Chapter Text
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“Master Fell, Master Fell! He’s got one! He’s caught a demon!”
Aziraphale paused his quill, hovering it barely a millimeter over the parchment he had been bent over in a desperate attempt not to smear. Despite his best efforts, a sizeable splotch was already planted squarely in the middle of the meticulously penned script. A fuzzy puddle of black seeped into the second half of a word, making it look like an entirely different, slightly dirtier word (literally and metaphorically speaking).
He heaved an impatient sigh and then gave up on fixing his letter and instead focused on fixing his face into a serene smile in time to turn around to the voice that had called out to him.
“What was that, Ismail?” he asked the child in the doorway.
“It’s Master Nanael - he’s caught a demon in your magic circle!” the boy gasped.
At the mention of the familiar name Aziraphale’s lips pulled taut, clinging desperately to the upturned corners of the smile like a thin sheet clinging to a clothesline in hurricane level winds. “Has he now,” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.
“It’s great and big and writhing, and as terrible as—As—” The boy drew one excited breath after the other, clearly too caught up in talking to remember to regulate his lungs. “As anything!”
“Terrible, is it?” Aziraphale asked without much concern. “More terrible than the cat he trapped in his net only three days prior?”
“Much more,” the star-eyed lad assured him.
Aziraphale’s shoulders sagged in defeat. The child did look rather taken with this new ‘demon’ they had managed to acquire. It was probably worth checking on, at the very least to release the poor creature from their clutches before they caused it any unnecessary harm. “Right then,” he said. “I’ll be along in a bit.”
“I’ll let Nanael know you’re coming!” Ismail promised and whipped himself through the stone doorway again, heels eagerly kicking up clouds of sand from the floor. Some of it settled on the rugs lining the room and Aziraphale reached out, sweeping his wrist loosely to beckon about a bit of a breeze and clean up the knitted threads into their previously spotless state. Then he leaned back against the desk and took another look at his unfinished project.
Heavenly Report to Archangel Gabriel from Principality Aziraphale – read the first line.
First of all, I hope this report finds you well , continued the second. I am writing to summarize the previous 10 years of my work in the human city of Bukhara and recount my accomplishments and the progress of the Heavenly duties bestowed upon me.
The third line, as promised, summarized the previously mentioned accomplishments and progresses. It was long – long enough to make the fourth line seem less significant, more like a Post Script, or an afterthought, inserted casually and only as a result of there being remaining parchment that needed to be filled (notwithstanding the fact that parchment always stretched itself out to be the exact length it needed to be in order to accommodate Aziraphale’s letters).
The fourth line read: I also wanted to mention how grateful I am for your thoughtfulness in sending the angel Nanael to help me in my duties.
The fourth line was, by and large, NOT a lie. Aziraphale did want to mention how grateful he was. He wanted to mention it – and he would mention it, of course - had he actually been grateful.
Except he wasn’t, so as much as he wanted to mention it, he couldn’t. Because there was nothing to mention.
But he was very careful not to let this part show.
The fifth line read: Nanael is doing his best to adjust to the intricacies of human interaction, but, being a truly exemplary being who knows perfection lends itself only to the Almighty, he is not prideful and admits that it has been difficult for him to avoid making mistakes.
Which was a very roundabout and convoluted way of saying – Nanael was a straight up bother. But Aziraphale would never say that.
The sixth line was bolder: I do grow concerned for him at times, however. Although he is indubitably doing his best to perform his duties as expected, he often forgets to take the necessary steps to disguise his own miracles to fit the natural flow of events. At times, he scares the humans around him. At other times, he raises their suspicious a bit too much. Although I appreciate his dedication to his temporary assignment on Earth, I am unsure whether continuing his mentorship is appropriate, given the fact that his talents lie elsewhere.
Which was another roundabout and convoluted way of saying: Nanael was terrible around humans, and Aziraphale wanted him out of his hair as quickly as possible.
But Aziraphale would never say that.
The work of scouting demons is not one to be taken lightly, the seventh line continued, and the parchment scrunched up the letters here to make the section seem smaller, less imposing, and although I understand that, given the length of my residence here I am a suitable tutor for him, I believe my duty to thwart the demon Crowley must take prece—
Here the blotch had obscured the rest of the word, and the text ended.
Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder and then turned back at the paper, tapping the corner of it encouragingly. In response, the ink stain wiggled out of it, leaving the letter as spotless as before he had been interrupted. He picked up his quill again.
I believe my duty to thwart the demon Crowley must take precedence , he wrote.
