Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Crowley had never been mortal. He’d never had a cold, never needed food, never had a pair of shoes that couldn’t be miracled into fitting well. Hell had a lot of punishments. This wasn’t one that Crowley had ever thought about. He’d never worried that Beelzebub would call him into their office and instead of condemning him to the Pit or a lake of sulphur, would take his powers, his immortality, his serpent form, wings, his damned yellow eyes, and turn him human. 

It wasn’t Crowley’s fault, not really. So he hadn’t done some or most of what he’d told Hell he’d done. The results were the same, weren’t they? The humans were cruel enough to each other on their own, they hadn’t needed help. So what if Crowley had lazed around for most of his posting on Earth? He was a demon. Sloth was a sin. But then Beelzebub had asked Crowley to report the last time he’d ever done anything actually evil— you know, murder, torture, terrorizing, and— well, Crowley couldn’t remember. Apparently sloth wasn’t enough to make a demon, not in these days.

But Beelzebub had been merciful. Crowley hadn’t expected it of them, but they had left one light on in the darkness: one path back to damnation. There was an angel on Earth, by the ridiculous name of Aziraphale. He was posing as a chaplain on a college campus, reaching out to the youth, guiding them into whatever angels guided people into: not-terrorizing or whatever. All Crowley had to do was to make this angel lose his job, and Crowley would get his back. Seduce him, Beelzebub had said. Make him Fall.

Crowley wasn’t sure if Beelzebub was aware that most of the seductions that Crowley had claimed to have done over the last 6000 years had been made up as well, but how hard could it be, even with an angel? Angels could have sex if they were in love and not Fall for it, but some of them must feel lust, yeah? In any case, that was a moot point, the loophole was closed, because angels could not fall in love with demons. And Crowley was a demon. He was just a little under the weather right now. He’d be right as acid rain soon enough, you could count on that.

But at the moment, Crowley was hungry and tired, and his feet hurt. Perhaps Crowley could excuse mortals for some of their cruelty if this was the way they felt all the time. Hell had at least equipped him with what he needed for this job: a place to stay near campus, a bank account. But other than that, Crowley was on his own in a way he never really had been before.

The campus Chaplaincy was at the top of the hill. It was early evening now, and the sun was starting to set. The Chaplaincy glowed comfortably through its windows, casting golden light out onto the sidewalk. It was definitely the dwelling place of an angel. Crowley could sense the ethereal magic trying to work its way into the minds of those who passed. Angels used all kinds of tricks like that to their advantage, trying to sway humans one way or another. It was odd, though, because the Chaplaincy felt...welcoming and safe. Crowley couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt an angel’s powers used to simply tell people that they could find refuge under his care.

Crowley climbed the hill, his feet pinching and aching. But that was all right, it was a necessary evil, because he needed the fancy shoes he wore. He’d kept on his dark glasses even though he didn’t need them now, because he knew how good he looked in them, and he needed to look his best in order to carry out a seduction.

Crowley had always been attractive, and he could be devastatingly charming if he really needed to be (like that time in Eden), so he didn’t worry too much about that. Crowley could only hope that the angel was at least somewhat palatable. Crowley had seen quite a few angels in his time, and they tended to be attractive in the way marble statues were, cold and distant, somewhere in the uncanny valley of looking human and being decidedly not. Creepy bastards, the lot of them.

Crowley approached the Chaplaincy slowly, leaving the sidewalk and creeping up to one of the windows, staying mostly behind a tree on the lawn. He’d start with a little recon, he’d decided. Take a look, see what he was up against. What he’d soon be up against quite literally, if all went well.

Art by Smolalienbee

There was a group of people inside the building, but Crowley only saw one of them. He wore brown slacks and a light blue shirt with a sweater over it, along with the seamless white band of a clerical collar. He had white hair that could definitely be described as fluffy, puffing up over his head in wild, soft curls. He was a little portly, particularly around the middle and the rear end.

He was...he was beautiful.

And he was an angel, that was easy for Crowley to sense. Aziraphale was giving off such a strong level of ethereal power that it honestly made Crowley a little nervous. But it was all somehow impossibly gentle. The students gathered with him were laughing and chatting, completely at ease. There was a kid in the corner curled up on a quilt, sound asleep, and Crowley could feel the angelic magic covering him like a warm blanket. It felt like peace and security and dream of whatever you like best.

Crowley stepped back from the window. He could count himself lucky, he supposed, that his target was probably the softest, most delicious-looking angel he could ever have imagined. But there was also a little voice in his head that made Crowley linger on the sidewalk, hesitating to go in and start his assignment. This was a good angel. By far the best Crowley had ever seen. Kind. Generous. Protective. And Crowley was supposed to destroy him, to turn that golden light into a poisonous red miasma, to burn down everything that had been created here, the safe space, the welcome, the love.

But of course, Crowley could do that. He could. He was a demon, after all.

oOo

The chaplain Aziraphale was handed an oatmeal raisin cookie, and he accepted it with delight. The cookies were homemade, having arrived that morning in a package that had been highly anticipated by the whole group. Kirk’s grandmother always phoned to let him know that she’d sent another box of treats his way, and as usual, she’d included a donation to Queer Campus, a group that Aziraphale had formed a year ago when he’d first been assigned this job. 

It was fortunate that Heaven had left most of the details of this posting to Aziraphale. He was supposed to pose as a chaplain and perform outreach to students, guiding them away from the temptations of their newly independent lives and into good habits, so that they would not be counted for Hell.

Aziraphale had spent just one week on campus before he’d realized that the supposed temptations of meaningless sex and alcohol were not what was putting the students in danger. It was stress, loneliness, and in some cases, fear. Thus Aziraphale had started several projects. One linked up musically-inclined students with local nursing homes. Another invited students to learn various arts & crafts skills with weekly lessons given by other students, on everything from drawing to knitting to building houses of cards. There were game nights, spaghetti dinners, ice cream socials, and a schedule of student tutors available at the Chaplaincy for math, science, foreign languages, writing, and budgeting. Aziraphale also organized a weekly visit with animals from a local shelter to provide stress relief for the students. That was definitely the most popular project. But the second-most popular was Queer Campus, a group of LGBT+ students and allies who found refuge from fear under Aziraphale’s care.

