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Aziraphale knew he was being foolish. Deep down in the bottom of his soul he knew that no human serial killer could possibly hurt him. Not in anyway that mattered. Well used to not matter. Going against Heaven and Hell had put both him and Crowley in a bit of a predicament when it came to discorporation anymore. A new body would be unlikely. But still, Aziraphale had all of his abilities, miracles, healing, the ability to walk unnoticed by humans.
And yet.
It was a rare night any more that Aziraphale went out to eat completely by himself, he and Crowley had been spending more and more time together now, but that didn’t mean they spent every single minute in each other’s back pocket.
But.
The idea of walking home from the new Thai place, only a short walk from the bookshop really, a few dozen blocks, was nerve wracking. Perhaps not as much as the actual Armageddon, but a surprisingly close runner up. Aziraphale steeled his spine and stepped out of the warmth of the restaurant into the cool night air.
Honestly, the atmosphere around London reminded him of the days of Jack the Ripper, the unease and paranoia about. Some of the more sensationalist newspapers were calling the killer Jack the Ripper 2 as the attacks were quite gruesome in a way Aziraphale’s mind didn’t want to linger on. He’d have blamed Crowley for that dreadful name the papers had given the killer if Crowley hadn’t despaired over humanity’s decline in creativity more than him.
Aziraphale walked quickly toward the shop. He couldn’t help but feel invigorated by the cool evening air. The autumn air reminded him he’d survived this past summer, one of truly apocalyptic proportions. He’d survived that, he could survive one evening’s walk back to the shop. And once there, he might even call Crowley then and invite him over for drinks (and perhaps more?), that would ease his nerves tremendously. Just having Crowley near would be, well, it would all be rather lovely. They had grown so much closer since they’d returned from Tadfield that day. He blushed and smiled to himself just thinking about it.
Aziraphale had made it nearly to the shop when he felt uneasy feeling settle in the pit of his gut. He felt the ill intentions turn and follow him. Was this the killer? A run of the mill mugger? Someone who followed up “Southern Pansy” with violence? Aziraphale had seen it all before of course. So, he kept his senses trained on his stalker. Any of those could be dangerous. He also tried to subtly pick up his pace without alerting anyone that he knew he was being followed.
Unfortunately for Aziraphale the attacker caught up to him, Aziraphale felt the knife against his back and froze. “Get in the alley,” the man ordered through clenched teeth.
Aziraphale couldn’t tell if it was irony or some kind of sick joke from Her but the first thing he noted was this was the same alley the archangels had cornered him in months prior. Which made his heart beat and his thoughts spin even faster. Could he discorporate from a heart attack? He didn’t want to find out. He certainly didn’t want to discorporate. “What do you want?” he asked as calmly as he could, though he had started to hyperventilate. “I’ll give you my wallet.”
The attacker merely laughed. “Money will do you no good mate, you’re not gonna need it any more,” He smirked and brought the knife up to Aziraphale’s throat. He let out another small laugh. “Lucky number six. Tying me up with ol’ Jack, eh. You’ll be lucky, they’ll write all about you. Make you famous as hell.”
“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” A familiar voice said from the entrance of the Alley. “And trust me you don’t know anything about hell, yet .”
Aziraphale turned his head as much as he dared. “Crowley,” he said with a sigh of relief.
Aziraphale felt the cool knife press more firmly against his neck. There was even a sting of the knife lightly cutting into his skin. “Take one more step and he gets it,” the killer growled from behind his ski mask. “I’m warning you, the old pansy dies.”
“Old?” Aziraphale squeaked indignantly, his mind latching onto the first handle it could find.
“Well, Angel, to be fair you are six thousand years old,” Crowley said with a tiny spark of his usual humor. It did make Aziraphale feel better.
“Shut up! Both of you. I can take you both out,” he said, his voice rising in volume, the knife pressed further in, not dangerous still, but Aziraphale didn’t want it to push much further. “I will.”
“No, you won’t,” Crowley said his voice lacking any kindness in it whatsoever.
In a blink, Aziraphale’s attacker was pinned to the other side of the alley, held there by invisible bonds.
“W-what the hell?”
“You keep talking about hell,” Crowley said, his voice low, he strode up to the man now pinned. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” He raised the man higher along the wall with a thought, his feet just leaving the ground.
“Fuck off, mate,” the killer said, still defiant. He thrashed against his invisible bonds, trying to escape.
