’re not doing a very good job.”

Two of the boys, the one with the stain and the one with the glasses—perhaps Anthony should make an effort to learn their names— did look impressed, however. In awe, even. And that was… different.

Adam grinned. “Wicked. Can you teach us some moves?”

“Teach you some… Um, I…” That was irresponsible, wasn’t it? He probably shouldn’t be teaching kids how to stab someone. “Ngh…”

“Do you have a knife?” the boy with a stain asked.

“Or a sword?” the one with glasses piped up.

Anthony took a step back. “Y’know, I really should be going, actually-”

“What are you four troublemakers doing?” a different, unfamiliar voice interrupted, and Anthony turned to his left, where an older man was now walking up to them, holding a small dog. 

The four children audibly groaned, and Anthony decided very quickly he did not like this man. 

“We were just talking,” the boy with the stain—Anthony really should learn their names—said.

“What, is there a law against talking now?” the girl added. “Are you going to send us to prison for talking ?”

The man didn't answer, only asked, “Do your parents know you're out? And bothering strangers you find on the street?” he added with a judgmental glance in Anthony’s direction. That was fine. He’d dealt with judgmental plenty of times before.

“Oh, they're fine,” Anthony said. “They just had some questions. Nothing wrong with that.”

The man narrowed his eyes at him. “And who might you be, young man?”

“Anthony,” Anthony said, holding out his hand. The man shook it out of principle. “And you are?”

“R. P. Tyler,” the man answered. “Neighborhood watch.”

Anthony smiled, a small, devious thing that had R. P. Tyler frowning. The dog in his arms fought to free itself from his grasp. “Ah, you astonish me.”

He bristled, setting the dog down. “Young man, Tadfield is a perfectly respectable village, and if you're going to come here and sulk about in your dark clothes, trying to frighten the locals, then I suggest that you go elsewhere,” he said, then promptly turned and walked away.

Anthony laughed softly at his retreating frame. He hadn’t technically been trying to frighten anyone, but he would take it. Would have to tell Aziraphale about that later. See, angel. People do find me frightening.   

He turned to the kids who were now grinning at him. He guessed that R. P. Tyler fellow was a recurring problem for them. “Right. I should… probably go. Keep causing trouble, don't get hurt, y’know, all that,” he said. 

He gave them a wave, which they returned, and walked away, but he didn't head back to Anathema's shop, not yet. No, he had just run out on Aziraphale again . He had to do something to make it up to him this time, and he had a feeling he knew what.

*    *    *

Running errands with Anathema was lovely. Well, lovely, Aziraphale supposed, was a bit of an overstatement. It was certainly nice to be busy, and he did enjoy lending a helping hand. But he couldn't help the way he glanced around, searching for a tall man in a dark cloak, even if Aziraphale knew he wouldn't find him out here. And he wasn't back by the time Aziraphale and Anathema returned, setting their haul on the kitchen counter.

Aziraphale frowned at the window, noting the sun was starting to dip towards the horizon. He really didn't want to go back out to find him again , especially not if it was only to get his heart broken, but if Anthony wasn't back by now, it might be time-

A bell chimed in the shop proper, and then footsteps sounded and a moment later, a slightly more disheveled Anthony was entering the kitchen. He shoved both hands into his pockets and Aziraphale braced himself for the inevitable. For the words that he knew would feel like a blade through the heart, no matter how gently Anthony tried to let him down.

But Anthony only said, “I’m back.” 

Aziraphale looked him up and down. 

He was unharmed, it seemed, and sober, which was good. But though his shoulders were back, almost confident, Aziraphale could see the stress in the way he shifted, unable to fully stand still.

“I can see that,” Aziraphale said. “Are you alright?” Because he had to ask, even if Anthony appeared fine.

“Ngh, fine yeah. Sorry, about… that.” Anthony reached up, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn't have…” His throat bobbed. “Ngk, look, I… got you something as a, y’know, apology. S'not here, it's back at the…” he pointed behind him with a thumb, “place. I can show it to you tomorrow, if you want.” He cleared his throat, turning his gaze to the floor, clearly embarrassed and… oh, did he not know? Was Aziraphale’s secret still safe? And if it was, then what had that outburst been about?

“That sounds wonderful, yes, but you don't need to apologize, my dear.” Aziraphale noticed Anathema slowly slip away, leaving the two of them alone. “Really, I shouldn't have-”

“No, s’not your fault, you were just… worried,” Anthony said. “You were trying to help, it's fine.”

A silence followed. 

One that was far more stifling than it should have been considering everything was fine and no one was upset and Anthony hadn't shattered Aziraphale’s heart into a million pieces.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and said, “Well, I-” at the same time that Anthony said, “Right, so-”

They paused.

Aziraphale swallowed. 

He couldn't help but note the space between them. No more than five feet, probably, but why did it feel like a chasm? Why was the tension so thick Aziraphale would swear he could cut it with a knife?

Aziraphale looked at Anthony. He was looking downward, at the floor, seemingly, oddly, almost devastated, but Aziraphale couldn't begin to wonder why. And though he knew he should, he couldn't make himself look away. Found his hand twitching, fingers itching to reach across the space between them. Take his hand, maybe even pull him into a hug. Ease whatever was causing him pain.

And then Anthony looked up and that devastation shifted into a look of pure longing that made Aziraphale’s breath catch. 

Aziraphale certainly couldn’t take his eyes off of him then. And for a moment he'd swear something flickered across Anthony's features. Something different and unreadable.

Anthony took a single step forward, and Aziraphale stopped breathing entirely, his mind emptying of every thought but those of this exact moment because was he…? No. No, he couldn't. That's ridiculous.  

And yet… He swallowed.

And then Anthony cleared his throat, took a step back, and the moment was gone. “Right. I should… probably go to bed. It's getting late.”

Aziraphale nodded and managed to say, “Yes. Yes, it is,” his voice, for the most part, remaining steady.

Anthony stood there for a moment longer, then loosed a breath. “Goodnight,” he said, and then he was gone. 

Aziraphale reached up and touched a hand to his chest, right over his racing heart and loosed a shaky breath, mind racing because… No, that couldn't be possible. It… But what if it was? What if…? But why wouldn't he have said something? He was, Aziraphale thought, the catch in this situation. Miles out of Aziraphale's league, that was for certain. He would have just asked him if… if he wanted to. Wouldn't he?

Of course he would've. You're being ridiculous. That was… nothing. Nothing at all.

He let his hand fall from his steadying heart, then took a deep breath and turned to the counter, where Anathema’s things still sat.

He began to unpack them.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Guys, I am so excited to get to some of the chapters coming up. This is the first fic that I've felt like I could split into separate acts, and we're finally coming up on the end of act 1 which will be chapter 25 (I apologize in advance for that chapter). I just finished act 2 yesterday so I just have one more act to go and actually, this fic might end up being a little shorter than I thought. It's still a bit too early to tell, though.
Anyway, I'm very excited. Lots of fun (and not so fun) things ahead!

Chapter 20

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The following morning went fine. Aziraphale didn’t seem upset that Anthony had run off on him yesterday, so that was good. But Anthony found himself a bit distracted. Couldn't stop thinking about the way Aziraphale had looked at him before he’d gone off to bed. Something like shock and maybe even hope.

I think he likes you too . Anathema’s words echoed in his mind.

It wasn’t possible. He knew that. He should banish the thought from his mind completely, but as they talked over a breakfast of bacon and eggs, he couldn’t help but consider…

This could be their future. Sitting at a table in some cottage somewhere, eating the breakfast Anthony had made for them while Aziraphale had wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing kisses into his neck to distract him, because he was, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. They could sit outside on the porch and drink wine as the sun went down, they could sit on the couch, Anthony lying with his head in Aziraphale’s lap as he read a book.

These were dangerous thoughts, and he knew that, he did. But didn’t it sound wonderful? Perfect, even?

It was a future he could never have, of course, but oh did he want it. More than anything. Even more than running away and leaving this place behind, but he couldn't stay. Especially not with his secret possibly out in the world. It was far too risky and he certainly couldn't put Aziraphale in any more danger.

“You know, I do recall you saying something about a gift yesterday,” Aziraphale said, pulling Anthony out of his thoughts.

“Uh, yeah,” Anthony said. “I thought… I know you wanted to go to that bookshop, and I kinda ruined that, so I thought maybe we'd do that, and I could show you the present after.”

He had to make it up to him. He wanted to. And Aziraphale liked books. Anthony didn't think he'd messed up so badly that Aziraphale wouldn't want to go to the shop with him.

“Oh. Oh yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “That sounds nice. I wasn't sure if you'd want to go with me, after all that.”

“Of course I do. That was… It didn’t have anything to do with that, I’m sorry,” Anthony said, giving a shake of his head.

“You don't need to apologize,” Aziraphale said. “Really, I'm just glad you came back. I would rather not make a habit of having to come find you.”

Anthony winced. “Right. Yeah, I'll… try not to, y’know, do that again. I know you worry.” And worrying you is the last thing I wanna do, angel. I hope you know that.

Aziraphale smiled. “Well, good. Shall we go after we eat or will you need a moment?”

“We can leave then, yeah,” Anthony agreed. “Well, I mean, I might need just a second to grab something before we go, but it won’t take me long.”

A brief look of confusion and then curiosity passed over Aziraphale’s features, but he didn’t question him.

The two of them soon finished up their food and Anthony found his way into the backroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

He glanced around the room briefly, no one else was here, of course, and he spied what he was looking for in just a moment. Aziraphale’s things were all sitting beside his cot, and Anthony went right over to them, kneeling down and digging through the few belongings, retrieving the clothes Anthony had met him in. Vest included.

He folded them neatly, then took a deep breath and went to the door.

Aziraphale was waiting for him on the other side of it, and his eyes widened slightly when he caught sight of the clothes in Anthony’s arms.

Anthony held them out to him. “Here. Figured… Ngk. It wasn’t… fair of me to ask you to change.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Ar- Are you sure? You said-”

“The cloak should be enough. More than enough, really.” Anthony pressed them into Aziraphale's hands, who stared at him, openmouthed. Dumbstruck. 

Anthony swallowed, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks, hoping they weren’t too noticeably red, then stepped aside, motioning towards the door. “Go on, then. Get dressed,” he said. “Let's see this bookshop.”

Aziraphale gave a small, almost shy, smile, and murmured, “Thank you,” as he walked past him, into the back room.

Anthony glanced around, noting Anathema smiling at him from down the hall. “That was very sweet.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Whenever you two get together, come tell me so I can say I told you so.”

“Ana, shut. Up ,” Anthony snapped, and at that she turned away, heading back into the shop proper, still smiling. 

Anthony rolled his eyes and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

*    *    *

Seeing Aziraphale in his normal clothes again shouldn’t have been breathtaking. Really, it shouldn't have done anything to him at all, and yet when he stepped out of the room with his tan overcoat and trousers and that baby blue shirt, Anthony found himself struggling to keep his mouth from falling open.

It really was perfect for him. How had Anthony ever forced him to wear anything different?

Anthony had, thankfully, not embarrassed himself, keeping quiet about it as they made their way to the bookshop. 

He couldn’t help but notice Aziraphale seemed a bit more comfortable as they walked. Anthony wasn't sure if it was a conscious choice or not, but it seemed the wardrobe change definitely had an effect on the way he carried himself, and immediate guilt coursed through Anthony at the realization.

He hadn't known at the time, of course, but still, he couldn't help but wish he'd never done it. Aziraphale didn't seem upset with him, though, so Anthony let himself drop it as they entered the bookshop.

It had been a very long time since Anthony had stepped foot in one and he glanced around as the bell chimed above them. There were books everywhere . Floor to ceiling walls of them. Shelves upon shelves, practically overflowing with them, so much so there was hardly any room to walk.

This is a fire waiting to happen , Anthony thought.

He glanced over at Aziraphale, watching his eyes widen in wonder. You'd think he'd never seen a bookshop before, the way he immediately stepped forward, running his fingers along the spines of nearby books, looking up at the tall shelves in awe, but Anthony imagined the library at the castle had to be far nicer than this. So why was he so amazed?

“Um, hi!” a voice flitted towards them from somewhere deeper in the shop. “Sorry, I'll be with you in just a second, I just need to-” A dull thud sounded, and then the voice sighed and muttered, “Ugh, shit.”

Anthony tried to peek through the shelves to get a better look at, who he assumed was, the owner of the shop, and saw through a tiny sliver of space between two books what looked to be a young woman… Was she climbing the shelves? Well, climbing down from one, apparently. He watched her curiously, a small, amused smile on his lips.

She had brown skin and long dark hair that fell to about her elbows. He couldn't make out much more than that through the rows of books, but he'd swear he saw a bit of ink on her left arm, like a tattoo.

And then her hand slipped, and she tumbled to the floor with an oof .

“Oh. Oh dear. Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, rushing towards her. Anthony followed, slower, finding the young woman in a tangle of limbs between two shelves.

She sat up, rubbing a hand over her arm with a wince, and Aziraphale immediately held out his hand to help her up.

She took it.

“There you are, dear. No bones broken.”

“Oh, no. I'm fine.” She brushed some dust from her pants. “Happens more than I'd like to admit.”

Now that she was standing at her full height Anthony could see she did indeed have a tattoo on her upper left arm of some sort of flower. A lily, he thought. And another, smaller one on her wrist that Anthony couldn’t quite make out but thought it might have been of a book. And, he noted immediately, she was short. Probably only four foot nine, if he had to guess, and he couldn't help but grin, seeing the opportunity for mischief.

“Well, nice job. You made it down at least.” And then he held up his hand for a high five. Up above his head, where he knew she couldn't reach even if she jumped.

She frowned up at his hand, brown eyes calculating.

Aziraphale sighed. “Really, Anthony, we-”

The young woman leaped before Aziraphale could finish, but not for Anthony's hand. Instead one hand clasped onto his shoulder, fingers digging in, almost painfully, but Anthony didn't care, could only stand there and watch as she began to clamber up him, getting one foot on his waist and propelling herself upward enough to slap her hand against his.

Anthony's mouth fell open in shock. 

Oh. Oh, he liked her.

She hopped back to the floor, a satisfied smile on her lips, and threw out her hand. “Adriel, at your service.”

He shook it. “Anthony.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, then turned to Aziraphale and held out her hand to him as well.

He took it, a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. “That was very clever.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, muttering, “Not that clever,” and glanced around at the titles around them, looking for anything familiar or something Aziraphale might like. Not that he knew what types of books he liked. He should probably try and find that out.

“Are you looking for anything specific?” Adriel asked.

“Er, no. Just browsing for now,” Aziraphale said. “This is a lovely shop you have.”

Adriel smiled. “Thank you. I'm a bit of a collector, I guess you could say.” She gave a glance around at the cluttered shelves.

“Oh, I would be too if all of our books didn't belong to the library,” Aziraphale said. He gave a wistful look around. “I imagine if I had a bookshop it would look very similar to this one. I'd have a hard time selling them, though.”

Anthony wandered over to one of the nearby shelves, already growing bored of the conversation, and began skimming the titles, looking for anything interesting, something that would catch his eye. Most of them didn't, though one titled The Secret Wife of Mrs. Spidden had him raising an eyebrow.

“I do have a private collection of some very old, presumably magical, tomes in the back,” Adriel said. “I wouldn't sell those for the world.”

“Magical?” Aziraphale asked, intrigued.

“Well, presumably , I've never actually tried…” Anthony tuned them out as he moved deeper into the bookshop. As a particularly large red tome caught his eye. It was lying on its side atop a small stack of books, perfectly eye level with him, and stood out among the darker, more neutral tones around it. It was lying pages forward, title hidden. A mystery to be uncovered.

Anthony picked it up and turned it to read: The Brutal and Bloody History of The Four Horsemen .

Blood flashed in his eyes. 

Cruel laughter. 

Screams.

Anthony dropped the book as if it burnt him and jerked back, his shoulder hitting a nearby shelf, jostling it a bit.

“Anthony? Are you alright?” he heard Aziraphale call to him.

“Uh-” He cleared his throat. Tried to steady his breathing. “Yeah, fine. Sorry, just… tight space in here.”

He slowly knelt down and reached out towards the book, hands trembling slightly as he picked it up. Traced the dark lettering.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised it existed. They were older than him, older than, some legends said, even time itself, not that Anthony believed them. Of course they'd had a book written about their deeds. Of course there were people fascinated , wanting to learn about them.

He didn't dare open it. Wasn't sure he could ever find the courage to look for what he was sure would be buried within, likely near the end. And yet he couldn't let go of the book. Couldn't leave it here, knowing what it likely held.

He glanced around.

No one was watching. Not Adriel or Aziraphale or anyone else.

He took a deep, steadying breath before shoving it into his satchel and slowly, as casually as he could, getting to his feet. 

He found Aziraphale scouring the shelves, one book already tucked under his arm. He turned and smiled at him as he sauntered over, none the wiser to the book Anthony had just hidden away. 

*    *    *

Anthony was quiet as they made their way through the streets, now heading for the shop selling fencing equipment. Not too odd, Aziraphale supposed, and he didn't seem upset or agitated as they walked, just sauntered along beside him, both hands in his pockets. And yet Aziraphale couldn't help but feel as though something was off. The quiet seemed just a bit too tense.

“Did you like the shop?” he asked, hoping to ease it.

Anthony’s gaze shot to him, as if he'd been distracted. Thinking about something. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Nice place. Bit of a fire hazard.” He shrugged and made a noncommittal noise.

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

“Did you like it?” Anthony asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. It was wonderful,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve never seen so many books packed into such a small place.”

“Have you never been to a bookshop?” Anthony asked with a small, almost teasing smile. Aziraphale was relieved to see it. Perhaps it meant he’d been wrong and misread the silence. “By the look on your face when we walked in I’d swear you’d never seen a book before in your life.”

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh. “Well, actually, no. I… we had a library. Every book I could possibly want was right there, so there was no need to… purchase any.” He glanced down at the two he’d bought. “I suppose I’ll have to start building up my collection.”

“Yeah, guess you will,” Anthony said. He nudged him with a shoulder. “Maybe you'll even open up your own shop, eh?”

“I suppose I could,” Aziraphale pondered. He frowned. “But then I’d have to sell them. I… I really don’t think I could manage.” Even the thought of loaning them to someone, risking spillage or worse, a dog-eared page… Oh, dear Lord, no. He couldn’t possibly.

“Not even one?” Anthony questioned.

“Not even one,” Aziraphale said. “They’re far too precious.”

Anthony smiled. “You could just get another copy, y’know.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.”

Anthony frowned. “I think… Isn’t the point of a copy that… they are, literally, the same?”

“I… Well, yes, but still,” Aziraphale argued. “I don’t want to just get another copy. I want to keep mine. What’s the point in having books if you don’t keep them?”

“Well, if you run a bookshop I imagine the point is to sell them,” Anthony said. “S’alright, though. You don’t have to open a shop. Just means you’ll have to find someplace else to put them. Probably lots of bookshelves.”

“Yes. That sounds nice.” And I would like it to be someplace with you , a small part of Aziraphale’s mind spoke up. 

He had done his best to shut it out, and, so far, that seemed to be going alright, but last night had shaken things. Left him a bit unsure. The voice had gotten louder since. And Anthony had gone shopping with him. He’d helped him pick out his new books. He'd made them breakfast this morning and they'd ate it together at the table like… like they were together. And with the way Anthony had been looking at him last night he'd swear he wanted that too. Just for a moment, he'd swear it.

But there hadn't been any sign of it since. Just casual friendship, like when he'd handed Aziraphale back his old clothes.

Aziraphale was happy to have them again. Hadn't realized how much he missed the soft fabric until he'd put it on and realized the other clothes had been much rougher against his skin. And it was rather sweet of Anthony. Especially after he'd been so certain when they met, insisting the clothes would attract unwanted attention.

Several minutes later they entered the richer part of town that held the shop they would be stopping by next. Aziraphale glanced around at all the large buildings, most of them houses. Well, more like mansions. They were all beautifully built, but if Aziraphale knew anything about the rich, and he most certainly did, he couldn't help but wonder if those who lived there were as beautiful on the inside as their houses were out. He hoped they were.

Anthony, he noticed, wasn't looking at them at all as they passed.

They arrived at the shop in only a few minutes but Aziraphale didn’t go in right away, instead spotting another bulletin board sitting just outside the shop. He'd seen it before, of course, this wasn't the first time he'd been here, but it caught his attention now nonetheless and he walked over, finding a new paper pinned to it.

He let out a delighted gasp. “Oh, Anthony, look! They're having a ball!”

“What?” Anthony asked. He had paused at the door, realizing Aziraphale wasn't following.

Aziraphale waved him over. “Come look!”

Anthony sighed and came up beside him, scanning the bulletin. There were several missing posters pinned to it as well, but Anthony didn't comment on those, only said, “Don't… Haven't you been to enough balls? You're not tired of them?”

Aziraphale supposed he was, a bit. But this wasn't one of his parents' balls. This was different. It was a masquerade, and, this time, he could go with Anthony.

“How would we get in anyway?” Anthony questioned. “Don't you have to be… y’know noble or something?”

“Not for one like this,” Aziraphale said. “I think we'll just need to, well, buy our way in.” And he had plenty of money to spare.

They'd need to go shopping, though, Aziraphale realized. They'd need suits and masks of their own if they wanted to get anywhere near the ball. And, he supposed, he'd have to convince Anthony to go.

He turned to look at him now, eyes pleading. Come on. Just this once. We’ll probably never get the chance again. And oh, he could… He could dance with him. Did Anthony know how to dance? Would he even want to dance with Aziraphale? 

Anthony sighed. “Oh… alright. When is it?”

“In a few days,” Aziraphale said. “I think we have time to find some masks and nice clothes.”

“We'd better. Otherwise we're not getting in,” Anthony said, then nodded towards the shop. “Come on then. We've got fencing equipment to pick up.”

Aziraphale followed him inside.

It was, thankfully, waiting for them, and the man behind the counter was more than happy to part with the two sets, especially considering the coin Anthony placed on the table.

And with that done the two of them headed for the edge of town, sun still high in the sky, likely just an hour or two past noon. Anthony still had a gift for him, after all

“Do I get a hint as to what my present is?” Aziraphale asked as they grew closer.

“What? No! You'll see it in a minute.”

Aziraphale pouted. “But I'm curious. Not even a little hint?”

Anthony sighed. “Look, it's… something you asked for not too long ago. Well, you didn't technically ask for it, but you mentioned it.”

Aziraphale thought back, trying to remember when he had mentioned something he wanted to Anthony and coming up empty.

He frowned. “That's a terrible hint, my dear.”

“Well, it's all you're getting,” Anthony countered.

Aziraphale sighed but ultimately dropped it. He’d waited this long, after all, he could wait a few minutes more. But he couldn't deny that hint had only made him even more curious. What little thing had he mentioned that he couldn't remember, but Anthony had? And why was it so incredibly sweet that he did?

“I met Adam yesterday,” Anthony said, prompting Aziraphale to glance over at him.

“You did?”

“Mhm. Met the whole gang, actually. They seemed nice.”

“Well, good.”

“They know who you are,” Anthony said. “They haven't told anyone, but I'll be keeping an eye out. The last thing we need is people looking for you. Well, any more people looking for you.”

Aziraphale nodded. He understood Anthony's worry. Honestly, he didn't really want more people looking for him either. He didn't want to go back home, not now. Not when he was here, with Anthony. And he had books of his own and he was walking the streets free of guards—unless you counted Anthony, he supposed. 

It was everything he'd been hoping it would be and he wasn't sure why he'd been so worried about it before. They'd gotten off to a rough start, but the world outside the castle walls was absolutely lovely, for the most part. He didn't want to leave it.

They arrived at their little hideout soon enough and made the climb up with relative ease. Though Anthony had to make it twice because of the equipment they were carrying. They would be leaving those here, since Aziraphale was fairly certain this was where they would eventually be practicing. 

And then Anthony led the way up to the top floor where Aziraphale found, sitting near the ledge, two tartan cushions.

Now he remembered. “Oh, that's right. I forgot I told you-” He turned to Anthony. “Oh, Anthony, you didn't have to.”

Anthony shrugged. “It's just some cushions, angel.”

“Yes, but…” You changed your space for me. You laid down more roots here for me. You remembered something I suggested and got it for me. You care. I knew that before but… You really really care. “Well, how about some wine, then?” Aziraphale said instead. 

Anthony gave a soft laugh. “Not too early for you?”

“I'm a prince, Anthony. I've been drunk before noon many times before,” Aziraphale assured. “This is nothing.”

Anthony full on cackled at that, and grabbed up one of the bottles on the rack.

*    *    *

They went to the ledge and sat there for hours, drinking wine and talking about all sorts of things that didn’t really matter, and Anthony, for the most part, was able to ignore the new weight in his bag. 

He didn’t want to think about the book, not right now. Not when he was here, with Aziraphale, sitting on these new cushions he'd bought for him, drinking a bottle of wine and talking about ducks , of all things.

And once the first bottle was empty they grabbed another. Stayed there for a long while. Until the sun began to dip towards the horizon. 

They'd have to go soon, Anthony knew. Sleep somewhere more comfortable. And yet he found he didn't want to. 

Because here things felt different. They felt possible and safe. Anthony could take off his glasses. He didn't have to hide. It was like their own little world, separate from everything else. There was no danger here, it was just this comfortable in-between. This not-quite-something-but-certainly-not-nothing. A place where Anthony could hope that maybe, maybe Anathema was right. Not that he would ever attempt anything. Not with the knowledge that once they left, the glasses came back on, the danger returned, and things became far more complicated and impossible once again.

But they couldn't stay.

Well, they could, technically, but it wasn't really fair to ask that of Aziraphale just because he wanted to live in this in-between space a little longer. For all he knew the prince was getting bored. He didn't seem to be, though.

“I guess we should… probably get going,” Anthony said.

Aziraphale nodded absently. “Yes, I suppose… Well, it is getting late, isn't it?”

Anthony nodded.

Neither of them stood.

Anthony swallowed and risked a glance over at him. He was staring out at the forest beyond. At the horizon the sun was beginning to dip below.

“Do you remember what you told me the second night we traveled together?” Aziraphale asked.

Anthony blinked, caught off guard by the question. He tried to think back, but that had to have been weeks ago by now. He couldn't remember.

He shook his head. 

“You told me that the world out here was a lot colder and a lot harsher than the one I grew up in, and it wasn’t going to bend to my every whim,” Aziraphale recited.

Anthony winced. “Did I say that?” He had, most definitely, said that. Oh, why had he been such an arsehole when they’d met?

“You did, but I think you were wrong,” Aziraphale said. “About the first part, anyway. I've lived in the castle for my entire life. I’ve grown used to false smiles, cunning lies, and subtle jabs, and do you know what I find out here?” 

Anthony shook his head, though Aziraphale still hadn't turned to face him. “I find,” Aziraphale continued, “kindness. I find that I can buy books and cakes and make eggs that have too much salt. I can walk the streets without guards. I can meet people and…” he glanced over at Anthony, a small smile on his lips, “make some very good friends. And I feel, for the first time in my entire life, like I can breathe . I didn't realize the sort of vise they had around my throat until I took it off, and oh, Anthony, it's wonderful.” He turned to face him, and Anthony found that smile had grown a bit wider. “I don't know how I stayed there so long.”

Anthony couldn't help but smile back. “Well, I'm glad you left, then.”

“Me too.”

Anthony turned his gaze towards the sunset, watching the beautiful yellows, and oranges, and pinks light up the clouds. And then he loosed a breath and got to his feet. “Right, well, you must have had too much wine if you're monologuing on me,” he said, and held out his hand. “Come on, let's head back. I'll make us some dinner.”

Aziraphale took it, letting himself be helped to his feet, and the two of them made their way back to Anathema’s.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Oh man guys, do you know how long it took me to figure out who in the good omens universe should be the people who killed Crowley's sister? Like I literally was like who's evil enough to do that and of course, I'm thinking about all of the demons, but most of them already have roles in this fic so there weren't really enough of them. And then I randomly one day just remembered that the four horsemen exist. Like, for the longest time, I just completely forgot about them, even though they were a huge part of s1 😭
Also we get to meet Adriel this chapter. She is our first oc (I believe) and I love her. Funny thing about this bookshop btw guys, I was like, oh, good omens, I have to put a bookshop in here right? But who should own it since it can't be Aziraphale? And I thought, oh, Muriel, of course, forgetting that they are literally already in the fic as Aziraphale's sibling 😭 So then I made Adriel instead.

Chapter 21

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony couldn’t sleep.

It was unlike him. Normally he was very good at sleep. But tonight he couldn’t stop thinking about the book buried in his bag.

He knew what it held. Oh, he remembered that very clearly. It was just that some part of him wanted to see it. To read what he knew would be written on those pages. To know for certain exactly what happened and if anyone else had survived.

All these years, and he had never fully known .

And it nagged at him. Pulling his attention away from sleep until he finally ripped the book out of the bag with a growl and brought it to the kitchen.

He dropped it onto the table and began to pace.

He had to know. He had to. Because what if she was alive? Or any of them, really. Could he find them again, could…

Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? He didn't know exactly what had become of them all. He had never dared look. He had hoped, of course, but could never bring himself to try and find out. Because if they weren't, if…

But what if they are? All these years, what if…

He paused before the book, bracing both hands on the table.

Come on , he urged himself silently. Open it. Flip to the end, just get this over with!

He reached a shaking hand towards the book and gingerly flipped it open, near the end.

He placed a hand between the pages to hold it there, squeezing his eyes shut. Come on, come on. We can do this. We have to do this. It's been twenty-five years, we need to know.

He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes and began to skim the pages for familiar names.

For the first several minutes he didn't find any, and he began to flip through more rapidly, and likely with more force than necessary.

He was sure it was here, he just had to keep looking .

Unless… unless it wasn't. What they had done to him, while terrible, didn't even reach the cusp of how truly awful they could be. They'd done much worse. Killed far more. Maybe such a small incident, in comparison to the others, wouldn’t even be chronicled here.

He flipped further through the book. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, hardly even realizing he was speaking aloud.

And then, there. A familiar name. And one that had bile rising in his throat, the word glaring at him from the middle of the page, seeming almost bolded the way it jumped out. Anthony suddenly wasn't sure if this was a good idea anymore as the breath immediately left his lungs.

Mara was written there, and as he skimmed, so were the rest of their names, his included.

He didn't read too closely. Didn't dare. He knew how it went, and he didn't need a reminder right now. He just needed to know one thing.

He flipped through more pages, scanning for names, looking for any information, hope blooming in his chest. Please, come on. Please.

His own name caught his eye again.

It was still odd to see it written out. He hadn't even spoken it in years. Hadn't heard anyone else say it either, except in his memories. It was almost jarring to see it written here, for anyone who found this book to read.

And then a different sentence caught his attention. One with his name again, and the last one on the page, signifying an end to this section of the book.

Crowley, however, the eldest son, and sole survivor of the massacre, remains missing to this day, leaving many to wonder if he truly survived at all.

Anthony read the line over and over again, hardly breathing, unable to fully comprehend…

Sole survivor.

Sole survivor.

Anthony slowly closed the book, his hands shaking violently.

Sole survivor.

No. No, it can't… They can't…

Anthony slowly backed away, his breath loud in his ears, images and sounds flashing in his mind. 

Blood. 

Screams.

Laughter.

Footsteps.

The drawing of a blade.

“Crowley, help!”

His back hit a wall, and all at once they were gone, and silence filled the room once again. Silence, save the ringing in Anthony's ears and the sound of his heavy, ragged breathing.

He loosed a shaky breath and slowly slid to the floor.

They’re gone. They’re really gone, all of them. He had suspected as much, of course he had, but he had hoped. Hoped that maybe at least one of them had escaped, gotten away. Was living out a nice, peaceful life somewhere, or at least something so maybe he wouldn’t feel like… 

He ran a shaking hand down his face. Tried to slow his breathing. Calm his racing heart. 

It would’ve been a lot easier, he thought idly and with a glance at the hallway, if Aziraphale were here beside him. If he were holding him, rubbing a gentle hand over his back, telling him it would be alright.

He tried to imagine that he was as he slowly pieced himself back together. Enough to be at least halfway functional. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do this, and he imagined it wouldn’t be the last. He had a system for it by now.

In a handful of minutes he was standing again, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and starting for the hallway. He paused before the door, though, remembering, next time, would you at least tell me where you're going?  

Anthony didn’t want to worry him. He was… fine, honestly. It was nothing he hadn’t gone through before. He didn’t need Aziraphale fretting over him.

He sighed and turned back around, finding a scrap of paper and a pencil and writing, Out. You know where I am. If I’m not back by noon, come get me. Unless it’s storming again, then please just WAIT, angel, I’ll be fine. Then, in a moment of vulnerability, added, I’m a mess, I know, then crossed it out, adding instead, I’m sorry, then crossed that one out too.

He set the paper on top of the book, though he knew he should just put that away. He didn’t need Aziraphale figuring out he stole it, then he’d probably make him give it back. But he left it there anyway, perhaps some part of him hoping Aziraphale would read it and somehow piece it together. Figure it all out. Maybe it was some silent, desperate, plea for help. He wasn’t sure.

He quietly left the shop.

*    *    *

Aziraphale found the note immediately after leaving the backroom. Anthony hadn’t been in bed, which was a bit odd, but he’d thought perhaps he’d just gotten up early today. 

He’d been wrong.

The note had been left atop a book on the kitchen table, and he couldn’t hide a worried frown as he read it. He wasn’t sure what had brought it on this time, but… It was then that he really looked at the red tome sitting on the table. He didn’t recognize it. 

The Brutal and Bloody History of The Four Horsemen ," he read the title with a frown.

He had heard of The Four Horsemen, of course. Most people had. They were legends, and truly terrifying ones at that. Rumored to have caused wars and famines all over the world. Remorseless beings. Some believed they weren’t even human at all. 

He set the note aside and picked up the book. For it to be here, along with the letter… It must have been the cause, right? Or important at the very least. Anthony wouldn't have left it if he didn't want Aziraphale to know about it. But it was far too large for Aziraphale to read all in one sitting, and, he supposed, there was no guarantee he would find what he was looking for, even if he read the whole thing cover to cover.

He swallowed and looked back down at the letter. At the words Anthony had crossed out. Aziraphale's heart ached as he read them. 

He wanted to go out and find him. Wanted to tell him that it was alright, that they could figure this out and that Anthony was more than welcome to talk to him, if he wanted. He wouldn't be upset. Whatever this was, it wasn't Anthony's fault, he knew that for certain.

“What’s that?” Anathema asked, entering the room.

Aziraphale whirled, hiding the book behind his back, rather obviously. “Oh, um… Nothing! Just… just a book Anthony left out.”

He didn't think Anthony would want Anathema to know about any of this. Especially since he barely seemed to want Aziraphale to know.

Anathema gave him an odd look. “Okay… Well, look, is Anthony here? I need to talk to you both, but him more specifically.”

“Er, well, no, he…”

Anathema's gaze drifted to the note on the table, brows furrowing in intrigue.

Aziraphale tried to grab it but she snatched it up right before his fingers could curl around it. 

Her eyes softened as she read. “Is… he alright?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I… I don't think so, no. But… Please don't ask him about it. He doesn't… Well, I think it's hard for him to…” Aziraphale sighed. “I don't think he'll want to talk about it. But what was it you wanted to say to us? I could go tell him if it's important.”

“Oh, there's just going to be someone coming by today,” Anathema began. “Just… be nice to him. Mostly this was for Anthony, I'm sure you'll be fine.”

“Oh. Certainly. Will he be here soon?” Aziraphale asked, “I could… Well, I could find Anthony now and let him know.”

“I'm not sure when he's going to be here, just that he’ll be here today,” Anathema answered. “But…” She glanced at the note again. “Maybe you should go find him anyway. Just to check on him.”

Aziraphale nodded, then glanced at the book in his hands, realizing he'd forgotten to continue to hide it. He was sure Anathema had clocked the title, but she didn't ask, and honestly, Aziraphale wasn't sure how to explain if she did.

He would ask Anthony about it, though. He wouldn't push him, not too much, but he had left this book for a reason. He had to ask him why.

“Very well, then. I'll go talk to him,” he said with a nod and went to the backroom, shoving the book in his bag of belongings, which he picked up to bring with him. And then he left the shop, heading towards the edge of town.

*    *    *

Anthony wasn't sure when he fell asleep.

He'd grabbed a bottle of wine, then went down to the first floor, where it was dark, and drank until, he supposed, he'd passed out.

He had finished the wine, though, he noted with a glance to his right, where the empty bottle sat.

He rubbed at his face with a groan.

He didn't know what time it was. It was hard to tell without windows, but considering the very little light filtering in from the stairs and the hole in the ceiling, it was still early.

Far too early for him to have any desire to even move after last night. His fault, really. He had spent the last twenty-five years avoiding anything and everything about that night for this exact reason. Because he’d had a feeling, but he hadn’t known . And since he hadn’t known, he could imagine a scenario where some of them had made it out and were somewhere safe.

Now he knew, and he couldn’t pretend that was a reality anymore.

Sole survivor.

Blood.

Cruel laughter.

The drawing of a blade.

Anthony put his head in his hands and groaned, and then a voice came from the floor above, “Anthony? Anthony, was that you? Are you alright?”

Before Anthony could even begin to answer, Aziraphale was hurrying down the stairs and scanning the space for him. Worried. Likely afraid he was hurt.

“M’fine,” Anthony muttered, and Aziraphale's gaze shot towards him, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Is it noon already?” he asked as Aziraphale knelt beside him, pressing a canteen of water into his hands.

“No, I… I came early because… Well, because Anathema needed to tell you something but also, we're worried about you, Anthony.”

Anthony grimaced, but Aziraphale didn't say anything else about that, just reached into his bag, pulling out the book, and Anthony looked away, taking a long drink of water, suddenly wishing he hadn't finished off the wine last night.

“You left this with your note,” Aziraphale said.

Anthony didn't say a word. Couldn't even manage to turn to look at it. He didn't want to risk another breakdown. Not here, in front of Aziraphale.

“You took it from Adriel’s shop, didn't you?”

“Yeah,” Anthony, at last, answered. Maybe it was for the best if Aziraphale made him bring it back. He didn't need to be tempted into reading it any further. It would only hurt him.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Anthony swallowed. Shook his head. He couldn't even begin to get into that. Not now. Probably not ever.

“Was it the reason why you left last night?” Aziraphale asked.

Now this, Anthony could answer. He nodded. “My fault. I knew better than that, I just…”

Aziraphale pressed gently when he didn’t continue, “Just what?”

Anthony loosed a frustrated sigh. “Look, I wanted some answers. I got them and regretted it, alright? That's it.” He knew it wasn't fair to snap at him. He only wanted to help. But Anthony had never been very good at accepting that from him.

And yet, Aziraphale didn't get upset. He didn't snap back at him or storm away. Instead, his eyes softened, and he said quietly, “You're hurting,” and oh, didn't that just crack Anthony's heart right in two. 

Still he shook his head and denied, “I'm fine.”

“You're not,” Aziraphale insisted, pushing the empty bottle of wine away and sitting down beside him. “Anthony, you don't have to tell me what's going on, but I won't let you sit here and lie to me.”

Anthony swallowed, trying hard to keep his breathing steady. To blink back the tears in his eyes. He certainly didn't need that. Not right now. 

He took another drink of water, and Aziraphale murmured, “It's alright, you know.”

“Yeah,” Anthony rasped. “Yeah, I do, I… I’m sorry.” He loosed a breath, and then Aziraphale's hand closed around his, and suddenly he wasn't breathing at all.

“You can always talk to me,” Aziraphale added. “If you need to.”

“I know,” Anthony managed. But I'm sorry, I don't think I can. Definitely not now. Probably not ever.

Aziraphale said nothing to that. Didn't push him any further, but he did squeeze his hand, offering some reassurance and comfort that Anthony was grateful for.

Anthony swallowed and changed the subject. “So what… What did Ana need to tell me?”

“Oh, right, yes. There's going to be a visitor coming over to the shop today,” Aziraphale explained. “She's asking that we be kind to him.”

Anthony gave a grunt. “Fine. I'll attempt it.”

*    *    *

Anathema’s shop was crowded by the time they got back a couple of hours later. Well, crowded to Anthony, since he hadn’t seen more than three people in one room at a time.

Adam and his gang were here now, along with a tall, skinny man wearing glasses. He was bleeding from his nose and barely conscious, currently lying on one of the cots in the backroom while Anathema knelt beside him, helping him drink something. He must have been the visitor Aziraphale had told him about. 

He seemed like a nice enough chap from what Anthony could gauge from him while he was in this state, but Anthony hoped he wouldn’t be staying for long. He didn't need another person staying here, especially not in the same room as him and Aziraphale.

Adam was the first to notice Anthony and Aziraphale arrive and gave them a warm smile. “Hello. Where have you two been?”

Oh, y’know, just hiding from the world, sorting through everything I learned last night while simultaneously trying very hard not to think about any of it , Anthony thought, but said nothing.

“Just, er, seeing the sights,” Aziraphale answered.

Adam gave him a look that suggested he knew that was a lie, but didn’t call him on it. Just turned back to the man lying on the cot.

“Is Anthony your real name?”

The question caught him off guard and Anthony turned to the boy wearing spectacles, who stared back innocently. 

He opened his mouth to answer, but Aziraphale said before he could, “Of course it is,” and Anthony shot him an odd look, unable to tell if he was just saying that to protect Anthony's identity or if he truly believed it. 

Judging by the confusion in his eyes when he caught Anthony's stare, it was the latter. “It… it is. Isn't it?”

“No, of course not! You think I go ‘round as an assassin using my real name?”

Aziraphale's brows furrowed. “Oh. Oh, I suppose… That does make more sense.” He made a face. “Why did you pick Anthony ?”

Anthony couldn't deny, he was hurt. “You don't like it?”

“No, no, I didn't say that, just… Well, it's not your typical alias for an assassin,” Aziraphale amended.

“So what's your real name, then?” the girl spoke up, and Anthony huffed a soft laugh as he turned to her.

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good assassin if I told you that, now would I?”

She frowned but agreed, “Guess not.”

Anthony soon walked away, bored of watching Anathema heal the man on the cot and went to the kitchen, preparing to make a late breakfast.

Aziraphale followed him.

“You really thought Anthony was my real name? This whole time?” Anthony asked as he grabbed a pan from a lower cabinet.

“I… well, yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “It never occurred to me that… Well, I just thought you were being very bold.”

Anthony gave a soft laugh and went to the fridge, asking as he scanned its contents, “Sausage and scones sound alright?”

“Oh, yes. That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale said.

Anthony grabbed the sausage and placed it on a cutting board.

“So,” Aziraphale began, stepping up to Anthony’s side and, oh, they were standing quite close now. Close enough that all Anthony would have to do to kiss him would be to turn and lean a few inches closer- “am I privy to your real name, Anthony?”

Anthony gave a hum. “I might tell you. If you're nice to me.”

Aziraphale's mouth fell open. “What- When have I not been-”

Anthony smiled.

“Foul fiend,” Aziraphale said, but there wasn't any bite to those words.

“No, but really,” Anthony added, “y’know, I have to be careful who I tell that to.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “I understand.”

“I'll tell you, though. Eventually,” Anthony said. “If you want.”

“Oh, really? Well, I would like to know, yes. But I… I could still call you Anthony if you'd prefer, of course.”

“Nah, it's fine,” Anthony said with a shrug. He scraped the sausage into the pan, then began to look for the ingredients for scones. “I mean, obviously, don't say my actual name in front of anyone else, but otherwise, use it as much as you like.”

He wasn't sure why he told him that. He hadn't used the name in a very long time, and he wasn't sure what hearing it from anyone but his sister’s lips would do. Maybe nothing. Hopefully nothing. But it could just as easily end in disaster.

He could only hope Aziraphale wouldn't hate him if it did.

“How does fencing tomorrow sound?” Anthony asked as he began to measure out the ingredients and pour them into a bowl, thinking it best to change the subject.

“Wonderful. As long as… you’re up for it.”

“‘Course. Wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t, would I?”

“I suppose not.”

Anthony glanced back at that unsure response, noting his slightly worried expression.

“I am alright, y’know,” Anthony said, a touch softly. He didn't need anyone else overhearing this. “I did something I probably shouldn't have last night and it caused some problems, but I'm alright. Trust me, I've been doing this for a long time.”

“But… You shouldn’t have to.”

Anthony shrugged. Tried to delve deeper into the simple task of mixing ingredients together, trying to make it very clear this was not something he wanted to talk about. Aziraphale would be kind, of course, Anthony knew he only wanted to help him. Anthony just wasn’t ready to accept it. “Yeah, well, s’not like I chose it.”

“But… surely there must be something I-”

“Angel, don't,” Anthony interrupted, and Aziraphale paused. “Please?”

A brief silence followed, and then Aziraphale murmured, “Alright.” 

And that was that.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Angsty chapter today, sorry guys. I meant it when I said Crowley's going through it in this fic. BUT Aziraphale finally learned Anthony isn't Crowley's actual name! It only took 60k words 😅
Also uh we have a snowstorm coming through this weekend. It's supposed to be a pretty bad one and might knock out our power for a while, so I might not be able to post on Monday. I will... try I guess but if mother nature says no then 🤷🏻‍♀️ We should have power back by Friday though so updates will continue then. I can't imagine it would stay out that long.

Chapter 22

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“You do remember how to fence, don’t you?”

They had just started putting the equipment on and Anthony seemed to be fumbling a bit with his. Though, Aziraphale supposed he couldn’t blame him. It was a lot of steps, after all, the many layers designed to keep them protected while they sparred.

Anthony clutched at his chest as if hurt. “You wound me, angel. I'll have you know, I won almost every match I ever had. I know exactly what I'm doing.”

He tossed up the helmet intending to catch it, but it bounced off his hands and clattered comically to the floor instead.

Anthony winced.

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh but continued to put on his own gear, watching Anthony out of the corner of his eye, ensuring he didn’t need any help, though it was quickly becoming apparent that he did.

So Aziraphale waited until he himself had everything but his helmet on and ready to go before walking to Anthony, who had only just put on the underarm protector.

“Here,” Aziraphale said. “Allow me.”

He reached out, gently untangling the bodycord, which he then placed in Anthony's right hand. “You are right handed, yes?”

Anthony nodded. “You… You really don't have to, y’know. I got it.”

Aziraphale raised his brows. “Do you?”

“It…” Anthony sighed. “It's been a long time,” he admitted. “I should've probably practiced a bit yesterday, but I can figure it out.”

“It's alright, dear,” Aziraphale said. “I don't mind helping.”

He picked up the fencing jacket and helped Anthony put it on, ensuring the cord was pulled through the sleeve and the jacket was zipped up at the front.

Anthony remained oddly still as Aziraphale worked, grabbing up the other protective layers and helping him put them on, ensuring they were on straight and fastened properly. And then he bent and grabbed up the helmet, holding it out to Anthony.

“There. I trust you can put this on yourself.”

Anthony's yellow eyes were surprisingly wide as he stared at him and it took a moment for his hands to reach out and take the helmet, as if he hadn't processed the words or what Aziraphale was holding out to him until that moment.

He cleared his throat. Took a step back. “Right. Yeah. Easy enough, this bit.” He lifted up the helmet a bit in emphasis before slipping it on.

Aziraphale couldn't help but frown, though. Anthony had said he was out of practice but Aziraphale hadn't been ready for him to be this out of practice.

There was nothing wrong with it, of course, and he was sure it would come back to him as they sparred. But Aziraphale wasn't sure if the first several minutes would be spent more as a lesson than a practice.

He supposed that was alright, though. It was time spent with Anthony, after all, and as much as he knew he should keep his distance, that these feelings he held for him were only going to get stronger the longer he spent with this man, he found he liked that time quite a bit. 

He liked Anthony. He liked him a lot. And he wanted… Oh, he wanted to bring him everywhere. To fancy restaurants, to balls, on picnics, or to plays. He wanted to get him flowers and hold his hand and walk through the streets with him. 

He wanted so, so much, and he could have none of it. But this, he glanced over at Anthony, watching him pick up the sword, giving a few experimental thrusts. This, he could have.

Anthony's stance was alright, Aziraphale noted, and after a few practices he corrected it, muscle memory, it seemed, working as it should. Perhaps it wouldn't be a lesson, then.

Aziraphale wasn't sure if that was better or not.

He went back to his things, putting on his helmet and attaching it to the cord, then grabbed up his sword, swishing it lightly through the air a few times.

“Right,” Anthony said, voice muffled a bit by the helmet. “Ready?”

Aziraphale turned to face him.

His sword was raised, one arm behind his back, knees bent.

Aziraphale grinned and stepped forward, stopping several feet before him.

He raised his sword, placing his other hand behind his back. “En garde?”

Anthony gave a soft laugh, and then, without warning, lunged forward, and Aziraphale leaped back just fast enough to parry the attack.

“I’d say that was cheating but I suppose I did say I was ready,” Aziraphale said.

“I told you I'd play by the rules, angel, not that I'd go easy on you,” Anthony said. Aziraphale could tell he was smiling under that mask.

He lunged again, but Aziraphale was ready this time, parrying the attack and delivering a riposte that Anthony was lucky to avoid.

“I wouldn't ask you to, my dear.”

*    *    *

This was, as Anthony had suspected, a terrible idea.

Not only had Aziraphale helped him put on his fencing gear —which Anthony was still reeling from, mind you—now it turned out he was, indeed, a very good fencer.

Anthony hadn't practiced in years, but when he had, back when he was younger, he'd thought himself quite good at the sport. He had been able to conquer most everyone he played, even those older than him, who had been fencing several years longer. 

Aziraphale, he was fairly certain, would have beaten him. Or at least been an incredibly formidable opponent.

He was certainly one now as he lunged, almost faster than Anthony could track, narrowly striking him in the shoulder.

Anthony found himself remembering a time when they first met. Anthony had been trying to cut the brass buttons off of his vest, and Aziraphale had grabbed him with a speed that had shocked him into standing down. He saw that speed again now as they went back and forth, blades clinking as they met again and again.

Anthony had not lost all of his skills. Muscle memory was doing its job, and the two of them seemed to be fairly evenly matched. They met each other strike for strike, almost as if this were a dance rather than a fight.

Anthony had done this dozens of times with various people, most he didn't bother to remember, but he had never encountered an opponent quite like this. 

Fencing with Aziraphale felt different. He was brilliant, for one. Each lunge calculated, his movements carefully practiced in a way Anthony could tell he had spent a very long time perfecting the technique. And then there was the strange intimacy that came with it. He had never felt that with anyone else, but, then again, he'd never grown to like anyone else quite like he had Aziraphale either.

And here he was, fencing with him and marveling at how incredible he was and how lucky Anthony was that his legs didn't turn to jelly at that first riposte.

He was grateful fencing wasn't the sort of sport that required one to get too close to their opponent. If Aziraphale had been practicing hand to hand combat or anything that ended with one being pinned to various surfaces, Anthony was sure he would have simply combusted. This, at least, ended with a simple touch to one's torso. But even so, the thought was driving him a little insane.

Aziraphale was skilled. He had clearly been practicing for a long time and though he'd claimed to be out of practice, Anthony didn't notice at all. In fact, if this was out of practice, Anthony wanted to know what practiced looked like.

Anthony thrust his blade forward yet again and Aziraphale parried expertly. 

Anthony was beginning to tire. Limbs feeling far heavier than when they began, his sword arm starting to ache, but he continued, parrying another strike from Aziraphale, though narrowly.

He thrust again, but Aziraphale parried him easily, and this time, their blades hit with such force that Anthony's was knocked from his grasp, and for a moment he could only stand there, arm still up, but hand open, empty.

Aziraphale gave a dramatic flourish of his sword then took a few steps forward, touching the tip to the center of Anthony's chest. 

And suddenly Anthony found it didn’t matter at all that this was not a close contact sport. He found himself pinned right to the spot anyway, imagining the slightly smug smile on Aziraphale’s lips. The way his eyes would twinkle with the knowledge that he had bested him.

Anthony found himself grateful for the helmet keeping his wide eyes hidden. He didn't need those emotions on display, not when they were likely to make Aziraphale uncomfortable. That was the last thing he wanted. So he did his best to remind himself how to breathe as Aziraphale removed his helmet to reveal he was, indeed, smiling rather smugly.

His hair was dampened with sweat and he was panting softly, but his eyes were shining. “Well fought, my dear.”

Anthony cleared his throat. “Yeah.” His voice only cracked a little bit. “Yeah… Mmn. You too.”

He took another deep breath, then removed his own helmet, hoping his features were schooled enough now that Aziraphale wouldn't notice the obvious desire radiating off of him. He had survived it though, and without turning into a useless puddle of goo. For the most part, anyway. So he would take it.

“Right, then” Anthony began. “Wine?” He wasn't sure that was the best idea considering where his mind was desperately trying to go while Anthony tried his very best to reel it in, but it seemed only polite that he offered.

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale said, “but… Oh, we really should go shopping.”

“Shopping?” Anthony questioned. “What do we need to go shopping for?”

“For the ball, of course. Don't tell me you've already forgotten.”

Oh. Right. They were going to a ball . He was going to, possibly, dance with Aziraphale. Why had he agreed to that again?

“Ngk. Right, yeah. Ball. Uh… yeah, yeah, we can go shopping. I don't… know exactly where we'll find clothes like that,” Anthony said, idly reaching up a hand to the back of his neck, “but I'm sure we can find a place that sells suits.”

“I imagine a tailor over by those very large houses should have some suits for sale,” Aziraphale said. He was grinning now, hands balled into fists, absolutely giddy with excitement, and Anthony immediately realized, Oh. That's why. “Perhaps even some masks too. Oh, Anthony, it's going to be wonderful. We're going to a ball!”

He gave a small smile in return. Couldn't help it, really. Not when Aziraphale was grinning, looking, perhaps, the happiest Anthony had ever seen him. “‘Spose we are, yeah.”

He looked down at the many layers they were still wearing. “Right. Let's get these off and get going, then.” He walked back over to the side of the room. “Can't believe you're getting me to go to a ball .”

“Oh, you'll love it,” Aziraphale assured. “They'll have music, and food, and drinks, and… dancing.” He hesitated a bit at that last one, and Anthony didn't dare contemplate why. 

“It’d better, otherwise you will owe me a nice dinner. With some good, expensive wine,” Anthony said.

“Perhaps I'll get us one anyway,” Aziraphale said. “Since you're being so kind as to humor me.”

“Not… not kind ,” Anthony muttered. “Just… Eh… I don't know, but not that.”

“If you say so, my dear.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, removing his fencing gear before starting up the stairs.

“You cleaned up the glass,” Aziraphale commented as he followed.

“Told you I would,” Anthony said. “It was cleaned up the last time you came here too.”

“Oh, really? I didn't notice. I suppose I was a bit…” Anthony paused at the top of the stairs glancing over at him, and Aziraphale looked away, “well, worried about other things.”

Anthony swallowed. “Yeah.” Don't try and talk about it. Not now. We've been having such a good time, please don't ruin it.

A brief silence followed, and Aziraphale cleared his throat. “But, well. Suits to buy! And er, masks as well.”

He hurried up the stairs and Anthony loosed a silent breath of relief, following behind him as he crossed the room. 

“Are there any certain colors we're looking for?” Anthony asked, hoping to clear the air, let Aziraphale know he wasn't upset. “Does this ball have a theme ?”

“Are you inviting me to get you to wear something that isn’t black?”

“...no.”

Aziraphale grinned. “But you asked about colors.”

“Because… y’know, black and white balls are a thing,” Anthony defended.

Aziraphale hardly seemed to hear him, far too excited, it seemed, at the prospect of Anthony wearing color . “Oh, perhaps… Maybe purple. I bet you'd look lovely in purple.”

Anthony groaned.

“Or perhaps a yellow. It would match your eyes,” Aziraphale added.

“Which will be covered by dark glasses,” Anthony countered and went to the window. “I'm not wearing yellow. Or purple. Come on.”

He climbed out.

Notes:

Hello hello!
I am alive, our power did not go out I just started feeling real bad pretty much right as the storm hit. Still don't feel great now but I wanted to get this chapter out to you all. I tend to feel happier when I post anyway, and this was a fun chapter. I actually did like a tiny little bit of research for it just so that I knew the right terminology and stuff. Next chapter we get suits for the ball! And Crowley may or may not wear color 👀

Chapter 23

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony was wearing yellow.

Not to the ball. He wouldn’t let that happen, not in a million years. But they’d entered the extravagant shop and Aziraphale had very quickly spied a ridiculous yellow suit, and, well, Anthony never could say no to those eyes.

“Oh, I told you you’d look lovely,” Aziraphale said, grinning.

Anthony sighed, rolling his eyes, but, well, at least it made Aziraphale smile. “Can I change now?”

“In a moment,” Aziraphale said, placing his hands over Anthony’s arms as he stepped back. “At least let me look at you, my dear. I’ll probably never get to see this again.”

“Got that right,” Anthony muttered, trying very hard to ignore the way Aziraphale was looking him up and down, as if admiring him more than the-

No! Stop it. Stop that. There’s nothing there. Nothing!

“You really should wear color more often.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “You see me wear yellow once and now you want the whole rainbow?”

“I didn’t say that. I just think you should… broaden your horizons.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe so, but at least I wear color.”

“You’re wearing beige!” Anthony argued.

“And blue.” Aziraphale pointed at his shirt. “And how is it my fault you look so fetching in yellow?”

Fetching? Did he… Did he just say that? “I look fetching in anything,” Anthony argued.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, my dear.” Is he… is he flirting with me? No. No, that’s ridiculous. He’s just… being nice. Probably. Still he couldn’t help but hear Anathema’s words echoing in his mind, almost taunting him. I think he likes you too.

“But yellow is my favorite color you know,” Aziraphale continued, “and I don’t think there are many people who could pull a suit like this off quite as well as you.”

You could pull it off. I wouldn’t mind, Anthony’s traitorous mind supplied before he could stop it.

“Probably not. Can I change now ?” he asked instead, because if Aziraphale kept looking at him like that, he might say something he'd regret.

Aziraphale sighed but said, “Yes, I suppose. And you don't have to wear color if you don't want to. Actually, we could wear black and white, if you wanted. Even though it's not a black and white ball.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Anthony said as he started back towards the dressing room to remove the ridiculous suit and put on his typical black attire.

“Though maybe we should swap?”

Anthony went still. “Like… swap clothes?”

“No, I mean, I'll wear black and you wear white.”

“Oh, right. ‘Course, ngk.”

“So you'll do it?” Aziraphale asked, sounding just as giddy at the prospect of that as he was about Anthony wearing color.

“I…” He loosed a long sigh. “Fine, sure, I'll do it.”

He stepped out of the dressing room and pointed at Aziraphale. “Only for this, though. And I'm keeping the glasses.”

Aziraphale's grin didn't falter. “Of course. Now hurry and change. I saw some lovely white suits just over there.”

*    *    *

Aziraphale discovered very quickly this was, in fact, a bad idea. Seeing Anthony in one, admittedly ridiculous, yellow suit was one thing. Seeing him in several not so ridiculous ones was quite another. He was beautiful. Absolutely stunning. A work of art that Aziraphale had the pleasure of meeting and getting to know. So though Aziraphale was also looking for a suit for himself—he had found one with a brown waistcoat and a tartan cravat that he actually quite liked—he also kept glancing at Anthony out of the corner of his eye, watching as he looked at and tried on different suits.

The one he was wearing now promptly had the breath leaving Aziraphale's lungs. It was white, of course, with black lapels and lining around the pockets, and black buttons on the white shirt beneath. He'd paired it with a pair of plain white pants, and a black tie, and Aziraphale knew immediately that was the one. He just had to convince Anthony of this fact as well.

He went over. “Oh, my dear, that one's lovely.”

Anthony gave a small smile. “You like it?”

“Oh, it's gorgeous,” Aziraphale said, placing his hands on Anthony's arms as he looked him up and down.

Anthony huffed a laugh. “Guess I'll go with it, then. Are you gonna try that one on?” he asked, nodding towards the one with a brown waistcoat.

So he'd been watching him too. Curious about what he would pick, no doubt. Certainly not the reason Aziraphale had been watching him, which was because he wanted to see him in various suits. “I… was considering it, yes. Do you like it?”

“Looks nice hanging up, yeah,” Anthony said. “Can't imagine it wouldn't look good on you.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale gave a sheepish smile, feeling his cheeks heat. Which was ridiculous, of course. It was just a compliment. He was being kind , even though he liked to deny that he was. “Well, thank you.”

“Go on then,” Anthony said. “We can wear them side by side, make sure they go well together.”

“Oh, wonderful idea!” Aziraphale grabbed the suit and went off to the nearest dressing room, and when he emerged, he was sure he saw Anthony's jaw hit the floor before he snapped his mouth shut. 

Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to think of that reaction. Really it probably meant nothing at all and he shouldn’t be examining it as if it did. But he couldn’t help but remember that night a couple days ago, when he had looked at Aziraphale with such longing that it made him wonder. Made him hope. But he had seen nothing of it since. Maybe it had never been there at all. Or perhaps it had been his imagination, hoping desperately for something that wasn’t real.

Probably.  

Anthony cleared his throat. “Yeah, just like I thought, looks… good. Very good.”

“You really think so?” Aziraphale asked, looking down and smoothing out the lapels.

“‘Course. Would I lie to you?”

“Well, I don’t know, you are a criminal,” Aziraphale teased.

Anthony rolled his eyes. “I’m not lying, angel. It looks nice, I promise.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I will get this one then,” Aziraphale said. “We still need masks, though.” And though Aziraphale had been looking around for some while they’d been searching for suits, he hadn’t spied any. “Perhaps we should talk to the man at the counter. We could get some custom made, what do you think?”

Anthony shrugged. “Sure. Got a design in mind?”

“Er… not particularly, no,” Aziraphale admitted, realizing for the first time that he would need to give some sort of idea to whoever would be crafting them.

“I was thinking I’d get something with snakes.”

“Like your tattoo?” Aziraphale asked, and Anthony smiled.

“Noticed that, did you?”

“Well, it’s rather hard to miss, being on the side of your face.”

Anthony huffed a laugh. “Yeah, just thought, y’know, Vipers, snakes.” He shrugged. “I was young when I got it. Don’t regret it though.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Well, good. I do quite like it. It fits you.”

Aziraphale would swear he saw a hint of pink on Anthony’s cheeks at the compliment before he quickly changed the subject. “So, any ideas yet what you want your mask to be so we can get this ball over with?”

“Not exactly,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’m afraid I don’t really have the… brand you do, with the snakes and all, so-”

“How about something with angels, then?” Anthony suggested. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help a teasing smile. “Like your nickname for me?” 

Anthony shrugged. “Sure. You kinda look like one, y’know?”

 Aziraphale blinked. Did he… Did he say that? he silently questioned, his heart fluttering. He thinks I look like an angel?

“I…” Aziraphale gave a soft laugh. “Well, thank you. I… suppose I could do that, yes.” He thinks I look like an angel. He thinks- “Yes. That sounds lovely.”

Anthony smiled. “Alright then.” He nodded towards the man behind the counter. “C’mon, let’s pay for these suits and get the masks ordered.”

*    *    *

They didn’t head back to Anathema’s. Well, actually, they had, but it had become very clear the moment they stepped through the door that she and, Anthony assumed, that new visitor, were getting rather intimately acquainted. Neither Anthony nor Aziraphale had felt like sticking around, so they had wandered for a bit before ending up exactly where they always seemed to.

Anthony grabbed another bottle of wine off the rack. Only one more left. He’d have to go out and buy a few more if he and Aziraphale were going to continue to make a habit of this.

Which we aren’t, he had to remind himself. We’ll be leaving soon. After this ball, probably, and not long after that he’lll be gone and we’ll never see him again. Don’t forget that.

And yet the moment he sat down beside Aziraphale the thoughts completely left his mind, replaced by just how beautiful, ethereal, even, Aziraphale looked under the soft glow of the moon.

“Hope you don't mind staying here tonight,” Anthony said, setting the bottle between them. “Can use these cushions as pillows, at least.”

“Oh, I don't mind. It’ll be a bit uncomfortable, but I'm glad Anathema is… Well. Having a good time.”

Anthony snorted.

Aziraphale reached over, taking the bottle and uncorking it.

He took a sip, then handed the bottle to Anthony. And they sat in their familiar, comfortable silence, passing the bottle back and forth, looking out over the darkened forest before them.

It was quiet, peaceful, even, and Anthony found himself wishing this could be their forever. Wishing they could just stay here, drinking wine and basking in the moonlight for eternity. No more worry, no more running, just the two of them, sitting out here, untouched by the world around them.

He glanced over at Aziraphale, smiling as he watched him stare up at the stars.

He was gorgeous. Absolutely utterly gorgeous, and Anthony wanted so badly to reach out, even just to wrap an arm around him.

But he didn't. Couldn't risk shattering this… whatever it was they had here, in this place.

Instead, he relished in the slight brush of their hands as they passed the bottle back and forth. Watching the way the moonlight shone in his eyes.

This had gotten a bit out of hand. 

He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when it happened, but Anthony was fairly certain he loved him. He loved him, so much it hurt, and he wasn’t sure there was any point in fighting it any more.

There was no turning back now, certainly not when there was still that part of him that hoped, the part he’d been futilely trying to silence, that said maybe Anathema was right and that if he just reached out right now and pulled him in, plucked the fruit from the tree, they could be something. They could figure it out. Aziraphale could come with him; they could run away together. Alpha Centauri! Lots of little islands over there. Nobody would even notice them!

