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Aziraphale looked at his snoozing demon. He did so like his sleep. Especially on days when Aziraphale insisted on opening the bookshop.
Crowley had slinked into the back room and somehow folded himself up into an old chair. The angel had just closed the shop and was standing in the doorway of the back room sipping a hot cup of tea. Aziraphale had to wonder if the demon had simply forgotten he could curl up into a snake and be more comfortable. Or perhaps, what with demons defying physics, Crowley actually was comfortable in a position that looked like a child had pulled a doll’s limbs all the wrong way.
‘Crowley?’ he called, tunefully soft. A snakeskin boot twitched and the angel smirked. ‘My dear. It’s evening. Time for creatures of the night to get up to no good.’ He lightly slurped his tea.
Crowley made a cute sound, rather like a little baby noise, as he stirred and grumbled to awakeness. He peered at Aziraphale. ‘Have the humans gone?’
‘Yes. Just you and me.’
The demon sat up straight and rearranged his legs into a more natural order. ‘I don’t know what’s got into them lately,’ he complained. ‘Headphones have been around for over a century. Why are they all walking around, even in bookshops, playing loud flashy things on their things.’
‘Oh dear. Is someone a little grumpy after his nap?’
Crowley glared at his angel and stretched his legs. ‘Every single member of that family was playing something on a screen. I would have thought you would be as annoyed as I am.’
Aziraphale sighed. ‘I find it most obnoxious, my dear. But unfortunately, despite my efforts at encouraging the development and distribution of audio boundaries in the form of headphones and earphones, it appears that somewhere along the line, the humans were encouraged to not care a jot about their impact on the people around them. In addition, rather like the unfortunate ghettoblaster years (he gave Crowley a severe look), it has become cool to broadcast whatever you are doing in the form of a loud fashion statement.’
Crowley shifted into a scowl and drew his legs back in defensively.
‘You wouldn’t know anything about that, dear, would you?’ asked Aziraphale pleasantly, eyes boring into the sulking heap of black on his chair.
Crowley shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me,’ he fibbed.
‘Is that so?’ said Aziraphale lightly, enjoying his tea. ‘So you didn’t, at any point, encourage various popular individuals to disrupt the peace and quiet of their surroundings?’
Crowley studied the floor with a frown.
‘That’s what I thought. Now, are you going to stay scrunched up in that chair or are you going to join me out here?’
It wasn’t really a question. Crowley huffed miserably, still rather groggy from the deep sleep he’d fallen into, and skulked out onto the shop floor. Sure enough, the light outside was fading, and little orange lights were glowing in the blueish autumnal streets of Soho. Aziraphale had made it super cosy inside, with candles, a light symphony swirling on the gramophone, and Crowley’s favourite blanket on the sofa.
Good. He could go back to sleep and avoid awkward questions about his demonic activities. Aziraphale sat next to the blanket with his tea and a book, then patted his lap to indicate Crowley should make himself comfortable.
The demon did exactly that, still with a scowl of course, climbing under the blanket and resting his head on Aziraphale’s lap so the angel could stroke his hair whilst he read.
A few peaceful moments later, Crowley was starting to drift peacefully off…
‘It’s called karma, Crowley,’ said Aziraphale simply.
The demon mumbled something, and Aziraphale was sure he heard a pretty bad word in there. He continued to stroke the red locks. ‘Now now,’ he warned. ‘I’ve miracled a Faraday Cage effect on the shop, with the exception of your phone, of course. Anyone stepping over the threshold will suffer the sudden and absolute failure of their electrical items. So from now on, you won’t be driven from the shop floor by a cacophony of selfish humans.’
Crowley snuggled up a little bit, appreciatively, but definitely wasn’t going to say thank you or anything. He made a sort of harrumph noise.
Aziraphale turned a page of the book he was pretending to read. ‘Perhaps that will teach you to think your devious plans through, hmm?’
Crowley hissed at the admonishment.
‘Uh uh!’ scolded Aziraphale, gently swatting the blanketed bump that was Crowley’s bottom. ‘We agreed no hissing.’
