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It starts when he decides to grow out his hair.
Crowley had always preferred his hair long and had worn it that way throughout most of human history, local culture be damned. He had finally cut it short after his time as Ashtoreth, a rebellion against presenting as female for so long, and a need to draw a line beneath that part of his life. But as the world once more settles on its axis, one day he looks in the mirror and says ‘enough’.
For the most part he lets it grow naturally, only using a little demonic ‘encouragement’ to help it past the awkward stage. The newly restored auburn curls bounce around his shoulders in a way that ought to tie them in knots in minutes; but this is Crowley’s hair, and it knows better than to be less than perfect.
A new haircut naturally leads to a new wardrobe, and as always he throws himself into experimenting with the latest human fashions. In the past he has tended to swing between male and female depending on the aesthetic of the era and his own whims, the clothing favoured by the two human genders impossible to combine in any coherent way (and not for lack of trying), but in this new era of skinny jeans and scarves for all, he is in his element.
He tells himself he doesn’t need Aziraphale’s approval, but every time the bemused angel makes an appreciative noise at some new item of clothing, the demon preens in spite of himself.
*
“Crowley dear do get up.”
Crowley considers the request, and then rejects it out of hand. Behind his sunglasses his eyes flicker open, just a crack.
Aziraphale turns to the man beside him, wringing his hands in a well-practiced display of anxiety. “I am very sorry Sir but it looks like you will have to return another day. My husband is very rudely blocking the path to the book you were interested in.”
The man looks between the fussy bookseller and the figure sprawled across the narrow aisle in front of him incredulously. “You cannot be serious?”
“Oh very much so I’m afraid.” Replies Aziraphale. “Night shifts you know. It wouldn’t do to wake him if he’s this far gone.” And suddenly the man finds himself being ushered back out onto the street with nothing but another very odd tale for his troubles.
Back inside the bookshop Crowley hasn’t moved. He turns the word over and over in his mind. Husband. It’s not true of course, Crowley would probably spontaneously combust if he tried to get married in a church, and human paperwork means less than nothing to an angel and a demon, but Aziraphale had settled on the word to refer to his companion nonetheless. ‘It keeps things simple’ he had said. ‘It’s what people expect of me, and it really does put them at ease to know I’m not a threat.’
‘Good to know I’m convenient.’ Crowley had replied, feigning affront in a way that convinced precisely no-one.
‘Oh hush, you know how I feel about you.’
‘You hush.’ he grumbled. And that had been the end of it.
Crowley didn’t tend to use the word much, instead preferring to vaguely reference a possible partner of unknown gender, a game which he had discovered was excellent fun. Humans really had the most incredible ability to tie themselves in verbal knots when they desperately needed the answer to a question they were too polite to ask.
With Aziraphale though it was always husband, and for some reason it was starting to bother him. He supposed he technically had a male body, and people tended to refer to him as a man because of it. For the most part he didn’t mind, and on the rare occasion that he did he would just switch his appearance for a while until they stopped. Crowley ran his fingers through his hair, maybe he could try that again? It had been a while since he’d done braids, but he could probably remember how. Perhaps Aziraphale would help him.
But that was the problem wasn’t it. This wasn't just about him anymore, it was about both of them, and that complicated things.
Crowley shook his head. He was becoming existential and that was never a good sign. Slowly he slithered up the bookcase and…
Wait.
Ssssshit.
It must be worse than he’d realised. He tended to revert to snake form when he was feeling especially uncomfortable, and it was usually a pretty good sign that he ought to do something about something.
On the other hand, that patch of sun by the window looked like the perfect spot for a large snake to curl up and dissuade all but the most foolhardy from entering his Angel’s shop.
He’d figure it out later.
*
Crowley paints his nails next, a deep, dark green, just a shade lighter than his snakeskin boots. The contrast with his eyes is stunning, even if only one other being will ever see it.
*
The invitation to Adam’s 12th birthday party arrived at the bookshop on a damp August morning addressed to Mr Aziraphale and Mr Crowley.
“Oh how lovely.” Exclaimed Aziraphale.
Crowley leaned over his shoulder. “Probably wants to check up on us, make sure we’re not interfering in anything we shouldn't."
Aziraphale, who had only that morning ensured that five entirely separate souffles would rise in spite of the various mistakes made by their bakers, shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Surely he’d already know if we were? He never said no minor miracles at all, just no trouble, and we haven’t done anything like that… I’m sure he just wants to say hello."