QC technically had official meeting times, but the group was so beloved by the kids that you could find them hanging out at the Chaplaincy at all hours. Donations by Kirk’s Grandma Ruth (who had quickly been adopted into being everybody’s Grandma Ruth) helped pay for food and art supplies. Kirk came from a small town where it had been very difficult to be a gay teenager. But in college, Kirk had blossomed into the kind of person he was at heart: generous, funny, friendly. His grades had improved and he had started tutoring at the Chaplaincy in Spanish. Grandma Ruth was so grateful to the QC group that she expressed herself in the time-honored grandparent-grandchild currency of cookies and cash.

At the moment, most of the Queer Campus kids were busy making thank-you cards for Grandma Ruth. Glitter and glue were everywhere. A few kids of various genders were involved in an impromptu make-up lesson focusing on mascara, and there was also some chemistry homework going on. And then there was John, asleep in the corner on a quilt that Aziraphale had miracled up a week ago.

John was queer, and he wasn’t getting along with his narrow-minded roommate, so he was trying to stay away from the dorm as much as possible. Details were almost finalized for John to move off-campus and share an apartment with Atticus, another QC kid. John just needed to finalize details of his new job and the landlord would approve it. Aziraphale had helped John with his resume and job interviews, and he had landed a position as a barista near campus. But the whole process had exhausted the poor boy, and Aziraphale had taken to giving John the equivalent of a good night’s sleep in an hour or two whenever he could.

When the thank-you cards were done, discussion moved on to the bake sale QC was planning for next month, to raise funds for a health clinic near campus that provided services for students of all genders. The clinic had a presence at the Chaplaincy in the form of a bowl of free condoms and pamphlets on sexual health. Aziraphale made sure neither supply ever ran out, and he might have possibly influenced the city into deciding that one of the bus lines that served campus also made a stop at the clinic.

In 6000 years, Aziraphale had never had a job that he loved as much as this. He’d barely realized how lonely he himself had been for so long. He’d rarely ever felt quite so at home. As if maybe these kids weren’t so much his children as his peers, as if maybe they weren’t his students but his family. Aziraphale hadn’t had anyone to call family since— Well. That was a old wound, scarred over now, and best left alone.

When the door squeaked open, Aziraphale assumed it was another student stopping by in hope that there might be cookies left. He glanced up and found that instead, it was an older man, more the age that Aziraphale presented. But he wasn’t a professor. Aziraphale had made a point to meet them all, so that there was a line of communication open between the Chaplaincy and the faculty, in case a student needed something mediated.

Oh, and Aziraphale would have remembered this man. He was striking. Tall and slender, with dark red hair that fell to his shoulders, the top pulled back in a half-bun. Dressed all in dark clothes and a pair of snake-skin shoes, he cut quite a dashing figure. He was wearing sunglasses despite the late hour, but they did flatter him. His features were almost delicate, matching the thin lines of his body.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and stood up. “Welcome to the Chaplaincy! I’m Aziraphale. How can I help you?”

The man came in a little hesitantly, but he bore a friendly-enough smile. “My name’s Crowley. AJ Crowley. I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced, but I wanted to see about maybe making a donation?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Well, we are always open for that sort of thing!” He gestured to the floor. “Watch your step, unless you want glitter on your shoes.”

“Who on earth wouldn’t want glitter on their shoes?” Crowley asked, and he grinned then, and it was marvelous.

Everybody waved and introduced themselves, except John, Aziraphale didn’t want him waking quite yet, he had an exam tomorrow. Crowley made his way through the room glancing at the various projects that were going on. The makeup lesson seemed to interest him the most. The kids— Jennifer, Aisha, Atticus, and Polly— had moved from mascara to lip liner at this point. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve worn makeup,” Crowley remarked, and the kids sensed a kindred soul (and fresh victim). Offered a spot at the table, Crowley hesitated a moment, and then removed his sunglasses, revealing that his eyes were a stunning, deep honey-gold, a sight that nearly took Aziraphale’s breath away. 

As Crowley started to tell them more about himself— he was a member of the community who wished he’d had this kind of queer support as a college student and wanted to give back now— he found himself on the receiving end of a light makeover. That was not fair. It was ridiculous, in fact, that the most attractive man Aziraphale had seen in a very long time was gradually growing more alluring under the students’ talented hands. 

Aziraphale tried not to get flustered. He’d never been terribly good at that, though, and he quickly came to suspect that not only was it obvious that he found Crowley attractive, but that this was the real reason behind the makeover. The kids were entirely too delighted with the situation.

Aziraphale ate another cookie, and told Crowley about the various projects that the Chaplaincy did. Crowley didn’t mention exactly what he did for a living, but did say that he had gone to college to study history, and then got into a discussion with one of the kids about indigenous languages of the Americas and how you could use an analysis of linguistic influences to reconstruct what ancient trade routes must have looked like. Crowley certainly seemed to know his ancient American civilizations. His knowledge seemed very much in line with what Aziraphale remembered of those times.

In the space of an hour, Crowley had thoroughly charmed them all. He was a little shy underneath his cool exterior, unassuming, and obviously lonely, enough that he seemed surprised that the group seemed to want to include him in their activities. He did get Aziraphale to recite his human cover story, and— was it Aziraphale’s imagination? Or did Crowley spend most of his time looking in Aziraphale’s direction?

Aziraphale found out the answer as the group wrapped up for the evening, because Crowley approached him, a little nervously. He’d passed Aziraphale a donation check earlier. Aziraphale hadn’t looked to see how much it was for, he’d do that later when it wasn’t so rude. But now Crowley was looking down into Aziraphale’s eyes— Crowley was just slightly taller— and oh, the kids had done a wonderful job on his makeup. Crowley’s amber eyes looked luminous, the angles of his cheekbones sharper, his mouth soft and full.

“Would you like to maybe grab some dinner?” Crowley asked softly. “I haven’t eaten, and I thought we might talk more about—” He laughed, a little self-consciously. “Well, honestly, about anything you’d like to talk about, angel.”

Everyone fell suddenly quiet. Crowley noticed, and he looked mortified. “Sorry— the nickname. I didn’t mean— just suits you, that’s all.”

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale said, perhaps a little breathlessly. “I don’t mind.”

Crowley looked relieved. “So— dinner?”

Jennifer and Atticus were standing behind Crowley and they gave Aziraphale a thumbs-up over Crowley’s shoulder. Aziraphale tried very hard not to blush. “I’d love to,” he said.

