Chapter Text
Hastur hesitated before raising his hand.
He had been on his way to Hell when he’d decided to go back and was wondering if it was a good move.
He was almost sure it wasn’t.
With a snarl, he knocked on the bookshop’s door.
At least, he tried to. His hand didn’t reach the wood, the door opening in a blur and clawed hands grabbing at his collar and shoving him roughly against a wall.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Hassstur?” growled Crowley murderously. “Is thisss all your doing? Are you the one sssending all of them? You’re dead meat! You hear me? DEAD MEAT!”
“Oh, no need to get all worked up like that for a few love bites, Crawly. I’m here to talk to the angel,” pouted the Duke of Hell, begrudgingly impressed by Crowley’s threatening stance.
“I do not think so,” declared Aziraphale, stepping in from the back room. “I have nothing to tell you, Hastur. The only reason I won’t destroy you for that nightmare monster is because you helped me once in the past. Get out of our shop and never come back. Unless,” added Aziraphale, turning to Crowley, “you intend to destroy him yourself, of course, my dear. I didn’t want to imply that I would interfere.”
The Duke’s eyes widened. There was no heat in the angel’s voice. Not even anger, or contempt. Just polite coldness.
“Wait! I didn’t send that one! I don’t even know what it was supposed to do! I only helped with the kappa and Hell-sylphs! Didn’t you like them?” he asked with a hopeful smile to Crowley.
The hand on his neck tightened its grip, claws piercing the skin slightly. “The kappa was YOU? That wanker hurt my car!”
Aziraphale stepped behind this friend, glaring daggers at Hastur over his shoulder.*
“You are the one who sent the Hell-sylphs? The sylphs that tried to kill Crowley?”
*And this was such a delightful vision. Wrath was much better than being ignored.
Hastur rolled his eyes. “Not kill him, just… you know, hurt him a little. Just a bit.”
The angel’s eyes turned murderous. “So you admit trying to hurt him!”
Hastur grimaced in disgust. “Not me! It was just to help someone else! I would never release a creature after Crowley, I swear! You know I’m only interested in you!”
Aziraphale frowned in confusion. Crowley sighed heavily, letting go of Hastur. “Oh, Satan’s bollocks! Don’t tell me someone was trying to… Who? Who were you helping?”
“Trying to what, my dear?” asked Aziraphale, looking from one demon to the other.
Crowley blushed and looked down in embarrassment.
“Trying to what, exactly?” pushed the angel.
“Aaaaah... You know… Hell’s customs are...”
“Someone is trying to win him over,” explained Hastur, watching the angel closely.
Aziraphale froze, eyes widening in something that could be described as some sort of fascinated horror mixed with wicked glee. “Do you mean that a demon is trying to court Crowley?”
“Not funny, angel.”
“Of course not. It certainly isn’t.”
“Stop smiling then.”
Aziraphale nodded firmly, trying and failing to hide his mirth. “I am not. I am very cross at your suitor.”
“I hate you.”
With a sly grin, Aziraphale turned back to Hastur. “Who is it? I need to know the name of such a tasteful person.”
“It’s Sandalphon,” said the Duke, not bothered to keep the secret.
Two pairs of incredulous eyes blinked. The angel’s amusement was nowhere to be seen anymore.
“I beg your pardon? Who did you say?”
It was not Sandalphon’s favourite day. He was fairly sure that his corporation was dying, the poison not seeming to wear off at all, and the creatures were about to tear their cages down. In a moment, he would suffer a lot, then go back to Heaven where he would have to explain how he’d lost another body.
No way he would answer that question.
He heard a loud crash as a door finally fell off its hinges behind him, and braced himself, not even able to turn his head to see. Strangely, it didn't sound like a metallic door...
“Oh, Lord almighty,” breathed someone.
Sandalphon knew this voice. He’d despised it for millennia.
Someone whistled. “Look at all this! How many cages? Wahoo, all that for me? Colour me flattered!”
The Archangel couldn’t roll his eyes, but had he been in possession of all his faculties, he certainly would have.
“This isn’t fun at all, Crowley. They are all trapped here, and terribly unhappy.”
Sandalphon saw two pairs of shoes walk past him, heading to the cages.
“Not for long. Hastur didn’t lie, they’re all about to break out.”
“We can’t have that. Help me calm them before they do.
“Wait a minute, angel.”
Aziraphale stopped, looking at his friend expectantly. “Yes, Crowley?”
“I’m all for sending them back where they belong, but you can’t deny them some fun first, right?” He pointed to Sandalphon, still on the ground. “They all hate him, it would be cathartic for them to let them… you know?”
Aziraphale frowned and crossed his arms. “Bite him to discorporation? Absolutely not!”
The demon huffed. “Come on, angel! It would be fun!” He looked at the Archangel with a toothy smile. “Not for you, I mean.”
Sandalphon groaned and glared at him. If looks could kill, Crowley would be a mere stain on the floor by now.
“No!” declared Aziraphale sternly. “Out of the question. I am appalled that you even thought about it. Really, Crowley! They’ve suffered enough!”
