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“Did you wear any clothing while you were in Greece?”
Crowley was currently staring at what was mostly definitely Aziraphale’s penis, lovingly rendered this time in marble. Museums were truly a source of delight and amusement for both Aziraphale and Crowley for various reasons, the surprising amount of nudity being one of them.
They had been lured into visiting today due to museum’s latest collection acquisition, paintings by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo who had been a Spanish Baroque painter Aziraphale was very fond of.
“When in Rome, er, Greece...Athens. Whatever.” Aziraphale said as he puttered around, pausing to asses the state of his cock. It was still well intact though his wings had been broken off clean off. You win some, you lose some, Aziraphale reasoned, and it was just as well. They had been the human’s concept of angel wings, and thus hardly accurate. Aziraphale was far more attached to his statue’s cock than the other appendages.
“Did old Barty boy have a go at your Willy too? Should I be preparing myself?” Crowley grinned, following after the angel.
“A bit ‘pot, kettle’, dear. I believe Da Vinci and Picasso had quite the wandering eye when it came to you. How many versions of yourself are in their various bodies of work, hmm?” Aziraphale pointed out, “You know we really should start a tally, make it into a game.”
“Of what? How many times we’ve really come through as a muse in the nude?”
“Stop looking so pleased with yourself. That didn’t even rhyme.” Aziraphale left off his puttering to properly glare at the demon.
“Close enough.” Crowley said, fully expecting the Look he received from the angel. He reveled in it, grinning back wide enough to show off all his crooked, too sharp teeth.
“It could be fun is all.”
“You only think that because you believe that you’ll win.” Crowley pointed out in an amused tone.
“You said it yourself. I really didn’t wear a lot of clothing during my time with the Greeks.” Aziraphale said with a light shrug suggested that he couldn’t be bothered. The little bastard twinkle in his eyes told the demon that it he was already mentally jotting things down.
“Speaking of the Greeks, did you ever inspire more than just art?” Crowley mused, or pretended to over the loaded question.
“I don’t like what you’re implying.” Aziraphale sniffed.
“Come on. You can tell me. Which god did they think you were?” Crowley poked and prodded at his husband who was giving off the telltale signs that he was hiding something. They had both done stints as gods here and there, either by accident, or for fun in most of Crowley’s cases. “Dionysus?” Pan, perhaps?”
“I hardly had cloven hooves. That’s more a trend for your former side.”
“Never saw the appeal of them myself. Human feet are bad enough.” Crowley said as black scales rippled across his skin to disappear back into it. “C’mon, spill!”
“If you really must know...” Aziraphale said all coy and far too sweet, batting his eyes at the demon. “...most famously, Persephone.”
“I was not expecting that.” Crowley nodding over to Aziraphale’s statue.
“It was my first time in that form for extended periods of time. Mistakes were made.” Aziraphale said far too lightly.
“You serve up something like that, and then don’t even give me a bit of meat to chew on.” Crowley made a show of himself by hanging bodily off of the angel.
“You’re not that only one who adores that form. It was a really quite popular with the Greeks. They had an over abundance of appreciation and love for it.” Aziraphale sighed, “So much so that I didn’t always know what to do with the overflow from it.”
“You made a few flowers bloom around you then?” Crowley snorted, the demon having witnessed that a few times when the angel had become too overwhelmed with joyous emotions.
“More like caused the entire Pholóē oak forest to spring into being.” Aziraphale admitted. The Pholóē oak forest still remained to this day, its surreal beauty being the inspiration for the legends of centaurs and dryads. “Oh look, we’re here.”
“Don’t think for one second that you're off the hook just yet. I want to hear all about it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.” Aziraphale trailed off, the angel going a little pale as his eyes locked onto a painting.
“Adoration of the Magi! Look at the yellow gold! Lovely that. Forgot he painted that one.” Crowley said, sliding his glasses down so he could peer over the rims of them. “ The Annunciation is completely all wrong, of course. Where the humans ever got the idea that angels could be a bunch of fat little babies with wings is beyond me. I mean I appreciate the metaphor, especially in context to Gabriel, but really?”
The demon was met with silence. Crowley immediately didn’t like it. Aziraphale delighted in making fun of terrible angelic representations, the more absurd the better. Aziraphale wasn’t doing that though. The angel was staring up at a painting, the same one, the focus of the artwork making Crowley internally groan.
Saint Raphael the Archangel, because of course it was.