"Normal 12-year-olds don't invite adults to their birthday parties Angel."
"Well there's no point pretending he's one of those."
“True, best do as he says.”
And so a week later found them once more in Tadfield, wrapped presents in hand. The door was answered by Adam’s father, who didn’t seem at all confused to see them, apparently under the impression that they were old family friends, though when he really thought about it, he couldn’t for the life of him remember where from.
“Go on through.” He said. “Everyone’s in the garden and I’ll have the BBQ going shortly.”
‘Everyone’ turned out to include Shadwell, Tracy, Newt, and Anathema, who were sitting on lawn chairs sipping drinks, while the Them ran around the garden, apparently in search of hedgehogs.
“You have to check before having a fire, that’s what my mum says.”
“But Pepper,” replied Wensleydale, ‘The BBQ isn’t on the ground, and I don’t think hedgehogs can climb.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Replied Brian. “Still be fun to see one.” To which the others agreed wholeheartedly and thus the search continued.
Crowley followed Aziraphale in the direction of the grown-ups, and almost immediately regretted the decision when Tracy took one look at them and exclaimed. “Oh good, the two of you finally figured it out!” with a beaming smile.
This proclamation caused Newt to choke on his drink, and Aziraphale to blush to the tips of his ears.
“Is that… possible?” Asked Newt, his eyes darting between the angel and the demon. “I mean like aren’t there rules? Can you even touch each other without exploding?” At which point he seemed to realise what he had just said and slammed his mouth shut.
“Yes well, that’s rather why it took 6,000 years to sort out.” Replied Aziraphale with a small cough.
“You mean you weren’t together before?” Asked Anathema. “I could have sworn…”
Tracy laughed, “Definitely not. You pick up on a thing or two when you share a body with someone, and the level of repression going on in that head was unbelievable.”
While desperately willing himself to be anywhere else in the universe, Crowley spied a glint on Anathema’s finger, and immediately jumped on the opportunity presented. “Enough about us. I see congratulations are in order, book girl.” This was, he assured himself, an entirely factual statement, and did not at all imply that he personally had any investment in the matter.
“Yes. it was pretty inevitable really, but I made him ask properly anyway.” She smiled at Newt. “The wedding will be next summer most likely, but we haven’t really started planning yet. You’ll be invited of course.”
“Wonderful!” Aziraphale beamed. “I do love weddings. All that love in the air, it’s just…” he breathed out a wistful sigh. Please let me know if you need any leads on good bakers, I’ve accumulated quite the list over the years.”
“Will do, thanks.” She smiled back at him, then at Crowley. “Don’t worry, it won’t be in a church.”
Crowley, who had for some reason he couldn’t quite understand been staring at her ring for the past ten seconds, looked up with a start.
This did not go unnoticed by Anathema. “I think Crowley would quite like one of her own.” She smirked.
Crowley’s eyes snapped to Anathema’s. Realisation, question and answer flashed between them in a microsecond.
“Bit late for engagement rings now.” He said nonchalantly. “I’ve never known anyone move as fast as Aziraphale once he finally made up his mind.”
The Angel threw up his hands “You accidentally refer to your best friend of many many years as your husband one time and you never hear the end of it!”
This caused the whole group to burst into laughter and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. Witches, as he had always known, were nothing but trouble. Feeling distinctly off-kilter, he muttered something about presents and slunk away.
“Presents are for after lunch!” Aziraphale called after him. Crowley did not dignify the statement with a response.
He regretted this decision moments later when the momentary quiet allowed him to hear Shadwell mutter, “ She? I thought ‘e were a pansy. ” under his breath. Yep, definitely time to leave. Not having that conversation, and certainly not with an overly perceptive witch listening in.
He found the Them at the far end of the garden, now peering into what looked like a long-abandoned rabbit hole.
“Happy Birthday kid.” he said, passing Adam a large brightly wrapped package.
Adam grinned. “I knew inviting a demon to my party was a good idea.” He said as he pulled a set of brightly coloured water guns from their packaging.
“Oh wow.” Said Pepper. “These are the good ones.”
“The best on the market.” Replied Crowley with a grin.
(This particular model had in fact been removed from sale three months prior following a series of minor injuries to by-standing toddlers. However Crowley didn’t believe in such things and had purchased them anyway.)
