Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Crawly can hear the moment the rain starts to fall but he does not feel it, a great white wing moves over his head before the first raindrop can reach the walls of the Garden. He steps closer to the angel, who steals a glance at him and quickly turns away again, and they both look at the humans. The early morning sun casts long shadows on the sand while they walk away, hand in hand, until they disappear behind the dunes in the distance.

"How long do you think it'll last?" The angel looks confused at the question. "The rain. How long do you think it will fall for?"

"Oh! I... A good long time I think." The sky has quickly turned grey with clouds and the first crack of thunder sounds loud and angry, it catches them by surprise and makes them move slightly closer to each other, unconsciously.

"Maybe we should look for some sort of cover." The demon turns around and looks down at the Garden. He knows he shouldn’t go back down there, that he won’t be able to leave the way he came, but his curiosity has always been stronger than him. And it’s not every day you find an angel willing to bend the rules after what happened to him and his kind.

"I can't leave my post! I have to guard the Gate!"

"I don't think the humans will be back so soon." He just wants to learn more, he needs just a little more time, Hell doesn’t have to know. The rain is starting to fall more heavily. Plump raindrops that hit the angel's wing, slide off of it and create a curtain between them and the rest of the universe. "Come angel, before you get completely soaked."

The demon dives off the wall before he can argue, and the angel follows him down after a moment. It hasn't yet been a full day since he got a flaming sword and this assignment, to guard the Eastern Gate and prevent the humans from going back into the Garden, and twice already he's been... Well, not disobedient technically, but acting independently. Which is not encouraged.

Flying down feels quite like falling in his apprehension, and before he reaches the ground he's already regretting his decision. What if I'm doing the wrong thing, following a demon? It could be a trap of some sort, he has confessed his purpose here. Make some trouble. What if he’s not done yet, if he has some nefarious plot involving him? It seems unlikely from a demon that was nice enough to comfort him, nicer than he thought demons could be. Well, if he really is up to no good I best keep an eye on him.

By the time he reaches the ground the demon is not looking for cover but crouched in front of a bush, protecting it and himself from the rain with his own wings, trying to get something from under it.

"Oh hm... I'm... Well... There's something hiding under there. I heard it crying out." He answers defensively to the angel’s questioning look. "But it clearly doesn't want any help." He says it dismissively and a little angrily as he walks away.

He finds refuge a short distance away, and drops down just inside the mouth of a cave overlooking the lake. He's wet and cold and angry, mostly at himself, convinced that the angel will go back to his post or find himself someplace else to wait out what is now a proper thunderstorm. But after a while he appears looking radiant despite the hair that sticks flat to his head and the muddy feet. His hands are cupped in front of his chest and they hold a little grey ball of feathers.

"I hope you don't mind I've brought company." Aziraphale hesitates at the entrance but seeing Crawly's curious glance at the creature in his hands he steps inside. He tries to offer the animal to him, but it recoils away from Crawly and cries out again.

"It knowss what I am and hatess me for it." He hisses out angrily.

"Oh no… I'm sure she's just shy, she's simply never met a demon before." Neither has Aziraphale. He battled against them during their rebellion, sure, but he’s never talked to one before now. Crawly is not what he would have expected. He makes sure to sit a prudent distance away from him, and feels safe enough to spread his white wings loosely at his sides, unlike Crawly who's holding his tight around his body. "She must have got separated from her mother, so she would be scared of anything. I think we're all feeling a little miserable right now…" With a snap of his fingers all three of them are suddenly dry and warm.

"Does it have a name?" The little creature stands on funny-looking legs when the angel puts it down. It walks around him, investigating the cave.

"Of course! Eve gave names to most of them." They watch it waddle closer to the demon, cautious but curious. "It's called duck."

"And do you have a name as well, angel?" He expects to be denied, so he keeps his focus on the duck, offers his hand to it and gets his fingers nibbled in return.

"Oh, how rude of me!" He straightens and turns his body towards him. "I am the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Pleasure to meet you." A perfectly formal introduction, even if he did sound a little smug about his assignment.

The demon smiles amused and slightly bows his head. "I am Craw—"

"Oh, come now," interrupts Aziraphale. "That can't be your true name…"

"Nicknames work just as well as names, and I don't really care about titles… The higher up you are the more responsibilities you have to deal with. And… Uh— Who— Who says Crawly can't be my true name if I want it to be, huh?”

"Do you have a ridiculous name, dear? Is that why you don't want to stay it?” The demon looks a little more relaxed now, wings held loosely at his sides and falling to the ground; so Aziraphale feels it’s safe enough to tease a little, see how much he can get away with.

"I'm serious angel! You know, the only good thing about being fallen is that I have the freedom to decide who I want to be."

"I see. And who is that?"

"I'm… I'm still figuring that out. But I know I have a choice and all the time in the world to decide. That's what being fallen it's all about, the freedom to make choices. Heaven doesn't like that, the moment we chose not to do as we were told we were cast out. Same with the humans. They don't want us making choices."

Aziraphale doesn't say anything for a long time, and when he does he sounds genuinely confused. "I thought being a demon was about hating humanity?"

"Oh, well, yeah, I guess it is for most of them… But that's a choice they made." He shrugs one shoulder. “You see, the problem with Heav—”

He interrupts himself when he suddenly looks down to the ground at his side. There’s a duckling trying to snuggle under his wing, and as it lies down to sleep Crawly feels a lump forming in his throat. He presses down slightly with his wing, lets the baby duck know she’s safe, and when he looks up again he’s surprised to see that Aziraphale has slid much closer and is craning his neck to peak at the duckling hidden beneath dark feathers.

“You know, animals have impeccable instincts,” the angel lowers his voice a little and smiles softly, “so I guess this Serpent is not so dangerous after all.”

“I was never going to eat it,” he looks away, even if he can’t see much through the heavy rain, and pretends the only danger they’re talking about is the one he might have posed to the duck.

He doesn’t resent the angel for being wary of him, he is unarmed after all, and pretty far away from anyone who could help him if Crawly wanted to attack. Not that he would ever attack someone that has shown him nothing but kindness, the only he has received since his fall.

They sit in silence after that. Crawly hasn't felt peace like this in a long time, it wouldn't be possible with another demon. It probably wouldn't be possible with any other angel. The Garden is empty, but for them, and perfectly at peace.

And then She appears.

Chapter Text

The rain stops suddenly and a ray of light shines down on the cave mouth. Crawly is quick to change into a snake, but there's nowhere to hide in the cave, only the angel. He curls on himself behind Aziraphale's back, leaving a startled duckling behind, and feels the white wings rise on either side to hide him a little more. He can hear Her voice all around them, echoing against the walls, vibrating on his scales.

"Aziraphale, you have abandoned your post."

"Oh no! Not abandoned, just changed my position a little... But... No humans have been let inside, I assure you!"

"Where is the flaming sword I gave you, Aziraphale, to guard the Gate of Eden?"

"Th— the sword? Yes, of course, the sword… Right. Must have left it at the Gate… Silly me! Forget my own head next!"

"Aziraphale, I have a new command for you. Raise your flaming sword and strike down the Serpent that still hides in my Garden."

"Strike down? But I… I mean why— aaagh!" God's presence disappears from the cave and the storm continues just as suddenly as it had stopped. Aziraphale turns to look over his shoulder and says accusingly, "You bit me!"

"I had to, angel." Crawly raises his head at eye level. "Do you even realise what you were doing? Lying to God Hersself! Questioning Her!! You do know how dangerouss asking questionss can be, don't you? Caussse let me tell you, all the choicess in the universsse couldn't make uss any less missserable."

"I was just ordered to kill you…" It pains him to even think about it. "You were right, Adam and Eve made their own choices, and it's not fair that you should get punished for it, they should have known better than to disobey and—"

"And do you?" The question stops him. "Do you know better than to disssobey?" The angel looks away, the conflict evident in his eyes. The sibilant noise Crawly makes is the closest he can come to a sigh while still a snake. "You don't need to worry about it. I promissse I won't let mysself be killed by you." He slithers past him and into the vegetation. "Pleasssure meeting you Asssiraphale."

"Wait! Even if I don't kill you there will be others guarding the Gates by now, they've had more than enough time to properly organize all the assignments. You won't be able to get past them, and they might have been ordered to search for you as well." Crawly stops and raises his head from the ground. "We could… I don't know, find a way around the Gates. There must be a way out!"

"We?" is the demon's only response. "There's no 'we', I will not put you at rissk of falling, angel."

"You're not putting me at risk of anything since I'm making the decision to help you."

"Help me essscape, just ssso we're clear, when you sshould be filleting me with the sssword you gave away, the sssword you lied to God about. You can't get away with everything angel, you're taking far too many risskss."

"Well I can't just abandon you here, it wouldn't be right. I'm helping you leave and that's final."