Crowley curled up tight and pulled the blanket over his head. Aziraphale continued to lightly pet him in any case, and decided to get into his book for bit while his naughty demon reflected on his misbehaviour.
Crowley was not reflecting on his misbehaviour. He was a demon. He was only doing his job. At least he was creative. It wasn’t his fault if humans didn’t know about sustainability or moderation. It used to be you could encourage a gang or two to provide an alternative attitude to a stuffy and uptight culture. Nowadays, everyone had to be alternative, special, noticed. There was no fun in tempting humans when they were already such attention-seeking, narcissistic loud-mouths. Same with heaven and those awful angels. No better than demons, just petty, unimaginative bureaucrats everywhere.
He curled up even tighter into his dark thoughts. What was the point in being demonic if there was no holy good left to subvert. No fresh white shirt to drop spaghetti bolognese on. No decent tree to steal an apple from. He shuffled minutely up to his angel but was still thinking about what he’d said. Did Aziraphale blame him for everything? Was the devolution of mankind his fault for inventing reality shows?
Aziraphale finished the chapter he was on and closed the book with some unease. Crowley was rather quiet. And he could be a gloomy heap of doom if he napped too much in the day. Sleep inertia, so Aziraphale had read. Brain chemistry gets all the wrong messages and humans can wake up depressed to Hell if they napped too long. Why Crowley insisted on indulging in sleep when it was hazardous to corporation brain chemistry eluded him. Silly snake , thought Aziraphale.
He peeled back the blanket and peeped underneath it. A very miserable looking Crowley was furiously pouting at nothing in particular.
‘My dear, it might help to have a little something to perk you up. Fresh air. Perhaps a sweet snack?’
‘No,’ grumbled Crowley. ‘Leave me alone.’ He pulled the blanket back over his face.
‘Crowley,’ said Aziraphale firmly. ‘Come out of there, please.’
There was a muffled nope from under the lump of blanket. Aziraphale sighed, and with a purposeful slap to both his thighs, stood and went to the kitchen.
Crowley absolutely hated Horlicks, which is why every time Aziraphale made it for him, he drank it all up and looked disappointed when his mug was empty. Every time the angel offered him Horlocks, Crowley pulled a face. The demon would curtly remind Aziraphale he was a fallen angel, not a child or a grandmother, so he could shove his stupid milky drinks.
And then Aziraphale would make it for him anyway, and Crowley would say it seems a shame to see it go to waste, and he would drink it out of the goodness of his heart. With a scowl. Therefore, Aziraphale made his very grumpy demon a mug of Horlicks.
‘Crowley,’ he cooed again, coming out of the kitchen with the hot drink. The lump of blanket said nothing, but it did shuffle a little bit. ‘I’ve made you a drink.’
‘Don’t wannit.’
Aziraphale sat down next to Crowley, popping the Horlicks on the side table. ‘Crowley,’ he said, quite stern this time. ‘Sit up, please. You can’t stay like this. You’ll just feel worse. And you know what we agreed about an attitude adjustment.’
Another twitch from the blanket lump, and Crowley poked his head out. ‘You should’ve just let me sleep. Or not opened the shop. Or just let me drown in a holy water bath.’
‘That’s enough!’ Aziraphale looked very cross, and Crowley shrank back a little. ‘Sit up,’ commanded the angel.
Crowley, gradually turned himself up the right way, keeping his lips tightly sealed and his eyes on Aziraphale. His head was suddenly clearer. Adrenalin was also a good thing for helping you wake up, he considered. He sheepishly sat up straight and arranged the blanket over his shoulders. He sensed a telling off was coming his way.
He was right. Aziraphale went straight into a scolding. ‘You know you always feel grumpy after a sleep. You said you wouldn't sleep in the day, but even if you did, you’d remember not to get too gloomy next time, and now here you are talking about a suicide bath. You know what I think about that.’ The blue eyes were fierce.