He regarded the paper thoughtfully.
This was not altogether a lie either. Or at least that’s what Aziraphale told himself. It was true that he was concerned with Crowley – but perhaps not in the same sense as Heaven hoped he would be. Then again, Crowley was not concerning in the same sense as Heaven claimed. Whether or not to make this judgement was above Aziraphale or not, he did not know. Or, if he did know, he pretended to ignore it by remaining neutrally vague in all statements about the demon.
Still, this was a minor detail and besides, that particular can of worms could be opened at a later date, when he was less busy. He set it on his metaphorical shelf which contained the other cans of worms he promised to deal with later, such as his enjoyment of food and theatre and other human inventions.
The angel rose from the table, readjusted the belt on his robe and marched for the door.
***
He expected an animal. A mangy stray, perhaps, the kind that were common around these parts of town.
But Ismail did use the word ‘terrible’ so for a moment his imagination lapsed into a slightly more interesting list of options. A local lizard? An exotic chicken escaped from the breeder who had recently moved in up the street? Or – Heaven forbid – an alligator? Nothing was outside the realm of possibility when Nanael was involved. The fact that he kept ‘borrowing’ Aziraphale’s magic circles to use as ‘demon traps’ did not help the relationship between them.
What Aziraphale did not expect to find when he was finished huffing and puffing his way up the stairs to the observatory and rounded the corner – was Crowley.
Sitting on the floor.
In his magic circle.
Legs folded in a knot in front of him in a way that was simultaneously sultry but also a little bit awkward.
Dark red hair, spilling in a braid over his shoulder, dipping out of sight on the darker robes with just a hint of red sewn into the seams.
Aziraphale blinked hurriedly, realizing that he was, for some reason, concentrating on all the wrong details. None of that mattered. What mattered was that it was Crowley. It was a demon they’d captured. This was no fluke.
“ You …!” he breathed – and it came out as more of a gasp than he had meant it to be.
Crowley’s head swiveled, and his hair whipped in a neat line along with him, traveling to the other shoulder. It was a choreographed motion, done with the intent of someone who had been sitting on the floor in a magic circle, pondering for at least 10 minutes how to make his ‘entrance’ as dramatic as possible without moving an inch to the left or the right.
And Aziraphale didn’t know what was more endearing – that desperate attempt to harvest the maximum attention possible from a stranger who had successfully arrested him – or the fact that when Crowley realized it was him at the door, his entire expression changed into a smile so ridiculously bright it might have put a few angels to shame.
Then again, Aziraphale reasoned, fighting off the strangest urge to smile back, Crowley had been an angel once. He was bound to be charismatic. Unfortunately it seemed to have effects on the wrong people.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley crooned. His lips drew closed, transforming his open, shiny smile into an amused pucker. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Fancy is the wrong term,” Aziraphale retorted. He paced closer and glanced about the room – but thankfully they were alone for now. “Though you do look it. What in the world are you doing here?”
“Oh, I just thought I’d pop on over to this side of the globe,” Crowley explained, leaning back on one arm casually and twisting his head about to follow Aziraphale with his eyes as he walked around the room, checking the windows nervously. “After that bout of useless Tempting in Wessex that you kept canceling out, I figured I might as well leave you to it and see what the rest of the world was up to. Went to China for a bit, lots happening there. Had a bit of a fling in India. Have you ever been?”
“A fling?” At this, Aziraphale did turn back to him and raised one delicate eyebrow. Then, before Crowley could explain himself, he decided they had more important things to discuss. “Of course I’ve been. Did you try the pomegranates? They are the most luscious when in season… Oh, and what about the rice cakes?”
Crowley began to wind up a sly grin again. It was knowing, and bemused. He made no attempt to interrupt the angel, who had already begun to gesture with his hands, forming his fingers into the shapes of the delightful rice-cakes he had just mentioned. By the time this grin was wide enough to show teeth, Aziraphale realized that he was once again derailing them and he took the hint with a silent but pointed little ‘ okay, thank you, I got it ,’ glare and stopped his rambling at once.
“But never mind that,” he said, as if he had not been the one to get distracted. “When I asked you what you were doing here, I didn’t mean this city. I meant what you are doing here, in my magic circle.”
“Oh, is this yours?” Crowley asked, lifting up his robe needlessly to squint closer at the runes. “What a coincidence. Didn’t even notice.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in exasperation.
“What?” Crowley said. “I was caught!”