It’s difficult to smile as a snake but Crawly stills manages and it makes Aziraphale more certain of his decision. "Whatever you sssay angel" The problem now is how are they going to manage that. Going over the walls would make it easy for them to be spotted from a distance by any angels, and creating an opening in the wall would require a miracle and draw a different kind of attention. "Definitely through the easst ssside," proposes Crawly. "I hear they're one angel ssshort." Aziraphale agrees easily enough but the snake's next suggestion is not so well received. "Do you or do you not outrank thessse guyss?" The angel mutters his answer, displeased with the plan. "Then fly up there and make them obey! No big deal."

No big deal, repeats Aziraphale in his head later, no big deal. Just like we practised. I can do this for him. He flies back up to the top of the wall with a snake curling around his right leg and torso beneath his robe. As soon as he lands in the vacant spot between two other angels he curls his white wings loosely around himself, hoping he's not drawing attention to the strange position.

"New orders," he announces. "It seems a human got inside through the Northern Gate. You are both immediately reassigned to the Tree of Life until further notice." Aza flies down towards the pomegranate tree at once, Azzaya looks at him strangely.

"There is something different about you," he sounds confused and Aziraphale can feel Crawly tensing around him. "I can feel it in my nose."

"A malfunction in your corporation, surely. Be sure to report it once this issue has been resolved, my dear."

Azzaya leaves without making any more questions and though Aziraphale would like to say he breathes easier once he's gone, the snake constricting his body's lungs prevents him from doing so. Once both angels are out of sight between the foliage of the Garden, Aziraphale once again dives off the wall with a demon, this time towards the desert. He puts what he hopes is a good distance between Eden and the snake before letting him slip down to the sand.

"Well… I guess you can find your way from here to… wherever you're going next?" It sounds so much like a question, so much like he wants to know where he'll be and he doesn't feel as ashamed of himself as he ought to.

"Below, for now… I ssshould let them know how my misssion went. And after that… I don't know yet. Maybe I'll check up on the human'ss progress… Sssomeone needss to make sssure they sstay on the wrong path." They're both trying to stall for a little more time together.

"Well... I'm sure your superiors will be pleased with your job. You did the impossible."

"It really wassn't hard." And it's the truth, it really wasn't.

It occurs to Aziraphale that maybe all of this was a test and the humans failed it. And they must have been meant to fail it, meant to give in to temptation. All part of the ineffable plan. And what is he meant to do in the face of this temptation? In the face of this demon that's caring and gentle, and so full of curiosity that it radiates from him and seeps into Aziraphale's mind, makes him wonder in how many other ways does Crawly defy expectations.

And it's so very tempting the possibility of spending more time together, of asking him to stay for a little longer, of asking him to come back. He's never had such easy conversation with his fellow angels, never felt so at ease with himself in someone else's presence. He's never wanted anything for himself before, but now he wants more of Crawly's company. There's still so much to talk about, so much to discover about each other. He only needs to ask that he return. Just thinking about the possibilities —and the consequences— makes his heart pump blood faster.

He’s drawing in a breath to ask, but it gets stuck on his throat when lightning strikes down behind him and he turns. In front of him Raphael stands tall, staff at the ready; behind him he can hear shifting sand, the barely-there sound of a snake crawling away.

"The humans have been seen carrying a celestial weapon. Where is your sword, Principality?"

"My… My sword? Why, you… You're surely not implying that I gave it away… or something."

"Where—" Raphael takes a step forward, Aziraphale stumbles back "—is your sword Principality? Was it stolen? Or did you lose it?"

"I…" Aziraphale straightens, refusing to be made to feel guilty for his choice. "I gave it to Adam. It was the right thing to do."

"It was a mistake Aziraphale, and because of you the humans will know war and all the pains and injustices that come with it. All Earth has been corrupted by your teachings, and for your crime you've been declared Azazel, the one that must die." He raises his staff and prepares to strike. Aziraphale retreats and looks around himself. He picks up the closest rock, the only thing out here besides himself, the rain, and the sand. He's scared and in what he knows may be his last moments he gives a silent prayer for humanity, that they won't be made violent by his mistake. "Be thankful to the Almighty that you will die still an ang—gghhk" The archangel is falling to his knees, bleeding from two puncture wounds on each side of his neck that make him choke on his own blood.

Raphael doesn't have the time to heal himself. The attacks keep coming at him from behind. Lightning-fast bites to his neck, to his shoulders, to his wings. The fiery poison is fast, burning his grace. It destroys him from the inside. He's losing blood fast. He can live... But only if his corporation dies before he does... On— Only… if… his… cor—

White blinding light pours out of Raphael's eyes and wounds, and casts long shadows over the wet sand for a second before fading away forever. It’s not the first time he’s seen an angel die, but the war is over. This shouldn’t have happened, not here, not now.

Crawly is in front of him, standing on two legs, grabbing his shoulders tightly and demanding something that Aziraphale can’t quite focus on.

“You killed him.”

“Yesss, you’re welcome. Now can you pleassse get moving?” The demon looks nervously around but it’s difficult to see anything beyond the heavy rain.

“Yes… Yes, you’re right, I should go to Heaven and sort out this mess.” He starts to spread his wings but Crawly’s hands move quickly from his shoulders to his wings.

“That is abssolutely the lassst thing you sshould do!!!” The demon sounds panicked. “Didn’t you hear him? You’re Assasssel, you’ll be killed on the ssspot!!” He’s turned them around and is trying to drag them away as gently as he can in his urgency. “You need to hide Asssiraphale! Now! Before they dissscover it’ss not you who’sss dead!”

“I’m sure I can explain, if I could just talk to them.” But even as he says it he’s not sure he believes it. Hadn’t he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing? He’d been worried about it, terribly so, until a demon came along and reassured him and made him laugh.

"Angel," the demon's hands are cold when they carefully hold his face, his eyes sad and pleading, "they don't care about explanationss. There's nothing you can ssay that will make them change their mindss. I've been where you are and… Just go."

It's difficult to think clearly, his mind is struggling to catch up with how much has changed in so little time, his heart feels constricted by betrayal. All I did was try to help.

"I suppose you're right… We should leave…"

"We?" The demon sounds astonished.

"I just assumed… But of course, you probably have a lot of important things to do in Hell. I'll just be on—"

"I'll come with you!" He's breathless, he doesn't have the air to speak but does anyway. "We're both on Heaven's most wanted list after all, we could watch each other's backs." He smiles a little. "We've made a good team so far…" And whatever happens next, he doesn't want the ang— he doesn't want Aziraphale to go through it alone.

Chapter Text

They fly together, the sun at their backs beginning to disappear behind Eden, the rain barely a drizzle for now.

They stop at an oasis on humanity's first night out of the Garden and Aziraphale's first night on Earth. There's barely any vegetation, a single young palm tree and a few bushes and smaller plants, some partially underwater from the rain. The angel does not suffer the cold in the same way his companion does, but he curls against him beneath the palm tree without hesitation, wings wrapped tight around each other to keep the cold air away.

It's strange looking at the stars from below, they look so small and yet so bright. Crawly has seen them here before, from between the tree leaves while looking for an opportunity for trouble, but he only enjoys them now that he seems them from behind a warm white wing.

"Do you think they found somewhere to spend the night and… er, sleep?"

"Wherever they are I'm sure they’re fine. They went with an angel’s blessing.”

It’s the first they’ve spoken since they left, and the last they speak until morning comes. The angel is quite enjoying the stars, doing his best to think only of them and not linger on the events of the day. Every once in a while he allows his thoughts to stray to the subject of the dawn, he’s heard some very nice things about it, and having missed his chance to enjoy a sunset he’s looking forward to the dawn of the new day.

When the sky begins to slowly light up they both shift their dew-covered wings a little in anticipation of the warmth and light. The sun is heralded by soft pink colors, but before it can be seen on the horizon Aziraphale feels an excruciating pain begin deep in his chest that makes him double over. It spreads quickly, not through his body but through his Grace, twisting it and shredding it. The Grace heals itself fast but it doesn’t come back together the same it was before. It’s deformed and scarred now. He’s screaming and clutching at someone’s wings, tearing out a few feathers when he convulses in pain. Strong but gentle arms keep him from falling to the ground, but he’s still falling in Crawly’s arms and it’s agony.

When the pain begins to ebb somewhat Aziraphale has to make a very conscious effort to unclench one by one his hands, his jaw, and his wings. He’s weeping with eyes shut tight against the other demon’s chest. Crawly sweeps the tears away and cards his hands through his hair and wings, hushing and swaying him, whispering words he can’t focus on no matter how hard he tries. After a while he’s composed enough to draw away and open his eyes, and when he does the first thing he sees is Crawly, wide-eyed and astonished.

“Do I look so horrible?” Aziraphale draws farther away and takes a deep breath to control his shaking. The parts of his body he can see don’t look any different, the wings are still white on the inside. But his face must be disfigured somehow, there’s got to be something terribly wrong with him, from the way Crawly is looking at him..