Crowley finally stopped frowning and dropped into remorse mode. He had forgotten about the groggy nap thing, and he knew how much it upset Aziraphale if he talked about holy water, even now.’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, sincerely.
Aziraphale huffed with frustration, then reached for the Horlicks and passed it Crowley. ‘Drink this,’ he said. ‘And I warn you not to complain.’
Crowley accepted the drink, trying not to think about how lame it was and how much he wanted to sneer at it, but knew Aziraphale was pretty close to disciplining him at this rate. He felt sad, but sipped the drink. It was foamy and warm, sweet and spiced. Maybe he would allow it, just this once. And then, as he started to soften, and the light in his heart morphed from threatening navy to warm vanilla, he felt a little guilty. He realised the best thing he could do now was enjoy his hot drink, which was not a hardship, so he meekly quietly sipped it.
He drank it all up, trying not to moan with pleasure or delight in case it sounded like he found it delicious, and handed the mug back to a waiting Aziraphale.
‘That’s better,’ praised the angel. He put the empty mug back on the table, then turned back to Crowley. ‘How do you feel now?’
Crowley shrugged, knowing full well he felt miles better for some actual blood sugar, but also knowing that admitting it meant also admitting he’d been foolish.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
‘I wasn’t blaming you, dear,’ said Aziraphale. Crowley tensed. This was far too insightful for his angel. Perhaps his moody strop had communicated something useful for once. Crowley wondered what it might actually be.
Aziraphale continued. ‘I know it’s been your job to be a little tinker, to make trouble. But you’re hardly responsible for the entire herd acting like…’
‘Like?’ prompted Crowley, hoping for a fabulously bad word.
‘Well, you know how they can be at times,’ said Aziraphale, about as disappointingly neutral as it was possible to be.
‘Humanity, angel,’ said Crowley, feeling more like himself every moment. ‘The best of times, the worst of times.’
Aziraphale smiled sweetly at him, and Crowley, now feeling warm and cosy, shrugged off his blanket. ‘Sorry I hissed,’ he said. ‘And was…’
‘Difficult? Moody?’ The angel leaned in and kissed him on the lips. ‘Naughty. As usual.’
‘I wasn’t trying to be,’ said Crowley.
Aziraphale regarded his demon. Sulky, obstinate, earnest, as usual. But yes, hardly mischievous today. ‘Anything wrong, dearest?’
Crowley took his sunglasses off and wiped them clean with a sleeve. ‘Are the humans getting worse, angel? I thought your side would stop my side from making the world too bleak and harsh. But your side… it’s just as cold.’
‘Not my side anymore,’ said Aziraphale softly, stroking Crowley’s cheek. ‘You’re my side now. And I think you’re scared.’
Crowley scoffed and replaced his sunglasses. ‘Pfft! ‘Not scared! I’m a demon. I’ve been to Hell and back. In rush hour. Nothing to be scared of!’ He knew it didn’t sound convincing but he didn’t care.
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. ‘Except for your entire world view changing, your idea of fun no longer working for you, and the threat to the future of the world becoming so great that even the humans are worried this time.’
Crowley pouted. He liked pouting. It was a comfort zone for his face.
‘You miss being mischievous, don’t you? Ah my poor little snake. You no longer want to make trouble. You want to be good. For me.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Crowley with disgust, standing up to face Aziraphale and flapping his arms. ‘I’m still a demon, angel. I will still…’
‘Still what?’
‘Make trouble. I can still make trouble!’ He tried his best to loom threateningly.
‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale happily. ‘Go on then.’
Crowley sighed, deflated. He pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘Well I can’t, can I. Things are already really bad out there.’
Aziraphale frowned. ‘Well I’m sure there’s some mischief, or some caper, you can get yourself into without completely polluting the milk of human kindness.’
Crowley looked at him hopefully. Could that be true? He could get up to his old tricks. A bit of fun, a bit of strategy, a harmless jape. ‘But… you will…’
‘What?’ asked Aziraphale, eyes wide suggestively, regarding the rather boyish demon in front of him who was standing awkwardly like a teen outside the headmaster’s office.
