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“Angel… Angel, wake up!” Crowley nudged the sleeping Aziraphale tucked in next to him in their hammock. Aziraphale had finally fallen asleep, and after last night… The first night of their honeymoon, Crowley could understand the angel’s need for sleep, if you know what he means, and he thinks you do, but there was something in the distance that he really wanted another opinion on.

Aziraphale however, continued to snore softly, hidden under the brim of his panama hat. Crowley had quite enjoyed Aziraphale’s vacation look, even if he teased him mercilessly for it. An angel in shorts; it just wasn’t something you saw every day. Crowley wanted to bite him, though he’d gotten in a bit of trouble the last time he couldn’t control his urge to nibble on his angel. 

The object out in the water was getting closer. At first Crowley thought maybe it was a dolphin, which — fun! Dolphins were smart, though he’d heard they could be jerks sometimes. But maybe it was a whale, a whale would be even cooler! Unfortunately, all he could really tell was some sort of creature wiggling about in the waves. He wanted Aziraphale’s opinion, but wasn’t sure how hard to work to wake him up.

He stole Aziraphale’s drink, schlorping up what was left of his rum punch while watching the creature move. It was teasing him, coming a little closer before disappearing further out again. One day into his honeymoon and he was already getting edged by someone besides his husband.

“Come on, Angel, wake up!” He nudged Aziraphale again, but perhaps a little too hard this time.

“Waaa… whoa… Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out, as Crowley’s nudge turned into a full fledged flipping of the hammock, limbs, books, blankets, and drinks flying everywhere. A few feathers also seemed to be floating to the ground around them. 

“Hi, angel. Nice nap?” Crowley asked from where he’d landed on top of Aziraphale. While he wasn’t happy to have been woken in such a manner, having Crowley’s long, lithe body pressed against him did take a bit of the sting out of it. The beach they were on was quite deserted, wasn’t it? Or perhaps he could ensure it with a simple snap of his fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s a thing, out in the water, I wanted you to see it. But you were sleeping.”

“That’s what hammocks on the beach are for!”

“Well, I was bored! And there’s still something out there. Look!”

Crowley pointed toward the ocean, the waves crashing up on the shore.

“I can’t see anything.” He couldn’t see anything, still lying in the sand under their hammock with a Crowley on top of him.

“Oh, sorry.” Crowley finally seemed to realize the problem and pushed himself up, offering Aziraphale a hand.

“You’re lucky I love you, husband.” Aziraphale dusted himself off. The sand seemed to have gotten everywhere. Crowley somehow remained sand-free and unruffled from their tumble. Perhaps he was the one who owed a dance of some kind later, even if it wouldn’t be as romantic as the Dance of Devotion Aziraphale had gifted him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley waved away his endearments, though Aziraphale didn’t miss the rising blush on his cheeks. “Now look, out there. Do you see it?”

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The cold water that splashed on his skin made Crowley hiss. Usually he’d cast a sneaky little miracle before entering the sea. It warmed the water around him making it a much more enjoyable experience. It also had the bonus effect of making anyone who swam close enough to him to feel the warmth look at him in disgust before scarpering as fast as they could swim. (Well, as fast as they could without splashing too much in their own face.) Indignant, Crowley began licking at his arms in an effort to warm up and smooth his ruffled scales. 

As the mermaid swam off Aziraphale watched the shimmering rainbow light of their tail as they swam. Turning back to his husband he was prepared for a look of ill-concealed wonder, not Crowley taking advantage of his flexibility to lick at his own shoulder. He would have liked to say it ruined the effect of Crowley standing in his tiny excuse for beach wear, but alas, he found it rather endearing. As if sensing Aziraphale's eyes on him, Crowley froze, his eyes shifting guiltily. 

Noticing Aziraphale's hat on the sand he darted to grab it before helping the angel to his feet. 

“Well, that was a thing!” Crowley said, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's waist. 

“Quite!” Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley began affectionately rubbing his face against his cheek. 

“What now, angel?” Crowley practically purred against his neck, and Heavens did that inspire un-angelic thoughts! Aziraphale was still trying to think of something appropriate, while simultaneously arguing with himself that anything was appropriate on your honeymoon, when sharp teeth on his skin drew his attention. 

“I have an idea,” Crowley said, pulling him in for a quick kiss, before sprinting off across the sand. “Follow me!” 