You’re being ridiculous , the rest of him insisted, though the rest of him had become alarmingly small in comparison. The wine’s doing, no doubt. Muddling his thoughts enough to truly consider-

Aziraphale turned and met his gaze, and Anthony’s train of thought ground to a halt, his eyes flicking down to Aziraphale’s lips, tracking the bob of his throat, watching his eyes widen a bit at Anthony's attention.

It would be so simple to lean in. Just a handful of inches and their lips would brush and-

Had he leaned closer? 

No. No. He was just handing Anthony back the bottle.

Anthony took it, but didn't drink. Clearly he needed a moment before he put more alcohol into his system. “Can't believe you're dragging me to a ball ,” he said instead.

“Well, you agreed to go.”

Anthony gave a noncommittal tilt of his head. “Yeah, but… still.”

“Oh, it'll be fun ,” Aziraphale said, knocking Anthony's shoulder gently with his own. “You'll see.”

“Mm. Wine should be nice, though.” He lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a much smaller drink, then passed it back to Aziraphale.

“Oh, I'm sure it will,” Aziraphale said, grinning, his eyes shining. “See. You'll like that at the very least.”

He was excited. Impossibly so. Adorably so. Oh, Anthony had never stood a chance, had he?

The two of them drank for a while longer, until they'd finished the bottle and Anthony’s eyes were drooping. They had scooted back from the edge, that way they weren’t in danger of falling if they fell asleep, and Anthony was dangerously close to doing so. Warm from the wine and Aziraphale’s presence in general it was nearly impossible to-

Anthony awoke briefly, who knew how long later to strong arms gently setting him down, his head landing ever so softly onto a cushion.

He was asleep again before he could hear Aziraphale murmur, “Sleep well, my dear,” but he’d swear he felt a warm, soft hand touch his cheek and fingers gently brushing his hair from his eyes before he drifted off.

Notes:

Hello hello!
They're just openly flirting with each other now. You'd think they would've put two and two together by now but alas they have not 😔 Still, things are looking up for our ineffables right now. They're happy and Crowley hasn't had any traumatic memories resurface in a whole 24 hours!
Would be a real shame... if something were to happen to ruin that.

Chapter 24

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anathema was making breakfast when Anthony and Aziraphale returned. The visitor, Anthony still had yet to learn his name, was nowhere to be found, but Anthony guessed he was still here, he hadn’t looked too good yesterday, after all. Though, considering what he and Anathema had gotten up to last night, he was likely feeling better.

Anthony went straight to the kitchen, noting that Anathema was making eggs.

She noticed him immediately, saying, “Someone had a fun night out,” and shooting him a questioning look over her shoulder.

Anthony decidedly didn’t answer her silent question, instead saying, “And someone had a fun night in .”

She smiled. “You're not denying it.”

Anthony shook his head. “Nothing happened, Ana. And it won't, so you can stop hoping.”

“I don't believe that,” she said, turning back to her eggs. “Your aura's different. You're happier with him.”

“Ngk.” Anthony couldn't really deny that one. It was no secret to her that he liked Aziraphale, and of course being around him would make him happy. But it was also tearing him apart. “We're… going to a ball tomorrow,” Anthony admitted, because he might as well get this conversation over with now.

Anathema’s gaze shot towards him, eyes practically glowing with excitement. “So you're going to dance with him?”

Anthony shoved his hands in his pocket. “Dunno. If he wants to.”

“You can't go to a ball and not dance,” she countered.

Anthony grunted. “Y’know, you saying that just makes me not want to do it.”

Anathema narrowed her eyes at him and frowned. “I hate you.”

Anthony gave a slanted smile. “I'm alive because of you so somehow I don't think so.”

“I only saved you so I could bully you into getting together with-”

“Shh!” Anthony hissed, shooting a glance behind him. Thankfully, Aziraphale was not within earshot. “Don’t… let him hear you.”

Anathema’s eyes softened a bit. “You should just tell him.”

“I… can’t. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly have a lot of friends, and I can’t risk losing one because I have… feelings for him.” Even if he would still eventually lose him. Maybe he would write, though. Anthony could survive on letters, right?

Oh, God. This was bad.

He loosed a long sigh, leaning against the doorframe and letting his head fall back. “Oh, I am fucked , Ana. I don’t know what to do.”

Anathema took the pan off the burner, the eggs were basically done anyway, and went to him. “Anthony, I told you, his aura’s been different too.”

Anthony turned away. “Oh, you and your auras .” Though, he supposed, she hadn’t been wrong about his so far.

She placed a hand on his wrist to keep him from walking away. “I mean it. He likes you, I know it, and if you’d just ask-”

“I’m not asking. I’m not,” Anthony insisted, raising his hands, forcing her to relinquish her grip. “I can’t-” He paused. Took a breath. “I have lost too many people. I will not risk losing him too.”

“At least think about it,” Anathema said. “I don’t think you’ll lose him. Even if he doesn’t feel the same, Aziraphale is way too nice to leave over that.”

Anthony knew that already, of course. Aziraphale was the kindest person he’d ever met, he was certain of that. But even if he didn’t leave, things would still be different . They wouldn’t be nearly as close because Anthony would constantly worry if he was showing too much of the feelings they would both know he had, and Aziraphale would be trying not to get too close and ignite said feelings further.

Still, Anthony muttered, “Fine.” Really, he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He’d been thinking about it ever since she said Aziraphale liked him and he doubted he was going to stop any time soon.

Anathema stepped back and went back to her eggs and just as Anthony was about to leave and go find where Aziraphale went off to, the visitor from the day before entered the room, hair mussed. Anthony didn’t want to think too closely about why.

His eyes widened when he caught sight of Anthony and he froze in the doorway. “Oh. Erm, hello.”

“Hi,” Anthony said.

“Who… Who are you?”

“Anthony,” he answered, and, because Anathema had said to be nice to him, held out his hand. 

The man shook it. “I’m Newton. Newton Pulsifer.” 

Newt. Isn’t that a reptile? “Charmed.”

“He’s a friend,” Anathema explained to Newton. “He’s been staying here while he heals.” And then she added, to Anthony now, “Be good.”

Anthony sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He glanced at Newton again, thought about just walking past him without saying anything but ultimately decided that would be too rude for Anathema’s taste. “Nice to meet you,” he said, then promptly left the room, looking for Aziraphale.

Unsurprisingly, he found him in the backroom, reading one of his new books, so into it he didn’t even notice Anthony until he was sitting beside him, reading over his shoulder.

He smiled at him.

“How is it so far?” Anthony asked.

“Well, I only just started, so I can’t say for sure if I like it yet, but it’s about this knight…”

Anthony listened intently as Aziraphale gave him a detailed description of the thirty or so pages he’d read so far. Honestly, the book didn't sound half bad. Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying it, too, even if he refused to give an opinion on it just yet. Anthony had a feeling he was going to like it.

“Our masks should be done later today,” Anthony said. They’d had to pay extra for that, but, well, they needed them made in a timely manner. “I was thinking we’d go buy a couple bottles of wine for the rack, then go and pick them up.”

Aziraphale glanced over at him. “Now?”

“Oh, no, no, no. Probably… I dunno, afternoon-ish?” Anthony said. “And I’ll make breakfast soon, by the way. Anathema was hogging the kitchen, but she’s done now. Want anything in particular?”

Of course, Anthony knew Anathema might not have the ingredients for it, but he figured he may as well ask.

“Oh, well, I… Some crêpes sound lovely,” Aziraphale admitted. “If you don't mind, of course.”

Crêpes. Easy enough. “Don't mind at all, angel. Any toppings you'd prefer?”

“Er, well, usually a dusting of powdered sugar, some strawberries, and a chocolate drizzle, but I don't know how much of that Anathema has.”

“Well, I'll do my best. Think I saw some strawberries in the fridge, so you can have those at least. As for the rest, I’ll look around, maybe ask Anathema.” 

He started for the door, but Aziraphale stopped him, saying, “Actually, um, Anthony. Please, stop me if I’m upsetting you, I just…”

Anthony took a deep breath. Alright, here we go. Be civil, be nice . I know, we’re not good at nice, especially when it’s about this, but try for him.

“That book,” Aziraphale continued. “Did you want me to read it?”

Now that was certainly a question, wasn’t it? Anthony wasn’t sure he even knew the answer himself. It would be a relief, he knew, to have it out. To have Aziraphale simply just know without having to explain it to him. But Aziraphale didn’t know his real name, or those of his siblings. Even if he read the entire book he likely wouldn’t know which of the terrible things in it was the one Anthony had experienced, so what would the point even be then, besides a history lesson?

Anthony shook his head. “Nah, just… wasn’t thinking. Wanted to get out as fast as possible.”

“But you took the time to write me a note,” Aziraphale countered, though gently.

“Ngk, yeah. You said to tell you where I was going if I left, and y’know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t wanna worry you. At least, not any more than I already do.”

Aziraphale’s eyes softened. “Oh. Well that’s very kind of you.”

“Not… Not kind. M’not kind.”

A teasing smile bloomed across Aziraphale’s lips at that. “Says the man who's about to go make me breakfast without my asking.”

“Yeah,” Anthony said defensively. “I think I'd know better than you if I'm being kind.”

“One would think so, yes.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Alright. I'll go make my crêpes, then.”

“You are indeed welcome to have some if you’d like.”

Anthony turned away, hiding his smile and starting for the door. “Bastard,” he said without turning back, but he heard Aziraphale's soft laughter behind him as he left the room.

*    *    *

“Which wine do you prefer?” Aziraphale asked as they perused the shop. It was in the richer part of town, so all of the wine was quite expensive, but, Aziraphale knew, it would also be well worth the price. “Personally, I fancy myself a good Châteauneuf du Pape, but I'm certainly open to try whatever you like.”

Anthony shrugged, glancing over the many bottles on display. “I've been buying cheap, honestly. Save money where I can. Châteauneuf du Pape sounds nice.”

He reached up, grabbing two bottles, and turned to Aziraphale, a smirk on his lips. “I know we have things to do but… care for a bottle?” he asked. “We can go back to,” he nodded towards his left, “y’know, and still have time to pick up the masks after.”

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. Really he knew he should politely decline. They had a habit of taking their time whenever they drank. Aziraphale quite enjoyed it, actually. But they really did need to have the masks before tomorrow. Without them there was simply no way they would be allowed into the ball, no matter how nicely dressed they were.

“It won't take long,” Anthony insisted. “And the shop should be open for a few more hours yet. We have time.”

How was Aziraphale supposed to argue with such logic?

“Alright, fine.”

So they ended up at their usual spot, Aziraphale on the right cushion, Anthony on the left, looking out at the forest beyond, passing a bottle of wine between them. Anthony gave a hum of approval at his first sip.

“This ball,” Anthony began, “better have the best wine I've ever drank in my life.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “My dear, if you didn't want to go you simply could have told me. Before we bought suits and had masks custom made.”

“Ngk. Yeah, just… I mean, I don't mind, really, just…”

Aziraphale gave a teasing smile. “Oh, I see. You just like to complain.”

“S’all I'm good at.” Anthony took a sip of wine, then passed the bottle to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale scoffed. “I hardly think that's true. You're a very skilled fencer,” he said. “And you have your climbing.”

Anthony huffed a laugh. “‘Spose so, yeah.”

Aziraphale took a sip of wine, then handed the bottle back to Anthony.

“We always do seem to end up here,” Aziraphale commented. He didn't mind, of course, it was just interesting. They felt protected here. Like this place was their own little safe haven. Their Eden.

“Yeah. My fault this time, just… I know we're gonna leave soon,” Anthony said. “I’m basically better, honestly if it weren't for this ball we might be gone already, if Anathema gave the all clear. So, just thought we'd, y’know, share some wine, at least one more time.”

Oh. Oh right. This wasn't… Anthony had a job to do. He was taking him out of the country and once that was done, they would go their separate ways. No need for them to stick together any longer. They weren't traveling together, not permanently. This was all very temporary. Aziraphale had forgotten.

“Of course. I understand.”

“Hope you don’t mind-” 

“Oh, no, no, no. Not at all, my dear,” Aziraphale assured. “I do like it here.” And I like spending this time with you. I’d like to spend even more time with you. “And the wine is wonderful.”

“Well, good,” Anthony said, taking a sip and passing the bottle to Aziraphale. “Glad the wine’s nice. I'm sure you find the company lacking.”

Aziraphale let out a scandalized gasp and clutched at his chest. “I'll have you know, I find your company just as wonderful,” he countered. “I would happily sit here and talk with you without the incentive of alcohol. Without any incentive at all, even.” Just talking to you is wonderful. Even just sitting here with you, silent, looking out at the forest and up at the stars.

He watched Anthony's throat bob at the compliment. “Ngk. Thanks.”

Aziraphale smiled, noting the blush creeping over his cheeks. The softness in those yellow eyes that only Aziraphale had the privilege of seeing.

He took a drink of wine, then handed it back to Anthony.

They didn't speak much after that but the silence wasn't uncomfortable, not at all. Aziraphale even found himself relishing in it, the peaceful quiet of the moment, wishing he could stay right here forever.

If only Anthony felt the same. 

Perhaps the two of them could have made some sort of life together here. They could buy a house or perhaps even build one of their own. They could visit Anathema, and go on dates. They could- Well, he supposed there wasn't any point in dwelling on it.

If Anthony wanted anything like that he would have simply asked him. And why would he want something like that with Aziraphale of all people?

He doesn't, Aziraphale silently told himself. That's why he never asked, and anything we think we saw was complete nonsense.

Oh, but Aziraphale wanted it. A peaceful life with him. But, well, Aziraphale wanted a lot of things and could have very few of them. He had gotten quite used to accepting that over the years spent in that castle. He could accept this too. He could settle for this friendship they had, and these quiet, vulnerable moments. Until it was over and all that remained was the memory.

He could deal with that. It was fine. Perfectly.

The sun had dipped lower by the time they finished the wine. Aziraphale wasn't surprised, of course, but thankfully, it wasn't so late that the tailor would be closed. They had enough time.

So they left their little hideout and indeed as they walked towards the shop, the sign was still flipped to open.

The tailor recognized them and happily retrieved both their masks from a backroom, and Aziraphale let out a delighted gasp upon seeing them.

They were perfect. Both simple and small in design, the tailor hadn't had time for anything too extravagant, of course, but they were gorgeous.

Aziraphale's was black, matching his suit, with fabric fanning out on both sides to look like the flaring of wings, the carvings around the space for one's eyes, giving the appearance of feathers. And Anthony's was white and made out of what looked to be snakeskin, with black fabric along its edges. There were various little fake snakes attached to it, giving the illusion that they were crawling across the mask.

“Oh, they're gorgeous,” Aziraphale said to the man. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. Long as you're payin’ I don't mind supplin’.”

“Oh. Oh right, yes.” 

Aziraphale retrieved a few extra gold pieces and handed them to the man, who said, “Thank you very much. Now, if you don't mind, I need to close up shop and get some shut eye.”

They grabbed up their masks and quickly left, Aziraphale admiring his as they started back towards Anathema’s shop.

It was getting quite late now.

They had only been walking a few minutes, however, when Anthony muttered, “Ah, shit,” and Aziraphale paused.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, yeah, just…” Held up his mask, which, Aziraphale noted, was missing one of the snakes, which Anthony held up in his other hand. “I was… messing with it,” he admitted. “It snapped off. Do you think it looks alright without it?”

Aziraphale couldn't deny, the missing snake on the left side did offset the symmetrical design.

Anthony, apparently, seeing that thought in his eyes, tipped his head back and groaned, “It doesn't, does it? Shit.”

“Well, you still have the snake. Perhaps the man could put it back on,” Aziraphale suggested. “If you hurry you might be able to catch him before he closes.”

“Ngh. Yeah, alright.” He turned in place, glancing around, likely for any prying eyes, then said, “Wait here, angel. I'll be back in just a sec’.”

He turned and started back for the shop at a run, the sound of his footsteps fading slowly into silence.

Aziraphale glanced around.

He was alone. No one, not even any drunkards walking about, though, he supposed, this was the richer district.

There were various lanterns lining the cobblestone street, though Aziraphale was not standing beneath one. He wondered if perhaps he should be, those missing posters flashing in his mind.

He'd never had any issues walking after dark before, though, and this would be no different. Anthony would be back soon enough, hopefully with a repaired mask, and then they could be on their way.

Still, Aziraphale couldn't help but wring his hands as he glanced nervously around him. The streets looked so very unsettling in the dark, and he'd swear he was being watched. But no one stepped out to grab him and soon enough, footsteps sounded from behind, and Anthony returned.

He was walking a bit more stiffly than before, the usual saunter gone. He didn't look upset, though. In fact, he was smiling as he met up with Aziraphale.

He couldn't help but notice he didn't have the mask with him.

“Did you get your mask fixed?” Aziraphale asked. “You don't have it with you. Did the tailor have to keep it to work on it tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he did,” Anthony said.

Aziraphale frowned. “Well, are you sure it'll be done in time? You know you won't be able to-”

Anthony looped his arm through Aziraphale's before he could finish, insisting, “It'll be fine, angel. Come on.”

He started down the street, and Aziraphale had no choice but to follow with their arms linked. “Er, well… If you’re sure, I suppose.” He was still walking strangely, though. Where was his usual saunter? Was something wrong?

“Anthony, are you alright?”

“I'm perfectly fine, angel,” Anthony said. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I just… can't help but notice you're acting a little strange, that's all. Did the tailor say anything to upset you?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Anthony turned, leading them into an alley Aziraphale was certain they did not need to go down. They'd never gone this way before, at least.

“My dear, where-”

Anthony unlinked their arms, sliding a hand down to the small of Aziraphale's back while he turned, resting his other against Aziraphale's waist. Aziraphale let out a quiet gasp as he was promptly pressed up against a wall.

Anthony was pressing him up against a wall, and their bodies were flush together, and… Oh, good Lord.

Anthony was looking at him and they were close enough Aziraphale could see his eyes beneath the glasses. There was a sensual smile on his lips Aziraphale had never seen before, but decided very quickly he'd like to see more often.

Aziraphale found his heart racing, his eyes wide, though he certainly wasn't about to push him away. 

“I- Anthony, what-”

The hands that had settled at Aziraphale’s waist began to untuck his shirt.

Aziraphale didn't stop him. Found his own going to Anthony's back, because he could and it was okay and Anthony didn't mind, if the way his body was flush against Aziraphale's was any indication.

“Anthony-” He broke off, unsure of what to say. All this time, had Anthony really felt this way about him? And if so why had he chosen to do this now, out of the blue? Why not back when they were in their little hideout or at least wait until they were back at Anathema's?

Those questions immediately left his mind when Anthony slid a hand beneath his shirt, skin pressing against skin.

Aziraphale let out a soft gasp, but still managed to get out, “I, er, dear, shouldn't- Shouldn't we do this somewhere else?”

They were still relatively out in the open, after all. Aziraphale would much prefer four walls around them right now.

Anthony pulled back a bit, his hand still resting at Aziraphale’s side, and he found it impossibly distracting. “We can go wherever you like.”

Anthony's hand slowly slid up Aziraphale's side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and his other found its way to Aziraphale's neck.

“Well, perhaps… Back to the… you know.” Oh… Aziraphale could hardly think. All of this was so very distracting. Wonderfully so.

Anthony pressed in closer. His lips, mere inches from Aziraphale’s own, curved into that smile that set Aziraphale’s heart racing. “Tell me to stop, angel.”

Aziraphale didn't say a word.

Anthony leaned in just a bit closer, his nose brushing against Aziraphale's, so close Aziraphale could feel his breath against his lips. He was sure his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. Good Lord, this was happening so fast.

And then a different voice, no, the exact same voice, said from the alley entrance, “Angel.”

Aziraphale whipped his head towards it to see… Anthony standing there, mouth agape. 

The repaired mask was in his hand.

Aziraphale turned back to Anthony- No, the… not- Anthony. The thing before him.

Its eyes had darkened as it too had turned to look, and it stepped away from Aziraphale, lips curled into a snarl.

Aziraphale remained very still, pressing himself further back against the wall, unsure what the creature was going to do and not wanting to provoke its attention.

He understood what it was now, and it was quite clear he'd fallen right into its trap. If Anthony hadn't shown up… Well, Aziraphale didn't want to consider what might have happened.

“Angel,” Anthony, the real Anthony, said, “are you okay?”

Aziraphale swallowed. How much of that had he seen? Certainly enough to understand what it meant. Oh… Oh, God. “I… Fine, yes.”

He looked between Anthony and the creature currently using his visage, watching the standoff. Watching Anthony's hand very slowly going to his waist. To the weapon he kept there.

“Listen, I don't know what you are or what you want with Aziraphale, but whatever it is, you can't have it,” Anthony said. “ Leave .”

The creature hissed, and then its form shifted. Fingers growing long, spindled, pale skin fading to a gray-purple, limbs lengthening, knees bending too far forward. It tipped its flat head back, revealing a long forked tongue, and let out a loud, inhuman screech.

Aziraphale watched Anthony brace himself, but the creature leaped upward, landing on the roof of a nearby building, and bounded away.

Aziraphale didn't loose the breath he was holding until he could no longer hear it, then promptly sank to the ground.

Anthony ran right for him. “Angel, are you alright? Are you sure it didn't hurt you?”

He knelt before Aziraphale could answer, looking him over, searching for injuries.

“I… Yes,” Aziraphale murmured. “Yes, I'm sure.” No. No, that didn't hurt at all. In fact, it felt far too good, and now I feel ashamed, because it wasn't really you.

“Alright.” Anthony glanced around before reaching out, gently helping Aziraphale to his feet. “Do you… know what that was?”

“Yes. They're… Well, they're shapeshifters. Oftentimes they… take on the appearance of someone…” Aziraphale swallowed. “Someone you know and trust to lure you away, similar to sirens, and, you know, their calls to sailors.”

He didn’t dare look at Anthony. Didn’t want to risk him catching on to the lie. They were indeed shapeshifters but the form they took to lure their prey wasn’t always someone you trusted or even someone you knew, but more often someone you were very attracted to. It just so happened Anthony was all three.

Aziraphale supposed it likely didn’t matter, Anthony had most certainly already caught on to that aspect, but… well, he wanted to hold onto this… whatever it was they had for as long as he could.

“We should…” Aziraphale glanced at Anthony, finding his gaze impossibly soft, then quickly looked away again, “get back to Anathema's.”

“Right,” Anthony murmured. “‘Course.”

He placed a gentle hand on Aziraphale’s back and began to lead him out of the alley and onto the lantern lit street once again.

Notes:

Hello hello!
So fun fact about this one guys, that bit at the end actually didn't exist for the longest time and ONLY exists because my cousin who got to read all of this long before the rest of you sent me this

and basically said that I needed to put it into the fic somehow. So I did. And it actually ended up working very well for what I had planned for the next chapter, which will also be the end of act 1.

Chapter 25

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony couldn’t sleep. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Aziraphale, pressed up against the creature that looked exactly like himself. The creature Aziraphale had truly believed to be him. And he hadn’t been scared, he hadn’t been uncomfortable, he had been absolutely, utterly, enamored .

It couldn’t be real. It couldn't possibly. 

And yet it was.

Tell me to stop, angel , the creature had said, and Aziraphale hadn’t said a word. He had wanted … whatever it was that creature was offering him. A kiss? Sex? Anthony wasn’t sure, but he supposed it didn’t matter either way. He had wanted that. From Anthony.

Anathema had been right.

Oh, God. Anathema had been right.

He hadn’t said anything to Aziraphale about it on the way back. The poor man was clearly traumatized from the whole ordeal and really, could anyone blame him? Anthony had thought it better to simply wait. Let him rest. Give himself some time to wrestle with this newfound revelation. And, honestly, Anthony wasn’t even sure exactly how he should bring it up.

Should he, actually? Or should he just explain to him how he felt? Reassure him that it was alright and that he wasn’t upset or anything. Tell him that he felt the exact same way and they could… They could make it work, right? Aziraphale was already leaving the country, surely he wouldn't mind going to Alpha Centauri with Anthony. 

They were going to a ball tomorrow. Anthony could talk to him then. Over a dance, perhaps. And then they could sort all of it out and… be them. Oh, Anthony wanted nothing more.

He could get Aziraphale onboard. 

He was sure of it.

*    *    *

They were at a ball. 

After everything. After the mortifying ordeal yesterday, Not-Anthony pressing up against him, one hand trailing slowly up Aziraphale’s side, the other on his neck. Aziraphale had nearly kissed that creature posing as his friend and Anthony had been there to see it, and yet in spite of all of that, Anthony knowing exactly what Aziraphale felt for him, they were at a ball.

Actually, Anthony hadn’t said a word about last night. He had eaten the pancakes Aziraphale had made as an apology slash plea not to leave him this morning—admittedly, he had burned one—rather happily. And he had looked at him with the most gentle gaze Aziraphale had ever seen from him.

He had been kind. So unbelievably kind. And the walk to the ball had been… normal. Anthony had talked with him. Bantered and laughed like nothing had happened at all.

Aziraphale wasn't sure what that meant, wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, but it did have his shoulders relaxing as they entered the large, open room.

Perhaps things didn't have to change. They could remain in their cozy little in-between and no one need look too closely at how Aziraphale gazed at Anthony when he wasn't looking. 

It would be fine.

They were not the only ones at the ball wearing black and white, of course, but they did stand out in that their suits were some of the least extravagant. Aziraphale supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. They were, after all, in the presence of the filthy rich. They fit in well enough, though.

Aziraphale motioned towards the left side of the room, where a long table covered by a white tablecloth sat, laden with food and, of course, wine. “I assume you'll be starting there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Anthony agreed. “I was thinking I'd grab one of those tables over there.” He pointed to a cluster of them off to the right of the long table. “Care to join me?”

“I… Well, of course.” Honestly, how was Aziraphale supposed to say no? Things had, miraculously, remained normal, and Aziraphale was happy to cling to it. Happy to hope that it could stay this way as they continued to travel.

Aziraphale wondered if perhaps last night wasn't so hard for Anthony to ignore because he knew this was a temporary arrangement for the two of them. Perhaps he was just being kind and saving Aziraphale the embarrassment, knowing soon he wouldn't have to see him again.

He supposed it was still one of the better outcomes.

Anthony grabbed a glass of wine and Aziraphale found himself a lovely piece of red velvet cake. He let Anthony pick the table, one in the back, and they sat down, Aziraphale looking out at the rich mingling around them. Most hardly spared him a glance, very quickly deeming him not worth their time. No one recognized him, thanks to the mask, so for once, he got to observe in peace.

It was different from his parents’ balls in the sense that it was not as extravagant, and the building, of course, couldn't possibly compare to that of the ballroom in the castle, but, Aziraphale supposed, few could. It was the same, however, in that the people standing around mingling and drinking wine were all most definitely-

“Posh snobs,” Anthony muttered.

“Quite,” Aziraphale agreed.

There was a couple off to their left murmuring quietly about some alleged scandal, while another group subtly berated a woman for wearing a dress they didn't like.

“You see why I wanted to get out?” Aziraphale said. “It's worse in the castle. The gossip.” He scoffed. “I never did understand it.” Always ended up being the butt of some joke though never understanding what, exactly, had everyone laughing. Some fault of his, apparently, that everyone except him could see.

“That's how they treated you, isn't it?” Anthony murmured, nodding towards the poor woman. The few groups around her were laughing now. It did remind him quite a lot of himself and what he'd gone through.

“Mostly, yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “There were some who were worse, though. Took things further. I… I don't know. I suppose for many of them I was simply different.”

“That doesn't excuse what they did.”

“No, not at all,” Aziraphale agreed. “I just… Well, I…” He glanced over at the woman, watching her cheeks redden, her eyes filling with frustrated tears. He knew the feeling well, confusion, embarrassment, shame. He had tried to change for people like the ones bullying her, and even then they had not been happy. Even then it had not been enough. He was certain nothing ever would be. “Excuse me a moment.”

He stood from the table and moved through the crowd, “sorry,” “excuse me,” “pardon me,” until he was right there beside the young woman and glaring at the people tormenting her. “I think that's quite enough,” he said in the sternest voice he could muster, and the laughing stalled.

Every head in the nearby groups turned to look at him. A few people scoffed. 

Aziraphale kept his held high.

“And who are you?” a man wearing a pale blue suit asked. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Oh, I'm certain you have. But Aziraphale wasn't about to reveal himself. He still had several more days of travel before he was free of this place. He intended to get there without having every guard in the country right on their tail. “No one important,” Aziraphale said. “But someone who most certainly does not take kindly to the likes of you.”

A few people around him gasped.

Aziraphale continued, “As I said, this has all been quite enough.” He stared evenly at everyone in the group, the man in the blue suit included. “You leave this woman alone.”

“Why should we listen to you?” a woman wearing yellow countered. “I’ll have you know my father-”

“Your father has better things to do than to get involved in petty squabbles at a second-rate ball,” Aziraphale argued. He gave her a once over, noticing with a small hum that he recognized that dress she was wearing. “In fact, I’d imagine he’s quite busy scrambling to refill the family coffers, considering I saw that dress at the tailor’s yesterday for only a handful of silver.”

Several more gasps sounded, and a couple people turned to her, questioning, “Is that true?” in hushed whispers.

“What? Of course not!” She looked at all the scandalized faces around her, then let out a hmph , and turned on her heel.

Aziraphale glanced at the remaining crowd as if to say, anyone else?

They all rolled their eyes, some muttering under their breath, but they all, eventually, made their way to a different corner of the ballroom, and Aziraphale turned to the young woman they’d been insulting. She was sniffling quietly beside him.

He gave her a warm smile. “Don’t listen to them, my dear. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

Her eyes were still wet with tears, but she gave him a shaky smile. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, before turning and heading in the opposite direction of the room than those people had wandered to.

Aziraphale made his way back to their table, finding a grinning Anthony waiting for him. “Now that ,” he said, “was brilliant.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale glanced behind him, looking for the girl but not finding her in the crowd. “I just hope I made some sort of a difference for her.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did. With the way that woman in the yellow dress stormed off, I don’t think she’ll ever forget this,” Anthony said. “What did you say to her to make run off like that anyway?”

“Oh, nothing really.” Aziraphale picked up his fork, at last digging into his red velvet cake. “Just foreshadowing her family’s impending bankruptcy.”

Anthony barked a laugh. “You really are a bastard.”

Aziraphale only smiled, taking a bite of his cake.

The two of them sat in companionable silence after that, Anthony finishing off his glass of wine and grabbing another, and Aziraphale was certainly considering going back for seconds as well.

Probably would have done so if not for Anthony coming around to his side of the table and holding out a hand, a small smile on his lips. “Dance with me?”

Aziraphale blinked, so utterly caught off guard by the question and Anthony’s genuine desire to dance with him that the first thing out of his mouth was, “You know how to dance?”

Anthony’s smile widened to a grin. “S’not my first ball, angel.” He reached down, gently taking Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale didn’t pull away. “It… It’s not?”

“Nope. Now come on. The song’s just started,” Anthony urged, giving a gentle tug on his arm, but not pulling him to his feet. No, instead he just waited. Waited for Aziraphale to make his choice.

Aziraphale stood, and the two of them made their way to the center of the ballroom, where several couples had already begun to dance.

They paused near the edge of the circle of dancers, Aziraphale glancing nervously at Anthony.

He must genuinely want to dance with him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so insistent, but the music was slow, romantic, even. They’d have to be close, Anthony would have to put a hand on Aziraphale’s waist. They’d have to hold hands. Which Anthony must know as well. He could certainly see the other couples dancing before them.

Anthony gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then stepped into the circle, looking back at Aziraphale, waiting for him to follow.

He did, and Anthony placed a hand on Aziraphale's waist, his touch feather light. Gentle.

It felt surreal. 

This was Anthony, the real Anthony, with a hand on his waist, the other up, ready for him to take it. Ready to dance with him.

Why? Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder. Is this real? Am I dreaming?

Honestly, at this point he wasn't sure, and he lifted his hand, ready to take Anthony’s, but hesitated. Should he? Was this okay? Probably, if Anthony was currently holding his waist but-

“It's alright, angel,” Anthony murmured. There was a small, soft smile on his lips. “It's alright, I promise.”

Aziraphale let his hand slide into Anthony’s, his other hand pressing against Anthony's waist. And they began to dance.

He swallowed hard.

It meant something that Anthony was willing to do this, though Aziraphale wasn't sure he wanted to consider what. Such thoughts were dangerous, if what had occurred last night was any indication.

Anthony didn't like him, at least, not like that. Aziraphale was almost certain of this—though this dance was shaking that certainty a bit—and that was fine. Aziraphale was more than alright with it as long as it meant their friendship remained intact. 

“Angel, I wanted to talk to you,” Anthony murmured after a few moments, and Aziraphale immediately began to panic.

Not now. Oh, please, don't bring that up now , of all times. Don't ruin this dance.

“Listen, about last night-”

Oh… why ?

“I, I know. I'm sorry, I…” Aziraphale swallowed hard. “I promise, it’s-”

“Angel, it’s al-” 

“It's nothing too serious, really. I- I'll be perfectly fine just carrying on as normal if you are.”

“Aziraphale, that's not-”

“I, I just don't want-”

Aziraphale was promptly cut off as Anthony's hand slid from his to grab his lapels instead, pulling him in, and-

And his lips were on his. Anthony was kissing him.

The real Anthony was kissing him, right here at a ball, surrounded by people, but Aziraphale couldn't be bothered to care about any of them or if they were watching. 

Anthony was kissing him. And his heart was racing, and Anthony's lips were so soft against his own, and his hands were shaking, and what was he supposed to do?

He squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around Anthony, fingers pressing into the fabric of his suit for a moment, but then the nerves took hold and he let them fall away. It was all so very, very fast.

And then Anthony pulled back, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s own.

The kiss had left Aziraphale breathless, practically gasping as Anthony pulled away. His heart was pounding, reminding him quite a lot of those moments with the creature he had thought to be his friend. It was wonderful. Truly, it was. But it was also far too much all at once and Aziraphale had hardly had a moment to fully process it all before he watched confusion fall over Anthony's face. Then something like hurt.

“I…” Aziraphale didn't know what to say. What should he say to reassure him that it was alright? That he just hadn't been prepared, that he-

Anthony turned away, and Aziraphale was too stunned to stop him. Just watched as he navigated the crowd, heading towards the door. But he did reach up, pressing his fingers to his lips, trying to recreate the kiss as he watched him disappear into the mass of colorful fabrics.

He found it failed to capture even an ounce of the same feeling.

Notes:

Hey guys.
So, uh... they kissed! Have they stopped pining? Somehow, no!
Yeah so y'know originally my idea for this chapter was that the lead up to the kiss would be from Crowley's pov and then during and after would be Aziraphale's but the more I was writing it the more that just wasn't happening. But I do want you all to know, from Crowley's pov this kiss is not nearly as sudden. He was thinking about it long before they even got to the ball. Like he was smiling that whole time they were talking, he was SO HAPPY, but Aziraphale wasn't looking at him so he doesn't see it.
Also, happy go3 filming day!! Fingers crossed we get some hair dye pics soon. Pls Michael, Anna, and Georgia, we need crumbs 🙏🏻
Oh yeah, also do you guys remember when I would post tws before certain chapters? It feels like it was so long ago. Anyway, those are coming back next chapter.

Chapter 26

Notes:

Hello hello! I have discovered I way to hide spoilers (they're minor spoilers, but still). So, under here are the tws for the next few chapters or so. I'll just copy and paste this in the beginning notes until they're no longer needed.

Hover or Click to show tws kidnapping, violence, blood

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony had fucked up.

He had been so, so sure. He had thought what he’d seen last night in Aziraphale’s eyes had been desire, but clearly, he had misread something. Misread a lot of somethings, if Aziraphale’s reaction to that kiss was any indication.

And Anathema too, apparently, had been wrong.

Oh, God. Anathema had been wrong.

Aziraphale hadn’t liked it. He hadn’t liked the kiss, and now he knew that Anthony was in love with him and he didn’t feel the same like Anthony had thought. It was all one big mess.

He couldn’t stay there, at the ball, not after that, so he’d found his way to the nearest tavern, taken a shot of whiskey, because God, did he need one, and had sat at one of the tables, trying to come up with a way to fix it.

We can just… We can ignore it, right? Maybe Aziraphale just won’t say anything and we can pretend nothing ever happened. 

He motioned for the bartender to get him another shot. Maybe he should just get a bottle. Actually, that was probably a good idea.

He ordered one and tossed the bartender a few copper, then promptly downed his shot and groaned.

Would Aziraphale find him here, he wondered. He hoped not. He had specifically gone to a tavern because, well, he needed a drink, but also so maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t know where to look for him. He needed a moment alone. Needed time to think and figure all of this out so maybe when Aziraphale did confront him, Anthony could find the words to make sure he wouldn’t hate him. Their friendship was salvageable, it had to be. He just needed to say the right thing.

The bartender returned with his bottle of whiskey and Anthony took a long drink.

Or we could run, his traitorous brain supplied. Would be easy enough to slip away right now and never look back. Never see the prince again. It had always been his solution before.

But he couldn't do that, not this time. He couldn't run from Aziraphale, not when he had been so kind to him. He had to face this. But what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to tell him?

Anthony took another drink.

Maybe I'll just… stay here for an hour or so, and then… go back to the hideout. Aziraphale would probably find him there, but at least he'd have had a moment to try and collect his thoughts.

He could do this. It wouldn't be that hard-

The door to the tavern opened, and Aziraphale hesitantly stepped inside.

Anthony fought the urge to let his head fall back with a groan.

He sank a bit deeper into his seat instead, hoping maybe Aziraphale wouldn't see him, but it seemed his eyes immediately locked onto him as he gave a brief scan of the room. Anthony supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. He was wearing a white suit, a snake themed masquerade mask, and a pair of sunglasses.

He was on his way over the moment he saw him and Anthony had all of a few seconds to think of something to say, perhaps why he blurted, “I'm sorry about the kiss,” the moment Aziraphale stopped before his table.

He couldn't even bring himself to look up and meet his gaze. Didn't want to know what expression he had on his face right now.

“Actually, I-”

“I shouldn't’ve done it,” Anthony plowed onward, hardly hearing him. “It was just… It was a mistake, I don't know. I didn't mean it, really. I'm sorry.”

His words were greeted with silence. Then a soft, “Oh. Of… of course. Right.”

There was something in that tone Anthony couldn't quite place, but it certainly didn't sound happy. Certainly didn't sound like he believed it. So all that had done was solidify to Aziraphale that he did, in fact, have feelings for him. Wonderful.

“I, um… I think I need to go, actually,” Aziraphale murmured, and Anthony certainly didn't stop him. Instead he waited until he heard the door open, then shut again, then promptly let his head fall into his hands.

*    *    *

Aziraphale didn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry. He told himself that as he walked through the darkened streets without any particular destination in mind.

He was running, he knew. Running from the realization that Anthony didn't actually feel the same way like he'd thought he did. Running because Anthony thought their kiss had been a mistake, and he couldn't face that with the man sitting right there in front of him. He didn't know where he was and it didn't matter. He just needed to be away from there.

It was all fine. They could get back to normal after all of this. Right? Surely they could find some way to just… ignore it all. Right?

Oh, Aziraphale hoped so. He wasn't sure what he'd do otherwise.

It was several long minutes before his head had cleared enough for him to begin to take in his surroundings. Unsurprisingly he did not recognize them, and this particular street had no lanterns lining it.

Aziraphale continued on a bit more nervously, far more conscious of where he was going now. The last time he'd been alone at night he'd ended up nearly being that creature’s dinner, he didn't want to risk anything similar happening this time.

He turned down another unfamiliar street, suddenly wishing he had perhaps paid a bit more attention to where he'd been heading. Perhaps it would have been better to sit in uncomfortable silence with Anthony. Now he was lost in the middle of the night and Anthony had no idea where he was. There was no way he could find him. Aziraphale was on his own.

But he had gotten lost and found his way back once before, he could do it again. He just had to stay calm. Had to-

A footstep sounded behind him and Aziraphale whirled, expecting… Well, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. He supposed, best case scenario, he'd see Anthony there. And hope that he was the real one. Oh, perhaps that wasn't the best case scenario.

Instead, he found no one at all.

He swallowed hard and continued onward, turning down another street, then another.

Another footstep sounded, and Aziraphale whirled, this time watching a figure duck behind a wall, out of sight.

A small gasp escaped him, and he went very very still.

He was being followed.

Oh…. What was he supposed to do? How did one get away in situations like this? He shouldn't run, right? That would only let them know that he knew they were there. He needed to stay calm. He needed to breathe, and try to relax, and… Oh, why had he left the safety of the tavern?

He turned slowly and continued his walk, scanning frantically for anything he recognized, buildings, street signs, anything at all, and coming up empty.

A glance behind him revealed two figures now, following at a casual pace.

Aziraphale swallowed hard.

He had to get out of here. He had to find someplace safe. But all the buildings around him were dark. Most of them looked to be people’s homes. 

Perhaps he could go to one, try to get help. Maybe someone would-

The footsteps behind him began to quicken, and Aziraphale sped up too, glancing back to reveal they were closing in.

He needed to think of something and quickly, but though he glanced frantically around, nothing stood out to him. There was nothing and no one around that would be of any help, but the footsteps were getting closer and- Oh, he didn't have time.

He ducked into the nearest alley and ran, taking turn after turn, hoping he could perhaps lose them in the maze. Ideally, he supposed he'd find a place to duck into and hide, but it seemed that wasn't in the cards for him this time. Instead, as he turned a corner, he was greeted by a brick wall.

He futilely pressed a hand against it, trying to find some place to get a hold, some way to climb up and over it, but the bricks were smooth and the wall went well over his head.

He turned around, ready to try and find a different path, only to be blocked by his pursuers.

They both retrieved daggers. 

One of them grinned. 

“Oh… Fuck .”

*    *    *

It was late when Anthony stumbled out of the tavern. 

He was certain Aziraphale would be back at Anathema's by now, he had no reason to go anywhere else, so Anthony made his way to the hideout instead, figuring it was probably best to avoid him for now. 

Tomorrow. He could face him tomorrow. Once he was sober and hopefully not a complete and total mess.

The climb was difficult when he was drunk, but he managed it. Slowly and clumsily, he got up and through the window, falling onto the floor with a groan.

He laid there for a long moment. Breathing. Waiting for the world to stop spinning before pushing himself up, and sitting back against the wall.

He needed to sleep.

He needed to sleep, and then he could wake up tomorrow, maybe to Aziraphale there by his side, worried about him, even still, if he was lucky, and they could talk and figure everything out.

He pushed himself to his feet with a groan, heading towards the stairs, placing hand on the wall as he walked slowly down them, trying to step carefully.

He still missed a step about half way down and ended up tumbling down the remaining stairs, landing hard at the base, the breath immediately knocked from his lungs, leaving him coughing and sputtering for several long seconds before he finally got a breath in.

He laid there for a long while, letting his breathing slow, then turned onto his side with a low groan. 

He slammed a fist against the stone, hardly even feeling the pain. “Fuck!”

He didn't get up. 

He was exhausted, and hurting and drunk, and right now, all he wanted was to sleep. To sleep and forget any of this had ever happened. Maybe he would wake up and it had all been a dream.

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he awoke who knew how long later to light streaming in from the top of the stairs.

He squinted against it, raising a hand to blot it out, then slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at the aching in his head.

He glanced around him, noting his face was bare, and picked up his glasses from where they'd fallen onto the floor, putting them on.

Aziraphale had not come to find him, and Anthony swallowed hard at the realization. He must have been upset, then. Upset enough not to care where Anthony had been all night.

Anthony loosed a heavy sigh.

It was strange, this. A feeling that should've been familiar to him. He supposed it was, but it was one he hadn't felt in a long while now. Not since he had met Aziraphale. 

But as he sat there, head absolutely aching, his body still hurting from the fall last night, and sadness washing over him in waves, he felt so impossibly, suffocatingly , alone.

He didn't want to move. Didn't want to get up and go back to Anathema's, where Aziraphale no doubt waited for him.

Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he had already packed his bags and decided to continue on without him. Maybe Anthony should just cut his losses while he could and take up a contract to get the money for Alpha Centauri instead.

But it was his job. 

It was his job to protect that precious angel, and he intended to do it, so long as Aziraphale let him.

He slowly pushed himself to his feet and left the building, heading back to Anathema's.

The shop was open by the time Anthony returned, and Anathema was behind the counter, but no one else was present.

Her face fell a bit as he entered, eyes turning concerned.

Anthony could only imagine how awful he looked right now. 

Water. That’s what he needed.

He started towards the kitchen, giving Anathema a wave, not even bothering to look up as he passed. He heard her start to follow, though.

He grabbed a glass and filled it, taking a long drink as Anathema came up beside him, asking gently, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Anthony lied, then brought the glass to his lips again, finishing it off.

“Anthony, what happened?”

“Nothing. Where's Aziraphale?” He must have heard him enter by now. He knew he was here, so why hadn't he come out? Was he truly so upset that he didn't even want to see him?

Confusion clouded Anathema's gaze. “He… He wasn't with you?” 

Anthony went very, very still. Set the glass slowly down on the counter. “I haven't seen him since last night, did he… He didn't come back?”

“I- Not that I saw-” Anthony’s blood went cold and he was walking around Anathema before she could finish, going to the backroom room and flinging open the door.

All of Aziraphale's things were there, sitting beside his cot, just as they had been before they left for the ball.

Aziraphale was not.

The world around Anthony went quiet. The only sound was that of his own breathing, becoming more labored by the second as his eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign that someone had been here.

There wasn’t one.

Aziraphale wasn't here. He clearly hadn't been here since yesterday, before the ball, and he hadn't gone to their hideout so where was he? He had no reason to go anywhere else and he wouldn't leave, not without all of his things, certainly not without his books. 

Something must have happened.

No. Don't you do this to me. Don't you dare.

“Anthony,” Anathema’s voice sounded far away.

“I don't… I don't know where he is,” Anthony breathed, more to himself than anything. “I…”

“I'm sure he's fine,” Anathema reassured, but Anthony hardly heard her as he turned, heading right back out the door.

He didn't know what he was looking for, he didn't know where Aziraphale had gone, he didn't know anything . Except where he'd last seen him.

He was back at that same tavern within half an hour, and had spent the entire walk searching for anything at all that could lead him to Aziraphale, but found nothing.

Where had he gone? Where could he possibly have gone?

Though Anthony couldn't help but remember that creature. Had it found him again? Had it… taken him this time? 

No. No, that can't be right. He's far too brilliant to fall for that again.

But something must have happened to him. He wouldn't just leave him like this. He would have, at the very least, come back for his things. And Anthony would like to think he would have told him goodbye.

He didn't go into the tavern, but he walked around it, looking for any clues, literally anything at all that could somehow lead him to Aziraphale.

He found nothing.

“Shit.” He left the alley, heading down the street, a different direction than he'd come, looking for absolutely anything , desperate, his hands beginning to shake, because what if he wasn't alright? What if he was very, very not alright and Anthony couldn't find him to help him? What if something terrible had happened? What if he…

Anthony swallowed. He wouldn't let himself finish that thought. He had lost far too much already, he couldn't even entertain the idea that he had lost him too.

He would find him. Whatever it took, he would find him, and he would help him, save him, whatever he needed. He would keep him safe.

I should have followed him. I never should have let him go alone.

He should have known. It was dangerous out here, especially at night, if that creature they'd encountered was any indication. He’d just thought… Well, he supposed he hadn’t really been thinking about much of anything, besides how miserable he was. And now Aziraphale was gone and he had no idea where he was or how to find him or if he was alright or even still alive .

“Argh, fuck !” he yelled, and everyone in the vicinity immediately looked towards him. He hardly even noticed.

He didn't know. He didn't know where Aziraphale was, where he should look for him, or what had happened to him. He could be hurt and Anthony would have no idea.

How am I gonna find him? Anthony couldn't help but think. How, when I have no idea-

A different thought entered his mind, or, rather, a memory. Though I suppose, if we ever need anyone found, we can find him at Hogback Lane.

Anthony didn’t like the thought of involving Adam and his friends in this. He had a feeling there was something going on here, something dangerous, and he didn’t want them to get hurt.

But he was desperate.

He needed help.

He went up to the nearest person walking along the street and asked them for directions.

Notes:

Friends, I have fallen ill.
It's a minor cold, honestly. I'm fine. But it's annoying and I do NOT like it. But alas, the angst must go on.
These two miscommunicate like crazy. I'm like guys, can you have an actual conversation for ONCE omg. I say as if I did not write this.
One day, guys. One day, I promise they will talk, but that day is not today.

Chapter 27

Notes:

Hover or Click to show tws kidnapping, violence, blood

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale didn’t know where he was. 

His captors had blindfolded and bound him almost immediately after they’d cornered him in that alley. He knew they had left town as he had recognized the familiar softness of grass and the crunch of sticks. And then he’d been brought inside and was led through some sort of building, though he couldn’t gauge anything about it in his current state.

A door opened, and Aziraphale was promptly dragged into a room then shoved to the ground, and he landed onto the wood floor with an oof .

Hands grabbed his shoulders before he could even begin to get his bearings, dragging him to a nearby wall and shackling his hands, and then the blindfold was ripped away, revealing that he was in a dark room. There were windows, two of them, in fact, but he could only see slivers of moonlight filtering in through the boards that had been nailed over them, either to keep him inside or to keep intruders out. Or both, maybe. And he could see as he frantically scanned the space, two other prisoners, as well the two people who had dragged him in here.

They stood over him, and one started to walk away, but the other, one holding a lantern, said, “Oi. Don’t forget to check his eyes.”

The man scoffed, but paused and turned back. “We’re never gonna find him. Don’t know why we bother looking.”

“‘Cause they pay us to look, now just do it.”

The man knelt and leaned in a bit closer, and Aziraphale instinctively moved back, glancing between them both, eyes wide, waiting to see what they might do.

“They’re blue,” he said, standing and turning to his companion. “Told ya.”

“We still gotta check. You know that.” They nodded towards the door. “Come on. We got ransom notes to get ready.”

And then they were gone, and Aziraphale loosed a sigh. 

He glanced slowly around the space. Blinking. Trying to adjust his eyes to the near total darkness.

He could just barely see the outline of the two prisoners here with him, but neither of them spoke, not yet, and Aziraphale wasn’t too keen to break the silence. So, with nothing better to do, he found himself thinking about everything that had just transpired.

These people were looking for someone, that much was clear. Someone with a certain color of eyes that, apparently, wasn’t blue. But who were they looking for, and how would they know they’d found them? There were lots of people with the same eye color. In fact, the only person he’d ever met with eyes different enough to be immediately recognizable was Anthony. 

But that was ridiculous. These people couldn’t be looking for him. They weren’t assassins, clearly. They hadn’t killed him or the other prisoners in this room.

So who were they? And who were they looking for? And who was paying them to do it?

Aziraphale wasn’t even sure it mattered, not right now. Not when he and two other innocent people were being held captive here. But he couldn’t deny, he found himself curious. 

This must have been where all those missing people had gone. These people were taking them in search of some mystery person, who, apparently, had unique eyes, at the behest of ‘ they .’ And Aziraphale had no possible clue who that could be. 

The missing people had certainly been worrying, but he hadn’t realized it had been like this. No, there was far more going on here than anything he could have possibly foreseen. And he certainly was not prepared to tackle it now.

No, what he needed to do first was to find a way out of this place. Once he was free perhaps he could find a guard. Maybe they could help.

He lightly pulled at the chains around his wrists, but they, unsurprisingly, didn't budge. And though he had the pin in his hair, he most certainly couldn't reach it.

He was stuck here and… what was it they’d said about ransom notes? Were they… going to try and get his parents to pay for his return?

He supposed from their point of view it was a rather good idea. What else was one to do with a captured prince? But from where he was standing he was fairly certain his parents did not care enough to pay any amount of money for him. They likely had barely even noticed his absence at all.

What would they do if his parents didn't care? Would they kill him? Torture him?

He wasn't sure, but he certainly didn't want to wait around and find out. And as much as he wished Anthony would come to his rescue, he also knew Anthony had no idea where he was, and he wasn’t too sure he even cared to find out, after everything. Aziraphale was going to have to find a way out himself. But he supposed with a glance at the other two people with them, he wasn’t alone. They could work together somehow, surely. And Aziraphale had his hairpin. All he needed was a moment with his hands free to reach it. Perhaps the other two prisoners could help with that somehow. Maybe the woman to his left could reach him if he laid down and could grab the pin for him. 

He supposed it was an idea.

She looked over at his attention and a look of recognition crossed her face.

“You,” she said. “You’re a prince, aren’t you?”

“I… Indeed I am, yes.” She was older than Aziraphale, likely in her fifties, and she looked absolutely terrified. Aziraphale could see what looked to be dark circles around her eyes but he couldn’t tell if they were bruises or simply side effects of utter exhaustion.

He supposed it went without saying, but still felt compelled to ask, “Are you alright?”

She gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Not at all. Yourself?”

Aziraphale gave a small self-deprecating smile. He supposed he’d earned that. “You know, you'd think the tolerance for such things for someone of my… standing would be very low, but oddly enough, mine has risen quite high,” Aziraphale said. “This exceeds it by miles.”

Not only had he been followed and kidnapped, he had also been kissed, then, very quickly afterward, rejected. 

Perhaps the kiss hadn't been what Anthony was expecting. Hadn't been… good enough. Aziraphale had been a bit hesitant. He was, oftentimes, rather slow to warm up to new things. Perhaps that was the only issue. He had simply been too slow, and now it was too late.

“You know, just a few days ago I'd never felt more free,” Aziraphale murmured. “Now, I feel so very lost.”

“I’m sorry, dove.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, no one’s fault but my own, really. I… I was a fool to think…” that he could ever love me. That I could make it out here, on my own.

The silence stretched out for a long moment, the woman, perhaps, waiting for him to finish that sentence. 

He never did.

“Well, I’m sorry anyways,” she murmured. “You’re a prince, though. Should have guards here in no time looking for you.”

“Oh, no one’s coming for me, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said, and watched the hope in her eyes fade. “But I…” He lowered his voice, just in case there was anyone standing guard outside the room. “I have a way that I could at least free us from these chains, but I’m afraid it requires some specific circumstances.”

The woman broke out into a smile. “I’m listening.”

*    *    *

Anthony found Adam and his friends playing in his backyard and tried his best to subtly get their attention. He didn't need Adam's parents noticing him, or worse, that R. P. Tyler fellow.

Thankfully, the kids caught sight of him fairly quickly and paused their game to meet him at the fence.

“Hello. Are you alright?” Adam asked.

“Not really,” Anthony said. “Look, you can find people right?”

“Well, we can help you look,” Adam answered. “We know everyone ‘round here, so I don't think it'd be too hard. Who are you looking for?”

“I bet it's the prince,” the boy with a perpetual stain on his shirt said.

“Don't be stupid,” the girl argued.

“No,” Anthony murmured, “he's not stupid, it's…” Anthony sighed. “Yes, it's the prince. We got into a… not an argument, not really, just a… thing. He walked away from me and I didn't follow and now he's gone.” And who knew where he was or what was happening to him. Anthony swallowed. “I don't know where he is; he could be in trouble, and I-” Anthony stopped there, taking a moment to gather himself, not daring to risk speaking any further just yet, lest his voice break. “Look, I just… I need your help.”

Oh, and that hurt to admit, didn't it? And to a group of eleven-year-olds, no less. Christ, was he really asking children to endanger themselves? “But you have to be careful ,” Anthony said. “Stay together, don't go out after dark, and if you feel like something's wrong chances are something is , so if you feel anything like that just go home or… to Anathema’s shop if it's closer, just anywhere safe , have you got that?”

All four of them nodded, looking a bit more trepidatious now, and Anthony quickly added, softer, “If you find anything, head to Anathema's. If I'm not there, you can tell her, she’ll let me know when I get back, okay?”

They nodded. “And if you're in trouble, if you need help and you end up at Anathema's, I will escort you all home, alright? I won't let anything happen to you.”

They all looked at each other. Nodded as they came to one conclusion. And then Adam said to the group, “Alright. We need our bicycles.”

Anthony gave the kid a grateful nod, and he smiled before following his friends. 

Brave kid. Smart. He reminded him quite a lot, actually, of his sister, and his chest ached a little at the thought. And as he watched the four of them hop onto their bikes and ride off, he made a silent promise to let no harm come to them. 

He would protect them like he had not done her.

He followed as the kids began biking down the street, climbing up onto a nearby building, keeping his eyes peeled for any danger. And he remained their silent, unseen guardian until the sun began to set and they all went home.

It was then that Anthony climbed down to street level once again.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and began his own hunt.

Notes:

Guys, IT IS NOT A MILD COLD, I REPEAT IT IS NOT A MILD COLD. I don't know WHAT it is but it's not that. I've had a mild (like 99.6) fever that's been on and off for some reason? I've never had a fever that would go away for like several hours and them come back it's very strange. BUT I finally got some good sleep last night so hopefully it's only up from here 😭
Also, I think soon I am gonna have to go back to posting this fic once a week, unrelated to whatever sickness I have right now. I have slowed down on it considerably because I uh may have started writing another fic, sooo I might be working on three at once right now. But listen I have adhd okay so when I get an idea like this it holds me hostage and I HAVE to follow it and I just think, the more fic the better, y'know? So, if you like what I write just know you will be well fed here cause I am ALWAYS writing something.

Chapter 28

Notes:

Hover or Click to show tws kidnapping, violence, blood

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony found nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He had been out there all night and was now utterly exhausted, and he had nothing .

He loosed a long sigh as he trudged into Anathema’s shop. She was just opening, it seemed, but he didn't have the energy to even acknowledge her as he walked past, heading down the hall, aiming for the backroom.

“Anthony,” she said, but he ignored her, his hand closing around the handle just as hers landed on his arm, making him pause. “It’s going to be alright.”

Anthony sighed, his shoulders slumping. “What if he’s hurt, Ana?”

“Then I’ll take care of him,” she said simply.

“That’s assuming I’ll find him.”

“You will.”

Anthony swallowed hard. “But… I have no idea where he is. He might not even be in Tadfield anymore. How am I supposed to…?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I have faith that you will.”

Anthony could only hope she was right. He appreciated her faith in him, though.

“Get some rest,” Anathema said, her hand sliding from his arm and Anthony opened the door. “You need it.”

“Yeah,” Anthony murmured. Nodded. “Yeah.” But how was he supposed to rest when Aziraphale was out there somewhere, probably terrified, maybe even hurt, and alone?

“I’ll look for him too,” Anathema said. “Newt and I, we’ll go out today and see what we can find.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. He’s my friend too.”

Anthony only nodded, far too tired to do or say anything else. God, he just wanted him back. He didn't care if he didn't feel the same, he didn't even care if they couldn't be as close as they'd been. Hell, he didn’t care if Aziraphale absolutely hated him. He just wanted him safe.

“And be careful,” Anthony murmured. “I don’t know who took him, but they’re clearly dangerous, whoever they are.” 

“I will. I promise.”

Anthony supposed he had no choice but to believe her.

He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him before laying down on his cot with a groan. He set his glasses aside, running a hand over his face.

I hope you're alright, angel, he thought, as if Aziraphale could somehow hear him. I promise, I'm looking for you. I will do whatever I can to get you back, and I won't let anything happen to you ever again, alright? I'll keep you safe.

He let his eyes fall closed with a sigh and soon drifted off into sleep.

*    *    *

It was afternoon when Anthony awoke to the sound of someone cooking, reminding him he hadn’t eaten the day before. Far too busy looking for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, who remained missing.

Anthony let out a groan, running a hand over his face, wishing this nightmare could just be over already. He just wanted him safe. Why couldn’t they just be safe? Why couldn’t they be happy?

He sat up though, slowly getting to his feet.

Aziraphale still needed him, and Anthony would not rest until he knew he was alright.

He went into the kitchen, finding Newton standing there, to his surprise. Anathema must have been running the shop, then.

“Find anything?” he asked as he grabbed an apple out of a nearby bowl. He didn’t have time for a full meal, not when Aziraphale was in trouble.

Newt turned to him, a bit startled, it seemed. “Er, no, sorry. We asked around, but no one knew much of anything.”

Anthony couldn’t say he was surprised.

He started to walk away as Newton continued, “People have been going missing for months. No one knows where they’re taken. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they don’t.”

Anthony paused, apple halfway to his mouth, and turned back. “For… for months? Aziraphale’s not the only one?”

“Oh, you… didn’t know?” Newt questioned. “There are posters all over town-”

It was then that Anthony remembered. “Ah, the missing posters ! Of course! I saw them before; I didn’t-” He tipped his head back with a groan. “I should’ve known something was wrong right then!”

Newt just stared at him awkwardly, likely unsure of how to respond. Anthony supposed he couldn’t blame him.

“And they… You said they come back?” Anthony asked, only just now processing the second half of what Newt had said. “Why? They’re just… let go?”

“I think so. I’ve heard people mentioning ransoms before. I guess if they pay them, they let them go.”

And that was… That was at least something to go off of. 

“And… the guards don’t do anything?” Anthony questioned, though he wasn’t sure he could say he was surprised. He figured he may as well cover all his bases, though. If, somehow, none of the locals had alerted the guards, Anthony could use that as a last resort. Then, at the very least, even if Aziraphale was brought back to the castle, he’d be safe.

“We’ve told them,” Newt said, dashing Anthony’s hopes. “They, er, had a look around for a few nights, found nothing, and then gave up.”

Anthony gave a noise of distaste. “Sounds about right.”

Anthony turned and headed towards the shop's entrance, giving a hum as he pondered, So they’re ransoming Aziraphale. Probably. But they wouldn’t send that letter to Anthony. Probably didn’t even know who he was. They would send it to the castle instead and… Would his parents pay it?

Anthony wasn’t sure. He supposed they certainly had the money to, but from the way Aziraphale had spoken of them before, he wasn’t sure if they would care enough to. And if they didn’t…

Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they don’t.

Anthony swallowed hard. He had to find him, and he had to hurry , before they made their choice and word got back.

Surely there was someone around here who saw something . If this had been going on for months and they were holding people for ransom, someone had to have slipped up eventually. Maybe they were keeping quiet to save their own neck, but Anthony didn’t care. He would find them and he would figure this all out, and he would start with Mr. Neighborhood Watch.

*    *    *

Aziraphale had a plan.

Well, he had an approximation of a plan. The closest to a full fledged plan he could get with what little information he had. 

He could only hope that it worked, though what he would do once he was out, he wasn’t sure. Probably head back to Anathema’s for a start. Then, if Anthony was still there, well… he didn't quite know.

He hoped he was still there, though. Hoped that he hadn’t given up on him.

Aziraphale had not spoken to the other two captives in the room much, not since they’d made their plan, anyway, but they seemed nice enough. Certainly not deserving of this, and he was determined to help them in whatever way he could. To ensure they made it back to their families safe and sound.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what time it was when their captors entered the room—three of them, this time—but judging by the warmer light filtering in through the gaps in the boards it was morning.

They handed them all a plate of something Aziraphale was certain was meant to be food, though it hardly looked edible, let alone appetizing. But he was also quite hungry and he doubted the food was getting any better.

They unshackled him, and Aziraphale rubbed at his sore wrists.

The man didn't leave, though. Just stood over him, not watching too closely but certainly watching . Aziraphale needed his focus elsewhere if this plan was going to work.

He hesitantly picked up the wooden cutlery—a spoon—they had so graciously provided for them. Though, Aziraphale supposed they were probably lucky to get any at all.

The man seemed to mostly ignore him now, and Aziraphale glanced over at him in between bites. He had a very small window, he knew. The man was still watching, just not nearly as closely. He needed to be careful and do this quickly, quietly, and subtly.

He waited until the man glanced away again, then reached into his hair, as if scratching an itch. Something small, inconsequential, and easily looked over.

His fingers curled around the pin.

Alright, there we go. Now we just have to-

A hand closed around his wrist, and Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s this now?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said. “Nothing at all.”

The pin was promptly pried from his fingers. “Oh, really?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I… Well, I, I was-”

The man didn't bother to wait for an explanation, just struck him and pain burst over his nose, warm liquid running from his nostrils. 

Hands were grabbing his lapels before he even had a chance to process the fact that he was bleeding, shoving him back against the wall.

“I know where you're from you probably get whatever you want whenever you want it,” the man growled. I really, really don't. Not like you might think , Aziraphale thought, but held his tongue. Wouldn't have had time to get a word in anyway because the man continued, “You're not gonna find that here. You're lucky we find you more useful to us alive.”

He gave him one final shove, then stood up, pocketing the pin, and took a few steps back.

Aziraphale touched a hand to his bleeding nose, watching the man nervously, but he said nothing else. He did watch Aziraphale closely for the rest of the meal, but Aziraphale had no more tricks up his sleeve. He had only brought one pin with him, and he wasn’t confident the three of them could overpower these guards.

They soon shackled them all again and left without a word.

Aziraphale loosed a long sigh, letting his head fall back against the wall.

The hairpin was gone. The one hope he'd had of getting out of here was now in the pocket of one of their captors, probably well on its way to the garbage.

They were doomed. 