Chapter Text

Crowley was dating an angel and it was fine. It was fine, and Crowley was not having a crisis about it. Crowley was a cool, collected demon who was confidently working a seduction plan without getting emotionally involved with his mark. Crowley certainly didn’t blush and stammer when Aziraphale smiled at him, and he definitely did not do everything in his now-mortal power to make that smile appear. Because that would be ridiculous, as well as conduct unbecoming of a demon, and Crowley refused to think of the irony of the fact that he was in this situation to begin with due to certain conduct unbecoming of a demon, because he was a demon at heart, and being a demon suited him just fine. So. Everything was fine.

It had started slow. Well, as slow as Crowley could make it. He wasn’t terribly comfortable as a human, after all, and thus the sooner the temptation was carried out the better. But Crowley had a sense of timing, and he didn’t want to go too fast and spook the angel. He was a little surprised that he’d managed to charm Aziraphale into a date so quickly, and he wasn’t going to sabotage his progress.

So first it was dinner. That had gone well enough. Ensconced in a darkened restaurant, Aziraphale had expanded a little on his human cover story, education and then ordination, and Crowley had shared his own, although his wasn’t nearly as well written. He described his business as “financing” and Aziraphale didn’t press.

It became clear rather quickly how different Aziraphale really was from any other angels that Crowley had encountered. Crowley had seen it with the students, and now with waitstaff and even strangers: Aziraphale was kind and protective, more the guardian angel sort than the usual smiting, avenging type. Crowley hadn’t even known the guardian ones existed outside of hopeful human stories. It was like Aziraphale had skipped out on a few of the heavenly training days where they reminded you to be a bastard at all times. It wasn’t that Crowley suspected anyone as protective as Aziraphale couldn’t be a bit of a bastard, deep down, just enough of a bastard to handle a difficult situation. But that didn’t seem to be the main part of his character.

Aziraphale’s unique personality might have been, Crowley mused, what made the angel so physically attractive as well. Aziraphale could smile so sweetly, and he used his whole face to do it, blue eyes twinkling and cheeks pinking up. Definitely not like Crowley had ever imagined an angel could look.

And it probably explained the food thing as well. Aziraphale had picked a sushi place for their first dinner, saying it was a favorite of his. Crowley hadn’t really realized what that meant until the food arrived. Aziraphale slowly breathed in the scent of it and smiled so softly that Crowley forgot that he himself was hungry. By the end of the meal, Crowley wasn’t even sure how much he’d eaten, because all of his attention had been focused on what Aziraphale was eating. How his lips and tongue moved, and the frankly near-pornographic sounds he made.

Aziraphale clearly liked human food. A lot. And all that Crowley was learning about Aziraphale made him wonder what other kinds of things Aziraphale might like a lot. What other pleasures might a hedonistic angel want to experience? Things he’d never been able to try, unless he’d ever been in love. Or— or maybe he had. Maybe Aziraphale had taken human lovers before, mates that lasted as long as human lives could. It made Crowley a little jealous to imagine Aziraphale with a partner. But worse than that, it was horrible to imagine Aziraphale grieving lost loves over and over.

But that wasn’t what was going to happen here. Aziraphale might be able to fall in love with a human, and probably even another angel, although Crowley couldn’t imagine Aziraphale being attracted to any of them. But Crowley wasn’t human, not really. Angels were incapable of loving demons, everyone knew that.

So it while it might make Crowley’s job easier to know that Aziraphale craved a lover’s touch, it might also make it harder. If Aziraphale was used to taking lovers, then he was used to falling in love with them. Aziraphale would obviously say no to Crowley until that happened— unless Crowley really really turned on the charm, and suddenly, Crowley felt a little sick. This wasn’t right. None of it was right. Aziraphale was having dinner with someone who wanted him to give into something that he would never truly want, something with disastrous consequences. Someone who wanted to hurt him.

But— wasn’t that what a demon would desire? Of course it was.

Crowley barely remembered being an angel. He remembered hating it, the rules, the coldness, the nothingness of Heaven. (How that place had managed to produce an angel as wonderful as Aziraphale Crowley would never know.) Hell wasn’t much better, but at least there you could think for yourself. You had choices, limited though they might be. Hell was all Crowley knew now. It was what he was. And Aziraphale was attracted to him already, that was plain to see. This was all going so very well. Crowley just had to not screw it up.

After the sushi, which Aziraphale had insisted on helping to pay for, Crowley left to walk home to his apartment. Aziraphale probably blinked himself home, and Crowley and his sore feet were very much wishing he could do the same thing. 

Crowley didn’t kiss him goodnight. It was far too soon for that, even though Crowley quite desperately wanted to know what Aziraphale’s mouth would taste like after sushi and green tea. But that would be a rookie mistake as far as temptations went. All you were supposed to do was hold out the lure, and your mark would saunter along the downward path of their own accord.

So Crowley went home alone, and laid in an uncomfortable bed and wished fervently to be himself again. If he could slip into serpent form, he wouldn’t have feet that could ache. It felt like Crowley had been chained into this human form, seeing through eyes that were purely human, unable to scent the air with his tongue— Well. It wasn’t like Hell didn’t know how to torture someone.

Crowley dropped by the Chaplaincy two days later, and to his great pride Aziraphale looked very pleased to see him. Officially, Crowley was just there to ask Aziraphale out again, but the students actually looked happy to see him too. It didn’t take long for Crowley to realize that this was partly because the students were extremely interested in their chaplain’s personal business.

Oddly enough, Crowley was happy to see them all too. There was no makeup lesson going on this time, but apparently the fact that Crowley was “in finance” had gotten around, because someone— Atticus, Crowley learned— asked for help on his math homework, and Crowley had, for whatever reason, always been very good with numbers. And so, to Crowley’s surprise, he spent an hour or so talking calculus and eating potato chips and listening to the university gossip. 

Aziraphale spent most of that time in a more private conversation with a student named Aisha, who had arrived at the Chaplaincy looking rather distraught. They’d gone into one of the offices down the hall to talk. The door had been left open, though, and Crowley could occasionally hear Aisha crying. Crowley could only imagine what it would be like to be in the care of an angel at a time like that. To hear soothing words and feel ethereal magic healing you where it hurt. Even if you weren’t aware that angelic power was being used.