“No!! No, of course not!! You just look a little—” He’s not going to say anything other than the truth, but he wants to be mindful of the loss Aziraphale is suffering. If he knew how to weave art with his words, if he wasn't ashamed of all the things he could say about the way Aziraphale looks, he’d let him know what he thinks. That he’s beautiful and good, so good he was condemned for it. That he doesn’t mind the color or the shape of his eyes, that he just wants to see the stars reflected on them for as many nights as he can. That he’s selfless and compassionate, and the way he looks is just the consequence of charity in a too-selfish universe, and not something he should ever be ashamed of, “—different.”

“Different.” He touches his own face tentatively, a little afraid of what he might find, searches for rough patches or scales or slime with reluctant fingertips. “I must look like a beast.” Crawly tries not to take that personally, firstly because it’s true of any fallen angel, and secondly because Aziraphale doesn’t know similar their marks are. “It’s the eyes isn’t it?”

“Yessss.”

Aziraphale tries to steal a glance towards the water, but discovers that he can't. He tries to remain calm, take a few deep breaths, but the dread is growing as he wildly tries to look around and his breathing turns agitated.

"I can't— I can't move my eyes. What's wrong with them!?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Aziraphale, they're different, that's all." He stands up and drags Aziraphale up as well. "You're going to have to turn your head to look to the sides, I think."

He slowly turns his head away from Crawly to look around. It's strange, but he'll get used to it. His eyesight doesn't seem very different. Crawly's face looks a little bit blurry so close to his own, but the lines of the horizon are perfectly clear in the distance.

When he finally gathers the courage he goes to the water, he crouches over it to see himself and Crawly can see the back of his wings. Still mostly white, but with a few feather tips tinted black.

“I look like you,” he’s breathless with surprise, and Crawly almost wants to apologize to him for the fate he’s been handed. “Yellow eyes.”

“Only a little alike,” he tries to console. “You’ve got round pupils, very nice and normal-looking.”

“Well… no sense dwelling on it. There’s nothing to be done about it now.” he stands up and fakes a smile for his companion. “What… What happens now? Will I be… dragged down soon?”

“No one is dragging you anywhere,” he says firmly, no place for arguments of any kind. “I would never let them. But someone will be sent to find you sooner or later, when they eventually find out.” Whatever course of action they take now could affect the rest of their existence. “You need to go on your own terms. We can deliver the news in a way that benefits you, Satan probably won’t like your reason for falling but I’ll speak for you if I have to, so don’t you worry.”

“Satan?” he asks confused.

“Lucifer,” clarifies Crawly. “I told you, changing your name is the hot new thing. And he's not exactly a 'lightbringer' anymore.”

“Will I have to change my name too?” He does not want to be called ‘birdy’ or ‘beaky’ or anything else related to whatever type of bird he intuits himself to be.

“Not if you don’t really want to. I’m still… sstill Assshtaroth.” It’s difficult to say, and judging from the other’s face it’s obviously so. “Like I ssaid, Crawly’s just a nickname.”

“You’ll come with me then?”

“Of course, we’re a team, right?” He smiles tentatively. Aziraphale smiles back, his first real smile since being condemned.

The easiest way to get to Hell is to go straight down through the ground and hope you don't land on top of anyone important. It has the risk of being potentially undignified and it definitely won't cause much of an impression. The only other option is the Acheron, a piece-of-shit river in Crawly's opinion, with many branches and a course impossible to understand, but which he's certain flows somewhere close… ish to wherever they are now. And so they fly so high up the air feels thinner, but as the sun rises and the earth beneath them gets warm, white fluffy things begin to obstruct their search for the river and force them to descend.

"This must be the clouds!" exclaims Aziraphale excited after they try to touch one and discover water. "It's the rain from yesterday, they will be blown away and fall back down to the earth in some other place! On and on forever!"

"What for?" strangely he only sounds half curious, still disappointed for not being able to land on one of them.

"I'm not sure, but I think it's something to do with plants."

Whatever their purpose, the clouds make them fly lower and they risk the chance of missing the Acheron entirely. But it’s worth it just to fly close to them, to feel the water softly condensing on their wings. It's a nice change, with clouds surrounding them on all sides there's no room in the sky for their troubles, no need to think about where they came from or where they're going. They race each other, showing off their most complicated turns and loop-de-loops, and only remember their search when it concludes.

When they finally spot the Acheron another day is ending, so they silently agree to wait until the next morning. They stay as far away from the river as they can without losing sight of it.

There's more vegetation here, new grass and abundant thorny shrubs, so it's not difficult to find a nice tree to curl together beneath. Unlike the first night, they're not alone, they share this space with insects, reptiles and rodents. Most of them are sleeping, but some use the cooler hours of the night to feed and socialize, and their quiet scurrying is strangely comforting after the stress of the day. Grounding. A strange thing for celestial beings to feel, being connected to the earth, wanting to be on the Earth.

Chapter Text

When the morning comes they are slow to move, both of them reluctant to leave this place behind.

"We will return," promises Crawly, even though he may not have the power to make it happen.

There's nothing to do but march down to Hell. They take a slow stroll to the river, trying to experience the heat of the sun and the touch of the wind to its fullest. As they step closer to the water, they are suddenly swarmed by buzzing wasps and hornets. They don’t sting them, but they’re certainly annoying.

“It’s the Acheron alright,” confirms Crawly, swatting bugs from his face.

“What now?”

“Well… I guess we just… walk in.”

They walk into the river side by side, the water getting higher as they move away from the shore until they are completely submerged, and then lower as they get closer to the opposite shore, which looks different now. The water, the mud, and the insects are the same but there’s an arch beyond the river that wasn’t there before. They’ve re-emerged at the Gate of Hell.

“I’ll admit I was expecting something a little more sinister. Or a bit more ominous at least.” Crawly huffs out a laugh at this. “A river of fire and brimstone maybe. Or a sign at least! Something like ‘Beware all who enter’, or ‘You may walk inside but you can never leave’, ‘Abandon all hope at this gate’.”

“Well, you could always tell Satan about your little ideas. He might appoint you infernal architect,” this last part he says with less enthusiasm.

“Oh… yes, I suppose I’ll have to be given a job to do…” He stops just inside the Gate and looks down, meditative. “Do my part in the eternal war against Heaven. Better get used to that quickly.” He forces a smile, more resigned than pained.

Their conversation is interrupted by a small imp flying towards them and landing at their feet.

“Ashtaroth, Great Duke of Hell. Our Lord is waiting for you," the imp keeps shooting glances at Aziraphale, which both of them ignore as they march forward together.

“Great Duke of Hell,” whispers Aziraphale, just to see the other’s annoyed expression. “So which is it you don’t like, dear? Titles or responsibilities?” He raises an eyebrow but receives no response beyond a dismissive noise that almost gets stuck on Crawly’s throat from embarrassment.

They walk through interminable halls and down several stairs, guided by the imp, and when they reach the final floor Crawly notes with some apprehension that they’re not being led to Satan’s office as he might have hoped, but to the rather ridiculous and rather public throne room. An audience could mean interruptions, unnecessary questions, and the possibility of other demons growing bored and cutting short any important explanations. It also means that he’ll have to be much more subtle when asking for preferential treatment for the angel who didn’t kill him, who refused to even consider it.

“Well, well, well,” Satan says, already sitting at his throne. Crawly walks closer, with Aziraphale at his side and just a little behind. “Everyone! Look who crawled back to us!” Satan is smiling. Good, that’s good, he’s in a good mood but Crawly doesn’t allow himself to relax. “And what did you drag in?” He’s looking at Aziraphale now, but the newly fallen angel doesn’t cower, he keeps standing proud. He has nothing to be ashamed of, he keeps telling himself.

Crawly takes another step forward, alone. The room is horrendously crowded, they've all been waiting to hear about the mortals. There is some whispering of course, the Serpent is back and he is not alone.

"Hail Satan! I'm happy to announce," he's addressed his Lord but raises his voice and looks quickly around to make sure everyone listens to him, "that the peace of God's Garden has been disrupted." There's some pleased muttering, but Crawly ignores it and continues. "I tempted them to eat from one of the forbidden trees, and for that they've fallen. And, not only were they banished, they are now unguarded and susceptible to further tempting." He spreads his arms wide and bows theatrically, as if he were laying an offering at Satan’s feet. The Lord of Hell is clapping his hands enthusiastically and laughing, and everyone else is quick to clap along.

"I knew you were the demon for the job! Tell me, did you have much difficulty crawling out of there?"

"I had some help…" he motions Aziraphale to come closer. "The guardian of the Eastern Gate, the Principality Aziraphale."

"Did he seduce you into helping him escape?" asks the Lord with a smirk. A chorus of snickering all around them follows the question "Is that why you've fallen, little angel?"

