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Crowley was watching the humans. At first there had been two, then three, then four, then three again. Crowley had had nothing to do with that last little subtraction. He had only watched. But Hell had given him credit for it anyway, and he wasn’t about to correct them. There were perhaps a dozen or so humans now, most of whom dwelled in the city of Enoch. They had farmed the land, and taken good care of it, and in return divine influence had made the Earth more fertile and hospitable for life. There were trees. They were mere shadows of the ones in Eden - nowhere near as large and lush and verdant - but at the very least, they were there.
Crowley was lounging in one. Old habits die hard. He was draped over a few of the upper branches, hanging his head down with an intent and curious gaze on all the little lives mingling in the farms and houses of the city that he so carefully skirted around. He couldn’t mingle with them just yet. When the world population is about fifteen at the maximum, it is needless to say that an outsider would be recognised immediately. So for now, Crowley was watching and waiting. Biding his time. He observed the humans during the day and wandered at night, practicing in solitude all their mannerisms and speech patterns. Sometimes he would dare to take the form of a goat or cow or chicken, hoping their keeper wouldn’t notice one extra in the flock, in order to eavesdrop on their language. Crowley thought he had a good handle on it by now, though his pronunciation needed improvement.
There was a soft rustle below him, instantly snatching the attention of his other senses. He writhed into a different position that allowed him to crane his head downwards. He swayed this way and that, trying to find the right angle at which to peer through the foliage. He found it, and froze in place.
And his face cracked open in a grin of recognition.
Just below Crowley on the forest floor, tantalisingly close, was an unmistakable figure. They stood behind the tree next to Crowley’s, concealing their body behind its trunk, leaning against it with one arm in order to peer around the side. Watching the humans, just as Crowley was. It was the angel, formerly of the Eastern Gate.
Crowley crept silently lower in the boughs of the tree, trying to get a closer look before he would consider making a true approach. The angel’s hair was long like his. His hand, resting against the tree bark, looked delicate and soft, with gently tapered fingers. He wore a robe of cloth that mimicked what the humans now had; dirty cream-coloured with a thin rope tied loosely around the waist. There was only one detail that made it stand out as starkly different from the humans’.
Over the left shoulder, the garment hung from a simple wide strap. But, quite literally on the other hand, the angel’s right arm was entirely concealed by a long sleeve that spanned all the way from the shoulder to the wrist.
Crowley had a hunch as to why that might be.
There was a flash of white wings - perfectly groomed, if perhaps slightly singed - and Crowley appeared silently a few paces behind his target. He wore a robe now too, slightly darker and much shorter than that of the heavenly visitor, and with both arms fully exposed. From this new level angle, his eyes ran down, then back up, the curve of the angel’s body. It was, he had to admit, rather appealing. Crowley hadn’t expected that. To be perfectly accurate, he hadn’t really considered the potential of the angel’s attractiveness either way. But if he looked like this, so much the better. Crowley wondered if it might be possible to get a commendation for seducing an angel.
Four careful, soundless steps forward, and Crowley’s hand touched the small of his victim’s back with an insidious tenderness. The angel started, whipping around in shock to look over his shoulder. Recognition gleamed like firelight in his eyes, and they widened in unadulterated horror. He wrested himself free from the demon’s touch, his back now planted as far into the tree trunk as the laws of physics allowed.
“Good evening, angel,” Said Crowley in a cloyingly gentlemanly tone. His voice sounded like dry leaves rustling against each other. Then he said,
“Aziraphale, isn’t it?”
Aziraphale didn’t respond at first. His left hand wrapped around his covered forearm in a death grip so tight it would start cutting off his circulation any moment now. There was nowhere to run. Behind him, humanity, whom he couldn’t risk revealing himself to just yet. In front of him, the last person - or person-shaped creature - he ever wanted to meet.
“Yes,” He confirmed at last, breathlessly, “And you-“
“Crowley,” the demon introduced before Aziraphale could finish. He could have sworn the name was different than the one he had been given during their first encounter, but he didn’t question it. There were a thousand thoughts of much higher priority whirring through his head.
They all started to sound an exponentially more urgent alarm when Crowley took another step closer.
There was barely any distance between them now. The vice of Aziraphale’s hand around his arm released to make a few more precious inches of space. There was no room to breathe, so he didn’t. When his breath caught in his chest he held it there, captive. He wouldn’t let it betray him. He watched, petrified and transfixed, as Crowley slid his own left arm behind his back and, ever so tenderly, slipped the fingers of his right hand under Aziraphale’s right wrist. He lifted it gingerly. Aziraphale cooperated in order to avoid the possibility of receiving a more forceful touch, but he still averted his eyes with a pained wince.
He felt Crowley’s thumb and middle finger encircle his wrist as he lifted, preventing the sleeve from falling. Curiosity compelled Aziraphale to look back again, and he was startled to see Crowley’s piercing serpentine eyes staring not down at their arms, but directly into his own. He swallowed self-consciously.
“I’ll show you mine,” Crowley whispered with a crooked smile, “If you show me yours.”
Aziraphale swallowed again, and cringed. He blinked away the uninvited tears that had begun to well up. But he was too wise to think that this was something he could avoid. So he squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded. The breath he had been clinging to shuddered out of his chest as he felt his sleeve slide back. He didn’t want to see the mark, or the look on the demon’s face. He waited, each beat of his heart like a thunderclap in his ears, until Crowley lowered their hands again and he felt the sleeve drop back to its place over his arm. Still, his eyes remained closed. They only opened when Crowley spoke again.
“Your turn,” He invited softly.
Aziraphale looked first into Crowley’s eyes, which again met his unwaveringly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see. But his gaze drifted downwards of its own free will. And when it did, Crowley obliged it. He produced his left arm from behind his back and exposed the lower forearm. Aziraphale knew what he would see. Of course he knew. But actually having it right in front of him was different. There they were. His words, imprinted on someone else’s body. If there had been so much as a sliver of doubt before, it was banished. There could be no denying it anymore. He sighed, and was surprised to realise that it was with relief as well as resignation.
But before Aziraphale could wonder why, he was free. Crowley’s oppressive presence pinning him to the tree receded as quickly as he had appeared. Aziraphale watched him walk away, stunned and confused.
“Crowley,” He ventured hesitantly.
Crowley stopped in his tracks. It was all he could do to suppress a crude snicker.
“Hm,” Said Crowley nonchalantly, giving a disinterested glance over his shoulder. Aziraphale stumbled momentarily.
“Is- was that all?” He managed to ask.
“Yes, angel. I confirmed what I already knew. That’s all I wanted,” Crowley affirmed as he turned away again. He took a few more paces, waiting the perfect amount of suspenseful time. Then he turned back again, just as ambivalent before, and added:
“Of course, if there’s something else you want, feel free to walk with me. I’ll be here all century.”
He resumed his steady retreat, and didn’t look back. Aziraphale still had himself pressed into the trunk of the tree, as if he hadn’t yet realised that he didn’t need to anymore. He glanced back over his shoulder, at the human city. He glanced, somewhat against his own will, at the arm that was hidden by a sleeve. And then his eyes fell on the demon as he disappeared ever further into the woods.
Crowley felt eyes on his back, and he smiled. Behind him, he heard the rustling of leaves as uncertain steps began to pursue him. Oh, it had almost been too easy.