‘You’ll tell me off. You’ll…’
‘Yes?’
‘Punish me?’
‘Yes. if you go too far. You know that.’
Well then. That was that. World order was still in tact, then. He should resent it. He wanted to curl up into it. His internal compass was spinning like a top. He wanted Aziraphale to hold him and keep him the right way up, no matter what it took.
Aziraphale stood up and went to him. ‘Darling, you know you are welcome to get into as much mischief as you please, and satiate your need for trickery. I’ll allow it, within reason.’
‘How do I know what within reason is?’ He thought about changing all the street lamps to disco balls, making house spiders 10% bigger, and making sure all shoes belonging to bankers made farting noises during important meetings forever. That would be amusing. He considered putting air drones under the Christmas tree of one million families this year, to create antisocial bedlam. He looked forward to tempting every office party organiser in the land to arrange a karaoke night where the talentless insist on showing off their tuneless screeching, while the actual singers among them remain paralysed by lack of confidence and self-awareness.
Aziraphale grinned. ‘Ah. I do believe the joy of life is returning to you once more. Are you coming up with dastardly deeds, my dear?’
Crowley grinned. ‘One or two, angel.’
‘Right. That’s better. Now. How about some ground rules?’
Crowley sniffed. ‘Maybe,’ he said.
Aziraphale nodded to the couch and they sat back down. The angel reached for a pen and notebook, as if to draw up a contract. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but his heart broke for his demon’s obvious feelings of insecurity and confusion. He felt something written down would help ground Crowley. He popped his unnecessary reading glasses on his nose, then clicked the pen and wrote ‘Our Arrangement’ down, underlining it purposefully.
‘I don’t want a repeat of your behaviour this afternoon, so absolutely no napping in the day.’
Crowley opened his mouth to argue but Aziraphale held up a firm finger. ‘If you really need a rest, you can ask me and I’ll time it so you don’t go into too deep a sleep.’
Crowley felt that this was unfair but could see his angel was resolute. He nodded, begrudgingly.
‘If I catch you snoozing when you shouldn’t be, you’ll be in trouble.’
Crowley rolled his eyes. Inwardly, his heart leapt. The shop felt cosier.
'We already know about hissing,' said Aziraphale with a withering stare. Crowley lowered his eyeline and fiddled with his snake buckle. He'd had more than a few slapped wrists for hissing, and an occasional smack on the bottom, depending on what was occurring. 'And fibbing will get you grounded, among other things.'
'Yes, angel,' croaked Crowley.
‘Now,’ continued Aziraphale. ‘Playful shenanigans on a par with Bart Simpson level entertainment, I’ll turn a blind eye to.’
Crowley reacted like he’d sucked on a lemon. ‘Bart Simpson?!’
‘You know what I mean, Crowley,’ said Aziraphale evenly. ‘Boyish pranks are okay, unless you are deliberately disruptive in my bookshop, in which case I’ll assume it’s a cry for discipline, and I’ll smack your legs there and then.’
Crowley felt his ears burn hot. It had been a little while since his angel had spoken to him like that. He swallowed, feeling warmer and warmer. And rather weightless. He wiggled.
‘Have your fun, my dear,’ said Aziraphale, conscientiously noting everything down. ‘However, Anthony J Crowley, if any of your misadventures cause too much misery I won’t stand for it. Signal failures and flaming motorways add terrible stress to delicate commuters. No more befuddling bus drivers…’
‘That was to get us home!’ complained Crowley.
‘...and no miracling Talisker rather than paying for it. You’re costing that poor pub landlord a fortune.’
Crowley looked embarrassed.
Aziraphale noticed. ‘Oh you thought I didn’t know about that?’
‘I was having a bad day,’ whined Crowley half-heartedly, shame tugging at him.
‘You’re always having a bad day, darling,’ said his angel, not unkindly. ‘I’m hoping a reminder of the rules will help you with your attitude adjustment. Not to mention the spanking you will get if you break the one about stealing.’