Well, he was doomed. The others, he supposed, still had a chance, but there was no way Aziraphale was getting out of this without that pin. Though, he supposed there was a chance Anthony was looking for him. Now, whether or not he'd find him, Aziraphale wasn't sure, but… surely he was looking, right? Even if he didn't share the same feelings Aziraphale did, he clearly still cared for him. Surely he wouldn't want any harm to befall him. Right?

But maybe he didn't even know he was in trouble. Maybe he'd left that tavern shortly after Aziraphale had and never looked back.

Either way, Aziraphale supposed it wasn't something he could count on.

“Aziraphale?” he looked up at his name, finding the woman watching him. “Are you alright?”

“I don't believe so, no,” Aziraphale murmured. His nose had stopped bleeding, at least, though he could still feel the way the blood had dried above his upper lip. It was quite bothersome, actually. Itchy.

“Was that the only hairpin you had?”

Aziraphale loosed a sigh, his eyes falling closed. “Yes, I'm afraid it was.” He swallowed. “I, I'm so very sorry, my dear, but I'm sure you'll be-”

“It's alright, dove,” she said, and Aziraphale looked up to see she was holding up something small and metal. There was a smile on her lips. “I've got one too.”

Aziraphale's eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, that's perfect. Can you throw it here?”

“Well, I can try.” Her brows furrowed as she gauged the distance between them. “Can’t guarantee I can make it to you.”

“Just try to get it as close to my hands as possible, please,” Aziraphale said.

She gave a nod, then took a deep breath, readying herself, and tossed the pin.

It landed with a ting just off to Aziraphale’s left and he turned, straining slightly, his fingers closing around it.  

He loosed a breath of relief and curled it into his fist, ensuring it was fully hidden from view behind his back, but he didn’t try and break free of his chains, not yet. That should be done later, after dark. Then they would make their escape attempt and hope and pray that all went well.

“You gonna get us out of here, then?” the young man sitting against the right wall spoke up.

“In good time,” Aziraphale said. “We must be careful, and wait for the most opportune moment.” He intended to get them all out of here, and preferably without causing much of a ruckus. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, not himself or either of his fellow prisoners, but he would defend them if he had to. To his very last breath, he would.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

*    *    *

Mr. Neighborhood watch, it turned out, knew next to nothing. He knew about the people going missing, of course. Apparently that was the reason why he became the Neighborhood Watch in the first place, though Anthony guessed that had been more of an excuse to be incredibly nosy.

So Anthony had started going through a list of people he knew here who would be willing to talk to him. Admittedly, the list was very short, but he had to try something.

He started at the fancy restaurant he and Aziraphale had eaten at not too long after they’d arrived in town. They recognized him. Not too surprising, considering there weren’t many people around who wore dark glasses all the time, and they seemed to like him, oddly enough. They answered his questions the best they could, despite that they seemed to frighten them. He supposed it wouldn’t have mattered even if they hadn't, though. As much as they seemed to want to help him, they didn’t know anything. 

So Anthony had left the shop preparing to continue down the list, knowing each moment he spent looking was another moment where Aziraphale could be hurt.

He was likely terrified and Anthony could do nothing to help him. It was driving him mad. Why did no one have any information? Someone around here had to know something, they had to. Because if not, then what was Anthony supposed to do, intercept a ransom note?

Actually, that wasn’t the worst idea.

How would they send those? Surely not just through the post. They’d probably hire some sort of messenger to do it. Maybe Anthony could find them before they got out of town.

He was genuinely considering giving up on his list in favor of that option when he heard someone call his name, multiple someones, actually, and turned to find Adam and his friends running to catch up to him.

One of the boys was holding something up in his hand, something that looked so very similar to tartan, and Anthony went very still.

“We found something,” Adam panted as the four of them stopped before him, and the boy with the stain held out the tartan cravat Aziraphale had worn to the ball. “We weren’t sure if it’s his,” Adam continued, “but it looked like the bow-tie he’d always wear-”

“No. No, it’s his.” Anthony swallowed and reached out, taking the fabric. Running a thumb over it. “Where’d you find this?”

“It was just back this way. Follow us.”

Anthony did, letting the children lead him down several side streets then, through a maze of alleys, until they got to a brick wall.

They must have chased him here, then. Aziraphale had no reason to be wandering through alleys in the middle of the night. He had been trying to get away, but had ended up cornered.

Anthony glanced around, scanning the various walls, the ground, looking for any other sign Aziraphale had been here or where they’d taken him and coming up empty. But, he supposed, at least there wasn’t any blood.

Still, it didn’t get him any closer to finding him.

He turned to Adam and his friends. “Have you found anything else? Or… heard anything, maybe?” he questioned. “Do you know of anyone else who's missing right now?”

He didn't want to be too much. He knew he was already asking a lot of this group of kids, but he needed something . Any lead at all would do. He just needed somewhere to focus his efforts. But the kids all shook their heads.

“That's alright, just… keep looking,” Anthony said. “And thanks,” he added, holding up the cravat. “For finding this.” Anthony left the alley, shoving the fabric into his pocket, and ran through the mental list he'd made again.

He may as well continue down it. He had no other real leads and he was likely running out of time. He wasn't sure what would happen once that ransom note reached the castle. He supposed, best case scenario, his parents paid it and Aziraphale was let go. And even if that meant he would be taken by guards back to the castle, he would be safe, at least. But with the worst case scenario hanging over their heads, Anthony couldn't possibly risk it.

He had to save him, there was no other alternative.

Still, Anthony wasn't expecting much as he entered Adriel's bookshop. Honestly, he doubted she had any more information than anyone else he'd spoken to, but he didn't have many other options right now. And, he supposed, at the very least, he could return the book.

He certainly didn't want it anymore. And he knew if Aziraphale were here right now, he would want him to give it back.

“Welcome in,” a familiar voice said, and recognition clouded Adriel's gaze as Anthony stepped into view. “Oh, it's you.” She made a face. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” Anthony went to the counter, bracing both hands against it. “Look, I need to ask you some questions.”

“Um, ookay. Are you alright?”

Anthony gave a too-wide smile. “Oh, just perfect. Now,” he tapped a finger against the counter, “do you know about the disappearances?”

Her face immediately shifted, eyes widening briefly in alarm, her posture immediately turning guarded. “I… Of course I do. Everyone does,” she said. “Why?” It wasn't all that different from the other reactions he'd gotten, but it was different in that it was a bit more visceral. And that look in her eyes, Anthony would swear it was fear.

“What do you know?”

“Just… I mean, what everyone knows,” she answered, shrugging, “obviously. Is that it?”

Anthony didn't miss the way her eyes darted around the room as if looking for an escape. 

He shook his head. “No. You know more than that.”

“I… No, I…” She glanced at the door, then sighed and lowered her voice, “Look, what do you want?”

“What I want,” Anthony said, lowering his voice too, “is to find my friend. And I can't do that without information, so if you know something, I need you to tell me.”

Adriel's throat bobbed. “Your friend. You mean… the other one. In the tan coat?”

Anthony nodded. “He disappeared a couple days ago. I’ve been looking for him, but nobody knows anything about these disappearances.”

Adriel nodded. “They’ve covered their tracks well, but…”

Anthony couldn’t help the hope bubbling in his chest. “But…”

She sighed, shot another glance at the door, then moved from behind the counter and flipped the sign on the door to closed. 

“Come with me,” she said, and turned, heading into a backroom, and Anthony went around the counter, following her.

The backroom wasn't quite as cluttered as the shop itself, but there were various stacks of books sitting on the desk and on the chair, which Adriel pushed aside. 

She opened a drawer, retrieving a scrap of paper, which she shoved into Anthony’s hand. “It was dropped off a few days ago.” Anthony looked down at the paper. It was a note, a ransom note, specifically, asking, no, demanding , several hundred gold for the return of Adriel's brother.

“I knew what it meant, so I followed the person who left it,” she said.

Anthony looked up, his eyes widening. “So you know where they are?”

She knew. She knew where he could find them. He could… He could get Aziraphale, get them both out.

“Not exactly,” she admitted. “I almost got caught so I ran. Managed to get away. I know they're not in town, but they must be close.”

“Alright, not in town, but can you give me a direction?” Anthony asked. That was all he needed. Just a way to go, and then he could find where they were keeping Aziraphale and get him out.

Adriel gave him one, and Anthony slapped the note back down, leaving the backroom.

“Wait!” he heard her call after him. “Where are you going?”

“To find my friend,” Anthony said without looking back. “And your brother, apparently.” He certainly wasn't about to leave her to deal with that alone, not after she'd just given him the information that would save Aziraphale.

He left the shop and started in the direction she'd given him.

Notes:

Hello hello!
I am alive, still a little sick, but I'm feeling much better now. I'm like 90% sure it was covid 😒 I don't get sick like that very often and the only other time I did (that I can remember) was when I had that.
But anyway, I am putting Aziraphale in situations. I felt bad about it but alas, it had to be done. Crowley will find him soon, though, don't worry!

Chapter 29

Notes:

Hover or Click to show tws kidnapping, violence, blood

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It did not take Aziraphale long to free them all of their chains. In fact, it had taken him all of a few minutes.

They had spent the past ten, however, grouped up in a corner, trying to form a plan that would get them out of here quietly. The only problem was, none of them knew where they were or, really, the layout of this place. And they didn't know how many people they were up against either. 

Admittedly, it could be no one. They could have all gone home for the night, for all Aziraphale knew. But he had a feeling that wasn't the case. They wouldn't leave three hostages unguarded. But where were the guards? Right outside their door? Spread throughout the building? Both? 

Aziraphale had looked through the gaps in the boards to see that they were out in the middle of nowhere, but he knew they had to be close to Tadfield. If they could just get out of here unscathed, they could make it back without much trouble.

They had been listening for footsteps, voices, trying to glean any information at all, but they'd heard nothing. Aziraphale didn't like it, but the young man beside him was getting antsy, and he knew if they didn't do something and soon, he was going to do something drastic that could potentially ruin their element of surprise. So Aziraphale went to the door and began to pick the lock.

It would be fine. They could navigate the place slowly and quietly, find the exit and leave. It couldn't be that hard, surely.

The lock gave way with a soft click and Aziraphale touched a hand to the doorknob, pressing a finger to his lips, signaling to the others to be quiet.

He opened the door on near silent hinges and peeked out. No guards stood outside it, thankfully, but there was one off to the right, facing away from them, entering a different room. 

Aziraphale could see stairs right in front of him, though he suspected they did not want to go up them. Otherwise, he was faced with a long dark hallway, which turned to the left at the end, illuminated only by a candelabra sitting on a table against a wall, and two closed doors, one of which a guard had just walked into. 

Aziraphale suspected neither of them led to an exit but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to check the, hopefully, unoccupied one.

He led the way down the hall, hearing the others follow behind him. They were being as quiet as they could, Aziraphale knew that, but he couldn't help but wince at every slight creak of the boards beneath their feet knowing at any moment their captors could hear them and decide to come take a look.

They were doing alright so far, though, just as long as-

More footsteps sounded behind them. Coming down the stairs, it sounded like. Aziraphale looked around frantically, lunging for the nearest door. They could hide in there and wait for them to-

It was locked. And he'd swear he heard a small fearful whimper on the other side. 

He let out a quiet gasp. 

There were more prisoners here. 

But Aziraphale didn't have time . He couldn't pick this lock and free them before those guards made it down the stairs. Couldn't even find someplace to hide before…

Oh. Oh, no. He looked for another place to duck into, but the closest door was several feet away, and a guard was currently inside it, and the footsteps weren't stopping and- Oh, he didn't have time.

He grabbed the candelabra and whirled to face the stairs, shoving his companions behind him just as two guards landed on the first floor. They noticed them immediately, one of them muttering, “Shit.”

Aziraphale turned to his companions. “Get back,” he urged. “Go. I'll… buy you some time.”

The woman nodded and grabbed ahold of the boy's arm, pulling him further down the hall and out of sight.

Aziraphale turned back to the guards, now prowling towards him.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, lifting the candelabra threateningly. “I am perfectly prepared to take defensive action should it become necessary. Stay back ,” he growled.

The two guards decidedly didn't, and Aziraphale took slow steps backward as they advanced, glancing around for anything else he could use to perhaps slow them down, but, other than the table, the hallway was empty.

His back hit a wall and he hefted the candelabra a little higher. 

And then as they reached him, Aziraphale swung, hitting one of them in the shoulder, but the other one grabbed his arm as he pulled back, holding it in place.

The other struck him across the face before grabbing his shirt and pressing him back, against the wall, holding him there.

And then he hit him again. Again.

Aziraphale was helpless to stop him. Didn't have a moment to scan his surroundings and look for a way out, and he couldn't possibly fight them. Could hardly even get a breath in.

He felt the candelabra slide from his fingers. Saw the flash of flame from the corner of his eye. 

And then one of the guards yelped, releasing Aziraphale, and the other pulled back, glancing at his friend in confusion. It lasted all of a moment, but Aziraphale took advantage of the distraction to dart away, following where his companions had gone to find they'd left the front door open for him.

He murmured a thank you and ran right through it, his shoes landing on dirt. hearing the two guards following close on his heels.

Just get back to Tadfield.  

That's all he had to do. As long as he could get back there and find Anathema's, he would be safe.

He ran blindly, glancing around for any sign of town, but it was all darkness around him and nearby twigs scratched his cheeks and ripped his suit. There were sounds of shouting behind him.

And then there. He caught sight of a few splotches of light in the distance. Tadfield. 

He ran right for them, hearing his pursuers still hot on his tail.

*    *    *

Anthony had nearly reached the edge of town. It had taken him all of one hour, but he had a clear view of the forest now from a nearby rooftop, and he’d swear he could see smoke in the distance, though it was hard to tell in the dark. 

But, if he had to guess, that was where he needed to go.

Anthony was about to climb down and do just that when he noticed two people running, heading from the forest into town. 

He tilted his head, scanning them both, but the telltale white hair was not present. They seemed to be running from that same column of smoke, though, and if they were who Anthony thought they were…

He needed to get down there quickly.

He started to do just that, but then he caught sight of more movement through the trees.

He froze, yellow eyes frantically scanning the trees. And he'd swear, just for a moment, a flash of white.

Anthony kept watching, squinting against the darkness, and as Aziraphale indeed came into view, immediate relief coursed through him. 

There he was. He was fine. He'd made it out all on his own, and Anthony couldn't help a burst of pride at the thought. 

And then two others followed him, and Anthony's proud smile vanished.

This wasn't over yet. Aziraphale was still in trouble.

The moment his shoes touched cobblestone Aziraphale turned a corner and Anthony followed from the rooftops. He was trying to lose them. Anthony supposed the least he could do was help.

He ran ahead, scanning the alleys, watching the path Aziraphale was taking, searching for the best place to intervene. And then he climbed down, pressed himself against a wall, and waited.

A few moments passed before their footsteps began to fill the space around them, then Aziraphale’s panting breaths reached his ears, and Anthony lunged out from behind the wall, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale just as he passed, pulling him into the alley.

Aziraphale immediately struggled against him, and Anthony had to slap a hand over his mouth murmuring, “It's alright. Angel, it's alright, it's me.”

Aziraphale stilled in his grasp and Anthony watched as his pursuers ran right past, heedless of the two of them, huddled in the darkness.

Anthony waited until their footsteps faded. Then several moments more, until he was sure they were gone.

He released Aziraphale, removing his hand from over his mouth, and Aziraphale turned to face him and Anthony had all of a few moments to scan him.

He looked awful. 

He was terrified and shaking, his once pristine suit now stained and torn. There were scratches along his cheeks and hands, and dark circles under his eyes.

The past two days had not been kind to the poor angel.

Those beautiful blue eyes welled with tears as he took in Anthony, and then he surged forward, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the crook of his neck, and Anthony heard muffled sobs as Aziraphale cried into his shoulder. 

He knew he should probably be comforting him right now. He was crying in his arms after all. And yet all he could ask, demand, really, was, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

It was out of concern, though. If he was seriously injured, Anthony would need to get him back to Anathema's as soon as possible. But Aziraphale didn't answer, so Anthony urged, “ Angel.

“I…” Aziraphale began, “I think I want to go home.”

“Alright. That’s fine. I'll get you back to Anathema's, I just need-”

“No. Not Anathema's,” Aziraphale sniffled. “ Home . Back to the castle.”

Anthony went very still, his face falling.

“I think you were right all along,” Aziraphale murmured. “I'm not cut out for all of this.”

Anthony immediately softened and at last wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, holding him gently. He clearly needed it right now. Comfort. Anthony hadn’t always been the best at that, if the past few minutes were any indication, but he had to try for Aziraphale.

“Hey, none of that, alright?” he murmured. “Angel, you survived. You escaped. That's nothing to sneeze at.”

“Only by luck. And there were others,” Aziraphale breathed. “There were other people there and I couldn't help them.”

Anthony heard his sister's voice again, calling out to him, “Crowley, help!”

“We can still get help, angel, it's alright,” Anthony murmured. “And if…” He swallowed, hating what he was about to say, but if it was what Aziraphale wanted, he would do it. Even if the thought of Aziraphale going back there, dealing with all of those terrible people again, set him on edge. “You know, if you really want to go back to the castle, I'll take you.”

He understood, too. Clearly what he'd just been through had shaken him, and Anthony certainly couldn't blame him for that.

Aziraphale nodded.

Anthony asked again, more gently this time, “Are you hurt? Anything broken? Are you bleeding?”

“I… Nothing broken,” Aziraphale murmured, “and I don't think I'm bleeding. Not anymore, at least.”

No serious injuries then. Good. “Alright. Let's get you back to Anathema's then, yeah?” Anthony said.

Aziraphale nodded, at last peeling himself away from Anthony, wiping weakly at his eyes.

The two of them started down the empty street, Anthony keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of Aziraphale's captors. He would let no more harm come to him. 

After all that, he didn’t even want to let Aziraphale out of his sight , but he was going to have to. This wasn't over yet. There were innocent people getting hurt, and Anthony was determined to put a stop to it.

Anathema was still awake when they arrived, to Anthony's surprise. She’d closed the shop but was sitting at the counter, reading a book.

She looked up as Anthony and Aziraphale entered, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Aziraphale. “You found him.”

She dropped the book on the counter and got to her feet, immediately going to Aziraphale and looking him over for any serious injuries. “Are you okay? We were all so worried about you.”

She didn't wait for a response, just pulled him into a hug, and Aziraphale let out a surprised, “Oh!”

Anthony couldn’t help a small smile as Aziraphale gave Anathema a light pat on the back, saying, “I’m alright, my dear. I’m alright.”

Anathema pulled back and took Aziraphale by the arm, leading him towards the back room. “Here, come on. Let's get you fixed up.”

Aziraphale glanced back, ensuring Anthony was following—he was—but let Anathema pull him along without protest. It seemed he was just as reluctant to leave his side as Anthony.

She sat him down on his cot then promptly left the room again, and Anthony leaned against the wall. He didn't say a word, though. Didn't know what to say, really. He'd kissed him just a couple of days ago, and Aziraphale hadn't liked it. Anthony hadn't seen him since that night at the tavern, but he didn't seem upset with him now. His gaze held no resentment. Just gratitude. Relief, even.

Anthony wasn’t sure what to do with it. Didn’t know where they stood anymore. Were they still friends? Did Aziraphale want to remain friends, or was he just grateful Anthony had come to his rescue?

Anathema returned a few minutes later, a bag of ice in her hand, which she handed to Aziraphale. “This should help with the swelling.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured, pressing the ice to his eye, which was indeed beginning to swell.

Oh, Anthony was going to have to do something about that. He would not let them simply get away with hurting him. “Angel, which one of them hurt you? Do you remember?” he asked.

“I… I'm afraid I don't. I might remember if I saw them, but it was all happening rather fast, I-”

“S’alright,” Anthony pushed off the wall and started for the door. He had to put a stop to it all anyway, whether he knew who hurt him or not. “Keep an eye on him, Ana? I need to go take care of something.”

He didn't wait for her response, just left the room. He trusted her to take care of Aziraphale, and he wouldn't be gone for long. Just long enough to make sure whatever those arseholes had built here in Tadfield crumbled tonight.

She followed him, though, demanding, “Anthony, where are you going?”

Anthony kept on walking. “To end this.”

“How?”

“How I always do.” Anthony threw up his hood.

“These people are dangerous,” Anathema countered.

“So am I.”

“You're not invincible.” Anthony paused before the door and turned back, finding her just a few feet behind him, frustration and, of course, worry in her eyes. 

“Maybe not. But this isn't the first time I've had to deal with a few arseholes. I know what I'm doing,” Anthony said. “And I like my odds.”

Anathema sighed, seemingly realizing he wasn’t going to stop. He was doing this whether she wanted him to or not. “Just be careful.”

“I will. You know I will. But I need you to stay here. I trust you to take care of him, and I need him to be safe right now.”

Anathema nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good. I'll be back soon; try not to worry,” Anthony said, and left the shop.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Our ineffables have reunited once again! But alas, the angst and pining is not over. Soon though, they WILL talk I promise. We're actually really close! Less than five chapters away now.

Chapter 30

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony found his way to the rooftops within a few minutes of leaving.

He had a feeling the people who had hurt Aziraphale would still be out looking for him. It had only been a handful of minutes since Anthony had whisked him away from them, after all. He didn’t think they’d give up on a prize like that so easily. So Anthony made his way back towards where he’d grabbed him, catching sight of one on the way. They must have split up at some point because the man Anthony saw navigating the streets was alone and glancing around slowly, slightly nervous, as he walked.

Perfect.

Anthony followed him for a moment, waiting until he turned down a darkened alley before finding his way down to the street and turning the corner, unnoticed. He didn't retrieve his dagger as he trailed him, silently catching up. With any luck, he wouldn't need it.

He lunged the moment he was close enough, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt and shoving him against a nearby wall, making him let out a startled yelp.

His eyes locked onto Anthony’s and he opened his mouth, likely to call for his friend, wherever he’d gone off to.

“Do not. Say a word,” Anthony growled, and the man clamped his mouth shut, glancing wildly around, eyes wide, looking for help or perhaps a way out. 

He didn't find either.

“Now, I'm gonna ask you some questions, and you are gonna answer them. Honestly . Got that?”

The man nodded vigorously.

“What's your name?” Anthony demanded.

“I, er, Eric,” he answered, then cleared his throat. “Listen, my, my brother and I, we didn't-”

“I don't care,” Anthony said. “What is it you're doing here?”

“We were just trying to get some money, and we heard the, The Four Horsemen were looking for someone, so…” Eric continued talking but Anthony wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, he had gone very still. 

The Four Horsemen.

Blood.

Screams.

Laughter.

The Four Horsemen. What are they doing here? Who are they looking for?

Anthony had a sinking suspicion he knew the answer to that last question.

“Where are they?” he asked, and Eric blinked, confused. 

“I… What-”

“The Four Horsemen, where are they?” Anthony demanded.

“I don't know. They don't tell us,” Eric said. “We're just meant to look for someone named… Crowley? I think.”

Anthony swallowed hard, his suspicion confirmed. They're looking for me. After all this time. All these years they’ve been gone, and now they're looking for me?

Eric’s eyes turned curious as he scanned Anthony's features. “They… said he probably doesn't use it anymore, the name, but to look for someone with yellow eyes,” Eric began slowly, his eyes pausing briefly on Anthony's glasses, then narrowed, as if trying to see beneath them. “They, uh, said he might try to hide them-”

Anthony's dagger was at his throat in a flash. “Shut it!” he hissed.

Eric's mouth snapped shut.

“You're going to go and tell all your friends that your little operation here is over,” Anthony said. “And you are all going to pack your things and leave . I want you all gone by tomorrow morning, and if you're not, you'll find yourselves waking up to guards on your doorstep. Have you got that?”

Eric’s throat bobbed. “Er… Yes. I, I'll do that.”

Anthony stepped back, putting the knife away. “Good. Go.”

Eric slowly peeled himself from the wall and started to walk away but paused near the alley entrance asking, “So… are you him?”

Go !”

Eric took off running from the alley.

Anthony waited until he was gone before loosing a sigh and falling back against the wall.

The Four Horsemen were back. After twenty-five years of total silence, The Four Horsemen having fallen off the grid entirely, they were back. And they were looking for Anthony.

Laughter.

Blood.

“Crowley, help!”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Shoved his shaking hands into his pockets, fingers curling around the tartan cravat still resting there. 

He gave it a squeeze, taking comfort in the small piece of fabric, in the bit of his friend that remained with him now as he pushed off the wall and started back to Anathema's.

*    *    *

Anathema was just leaving the backroom, closing the door softly behind her, when Anthony returned, shoulders slumped with the weight of the information he'd acquired minutes before. 

He was, needless to say, exhausted, but he still paused in the hallway, taking a moment to ask her, “Is he alright?”

“He's fine,” she answered. “He's asleep.”

Anthony nodded. “Good.”

“What about you?”

Anthony gave a smile. It was almost second nature, at this point. To smile and crack a joke when he was hurting. “Well, I'm certainly not asleep if that's what you're asking.”

“That's obviously not what I'm asking.”

Anthony’s smile fell. 

He loosed a sigh, then sat down and pulled off his sunglasses, letting his head fall back against the wall. “I've got dangerous people after me, Ana. Really dangerous people.”

“After you as in on their way here?” Anathema asked, joining him on the floor. She didn’t seem at all alarmed at the prospect. Trusting Anthony, it seemed, to protect them. Anthony wasn’t sure if that trust was misplaced or not, especially when they were dealing with people like this.

Anthony shook his head. “I don't think so, no, but they're looking for me. And I don't think they're gonna stop until they find me.”

He folded his glasses up, hanging them on his shirt.

Anathema asked, “What happens if they find you?”

Just the mere thought of them following him here, or back to one of the inns, or anywhere, really. Having to face them again… Anthony swallowed and answered, “I don't know.” He glanced over at the door to the backroom, thinking of the angel sleeping within. “And I don't think I want to find out.”

Anathema followed his gaze and her features softened, understanding exactly what he meant. “Well, he wants out of the country, right? You can just-”

Anthony shook his head. “No, not anymore. He told me he wants to go back to the castle.”

“What? Why?”

Anthony shrugged. “All of this,” he answered. “I think it scared him. Made him rethink his decision to leave. Can't blame him, really, I wasn't-” Anthony broke off. Sighed. “I wasn't there for him like I should've been.”

“You can't blame yourself.”

Anthony gave a soft laugh. “Oh, I can. I can definitely do that. In fact, I'm very good at that,” he said. “And it is my fault. I'm the reason why he ran off in the first place, I just…” Anthony sighed. “I don't know. I made a mistake and then he was just gone , and I didn't…” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence.

“Anthony, what are you talking about? What mistake?”

“I kissed him.”

The words settled in the air between them for a long moment, and Anthony didn’t dare look over. He wasn’t sure what expression she had on her face but he most definitely did not want to see pity.

Anathema began, “But… then why-”

“He didn't like it.”

Another pause, and then, “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Anthony… I'm so sorry,” she said. “I really thought that he felt the same.”

“Y’know, for a second, so did I,” Anthony murmured. “I dunno. Must have read something horribly wrong.” 

He had reached out and plucked the fruit from the apple tree, and now he was tumbling over that precipice. How badly would it break him when he hit the ground?

“Probably for the best, though. He wants to go home, and now I won't be pulling him away, putting him in danger,” Anthony said. “He'll be safe. Safe as he can be in that castle full of vipers, anyway.”

“But what about you?” Anathema asked.

“I'll be fine. I've got a place to go. Somewhere far away, where I won't be found.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure that I have a place? Yeah,” Anthony answered. “Now, if I won’t be found, that’s a different story. Can’t know that, can I? But I think I’ll be alright.” Anthony shrugged. “The best I can hope for, really.” He waited a beat, letting those words settle before loosing a long sigh. “Honestly, I think the worst part will be that I’m going to miss him.”

He would never see him again, after this. He would get him back home, and then they’d go their separate ways. Anthony would leave, and Aziraphale… Aziraphale wouldn’t forget him, hard to do that, with all they’d been through. Maybe he’d look back fondly at the memories, the nights they spent drinking wine, the laughs they’d shared, but he would never feel the same longing Anthony would.

“You could at least write to him.”

“No.” Anthony shook his head. “Won’t be able to write to you either. Can’t risk being found. Can’t risk these people finding the two of you.” Because he knew if they did, they'd use them to draw him out. Set up a trap that he'd walk willingly into.

“Oh. I guess… Yeah, I understand.”

“I won't forget you, though. Don't worry about that.”

Anathema gave a smile. “I wasn't worried.”

Anthony huffed a laugh, shaking his head. And then he rubbed his hands over his face with a groan. “Right. I need to get some sleep.” He got to his feet, slipping his glasses back on. “Aziraphale and I will be leaving soon. Probably tomorrow. No reason to stick around, especially not when I'm being hunted.”

Anathema nodded. There was a sadness in her eyes, but an understanding, too. He didn't want to see either of them get hurt, especially not over this, and she knew that. 

“Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then,” she said.

Anthony gave a smile that felt far too strained. He wished it didn’t have to be like this. “‘Night,” he murmured.

“Goodnight.” Anthony couldn’t help but think as he entered the backroom, that it felt a little too much like goodbye.

*    *    *

When Aziraphale awoke, it was to the familiar, comfortable warmth of the backroom. He awoke safe, secure and wrapped up in a blanket.

He breathed in deep, laying there for several long minutes, taking it all in, listening to the sounds of Anthony moving through the kitchen, preparing breakfast for him—it smelled like crêpes—as if nothing had happened at all. As if he'd never been ripped away, however briefly.

The normalcy had Aziraphale's eyes welling with tears but he blinked them back.

It all felt impossibly domestic, too, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think, though he knew he shouldn’t. 

It was something he could never have. Something Anthony clearly didn't want. Not anymore, at least. No, Aziraphale had ruined that. But he would go home and he would sort through it all, and eventually, he would be okay. Probably.

He took a deep breath, then got to his feet and left the room going to the kitchen.

The crêpes were nearly done, it seemed. Anthony was just finishing the process of topping them with strawberries when Aziraphale entered.

Anthony went to the stove, where a small pot of melted chocolate sat, but paused before reaching it, eyes widening as he caught sight of Aziraphale. They softened almost imperceptibly, Aziraphale could tell even with the dark glasses covering them.

“Morning,” Anthony said and grabbed up the melted chocolate, beginning to drizzle it over the crêpes.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale echoed. “You seem rather chipper today.”

“Yeah, just… glad you're back,” Anthony admitted. “And I figured you must be starving, so I…” He motioned towards the crêpes.

Aziraphale tried to shut down the warmth that filled his chest at that. “Well, thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale nearly winced at the term of endearment. It wasn’t an odd thing for him to say, of course. He called most people as such. But it had become a bit different with Anthony. Softer. Sweet.

Aziraphale should probably stop using it.

Anthony made him a plate and Aziraphale smiled as he took it from him, then went to the table.

Anthony made himself one too, joining him in just a few moments. It all felt so very normal, comfortable, and Aziraphale was grateful for the lack of change. It seemed to be Anthony saying, We can still be friends. Even after all of that, I still care for you.

“We'll have to get you out of that suit,” Anthony said, and Aziraphale blinked, his traitorous mind misinterpreting the statement for a moment before he looked down, noting the blood stains and tears.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I'm afraid a bath may be in order as well.”

“You're feeling okay, though?” Anthony asked. “Better, at least?”

“Oh, much better. All thanks to you, of course.”

“Oh, I only stepped in at the end. Rest of that was all you,” Anthony praised. “And you saved people, Aziraphale. I know you did.”

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale murmured. “But what about the others? I know there were more-”

“They're safe,” Anthony said. “I found a guard this morning and told them everything.”

Had he… he'd really done all that? Aziraphale supposed it wasn't that surprising. Anthony was kind, despite how much he tried to say he wasn't. He cared about people. He didn't want them to get hurt.

And that meant whatever… thing they'd been doing was likely being dealt with as well. Aziraphale hoped that mysterious them would be caught and locked away for a very long time for the fire they had fueled here in Tadfield.

“I was thinking we’d leave today, by the way,” Anthony said. “I’ll take you back home, like I said. If that’s what you still want.”

Aziraphale didn’t miss the hidden question in that statement. He supposed, if he was being honest, it wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was to stay with Anthony, build a life with him here or… anywhere else, really. But that was something he could not have, and he certainly didn’t want to be out here all alone. No, his kidnappers had proven that was a very bad idea. So he said instead, “It is, yes.”

“Okay,” Anthony said, a touch softly. “I thought we'd stop by Adriel's before we left. Need to check on her brother and give her that book back.”

Aziraphale let out a dramatic gasp. “Anthony. Are you returning stolen property?”

“Ngk. Only because… I don't want it. Not because I'm nice .”

“Of course. Just as you say.”

Anthony shot him a glare from across the table.

They ate quietly after that, but the silence was comfortable. Companionable. Aziraphale was going to miss these soft mornings spent here, eating breakfast together. Would miss their nights drinking wine, too.

Anathema was kind enough to let Aziraphale borrow her bathtub before they left, and Aziraphale was able to change out of his tattered suit. 

It was a shame, really. He had quite liked it.

And then Aziraphale said his goodbyes to Anathema, thanking her and assuring her that he would write. He would miss her too. She had helped him quite a lot in the time they had spent here and he was grateful for that kindness.

Anthony was quiet as they walked through the streets, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice. His head was on a swivel, too, as if he were expecting trouble, though Aziraphale couldn’t imagine what he was looking for if his kidnappers were truly dealt with. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, pausing before they entered Adriel’s shop. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, fine,” Anthony answered assuredly. “Just, y’know, keeping an eye out for anything amiss . I won’t risk anyone hurting you, not again.”

“Oh. Well, that’s very-”

“Oh, don’t say kind,” Anthony groaned, then reached for the door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Aziraphale frowned but followed after his retreating frame, entering Adriel’s shop. She smiled brightly as they walked up to the counter.

Anthony grabbed the red tome out of his satchel, placing it on the counter without a word and Adriel’s smile fell, a mask of confusion settling over her face.

“What…?” she questioned.

“Stole it. A few days back,” Anthony said. “Figured you’d want it back, and we’re leaving today, so.” He gave a shrug, but Aziraphale could see a pink tint to his cheeks, as if he were just a little bit embarrassed.

“Alright,” Adriel said, drawing the word out a bit, perhaps unsure what to do with Anthony’s blunt honesty. She took the book, frowned at the title, then tucked it away somewhere behind the counter. “Thanks.”

“How’s your brother, by the way? Is he alright?” Anthony asked.

“He’s fine, yes. All thanks to you, I assume?”

“Oh, no. All thanks to him, actually,” Anthony said, pointing to Aziraphale with his thumb. “Got himself and a couple others out before I even left town.”

Adriel’s gaze shifted to him, scanning him again, and Aziraphale gave a sheepish smile.

“I know he doesn't look it, but he is quite a bastard,” Anthony said, and Aziraphale gave him a playful shove in response. Anthony’s gaze turned a bit softer, and he added, “He doesn’t give himself enough credit for that.”

He turned away before Aziraphale could study that look further, but he’d swear, for a moment there had been something- No. No, that was ridiculous, of course. He had said their kiss was a mistake. He had sounded as if he meant it. Why would he have lied? 

Aziraphale gave a shake of his head, banishing the thoughts, and gave the woman a warm smile. “I do remember a young man there with us. He’s doing well, then?”

“He’s fine, yeah, just an idiot.” She reached across the counter, though and took Aziraphale’s hand, sandwiching it between both of hers and murmured, “Thank you.”

Aziraphale found himself caught off guard by the sincerity in her eyes. “Oh, of course, my dear.”

She released his hand, giving a softer smile filled with gratitude.

Anthony glanced at Aziraphale. “We should probably be going, yeah?” he asked. “Need to get you home.”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded. He supposed they did. “Right. Of course.”

The two of them left the shop giving goodbye waves to Adriel and Aziraphale tried very hard not to think about how in a couple of days, he would be saying goodbye to this wonderful man beside him forever, too. Perhaps he could write, though, if Anthony was amenable to such a thing.

The thought made Aziraphale smile.

Notes:

Woke up this morning to good omens spoilers on my tl. Life is good 😌
Apologies for missing an update last Friday. I ended up being very busy and I just did not have time. I do think I'm gonna go back to once weekly updates, at least for now. Partly because I am writing three fics at once. Technically four if you count the one shot I've been writing on and off for like a month that I'm not even sure if I'm gonna finish. Actually there was a period of like three days where I was working on FIVE at once because I wrote an ace Crowley one shot. Don't do it kids!
Anyway I've also realized that these chapters haven't had as much time to sit so I haven't gone back and edited them as thoroughly as some of the earlier chapters. Having a week between updates would give me more editing time (and oh boy do some of these need it).
I am gonna try to lock in though 'cause I've realized I am getting pretty close to finishing this one. I'm guessing I have maybe ten more chapters to write? Don't quote me on that though. The last time I tried to guess how many chapters a fic was gonna have it ended up being double that 😭

Chapter 31

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They went through Wickber. Dangerous as it was, Anthony wasn’t too keen on going around after what had happened last time they’d decided to walk through the woods.

They made it through unnoticed though, most guards hardly even glancing at them, then found their way to an inn on the side of the road. Anthony supposed it had been some time since they’d last come through here.

He couldn’t help but notice Aziraphale seemed a bit melancholic as they both sat down on their respective beds, especially considering this was something he’d wanted. Though, Anthony supposed he was not treated very kindly in the castle and was perhaps nervous to go back. He could only hope he found the courage to stand up for himself, especially after what he’d done for that young woman at the ball. And he hoped it would make his time there more bearable.

He was certainly safer there than he was with Anthony, and that was all Anthony wanted, really. For him to be safe.

“Where will you be going, then? Once this is all done?” Aziraphale spoke up, and Anthony blinked. “Back to your flat?”

“I’ll be… leaving, actually,” Anthony said, and he didn’t miss the way Aziraphale’s face fell.

“Leaving? Where?”

“Oh, just… somewhere far away. S’not safe for me here, and honestly, I was planning on leaving anyway.” Anthony gave a shrug.

He had been hoping he wouldn’t have to have this conversation. That they could simply go their separate ways without Aziraphale having any intention of keeping in touch. But Anthony suspected that’s where this was heading.

“But, where are you going?” Aziraphale asked. “Surely you have a general location.”

Anthony loosed a long sigh. “Look, it's… I’d rather not say. I'm sorry.”

He couldn’t tell him. He’d try to write to him and then The Four Horsemen could intercept. Find out where he was. And Anthony supposed he could certainly tell Aziraphale that too. It certainly wouldn’t hurt for him to know just how much danger Anthony was in. But he’d worry, then. He might even change his mind and demand to go with him, which certainly wouldn’t be bad and he’d still be safe but… Would it be what he really wanted? Or would he be miserable there, with Anthony? Even more so than he’d be in the castle.

He just hoped Aziraphale didn’t take it the wrong way. It's nothing to do with you. Please don't think it has anything to do with you.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face crumpled a bit, telling Anthony that was exactly what he thought, and he gave a nod, turning his gaze downward.

Anthony swallowed but didn't say a word. Didn't know how to fix it without telling him the reason why he couldn't let him know where he was going. He could only stare, silently pleading with him to understand that it wasn’t because Anthony didn’t want to stay in touch.

“You know, I think I'd like to go to bed now,” Aziraphale said, and Anthony’s heart promptly shattered.

He swallowed, but gave a nod. “Alright. Get some good sleep, yeah?” he managed to get out. “You'll be back home tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale's throat bobbed. “Yes, I suppose I will.” Anthony couldn't help but think he looked far more troubled than relieved at the realization, but he nodded to himself, remaining firm in his decision. 

Anthony wasn't going to try and convince him otherwise. 

He'd be safe there. This was for the best. 

Anthony blew out the lone candle lighting the space and curled up beneath the blanket.

It was a long while before sleep found him.

*    *    *

Aziraphale tried very hard not to think about how this time tomorrow, he’d be in the castle again.

He tried, and yet he still found himself wondering how many more balls he would attend, how many more times he’d have to hear he wasn’t good enough, how many more bruises he would receive.

He would be forced to marry.

Oh… gosh, he was going to have to marry someone. Someone of his parents’ choosing no doubt. 

What would that entail? Who would they choose? And once he was married, then what? Would he leave the castle? Would his wife move in? Would they remain separated? It wouldn't be a union born of love, they rarely were in the upper class, so it wouldn't be odd if they did. Really, it wouldn't be unusual if they hardly ever saw each other after the wedding. So perhaps… Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. 

Aziraphale still didn't like the thought.

He didn't mind marriage in general, it was just… He wanted Anthony to be his spouse, not some woman he likely wouldn't even meet until the day of their wedding. He wanted, he supposed, to marry for love. The only problem was, Anthony didn't love him. Didn't even want to stay in contact after he dropped Aziraphale off at the castle.

Had the kiss really been that bad?

Aziraphale hadn’t thought so, but it had all happened so very fast, and he had panicked. 

He wished he would've been more clear headed now. Perhaps if he would've said something, if he wouldn't have let go, maybe things would be different.

But he had, and they weren’t, and there would be no changing things. No, all he could do now was look towards the future and make the best of what he was given.

He loosed a quiet sigh, glancing over at Anthony, though he couldn't see him in the dark. Wondered if he was lying awake as well.

Probably not. He was likely eager to get to tomorrow. To finally rid himself of Aziraphale.

And though Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t be focusing on the past he still found himself touching his fingers to his lips, trying to recreate their first, and, he supposed, last, kiss. Because Anthony couldn't see him to question it, even if he was still awake. 

How long, he wondered, until the memory of how it felt, those soft lips pressing against his own, faded, and this was all he was left with?

Despite himself, he hoped it never did.

*    *    *

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what time he managed to fall asleep, he just knew that when he awoke, sunlight was filtering in through a gap in the curtains, and Anthony was gathering his things. Eager to leave, it seemed.

Aziraphale wouldn't hold him up.

It was for the best, he knew, that they got this over with as quickly as possible. Then they could go their separate ways and Aziraphale could find some way to move on. And Anthony could go wherever it was he was going.

Aziraphale hoped he'd be happy.

He slowly got to his feet, gathering his things as well, and as he finished he heard Anthony loose a soft, almost disappointed, sigh. “Right then. Let's go,” he said.

Aziraphale followed him out, unable to stop fidgeting with his hands, running them nervously over his coat.

He would be home soon. Back in those gilded halls that he knew would feel like a cage after all the time he'd spent free of them.

But this was the best outcome. Well, other than he and Anthony building a little cottage somewhere and living out their lives together, but that wasn't an option.

This was the best possible outcome.

Anthony didn't say a word as they walked down the road. Aziraphale supposed he couldn't blame him. He wasn't too keen to make conversation either, and really, what was he meant to say? I'm sorry our kiss was terrible, do you really never want to speak to me again? 

No. Best to continue on in silence.

It was just so stiflingly, painfully awkward, and that was the one thing Aziraphale hadn't wanted to happen. He supposed it was just his luck. 

He'd been a fool to think he could do this. To think that Anthony could actually love him. Though he supposed, soon enough, he wouldn't have to worry about either of those things ever again. No, instead he’d just have Gabriel, Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon to avoid, occasional meetings to attend, a wedding, eventually.

The thought made his heart ache and he found himself glancing at Anthony, walking quietly beside him, hood pulled up and glasses on, so that his face remained mostly obscured. Closed off to Aziraphale. Just like when they'd first met.

Aziraphale swallowed and stared down at his feet, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. 

This is perfectly fine, he told himself. It is all going to be fine. He had lived in the castle his whole life and he had survived until now, he could do it a while longer, even with the knowledge that life out here, life with Anthony, was much better.

By the time Aziraphale caught sight of the east gate looming in the distance it was nearly dark. Neither of them had spoken. Had opted instead to walk in awkward silence, but soon after they'd passed through the gate, Anthony paused.

“Right. I should leave you here,” he said. “If I walk you up to the castle they'll have questions, and I don't feel like answering those.”

Aziraphale swallowed, though he supposed he should have expected this. Of course Anthony wouldn't want to walk him to the castle gates. That looked awfully incriminating. “Yes. Of course.”

Anthony shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels with a sigh. “Oh… I really hate goodbyes.”

“So do I, I'm discovering.” Aziraphale glanced behind him, seeing one of the castle's towers looming behind him. He really should just go. He needed to focus on the positives. He'd get to see Muriel again, and the rest of his siblings. He was sure they'd be happy to have him back. Well, most of them, anyway. That would be nice, wouldn't it?

He turned back to Anthony, finding him just watching, beautiful yellow eyes still hidden from view. Aziraphale couldn't help but think he looked a little sad.

Aziraphale forced a smile. “Well, I suppose I'd better get going. It was, er, nice knowing you, Anthony.”

Anthony gave a small nod. Stayed silent.

Aziraphale took that as his cue. 

He turned to go, but he only made it a handful of steps before Anthony said, “Crowley,” making him pause.

He turned back. “Pardon?”

“My name,” he said. “It's Crowley.” And then he turned and walked away, leaving Aziraphale standing stunned in the middle of the street, mouth agape.

Aziraphale didn't say a word—couldn't manage to form even one after that—just watched as Anthony turned a corner and was gone. Likely forever, though that thought hardly even registered in Aziraphale's mind.

Aziraphale turned and walked, almost in a daze, back to the castle, mouthing that new name, Anthony's real name, on the way.

Crowley .

Notes:

Okay I lied ONE more week of double updates, but next week I actually am going back to once weekly. I was just excited about this chapter because Crowley FINALLY told Aziraphale his real name.
I have also split them up again 😔 It won't be for long though. I just wanted Aziraphale back in the castle so Crowley could take a backseat and Aziraphale could be the main character for a second.

Chapter 32

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he returned home, but being calmly let in by the guards at the front gate certainly was not it. They didn’t fret at all. Didn’t seem remotely worried about his well being. Just opened the gates without a word and let him inside.

So Aziraphale was right. His parents had not missed him. Or been very worried about him at all, apparently. Aziraphale couldn’t deny, it stung.

He wasn't sure what to do once he'd made it inside, so he ended up heading towards his room. There was no one to greet him, after all. No celebration, no relieved hugs, and Aziraphale was just exhausted.

He wanted to sleep and hoped that when he awoke he would be back at Anathema's and all of this would be some terrible dream. Anthony would make him breakfast just like he always did and their kiss would never have happened and… And then he'd still only have a few precious days before they'd part forever. But at least then they'd part as friends. Maybe Anthony—no, Crowley. His name was Crowley. Aziraphale would have to make an effort to remember that—would have wanted to stay in touch with him then.

The halls were empty as Aziraphale walked them, his footsteps echoing loudly. Not a surprise really. It was quite late now and it seemed there were no balls scheduled for tonight, seeing as the castle was silent.

Aziraphale made the long walk alone, sighing when the door was at last closed behind him.

He took in the state of his room. Nothing at all had been moved since he’d last been here. Nothing had been cleaned, either, if the layer of dust coating everything was any indication. It seemed no one had stepped into the space at all while he’d been gone. Though Aziraphale supposed that was better than them getting rid of all of his things and assuming he was never coming back.

He set down his bag. His new books, at least, wouldn’t look out of place here. He had several stacks on his desk and on the floor as he conveniently kept forgetting to return them to the library, and, on account of him being a prince, the librarian kept quiet about it. Secretly Aziraphale thought she quite liked him, though. He took care of her books, after all, ensuring no food or drink got onto their precious pages. And he returned them all eventually, he just preferred to take his time.

But though he was exhausted and his bed was comfortable, if currently coated in dust, Aziraphale did not go to it.

Instead, he went to the window, looking out over the city below. 

Anthony was down there somewhere, likely securing a room for the night. Then he'd leave the next morning. Someplace far away, he'd said. Someplace Aziraphale would never find him, no matter how hard he looked.

Aziraphale touched a hand to the glass, loosing a quiet sigh. “I will miss you, my dear,” he murmured. And then, because he was alone in his room with no one to hear, he added a soft, “I love you.”

He waited a moment, giving one last glance over the city, then let his hand fall and turned to his bed.

It was a canopy bed—though the curtains remained tied back at all times—that, if Aziraphale was honest, he thought was far too extravagant with its gold trim, but his parents had it custom made, and, really, how was Aziraphale meant to decline?

He shook the dust out of the blanket, then crawled beneath it, wrapping it tightly around himself, trying to forget he was now, once again, so very alone.

*    *    *

Aziraphale awoke in the castle the next morning.

He awoke to silence. No sounds of Anthony— Crowley —cooking, no gentle footsteps as he walked around, trying to be quiet so that he didn’t wake him.

A bird chirped outside his window, though, and the gentle blowing of the breeze followed.

Aziraphale loosed a sigh and pulled the blanket over his head.

He would have to leave eventually, he knew that. He couldn't hide here forever. And as much as it hurt that no one had been there to greet him upon his return, he knew his siblings would want to see him. That they would be happy to hear he was back. His parents might even request an audience and pretend to care. For a moment, anyway.

He just didn't want to accept that this was where he was. That he was back home and Anthony was on his way to who knew where and would likely never think about Aziraphale again. How very unfair , he couldn't help but think. Aziraphale would be thinking about him for the rest of his life, he was certain.

He loosed a long, heavy sigh, then pulled the blanket from his head and sat up. Whatever the day would bring, he couldn't hide away from it. It was best to get it over with now. But before he even stood up, a quiet knock sounded on his door. 

“Um, hello?” he said.

The door opened slowly, revealing Muriel standing there, and Aziraphale couldn't help but smile at the sight of them. 

“Oh, Muriel.” He got to his feet, and they immediately broke into a grin.

“You're really back!” They ran right to him before he even had a chance to respond, pulling him into a tight hug. “I missed you!”

“Oh, I missed you, too, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, giving them a gentle pat on the back.

They pulled away, a frown now gracing their lips and tears in their eyes. “I was so worried about you. What happened? Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” Aziraphale assured. Minus the broken heart, anyway. “I left of my own accord, I assure you. I'm sorry I worried you.”

“Why did you leave?” they asked.

“Well, I…” Aziraphale paused. He should just tell them, shouldn't he? The real reason. What did it matter if they knew? What did it matter if they told everyone? It didn't change anything. “I wasn't happy here,” Aziraphale admitted. “I thought I might be happier somewhere else.” 

Oh, and I was right. I was right, but I made a mistake, and now the one person I could be happy with is gone.

“Oh.” Their smile fell, then returned a moment later. “Well, I'm glad you're back. And I think the cooks are making chocolate cake today.”

Aziraphale gave a smile. “Then we'll have to go and get some later, won't we?”

Aziraphale was fairly certain the kitchen staff was well aware of their escapades into the kitchen at night. They kept the door locked for a reason, after all. But they still left out a plate with whatever sweet treat they'd made, as if leaving a small gift for the two royals.

Muriel grinned, giving an excited wiggle. “Great! Well…” They glanced at the door. “I guess I should go now, but I'm glad you're back!” they repeated.

Aziraphale wished he could say the same.

They gave a quick wave goodbye, then left the room, and Aziraphale let his shoulders fall.

It was almost like he'd never left.

He was happy to see Muriel again. Truly. And he was sure the others would welcome him home too. It was just that no part of him wanted to be here. But what was the point in leaving again if he couldn't be with Anthony?

The reason he'd left in the first place was in the hopes he could find that connection with someone. Find someone he wanted to build a life with. And he had found him. 

But he didn't feel the same.

So this was all Aziraphale had, and he had to make the best of it. 

He took a deep breath, then went to the door, following Muriel out. He would go about his day like normal. Perhaps he'd even stop by the library. It had been some time since he'd peeked in, he’d been gone for weeks now, after all. And if he saw any of his siblings on the way, he'd stop and talk to them, or give them a smile and a wave if they seemed busy.

And if he saw any of the other nobles he'd simply avoid eye contact at all costs and hope they ignored him. Most of the time they did. In fact, it was only Gabriel and the other three who tended to come after him. With any luck they wouldn't be here. At least not any time soon.

As long as they weren't here, this wouldn't be so bad. He could handle it. 

The halls were quiet as Aziraphale walked them. Not eerily so, just in the sense that the castle was so large that when they weren't hosting balls there wasn't always a lot of foot traffic in all areas, especially not near the library. That was part of the reason Aziraphale liked to spend his time there, the other being, of course, all of the books.

It was empty when Aziraphale entered. Well, nearly.

The librarian was towards the back of the room, high atop a ladder, a small stack of books in her hand.

“Is that you, Aziraphale?” she asked without looking down.

“It is, yes,” Aziraphale answered, going up to a nearby shelf, recognizing most of the titles. “How did you know?”

“I heard you were back. And there aren't many others who come to the library, love.”

Aziraphale frowned. “No, I suppose not.” He ran his fingers over the familiar spines. Perhaps he'd reread one today. It would certainly be a good distraction.

“Did you have a nice time out, at least?” the librarian asked.

He pictured Anthony—no, Crowley. He really needed to work on that—sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of that half-crumbled building, a bottle of wine in his hand and a smile on his lips.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

“Well, good for you,” the librarian said. “Honestly, I'm surprised you came back at all. They treat you so terribly here. I can't imagine it was any worse out there.”

“In some ways it was,” Aziraphale admitted. “In others…” He remembered Crowley’s lips, pressed against his, the way his hands had fisted in his lapels to pull him closer, how Aziraphale had held him, if only for a moment. “Oh, in others, it was far more wonderful than I could've imagined.”

“Why'd you come back, then?” she asked. “If I were you, I would've stayed gone forever.”

That was the question wasn't it? How should he answer it? Should he be honest? Admit to her everything that had happened? Probably not. He doubted she'd want to hear of his problems and, well, this was the castle. The walls had ears.

“Oh, just… You know. I felt like, in the end, it wasn't for me.”

She snorted. “Are you sure? Because just a moment ago it sounded like you were very happy out there.”

“I…” Aziraphale sighed. “Well, I'm afraid it's a bit of a long story, and I’m sure you don’t have time to listen to me ramble on.”

A brief pause followed his words and for a moment Aziraphale wondered if that would be that. If she wouldn't want to hear anymore. He supposed he couldn't blame her if she didn't.

He pulled a book off the shelf, and turned to find a seat, noting the librarian was climbing down from the ladder, a book still tucked under her arm.

He stopped and asked, “Where are you going?” as her shoes landed on the floor.

“To get us some hot chocolate,” she answered as she turned and started towards the door. 

She paused before him, though, placing the book in his arms. "Be a dear and shelve this for me, will you? I know you can find where it goes. I'll be back in just a tick.”

And then she promptly left, and Aziraphale, unsure of what else to do, did as she asked.

He was indeed able to shelve the book without a problem and had a seat on a nearby couch once he was finished, reading his book while he waited for the librarian to return.

In only a few minutes she was before him, two steaming mugs in her hand. She placed one on the end table beside Aziraphale.

“I trust you'll keep that away from that book of yours,” she said, pointing to the one Aziraphale was reading.

“Of course.” Aziraphale set the book aside, then took a drink, giving a hum at the warm sweetness. It was just what he needed right now.

“So, tell me about it, love,” the librarian said.

“I… Well, I really wouldn't want to bore you with all the details.” Wouldn't want those details to escape this room, either. He wouldn't give away Anthony’s identity, of course, but still, with everything they'd been through together, Aziraphale was sure Gabriel, or any of the others, really, would find some way to weaponize it if they knew.

“Oh, it wouldn't bore me,” the woman said with a laugh. “I work in a library, dear. This is the best gossip I've gotten since poor Hazel broke her leg last year.” She took a sip of hot chocolate then added, “And you can trust me to keep quiet about it. You get enough trouble around here already, the last thing I want is to make it any harder for you.”

Aziraphale loosed a sigh. “Well, alright. Just as long as it doesn't leave this room.”

“Of course, love.”

Aziraphale indulged in another sip of hot chocolate, then took a deep breath, and told her everything.

He told her about Anthony, though he didn't give her his name. He told her about those creatures in the woods near Wickber, how Anthony had nearly died, how the two of them had grown closer in the days that followed. He told her of their hideout, the night's spent drinking wine together. He told her of the ball, of the kiss and all that had followed. Being kidnapped and nearly ransomed by those awful people. About Anthony finding him in the street, holding him, comforting him after he'd told him he wanted to go home.

“And, well, I suppose,” he loosed a sigh, “here I am. I… admit I don’t really want to be here, but I didn’t know what to do. It all felt so hopeless, and I just… wanted something familiar, I guess. But now that I'm here, all I want to do is leave.”

“Well, leave, then.”

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh. “Oh, it's hardly that simple.”

“Isn't it?” she countered. “You don't want to be here, so leave. Go somewhere else, live your life.”

“But… what's the point without…” Anthony .

You're the point, love. You can't just sit around here miserable,” she argued. “What good does that do for you?”

Aziraphale didn't have an answer to that so he remained silent, and after several moments, once it became clear Aziraphale was staying quiet, the librarian added, “You can mope around here all you like, of course, I can't stop you, but at some point you have to decide, what are you going to do with yourself? Are you going to be miserable? Are you going to sit here and tolerate the way they mock and belittle you? Or are you going to get out? You’ve already done it once, dear, you can do it again.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I… I suppose…” She was right, wasn't she? What was he doing here, other than being miserable? He didn't have to stay. And even if he would never find someone like Anthony, at least he wouldn't be here. If he stayed, he knew he would hate it, but if he left… Well, there was a chance that wouldn't change. Maybe things wouldn't be any better. But maybe they would, and wasn't the chance of that worth it?

“Well, maybe I-”

A loud thud cut him off, like the sound of a book being slammed closed, and Aziraphale was on his feet in a moment, very nearly spilling his hot chocolate onto the rug.

Footsteps sounded from behind a nearby shelf and then Gabriel appeared, closed book in hand. The smile on his lips immediately set Aziraphale on edge.

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale forced a smile. “Gabriel. What an unexpected pleasure.” How much of that had he heard? All of it? Aziraphale supposed it didn’t matter. He’d certainly heard enough. And what is he doing here? Surely we aren’t having a ball tonight.

“I heard you were back,” Gabriel began, “and I thought I might find you here, since I was told you like books? For some reason? I don’t know, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” oh, gosh, here it is , “that… you might be planning to leave.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I, I, never said-”

“Well, of course not! I mean, you wouldn’t want to do that to your family again ,” Gabriel said with a laugh, though the words felt more like a threat than anything. “I just thought I should go ahead and warn you, since it sounds like the, uh, librarian here,” he motioned to her, “was encouraging this behavior. Obviously, if you were to follow through, I’m afraid I’d have to let Her Majesty know.”

How much trouble would she be in then?

Honestly, it could be none. He was fairly certain his parents didn’t care that much what became of him. But they likely preferred he stay in the castle. It reflected rather poorly on them if one of their sons was constantly trying to run away. Best case scenario, she was let go. Worst, she was thrown in the dungeon.

Gabriel gave Aziraphale a pointed look. “We wouldn’t want anything bad to come of that, would we?”

“I…” His gaze flicked back and forth between the librarian and Gabriel. She was glaring defiantly at him. More than prepared, it seemed, to take this fall for Aziraphale. He simply couldn't let her. “No,” he murmured, turning his gaze away. “No, of course not.”

Gabriel clapped once. “Good. So, I was just in a meeting with Her Majesty and she told me to let you know that your suit for the ball tomorrow will be delivered to your room tomorrow morning.”

Aziraphale blinked. “To- Tomorrow?”

“Well, you came back at a really inconvenient time. Honestly, you’re lucky they could even get one made in-”

“No, I mean, there’s a ball tomorrow?”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s been scheduled for a week now,” Gabriel said. “I guess you wouldn’t know.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “No. No, I’m afraid I wasn’t aware.” Of course. Of course there was a ball tomorrow. No wonder Gabriel was here.

“Well, something to look forward to, then!” Gabriel said, then turned and started out of the room.

“Right, yes,” Aziraphale murmured to his retreating frame, his shoulders physically deflating.

Aziraphale waited until he heard the door to the library close before sinking down onto the couch with a long sigh, rubbing his fingers over the bridge of his nose.

“I hate that man,” the librarian muttered.

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured, vaguely thinking he probably shouldn’t be agreeing with her. “I suppose this complicates things.”

“You can still go. I’ll be alright.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You can’t guarantee that, and I won’t gamble with your livelihood. I'll find another way.” Aziraphale was sure he could figure something out. Find some way to keep her safe and still get out.

He supposed… if there was no Gabriel, the problem would cease to be.

But that was ridiculous. There was a Gabriel, and he certainly couldn’t kill him, no. For one, he would most definitely be caught, and, for two, it simply wasn’t right, even if it was Gabriel. 

If only Anthony were still here. He had already offered to rid Aziraphale of the man. Aziraphale was certain he would be willing to do so now if he asked. Though, Aziraphale supposed, he wasn’t the only assassin in town, just the only one who took care of things non-lethally.

No! This is ridiculous! We can’t seriously be considering… murder. There must be a different way.  

And Aziraphale was going to find it, whatever he had to do. He was done letting these people walk all over him. He was going to get out and stay out and he would be damned if he let anyone stop him.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Friends, I am running on three hours of sleep today. It feels really bad 0/10 do not recommend. Thankfully though, this chapter was ready to go and I was functioning well enough to post it! Anyway, I am too tired to think of a more substantial note. Hope you enjoyed Aziraphale lowkey plotting to murder Gabriel 😂

Chapter 33

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale couldn’t sleep.

He needed to. He had a ball to go to tomorrow and a suit that would be arriving sometime in the morning. And yet all he could do was think about how on Earth he was going to get out of here without causing any trouble for the librarian.

He didn’t want her to lose her job, or worse. Not after she had been so kind to him.

Was there some sort of deal he could make with Gabriel? He didn’t think so. The only thing the man seemed to want was to torment him. But surely there was something he could say to change his mind, make him see reason. There had to be. Right?

He supposed he wouldn't know until he got a chance to talk to him at the ball tomorrow. 

He loosed a long sigh at the thought. Willingly going up to Gabriel to ask about something, especially something like that… Aziraphale wondered if he'd genuinely prefer to gouge his own eyes out.

He couldn't avoid it, though. He had to figure this out. He could not stay here, it would suffocate him.

He'd miss Muriel, truly, and he knew they would miss him too, but he had spoken to them while they'd gone to steal cake from the kitchen an hour before, and they had been understanding, so long as Aziraphale promised to write to them, and he certainly intended to.

He'd write to all of his siblings, if they wanted. And perhaps eventually he would even be allowed to visit, or they would be able to visit him. Either way, Aziraphale would stay in touch with them.

He eventually managed to slip into an uneasy sleep and awoke the next morning to a knock on his door.

He loosed a soft groan, running a hand over his face, but sat up.

Another knock sounded. 

“Yes, I know, I know,” Aziraphale murmured, though he was fairly certain whoever was outside his door couldn't hear him.

He got to his feet, cracking his neck.

Another knock. Louder, and getting rather impatient now, it seemed, and Aziraphale sighed and hurried to the door, opening it.

Two people rushed in immediately, one shoving Aziraphale’s suit into his hands. It was white and dusted with sparkling glitter. Blue and purple, he noted.

I bet you’d look lovely in purple . The memory resurfaced rather suddenly as Aziraphale scanned the suit, wondering what Anthony—no, Crowley —would think of it.

It was certainly pretty, Aziraphale couldn't deny that, glittering whenever he turned it. It was far too extravagant for his taste, though. Most of the suits his parents had made for him were.

Still, he murmured his thanks to the man and woman who had brought it to him as they quickly left the room. They weren't to blame, and it was simply polite, considering they had brought it all the way here for him.

He didn't put it on, though, instead hanging it on the mirror with a frown. 

The ball wouldn't be until several hours yet, so Aziraphale had plenty of time to prepare. Which would most likely involve him staying as far away from Gabriel and any of the other nobility as he could manage, and trying not to think too much about the upcoming ball and what he needed to ask Gabriel, lest he work himself into a panic attack.

He wished Anthony were here.

He would comfort him. Aziraphale knew he would. Tell him everything would be alright, and then, when it was time for the ball, he'd march right down there with him and stay by his side, ensuring no one laid a finger on him.

But Anthony wasn't here, and he never would be. So Aziraphale would have to manage on his own.

He could do that. He'd been doing it his entire life. And perhaps he was a bit out of practice. Perhaps being in the company of people who were kind and caring had dulled his ability to deal with those who weren’t, but he could pick it back up again. It would be like muscle memory. 

He took a deep breath, then turned and started towards the door. 

Breakfast was likely being served, and Aziraphale could use some crêpes right about now.

*    *    *

Ramiel was sitting at the dining room table when Aziraphale entered, along with Muriel and Errapel, and Aziraphale smiled warmly at them as he sat down across from his elder brother.

Ramiel gave him an equally warm one in return. A smile that held both joy and relief. “Hey.” He reached across the table, lightly nudging his shoulder. “I’m glad you're back. We were all so worried about you, y’know.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the way his smile slipped a bit. They really had missed him. They’d been worried . On the one hand, it was nice to know they cared, but on the other… Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel terrible. 

He’d be leaving them again soon. 

But he had warned Muriel this time, at least, he reasoned. They would know this was what he wanted and that he wasn’t in any danger. He had a feeling they would respect that, as much as they might miss him.

“I’m alright, I assure you,” Aziraphale said.

“Muriel said that you might be leaving again?” Errapel spoke up.