“Doing what?” The angel splashed his hands up impatiently. “Tempting the books off the shelves? Stealing rugs? What sorts of evil deeds can a demon of your caliber be possibly doing in this kind of place?”
Sporting a look of someone who is about to open his mouth to explain something in great detail, Crowley opened his mouth to explain something – in great detail.
Fortunately he was saved by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Both he and Aziraphale looked up at the same time in time to see a set of white robes hanging off of a rickety frame, topped with a turban that seemed entirely too large for the head it was balanced on. Overall, the construction was not unlike that of a praying mantis which had done its best attempt at dressing in human garb, with mixed results.
“Nanael,” said Aziraphale.
“Aziraphale,” said Nanael.
They stared at each other from opposite sides of the emotional spectrum. One – relieved. The other – as politely inconvenienced as he was going to be for the next 1000 years. Out of the corner of his eye Aziraphale could see Crowley’s head move back and forth, like he was tracking the movement of an invisible ball being passed between them. When he became still, it could be assumed that he had come to some sort of understanding about the situation.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Nanael said. “I sent that child after you, but he was incompetent as ever. I had to track him down in the courtyard, and he only told me he had found you and that you would come even though I specifically told him to– But nevermind. I’m so sorry about this. I should have just come to you the old way—”
Aziraphale held up his hand. “No, no, there’s no need for that. You know how the humans would talk if they saw something supernatural happening. We don’t need a repeat of last month.”
“Right, well,” Nanael twisted his robes in one hand and cast Crowley a nervous glance. “This is why I called you. I did as you said – and I caught a demon! He was here, in this room, and I lured him into the circle and activated it! And now he’s trapped! Can’t move at all! He said so himself!”
Aziraphale glanced at Crowley out of the corner of his eye. The demon turned his head a bit further away from Nanael, slid his hand up his cheekbone to his brow and mouthed ‘ Who is that guy? ’ conspiratorially.
“Right,” the angel said, hurriedly refocusing his attention on his Heaven-sent charge. “That is indeed impressive, Nanael…”
The praise seemed to work its magic. “Isn’t it though? I’m so glad! After all those months of nothing – and finally, I’ve got one! I feel like things are really turning around, don’t you? I was afraid I might end up returning empty-handed, but after Head Office hears about this, they’ll surely let me stay a bit longer!”
“That is impressive!” Aziraphale repeated, voice strained now. “But I’m afraid there’s an issue.”
Nanael’s smile fell. “What issue? He’s defenseless. You said the circle would disable their connection to the Below. He can’t perform any curses in this state.”
Crowley, who was still looking at Aziraphale and shielding his expression from the extra person in the room, pouted theatrically. They were both well aware that, at this point, the magic of the circle Crowley was seated in had been ebbing out very gradually ever since the angel who had drawn it had arrived. There was not much there anymore, and if Crowley so wished, he could have rolled over the lines and suffered merely an itch of discomfort.
But he didn’t. And when Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at him as if to ask ‘ What are you stalling for? Why aren’t you running ?’ he merely smiled an unusual smile and remained politely seated.
“I understand I said that,” Aziraphale said, deciding that their prolonged silences were going to come into question soon. “But it isn’t as simple as that.”
“Why not?” Nanael asked. Now he was growing impatient as well. “We just have to smite him and it’ll be over.”
Shock flickered over Aziraphale’s face at the suggestion, and before he could school it into an impartial glare, Crowley finally spoke up.
“Seems a bit overkill, doesn’t it? Two angels to one demon?” he said, turning to Nanael and propping up his hand on the lower one of his folded knees. “Hardly fair.”
“Silence, you wretched beast,” Nanael hissed back. “Fair isn’t a word you have claim to!” Crowley leaned away from him, clearly not fond of the spittle that came flying his way, but remained stubbornly within the confines of the useless circle.
“That ain’t nice,” the demon pointed out, one corner of his mouth yanking down in disapproval. “You angels, I thought you were supposed to be nice.” He glanced back at Aziraphale. “Isn’t that in the rules or something? I feel like I remember that.”
The Principality on his left pursed his lips, but he did seem a bit sympathetic – except when it came to the fact that Crowley was definitely not helping either of them get out of this situation.
It had to be up to him, then.
“Nanael, do you know who this is?” Aziraphale asked abruptly.
The neighboring angel eyed Crowley with the same distrust Crowley was giving him. “A demon,” he said.
