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The God of Mischief and Misfortune was said to have started as an ordinary demon. Or maybe ordinary was the wrong word. He was said to have wreaked so much mayhem, even against the forces of the underworld, that he was cast out. Now he works his mischief on the living. It’s said that when you scuff your new shoes, or the horses break loose, or when you sleep through the roosters call, that Crowley is to blame.
No one has ever seen him, but he affects the lives of mortals daily. Aziraphale, however, is looking for him. Well, physically, he’s looking at his white wedding suit, and wishing it would catch fire or have some other mishap. He was in desperate need for any kind of mishap, really.
As he walked through the garden after his fitting, Aziraphale thought certainly Crowley must want to be seen from time to time, and as he thought this, his coat caught on a loose branch from a bush.
Without thinking, he whipped around and grabbed the branch, finding it to actually be a pale hand, adorned in many beautiful black and gold rings. For a moment they were both still, shocked before Aziraphale finally reacted and tugged back on the hand. A wrist and some of a forearm followed, also covered in black, though this time cloth. A tight cuff gave way to a loose, billowy sleeve. He yanked again and this time a man partially emerged, though all he saw was a flash of orange before suddenly the man was a snake in his grasp.
The smooth black iridescent scales reflected all varieties of color as the snake slipped from Aziraphale’s grasp and into the brush. The serpent slithered out the other side and toward the woods.
“Wait!” Aziraphale cried out, desperation clear in his voice, and for a second, Crowley did. He lifted his head a good two feet off the ground--he was a very large snake, larger than any Aziraphale had ever seen--and stared unblinking at Aziraphale, who was too busy gawking at the beauty hidden in otherwise terrifying eyes to say anything.
Seeing as he’d been told to wait only to be stared at, Crowley slithered further into the forest.
Aziraphale cursed and chased after him, tearing his coat and pants further as he trampled through the bush. He called out once more, but the snake ignored him in favor of a large rock in the sun.
“Please, wait! I beg of you!” Aziraphale called, but Crowley continued his path to the warm stone. “I have a favor to ask of you!”
Crowley curled up into a massive pile on the rock, before transforming back into the form of a human man, lounging without care. His shirt was contained by a vest, neckline dipping obscenely low, his pants shone as his scales had, and they were tucked into high boots. His eyes, Aziraphale noticed as he approached cautiously, remained those of a snake. Cold, analytical, and beautiful as he stared Aziraphale down. “And what is it you would ask of me?”
“I--well, you see, uhm…” Aziraphale found it hard to focus on words when staring at a literal god, and so he looked away. “I’m to be married, and need your help to end my betrothal, please.”
“Your fiancé--I’ve seen him,” Crowley mused, sounding a bit disgusted, examining his well taken care of nails. “He is tall and handsome, with a manor by the sea?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale muttered, feeling as though he was being scolded.
“He is beloved by many,” Crowley continued, resting his head in his palm as if holding it up himself was too much of a chore, his long curly orange locks like a curtain around him, his golden eyes piercing Aziraphale once more. “Chosen specifically for you by your parents?”
“Yes…” Shifting uncomfortably, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself, feeling a weight in the pit of his stomach.
“Then surely,” Crowley’s tone was full of venom and his S’s rolled into a hiss. “There can be no objection to such a man?”
“No, but,” Aziraphale started, clinging to himself harder, remembering violet eyes but always from the side. “Not once, in all the times he’s visited me,” He looked up finally, finding those scary, wonderful eyes upon him still. “Has he ever looked at me.”
For a long moment, the two stared at one another. Aziraphale looked melancholy and small, Crowley confused and possibly angry.
“Then take my pocket watch,” Crowley procured the watch from the pocket on his vest, handing it to Aziraphale. “When it ticks, he will be unable to think of anything but his future with you, and he will have to look at you.”
It wasn’t exactly the answer he’d wanted, but Aziraphale figured Crowley knew what he was talking about, and he closed his fingers around the pocket watch. “Thank you,” Aziraphale spoke softly, genuinely grateful for the gift.
Crowley sniffed at him, looking away, toward the setting sun. “Best you hurry off, then,” He looked back to Aziraphale, eyes glinting in the low light. “Wouldn’t want to be caught out here in the dark.”
Aziraphale cursed again and Crowley gave him a sharp, toothy grin. He thanked the God once more and dashed back the way he came, clutching tight the gifted pocket watch. Trampling the bush for a second time, he managed to make it back in time to hear the guard calling to him. He gave them some story about falling into the bush and getting caught on the branches to explain away the poor state of his clothes and poorer state of the bush. Aziraphale was only half paying attention to his own words, mind elsewhere, in a forest with the God, Crowley.
