Chapter Text
Crawley was having a good day. He was in Rome during 48 BC, and had just finished tempting some young shoppers to steal food from the shop stands. It had worked, and they were even generous enough to give him a piece of their stolen bread.
Best of all, he could entertain himself with the idea of Heaven’s future plans. “I mean, they want to make a human carry Her child, and then kill him? For what? ‘Forgiving the sins of humanity’? They made them sin, for Hell’s sake. Complete idiocy.” He rolled his eyes and he stumbled through the cobblestone streets of ancient Rome. The sun was setting, the sky blooming in a beautiful red hue. There was a nice breeze to the twilight, keeping the snake demon nice and cool.
He was strolling home when suddenly he felt a change in the air. It was something Hellish. He could feel the shift in energies. Something momentous was happening nearby. His gut told him to go towards whatever the feeling was coming from, but he ignored it to savour the good day.
And then he smelt the smoke.
It was clean smoke, one made from strictly wood and tree-products, but it was still smoke. And there was a lot of it, mostly coming from the dock area. Crawley turned to take a better look at the dark scene. There was too much smoke to be a normal fire, such as a house burning down. No, something was happening. Something bad. Not demonic, but definitely bad.
Then the screaming came.
People were panicking and rushing away from the dark mass behind them. The demon could see their small silhouettes from the glow of the fire, which was just out of eyesight. But he heard them first. It was similar to the Noah’s Ark business, the sound of it. Loud but overlapping voices became clearer as they reached closer. Still, Crawley stayed his ground and watched. This was not his business. Worst case scenario, he would figure out what it was later and take credit for it in Hell. As the people came closer, he could distinguish what they were saying.
“The library!” he could hear someone say in the distance.
“Get water!” he heard someone else demand.
“The scrolls!” someone exclaimed.
The library? Crawley thought. He knew about the Library of Alexandria, he even visited it once before with Aziraphale. It was the angel’s favorite place in the whole world, Heaven included (though he would never admit it). Once one of the people were in arms reach, he grabbed one by the wrist. “Is Aziraphale in there?” The human blinked in confusion. Crawley grumbled, “White hair, prissy, always wears white robes, loves books?”
The human nodded, “Y-yes. Mr. Fell, he’s in there. He- he tried to save the scrolls.” An awful image of the angel grabbing every scroll he could find in a deadly fire popped into Crawley’s mind.
The demon’s eyes widened in fear, “Do you know if he’s made it out?” He knew that Aziraphale’s self-preservation skills went out the window as soon as humanity was involved. He would probably sacrifice himself for their well-being, knowing him.
The person shook their head and wiggled themselves from Crawley’s grip to continue their jog away from the fire. The demon’s stomach dropped. Aziraphale was in danger. He was in a fire. Crawley could feel his eyes become more snake-like, his scales threatened to crawl up his skin. Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshitshit Crawley thought as he ran towards the burning inferno. He could faintly hear people shouting for him to stop, but nothing mattered more than saving the angel. He cut through the crowd like a knife as he bolted for his friend.
As he grew nearer to the fire, the smoke became darker and he could see the actual flames. They shawn a brilliant orange-yellow that had a stark contrast to the dark background. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t a danger to Aziraphale. The crowds became denser and slower, most of the stranglers looking at the destruction before them. The demon swore under his breath as his own pace slowed from trying to weave between the onlookers. He couldn’t properly see the building through the crowds of people, and that meant he couldn’t see a way in.
Taking in a deep sigh, Crawley allowed his wings to reveal themselves. It felt like using a muscle after months of rest, kinda achy and stiff. He faintly heard people shuffle around him and gasp at the sight. They must’ve thought they were seeing things. Oh well, Crawley shrugged before lifting off the ground. His wings waved the smoke and air around him, making a small cloud of dirt and fumes. It felt good finally stretching his muscles. After taking a short moment to enjoy the feeling, he went back to the mission at hand. Save Aziraphale.