Hanging his head, Aziraphale sighed deeply. How he'd never noticed Crowley's zoomies before he'd never know. Taking his time he followed the demon's erratic footprints—he’d tire soon enough, and stop for a rest, and probably some belly rubs.

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Nessie took a look across at the honeymooners; the skinny malinky longlegs in the Speedos and the blond, bonny man he was pushing aside, and shook her head. Naw, this wouldnae do. It was her first journey abroad after decades of hiding out in Scotland and she was confronted with an irate sunburnt demon and a prissy Principality.

“My dear, if you would just let me help, I'm sure this has all just been a frightful misunderstanding.”

“That great brute looked at you funny, angel, and I. Did. Not. Care. For. It.”

“Och naw , I'm jus jessin’ wit yer.” The sea monster smiled, hoping her infamous charms would win them over. “Dunnea get yer knickers in a twist.”

“I assure you our underwear is all in order, thank you very much!”

At this Crowley’s attention was drawn to the growing wedgie forming between his buttocks, his budgie smugglers practically disappearing up his arse crack. He attempted a subtle rummage, whilst Aziraphale politely averted his eyes. 

In the corner of the angel’s vision he spotted that odd little man from Soho - it was Mr Brown of Brown's World of Carpets. His moustache twitched in recognition and his chaps squeaked as he walked towards the group.

Crowley growled, placing a possessive hand on his angel’s shoulder. He paused, remembering they were on honeymoon and such things are expected, he smirked and slid his hand down to cup some angel cake.

Nessie gave a small cough, pulling their attention back to her.

“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” asked Crowley.

“Aren't you more at home in the Highlands?” added Aziraphale.

“I was oot visiting family on the Labrador coast, but got swept up in a hoolie of a storm and washed up in Costa Rica a few weeks back. I could dae wit getting back soon – rum's good, but it's pure sweltering.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with puppy dog eyes.

“Yes, alright, I'll get this one.” And with a click of his fingers the three of them were transported to a misty loch. Nessie happily splashed away, giving a little wave with her tail as she departed. 

Crowley shivered and looked at the distinctly witchy silhouettes emerging through the fog, chanting incantations.

“Oh, bollocks!”

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Aziraphale reluctantly took his eyes off Crowley’s fetching little swim shorts, and turned in the direction of the chanting voices and the buoyant footsteps approaching them. “What’s this?” he said. Three curvaceous figures sashayed into view.

“When shall we three meet again?” asked the witch with short, sassy blonde hair. 

Macbeth? Really? Crowley groaned inwardly. How gloomy.

“When we spy the ineffable twain,” continued the blonde.  

“When the apocalypse is undone,” responded the brunette witch. “Thick angel thighs bake in the sun.”

“Then it’s time to have some fun!” concluded the one with voluminous curly hair, beaming. 

“Crowley! It’s your coven! What are they doing here?” 

“They’re not–I didn’t–”

“We heard it was your honeymoon!” exclaimed the blonde. 

“And that you haven’t had enough adventures,” said the brunette, shaking her head mournfully. 

“Remember? Go for a picnic? It was foretold,” proclaimed Ms. Curly Hair, holding out a picnic basket before her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Smells delish.”

“Er, yes,” said Crowley, a bit embarrassed by the hopeful tone in his voice. “The angel did promise me a picnic. But we’re not really dressed–”

“We’re barely dressed at all,” said Aziraphale with as much dignity as he could muster with a sheet wrapped around his waist. 

“Saucy,” said the blonde, raising her eyebrow. 

“A spicy picnic!” said the brunette.

The third witch declaimed, “Double double, toil and trouble. Smack that angel’s double bubble.” She winked at Crowley. Heat rushed to the demon’s face. He opened his mouth to deliver a good comeback, but all he could hear was a whir and a whine, as his brain had gone offline. He shut his mouth. 

“Come along now,” the enchanting trio murmured in a singsong chorus. 

Weaving a spell, the witches transported Aziraphale and Crowley to a lush meadow amidst a dense forest, birds chirping, the grass soft underneath the tartan blanket. They giggled and gossiped and pressed teasingly against the sturdy angel and the lithe demon as they unpacked the contents of the picnic basket. 