The guard fussed over him and his torn and tattered clothes, but not nearly as much as his nurse. She was a plump, older woman who had looked after many of her own children before being called to look after Aziraphale. She tutted about him being too clumsy for his own good as she cleaned several small cuts he’d sustained, and he absently agreed, turning the pocket watch over in his hand.
It was a rather ornate thing. The front popped open but didn’t really need to as it had a window of tinted glass that allowed one to read the time without even opening it. On the back were engravings of many beautiful and exotic flowers, and, hidden among them, a snake. Aziraphale smiled down at the engraved snake. He’d only known Crowley less than a day, but the watch radiated his energy.
Aziraphale set it on his bedside table and got ready for his bath, and when he went to sleep that night, it was to the gentle tick of the watch. For the first time since he’d heard of his betrothal, Aziraphale felt hopeful.
The next morning the house awoke to find all the fruit had spoiled, his mother’s prized birds had plucked the buttons from her favorite dress, and Aziraphale and Aziraphale wore the pocket watch all day. And yet, no matter how many people complimented him on the watch, no matter how close he pressed himself to his fiance’s side as they walked together, Gabriel still would not look at Aziraphale. If anything, he avoided Aziraphale even more.
That night, Aziraphale broke a bottle of aged wine in the yard.
“Shame to waste perfectly good wine,” a familiar voice chastised him from behind. Aziraphale spun around to find Crowley sprawled across a wicker daybed on the patio.
“Please,” Aziraphale pleaded, approaching Crowley. “I need a misfortune. My wedding is in three days!” From his pocket, he produced the golden watch, saddened by the sight of it. “Even with your watch, he still never looked at me once.”
Crowley lifted his hand, and the moonlight shone off his many rings, though the one on his pinky demanded the most attention. He plucked the ring from his little finger, offering it to Aziraphale. “Then take my ring,” Crowley plopped the ring into his awaiting palm. “Wear it with confidence, and when the light glints off it he will be reminded of your intelligence and power, and he shall have no choice but to look at you.”
Aziraphale looked the ring over. It was beautiful; cast in gold, and looked to be a set of wings forming the shape of the ring. “I...I couldn’t.”
“Sure, you can!” Crowley swung his legs in front of himself and took the ring from Azirphale’s hand, taking his right hand into his own. He gingerly slid the ring onto Aziraphale’s pinky. “See? A perfect fit!”
“It’s not that, I--” Aziraphale paused. Even with Crowley’s help, Gabriel couldn’t care less for Aziraphale. Maybe...maybe it wasn’t meant to be. He’d rather have a way out, he thought. “You’ve already done so much.”
“Nonsense,” Crowley tutted, giving Aziraphale’s hand a pat. “This is the least I can do.”
“The least?” Aziraphale chuckled, noting just how pale Crowley was. He practically glowed in the moonlight. “What’s the most you could do?”
Crowley clucked his tongue and gave him a cheeky wink. “First, we try this, and if it doesn’t work, then you shall see the most I can do.”
Aziraphale smiled genuinely. He liked Crowley. He was kind, and thoughtful, a bit mischievous, but that was to be expected. His looks weren’t anything to sniff at, either. Not really the kind of guy Aziraphale found himself traditionally attracted to, but quite handsome. Very sharp and sleek features, well dressed, a little thin but not gaunt. And unlike Gabriel, he seemed to have no issue looking at Aziraphale. In fact, he rather seemed to like to.
“Right,” Aziraphale felt his face redden, suddenly very aware of how long Crowley had been holding his hand. Gently, he removed his hand from the God’s grasp. “I should be going. Thank you, again. I’ll, uhm…”
“See me tomorrow?” Crowley smirked. “For your sake, I should hope not.”
“Right,” Aziraphle didn’t sound convinced. “Well, good night, Crowley.”
“Good night, Angel.”
Aziraphale rushed inside, possibly shutting the door too hard. He fidgeted with the ring the whole way to his room. Contemplating. Reasoning that if Crowley thought it would help, then, well, who was he to argue with a god?
That day, Aziraphale made sure to show off the ring as subtley as possible, and from time to time he even caught Gabriel looking at it. But whenever Aziraphale made to look at him, Gabriel would look away.
A while back, Gabriel gave Aziraphale’s mother a pair of earrings. So that night, Aziraphale dropped one down the well in the garden.