That afternoon, Crowley and Aziraphale ended up going for a walk on campus instead of having lunch. So many people knew Aziraphale that it was somewhat slow going. And Aziraphale had a smile for them all, of course. If the talk with Aisha had taken a lot out of the angel, he didn’t show it— to the mortals. Crowley could sense how tired Aziraphale was, how much energy it must have taken to soothe whatever had been so painful for the girl.

They ended up sitting on a bench by a stream. According to the steps of the temptation, Crowley was supposed to feign interest in whatever Aziraphale had to say, but he found himself actually quite engaged by their conversation. They were both pretending to be far younger than they were, far less experienced with life. But they were kindred spirits anyway, long-time residents of the mortal world, even if Aziraphale didn’t realize it.

Crowley had to remind himself several times that being kindred spirits with Aziraphale was an advantage over him and nothing else.

Eventually, Crowley said, in a gentle voice, “I know you can’t talk about it, what’s going on with your student. But are you okay?”

Aziraphale looked down, and Crowley was startled to see the gleam of tears in his eyes. Crowley was struck by the sudden desire to pull Aziraphale into his arms and comfort him, to show him a little of the care that he showed others. It seemed unfair that Aziraphale had no one to do that for him.

It would probably be a good step toward a seduction. But instead Crowley curled his fingers into fists and did not reach for him. 

“It’s— it’s a lot sometimes,” Aziraphale said softly. “How children of their age can have so much pain, and for things that aren’t at all their fault. Humans—” He cleared his throat. “That is, people seem to believe a lot of things that aren’t entirely accurate.”

“Like what?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale looked at him earnestly, and it was such a softly powerful look that Crowley was very glad that he was wearing his dark glasses. “You see,” Aziraphale said, “what should happen is that families and friends ought to love each other, because that’s more important than anything else. But people put things in the way of that, harsh beliefs and fear, and I just can’t stand to see—” He broke off. “I’m sorry. It’s— even the church I represent has a long way to go in these matters.”

Crowley shifted uneasily. “Does it ever make you want to— I don’t know, leave the church? Live your own life, make your own rules?”

Aziraphale gave a saddened sort of laugh. “I’m afraid that for me, the only other place to go has just as many rules. ‘ Freedom is an illusion.’ My student Polly is pre-law, and she firmly believes that. I’m afraid she’s right. Besides, I could never leave my students.”

Crowley felt like he might be sick. Potato chips were junk food, right? He’d eaten too many of them. He managed to say, “They’re lucky to have you.”

Things sped up after that. To Hell (literally) with going slow, Crowley thought. Best to rip off the band-aid and get this over with. Crowley had learned what band-aids were after getting blisters on his feet from his damned shoes. He couldn’t exist like this, not for much longer. Being human was painful and exasperating and boring, and the only time it wasn’t was when Crowley was in Aziraphale’s company, and that was so ironic that Crowley didn’t even want to think about it anymore. So he didn’t.

He took Aziraphale to the movies. To dinner, on walks in the park, and on one of those walks, Aziraphale slipped his hand into Crowley’s hand, folding their fingers together. Crowley had never really wondered what an angel’s touch would be like. He’d assumed it would hurt, since an angel who was touching him would probably be in the process of smiting him. But Crowley had wondered what Aziraphale’s touch would be like. He’d watched those soft hands hold a fork and a pen and turn pages in a textbook, had watched Aziraphale adjust his clerical collar and fluff his hair with nimble fingers, had even watched Aziraphale surreptitiously extend two fingers together by his side and confer angelic blessings to students and bus drivers and even strangers. And now those fingers were laced with Crowley’s and Crowley felt sick and he never wanted Aziraphale to let go.

Aziraphale must have noticed the tension in Crowley because he looked up at him hesitantly. “Is this all right?” he asked.

Crowley could do nothing else but nod.

oOo

Aziraphale was dating a mortal and it was fine. It was fine, and Aziraphale was not having a crisis about it. He was a cool, collected angel who loved everyone, perhaps certain people more than others, but he was fully capable of loving people without getting overwhelmingly emotionally involved. He certainly didn’t get completely flustered whenever Crowley smiled at him or laughed or did something completely innocuous like breathe. That would be ridiculous, because Aziraphale had done this before and he had sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to do it again, but he’d thought— 

Oh, what the hell had he been thinking, really? Accepting a dinner date right after meeting the man, and after that agreeing to lunches, walks in the park, movies, Crowley’s presence by his side at the Chaplaincy game nights. Heaven help him, Aziraphale was happy, and he shouldn’t be, not from this.

But it didn’t have to mean anything, he kept telling himself. It didn’t mean that he would fall in love this time. Even if— even if he knew his Erik would have simply smiled and told him to Be happy, for Odin’s sake, you deserve it. But this wasn’t love, with all its heartache. It was just a bit of company. They were friends. So. Everything was fine.

The students certainly ate it up, though, acting as if they’d won front-row seats to a sappy rom-com. They loved Crowley, and weren’t in the least bit ashamed to show it. That was the problem with Crowley. He was very easy to love. He cared about what was going on in other people’s lives. He joined in the kids’ projects, not afraid to get messy with markers and to tie yarn in hopeless knots and call it crochet. He tackled calculus homework and tried to help with foreign languages, even though his grasp of them was a little shaky. (Oddly enough, Crowley could ably translate a 17th-century play by Moliere but stumbled over more modern works. He offered the excuse that Moliere was a hell of a lot more entertaining than modern writers, and he did have somewhat of a point there.)

Crowley just fit well with the group. He fit into Aziraphale’s life in a way that made Aziraphale terribly nervous, because it was just too easy, and too— good. 

One day Crowley came by unannounced and inadvertently interrupted the secret painting project that the kids had undertaken several months before, and it was a little trouble to make it look like they’d been doing some other craft. Crowley had looked at them all curiously, but then he’d just settled into one of the arm chairs and challenged Aziraphale to a game of chess.

“Ah,” said Aziraphale gently, examining his fingers for paint, and trying to keep himself from fantasizing about not keeping secrets from Crowley. “I’m afraid I’ve been playing chess for a very long time, my dear.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “You think you can beat me, then?”

Aziraphale allowed himself a smile. “I think it’s likely, yes.” Around him, the students fell quiet, watching the exchange with great interest.