"My help was freely given," answers the white winged demon sternly. "And I was condemned as Azazel for giving a weapon to the humans, by my own choice," he emphasises.

"So you've given them knowledge of the tools for war…" He raises to his feet and proclaims: "We welcome Aziraphale, the Azazel, to Hell." There's more applause, and this time Crawly applauds too, with more enthusiasm than anyone else and looking around to make sure everyone is clapping their hands. "I will speak with them privately now."

The applause dies abruptly and the demons start walking out of the throne room. It takes a lot of time for the room to be emptied, so Crawly slides closer to Aziraphale to whisper as discreetly as he can.

"You're doing great, keep going the knowledge route."

"He seems to like you…" he was surprised by it after seeing how reluctant Crawly was to come back here.

"We were friends in Heaven. He's the one that started calling me ‘crawly’," he explains keeping his tone perfectly neutral. "He loves that joke."

"I see… And do you often 'seduce' others into granting you favours?" The tone of the question seems innocent enough, but his amber eyes are mischievous. Crawly clears his throat nervously and tries unsuccessfully to stammer out a reply for several moments until he's finally interrupted. "Ah, a master seducer indeed," smirks Aziraphale.

Crawly is saved from having to answer by the last demons stepping out and leaving them alone with Satan.

"A fine job Crawly, and I hope you've had your fun. I trust you are you ready to take your seat in the Dark Council now?"

"We— well… It's a great honor! A seat in the Dark Council… But the work on Earth is jusst beginning, they're going to need… a ssteady corrupting influence. To, to be certain their sssouls will be ourss," he stops briefly to make sure Satan’s not getting angry at any of this. "And I feel, you know, that we could be really good at thisss… thing. Tempting."

"We?" The Lord of Hell is no longer smiling easily, his expression is blank but his eyes betray a calculating air.

"Asssiraphale and I."

Crawly's answer is followed by a long silence. Satan’s eyes slide slowly to the newly fallen angel and seem to consider him carefully before returning to Crawly. The smile that appears on his face is mocking.

"Did he seduce you? Is that why you want to be alone on Earth with him?" His laughter has a cruel edge.

"I… Well, issss not— nngh," he can't stand still. He wants to turn around and pace and absolutely refuse to explain his reasons for wanting this, the first thing he's ever actively wanted.

Satan is sneering at him and Aziraphale looks a second away from stepping forward and saying something that would have him thrown into a pit, his black-and-white wings arching and puffing. His discomfort is so obvious that Satan is slowly going from derisive to curious, Crawly has never been this anxious about anything. There must be something he can say to get his way without begging and still remain in his boss' good esteem. But he doesn't get any more chances to try to guess what it might be because the Lord of Hell is turning to Aziraphale now.

"You seem to be more powerful than I gave you credit for, Azazel. The mortals teach you a few things in exchange?" he chuckles. "You must have quite a talent for sins of the flesh. Tell me, did the snake reward you for your aid after you helped him escape?"

"After I helped him escape, he helped me escape!" huffs Aziraphale affronted.

"Ah, I see! A runaway union! You each offered the other a hand!" he roars out a thunderous laugh. When he calms enough to continue he's still chuckling. "You've done a good job so far as humanity's teacher, so you'll have no trouble leading any humans our way," he grants. Then he turns back to Crawly. "You went beyond expectations at the Garden, so I'll allow you to neglect your duties to the Council." He's smirking, still laughing at them, "Be careful not to have too much earthly fun with each other and forget your duties, I promise you that your pleasure will not outweigh the punishment if you disappoint me."

They are dismissed with the careless wave of a hand, and they both exit the throne room quickly, avoiding each other's eyes and learning what it feels like to feel your face is aflame.

Chapter Text

Outside the throne room there's a demon waiting against a wall, Aziraphale tries to recognise them, but the silvery scales on their face and their sharp teeth make it hard to guess what they might have looked like before.

"What do you want, Dagon?" asks Crawly when they step in their path.

"Asmodeus is throwing a party. Both you and the Azazel are expected to attend, so don't even think about slipping away."

"Whaaaaat? Anooother one?" he groans exaggeratedly and starts dragging his feet after Dagon when they start walking away.

"Of course! We are celebrating our victory! The first of many!" they declare proudly.

"Yes, fine, whatever…" he cuts them short before they can launch into a speech. "Hope you're ready for some dancing," he adds with a glance to Aziraphale.

"Dancing? Is that some kind of torture?" asks the other, trying to mask his apprehension.

"No no no! It's completely harmless!" he's quick to reassure. "It's fun, I'm sure you'll like it."

“Beware the food,” whispers Dagon over their shoulder. “Beelzebub was put in charge of it, and they have been miracling it old, some of it is now weirdly rotten.”

“Food? You are eating?” asks Aziraphale fascinated.

“Sometimes,” answers Dagon bored. “It’s somewhat interesting, the plants above grow a lot of different things.”

“I’ll make sure to find you a perfectly ripe apple,” says Crawly with a conspiratorial wink as they walk into a large chamber.

It’s crowded, more so than the throne room. There is gossiping, there is shouting and cheering, and above it all, there is also music clogging the air. Aziraphale's curiosity leads him straight to the group of demons by the far wall, there’s about a dozen of them, humming, whistling, clicking their tongues and clapping their hands. Some also have rocks or wooden sticks that they beat one against the other or against their bodies.

“Why don’t they just sing? They were all part of the Choir not so long ago.”

“We cannot sing anymore, that’s an angel thing apparently. They had to find a different way,” shrugs Crawly.

“Oh…” that’s all he can say, surrounded as they are. He doesn’t have the time to mourn this little thing he hadn’t even known he had lost, doesn’t have the time to wonder how much he’s lost and doesn’t even know yet. “Well this is very… creative,” he doesn’t sound very enthusiastic but he is intrigued. “Using other parts of the body for making music… And these music tools!” He leans in closer to examine a pair of clapsticks.

“We call them instruments,” the demon using them sneers at him.

“You want to try dancing?” interrupts Crawly before Aziraphale can decide between apologising or snapping back. He gestures to a different, larger group of demons behind them. They seem to mark the beat of the music with movements of the body, their limbs flailing around as if beyond their control.

“Ummh, maybe some other time…” he moves away from both the musicians and the dancers, doing his best to ignore the slightly disappointed look in Crawly’s eyes.

The food table is long and full of fruits and jugs of milk and honey, most of it untouched since not many demons seem interested in eating or drinking. Crawly grabs a shiny red apple from a pile near the head of the table and throws it in the air for Aziraphale to catch. He does it with a pleased smile, and holds it close to his face to scent it before taking a bite.

Sweet, he thinks, this is what sweet tastes like. He chews slowly, keeping it in his mouth for as long as he can before swallowing. Crawly trails behind him, content simply to watch as he walks down the table to the other end, taking a few morsels of whatever catches his eye in between the pieces of apple. An olive here, a fig there, a bit of honey sucked straight from his curious fingers. The serpent’s stare feels heavy on him, it burns a path over him and Aziraphale finds himself quite enjoying the undivided attention, even more than the food.

As he gets nearer to the end the fruit starts to look overripe and stale, and he spends some time appreciating the differences between the fresh juicy plums and the dried wrinkled plums. There are a couple of flies over the table now. The curdled milk is impossible to pour but he breaks a piece of the coagulated liquid and he washes it down with a fermented berry juice. They can see the Lord of Flies standing at the end of the table, judging Aziraphale’s reactions to the food.

He’s about to start on some colorful fungi caps when they’re approached by a small group of demons crowding around them.

“Look at this! The tempter and the teacher!” The demon at the head of the group is very angry by the looks of it, but it’s difficult to tell if he ever looks any other way. His eyebrows, thick with both coarse hair and a few feathers, ascend sharply on his face, almost vertical. The eyes beneath are completely orange, with small round pupils. His ridiculously long legs make him tower over them easily. “Don’t you look pretty Azazel, with your white curls and your white robe? Is your halo even broken?” If any species of bird is capable of spitting poison, he must be it.

“Back off Stolas,” Crawly stands at his side, pulling his lips back like he wants to hiss his threat.

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he puts a hand over Crawly’s arm to stay him. “It’s normal for inferior beings to feel envious of their betters.” The other demons are quick to turn on their ringleader and laugh at him.

“I’m a Marquis! You are my inferior!” He grabs the front of his robe and gets in his face, only his hand tightening on Crawly’s arm prevents him from jumping in. “You think you can just drop in, like you didn’t kill our kind in the war, and get lauded for getting your sword stolen and lying about it to make yourself look good?”

“Is your position really so fragile that you feel the need to pick up fights with those you consider your inferiors to cement it?” Aziraphale is distantly aware that they have attracted the attention of everyone around them.

