Chapter Text
Aziraphale sang quietly to himself as he dusted the biographies. He liked a little dust for the aesthetic of it all but it had been getting a bit out of hand. He had sneezed coming down from upstairs the day prior. Truly, unacceptable.
The bell above the shop door tinkled and Aziraphale pushed away the usual rush of frustration he felt at the appearance of customers. This was a new world with no oncoming threat of Armageddon and he was trying new things. Perhaps being a real bookshop owner would be one of them.
With a final flourish, he set down his feather duster and walked out to greet the customer only to find—
“Crowley?” he said, but it was a silly thing to say. He knew it was Crowley. It was only the shock of seeing his friend hunched over the table by the entrance, white as a sheet, that had him asking the question in the first place.
“Azi—”
Crowley coughed and lurched forward, falling onto his hands and knees. His glasses dropped onto his knuckles as Aziraphale rushed to his side.
With another horrid cough, black ichor flowed from Crowley’s mouth but no, it wasn’t fluid, it was a stream of something alive and covered in scales. Aziraphale stumbled and fell back onto his hands. It looked like a snake pouring from Crowley’s mouth but that wasn’t what Crowley’s transformation looked like.
Just as he worked up the nerve to move closer, Crowley’s skin began to glow, the black thing still flowing from his mouth. The glow grew until it burned Aziraphale’s eyes and he was forced to cover his face lest it burn his retinas entirely.
The room filled with the sound of sharp exhale. It was so loud Aziraphale’s ears popped. Then the light disappeared all at once as silence descended around him.
Carefully, Aziraphale dropped his arm and peered tentatively through slitted eyes.
Collapsed on the ground was a man. Well, not any man. Crowley. Or perhaps not Crowley. Except, he had the same face. The same large nose, the same cheekbones, the same long russet eyelashes.
But besides that, almost everything was different. His red hair flowed down his back in curls and loose braids that reminded Aziraphale of fashions he hadn’t seen in millennia. And he was dressed in robes. White robes. Robes of the sort that Aziraphale had been assigned before he went down to Eden.
Crowley—or whoever—looked up at him and blinked. His eyes. They were the purest gold, but the pupils were round.
Aziraphale took an involuntary step backward as he reached out with his powers to sense Crowley’s demonic essence and found it gone from this corporation. Instead, he found—
“Oh, thank heavens,” the other angel said, standing up. “I’m glad to see another angel. Can you tell me where I am?”
Aziraphale’s hand flew to his mouth. Now that the angel with Crowley’s face was standing it was clear that he was identical to the demon. That was Crowley’s corporation. Or at least an exact copy. Rake thin and too tall.
“Crowley?” he asked again. Another stupid habit. He knew this wasn’t Crowley. It couldn’t be.
The angel cocked his head, his braids falling in front of his shoulder. “Crow-lee? Are you asking if that’s me?” He wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t sound very angelic. No. I’m Cassiel.”
Aziraphale’s head spun. He uselessly wished he were closer to the wall so he could clutch at something.
A telltale tickle of demonic energy pricked along the back of Aziraphale’s neck and he stood up straight. Oh, goodness. Was this Hell’s work? His eyes were drawn to the source of the oncoming energy. Something dark and heavy slid out of the shadows, slithering. A snake. Aziraphale felt a rush of relief.
The serpent continued to wind between the bookshelves, all thirty feet of it coiling into the wide atrium. Aziraphale gasped. He hadn’t seen this particular serpent in thousands of years
The black scales along its side rippled like water. Aziraphale heard a gasp beside him but couldn’t pay attention to it. The serpent was transforming; it was becoming—
“I think you might be looking for me, angel,” Crowley said, leaning against the bookcase beneath the eastern wing of the bookstore.
Except this wasn’t Crowley either. Black scales lined either side of his face, running from his temples down the tendons of his neck and disappearing into his black shirt. He unfolded his arms and Aziraphale saw his fingers were black and scaled and tipped with claws.
“Don’t look so scared,” this Crowley said with a mocking pout. “We had a lunch date. Don’t you recall?”