Crowley twisted his mouth a little. “Ever play chaturanga, then?”

Aziraphale looked at him in surprise. “You mean the ancestor of chess? Chaturanga hasn’t been in fashion for about 1500 years. In fact, if I recall, the complete rules of the game are no longer known.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Crowley said, leaning forward with a bit of a pleased smile on his face, which made Aziraphale’s breath pick up a bit. “Cause, as it happens, I learned chaturanga from someone who knew how to play, and I thought you, angel, with all your many years of chess— maybe you’d also encountered someone who knew how to play.”

A memory of dusty, sun-warmed streets came back to Aziraphale, the fuzzy texture of apricots on his tongue, the chatter of voices in Sanskrit. “Um— I believe I have, actually,” Aziraphale said, with fondness in his voice. “It’s been a while, though. Where on earth did you find someone who still plays chaturanga?”

Crowley just grinned. “So you think you can beat me at it, then? Or not so confident now?”

Aziraphale glanced around at the students. “I think we should find out,” he said.

John fetched the Chaplaincy’s chess board, as it was close enough (although chaturanga had used an uncheckered board), and Crowley set it up, explaining the differences in the pieces and their allowed moves. He had it exactly as Aziraphale remembered, elephants and kings and horses, even pronouncing the Sanskrit names properly. As Aziraphale watched the board come together under Crowley’s beautiful hands, the movements of his fingers and the lilt of the old language on his tongue recalled things so long-lost to Aziraphale that he’d thought them gone forever.

There were so few angels assigned to Earth, and none of them had ever seemed to have the taste for it that Aziraphale did. There had never been anyone for him to reminisce with, to talk with about things he’d loved long ago, to recall ancient recipes, games, politics. Aziraphale had no idea until this moment how much he’d hungered for that.

It wasn’t quite the same, of course. Crowley hadn’t learned this game the way Aziraphale had, eons ago, sitting in the shade and laughing with people who’d been just as alive and vibrant as Crowley was now, and yet had been lost to history for generations. But it was something, and Aziraphale nearly felt tears in his eyes to have happy memories so unexpectedly close at hand.

“You all right?” Crowley murmured, glancing at him as he arranged the last pieces.

“Fine,” Aziraphale assured him.

Crowley waved a graceful hand. “Make the first move, then.”

The game progressed from simple to complicated very quickly, but Aziraphale and Crowley were able to explain the steps to the students as they went. They did bicker occasionally about a minor point or two, but Crowley seemed to know what he was about, arguing just to a certain point, and then giving in and letting Aziraphale have his way. It was blatant flirting and the students loved it. Especially because Aziraphale quite obviously loved it himself.

The game progressed through the evening, pre-empting all homework and necessitating the ordering of pizza and a little miracle that put all the supplies for ice cream sundaes into the Chaplaincy’s kitchen. Aziraphale couldn’t remember when he’d had a better evening, and even though that fact worried him a bit, he didn’t want it to end. 

Crowley was still just as dashing and handsome as when he’d first walked through the Chaplaincy door, but Aziraphale now knew that he was also a complete idiot who could not eat an ice cream sundae without making a mess of the table, who picked toppings off of pizza if he didn’t like them and then threw them at people, who could speak the universal language of math as well as 17th-century French, who made stupid jokes but also laughed at everyone else’s stupid jokes. In some ways AJ Crowley seemed ageless, timeless. He could get along perfectly well with the students in their youth, but also keep pace with an angel who had been alive for millennia.

And then at some point during the game, Aziraphale realized that Crowley was actually capable of planning chaturanga moves far enough in advance that he probably could have won the game in a few strokes. But instead he was doing what needed to be done to keep the game moving forward without it coming to an end. Crowley didn’t want to win. He wanted to keep the game going just to have Aziraphale’s company. Just to make Aziraphale happy.

But there was a limit to that, Aziraphale had to remind himself. It would be wrong in a fundamental way to try to extend Crowley’s mortal lifespan like an endless game, allowing him to keep Aziraphale company for as long as Aziraphale would want. Even if that was the thing that would make Aziraphale the happiest he’d been in a very long time.

In the end, Crowley let Aziraphale win the game, but they all knew that was the case, so it didn’t really count. Still, Aziraphale treasured it. The students spread out around the room again and cracked open textbooks while Aziraphale walked Crowley to the door.

Outside the Chaplaincy, the sun had set and the air was cool, with just a bit of the humidity of the day left over, making things feel sort of thick. Aziraphale stood in the glow of the Chaplaincy lights, looking up into the handsome face that had begun to haunt his daydreams. Aziraphale didn’t sleep, but his mind had taken to calling up an image of Crowley, the sound and scent of him, whenever it pleased. Despite knowing it was a terrible idea, Aziraphale desperately wanted to add feel and taste to those memories.

Slowly, Aziraphale raised his hand and slid it against Crowley’s cheek. Crowley didn’t move away, but he did startle a little at the touch, his amber eyes widening. Aziraphale took a moment just to savor the way Crowley’s skin felt beneath his hand, warm and smooth, before shifting up a little to run his fingers along Crowley’s hairline, feeling that beautiful scarlet hair soft against his own skin. Crowley made a noise that he bit off very quickly, but he took a shaky step closer.

Then Crowley’s gaze dropped to Aziraphale’s mouth, and a little shiver ran through Aziraphale. He raised his other hand toward Crowley’s face as his mind delightedly tried to guess how this would go— how hungry was Crowley for him? Would he press Aziraphale back into the door of the Chaplaincy and delve into his open mouth with his tongue? Or would it be soft and romantic, a press of lips, an exchange of breath, a slow, sweet exploration?

What it was, as it turned out, was Crowley catching Aziraphale’s wrist before his other hand could touch him, a quick brushing of his lips over Aziraphale’s hair, and then he was out of reach and on his way with a hushed, “Good night, angel.”

They didn’t see Crowley for three days after that. There was an occasional text from him on Aziraphale’s phone, but Aziraphale told himself not to press. After all, it was better if this didn’t work out, wasn’t it? If one of them put the brakes on now, maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t get his heart broken. Maybe this time he’d be able to catch himself right on the point of falling in love with a mortal.