So they’d told them, then. Aziraphale supposed he wasn’t really surprised. Muriel meant well, he knew that, but they were terrible at keeping secrets. “Ah. Well, I…” Aziraphale glanced around the dining room, noting it was otherwise empty. He lowered his voice a bit anyway, just in case there was anyone listening outside. “I would prefer if this remained between us, but yes. Unfortunately, Gabriel has endangered the job of our librarian if I do, but I think I’ll try and talk to him tonight at the ball and see if I can persuade him to reconsider.”

“And if you can’t?” she asked.

Aziraphale swallowed, knowing very well there were still plenty of people in this city capable of taking care of such problems. And if he couldn’t talk some sense into Gabriel… well, it was an option, he supposed. “I’m not sure,” he said instead. “I’ll think of something, though.”

“Just be careful, please,” Errapel murmured. “I don't want you getting hurt, and I know he and his friends can be cruel, especially to you.”

Aziraphale gave a weak smile. He knew too, very well, just how awful Gabriel and others could be. “I will try, my dear.”

“I'll try to keep an eye on you,” Ramiel said. “Mum and Dad will have me pretty busy talking to some foreign diplomats, though, so I can’t promise I can get away to help you.”

“I'll be alright,” Aziraphale assured, “but thank you.” He glanced over at Errapel. “Both of you. I… You've both been so very kind-”

“Oh, don't get all sentimental now . I haven't even had breakfast,” Ramiel groaned, and Aziraphale gave a soft laugh.

Only a few moments later their food was spread before them on the table, and another of Aziraphale's other siblings entered as the meal progressed.

They didn't often have all of them here at the table. That was saved for formal dinners where everyone was to be on their best behavior and the room felt far too tense for Aziraphale's liking. In fact, this was the most Aziraphale had seen at the table in quite a while. And every one of them had told him they had missed him in some way shape or form. 

They really had been worried. They truly did care. Aziraphale couldn't deny it made him feel warm, and he found himself smiling even as he left. He was seen here. He had been missed.

That smile dimmed, however, when he returned to his room, seeing the suit, still hanging from the mirror. Bile rose in his throat.

He turned away, trying his best to ignore it, and instead went to the bag of books he'd bought. 

He pulled out one he'd started reading but had not yet finished and sat down on his bed.

He would do his best to relax here and calmly wait out the several more hours until the ball, and as long as everything went well, he'd be out of here by tomorrow night.

He loosed a sigh, then began to read.

*    *    *

The time before the ball passed slowly. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for that or not, though it certainly felt more curse than blessing considering he spent the whole time worrying, despite his efforts to ignore it all. 

And when the time finally came for him to put on his suit—that he was fairly certain made him look ridiculous—he headed downstairs, following several guests, heading to the ballroom.

This is fine, he told himself. It's all perfectly fine. We just have to find Gabriel and convince him there doesn't need to be all that mess of him telling my mother if I were to leave. 

He rehearsed the conversation in his head as he walked, knowing he'd have to be prepared. If you wanted Gabriel to listen to you, you just needed to say the right thing in the right way at the right time, though Aziraphale found from past experience, that was a lot easier said than done. Especially when the words were coming from Aziraphale's mouth.

Gabriel. Listen, Gabriel. Lord Gabriel Richardson III- No that's too formal. Er… hello Gabriel, me old mate! There is just, er, well, something I, I need to speak with you about- Oh… no.  

He took a deep breath, trying one more time as the open doors to the ballroom came into view. Hello Gabriel. I just wanted to speak with you about what you overheard in the library. There really is no need to put that poor woman's job, or possibly life, on the line. Surely you must understand, this is far more extreme a reaction than necessary, and I ask that you refrain from doing such a thing, even if I were to leave as the librarian suggested.

There. That was at least something. Formal, though not overly so, and respectful enough that Gabriel wouldn't get angry with him. Now, would he listen, Aziraphale couldn't be sure, but he could still continue to try and convince him, even if he didn't immediately agree, and Aziraphale had a feeling he wouldn’t. 

This was going to work. It had to.

He entered the large ballroom glancing up at the high ceiling and large chandelier. The entire space was glittering with gold. Gold trim and intricate designs on the white walls, gold speckled tile, even the candelabras on the tables were gold. 

He loosed a soft sigh.

His parents did love a display of wealth.

Aziraphale made his way to a table laden with food and wine, figuring he could use a bit of both before attempting to find and talk to Gabriel. 

Muriel was standing there, a cupcake topped with chocolate frosting in their hand. They grinned when they saw Aziraphale approaching. “Hello!”

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile in return. “How's the food?”

“Oh, the cupcakes are wonderful,” they said. “I haven't had anything else yet, but I'm sure it's all really good too.”

Aziraphale gave a chuckle. “Dessert before dinner?” he teased.

“It's just two cupcakes,” they wined.

“I know, my dear. I'm only teasing.” Aziraphale reached out, taking a cupcake too, biting into it with a smile. He, too, often found himself eating a bit of dessert before dinner, especially at balls.

Aziraphale scanned the ballroom as he ate, spotting Gabriel in a bright blue suit, standing beside Sandalphon, Michael, and Uriel. Found himself taking a deep breath. 

This would be fine. He could do this.

He turned back to the table and poured himself a bit of wine.

“Are you alright?” Muriel asked. “You look worried.”

“Oh, I… I'm fine,” Aziraphale said. He took a sip of wine. “Just a little liquid courage and I'll be right as rain.” Well, perhaps not quite that good, but he'd be just a little more ready to confront Gabriel, and that was all he needed.

“Are you sure?” they questioned. “I know you're going to talk to Gabriel soon.”

“I am, yes, but I'll be fine,” Aziraphale said. “It's nothing I haven't done before.”

They didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Well, if you need any help, you can always ask me.”

“Oh. Well, thank you,” Aziraphale said, though he most certainly would not be taking them up on that offer. It was very sweet of them, but he simply couldn't willingly bring them into a conversation that could go horribly wrong. He didn't want them getting hurt, either physically or emotionally.

Aziraphale finished his wine, then, with a small smile towards Muriel, started through the crowd.

This will go well. This will go well, it must. Aziraphale told himself that as he made his way through the royals and nobles, doing his best to keep Gabriel within his line of sight. He was heading towards the courtyard, it seemed. 

Perfect. Fewer people around to overhear.

Aziraphale followed as quickly as he could, doing his best not to shove through anyone, and soon enough he was before the large glass doors leading out to the courtyard. They were held open, as the weather was comfortable tonight.

He walked right through them, spotting Gabriel just at the bottom of the stairs leading down to the cobblestone path, laughing at something Sandalphon had said. Aziraphale marched right down to them and cleared his throat, prompting them all to pause their conversation and turn to him.

Gabriel smiled. A smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Aziraphale! Nice to see you.”

“Yes, um. Well, I wanted to speak with you, actually,” Aziraphale began, “about, erm…” He glanced at the other three nobles beside Gabriel. “The conversation we had in the library yesterday.”

“Oh! That, yes. They know about that, don’t worry,” Gabriel said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

That statement had Aziraphale infinitely more worried, but he swallowed and continued onward, “Right. I just, um…” Right. Here we go. Just say the right thing in the right way. We can do this. “Well, I just… I really think that bringing that poor woman into this is quite unfair, and is, quite frankly, a bit extreme. There truly is no need to do such a thing, even if I were to leave.” There. That was good enough, wasn’t it? Not exactly as he’d rehearsed but it was certainly respectful and formal enough. At least, Aziraphale thought so.

Gabriel laughed. “Uh, how is it unfair? She was clearly pressuring you to make a choice that would upset Her Majesty. So obviously, I’d have to say something. The queen was really not happy the last time you ran away. Bad publicity and all that. You understand.”

“I… Well, I suppose, but-”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel interrupted with a clap of his hands. “This,” he motioned between the two of them, “conversation is over.” He made a shooing motion back towards the ballroom. “Go.”

“No.” 

The word left his lips almost of its own accord, shocking even Aziraphale, but he held his ground, even as Gabriel questioned, “No?”

“I won’t,” Aziraphale insisted. “I can’t let you do this. You’re putting an innocent woman in harm's way.”

I am not doing anything. I’m just passing along information that I have,” Gabriel countered. “And she’ll only be in harm’s way if you run off. So as long as you don’t do that, she’s fine.”

“But-” Sandalphon surged forward, then, and Aziraphale doubled over as his fist met his gut. He was pulled upright again only a moment later, face to face with Uriel now, their hands curled tight around his lapels. 

“He told you,” they said, their voice low, threatening, “to go.”

“But…” Aziraphale glanced frantically between the four of them, searching for some glimmer of something , but not finding it. “You mustn’t. Why would you do this?”

Uriel released him with a shove, pushing him backward a few feet.

“Stay in your place, Aziraphale,” Michael said. “We all have a part to play.”

None of them seemed inclined to truly answer his question, and they left without another word to him, heading back inside.

Aziraphale waited until he could no longer see them before letting his head fall forward with a groan.

It could’ve gone worse, he supposed, they had let him speak, at least. But had they truly heard him? Aziraphale didn’t think so, and judging by how that conversion had gone, they were never going to. He needed a different plan.

Aziraphale left the ball early that night, heading back up to his room, where it was quiet. He needed a moment alone to think.

Notes:

Hello hello! (this is gonna be a long note it's been a week since I got to yap to you all things have happened and I have lots to say)

Hey so, remember four chapters ago when I said they'll talk in less than five chapters....... 😭 Listen I can count guys I promise, I just saw the number 34 and was like ah yes of course, that means four more chapters, forgetting that 30 is also a number 😭 So you may have to wait another week. Or maybe I'll drop it on Friday idk. It'll be a surprise, keep you guys on your toes.
Also I've realized, I cannot write siblings, at least not realistically, and idk why cause I literally have siblings and I know this is not how they talk but my brain is like no no no it must be written this way. So you'll just have to excuse that 😅 (I do think it gets a little better later on but 🤫 spoilers)
Also I am locking in! I had the most productive writing week I've had in a while last week and I got lots of editing done and three new chapters written. Who knew dividing your time between three different fics would considerably slow down the writing the process. I am also in the middle of writing a very important chapter right now that is pretty close to the end so I'm in the final stretch now. I actually think ten chapters was a pretty good estimate by me for once. It might even be less.

Also (one last thing and this one is a very huge thing for me) I have tickets to meet David Tennant and Catherine Tate in March!!!!! I'm kinda freaking out about it (not kind of I am very much freaking out about it) still haven't fully processed it and I am SOOO nervous. Please wish me all of the luck in the world so that I don't vomit all over whichever sweater David Tennant is going to wear. Also if I don't post the following Monday just know it's because I have passed away from sheer proximity. Don't worry guys it's how I would've wanted to go.

Chapter 34

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley should’ve been on a boat by now, far away from the city. Far away from Aziraphale and Anathema and the guild and everything else he’d ever known. Far away too, from the source of all of his traumas, though he knew the traumas themselves would come with him.

He should’ve been. 

Instead, he was sitting on a bed in an inn, a bottle of whiskey on the nightstand beside him. He’d been sipping from it occasionally over the past few hours while he ran his thumb over the tartan cravat. 

He hadn’t returned it to Aziraphale, instead opting to keep it. A little souvenir, he’d thought. Something to remember him by. Not that Crowley needed it when he was fairly certain the memory of Aziraphale’s lips pressing against his would be ingrained in his mind forever. 

It had been wonderful, and for one singular moment, Crowley had had everything he could’ve ever wanted. 

And then it all came crashing down around him.

He sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall.

He needed to leave, he knew that. Staying here, he was only a danger, not only to himself but to everyone close to him too, and he couldn’t have either Anathema or Aziraphale getting hurt because of him.

The only problem was, Crowley missed him. 

He had only been away from Aziraphale for two days, and already he missed him something awful. And he hadn’t even told him how he really felt. Not that it mattered, Aziraphale already knew, but Crowley wanted to be honest with him. Thought that maybe if he was Aziraphale would understand that Crowley really did still care and that he still wanted to be friends, even if that was all they would ever be. Even if they still wouldn't be able to keep in touch like Crowley so badly wanted.

He almost had. Just as they were saying their goodbyes, he’d almost blurted it out right then. Instead, he’d given him a different truth. His name. Dangerous as that was, he knew Aziraphale would guard the information with his life. He wouldn’t tell a soul.

But Crowley didn’t want to lie to him anymore, and really, did it matter? Aziraphale already knew, and he clearly didn’t feel the same. There wasn't any more harm that could be done.

He supposed he still couldn’t tell him, though. Aziraphale was in the castle, and there was no way Crowley was getting in there, no matter how hard he tried.

Though… he did have his ways of at least getting close to the castle. Climbing the courtyard wall was one of his higher achievements. And if he did… He likely couldn’t talk to Aziraphale, he’d be much too far and the guards would easily hear him if he yelled. But he could see him, at least, and Crowley did want to see him again. Desperately.

He took a drink from his bottle, glancing out the window. It was dark. He doubted Aziraphale would be out even if he did climb the wall again. But, Crowley supposed, it wouldn’t hurt to have a quick look. 

One last look, and then he could get on a boat and leave him behind.

Half an hour later, he was scaling the courtyard wall, glancing down below him to ensure no one was watching. He just had a few more feet to go now and then he’d be at the top. Guards would be stationed at the corners, but Crowley knew how to stay out of their sight. This was not the first time he’d done this, after all. 

Honestly, half the time he wondered if they were even looking for intruders or just daydreaming, bored out of their minds. Crowley knew if he were up there, it would’ve been the latter.

He climbed up over the edge near silently, quickly ducking behind a nearby crate, and waited there for a moment, staying quiet, listening for any sign that he'd been noticed. 

None came.

He slowly moved out from behind the crate to peek over the edge of the wall, finding, to his surprise, that the courtyard wasn't empty. There were four people standing outside, just at the bottom of the stairs, and the doors leading into the castle were open, revealing there was a ball going on. At least, that was the only reason why all these people wearing impossibly extravagant clothes were gathered here that Crowley could think of. 

He scanned the crowd near the door instinctively, looking for a flash of white hair, not truly expecting to find it. And then all at once, there he was, and for a moment, Crowley’s mind went positively blank. He was wearing the brightest glittering white suit Crowley had ever seen, likely would've been blinding in daylight. And, Crowley couldn't help but think, he ooked positively dashing in it. 

It was also something Crowley knew damn well he never would’ve picked out himself, which meant someone, likely his parents, had forced it upon him. Crowley couldn’t help a flash of anger at the thought. 

Aziraphale was heading out into the courtyard. Determined, it seemed, and yet he was wringing his hands nervously before him. He was going straight for the people standing at the bottom of the stairs and Crowley couldn't help but remember a conversation they'd had at the masquerade ball.

That's how they treated you, isn't it?

Mostly, yes. There were some who were worse, though. Took things further.

Could these be those people? And if they were, why was Aziraphale going up to talk to them right now?

Crowley gave a quick glance around him, ensuring no one had spotted him, before turning back and watching the exchange intently, keeping an eye on the precious angel.

He could not hear what was being said, but the look the man in the blue suit was giving Aziraphale had his lips curling back in a snarl. Crowley knew immediately that he did not like this man. And he liked him even less when he watched Aziraphale's shoulders physically deflate at whatever he said, as he shooed him away .

But Aziraphale didn't go. He stood his ground; he argued . Crowley couldn't help a small, proud smile, thinking perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad for him here. He could stand up for himself and maybe eventually they’d-

The smile on his lips promptly died, his mouth falling open in shock and outrage as a different man, one in a rather plain beige suit surged forward and punched him in the stomach.

Crowley had half a mind to leap right over the wall. To run to the angel's defense. Maybe beat that arseholes face in for good measure, too.

He couldn't do that, though. For one, he was likely to break his legs, and, for two, he would be very quickly caught and subdued by about every guard in the castle. So instead, he watched, silently fuming, as the four of them went inside.

Aziraphale stayed there for a moment longer, his head falling in defeat, and the scene reminded Crowley a lot of the last time he had caught sight of him from up here.

He had been crying then, wiping fresh tears from his cheeks. 

Crowley hadn't understood. What could possibly have a prince so upset beyond, perhaps, a loose thread on his brand new suit? But he knew now, and his heart ached for that poor boy, who had grown up surrounded by people who hated him.

A few moments later, Aziraphale went inside as well.

Crowley kept his gaze on him for as long as he could, and once he disappeared into the crowd he climbed back over the wall. But he didn't head down to the ground. Instead, he climbed along it, heading towards the nearest window.

Aziraphale's room was here somewhere and Crowley was going to find it. He'd be damned if he didn't make sure he was alright after that.

*    *    *

Aziraphale began to pace the moment the door to his bedroom closed behind him. Didn't even bother to change out of his sparkling suit.

He needed a new plan, because clearly he wasn't going to be able to make Gabriel see reason. Could he go to his mother perhaps? Ask her permission himself? He supposed he could try, though he couldn't guarantee she would let him. And if she didn't permit it, then what? Would she resort to drastic measures to keep him here? Lock him in his room, perhaps? Have guards around him, watching him at all times?

Aziraphale swallowed at the thought. No. No, he couldn't do that.

But he had to do something .

Perhaps… Perhaps finding someone to… take care of Gabriel wasn't the worst idea after all. It would solve all of his problems. 

But we can’t kill Gabriel. We can’t!

But… technically he wouldn't be the one to do the dirty work. He could have a clear conscience on that at least. And once Gabriel was out of the way, he would be free to go, and…

But he told Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon too, Aziraphale realized, and his heart sank. He'd have to find a way to deal with them all, and as willing as he was to hire someone, if all four of them turned up dead, someone was bound to get suspicious. Honestly, even just Gabriel might be enough to have people looking his way, and Aziraphale couldn’t have that. He was a prince, yes, but that protection only went so far, and if he was suspected of murder… well, perhaps he'd better not.

But then what else was there? He obviously couldn't convince them himself, he- 

A tapping sound made him pause. Had him freezing to the spot, right in the middle of his room as he pinpointed its source. The window.

He turned towards it, and his mouth promptly fell open.

This can't be real. That was his first thought as he stared, gaping at Anthony outside his window, pointing downward, at the latch, asking him to open it. A close second was, How on Earth did he get up here?

Aziraphale hurried to the window and opened it, and Anthony quickly hauled himself inside, panting, “Thanks. It was getting hard to hold on out there.”

Aziraphale couldn't manage a response. Could only open and close his mouth uselessly, stunned.

Anthony was here. He was here , at the castle, in his bedroom .

“Sorry if I scared you,” he continued. “Just… I saw what happened out in the courtyard, and-”

“I- You did?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes widening, mortified at the thought of Anthony having seen him fail so spectacularly. 

Anthony only looked concerned, though. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “That one in the brown suit…”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I… Fine, yes. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before, but… Anthony, what are you doing here? I thought you were leaving.” 

Anthony winced. “I know. I was - Well, I wasn’t actually. I was going to, just… I wanted to… y’know, just get one last look. And then I saw what they did, and I had to come and find you. Make sure you were alright.” Anthony pressed, “Are you sure you’re okay? I can teach the bastard a lesson if you need me to.”

Aziraphale could only blink. Just a couple of days ago he’d said goodbye to this man for what he had believed to be the last time and now here he was standing in Aziraphale’s room worried about him, talking about teaching Sandalphon a lesson, and saying he wanted to ‘get one last look.’

Aziraphale couldn’t do much more than stare, trying to process it all.

Anthony’s face fell. “Right,” he murmured. “Sorry. I didn’t… Maybe I should’ve…” His throat bobbed. “Do… d’you want me to go?”

“No!” Aziraphale blurted, then cleared his throat and quickly corrected. “I, er, I mean, no.  You’re welcome to stay.” Stay as long as you like. Stay forever, please.

“Okay,” Anthony breathed.

The silence stretched out between them.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say and he suspected Anthony didn’t know either. They hadn’t been apart for long, only two days but oh what Aziraphale wouldn’t give to never experience such a thing ever again. He wanted Anthony here with him, always.

Anthony touched an awkward hand to the back of his neck and at last spoke up, “Sorry, again. For barging in. I just… I mean…”

He looked away, now glancing around the room. His other hand was shoved deeply into his pocket. He seemed… almost nervous, though Aziraphale didn’t think he had any reason to be.

Anthony at last turned his gaze back to Aziraphale’s and loosed a sigh. “Look, I suppose… I’ve got something to say,” he began. 

Ah. That must be it , Aziraphale thought. 

“It’s- I mean, it’s something you already know, I think, but I’ve been lying to you about it, and I just wanted to come clean before I go, and I…” His throat bobbed. “I guess maybe a part of me is still hopeful, but I, I understand if afterwards, you want me to go.”

Aziraphale couldn't possibly begin to guess what he was talking about. What lie had he told him that Aziraphale knew about? And why would Aziraphale want him to leave after he told him? He nodded anyway, staying quiet to allow Anthony to continue.

Anthony's throat bobbed. “Right, so… I lied. In the tavern. About the kiss. I meant it; it wasn't a mistake, not to me, anyway. I only said that because I knew you didn't like it, and I just didn't want things to… be weird between us, so…”

Aziraphale blinked, hardly hearing what Anthony said next, his mind taking a moment to fully process what had just been said. “Wait, you… What ? Why on Earth would you lie?”

“I just told you. Because you didn't like it.”

Aziraphale's mouth fell open, dumbfounded. “What- You thought I… I liked the kiss, Anthony,” he said, and remembered a moment after the name left his lips that it wasn't the correct one. Right. His name is Crowley. Crowley . We must remember that. He had been doing abysmally so far, but he intended to fix that here and now. “It was just… a lot all at once, and I hadn't been expecting it. And when I went and found you at the tavern to explain, you told me it was a mistake.”

“No, I only said that because…” Anth— Crowley —ran his hands down his face and groaned, “Oh, God, it's the bloody soup thing all over again.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. “The… soup?”

“Yes. D’you remember? One of the first days we spent with Anathema I made soup, and while I was making it you said something, brought up some bad memories, I snapped, and then we both spent the rest of the day thinking the other was angry when we actually weren't at all.”

Aziraphale did recall it now, and he couldn't deny this was a very similar, though much worse, version of it. 

“Oh, angel, I thought you didn't like it,” Crowley continued. “And I was scared . I didn't want to ruin our friendship, so I…” He loosed a sigh. “I guess I did anyway, though, didn’t I?”

But though Crowley seemed a tad devastated, Aziraphale couldn’t help a small smile because… Angel. He was calling him angel again.

“You didn't ruin anything,” Aziraphale reassured. “Look at where we are, my dear.”

Crowley huffed a laugh, giving a wry smile. “Your bedroom?”

“No, not literally, you fiend. I mean look at where we are ,” Aziraphale insisted. “We're still friends; I certainly never stopped being friends.” And because right now, in this moment, Aziraphale was feeling rather brave, he added, a touch softer, “And I never stopped loving you either.”

Crowley went very still at that, and Aziraphale tracked the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “Y- You… Ngk.”

Aziraphale, emboldened further by the pink tint to Crowley's cheeks, stepped closer, into his space. 

Those yellow eyes were still hidden from him, but Aziraphale reached up, touching a hand gently to the side of the sunglasses, then hesitated. 

“Is this alright?” he asked.

Crowley’s throat bobbed, but he rasped, “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Aziraphale gently pulled the glasses free, hanging them on Crowley’s shirt, and then he gently took Crowley’s face in his hands, looking into those beautiful bright yellow eyes, and ever so slowly, purposefully , leaned in, giving Crowley every opportunity to pull back if he wished.

He didn't.

Aziraphale let his eyes flutter closed as their lips brushed, feather light, soft. Then again, and Aziraphale sighed into it, wrapping his arms around Crowley. “You have no idea how I've longed for this, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured against his lips.

“Mm. Think I do, actually.” Crowley leaned in further, deepening the kiss.

It was slow, thorough, and soft. Everything the first had not been, and Aziraphale felt Crowley’s arms wrap around him, pulling him that extra inch closer.

It was everything Aziraphale had wanted and more, and he was prepared this time. He knew what to do.

Crowley let out a surprised hum as Aziraphale turned, pressing him up against the wall, kissing him passionately. His hands pressing against Crowley’s chest, fingers curling around his lapels.

He wanted to touch him, taste him, everything . All of it.

Crowley’s hands roved over Aziraphale in kind, one going to his back back while the other slid upward, to rest against his neck, thumb dipping below the collar of his suit to run over the soft skin there, not too far from the black bow-tie. The only piece of the outfit Aziraphale had chosen for himself.

He found himself wanting to take it off, wondering if perhaps it could be of more use to them that way.

He began to tug Crowley’s jacket over one shoulder, fingers scrabbling desperately at the buttons of his shirt with his other hand, anything to get them closer.

Crowley shrugged out his jacket, murmuring against Aziraphale's lips, “Mm, angel, is this… Are you sure?”

Aziraphale broke their kiss, pulling back to meet Crowley’s gaze. “I've never been so certain of anything in my life.” He let his forehead press lightly into Crowley’s. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want you right now,” he tilted his head, leaning to let his lips brush against Crowley’s again, “Crowley.”

Crowley shuddered, either at the brush of Aziraphale’s lips or his utterance of his name. Both, perhaps.

He kissed him again, eagerly, hungrily, and Aziraphale’s fingers got right back to work on those buttons.  

He was already pulling Crowley towards the bed by the time he got the first one free.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Everyone please collect your badges (that I made in like five minutes on canva so don't judge I did my best 😭) here

Also extra special imaginary badges to those of you who have been following this fic since of the beginning. You have waited approximately five months for this. Congratulations.

Unfortunately, I don't know that I'll be able to update on Monday. I've been having some really bad insomnia for the past few days, which isn't entirely unusual for me (it's chronic what are you gonna do 🤷🏻‍♀️) but it's been uncharacteristically bad lately and I don't know what's up with that. It may sort itself out on it's own, hopefully it does, but if not I might have to be mia for a bit while I figure this out.

Chapter 35

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Aziraphale awoke the following morning, it was to Crowley’s arms wrapped around him. His warmth at his back.

Aziraphale loosed a soft, contented sigh, and took Crowley’s hand, tracing little circles over the back of it, hoping he stayed asleep a little while longer. Didn’t want this precious moment to shatter. He wasn’t sure how much time the two of them would have to lay here, and he knew eventually, Crowley would have to leave the castle. It wasn’t safe for him. Certainly not if they were caught together. Aziraphale wanted to hold onto this warmth as long as he could.

He was granted only a few minutes more, though, before he heard Crowley let out a soft incoherent murmur as he awoke.

Aziraphale didn't stop tracing little swirls into his hand but said softly, “Good morning, dear.”

“Mm, morning,” Crowley mumbled. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around Aziraphale, pulling him closer with a sigh. “Think I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” Aziraphale murmured. He wished they could have done this sooner. He supposed they could have. If only Aziraphale, or even Crowley, had spoken up. He wouldn’t have even had to return to the castle in the first place. They could be in Tadfield right now, discussing where they’d like to spend the rest of their lives. But Aziraphale had been a coward, and now they were here. 

“I…” Aziraphale swallowed. “I must admit, I do feel as though we’ve done things a bit out of order. Not that I regret last night,” he added quickly, realizing how such a statement could be interpreted. “That was wonderful and I wouldn’t trade it for the world, I just…” He sighed, and felt Crowley’s hold around him tighten a bit, comforting him. “Well, I suppose I just wish I’d been a little braver. I never got to properly court you.” He gave a little pout at the thought. “I just wish I had been buying you flowers or bringing you to dinner or perhaps to a play. I suppose I should’ve been. Instead, I spent the time worrying that I… wasn’t up to your standards, I suppose.”

“What- My standards?” Crowley said, in disbelief, it seemed. “Angel, the closest I’ve ever gotten to anything like what we have was a quick shag in an alley somewhere. The bar literally could not get any lower. You exceed everything I could’ve possibly wanted by miles.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes! Of course!” Crowley leaned over, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale's cheek. “You're perfect, angel. Never let anyone treat you less than that.”

Aziraphale couldn't help the way his cheeks heated. “Well, thank you.”

“And y’know,” Crowley added, “if we’ve been doing things out of order this whole time, there’s no reason why we couldn’t continue.”

Aziraphale paused, then gently pulled out of Crowley’s arms and turned to face him. “You… You mean…”

“You can buy me all the flowers you want. Take me wherever. I'll take you places too,” Crowley murmured, giving a smile. “We can even hold hands, if you like.” He held up one hand, wriggling his fingers.

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh. “Yes, I suppose… I suppose we can.” Then a different thought crossed his mind, memories from the days previous resurfacing, and he frowned. “I’m afraid… I’m not sure we’ll be able to make a habit of it just yet.”

“Why not?”

Aziraphale sighed. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he began, “but I was talking to the librarian when I first came home, telling her how miserable I was to be back, and she convinced me to leave again. But Gabriel had been looking for me and happened to overhear. He's threatened to tell my mother of the librarian's involvement if I run away, and I fear what will happen to her if he does.”

“I'll take care of the bastard then,” Crowley said immediately. “Is he here?”

“He is, yes, but it's a bit more complicated than that,” Aziraphale explained. “He told his friends as well. They were the ones in the courtyard last night. You remember. Gabriel was the one in the blue.”

Crowley gave a displeased grunt. “Yeah, I remember. What do you want to do, then?” he asked. “You can't stay here.”

“No, I can't, but I'm not sure what other option I have. I was considering hiring someone not unlike you to take care of Gabriel, but if all four of them are involved, I couldn't possibly.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Crowley agreed. “What about… I mean…” He trailed off, a thoughtful look crossing his face, and then a devious smile spread across his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Crowley said, reaching out and running a hand over Aziraphale’s hair. “You don't have to worry about this, angel, I know how to take care of it. All I need is to find out where Gabriel's room is.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Why? What are you planning?”

“Not gonna tell you,” he insisted. “You've been dealing with these arseholes your entire life. Let me take care of them this time.”

Aziraphale sighed, but it was rather sweet of him. How was Aziraphale meant to argue? “Oh alright. Just be careful, please. I've only just got you back. I'm not ready to lose you yet.”

Crowley smiled softly. “I'll be careful, angel. Can't get rid of me that easy.”

Aziraphale returned the smile. Found himself just gazing silently at Crowley for a long while, watching the way the light spilled over his features, lighting his hair, almost like fire. The way his eyes seemed to shine with a soft sort of joy.

Aziraphale hoped it never left. Hoped that, after all of this, once he was finally out of the castle, they would be free to be together without any interruptions or things going wrong. He felt like they deserved it.

“Where do you think we'll go?” Aziraphale found himself musing, “Once we're out of here. I was thinking perhaps we'd go back to Tadfield.”

Crowley winced a bit, and Aziraphale’s face fell. “Right. About that. We can't actually stay,” he admitted. “Can't be anywhere near here, really.”

Aziraphale's heart sank, realizing perhaps their complications would continue after all. “Why- Why not?”

“It's… Look, it's dangerous if we stay, alright?” Crowley said. “And I really don't want you to get hurt.”

“Dangerous how? And where exactly did you have in mind, then?” Aziraphale asked, because perhaps this was still salvageable. But it sounded like they would be quite a ways away, and Aziraphale had promised Muriel he would write to them. If they moved so far from the country, he wasn’t sure how he could.

“Alpha Centauri,” Crowley said. “Just a bunch of little islands, mostly. Nice, tropical, out of the way. We’d be safe there.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice Crowley had not answered his first question, but supposed that didn’t sound so bad. A permanent vacation, almost. So long as the place had a bookshop, Aziraphale would be fine, but how far away was it? If he couldn’t keep in touch with Muriel, it simply wasn’t an option.

He loosed a sigh. “It’s just… I promised Muriel I’d write to them, and I don’t know that I could get letters to them from so far away. I can’t just leave them in the dark. They’ll worry.”

Crowley’s throat bobbed. He looked conflicted. “I understand, but these people are dangerous, angel, really dangerous. And if-”

Who ?” Aziraphale countered. “My dear, I trust you implicitly, but you have got to tell me what is going on. I can’t read your mind. I don’t know what’s at stake.”

Crowley winced, and Aziraphale tried to read what he saw in those eyes. Guilt, certainly, and worry, but something else, too. Something Aziraphale couldn’t quite place. “I… can’t tell you.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms and demanded, “You can’t or you won’t?”

“Ngk. Bit of both, probably.” At least he was honest.

“Well, then I can’t go to Alpha Centauri with you either.” Aziraphale turned his back to Crowley with a humph .

Crowley sighed. “Don’t do that.” Aziraphale felt his arm slowly loop around him. Holding him loosely.

Aziraphale didn’t shrug him off.

“Look, why don’t we… find a compromise,” Crowley suggested. “You wanted to get out of the country anyway, so let’s at least do that. It’s not as far as I want, but it’s safer than staying here.” Crowley’s hand slid into Aziraphale’s own, interlacing their fingers.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand as Crowley asked, “Is that alright?”

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale agreed. He turned to look at Crowley over his shoulder. “I do wish you would talk to me, though. Whatever trouble you’ve found yourself in, I’m sure we can work it out.”

Crowley gave a noncommittal grunt. Looked away. “This isn’t really something you work out. Trust me, angel, the best option for us is to run.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale murmured.

He loosed a soft sigh, sinking a bit deeper into Crowley’s embrace. Despite the small argument, he really didn't want to go far from him. Wanted to be as close as he could for as long as possible. He knew what it was to be without him, and he did not want to experience that again so soon.

“And y’know, I’m really glad to have you back,” Crowley murmured, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I just want to keep you safe. I don't wanna lose you.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “I don't want to lose you either.”

A moment passed in silence, and then Aziraphale turned to face him once more, pressing his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck.

They would need to get up soon, Aziraphale knew that. Crowley had his plan, though he wasn’t telling Aziraphale what exactly that was, and while Aziraphale didn’t know off hand where Gabriel was staying, he knew the information would not be hard to find. So soon enough he would be off doing whatever it was he had planned. But until then, Aziraphale would take what he could get. Savor these soft, quiet moments. He would remember exactly how it felt to lie here beside him and hope that eventually, once they were settled somewhere, this would be their forever.

Quiet, peaceful, perfect.

*    *    *

They did not have long, unfortunately, to enjoy the moment.

Aziraphale had to get up in only a handful of minutes because, for one, it would be odd if no one saw him today and might prompt at least Muriel to come looking, and, for two, he needed to gather some things to aid Crowley in his plan.

So he retrieved his clothes, not the ones from the ball but his usual ones, kept in his closet, and by the time he returned, Crowley was standing in the middle of the room, shirt on but unbuttoned, and muttering to himself as he brushed something off of it.

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh, going over to him. “What’s wrong?”

“You got glitter on it,” he said, holding up one side to show Aziraphale the way the glitter indeed twinkled in the light. “How am I s’posed to sneak around in the dark now? I look like a disco ball.”

“Well, you didn’t seem to mind the glitter last night,” Aziraphale countered, reaching out and taking Crowley’s face in his hands, narrowing his eyes as he scanned for stray specs of glitter. “And you don't need to worry about that. You won’t be wearing these.” He caught sight of one on his forehead.

“I… won’t?” Crowley questioned as Aziraphale reached up, trying to pluck the piece of glitter free.

“No. If you’re going to be sneaking around the castle, trying not to draw any attention to yourself, you’ll need to look the part.” He frowned, the glitter evading his grasp, and tried again.

“Ow!” Crowley yelped, immediately pulling back and rubbing at his forehead. “You pinched me!”

“I’m sorry! I’m trying to help get the glitter off. Now come here.” He took Crowley’s head in his hands, pulling him closer and tilting his head just a bit. “Just hold still, I can get it.”

Crowley sighed, but didn’t move. “What do you mean I’ll need to look the part? Isn't that the point of the clothes I’m already wearing?”

“Not at all. You won’t be able to navigate the castle unseen, dear boy, skilled as you are.” Aziraphale, at last, got the glitter under his thumbnail. “I’ll have to commandeer a disguise for you.”

He brushed the glitter from his thumb, letting it flutter to the floor, then stepped back, brushing some imaginary dust from Crowley’s shoulders. “There you are. Now, continue getting dressed. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” He pressed a quick kiss to Crowley’s cheek, then started for the door, but paused after a few feet and added, “Oh, and also, if anyone comes in while I’m away, you can duck into the armoire. As long as you’re quiet no one should find you there.”

Crowley, it seemed, was still stunned by the casual display of affection, his cheeks tinted pink.

“Er…” He blinked, only then processing what Aziraphale had just said. “Right. ‘Course. Be careful out there, angel.”

Aziraphale left the room, giving Crowley a warm, hopefully reassuring—and perhaps slightly teasing—smile on his way out. He knew what he had to find, though how, exactly, he was going to do it, he wasn’t quite sure, but he did know the best place to start.

He started down the stairs at a brisk walk, heading towards the library.

Notes:

Hello hello! I am back! I have discovered and (hopefully) solved my problem so we continue as scheduled! ...ish? Probably will stick with once weekly updates for now (I say as if I've been doing that consistently) which I guess will be on Fridays now instead of Mondays 😅 I'm trying to get my productive brain back but it is struggling and doesn't wanna 😭 I'll get there though. And who knows, maybe I will surprise update on Monday. I don't actually know how much editing the next chapter needs. I haven't looked at it in a while. I've kind of just decided that an update will happen either on a Monday or a Friday and it is a mystery which one it will be (I say as if I didn't just state updates would be once weekly). Just know updates will happen. Maybe once weekly, maybe twice weekly. It'll be a surprise for all involved, me included 😂

Chapter 36

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley tried his best not to worry about Aziraphale.

He’d finished putting on his glitter-dusted clothes and found himself wandering the room aimlessly, looking at all of Aziraphale's knick knacks and trinkets and books . Oh, so many books. Crowley would never have guessed they had a library here based on the stacks of them scattered throughout the space. How he got away with this without the librarian absolutely despising him, Crowley didn’t know, but it was certainly an impressive feat. 

He walked up to the desk, running a finger over it, clearing a line of dust. He drew a face in it, then, with a light chuckle, gave it little devil horns.

He rocked back on his heels and blew out a breath, glancing around the room. The cluttered space felt suddenly empty without Aziraphale in it. How long until he came back?

Probably a while. Crowley would have to find some way to kill the time.

He picked up the nearest book, one about demonic creatures he remembered Aziraphale mentioning before, and flipped through a few pages. There were all kinds of strange and, admittedly, terrifying creatures throughout. Crowley found himself wondering if they were all truly real, like the ones they'd encountered in the forest. He flipped through a few more, even reading some of the excerpts—a lot of them made him grimace—and then familiar, soulless eyes were staring at him from the page, the ink somehow able to capture the same unsettling presence the creature held when confronted face to face. 

Crowley swallowed hard as he stared into it. 

And then he'd swear he watched it blink. 

Watched as it began to move , crawling out of the page, and said in that familiar growl, “You will never know peace.”

Crowley let out a gasp and snapped the book closed.

For a moment he just stood there, panting, then he loosed a long, shaky sigh and muttered, “Right. Don’t know what else I was expecting with that one.”

He put the book back on the stack and went to the window instead, looking out at the city sprawling before him. He couldn't deny, Aziraphale had quite the view, and he wondered if he would ever stand here and just look at it, dreaming of one day running away.

The city was bustling with activity, late enough in the morning now that all of the shops were open, and smoke was rising up from several chimneys. 

Crowley couldn't help the way his eyes scanned the streets, looking for a familiar red cloak. He didn't think they'd be here, it wouldn't make sense for them to be in the capital. But they were out there somewhere, looking for him, and people like that, they didn't like to lose.

“I know you're out there,” he muttered. “Probably hiding away somewhere, not even bothering to do the dirty work of figuring out where I am.”

They hadn't even been seen in years. Why they were resurfacing now, with the sole purpose of finding him, Crowley wasn't sure. Something must have set them off, but what ? Crowley hadn't told anyone his real name, besides Aziraphale, but they had been after him before that. He wore his glasses as often as he could, hiding his eyes from anyone who might recognize them. He had never been caught by guards or held in a dungeon before—well besides that incident with Aziraphale, but that didn't really count. There was no real record of him anywhere, except, perhaps at the inns he stayed from time to time, but even those were under his false name. So it didn't make any sense why now, suddenly, they were searching again.

He supposed it didn't matter much, though, not now. Whatever the reason, they were after him, and Crowley had to do everything he could to make sure they didn't find him.

A knock sounded at the door, and Crowley nearly leaped out of his skin as he whirled. 

No one entered, not yet, but a voice outside said, “Aziraphale? Are you in there? You left the ball early last night, and you weren't at breakfast this morning, so I just wanted to make sure you're alright.”

Not Aziraphale. Great.

Crowley slowly backed towards the armoire.

“I can get Errapel if you're not feeling well,” they continued. “I know Gabriel and the others can be very rude, and I understand if you don't want to be out much today, but… can you at least tell me you're okay?”

That was… oddly sweet, and Crowley couldn't help but wonder who this mystery person was. It seemed Aziraphale had at least someone here who cared about him, and he was glad to know that. That perhaps his time here in the castle hadn't been all bad. He still couldn't risk them finding him, though.

He took another step back, but his elbow bumped into a stack of books and sent them tumbling, spilling over the desk and onto the floor, making loud thuds as they went.

The person outside had definitely heard that.

Crowley bolted for the armoire, but the door opened before he could make it, and Crowley froze watching as the mystery person paused just inside the door, their eyes wide. 

He recognized them instantly as Muriel.

They shifted, as if preparing to run, but Crowley threw out a hand, saying, “Wait! Just… hang on, just a second, alright?”

“Who- Who are you?” they asked, their voice shaking. Their throat bobbed. “There are guards downstairs, you know, and I-”

“Yes, yes, I know, but I'm not- I'm a friend, I…” Come on, come on, think! Think of something! “Aziraphale knows I'm here.”

This made them pause, and Crowley loosed a silent breath of relief. They clearly weren’t convinced, but at least he’d bought himself some time.

“He does?” Muriel asked. 

“Yes, he does. Now if you could just wait here, he'll be back soon, and he can explain everything.”

They glanced behind them, at the open door. “I… really should get the guards.”

“Just… Don't. Look,” Crowley held out his hands in a placating gesture. “I'm not here to hurt anyone. If I was, you would be dead by now.”

They let out a worried noise and took a step back.

“No! Nonono, listen. I'm here trying to help Aziraphale, alright? And if you get the guards now, he’s going to do something stupid trying to get me out of trouble,” Crowley argued. “I don't want him getting in trouble, and I don't think you do either.”

They slowly shook their head.

“Good. So, just… don't tell anyone I'm here,” Crowley said.

They worried their lower lip. Glanced behind them. “Well… What are you helping him with?”

Alright, an interrogation. Crowley could handle that, easy. He didn’t even have to lie. “I'm helping him get out. Need to get Gabriel off his back so he can leave.”

They relaxed a little at that. “Oh. You know about Gabriel too?”

“Yeah, saw him outside. Aziraphale told me who he was,” Crowley explained.

“So… if you know Aziraphale, who are you?” they asked. “I've never seen you in the castle before.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Well, you wouldn't have. Never been in the castle, not before last night, anyway.”

They blinked. “So you stayed the night? Here? In Aziraphale's room?”

Crowley felt his cheeks grow hot and turned away, hoping to hide the likely now pink tint to his cheeks. He was an assassin for Hell’s sake! He shouldn’t be blushing at the mere suggestion that he’d slept with Aziraphale last night. Though he supposed it didn’t help that that’s exactly what happened. 

“Ngk. Maybe,” was all he managed in response.

A grin broke out across their lips, their fear vanishing in all of a moment. “So you and Aziraphale are…”

Crowley sighed, but if it got them off his back and helped them trust him a bit more, he supposed it was alright. “Something, yeah. I think, ngk. Haven't really talked about it much.” But he said he loved me. He said he loved me and then he kissed me so sweetly and I've never felt anything like it before.  

“But you want to be something,” they said.

“Mmnrg. Maybe.” Alright this is going a bit far now. Rein it back in, Crowley, we can't be having this conversation, certainly not with a stranger. “But look, you're not gonna tell the guards I'm here, right? ‘Cause I really need to get this done now, while Gabriel and the others are still here.”

They smiled. “No. It would be very rude if I got my brother's boyfriend in trouble.”

Crowley ducked his head, but otherwise, didn't deny it. Admittedly, it was… nice to be thought of that way. And he'd talk things through with Aziraphale later, when they had a moment. See if he wanted to be that. Be… them.

For now, he would be patient.

He just hoped Aziraphale was alright wherever he was in the castle right now. He'd lived here his entire life. This was his domain and he knew how to navigate it, but Crowley still worried. He was never really safe in the castle, especially not when Gabriel and his friends were here. And Crowley couldn’t help him, not right now. Not until Aziraphale returned with whatever disguise he was grabbing.

Crowley hoped he’d be back soon.

*    *    *

It seemed Aziraphale had gone to the right place. While the librarian didn’t have the outfit Aziraphale was looking for, she did have connections in the castle and was able to find someone who did quite quickly. Which was how Aziraphale ended up standing in a closet for ten minutes while an older, grumpy man rummaged through the nearby servants’ clothes hanging on racks.

Aziraphale already had a shirt that he was fairly certain would fit Crowley draped over his arm, along with a bow-tie, which left them with just one more article of clothing to find.

The grumpy man pulled out a pair of pants, holding them up. “How's this for ye?”

Aziraphale looked it up and down. “Um, it looks a tad too small,” he said with a frown. “Do you have anything a little larger?”

He rummaged some more, then retrieved one that looked two sizes too big. “Just this.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Er… No, that's much too big. The smaller one will have to do. Thank you.”

The man handed it to him with a grunt, and Aziraphale glanced at the door.

He'd have several hallways to navigate before he made it back to his room, and who knew who he'd encounter out there. If someone found him with these clothes they were bound to question him. He had no reason to be carting such things around. And he wasn't sure how he would answer those questions without tipping the asker off to whatever Crowley was planning.

The man who had helped Aziraphale started towards the door.

“Er, actually, I-” 

The man paused, giving a displeased grunt.

“Well, do you have something I could use to carry this without it being seen?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Aye,” the man said and turned back to the rack of clothes, bending down to retrieve a burlap sack, which he handed to Aziraphale.

He supposed it would have to do. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said to the man. He promptly shoved the clothes inside before stepping out into the hall. It wasn’t much of a buffer, and there was a chance he would still be questioned for carrying around such an item, but it was better than walking around with servants’ clothes in his arms.

He didn't see many people on the way and was beginning to believe he would get back without any interruption at all when he heard a familiar voice call his name. A voice that had his blood going cold.

He turned and forced a smile, trying to hold the burlap sack behind him to draw as little attention to it as possible. “Yes, Gabriel?”

“What is that you're holding?” he questioned.

Oh, gosh; oh… alright. This is perfectly fine.

“Er, well, it's… nothing really,” Aziraphale said, eyes scanning the halls frantically, trying to come up with something. “Just, er… books!”

“Oh. Good,” Gabriel said. “Just wanted to make sure you weren't trying to sneak out without anyone noticing.” He glanced down at the bag again. “I can't help but notice that does look a lot like a travel bag.”

Aziraphale tried very hard not to wince. “Ah. Yes, I suppose it does,” he said, silently urging his mind to work faster and think of another excuse before Gabriel realized something was off. “It was… er… the only one the librarian had on hand, I'm afraid.”

Gabriel frowned as if he didn’t really believe him, so Aziraphale added curtly, “I was just going back up to my room to read, Gabriel. I assure you, I’m staying.” 

And though Gabriel still didn’t look entirely convinced, he didn’t argue, just said, “Well, alright then. I’ll leave you to it.” He gave him a slap on the shoulder that was just a bit too hard, then turned and walked away.

Aziraphale loosed a silent breath of relief, starting back towards his room.

Gabriel turned back after only a few steps, though, and added, his voice making Aziraphale pause, his shoulders stiffening, “Oh, and, just so you know, if you leave after I’m gone, I will find out eventually. Sooner rather than later, probably. So, don’t think that’ll get the librarian off the hook.”

“Yes, I quite understand,” Aziraphale said, and continued on his way.

Gabriel didn’t give a response back, and Aziraphale found himself quickening his pace the moment he was around a corner, eager to get away.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Plans are afoot, Crowley has met Muriel, and Gabriel's still being an ass (is anyone surprised?). We will get to Crowley's plan soon, but first I think a little more fluff is in order, don't you?

Also friends, I have sad news. I no longer have tickets to meet David Tennant and Catherine Tate. CT had to cancel, alas 😔 I'm still going to the con though, so I know it'll be fun regardless!

Chapter 37

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was quite surprised when he, at last, returned to his room, finding Muriel there, sitting in his armchair, while Crowley lounged on the bed. Neither one seemed alarmed of the other, so they had clearly been here for some time.

Crowley, noting where Aziraphale’s gaze had drifted, explained, “Yeah, they came in. Tried to hide, like you said, but I wasn’t fast enough, so,” he gave a small shrug, “they know I’m here now.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced over at Muriel, who was grinning at him. “And you haven’t… told anyone?”

“Nah,” Crowley said as Muriel shook their head with a smile. “I told them what’s going on. They won’t tell anyone.”

“Well, good,” Aziraphale said. “I suppose if there was one person who was going to discover you were here, I’m glad it was Muriel. At the very least, I know they wouldn’t harm you.”

“Don’t worry!” Muriel spoke up, their smile turning to a grin. “I would never hurt your boyfriend.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he whipped his head towards Crowley. “He’s not- He’s not my-” Crowley arched a brow, and Aziraphale paused. Were they, actually? Boyfriends? Or… partners? Something of the like? Aziraphale didn’t really mind the notion himself, but… he supposed they hadn’t talked about it. What if Crowley considered them as such and was now hurt that Aziraphale had instinctively denied it?

He clamped his mouth shut unwilling to say any more and just stared, panicked, at Crowley, hoping perhaps he would let him know the right answer.

Crowley’s features softened into a smile and he stood, going over to him. “S’alright, angel. We haven’t talked about it yet, I know. Muriel just heard I stayed the night and came to their own conclusions.” He shot them a half-hearted glare.

“Did you meet him while you were away?” Muriel asked, ignoring Crowley.

“I suppose I did, yes.” Aziraphale turned back to Crowley, giving a soft smile as he remembered that night. “In fact, he was the very first person I met on my venture outside the castle walls.”

“And I was a total arsehole,” Crowley said with a playful smile.

“You were, yes, but I don’t know that I was much better,” Aziraphale admitted. “I was certainly a bit… hostile as well.”

“Yeah, because I was hostile first,” Crowley countered. “Do you have any idea how nice you were to me compared to literally everyone I’ve interacted with for years?”

“No, I don’t, and you were nice to me too,” Aziraphale argued, and at Crowley’s immediate objection, insisted, “You were! You could’ve walked away. You could’ve stolen everything I had and ran off and I never would’ve been able to find you or do a thing about it, but you didn’t.”

Aziraphale smiled and set the bag on the floor, reaching out to gently adjust Crowley’s lapels. “In fact, I’m quite confident such a thought, or one like it, never crossed your mind at all. It was unthinkable to you. Do you know why?”

Crowley didn’t answer, just stared down at Aziraphale, close enough that Aziraphale could see the yellow hue beneath the dark lenses.

Aziraphale continued, “Because you are, at heart, just a little bit, of a good person.”

Crowley ducked his head a bit. “Ngk. M’not, really, just…”

“Just…?” Aziraphale prompted, raising his brows.

“Shut up.”

Aziraphale grinned.

And then Muriel spoke up. “Should I… go?”

Aziraphale whirled towards them, only now remembering they were still here. “Oh, er… no. No, I…” Right. They had things to get done. Crowley had an outfit to put on. 

Aziraphale bent and retrieved the bag, pressing it into Crowley’s hands. “These are your clothes, you can change in my bathroom over there.” Aziraphale pointed to the far left side of the room.

Crowley shot him a grin, but took the clothes and headed into the bathroom without a word.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile after him, then took a seat on his bed, turning to face Muriel, who, it seemed, couldn't stop grinning.

“You seem very happy about this arrangement,” Aziraphale said.

“I am,” Muriel said with a happy little wiggle. “You're very cute together, and he's so nice for helping you get away.”

“M’not nice!” Crowley’s voice sounded, muffled by the bathroom door.

Aziraphale chuckled. “He is, yes.”

“And he makes you happy.”

“Yes, he does.” Aziraphale’s smile turned warmer, softer. “Honestly, I'm not sure I would've enjoyed my time away nearly as much if I hadn't spent it with him.” He glanced over at the bathroom door, unable to help the way his eyes softened as he thought of the man within. He hoped they could talk all of this out soon and figure out what they both wanted. And he hoped they were in agreement on finding someplace peaceful to settle down.

Though, he supposed, their definitions of peaceful might differ, considering Crowley still very much wanted to go to Alpha Centauri. Aziraphale knew the islands probably would technically be calm, but he wouldn't be able to keep in touch with his family if they went there, and Aziraphale felt no peace in that, no matter how apparently dangerous it was staying here.

He turned back to Muriel, saying apologetically, “You should… probably go. Cro- er, Anthony ,” best not to reveal his real name without his permission, “is going to be doing something a tad dangerous and I would hate for you to get into any trouble.”

Their brows furrowed a bit in concern, but they stood from the chair, saying, “Alright.” They started for the door, but paused after only a few feet. “Do you want me to get you anything? Some sweets?” they asked. “I know Gabriel and the others can be mean, and sweets always make me feel better.”

Aziraphale couldn't deny, the offer warmed him. Muriel always had been so very kind.

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale said, giving a smile. “I'll be down for lunch soon, though. Keeping up appearances, you know.”

Muriel nodded, then gave a small smile. “Okay. See you at lunch, then.”

“And I will send you letters,” Aziraphale assured before they walked away. He wanted to make sure they knew, wanted them to find comfort in knowing that yes, Aziraphale would leave, but he would not be truly gone from their life, not if he could help it. “Once we’re settled somewhere, anyway.”

Muriel paused, their features saddening a bit. “I know. And I know you’ll be happier out there, but I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, my dear.”

They gave a thoughtful frown and added, “I won’t be able to sneak into the kitchen anymore. Not without you there.”

Aziraphale contemplated that for a moment, trying to remember the title of that book so they could find it in the library. Had he ever returned it, actually? Aziraphale could almost remember having seen it fairly recently, in one his stacks. He was certain that he'd meant to return it, but perhaps the thought had slipped his mind, and the book had been buried and near forgotten. He gave a small smile, and got to his feet. “Why don’t we remedy that, then?”

He went to one of the many stacks of books, searching through them. He was sure he’d seen it around here somewhere.

“What are you looking for?” Muriel asked, coming up beside him.

There! He spotted it, a gray tome near the bottom of the stack, and picked it up carefully, ensuring the books on top didn't topple over. “This,” Aziraphale said, and turned, holding it out to Muriel. “Read it. It'll teach you how to get into any room you like.” 

Their mouth fell open and they took the book from him.

Aziraphale added, “Use it wisely.”

Muriel grinned.

*    *    *

The clothes, unsurprisingly, were not bad. The white button up shirt was well made and oddly soft, and the black pants, though tight, were comfortable enough. A slightly rougher material than the shirt, but Crowley had worn worse.

He stared into the mirror, his own yellow eyes looking right back at him, glasses set aside, on the counter. 

He wouldn't be able to put them on for this. Sunglasses weren't a part of the uniform and they would be bound to turn heads if he wore them, even more than his bare eyes would, and he couldn't risk drawing too much attention to himself here. Still, he felt naked without them. They were his greatest defense, hiding his most identifying feature and shielding him from the prying eyes of those who would try to read him, and with The Four Horsemen on the prowl, he was even more reluctant to be without them.

But the chances of anyone recognizing him, especially here and after so long, were low. And even if someone did, he would be out and long gone before The Four Horsemen got word. He would be alright. He always was.

Crowley turned his gaze back down to the black piece of fabric he'd been idly twirling between his fingers that he was fairly certain was meant to be a bow-tie. 

And frowned. 

He did not wear bow-ties. Never in his life, not even when he was younger and going to those balls, had he worn a bow-tie. He did not know how to tie one. 

But Aziraphale probably did.

Crowley exited the bathroom, finding Aziraphale sitting at his desk, reading. He looked up as Crowley emerged, a smile blooming across his lips.

“Oh, my dear, you look beautiful,” he said, getting to his feet and going to Crowley.

Crowley snorted. “Can't be that nice. S’just a servants’ uniform.”

“And you wear it wonderfully.” Aziraphale reached for the scrap of fabric in his hand without Crowley even having to ask. “Here, allow me.” He looped the bow-tie around Crowley’s neck, careful to ensure it was tucked neatly beneath the collar, then began to tie it. “Is that alright, dear? Not too tight?”

“Not at all,” Crowley said.

They stood in silence for a moment, Aziraphale diligently tying the bow-tie while Crowley watched, scanning those blue eyes. They were so very focused on this little task.

“Do be careful,” Aziraphale murmured as he worked, “when you do whatever it is you're going to do today. I trust that you know what you're doing, I do, but I know these people, Crowley, and they are dangerous. They have power here, and I know they wouldn't hesitate to use it to hurt you.”

“I know.” But he had dealt with people like this before. Now, granted, this was a bit different than what he normally did, but if anything, it was easier. He didn't even have to talk to the bastard. He just needed to get in there, find what he was looking for, and get out. Easy.

“I'll be alright,” Crowley said. “I do stuff like this all the time.”

“Yes, I know. But this time you're in the castle, and if anything goes wrong in here, things will take a turn very quickly.”

“I know. I don't plan on things going wrong.”

“Well, no one ever does, do they?” Aziraphale said, then pulled the bow-tie tight, adjusting it slightly before stepping back, admiring his handiwork. “There we go.”

He looked up, his gaze settling on Crowley’s, a smile blooming across his lips. 

“Was this outfit just an excuse to get me to wear a bow-tie?” Crowley quipped, unable to fight a smile of his own.

“I have no control over the uniform,” Aziraphale said. “Though I can't say the thought never crossed my mind. You look rather dashing in it too.” He looked him up and down, reaching out to run his hands down Crowley’s arms.

Crowley huffed a laugh.

He really did need to go. He knew that. It was best if he got this over with as soon as possible so that he could get Aziraphale out of here, but he found himself wanting to stay, even just a moment longer. To take in that smile, the joy, the love shining in those brilliant blue eyes.

Aziraphale leaned in, pressing a kiss to Crowley's cheek, prompting that familiar warmth, before stepping away again. “I'm afraid I'll have to leave for lunch soon. I told Muriel I'd go, and it's probably better if I show my face around the castle,” he said. “That way I'm less likely to be suspected of trying to leave.”

Crowley nodded. “‘Course, yeah. I'll head out shortly after you, then. See if I can't find that arsehole’s bedroom.”

“It shouldn't be too difficult,” Aziraphale said, and then something shifted a bit in his eyes, letting Crowley know this next bit was important as he added, “If you could get to the library, the librarian would be happy to help you.”

Crowley gave a nod of understanding. “Right, library then. Got it.”

He could do this. Sneaking into the room of a likely very well known Lord in the most guarded place in the country? Easy. Not a problem.

Aziraphale soon left, giving Crowley’s hand a parting squeeze, and Crowley followed a few minutes after, casual and confident as he could be, knowing one misstep could get not only himself but Aziraphale too, in major trouble.

He would not fail.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Wanted to drop this chapter today, as I will be busy on Friday and unable to post. So you all will have to wait a week to actually see Crowley put his plan into action.

This fic has been coming along quite nicely. I've actually been very happy with the last couple chapters I wrote, which is not always the case so I'm taking that as a good sign 😅 It's sitting at 136k words right now, which does make it my longest fic. I don't know if it'll quite reach the 150k that I thought it would, but I also don't have a final chapter count yet, so only time will tell.

Chapter 38

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It wasn’t hard for Crowley to find the library. Really, it wasn’t very far from Aziraphale’s room, which, Crowley guessed, was probably at least partly to blame for all the books Aziraphale kept there.

It was empty when Crowley entered, or appeared that way at a glance, so Crowley wandered towards the front desk, standing there awkwardly amid the mahogany furniture. There was a green lamp sitting atop the desk, but otherwise it was clean. So at odds with Aziraphale’s, which held so many books you could hardly see the bloody thing. 

He cleared his throat, the sound echoing throughout the large room, and a voice from deeper in the library said, “Just a minute, dear.”

So Crowley waited, tapping his foot lightly on the tile, trying very hard not to be too impatient. Only he was impatient. Very impatient, in fact. He needed this done as soon as possible so he could get Aziraphale out of here and somewhere safe, and then they could figure out what they wanted to be and where they wanted to go. They could find someplace where their biggest worry was what they should have for dinner, or which room Aziraphale’s library—because Crowley was fairly certain that was inevitable—would go in.

It sounded so very nice.

Several minutes later a woman appeared from behind a bookshelf and made her way behind the counter. “Sorry about that, love. What did you need?”

“Er, just…” Crowley glanced around. The rest of the room looked empty, but walls had ears and Crowley wasn’t about to risk anyone overhearing his plan. “I was told you might be able to help me with something.”

“Well, help you with what?” she questioned, and Crowley blinked. Aziraphale had made it sound like this woman would know he was coming, but apparently he'd been wrong. “I can't help if you won't tell me what you need.”

Crowley fought the urge to loose a sigh. “Well, y’know, I'm er… new here, and I'm looking for Gabriel’s room. Can't find it for the life of me, d’you know where it is?” He knew the excuse wasn't perfect, and wouldn't work with anyone who knew anything about who the castle employed, but that didn't matter. He just needed it to work for this.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened, lighting with realization. “ Oh , yes, of course, love, here.” She opened a drawer in the counter, retrieving a piece of paper. “It's a bit far. I'll write it down for you.”

“Thank you.” Crowley glanced around, again checking for prying eyes, but finding none. And then a moment later the paper was in his hand and Crowley was scanning it on his way out the door.

At the bottom, the librarian had left him a little note that read, simply, give them hell .

Crowley certainly intended to.

*    *    *

Muriel was already seated when Aziraphale arrived for lunch. They grinned at him from across the table, happy, he knew, to spend this time with him before he left.

Aziraphale couldn't deny he was too. He would've felt terrible if he'd left without so much as a goodbye, especially knowing how much they had missed him. They had been one of the good things about being here. He did not want to hurt them.

“Hello, Muriel,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “Do you know who else will be joining us today?” They were the only ones at the table so far, having arrived, apparently, rather early, but Aziraphale was not naive enough to think it would remain that way. After a ball, it was quite likely even some of the guests would join them. Gabriel might, even. Aziraphale gave an involuntary wince at the thought.

“I think Errapel said she was coming,” Muriel said. “Ramiel said he can't, though. Busy, like usual.”

“Well, I’m glad Errapel will be here, at least,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll have to ask her if she would like me to write.” If she arrived before the other guests, anyway. 

After a moment of thought, Aziraphale added, “In fact, tell Ramiel I'll happily write to him too, if you come across him. And the others too. Might as well. I’ll write to each and every one of you, if that is what you all want.”

Muriel promised him they would, and then, a few minutes later, the dining hall began to fill with people. A few of Aziraphale’s other siblings joined them at the table, Errapel indeed among them, and a handful of guests as well. So far, Aziraphale had not spotted Gabriel, though he wasn’t sure that was a good thing, considering Crowley was meant to be heading to his room right now. Aziraphale could only hope he would be alright.

Michael, however, was here. She had taken the open seat to Muriel’s right and gave him a smile that felt far more threatening than pleasant. And though Aziraphale knew there wasn’t much she could do to him here, surrounded by family and other nobility, he still felt uneasy as the food was brought out.

Things were never good when any of the four of them were involved, and even if it was only Michael at the table, he knew she was not going to leave him alone, not after the ball last night.

He just hoped he could make it through lunch with minimal comments.

*    *    *

With the directions the librarian had given him, it was easy to find Gabriel’s room. And with his lockpicks, he was inside in a matter of moments.

The room was dark, Gabriel, it seemed, somewhere else in the castle at the moment and Crowley thanked Someone for that. He wasn’t gone, though. Crowley could still see his things sitting on the nightstand or on the floor beside the bed. 

He went right for them and immediately began to rifle through them, looking for anything that might imply any sort of wrongdoing on Gabriel's part. Anything at all. It didn't have to be some huge scandal—though Crowley would certainly take it if it was—just enough that Gabriel would be willing to keep his mouth shut to ensure it remained a secret. 

Just a little bit of blackmail, that's all they needed.

He didn't find anything in his bag, though. The only things of note being his invitation to the ball and a small note from the Metatron, inviting him to discuss trade opportunities. Crowley wondered if that’s where he was now.

He quickly shoved those back in the bag, then went for the nightstand yanking open the drawers, finding them both empty.

“Come on,” Crowley muttered. “There's gotta be something.” 

He glanced around the room, looking for any other place something like that might be hidden and was starting to think he might have to resort to lifting up the mattress to see if there was anything underneath. There was no way Gabriel wasn't involved in some scandal or another. There had to be something here.

And then he caught sight of the fireplace. The few remaining coals inside were still smoldering. Recently lit, despite the summer heat.

Crowley rushed towards them, grabbing the poker, and began to gingerly sift through the ashes. “Come on, come on. Just give me something ,” he muttered. “You were trying to get rid of something, what was it?”

And then there, a flash of ink beneath the ash.

Crowley reached in, brushing the ash away to reveal a scrap of paper, charred along the edges. Handwritten. A letter, it looked like, though everything except the end had been burned away. It was signed, rather simply, M. 

Crowley couldn’t help but grin as he read.

It wasn't a lot. Admittedly, it was just a few sentences, but oh, was it enough. More than enough, even.

