Chapter Text
Paris, 1793,
“Look, this is all a terrible mistake! I don’t think you understand.” Aziraphale pleaded to the French executioner.
“I have good news for you. You are the 999th Aristo to die at the guillotine by my hand, but the first English!” The executioner said. “Now.”
“Please! No!” Aziraphale said with a sense of urgency. “Dreadful mistake, discorporating me. Oh, it’ll be a complete nightmare.”
The painfully familiar clang of a guillotine rang through the cell, followed shortly by the cheers of a crowd. “Animals.” Aziraphale muttered under his breath. It was then that the world seemed wrong . All of the cheering had abruptly cut off, and it surely wasn’t a mass beheading. Something was amiss. The silence was unsettling, but something broke it.
“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, Angel. Only humans do that.” Came a familiar voice.
“Crowley.” Aziraphale said fondly, excitement clear as day in the way his eyes lit up. As Aziraphale turned to face Crowley, he took in his appearance. “Oh, good Lord.”
Crowley was dressed like a French worker, albeit very stylish. Shockingly stylish, in fact. His dark red hair was curled in an almost unnatural way, resembling a wig more than a head of hair. Aziraphale thought he looked good, but in an entirely tacky way. A pair of dark glasses adorned Crowley’s face to mask his snake eyes, but Aziraphale wasn’t entirely certain that type of glass should exist just yet.
“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille?” Crowley asked aggressively. “I thought you were opening a book shop.”
“Well, I was.” Aziraphale started, feeling embarrassment rise in his cheeks. “I got peckish.”
“Peckish?”
“Well if you must know, it was the crêpes! You can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris." The angel caved, his mouth watering at the thought of the French cuisine. "And the brioche." That much was true. Before the 20th Century, Paris was the only place with crepes worth eating.
Crowley was in disbelief at the sheer stupidity Aziraphale had exhibited. As soon as the news reached him of an English aristocrat being locked up, he knew it must have been Aziraphale. The angel went to odd lengths for food. “So you just popped across the Channel during a revolution, because you wanted something to nibble? Dressed like that?”
“I have standards.” Aziraphale replied, slightly offended. In reality, Aziraphale knew he’d surely be imprisoned. Crowley hadn’t crossed his path in far too long, so he figured this would be enough to get him crawling out. That had proved an ingenious plan. The best place to find a demon was wherever the most death was. “I heard they were getting a bit carried away over here, but-”
“Yeah, this is not getting carried away.” Crowley interrupted, “this is cutting off lots of people’s heads very efficiently with a big head-cutting machine. Why didn’t you just perform another miracle and go home?”
“I was reprimanded last month. They said I’d performed too many frivolous miracles.” Aziraphale explained, sighing as he thought about the incident. “Got a strongly worded note from Gabriel.”
“Well, you’re lucky I was in the area.” Crowley replied. It was an odd thought, an angel being reprimanded for doing his job. But they were a stern bunch, that much Crowley knew better than anyone. Perhaps the readiness and speed of which Aziraphale helps startled Heaven.
“I suppose I am.” Aziraphale replied, blush creeping in his cheeks.
Aziraphale ended up asking Crowley to lunch to make up for the rescue, much to Crowley’s reluctance, but exactly to plan. The pair walked through the French fortress on their way to get some delicious crêpes when Aziraphale yanked Crowley around a corner. Shocked by the sudden aggression, Crowley pulled out of his grasp and looked at him with wide eyes. “Gabriel. Gabriel is here.” Aziraphale explained, taking in Crowley’s bewildered expression.
“What?” Crowley hissed, peering around the corner.
“Stop, he’ll see you!" Aziraphale whisper-shouted and pulled Crowley closer. "Why is he here?"
The two were very close; Aziraphale’s arm was tight against Crowley's chest. The demon glanced down, suddenly very aware of the proximity between him and the angel. He knew he had to think of a plan to pull Gabriel away for Aziraphale’s sake, but he also didn’t want to lose the touch. Selfish. He chalked it up to the thrill of touching something not diseased for the first time in millennia. Like Hell he’d touch any of the filthy demons in the underworld.