He flew over the crowds and closer to the burning inferno, not caring who saw him. He tried his best to avoid the smoke above him, but some bits hung lower than others. Ignoring his coughing fits, he plunged closer to the ground to land. He reached a bit of ground clear of any humans, but close to an entrance of some sorts. The heat of the fire waved across his body as he stared at the wall of flames in front of him. “Stupid angel,” he swore under his breath while he planned his route of entry. The demon smelled the flames to make sure they weren’t Hellfire. They weren’t. Thank God. Taking his last deep breath of clean air and closing his eyes, he ran into the fire in front of him.
Everything was hot. Everything was bright. He could already feel his lungs struggle to reach clean air, and Crawley was not about to crawl on the floor thank-you-very-much. So instead he held his breath far longer than humanly possible. It took a lot of conscious effort, but it was no obstacle that wasn’t worth overcoming for the sake of his friend. His best friend. His only friend. He didn’t care about his corporation. He didn’t care about the paperwork and explaining what he did if he died. He didn’t care that Hell would banish him if they found out. He didn’t care because his Aziraphale was in a fire over his stupid scrolls. He just needed to find him.
“Aziraphale!” he started, running around corners and piles of debris. His vision was heavily obscured with the smoke and falling pillars, but the fire lit his way through the library. He allowed his wings to force away some of the smoke and dust in his path, being careful to avoid them from anything actually on fire. Awful visions of the angel discorporating bubbled in his mind. “AZIRAPHALE,” he shouted out once more. Blinded by his own tears, he found his way to the center of the library. It was the most open area in the palace, with only the ceiling coming down blocking his view. “Angel, where are you!?” he rasped. He desperately searched every nook and cranny of the place. His heart felt as though it would jump out of his throat. He allowed himself to breathe for a moment once he found a small pocket of clean air. His breath was shaky, his throat making dried noises as though someone sucked all of the water out of him. But the air came like a miracle, like a gift-
A miracle.
“Aziraphale!?” Crawley glanced around his feet to find a small pile of scrolls that hadn’t been burned (despite a pile of fire being two feet away). And that’s when he saw him, Aziraphale. He was alive - thank God - but just barely breathing. His head was resting on his arm, the rest of him lying sideways on the ground. From his pose, the demon could guess he managed to collect some scrolls in his arms, before falling down from overexertion. He didn’t seem to have a head injury, but his legs and arms were covered in small cuts and gashes. “Shit angel, I need to get us out of here.” the demon examined before scooping up the unconscious being and carrying him bridal-style. The angel’s skin was painfully soft to the touch, sending happy warm signals across Crawley’s body. The demon gave Aziraphale’s peaceful face one last glance before willing his wings upwards. It took a lot of strength to carry the both of them out of the building, but he found a break in the skylight that they could weave through easily enough.
Finally, they were out of the fire. Aziraphale was out of the fire. And as a bonus, neither of them discorporated in the process. Crawley flew just below the smoke, scanning the ground for his house. It was a small thing, but just big enough to impress some of the nobles he kept in contact with, but little enough to comfortably fill with his lack of belongings. He spotted it just as he felt as though his wings would fail them. They landed with a soft thud. Crawley smiled down at the angel that filled his arms while he let his wings fold back into their separate dimension. With his wings away, they entered the demon’s house towards his bed.
The building was barren of any personal items, no shrines or paintings to speak of. The only thing that made it close to a living space was a wine cellar, a bed, a table with a single chair, snake-like imprints on the walls, and a hand-painted star ceiling (which was the main reason the demon chose this specific property). But for now, the two of them stayed in his room. He had a nightstand that held his many glasses next to his bed. It was a decently large area, since the demon hated cramped places thanks to Hell.
He carefully laid Aziraphale onto his bed, putting his head on his pillow. Aziraphale's perfectly white robes were covered in soot and ash from the fire. The demon gazed at the small but painful wounds staining the angel’s perfect skin. That won’t do, Crawley thought as he miracled his friend back to health and cleanliness. He watched as his skin stitched back together as if the night had not happened. With that task done, Crawley dug around his small closet of collectables to find one of his favorite blankets: the one Eve made him back in Eden. It was impossibly soft and well-made. He laid it gently on his angel and watched his light breathing. With a sigh of a job well done, the demon sat on the ground, resting his head on the bed next to Aziraphale’s hand.