Crowley folded his arms across his chest, delighting in Aziraphale’s gentle leadership whilst also feeling mildly irritated by the superiority. ‘Whatever,’ he sneered, flopping back on the couch disagreeably.
‘Well,’ said Aziraphale clinically. ‘I can’t put you down for a nap when you’re being difficult because we know that doesn’t work. So from now on, if you give me lip, you’ll get Bentley privileges revoked.’
Crowley turned to glare at Aziraphale. ‘It wasn’t me, it was my brain chemistry after you let me sleep too long.’
Aziraphale returned the glare. ‘Careful,’ he warned darkly. ‘I told you not to go to sleep, if you remember, and you said you wouldn’t because my back room is like a filthy junkyard.’
Crowley cringed. Perhaps he had been quite the bastard today, and perhaps he deserved some retribution. He sat back and allowed Aziraphale to continue writing out what was, in fairness, a pretty reasonable agreement between an angel and his wayward, sulky demon.
Aziraphale eventually finished scribbling and looked at Crowley over his reading glasses like a humourless librarian. ‘Now, are you going to agree to these rules and ramifications or not?’
Crowley desperately wanted to say yes, but he hated being verbal. Or compliant. Instead, he shuffled closer to Aziraphale and rested his head on his shoulder.
‘I’ll need clearer consent than that, Crowley,’ sing-songed the angel.
Crowley exhaled dramatically and dragged himself into sitting in Aziraphale’s lap. He nuzzled his neck and the fluffy blond hair. The angel knew this was an affirmative, but it wasn't enough.
'Well?' asked Aziraphale again. 'These are the rules, and if you break them, I shall discipline you just the way you find helpful. Yes?'
Crowley nodded.
'Say it, Crowley,' said Aziraphale with some frustration. 'Verbally. English preferably, though I'll accept Sumerian.'
‘Yes,’ said Crowley, feeling his face heat up. He hated this part. Why couldn't his angel just know.
‘Good,’ said Aziraphale simply. He put his glasses, the pen and the notebook on the table, then effortlessly flipped Crowley over so he was lying face down across his knees.
‘What?!’ cried his demon, and two strong hands held him in place. Turned out his angel did indeed just know.
‘Crowley, for the misdemeanours of being very rude, being very disobedient, and evidently being in desperate in need of handling, you are going to get a reminder spanking.’
‘What the fuck is a reminder spanking??’ shouted Crowley.
He got a smack on the seat of his jeans which he presumed was for the language, and possibly for shouting.
‘Well what the fuck do you think it is?’ asked Aziraphale calmly, and Crowley could hear the eye-roll in his tone of voice.
Another smack arrived on his bottom. Crowley feigned a struggle, (though Aziraphale really did have him clamped in position) but found it futile, and let his head relax down on the sofa. He supposed this is what he’d been asking for, after all. A further smack made him gasp.
‘My wicked little demon, my naughty boy, my mischievous Mister Crowley,’ crooned Aziraphale, bringing his hand down on every honorific. ‘My sulky snake, my clever little friend, my…’ in lieu of a witty title, he smacked Crowley’s bottom rapidly five times, eliciting an indignant squeak. ‘...Love,’ he said, finally. ‘Behave yourself.’
Crowley wriggled, the throb and sting just enough to chasten him, but not really punish.
‘Is that enough of a reminder, do you think?’ asked Aziraphale. This time, Crowley could hear the impish smile in the angel’s voice.
The demon turned his head to look up at Aziraphale, and did his best to look adorable . It worked. His angel scooped him up and put him the right way up again.
‘There, there,’ he said, kissing Crowley, and feeling quite confident about babying him just a little. Just a little .
Crowley of course hid his face, which meant this wasn’t happening. In fact, he didn’t think he existed at all at this point. He was floating. He was found. He was safe. Even when he was naughty.
It was Aziraphale's turn to do the nuzzling, holding his demon, his precious cargo, who was just docile enough to accept the world of radiant love being bestowed on him.