“Getting rather accident prone,” Crowley practically sang, leaning over the edge of the well from the inside, examining the discarded earring. “Aren’t we?”
“Please, I beg you!” Aziraphale cried, kneeling down to be eye-level with the god. “My wedding is in two days! Nothing I do will make Gabriel look at me.”
Crowley hummed, pulling himself up on the ledge with ease and tossing the earring over his shoulder. Aziraphale looked as though he might cry, and Crowley felt for him. “I have only one thing left to give.” He look the prince’s hand in his own, and from a small pouch tied to his waist he produced a black candle. Crowley lit it with a snap of his fingers, and clasped his hands around Aziraphale’s holding the candle. “Take my candle. Use it to light your way home, and trust me.”
Aziraphale really wanted to trust Crowley, but so far all his plans had failed. He frowned down at the candle. If this failed, then in two days time, he’d be married to Gabriel.
Why couldn’t his parents have picked someone more like Crowley? He was kind, gentle, a little mischievous, and seemed to genuinely care for Aziraphale. Well, cared enough to try and save his obviously doomed wedding.
Only for a second, Aziraphale felt wet tears fall down his cheeks, and then suddenly slender hands were at his face, tumbles brushing away tears while Crowley shushed and cooed at him. “No, no, no tears, angle.” He was standing now, crowding up in Aziraphale’s space. It was a miracle the candle didn’t set one of them on fire. “Trust me,” Crowley whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “On your wedding day, you beloved will see you.”
Beloved? Oh, no. Had Crowley had it wrong this whole time? Did he truly think Aziraphale loved Gabriel? Aziraphale liked the idea of Gabriel, sure, the idea of being married to a handsome prince was nice, but the execution was just… terrible.
Though before Aziraphale could put this into words, Crowley was spinning him around back toward the castle, and gave him a little shove. Aziraphale turned to face him again, but he was gone. Dread filled him, but as he walked back to the castle, warm wax dripping down his fast, he tried to focus on trusting Crowley.
Morning came with a start. Aziraphale didn’t even remember falling asleep, just tossing and turning for hours. His nurse was fussing about, scolding him for sleeping in once again. “I didn’t sleep well,” Aziraphle rubbed at his eyes, willing himself to consciousness. “PLease, a few more hours to rest.”
“There’s no time!” His nurse cried. “Your wedding is today! ”
“ What? ” Aziraphale shot straight up. Surely he hadn’t slept though an entire day .
“A big storm is coming tomorrow, so you must be wed today ,” she explained, shooing him out from under the covers. “Your fiance already sent word he is on his way.”
Aziraphale was pushed and pulled all about the castle to get ready, and though he protested his words fell on deaf ears. His misfortune that he’d worked so hard for had finally arrived, but only to doom him faster.
Had Crowley truly misunderstood? Or was this some kind of cruel trick? No, Aziraphale didn’t think this was the type of joke Crowley would play. Well, he hoped not. He had only known the god for a handful of days. Aziraphale did his best to hold back his tears and tried to focus on trusting Crowley.
Every step down the aisle felt like his shoes were filled with lead, and the sight of Gabriel’s back punched a hole in his gut. The alter he’d dreamt of as a boy felt now like his tomb. If Crowley didn’t act quickly, he really would have to marry Gabriel, the thought of which nearly made him physically ill. Maybe he could get Crowley to do something to end the marriage; or to get rid of Gabriel.
As Aziraphale got close, however, he noticed Gabriel looked… happy? Serene? His eyes were closed as he soaked in the sun from the stained glass window, and he was smiling brightly. He looked like Gabriel, but the way he carried himself was somehow different and familiar at the same time. When he finally looked at Aziraphale, he knew why instantly.
He had golden snake-like eyes.
Aziraphale found himself crying again, but not out of grief or dread. He wept now out of sheer relief.
Crowley shushed him, kissing his cheeks and muttering words of praise in a voice that was not his own. He must have been using some kind of magic to hide his true eyes from the rest of the people in the chapel, because no one else seemed to notice. Well, Aziraphale’s mother looked quite smug, but he couldn’t pin exactly why.
For the entire ceremony, Crowley kept those eyes, filled with what appeared to be love and overwhelming happiness, trained on Aziraphale, who looked the happiest he’d been in a long time. Crowley had come though for him. He’d fulfilled his promise to show Aziraphale the most he could do. He was making a promise to keep doing that, for as long as Aziraphale should live.
For the first time since he got engaged, Aziraphale was excited for his life after marriage.