And that was a whole other problem between them, of course. Crowley didn’t know what Aziraphale was, he didn’t know his secrets. And if this were to happen, he’d need to be told. Aziraphale wouldn’t want to lie to Crowley about why he didn’t age, to keep himself from holding Crowley close on a cold day and warming him with an angelic aura. Erik had always liked that. The poor man, he’d hated the cold so much that Aziraphale used to jokingly accuse him of choosing to spend his life with an angel just to have a way to stay warm. 

Erik’s hair had been red, too.

But after three days, Crowley reappeared, and Aziraphale welcomed it, of course. It was too late to avoid that. But he was especially glad to see Crowley at that moment, because it came at a very trying time. Aziraphale and the students were sitting around on the floor, ostensibly making the last posters for the bake sale, but mostly listening to the latest from Aisha. She wasn’t crying this time, not really, although her eyes were wet.

“Well, I say to hell with them,” John was saying as Crowley walked through the door. “To hell with them, and don’t go home for Fall Break if you don’t want to see them. You can crash at our place.”

Atticus nodded. “You can kick John out of his room and make him take the couch.”

John made an indignant noise, and the rest of them laughed, but it was a shaky sound in the face of Aisha’s distress.

Even though he was getting welcoming looks, Crowley drew to a halt. “I’ll come back,” he said softly.

Aisha rolled her eyes. “No, you won’t, get over here and be a good boyfriend. Aziraphale misses you.”

There were snickers at that, of course, and Aziraphale felt himself flush red. 

Crowley— who looked tired, Aziraphale realized, maybe more tired than he’d ever seen him— sat down on the floor, but kept a little distance from them. He did not go to Aziraphale’s side. “Are you okay?” Crowley asked Aisha.

“It’s my family,” she said.

“Those people are not your family,” Jennifer cut in. “Not if they treat you like this.”

“I asked my family to call me Aisha,” she told Crowley. “They insist that I’m William.” Her mouth trembled a little but she held off the sob that clearly wanted to come out. 

Jennifer grabbed her hand. “You know we want you here,” she said. “And not just because you got Polly and me through our chem midterm. We’re your found family, Aisha.”

Aziraphale saw a look of surprise and confusion come over Crowley’s face.

“Blood may be thicker than water,” Aziraphale explained, “but love is thicker than blood. A found family is one you make yourself out of people who accept you for who you are and who want to help you become the person you want to be. It’s everything a family should be. Many people are given those by birth, and some of us aren’t. But, Aisha,” he said gently, and she turned to him. “Remember, you are worth loving for who you are. And if I may put on the collar, so to speak, for a moment, God loves you the way you are, the way They made you. I don’t know why you’ve been given a rough path to walk, but it’s no fault of your own.”

Crowley still looked rather lost.

“Same thing happen to you?” Aisha asked him.

Crowley shrugged, clearly trying to appear unaffected. “Yeah, my family— we parted ways.”

“Cause you’re gay?” John asked.

Kirk smacked him on the shoulder. “Dude. Intrusive.”

But it made Crowley laugh. “I think I’m pan, I guess? Anyway, my family didn’t care about that. I think— I think that was the problem, really. They didn’t care about me at all. They don’t really know me.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Aziraphale wanted to protest that, the irony of Crowley internalizing the idea that he didn’t matter, but Crowley clearly didn’t want to say more. So Aziraphale turned back to Aisha. “We are happy to be your found family, my dear. That is a large part of the purpose of this group, to support each other. My hope is that when you all graduate and move on, you’ll understand that you deserve only healthy relationships.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not moving on,” Polly said with a snort. “I’m going to live right here in the Chaplaincy after graduation.”

The other kids laughed. “You’ll never get rid of us, Aziraphale,” John said.

Aziraphale felt tears rise in his own eyes then. “I promise you, my dears, that I will always be around for whatever you need. You can have faith in me.”

Aziraphale looked up just in time to see Crowley disappearing out the front door. Concern immediately filled him. “Excuse me,” he said, getting up, and the kids shooed him away to chase after Crowley.

Crowley was outside on the sidewalk. It was early afternoon on a Saturday and it had gotten cold. There weren’t many people about. Crowley looked up as Aziraphale came outside, and then immediately turned away from him.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked.

“I can’t do this,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale felt a little dread steal into his heart. “Can’t do what?” he asked carefully.

It was like Crowley hadn’t heard him. “But I have to do this. I have to.”

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, and was startled to feel him jerk away from his touch. But the next second, Crowley had grasped Aziraphale by the shirt and was pressing him back against the Chaplaincy door. 

“It’s all wrong,” Crowley said, looking down at Aziraphale with such a hunger that Aziraphale’s mouth went dry. “I’m supposed to be the one— but you’re better at it than I am, aren’t you? You’ve got me going crazy. I can’t think about anything but you. But you don’t want me—”

Aziraphale felt himself trembling, and there was a wetness in his eyes. “I do,” he confessed.

Crowley gave him a severe look. “You shouldn’t.”

“Probably not, but I can’t help it.”

Crowley gave a frustrated groan and pulled away, starting to pace on the empty sidewalk. “You don’t understand. I’m your worst enemy, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “You most certainly are not. Look, you’re clearly not feeling well. Come back inside, we’ll talk. Or we’ll go for a walk. We don’t even have to talk. I don’t like seeing you in so much pain. Just let me— let me take care of you. Please.”

Crowley looked at him with such sadness then that Aziraphale felt it slide sharp through his own chest. “You would, wouldn’t you?” Crowley asked. “You’d meet an armed man with your hand out, offering help.”

“Crowley, where is this coming from? What’s wrong?”

“You’re safe,” Crowley breathed. “You’re safe like this, and I’m going to leave you like this, and— and I can do that. For you, I can do that.” He stood up straighter suddenly, and nodded. “Goodbye, angel.”

The world seemed to tip sideways. “No,” Aziraphale whispered. “No, please. Just let me—” The realization sank into him then, and he leaned back against the door with the weight of it. He was in love with Crowley. It was a bright, young feeling, a flower blooming, but it was already too late. Crowley was leaving, and they’d never even— 

Aziraphale felt hands grasp at his arms, and he was pulled up and into Crowley’s embrace. Crowley’s mouth pressed hungrily against his, and that was all Aziraphale knew.

Art by Smolalienbee

Chapter Text

Aziraphale tasted like vanilla ice cream. There must have been some left over from the sundaes, or else Aziraphale had miracled himself more. It suited him, Crowley thought, the taste of vanilla, light and sweet and clear. Like afternoons on the lawn when summer was new and the blue sky seemed endless.