He saved Aziraphale. No more pain, no more danger. Yes, the scrolls were gone, but they were a worthy sacrifice for this. With that thought, Crawley concluded the night by allowing himself to fall into a gentle sleep. His dreams were of soft banter and dining with his best friend, no nightmares in sight.
*
The demon slowly woke up, cringing at the light filtering through the window. His eyes were no longer protected through dark glasses, which were currently on the floor just out of reach. It was too early to get up, so he let them stay where they were. The smell of smoke was still prevalent in the room as he gained awareness of his surroundings. The memories of the previous night bubbled to the surface in his mind. Smoke. Fire. Aziraphale. Bed.
Aziraphale was in his bed. He could no longer feel the angel’s hand resting near his head. He must’ve moved it. That meant he was alive and well enough to consciously make decisions. That was a good sign.
“Crawley,” the demon heard from above him in a soft voice of caution, “Why am I in your bed?” So he didn’t remember what happened last night. The angel was awake, and from Crawley’s limited feeling, he was impossibly still. The demon cranned his neck to look at Aziraphale, who was staring at the ceiling with his hands in his lap. He looked to be thinking hard about something. Probably trying to remember what happened to cause him to wake up in a demon’s bed.
Crawley gave him a gentle look, minorly regretting not getting his glasses a minute ago. But it was too late now. “The library, it burned down. I found you in the middle of it trying to save the scrolls. You were… you were passed out. Carried you home, made sure you wouldn’t discorporate on me.”
Aziraphale’s eyes went as wide as saucers as he heard the story. He sat up in the bed and looked down at Crawley. “What if Hell finds out?” He looked horribly worried and scared for the demon, rather than for hearing the news that he almost died last night too.
“Well-” the demon started in protest.
“Crawley, although I appreciate the sentiment, saving me some paperwork is not worth your own corporation! Or getting tortured in Hell.” The angel huffed in apparent distaste. “If Hell finds out you were helping an angel…” He fretted, twisting the ring on his pinky finger.
Crawley shrugged, “S’fine angel. I’ll just say I was there to start the fire, made sure it burned properly and everything. And for the healing-” he gestured towards Aziraphale, “I’ll say I got burned in the fire and needed to heal myself. See? No harm done.” That made the angel’s shoulders relax a smidge.
“But wouldn’t Hell know it was Julius Cesar who started the fire?” Aziraphale questioned, his eyebrows knitting in doubt.
“They’re too stupid to check,” the demon noted. The angel nodded and laid back down on the bed in the exact position as before.
“It’s a shame though, about the library.” Crawley murmured in agreement. “All those scrolls…gone. All that knowledge. Did you manage to save any of them?”
Crawley shook his head and stared at the wall in front of him, “You’re more important. Couldn’t risk losing you.” He really missed his sunglasses. He could feel Aziraphale’s pout, despite it not being in eyesight. They sat there for a moment in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Aziraphale’s scent dulled Crawley’s painful memories of the last 24 hours. It was a mixture of reassurance that he was alive, and the knowledge that his best friend was right beside him. But he could still feel Aziraphale’s displeasure of the loss of the library. He needed to make him feel better. “Angel,” he started again as a question, “would you like a drink?”
The angel in question popped himself back up on the bed to look at the demon. “Of what?” His feet idly swung back and forth besides Crawley. He was comfortable. Good.
“Wine,” Crawley shrugged, “‘t’s the only thing I got here. Lots of reds.” He knew the angel had yet to drink any alcohol, and now was a better time than ever to get him started.
Aziraphale’s mouth was agape in offense, “I am not drinking wine!” He was basically glaring at Crawley now. But if he had been paying attention (which he was), Crawley would have seen a bit of concern for him. Why would he have so much alcohol in his house? Was he coping with something?
The demon looked up at the angel and rolled his eyes. “Why not?” He knew why not, he just didn’t care. It seemed silly for Heaven to give a green light to murder and not alcohol. “You’re upset over the library of something or other burning down, right?”
Aziraphale continued to glare at him, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean-”
“Wine will make you feel better. Numbs the pain.” Crawley explained, waving his hand around casually. He reminisced over the many times he used the technique. Noah, Job, and the few times a human he cared about died. Or when he saw his eyes in a reflection.
