Chapter Text
The winged beasts in the eerie, decrepit mansion on the outskirts of town called themselves Halloween Town’s Angels. Aziraphale called them “sir,” “xir,” or “ma’am,” depending on who he was being forced to talk to. In all honesty, he would really rather not. He was tucked in a tower on the Eastern Wing, which was exceedingly far from everywhere he needed to be. Though there were only four so-called Angels, they very literally ran him ragged.
Thankfully, they also kept him supplied quite heavily in fabric. His feet were multi-coloured and well padded. Most of him, actually, was what he would call well padded. Gabriel didn’t like the excess fluff, but the cotton, swan feathers, and occasional ball of wood wool that made him soft and sturdy also made him happy. It and the aged books on his shelves. There were less approved books under his mattress, gifts from the town’s resident top demon. He was serpentine in nature and, sometimes, in form. The shapeshifting was a lovely, terrifying feature. Much like his golden eyes, the black slitted pupils and shining colour one of the few things he kept from form to form.
If Aziraphale adored them as much as he did the gifted books, he didn’t say. He wasn’t a fool. He was quite sure that Crowley wouldn’t be interested in continuing to chat with a fussy patchwork being like him if he knew just how deep the affection ran. No, no. Much better to remain as they were. Friends.
Friends who had plans Aziraphale was already late for.
He smiled as he set Gabriel’s bowl in front of him. It had been well over three months since he’d poisoned their food, so the combination of frog’s breath and worm’s wart in their dishes did nothing to rouse suspicion. The deadly nightshade he’d mixed in did its duty beautifully within minutes, four heads thunking against the table, and Aziraphale made his way out the door.
He could, in theory, not return. There was nothing they could really do to keep him in place, nothing they had ever done beyond verbally discouraging him from leaving or locking him in his tower. He imagined they didn’t want him to get ideas about freedom, which was also likely their reasons for restricting his book access. Books had thoughts and feelings, the characters often stitching themselves onto Aziraphale’s mind and helping him make sense of his own problems. He enjoyed that about them.
But the Angels didn’t really have to worry about him leaving forever. Not only did Aziraphale have no idea what he would do without the shelter they provided, they’d created him. He’d been methodically stitched together and his head had been given someone’s mind - sometimes Aziraphale could see flashes of his brain’s old owner’s life, and it seemed quite the lovely existence indeed - and lightning had given him the spark he’d needed to move. They’d given him life and a purpose and a roof over his head in exchange for a few chores. Leaving permanently would be quite rude.
Drugging them and selecting a bottle of wine to take to a friend’s home, however, were not. This was Halloween Town, not Heaven.
With the bottle of red tucked under his arm, Aziraphale strolled into a night thick with anticipation. They were an evening away from their most hallowed night of the year. The mummies were sanding their bandages, the vampires sharpening their fangs, the witches charging their wands and beginning their brews - everyone was preparing their fiercest scares. For the more unkempt they were, the more the human world would revel.
Sometimes, Aziraphale wondered if fear was all there was. Or if it was all there had to be. The Angels would, and had, told him yes in many different ways, and his infrequent visits into the town proper had shown only a bit more than that. There was enjoyment in their terror, hidden behind their snarls, but surely there could be enjoyment in other things? He couldn’t be the only soft thing in Halloween Town.
But like this and any other night wherein he had the opportunity for escape, he didn’t search. He journeyed across foggy streets, under flickering street lamps, beyond eerie shadows which stretched and formed shapes like claws. He strode across creaking wooden bridges over swampy waters, frowned politely at the few beings he came across and was frowned at in return. Street musicians played something morose and slow, instruments tuned either too sharp or too flat. They were very talented.
“Dreadful,” he complimented, tamping down the smile that tried so hard to make itself known, and the saxophonist sent him a small salute of acknowledgement.
Finally, a terrible abandoned-looking building came into view. His frown turned into a delighted gasp, the heels of his brogues clicking over cobblestones as he added some pep to his step. The doorbell hissed and rattled when he reached it, Aziraphale’s polite frown unable to hold against a bright, far more sincere smile when the click of far too many locks reached his ears.