“He has a point. Maybe we should give your position to someone else, Stolas.” Beelzebub doesn’t smirk, but they’re clearly enjoying the confrontation. “Maybe we should give it to Azazel. What do you think Mammon?” he turns to their fellow Prince.

“He does seem to have potential” she agrees. “But why don’t we settle it with a little friendly competition? Let the most powerful win.”

Before any conditions can be set, Stolas attacks. His ridiculous long legs stay in his eagle-owl form, he’s enormous and Aziraphale is on his back on the floor in an instant. Crawly is dragged back by Mammon, her sharp nail digging on his arms as everyone steps back to make space for the fight.

It’s not a conscious thought, one moment he’s holding Stolas back by the neck, struggling to remove the weight holding him down, and the next he’s digging sharp talons that he didn’t have before high on his enemy’s legs, snapping his beak at the other owl. They’re clearly not the same, one brown and black, one nearly white. Stolas is a little bulkier and with a broader wingspan, but the snowy owl demon is much faster, more precise.

Aziraphale’s dark beak is dirty with blood. Stolas bats his wings uselessly trying to move away and regain the upper hand, but the white owl’s talons on his legs keep him close. They crash against the table and hover and glide over the spilled food, wings fluttering angrily. There are dark brown feathers in the floor, and blood pouring from Aziraphale’s wounds. Both their beaks are sharp and leave painful slashes.

The fight stops when Stolas, though still beating his wings agitatedly, stops trying to bite him and starts screeching for him to stop. Aziraphale looms over him still gripping him tight, wings spread threateningly and waiting to be sure of his victory. The moment his hold on Stolas loosens he flies off, away from the crowd and out one of the doors.

Crawly is by his side in a second. In this form, Aziraphale is almost the same height as Crawly kneeling down on one knee to look him in the eyes.

“Well done!” he claps him on the back jovially, but Aziraphale notes the way his eyes skim over every wound. “And nice form too! I think you could lift me in the air with those claws!” There’s no mistaking the awe in his eyes.

“I think we have a new Marquis…” Mammon sounds pleased, not by the result but by the fight itself.

Aziraphale ignores her and everyone else around them, concentrating on changing back his form without looking like he’s trying too hard. Most of his wounds are not serious, superficial scratches and punctures that sting quite a bit, but some are deeper gashes that bleed over his white robe. Hellish powers are not well suited for healing, it seems, but Aziraphale manages to fix his corporation well enough with what little energy he has left. He looks down at his previously pristine clothes with a tired sigh.

“Oh, these are quite definitely ruined,” he laments. “How am I ever going to get them clean again?” He looks up at Crawly, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Crawly murmurs an agreement before clearing his throat loudly, and a snap of his fingers makes the blood vanish from the robe. But it also makes the fabric darken to charcoal, golden trims swallowed by the black. He freezes, hand still in the air. That shouldn’t have happened, he didn’t mean for that to happen!

“I’m— I’m sorry! I didn’t— It wasn’t— Ngk,” he tries to clear the knot in his throat. Aziraphale doesn’t look angry, just sad. “It was Hell, I think.”

“It all right, my dear,” he assures him with a resigned smile. “Thank you. I’ll attract less attention this way, I should think.”

He doesn’t. He becomes one of the entertainments of the party. Many demons approach him to take a closer look and size him up, some even strike up brief conversations. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to face them without the food Crawly attentively brings to him, it helps him regain his energy as the hours pass. He stands straight as he receives their introductions, threats, and contempt with unaffected pride. With those who are not outright hostile he drops his mask a little and exchanges a few polite words.

“You seem to be adapting fine…” comments Crawly when they have a moment to themselves, though it sounds more like a question.

“I’m just… trying not to think too much, I guess.” He turns his head to look at his companion. “Everything has changed so much, if I stop to consider any of it I will embarrass myself in front all of Hell. I fear once I’m left alone with my mind I...” Crawly shifts awkwardly and avoids meeting his eyes, so Aziraphale turns away and silence falls between them again.

Another demon comes, this one wanting to know how much does Azazel know about Heaven’s plans, how long does he think they’ll have to wait until the Final Battle.

“Does it bother you? Everyone calling you Azazel?” asks Crawly once she’s gone.

“I would have thought that it would, but it doesn’t really. Aziraphale is still my name in some ways, but… I’m not exactly the being that name was granted to. It doesn’t quite fit anymore.” He chuckles humourlessly. “I guess I don’t even get to choose who I want to be…” He’s looking straight ahead, so Crawly has to step in front of him to look him in the eyes.

“You can be whoever you want, fuck what anyone else says! I’ll call you by whatever name you choose.”

“Azazel is not so bad…” he sighs tiredly. “I know I went against Heaven, but I still don’t think I did the wrong thing. I guess I just have to embrace the consequences.”

“It’s not so bad when you get used to it,” it’s an empty promise, but comforting all the same.

“I think I’m ready to try some of that dancing now…”

It is completely undignified. But it’s easy to let go in the mob of twisting and rocking bodies, and just be one more demon in the crowd. There’s something exhilarating about it, loose limbs moving to the music, elbows clashing awkwardly and someone’s wing smacking him in the face. And sometimes, not nearly often enough, a barely-felt graze through his clothes, whenever they get close enough. Their sights firm on each other through every turn and shuffle that drives them apart and then brings them back together.

Chapter Text

It takes them longer than they would have liked to leave Hell. When they finally do they’re so anxious to leave it behind that they simply ascend through the ground quite a long way away from where they left. It will take them some time to learn to navigate around the Earth properly. They’re not sure where exactly they are, or worse, where they can find the humans they’re supposed to influence. The demon in charge of the newly created Earth Observatory assured them the humans were in the land between two rivers, which could mean a hundred different pair of rivers, and also could not even be true since there’s a lot of work to be done in the Observatory.

They fly all day and, despite Crawly’s cold blood, usually all through the night. They walk sometimes, when flying becomes too tiresome and boring. They waste a lot of their time walking along riverbanks and streams, getting their feet wet and hoping to find some sign of human presence that they might have missed from the sky, even with Azazel’s impressive sight. Instead, they find animal shapes in the clouds and in the stars, they find they can submerge underwater and swim like the fish do, they find that they can splash a lot if they drop into the water from high up.

They learn things as well, both about themselves and each other. Azazel’s curiosity over food has turned to cravings, and he will try anything that he sees an animal eating at least once. Even the mice that he saw another owl hunting, and later confessed tasted better on an owl’s palate than a human’s. Crawly learns that he might not adore the taste of plants in the same way, but does enjoy the way they look. Wherever they go he takes leaves and flowers. Some smell sweet, some fresh, soft or stinging, thin like hair or thick and fleshy, a million different possible combinations to be surprised by. They learn Azazel can spin his head all the way around to look behind his back, even in his human body; and that Crawly softens and melts if Azazel cards his hands through flaming hair, his limbs loose and slack as he lays on the ground, head on his lap.

They see animals hatching and giving birth, creating life on their own without aid from God. They smell death and rot, and discover creatures feeding and thriving on the decay. They understand they could spend ten thousand years on Earth and still not have seen everything there is to see.

It’s impossible to keep count of the days, but they have seen the moon through its cycle several times when they spot the glow of fire at the base of some mountains. There is very little sunlight left when they appear at the edge of a clearing, a white winged demon and a giant black snake, and wait to be noticed. They only see Adam, sitting between the fire and some kind of conical construction made from sticks and… animal skins. He startles when he sees them, jumps to his feet and raises the sword, then lowers it again when he recognises them.

He has no reason to trust the Serpent, but if it’s here with the angel then he’s willing to overlook its presence out of gratitude. Many nights he’s prayed to the angel of the Gate, asking for protection and comfort when food was hard to find and there was no shelter in sight. The angel has kept their feet going in the right direction when they were most tired and their spirits up when the world seemed too overwhelming.

“What’s happening?” The whisper comes from inside the tent, and is followed by Eve peeking from the entrance.

Unlike her husband she’s relieved to see Crawly again, and she crawls out of the tent to welcome them. Her belly has swelled uncomfortably since they left the Garden and she doesn't really understand what's happening to her body or why. She's scared, but she knows the Serpent to be old and smart.

“We’ve been sssearching for you, we wanted to sssee how you were doing…” he slithers past Adam and curls in front of Eve, still sitting on the ground. "I brought you a gift," a sharp flick of his tail makes a fruit drop into her hands. "A pomegranate. It'sss not from the actual Tree of Life, but I thought you might like to try it," he throws a wink at Adam, who looks terribly offended by the gift. “And I’m sssure you remember Assasssel...” he points at him with the tip of his tail as he sits on the other side of the fire.

“We’d thought we would never learn your name.” Adam sits next to his wife, wrapping an arm protectively around her and glaring briefly at the Serpent. “We owe you our lives, Angel. Thank you.”