Aziraphale cooed at the chickpea salad. He pronounced the bread and cheese and caramelised onion chutney “scrummy.” Sighing with contentment, the angel fed his husband dark olives, sweet pistachios, and crunchy spring rolls. A never ending stream of prosecco with peach puree poured from a bottle into their glasses. It was their honeymoon, after all. They deserved some indulgence.  

Wait a minute. Crowley squinted. Were the figs and dates dancing with each other? Were the cucumber sandwiches whispering conspiratorially? A scone looked up at Crowley and closed one eye. Why was everyone winking at him today?

“Something’s up,” the demon said, pointing his finger accusingly at the coven. “I can smell it. Well, I can also see it and hear it and taste it.” They gave him their best wide-eyed innocent looks. He glared back.

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Aziraphale giggled and accepted another delicious crisp biscuit from the proffered fingertips of one of Crowley’s darling witchy girlfriends. He munched happily, letting out little hums of contented bliss, squirming under the beach towel thrown over his lap. As assorted bewitched picnic foodstuffs randomly danced across the blanket, Aziraphale decided he was quite sure the fig-doing-a-jig was the best thing he’d ever seen.

“Have another,” one of the women said again, and he did.

He either didn’t notice, or chose to ignore, that Crowley’s arms were crossed, his lips drawn into a scowl, and that a sense of general discontent was radiating off him. Indeed, Aziraphale managed to ignore him all the way up until Crowley interrupted his merriment: “This was meant to be just us, angel,” Crowley griped as he ruthlessly kicked an anthropomorphic scone away from his ankle. He then shoved one of the women away  begrudgingly and started to pout. “Was meant to be romantic. You lot need to go! Angel, tell them to go!”

Aziraphale simply munched his biscuits some more, accepting a flute of champagne as it was pressed to his lips by the blonde. It was all far too tempting and comfy.

“Fine,” Crowley grumbled, hiking his rather fetching swimming trunks up higher around his waist and tying the drawstring tight in defiance. “I’m going for a walk.”

Crowley disappeared off into the dense green forest behind them. He took long stalking steps into the undergrowth, cutting a path through the greenery, not even sure what he was searching for.

Or who, as it turned out.

“You’re looking for me,” came the gravelly, yet somehow familiar voice, of… Aziraphale.

But when Crowley laid eyes on him, it wasn’t the jovial, beatific, pleasant angel he’d left behind. This was most certainly a demon. Hulking and wild-eyed, with thick facial hair and a silver-streaked manbun; thick, powerful, demonic tension chorded across his chest and shoulders. “Who…” Crowley didn’t mean to sound instantly submissive but his voice came out breathy and pitched high. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Exactly who you’re looking for,” Aziraph – the demon growled.

Crowley’s eyes raked over him, taking in the longer jacket, the tighter fit of his clothes beneath, the obnoxiously obvious bulge between his legs. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. There’d be some explanation, surely. “You’re not –”

“Sometimes you want someone rougher, someone worse, someone fallen like you.”

Crowley gawped at the demon even as this feral version of Aziraphale grinned knowingly back at him. 

Panicked, Crowley retreated. “I’m just going back that way now,” he said and turned quickly on his heel, ready to head back out of the forest to his romantic, normal picnic with normal, angelic Aziraphale. He was quite ready to be away from this demonic, tempting version of his husband.

But as he turned, he barreled straight into the naked chest of said angelic, normal angel.

“Crowley, come back and…” Aziraphale trailed off, an arm wrapping around Crowley’s waist automatically, as he realised they weren’t alone. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as he looked over the demonic manifestation of himself standing opposite. Aziraferal took the opportunity to pop open all the buttons of his too-tight shirt with an intimidating flex and then started caressing a finger up and down his sternum. 

“Who do we have here?” Aziraphale wondered, sounding far more interested than Crowley would have imagined.

“Your –” Crowley coughed to clear his throat and cuddled closer to Aziraphale. “Your demonic counterpart, it would seem.”  He dug his fingertips into Aziraphale’s waist. “Not sure what we should do with him.”

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Aziraphale huffed. “A vacation? Some of us are working here, you know.”

“Yeah, same!” Crawley added. 

“What?” Aziraphale gave Crowley a confused look. 

“What?” Crowley belatedly realised that he wasn’t really supposed to disclose that Hell had sent him to Eden with a mission. If one could call “get up there and make some trouble” a mission statement. More like a general “go away” wrapped in a thin layer of authority, but that was infernal leadership for you.