He wiggled when the door swung open, creaking on its hinges. “Hello, my dear!”
“You’re late, angel. Kept me waiting almost half an hour here. What were you doing? Replacing your stuffing?” Crowley said as he swung the door open, leaning against the frame and crossing his ankles. A lazy grin spreading across his face at the sight of Aziraphale.
It was the sort of smile that made beings feel as if they were unfortunate mice before a predator, his fangs glinting sharply. Aziraphale found it charming. “Pish-posh. I'm sure you kept yourself quite busy. Sandalphon had me greasing his wheels again.” He shuddered, the chore truly unpleasant since the often flaming things were attached to the wicked creature. “I brought a lovely vintage to make up for it, though.”
Crowley gave a mock pout at Aziraphale’s complaints. He often thought the horrid creatures who'd created his friend ran him a bit too ragged, but Aziraphale never failed to express his feeling indebted to them so he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. Even if he didn’t want to.
“Well don’t just stand out here, then. Night’s a wastin’,” Crowley said and ushered Aziraphale in with a dramatic flourish.
“I was waiting to be dragged in against my will,” he teased, passing Crowley the wine as he entered. The exterior may have looked one strong wind away from collapsing, but the interior was sturdy. Largely barren and quite cold, dark walls and heavy velvet curtains - it all added up to a rather dramatic setting, in Aziraphale’s opinion. The parlour they usually settled in was no different, though there was at least furniture. None of it was even moth-eaten.
He settled on the edge of a stiff black armchair, beaming as he watched Crowley step out to fetch glasses. In this home, they likely wouldn't even be chipped. Not since his jaw had come off, anyway. It was nice not to fear catching a stray string on sharp edges. “Have you got something truly wicked in mind for tomorrow night?”
Crowley took the time it took to retrieve his best wine glasses (only the best for Aziraphale) to get the blush caused by his teasing under control. “You know how it is,” he called from the kitchen. “Everyone loves the ‘Big Evil Snake’ act.”
He returned to the parlour with two fresh glasses dangling precariously from his long fingers, glad to see Aziraphale already getting comfortable.
“Not that I want to ruin the surprise,” Crowley said as he poured for the both of them, “but I was thinking I could pop out of the fountain in the square this time. What do you think?”
Aziraphale hummed, taking his glass when it was offered and trying not to dwell on how nice he found the coolness of Crowley’s fingers when they brushed. “I think it sounds tickety-boo. Or, ah... Well, you know what I mean, dear fellow. Are you going to slither your way through the pipes?”
“'Tickety-boo,'” Crowley mumbled as he set himself into a sprawl across the sharp square shaped sofa opposite Aziraphale’s armchair. “Nah, you know how disgusting those pipes get. Can’t remember the last time we sent someone down there to clean ‘em out.” If they ever had. “No, I was thinking I'd have ‘em dump me in there wrapped in my last shed like a mummy and burst out all snake-like.”
Crowley, Aziraphale thought with no small amount of cheer, was the only being he could imagine being off put by the filth in the fountain pipes. And he liked to think Crowley appreciated actually being able to share those opinions and not be judged for them. “Sounds truly frightening,” he encouraged with a smile. “Will The Them help you again this year? If you're wrapped up and then in the fountain, I can't imagine Brian's, ah, excessive slime would be an issue.”
“You would be surprised at how water-proof whatever drips off him is,” Crowley said with a shudder. “But yeah they are. Even if I told the little buggers ‘no’ they’d find a way to get themselves involved anyhow. Might as well indulge ‘em and keep ‘em busy with tasks I can manage myself. Don’t need a repeat of last year where they had Ol’ Shadwell tied to a tree. Don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of that one.”
Blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Particularly since Young Shadwell seemed to rather enjoy it.”