Aziraphale was wearing an extremely complicated look while staring up at it. The expression held such love and devotion to it at its core, and yet its boundaries were also filled in with a deep sadness edged with obvious pain.
“Angel, what is it? What’s wrong?” Crowley asked before he could help himself.
“I was named after him, you know. After he disappeared, Fell, or simply ceased to exist. No one really knows quite which. It remains a mystery, even until this very day.” Azirphale said softly, tears standing in his eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. Crowley wanted so badly to reach over, and catch them on his fingertips before they did. “It’s one of the reasons I was so looked down upon. I could never live up to what he was.”
“Who, angel? What are you talking about?” Crowley managed to say the words though his throat was beginning to get tight enough to choke him out.
“Raphael. I was named after him. It’s why I held out for Heaven so long. I’m sorry that I did, my dear. It was foolish of me.” Aziraphale said with a wobbly smile as he nodded to the damnable painting, wiping his eyes. “There was really no comparison between the archangel Raphael and I. I’m just sorry his legacy has been endured by a poor excuse for a Principality such as I. He deserved so much better.”
“Why would you say such an awful thing about yourself?” Crowley said softly, the angel’s words cutting him open in long forgotten places.
“Well, it’s the truth.” Aziraphale shrugged, looking about as miserable as Crowley felt. “I know you don’t remember a whole lot from the Before, but Raphael was beloved among all the archangels. While the Morningstar was God’s angel, the StarMaker was that to the other archangels and all the choirs of Heaven. I tried, I really did, but I was never going to be enough, anything I did was never enough. I’ve always accepted that I don’t even begin to compare to him. I can’t really fault Gabriel and all the rest for despising me like they do.”
“Why? What was your take on him? What so damn special about that prat?” Crowley asked, wondered what kind of pedestal this archangel had been placed upon, so high that it loomed over his angel.
“Oh, I never got to meet him, the StarMaker. I was created afterward, after the Fall, after the Great War, after his disappearance. She created me to replace him, of all the angels in creation.” Aziraphale said with a faded look, lingering sadness bleaching his features out. “I sometimes wish She hadn’t. I wish...”
“What do you wish, angel?” Crowley managed out over the sounds of his heart breaking anew for the angel.
“I wish I could tell him how sorry I am, that if I could rename myself, I would do so. He deserved so much better than what I ever had to offer.” Aziraphale said with a sad smile that did nothing pleasant for his face.
“Stop saying that! Don’t you dare!” Crowley snapped, grabbing onto Aziraphale’s shoulders to try and shake some sense into the angel. Crowley tried to at least. Aziraphale let him, though it didn’t do much good. “That’s what you thought? All this time?!”
“What? It’s true.” Aziraphale said with a certainty that sparked a very particular anger in Crowley.
“Have you really hated your name? All this time?” Crowley asked, taking off his sunglasses to make the angel look at him dead in the eyes.
“I don’t hate it. I love my name because I greatly admire who it came from. I just wished that I deserved it. There’s a difference.” Aziraphale said gently, wondering why Crowley was so suddenly upset, or why the demon was now hugging the angel hard enough to make his ribs creak.
“Aziraphale ...” The demon sighed, Crowley’s thoughts were eons elsewhere as he remembered his other beginning, the second one. It was just whispers in his personal dark, but his becoming was still nestled there. It had faded over time, but it would always linger within him.
“Have you heard? She has replaced you. She’s even bastardized your name, giving it away to some new angel, this new you. No going back now, StarMaker.” Lucifer said with too many sharp smiles.
“Like that has been an option weighing on my mind until now, LightBringer.” A being who had once been an archangel said just as easily back to the Devil, though the news of it rankled. He wasn’t about to let Lucifer rattle him though. They both knew that God’s once most beloved angel was more powerful, but the other former archangel was the cleverer of the two, and being clever could be far more dangerous sometimes. They both knew that as well. “What has that got to do with me?”
“I just thought you might like to go up there, and stir up a bit of trouble for your replacement, this imposter. She has tasked it with guarding Her precious Eden.” Lucifer practically purred, his once glorious voice about the only thing left beautiful in him. “This new you, this Aziraphale.”
They were all changed now. God had remade them after She tore out Her love from them, stripping them of their Grace. They had acted like beasts by killing their brethren so She shaped them as so. This newly changed being wasn’t about to thank Her for small favors, but the demon did count himself fortunate.
Lucifer, who had once been the most glorious of them all, was now just a vile combination of...things...things with scales and fur and cloven hooves. It looked painful as the parts kept shifting, trying to mesh themselves together to form a cohesive stable form. With every movement Lucifer made, bones broke, muscles snapped, and blood poured out of new wounds from little gaping mouths torn open in the flesh.