Just as he finished, Crowley heard the door creak open and immediately rightened, shoving the scrap of paper in his pocket, and whirling around just as Gabriel appeared. His eyes widened as he spotted Crowley. “What are you doing here?”

“Just… er, cleaning up,” Crowley said. He motioned the fireplace with the poker, still in his hand. “Noticed the ash in there. So. Y’know.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you were cleaning it with the poker?”

Crowley tried not to wince. Set the poker back down. “I, uh, I'm… new,” he said, dragging that last word out a bit, hoping like Hell Gabriel bought his lie, but he gave a dissatisfied glare and scanned him a little more closely.

Crowley fought very hard to keep any sort of guilt off of his face, very much missing his glasses. This would be so much easier with that shield. And for one moment, just for a single second Crowley would swear a glimmer of something flashed across his face. A look that had Crowley standing very very still, a bead of sweat forming on the back of his neck.

And then it vanished, and Gabriel said, “Get out. Now.”

Crowley nodded, though he was itching to reach to his waist. For a weapon that was not there. “Right. ‘Course,” was all he said instead, and promptly walked past Gabriel, leaving the room.

He waited until he was far from Gabriel's room before breaking into a run, and got several odd looks from nobility, guards, and servants alike, but Crowley paid them no mind. He made it back to Aziraphale’s room in record time and let out a sigh of relief when the door was at last closed behind him.

A quick glance around the room proved that Aziraphale was not there. Not too surprising, he supposed he hadn't been in Gabriel's room that long. So Crowley waited, pacing around the room, reading that note, knowing Gabriel had likely just clocked that he wasn't meant to be here and was going to tell the guards any minute. He didn't have time . He needed to warn Aziraphale and make sure he got this note, and then Crowley needed to run. Not far, and not for long, but he couldn't be here with every guard in the castle looking for him. A commandeered uniform could not save him from that, and despite Aziraphale being a prince, Crowley wasn't sure he could either.

He went into the bathroom, where his glasses still sat, and promptly shoved them on, then went back to pacing. He hadn't even been here a minute but he needed Aziraphale to get back. He couldn't stay for much longer.

“Come on, angel,” he muttered. “I know you're keeping face, but I need you to hurry. We don’t have much time.”

*    *    *

Lunch, so far, was not going terribly. Michael hadn’t said a word, not yet, though she was watching him rather closely, and Aziraphale internally scoffed. As if he were going to try and sneak out now, right in the middle of lunch, with all these eyes on him.

No, he wasn’t leaving just yet. He needed to wait until Crowley accomplished his task, whatever that was.

He might even be done by now. It couldn't take that long, could it? Aziraphale supposed it probably could, he had no idea what Crowley was up to. But, even if he was done already, it wasn’t like Aziraphale could get out of this so easily. Certainly not with Michael watching him like she was.

He glanced around, noting the meal seemed to be nearing its end. Which meant he had at least another ten minutes of mingling between nobility before he could even consider taking his leave.

“Somewhere to be, Aziraphale?” Michael asked.

Aziraphale blinked, only just realizing her gaze had turned back to him. “Er, no! Certainly not,” he denied, giving a reflexive smile. “Plenty of time to sit and talk.”

Oh… this is going to be a while, isn't it? Aziraphale could only hope Crowley was alright.

“Good. Have you heard about what they're doing down in Sadra?”

“I'm afraid I haven't,” Aziraphale said, fighting the urge to look towards the door. He didn’t want to have this conversion. Frankly, he couldn’t care less about Sadra or their involvement in whatever it was Michael was telling him about. Admittedly, he had tuned her out.

He had heard nothing from Crowley so far. Of course he hadn’t. Crowley was busy, and even when he was finished, it wasn’t like he was going to find the dining hall to tell Aziraphale he’d accomplished his task. But things must be going well, right? Aziraphale hadn't heard any sort of commotion in the halls. Nothing at all that suggested an alert had been sounded.

Oh… he hoped things were going alright.

If Crowley were caught, well, Aziraphale didn't know what he would do. Probably nothing good. And he didn't want Crowley to get hurt for this. This was Aziraphale's problem to sort out, not Crowley’s, and he didn't deserve to suffer just because Aziraphale had dragged him into-

Aziraphale ,” Michael snapped, and Aziraphale blinked, his gaze shooting back to Michael's. Apparently, he'd tuned her out a bit too well.

“Right, yes. Sorry, just er… a bit lost in thought, I'm afraid,” Aziraphale said, unable to help another glance at the entryway behind him, where he caught sight of a guard murmuring something in the ear of another before the two of them quickly left. 

A jolt of fear went through Aziraphale as he watched several more pass by the doorway, making their way down the hall.

It could’ve meant nothing. Probably did mean nothing. Guards walked the castle halls all the time, though, admittedly, not often in groups as large as that.

In fact, the only other time Aziraphale could remember seeing so many was several years ago, when someone had tried, and failed, to infiltrate the castle.

He swallowed hard.

He was in trouble. Crowley was in trouble and Aziraphale was stuck talking with nobility, and he couldn’t leave without attracting Michael’s attention.

But Crowley was in danger. Aziraphale couldn’t leave him to deal with that alone, especially not since it was Aziraphale’s fault he was even in this situation in the first place.

No. No, he couldn't stay here.

He slowly pushed away from the table. “I, actually, I… I really do need to get going,” Aziraphale said, getting to his feet.

“Going where?” Michael questioned. 

“Just, er… Back to my room,” Aziraphale said. “To read. I just remembered, I was getting to a good bit, and I would like to get back to it.”

He turned and left the room before Michael could question him further and hurried down the hall, indeed heading towards his bedroom. He didn't know if Crowley would be there but if he was going to scour the castle for him, that would be the place to start. He suspected Michael would be hot on his heels but that didn't matter. Not now. No, right now, he just needed to make sure Crowley was alright.

Aziraphale took the stairs two at a time and then he was at the door, pulling it open and shutting it behind him quickly, locking it too. He wouldn't risk Michael or anyone else following him in here. 

Crowley was indeed standing there, in the middle of the room, and Aziraphale loosed a sigh, seeing the same relief he felt mirrored on Crowley’s face. 

“Oh, thank goodness you're alright,” he said, going right to him and enveloping him in a hug. “I saw the guards. They were looking for you, weren't they?”

Crowley winced. “Ngk. Yeah, probably. I… Look, angel, I have to go. Not for long, just… If they’re looking for me, and they probably are, they'll check here so just,” he pressed a piece of paper into Aziraphale's hands, then curled his fingers around it, “take that. Don't let anyone find it, yeah? You can use it to your advantage. Blackmail Gabriel with it if you have to.”

Aziraphale swallowed but nodded. “Alright.”

Crowley’s hand tightened around Aziraphale's own and then he let go.

A knock sounded at the door, prompting both of them to turn and look. Aziraphale guessed that must have been Michael.

“I have to go,” Crowley murmured, “I'll be back tomorrow night, but I can't be here with every guard in the castle looking for me. Need to give things some time to settle down. Will you be alright here?”

“I… I'll be fine, yes.”

Another, louder, knock sounded.

“Alright.” Crowley didn't go, though, not yet. Instead he stood there for a moment longer, scanning Aziraphale. Taking him in.

The last time they had left each other like this they had both believed it to be for forever. This was different. Aziraphale trusted that Crowley would not leave him now, to deal with all of this alone. He was coming back, and Aziraphale would be here, waiting for him when he did.

Another knock and then, “Aziraphale, you had better be in there!” It was indeed Michael. “And you’d better not be trying to leave either!”

Crowley loosed a soft sigh, then leaned in, hesitating just a moment before pressing a light kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale saw it for what it was, not a goodbye, but a promise.

“I’ll leave the window unlatched for you,” Aziraphale murmured, “in case I’m not there to let you in when you get back.” Though he couldn’t think of any reason why he wouldn’t be.

“Alright,” Crowley said, then gave Aziraphale’s hand one final squeeze before going to the window. 

He paused partway through it and turned back, however, as Aziraphale said his name. “If anything happens,” Aziraphale began, “I trust you’ll be there to rescue me?”

Crowley gave a small, soft smile and said, “Always, angel,” then climbed the rest of the way through and disappeared from Aziraphale’s line of sight.

Aziraphale went to the window and closed it, then watched as a dark shape darted away from the castle walls, heading into the city.

He waited until he could no longer see him before he at last went to the door and opened it, revealing a rather upset Michael.

He gave her a warm smile. “Michael. Hello. Did you need something?”

She glared at him. “You're not planning on leaving, are you?”

“Certainly not!” Aziraphale lied, rather smoothly, he thought. “Whatever gave you the idea?”

She narrowed her eyes, peeked inside his room and glanced all around, likely searching for any sign he intended to slip quietly away. She, of course, found nothing, so she only said, “Alright. Just know we'll be keeping a very close eye on you.”

Aziraphale tried very hard not to let his smile slip. “Right. Of course.”

She soon left and the moment the door was closed Aziraphale let his shoulders sink in relief allowing himself a moment to relax, to breathe, now that there weren't any pressing dangers, and then he retrieved the note Crowley had passed to him. 

His heart leaped in his throat as he read. 

-is irrelevant. Stay the course, Gabriel. So long as everything goes according to plan, the kingdom will crumble, and we can take the throne.

Aziraphale left the room in a hurry. 

He had to warn someone, and he had a feeling he knew just who to talk to. If he was lucky enough to catch him at a free moment, anyway.

Notes:

Hello hello! We finally got to Crowley's plan! Looks like Gabriel's doing some shady stuff (again is anyone surprised?). I'm sure things will all go according to Crowley's plan, surely, and nothing will go wrong whatsoever.
Also I've decided that The Metatron in this universe is a title (he basically functions exactly as he does in good omens and is a spokesperson for the queen and anybody she doesn't feel like talking to directly goes to him) because I didn't feel like trying to figure out a human name for him 😅

Also, guys, you're not gonna fucking believe this. I MET DAVID TENNANT!!!! It was kinda wild, I don't know if this is common for conventions as I've never been before but literally two days before the con they added another photo op session. Of courses by that point I had completely given up on it and was like oh well, it'll still be fun, still get to see him irl and all that and then my mom happened to look and saw that they added a new one. So, of course, snatched 'em. But anyway, guys I can proudly say I did not throw up on David Tennant. It was a little bit nerve racking though because we couldn't see him (it was me and my sister who did the photo op) but we could hear him talking to other people and we were like, kinda freaking out, as one does, and then we got up there and he turns and looks at me and I don't say anything because listen guys I'm autistic and then on top of that I'm also extremely socially anxious, so initiating conversation is a no go for me but also, it's David fucking Tennant, so I just break out into the biggest stupidest smile and he smiles back at me and we go over to take the picture and he like, wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in a little closer for the pic and guys, I fear I will never recover. Literally the highlight of my life and it lasted about 5 seconds and no words were spoken. He like, exudes positive energy, idk how else to explain it it's wild. I also feel like he gives uncle vibes.
I haven't posted the picture anywhere. I still might, even though it's been a few days now, but idk, I'm still considering, but if I do, I might edit this note and add a link for anyone who wants to see it. But anyway yeah, that happened. I'm feeling super super normal about it and definitely not still going insane.

Chapter 39

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Ramiel was, unfortunately, not in his room.

Aziraphale had waited there for a few minutes, hoping he would perhaps show up soon, but he wasn't so lucky. So he found the nearest guard instead, telling them to let Ramiel know that Aziraphale needed to speak with him rather urgently before going back to his room. Ramiel was the closest with their mother besides, perhaps, Ohnjel, and though Aziraphale knew he could give the paper to the nearest guard and they would look into it, this needed immediate action. It needed to go straight to the top. Gabriel and someone else, Michael, presumably, was conspiring against the queen. She had to be warned.

So Aziraphale waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He began to pace his room.

Ramiel, please, I know you’re busy, you likely aren't even aware I need to speak with you, but this is urgent. It really is vitally important that we get this information to our mother as quickly as possible.

Aziraphale supposed he could always try to give it to her himself, but it was unlikely he’d be allowed an audience, especially on such short notice. Though… even if he wasn't, there was always the Metatron.

If his mother didn’t deign to speak with him, he would be directed there instead, and if Aziraphale brought this to him, surely he'd tell the queen immediately. It was, after all, a rather urgent matter.

He supposed it was the only thing he could try now. Ramiel wasn't here and there was no telling when he might have a free moment to come find him. Aziraphale didn’t have time to wait.

He left his room at a brisk walk, heading towards his mother's quarters. 

If he could, he would speak to her directly. Ideally, that’s exactly what would happen. But, if not, then he would hand the note over to the Metatron, knowing he would take the necessary precautions. Gabriel and Michael would be dealt with—Uriel and Sandalphon too, if they were involved, and Aziraphale certainly wouldn't put it past them—and then he would be free to go, the librarian would be left alone, and he and Crowley could finally build their life together. Once they agreed upon where, exactly, they were going to do that, anyway. It was all going to be rather lovely. He just had to do this one last thing first. Just one more thing and all of this would be over and dealt with.

He marched right up to his mother's room, finding two guards standing outside. They stopped him as he approached.

“I, er.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I need to speak to Her Majesty. Please. It's rather urgent.”

They murmured to each other, then one went inside and Aziraphale held his breath, wondering if perhaps his mother would deign to speak with him, especially considering he'd only gotten back a couple of days ago. Surely she'd wish to know how he was.

The guard reappeared a moment later, however, and said, “She's not taking visitors at the moment. You'll have to speak with the Metatron instead.”

Aziraphale fought a wince. “Right. Of course.”

He gave a nod, then turned and started down the hall.

The Metatron’s room wasn't far. It had to be close to his parents’ since anyone they sent away would go to him, so Aziraphale was there in only a few moments, knocking lightly on the door.

“Oh, just a moment, thank you,” came the Metatron's response from inside, so Aziraphale waited, trying very very hard not to sigh with impatience.

This was a very urgent matter. Why was no one but him worried? Why didn't they take his concern seriously?

Soon enough, though, the door opened revealing the Metatron before him, wearing a dark brown, so dark it was almost black, suit. He gave a warm smile. “Ah, Aziraphale. Wonderful to have you back. I trust your escapade into the outside world has satisfied you.”

“Er, I, I- Well, I suppose you could say that, yes, but actually, I have something of rather pressing importance.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving the scrap of paper and holding it out to the Metatron. “This was found in Gabriel's room. I believe he and Michael are planning… well, something. Presumably murder, though I can't be entirely certain.”

The Metatron frowned as he read, his features darkening, and when he met Aziraphale's stare again, he felt a shiver run down his spine. The Metatron could be rather menacing if circumstances called for it, and, Aziraphale supposed, this was certainly one of them. He wasn’t in charge of dealing with criminals brought to the castle, of course, that task fell on the castle guard, but he had handled a few unruly nobility in his time, and was quite good at keeping them in line. 

“You would do well to leave this alone,” the Metatron said, pocketing the note.

“I… Of course. I wasn't planning on taking things into my own hands,” Aziraphale said, giving a nervous laugh. “You are going to look into it, though, aren't you? I know Gabriel and Michael have been close with the family for a long time but surely we can't let something like this slide.”

“It will be dealt with,” the Metatron assured. His warm smile returned. “Is that all?”

“I, uh… Yes, it is, rather. I'll… Well, I suppose I should warn Ramiel. And the others too, they need to be made aware.” Aziraphale nodded to himself, then made to turn back, but the Metatron spoke again, making him pause. 

“There is no need, Aziraphale. The guards will have it covered.”

“Yes, I know but… Shouldn't we be more cautious? We don't know who they're working with to accomplish such a task,” Aziraphale countered. “Wouldn't it be wise to-”

The Metatron’s smile faded. “We will take care of it,” he said. “Dismissed.”

Aziraphale swallowed, but nodded and left the room starting down the hall. He didn't head back to his own, however, instead, he started towards Ramiel’s, figuring he may as well attempt to warn his brother, despite what the Metatron seemed to think.

He had to make sure at least one of his siblings knew. If Gabriel and Michael were trying to take the throne, they would likely come for them as well. They had to be aware and able to protect themselves should the need arise.

Aziraphale only made it down two hallways before hands grabbed his arms, pulling him back.

He immediately struggled, attempting to call out to them, to demand they let him go, but a hand was slapped over his mouth before he could, but he still fought, kicking and clawing. If he could just get free, just for a moment, he could call for help, he could-

He was pulled through a door, into a dark, stone hallway, lit only by the occasional torch along the wall, then turned and led down a long spiral staircase. Aziraphale could only watch, wide eyed, body tense, waiting to see where they were bringing him, and what would happen once he got there.

 He was more than ready to defend himself if need be, but judging by the clothing of the people holding him, they were castle guards. Why on Earth were castle guards pulling him from the hallway? Had he been right and they were working with Gabriel? 

A door appeared at the bottom of the stairs and he was led right through it, finding rows of empty cells before him.

The castle dungeon.

What the Hell was going on?

He was shoved into the nearest cell, the door slamming shut behind him, and whirled to face the guards, now walking away.

“Wait!” he called. “Please, can't… I, I don't under-” They were through the door before he could even finish, and Aziraphale sighed into the empty chamber, leaning his head against the cool iron bars.

He had his hairpin, of course, but there had been a guard standing at the end of the hall who would surely see him if he tried to flee. And even if they didn't they would realize he was gone eventually. They would find him again. Aziraphale was stuck here. For the foreseeable future, anyway.

But Crowley would be back tomorrow night. He would recognize something was wrong, Aziraphale was certain of it.

If anything happens, I trust you'll be there to rescue me?

Always, angel.

Aziraphale could only hope he could find him all the way down here. And find some way to free him without alerting the entire castle.

Aziraphale loosed a sigh, then went to the cot against the wall and sat down to wait.

*    *    *

Crowley was careful as he made his way back towards the castle, keeping his hood pulled low, glasses on, sticking to the shadows. He knew the guards would still be on the lookout for him, but they knew by now he wasn't in the castle, so once he was in, he was safe. Well, not exactly, but as long as he didn’t have to leave Aziraphale’s room, he should be fine. And hopefully Aziraphale had taken the opportunity and gotten the Gabriel situation under control so they could leave as soon as possible.

He didn't want him to spend another minute in this place.

Crowley made it to the wall without anyone raising the alarm and promptly began to climb it.

A long climb. Crowley’s arms were aching by the time he reached Aziraphale’s window, but he couldn’t help but smile as he peeked inside, expecting Aziraphale to be sitting at his desk, or perhaps on the bed, probably reading one of his books as he waited patiently for Crowley to return.

The smile faded and a kernel of dread settled in Crowley’s stomach as he found nothing of the sort. He tapped on the window, hissing, “Aziraphale. Aziraphale, are you there?”

No answer.

Alright. Alright, that’s fine. He’s probably just… in the bathroom or something. Gotta be.

Crowley opened up the window and climbed inside, thanking Someone Aziraphale had thought to leave it unlocked.

A quick glance around revealed the room was indeed empty so Crowley went right for the bathroom door, knocking lightly. “Aziraphale?” he said softly. Didn’t want to risk anyone outside overhearing. “Angel, are you in there?”

He got no response. That kernel of dread grew and Crowley swallowed hard.

It’s alright, he told himself as he began to pace. It’s alright. He’s fine, probably just… I dunno, somewhere else in the castle. Eating a late dinner. Or maybe he’s off stealing something from the kitchen. He liked to do that at night, right? Yeah. Yeah, so he’s fine. He’ll probably be back here any minute.

Even so, Crowley couldn’t keep still, the dread beginning to fill his stomach now. It just didn’t feel right. As much as he wanted to tell himself everything was fine, that letter kept replaying in his mind. For Gabriel and that mysterious M person to take the throne it would require not only the king and queen gone but their children as well. It would require Aziraphale to be…

Oh… God, he couldn’t be thinking about this.

Aziraphale was fine. He had to be. And any moment now he was going to walk right through that door and-

The door opened and Crowley’s gaze shot to it, hope bubbling in his chest, but it was not Aziraphale who stood in the doorway. Instead, Crowley recognized the muscular frame of his brother, Ramiel. 

The one who had taught Aziraphale how to fence. The one who, Crowley was fairly certain, was training quite vigorously with the castle guards in preparation for possibly taking the throne. The one who was currently glaring at Crowley like he wanted to murder him.

Shit.

He began to stalk towards him.

“Wait wait wait!” Crowley cried, throwing up his hands as he stepped back. “I know what this looks like, but if you just give me a second-” He bumped into the corner of Aziraphale’s desk, sending a stack of books tumbling to the floor, and turned, backing towards the corner to the right.

Ramiel pulled the sword from his belt but didn't advance further, only demanded, “Where the Hell is Aziraphale?”

“I don't know!” Crowley scrambled to explain. “I just got here, I-” He paused, his mind only just catching up with what Ramiel had said, and his heart leaped in his throat. “Wait. You don’t know where he is?”

Ramiel glared furiously at him. “All I know is that Aziraphale left me a message to come find him. Said it was urgent. I’ve been looking for him all day and haven’t been able to find him and when I decide to try his room again, I find you. So you better have a damn good explanation as to what you’re doing here.”

Crowley winced. This looked even worse on him than he thought. “Right, yeah, look-”

Ramiel raised his weapon, pointing the sword towards Crowley’s throat prompting Crowley to hold up his hands, shifting backward another inch or so. “Alright, alright, just… listen, I’m not here to hurt anyone; I’ve been trying to help Aziraphale, I just-”

“How?” Ramiel demanded.

“He was being blackmailed by Gabriel, so I went into his room and found some dirt on him, brought it back here then left to get the guards off my back,” Crowley explained. “I gave Aziraphale what I found before I ran and told him to use it; to do whatever he had to to get Gabriel to leave him alone.”

Ramiel’s brows furrowed as he listened. Crowley could only hope he believed him.

“He was here last night,” Crowley continued. “I don’t know what happened after that.”

But if Crowley had told him to use the note to stop Gabriel, perhaps he’d gone to confront him. And maybe Gabriel hadn’t liked that.

Crowley gave a nervous glance down at the sword Ramiel still had pointed at his throat. Hesitantly suggested, “We should probably talk to Gabriel. That’s probably where he went.” And though Crowley was sure Gabriel wasn’t stupid enough to outright tell them what he’d done, maybe he’d drop some clues. It was all Crowley could hope for, really. The only lead he had.

Ramiel slowly lowered the sword. “You think Gabriel had something to do with it?”

Crowley loosed a silent breath of relief. “Must have,” he said. “I don’t know who else would do this and I don’t know where else Aziraphale would’ve gone.” But what would Gabriel have done to him? How could he have hidden him so thoroughly?

“You really haven’t seen him?” Crowley questioned, figuring he may as well cover all his bases. “Not at all; not even once?”

Ramiel shook his head, a bit of confusion clouding his gaze as he scanned Crowley’s face. His weapon was still out, but he didn’t look prepared to use it any time soon. “No, I haven’t. How do you know Aziraphale?”

“Long story, no time,” Crowley answered, though, honestly he just didn’t feel like having to explain to Ramiel exactly what he was. It would only make him even more difficult to trust and that was the last thing Crowley needed right now.

Aziraphale was in trouble, and Crowley had a feeling he was going to need Ramiel’s—or someone’s, at least—help to find him.

Crowley said, moving on from that as quickly as he could, “Listen, I don’t know where Aziraphale is, and neither do you. You didn’t see him at all yesterday, so after I gave him the note he must’ve gone to confront Gabriel and…”

“And what?”

Crowley sighed. “I don’t know. But something.” He began to pace. “Gabriel did something to keep his secret safe, I just don’t know what.” Crowley turned to face Ramiel. “How much power does he have here?”

Ramiel shrugged. “Probably not that much. He’s a Lord but that only goes so far in the castle.”

“But he must have enough sway over someone ,” Crowley insisted. “Gabriel doesn’t seem like one to get his hands dirty, and for Aziraphale to be missing in his own castle… Something big is going on here, possibly even bigger than I thought.” And I just threw Aziraphale into the middle of all of it. Fuck!

They had to find him. Wherever Aziraphale was, Crowley had to find him and soon before Gabriel put his plan into action.

“What do you mean? What’s going on?” Ramiel questioned but Crowley didn’t answer. There would be a time for explanations later, right now, Crowley just needed to make sure Aziraphale was safe.

“I know it has to be something to do with Gabriel,” Crowley muttered, more to himself than anything. “It’s the only thing that makes sense, I just…” Crowley sighed. “I just don’t know where he would take him. The castle’s big but not that big. You can only hide someone as well-known as Aziraphale away for so long before people start looking.”

Crowley turned back to Ramiel, finding the sword put away. 

“What should we do?” Ramiel asked.

“I need a way to get around the castle without being seen,” Crowley said. “Gabriel knows my face and so does every guard here.”

Ramiel gave a contemplative frown, then nodded. “I think I can do that. I'll just need to stop in at the barracks.”

He turned and started for the door, and Crowley called after him, “Find anything you can while you're there. Any information will do.” The door closed before Crowley could add in a mutter, “One of those bastards has to know at least something.”

And Aziraphale had to be alright, wherever he was. He had to be.

Crowley loosed a long sigh and continued to pace the room while he waited, and Ramiel returned about a half an hour later, his eyes steady, focused. He was carrying the chestpiece of a suit of armor. 

“The rest is just outside,” he explained, noticing where Crowley’s gaze had gone. “The helmet will hide your face.”

Crowley gave a nod. “Gotcha.”

“I’ve got a lead, too,” Ramiel continued. “One of the guards said Aziraphale was trying to talk to our mother. She sent him to the Metatron instead.”

“And that's it?”

“Yes, that's it. It's possible he confronted Gabriel after.”

“Alright, I'll find Gabriel then. Keep looking for information. Meet back here if you find anything.”

Ramiel nodded.

Crowley donned his armor.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Oh boy I think this was the chapter where things started to get away from me a bit. I was a little bit worried, I was like, are we sure about this? Is this just gonna end up being a random little side story that doesn't make any sense in the grand scheme of things? Honestly it kind of is, but I think it panned out okay 😅 ...hopefully?

Anyway, writing has been slow going lately, unfortunately, but I am so very very close to finishing this thing. I'm chipping away at it, slowly but surely. Still no final chapter count yet but I'm guessing it'll be somewhere around 55.

Chapter 40

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. On one hand, it should’ve been obvious Gabriel wasn’t going to reveal anything about where Aziraphale was regardless of if it was a part of his plan to take the throne or not. But he hadn’t thought he’d seem so confused about it. And rather indifferent. Well, he supposed he could’ve expected the indifferent part, but for him to truly not care at all was a bit odd, especially if he was the cause. It truly seemed as though he hadn’t seen Aziraphale at all since the ball.

The only thing he’d asked was if Aziraphale had left of his own accord and Crowley made sure to tell him he had not. Technically, he knew he could have, and with Gabriel trying to take the throne, it was even more dangerous for him to stay. He could’ve seen that note Crowley had passed to him and immediately made a run for it, despite the trouble it might cause, but Crowley knew he wouldn’t do that, not in a million years. He would not leave his family behind to deal with this and he would not leave an innocent woman to face the consequences of his actions either. He would try to save them. Save them all. But how had he gone about it without confronting Gabriel directly?

He had tried to speak to his mother, apparently, but that hadn’t worked. He’d been directed to the Metatron instead. How had that conversation gone? Surely the Metatron would be at least a little concerned about a threat to the queen’s life.

But maybe someone had grabbed Aziraphale before he’d even made it there. Before he could warn anyone. But then how had no one noticed? Those hallways had to be heavily guarded, so close to the queen’s chambers.

Crowley wasn’t certain, but he supposed a visit to the Metatron’s room wouldn’t be the worst idea. He didn’t even need to talk to the man really, not yet, anyway. Just scope things out first, get a look at the number of guards lining the halls. Maybe he could even try to follow Aziraphale’s path and find where and when he was taken. It was a long shot, but not impossible, so Crowley started that way, trying to act as natural as he could. 

If he were caught here he was done for. He’d be thrown in the dungeon with no chance of finding Aziraphale. Unless Ramiel, by some miracle, was able to get him out, but Crowley wasn’t sure the prince had enough sway, and he wasn’t willing to take the risk.

He needed to find Aziraphale and fast, before Gabriel’s plan was put into action and all Hell broke loose. Even if they couldn’t stop it, at the very least, he had to make sure Aziraphale wasn’t here when it happened. Though, Crowley supposed, there was a chance he wasn’t even in the castle anymore. That whoever had taken him had smuggled him away for reasons Crowley didn’t know. He could only hope that wasn’t the case. Having a whole castle to search was a task on its own, having the whole country would be nearly impossible. But Crowley had found him before. He would do it again, no matter how difficult the task.

There were two guards stationed outside the queen’s room and they both nodded to him as he passed. 

Crowley returned the gesture. He seemed to be blending in rather well so far. He just had to keep it up until they found Aziraphale. Or at least found some sort of lead. If he wasn’t in the castle that was… fine. Crowley would figure it out; he’d find him, whatever he had to do. All he wanted was for Aziraphale to be safe, the rest they would figure out later.

There were several guards stationed between the queen's chambers and the Metatron’s as Crowley had guessed. Most of them didn’t pay him much mind, and those that did simply nodded or raised a hand in greeting.

There was no way Aziraphale would have been taken here, not without witnesses, anyway. So when had he been taken?

Crowley figured he’d keep on walking. See where this hallway led and try to figure out where Aziraphale had gone after talking with the Metatron. When he reached the Metatron’s room, however, the guard standing outside tipped his head back and gave a sigh of relief. “Finally. I thought they were never gonna send someone to replace me.”

“Hm? Oh, nonono, that’s not-” Crowley tried to argue but the man was already pushing off the wall and walking away.

Crowley had half a mind to continue on walking himself. This wasn’t his job. He couldn’t just stand somewhere while Aziraphale was in trouble. But it would look suspicious if he didn’t and that guard was bound to ask questions. Questions Crowley most definitely could not answer. 

He loosed a long, silent sigh, hoping like Hell Aziraphale never found out about this because he’d never hear the end of it if he did, and stood against the wall. He wouldn’t be here for long, just enough for the guard to walk away. Then no one would be there to question him when he left his imaginary post. It would all be fine.

There were voices coming from within the Metatron’s room. He was, apparently, having a conversation with someone, Crowley wasn’t sure who but it sounded important. Hushed tones and all.

Almost instinctively, he strained his ears.

“Yes, but are you sure it was the right decision, sir?” a man was questioning.

Crowley frowned.

“It was the only decision,” the Metatron assured. “He was going to complicate things. More than they already are.”

“I, I know, but locking a prince in the dungeon… I could be hanged for that.”

Crowley went very still, his mind positively whirring at this new piece of information and what it meant.

“You could be hanged for lots of things, one of them being what you are going to allow to happen tonight,” the Metatron countered. “You must be willing to do what is necessary, no matter the risks. I have already asked this of you and you agreed. Are you having second thoughts?”

Crowley could detect the barely concealed threat without even being in the room and he set his jaw.

The man cleared his throat. “No- Er, no, sir. Of course not.”

“Good. You may go.”

A moment later, the man stepped out, heading down the hall at a fast walk.

Crowley did not move from his spot by the door, not yet. But he had a lead now, and a very strong one at that.

His next goal was very, very simple. Find the dungeon, find Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure yet what would come after, but he had an idea forming already, albeit, a stupid one. His stupid ideas had got him this far, though.

Crowley glanced down the hall, ensuring no one was there to notice him leave, then pushed away from the wall.

He would let no one stop him.

*    *    *

Aziraphale was trying very hard to stay positive.

He had only been in here a day, of course. Not long enough to truly worry since Crowley had likely only just returned. But Aziraphale’s traitorous brain couldn’t help it.

Crowley didn’t know where he was, and neither did anyone else, save the guards, apparently. How was he meant to find him?

Aziraphale supposed he’d done it before, back in Tadfield when those awful people had taken him prisoner, and that had been arguably more difficult than this, but he worried nonetheless. Things were dangerous here too, clearly. He didn't want Crowley getting hurt or worse. He could even end up in a cell right next to Aziraphale if he wasn't careful, and how was Aziraphale meant to protect him then? If they were both stuck down here while Gabriel attempted to take the throne… well, Aziraphale wasn't sure what might happen, but he knew it wouldn't be good.

If he could just find some way not only to free himself but ensure no one was able to find him again. Then he could find Crowley and the two of them could figure out exactly what was going on and stop it.

The Metatron seemed insistent that the guards could take care of it but clearly they weren't exactly loyal, not all of them, anyway. They couldn't be trusted. But if he could find a way out of the dungeon, or if Crowley could find a way to get him out quietly, they could figure all of this out.

Ramiel would be more than willing to help, Aziraphale knew. And he was certain once Ramiel was on board they would be able to warn the queen rather quickly. The ploy would be much easier to thwart then, with his mother on their side.

He just needed to-

The door to the dungeon opened and Aziraphale glanced up briefly, just long enough to note that it was another guard walking in, likely to replace the one currently standing at the end of the hall. They did that every few hours or so.

Aziraphale didn't bother to keep watching as the guard walked past him, opting instead to stare at the floor, wringing his hands before him as he thought through all of his options, though he'd swear the guard paused for a moment at his cell, looking in at him.

“Thanks,” the guard being replaced said.

“Not a problem.”

Aziraphale's gaze shot up at that.

He knew that voice. He knew that voice very, very well. 

Aziraphale slowly stood, going to the bars of his cell, hands curling around them, watching as the other guard left the room without a glance at him.

A few moments later Crowley had joined him at the bars, his helmet pulled up, revealing his yellow eyes, soft with concern.

Aziraphale smiled. “You came back.”

A smile blossomed over Crowley’s lips too. “‘Course,” he said. “I intend to spend the rest of my life with you. Can't very well do that with you stuck in here, can I?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the way his cheeks heated at the statement. He’d sounded as if he’d meant it, too. He truly wanted that. To spend the rest of their days together. And Aziraphale realized with no small amount of joy that so did he. “I suppose not,” was all Aziraphale could manage in reply, though it seemed painfully inadequate. Perhaps a different time, when so many things weren’t happening at once, he’d find a better way to phrase his thoughts.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked, gently placing a hand over Aziraphale’s. “Did they hurt you?”

“No. No, I'm alright. Just a bit confused, perhaps. I… I'm not sure exactly how Gabriel has gotten the royal guard on his side but-”

“Oh, I know how,” Crowley said, his eyes darkening. “The Metatron.”

Aziraphale blinked. “The… The Meta- But, he can’t-”

“Oh, he can. I heard him talking to one of the guards,” Crowley explained. “He's working with Gabriel. He was the one who got you locked up down here.”

But… But Michael’s name was on the note. Except it hadn’t been, had it? 

Aziraphale gasped. “ Oh . Oh, of course. The M on the note. It never stood for Michael at all, it…” Aziraphale swallowed, realizing now exactly what this meant. “But… but Crowley, how are we going to stop him?” he asked. “I gave him the note; I'm sure he's disposed of it by now. We can't convince anyone without proof-”

“That's alright, I think I've got a plan,” Crowley murmured, “but I'm sorry, I need you to stay here. I can't risk tipping them off to what I'm doing, and I think you’re actually safer here, for now.”

Aziraphale swallowed but nodded. So far, Crowley’s plans had worked out for them. Aziraphale trusted this one would too. “Alright.” He placed a hand over Crowley’s and squeezed gently, though he doubted Crowley could feel it through the armor. “Just please, warn my siblings. They’ll need help. They'll need to be ready to defend themselves, especially if the Metatron is involved in all of this.”

Crowley had gotten an odd, almost pained, look on his face, though, as if deep in thought.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. “Are you alright?”

Crowley blinked, his gaze shooting back to Aziraphale's. “No; I mean, yeah, fine.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I can do that, yeah. I’ll make sure they’re safe, I promise.”

Aziraphale knew he would. He always came through for him, in the end, no matter how impossible the task.

“I can't stay long,” Crowley said. “Need to get out of here before another guard shows up, but I'll come back, ‘kay? Once I sort all this out I'll come back, and get you, and we can go. That sound alright?”

“I think that sounds wonderful.”

“Alright,” Crowley said softly.

He gave Aziraphale's hand a parting squeeze, then stepped back and away and turned, leaving the room.

Azirapahle loosed a sigh once he was gone and murmured to the closed door, “Just be careful, my dear. Please.”

*    *    *

 Ramiel was, thankfully, back in Aziraphale's room by the time Crowley returned.

He opened his mouth to say something but Crowley beat him to it, “I found him.”

Ramiel blinked, eyes widening in surprise, then turning hard. More than ready, it seemed, to take care of whoever had done this. “Where?”

“In the dungeon, but we can't get him out, not yet,” Crowley added quickly as Ramiel pushed away from the wall, ready to march right down there himself and demand his brother’s freedom. Crowley respected him all the more for it.

“Why not?” Ramiel questioned.

“Because if we do, then they'll know that I'm onto them,” Crowley answered. “Gabriel's working with the Metatron. They have the castle guards on their side, or at least some of them, and they're planning to kill the queen and take the throne tonight . You need to warn your other siblings, I promised Aziraphale they'd be safe.”

Ramiel's throat bobbed, but he nodded. “I can do that.”

Crowley gave a nod and started deeper into Aziraphale’s room, removing his helmet as he went, then the rest of his armor.

“Where are you going?” Ramiel asked as Crowley donned his cloak, heading towards the window.

He paused, looking at Ramiel over his shoulder. “Someone has to stop them,” he said, pulling up his hood.

He opened the window and climbed out. He knew where the queen's quarters were. All he had to do now was figure out a way inside.

Notes:

Hello hello! Things are happening, plot is thickening, and Crowley may or may not get to meet the queen soon 👀

Writing is still slow going alas 😔 so once a week updates will continue at least for now. This ending is being a pain in my ass to figure out, but we'll get there eventually.

Chapter 41

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It did not take long for Crowley to find a window leading to the queen’s chambers, and he climbed right up to it.

He wasn’t sure how much time he had before Gabriel and the Metatron enacted their plan but judging by the conversation Crowley had overheard, it wasn’t long. He had to do this fast.

Admittedly, he didn’t have much of a plan of his own. In order to make a proper one, he needed to time and resources and those weren’t exactly in abundance right now, but he had an idea and that was going to have to be enough

The Meatron wasn’t going to get his hands dirty, of course, and he was fairly certain the assassination wouldn’t be a job for the corrupted guards either. This was something they would outsource, but they’d use their influence here to make it an easier job for whoever they hired. Which is why Crowley wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he pushed on the window and it opened easily. Silently.

He climbed inside, shoes landing quietly on the carpeted floor, and glanced to his left, at the bed.

The queen was asleep, lying there peacefully, facing away from him. She seemed entirely unaware of his presence, and Crowley would prefer it stayed that way.

He closed the window behind him and looked around the large room, finding three closed doors. The larger set of double doors, he knew, led out of her chambers, as for the other two, he wasn’t entirely sure, but one likely led to a bathroom, and he assumed the other was to a closet.

He crept towards the one on the left unsure of exactly what he was hoping to find. He just needed something to stop the assailant without also alerting the queen or the guards outside to his presence. Though, he supposed, he could just lock the window. The assassin wouldn’t be able to get in without breaking it, and the sound would be more than enough to alert both the queen and the guards. At least, Crowley certainly hoped so. But then they wouldn’t have any proof, and there was no way anyone would believe them without it. 

No, Crowley needed to catch whoever this was, set up some sort of trap to keep them stuck here so they could confess and tell everyone about the plan Gabriel and the Metatron devised. And then the two of them would go away for a very long time and Aziraphale would be free to do as he pleased.

That was Crowley’s only real goal: to get Aziraphale out of this castle. He meant it when he said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, and he wasn’t about to let two pompous pricks get in the way of that.

The room that Crowley had chosen turned out to indeed be a closet, and a very large one at that, filled to the brim with elegant gowns, but Crowley doubted he’d find anything of use in here. Really, he wasn’t sure if he’d find anything in the entirety of the queen’s chambers that might help him, but he figured he may as well look. Crowley only had a moment to scan the space, however, before a noise sounded from outside the window, and he immediately ducked inside the closet.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit shit!  

It wasn't enough time. He needed to find some way to keep them here so that the queen would wake up and find them and have the guards interrogate them, all while Crowley would be safe outside the castle walls, but he wasn’t going to be able to do that now. Not without any sort of plan or trap set up. He’d have to think of something else.

Crowley had made sure to leave the door open just a crack, and peeked through now, watching as familiar disheveled gray hair came into view.

Crowley fought the urge to tip his head back and let out a groan. No, come on. Not him, not someone from the guild. Please. Getting one of them captured was sure to put a target on his back once word got back to Beelzebub and that was the last thing he needed right now, but his pleas, it seemed, went unanswered because it was indeed Hastur who climbed through the window. Rather clumsily, Crowley thought.

How he had managed to avoid prison in his career Crowley would never know, but it seemed he'd made enough of a name for himself to catch the attention of the Metatron and Gabriel. Crowley wasn't sure if that was better or worse for him and supposed he didn't really care. That was Hastur’s problem, not Crowley’s.

Crowley’s problem was that he now had to find a way to stop him and keep him here to be interrogated without any traps, and he had to do it fast because Hastur already had a dagger in his hand and he was turning to the queen.

As Crowley saw it, he had very few options, and all of them were likely to attract attention, but he couldn’t let Hastur go through with this. There was no telling the chaos that would unfold if he did, and it would put Aziraphale in even more danger. 

Above all else, Crowley needed to keep him safe.

He loosed a quiet sigh. Well, if we gotta go, might as well do it with style.

He retrieved his dagger, then opened the closet door fully, finding Hastur, knife raised, ready to strike the queen. 

Crowley threw the dagger, watching it twirl through the air, embedding itself into the wall behind Hastur, mere inches away from striking his head. 

Hastur paused, then slowly lowered the knife and turned, noting Crowley immediately.

“You,” he growled. “What are you doing here?”

“Step away from her, Hastur,” Crowley ordered, noting with a glance that the queen was starting to stir.

“Why should I?” Hastur’s grip tightened around his knife.

Crowley took a few slow steps forward. He didn’t answer his question. “I won’t let you kill her.”

Hastur scoffed. “Since when do you care about the monarchy?”

Since I met the kindest, most brilliant man I’ve ever known. And I can’t bear to let him lose everyone close to him like I did, Crowley thought, but said, “I don’t, but you have no idea the trouble this will cause.”

“No, I do. Chaos and destruction.” He smiled down at the knife in his hand, then glanced at the queen. 

The smile vanished and a slight grimace took its place. Hastur lifted the dagger.

“There are guards just outside, you know,” Crowley blurted, and Hastur paused. “All I have to do is yell and they’ll come running.”

“The guards are in on it too, I was told.”

Crowley countered, “Well, some of them are, some of them aren’t. Ask yourself, do you feel lucky?” In truth, Crowley did not actually know just how many guards were on the Metatron’s side, but that didn’t really matter. Whatever he had to say to convince Hastur to stop. 

He glanced again at the queen, still sleeping, as far as Crowley could tell, but Hastur gave an annoyed grunt.

He turned back to Crowley, and said simply, “Yes. Do you?”

And before Crowley could even blink Hastur grabbed a hold of the lamp sitting on the nightstand to his left and threw it right at him, hitting him square in the chest and sending him sprawling. A loud clatter sounded as the nightstand tipped over, its drawer falling open, contents spilling onto the floor.

“Hastur! You-” 

The door burst open and two guards rushed in, both of them going for Crowley while Hastur climbed out of the window to safety.

“No, no, no, it’s… He’s right there,” Crowley growled, but neither of them seemed inclined to listen as they pulled him to his feet, and Crowley decided it was best not to fight them. He could talk this way out of this. Could talk his way out of anything.

“Listen,” he said to the guards, “I'm not the one you want. Hastur, he just climbed out that window. If you're fast you could still catch him.”

Neither of them moved.

“Argh, come on. Just listen to me!”

They both ignored him, though, instead turning to the queen. 

She was standing now, managing to look elegant and put together even in her night clothes. And after an assassination attempt no less.

She turned her hard, unreadable stare on Crowley. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing here?” 

Crowley swallowed. He would get one chance at this. He hoped to Someone he got it right.

He took a deep breath and tried to calmly explain, “I- My name is Crowley. I was trying to… I saved your life just now, alright, and if you give me just a minute, I can explain all of this.” He gave a pause then, waiting to see what she would say. If she would hear him out.

The guards holding him turned to her, and she gave a nod. Allowing him to continue, it seemed.

“Right. So, uh, the Metatron, he was, well, is really, working with Gabriel, they were conspiring together and planning to take the throne,” Crowley said. “They corrupted guards, hired an assassin, who just got away through that window, by the way,” he nodded towards it. The queen did not follow his gaze, but she didn’t seem to be entirely dismissing his explanation either, so Crowley tried something else. “They have Aziraphale, your own son , locked away in the dungeon, do you know that?”

Crowley watched her closely at this. Waiting to see if she showed any sign of alarm or fear or even just compassion for Aziraphale, but her face remained unreadable, prompting Crowley to hiss, “Do you even care?”

One of the guards jabbed him with an elbow at the remark, but Crowley didn’t care. He would stand up for Aziraphale, always. Especially now, when he wasn’t here to do it himself.

The queen’s face did shift, then. Twisted into something angry and cold, and she ordered, “Lock him up.” Crowley’s heart sank. “I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

Shit.

The guards began to drag him away.

Crowley struggled. “Wait, wait! Just… you have to look into this; it’s important, please!”

He got no response, and a moment later the door was slammed shut behind them and Crowley was marched down the hall and right down to the dungeon, where Aziraphale waited, sitting on his cot. His hands were clasped tightly before him, as if in prayer, and he looked up as Crowley was pulled through the door.

Crowley couldn’t meet his gaze.

The guards shoved him into the cell beside Aziraphale’s, then left the room, and Crowley loosed a long sigh as he fell back against the bars, sinking to the floor.

Aziraphale’s voice sounded quiet, hesitant as he asked, “Dear? Did it- How did it… go?”

Crowley let his head fall into his hands and screamed, “FUCK!”

Aziraphale murmured, “Not well, I take it.”

“I had it! I was this close,” Crowley held his forefinger about an inch above his thumb, even though Aziraphale couldn’t see him, “and then Hastur, he… Fuck, he ran off, and the guards just let him, and I was talking to the queen and I think I almost convinced her, but then I made her angry and… Fuck !”

He ran a hand through his hair. There has to be a way I can fix this, there has to be. Maybe we can just… talk to the guard in here or-

“Crowley.”

Crowley looked up at his name, seeing a hand, Aziraphale’s hand, reaching across, through the bars of his cage. Silently urging him to take it.

Crowley stood and did, feeling Aziraphale squeeze gently. 

“It’s alright,” he said. “You saved her, that’s what matters right now. We’d be in a lot more trouble otherwise.”

Crowley loosed a sigh, leaning his forehead against the cool stone wall separating them, imagining Aziraphale was doing the same on the other side. “Yeah. Yeah, s’pose you’re right just… What if she doesn’t believe me? What if none of this is taken seriously and the Metatron-”

“They won’t do anything, not yet,” Aziraphale assured. “You’ve ruined the most important part of their plan. I imagine they’ll be laying low for a while.”

“I hope you’re right,” Crowley murmured.

The door opened a moment later and a guard walked in.

Crowley’s hand tightened around Aziraphale’s, ready to do whatever he had to to protect him, but the guard didn’t go to them. Instead, he spoke quietly with the other one still in the room, and then, moments later, they both left. 

Crowley and Aziraphale were alone.

Crowley pulled back slowly. Glanced around the now empty room.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “do you, by chance, have your lockpicks?”

“No,” Crowley answered with a shake of his head. “Confiscated by the guards on the way here, I'm afraid. What about you and your…” He motioned vaguely towards his head, though Aziraphale couldn't see him.

“I do. But you know, you might consider, dear, finding someplace hidden to keep them. So that they don't get taken away,” Aziraphale explained. “I would rather not make a habit of ending up in situations such as these, but seeing as this is our second time being locked away somewhere, it could be useful. I may not be able to get us free every time.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you're right. I'll think of something. Once we're out of here, anyway.” Crowley glanced towards Aziraphale’s cell, and heard the light clinking of metal on metal as he began to pick the lock.

And then it slowed. Then paused. “Wait. But…”

“But…?” Crowley prompted. Why was Aziraphale hesitating? They needed to move now before one of the guards came back.

Why would the guards have left us here alone?” Aziraphale questioned. “There's been one the entire time I've been locked down here. Why leave now?”

“Because their plan failed? I don't know. Now hurry-”

“No… No, there must be another reason.”

“Must there be?” Crowley countered. “ And why does the reason matter? We should just get out of here while we can.”

“This doesn't feel right, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I… I don't think we should leave.”

Why ? We could get out of here, get help-”

“I just worry we're playing right into their hands,” Aziraphale admitted. “It just… It felt… calculated. I, I don't know.” There was a brief pause, and then, “But perhaps you're right. I, I'm being… silly, I'm sure-”

“Wait, wait, hang on,” Crowley said. “You think they want us to get out?”

“Yes. It does sound a bit ridiculous now that you put it that way.”

“No,” Crowley assured, “no, I didn't mean it like that, just… Listen, I trust you. You're brilliant. Tell me why you think that.”

“Well,” Aziraphale began a tad hesitantly, “it's just… There's always been a guard in here. Always. So it doesn't make any sense that now, when you're here with me, they would leave us alone. And the way that one was whispering and the timing of it all… It just seemed odd. Like perhaps there's something more to it.”

Crowley nodded, and murmured thoughtfully, beginning to connect the dots in his own mind, “The guards, they didn’t go after Hastur. There’s no way they didn’t see him, he wasn’t fast enough climbing through that window.”

“What… Who’s Hastur?”

Crowley gave a wave of his hand. “Colleague of mine, not important, don’t worry about it. My point is, they didn’t go after the man who was obviously fleeing the scene, they went for me instead. Almost like they’d known who he was, like maybe they’d been told not to capture him.”

“So… they were corrupted guards, then?” Aziraphale said.

“Probably were, yeah.”

“But what does that have to do with-”

“The queen…. said she’d deal with me tomorrow,” Crowley continued. 

A brief pause, and then, “She did?” 

Crowley nodded, though Aziraphale couldn’t see him. “I told her what was happening, at least gave her a general idea. I couldn't explain it in depth before I upset her, but she knows you're down here. I told her,” Crowley said. “And before she sent me away she said she would deal with me tomorrow. The guards would’ve heard, they were right there.”

“I see,” Aziraphale pondered. “And if she comes down here, and I'm not there…”

“Then she'll think I lied,” Crowley finished. His eyes widened a bit. “She'll think I lied about all of it.” He felt a smile beginning to blossom over his lips. “Exactly like Gabriel and the Metatron are probably hoping for! See, angel, what did I tell you? You're brilliant!” 

He went to the wall, reaching his hand through the bars, feeling Aziraphale's hand curl around his own, squeezing tightly, joyfully.

“So… we wait, then,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley nodded.

“We wait,” he repeated. And see what the queen had in store for them.

Notes:

Hello hello! Crowley has successfully, albeit a little clumsily, foiled the Metatron's plan! Now all he and Aziraphale have to do is wait and see what the queen has to say to them. I'm sure this will go over very, very well and cause no problems for them whatsoever.

Anyway, in other news, I finally locked in yesterday and got lots of editing done! Still haven't written much in regards to new chapters but maybe I can post the next chapter on Friday, as a treat, which will actually mark the end of act 2. This one kinda snuck up on me, I almost forgot 😅 This whole arc in the castle really was not supposed to be this long, I just invented a problem for Aziraphale, and then the solution to that problem turned out to be an even bigger problem, which then had to be solved as well, but we got there in the end 😌

Chapter 42

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale found it difficult to sleep that night. 

He was worried, admittedly, what his mother would say to them tomorrow. It was quite possible she would believe them and seriously look into all of this, but it was equally possible she wouldn’t, and what were they supposed to do then? What would she do to Crowley?

Aziraphale, he was likely to get a stern talking to, perhaps, but otherwise, he would be sent back to his room with no repercussions. But Crowley, he had no title to fall back on, and with the list of crimes he’d committed—granted they were under his alias, but had he given her that name or his real one?—he would not be leaving this dungeon anytime soon. In fact, he was likely to be hanged.

It was that thought that kept Aziraphale awake. That horrible possibility. And as much as Aziraphale wanted to think his mother would never do such a thing, he knew better. He knew she could be cruel, especially to those she felt were unworthy of her kindness. He could only hope she didn’t consider that of Crowley.

He finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and awoke what was likely only a few hours later to the door to the dungeon opening.

He sat bolt upright, watching two guards enter the room, closely followed by his mother. Two more guards followed after her, closing the door behind them.

Aziraphale stood and went to the bars, glancing nervously between the five of them, his heart pounding in his chest.

His mother looked at him, then turned to Crowley’s cell. “You were telling the truth.”

“‘Course I was,” Crowley said, sounding relaxed, but Aziraphale knew he had to be just as worried as he was. “I was telling the truth about the rest of it too. Gabriel, the Metatron, even some of the guards were in on it, y’know.”

“It’s being handled,” she said simply.

She motioned to one of the guards and they stepped forward, unlocking Aziraphale’s cell and allowing him to step out. He couldn’t help but notice they did not do the same for Crowley and bile rose up in his throat. 

He cleared it, murmuring, “Mother-” but she held up a hand, signaling him to be quiet.

He could see Crowley now, sitting on his cot, leaning back against the wall, an ankle crossed casually over his knee. He appeared, for all the world, completely unbothered, but Aziraphale noticed the drumming of his fingers against the cot. A repetitive, nervous motion.

“We have taken the liberty of looking into you as well, Crowley,” the queen said. She motioned to another guard beside her, who stepped forward, holding a scroll.

He unfolded it, and read, “Crowley. Known alias, Anthony J.” 

Aziraphale watched as the unbothered facade slowly dropped. Crowley uncrossed his legs, sitting up a little straighter. “How, how is that known? How do you…”

“It was all there, in the records we have,” the queen said.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale blinked, eyes widening. “I- They weren’t- I didn’t see it when I looked,” he said. He had only seen the name Anthony attached to the records. His real name must have been added sometime afterwards, though who had made the connection and how, Aziraphale had no way of knowing. He looked between the guards and his mother, trying frantically to think of the best way to intervene. 

The guard continued, “Wanted on twenty-seven counts of murder and nineteen counts of theft.”

Crowley got to his feet and went to the bars. “Listen, that's not- Well, I mean, it is but I didn't…” He looked between the guard and the queen as if trying to decide who to focus on. Ultimately, he chose the queen. “I never killed anyone. It was just a… a lie; a trick. You go down that list, all those people, they’re alive, they’ve just changed their name and moved. That’s it.”

“All twenty-seven?” the guard countered disbelievingly.

“Yes, all twenty-seven. You’d be surprised what people are willing to do to keep their head.” Crowley looked between them all and even with his glasses on, Aziraphale could see he was panicked.

He touched a hand to his mother’s arm. “Mother, please. He’s telling the truth.”

The guard turned to him, disbelieving. “With all due respect, your Highness, how can you be certain?” 

“Because I met one of them,” Aziraphale said, stepping forward, standing between the guards and Crowley, determined to be his defender when he could not defend himself. “I met one of those people he supposedly murdered in a tavern four months ago and he told me all about Crowley and how he had saved him. Look at the records,” he insisted. “The bodies were never discovered and there are no signs of a struggle in any of their homes. No one is that  thorough in their coverups,” he turned to Crowley, adding quietly, “No offense, dear.”

Crowley shook his head, murmuring, “No, none taken.” He had not taken his eyes off of the guards.

“All of these people are missing, not dead,” Aziraphale continued, “and if you would look a little harder, you might find them, but you don’t do that. Instead, you pin the blame on an innocent man.”

Innocent may have been pushing it a tad, Aziraphale knew. Crowley was, technically, the cause of these missing people, though he most certainly had not killed them. And he had also, most definitely, stolen those items, but that didn’t matter. Aziraphale was going to say or do whatever he had to to make sure Crowley got out of this.

“He’s hardly innocent,” the guard countered. “Even without the counts of murder, there’s still nineteen of theft. Is he not guilty of those either?” The guard cocked his head, eyes narrowing accusatorily at Crowley.

“He…” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, knowing he couldn’t outright lie, but if he was entirely honest, they would never let him go. “I- Well…”

“Angel, it’s alright,” he heard Crowley murmur. “I’ve known the risks for a very long time-”

“No!” Aziraphale cried, whirling to face him. “No, it’s not alright! They’re, they’re going to…” He trailed off, unwilling to finish lest his voice break. He blinked rapidly, fighting tears. “I can't let them do this. I, I won't.”

“Angel…” Crowley murmured, reaching out, touching a gentle hand to Aziraphale’s cheek.

“Don’t,” Aziraphale breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. Found himself reaching through the bars, hands curling around Crowley’s lapels, holding them tightly, unwilling to let him go. “Don't you dare.”

A single tear slipped past his defenses, and he felt Crowley’s thumb gently swipe it away. “It'll be alright,” he said.

Aziraphale only shook his head, hearing the shifting of armor behind him.

He did not look back to see which way the guards were going, but he guessed they were leaving. They had done their job, after all, and Aziraphale did not have enough proof to convince them to let Crowley go.

Still, he said, “I won’t leave until you let him go.” He swallowed hard. “I, I can’t… I need him.” He felt Crowley’s other hand curl around his own. Holding him. Offering whatever comfort he could.

The shifting of armor paused, and Aziraphale heard soft footsteps. He closed his eyes tighter, bracing for someone to try and pull him away, but a surprisingly gentle hand landed on his shoulder instead.

He tightened his hold on Crowley's lapels anyway. He would not move. Until Crowley was out of that cell, he was staying right here.

“Listen,” he heard Crowley murmur, and it took Aziraphale a moment to realize he wasn't talking to him, “I know I am not good enough for him. I have done the wrong thing so many times, more times than I could count, probably. But I am trying to put all of that behind me. Now, he has had a very bad week. A bad couple of weeks, even. And for whatever reason, he cares about me. And I care about him. Now I don't know what you want, but all I want is for him to be safe and happy .” His hand tightened a bit around Aziraphale's. “He is not happy here.”

“What are you proposing to me?” his mother said. 

“Let us go. Both of us. We'll be out of your hair, you'll never have to see me again,” Crowley said. “Aziraphale still wants to write to his siblings, but that's it. We'll be gone. Out of the country, even. And you won’t hear anything about me. Like I said, I’m putting it all behind me.” He ran his thumb gently over the back of Aziraphale's hand, and Aziraphale at last opened his eyes, seeing the earnesty in Crowley’s as he said, “Just let him be happy. Just this once.”

His mother held Crowley’s stare, then loosed a sigh and for a moment, Aziraphale was certain she would deny him. That she would yank Aziraphale away and have the guards drag him back to his room. Lock him away until Crowley’s fate was decided. But then she said, “Very well,” and that hand slid from Aziraphale's shoulder as she stepped back, motioning one of the guards forward.

Aziraphale released Crowley then and stepped aside, though he still didn’t go far, and he kept one hand on the bars. He would not leave Crowley’s side, not until he was sure he was safe.

The guard stepped forward, gave the queen a questioning glance to which she nodded, then opened the cell and stepped aside, motioning him out.

Crowley stepped out slowly, glancing between the guards and the queen, likely worried this was some trick.

Aziraphale loosed a sigh and ran right towards him, wrapping him in a tight hug, so hard Crowley grunted with the impact, but he held Aziraphale just as tightly. He took a deep breath, relishing in the feel of his fingers pressing into his back, reassuring himself that he was here and he was safe and no one was going to hurt him or take him away. 

“I think… I think it's time to go,” Aziraphale murmured.

“I've never agreed with anything more,” Crowley said and pulled back, though he still kept his hands on Aziraphale's arms, unwilling to let him go, it seemed. “Let's get out of here. We'll find someplace to stay for the night, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded.

So the two of them ended up back in Aziraphale’s bedroom while he gathered his things. Admittedly, he didn’t have much. Just the books he’d bought and some coin for the road.

“Thank you, by the way,” Crowley murmured as Aziraphale shoved the books into a bag, “for stepping in back there. I don't think they would've believed me otherwise.”

“Of course. I couldn't just stand by and let that happen.” The thought of Crowley spending the rest of his life in there, rotting away, or worse, ending up hanged… He swallowed hard. No, he couldn't possibly have allowed it.

He finished gathering everything, then turned, stepping towards Crowley. “And you are, you know,” he murmured. “Good enough.”

Crowley tried to turn away, tried to object, but Aziraphale took his face in his hands, insisting, “In fact, you’re more than good enough. I don’t know what terrible things you see in yourself, dear, but I promise you, they do not overshadow just how kind you are.”

Aziraphale had expected his face to soften a bit at the compliment. For him to get flustered, perhaps even blush. Instead, his features twisted into a grimace, and Aziraphale’s face fell.

“I… I'm sorry-”

“No.” Crowley let out a shaky breath. “No, s’alright. You're just… trying to help. I know. S’not your fault.”

For a long moment Aziraphale could only stare, watching the pain flickering behind those yellow eyes, the deep sadness that came along with it, and then he surged forward and wrapped him in a hug.

He didn't know exactly why he was hurting. Crowley had not told him and pushing only seemed to make him upset, but he would comfort him regardless. It was the last thing Aziraphale wanted, to see him in pain.

After a few long moments, Crowley loosed a sigh, sinking into Aziraphale’s embrace and Aziraphale felt his arms wrap around him too, holding him tightly.

Aziraphale ran a gentle, soothing hand over his back. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t know what to say to comfort him. Without truly knowing what was wrong, he ran the risk of upsetting him more, but this… this seemed to work. And Aziraphale was determined to be a solid, steady presence for him.

Crowley turned, burying his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, and breathed deeply, as if taking in the smell of him. And then moments later he pulled back, but he didn't go far. Just enough to meet Aziraphale’s gaze.

Aziraphale gave a hesitant smile. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Much better, yeah.” His eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to Aziraphale’s. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale would've been content to stay here, just like this, for a while longer, but a knock sounded at the door, and Aziraphale and Crowley instinctively leaped apart as the door opened, revealing Muriel, who paused abruptly as they caught sight of them.

“Sorry. Am I… interrupting something?”

“Uh, no, no,” Aziraphale assured, running his hands over his coat, smoothing it out. “I was just packing up. You caught us just in time, actually.”

“Oh, well wonderful,” they said. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” They glanced at the bag he was packing. “I… didn’t realize you were leaving so soon.”

“I am, I'm afraid. I fear if we stay too long mother will be unhappy, and I can't risk Cr- Anthony getting in trouble.” Even if his secret was out now Aziraphale didn't feel right saying his real name. He had been so careful to hide it. It was obviously something he didn't want just anyone to know.

They nodded sadly. “I understand. I just wish you could stay a little longer. Surely Mum wouldn’t mind if you just stayed ‘till dinner,” they added hopefully.

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh. “Well, we could certainly push our luck, I suppose. I wouldn’t mind spending a bit more time with you all.” He turned to Crowley. “But I wouldn’t want to put you in any danger.”

Crowley smiled. “Oh, I’m not in danger here, angel. Not when I’m with you.” Something in his face shifted, turning a bit sad as he added, “You can spend time with your family. I’m never gonna keep you from that.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure why, but he reached out, squeezing his hand before turning back to Muriel with a smile. “Well then, I suppose we’ll be staying for dinner.”

Notes:

Hello hello! Everything is good and our boys are safe, though we definitely had a close call for Crowley. Thankfully, being in love with a prince has it's perks, one of them being it makes it a lot easier to avoid execution!

Also, bit of a side note, but I watched the final 15 again for the first time in a while (can confirm it is still just as devastating as the first time I watched it) and I still think Aziraphale saying "I need you" to Crowley like that was one of the most insane things to ever happen and was the clearest either of them have ever been in speaking their feelings about one another. So, obviously, we include a version of it in this fic.

And one last thing, I have been writing so much this week, it's been great! The only problem is, I've been working on the wrong fic, so I need you all to yell at me and tell me to work on the one I'm currently posting that is literally so close to being finished, then hopefully I can get back to regularly posting twice a week.

Chapter 43

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Dinner, as it turned out, was alright. Crowley wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but several of Aziraphale’s siblings gathered around the dining table laughing at one of his jokes was not it. 

He liked it, though.

And these people, they clearly cared about their brother. There were, of course, a couple who hadn’t deigned to show up, but these ones, they cared. A few of them even requested letters from him like he was going to send to Muriel, and Aziraphale, of course, agreed.

In many ways, they reminded Crowley of his own siblings, and his chest ached a bit at the thought.

They were still royals, of course. Spoiled and prone to opinions that Crowley did not agree with and he was cautious as he spoke with them throughout the meal, but, at heart, they seemed kind. And their love for their brother was certainly a mark in their favor.

He did, about part way through, ask about Gabriel and the Metatron as the queen hadn’t been particularly forthcoming with information, and Crowley wanted to know they were being properly dealt with. The thought of either of them being allowed to roam freely after what they’d very nearly done didn’t sit well and he wanted to know just how worried he should be.

It had been Ramiel who informed him that two of them, several of the corrupted guards, and Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon, who were apparently involved as well, had all been escorted to the castle dungeon, where they would remain until their crimes had been weighed and punishments had been decided.

Crowley was satisfied enough with that.