Aziraphle swallowed, visibly considering it. “I’m not that upset.” He sniffed. Crawley eyed his quavering lip with a knowing expression. “I’m not!” the angel insisted. The demon was not convinced.
“I’ve got some in my collection I was thinking of opening,” Crawley shrugged, hoping to ease the angel in, “I’ll just bring it here, and if you wanted a sip you could let me know.”
Aziraphale shook his head, “I couldn’t…” Crawley tilted his head and hummed. The lanky demon slowly got up as if he were learning to walk for the very first time. He pointed in the general direction he was going in, presumably towards his wine cellar.
Once he left the room, he allowed himself to stretch to make his bones fall nicely in his skin. Being a snake demon had its downsides, an uncomfortable skeleton included. He made way to the cellar, grabbed a wine he presumed the angel would like (he lied about having a wine in mind), and slithered his way back.
He entered the bedroom with the wine in his raised hand and gleamed. The demon flopped back down on the floor and opened the bottle with his teeth. He took a large swig and looked at Aziraphale while doing it to prove his point. The angel huffed. The demon grinned. They sat there like that for a while, the demon drinking and the angel huffing.
“What does it taste like?” Aziraphale hesitantly asked, worrying his hands in his lap.
Crawley thought for a minute, “Like cherries, almost. Raisins. If they were a drink. It’s quite sweet, actually.”
“Mhm,” the angel hummed, probably imagining it on his tongue, “Doesn’t sound half bad.” he mused. He eyed the bottle in the demon’s hand with a wanting stare. Crawley raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. He brought the bottle closer to the angel, and he watched as Aziraphale hesitated. He could practically see the gears turning in his head. It was rather entertaining. The angel let out a sigh of oh well and grabbed the neck of the bottle and took a sip before he could think better of it. It was a small sip, but sip enough for Aziraphale to get a taste. “Oh,” the angel gasped as he took another sip.
A smile spread across Crawley's face. “Uh hm,” he nodded, completely enraptured by the sight in front of him. “Good, right?” He always enjoyed watching Aziraphale experience human pleasures. He gazed as the angel blinked away the airy feeling that was fogging his mind.
The angel took a few more sips before wiggling in pleasure. He looked at Crawley with a guilty look on his face, “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like some?” he asked as he unwillingly passed the bottle back in Crawley’s direction.
The demon shook his head, “T’s all for you, angel.” Aziraphale gave him a questioning look and the demon groaned, “Fine.” He took another swig (a big one for good measure) and passed it back to the angel.
They smiled like fools as the alcohol flowed through their systems. Crawley could feel his cheeks redden from the warmth of the wine and his stomach do somersaults from being tipsy. (Or he thought so. What was actually happening was as he gazed at Aziraphale for too long due to the newfound courage of drinking. The angel was flushed too, and it looked breathtakingly beautiful.) They continued passing the bottle like that until it emptied. By lunchtime they were both astonishingly drunk. So drunk, in fact, that they were starting to run their mouths on recent politics (both in Heaven and Earth). And somehow down the line they landed back on the topic of the burning of the Library of Alexandria.
“It’s just a shame!” Aziraphale expressed, “All of that knowledge burned without a trace. And not a single scroll was saved.” He pouted like Crawley had never seen before. It was so unguarded and sincere. Something had to be done to fix it.
“Well, yeah,” the demon admitted. His glasses were still clean off his face, so Aziraphale could see his remorse for the loss as well.
The angel slumped back into his seat (somewhere in the last hour the angel migrated to the floor with the demon) and crossed his arms. “If it wasn’t for that bastard Julius Caesar. I know he didn’t mean to… but…"
“...But?” Crawley prompted.
“But…” the angel took a deep breath and gave a meaningful glance Upwards, “If I wasn’t an angel-” his eyes met Crawley’s dead on, “I would wish some very bad things on him.” He gave a solemn nod in reflection, his pout morphing into a determined frown.
The demon grinned, “Oh really?” He could feel a plan form in his mind. He had connections, and he knew how to use them. He’s been doing it for thousands of years. If anything, this would be a breeze. People already hated the guy, and Aziraphale brought up a good point: more people probably hate him now after the burning of the library business. It would be a real shame if something bad happened to him.