“What? You don’t want me to stick around, and help you sort out this mess you’ve made?” The former archangel said, gesturing broadly at their new infernal domain. He tried to ignore how much it hurt to have his former name twisted and bestowed upon another. He tried to, and failed miserably at it. God had found yet another way to punish him, and all for what? Questioning her?
“I need someone up there to keep an eye on things.” Lucifer said, all smiles, too many smiles.
“And eliminate someone who might possibly put up any opposition to this new whatever the Hell this is. Well done, you. Two birds, one stone.” The demon pointed out, giving the Devil a very unimpressed look back.
“You ask too many questions, Raphael.” Lucifer growled from his many, many mouths. He was getting more of them with every passing minute.
“Don’t call me that. Ever.” The demon snapped, showing real anger for the first time as he rose. A great snake that hissed out hellfire towered over Lucifer, reminding the Devil who had their form and function more together between the two of them. “We both know I have the better vocabulary. You also care more about what the others think of you, oh King of Hell. Remember that I do not.” The former archangel warned. “We both know that you need to establish a hierarchy here, one I want no part of, before they turn on you. I could make that very difficult for you. You’ve already given them the idea from example. I could help that along.”
“What do you want?” Lucifer glared up at the giant snake wreathed in hellfire.
“I don’t want any titles. What I want is to be left alone.” The snake demon hissed, sinking down to a more coiled position. It’s wasn’t restful, the snake still ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
“I can’t allow that.” Lucifer said.
“You will though. You’re smarter than that. I’ll still serve you and Hell and all that, but I’m not staying down here. You don’t want me down here anyway. You need an agent up on Earth? Splendid. It’s a good cover story so let’s make it a real one. I stay up there, I come down here every once and a while for show, and I let you do what you like unopposed until the End of Days. Deal?” The demon said, brokering the first deal with the Devil.
“I could destroy you.” Lucifer muttered darkly at the demon.
“You could, but we both know I won’t make it easy for you, and there is a slim sliver of a chance that I might win. Do you really want to risk it all to find out, especially when I’m offering to leave you in peace, and stay mostly gone?” The demon pointed out because sometimes being clever was enough. Lucifer looked mad enough to spit brimstone, but a subtle slump in his being told the demon he had just won his limited freedom by the skin of his fangs.
“Go forth, and spread dissent and corruption. I want you to ruin it for Her. Ruin Her precious ittle humans. Do that, and I’ll give you what you want” Lucifer said, “But before you go, tell me what you have named yourself.”
God had a very twisted sense of humor. The demon knew that he had all of eternity to ponder about the connotations of him being turned into a snake. He who had once created the constellations for the Earth would now have to crawl on his belly. She always did have a knack for irony.
“Crawley.” Because he had a knack for irony as well. The demon known now as Crawley left Hell as quickly as his scales could take him.
Earth was a riot of colors, smells, and sensations, Crawley breathing easier here in every sense of the word. Unlike his brethren, Crawley wasn’t full of hate. He was well versed in confusion, anger, and a deep well of sadness that he couldn’t see the bottom of, but he didn’t hate the Earth. He didn’t blame the humans for what had happened to him, unlike Lucifer who loathed them. He didn’t even hate God. Crawley wished more than anything that he could just talk to Her like they used to in the Beginning. He hadn’t meant to fall, he truly hadn’t. If he could just speak with Her, if She would just listen to him, Crawley wanted more than anything to explain that to Her.
It was probably just as well that God was silently moving in mysterious ways. Crawley would have promised to not ask any more questions, but that would have been a lie, and they would both know it.
“Why did you make me so curious about everything if you didn’t want me asking questions? That’s all they were!” Crawley muttered to himself as he navigated the Garden.
The Archangel of Healing had taken no part in the Great War, couldn’t bear the thought of striking another angel down, much less killing them. Crawley never fought for Lucifer, but he hadn’t aided Heaven though either, in the very first case ever of ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’.
Finding the Eastern Gate easily enough, Crawley slithered up the great extent of it. When he reached the top of it, he was really quite miffed to find it empty of any angel.
“Where is the prat? Did I just seriously climb up that great bloody big wall for nothing?” Crawley asked no one, the snake staring out at a huge expanse of desert that surrounded all of Eden. “Hell of a view though.”