“Not just any old demon,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Oh, no. This… what you have here, what you have managed to bring into our clutches… this is no ordinary imp, or warlock…” He began to pace around the circle, now finding a good excuse to run his eyes up and down Crowley’s attire. There had to be some inspiration there. The black, shimmering robes, the sleight of his jaw, behind the semi-transparent veil covering his eyes. His hands, thin and wiry, elegant, twisted at the wrist. His sharp knuckles, dragging curiously across the much softer lips as he waited for the judgement with a discreet lack of concern. The weave of the braid in his hair, lapping over each other like scales— That’s it!
Aziraphale latched onto the detail and looked up, trying to instill the fear within Nanael in earnest now. “This creature we have contained here is far more powerful than that. He’s the cream of the crop of the Fallen. The Architect of the Original Sin!”
Nanael’s brow furrowed for a moment while the gears in his head turned. “You don’t mean…?”
“I do, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said in a tone that was most unnatural for him – too robust and attempting to boom in a valiant manner that did not at all become him. “What we have here… is the Serpent of Eden!” He threw his hand out, pointing it accusingly at the entity at his feet. The said entity leaned back a bit, but there was an amused eyebrow crooked at him as if to say ‘ really ?’
‘ Yes, really’ , Aziraphale replied with his eyebrows and jerked his chin a tiniest bit to add a nuance of, ‘ Play your part! ’
After something that resembled a barely-concealed sigh, Crowley grabbed the edge of his veil and dragged it across his face in a sarcastic attempt to imitate shyness, but the dry crack of his smile gave was to something much more natural to him. “You got me,” he purred. Then he uncoiled from the floor, the motion too smooth to resemble anything but a snake. At his full height, he seemed a bit more intimidating, even in the garb he was wearing. Despite the slope of his hip, jutted out at the usual angle, his shoulders were pulled back more broadly. He looked at Nanael like a cobra about to strike.
“Well, sssince I’ve been introduced, I sssuppose there’s no need to act unfriendly,” he said.
The angels recoiled – one with disgust, and the other with a knowing roll of his eyes.
“Don’t fall for his tricks,” Aziraphale cautioned, straightening out a bit too quickly for how much concern he was looking to seed. He paced back the other way around the circle now, coming back to stand at Nanael’s side, feeling, for the first time, like a proper teacher. “He might tempt you in many ways, but you must remain ever vigilant.” He caught Crowley’s eye and for a tense second they held each other’s gaze. At the end of the wordless exchange Crowley looked, for some reason, more pleased than before, and Aziraphale felt somehow a little more naked, without having shed any of his clothes. Crowley was good at whatever it was he did, that much was certain.
“How do I know if it’s Tempting me?” Nanael asked, interrupting their silent, unexplainable conversation.
Aziraphale glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s the thing, my dear boy. He’s always Tempting you,” he explained.
“Even now?” Nanael asked uncertainly.
“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered back at Crowley. It seemed obvious to him. “Just look at him!”
Crowley, on the other hand, tilted his head towards them, for some reason bemused. “Angel,” he said a bit too gently for Aziraphale’s liking. “I’m not even doing anything.”
A small fire was starting underneath the angel’s cheeks. He still didn’t quite grasp why, but he knew it was Crowley’s fault.
“You probably are!” Nanael hissed on his behalf. “You’re trying to breach our Heavenly light with your evil ways this whole time! I should have known! That’s why I let my defenses down! Well no more! The Principality Aziraphale of the Eastern Gate is here to smite you!”
Crowley’s eyebrows bounced upwards, and Aziraphale felt himself wince. As much blame as he wanted to place on the Adversary for all this senseless teas— that is, Tempting— smiting him was still not on the list.
“Nanael, about that,” he began, as gently as possible while still trying to sound in charge. “Perhaps we should… hold off on the smiting.”
“Hold off?” Nanael’s head whirled around to him. “Why so?”
“Because,” Aziraphale said, and looked at Crowley. “Because.” He looked around the room. “Because…” He looked back at the demon. The golden eyes narrowed at him from behind the veil. They were warm, like honey dripping from a baked flatbread. Like butter melting over a heated slab.
Perhaps, he thought to himself wearily, the truth was going to be easier.
“Because I want to talk to him.”
“Interrogate me,” Crowley corrected hurriedly.
Aziraphale threw him a grateful look, and Crowley caught it. Then he returned to his act.
“I see how this is,” the demon said, and adjusted his stance to be a little less sexual and a little more evil. “So, you want to play the long game, hm? Think you can get information out of me? Think I’ll tell you something important about what we have in store for you lot?” He hissed at them wickedly – or at least it looked wicked. Aziraphale sensed no venom.