“Oh… I’m afraid I’m not an angel anymore,” the humans look surprised by this. “Heaven didn’t approve of me giving you my sword. Which is why I’ll have to ask to have it back, before they find you as well and decide to take it by force.” Adam returns it reluctantly. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you defenseless. I’ll teach how to make your own weapons. Maybe something more appropriate for hunting.”

“If you’re not an angel, does that mean you didn’t hear our prayers? Can you not heal Eve?”

“Heal her? What’sss wrong?” He raises his head closer and looks her over carefully, ignoring Adam’s nervousness at his proximity. “Iss the baby making you sssick?”

“Baby?” they both ask at the same time, confused.

“Yesss, the ba—” he stops mid-word. “Oh,” he turns to Azazel, stunned, and he looks equally shocked “Well… You’re the Teacher, ssso teach!” he hisses out a laugh and retreats.

“But surely you know this already!” He turns his head to look around, but there’s no escaping this conversation. “You must have seen some of the animals do it, get pregnant and giving birth…” but the animals always hide and run from them, scared. “You… you have a baby growing inside you, a very small person. When it’s ready, you will have to push it out and care for it as it grows.” He hopes this is sufficient explanation, they don’t really know much more than them, to be honest.

“Oh, I knew I could feel something moving!” she cradles her belly carefully, just like she’s done a hundred time already. “What will a baby look like? Will they be a man or a woman?”

“It will be the first, so we’ll just have to wait and see.”

So, with the excuse of seeing the baby, they stay close to them. They don’t seem too bothered about them being demons, but no one’s ever warned them against their kind, their expulsion from Eden was too sudden. Adam refuses to warm up to Crawly, though he does calm down considerably when he discovers he’s not an actual snake.

They usually visit during the night, Crawly to enjoy the warmth of the fire and Azazel to enjoy the cooked meat. But more often than not they wander off to look up at the stars alone. They don't ever talk about the war or their falls, but they practice shape-shifting in size until they can look like ordinary animals. They learn how to look like Eve, how to hide their wings, and diligently try and fail to change their eyes to look more human.

Crawly is not entirely disappointed by their lack of success. Azazel's eyes are beautiful and menacing, two specks of color amongst the immaculate white of his body. They amaze him like nothing else on the Earth, the most alluring thing above it or beneath it. He often watches them from the corner of his eyes, knowing Azazel can only look ahead, and is sometimes surprised when the other turns his head abruptly. Crawly cannot look away when it happens, immobilized under a predator's stare, ashamed of his enjoyment.

"Do they bother you?" Azazel finally asks one late evening, when they are resting by the river the humans have named Idigina. It’s chilly by the water that comes down from the mountains, so they are cuddled up together, their faces impossibly close until Azazel turns back to the river. "I know they're very different. I know they look… ‘creepy’, Adam told me so." Sometimes when the humans refuse to take his advice, good or bad, he tries to roll his eyes or look down at them, but his unmoving stare will make them shift uneasily instead.

“Of course not! They’re not at all cr— well… they can’t be any more creepy than slitted pupils. Humans are… I mean, they get scared of the dark!” he shifts nervously under the cocoon of their wings and tries to change the subject. “Just the other day Eve was—”

“I wasn’t asking about your opinion on the mortals,” interrupts Azazel coldly.

“No, yes, of course… They’re… er,” he might as well admit it. It can hardly be more embarrassing than having been caught staring one time too many. “I like them,” he says it fast, hoping it will be less painful that way “I’m sorry, I won’t look again.”

“You like them?” He’s breathless with surprise. “I like your eyes too. There’s no reason to apologise, dear.”

“Of course there is!” He refuses to look at Azazel and let him see exactly how much he likes him. The absolute last thing he wants is to disgust him with his feelings. His fallen angel deserves so much more than this, more than sulfuric eyes on his face, more than the tainted affection of a demon. “They’re punishment! A punishment you didn’t deserve.”

“Maybe they were, at first… But now they’re just another part of me. And if you like them, I’m nothing but flattered,” more than that, in truth. He never knew vanity before this night. “I like your eyes too,” he repeats. “And your hair…” he grabs a lock of it between his fingers to play with, as he lays his head on Crawly’s shoulder, “red like apples and pomegranates.”

It takes some time, but the Serpent finally relaxes and leans back against him. He doesn’t argue, too busy fighting back the smile that threatens to bloom on his face at the compliment.

Chapter Text

They're by the Idigina river again, in the spot they have come to think of as theirs. The full moon high in the sky when they hear Adam shouting their names through the trees. It interrupts Azazel’s stargazing and Crawly’s first attempt to teach himself how to sleep. When he finds them, Adam is nervous and scared, and asking them to follow quickly. Their settlement is not far from the river, and inside the tent Eve is panting on her hands and knees.

When her water broke they both woke up excited, but then the pain started coming, more and more frequently, more and more intense.

Crawly is by her side in an instant, wings tucked away, trying to get her to calm her breathing. There’s not a lot of room inside, so Adam hovers by the entrance with Azazel right behind him. It’s a scary thing for them, the worst they’ve ever seen or experienced in their short mortal lives. There’s screaming and blood, the tang of fear in the air and the uncertainty of not knowing if this is how it’s supposed to be. Adam is on his knees praying to God. Even if She might not care enough to listen, he has to beg for her life.

It takes a lot of time, and feels like even more, for Crawly to be able to hold the baby as it comes to the world. He looks both incredibly fragile and incredibly angry, and the demon is as careful as he can be when passing him to his mother’s arms, after she collapses and turns to lie on her back. Crawly can barely leave the tent before Adam is shoving his way in to sit with his wife.

“Everything’s fine, dear.” Azazel has to drag him away to give the family some privacy, Crawly doesn’t seem to want to lose sight of the baby. “Why don’t we build them a fire?” They miracle it warm and bright, and then leave the clearing to look for more wood. And just as they’re returning with arms loaded, the screaming starts again.

It’s easier the second time, and the first baby is back in the Serpents arms, already wrapped in fur, as his sister is born.

They stay on high alert the following days. The first man and the first woman to be born is a momentous occasion, and Heaven might like to come down to blow some trumpets and act all important. Even if they’ve sinned, humans are still the most important of Her creations. Right? And so, they lurk by the clearing in their animal forms, careful to keep conversation to a minimum.

The days are slow and there’s not much to entertain them. The babies sleep and scream in short intervals, and their parents are always on the brink of crying too, overwhelmed and frustrated. The demons watch bored.

They sometimes have dinner together by a bush Crawly’s claimed as a hiding spot. Azazel hunts mice and small rabbits for both of them, even if the snake is not as fond of eating, and then share the cover of the bush for the rest of the night. It’s an unusual sight, the tangle of scales and feathers, but no predators dare to disturb them.

In the end, it’s obvious Heaven is not going to intervene with their lives yet. No angels are sent to bless Cain and Calmana, and the demons can sense a light tarnish to their souls from their parent’s sin. It seems ridiculous that the babies are already bound for Hell, but they understand better than the humans do just how unforgiving Heaven is. They return to their human forms, but the days are not any less dull.

"Thank you."

Azazel looks up from the basket he's weaving. This is not the kind of thing he likes to occupy his time with, but the babies’ arrival seems to have disrupted the casual relationship they maintained with the humans. It's Crawly's fault he's now weaving baskets, washing clothes and collecting firewood regularly, it was he who offered Eve their help. Human babies are not as self-sufficient as those from other species, and with two of them she was run ragged. At least she has the grace to be thankful.

“There's no need to thank me, my dear, you'll have the chance to repay the favor."

She sits next to him on the ground by the tent. One of the babies is feeding from her breast, the other is in Crawly's arms. He's always finding excuses to pick them up. He's walking around the edges of the clearing at this moment, rocking softly from side to side was he goes.

"Of course we will help when you and Crawly have your own baby!" she smiles broadly. "I can't wait to see their little wings!"

"What! No!" he tries not to scream it, and makes sure the serpent hasn't heard anything. “We’re not going to have any babies!” Where could she even get that idea?

“Oh!” she too steals a glance at the other demon and is careful to whisper. “We always thought all those nights you disappeared it was so you could lay together.” Azazel’s horrified expression is answer enough. “Clearly we were wrong, but… you do love each other, right?” She’d thought it was obvious, but she’s not so sure anymore.

“It’s not so simple. When you and Adam fell out of God’s grace you went from living inside the Garden to living outside of it.” He sighs deeply before continuing. “A fallen angel is not just banned from entering Heaven. We are changed, our essence, our nature. I remember what it felt like loving Her, when it was the only thing I knew. A blinding compulsion,” what he feels for Crawly is nothing like that, “that’s the only love we were created for.”

“So you… can’t love anymore?” Eve looks incredibly sad at that.

“Apparently not.”

They both startle when Crawly speaks directly behind their backs. The gentleness from before is gone, his expression hard and cold. He does not look at Azazel once as he returns Calmana to her mother and leaves the clearing, slithering through the grass on his belly.