“I can’t believe I have to hunt down this idiot. How do you mess up ‘stand here in this one spot, and don’t move’?” Crawley grumbled all the way back down the Wall. As much as he would hate to admit it, part of Crawley couldn’t fault the angel though for doing so.
Once one got over the wow factor about how big the desert was all around Eden, one realized that staring at sand was pretty damn dull work, especially when there was the entirety of the Garden rioting life just behind them. It irritated Crawley that he would have done the same thing. Crawley especially didn’t want any reason to like his replacement, and the absent little idiot was already beginning to ruin that for him too.
Crawley heard the angel before he saw him. When he did, it broke the demon’s heart open anew. Crawley was reminded that he would never hear the choirs of Heaven ever again. He took that hurt and anger, and made use of it, aiding him in finding the angel as quickly as possible. He was going to enjoy ripping his replacement apart, limb from limb. Crawley planned on tearing this angel’s wings right off his back, and place them up on the Wall. He would ruin Her new precious angel, and then, Crawley would ruin her Garden next.
Deciding on crushing the angel’s legs first in his coils, Crawley crept up on him, the demon masking his hellish aura so that it matched a regular snake’s own. The demon was warming up to the idea of making this Aziraphale crawl like he had been made to.
Crawley found the angel easily enough, the celestial being sitting underneath the trees in pools of shifting shadows and light, but he was not alone. This Aziraphale was surrounded by the animals of the Garden, fresh new things unafraid of anything. The angel’s singing drew them in close to him. Crawley wondered why the angel would do such a thing, but it did give the demon the opportunity he wanted. He could slither right up the angel, and capture him before the little idiot could even fathom what was going on.
The guardian of the Garden had a weapon, but it was far out of his reach, propped up against a tree like it had been forgotten. This angel has been armed with a sword instead of a staff, which was some strange relief to Crawley. She hadn’t given his replacement everything that was once his.
Crawley decided that he would perverse his gift of healing, Her gift given to him, by keeping the angel alive until Crawley was finally had no use left for him. He would make the angel tell him why he had been made, what God had told him when she had done so. Perhaps when he was finished with this angel, She would notice him again. If he did this, maybe Crawley would get his chance to talk to Her again. He would make her pay attention to him again.
Hate was beginning to find footing in his heart, Crawley preparing to strike, but then, the most unlikely thing happened. The angel Aziraphale turned to look directly at the demon, and smiled.
“Hello there. I haven’t seen the likes of you yet. Did She just make you?” Aziraphale asked the snake demon who was frozen in place. The angel was beautiful in the way that all angels are, but his smile was unique to him.
There was pure joy etched into its corners, true kindness cupped the gentle dip its bow, and radiant love sealed in the rosy color of his lips. He had none of Gabriel’s scorn, or Sandlephon’s disgust. He had none of Michael’s aloof haughtiness, or Uriel’s cool disinterest. He looked upon Crawley how angels were meant to, and it shocked Crawley down to his very core.
“Be not afraid, new one.” Azirphale said gently as Crawley found himself being picked up with great care and consideration, the angel pulled what he could of the giant snake into his lap. This was not going according plan at all, and for lack of a better idea, Crawley went along with it as he carefully kept the infernal tucked in to keep the angel from sensing his true nature.
Crawley had been expecting another archangel, but the being studying him was not on his previous level or even his current one power-wise, not anywhere near it. This Azirphale was a Principality from the lowest spheres of angels. Crawley could completely destroy him on whim alone.
“Why would you do such a thing?” Crawley thought really hard at God. He didn’t expect an answer, and unsurprisingly, didn’t get one in return. It didn’t make any sense.
“She made you so well. Look at how beautiful you are.” Was what simultaneously dragged the demon’s attention back to the angel while completely blindsiding him as well. Crawley just knew that Azirphale meant every word, his smile one of true reverence and delight.
“I’ll do it! I’ll...” Crawley thought again at the Almighty, coiling himself more tightly around the angel.
“I wonder what they will name you. I bet it will be something wonderful. You will be so loved.” Azirphale said, reaching up to cup the demon’s head with his hand, running his thumb over cool scales.
Resolving failing him, Crawley coiled, preparing to strike. He could feel the venom in his fangs, seeping with liquid hellfire. One bite would make Aziraphale into a very dead angel. An angel who pressed a very loving kiss to the top of his serpent head.
“Let me show you the Garden.” Aziraphale said, arranging Crawley’s massive coils around his shoulders. It was easy for him to do so, the demon stunned into compliance. Crawley ended up spending the rest of the day with the angel, Aziraphale singing as he walked through Eden.