All in all, he got through dinner just fine, and soon enough they were standing before the castle gates, Crowley smiling softly while Aziraphale said his goodbyes, hugging Muriel, Errapel, and Ramiel, who had followed to bid them farewell. And then they were gone, and Crowley and Aziraphale began their trek through the darkened streets.

Crowley kept his head on a swivel.

His name was known now. Connected to his fake one, which he had no doubt was The Four Horsemen's doing. He wasn’t sure how they’d done it, but they knew exactly who he was now, and he had a feeling they knew his general location as well. 

They would likely be here, in the capital, soon, if they weren't already. Or maybe they would pay someone else to grab him. Such a place was dangerous for people as well known as they were. They had taken down empires, sure, but they were not invincible. At least, Crowley was fairly certain they weren't. They needed to keep a low profile in places like this probably even more than he did.

Crowley was confident he could deal with any underlings they sent but eventually, he and Aziraphale would leave the capital, and he was sure The Four Horsemen would come after him themselves then. This was personal. They would not let him slip away so easily, not again.

“Where are we staying tonight?” Aziraphale asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Er… well, we won't leave tonight. No sense in traveling in the dark,” Crowley said. “I know an inn not far from here we could stay in for the night, then we'll head to Wickber tomorrow.” He glanced over at Aziraphale. “Does that sound alright?”

“Of course.”

A shadow darted across above them, and Crowley’s gaze immediately went to the rooftops, finding a familiar face glaring down at him, though not one he found particularly worrying at the moment.

He ignored Hastur, noticing him follow close behind them. It seemed he wasn't getting away without a conversation.

He led Aziraphale to the inn but paused just inside, murmuring to him, “Do you mind getting us a room? I… need to step out for a sec’.”

Aziraphale’s eyes softened a bit in concern, but he said, “Certainly, dear. I'll take care of it.”

So Crowley pulled up his hood and headed back outside, slinking into the nearest alley, where he crossed his arms. 

And waited.

Moments later, footsteps sounded from above, and Hastur leaped down, joining him. “What the Hell are you playing at?” he growled.

“Nothing. What do you want?”

“Beelzebub won't be happy about this.”

“Oh, really? Beelzebub? Not happy? But they're always such a little ray of sunshine,” Crowley said with heavy sarcasm.

“They were going to pay me twenty thousand gold.”

Crowley blinked, his jaw dropping, and he at last turned to look at Hastur. “Twenty… Twenty thousand?” That would've set him up for life. Longer, probably, even with the portion the guild would take.

“Beelzebub will hunt you down for the money you just lost us.”

Crowley scoffed. “Yeah, well, they can get in line,” he said, leaning back against the wall. “I've got other people on my tail right now. People more dangerous than them.”

A smile curved Hastur’s lips. “Found yourself in trouble?”

“Oh… when am I not?” Crowley sighed.

He pushed away from the wall. It seemed this conversation was just about over, and Hastur, of course, had nothing worthwhile to say to him. “Tell Beelzebub whatever you want. I don't care. Probably won't be seeing any of you again anyway.”

Hastur didn't stop him as he walked back to the inn, joining Aziraphale in their room.

Crowley couldn't help but notice it was different from the others they'd stayed in in the sense that there was one king sized bed instead of two twin sized ones.

Aziraphale blushed. “I just… Well, I thought we could share one since we, well… had intercourse-”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “You can say sex, angel.”

He didn't, only continued, “-and you… well, told me you'd like to spend the rest of your life with me.”

Crowley’s smile faltered and he winced. “Right. That wasn't… That was okay, right? Wasn't too fast or-”

“No, no, no. Not at all, my dear,” Aziraphale reassured. “I… would quite like that as well.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said with utter sincerity. “I did mean it, you know, when I said I needed you. You mean the world to me, Crowley, I-” He paused. Took a deep breath, almost gearing himself up to say whatever he was going to say next, it seemed. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that I care about you more than… more than anything, really. I don’t know where I’d be without you. So yes, I would very much like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’d have me, that is.”

Crowley swallowed, finding his throat suddenly dry, but still managed to rasp, “I… yeah. Yeah, of course. I’d love that.” He managed to recover enough to add with a slight smirk, “I was the one who said it first.”

“You were, my dear. Are you quite proud of yourself?” Aziraphale teased.

“Might be.”

Aziraphale only smiled softly and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Shall we go to bed, my dear?”

“Mmn, yeah,” Crowley murmured. “Yeah, probably should.”

Aziraphale slowly pulled back, so much love shining in his eyes that it took Crowley's breath away, and immediate guilt rose up in response.

Aziraphale cared about him. Loved him, even, he'd said, and yet Crowley was putting him in danger. The Four Horsemen were closer than they'd ever been to finding him and he hadn't told Aziraphale a thing.

He needed to. He wanted to. Aziraphale certainly deserved to know after everything they’d been through together. After how much he had helped him, been there for him. But Crowley couldn’t bring himself. 

He was scared, if he was willing to admit it. If he was going to come clean, he'd have to tell Aziraphale everything, and he had a feeling he knew what would happen once he did. And Crowley couldn’t bear it, not now. Not yet.

Aziraphale’s face fell. “Crowley? Are you alright?”

“Ngk. I… fine,” he lied. “Just… a lot’s happened today.”

Aziraphale’s eyes softened in concern. “Well, perhaps some sleep would help.”

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale gently pulled him towards the bed, and Crowley went willingly, laying down beneath the covers.

A moment later, Aziraphale joined him, murmuring, “Is it alright if I hold you, dear?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” He felt Aziraphale's arms wrap gently around him, felt him press in closer, his breath curling gently over Crowley’s neck. 

Crowley didn't shift. Didn't move a muscle. Just relaxed into the embrace, letting himself be wrapped in Aziraphale’s arms and slowly coaxed to sleep by the beating of his heart.

*    *    *

When Crowley awoke the following morning, it was to warm arms still wrapped around him and soft kisses being pressed into his neck.

Crowley let out a sigh, his eyes falling closed, and leaned back, into Aziraphale, who murmured, “Good morning, dear.”

“Mm. Morning,” Crowley answered. 

He felt Aziraphale’s hand gently curl around his and Crowley laced their fingers together.

“I don’t want to rush you, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “but I would like to get going soon.”

“Mm. Is that what you woke me for?”

Aziraphale hesitated a moment before admitting, “Perhaps. But I did it rather pleasantly.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “You did, yeah.”

“I just… I’ve been lying here for quite some time and I think I know where I’d like to take you, if you don’t mind stopping in Wickber for a moment,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Mm, you’re taking me somewhere?” Crowley mumbled.

“Yes. We talked about this, don’t you remember?” Aziraphale questioned. “I was upset I hadn’t gotten to properly court you, and you told me-”

“Oh,” Crowley realized. “Oh that . Right, yeah.”

“And that’s… alright?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly. “You sounded so certain when we were talking about it before, but I suppose I shouldn’t have presumed-”

“‘Course it’s alright,” Crowley murmured. “We’ll stop wherever you like.” He brought Aziraphale’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “Do I get to know where you’re bringing me?”

“Someplace nice. With some very good wine that I think you will appreciate.”

“Mm. Sounds perfect.” Crowley let his eyes fall closed. Would’ve fallen asleep if Aziraphale hadn’t pressed another kiss to his neck.

“Crowley.”

Crowley groaned. “S’not my fault,” he mumbled. “You’re comfy. And warm.”

“Well, I’m glad, my dear, but now is not the time for sleep.”

“I disagree,” Crowley muttered, but slowly sat up, giving Aziraphale a half-hearted glare, but he couldn’t deny, he was excited.

They were going out . On a proper date .

Crowley had never done that. Not once in his forty long years had he sat down with someone with the intention of pursuing any sort of relationship. The thought was mildly terrifying, but as he met Aziraphale gaze, his eyes filled with so much softness it made his chest ache, he realized he wanted nothing more. 

That guilt crept back in again, but he did his best to shove it away as Aziraphale gave a small smile that sent his heart fluttering. 

He then stood and began to grab his things. Crowley joined him, and soon enough the two were on the road again, heading towards Wickber. 

Crowley was keeping a close eye on their surroundings. No red cloak caught his gaze though, not yet. It seemed they were safe for now. Crowley could only hope they remained that way until he found the courage to tell Aziraphale.

Because he would tell Aziraphale. If they were going to be together, this wasn’t something Crowley could keep from him. Not without feeling terrible, anyway. And Crowley trusted him. Truly, he did. But he worried too.

He didn’t know what Aziraphale would think once he knew what he’d done, and though a part of him said he’d be perfectly understanding, the rest was so very, very scared of losing the one thing he held dear.

Aziraphale, as if sensing those thoughts, reached out and took his hand. “Are you alright, dear? You seem distracted.”

“Fine, yeah,” Crowley lied. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Just… where we’re gonna go. All the places I wanna take you.” That wasn’t entirely a lie. Crowley had been thinking about that quite a bit as they’d walked. He had a few ideas already, in fact, and he imagined he’d think of some more along the way.

Perhaps he should put a little more effort into thinking about said places, actually, instead of being miserable. Aziraphale was bound to notice if he didn’t and then he’d ask questions and possibly demand some answers that Crowley was not prepared to give.

Best to push it away for now. Focus on Aziraphale , who was right here beside him. Aziraphale, who loved him, wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, even. Crowley would be damned if he didn’t give him his full attention right now.

“We should be in Wickber before nightfall,” Crowley said. “Might have time for you to bring me to that place you mentioned.”

“That was the plan, my dear,” Aziraphale said with a light chuckle. “If you had slept in any later we would have arrived too late, so I had to wake you.”

“Ah, I see. You’ve been thinking about this for longer than I thought.”

“Oh, I’ve… I’ve wanted to bring you all sorts of places long before we,” he hesitated a moment and turned towards Crowley, a small smile on his lips, “became what we are.”

“You could’ve brought me, y’know,” Crowley murmured, moving a bit closer, so that their shoulders brushed. “I would’ve… Oh, angel, I would’ve gone anywhere for you.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely. You dragged me to a ball. I ate dinner yesterday with a bunch of royals in the castle . I don’t think there’s a single thing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Well that’s… that’s very sweet,” Aziraphale murmured, his eyes shining and cheeks a lovely shade of pink. His hand tightened around Crowley’s.

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, and Crowley shoved every bit of guilt out of his mind. It would be back later, he knew, but for now… For now, he deserved this. They both deserved this.

*    *    *

They did indeed make it to Wickber before nightfall and Aziraphale couldn’t fight a grin as he navigated the crowded streets, his hand clasping Crowley’s tightly, so as not to lose him.

“Now, I’m afraid I don’t know exactly where it is, but I’m sure it was over this way,” Aziraphale explained, and, a moment later, they turned a corner and a large building came into view. It was bustling with activity and the line was currently out the door. This must have been the place.

Aziraphale frowned. “We may have to wait, I… Perhaps I should’ve tried to send a letter ahead to make us a reservation.”

“Nah. Never would’ve got there in time anyway,” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale’s hand a squeeze. “S’alright, we can wait. I don’t mind.” 

Aziraphale supposed they certainly weren’t in any rush.

They got in line and Aziraphale kept his hold on Crowley’s hand, even though he no longer needed to. His hands were cold, but, thankfully, Aziraphale’s were warm and together they kept a very comfortable temperature. He had no desire to let go anytime soon.

Crowley was glancing around, Aziraphale noted, as if looking for something. He’d been doing that quite a lot since they’d left the castle, and Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure why, but, he supposed, Crowley had been rather insistent about some sort of danger, though he had refused to tell Aziraphale what that was.

Aziraphale was reluctant to bring it up again. Certainly not now. It had caused a minor argument the last time and, well, they didn’t need that in the middle of dinner. No, this was time meant for them. Anything else could be discussed at the inn later.

The line, thankfully, moved rather quickly and soon enough, the two of them were seated at a table covered by a white tablecloth. A small candle was sitting in the center. 

The room was large and the lighting was dim and warm and Aziraphale beamed as he looked around, noticing a small waterfall against a wall to his right, and various chandeliers hanging throughout the space. It looked almost magical.

“Have I ever told you you're gorgeous?” 

Aziraphale blinked, his gaze snapping to Crowley’s at the sound of his voice.

Crowley was watching him, had been the whole time, probably, smiling, warm and soft. His hair was practically glowing in the soft candlelight, a vibrant flame-like red. It was everything Aziraphale had wanted. Everything, and so much more. 

Aziraphale gave a small, shy smile and reached across the table, his hand out, open.

Crowley took it, squeezing lightly.

His eyes never left Aziraphale’s own, and though they were covered by those dark glasses, Aziraphale knew he was gazing at him impossibly softly.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured. “You're rather beautiful as well, you know.”

Crowley’s cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pink at the compliment and all he could manage in response was, “Ngk.”

Emboldened, Aziraphale continued, “In fact, I daresay you are the most beautiful, wonderful man I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.” 

And for once, Crowley didn’t argue, just ducked his head and gave a soft, “Thank you.”

Aziraphale would’ve said more, but a moment later, a waiter stopped at their table asking them what they wanted to drink. Aziraphale let Crowley pick out the wine. It seemed only fair, as that had been the main reason Aziraphale wanted to bring him here, and soon enough their food was brought out as well and the two of them spoke quietly as they ate, talking about nothing and everything all at once. And when they at last finished, when the restaurant was nearly empty, the sun having dipped below the horizon long ago, the two of them finally left. 

They walked through the now empty streets, hand in hand, the soft glow of the moon shining down upon them as they found a place to rest for the night.

Notes:

Hello hello! We have a nice, fluffy chapter for you all today. We have FINALLY left the castle and are back on the road once again and Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, and the Metatron are all locked up in the dungeon! And mind you they committed treason, so they are in Big trouble.
Also, I do want to quickly just talk about what was going on kinda behind the scenes with Gabriel and the others since there wasn't really a good place to do so in fic. So the reason Gabriel and friends were trying so hard to keep Aziraphale in the castle is because to fully take the throne they would need the princes and princesses out of the way as well and if Aziraphale had left he would have survived, making him, technically, the rightful heir to the throne, which, obviously creates one big mess for them. Gabriel was really worried about this and he kinda panicked when it seemed like Aziraphale was going to leave again so he made up some random bullshit to keep him there and told his friends so they could keep on eye on him as well. He also sent a note to the Metatron explaining all of this and the Metatron wrote one back, telling him, basically, that it was fine and to just leave it alone, they'd figure it out later, but by then of course it's too late and they are all very committed to their plan of keeping Aziraphale in the castle. Gabriel later burned the note, but Crowley found a scrap of it anyway, when he was searching Gabriel's room. So that was kinda their motivation behind it all and why they were just being so weird in general.

But anyway, act 2 is over (technically it was over last chapter but I always considered the end of act 2 the moment they leave the castle but it feels weird to end an act in the middle of a chapter) and now we enter act 3 which is where the real fun happens. Well, fun for me, anyway.

Chapter 44

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley had done his best. Actually, he’d thought he’d done a very good job, shoving the guilt away. 

It hadn’t been so hard when he’d been sitting across from Aziraphale at that restaurant last night, drinking wine, the warm lighting sending his hair glowing golden. It had grown much more difficult today, however, when they were on the road again, heading for Tadfield, where they would stop for a night to rest and, of course, say hi to Anathema.

He couldn’t stop looking for that telltale red cloak, couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if they found him.

They were out in the open now. Exposed. Aziraphale would never be able to get away and neither would Crowley. They would have no choice but to face them, and Crowley had no idea what would happen then.

Well, that wasn’t actually true, was it? No, he had a very, very good idea of what would happen if they found them, and it wasn’t a pretty picture.

Their laughter echoed in his mind again.

Cold red eyes flashed across his vision.

A hand landed on his arm and Crowley jolted, finding Aziraphale beside him, brows furrowed in concern. “Crowley, are you alright?”

“I- Fine, yeah,” Crowley said too quickly. “Why wouldn't I be?”

He nearly winced as soon as the words left his mouth and Aziraphale frowned, catching onto the lie immediately. His eyes looked impossibly sad. “You can be honest with me, you know, dear.”

Crowley swallowed, hearing the words he hadn’t said, don’t you trust me? , and that guilt rose up again, threatening to drown him, and Crowley looked away. Found himself frantically trying to come up with something to reassure him. “No, I, I know. It’s… more of a reflex than anything, really. Sorry, I don’t mean-”

A hand touched his cheek, cutting him off, and blue eyes filled his vision. Crowley hadn’t even noticed him step closer.

“My dear, please, take a breath.”

Crowley did, letting his eyes fall closed, despite how vulnerable they still were, out in the open like this. But Aziraphale was here with him. He felt safe in his arms.

“I don’t know what’s happened since we left the castle, but I’ve noticed you seem more stressed than usual,” Aziraphale murmured. 

Crowley winced, ready to deny that too, but Aziraphale continued before he could, “I’m not going to push. I know you will tell me in time, when you are ready. But if there is anything I can do to help you, would you let me know? Please?”

“I…” Crowley was more than ready to say that unfortunately, he couldn't. That there was nothing he or anyone else could do for him, as much as wished there was. But he paused. Hesitated. “Actually, that… hug you gave me, back in the castle. That was nice.” It had been the first time, actually, that he’d felt truly comforted after one of his episodes.

“Well, I think that can most definitely be arranged. Do you need one now?”

“No,” Crowley said with a sigh, the tension at last leaving his shoulders. “Really, I… I’ve just had a lot on my mind, and I’ve been trying not to let it interrupt us , but it’s been hard.”

“It’s alright. And you know, we really don’t have to do this if you’re not-”

“No!” Crowley blurted, then winced and corrected, “Just, I mean… I do want this. I want to go all these places and do all these things with you. I really, really do.”

“There’s no rush, my dear. We have plenty of time.”

But that’s the thing, angel, I don’t know that we do. The Four Horsemen could show up any minute, any second, even, and if they did, there would be nothing Crowley or anyone else could do to stop what came next. But he couldn’t say that. 

He would tell Aziraphale. Sometime. Sometime soon, probably, but that time was not now. So he swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. S’pose so. But y’know, still.”

Aziraphale didn't seem entirely satisfied with his answer but he let the subject drop and they continued on their way towards Tadfield.

They wouldn’t be staying the night with Anathema, that was far too dangerous with The Four Horsemen on his tail, but thankfully for them, they had a different place to sleep. One that just so happened to have one more bottle of wine sitting on the rack. And admittedly, Crowley was rather excited to return. He hoped Aziraphale was too.

It was late when they arrived at Anathema’s shop but, thankfully, she hadn’t closed. In fact, she seemed to stay open until well past sunset most nights. Staying available for those who needed care in those hours. And Crowley couldn’t imagine she’d turn away someone who needed care, even past opening hours.

She looked up as Crowley and Aziraphale entered, and her eyes widened, a grin spreading across her lips. “You’re back.” And Crowley realized in that moment just how much Anathema had missed.

“Yeah. We…” Crowley glanced down at his and Aziraphale's joined hands. Loosed a sigh, realizing if she hadn’t spotted that already, she was going to in about three seconds anyway. “We talked.” He gave a small smile as he looked up, meeting Aziraphale's gaze, and Aziraphale returned it.

Anathema gave a delighted gasp, her mouth falling open. “Oh. My. God. Finally!”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and get your I told you sos out now.”

Aziraphale glanced between the two of them, looking confused. “Wait, did you… You knew?” he asked Anathema.

“She did, yeah,” Crowley admitted. “Our auras gave us away, I guess.” He shot her a glare, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

Crowley couldn’t help the way his lips twitched towards a smile at the familiar exchange, then quickly broke into a grin as her smile returned. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Ana.” 

It had only been a week since the two of them had left, but it had felt far longer. A lot had happened in that time, and Crowley was still reeling from half of it. He’d hardly had a moment to get a breath in before he’d been shoved back under the waves. He couldn’t help but wonder if this time, he’d drown. 

But this was familiar, solid ground. This felt like, for a moment, he wasn’t treading violent waters, but basking in a warm, calm pool instead.

Anathema’s smile softened. “I’ve missed you too.”

She came around the counter, giving him a hug, then one to Aziraphale, saying, “And you.” And then she stepped back, glancing between them both, “What have you guys been up to? I assume you didn’t end up going back to the castle since-”

“Oh no, we did. Well, I didn’t. I mean, I did later but…” Crowley sighed. This was harder to explain than he thought. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he admitted. “Tell you over dinner?”

Anathema grinned. “As long as you’re cooking.”

*    *    *

They told her everything. How they had parted ways, then reunited just days after. How they had discovered Gabriel and the Metatron’s plot to kill the queen and take over the castle. How Aziraphale had ended up in the dungeon, and how Crowley had stopped the assassination attempt. Crowley had even told her his real name. She, of all people, deserved to know.

She was quiet when they finished, perhaps processing it all. It was quite a lot to throw at someone all at once.

She blinked once. Twice, then turned to Crowley blankly and said, “You stopped an assassination attempt on the queen ?”

“...yeah.”

“Anth- er Crowley, sorry. What the Hell is wrong with you?”

Crowley snorted. “A lot. But honestly, I couldn't…” He swallowed. “I mean, that's Aziraphale’s family, y’know. I had to stop it.”

Anathema’s teasing smile softened and Aziraphale reached over, squeezing Crowley’s hand beneath the table as if giving a silent ‘thank you.’

Crowley asked, “So, how have you and… that man, the reptile, been?”

“Newton, Crowley,” Aziraphale corrected.

“Right, yeah. S’what I meant.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “We’ve been good. He’s gone back to work on the farm but he plans to move in here, with me, soon.”

“Well, how wonderful,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley gave a small smile. “Happy for you, Ana,” he said, and meant it. She deserved the world and more for everything she’d done for him and Aziraphale. “Really.”

“And I'm happy for you,” she said. “Are you two staying here?”

“Oh, no, no. We, uh, have a place.” Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale. They had not talked about this beforehand but they had slept there before. Crowley didn't think he'd mind.

Sure enough, Aziraphale nodded, giving a small smile. “Indeed we do,” and Crowley loosed a silent breath of relief. He didn't want to argue with Aziraphale, especially not about that. Because he absolutely was not staying here, not under any circumstances. It was far too dangerous. If The Four Horsemen found him, then not only would Aziraphale be in danger but Anathema would too, he'd lose his only friends. And if they got to talking, Aziraphale was bound to question why Crowley was so against it, and he couldn’t have that either.

After they finished dinner, Aziraphale took his leave, saying he’d like to take a bath while there was a tub available, and Crowley certainly couldn’t blame him. Would probably take one himself once Aziraphale was done.

The moment the sound of running water filled the house, Anathema questioned, “Okay, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Because you’ve been stressed since you got here, and it hasn’t gone away.”

Crowley gave a grunt. “I was wondering if you’d notice.” He loosed a long sigh and glanced about the room, deliberately not looking at Anathema, drumming his fingers over the table, then at last answered, “You remember those people I told you about before I left?”

“The dangerous ones who were looking for you?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. 

“Well, they know my alias now. They know exactly who I am, and can track me down a lot easier.” Crowley glanced towards the window, as if expecting to find red eyes peering back in at him. “I feel like they could pop up any second.”

“Wait, they… They knew you as Crowley?” Anathema asked.

Crowley nodded. “That’s why I used Anthony as much as I did. Had to disappear completely, y’know? I couldn’t risk…” He shook his head. “Well, guess it doesn’t matter now. They know.”

And they could very well be following him right now. Could be right on his tail and if they were, what if they came here, to Anathema’s shop after he left?

Crowley swallowed. “Listen, Ana, there’s… There’s a chance that these people will come looking for me here. So if you see a woman in a red cloak, she’ll be with three others. If they come in here and start asking about me, I need you to answer every question they ask as honestly as possible.”

Anathema blinked. “I… What ? I can’t do that.”

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because if you tell them the truth, they might not kill you.”

Anathema’s throat bobbed and for the first time since Crowley had met her, he saw true fear begin to creep over her features. “Crowley, who are these people?” 

Crowley loosed a sigh and leaned back in his chair, trying his hardest to ignore the ache in his chest as he said, “Have you ever heard of The Four Horsemen?”

She blinked, her eyes widening. “Holy shit. Crowley, that’s… that's crazy. How did you get them this upset with you?”

Crowley winced, though he supposed he should’ve expected her to ask. “It’s… a long story,” he murmured. “A long and very sad story, and I don’t really want to talk about it now.”

“Oh.” He’d turned his gaze to the table but he knew if he looked up he’d see her eyes had softened into a look of concern. “I’m so sorry…”

Crowley shook his head. “S’not your fault.”

“No, but… you didn’t deserve for that to happen. Whatever it was.”

“I didn’t,” Crowley agreed. “And neither did they.” He remembered his sister, sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading a book. His brother, running down the hall, chasing his younger sister with a bug he’d found.

He blinked, banishing the memories and at last looked back up at Anathema, “But that's just… how the cards fell, I s’pose.”

She didn’t question him, but she did reach across the table, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

“I don’t know if they’ll come here,” Crowley continued. “I have no idea where they are. Honestly, they may not even know where I am right now, but I know they’re looking, and I am terrified that I’m going to lose everything all over again, which is why I need you to tell them the truth, because if you lie, they’ll know and they will not like it.”

Anathema’s throat bobbed, but she nodded. “Okay,” she murmured. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

“And you be careful too. I know you will because of Aziraphale, but I have to say it,” she said. “I care about you, both of you, and I don’t want you to get hurt, or, or, worse-”

Crowley nodded. “I know. I know. And I will, I am , just… wanted you to know the danger. You deserve to know.” And so does Aziraphale, but you still refuse to tell him , the voice in his mind growled.

“Thank you.”

“‘Course.” It was the least he could do, really. “And Ana, when we leave, I… don’t know that I’ll ever be back again.”

She loosed an overdramatic sigh. “Yeah, I know the drill.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but continued, “So, I just wanna say thanks. You did have a small part in Aziraphale and I getting together-”

“I think I had a little more involvement than that.”

Crowley sighed. “Fine. A medium sized part in-”

Anathema frowned.

“Okay, now you’re just being greedy.”

Anathema laughed. “Fine, fine. Continue.”

“That’s it, really, just thanks, y’know. For pushing me, and being your usual, insufferably annoying-”

“Alright.”

Crowley gave a soft laugh. “No, but really, thank you. Even if things didn’t go the way I’d planned, they still turned out right in the end, and I think a lot of that was because of you.”

Anathema smiled warmly. “Well, I will certainly take it, but I don’t think you’re giving you enough credit.”

Crowley heard a door open somewhere in the shop.

“Ngk. Don’t… compliment me.”

Anathema raised her brows. “Why not?”

“Because… then I’ll blush and I don’t look menacing and dangerous when I blush. I have,” he motioned vaguely, “y’know, a reputation.”

She grinned, apparently delighted by his answer and replied, “Oh, and does this reputation include walking through the streets hand in hand with your blond, prince-shaped boyfriend?”

Crowley ducked his head. “Maybe,” he grumbled. “And what are you on about; prince-shaped. What does that even mean?”

A small chuckle off to his right prompted him to turn, finding Aziraphale standing in the doorway. “Am I the only one allowed to compliment you then, dear?” he teased. “Because you don’t complain when I do it.”

“That’s because I love you,” Crowley said, accompanied by an eye roll.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened a bit, then softened, practically sparkled, and Crowley realized all at once that was the first time he’d ever said that to him.

“So you don’t love me?” Anathema questioned with a pout.

Aziraphale gasped, clutching at his chest. “Crowley. That’s terribly rude of you.”

Crowley tipped his head back and groaned. “I can’t. With either of you.” He looked over his shoulder at Aziraphale. “Why are you on her side?”

“Because it’s more fun.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, then got to his feet. “Right. I’m gonna go take a bath. You two can have all your fun ,” he motioned vaguely, “without me.”

Aziraphale pressed a quick kiss to his cheek as he walked past, and Crowley paused a moment to squeeze his hand, giving a small smile.

“I love you,” he repeated, quiet enough that only Aziraphale could hear. Because he could. Because he wanted to. And he wanted Aziraphale to know he meant it, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Crowley didn’t turn back but he could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice as he said, “I love you too.”

Notes:

Hello hello!
Anathema is back and Crowley is finally talking about things. A little bit, anyway. He'll get there, don't worry.
A little less fluff today, but rest assured there will be plenty of fluff in the next chapter 😊 And some hurt comfort too. But mostly fluff.

Chapter 45

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They took a detour before heading to their hideout, stopping first at a tailor. Because Aziraphale had been right, Crowley very much did need a place to hide his lockpicks so that they wouldn’t be confiscated if they were somehow captured again, and with the threat of The Four Horsemen looming, Crowley figured it was better safe than sorry.

Several long minutes of standing around with his arm held out later, Crowley had a brand new hidden pocket within his sleeve, and then he and Aziraphale were leaving the shop.

Crowley toyed with the little pocket on the walk. It was easy enough to open, so even if his hands were bound, he could likely manage, and the pocket, while not entirely obscured from someone truly looking, was hidden well enough. Most people likely wouldn't bother to look into his sleeves. The only real worry was that someone would feel the lockpicks sitting inside, or hear them clinking against each other, maybe, but they were wrapped snuggly enough that they didn't make much noise. It was the best he could hope for on such short notice.

It was dark by the time they reached their little hideout but that didn’t stop Crowley from grabbing up the last bottle of wine, and Aziraphale certainly didn’t complain. Just sat on his cushion beside him.

“How's it feel to be back?” Crowley asked, turning to Aziraphale with a small smile.

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale murmured. “I quite missed it.”

“Me too.”

Crowley opened the bottle, took a sip, then passed it to Aziraphale.

He didn’t hide the way he looked at the angel of a man, and Aziraphale didn’t hide the loving smile he sent his way either.

Aziraphale reached out and took Crowley’s hand, interlacing their fingers.

Oh, how much had changed since they’d last sat here. Just a week ago the same gesture would’ve felt daunting, impossible, even, and yet here they were, holding hands like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

How lucky he was to get to have this. To have Aziraphale smile at him so softly, eyes unabashedly filled with the love he felt for him.

Crowley squeezed his hand, and Aziraphale took a sip of wine, turning to look at the forest with a sigh. “I do love this view. I'll miss it when we leave.”

“So will I,” Crowley murmured.

A brief silence settled over them, reminding Crowley of everything he was pulling Aziraphale away from. He had agreed to go with him, of course, this had been their compromise. But still, Crowley knew this wasn't what he really wanted. 

Not that they had much choice. It was far too dangerous for them to stay here, and Crowley would not risk Aziraphale getting hurt. He was putting him in enough danger simply by being here; he would not put him in any more.

He felt terrible about it anyway.

“Perhaps we'll find one better,” Aziraphale said, pulling him from his thoughts. “I think one from the mountains would be gorgeous.”

“You'd be right about that,” Crowley said. “S’a bit cold though. I’d freeze in the winter.”

“I'd keep you warm.”

Crowley blinked. Cleared his throat. And at the image of being wrapped in Aziraphale's arms, huddled under a blanket, said, “Y'know, suddenly, the mountains don't sound so bad.”

Aziraphale chuckled and passed the wine back to him. “Or perhaps we’ll end up with a view of the ocean. That would be quite lovely.”

“Mm. Yeah. And then we could go swimming in the summer. F’you wanted.”

Aziraphale gave a hum, as if that thought didn’t sound so bad. “Well, wherever we end up, I'm sure it'll be lovely, regardless of how warm or cold. Even if the view is awful. Just being with you will make it all worth it.”

Crowley turned away, ducking his head. “You're too kind to me, angel.”

“No.” A gentle hand touched Crowley's cheek, guiding his gaze upward, towards Aziraphale's again. “You aren't kind enough to yourself.”

Crowley loosed a silent breath, unsure of what to say, lost in those gorgeous blue eyes.

Aziraphale leaned in, pressing his forehead to Crowley’s. “You are wonderful, Crowley,” he said. “And you are deserving of all of this and more, and I will tell you that, over and over again, as many times as it takes for you to believe me.”

Crowley swallowed, but didn’t try to deny it. He knew Aziraphale wouldn’t have any of that. Instead, he stayed there for a long moment, just breathing. Taking in the closeness of Aziraphale. Perhaps he wasn't ready yet, to repeat those compliments to himself, but that was alright. For now, hearing them from Aziraphale's lips was enough.

“I love you,” he murmured as he pulled back. He wasn't sure what to say, how to convey the overwhelming gratitude he felt for the man sitting here beside him, but those seemed to do just fine. He'd said those words three times today. He wanted to say them a million more.

When he opened his eyes, he found Aziraphale smiling, eyes practically sparkling in that way that was starting to become so very familiar. Love. “I love you too.”

Crowley turned his attention back to the forest and took a sip of wine, then held the bottle out to Aziraphale.

A little while longer and they had finished the bottle and the two of them curled up to sleep, pushing their cushions close together to be nearer to one another.

And yet even still, with the warmth of Aziraphale close beside him, Crowley lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, listening, waiting for any sound or sign that someone was lurking nearby, formulating a plan of escape in case The Four Horsemen did indeed find them here.

Running into the forest would likely be their best option, dangerous as that was. They  could lose them there, then walk through it to the next town over to stop to grab something to eat and from there it wouldn’t take them long to get to Boroughmarl. Would they be safe in his flat? Crowley wasn’t sure, and he supposed he couldn’t count on the guild to protect them, not when Beelzebub was likely to be upset he’d cost them so much gold. But they would need someplace to stay, and Crowley guessed it was probably safer than staying at one of the inns. Aziraphale had wanted to see it, too.

And once they made it there, it wouldn't be too long before they made it out of the country. They could stay off The Four Horsemen’s radar in that time if they kept their heads down.

Crowley loosed a sigh and turned onto his side, white curls gently brushing his nose.

Aziraphale was facing away from him now, his breathing deep, even. Asleep.

Crowley found himself longing to reach out and wake him. To have Aziraphale turn and wrap his arms around him, holding him until he fell asleep. 

Comfort, Crowley realized. He wanted comfort. To feel safe and taken care of. But Aziraphale was sleeping peacefully, and it wasn’t fair of Crowley to wake him.

He rolled onto his back again and let his eyes fall closed. He was quite tired. It probably wouldn’t take him too long to-

Aziraphale slowly shifted, turning to face him, and draped an arm across Crowley’s stomach.

Crowley cracked open an eye and turned to look, sure he must have woken up, or, perhaps, had never been asleep in the first place, but his eyes were still closed. He was reaching for him entirely unconsciously.

Crowley swallowed.

It wasn’t exactly a hug, but it was comforting enough. He would take it.

He took Aziraphale’s hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze before closing his eyes and drifting off into sleep.

*    *    *

Aziraphale was up before Crowley the following morning. He’d apparently draped an arm over him at some point during the night, and Crowley’s hand was loosely intertwined with his own.

And that really wasn’t fair.

Because Aziraphale had gotten an idea yesterday when he’d seen a quaint little restaurant on the way here. He thought he’d scope it out today, before Crowley awoke, and surprise him with breakfast. But he couldn’t very well do that when Crowley was holding his hand in his sleep. 

Aziraphale slowly, careful, began to pull his hand free, Crowley’s fingers sliding between his own.

Crowley shifted a bit, turned his head, and Aziraphale went very still, worried he’d been caught.

And then Crowley snored loudly, and his breathing turned deep and even once again.

Aziraphale loosed a soft chuckle, then untangled himself fully and stood, creeping silently back down the stairs and out the window.

The shop wasn’t far, after all. Aziraphale would be there and back within half an hour. Crowley likely wouldn't notice his absence at all.

The restaurant was, thankfully, open when Aziraphale arrived and the young man behind the counter was happy to reserve Aziraphale a table for two. He really hoped Crowley wouldn’t mind stopping in for breakfast on their way out of Tadfield.

He thanked the man, placing an extra gold coin on the counter, then left, heading back to the hideout. The trip had, indeed, taken him far less than half an hour. He was certain Crowley would still be asleep, and Aziraphale would be able to snuggle right up next to him. He’d be none the wiser to the surprise Aziraphale had set up.

He pulled himself through the window with a grunt, ensuring his feet landed softly onto the floor so he didn’t wake Crowley.

But his heart sank a bit as he heard, “Aziraphale?”

So perhaps his surprise would be given away after all.

Aziraphale didn’t even have a chance to answer before he heard quick footsteps, then Crowley appeared at the bottom of the stairs. 

His shoulders sank in relief when he caught sight of Aziraphale, and he immediately ran forward, enveloping him in a hug. 

“Oh! Er, thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, wrapping his arms around him too, unsure of what had brought on this sudden display of affection, but more than happy to accept it.

And then Crowley murmured, “Are you alright?” and all at once, Aziraphale understood.

“Oh.” He slowly pulled back, looking into Crowley’s eyes, finding them wide, utterly terrified. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t think…” Aziraphale swallowed. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine.”

Crowley loosed a long sigh, letting his eyes fall closed and leaning his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Good,” he said. “Good. Sorry, just… You weren’t there and I, I panicked and thought something had happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale repeated.

Crowley shook his head. “No. Not your fault. I… jumped to conclusions.” He loosed a shaky breath, and Aziraphale reached out, touching a hand to his chest, feeling his heart, still beating wildly. “God, that… that really scared me.”

“I’m alright, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, reaching with his other hand to squeeze Crowley’s. To comfort him in whatever way he could. “Would it make you feel better to know I was out reserving us a table? For breakfast.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Y’know it does a bit, yeah.”

He loosed another sigh and Aziraphale pulled back a bit, noting his other hand was trembling slightly. His breathing still a bit uneven. “Crowley, would you come sit with me upstairs?”

“That sounds nice, yeah.”

Aziraphale led the way, holding tight to Crowley’s hand the entire time, reassuring him that he was right here and perfectly safe. 

He sat Crowley on one of the cushions, took the one beside him, and then he pulled him into another hug. Those helped. Crowley had told him so. And Aziraphale would do anything to make him feel better.

“I'm alright, dear,” Aziraphale repeated. “Just take deep breaths. I promise everything's fine.”

“I know,” Crowley murmured. “I know, really, I… that just…”

“I know. It's alright.”

Crowley fell silent, and then, after a few moments, relaxed fully into Aziraphale’s arms, pressing his head into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck.

He breathed in deep as if taking him in, reassuring himself that Aziraphale was right here, safe and sound.

Aziraphale ran a gentle, soothing hand over his back. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, was the cause of this newfound anxiety, but he could tell it was different than what Crowley had been experiencing before. This seemed to be centered around Aziraphale and he wasn’t entirely sure when or why things had changed, but he wouldn’t ask. He knew whatever it was, it was rather painful for Crowley to talk about, and he knew that he would tell him whenever he was ready.

These hugs would suffice until then.

After several long minutes, Crowley loosed a soft sigh and pulled back.

Aziraphale gave a small, soft smile. “Ready to go?”

Crowley nodded. “Think so, yeah. Thank you.” His throat bobbed, and then he added, “And thanks for the reservation, too. That was… nice of you to do.”

“Of course. If I’m going to properly court you it would be rather rude of me not to take you out for breakfast,” Aziraphale said. He’d like to do so much more than that, too. He’d like to bring Crowley to a play or buy him flowers, maybe they could even go for a picnic. And perhaps, if they ended up moving somewhere by the water they could take walks along the beach together, hand in hand.

Aziraphale thought that sounded rather lovely.

Crowley got to his feet. “Guess we should probably go then. Wouldn’t wanna get there too late and miss it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I paid the young man enough that he would’ve saved us a table all day,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley snorted, leading the way back upstairs.

“Wasting all our money, are you?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “It’s hardly a waste. I’m taking you out for breakfast. It was a perfectly reasonable use, and it wasn’t that much.” By Aziraphale’s standards, anyway.

They climbed through the window, Crowley leading the way, and he asked as Aziraphale joined him, “Out of curiosity, how much is ‘not that much’ to a prince?”

Aziraphale only rolled his eyes and reached out, taking Crowley’s hand as the two of them started back towards town. And when Aziraphale glanced over at him, he found him positively grinning, his shoulders lighter. No trace of whatever had him so anxious minutes before. 

Aziraphale hoped he could keep it that way for at least the next hour.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Here you go, more fluff, as promised! I'll have even more for you all next chapter, and also maybe a bit more of Crowley's backstory too 👀
One of these days I'll have a final chapter count for you all, but that day is not today, alas. It is definitely looking like we will hit and probably surpass 150k words though!

Chapter 46

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They said their goodbyes to Anathema before they left. 

Crowley would’ve honestly preferred to keep his distance with The Four Horsemen after him, but it would’ve been rude to leave without saying anything, and he knew Aziraphale simply wouldn’t have that. So they had stopped in and talked for a bit. Newton had even been there.

He’d arrived before them, and had been having a late breakfast with Anathema by the time they’d arrived, so the four of them had sat around the table, chatting about this or that. The weather, the Them, who had, apparently, been out terrorizing the locals, namely one neighborhood watchman, and all the while Crowley tried very hard not to glance anxiously out the window. 

The two people he cared most about in the world were here in this room with him. And Newton. 

It would be easy enough for The Four Horsemen to walk right in. The door wasn’t locked, of course it wasn’t. And once they were in, Crowley and the rest of them would be effectively cornered. The shop didn’t have a back door, after all.

Crowley felt a gentle hand land on his shoulder and turned, finding Anathema.

She gave a reassuring smile and Crowley swallowed, giving an almost imperceptible nod in return, that Aziraphale, thankfully, was too deep in conversation with Newt about recent harvests to notice. 

Anathema dropped her hand to turn back to the conversation, and Crowley tried his best to focus in as well. He knew he couldn’t seem too distracted. Aziraphale would worry if he noticed, and then he'd question him.

Or… maybe he wouldn't.

He hadn't earlier, after all, when Crowley had awoken alone and had grown terrified, thinking The Four Horsemen had somehow found them and taken Aziraphale. He had been understanding. Hadn't asked for anything at all, actually, only comforted him through his terror until he came out the other side. Perhaps this would be the same. But he was bound to question him eventually, and Crowley had no way of knowing when that would be. He didn't want to risk it now.

They didn't stay for long, maybe half an hour. They had places to be, after all. But as they said their goodbyes to the two of them Anathema asked, “Crowley, can I talk with you for a second?”

Crowley blinked, glanced at Aziraphale, then said, “Uh, sure, yeah.”

He followed her back to the backroom, murmuring to Aziraphale as he passed, “I’ll be just a sec’.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley left him and Newt to talk amongst themselves.

Anathema accused the moment the door was closed behind them, “You haven't told him, have you?”

So that’s what this is about, Crowley realized. He barely suppressed a groan and turned away, fighting the urge to walk right back through that door and leave before they could have this conversation. He should’ve known she’d figure it out. “Don't know what you're talking about.”

“I was looking at his aura. He wasn't worried at all, and if I know Aziraphale, and I do, he would be at least a little anxious knowing there's people as dangerous as that out to get you,” Anathema said.

“Listen-”

“So why the Hell doesn't he know?”

“I… will tell him,” Crowley said, holding up his hands placatingly. “Just not right now.”

“But why haven't you?” Anathema questioned. 

“Because…” Because I don't know how anyone could see me as anything other than awful after what I did, least of all Aziraphale, and I'm terrified he'll leave me if he knows the truth. Crowley swallowed. He was a selfish bastard, he knew that, but he couldn't bear to let him go. Not yet. “Just because,” he said. “I'll tell him eventually, I will, just not now.”

Anathema's eyes narrowed. “Crowley, he needs to know how much trouble you, and inadvertently, him, are in.”

“I know!” Crowley dragged a hand through his hair, pacing in a small circle. “Do you have any idea how-” He paused. Took a deep breath. “Listen. I will tell him, I promise I will. I just… need some time. Okay?”

He looked up and met Anathema's gaze, finding her staring right back, arms crossed. Unwilling to budge.

He held his hands out to his sides, open, imploring. “Please.”

Her eyes softened a bit, perhaps at whatever she saw on his face. The pain, maybe, old mingling with new, a fresh blade swiping across a still aching scar. 

She sighed. “Alright. Just… make sure you tell him soon. He needs to know.”

“I know.” Crowley glanced at the door. Swallowed. “I will.”

She gave him a quick hug, then the two of them left the backroom.

Anathema said her goodbyes to them both, and Aziraphale, of course, promised to send her letters. He was already planning to write to most of his siblings, adding Anathema to the list certainly wouldn't hurt.

Soon enough they were on their way again, and Crowley was trying his best to ignore what Anathema had told him. He supposed it wouldn't be the first time.

She was right though. He knew that. He’d known it this entire time, and he really did intend to tell him. He just wanted more time, just a little. Surely he could have that, right?

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand as they walked, smiling happily at the sights around them, not a care in the world.

Crowley swallowed and looked away.

It was dark by the time they made it to the next town over, and Crowley had half a mind to just find them an inn to stay in for the night. There wasn't really any sense in staying out in the open and though an inn wasn't exactly secure, it was better than being out after dark.

But Aziraphale had taken him out for dinner a couple of days ago and for breakfast this morning. Crowley wanted to do something for him in return. So he kept his eyes peeled as they walked, looking for any restaurants still open, despite the late hour. There were a few, but most seemed to be seedy taverns and that was hardly the place for a date. 

But as the buildings around them grew larger, Crowley spotted something.

Light. Pouring out through the glass door of a nearby balcony. And music, sounding faintly from within. He paused, watching, and saw a man holding a tray with glasses of champagne pass by.

A ball, or, if not, certainly a party.

And there were vines crawling up along the wall. More than high enough for them to reach it.

Crowley grinned, an idea coming to him.

He grabbed Aziraphale’s arm, pulling him to a stop.

“Angel. Look up there.” He pointed to the balcony.

Aziraphale followed his gaze, acknowledging the ball, but otherwise said, “Yes?”

Crowley's smile never faltered. He took Aziraphale’s hand and said, “C’mon,” leading the way towards the vines.

Aziraphale followed, though hesitantly, glancing around nervously. “I- Crowley, we can't…” He looked down at his and Crowley's clothes. “We're not dressed appropriately; they'll-”

“That's why we're not going inside.” Crowley gave the vines an experimental tug. 

They held.

“But- Crowley, if we get into trouble, I… The queen might-”

“We won't,” Crowley assured. His smile turned smaller, softer. “C’mon, angel. Trust me.”

Aziraphale loosed a long sigh, glancing up at the balcony, then back at Crowley. His eyes softened a bit. “Alright, fine.”

Crowley began to climb the vines, hearing Aziraphale continue, “But we can't dawdle. There will surely be guards here and I would really prefer they don't catch us.”

“I know, so would I. S’why we'll be careful.” He got a hand up on the balcony's edge and glanced back down, seeing Aziraphale following him. 

He smiled and looked back towards the door.

He could see an indoor balcony overlooking what indeed appeared to be a large ballroom, but he didn't see guards or staff at the moment. The music was still playing though, louder now that he was this close.

Crowley pulled himself up, over the edge, then pressed himself against the wall, just in case someone happened to walk by. He didn't want to ruin this before it had even got started.

In a few moments, Aziraphale joined him. He stayed close, pressing up against him, keeping hidden as well, and questioned, “Alright, we’re here. Now what?”

Crowley just smiled and took Aziraphale’s hand, pushing away from the wall, leading him into the light, watching it pour over his features, lighting his hair, setting it glowing. Ethereal as ever. Utterly gorgeous.

Aziraphale glanced nervously at the sliding glass door. They were in full view now. If anyone were to pass by, they’d be spotted immediately. “Crowley, I- Are you sure this is-”

“S’alright,” Crowley murmured. “Promise.”

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed, but he said nothing else, and Crowley reached out, touching a gentle hand to Aziraphale’s waist. “Angel,” he began, “I believe,” he leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, “you still owe me a dance.” They had never finished their first, after all. Admittedly, Crowley had been the one to cut it short. He had the chance to make up for that now, if Aziraphale let him.

“I…” Aziraphale glanced at the door. So far, no one had walked past. “I suppose I do.”

Crowley touched a hand to his cheek, guiding his gaze back to him. “S’alright. Don't worry about that. We have time.”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale murmured. He slowly reached up, taking Crowley’s hand. “But we really shouldn't stay for long.”

“I know. I'll be watching, don't worry.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale loosed a soft sigh, then let his eyes fall closed. Putting his trust in Crowley.

Aziraphale touched a hand to Crowley’s back, and then the two of them began to dance, stepping in time to the slow melody drifting out to them.

Crowley did indeed glance at the door occasionally, ensuring the two of them remained unnoticed. So far they did, so Crowley pressed their foreheads together. Let himself take in this moment. The closeness of Aziraphale, the music, the way they moved together. Perfectly in time with the melody seeping through the door to greet them.

“You never did tell me,” Aziraphale began, “why you know how to dance.”

“S’pose I didn't.” It hadn't been the time, not then. No, all he'd wanted to do in that moment was dance with Aziraphale. Kiss him. He had assumed the questions would come up later, but, well, things hadn’t gone quite to plan that night. “I can now.”

“You don't have to-”

“No, s’alright.” Crowley could tell him. Tell him everything, even. He supposed it wasn't the worst time. Maybe if Crowley could tell it in the right way, and while holding Aziraphale close like this, he would consider staying with him. And, just maybe, with Aziraphale's comforting presence beside him, he wouldn’t fall apart completely talking about it. “My… family, they weren't noble, not really. Not at all, actually. They were merchants. Worked mostly in textiles; nothing all that interesting,” Crowley said dismissively. “They made good money though. Not, y’know, rich rich but we had a nice house, always had food on the table, and toys and books. Most of the things we wanted, my parents found a way to give it to us. And then, eventually, they expanded their little business a bit into jewelry,” Crowley explained. “My mother, she wanted to sell rings, necklaces, all that, y'know. So they tried. And they succeeded. In fact, they did very, very well, and ended up being noticed by several noble families. One thing led to another and they invited us to a ball. So my parents hired someone, taught us how to dance, and we went. To several. I think… my parents were hoping one of us would catch the attention of one of the noble children. That we'd, y'know, marry into one of their families and be set up for life. For generations.”

Aziraphale asked after a moment of silence, “And… did any of you?” 

Crowley swallowed. 

Blood flashed in his mind.

Screams.

“Crowley, help!” 

“No,” Crowley murmured. 

He turned away from Aziraphale, blinking back tears under the guise of keeping an eye out for anyone watching them, and by the time he’d turned back, Aziraphale’s face had fallen. 

“Oh.” His throat bobbed. “Well, perhaps… Perhaps that's for the best. The upper class isn't always… Well, it's certainly not for everyone.”

“No, I don't suppose it is.” But Crowley thought that didn't matter. Would gladly tolerate rich arsehole in-laws, would go to as many balls, dance with as many strangers, if it meant his siblings would still be here.

Crowley swallowed. Took a deep breath. He supposed, if he was going to tell him, now would be the time. “Listen, Aziraphale-”

A bit of movement caught his gaze and Crowley glanced away, towards the door, noticing a man watching them from across the indoor balcony. He was wearing the same white shirt and black pants as the waiter he had seen earlier.

“Shit.” Crowley pulled back. “We gotta go.”

He pushed Aziraphale back towards the vines before he had a chance to respond, watching as the man ran, out of view now. Likely going to get help, or coming after them. Both, maybe.

“Has someone spotted us?” Aziraphale asked, craning his neck, trying to peek inside as Crowley ushered him towards the vines.

“Might have, yeah, so we have to move , angel, come on,” Crowley urged, and Aziraphale was quickly climbing back over the railing.

Crowley kept an eye on the door, watching as a few more people, guards, it looked like, appeared before it.

He glanced down, ensuring Aziraphale was well on his way to the bottom, then gave the guards a two-finger salute, and hopped over the railing to follow Aziraphale, hearing one of them shove the door open and yell, “Hey, stop!”

Crowley landed on the ground beside Aziraphale in only a moment and took his hand. The two glanced at each, then broke into a run, hearing more shouts behind them. “Both of you, stop! You'll be… arrested and brought to…”

The voice faded behind them as they ran into a maze of alleys, turning corner after corner, only pausing when Crowley was certain they were safe.

They stood there for a long moment, panting, Crowley staying close, pressed up against Aziraphale, to protect him in case the need arose but also simply because he wanted to. 

They remained there, huddled in the dark, but though they’d gotten away, Crowley couldn’t help but wonder, would Aziraphale be upset? Would Crowley have to shower him with affection when they found an inn as an apology for nearly getting them in trouble? Especially after how worried Aziraphale had been at the thought of getting caught.

Crowley’s worries vanished, however, when Aziraphale looked up, met his gaze, and began to giggle.

Crowley supposed it was a bit ridiculous wasn’t it? And that guard, what he’d been yelling after them was rather funny in hindsight. They’d gotten away in the end. No harm done.

Crowley couldn’t help but join him in laughter.

“You,” Aziraphale said as they at last quieted, wrapping his arms loosely around him and touching the tip of his nose to Crowley’s, “are a bad influence.”

Crowley gave a wry smile. “Well, what kind of assassin would I be if I wasn't?”

Aziraphale just shook his head, that smile never leaving his lips, and then his eyes, practically shining with joy and something that looked a lot like mischief, flicked down to Crowley’s own. 

Crowley didn’t miss the obvious invitation. He leaned in.

Their lips met. Soft at first, hesitant, even, but quickly becoming more hungry.

Crowley pressed him back, against the wall, kissing him deeply. Hands roving over his vest and baby blue shirt. There were suddenly far too many layers between them.

Aziraphale let out an ungodly noise that had Crowley pausing, though. Pulling back. They were in an alley, after all. Hardly the place for something like this.

“We should probably…” Crowley began.

“Yes, I… Surely there's an inn not too far.”

“Yeah, not too far.” Crowley certainly hoped not, anyway.

He took a step back, much farther from the angel than he would prefer right now, and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Aziraphale took it with a devilish smile.

Notes:

Hello hello!
As promised more fluff for you all and a little bit more about Crowley. You will learn the rest very soon, I promise, but things are gonna go downhill quite quickly after that so I would enjoy this fluff while you can!

Still no final chapter count yet, but rest assured I am hard at work 🫡 Also, due to some larger edits made on some of the up coming chapters, this fic has officially hit the 150k word mark 🥳 I've been writing this thing for over a year! Almost a year and a half can you guys believe it? First created the doc in december of 2023 and look at her now 🥹
Anyway, with any luck I will have a chapter count next update. Maybe? Hopefully? Idk, we'll see 😅

Chapter 47

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley tried very very hard not to look as anxious as he felt.

Last night had been wonderful. More than that, even. But he’d awoken early the next morning with his head pressed against Aziraphale’s bare chest, feeling the rumbling there as he snored softly, and impossible guilt had risen up in place of that calm, contentedness Aziraphale’s presence normally invited.

It was enough to have him consider simply slipping away, while Aziraphale slept and be gone long before he awoke. He’d be safer then, and none the wiser to what Crowley had done so very long ago. It would be better, honestly, for everyone involved.

But it would hurt him. 

He would wake alone after such a wonderful evening, after so many weeks spent together, learning to lean on one another, after Crowley had told him he loved him and meant it with every breath, with every beat of his heart. It would cut deeper than any blade possibly could, and he’d never even get to learn why.

He’d probably blame himself.

Crowley couldn’t possibly put him through that, so he’d held tight to him instead, pressing his nose into the soft hair of his chest, breathing him in. The familiar scent had calmed him a bit, and now here they were, walking hand in hand through the bustling city of Bouroughmarl.

Crowley was jostled more than once by inconsiderate pedestrians hurrying to their destination. Most didn't bother to even glance back at him. 

They hadn’t been here long. Had only just passed through the gates a few minutes ago, and already the crowds were thick around them. 

His hand tightened around Aziraphale’s.

It was just past midday, the sun still high in the sky, so they had time before they had to stop by Crowley’s flat for the night, and it seemed Aziraphale wanted to take it.

“Oh, Cro- Anthony, look!” He was still using his false name in public, and Crowley couldn’t help but be grateful for that, especially considering who was after him right now.

Crowley followed his gaze, finding a cart selling flowers just across the street, and gave a smile. “You want some?” Probably a bouquet full of different types of yellow flowers. Maybe some white mixed in. He’d think it was pretty .

“Actually, I rather thought I’d get you some,” Aziraphale said. “Some roses or perhaps tulips. Are they in season?”

“Roses are, yeah,” Crowley answered and Aziraphale pulled him towards it. “Bit late for tulips, though, I think. But aren’t flowers s’posed to be more of a… I dunno, surprise?”

Aziraphale paused, his face falling a bit. “Oh. I suppose… I could wait. But I know you… seem to worry when you don’t know where I am. I would hate for it to cause you any stress.”

Crowley swallowed. “Right. I mean, I- You don’t have to wait if you don’t want to,” Crowley frantically backpedaled. “Doesn’t matter to me, really. Just thought…”

He didn’t know where he was going with that sentence so he didn’t finish it at all, and Aziraphale stood there for a long moment. Contemplating, it seemed. And then he hesitantly began, “Anthony, you know I don’t want to push you-”

Crowley kept silent, focusing instead on trying not to wince. Just great. Now look what you’ve done. This is why we keep our bloody mouth shut.

“-but I can’t help but notice that whatever it is that’s bothering you seems to have gotten worse. I think it might help if you would talk to me about it.”

Crowley swallowed. “I know. I… I will, I promise. Soon, just…” not right now. Please, just give me a little more time.

“That’s alright. I just… I wanted you to know,” Aziraphale said. “I do think it would be good for you, and it would help me as well. I could perhaps… help you easier if I knew what was wrong.”

Crowley could only manage a nod. Could hardly even hold Aziraphale’s gaze.

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed, but he said nothing more on the subject, instead turning to the previous matter at hand. “Come this way,” he said, gentler. He placed a hand on the small of Crowley’s back, guiding him towards the cart. “I will be getting you flowers, suprise or not. You deserve them.”

Crowley swallowed but didn't argue and soon enough they had paused before the cart and Aziraphale asked the older woman, “How much would a bouquet of red roses be?”

The woman looked him up and down and without missing a beat, replied, “Three gold pieces.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes but Aziraphale happily produced the coins and handed them to her. “There you are, my dear.”

The woman handed Aziraphale his bouquet. “Have a nice day.”

“And you as well.”

As the two of them walked away Crowley murmured in his ear, “You know she overcharged you for those, don't you?”

“Oh, of course. But that says more about her character than it does mine, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale said, a tad smugly. “And really, I don't mind. I have plenty of gold to go around.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “You're a bit too kind for your own good sometimes, y'know that?”

“Perhaps. But I don't think that's such an awful thing to be.”

Crowley shrugged. “Well, depends on who you're being nice to.”

He glanced around, realizing they'd been walking a bit aimlessly. These streets were familiar to him, though, so Crowley wasn't worried about getting lost. In fact, his glance around proved they were quite close to a quaint little restaurant that sold some of the best scotch eggs Crowley had ever had. A place he was sure Aziraphale would appreciate.

There was always a risk with such things of course. The longer they stayed in the open, the more dangerous it became for them, the harder it was to hide, and here, in his home town, Crowley’s worry had only grown. But, he supposed, the streets were quite busy. They could simply blend in among the crowds.

“Here, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “take your flowers.”

He placed them in Crowley’s hands, and Crowley smiled softly down at them, realizing rather suddenly that no one had ever actually given him flowers before.

“Will we be staying at your flat for the night?” Aziraphale questioned. “I do want to see it.”

“Oh, I know. And we will, yeah,” Crowley said, taking his eyes off of the beautiful roses to look at the even more gorgeous man beside him. “Is it alright if I bring you somewhere first?”

He’d swear Aziraphale’s eyes actually twinkled as he said, “Of course. Am I allowed to know where?”

Crowley made a show of contemplating that, saying, “Mmmm, no.” He smiled. “But you’ll like it, I promise.”

Aziraphale gave an overdramatic sigh but said, “Very well. Lead the way.”

Crowley did, walking the streets confidently, though he didn’t dare let his guard down, especially not here. Kept his eyes peeled for a red cloak, but he didn’t find one. Instead, someone else familiar caught his gaze.

Across the street, a woman with shoulder length jet black hair. A woman he’d swear he’d never met before, and yet…

He paused, squinting through the crowd, trying to get a better look, to keep track of her as she walked in the opposite direction. He knew her. Where had he seen her before? 

And then she turned and their eyes met and Crowley saw flashes of a little girl broken and bleeding before him, terrified, calling out for help.

He gasped and the vision was gone, the woman along with them. He scanned the crowd more frantically and managed to just catch a glimpse of her before a large group of passerby moved in front of him, blocking his vision, and by the time they had cleared she was gone once again.

Or maybe she’d never been there at all.

Aziraphale gave his hand a light squeeze. “Cro- Anthony? Are you alright? Did you see someone you recognized?”

Crowley swallowed and murmured, “Er, no. No one at all, sorry.” He shook his head and turned, starting back down the road. “It’s just this way. Not much further.”

*    *    *

They didn’t head back to Crowley’s flat after they ate. 

Aziraphale had wanted to walk the town a bit, to see where Crowley had grown up, and Crowley never had been very good at denying him.

So they wandered, they got ice cream, they watched children chase each other through the streets, giggles following in their wake, they stopped at a lovely little fountain in the square to feed the two ducks sitting within. And all the while, Crowley would get glimpses of dark hair in the corner of his eye. That same woman, turning corners, crossing the street behind a carriage, vanishing into a crowd. Haunting him, almost like a ghost.

Crowley had done his best to ignore her.

She wasn’t real. He knew that for certain. And feeding into this delusion or hallucination or… whatever this was, wouldn’t help anything. Though, admittedly, ignoring it hadn’t done much for him either.

Still, he had laughed with Aziraphale and held his hand and sat with him on the rim of that fountain. His smile, he found, made an excellent pain killer.

Soon enough the sun was dipping towards the horizon and it was time the two of them, at last, made their way to Crowley’s flat.

He wasn’t sure, honestly, if Aziraphale would like it. Judging by his room, Aziraphale preferred a bit more clutter to his spaces and Crowley’s flat was anything but. He didn’t have much he wanted to fill it with and it wasn’t even technically his. He had kept a few pieces of jewelry that he’d stolen here and there, though, and put them in display cases.

“You absolute idiot; what the Hell do you think you’re doing?” Beelzebub had asked upon noticing them for the first time. 

“What? They’re souvenirs!” Crowley had argued.

Beelzebub had countered, “If this place ever gets raided by guards your souvenirs are going to get you killed.”

“Not gonna happen. Either of those.”

So far, Crowley had been correct.

It had begun to rain about halfway there, and Aziraphale had kindly bought them an umbrella.

Distant thunder rumbled. Crowley hoped they made it to his flat before the storm broke.

He had been leading the way rather absentmindedly so far, roses still in hand, a small smile on his lips. Aziraphale had been following along quietly beside him, but a glance over proved he was content. Perfectly happy here beside Crowley, even in the rain.

It was then, however, that Crowley spotted a familiar house to Aziraphale’s right and truly realized where they were. Which street they were walking down.

He stopped in his tracks, prompting Aziraphale to pause and look over. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Er, yeah. Sorry, just… don’t ever come this way.” He made to turn around. “Here, we can just turn around and make a left. Go down the road we just passed. It’ll lead us to the same place.”

Aziraphale remanded still, his face a mask of confusion. “But then… why don’t we just continue the way that we’re going?” he questioned. “We’re almost halfway down the road, we might as well. Unless… Is it dangerous?”

Crowley winced. “Ngh. Not dangerous, I just… avoid it. Come on, it won’t take us long to go around,” he insisted and started back down the street, assuming Aziraphale would follow. He hadn’t stepped foot on this street in twenty-five years and he was not about to do so now.

It was only a minute before they made it back to the crossroads. Crowley was completely soaked, but at least he wouldn’t have to-

He went still. Touched a hand to his sopping wet hair. Hair that should’ve been mostly dry thanks to Aziraphale’s…

Crowley whirled and sure enough, there was Aziraphale, nearly at the end of the street now, umbrella protecting him from the worst of the rain.

Shit.

Crowley started back down the street at a run, calling out, “Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale paused and turned around, but made no move to start walking back towards Crowley.

The rain began to fall harder around him, thunder growing all the louder. Crowley did his best not to look at the houses on either side as he caught up with Aziraphale.

“Angel. What are you doing?” Crowley questioned, having to raise his voice above the rain, now pouring down around them. “I told you we have to go around.”

“But why ?” Aziraphale countered. “We’re already here, and I would understand if it were dangerous but it’s clearly not. There’s no sense in turning around now when we’re already at the end.”

His words were punctuated by a clap of thunder, then a flash of lightning.

Crowley knew he was right. At least, his reasoning was certainly sound. Of course, in his mind, it didn’t make any sense at all why they couldn’t go this way, especially since there hadn’t been any problem at first, but Crowley didn’t know how to make it make sense without telling him everything.

“Listen, I understand,” he reasoned, “but I just need to… not do this right now. Angel, we’re in the middle of a storm, can we-”

“Yes, which is exactly why we should just continue on the way we’re going instead of turning back to stay in the storm longer.” 

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Just…” Please, don’t do this. Don’t make me try to explain this now. “Because I can’t! Now can we just turn around?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. Loosed what looked like a sigh, though Crowley couldn’t hear it over the rain. “Crowley, you’re being… difficult for no reason! Please, can’t we-”

Something in Crowley had snapped at those words, though, and he didn’t hear what Aziraphale said next. 

The rain went quiet around him, replaced by screams and laughter and a blade being drawn. He saw his sister again, calling out for help. He felt that familiar fear tightening his chest, making it difficult to breathe, the anguish that had prompted tears to roll endlessly down his cheeks all those years ago.