Nanael, on the other hand, was convinced. He also seemed to be coming to an understanding. “Oh!” he gasped and turned to Aziraphale. “An interrogation! Do you think you could succeed? Get him to tell you what Hell has schemed up?”
“I could certainly give it my best shot,” Aziraphale said humbly.
Crowley threw his braid off of his shoulder. “I’d love to see you try,” he spat. “You can torment me for days – weeks, even! I’ll never talk!” It was a bit too much, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but he had no room to scold the other if it would get them both out of his mess. Instead he just flattened his lips into an unamused half-glare and tried to impress upon the demon that he was pushing it. It didn’t work – Crowley was clearly enjoying the game.
“But how?” Nanael inquired.
“Hm?” Aziraphale voiced distractedly.
“How are you going to make him talk?”
Crowley looked at him as well, and then back at the minor angel. “Torture, I presume,” he said, a bit more casually. Then he looked back at Aziraphale. “That’s up to you, though, obviously.”
“I’ll think of something,” Aziraphale assured him.
“Right, well, if you need ideas,” Crowley added. “I mean, because, you are an angel, after all, and that’s not precisely your area of expertise… I have plenty of tortures I know of.”
“Oh do you?” Aziraphale asked dryly, fighting the temptation to find this just a little bit amusing. “Any favorites?”
“A few,” Crowley admitted, flicking his tongue out to lick his upper lip. There was the briefest flash of white teeth – and it was threatening to stretch into a full grin. Something in Aziraphale’s stomach turned over, like an animal waking from a nap, hungry. Except it wasn’t the regular sort of hunger he was accustomed to.
He cleared his throat and glanced away, just in time to catch Nanael’s head swiveling between them with the look of someone who was aware that he was just on the brink of a conversation he was not allowed to take part in. He and Crowley were also there, on that edge. They were too close to—to something. He wasn’t sure what.
Crowley seemed to know. He looked way too satisfied with himself. This was his doing after all.
The hungry animal slumbering in Aziraphale’s stomach grumbled once again. Unwilling to think about what it was he was craving, the angel made a split second decision.
“Let’s cut this short,” he said and snapped his fingers.
The miracle wasn’t fully formed in his mind’s eye when he performed it. To be honest (and he, as an angel, had to be), it was only the intent of what he wanted to do – not the actual plan. That was, perhaps, a poor idea because a second later Crowley’s amused grin accused him silently that now he was the one being overkill.
“Really, Angel?” he asked, lifting his arm and inspecting it. “This…?”
Although he’d never admit it, he was almost as surprised as Crowley was when he looked down between them at the gold chain that had materialized out of nowhere – looping around both of their wrists and linking them together in the middle across the line of the magic circle with barely a meter of lead.
“Is that going to be enough?” Nanael asked uncertainly.
The chain looked a bit too delicate to serve as any real restraint, it was true, but Aziraphale hadn’t thought that far. “Yes,” he lied. His fingers wrapped around the loose links on his side and he gave a pointed tug. “With this he’ll be bound by my magic, and the effects of the circle will remain active, preventing him from using his power.”
It was moot point to bring up, but two out of the three people in the room knew that it was utter bullocks. That was the majority, and Aziraphale felt that was enough to justify not saying anything on the matter.
Crowley didn’t move, but he did look extremely amused.
Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at him accusingly. He took a step back, gave a harder pull and Crowley stumbled in surprise after him, right out of the circle. While Nanael jumped back in fear, Aziraphale took his chance to wipe the smug smile off of his own face and replace it with a glare at Crowley, who was not giving half as much effort to make his cheerful expression any less incriminating.
“Right,” said the Principality, trying to stand up straight and adjust his robe with his free hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of work to do with this one. Nanael, I trust you to take care of my duties while I’m busy.”
“Of course,” said the angel, and gave a sort of half-bow. “How long do you reckon it’ll take?”
Aziraphale shrugged. “Can’t much say,” he admitted. In truth, he didn’t much care. He was simply wanting to take his leave. Hopefully, the vague reply would be enough to keep his charge away for at least a couple of days. (And not that he would ever say it out loud, but Crowley’s company was much preferred to that of his angelic peer.)
Perhaps he was being too obvious about it, because as he turned around to leave, he could feel the strain on the chain as Crowley leaned back just long enough to wink and purr: “Oh, it’ll be a while.”
Although Aziraphale would never admit it as he dragged the wily demon along after him on their makeshift leash, he would later – thousands of years later – fondly think back to the memory and realize that he had taken the demon’s promise as a sort of challenge.