That was hardly unsurprising behavior for an angel. What caught Crowley off guard about it though was that Aziraphale sang his own songs, not the usual rhetoric verses performed ad nauseam by devout angels. His music were about the Earth, its beauty, and its abundant promise of potential. Aziraphale’s songs were about the freedom of the wind, the glory of sunrises and sunsets, and the gentle nature of the grass beneath his feet.
And then the sun set completely, the moon rose, and the angel of Eden praised the night.
“Suddenly before my eyes, hues of indigo arise. With them how my spirit sighs. Paint the sky with stars.” Aziraphale sang up to the dark sky erupting with pinpoints of light. “Only night will ever know, why the heavens never show all the dreams there are to know. Paint the sky with stars.”
“Who has placed the midnight sky, so a spirit has to fly? As the heavens seem so far now, who will paint the midnight star?” Aziraphale’s rang out clear and true through the night, Crawley captivated by it. “Place a name upon the night, one to set your heart alight, and to make the darkness bright. Paint the sky with stars.”
When he was done, the angel sat down to stare up at the beauty of the night. “This is my favorite part of the rotation.” Aziraphale told the demon, Crawley hanging off of every word like it was God herself saying them.. “God created light, but she gave the task of making the stars to an angel.”
Crawley froze, reminded of what his true agenda was here all along. lHe couldn’t allow himself to get distracted. All he had to do was tighten his coils around the angel’s neck, and bite down. It would be so easy.
“I hope I get to meet that angel one day, though it’s not very likely with them up there crafting such glorious things while I’m stationed here on Earth. Still, I wish I could tell them how much I love their work.” Aziraphale smiled, the expression holding a sadness within it before laughing at himself. He nuzzled black scaled coils with his face, the angel’s cheeks feeling especially warm to Crawley. “Can you imagine? I won’t even know where to begin. I’d probably just end up babbling and carry on for too long.”
Crawley was grateful that he couldn’t produce tears in this form as he collapsed within himself. He felt the Divine for the first time since the Fall, and Crawley wept within himself. Within his heart, hate slipped, losing its hold upon him. The Devil’s own went along with it. Crawley was a being from Hell, but not of it anymore.
“I see what you did there, Lu. I’ll keep it in forefront from now on.” Crawley thought darkly. He was saved, saved from Satan and from himself by the angel, Azirphale, whose name meant ‘of Raphael’.
“Why are you shivering? Are you cold” Azirphale asked the shuddering demon. The angel could never know what he had inadvertently done. Lucifer would tear the wings off this angel himself if he ever knew what Aziraphale had managed to accomplish. Crawley knew he would have to keep this secret safe if he wanted both of them to survive. The demon didn’t know what he truly was anymore, but he wanted the time to find out, and Crawley wanted someone to do it with.
“Forget this meeting.” Crawley hissed at the angel, pushing the order as gently as he could into Azirphale, the demon scooping out the memory of himself directly from Aziraphale’s mind.
Despite his best intentions, it still hurt, golden tears slipping down pale cheek as Azirphale’s face went slack, the angel staring blankly off into the distance as he tried to resist the demon’s influence.
“Shhhhh...it will be alright. Only hurts for a moment.” Crawley tried to comfort, hissing the words softly from his loveless mouth. “Go back to the Wall. I need you to do that for me. Be a good angel, and stay there until we meet again.”
Aziraphale only fought him for a moment before relenting, something Crawley was grateful for. He didn’t want to put anymore pressure on the angel, or cause him any further pain. Crawley still have every intention of doing what he came here to do, only his priorities toward Aziraphale changing. Crawley left the stunned angel relatively unharmed, the demon slithering off to go ruin Paradise for everyone. When he was done with that, Crawley had every intention of meeting his namesake again.
“Aziraphale, listen to me, really listen to me.” Crowley said as he held his angel once again in the present. He sent the humans away from this room in the museum. They wouldn’t be able to physically or mentally handle what was to come. “You deserve your name more than you know.”
“What exactly have I done to merit such an honor?!” Aziraphale demanded, trying to free himself from the demon’s hold. It became impossible for him to do so as the Principality was held in place by three pairs of wings, the number of which only belonged to the archangels.
In shock and awe, Aziraphale quit struggling to look into his husband’s gold eyes, the former StarMaker gazing lovingly back at his angel.
“Because I say you do. You have since the Beginning. I think it’s time for you to know why.”