A chair appeared behind Aziraphale just so he could collapse in it. He felt he deserved to waste a miracle. This was by far the most stressful thing that had happened since the thwarted apocalypse and a miracled chair was the least of his worries.
He looked between the two Crowleys. Or rather Crowley and Cassiel who was regarding the new Crowley with open shock.
“Who is this?” he asked, hand pressed to his chest. Crowley bared his teeth—oh dear, there were some fangs which did not make Aziraphale’s knees feel a little weak whatsoever—and said nothing.
“I think one of you needs to explain yourselves,” Aziraphale said. Crowley rolled his eyes as Cassiel nodded fervently.
“I gather you know who I am,” Aziraphale said with a sharp look at the demon.
“Yes, Aziraphale, of course I know who you are. We went to the fucking Ritz yesterday," Crowley said with a sneer. “Now can you get rid of my sniveling angel half or do I have to do it myself?”
Crowley pushed off the bookshelf and Aziraphale surged to his feet so he could insert himself in between him and Cassiel.
Cassiel peered around him. “Wait, are you me?” he asked. He dragged his eyes over Crowley and frowned. “You don’t seem like an angel.”
“I’m not one,” Crowley spat. “Haven’t been for six thousand years or so. Don’t want to be one again so bugger off.”
Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s arm to calm him but it seemed to have the opposite effect. He wrenched it out of his grasp with an audible hiss.
“What happened?” Aziraphale asked, pushing aside the very strong urge to snap at the demon. Something very very strange was going on and getting into a row was hardly the route to fixing it.
Crowley glanced off, jaw twitching. “I was—I got my hands on something occult. It might have...backfired. I think I got split in half. Or something. Doesn't matter. Let's go.”
Aziraphale scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m going to need more details than that, my dear.”
With very little warning, a sharp-nailed hand fisted in his shirt and he was yanked close to Crowley’s face. This version of Crowley radiated the sort of demonic energy that had Aziraphale’s skin tingling, the taste of pennies rollicking in his mouth.
“I’m not your dear, ” Crowley hissed before shoving him back.
Cassiel was by his side in an instant, smoothing his rumpled shirt with a delicate hand. Aziraphale’s skin heated under the careful touch.
“Don’t treat him like that,” Cassiel said to Crowley. “He’s trying to help.”
Crowley hissed at him too. “Shove off, you angelic prick.”
Cassiel gave Crowley a look so cold it should have frozen him to the spot. “I may not remember you but I think I am you, yeah? So, trust me when I say I’m acting in both our best interest. Aziraphale wants to help. I can feel it.”
With that, Cassiel pressed a hand to his chest and met Aziraphale's eyes. Oh. Perhaps Aziraphale needed to rein in some of his softer feelings.
Crowley frowned deep enough that Aziraphale half-expected his jaw to unhinge to accommodate the expression.
“It is Aziraphale, right? I heard him right?” Cassiel asked him, drawing Aziraphale’s attention.
“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. “Apologies. Aziraphale, principality. Well, former principality I suppose.”
Cassiel shook his hand and they both ignored the indignant hissing that came from Crowley beside them.
“It sounds like you have some questions for...Crowley,” Cassiel said, Crowley’s name sounding a bit uncomfortable in his mouth. “But would you mind explaining where I am? The last thing I remember is meeting with Lucifer to discuss issues with God’s new humanity project.”
Aziraphale’s stomach dropped and Crowley groaned.
“Ah, fuuuuuuuck.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said sharply and thankfully Crowley shut up. “Cassiel, you are on Earth. Part of the humanity project as you say. I think there’s a great deal for us to talk about but first I’d like Crowley to give me some more details about this occult object he very unwisely got mixed up in.”
“Fine, but don’t be a dick about it.”
Aziraphale ignored him. “How about some tea? Difficult conversations are much easier with a cup of tea.”
“What’s tea?” Cassiel asked.
Aziraphale brightened and took Cassiel’s arm to lead him to the settee in the little reading nook. “Oh, my dear fellow, you are in for a treat.”
Crowley grumbled behind them. Something that sounded distinctly like, “I hate you so fucking much.”
This was going to be exhausting.