Knowledge truly is wretched thing. He hadn’t even realised it was something he hoped for, Azazel’s love, but now he knows he will never have it. It’s just as well, really, he’s a demon, a truly profane creature. Not like Azazel, who fell out of kindness. No, Ashtaroth was damned for his unfaithfulness. He doesn’t deserve any love.

That night he goes to Azazel and they lay under the stars together, side by side on the ground. They talk and laugh, and Crawly tries his best not to break whenever the fallen angel looks away from the sky and into his eyes. His pain is not Azazel’s fault, and he’s determined not to burden him with it.

It’s easy to hide the pain, it becomes part of his nature. The ache is ever-present, but he’s careful not to take it out on any of the children. They grow up incredibly quickly, and by the time Cain and Calmana are starting to walk on their own, Abel and Balbira arrive in the middle of the day, under a scorching sun.

They help the humans move to a wider space by the edge of the woods, and distract the toddlers while Adam builds a pen close to their new, larger tent. He intends to trap some animals, have them live and mate inside the pen so he won’t have to spend so much time away hunting. Eve decides to copy his idea, and starts to dig out edible plants and fruit bushes and placing them on the empty land just beyond the pen.

Surprisingly, the demons are gifted with the old tent. “You never know when you might need some privacy,” explains Eve with a wink. She has been trying to instruct Azazel in matters of love, but he always refuses to talk about it. They don’t use it in the way she intends, they hardly spend their nights inside, still preferring the cover of the stars. They store some food of their own in there, and Azazel loves to clutter it with flowers, pretty rocks, and fallen feathers the children bring them.

The only thing they need privacy for is wing-grooming, as they have stopped showing their wings to the humans when Cain and Calmana learnt how to talk —and how to ask questions—. And it's nice, not getting your feathers constantly dirtied by tiny sticky fruit-covered hands.

Sometimes their privacy is interrupted with demands for hide-and-seek, or story-telling, or try-not-to-blink competitions, or whatever game they have just invented that just absolutely needs to have six players. The children learned early-on on whom they should turn the puppy-eyes, but today Crawly’s nowhere to be seen. At least, as far as they know.

“Please Azazel, please! You need to come see it, it’s so cool!”

The four of them are gathered outside the demons’ tent, shoving at each other to be at the front, and all insisting that he accompanies them right this moment to see some mysterious marvel.

“I’ve told you already that I can’t, I have a guest,” he says, pointing at the long red-bellied snake curled on his lap. He’s not sleeping yet, but he’s never going to learn how to unless he practices.

“The snake is boring! You’ve seen it before!” complains Calmana. Crawly doesn’t even bother to take offense, perfectly relaxed as he is. “The frog is better!”

“Don’t say it’s a frog!!” Abel is a head shorter than her, but manages to push her to the ground. “It has to be a surprise!”

“I’ve seen plenty of frogs before, my dears, I don’t need to see this one.” He has no interest in leaving the comfort of their tent, with it’s thick fur floor and the over-sweet smell of all the apples Crawly gathered for him yesterday.

“But this one can talk!” reveals Cain.

The serpent rises his head brusquely and Azazel startles badly.

“Where?!” he demands. “Where did you see it?!”

“By the river,” answers Abel apprehensively. They all suspect they’re about to be scolded, best not to lie. “On the fallen tree.”

“Go to your mother and stay with her.”

They run off at once, before Azazel might think better and decide they need a punishment for whatever it is they did wrong. As soon as they disappear from their sight, Crawly shifts back to normal.

“Okay, okay…” There’s not enough room to pace, but he walks around Azazel anyway. “I’ll go and meet with whoever this is and you stay and watch the kids.”

"Should you be going alone? We don't know who it is, or what they want…" Azazel tries to argue, but it’s no use.

They go round in circles for a long time, but Crawly does end up going all on his own to meet with an unknown demon whose reason for being here they have no way to know for sure. But they’re unlikely to be of a higher rank than The Serpent, one of Satan’s favourites.

When he gets to the river, there is indeed a frog on top of the fallen tree. It’s black eyes follow Crawly as he comes closer.

“Ashtaroth, Great Duke of Hell,” he croaks, “I am Hastur, Duke of Hell. I’ve come to collect a progress report.”

He hisses at the mention of his old name, but is far too worried about having to report their non-existent progress to correct the other demon. He’s always been good at thinking quickly, and the frog’s bored tone of voice suggest that he doesn’t really care about his job here. He wonders, for a moment, if it wouldn’t make their lives easier to just change into a snake and swallow Hastur whole with a single, fast, deadly bite.

Chapter Text

By the time he makes it back Azazel is perched on a tree, hidden, so he too transforms and climbs up to hang beside him. In the distance they can see Adam building mud-bricks. The boys are with him, attempting to help.

“Sssso, what do you think of them?”

“They are inventive.” He looks at Crawly and notices how tense he looks. The meeting didn't go well, it seems. “What dooo yoooou think of them?”

“They are hardworking, diligent,” he worries. “The children are a little wrathful, but that ssseemss to be more inmaturity than an actual sssin. They don’t have enough excesss food for gluttony.” He looks at the growing pile of bricks. “Perhapss a houssse could be greater than a garden...

“They’re goooing tooo build an altar, first,” Azazel bites out. He has been feeling insulted by it since he heard of it this morning, after Crawly left. After all that the two demons have done for them, they would still invite the God that disowned them back into their lives.

“No pride then, but we need to find sssomething.” He slithers closer, and presses his scales to the warm white feathers. “Hell wass asssking for a progresss report."

"What?!" He can't help flapping his wings nervously.

"Yessss. The demon I sspoke with earlier, Hassstur, wassn't very sssmart." He presses his head against Azazel's wing to settle him down. "I told him it wasss taking longer than in the Garden becausse the humansss have wizened up, but that we're working on sssomething new."

"Then we need tooo come up with something! Befooore they start with their oofferings and Heaven gets invooolved!"

"I know! I know! But God hassn't exactly given them more rulesss that they can break!"

"But that doesn't mean the rules dooon't exist…" he suggests. "I didn't knooow given them weapons was forbidden until I did. We all probably started by doooing something we didn't knooow we shouldn't dooo until it was toooo late." He looks down to the serpent at his side. "So how did the Rebellion really start?"

"Well… dissscontent, I guessss." He doesn't have any shoulders to shrug, but he coils slightly tighter around himself and loosens back. He's much more careful about that now. He takes what is given and doesn't complain or demand for more. The last thing he wants is to lose everything again. To lose Azazel.

It is then decided that the first step to discontent is to be more absent. They show themselves for dinner every few days and very briefly, when the family is exhausted from the work of the day. They go on and on about how lovely it is to laze in the sun and do nothing but enjoy each other's company, before disappearing again without any miraculously fast cleaning. Adam and Eve haven't had a moment to be alone together in years and they start to crave it, impossible as it is with their ever growing herd of children.

Even if the demons were still helping them, they would have still been outnumbered with Seth's arrival, and he's quickly followed by Awan, Azura, and Aclima. They are much more than what one tired couple can manage. Fights break out daily at the farm while Crawly and Azazel feed each other grapes, sprawled on a meadow.

“Isn’t this a little counterproductive?” asks Azazel, lying down on a bed of lush grass. “We’re doing even less than before.” The years have been passing them by in a haze of overindulgence.

“Trust me,” says Crawly by his side. He turns to the side and rises a little, propped on an elbow to look down at the fallen angel. “Unhappy people are easier to influence." He presses a grape against Azazel's lips and watches hungrily as he takes it into his mouth. "That’s how Satan lured many of us to his side.”

“What could you have been unhappy about?” He regrets asking the moment he sees the pain in his eyes, but he can’t drop the subject completely. “Are you still unhappy?”

“I’m content enough,” he shrugs dismissively.

“You are a demon.” Azazel rearranges some of the flaming ringlets over his shoulder. “You can be greedy for more than enough.”

“I have everything I can ask for,” he forces his answer through his constricted throat. He starts to move away, but his fallen angel stops him with a hand cupping his jaw and neck.

"And what about the things you can't ask for?" he sounds genuinely curious, no hidden meaning in his intonation. "Is it something forbidden? Something out of reach, still in Heaven?"

"Something I don't deserve." He spits it out, hoping Azazel will stop asking.

But Azazel has stopped caring about the value worthiness, it doesn’t mean anything in this universe.

“What is it? I’ll get it for you, if it’s within my power.” And if it’s not, he’ll find some other way. For Crawly. He wants to give him everything, the desire to please him is almost an ache. “Tell me,” he insists.

Crawly can’t. This is too real, too personal. The truth is a blade buried deep in his chest. It hurts, but pulling it free would be even worse. An agonizing embarrassment and the open wound of his longing left exposed.