But Aziraphale’s kiss wasn’t all innocence and delicate pleasure. He moaned against Crowley’s lips, tangling a hand in his red hair, and Crowley crowded him back against the door, plundering the angel’s eager mouth, stealing a moment balanced on the edge of a cliff, pretending that he could still fly.

Crowley had been ready to leave, had convinced himself to walk away from the angel standing at the door, and then a look of such sadness had come over Aziraphale, and there was no one to comfort him. There was no one who would understand that Aziraphale was far too good for this world, no one to realize that the angel did nothing but give and never asked to take, that he was alone in the way only an immortal creature could be. Aziraphale deserved, just for one minute, to be taken care of, and Crowley was the one who was there, and so he did. He held Aziraphale in his arms and kissed him quite senseless, trying to let all of the love (because it was love) that he felt for the angel come through. Just so that Aziraphale would know that he deserved to be loved.

Crowley couldn’t do it properly, of course. What Aziraphale really needed was someone who wasn’t tainted, wasn’t damned, wasn’t dangerous, and Crowley was not that person. And so he gave Aziraphale what he could, and then he pulled away.

They stood there, gazing at each other, and all Crowley could think about was the kids inside and how they should never lose their angel. How the entire world would suffer if a light like Aziraphale’s was snuffed out.

And so he turned, and he left. It was the best thing he could do, definitely the best thing he’d ever done, and that meant everything was over. Crowley would never be accepted as a demon again. He’d never be taken back by his own kind. They weren’t his family, he knew that now, but they’d been the closest he’d had. Now he was alone.

Aziraphale called after him, but Crowley didn’t listen. He walked down the hill until he’d left Chaplaincy far behind.

It took Crowley about an hour to realize that he’d forgotten something rather important. It took him another thirty minutes of sitting on a bench in the park to work up the courage to do something about it. Another ten minutes to walk back up the hill. The sun was just starting to set now, coming down through the trees to catch at Crowley’s eyes.

It was like that inside the Chaplaincy too, Crowley discovered, as he made his way back inside. The light was coming through the western-facing windows just perfectly to illuminate perhaps the most beautiful sight that Crowley had ever seen.

There was an angel in the Chaplaincy, and his gaze was terribly sad as he knelt on the floor among his students. And yet he looked as warm and wonderful as ever, because to Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale’s halo was visible shining over his head, bright and golden and yet soft in a way that Crowley had never seen before on an angel. Not intimidating and frightening, but gentle and welcoming in its glow. Not a warning. A promise.

But even the halo in all its glory was overshadowed, because there, stretched out in the sunlight coming through the window, were the most glorious angel wings Crowley had ever seen. They weren’t white, except in the occasional feather here and there. Most the feathers were tinted in brilliant jewel tones, every color in the rainbow, as if Aziraphale might be a stained glass angel in the window of a church so beautiful that you’d hardly believe you were allowed inside.

Art by Smolalienbee

It came to Crowley that this was what he’d interrupted the other day when the students had been scrambling about with paint. They’d been decorating Aziraphale’s wings, as they were doing now, gathered around him with brushes and pots of color. The project looked almost done, the rainbow transformation complete, and it was like the wings themselves couldn’t contain all the color, dripping paint onto the floor and everyone’s clothes, spreading the rainbow all around them. 

These were the wings Aziraphale deserved. Not the cold white of Heaven, but the vibrant shades of earthly friendship and love. 

The room fell into silence and Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes with a mixture of hope and sadness. “It seemed best to be honest with the group,” he said. “But you’re not surprised, are you? What gave me away?”

Crowley dropped down into a chair, a relief to his shaky legs. “Nothing,” he confessed. “I already knew.” He curled up his hands into fists, making himself give Aziraphale the truth. “I’m a demon.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked. “Of course you’re not.”

Crowley gave a humorless laugh. “I’m over 6000 years old, angel, how do you think I know how to play chaturanga?” Crowley waved a hand at his corporation. “Beelzebub did this to me as punishment, turned me human. But I’m still a demon.”

Aziraphale was clearly trying to process this, and it was painful for Crowley to see that he was quite disturbed by it. “But you just said they turned you human,” Aziraphale protested. “You seem human.”

“Not completely. I can feel when you use your powers. See your aura. But the point is that Hell hasn’t let me go. I have a job to do.” Crowley’s voice almost failed him, but he pushed through. Aziraphale deserved to know. “Supposed to make you Fall, angel. Then I’ll get my powers back, my immortality, my true form. That’s what I came back to tell you, if they’re determined to make this happen, they’ll send someone else—”

Aziraphale stood up then, and brought his wings in closer to his body. The drips vanished from the floor and everyone’s clothes as he did, the wings instantly dry. Aisha grabbed hold of his hand, the human clearly reassuring the angel now. 

“And how are you supposed to make me Fall?” Aziraphale asked sharply. And then Crowley could see him realize it, see the hurt in his eyes. “Oh. A seduction.”

There was a gasp from one of the students. Crowley just nodded.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, sounding quite absurdly calm, “I’m not sure where Beez is getting their information, but angels can’t Fall for being seduced if they’re in love.”

Now there were a couple of romantic sighs from the students.

Crowley just stared at him. “You can’t love a demon.”

Aziraphale gave him a maddeningly self-assured smile. “First of all, dear, I don’t think that’s an official rule, just to let you know. And secondly, if it is, I think that means you’re not a demon, because I do love you. And I’m not alone, am I?”

Crowley jumped to his feet. “Aziraphale, will you be serious?”

“Why did you stop, then?” the angel asked. “You kissed me and I certainly wasn’t objecting.” 

(There was another sigh from a student.)

“Because you don’t deserve it!” Crowley exclaimed. “Look at you! Look at what you’ve done here. You don’t deserve to Fall.”

Aziraphale gave him a look that was pure compassion. “I’ve heard it’s very painful,” he said softly.

Crowley growled at him. “Stop it, don’t comfort me.”

Aziraphale took a few steps toward Crowley. “And not everyone who Fell deserved it.”

“Stop!” Crowley hissed. “You don’t know me.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together for a moment. “What are you being punished for?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Crowley said. “Look, this, what you see, this isn’t me. I’m— I’m a serpent, my eyes are wrong, I’ve lost my wings— I hate being like this. And I’m sorry, but that’s why I almost went through with it. But— I just can’t take you away from your kids.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“Yes, exactly. So I’m leaving.”