Crowley spluttered in indignation, pointing to Sandalphon. “Suffered enough ?” He snarled. “ Really? After all he has done? He suffered enough ?” He gritted his teeth to prevent more words from spill ing out. Like How can you still defend these wankers? Or You would never grant mercy to a demon in the same situation . Or even I thought we were on our side? Did you forget that already?
A year ago, he would have said all that. He would have watched the words land and hurt, and would have enjoyed it for a second.*
Not today, though. One year released from Heaven and Hell’s grasps was a short time for eternal beings, but it had been enough for Crowley to know with absolute certainty that Aziraphale’s loyalties didn’t lay with Heaven anymore, if they ever had at all.
*Then he would have tried to make up for it with books and sweets for a few weeks, because demons don’t apologise.
The angel blinked owlishly, then understanding dawned and he smiled at his friend, patting his arm. “I was talking about the creatures, dear. We can’t let them bite him. He’s been poisoned!”
“Oh,” said Crowley, feeling a little foolish.
“I will try to calm them down and miracle them home.”
“Yeah, better if I stayed out of it. They all hate evil by nature, and they’ve been taught to target my smell. Well, according to Hastur at least. I’ll keep Sandy company.”
Sandalphon watched as the snake-skin shoes approached him. With great difficulties, he tilted his face to look up at Aziraphale.
“Wait…” he murmured. “You can’t… you can’t leave me here with him.”
The Principality’s eyes burned with ethereal wrath. “Cruelty and torture are two things I strongly disapprove of, Sandalphon. What you did to these poor creatures is beyond despicable. I will not stand in Crowley’s way. After all, it’s him you were trying to kill in the first place,” he said before walking away, lightly touching each cage in turn with a small, soothing miracle.
The Archangel turned back to Crowley, who was now grinning down at him like a shark.
“He does, you know. Disapprove, I mean. Now I’m a fallen, so torture and cruelty are no trouble to me, you see?” lied the demon. “I think I’ll have a lot of fun taking care of you.”
Sandalphon’s eyes widened in dread as the demon reached out. Then everything went black. Vaguely, his subconscious registered words he couldn’t understand in his drowsy state.
“Crowley?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you just… was that a healing spell I sensed?”
“Yep. I got rid of the poison. He’ll be out cold for an hour or two.”
“My dear, why ever did you do that?”
“It was the right thing to do, angel. Don’t roll your eyes like that.”
“You have a plan. I can see it in your face, Anthony J Crowley.”
A chuckle. “I may.”
“Jolly good. I cannot wait to hear about it.”
“See you later, angel. Careful with the lich.”
“Of course. Mind how you go, dear boy.”
The last thing Sandalphon felt was the twirling, bubbling sensation of a teleportation.
The backroom was warm and comfortable, as always, and the wine had been flowing for the better part of the evening. The only difference between this night and any other was the presence of the angel on the couch instead of his usual armchair. Next to him, sprawled in his usual slouch*, Crowley was grinning.
*With one of his foot touching the angel’s knee, just to be sure he was still there, as Crowley’s eyes were presently focused on making sure he was filling his glass without wasting any Riesling.
“You did not!” gasped Aziraphale in delight.
“Swear to Manchester I did, angel!”
“Oh, you wicked thing, you! How did you do it? I do hope you didn’t modify anyone’s memories.”
“Naaaah. Just asked to talk to the captain right before they embarked, and handed him the package. I paid good money. Told them they had to make him work hard to earn his food. Sandy’s now on an eighteen months trip somewhere in the Pacific and he will not be able to escape. He’ll still be powerless for a few years, so he won’t be any trouble to them.”
“So,” asked the angel, raising a hand. “You are telling me that an Archangel is currently working as some sort of slave on a smuggling ship?”
Crowley made a face. “Not slave, slave. He’s getting paid. He'll just have nowhere to use the money and can’t get out for a year and a half. And he’ll have to pull his weight if he wants his meals. It’s not a cruise ship.”
Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “I guess it may help him think about what he’s done. Maybe even push him to change his ways, and open himself to compassion.”
Crowley drunkenly flailed his arms and legs until he was in a more upright position, pointing at his friend with a grin. “See? That’s why I like you so much, angel. You’re an incurable optimist. I highly doubt it, Sandy’s a freaking psychopath that will never get better, but it’s cute that you think it’s a possibility.”
Aziraphale pouted and tried to focus on his empty glass. “And what are the possibilities of another bottle being opened?” he mused.
“Veeeery high. You deserve wine, angel!” declared Crowley, unsuccessfully trying to snap his fingers, then scrambling to his feet as he decided to get the bottle without magic.
“I do!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “I had a dreadful day!”
“All these stupid creatures trying to bite your arm off when you were helping them!” shouted the demon over his shoulder.
“I was helping them! And they still hated me!” wailed the angel forlornly. “Though I cannot really blame them, what with Sandalphon hurting them like this...”
“Nah, they’re all wankers. Bad creatures. Not even understanding you were helping. You know who would have understood?” asked Crowley, coming back with another bottle.
Aziraphale held his glass out, frowning in concentration, then gasped. “Dolphins!”
The demon nodded gravely, pouring the wine. “Dolphins.”