“Crawly, I trust you. With my life,” Azazel sounds reproachful. “What could be so shameful that you won’t trust me with it?”

“Love.”

The truth is ripped from him before he can stop it. Azazel looks shocked at first, and then his expression saddens.

“And you think you don’t deserve to be loved?” How could he ever think that? Azazel would give up anything, anything, to be able to give him what he wants. He imagines Crawly at the center of his universe, the edge between cosmos and chaos. He thinks of the force that would drive him to dedicate his existence to him, just for the pleasure of being bathed in the light of his regard. It was a blinding force, once upon a time, that love. And it’s… it’s not so different from what he feels now, whatever it may be. It wouldn’t take much. Maybe, maybe it would be possible still. “Because you’re a demon?” His hand is pushed away and Crawly sits up, facing away from him. Does he think the same of Azazel? “Well, I suppose it would be terribly selfish to ask to be loved, when one is unable to offer love in return.” He’s not sure anymore of which of them he’s talking about.

"I may not deserve to be loved, but that doesn't make me incapable of feeling love," he mutters sullenly, without turning around.

"Do you? Do you feel love?" asks Azazel desperately.

"Yes." It's not a confession, but it chokes him. It makes his eyes water from everything he feels, it makes his heart hurt with everything he doesn't say. "Do you feel love?" He’s said he can’t, but that was years ago. Maybe...

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it?" Azazel is suddenly angry, betrayal and disappointment clawing at his heart. So Crawly is capable of love, despite being fallen, but apparently he doesn’t think Azazel worthy of being the object of that love. "What good is it for a demon to love something, if I don't deserve to be loved in return?"

Azazel is… He’s flying away. He’s never flown away from Crawly, but there’s no mistaking the sound of his great wings unfurling, and the gust of wind as he takes off. He wants to go after him, explain himself and make sure Azazel knows he doesn't think of him as undeserving of love. How could he be? Azazel lost everything for his love and compassion for the humans. He deserves to be revered and worshipped. He deserves love and adoration.

And he deserves more than being loved, realizes Crawly. It takes him some time to gather the courage to go after him, but he deserves the knowledge that he is loved. No matter how vulnerable it would leave Crawly to expose such a weakness. So, he flies down to their spot by the river.

But Azazel is not by the river. He is not sitting in their tent, or hiding on the apple trees, or fishing at the fallen tree. He is not even at the old clearing, deep into the woods. Crawly goes from place to place, hoping to catch him, but Azazel remains elusive and after a couple of days he marches in the direction of the farm, however unlikely it is for him to subject himself to helping with the babies.

It takes forever to walk there. Time seems to pass differently without Azazel hooting nonsense to fill the silence. If he were here, walking to the farm by his side, he’d probably be babbling about the bread, what a clever new thing and so delicious! He can almost hear it, and it convinces him that he must be there after all.

He reaches the pen first, and sees three men inside among the sheep. The oldest boys are almost as tall as their father now, if a little gangly.

“Crawly, good morning,” greets Adam. He looks around curiously. “Where is Azazel?”

“You mean he’s not here?” He was desperately hoping he was, he doesn’t know where else to look anymore. “Have you not seem him at all, since we were both here?”

“I haven’t.” He looks at the demon’s dropped shoulders and his unkempt hair. “Is everything alright?”

No. Everything is not alright. Ever since he’s met Aziraphale atop that wall they've been together. He's never been out of his sight for more than a few moments, not once since he showed up at the entrance of that cave in Eden. Until now. Has he gone back to Hell? Tired of Crawly, of being stuck on Earth with him?

“Hey, hey!” There’s a hand on his shoulder, firm and warm, shaking him back to reality. “It’s okay, we’ll help you find him!”

Help. Huh.

Chapter Text

Finding Azazel turns out to be much easier when it’s not just him looking. The family helps as much as they can, and Crawly bullies every desert snake he comes across into searching for the fallen angel. And it’s one of the horned vipers that finds him, in the end. He is in the one place on the entire planet he never would have thought to look.

It’s not far from the farm. A hill, steep and rocky. The highest of the area. The closest to Heaven. The ground at the top feels impossibly hot and stings his bare feet, almost burning them. Azazel must have heard him climb up, but doesn’t acknowledge his presence. He remains kneeling on the hard ground, head bowed in front of the altar, and Crawly wonders if his knees are also being burnt. He stands behind him and waits, but Azazel stays unmoving and it’s up to him to apologize he supposes.

Crawly’s not exactly sure what the humans do here, or why that makes the hilltop burn when the sun is barely up, but there are dark stains running down the sides of the mudbrick altar. A clay figure stands on it, it’s hollowed eyes observing them, and off to the side of the altar there are cold ashes and blackened rocks.

“Are you… praying?” It seems like the safest guess, even if he doesn’t understand the process. Or why fire might be involved.

“Of course not,” says Azazel, voice cracking slightly from disuse, “I don’t have any animals to sacrifice. Unless I count myself.”

“It’s that what they do here?” He looks around again. At the dried blood dripping down the altar in front of them, and at the idol they have placed here. God’s eyes on Earth, watching them slaughter and feast in Her honor.

“I believe they also sing.”

“How do you know all this?”

Crawly had no idea.

“Eve asked me once, how God is worshipped in Heaven.” He says all this while still kneeling, not once looking up, yellow eyes staring at the ground. “I told her about the Choir, and some of the children seemed to like that, said that they would do that too. They explained what they had been doing. How they would choose a lamb or a goat and mark it as the one that must die, and bring it up here to sacrifice.”

"Oh." I'm sorry, he wants to say, that they would do something like that. That they would create azazels and kill them like Raphael tried to kill him. As a religious rite is probably something Heaven would approve of, he supposes. "Well I guess we could do it anyway…" Azazel's head snaps up and around abruptly, to look behind his back with wide-eyed surprise. Crawly startles at the sudden movement and hurries to explain. "Sing! Sing, I mean. It’ll sound terrible but, we could try if… that, that is why you came up here isn't it? To talk to Her? You could ask… She might do it. Take you back."

He walks around the fallen angel to stand by his side, and the other follows him with his head. Azazel looks even more surprised than before, his eyebrows climbing high on his face.

"I don't want to return to Heaven. Not if it means leaving you behind." Probably not even if he could take Crawly with him. If Aziraphale and Ashtaroth had been meant to be together, they would have met long before Eden, he thinks.

Crawly is glad, deep down, to hear that. It's a selfish desire, to want the fallen angel by his side no matter the consequences. But as he's a demon he's allowed, he thinks, to be selfish in his heart's desires.

He looks around again for lack of anything to say. His feet are still burning. How long has Azazel been here? And why here if not to pray?

"You know," he says at last, "somehow I don't think Hell can watch us here. There's something about this place... It feels like we're not allowed up here. I think we're completely unobserved."

"Hardly," Azazel's head tilts briefly upwards, "Heaven is surely watching."

"Do you think She is watching?"

"Certainly not through that… thing." He gestures with his head to the clay idol on the altar. "But maybe She is, from above... If She is… Crawly, you have completely changed my existence. You have made real things I’d thought impossible. I wouldn't change the life I have for anything," he looks up to the sky, and hopes She is witnessing this, that She knows he no longer believes the lies that Heaven fed him about demons. He hopes, deep down, that'll She'll be glad to witness this, and She'll be happy for two of her children. He takes Crawly's hands in his own and tugs, and the Serpent kneels in front of the altar by his side, unsure. "I've been… well, a bit of an idiot. I've been thinking a lot these past few days, about us. About you. And… And I love you, in a way I never had before. In a way I didn't even know was possible."

There's more he wants to say. About the depth of his devotion, about how he hopes it is worthy of Crawly. About how he never wants to be parted from him. But Crawly is clinging to him with all of his force, arms and wings caging him against his chest. He too unfurls his wings and returns the hug.

“I… You— Of course I…” Crawly has to swallow hard around the knot on his throat. He’s having a little difficulty to breathe, and he feels a dizzy from it, even if he doesn’t really need any air.

“Hush, my dear.”

They wrap their wings tighter around them, blocking out the world, Heaven, and Hell from this moment. They don’t notice the sunbeam that briefly shines down on them. They stay like that, clutching each other, for a long time. The day shifts into night around them, and they would stay for even longer if kneeling on the mountain wasn't so painful.

When they finally move, everything feels different. Crawly takes a step back from Azazel, only their hands are touching now, but he can still feel him against his chest. No, deeper. He can feel Azazel inside his chest, a comforting pressure against his heart. The other feels it too, he lets go one of his hand to bring to his chest, where Crawly can be felt. They are conjoined, he suspects, and it’s impossible to understand how such a thing could have come to pass. Did She bound them together? He thinks the angel of the Eastern Gate might have been right that rainy day when he spoke of ineffability, if this is what the Great Plan has had in store for him all this time. To be forever in Azazel’s heart, and Azazel forever in his heart.