“Thank you Mr Crowley.” Said Adam, in the slightly sing-song way of children who know what will happen if they don’t.
“..ss just Crowley.” He muttered.
Adam looked at him, squinting. “That’s too weird, like calling a teacher by their first name.”
“It’s not cus he’s trying to be friendly, it’s cus he’s not a man, silly.” Said Pepper. And of course the baby social justice warrior would be onto him, why had he ever expected otherwise.
Brian looked Crowley up and down. “Of course he is.”
“Nu-uh, right Crowley?”
And damn his soft spot for children to somewhere and back, but apparently the universe was conspiring against him today so sod it.
“Right Pepper. Not a man.”
“Is it because you’re wearing nail varnish? I don’t think men usually do that.” Said Brian.
“They could though.” Said Wensleydale thoughtfully. “Pepper is a girl who likes boy things but she’s still a girl, so it stands to reason there can be boys who like girl things but are still boys. Crowley could be one of those.”
Pepper considered this for a moment, and then said. “He could be, but he isn’t.”
“Course not.” Said Adam. “He’s a demon. I don’t think they have genders, not really.”
“Weird.” Said Brian.
“We should stop calling him ‘him’ then.” Said Pepper. “Crowley, what are your pronouns?”
“Sss fine, either works.” Crowley scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. When had humans become so progressive anyway? It was refreshing in some ways, but if he was now expected to classify himself according to some matrix from an internet blog that was going to be a hard pass.
He was startled out of his thoughts by a jet of water that came very close to soaking his jacket.
“Great, now run!” grinned Adam, once more pointing the water gun in his direction.
“You.” He growled. “Are going to regret that.”
And thus passed the remainder of the day, with just a short break for slightly moist hotdogs and cake. By the time they left the party both Aziraphale and Crowley were soaking wet and laughing, the Angel having been pulled into the rapidly escalating water-battle around the time when Crowley and the Them had decided to gang up on Newt and Anathema, and Aziraphale’s inbuilt sense of righteousness would not allow the pair to remain so outnumbered.
(The number of available water guns obligingly increased as required, rapidly reproducing in some ineffable fashion from the two that the package had originally contained.)
Quickly miricaling them both dry before the Angel could dare enter the Bentley in such a state, Crowley realised that she really did feel oddly better than she had that morning.
Adam, she decided, was a hypocrite.
*
It’s Aziraphale who spots the ring on a market stall a few days later. A tiny coiled snake in silver with golden eyes. He slips it onto Crowley’s finger and says, “better late than never. I hope you will forgive me.”
And Crowley wonders whether Newt was onto something, because if the Angel keeps looking at her like that she isn’t going to remain on this plane of existence for much longer.
“Course Angel,” she chokes out. “Always.”
*
“What wasss’t like?” Crowley leans back on his elbows and gracefully splashes wine very near to Aziraphale’s side table. Some things don’t change, and getting drunk on his angel’s sofa is an activity which, much like the wine, only becomes more appealing with age.
When Aziraphale doesn’t reply, he fishes in his somewhat alcohol-addled brain for more words “In her body. The Tracy woman.”
Aziraphale looks at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Ss’ woman, isn’t it. Wondered if it was different that’s all.”
“I wasn’t really paying attention I'm afraid my dear, rather pre-hic... pre-hocupied.” Aziraphale frowns.
“I s'pose. End of the world and all that.” A pause.. “Still, you must remember something?”
“It was... odd.” Aziraphale says. “But I think that was mostly having her in there with me. Two people in one body, ‘s not right.”
“Yeah, can imagine, be weird to share with someone.”
“Very.” Aziraphale nods emphatically.
There’s another pause, and Crowley decides to try a different tack. “You’ve always been very… male. Jus’ wondered if if it was weird for you.”
Aziraphale looks down at himself as though seeing his body for the first time. “I suppose, I never really thought about it.”
Crowley sits up, properly locking the Angel’s gaze in his own for the first time. “Are you serious?” He asks. “Are you really telling me that all thissss.” he gestures to Aziraphale’s everything incredulously, “is an accident?”
“All what?” Aziraphale looks himself up and down, the hurt clear in his voice.
“The whole gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitri... nitrousss... gas thing you’ve got going on. I always assumed it was deliberate.”
Aziraphale looks at himself again, clearly confused. “I don’t see what monkeys have to do with it.”