The exchange was thankfully interrupted by a low humming coming from Demonic Aziraphale, who was looking appreciatively at Shax.

“Tentacles?” Demonic Aziraphale’s tone implied that he found this development very interesting, and not a little exciting. He looked sideways at Angel Crowley and smiled hungrily. “You would look so very fuckable wrapped in tentacles…”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Angelic Crowley countered, puzzled. ”The schematics for animal reproduction didn’t mention tentacles used in this way. Also,” he looked at Shax and Furfur, who seemed to warm up to the idea of a group activity, “deer and octopi are not even the same species. How would that even work?”

“Let me open your mind with… an experiment,” Demonic Aziraphale said, sliding his arm around Angelic Crowley’s waist. Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a wary look.

“Oh I love experiments! If you want my honest opinion, I think we didn’t get to do enough of these before the Beginning, you know?” Angel Crowley didn’t seem to mind Demonic Aziraphale’s touch in any case.

Demonic Aziraphale cackled and marched them towards Shax and Furfur.

“Hey, how about we scram?” Crowley asked Aziraphale as three demons and an angel seemed to come to an arrangement.

“Oh, rather.” Aziraphale turned his back to the group, relieved, and walked briskly away from the pond with Crowley on his heels. 

They walked for a while in the undergrowth, the flowery vines and thick bushes muffling the noises coming from the pond. They finally stopped in a little clearing and sat down under a climbing plant that drizzled thousands of tiny flowers everywhere. There were some fruit trees too. Crowley idly wondered if the humans had tasted them all. He had an idea for later, but there was no rush. Aziraphale was lying down on the grass next to him, eyes closed. Crowley took a moment to enjoy the quiet. There wasn’t much of that to be had down in Hell.

A scream tore the air. An angel’s scream. Aziraphale blanched and immediately got up and drew his flaming sword, ready for combat. Crowley recoiled.

“It’s coming from the pond,” Aziraphale said, his eyes steely. He started running back. Crowley followed, dreading what they would find. Would Aziraphale get blamed if there was trouble in the Garden? They could hear grunts and shouts now that they were almost there.

They reached the pond and discovered the origin of the noises. There was a tangle of limbs (not exclusively human-shaped) at the edge of the water, with a lot of movement and wet sounds. Angelic Crowley was in the middle, looking surprisingly relaxed. No-one was wearing any clothes; the group was surrounded by broken branches, crushed leaves, and delicate flower vines torn from their trees and scattered on the grass. Demonic Aziraphale seemed to be on top, although none of them seemed to care too much about the rules of spatial geometry or biology. Demonic Aziraphale made eye contact with Aziraphale just as a particularly lascivious moan came out of his mouth, and Crowley for some reason felt the need to cover Aziraphale’s eyes and ears.

“Is he in pain?” Aziraphale asked wonderingly.

The next scream coming from Furfur was so loud that it made a flock of birds fly out of a nearby tree. A tentacle thrashed around, tearing branches from a nearby tree and sending them flying into the pond. Soon after, a squirt of ink burst out of somewhere, staining the grass and turning the crystal waters of the pond dark. Aziraphale gasped.

“That’s it!” Aziraphale yelled, “you’re getting out of that garden right now!” Aziraphale pointed at the path that meandered back to the Eastern Gate.

The demons and angel slowly untangled from each other, looking a bit spent but very satisfied with themselves, not paying Aziraphale’s instructions any attention. They didn’t seem like they wanted to go anywhere, or even stand up. They changed their minds when they saw Aziraphale furiously striding towards them, flaming sword held high. 

They hastily got up and started running down the path, Aziraphale after them, and Crowley after Aziraphale. When they arrived at the gate, it opened itself to let them out. Furfur tried to stay back and argue that the desert was too sandy, but Aziraphale slammed the door in his face.

Aziraphale collapsed on the ground, his back to the door. Crowley gingerly went to sit beside him, but not too close. The angel looked rattled.

“It’s not that I’m against fun, you know?” Aziraphale finally said, staring into space. “But I draw the line at littering.” He looked at Crowley. “Do you think that was too harsh?”

Crowley made some encouraging noises.

“It’s just that it’s actually the first time that I’ve had to defend the garden. It’s my divine mission, right? But God never gave me very detailed instructions.”

“Typical of her,” Crowley muttered. “I think it was all right. They were disturbing the birds and destroying the plants. Probably would have scared the humans too.”