He had standards.
“Okay, Angel. I’ll deal with this.” Crowley said and took Aziraphale’s arm with a gentle touch, pushing past him.
Crowley sauntered toward the Archangel, with no semblance of a plan but a heart full of confidence. “Gabriel, pal! How ya been?”
“Crowley? Long time no see, demon. This is some fine work, I’ll be honest.” Gabriel tentatively praised and turned to face the red-head.
He circled to the other side of Gabriel so he wouldn’t be facing the door and continued, “Oh , this isn’t us. This lot thought it up themselves.” He looked past Gabriel and directly at Aziraphale. He gestured quickly with his head to the exit. Vamoose, Angel.
Aziraphale took note and quickly put himself together and rushed out of the fortress. Once he found his way out, he leaned against a wall and sighed. Then he smiled. Adrenaline, fear, and love coursed through his veins. It was still up in the air if he had those. A very profound feeling of fondness for Crowley arose, and he found himself appreciating the demon just a little more. Mostly their agreement, though. Okay, maybe not just the agreement. Maybe it is Crowley. Or just the joy of avoiding discorporation. The latter was easier to accept.
Crowley may have said it in jest, but Aziraphale definitely was lucky to have him; he had been saved twice in the span of ten minutes. If that didn’t prove Crowley cared, he didn’t know what did. Although, he was fairly certain that it would take him 6000 more years to admit it.
Aziraphale’s mind suddenly flooded with concern. Surely he couldn’t distract Gabriel for that long? He was convinced something must have happened to Crowley. After a couple more minutes of waiting, he heard the heavy wooden door creak open. Excitement sparkling in his eyes, Aziraphale looked to the door fully expecting his red-headed friend to stroll out. Much to his dismay, a tall man in a light suit walked out. In a panic, Aziraphale tried to rush away, but it was too late. “Aziraphale? Is that you?” Gabriel called out.
“N-no!” Aziraphale called back and continued to fast walk away.
“What are you doing here?”
Aziraphale stopped in his tracks and turned to face Gabriel. “Okay fine. I came for crêpes. And to see what Hell did here. That good enough for you?”
“Appreciating craftsmanship, I get it. Just make sure you don’t get too attached to Hell’s work, yeah?” Gabriel joked, lightly punching Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’ll never understand why you eat, though. I’ll be back the next time we need you, Aziraphale.” Gabriel replied, then vanished with a swift miracle.
Aziraphale felt the tension leave his body and let out a deep breath. Before he had a chance to fully relax he remembered he still hadn’t found Crowley. His eyes widened and he rushed back into the compound to find his friend. The panic he felt wasn’t unfounded, as Archangels were known to occasionally show unprecedented brutality towards demons. But it would be misleading to assume Gabriel would dirty his hands, let alone the clothes he treasured. In a hurry to go inside, he swung the door open and collided with another body, sending them flat on their ass. “Oh my gosh, I’m so- Crowley?” Aziraphale was shocked to see his friend knocked to the floor.
“Ow. What the hell, Aziraphale?” Crowley said with a wince and placed a hand to his forehead. "If you didn’t want to go to lunch with me anymore, just tell me."
“I’m so sorry, Crowley! I was worried, I thought maybe Gabriel did something to you!” Aziraphale extended the demon a hand to help him up.
“ That guy? Please, Angel, he’s a clown in a suit. He’s not exactly intimidating.” Crowley said as he took Aziraphale’s hand.
The demon rubbed his head as he stood up, then felt something wet dripping onto his mouth. He gingerly prodded beneath his nose then looked at his fingers. “Oh, what the Hell? I didn’t even know I could bleed!”
“Weren’t you tortured when you fell?” Aziraphale asked.
“I wasn’t exactly in this form, Aziraphale.” Crowley snapped. He was still touchy about that.
“Oh right. Sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go get some damned crêpes. You owe me, oh, three now was it?” Crowley said as he grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and began walking.
“Yes, yes of course. I do hope they aren’t damned though.”