He all but growled, “Oh, for no reason?” and watched Aziraphale falter. “You think I did all of this for no reason ?! You think I broke apart and put myself back together again over and over and over just for fun?! You think I’ve spent the past two decades drowning in guilt just because I felt like it?!”

Aziraphale blinked at the outburst, opened his mouth as if to speak, but Crowley wasn’t done. “Do you have any idea where we are right now?” He blinked rapidly, fighting the sudden tears pricking his eyes, and continued, despite the way his voice broke, “Do you have any idea what they took from me?”

He stood there for a moment, panting, letting the words settle as more thunder roared around them.

The roses were lying on the cobblestone street. A few had fallen out of the bouquet. Crowley wasn’t sure when he’d dropped them.

He didn’t look at Aziraphale. Didn’t dare look at any of the houses around him either, though he knew if he looked to the left, behind Aziraphale, at the end of the street, he’d see the only one with boards covering its first floor windows. A house that had sat vacant for twenty-five years. 

Instead, he turned tail and fled, doing what he always did best.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Some more fluff for you and, also, some angst! I did tell you all it was coming (I did right?? I don't actually remember, but I think I did 😅). Anyway, next chapter you all will FINALLY get to see exactly what happened to Crowley and why he was so worried about telling Aziraphale. I think it might be the longest chapter in the fic standing currently at 5.2k words! It will also have some tws in the author's notes (we haven't used those in a while huh) so make sure to take care of yourselves friends.

Also, this fic has officially hit 100 kudos!! Thank you all so much, whether you've been here since the beginning or are just joining along the ride now. Or those of you who are binging this as a finished fic (please go to bed). Your support means a lot, really 💛💛

Chapter 48

Notes:

Hello! So honestly I lowkey might have forgotten the code to hide spoilers. It's been so long since I've used had to put tws before a chapter and I'm pretty sure I have it copy pasted somewhere, but I no longer remember where that is 😅 But that's okay because these ones were important enough that I probably wouldn't have hidden them anyway.
So before we get into this chapter, some quick tws. Child death does occur in this. It's not graphically described or anything but it happens. As does, y'know, regular adult death, but the child death felt like it could be more triggering. There is also a semi-descriptive instance of vomiting. I am sorry. And then the usual violence and blood and all of that and also some broken bones.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Crowley, wait! Please!” Aziraphale called after his retreating frame.

He wasn’t surprised when Crowley didn’t even look back. He should have known better. Of course Crowley had a reason, why wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have insisted they turn around for nothing, that would’ve been ridiculous. He had been hurting and Aziraphale had made it worse.

Oh, God. He had made it worse.

He glanced down at the bouquet Crowley had dropped onto the cobblestone, the memory of the wet thwack feeling like a blade through his heart.

Aziraphale bent and gathered them all again, then followed after Crowley, trying hard to keep him in his line of sight.

He was nimble and fast and he knew these streets far better than Aziraphale, but he had to try. Had to, at the very least, apologize. And, if Crowley allowed it, he would like to comfort him too.

Crowley turned a corner, and Aziraphale quickened his pace, hoping to catch sight of him again before he made another turn and disappeared completely, but as Aziraphale followed, he found Crowley had vanished.

He paused, bending over his knees, panting, then glanced around as if he would catch a glimpse of him if he just turned in circles enough times. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t.

He loosed a sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat.

It was unlikely he would find him tonight, and it was getting rather late. Aziraphale thought the best thing to do now would be to find an inn for the night and continue looking for Crowley tomorrow. He wasn’t sure he’d find him in a city so large but he had to try. He had to make this right. And he hoped the inn would have a vase he could keep these flowers in.

But just as he turned to find a place to rest he heard something, barely audible over the storm and stopped in his tracks, listening. There it was again. Hitched breathing and quiet sniffles. The sound of someone crying. And it was coming from…

Aziraphale slowly turned back around, his gaze going upward, to the roof of a nearby building. 

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Now, all he had to do was find a way up, and there were several barrels sitting against the wall that looked like they would give him a nice boost.

*    *    *

Crowley had barely turned away from Aziraphale before the tears were streaming down his cheeks.

He ran right back down the street, not daring to look at any of the familiar houses around him. Hardly felt the cold rain soaking him to the bone.

He couldn't be there. He couldn't look at Aziraphale after that, after everything he’d admitted. Certainly not with grief, and rage, and heartache tearing his heart asunder.

He didn't know where he was going, could hardly even see the streets before him, his vision blurred by tears, but he saw a building up ahead.

Aziraphale was following him. Crowley knew he was, though he had not turned back to look, and Crowley could not face him, not now.

He hopped atop the barrels and scaled the wall, slipping only once, due to the rain and his haste.

He scanned the empty rooftop briefly, noting the sign he’d seen from below, though he had not bothered to read it,and nothing else. There was no overhang. Nothing to shield him from the storm. So he just pulled his glasses off, curled up against the large sign, and at last broke down into sobs.

He cried for his siblings, for his mother and father, for lives cut far too short, for his home and the life he'd had, for the boy he'd been, for the man he could have grown into had things been different, for everything that had been so cruelly ripped from his fingers.

He didn't notice at first as someone joined him on the roof. Couldn't hear their struggle to climb up over the crackling thunder. But he didn’t flinch when he heard the soft, hesitant footsteps coming towards him, or the patter of rain against an umbrella as a warmth settled beside him, the umbrella now shielding them both from the worst of the storm.

Crowley looked up, sniffling, finding Aziraphale sitting beside him, wet curls plastered to his forehead. He set the sopping bouquet between them, but didn't look over.

His throat bobbed once. Twice.

Crowley turned away.

“I, um-” Aziraphale began. “I just thought you could use an umbrella. This is quite the storm, you know. I would hate for you to catch a cold.”

Crowley didn't answer, just stared out at the city sprawling before them.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I brought these, too.” He patted the bouquet. “You don't have to take it, of course, I just thought… Well, you seemed…” He trailed off, then sighed and continued, “I thought you quite liked them, so I wanted to bring them back to you. I suppose you can just… leave them here if you don't want them any longer.”

Crowley said nothing, and for a long moment there was only the pattering of the rain, the rumble of thunder, growing more distant now. The worst of the storm seemed to be over, but the rain certainly wasn't letting up anytime soon.

And then Aziraphale murmured, “Please take the umbrella, dear.”

Crowley looked over, only now realizing Aziraphale was holding it out to him. His eyes were impossibly sad. Crowley couldn't tell if it was rain or tears staining his cheeks.

He took the umbrella.

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed and looked downward as he wrung his hands before him. “I did want to apologize,” he admitted. “I was… quite insensitive earlier. I should've realized you had a perfectly reasonable excuse, and I… I am truly sorry for the distress I've caused you.”

Crowley didn't know what to say in response, words eluding him still, but he knew he was partly to blame. He should have told him the truth days ago, but he'd kept it hidden instead. He had lied to him. By omission sure, but it was a lie nonetheless. 

It had caused all of this.

“I… I suppose I should probably go,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley swallowed, the words feeling like a sudden and swift punch to the gut.

He heard the slight scuff of shoes on stone as Aziraphale got to his feet. Quiet footsteps as he began to walk away.

Crowley's heart clenched, panic beginning to swell.

He couldn’t do this alone.

“Don't. Please.” His voice, finding him at last, coming as a soft, pitiful whimper. A sound Aziraphale should not have heard over the pouring rain, but he paused. Turned.

Crowley wrapped his arm, the one that wasn't holding the umbrella, tighter around his knees, fresh tears cascading down his cheeks. “Please don't leave me.”

Aziraphale was by his side again in a moment, taking his face in gentle, soft hands and wiping away his tears.

Crowley let his eyes fall closed, leaning into Aziraphale, feeling his arms wrap around him, holding him tightly. Comforting him.

He flung his arms around Aziraphale, umbrella promptly forgotten, pressing his face into the crook of his neck, and fell apart in Aziraphale’s arms. His entire body trembling with the force of his sobs, breath coming in shallow gasps, snot running from both nostrils, likely dirtying Aziraphale’s collar. It was ugly and odious and Aziraphale took it all in stride anyway, rubbing his back soothingly through it. 

Neither of them said a word as they sat there, Crowley’s hands fisting in Aziraphale’s coat, holding him tightly as sobs racked him.

Aziraphale remained a steady, soothing presence, staying quiet, not demanding any sort of explanation, just being there for him. And they stayed there, just like that, for a long, long while, until the storm faded entirely, the rain slowing to a sprinkle.

Crowley sniffled, at last pulling back, and Aziraphale murmured, “I'm sorry, my dear. I'm so very sorry.”

Crowley shook his head. “S’not your fault. You couldn’t have known,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “I should've told you. Should've… told you everything.” 

He supposed he still could. Might as well at this point. He’d already dumped all of his trauma right there at Aziraphale’s feet anyway. And Aziraphale had picked it all up, cradling it while Crowley had sobbed. Accepting all of what he was. Comforting him through his pain.

Aziraphale murmured, “I should’ve been more understanding. I wasn’t, and I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“No, it is. Really.” Crowley swallowed. “I should’ve told you days ago, as soon as we left the castle, honestly. For multiple reasons, the most obvious being I am in a lot of trouble, and because you’re here with me, so are you.”

“You… did mention dangerous people back in the castle,” Aziraphale gently prompted.

“Yeah. Dangerous is an understatement. Deadly’s more like it,” Crowley muttered. “Lethal.”

“Deadly? How?”

Crowley loosed a long sigh. “Can I… start from the beginning?”

“Of course.”

“You remember what I told you about my parents?”

“Yes. You told me they were very successful merchants, who traded in textiles and jewelry,” Aziraphale recounted, sounding very proud of himself for having remembered such facts.

 Crowley nodded. “And do you know what happens when you become that successful that quickly?”

Aziraphale blinked, a mask of confusion falling over his face. “You… acquire a lot of gold?”

Crowley supposed that was also very much correct, but it hadn’t been what he was going for. “Well… yes, but also, you make a lot of enemies.”

Aziraphale’s face fell. “Oh.”

“And not only do you make enemies, but you make enemies of people who have a lot of money. More than they know what to do with, most of the time,” Crowley explained. Aziraphale remained silent, waiting to see where this story was going. The terrible turn it would soon make. “And these types of people really don’t like competition, because that means, they might get a little less of that money.”

Aziraphale nodded, likely both in understanding and just letting him know he was still listening.

“Now, one day, one of these people decided to take drastic measures to ensure they got to keep that extra little bit of coin, that they hadn’t even technically lost mind you, just hadn’t gained,” Crowley said. “They hired a group you’ve heard of. Basically mercenaries, though more brutal and with a flawless record.” Well, not flawless anymore. “People who have decimated empires probably just for fun. They also might not be entirely human, but I don’t know if I believe that theory.”

Aziraphale gasped, realization lighting in his eyes like a lightbulb, their name, apparently, coming to mind without Crowley even having to speak it. “Oh. Oh, of course. Your book.”

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed, his face blanching, realization turning to horror. “And what… What did they do?”

Images flashed in Crowley’s mind again, despite how he tried to blink them away, his sister’s voice ringing in his ears.

Crowley swallowed, waited until they all faded, then took a deep breath, and began.

*    *    *

It had taken Crowley a little under an hour to get his brothers and sisters settled down and tucked in for bed. One would think that would be a job for his parents, but they were apparently busy. Either his father was in his study pouring over their recent profits or… other financial, business related things that Crowley hadn’t bothered to listen to when his father had tried to explain it to him, or in the bedroom, along with his mother. She was likely either taking a bath or asleep already.

Whatever they were up to, Crowley just hoped it wasn’t making any more of the little shits they so often pawned off onto him. The youngest was hard enough to get down on a good day, adding an infant was practically unthinkable.

Still, he always did his best to be patient with his siblings. He knew they weren’t asking questions to be annoying—well, maybe sometimes, they did love to annoy him—they were just curious, and he had been that young and stupid once too, so he understood. They didn’t ask for bedtime stories or lullabies because they knew he was tired and just wanted to get to bed. They asked because they were scared to spend the night alone in their rooms or scared of the dark or monsters or a combination of all three. They wanted a little more comfort before they faced those things.

All in all, Crowley thought he hadn’t done half bad, considering his youngest brother had been running circles around his room, insisting he wasn’t tired before he’d gotten them settled. And with them all, for once, quiet, Crowley slipped down the hall and into his own room, where he promptly collapsed onto his bed.

He was asleep in moments.

And then, what felt like mere minutes later, he was awake again, feeling gentle hands on his shoulder, shaking him lightly.

He groaned but turned over, finding Mara, wincing sheepishly at having had to have woken him, though, over the years, this had become a fairly common occurrence.

Crowley ran a hand over his face, brows furrowing in concern. “Nightmares again?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Shit,” Crowley said, then winced, realizing his mistake. “Er, I mean… nyeh. Just… don’t say that in front of Mum and Dad.”

Mara cracked a smile at that. A devious little thing that absolutely made no promises, so Crowley added, “If you get me in trouble, I’ll take Bentley and hide him somewhere up very high and I’ll only take him back down if you tell me you’re sorry.”

Her smile turned to a scowl. “Fine.”

Bentley was her teddy bear. She’d had him since she was born. A gift from one of his mother’s friends, Crowley was pretty sure. She loved the thing to death. Kept him on her bed at all times, cuddled with him at night. She even had a little brush for his fur, which was far too short to ever get tangled, mind.

Crowley had never actually had to follow through on any of his threats to the little stuffed creature.

He sat up and slowly got to his feet. “Right. Let’s get you a glass of water,” he said, guiding his sister out of the room with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

He led her downstairs to the kitchen, filled a glass, and handed it to her, sitting across from her at the table while she sipped from it. She didn’t speak the entire time, clearly still shaken from whatever dream had awoken her, but Crowley had found getting her up and moving around a bit usually helped, so he hoped this time it would do the same.

Once she was finished, Crowley walked her back to her room and they paused there, Crowley touching a gentle hand to her arm. “Try to get some sleep, yeah?” he murmured. “They’re just nightmares. They can’t hurt you, I promise.”

“I know. They just… suck.”

Crowley nodded his understanding. “If you wake up again,” he added, “try hugging Bentley really tight, ‘kay? See if you can’t get back to sleep after.”

At this, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not five, you know.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. He supposed she wasn’t. Admittedly, he sometimes forgot exactly how old she was. She just felt so young to him. He wondered if she always would. “Well, you’ll always be my little sister,” he said teasingly, reaching out to ruffle her hair, and she swatted at his hand.

“Get some sleep,” Crowley repeated, not bothering to fight a small smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She glanced back at her bedroom door with a reluctant sigh, and Crowley’s smile faded, his heart aching. He wished there was something more he could do.

She nodded and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

Crowley found his way back to his own room and fell asleep once again. With any luck, he wouldn’t wake until morning. Though it seemed luck was not on Crowley’s side tonight.

He awoke again, who knew how long later to quiet footsteps outside his door.

He loosed a sigh, assuming Mara had had another nightmare and was coming to wake him again. It wasn’t often that she woke him twice in one night but it had happened before with some particularly bad recurring dreams that she had, thankfully, shaken off a year or so back, and he wondered irately if this would be a similar scenario.

But even still, he would never turn her away.

So he laid there, waiting for the door to open and for Mara to come to his side and shake his shoulder. And then they'd do the entire thing over again. Only, it didn’t, and neither did she.

Crowley lifted his head slowly, scanning his darkened room, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. His succulents were still sitting peacefully on his shelf, exactly where he’d placed them. His bookshelf still held all of three books, none of which he’d bought for himself and none of which he had read. It was all exactly the same.

But something felt different. Wrong. 

The footsteps continued down the hall. Multiple sets, it sounded like. Had the two little ones snuck out of their room in the middle of the night? It certainly wouldn't have marked the first time. But no, it sounded like more than two sets, and they were far too quiet to be the two youngest. Crowley would've heard them giggling by now.

Perhaps his parents? But that didn’t make sense either. For one, it was still more than two sets, and Crowley would’ve known if they’d had people over. They would’ve had him and his siblings ensuring their rooms were devoid of mess, as if the company they kept would care to peek in at them. Sometimes Crowley wondered if it was just an excuse to make them clean their rooms. And for two, what reason did they have to be wandering the house this late? Even his workaholic father would’ve been in bed by now.

Crowley heard a door open, distant, likely one down the hall or maybe even one downstairs, then another, closer. And then his blood went cold as a blood curdling scream followed. It sounded like his mother.

He went impossibly still, his breathing immediately turning heavy, ragged, heart hammering in his chest as more, louder, footsteps sounded, then more screams and… laughter. Cruel, heartless laughter

Crowley pressed shaking hands over his ears, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. It wasn't enough to drown them out.

Wake up. He wasn't sure whether or not he said the words aloud. Please wake up. Please it has to be a dream, it has to be, please .

One scream was cut short, and Crowley pressed a hand over his mouth, stifling a sob.

“Please wake up, please, please this can't be real.” He was sure, this time, that he'd said those words out loud. Spoken in a shaky, terrified whisper, his breathing loud in his ears, far too scared to move.

But then he heard the door closest to his open. Heard Mara let out a scream of rage. A grunt and a thud followed. Then footsteps and yelling and-

A cry of pain from his sister at last kicked Crowley into motion.

He stood, hands trembling violently, and ran to the door, flinging it open in time to see a woman clad in red standing over his sister, who was lying on the ground, bleeding from her right arm. Her wrist was obviously broken.

The woman in red drew a blade from a sheath across her back.

Mara met his gaze, her eyes wide, scared. Pleading. “Crowley, help!”

The woman glanced over her shoulder, her red eyes locking onto Crowley’s.

Crowley shuddered and took a step back. Opened and closed his mouth. He tried to make himself move forward, but his feet felt glued to the floor.

The woman’s red lips curled into a smile that Crowley would swear looked almost pleased.

His throat bobbed.

He was trembling from head to toe, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

He glanced between the woman and his sister, watched as tears began to trail down her cheeks, then turned and ran back into his room throwing open the window.

Footsteps were following rapidly behind him and Crowley didn't think. 

He jumped.

His ankle gave a sickening crack as he hit the ground, but he pushed himself to his feet. Hobbled down the road despite the pain, grabbing onto walls or signposts or lamps, anything to keep him upright. Anything to get him away from there.

He didn't know where to go. He had no one to fall back on, no one to take him in, but he kept moving anyway, trying to get as far away as possible. Anywhere was safer than there.

He took another step and the pain that flared through his ankle was enough to prompt a whimper. He reached out a hand, grabbing onto a nearby lamp, leaning his full weight against it to give his ankle a break.

Walking on it, he knew, would soon prove impossible. He needed to find someplace, any place, to hide. If he was quiet enough maybe those people wouldn't find him. Maybe he'd fall asleep and when he awoke it would all be a dream.

He couldn't help but picture his sister, bleeding, her wrist broken, and so, so very scared. Couldn't help but hear the screams of his siblings and parents echoing in his head. 

His stomach roiled.

He continued onward, limping into a nearby alley, noticing some barrels in the corner. He hoped to Someone they offered him enough cover as he collapsed onto his hands and knees behind them and retched, promptly emptying the contents of his stomach onto the cobblestone. Then again, and again, until all that came from him was a thin, clear liquid. Until he was coughing and gasping, tears streaming down his cheeks, those screams and that laughter and his sister’s voice still echoing in his mind.

Please let it be a dream , he thought. Please, please tell me this isn’t real .

But the burning in his throat felt anything but imaginary, as did the churning in his stomach, threatening to send him vomiting again.

He swallowed, keeping it down this time.

And then a hand landed on his shoulder, and Crowley went very still, heart rate skyrocketing, stomach lurching in a way that made him wonder if perhaps he'd spoken too soon.

They had found him. 

He supposed it probably hadn't been that hard. He hadn't gone far, and, he assumed, his violently throwing up had been quite loud, especially considering it was the middle of the night, with no other sounds to drown him out. He probably could've been heard from blocks away.

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, more tears spilling down his cheeks, waiting for the pain and then his tragic demise that would follow shortly after.

Instead, the hand vanished, and a voice said, “Get up.”

Crowley opened his eyes and at last gathered the courage to look behind him.

He did not find a familiar woman clad in red. He did not find anyone familiar at all. Instead, he was faced with someone with long dark hair and a hood pulled low over their face, and he could see what looked to be the hilt of a small blade tucked in a sheath at their waist.

Crowley swallowed. “Who are you?”

“Someone who's saving your life, now get up,” the stranger said.

Crowley was in no position to argue. He stood, trying not to put too much weight on his injured foot, and then the stranger stepped forward, wrapping his arm around their shoulders, keeping him upright as they led him out of the alley and down the street.

“I know someplace you'll be safe,” they said.

He glanced over at them, unsure as to why they would help him, but grateful for it nonetheless. “Thanks.”

“Don't thank me, and shut up before someone hears you.”

Crowley didn't say another word, didn't want to make them change their mind, but the stranger's standoffishness wasn't enough to stifle the gratitude warming him.

*    *    *

“That was Beelzebub,” Crowley murmured. “Leader of the Vipers guild. Well, not then, not yet, but…” He loosed a sigh. “They saved my life that night, I’m sure of it. S’part of the reason why I stuck around for as long as I did, the other being that I was terrified of what they might do if I left and never came back.”

Aziraphale was quiet. Hadn’t said a word, actually, since Crowley had begun recounting that awful night, and Crowley didn't dare look up at him now. Couldn’t bear to see the displeasure, disappointment, maybe even anger he was certain was in his eyes. “So yeah. That's- That's everything,” he breathed, his gaze wandering instead to the roses sitting between them.

And then there was Aziraphale’s hand, reaching out, curling gently around Crowley’s own, which had come to rest against his thigh. 

“I'm so very sorry,” he murmured, and Crowley couldn't help the way he glanced up, finding Aziraphale’s gaze soft, sad. His eyes didn't hold any resentment or disgust or rage, and for the life of him Crowley couldn't understand why.

He had left her there. She had pleaded with him for help and he had ran, saving his own arse instead. Anyone could see what a cruel choice that had been but especially Aziraphale, the kindest person Crowley had ever met. He would’ve stepped in to save her, any decent person would have. Which left the very obvious option that Crowley simply was not.

He slowly untangled their fingers, noticing the slight furrow in Aziraphale’s brows before he got to his feet and went to the roof’s edge. He sat down, letting his feet dangle, intending to put some distance between them. This would be easier to say if he wasn’t looking into kind blue eyes. If Aziraphale wasn't holding his hand.

“C- Crowley?” Aziraphale questioned, and Crowley heard the soft scuff of his shoes as he stood too, then, hesitantly, joined him. “Are you alright?” 

Crowley swallowed. Couldn’t bring himself to turn to him, but unable to send him away, either. So he just stared into his lap, silent, for a long moment, trying to ignore that kernel of hope that had never died in him, despite it all.

“You should hate me, y’know,” he, at last, murmured. “I do. And so does my sister, evidently, since her ghost is back to haunt me. Or maybe I’ve just finally bloody lost it. I don’t know.” He loosed a sigh, idly running a finger over his knee, not daring to look up.

Aziraphale remained silent. Maybe he was waiting for Crowley to continue, maybe he just didn’t know what to say. Crowley certainly couldn’t blame him. Or maybe he was weighing his options, trying to think of a way to word it, to let him down gently.

That thought had pain and something like panic blossoming in his chest. Suddenly there were words in his throat, threatening to spill out between his lips, to deny everything, say actually, that wasn’t really what happened. Of course not; I would never do something like that; please, please, don’t go.

He swallowed them down, remaining quiet instead. Waiting. Longing to reach out, to seek comfort in those strong arms and keeping his gaze, his hands, firmly away instead.

And then Aziraphale spoke, gentle, soft. “Is that why you waited so long to tell me? Because you thought I’d… Oh, my dear, of course not.” His soft hands curled tightly around Crowley’s own. “How could I?”

“I as good as killed her, angel,” Crowley rasped, a few fresh tears slipping past his defenses. He didn’t pull his hand away. “It’s my fault. I could’ve saved her if I hadn’t-” His voice broke, prompting him to pause.

Aziraphale’s hands squeezed his own a bit tighter. 

“She begged me for help, and I ran away . I watched her cry!” Crowley continued. “What kind of brother—what kind of person , even—does that?”

“I imagine,” Aziraphale began, “someone who had just lost so much all at once and was very, very scared.”

Crowley shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I should’ve done something. I could’ve saved her.”

“I think it very much does,” Aziraphale countered. “Crowley, you were fifteen! You were only a boy; you had every reason to be absolutely terrified!” And then he softened a bit and added, “And, you know, a very wise man once told me, ‘you survived. You escaped. That’s nothing to sneeze at.’”

Crowley sniffled. “He sounds like an idiot.”

“I can assure you he’s not.” Aziraphale said. “He’s brilliant and lovely and so very kind .” He reached out, touching a hand to Crowley’s chin, guiding his gaze to Aziraphale’s. “You are kind, Crowley,” he murmured. “You are good.”

Crowley knew he meant it. The sincerity in his eyes, in his voice, left absolutely no room for doubt. This man, a man who both looked and acted like an angel, a man who was braver than Crowley could ever hope to be, who had stood at the defense of those around him time and again, thought that Crowley was good.

He couldn’t help the way his face crumpled at the sight of it. He felt fragile. Like the lightest of touches would send him shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, but Aziraphale was gentle as he gathered him in his arms. Aziraphale kept him whole.

Crowley let himself be held, giving a soft, involuntary whimper, leaning into Aziraphale, who rubbed a gentle hand over his back. He murmured again, “You are good, Crowley, I promise you.”

Crowley sniffled.

“And I'm so sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale continued, “but I don't believe there was anything you could have done. Even with the skills you have now, facing The Four Horsemen would be… a very dangerous task I would prefer you not undertake. Without them, it… I can't imagine what they might have done.”

Crowley swallowed. 

“I know,” he breathed, and realized moments after the words left his lips that they were true. “I think I just…” More tears filled his eyes and he blinked them back. “I wish I could have.” His voice broke on the words, and he felt Aziraphale’s hold tighten around him, that bit of comfort prompting him to continue, “I miss her. I miss them all, and I wish-” he broke off. Swallowed. Aziraphale gave him a squeeze. “I just wish they were here. God, I would do anything to have them back, anything at all. I’d go to those stupid balls every night, I’d help my father run his business like he so badly wanted, I’d even marry some pompous rich bastard who hated me if it meant I could see them again.”

Aziraphale didn't say a word, just held him, rubbing a hand over his back. There for him, just like he always was. 

Why had he thought this time would be any different?

It was several long, quiet minutes later before Crowley at last murmured, “There’s something else you should know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, just… The Four Horsemen, they're… looking for me again. I don't know why, don't know what set them off, but they know who I am. They know my fake name.”

“That's… certainly concerning.”

Crowley pulled back, frowning a bit at that response. “Sound a little more worried.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Apologies for not being concerned enough for your liking, my dear. I'm sure I will be properly worried once I've had more time to process everything you've just told me.”

“Ngk. S'pose it was a lot. Sorry.” He sniffled, wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks.

“It's perfectly alright,” Aziraphale said, gentling. “I'm glad you told me. Though I wish it had been under… better circumstances. I do apologize, again, for not listening to you.”

“S’alright. I know you didn't mean any harm, and it was about time I told you, anyway. You deserved to know.” He loosed a sigh. Glanced behind him, at the roses sitting beside that sign. 

The rain was still falling in a light drizzle around them and Crowley began to shiver.

Aziraphale reached out, rubbing a hand over his arm. “Shall we head to your flat, dear?”

They were both soaked to the bone. They’d catch their deaths if they stayed here any longer. “Yeah.” Crowley nodded. “Yeah.” 

Aziraphale helped him to his feet, and Crowley grabbed up the sopping bouquet, though he wasn't sure they'd last much longer after this, and the two of them made their way back down onto the cobblestone.

Aziraphale’s umbrella shielded them both from the rain.

Notes:

Hello again! Oh boy so many things to talk about this chapter.
This one honestly, might have been the one that started this whole thing. I've had this bit on the rooftop in mind from the start, even when this was an original work. I actually started working on this shortly after watching GO2 and I didn't realize just how much of it was directly inspired by good omens until like yesterday (I think that's because I thought I started writing it before I watched good omens. I didn't. I don't know why I thought that). So I guess it's only right I turned it into a fic instead! This chapter was definitely inspired by that bit in the opening credits where Crowley and Aziraphale are sitting on the roof of the bookshop.
But anyway, yeah. So, now you all know exactly what happened to Crowley and why he sort of harbors all of this guilt. And mind you, Aziraphale said this already but I wanna reiterate, Crowley was 15 when this happened to him! He was a BABY 😭😭 I do consider this to be the start of his healing, though ♥️
Also, you got to see Crowley interact with his sister! (lowkey kinda devastating, but it's fine)
And the Bentley mentioned!!! I wanted to incorporate it into this fic somehow, but, obviously, cars don't exist in this universe so I thought it could be a teddy bear instead! I think my first thought was that it would be Crowley's obvs, but then I realized having it be Mara's would be waaaay better. You'll see why in a bit.

Chapter 49

Notes:

Remembered how to do this again :P

Hover or Click to show tws blood. just mentions of it but the imagery felt descriptive enough for the warning to be necessary. Also some more violence

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he followed Crowley into his flat, but sleek and dark hadn’t quite been it. Aziraphale supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised, considering the man insisted on wearing almost entirely black, but oddly enough, the space didn't seem to fit him.

For one, it held very little furniture. Held very little of anything, really. There was gray tile covering the floor in the living room and a dark redwood in the kitchen. Dark drapes currently covered two of the walls in the living room, which, judging by the faint gleam of moonlight peeking through at the edges, were actually just two giant windows. He did have several pieces of jewelry that Aziraphale found rather pretty, if a bit gaudy, on display, but even so he found the space almost suffocating. Lonely. Still, it was Crowley’s home. He supposed he should find something nice to say about it.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “It’s very…”

“Empty?” Crowley offered.

“Well, I was going to say minimalistic, but I suppose that works just as well.”

Crowley shrugged and went to the kitchen, setting the sopping roses on the island. “S’alright if you hate it. Not really mine anyway, so.” He grabbed a nearby vase and filled it with water.

“I'd hardly say that,” Aziraphale said, joining him. “Hate is a rather strong word. I simply don't know that it feels entirely like you .”

“Eh, guess it doesn't,” Crowley agreed, busing himself by moving the bouquet into the vase, keeping his back to Aziraphale, almost deliberately so. “Like I said, not mine anyway.”

Aziraphale moved closer. Touched a gentle hand to his shoulder.

A lot had happened within the past hour. Aziraphale had learned so much, and Crowley was almost certainly still recovering from it. Still collecting himself. Perhaps he still needed him.

“Are you… alright, dear?” he murmured.

“Not sure,” Crowley admitted.

“Do you need anything?” He wasn't sure exactly how to help. Wounds like these, he knew, could not be cured by a kind word or a warm embrace, but the pain could still be soothed, even if momentarily.

“Don't know.”

Aziraphale rubbed his hand soothingly over Crowley’s shoulder, deciding to try a different approach and hoping it didn't upset him. He couldn’t deny, he was rather curious. “Is it alright if I ask what you meant earlier? About your sister? You said she was haunting you?”

Crowley paused for a moment, seemingly confused, then remembered, “Oh, right, yeah. Uh… nothing really, just… thought I saw her.” He shook his head. “But I couldn't have, obviously. So it must have been… I dunno. Just my imagination, probably. Mum always told me mine was a bit overactive.”

Even still, Aziraphale couldn't help the bit of hope blossoming in his chest. “Are you… sure?” he questioned.

Crowley stilled. “What do you mean?” 

The shift in his tone had Aziraphale faltering, and he stammered, “I… well, I, I just mean… Is it possible that perhaps she could-”

“No.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “Alright.”

Clearly it was best he did not push that particular subject. Crowley was so certain, and it seemed any suggestion otherwise simply hit a brick wall. Aziraphale supposed he couldn't blame him.

Crowley loosed a sigh, softening. “Look, it's… I read it. In that book,” he murmured. “She's gone. All of them are. S’only me left.”

“I'm so sorry.”

Crowley nodded. He was still hunched over the vase, staring through it now, as the roses had long since been nicely arranged. Aziraphale couldn't imagine what he must have been feeling. 

He didn't withdraw his hand. Just continued rubbing soothing circles, hoping it helped.

And then all at once Crowley pushed away from the island, turning towards the door. “I think I need to…” 

His throat bobbed, but he didn't continue so Aziraphale prompted, “Yes, dear?” 

“It's just, I've never been back there, y'know, not since it happened.”

“That's perfectly reasonable,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley continued without acknowledging him, almost as if in a daze, “I don't think anyone else has either. It's been empty all this time.”

Aziraphale stayed silent, piecing together what Crowley was getting at, but deciding to remain quiet about it until Crowley got there himself.

“I'm sure all of their stuff is still there. Toys, books. I bet no one even bothered to empty the kitchen.”

“I suppose that's quite likely, yes.”

“I have to…” Crowley's throat bobbed. “Angel.” He at last turned back, towards Aziraphale, and though his eyes were hidden, Aziraphale could see he looked impossibly sad.

Aziraphale reached out, gently taking his hand. “Dear, are you sure this is something you should do?” Even just small mentions seemed to be enough to elicit some bad feelings, and being on the same street had resulted in quite the episode. Returning to the scene was bound to do the same. Possibly even worse.

“No, but… There might be something that I want to… keep. Y'know. Souvenir.” He made a face. “Eh. S’not the right word, but, y’know, something to remember them by. It's been… a very long time, and I just…”

Aziraphale softened. Squeezed Crowley's hand. It was a bad idea still, but one that was clearly important to Crowley, and Aziraphale couldn't really fault him for this. For wanting something to remember his family by. And he knew, too, that even if things went poorly, he would be there to help. “Of course, dear. We can go now, if you’d like.”

Crowley gave a small, grateful smile, but gently pulled his hand from Aziraphale's grasp. “Just me, I'm afraid. You'll be safer inside anyway.”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “But… I can't just let you… Crowley, I need to be there to help you if something happens. And, and… The Four Horsemen are looking for you, who's to say they won't find you there?” he added, perhaps tad desperately.

Crowley's smile sharpened to a familiar smirk, and Aziraphale couldn't deny, he was relieved to see it. “Worried properly now, I see.”

Still, he scowled. “I can't let you go alone,” he insisted. “It's far too dangerous.”

“I have to,” Crowley said. “I'll be alright, angel, I really just…” He paused. Took a breath. “I need to do this.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He could see the determination behind Crowley’s eyes and knew he wasn’t going to give. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful,” Aziraphale conceded.

Crowley softened and took a step closer, into his space, taking both of Aziraphale's hands. He was close enough that even though Crowley was wearing his glasses Aziraphale could see his yellow eyes behind that shield. There was an honesty in them as he vowed, “I promise.” And then his smile sharpened again. “I'm always careful. C’mon, you know that.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I suppose I do,” he murmured. He would've wrung his hands before him if they weren't currently in Crowley’s. “And… I suppose you know that I'll worry anyway.”

Crowley’s smile faded, brows furrowing in concern. “Just try not to worry too much ‘kay? I promise, I'll be fine.” Crowley glanced around, noting the bag Aziraphale had set on the island. “Read one of your books, or… I dunno. Explore the flat. Not much to look at but…” Crowley shrugged.

Aziraphale gave a nod. He had already been planning on curling up somewhere with one of his books.

“I won't be long,” Crowley murmured, squeezing Aziraphale’s hands before pulling back. “Probably an hour at most. And when I get back, we'll go to bed, and you can hold me as much as you like.”

Aziraphale nodded, taking comfort in the thought. “I'll be alright here,” he said. So long as he knew Crowley would be cautious, anyway. “Do take care of yourself. If things become too much for you to bear or if something feels wrong or you think you might be in trouble, come back, please.”

“I will. Promise.”

Aziraphale loosed a sigh, but said nothing more. He could not convince him to stay, and honestly, if this was truly what Crowley wanted to do, he wouldn't feel right keeping him from it, no matter how worried he became. Crowley would be careful, he had promised him so. Now, all Aziraphale had to do was trust him.

Crowley gave him a small, reassuring smile before turning and exiting the flat, and Aziraphale loosed a long breath, glancing around, the already mostly empty space becoming impossibly lonelier.

He went to his bag and grabbed his unfinished book, then began to wander, discovering the bathroom, a nearly empty broom closet, and the bedroom, which was where he hesitated.

He hadn't asked if he was welcome here. This was, after all, Crowley's bedroom, and Aziraphale had not thought to question about any boundaries he might have. It was quite possible the man preferred he remain off the bed or perhaps even out of his room entirely, at least for now. But surely if that were true, he would have stated as such.

Aziraphale glanced around, as if searching for an answer in the scant decor, noting a couple of bookshelves, both of which were empty, and several potted plants, and he recalled a time when he and Crowley had sat down for lunch. He had mentioned them then. Gosh, it had only been… what, two weeks since? Three? Aziraphale wasn't sure, but it felt like a lifetime had passed.

Aziraphale couldn't help but notice the plants remained a vibrant green. He wasn't sure what methods Crowley used to take care of them, but it seemed to be working exceptionally well.

But neither the plants nor the bookshelves deigned to answer his silent question, so Aziraphale hesitantly took a seat on the edge of the bed, then, when no alarms began blaring signifying he'd made a terrible mistake, settled onto the bed fully, his back resting against soft pillows. And then he cracked open his book and began to read.

A long while had passed when an odd noise caught Aziraphale's attention, like the lighting of a match, and prompted him to pause his reading to glance around. He couldn't seem to pinpoint its source.

“Crowley?” he called out, wondering if perhaps he simply hadn't heard him return and he was elsewhere in the flat, perhaps getting ready to prepare dinner or lighting a candle. It was far too late for dinner, though, likely nearing midnight, and why would he be doing either of those things if he'd intended to go to bed upon returning?

He closed his book and slowly got to his feet, intending to investigate, but a loud blast sounded in his ears and heat seared his back as he was thrown across the room, slamming painfully against a bookshelf, his skull throbbing with the impact, before falling to the floor.

He did not have the strength to stand. Could only manage to turn his head, trying to make sense of the blurring shapes before him.

Flames were lapping at the walls, the crackling of them surely loud, though Aziraphale could not hear them over the ringing in his ears. Even from across the room the fire was hot against his skin, the smoke already threatening to choke him, and through it, walked a pair of bright red boots, the last thing Aziraphale saw before succumbing to the exhaustion and pain pulling at his eyelids.

*    *    *

Crowley tried his best to take deep breaths as he stared up at the familiar window.

It would be an easy climb, he knew, the extravagant architecture leading to plenty of places to get a handhold, but it wasn't the climb that made the task so daunting but the destination.

His bedroom was up there. He'd jumped from that window twenty-five years ago, breaking his ankle right here, on the cobblestone.

He knew it would be much the same as when he'd last seen it. In fact it was likely to be exactly the same, unless someone had been there since and stolen something, rifled through his things.

The thought made Crowley's lips curl in a silent snarl. Someone rummaging through their drawers, his siblings' toys, snatching his mother's jewelry from that little box in her closet. He knew it wouldn’t be personal, just someone poor and desperate, willing to steal to make ends meet. He still didn’t like the thought. 

He at last spurred into action, reaching up, his fingers gripping the edge of a window on the first floor, and began the climb. He was at his window in a matter of seconds and pushed it open, thanking Someone it wasn't locked, with a loud creak. And then he took a deep breath and climbed inside.

It was indeed exactly as Crowley had left it, though the door leading to the rest of the house was closed. So someone had been here at some point since he'd fled, but likely not in a very long time, if the thick layer of dust coating everything was any indication.

Crowley glanced at his shelf where his succulents sat. Or, where they would've sat. With no one to take care of them the plants seemed to have withered entirely away, and only dirt laid in their pots now. Crowley loosed a sigh and murmured a “sorry,” to the long-dead plants. The first of many apologies, likely, he'd make tonight.

He went to the door, noticing even the doorknob was coated in dust. Oh yes, it had been a very long time since anyone had been in here.

He reached out, hesitantly curling his fingers around it, ran his thumb through the dust, but didn't open it, not yet. Instead he swallowed, trying to prepare himself for what he'd see on the other side.

The last time he had opened this door he'd been faced with his sister, injured and so very scared. This time would be much different, of course, Mara was not here and never would be again, but Crowley wasn't sure what remnants remained from that night. Had anyone bothered to clean up? The bodies, surely, had been buried but what about the blood? Would the stained rug still be there?

Crowley wasn't sure he wanted to find out, and yet, he couldn't back away from the threshold. He could not leave without seeing this through. He would speak to his sister, one last time, even if it broke him.

He took a deep breath and opened the door and was greeted with the very same hallway he'd walked many times before. So many times he would hardly spare it a glance. He scanned it thoroughly now, noting immediately the rug was gone, but there was a patch of wood where it should've been that looked a bit darker than the others and Crowley quickly looked away, swallowing hard, trying to shut out the laughter, his sister's desperate cry.

He could almost see her, there, sitting right above that stain, fear so bright in her eyes as War stood over her, more than ready to cut her down as if she were little more than a stalk of wheat.

He forced himself to take a step, then another, deliberately not looking at the stain on the floor. He did not go to Mara’s room, despite it being the closest, instead he made his way to the second closed door, farther down the hall, that belonged to his parents.

He did not enter but he did touch a hand to the smooth wood. He hadn’t been that close with his parents, not in a very long time, had never been what they wanted. Always had his head in the clouds when it should've been pouring over spreadsheets in the study with his father. Someone had to carry on the business, after all, and Crowley, being the oldest, was the most obvious choice.

Crowley had realized quite quickly that he did not care for numbers and had grown impossibly bored instead. Had practically begged his father to let him do literally anything else. He'd eventually relented, moving on to his slightly younger brother, and Crowley had been free to turn his attention to whatever he wished, which had ended up being the succulents in his bedroom.

He'd felt their disappointment. It hadn't been a sharp, stabbing pain, but a duller ache, knowing he could never make them proud. He had never had any desire to change for anyone, his parents included, but he'd wished they could have embraced him rather than turn away. Instead they had simply moved onto the next and he couldn't help but resent them a bit for that. But even still, he knew they had not deserved the fate they'd gotten.

He loosed a soft sigh and let his hand slide from the door, then turned and headed downstairs. There were two more bedrooms on this floor, one belonging to his then fourteen-year-old brother, and another belonging to the two youngest.

He didn't enter these two either, he did not know what state they'd be in and he was far too afraid to find out, worried he'd be faced with blood-covered sheets that had long since dried and stained. He did stand outside their doors, though, murmuring soft apologies, telling them they had deserved much better, and wishing them well, wherever they had gone. He did not know if they could hear him, but it made him feel a bit better knowing he had said it.

He stared at the two closed doors for a moment longer, then loosed a soft sigh and turned away, heading back upstairs to the room he had skipped.

He stood before Mara's door for a long while, fingers flexing, trying to work up the courage to grab the handle. He was not worried about the state in which he'd find the room, not this time. No, this time, he worried about himself, about what it would do to him to see his sister's room again, perfectly preserved, just as it had been the night he'd lost her. He worried about turning into a blubbering mess and losing track of time, and how worried Aziraphale would be if he did.

The last thing he wanted was to have the angel out searching for him, likely worried The Four Horsemen had found him, but Crowley had to do this. He had to see this through.

He reached out, at last grasping the doorknob, and then he raised his other hand, knocking lightly before opening it. He was greeted with the familiar light purple walls, an expense his parents had been happy to pay to make their daughter smile. It was her favorite color, after all, and no matter how expensive the dye, it was worth it to see that grin.

The birchwood desk that he had only seen her use once to study for a test was exactly as he had last seen it, the bookshelf off to the left side of the room was still full, unlike Crowley's, and every book on it had been read at least once. The bed, sitting against the right side of the room, the messy purple and white tartan blanket covering it a stark reminder of how suddenly she'd awoken that night, and there, sitting against her pillows, was a familiar stuffed teddy bear.

Crowley swallowed hard and slowly sat down atop the covers, reaching out to pluck Bentley from the place he had rested all these years, running his thumb gently over his coarse, dusty fur. “I'm glad you're alright, at least,” he murmured to the stuffed toy, brushing as much of the dust away as he could. Perhaps that little brush could come in handy after all, though Crowley was fairly certain it was in a similar state. “I'm sorry you've been alone all this time, but if it makes you feel any better, so was I. For the better part of twenty-five years, anyway.”

He loosed a sigh, letting the bear fall into his lap. And then he looked up, scanning the room again and at last said, speaking into the space this time and not towards Bentley, “Er… hi.” He winced the moment the words left his mouth.

Fucking Hell, Crowley, is that really the best you can do?

He swallowed and tried again. “I… hope you don't mind, I- I just wanted-” He paused a moment, considering his words, then loosed a breath. “I mean, if I'm really honest, what I wanted was to see you again. Ridiculous, I know. S’not like you're gonna be here, sitting around, waiting for me to possibly show up. But I'm a stupid fool and a part of me hoped you would be anyway.” He gave a slow glance around the room, gaze lingering for a moment on the many books. Aziraphale, he knew, would've quite liked his sister, and his throat constricted at the thought, making it hard to speak. He pushed on anyway. “I just… I wanted to tell you I'm sorry,” he rasped, his voice cracking at the edges. “I was a coward that night. I think I've been a coward ever since. You needed me, and I ran from you, and I am so sorry .” He swallowed. Took a breath. “I don't expect you to forgive me, honestly. I just… I wanted you to know, and to believe me, because I really do mean it, every word, I promise, and it kills me to think that you might not know or, or even trust that I-” His voice broke on that word, ‘ trust ’, and he had to pause, taking a moment to gather himself, lest he break down into sobs. “Please just know that I miss you,” he breathed. “Please know that I love you.”

And then he quieted, letting those words settle in the air around him, perhaps some small, stupid part of him still hoping for an answer.

It never came.

He turned his gaze back to the stuffed bear in his lap. Picked him up once again. “I'd…. like to take him with me,” he murmured, staring into those button eyes, “if that's alright. I promise, I'll take good care of him.”

He gave another pause, in which only silence greeted his words. He had not been expecting a response this time, and simply chose to take the silence as permission. He'd like to think Mara would've been happy to see him take it. For the bear to be taken care of again, instead of sitting here, collecting dust.

With all of his questions asked and everything he wanted to say said, Crowley slowly got to his feet and gave one last wistful glance around the room, knowing this would be the last time he ever saw it.

He loosed a long sigh and went to the door, but he didn’t leave just yet, instead keeping ahold of the door and peeking his head in, one last time. “I love you,” he murmured into the silent, still space, and then he added, because it was easier, softer, than goodbye, “Goodnight.” 

He closed the door on near-silent hinges and started back into his own room, fleeing through the window once again, though this time, with much more grace and no injuries, and with a small stuffed bear clutched tightly in one hand. He gave the house one last farewell glance before turning and starting back towards his flat.

It wasn't a long walk. Maybe ten minutes at most, and Crowley found himself smiling as it came into view, thinking of the angel within. Of snuggling with him beneath a warm blanket, letting Aziraphale hold him close, indulging in that softness he was not so sure he deserved but grabbed with greedy hands anyway.

And then a loud blast sounded, shaking even the cobblestone at his feet and Crowley instinctively brought his hands to his ears.

His flat was on fire by the time he looked up again, his mouth falling open in horror as he watched the flames slowly crawling up the outside walls. Watched the windows shatter from the heat.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed.

He was inside, he was in trouble, he was-

Crowley ran towards the burning building without a second thought.

Notes:

Hello hello! Sorry for no update on Monday. Pmdd kicked in so I wasn't really feeling up to editing and I didn't want to put out a chapter that I wasn't satisfied with. So I didn't! I didn't want to make you guys wait another week for a new chapter though, so I'm moving weekly updates to Friday now instead 😅

Also... bookshop fire parallel anyone?
Oh, you guys are gonna HATE me for the next chapter I already know, but I am working on a fluffy one shot that I'm hoping to finish soon so I can drop it after next week's update for anyone who needs some fluff to soothe the angst. So fingers crossed I can get that done, but I make no promises.

Chapter 50

Notes:

Hover or Click to show tws violence, broken ribs

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley hardly even felt the heat as he rushed up the stairs, taking them two, three at a time and burst through the door of his flat, Bentley still clutched tightly in his grasp. He vaguely thought this was no place for the stuffed animal, certainly not as he glanced around, at the flames lapping at the walls, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

The fire seemed to be more localized to the left side of the building and hadn’t spread much further yet, but Crowley knew it was only a matter of time. He needed to find Aziraphale and get him out fast.

“Aziraphale!” he called out, stepping further into the space, glancing around wildly for a familiar beige coat, his heart leaping to his throat when he didn’t find it. “Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you, you idiot?! I can’t find you!”

Aziraphale did not magically appear through the smoke and flame, didn't call out to him either, leading Crowley to wonder if something was seriously wrong. If Aziraphale had been hurt in the blast or worse. His stomach twisted into knots and he called out again, stepping a little further into the flat, more than prepared to run right through a wall of flame if it would get him to Aziraphale's side, “Aziraphale for God’s- For… Ah! For Somebody's sake, where are you?!”

Another explosion hit, sending him flying across the room, slamming into his kitchen counter hard enough he heard something crack, and white burst over his vision as sharp pain erupted over his ribs. He had no choice but to sink to the floor, the world spinning, his vision blurring, head lolling a bit to one side. It was a fight just to stay conscious, and he sat there, just breathing, for a long moment, his vision slowly coming back into focus. 

His glasses were gone. Lost when he’d been flung. And the bear was no longer in his grasp either, but Crowley couldn’t think about that now. No, the only thing on his mind right now was Aziraphale.

The pain over his ribs sharpened with every breath and it was all Crowley could do to fall onto his hands and knees and crawl towards his living room. Aziraphale was here and Crowley had to find him, had to save him .

“Aziraphale,” he rasped, barely audible, even to himself. Aziraphale most definitely couldn't hear him, but he had to try, and that was as loud as he could manage right now. His throat burned, smoke filling his lungs with every breath. He coughed, more pain sparking in his ribs, stumbling onward, the fog in his mind slowly clearing, the crackling of flames growing louder as the ringing in his ears died down. “Aziraphale.”

Footsteps sounded and hope bubbled in Crowley’s chest. Perhaps Aziraphale was alright. Maybe he'd just been disoriented and hadn't been able to answer his calls. His hope promptly died as a low laugh skittered its way down his spine, a sound Crowley had not been able to forget, no matter how hard he tried, and he stopped in his tracks. “No.”

Those footsteps grew louder, closer. Just a single set for now, but he knew the other three wouldn't be far behind. And with all the yelling he'd done just a moment ago, Crowley was sure they knew he wasn't alone, that Aziraphale was here somewhere. If Crowley couldn't find him first-

The footsteps paused, right behind him now and Crowley went impossibly still, a familiar fear constricting his chest, turning his breaths quick and shallow.

“Hello, Crowley,” War said. “It's been a long time.” Her slow footsteps started again, coming around to his left side.

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. He wasn't sure he could speak if he tried, even as War prompted, “Nothing to say? Not even after all these years? You've been hard to find, you know, and yet you didn't even make it very far, did you? I'm disappointed.”

Crowley had every intention of looking away, trying to pay her as little heed as possible, to imagine himself somewhere else, anywhere else, as if maybe then he would wake up and realize none of this had been real at all, just some terrible dream. He never did, and more footsteps sounded from that same direction, forcing him to turn and watch as four more figures emerged from his bedroom and his stomach dropped as he watched Death and Famine dragging an unconscious Aziraphale between them.

A different sort of fear sparked in his chest, something akin to panic, and Crowley flung out a hand, gasping, “Wait, wait!” And he knew, moments after the words had left his lips, he'd shown his hand, and if The Four Horsemen hadn't known before, they definitely knew now just how important Aziraphale was to him. Famine and Death paused though, so it had worked nonetheless, and that was all Crowley cared about in the end, making sure Aziraphale was safe.

“Hm. That got him talking,” a different voice, one likely belonging to Pollution, said, coming from his right side. He hadn't even noticed them come his way. “Perhaps you were right.”

“I ALWAYS AM,” Death replied, and Crowley swallowed hard.

“Listen,” he rasped, “he wasn't there all those years ago, you know that. He has nothing to do with any of this. Just… let him go.”

“I think he has a lot to do with it now,” Famine countered.

He and Death began to drag him again, towards the shattered window, and Crowley tried very hard not to panic. The more fear they saw on his face the more it proved this was how they hurt him, so he kept his voice as even as possible as he said, “Just… Listen, he's a prince. If you kill him, you'll have an entire army after you. You really, really don’t want that, trust me.”

War gave a laugh. “Wouldn't be the first time. We'd take care of them just as easily as we did the last.”

A quick glance at the rest of them proved they agreed, and Crowley's panic grew all the more difficult to hide as his options dwindled. He found himself missing his sunglasses, but they were long gone now. It was far too late to try and find them again.

Famine and Death began to drag Aziraphale again, and Crowley tried to crawl towards him, making it all of a few inches before a boot slammed into his still aching ribs.

His vision went white, the blinding pain tearing a scream from him, immediately sending him to the floor. He panted, fighting to get his bearings as his vision slowly cleared. Trying to push himself onto his elbows and struggling, even with the small task.

“He's injured,” Pollution supplied, and War chuckled cruelly.

“EXCELLENT,” Death said. “IT WILL BE EASIER TO KEEP HIM IN LINE.”

Crowley managed to lift his head, noting they had dragged Aziraphale ever closer to that broken window, and Crowley was helpless, couldn’t even get himself onto his elbows. His chest was heaving and every breath sent pain shooting through his ribs, and he was terrified and so very tired, and he had nothing . There was nothing he could say to convince The Four Horsemen to let Aziraphale go, and all he could do was watch, blinking back tears, as he lost everything all over again. 

And yet still, he tried. 

Clenching his hand to a fist, breathing heavily, covered in sweat and ash and unable to push himself up more than an inch off the ground, he did the last thing he could think of, and ground out, through gritted teeth, as if the word was being forcibly pulled from his throat, “ Please .” Because he was tired, and hurt, and angry , and he had nothing, but he could not just stand by and let this happen, not again. He had to try even if it broke him.

Famine and Death stalled, much closer to the window now, only a few more feet and Aziraphale would go tumbling over the edge. Even the flames around them seemed to quiet. Enough that Crowley’s panting breaths were loud in his ears as he continued, “Is that what you want?! You took everything I had, please don't take him too.”

He hated the way his voice broke on the word, but there was nothing to be done. They already knew, anyway, what Aziraphale meant to him.

His words were greeted with more silence. The Four Horsemen glanced between each other, and for a moment, Crowley let himself hope. A traitorous, stubborn thing that never could seem to die, no matter how many times it was beaten into submission. It was given another sharp kick as The Four Horsemen began to laugh.

Crowley was starting to tremble now, in equal parts terror and rage. They were toying with him, more than content to drag this out, to revel in his agony. And though Crowley could not rise on to his elbows he reached out, fingers digging into the tile, hot beneath his hand, trying to drag himself closer to Aziraphale by his fingertips. No one stepped in to stop him, though they easily could have, letting him inch his way towards Aziraphale.

As the pain in his ribs faded to a much more manageable ache, he found the strength to push himself up onto his elbows, pulling himself towards him all the easier, though the slow footsteps of both War and Pollution on either side of him, threateningly keeping pace, were impossible to ignore. He had a feeling they’d step in soon enough.

Crowley knew he did, technically, have one last option at his disposal. His dagger was still at his waist and while he knew it was mostly useless against four opponents, especially these particular four, if he could throw it at one of them holding Aziraphale, if he could kill them, it might buy him some time.

Aziraphale hadn’t stirred yet but he was breathing, Crowley was close enough to see that now. If he could just get Famine and Death away from him, stir up some chaos, he could buy enough time for him to wake up. Now, was that the best idea, Crowley wasn’t certain. Ideally, Aziraphale would wake up, see what was happening around them and promptly, quietly, flee, but Crowley knew he wouldn’t do that, not in a million years. He would stand by his side instead, determined to defend, protect him, despite their disadvantage. Something in Crowley’s chest ached at the thought, but he knew it was a better alternative than this. Aziraphale being unceremoniously thrown, left to shatter on the cobblestone below.

Before Crowley could even attempt to follow through on that plan, however, a boot slammed down onto the center of his back, sending him onto the floor again, and Crowley let out a pained gasp as his aching ribs pressed hard against the tile.

He reached out, almost unconsciously, towards Aziraphale, who was so very close to him now and closer still to the broken window. He was too far to touch, a mere foot from his fingertips. Crowley strained anyway, trying to pull himself closer even through the growing pain in his ribs. If he could just grab ahold of him and never let go he could keep him safe.

Pollution’s boot pressed harder into Crowley’s back and he squeezed his eyes shut, crying out against the pain.

“Hold still now,” War taunted. “And open your eyes. You're not going to want to miss this.”

The fire roared around them, nearly drowning out those words, and wood creaked, sounding dangerously close to giving way.

Death gave a displeased hum. “WE SHOULD FINISH THIS NOW.”

Crowley’s eyes did shoot open then, scanning Aziraphale again, still unconscious and so close to the window now that if Death and Famine were to let him go, he'd tumble right over the edge.

“He's right,” Pollution agreed. “The building will collapse soon.”

“Don't,” Crowley wheezed, struggling to breathe through the smoke and the pressure of the boot at his back and the pain in his ribs. His hand was still outstretched towards Aziraphale. Still reaching, despite it all.

The Four Horsemen ignored him.

“Not him though,” Famine said, “not Crowley. We should bring him with us.”

Crowley let out a growl, pushing against the boot holding him down, and Pollution pressed down even harder, prompting another spike of pain and a small whimper.

“Of course,” War said. “We're far from done.”

Crowley watched as Famine and Death both shifted slightly, preparing to let go, and his heart clenched so painfully in his chest that Crowley wondered if he was actually on the verge of a heart attack. “Stop,” he rasped, fingers straining, trying desperately to reach Aziraphale, panic building in his chest. “Please just let him go. Take me. Leave him alone, please .”

They didn't pay him any mind. In fact, none of them seemed to be watching him now, reminding Crowley of the dagger at his waist and his previous plan, and with very little else at his disposal, Crowley thought he may as well try. With a speed that surprised even himself, Crowley grabbed the blade and swung, aiming for War, to his left, hoping to jam the blade into her ankle. Hoping to buy them some time with the distraction.

Her boot slammed down onto his hand instead, stopping him in his tracks and War said with a small, almost amused, smile, “Always fighting. Until the very end. I like that.”

Crowley struggled, trying to pull his hand free but War dug in her heel and Crowley gritted his teeth, his hand splaying around the knife, the pain becoming impossible to ignore and he wondered if perhaps his bones might snap beneath her boot before she finally let up. She did not remove her boot from his hand. 

Crowley turned his attention to the angel instead, knowing that this was it. That he had fully exhausted all of his options, and this was all he had left. “Aziraphale.”

He didn’t so much as stir.

Crowley tried again. “Angel, wake up, please!”

Still, nothing.

Famine and Death were tightening their grips in preparation for letting go, Crowley only growing more panicked, his breathing heavy, ragged, frantic. “Listen, you don't have to do this,” he said, directing his attention to The Four Horsemen again. “It's me you want, not him, just… stop!”

“That's not entirely true, is it?” War countered. “We want him too, especially now that we know how important he is to you. You're easier to hurt that way.”

And that was all they wanted, wasn’t it? To hurt him. To slowly tear him apart, piece by piece, all because he had dared to survive. And they knew exactly how to do that. It was far too late to convince them otherwise. Crowley had given away too much, like the stupid fool that he was, he'd gone and shown his hand. They had him now, and there was nothing Crowley could do.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley rasped, trying again, desperate, and Aziraphale did begin to stir this time. That kernel of hope returned, the stubborn thing, prompting Crowley to continue with renewed urgency, “Please, angel, you have to wake up. Please, I can't… I need you, please.”

Aziraphale slowly, blurrily, blinked open his eyes, and glanced around, clearly struggling to take stock of their current situation. His gaze met Crowley's, eyes widening, both fear and concern evident in them.

And then all at once they were gone. Ripped cruelly from him as Aziraphale was thrown, disappearing from Crowley’s gaze in the blink of an eye, falling down to the cobblestone below.

Crowley might have reached for him. Might have cried out, he wasn't sure. Couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears, and even that was more of a dull buzz. It was painfully quiet, and all Crowley could do was stare numbly, slack jawed, at the space Aziraphale had occupied just a moment before. Everything else was a haze, a blur. 

Crowley hardly even noticed the lessened pressure at his back or the footsteps as Death and Famine moved away from the window or the loud crash of something falling somewhere behind him. That was worlds away now. Here, there was only Aziraphale's smile, Aziraphale's laughter. His kind blue eyes. That final, fearful look they'd shared.

There was only Aziraphale as a shadow darkened his view, and then pain burst over his skull, and his vision faded entirely.

Notes:

....hey guys.
This is the point in the fic where I would like to point everyone's attention to the tags (especially those of you who don't read them all. I get it, I skim over tags too sometimes 😅). Specifically to the no major character death tag which I added for exactly this moment because I had a feeling people would get here, see the creator chose not to use archive warnings tag, and panic, so rest assured Aziraphale is okay. We'll get to him next chapter.
Anyway, I did get the fluffy one shot finished in time, so if you'd like 4k words of pure fluff after this angsty chapter, you can find that here.

Chapter 51

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley awoke with a start as a hand touched his shoulder and sat bolt upright, realizing only a moment too late that the touch had been soft, gentle, and Crowley was not in some cold, unfamiliar dungeon but his old room, the covers warm over his lap.

Mara was beside him, younger than when he’d last seen her, maybe eight years old, and wincing apologetically at the way he’d awoken.

“No, no, s’alright,” Crowley quickly reassured, slipping easily into the half-forgotten memory. He slowly moved the blanket, swinging his legs over the side of the bed but didn’t stand. Instead, he patted the space beside him, offering his sister a place to sit.

She did.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked. “Nightmares?”

She nodded.

Crowley winced and murmured, “M’sorry.”

Mara didn't say a word, so Crowley reached out, gently taking her hand, squeezing reassuringly. “Is there anything I can do? Nightmares are… awful, I know, but they're not real, if that helps at all. They’re just dreams, they can’t hurt you.”

“Yours can,” she said softly, and Crowley went still at the slight shift in her tone. It sounded slightly darker, almost like a warning. It was jarring.

Crowley slowly released his hold on her hand. “What?”

“Your nightmares,” she repeated, “they hurt you. They're real.”

Crowley swallowed. “I don't… I don't know what you're talking about.” He didn’t realize he was slowly shifting away until he was standing, backing towards the door, a familiar fear beginning to take root in his chest, distant screams sounding from the hallway, a familiar cry of pain. Crowley did not dare turn and open the door to look, not this time. He found himself glancing around instead, searching for something off, knowing this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it had gone, not at all.

But the room was the same. The walls a familiar pale blue-gray, and Crowley realized with a gasp that it was a shockingly similar color to that of Aziraphale’s eyes, wide with fear and concern as Crowley looked into them for the last time.

“Aziraphale.” The memory hit him suddenly, like a punch, and he sank to a knee, gasping at the pain blossoming in his chest. Others followed. The smell of smoke, War’s cruel laughter, the aching in his ribs Crowley would swear he could still feel, even here.

When he looked up again he found Mara had gotten to her feet and was now looking down at him, eyes impossibly sad, almost haunting. Crowley wasn’t sure what to say, what to do with this strange nightmare, so he said nothing at all. And then he watched as red began to pool in his sister’s eyes, dripping down her cheeks like tears.

Crowley tried to move further back but found himself pressed firmly against the door instead, nowhere to hide from his sister’s wrath, and he vaguely remembered another time, another nightmare, where this had been the case, though she’d had a knife in her hand then. He wondered if perhaps it was time for a repeat. A reminder of how utterly he’d failed not just her but now Aziraphale as well. He squeezed his eyes shut, hearing her step forward, bracing for whatever pain he was to be put through. 

Instead, he was met with thin arms wrapping loosely around his shoulders, pulling him into a gentle embrace. It was warm and comforting and Crowley could almost sob with the softness of it, the tenderness, so at odds with how he normally saw her in his nightmares. 

Perhaps it wasn’t one at all. 

He loosed a shaky, relieved breath and wrapped his arms around her too, holding her tightly, and murmured, “I’ve missed you.”

She just rubbed a soothing hand over his back, comfort replacing torment, at least for a little while, and said, “It'll be okay.”

And then she was gone, and Crowley blinked open his eyes, finding himself in an unfamiliar room, dark and damp, with his hands bound in chains behind him.

He loosed a soft, defeated sigh, suddenly wishing to fall back into the oddly pleasant dream, to stay there for the rest of eternity. He was certain it would be better than whatever he was to face here.

He slowly took stock of himself, noting his body ached just about everywhere, but all of his limbs were present and intact, and though his breath was a bit rattly and his throat burned from the smoke he'd inhaled, he seemed to be alright. His ribs still ached with every breath but the pain had gotten more manageable now, duller. His mouth felt impossibly dry, though, and he thought vaguely that he'd kill for a glass of water.