Aziraphale relaxed a tiny bit. The quiet moment was shattered when loud rhythmic banging started coming from the gate, accompanied by moans and encouragements muffled by the thick oak of the door. Someone complained that “the sand was getting in there ”; Angelic Crowley’s voice happily added something that sounded like an attempt to be helpful. Aziraphale took his head in his hands and Crowley sighed. 

Next thing they knew, a flash of light like the first stars being lit burned into their eyes, followed by an explosion that shook the wall.

And then there was silence.

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other, knowing that they’d both had the impulse to open the door and had both immediately thought better of it. They slowly climbed up the wall instead, and cautiously peered over the edge.

The section of desert outside the door had been transformed into a chaotic landscape of glass. The molten sand was vitrified in solid waves and towering spurts springing around a smooth bowl-like area at the center of which three demons and an angel lay haphazardly.

“Looks like he broke out ye olde plasma ball,” Crowley said, looking at his angelic counterpart. “That’s one way to get rid of sand.”

“It’s rather pretty, actually,” Aziraphale said, looking at the light reflecting in the multitude of glass shapes, painting rainbows under the shiny surfaces.

“Yeah,” Crowley answered, looking at Aziraphale.

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“Pretty like you,” Crowley said. Aziraphale blushed, his eyes downcast. Crowley thought of the lush undergrowth and the fruit trees again. Maybe, just maybe, he could recapture some of the peace they’d found there, now that the foursome below them seemed to have exhausted themselves.

“Could I tempt you to some fruit?” he asked. Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the scene below and looked at him.

“You know, I think that might be refreshing after all this running around and tomfoolery. Imagine, the Serpent of Eden tempting me to fruit in the garden! It’s quite naughty.”

Crowley smirked, then had another idea. He slipped into his snake form and wound figure eights around Aziraphale’s feet. “Doesss thisss complete the picture?” he asked.

Aziraphale giggled. “Wily serpent,” he said, reaching down to give a tender rub to the top of Crowley’s head. Crowley preened at the touch. “Lead the way.”

Crowley slithered down the wall with Aziraphale clambering behind him. He glided through the garden, leading Aziraphale back to the verdant undergrowth. When they reached it, he slithered up a pomegranate tree, took a moment to find the ripest and most delicious-looking fruit and plucked it with his mouth. He slid back down and brought it to Aziraphale, dropping it into the angel’s outstretched palm.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, twisting the ripe, red fruit open with strong hands. Crowley hissed with pleasure. Aziraphale sat in the plush grass, delicately picking seeds out of the pomegranate and popping them between his soft pink lips. Crowley slithered up his body, winding himself around Aziraphale’s torso and propping his broad head on the angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale laughed and popped a seed into Crowley’s mouth.

“What a lovely idea you’ve had,” Aziraphale said. “What else did you have in mind for this little interlude?”

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“Aziraphale, look what you’ve done,” Crowley growled. His eyes burned hot with rage and lust behind his glasses, which were beginning to slide off his face with mounting terror. “Why the heavens did you summon Aziraferal here? On our honeymoon? Tell me, on what planet is that appropriate?”

There are a few , Aziraphale thought. 

Aziraphale looked back toward Crowley with pleading eyes. “I- I’m - I’m sorry, Crowley, I thought this is what you wanted when you said, ‘I want all of you.’” 

Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath of countryside air, the heavy stench of compost cut with the sharp, bitter smell of the pomegranate Aziraphale was absentmindedly squashing in his hand as Aziraferal kept him locked in an uncomfortable embrace.

“I want,” Crowley began, pausing to take off his sunglasses with trembling hands, “All of your singular, non-plural, unique body, Aziraphale. You’re one of a kind. One.”

Aziraphale looked crushed. He dropped the decimated pomegranate on the ground. “Crowley, I’m so sorry, I thought this was going to be a good thing and I just-”

Crowley plucked a pomegranate from the tree. He caught Aziraferal’s lusty eye, wound up, and launched the fruit into the middle distance. “Go fetch, boy!” he shouted, and Aziraferal took off, kicking up a considerable dust cloud behind him. Aziraphale giggled quietly. 