“Are you hurt?” Crowley said turning back to Aziraphale as he left one hand pointed at the killer. “This nobody didn’t do any harm did he?” This set the killer off ranting but neither Crowley nor Aziraphale paid him any mind.
Aziraphale raised his hand to where he’d felt the knife cut him. His fingers pulled away with blood, not a dangerous amount, but still enough to be unpleasant. “Just a cut darling,” he said applying pressure to the wound carefully. “Nothing to worry about.”
“You cut him on his neck?” Crowley hissed, turning his attention back to the man. “You could have killed him.” Aziraphale could see Cowley’s scales becoming more prominent. Aziraphale took a few steps forward, even with Crowley now. Crowley slid his sunglasses down so the attacker could see Crowley’s fully yellow eyes. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what was happening but the man started to gasp and his eyes widened with fear. “You’ve made your last mistake.”
The killer suddenly began blubbering. “Please-please let me live,” he begged.
“Why? You wouldn’t have let him live would you?” Crowley hissed, his tongue poking out, long and forked. “You just wanted another name on your lisst.”
“I-I,” the stranger couldn’t form words at this point. Aziraphale almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“You, are not making it out of this alley alive,” Crowley’s scales had taken over his hands and the edges of his face. “And you will absssolutely be going to hell, tonight.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, finally speaking up, placing his clean hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Perhaps he doesn’t need to be killed?”
“Do you really want me to spare him, Angel?” Crowley asked skeptically. “I know to forgive is kind of your old ssside’sss thing but come on. He’d have discorporated you without a thought.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed as he looked at Crowley with a small smirk. “He wants to be a famous killer, known for his evil genius if the papers publishing his letters are correct, but getting caught after fumbling a murder? That’s just embarrassing.”
Crowley’s face broke out in a wide grin. “Just enough of a bastard,” he said with pride. With a flick of his wrist the man collapsed to the ground, unconscious, but alive. “He’ll stay that way until he wakes up in a jail cell.” The scales began to recede and his tongue seemed to be not quite in the way. “And did you know, he’s dumb enough to carry a journal with the list of people he’s killed in his back pocket?”
Aziraphale laughed lightly, his laughter carrying on a bit too long. “Oh, I- I think I’m,” Aziraphale’s tongue felt too big now. “It's what the humans call shock.”
“Let me take care of you then,” Crowley’s arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly and in a thought he was standing in the bedroom of Crowley’s flat. “Sit down, sit down, I’ve got you.”
Aziraphale dimly realized he was shaking as Crowley pulled him down to sit at the foot of the bed and held him close to his chest. “I’m I--,” Aziraphale tried to focus on something he could handle. “We’re in your flat.”
Crowley chuckled lightly. “Yes, we are.”
“But-But the bookshop was right there,” Aziraphale said with a confused frown. “And-And we’re trying to cut down on frivolous miracles!”
“No miracle used to keep you safe and sound is frivolous,” Crowley said firmly, pulling him even closer to himself. “And you better not have anything clever to say to that, because it’s true.”
Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose it's fair, since I’d do the same for you,” he mumbled into Crowley’s firm chest. The sat there just breathing for a little while. After a few minutes of relative silence Aziraphale pulled back slightly. “I’ve bled on your shirt.” Aziraphale pulled back even further, but Crowley kept his hands firmly on Aziraphale’s arms.
“And on yours,” Crowley said with a frown. Crowley gently guided Aziraphale forward again, planting a kiss near the wound. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s warm familiar energy healing the wound and when he pulled back he saw that the stain on Crowley’s shirt vanished. “There we are. Better?”
Aziraphale smiled gently and nodded. “Much better.” He planted a gentle kiss on Crowley’s cheek. “I just needed a moment. Thank you my dear.”
Crowley shrugged. “I have to protect you angel, you’re my world.”
“Thank you,” Aziraphale repeated more firmly. “It was very kind of you, and brave, and dashing-”
“Fine, fine,” Crowley said with a blush creeping up his cheeks. “You’re welcome, just-stop the compliments.”
“Maybe,” Aziraphale said with a coy smile. “Are you alright, my dear?”
Crowley shook his head and finally removed his sunglasses, and then held Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”
Aziraphale leaned into Crowley, planting a gentle kiss on Crowley’s lips. The kissed gently at the foot of the bed for a while until they pulled away to just enjoy the closeness of the other.
“Care for a drink Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his.
“Sounds rather lovely.”
And they walked into the kitchen hand in hand. And if Aziraphale stayed at Crowleys a few nights in a row, well, it’s not like Aziraphale would have sold books in that time anyway.