The room was quiet, save a steady dripping sound of which Crowley could not find the source, and with his mind left to wander Crowley found himself thinking of his sister, of Aziraphale, and everything else he'd lost. Found himself clutching tightly onto those blue-gray eyes, wide with fear, knowing as painful as the memory was, it was the last glimpse Crowley had gotten of them. He didn’t want to forget. And Crowley realized with no small amount of surprise that he was angry . Not despaired, not helpless or even afraid. Just well and truly furious and anguished at what had been done to him and the people he loved in a way he had not been in a very, very long time, and it prompted him to yell, “I know you're here!” Or, he would have yelled if his throat hadn't been so scratchy and dry. Instead, it came as more of a rasp and he tried his best to clear it as he continued, “Are you satisfied now?! Now that you've taken everything, is it finally enough?!” Crowley knew it wasn't. It never was, not for people like this. He swallowed hard, unable to keep his voice from breaking as he said, “You killed my best friend! BASTARDS! ALL OF YOU!

He stayed there for a long while, panting, beginning to think that perhaps he'd been wrong and The Four Horsemen were not within earshot when he heard slow footsteps sound from outside.

He still did not know where he was, but judging by the very little light in the room and how cold and damp it was, he guessed he was underground, where there was, assumedly, no one but The Four Horsemen to hear him. Help would not be coming anytime soon. Or ever, likely. Perhaps it hadn't been wise to antagonize his tormentors after all.

The door opened with a loud metallic squeak and Crowley sat up as straight as he could, determined not to look defeated. He had not broken, not in twenty-five years, and he was certainly not going to start now.

It was only Death who entered and with no hurry. There was no need to rush, after all, he had Crowley right where he wanted him. Crowley held his gaze anyway. Set his jaw. 

“What do you want?” he grumbled. “Here to finish the job? I'm sure your friends would be upset.”

“NO, NOT YET,” Death said. “THOUGH IF IT WERE UP TO ME, YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN GONE LONG BEFORE NOW.”

“Yeah, I figured. S’your whole thing,” Crowley muttered. “Where are your friends anyway? Leave you here to babysit?” He wondered moments after the words left his lips if perhaps there was a way he could twist this to his advantage. Turn them on each other somehow. It certainly wasn't his worst idea.

“NO,” Death said, entirely unbothered, and Crowley promptly banished the thought. “THEY ARE HERE. I WAS CLOSE ENOUGH TO HEAR YOU CALL.”

Crowley snorted. “Hardly call it that. Unless you answer to bastard, I suppose.”

Death just stared, and Crowley found the quiet attention unsettling. He fought the urge to squirm under that all-seeing gaze that reminded him so very much of those creatures he and Aziraphale had come across all those weeks ago.

“YOU ARE AFRAID.”

It took a moment for those words to sink in, for Crowley to realize he had, in fact, heard them correctly. He couldn't help but bark a laugh. 

“I'm sorry, do I look scared to you?” He was unsettled, sure, but not afraid. Not in the slightest. He had faced Death before and survived, he could do so again. Plus, Death had pretty well confirmed he wasn’t going to kill him, at least not yet. What did Crowley have to be afraid of?

“NO, BUT YOU ARE,” Death said. “YOU HIDE IT EVEN FROM YOURSELF.”

Crowley was smiling now, unable to hide his amusement at the suggestion. He was pretty damn sure he'd know if he was scared, thank you very much. “What, then? Am I afraid of you?”

“NOT EXACTLY, NO. YOU ARE AFRAID OF A LIFE UNFULFILLED,” Death began. “YOU ARE AFRAID THAT YOU WILL DIE HERE AND THAT IT WILL MEAN NOTHING. THAT YOU WILL DIE WITH NO ONE LEFT TO MOURN YOU. FORGOTTEN AND UNLOVED. LONELY, IN THE DEEPEST SENSE OF THE WORD. THAT IS WHAT SCARES YOU.”

Crowley swallowed as Death finished, trying his very best to look unruffled, though without his glasses, he was finding it difficult. But he did still have people. Well, had someone anyway. As far as he was aware, Anathema was still safe and sound in Tadfield, none the wiser to what Crowley was going through now, but she would notice his absence. Not right away, perhaps, but eventually, when Aziraphale’s letters he'd promised never showed, and she would know, then, what had become of them both.

He didn't dare let any of that show on his face, though. He supposed Death was right about one thing, Crowley was afraid. He was very very deeply afraid of losing the very last person he had left to these people who seemed so keen on taking it all away. And if that fear coincided quite well with the one Death insisted he had, well, Crowley decided not to look at that too closely.

He heard his sister’s voice in his mind, the words she’d murmured to him in his dream, just before he’d awoken, it’ll be okay , and clutched tightly onto those instead.

*    *    *

Aziraphale was dimly aware of two things. One, he absolutely ached. Everywhere , though his head especially, was pounding, painfully enough that even lifting it seemed like an ordeal, so he left it where it was, which brought him to the second thing. He was lying on a pile of something that he was fairly certain was straw. It was wet from the rain, dampening his clothes and making him shiver in a way that he would've found quite bothersome if the pain in the rest of him hadn't taken precedence.

The fire was still raging above him, a third thing, Aziraphale supposed, he was also dimly aware of. Crowley was still up there along with The Four Horsemen. He could see their shadows, even from all the way down here, flicking along the walls not unlike the flames themselves. And he was likely scared and worried for Aziraphale and so very alone, dealing with the people who had taken so much. Who knew what they were subjecting him to.

That thought alone was enough for Aziraphale to shift, trying to get his bearings, and as he did, he noticed voices off to his left.

“See Maggie, he's obviously fine, let's go,” a woman was saying.

“We can't just leave him here,” a different woman, Maggie presumably, argued. “He just fell six stories.”

“We can, and we will. This is none of our business, and I don't think we should get involved.”

“He could be hurt,” Maggie insisted, and before the other woman could argue, added, “Please, Nina?”

The woman, Nina, sighed deeply and said, “Fine,” and Aziraphale heard their light footsteps coming closer. “But if it turns out he's in serious trouble we drop him, alright? I'm not risking our lives for this.”

Maggie reluctantly agreed and soon enough both of them were peering at him from above, blotting out the orange light of the fire. Aziraphale blinked, adjusting to the darker lighting. 

“Are you alright?” Maggie asked and it took Aziraphale much too long to realize she was talking to him.

“Yes.” He couldn't help but wince at the sound of his own voice. Rough, little more than a rasp. A fourth thing he was dimly aware of now, his throat was rather dry. He did his best to clear it and continued, “I'm quite alright, really.”

Maggie, it seemed, wasn't convinced. She frowned and bent down to help him to his feet, which Nina seemed none too happy about. She helped her friend—partner?—anyway, and between the three of them, they managed to get Aziraphale onto unsteady legs.

“I… Thank you, but I really need to-” Aziraphale tried to argue, but the two women were having none of it, pulling him along.

“No, you're coming back with us,” Nina said. “You need to rest. You can do whatever it is you need to do tomorrow.”

Aziraphale was far too out of it to argue and instead let himself be led through the streets, and, eventually herded into a little cottage, where he was then promptly tucked into a bed. And though he wanted to, though he knew Crowley was still out there, that he needed him, Aziraphale couldn’t fight the exhaustion as his eyes closed practically of their own accord.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Crowley is in imminent peril! And Aziraphale is... taking a nap. Cut him some slack though okay 😭 He just got thrown off a building. He needs a second.
Also I don't actually know if pile of straw could actually protect a person from a fall like that, but it works in assassins creed so y'know, suspend your disbelief I guess 😂
Also Nina and Maggie are here! They don't have a huge part to play in this fic but I wanted to include them anyway

Chapter 52

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale awoke in an unfamiliar bed. He was wrapped snugly in a blanket and felt oddly safe and secure, even in an unfamiliar home, and as he recalled, now, the two nice women who had brought him here he was certain he was in good hands.

His head was no longer aching, though his body wasn’t much better off than it had been the day before. He’d likely be feeling the effects of that fire for several more days yet. Perhaps even weeks.

The thought had him going very still, his eyes widening as he remembered, “Crowley.”

He sat bolt upright, the world spinning a bit at the sudden movement, reminding him that his throat was still very dry and he would do well to drink some water before he set out on his search. He was also, admittedly, quite peckish, but food would have to wait. He needed to find Crowley and make sure he was safe. He could not waste a moment.

He stood on unsteady legs and made his way to the door and was immediately greeted by one of the women who had rescued him last night. Maggie, he was fairly certain. It seemed she had been about to enter his room.

They stood there for a moment, blinking at each other, before she said, “Um, hello. I'm glad you're awake.” Aziraphale noticed she had a glass of water in her hands, which she pressed into his own. “Here. I was just talking with Nina and we both figured you could probably use a drink. Water, that is,” she added with a small laugh. “I don't think alcohol would do you any good right now.”

Aziraphale would beg to differ, but he took a long, grateful drink regardless.

“Would you like to sit down?” she asked, stepping aside and motioning towards what appeared to be the living room. Nina was there, obviously watching them.

“Er, I… well, I’d love to but I'm afraid I don’t have time,” Aziraphale said. “I’m looking for someone, and it really is vitally important that I find him as soon as possible.”

Crowley had been alone with The Four Horsemen the entire night. There was no telling what they might have done to him and no telling where he was now and if Aziraphale dallied much longer, something terrible was bound to happen to him, if it hadn’t already. He had to find him before then.

“Oh. Well, maybe we can help,” Maggie said.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” Nina interrupted, getting to her feet. “We've helped enough. Whatever's going on it's clearly not something we need to be involved in.”

“I'm afraid she's quite right,” Aziraphale agreed. “It really is very dangerous and I couldn't ask either of you to endanger yourselves.” And then an idea came to him. He doubted they could be of much help, but he knew it wouldn't hurt to ask. Right now, he needed any leads he could get. “Though, if either of you happen to know where I could find the Vipers’ guild, I would very much appreciate it.”

It took a moment for those words to fully sink in, and the moment they did Maggie’s face blanched, and Nina muttered, “I told you there was something going on.”

*    *    *

Maggie and Nina, unsurprisingly, didn’t know exactly where Aziraphale could find the Vipers’ guild. He honestly would've been worried if they did.

They did, however, know the general area it was located in as it was widely avoided by locals, and once he was there, it didn't take much, just a bit of asking around with various odd looks being thrown his way, and, he was fairly certain, an attempted robbery, though Aziraphale had hardly heard what the man had said as he quickly brushed him aside, saying, “No, thank you. I'm terribly sorry but I simply don't have time,” and carrying on his way. It had only occurred to Aziraphale after the fact what the man had likely been intending. Thankfully he had been too bewildered to follow.

In only a couple of hours Aziraphale was standing before the rather imposing building, intricately designed and painted in dark colors. An evil lair if Aziraphale had ever seen one. Still, he kept his shoulders squared and stood tall, folding his hands primly before him.

Truly, Aziraphale didn't know if this was going to work. 

In fact, it was very likely he'd leave this building with all of his valuables stolen—not that he had many on him, mind. Most of his things were still in Crowley's flat, and Aziraphale thought with a frown that he was unlikely to see those ever again—if he even left at all. But all he could think about was Crowley. His yellow eyes, wide with terror, a white boot pressed firmly into his back.

He could be anywhere right now and Aziraphale had no way, no hope, of finding him alone, and Crowley had mentioned Beelzebub before. They had saved his life, a very long time ago. Perhaps they'd be willing to do so again.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and started towards the building.

He was certain there had been eyes on him the moment he turned onto the street, so he wasn’t surprised when the door opened without him even having to knock, and a burly man stepped into view. He did not look particularly menacing, though Aziraphale had no doubt he knew how to use the two blades at his sides, and he wasn’t hostile. Didn’t even appear rude or annoyed as he said, rather simply, “State your business.”

Aziraphale blinked. “I, I…” He cleared his throat. Straightened his shoulders. “I’m here to speak with Beelzebub. Please. It’s really vitally important, and I, I do have money as well. If that would… perhaps buy me an audience.” Aziraphale didn’t know much about the world of crime but he did know money talked. The right price could get you just about anything you wanted, and Aziraphale would pay anything to have Crowley returned to him, safe and sound.

He tried very hard not to wring his hands before him as the man silently deliberated, then asked, “How much?”

“Hm?”

“How much money?”

“Oh, right, yes. Er… around two thousand gold, I believe,” Aziraphale answered. “A little less now that I’ve been traveling. I’m afraid I haven’t had time to count it.”

The man’s brows raised in both surprise and intrigue and he stepped aside. “Come on in. Follow me.”

The inside was, unsurprisingly, just as ornately designed and dark as the exterior, though it was different in that it was cluttered and dusty and infested with what Aziraphale thought might have been cockroaches. He supposed he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from a group of assassins. 

There was a single grand staircase in the entry hall that branched off in two different directions at the top. The man turned left, and Aziraphale followed. 

He’d swear he heard the squeak of a mouse as he walked through the multitude of halls. There seemed to be far too many than there should've been for a building of this size and they went on far too long. Aziraphale thought it would be very easy to get lost here. To lose one's mind in these dimly lit halls as well. He wondered vaguely how long Crowley had lived here.

It felt like an eternity but was likely no more than a minute before they were stood outside of a closed door on which the man knocked, and a voice came from inside, “Enter.”

The man opened the door and motioned Aziraphale inside and, against Aziraphale’s better judgement, he walked right in, finding, presumably, Beelzebub seated at a desk, pouring over papers and paying absolutely no mind to their new visitor. So Aziraphale wordlessly, awkwardly, took a seat in the empty chair across from them, wringing his hands beneath the table.

Beelzebub said without looking up, “What is it then? Who do you want dead?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Er, no one, actually. I want someone found.”

Beelzebub at last paused scanning the various papers before them to look up at him, scanning his features instead. They snorted. “You’re serious? This isn’t a search and rescue. If you want help, you go to the city guards.” They turned back to their task. “Don’t waste my time.”

“I don’t intend to. I’ll gladly compensate you for the trouble and I do believe you might… well, want to find this particular person,” Aziraphale said.

Another, audible pause, and then they turned back to him, a hint of something, Aziraphale thought it looked an awful lot like hope, in their eyes. “Who is it?”

Footsteps and shouting sounded from outside before Aziraphale had the chance to answer. The door burst open and Beelzebub was on their feet in an instant, dagger already in hand and Aziraphale whirled, finding a dark-haired woman, likely only a handful of years younger than himself, struggling against the same man that had led Aziraphale inside. “Where the Hell is he?” she shouted. “What did you do to him?”

“What- Who?” Aziraphale glanced back and forth between the woman, who was putting up quite the fight, and Beelzebub, who looked more than ready to use that dagger if the situation demanded it.

“For once, I actually have no idea what she’s talking about,” Beelzebub said, then added, directed at the man, “Get her out of here. I’m talking to a client.”

“I’m tryin’-” The woman managed to claw an elbow free and slammed it into his stomach, doubling him over and then she had one hand on the desk. He couldn’t help but notice her other hand remained still by her side, as it had the entire fight. She leaned in towards Beelzebub, despite the weapon in their hand. “I’m talking about my brother, now where the Hell is he?”

“I don’t know anything about your brother,” Beelzebub countered, “now get out of my office before I kill you.”

“Your… brother?” Aziraphale piped up, prompting everyone to turn to him, and the tension in the room seemed to ease a bit, the man now just blocking the doorway instead of actively trying to pull her through it. 

Her expression was guarded as she answered, “Yeah.”

“And may I ask his name?” Aziraphale questioned. It was a coincidence, no doubt, and a terrible one at that, but Aziraphale had to be sure. Crowley had seemed certain that she was gone and Aziraphale couldn’t blame him for shutting out any hope that he might be wrong. But that didn’t mean Aziraphale had to as well. And if it happened that, perhaps, she was here, he knew Crowley would very much like to see her again.

He watched a multitude of emotions flicker across her face at his question, uncertainty and distrust certainly, but there was something else there too. Something softer, vulnerable. They battled for a moment, but in the end, soft won. She loosed a long sigh and answered, “Crowley. Though you might know him as Anthony.”

Aziraphale could only smile, something small and soft, warmth blossoming in his chest and said, “He really did see you.” 

Her shoulders laxed, the mistrust in her eyes slowly dissipating. “I’ve been looking for him since early this morning, after I saw the fire. I take it you don’t know where he is either?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” He turned to Beelzebub. “Actually, that’s what I was going to ask you about. Crowley is in trouble. The Four Horsemen have taken him, or, at least, I certainly hope they have,” Aziraphale began. He didn’t want to think about potential alternatives, not right now. “I know you’ve saved him in the past and I…” He loosed a sigh. “You are the only person who I feel has a chance at finding him. I imagine you know the ins and outs of this city rather well and considering your… line of work, I assume you might know of a place they would keep him.”

Beelzebub’s eyes had darkened at the mention of The Four Horsemen and they listened with increasing intrigue as Aziraphale told them of the two blasts that had started the fire in Crowley’s flat—they had seemed rather upset about that, unsurprisingly, since they’d been the one paying for it—and then what had come after. Or, what he had been awake to remember, anyway, though he, of course, refrained from telling them Nina and Maggie’s names or anything about where they lived. As unlikely as it was that Beelzebub would care about them at all, Aziraphale knew they wouldn’t have appreciated their names or location being handed out to the local crime boss. He met Beelzebub’s gaze once he was finished, holding his breath, knowing that if they denied him, finding and saving Crowley got a lot more impossible.

Beelzebub leaned back in their chair, steepling their hands before them. “The Four Horsemen, eh?” They looked between Aziraphale and Mara, and Aziraphale fought the urge to wring his hands. “Hm. What do you two say about ruining their day, and maybe, if we’re lucky, the rest of their lives?”

Aziraphale blinked at the bluntness of the statement but nodded, and Mara gave a wicked grin.

Notes:

Hello hello!
We have met Mara! Oh I have been so excited to finally, properly introduce her. It's been very fun to write her and to see her and Aziraphale interact! You'll get to know more about her and how she survived in the chapters to come.

Also, I have been very conveniently not mentioning that we still don't have a final chapter count, even though I said like 6 ish weeks ago that hopefully we would by the next update 😭 I'm working on it guys I promise. I am so so close I think I have maybe two or three chapters left to write (though possibly a couple more. I'm not sure yet how long some of these things are gonna take) and once I know for sure then I WILL have a final chapter count finally.

Chapter 53

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale and Mara had been led out of Beelzebub’s office, down a long hallway and into a new, larger room Beelzebub had called the war room. It consisted of a large table and nothing else, not even any chairs.

Aziraphale stood awkwardly next to it, unsure of what, exactly, he should be doing or if enlisting in the help of a bunch of assassins was even a good idea, but he didn’t know how he was going to find Crowley otherwise and he was determined to do that, no matter what it took.

Soon after they entered Beelzebub turned to leave again, saying just before they went, “I need to get the others. Stay here.”

Aziraphale had no intention of doing otherwise.

He glanced awkwardly at Mara, who had gone around to the other side of the table and now stood across from him. There was quite a lot he wanted to say to Crowley’s sister, though he wasn’t entirely sure where to begin or if now was even the right time or place. He wanted to know how long she’d been here, how she had avoided the attention of The Four Horsemen, if she had been looking for Crowley all this time, and, perhaps most of all, how she had survived after Crowley had seemed so adamant that she couldn’t have.

He asked instead, “Did you follow me here?”

“Yeah. They leave the door unlocked; did you know that? You’d think assassins would be smarter than that.” She rolled her eyes. “I couldn't find Crowley, but I saw you. Thought maybe you'd know something, and when you came here… Well, honestly, I wasn't sure if you'd hired someone to kill him and had come back to pay them.”

“Ah. That's why you were so upset earlier.” Aziraphale couldn't deny, it stung a bit that she thought so low of him, but he couldn't entirely fault her. Especially considering what she’d been through. “Well, I can assure you, I would never do such a thing. Not to Crowley.”

They fell into silence after that, Aziraphale unsure of what to say next or if he should say anything at all.

She was quite the force to be reckoned with, Aziraphale could tell. A fire in her eyes that shone nearly as bright as Crowley’s hair. He had no doubt she’d be formidable in a fight though he hoped she wouldn’t need to prove it, not when The Four Horsemen would likely be their opponents.

She still had not moved her right arm in the slightest, however. Even on the walk over, it had remained unnaturally still by her side. And though Aziraphale thought it would be rather rude to ask, he did find himself quite curious.

Mara noticed him staring, rolled her eyes, then reached over and pulled her arm clean off.

Aziraphale actually jumped, eyes going wide, because the woman had just pulled her own arm off like it was nothing, only… there was no blood and she wasn’t screaming and writhing in pain.

“Oh. Dear Lord, it’s-”

She tucked the prosthetic under her arm and pulled the glove off of its fingers, revealing wood, carved in the shape of her hand. There was a small, almost imperceptible, amused smile on her lips, and it reminded Aziraphale of Crowley’s. 

“Doesn’t do much,” Mara said, slipping the glove back on and reattaching the arm. “It stops people from staring though. Mostly.” She gave Aziraphale a pointed look.

Aziraphale winced a bit. “Apologies, my dear. I must admit I was quite curious, but I didn’t mean- Oh, I’m making a terrible first impression, aren’t I?” he realized with a sigh, his shoulders deflating.

She snorted and agreed, “Yeah. It’s okay, though.”

They fell quiet again, Aziraphale unsure if he should attempt to say anything, but he had a feeling any and all conversation would eventually lead them to the elephant in the room, so perhaps he’d better not. She likely did not want to speak of what had happened to her, might not even want to speak about Crowley, and right now, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was capable of talking about anything else.

“So, Aziraphale then, right?” Mara asked, prompting Aziraphale to look up.

“Oh, er, yes. How did you know?”

“You’re a prince, obviously. Everyone knows who you are, even me.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh. Oh, I suppose…” He hadn’t been hiding, not since last night. He’d been far too out of it then and far too worried about Crowley today to remember he should probably be doing that, especially with The Four Horsemen around. “Yes, of course. That makes perfect sense.”

He no longer had his cloak with him, though. There was no need to wear it inside Crowley’s flat so he’d taken it off. It was likely nothing but ash now. He swallowed hard.

“So, how’d you meet him, then?”

Aziraphale blinked, and, not fully processing the question, asked, “Hm?”

“Crowley. How did you meet him?” she repeated. “Because, like I said, you’re a bloody prince, and if I know my brother, and I do, he wouldn’t touch royalty with a ten-foot pole, and yet he looks at you like you’re his entire world and I’m not exaggerating.”

“Oh. I, I… Well, I had been entertaining, for a long time, the idea of leaving home. I never thought it would ever happen, but then I heard about Crowley, and he seemed like someone unlikely to murder me in cold blood and take everything I had and would also be quite skilled at getting me away from here. So I got a message to him and-”

“Christ, is there, like, a two sentence summary option?” Mara grumbled.

Aziraphale blinked, bristling at the rudeness. “Well, you did ask.”

“Yeah, but not for an essay,” she countered.

“I’m only trying to give context for- Oh, you are too much like your brother,” Aziraphale said with a huff. Though in truth, he did find their similarities rather amusing.

She rolled her eyes. “I am not.”

“Oh, no, you most definitely are,” Aziraphale said. “He would-” He caught himself and swallowed hard. “Er, does. He does , obviously. There's no need to… to use the past tense…” He couldn’t even remember what he’d been saying anymore, and when he looked back at Mara, he found that she had sobered.

“Are you sure he’s alright?” she asked.

Aziraphale loosed a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. He wished he had a chair he could fall onto. “No. No, I’m sure at all. I have no idea what’s happened to him. All I know is that he was so very scared of The Four Horsemen and now they have him, and the only hope I have of ever seeing him again lies in the hands of a group of assassins, and-”

He was bordering on hysterics when a surprisingly gentle hand landed on his arm. “Hey.” He paused. “It’s gonna be fine, alright?” Mara continued. She pulled her hand away. “Just, y’know, deep breaths and all that. Panicking isn’t going to help anyone.”

Aziraphale nodded and tried to do as she said. Because she was right. Going into a panic was the last thing Crowley needed of him right now. He had to do his best to stay calm and trust that these people knew what they were doing. Beelzebub cared about Crowley, at least to some extent, even if only because he was too valuable an asset to the guild to lose. They would help Aziraphale save him.

“So, can I ask, is he… How has he been?” There was a hint of desperation in Mara’s voice. Despite how she was trying to appear unaffected, this was clearly taking a toll on her too. She cared very much for her brother and wanted him safe just as Aziraphale did.

“He’s… Well, I must admit, I haven’t known him very long, so I can’t say for certain, but from what I’ve seen, things have been… difficult for him,” Aziraphale said. “But it hasn’t stopped him yet.”

She pursed her lips, then said, “Good.” She gave a nod. “Good.”

“I don’t want to go into too much detail,” Aziraphale murmured. “I think he’d rather like to tell you himself, but I will say this. He loves you. Very much.”

She blinked rapidly at that, as if fighting tears, and her throat bobbed once, twice, before she managed, “Thank you.”

A moment passed in silence, and Aziraphale glanced towards the door. Surely Beelzebub would be back soon, and then they could come up with some plan, and find Crowley, get him back as quickly as possible. And he would be alright. He had to be.

“So… he did tell you, then?” Mara asked, prompting Aziraphale to turn to her. “About The Four Horsemen and… everything.”

“He did, yes. I wasn’t sure if I should… mention anything, but yes, I am aware of what they did and…” He hesitated, trying to think of the best way to put it and settled on, “their very strong dislike of your brother,” prompting Mara to snort.

“You could call it that, I guess,” Mara said. “They’ve been hunting him for decades, though, so I think they’ve graduated to hatred.”

“Oh, dear. For… But Crowley hadn’t seemed alarmed until…” Until they’d left the castle, really. Had they been after him before then? Aziraphale wondered. He supposed they must have, Mara seemed so certain.

And those people in Tadfield , he recalled. They had been looking for someone. Someone with strange colored eyes, and they had been working for… Oh, God, they had been working for The Four Horsemen hadn't they? All that time. And looking for Crowley!

“He probably didn’t know,” Mara said, pulling Aziraphale from his thoughts. “It’s been so long I’m sure he assumed they’d given up.”

“But… you did know?”

Mara nodded. “I’ve been keeping an eye on them, The Four Horsemen, I mean. They have spies everywhere. Listen to the right conversations and you can sort of keep track of their comings and goings.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.”

“That sounds like quite the feat,” Aziraphale said. “Is that how you knew about the fire?”

“No, I knew about the fire because I saw the bloody thing. Well, the aftermath, anyway,” Mara explained. “It is how I found his fake name, though, which is what led me to his flat in the first place, so in a way, I guess it was.” 

Her throat bobbed, a worried expression falling over her face, prompting Aziraphale to murmur, “We’ll find him.”

She nodded.

It was then that Beelzebub entered the room once again, followed by a few others that Aziraphale didn’t recognize. One of them, a grungy looking man with messy gray hair, was holding a large chest, which he set on the table with a loud thud.

“We raided the magic room on the way back,” Beelzebub said, nodding towards the crate, as if that didn’t produce a million more questions than it answered.

Aziraphale blinked. “You… You have a magic room ?”

“Of course. The whole house is enchanted,” Beelzebub said. “Helps keep intruders at bay. People who enter for the first time feel confused and easily lost.” They glanced at Mara, “Though not you, apparently.” 

“I just followed him,” she said, nodding towards Aziraphale.

They went to the head of the table, placing both hands atop it and began, “Right. I have a plan.”

They nodded towards Hastur, who opened the chest, revealing a rather plain-looking sword and a large crystal, quartz, Aziraphale was fairly certain, and a pile of rope.

Aziraphale frowned at the ordinary looking items, his brows furrowing. “And those are magic?”

“Yes.”

“What do they do?”

“The rope is infinite,” Beelzebub answered. “It can even be cut without breaking the enchantment, so if you cut it in half, both pieces would still be infinite. Figured it might be useful to keep someone restrained, if we have to.”

Aziraphale nodded. It certainly seemed like a sound idea, and at this point Beelzebub could’ve told him they allowed someone to sprout wings and shoot rainbows out of their eyes and he would’ve kept an open mind. Anything to get him closer to seeing Crowley again, safe and sound.

“The crystal is some sort of a containment object. You can lock people or, I assume, creatures away in it,” they explained. “They’ll be suspended in time, won’t even be aware any is passing without them. Basically just a more drastic form of restraint. In case the rope isn’t enough.”

Aziraphale gave another nod of understanding, though he certainly hoped that wouldn’t be the case, and waited for Beelzebub to continue and explain what the sword did as well, but they didn’t, prompting him to ask, “And… the sword?”

Beelzebub sighed deeply, as if this were not a perfectly reasonable question to ask about strange, presumably magic, objects, then reluctantly admitted, “We’re not exactly sure. It's said to have belonged to the royal family, though ages ago, of course, but beyond that, we don't know.”

“How do you know it’s even magic, then?” Mara spoke up.

At this, Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “You can tell when something’s magic,” they said, as if this were simply common knowledge, that they, of course, should know, “Just pick it up.”

Aziraphale glanced again at the unassuming short sword. It was covered in dust and looked rather dull, not at all like the shining, intricate greatswords with golden pommels and sapphires or rubies pressed into the guard that he was used to seeing the castle guards or his elder brothers wield. It looked old. Like it would sooner crumble to pieces than cleave through anything. It didn't look particularly magical at all.

He reached into the chest and closed a hand around the grip, lifting it up and out of its confines. 

It was warm to the touch in a way that felt almost comforting. Familiar. And it indeed seemed to hum with a strange sort of energy Aziraphale couldn’t possibly explain. The handle seemed to warm further at his touch, in a way that seemed almost pleased, which was ridiculous because it was a sword and couldn’t possibly feel or express such emotions. Though Aziraphale supposed it did indeed seem to hold some sort of magical properties, and magic could do strange things.

He opened his mouth to admit defeat, and the sword promptly burst into flames.

He yelped, immediately letting go, and the flames blinked out, the sword clattering harmlessly to the ground. He glanced around at the others, noting they looked just as shocked as he felt. Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed in intrigue, however, and Aziraphale became very worried he’d somehow done something very, very wrong.

“How’d you do that?” they asked.

Aziraphale stammered, “I, I, I don’t- I didn’t-”

“Did it burn you?” Mara asked.

“No. Not at all.” Aziraphale looked down at his hands, finding them unblemished. “It was warm, but it didn’t burn. I, I really don’t… I've never even held anything magically enchanted before-”

“For fuck’s sake, calm down,” Beelzebub said, and Aziraphale promptly shut his mouth. “Pick it back up. I want to see if you can do that again.”

Aziraphale bent and grasped the handle once more, and the sword alighted in his hand. He did not drop it this time, though he did still wince, holding it far from him. The fire didn't burn him, though, it didn't hurt at all.

“Can you control it?” Mara questioned.

“I don't know. I, I, honestly, I wouldn't even know how begin to…” He trailed off, looking trepidatiously at the burning sword in his hand. 

This was magic. Real magic, the likes of which he'd never seen before, only read about. He didn't know the first thing about controlling it.

“We've never seen it do this before. It's only ever responded to you,” Beelzebub said.

“Yes, but that doesn't mean I know how to-”

“No, but you must be able to,” Beelzebub said, then, after a moment of thought, added, “You’re a prince.”

“Yes. I hardly see how that-”

“The sword belonged to the royal family,” they repeated. “It was centuries ago by now, probably, but you likely still carry some of their blood.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “It did seem to recognize me.” Which was a strange thing to say about a sword, he realized, but it was true. There had been something. That pleased sort of hum, almost as if the sword truly knew him.

“You should figure out how to use it before we find your friend,” Beelzebub said. “You might need it.”

“Oh. Might I?” Aziraphale questioned nervously.

Surely they weren’t going to actually attempt to fight The Four Horsemen. That seemed incredibly reckless. Stupid even. Most certainly doomed to fail.

Beelzebub didn’t answer his silent questions, turning to Mara instead. “You’ll need a weapon too. We can lend you-”

“I have my own. I'm fine.”

Beelzebub just shrugged, in a ‘suit yourself’ sort of manor, and Aziraphale, sensing a break in the conversation and still holding the sword, asked hesitantly, “Can I put this down now?”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes but said, “Sure, but you should get used to it. You’re probably going to need it later.”

“Yes, you keep saying that. You have a plan, I take it?”

Beelzebub gave a smirk. “Something of one, anyway.”

“Can we know what it is?” Aziraphale asked, glancing at the chest of other magical objects that they still had not shown him. “I'm assuming it involves these other two magic items?”

“It might.” They placed both hands on the table, leaned forward, and began.

Notes:

Hello hello!
Aziraphale has his flaming sword! (told you guys magic exists in this universe and I couldn't resist 🤭)
We're slowly learning more about Mara. Aziraphale's a bit hesitant to bring up the past knowing how sensitive Crowley was about it all, but you'll learn more in time.
Also as I don't have a prosthetic or know someone who does and y'know I'm only human, I might get things wrong sometimes. So if I say something incorrect or disrespectful, feel free to let me know as that's definitely not my intention with this. (I already had her crossing her arms once, so hopefully I can catch silly little mistakes like that before I post them 😅)

Also we FINALLY have a final chapter count!!! It might change tbh but I know it would probably either be 60 or 61 so I went ahead and put 60 because I'm hoping we can end on a nice clean even number (we may have to settle for 61 though)

Chapter 54

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley had, miraculously, gotten some sleep. Not much, as he tended to startle awake at every small noise, waiting for the moment The Four Horsemen would decide to torment him some more, but at least it had been something.

It had been relatively quiet, though, considering, although that steady dripping sound was beginning to drive him mad. He hadn’t seen any of The Four Horsemen since Death yesterday—he couldn’t see the outside but he was fairly certain it must be the next day by now—but he wasn’t naive enough to think that would last. They had brought him here for a reason and it certainly wasn’t just to let him rot, though he was sure Famine would like that. But not War, no. She would have other ideas. 

Crowley pushed the thought away, trying to take deep breaths. It wouldn’t do to start panicking now. There was a way out of here, Crowley was certain, he just had to… well, think of it first. 

If he could just convince them to let him out of these chains under the guise of… something, then perhaps he had a fighting chance. Even without weapons, he could still do some damage, and these people, while incredibly dangerous, were not unbeatable. They couldn’t be.

He could get himself out of this. He had to.

And then he could find his way back to Tadfield, change his name again, tell Anathema everything and probably end up a sobbing mess on her doorstep. He’d go back to the hideout, too. Have one last bottle of wine. Maybe he’d even bring a glass this time. Pour one for Aziraphale.

After that, he’d run.

To Alpha Centauri if he could find the money fast enough. If not, he’d go somewhere else. As far away as he could afford. Anywhere but here, really. He’d hide away like the coward he was, and this time he’d stay hidden. He’d live out some quiet, lonely life somewhere and count himself lucky he got to live one at all.

He reached down, fingers just barely dipping into his back pocket, feeling the tartan cravat that still sat there, moved from pocket to pocket, like maybe he’d always known things would end this way and it would be all he had left of the angel.

He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, letting his eyes fall closed, trying to imagine that he wasn’t here at all. That he was in his bedroom in his flat, curled up with Aziraphale, like none of this had ever happened. And he would be warm and comforting and Crowley would fall asleep easily in his arms. He wanted nothing more than to be there right now.

As he shifted slightly to lean back against the wall, a small clink sounding within his sleeve, and Crowley stilled. He moved his arm, and there the sound was again. His lockpicks sitting in that hidden pocket Crowley had all but forgotten about, strategically placed near his wrist so that he had a chance of reaching them, even if he was bound. With a little maneuvering, he could likely reach them.

It had been Aziraphale’s idea to place them there, Crowley recalled. Almost as if he were protecting him, even now, and Crowley swallowed thickly.

He shifted, straining with his right hand and just managed to get his fingers into his left sleeve to pull open the hidden pocket. Tilting slightly to the left had the lockpicks falling into his hand, and Crowley loosed a quiet, relieved sigh, curling his fingers tightly around them.

Escape was firmly in his grasp now.

He got to work at the chains. With any luck, he’d be out of here and long gone before The Four Horsemen had even realized he’d gotten away. Only luck, it seemed, had abandoned Crowley today, because mere moments later, footsteps sounded outside, and Crowley had all of a few seconds to stop what he was doing and hide the lockpicks before The Four Horsemen entered the room.

*    *    *

“Right. Scouts are in. They’ll report back soon.” 

Aziraphale stood in a dark alley, sword tucked safely in a sheath at his side and glanced a tad anxiously at his companions.

He couldn’t see most of them, but he knew they were there, lurking somewhere nearby or perched on rooftops. Mara stood beside him, though, and Aziraphale had started to take more and more comfort from her presence. She, like Crowley, seemed quite kind, despite the occasional rudeness and harder exterior. There was a softness to her, especially when Crowley was involved. She clearly cared, very deeply, about her brother. So it was no surprise to Aziraphale as the minutes ticked slowly by that she began to grow a bit restless, tapping her fingers incessantly against her thigh.

Beelzebub had informed them of tunnels and rooms below the surface. They connected to the town’s sewer system and often were accessible from various shops or other buildings. One even connected to the guild. They had been here, apparently, for quite some time, likely built in case the town were attacked and people had to hide or evacuate, but had remained unused and slowly faded from memory. Now, they mainly served as occasional meeting places for people going against the law or places for young adventurous teens to explore on a dare. People like Beelzebub, and, of course, The Four Horsemen, would use them quite regularly. Beelzebub had said that if they were to bring Crowley anywhere closeby, that would be the place.

So here they were. Leaning against a cold brick wall, Aziraphale wrapping his coat a bit tighter around himself—it had been quite comfortable during the day, but now that the sun had set, a cold breeze had set in, making him shiver—and Mara anxiously tapping away. Beelzebub stood across from him, arms crossed, appearing unbothered by the breeze, and idly tossing and catching a dagger in their hand.

The scouts had disappeared beneath the sewer grate a good five or so minutes ago, and Aziraphale couldn’t deny, he was starting to worry.

The Four Horsemen were quite the force to be reckoned with. They had toppled empires, with ease, or so the stories claimed. A couple of scouts would be nothing to them. Aziraphale imagined Death simply giving a wave of his hand and the two falling dead and swallowed hard.

“Shouldn't they be back by now?” Aziraphale questioned.

“Not necessarily,” Beelzebub said without looking up. “It's a large system. Technically, to properly comb through it could take hours. This is just the closest entrance to where they're probably keeping him.”

“Right.”

“You should keep practicing with that sword,” they said, tossing the dagger again, and Aziraphale glanced down at where it sat, still tucked away at his waist. “Give you something to do so you can stop bothering me, at least.”

Aziraphale, figuring he would do well to keep his trap shut before Beelzebub changed their mind about helping him, hesitantly retrieved the sword from its sheath. It was warm in his palm. The strange sort of hum he could feel emanating from it had started to feel familiar.

Aziraphale wasn't nearly as scared when the sword burst into flames, only jumped a little, thank you very much, though it did cast quite a bit of light in their dark alley. He should likely try to remedy that.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated very hard on the fire going out. That was all it took, usually. Or, at least, he’d thought so. He'd read enough to know that most magic was based in concentration, so surely if he just concentrated on the flame going dark, it would. Only, it didn't.

Aziraphale fought the urge to sigh in annoyance.

The sword, perhaps somehow sensing this, cooled a bit in his palm. Aziraphale would swear it seemed almost upset.

Really, if you would please just cooperate with me, it would make all of this so much simpler, he muttered internally, as if the sword could hear him. But… if it were reacting to his feelings, perhaps it could.

It had reacted to his touch and his alone for reasons Aziraphale could not begin to understand. Perhaps it could, somehow, hear and respond to what he was thinking.

That thought was slightly troubling. He most definitely did not need anyone, let alone an intimate object, listening to his thoughts. But, he supposed, it was also a sword and could not speak, regardless of what it gathered.

And currently, it was creating quite a lot of light that was prompting some of the assassins to turn and glare, and those were not the types of people Aziraphale wanted to upset.

Alright, listen. Could you please just… you know, turn… off? he asked silently. It really is important that we… well, get along, I suppose, and right now, we're in a spot of trouble. Or, my… partner is. And it would really help if you weren't quite as bright. Please, he added, figuring it was likely best to be civil. Especially with a magical item of which he knew nothing about.

The sword remained a beacon in their little alleyway, and Aziraphale frowned.

He didn't think it was particularly malicious, at least, he certainly hoped not, but he also hadn't exactly been the kindest to it, what with dropping it and all. Perhaps the sword would hold a grudge.

If you're upset from earlier, he tried, I do apologize. I was simply startled so I let go. I didn't realize that you were… well, perhaps, sentient.

Or was it, even? What if he was doing all of this and the sword couldn't even actually hear him? What if the only reason he couldn't seem to control the flames was simply because he didn't have enough magical prowess. He didn't know the first thing about it, after all, so it wouldn't be odd for him to simply be incapable.

But I need to be!

Crowley was down there somewhere and Aziraphale might very well have to use this blasted thing to rescue him, and a flaming sword wasn't exactly the best for a stealth mission. He had to be able to control it.

Or perhaps it wasn't him but the sword that was incapable. That it was designed not to turn on and off but to burn indefinitely in one's hand.

He stared frustratedly at the ever-burning thing.

Come on, just… please! I need your help. If you would just work with me, just this one time. Crowley needs me and if I can't reach him he'll die, and he's the most important thing in the world to me, and I can't bear to do this without him, so I really need you to-

Aziraphale paused. Blinked in the sudden darkness.

The sword had gone dark in his palm, though still warm. It had heard him, maybe.

Oh, thank you. He swallowed. Now, could you… turn on again, please?

The sword remained dark. 

Aziraphale swallowed. It's just, I really need you to turn on and off at will. It would make, you know, fighting easier. Though he really would rather avoid a fight, especially one with The Four Horsemen. 

Still, no response, so Aziraphale tried again. Please. I just need to know that-

The sword alighted with flames once again, and Aziraphale started but didn’t drop it this time. His shoulders sank a bit in relief. Thank you so much, really. I’ll… put you away now, I suppose, if that’s alright.

The sword hummed, seemingly in acceptance and doused its flames as Aziraphale slipped it back into its sheath. It seemed they were going to get along rather nicely.

*    *    *

It was another few minutes before the scouts returned and Aziraphale was unable to suppress a relieved sigh.

Mara immediately pushed away from the wall, asking, “Did you find him?”

“We did,” the scout said, then turned to Beelzebub. “He’s talking with The Four Horsemen now; we’ve got to move fast.”

Aziraphale’s heart leaped to his throat as the words sunk in, and he found himself moving closer as well. “They’re talking to him? I- is he alright; is he hurt?”

“He sounded fine to us, but he won’t stay that way for long if we don’t hurry ,” the scout said.

Beelzebub said, pushing past Aziraphale, “Right. Everyone, into position.” They paused and turned back to him. “You remember the plan, yes?”

Aziraphale swallowed but nodded. “Er, um, yes. But-” 

“Good. Get down there then,” they said, then turned away to address the others, not bothering to let him finish. Aziraphale supposed there was no backing out now.

He turned to Mara, who was glancing down at the sewer grate. The only trace of nerves being the ever-present tapping of her fingers, but Aziraphale knew she too, was afraid, for both herself and for Crowley.

The scouts gave the two of them a brief run-down of exactly where to go, a good luck pat on the shoulder, then headed off to join Beelzebub and the others. And that was that. Neither he nor Mara received any more comfort, though, he supposed, they were in the company of assassins. Not exactly the most comforting bunch.

Aziraphale gave a nervous glance at the sewer grate, then took a deep breath, giving Mara a reassuring smile, and led the way down into the darkness.

*    *    *

These sewers, Aziraphale realized with no small amount of relief, were much larger than the ones he and Crowley had crawled through that time in Wickber, perhaps due to being connected to the tunnels Beelzebub had told them about. He could stand fully within them, and though they still smelled awful, at least this time he was only getting his shoes dirty.

He was going to need a new pair once all of this was dealt with. 

Mara winced at the smell but otherwise, said nothing, and though her tapping had ceased Aziraphale knew her worry had not. And since they didn't have to worry just yet about being discovered, Aziraphale felt the need to ask, “Are you alright, dear?”

“Fine,” she said, though she didn't meet his gaze, and Aziraphale didn’t bother to hide his concerned stare. She loosed a soft sigh and admitted, “I'll feel better when I see him.” She glanced his way, Aziraphale catching a glimpse of something, fear, or perhaps even dread before she added, “We should get moving.”

Aziraphale agreed.

He took the lead, unsure of exactly what they'd face ahead and unwilling to risk Mara getting hurt. She was Crowley's sister, and Aziraphale would protect her, no matter the cost.

He followed the directions the scout had given, arriving at a simple wooden door, and, as promised, the handle turned easily when he tried it.

He opened the door on near silent hinges but did not walk through, not yet. Instead he turned to Mara. “We are in this together,” he murmured. “I promise, I will let no harm come to you.”

She gave a smirk that looked so very familiar. “Well, you're very kind, but I suspect it's you who'll need protecting.” And with that she marched right into the tunnel, leaving Aziraphale to follow behind.

He loosed a quiet sigh and rolled his eyes, muttering, “Too much like your brother indeed.”

He kept close to her still. She may not need protection but Aziraphale was going to be there for her regardless. He knew all too well just how easy it was for even the strongest to fall. He would not allow Crowley to lose her a second time.

They both knew the plan at hand but it was still difficult, knowing where Crowley was, knowing he was in danger, currently talking with The Four Horsemen, and going in a different direction. Aziraphale knew he could not take them on alone, not even with a flaming sword at his disposal, but a part of him wanted to try anyway. Anything to get Crowley out, away from here. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand instead.

Crowley would be safe soon enough. Aziraphale would make sure of it. And once he was they would… Well, Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure yet. Perhaps they’d go to his flat first. See what they could salvage from the flame-ravaged building, if anything—oh, his poor books. They could find somewhere to stay for the night after and Aziraphale would hold him tight and never, ever let him go. Aziraphale needn’t worry about anything that came after that, not yet. Not until Crowley was safe in his arms.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him that food would also be a top priority once they got Crowley out of here. He hadn’t eaten in a full twenty-four hours now and the lack of food was certainly taking its toll. But his own needs would have to wait a little longer. Just a few more, admittedly quite daunting, steps to their plan.

Aziraphale drew his sword as they walked, delighted to discover it remained unlit. It seemed the sword was listening to him. Perhaps he’d earned its respect. Their job wasn't hard and, admittedly, likely wouldn't even require it, but Aziraphale wanted to have the sword ready just in case. 

All they had to do was attract some attention once they were closer to the rendezvous point, which would then, with any luck, notify The Four Horsemen, getting them away from Crowley. The scouts had informed them of a small patrol that was over in this direction, less than a minute from it and Aziraphale thought it would be easy enough to get their attention.

It was a few moments before they turned another corner and stopped abruptly, coming face to face with two others.

Aziraphale drew back. This certainly wasn’t part of the plan. They had expected to run into people, yes, but not so soon. The scouts must not have seen these particular two while they’d been through here. But there was a chance they could still make it work. Perhaps blend in, pretend to be-

One of them drew their weapon, eyes widening in surprise, recognition clouding his gaze as he met Aziraphale’s.

Right. Because he was still, very much, a prince, and quite recognizable. Of course they would know immediately that he wasn’t meant to be here.

Well, so much for that.

The other, following their friend’s lead, drew their sword as well. They would not be getting past them without a fight, and they simply didn’t have that kind of time.

Mara glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, not daring to fully turn her attention away from the two spies, it seemed. “Right. Run then?”

“Yes, I rather think so.”

The two of them took off back down the corridor, the spies following. Shouting.

“Suppose that’s one way to attract attention,” Mara panted.

“Yes, though one I’d been hoping to avoid.” Aziraphale risked a glance back, finding their pursuers still keeping pace, catching up, even. They weren’t going to be able to outrun them for long.

“This way, prince.” Mara grabbed his wrist, pulling him sharply to the left, nearly making him stumble. “We’ve done the first part of the plan, but we still need to rendezvous with the others.”

They ran down another long corridor, passing by a door on their left. A door that, if the scouts had been correct, Crowley and The Four Horsemen were currently behind. If they didn’t know already, they most certainly knew now there were intruders within their tunnels. They would be close behind them. Far too close for Aziraphale’s liking.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Aziraphale asked, shoving the sword back into its sheath.

“Not really!”

“Oh, wonderful! How very reassuring,” Aziraphale said, sparing precious time and energy to turn and shoot her a glare.

“It’s not like we have much choice,” Mara countered. “Would you like to lead instead?”

Aziraphale remained silent.

“Thought so. Come on!” They made another left turn, then a right. Aziraphale didn’t have much choice but to follow. He wasn’t sure whether or not they were going in the right direction, but even if they weren’t, he could not leave her. He was going to protect her, regardless of if she felt she needed it or not, and it would be very unwise indeed to get lost in these tunnels by himself.

They soon entered a large open room with a high wooden ceiling and a mezzanine. A ladder on the right side near the entrance led to it, and another on the upper floor led to a trapdoor near the back of the room. Otherwise, there was no way out save the way they’d entered. And Aziraphale could hear the footsteps of their pursuers. A bit further behind now, but it wouldn’t be long before they caught up. They did not have time to make the climb and there would be no turning back.

“This looks like the place, doesn’t it?” Mara questioned.

Aziraphale couldn’t deny it did match the description Beelzebub had given them, but he didn’t see anyone else. He swallowed. Where are they?

Had they abandoned them? Or had they, perhaps, been working with The Four Horsemen the whole time and had devised this plan to deliver them right into their hands. After all, why work to catch them when they could have the two of them serve themselves up on a silver platter?

He looked at Mara, finding the same panic he felt reflected in her eyes.

The footsteps behind them were growing louder.

Aziraphale turned, drawing his sword, flames immediately bursting from the blade as if it had sensed the urgency of the situation, and said without taking his eyes off of the entryway, “You should go. Get out while you can. I can hold them off, at least until The Four Horsemen arrive.” His eyes darted over the hallway, two figures appearing out of the dark, then a third, and a fourth and fifth. Reinforcements, no doubt. People who had heard the shouting.

“You can’t do that. They’ll kill you.”

“Yes. And they’ll do the same to you if you don’t go.” Aziraphale glanced sidelong at her before turning his gaze back to the long hallway. Their pursuers were growing ever closer. “You are Crowley’s sister. I will not let him lose you again.”

“Well I’m not bloody leaving,” Mara said, drawing a knife from a sheath at her waist. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I won’t let him lose you either.”

Aziraphale loosed a sigh, but short of throwing her over his shoulder and climbing her up to safety himself, there was nothing he could do. “Then you’d better at least get back,” Aziraphale said. “Please.”

She listened this time, taking a few steps back and Aziraphale followed suit, tightening his grip on the sword.

The first of the spies enter the room, one of them smiling menacingly. “Run yourselves into a corner, have you?”

Aziraphale said nothing, just hefted his sword a little higher. If this was to be his final stand then so be it. He just hoped Crowley found his own way out somehow. With any luck, his lockpicks still remained hidden in his sleeve and reachable from however The Four Horsemen had contained him. If nothing else, perhaps Aziraphale could buy him some time.

The spies advanced slowly, not attacking yet, simply corralling them backward, beginning to surround them. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should attempt to strike first or simply accept his fate.

He didn’t have to decide.

Moments later, two of the spies were knocked to the ground with dull thuds and yelps of pain and a familiar, grungy looking man was standing before him. The very one who had opened the chest filled with magical items hours before.

A glance at the mezzanine revealed more assassins, perched on the railing, and Aziraphale loosed an audible sigh of relief. They hadn’t been abandoned after all.

Several more assassin’s soon joined the first, leaping down to take on those that had cornered them. Beelzebub landed on Aziraphale’s right, giving him a smirk. “Thought we left you?”

“Admittedly, yes.”

“Suppose I can’t blame you,” they said, drawing two knives. “But I have my own business with The Four Horsemen. I want them gone as much as you, trust me.”

“Ah, yes, speaking of that. Things didn’t go entirely to plan,” Aziraphale said. “The Four Horsemen were likely much closer behind us than originally intended due to unforeseen circumstances. So it’s likely they’ll arrive much sooner-”

Aziraphale glanced at the entryway, now seeing four more figures appearing. Walking slowly, almost leisurely. One seemed to be wearing red and was holding a sword in her right hand.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Oh dear.”

Notes:

Hello hello!
It's kinda funny going back to these chapters cause this is like the height of the action and meanwhile, what I'm writing now is much more chill. Which is how a story works, but I'm enjoying the contrast nonetheless 😅

Chapter count is staying at 60 for now, though I'm still not sure if it'll stay that way for long. I'm honestly thinking I'm gonna need that extra chapter, but we'll see

Chapter 55

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crowley did his best to sit up straight. To act as naturally as one could in this situation, shoving the lockpicks as deeply into his back pocket as possible. The last thing he needed was for The Four Horsemen to discover his one and only way out.

The four of them entered the room leisurely, clearly in no hurry. Of course they weren’t. They had Crowley right where they wanted him and all the time in the world to do as they pleased. 

And as they all came to a stop before him, Crowley getting a good look at War’s face for the first time in twenty-five years, he found she hadn't aged a day. So the theories were true. He was in the presence of immortals.

He swallowed hard. “So. Four of you. Rubber of bridge? Barbershop quartet?”

Pollution sneered, likely intending for Crowley to take the hint and shut his mouth. He didn’t. Anything to prolong these moments where he wasn’t in agonizing pain. He had a feeling they were going to become few and far between very soon.

“Why’d it take you so long to come looking for me anyway?” he asked. “I ran away decades ago, and yet you’ve only been looking again for a few months.”

“No,” War said with a small smile. “We’ve been looking for decades, since the moment you ran. We never stopped.”

“Then why-”

“We sent spies,” Famine said. “Everywhere.”

“Scouring the entire globe for you,” Pollution added.

“It was a few months ago that we learned the name you’d been hiding under all this time. One of our spies picked up an interesting detail while at a tavern in the capital, an assassin who doesn't kill, and decided to look into it.” War said. 

Pollution finished, “From that, we learned that you had been living here, in the very same place you’d escaped us.”

Do they always speak like that? Crowley thought, but said, “And it still took you months to find me?”

“We waited for you to come home, but you were taking a very long time, so we hired others. Larger, more dangerous groups,” Famine said. “You met one, in Tadfield, not long after they captured a prince.”

“THE VERY SAME ONE WE TOOK CARE OF,” Death added.

“Coming to his rescue. How very heroic,” War taunted. “Too bad it didn’t amount to much, did it?”

Crowley set his jaw at the mention of Aziraphale, the pain still so very fresh, but otherwise said nothing. He let the cold rage in his eyes do the talking instead. Perhaps one day, he would truly unleash it all upon them. Tear them apart with relentless fury, like they had so meticulously done him. It sounded rather tantalizing right about now. But would it make him feel better, he wondered, or just leave him empty?

“Right,” Crowley began, trying his best to put all of that aside. He could take those feelings out again, process everything, later, once he was free, but they’d do him no good now. “Well, are you the type to monologue at me for hours telling me everything you're planning to do, and, quite frankly, ruining the surprise or are you more the type to not tell me anything and let me find out as this goes on?”

“What do you think?” Famine asked.

“Well, the second one, obviously, but I'd like to avoid that for as long as possible,” Crowley said. If he were sitting in a chair he would’ve draped an arm over the back of it, aiming for casual, nonchalant. As it was, he leaned his head back a bit, against the cool wall, asking, “How's the weather upstairs? Is it… nice, maybe? Sunny? It's getting a bit colder though isn't it; probably close to autumn. Or is it autumn already? I never can remember when that starts-”

“SILENCE,” Death said, and Crowley shut his mouth and turned away. Swallowed. It seemed they were tired of entertaining him.

Footsteps sounded and Crowley caught sight of red boots in the corner of his eye. He wasn't surprised it was her who would get the first blow. She had been the one he'd escaped from all those years ago and likely held a grudge more personal than the others. 

Crowley swallowed. “Right. Just… get this over with,” he rasped, and closed his eyes, body bracing, best as it could with his hands bound behind him, leaving him exposed, for whatever was to come next. The sting of a blade, or maybe the duller ache of a punch. Or maybe she’d target his already injured, likely broken, ribs.

Crowley took a slow, deep breath, trying to prepare himself for all three scenarios. None of them came. Instead, a commotion sounded from right outside the door. Rapid footsteps. Shouting. Crowley opened his eyes, finding all four of his captors turning towards the door, intrigued, though a bit upset at the interruption.

Death started towards it without a word and the other three followed, leaving Crowley alone once again. Perhaps luck hadn’t quite abandoned him just yet.

He got to work at his chains again.

*    *    *

The moment The Four Horsemen arrived, the fight, which had already been chaos, turned to complete and utter pandemonium.

He heard Beelzebub hiss something to a nearby assassin, and then everything quickly became a haze of scrambling bodies and swinging blades, one of which very nearly nicked his cheek.

Aziraphale managed to get to the outskirts of the battle but lost sight of both Beelzebub and Mara in the process and now frantically searched the crowd for them. Beelzebub, he knew, could likely handle themselves and he certainly believed Mara could as well, but there were a lot of people in this room, all of which were armed and swinging various weapons about. It was likely that they would experience some accidental friendly fire, and equally likely she would be jostled to the point of being unable to properly defend herself.

He was on the lookout for The Four Horsemen as well, of course, and they were not nearly as hard to spot. All of them were still standing near the front of the room. War was brandishing her sword, true glee shining in her eyes. Death was holding a scythe. Famine seemed to have some sort of metal claws that attached to his hands. Pollution held only a simple dagger, but Aziraphale could see something, poison, perhaps, dripping from the blade.

The assassins were doing their best to stay back, but the room was only so big, and The Four Horsemen were already closing in. They were on them in a matter of seconds, and Aziraphale winced at the sounds of screams and cries of fear and metal cleaving through flesh. He wasn’t sure how much longer the assassins were going to be able to hold them off.

But The Four Horsemen were fighting as normal humans would, and, as far as Aziraphale could tell, they did not possess any magic, or, if they did, they weren’t using it. It seemed his imagination had perhaps run a bit wild with their capabilities, but they were certainly formidable opponents and they worked together quite well. Had already fought their way a few extra feet into the room.

He glanced around again, searching frantically for Mara. She could have been anywhere in the throng of bodies. Had she stepped back like Aziraphale or stayed near the front, ready to face The Four Horsemen head on? She was certainly brave enough to and with everything they’d done to her and her family, Aziraphale couldn’t blame her for wanting to hurt them in return. But even with the assassins around them, Aziraphale couldn’t see such a thing ending well, and when he at last caught sight of her, his heart leaped to his throat as he indeed found her near the front on the far right side, where Death currently stood.

He immediately began pushing through the crowd, through spies and assassins alike, sword still aflame in his hand, making him a veritable beacon but Aziraphale didn’t care. He had to get to Mara; he had to make sure she was alright. Everything else was secondary.

He watched as Death easily carved through two of the assassins standing before Mara, leaving her face to face with him, and he paused, briefly, almost as if in recognition.

Aziraphale quickened his pace.

“I ALWAYS KNEW YOU SURVIVED,” Death continued, then slashed at her with his scythe.

Mara just managed to dodge the blow but was knocked on the shoulder by a nearby assassin, trying to flee the very same attack, and stumbled, falling onto the stone. She still clutched her dagger tightly in one hand, ready to strike if Death grew close enough, though with his scythe, Aziraphale didn’t think he’d need to.

Mara was fighting to stand but Aziraphale could see she wasn't going to be fast enough to escape Death’s next blow. Death reeled his arm back, preparing to strike.

And then he swung, and Aziraphale stepped between them, his blade meeting Death’s with a metallic clang, the flames sending a few sparks flying at the impact.

Aziraphale gritted his teeth with the effort of keeping him at bay.

His strength did not fail him, and neither did his flaming sword, and Death pulled back, frustrated. A feeling, Aziraphale thought, that he likely didn’t experience very often, and he felt a little surge of pride at being the cause. “YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.”

“Yes, well, evidently I’m not, am I?” Aziraphale said. He reared his arm back and swung, aiming not for Death himself but his weapon, and making a sizable dent in the wooden handle. “And you would do well to leave this good woman alone.”

Death tried to strike him, but he was much too close, the angle was all wrong for his scythe to pose any serious threat. Perhaps he should’ve picked a better weapon.

Aziraphale’s shortsword was much more apt.

He reeled back, giving a smile that felt a bit too smug for an opponent as formidable as Death himself, but Aziraphale didn’t care.

Let’s give this one a little flare, why don’t we? Aziraphale said to the sword, it happily obliged, striking the handle with a burst of flame, both snapping it in two and setting it alight, forcing Death to drop it.

It wouldn’t stop him entirely, Aziraphale knew. He was sure he had a different weapon hidden somewhere in that cloak. But it would at least give them an advantage in this fight.

Very well done, he praised the sword. You and I are starting to make quite the team.

The sword gave a pleased hum in response.

Aziraphale spared a glance to his left, towards the mezzanine, seeing multiple shapes darting about. Getting ready, it seemed. Aziraphale could only hope they would finish soon.

By the time Aziraphale turned back to face Death once again he was met with a different blade, one belonging to a dagger of some kind, heading right for his chest. He didn’t have time to lift the blade to block it. Could only watch as-

Something long and vaguely arm-shaped passed right by his head, hitting Death in the shoulder and knocking him off balance enough that the likely deadly blow missed completely.

Aziraphale looked behind him, noting Mara had gotten to her feet and was now one arm short. He blinked and asked in disbelief, “Did you… Did you just throw your entire arm at him?”

She shrugged and slashed towards Death, missing him by a hair. “Felt like a better idea than possibly losing the knife.”

Aziraphale turned back, just managing to dodge Death’s next blow—he really would do well to pay more attention—as he questioned, “Don’t you need that?”

“Not as much as we need actual weapons right now,” she said and lunged towards Death, swiping at his arm just as an arrow flew past, embedding itself into the stonework. Iron netting came with it, blanketing The Four Horsemen and several of their spies as well. And nearly Mara too, but Aziraphale had yanked her back, pulling her out of its reach.

The assassins nearest practically leaped for all four corners, holding them down even as their captives fought to stand. It seemed to work.

The chaos around them at last stalled, The Four Horsemen and their spies, for the moment, at least, subdued. And looking none too happy about it, Aziraphale noted as he caught War’s stare. There was pure hatred and a promise of his demise in those red eyes. He swallowed hard and turned away.

Mara bent and grabbed her arm, attaching it to her shoulder, baring her teeth at Death as she did so.

Aziraphale moved an inch closer, sword still drawn, prepared in case Death, or any of the others, attempted to retaliate. They didn’t.

Moments later, Beelzebub was climbing down from the mezzanine, which had likely been where they’d run off to when The Four Horsemen arrived.

They stopped before The Four Horsemen, smiling smugly, triumphantly. “Well, well, well,” they said. “If it isn’t The Four Horsemen. You were surprisingly easy to catch. Frankly, I’m not impressed.”

Pollution bared their teeth, and Famine growled, “We’ll tear you apart, limb from limb.”

“And leave you to rot. Carrion for the vultures,” War added.

Famine clicked his tongue at her. “No more vultures.”

Death remained unsettlingly silent.

Aziraphale didn’t like it. They weren’t fighting. They were angry, of course they were, but they weren’t even trying to fight back, to free themselves. He wasn’t sure what it meant. Perhaps it was a good sign. It didn’t feel like one, though.

But Aziraphale couldn't spare them another thought. He had a different mission in mind, and now that they were no longer in imminent danger, he would like to see it through.

He hurried to Beelzebub, asking quietly, “You, er, you can handle them, yes?”

“For now, yeah.” They met his gaze and something in his eyes must have given away exactly what he was thinking, because they said, “You can go,” nodding towards the entryway.

He loosed a breath of relief. “Oh, good. I trust you’ll… catch up eventually?”

Beelzebub nodded, and that was all Aziraphale needed. He glanced back, to ensure Mara was following, then started back the way they came at brisk walk—he’d done far too much running for one day, thank you very much—hearing Beelzebub say to the other assassins, “Right. Disarm them. And be careful for fuck’s sake. They’re still dangerous, even like this.”

Mara touched a hand to his arm, though, forcing him to pause just before the room Crowley was being kept in. She seemed almost nervous.

“He… doesn’t know, does he?” she asked at last. “That I’m alive.”

Aziraphale winced. “Ah. Right, no, he doesn't. I suppose…” He glanced at the door. “It will be quite a shock for him, but perhaps-”

“No,” she said. “No, it's alright. You go first. I’ll wait here. You can let me know when you think he’s ready.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.” In truth, he really didn't want to stand here for long. Eager to finally see Crowley again and to be able to take care of him should he be injured or need his assistance. He looked back down the hall, ensuring no one was following them. “I’m sure I won’t be long.”

He turned towards the door, took a deep breath, and went inside.

Notes:

Hello hello!
The Four Horsemen have been dealt with (or have they 😈) and now it's time for some long awaited reunions!
This next chapter ended up being, and likely will remain, the longest chapter in the fic currently sitting at 5.5k words (only about 100 words longer than chapter 48) and I didn't feel like there were any good spots to split it up so you guys just get an extra long chapter next week!

Also the chapter count has officially gone up to 61. It shouldn't go up again. I think I can get everything else wrapped up in one more chapter and then we'll have an epilogue to see what our boys get up to in the days to come. That being said, if it changes to 62 just know that will FOR SURE be the last one. I cannot imagine needing more than that to wrap everything up