Crowley redirected his attention to his lover. “Now, back to what we were going to do,” he hissed sensually as he picked up Aziraphale’s hand. His tongue flitted around outside his mouth, and he licked the juice from his lover’s skin. He slowed, looking up at Aziraphale, then he stopped and recoiled in disgust. 

“ PTOO! YUCK!” He spat. “Aziraphale, what the heaven is that? That’s awful!”

Aziraphale chuckled with bemused confusion. “That’s pomegranate, my dear boy. You were such an excellent, uh , salesman for the things back in the day. You really never tried one before?”

Crowley looked disappointed. “No, never felt the need to. But I can’t believe Eve got humanity into this mess for that .”

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Crowley’s thoughts turned to static as the tongue that he spent the better part—the best parts, really—of the last few centuries watching lick crème brûlée off a spoon danced with his own. 

Suddenly, the angel stiffened in his arms—no, not like that, you pervert— and disentangled his tongue from Crowley’s. 

“What in the devil?” Aziraphale exclaimed, and Crowley started to slide to the ground, the angelic strength that held him aloft now apparently too distracted to do the job properly.

“Wot?” Crowley asked from somewhere around Aziraphale’s knees

At this point, the angel must have realised that he lost his grip on the demon. “Oh, I am terribly sorry.” He hoisted Crowley back up and supported him as his noodle legs tried to remember their purpose. “Look. Lucifer.” He nodded toward the weeping devil.

“Wot?” Crowley said, a little louder this time. “Can we get back to the sm—“ No, he would not say smooching. What else was it called? “The thing with the tongues?”

“Crowley, he’s crying!”

“Angel, I know things have gotten weird, but this is still our honeymoon, and I am not spending it consoling Satan himself.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He looked at Crowley with puppy-dog eyes as he raised his hand, poised to snap. “Little, tiny, half-a-miracle to get us back to Costa Rica?”

That sounded more like it. “Of course.” He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand in his own, and they snapped in unison when the angel counted to three. 

Aziraphale must have harnessed more power than Crowley because, instead of landing back in their hotel suite as he intended, they ended up piled on top of each other in the hammock on the beach. 

Oof. Crowley couldn’t see a thing when they landed because his face was smothered by… Yep, that was Aziraphale’s crotch. He heard the angel groan before kneeing Crowley in the eye as he awkwardly tried to right himself. Crowley flipped his sunglasses up into his hair and rubbed his eye, which he threatened not to even think about bruising. 

After settling into position on the other end of the hammock, Aziraphale sighed, “Much better. Though it is rather warm. Oh, wait!” He snapped his fingers to miracle them into their holiday attire. 

“Thanks, angel.”

But Aziraphale must have missed the sarcasm in Crowley’s tone because he responded with, “Be a dear and get me one of those drinks with a little umbrella from the bar.”

“Can’t you just miracle one up?”

Never afraid to resort to psychological warfare, Aziraphale pouted, “It wouldn’t be the same.”

As Crowley walked back from the bar with Aziraphale’s frou-frou drink, he appreciated the curve of the angel’s belly. Crowley wanted to bury his face in the tuft of chest hair peeking out of the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. He should miracle away all of Aziraphale’s bow ties, send them to some not-yet-discovered circle of hell, so he could see that perfect patch of skin more often. 

Crowley relaxed into the hammock, but Aziraphale kept peeking out from behind his sun hat, squinting at something off to his right. 

“What’re you up to, angel?”

The angel’s voice dropped to a whisper, “See that woman over there? The blonde wearing that gaudy happy birthday crown? I think she’s trying to draw us.”

A woman sat in a lounge chair, drawing on a sketch pad, but, as far as Crowley could tell, she didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. “You’re totally bonkers. She’s a normal person trying to enjoy her holiday, just like us.”

“If you say so, my dear.” He lowered his sun hat to cover his face and sank further into the hammock. 

Crowley warned, “Careful you don’t spill your drink.”

“Oh, it knows better.”

As Crowley watched the sunset on the horizon, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, like someone was watching him. 

He turned around. In the lounge chair where the woman sat just a minute ago was a goblin wearing a birthday crown and drooling as they peered over the artist’s sketchbook. When they made eye contact, the goblin shot Crowley an open-mouthed wink that would make even Aziraphale look like… like… What’s something that’s very subtle? Like that.

The goblin continued staring at him, making him uncomfortable. Finally, as if a trance had been broken, they looked away once Crowley waved and said, “Happy birthday.”

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