Aziraphale’s voice made Crowley freeze on his way to the door. “You do love me, don’t you?”

Crowley simply couldn’t stop himself from turning back around to look at the angel once more, standing there in all his brilliant colors. “Yes, all right?” Crowley growled. “I love you. But it doesn’t matter.”

Aziraphale smiled then, one of his real smiles, and he lit up so brightly Crowley almost reached for his sunglasses. “You know,” Aziraphale said, sounding terribly pleased, “I think you’ve forgotten to ask one very important question.”

“What’s that?” Crowley snapped.

“Why does Hell want me to Fall?” Aziraphale waved his hand to indicate the students. “It’s not like I’m saving souls here, these kids were never in danger of going to Hell. I’m not changing the course of countries or talking down War Herself.”

“Because you’re good,” Crowley said. “You’re the only good angel I’ve ever seen.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, somewhat self-consciously. “Well. If I’m being honest, you’re only partially right there. You see, I’m quite certain that the reason Beez sent you to harm me is because they owe me a favor and they don’t want me to cash in.”

Crowley was fortunate to find a seat before he fell over. “What? How would Beelzebub owe you a favor?”

“I saved their life,” Aziraphale said. “And we’ll have to leave for later the discussion of whether that makes me a very good or a very bad angel. The point is, Beez is terribly embarrassed about it.” His voice fell low. “I’m afraid it involved a very drunken Roman party, a platter of olives, and a stray ostrich. I wasn’t expecting Beez to go this far to get out of the debt, but I must admit that I have been a bit of a bastard about it, letting them stew all this time.” He broke off as everyone was staring at him. “What do you want, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked softly.

There was no way in Hell Crowley was going to allow Aziraphale to do what he was clearly scheming to. “I want you to be safe.”

“I’m already safe. What else?”

“What do you want?”

“I want you not to go back to Hell.”

“Not much chance of that now,” Crowley assured him. Until, of course, he died as a mortal and ended up back there anyway.

Aziraphale had a terrible sorrow in his eyes. “I want you to be happy,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. “I want— I want us happy.” 

He sank down into a chair, with the students’ help, his wings folding over the back of it. “I had someone once,” Aziraphale said. “His name was Erik. He’d lost his wife, far too young. I wanted to comfort him. We fell in love. I told him what I was, and he didn’t mind. We were happy. For forty years, we were so happy, and I thought— I thought I should use my favor from Beez,” he said, looking at Crowley. “To change Erik, give him immortality so that we could stay together. But you see, he loved his wife, and she was waiting for him in Heaven, and it was just more natural to let things happen that way. Erik was created mortal and that was what he needed to be.” 

Aziraphale shook his head at Crowley. “But you weren’t. And— and you’re not comfortable like this, are you? Something’s been stolen from you, you’re not yourself.” He met Crowley’s eyes steadily. “I can restore that to you, I think.”

“What?” Crowley asked.

“It would be like any other angelic healing. Giving you back your natural state.”

Crowley stared at him in confusion. “You want me to be a demon again?”

Aziraphale frowned hesitantly. “First tell me why you’re being punished.”

Crowley made a growling noise and stood up, starting to pace the room. “I refused a few tasks, all right? Maybe a lot of tasks.”

“What tasks?”

Crowley groaned reluctantly. “Look, the vast majority of people up here don’t deserve torture and pain. There’s no point to it, just a lot of work on my part, and for what? Humans can hurt each other just fine, they don’t need me. It was— more efficient.”

Aziraphale was looking at him with delight. “My goodness, you’re the worst demon I’ve ever met. Or perhaps the best…” He frowned. “A lot of very interesting theological questions here.”

Crowley was interrupted by Aisha before he could find something suitable to retort. “But if you make him a demon again,” she said, “he’ll be back under Hell’s orders, and Beelze-whatever can just do this to him again.”

“Well, that’s the answer then,” Polly spoke up. “Give Crowley his freedom. That’s the favor you ask for, Aziraphale. Instead of being punished for being the lousiest demon ever, Crowley just gets fired. We’ll draw up a contract, make sure it’s foolproof. I know a law professor who’d love a thought exercise like that to work on.”

“I mean it’s a win-win for Beez,” Kirk said. “Sounds like you’re both pains in their ass, and this is a way they can be rid of you.”

“No,” Crowley growled. “Angel, you can’t use your favor for me.”

Aziraphale was giving him a very soft look. “Believe me, my dear, this would count as pure selfishness on my part. I love you. And you— you’re like me. You’re not mortal. We could be together as long as we liked.”

Crowley felt like something was breaking inside of him. “But— you’d be spending eternity with a demon.”

“I told you,” said Aziraphale said firmly, “that everyone ought to love each other, but people put things in the way of that, harsh beliefs and fear. Heaven and Hell are no different, and it’s just as bad as when humans do it.”

Now Crowley felt fear stealing through him, cold as ice. “You can’t say things like that, angel.”

Aziraphale’s mouth twisted with amusement and he stood up, extending his rainbow wings again. “Do I look to you like the kind of angel who follows the rules? She hasn’t made me Fall yet, and She won’t do it because I fell in love.”

“You’re sure?” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale twisted his mouth a little. “Well, honestly, no, I’m not. She made you Fall when I’m sure you didn’t deserve it. But if that’s what happens to me, then I accept it. It can’t hurt what we have here in the Chaplaincy if I do it for love. It’s the same as anyone else who makes a found family instead of the one they were given. I will choose love.”

Crowley finally crossed the room and pulled Aziraphale into his arms, soft and beautiful and good. It hurt and somehow it also felt like all his pain was suddenly over. “Then so will I,” Crowley said, quite unable to say anything else, and when he kissed the angel, the students cheered.

Aziraphale looked up at him with a dazed kind of happiness. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I can’t wait to see your real eyes. Did you say they were serpentine?”

“What color are your wings?” Jennifer put in. 

“Black,” Crowley answered.

“Oh, that will look gorgeous with the paint,” Jennifer said, clapping her hands together.

Crowley looked at the rest of the students in surprise. “You’d paint my wings too?” he asked.

Aisha smiled at him. “Of course we will! You’re family.”