“Oh for sssomewhere’s sake. You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t.” He shakes his head, and then peers at Crowley “I can’t think like this. I’m sobering up.” And before Crowley can stop him he sees the flicker in the Angel’s eyes which says he’s too late.
Aziraphale looks at him then, really looks, as if he can see right through to what’s left of the demon’s soul. There is a moment in which Crowley considers following him back to the land of the sober, but then he breaks the gaze, instead taking another long gulp of wine. Aziraphale looks slightly disappointed, but recognising that this is something the demon needs (even if he doesn’t yet understand why ) he folds his hands carefully on his lap and says,
“I suppose…they accepted me, back in the 19th century. That club was the first time in a long time I felt like I had friends, so I did my best to blend in. The look sort of stuck for the next 150 years.” He looks embarrassed. “It has been quite helpful though, I was able to do a lot of good in the 80’s especially. People opened up to me, they still do, at least I like to think they do.”
Crowley winces, and Aziraphale suddenly looks horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that Crowley! You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” He pauses. “But I can see there’s something bothering you, and I’d like to help if I can.”
“Ss fine.” Crowley mutters, desperately trying to re-gather his thoughts. “What about before that though. I’ve never seen you looking like a woman, always a man.”
“No.” Aziraphale says carefully. “I am a man, at least as long as I’m in this body. I can't say it ever occurred to me to present differently.”
Crowley jumps up and starts pacing around the room, suddenly agitated. “You’re not though! You’re a blasted angel! Doesn’t it ever feel wrong?” At Aziraphale’s blank stare he lets out a deep sigh. “You’re right, I can’t have this conversation like this either.” The alcohol leaves his brain in a flood, leaving behind a profound feeling that is best summed up by the profanity he immediately utters.
“Crowley!” Admonishes Aziraphale, but then he visibly forces himself to relax. “Talk to me, please?”
And something in Crowley just...deflates. “You must have noticed I sometimes like to change things up, gender wise.” He says quietly.
Aziraphale nods. “I always assumed you did it for temptations and the like. Strictly business.”
“Sometimes, but mostly I did it because I wanted to.” He starts pacing again. He can barely explain this to himself, how is he supposed to explain it to an angel? “ It’s not that different from what you said really, it’s about being accepted.” he says after a minute. “No, it’s more than that. It’s about being seen for who you are. All of who you are. Not just the part they think of as ‘male’. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose it does, though I’m afraid I can’t say I’ve ever felt the same. Perhaps because I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to express the, how shall we say, gentler aspects of myself in other ways.” Aziraphale considers his carefully manicured nails as if seeing them for the first time. “To be honest I’ve never really understood human gender. I was given a male body so I just went along with it. It never seemed important. Is that wrong?”
Crowley’s laugh rings hollow in his ears. “Oh Angel you are asking the wrong person here.”
Aziraphale holds his gaze once more. “No my dear I think I am asking exactly the right person.”
Crowley shuffles his feet, then flops down once more on the sofa. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
Aziraphale looks thoughtful. “Where do you want to get to?”
“What?”
“We can theorise about metaphysical gender constructs all day. But the real question is what do you want my dear. Right now, what can I do to help you? We can figure out the rest from there.”
Crowley begins to twist his ring around his finger as he gathers his thoughts. The movement does not go unnoticed by Aziraphale who lets out a soft ‘oh’ of understanding.
“Crowley, my dear wife,” He says gently. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner.”
Tears begin to prickle at the corners of his eyes. Aziraphale's eyes, not Crowley’s. Nope. “Wasn’t a big deal.” She mutters.
“Yes.” Says Aziraphale firmly. “It was.” He reaches up and grasps the demon’s hands in his own. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me.”
“I wanted you to have what you needed. A husband.”
“Crowley I don’t give a flying duck whether I have a husband or a wife, as long as it’s you.”
Completely unable to respond with words, Crowley pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s a flying fuck you ridiculous angel.”
*
The next day the ring is joined by matching earrings. Crowley’s ears aren’t pierced, but the earrings don’t know that, and they remain in place dutifully, glinting in the sunlight.
Humans noticing them is nothing new, they have spent millennia cultivating their appearance to elicit a reaction. A curiosity, a temptation, a threat. But the way they look now is different, there’s an awkwardness to it, a question, a feeling of ‘I have two human-shaped boxes in my head and you don’t fit into either of them.’
Crowley delights in it.