Crowley gagged and shuddered again. “Erg, no. Absolutely not. Thank the powers that be Tracy was on hand when I discovered him, or I would have just left him there. Don’t need those sights and sounds in my nightmares at night. At least Old Shadwell had the decency to be properly embarrassed,” he rubbed his hands over his eyes in futile hope to scrub the image of Mayor Shadwell writhing against a tree from his mind.
Aziraphale’s giggle was too shiny and bright for the darkly decorated parlour. “Thankfully, Madame Tracy knows how to handle him. Er. Both of him,” he clarified, never entirely certain how to go about addressing their two-faced, single-bodied mayor. “Regardless, it would be much better for you to utilize The Them’s talents and spare the, ah, unsuspecting.”
“Yeah, we’ll just let me be their chosen victim eh? Would you come save me if I was the one tied to a tree, angel?” Crowley asked, insufficiently hiding a flirtatious grin behind his glass.
Dropping his gaze to his own glass, Aziraphale watched the red liquid swirl. “Perhaps. If I was between chores.”
Crowley had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something unwanted about Aziraphale’s ‘chores,’ instead opting to take a long drink. “Well, if it ever happens, I hope it’s on a day you’re not too busy. Might lose my crown if the town thought I got hoodwinked by a bunch of kids.”
Though it was well-known that one of those kids could be crowned Pumpkin King without hesitation if he ever proved to want it. Something about the humanlike Adam - with his cherubic face and penchant for mischievous grins - made him a very likely successor.
Aziraphale sipped from his glass, failing to hide a smile. “Don’t fret, my dear. You’d still be Pumpkin King to me.”
“Fretting? Who’s fretting? I don’t fret,” Crowley grumbled and hid his embarrassed blush in his glass. “Just don’t think Adam’s ready for the responsibility is all. It’s a lot of work having to coordinate and plan and come up with all the ideas for every Halloween. Speaking of which, those bastards are going to let you come this year, yeah?”
He remembered the previous year they’d locked Aziraphale in his tower, causing him to miss almost the entire night. Crowley had worked hard this year to come up with something that might sweep him off his feet and didn’t want all his effort to go to waste. Nor did he want to think about him missing the most important night of the year in general. The whole town came out to celebrate.
“Oh...” Aziraphale lowered his glass and looked towards the window, watching a barren tree branch ominously wave its splintered ends. It was a comforting sort of sight. “Perhaps I won’t need to sneak out. Even custom built servants should be able to join in the festivities, shouldn’t they?” Nevermind that it had never been permitted in the past. Being locked in his tower or given a full list of duties wasn’t unusual, but he did always make an escape. He made himself turn back to Crowley, smile back in place. “I wouldn’t want to miss your grand finale.”
He really didn’t like Aziraphale calling himself a servant, but that was an old argument full of high emotion and stilted conversation that Crowley was not willing to go down this night. “No, you really don’t. I expect it to be quite terrifying. Maybe even beat my record of ‘Causing Most Faints.’ I think last year I had seventy-four.”
Seventy-six, but who really remembered those things? Certainly not Aziraphale, no. He took a drink and shrugged delicately. “If I do miss it, you’ll tell me how it goes, won’t you?”
“‘Course I will.” Crowley said softly. “We’re friends, yeah?” Friends. The word was like ash in his mouth even as he knew he should be glad to have even that much of Aziraphale’s time. Despite how busy the Angels kept him, Aziraphale always made an effort to make time for Crowley and actually treated him like a regular person and not just ‘The Pumpkin King’ like most of the rest of Halloween Town.
Aziraphale joked with him, teased him, talked about more than just ‘preparations for next Halloween’ with him, and seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.
And Crowley knew he should have been satisfied with that, but being the covetous, greedy thing that he was, he wanted more. Unfortunately, when one has only ever had the single friend in one’s long life, not to mention lack of romantic pursuits, figuring out how to take that next step could be a daunting task.
It certainly could be. “Yes, of course.” Aziraphale was quite certain that was all Crowley wanted from him. Silly, soft, out-of-place him and their Pumpkin King? It was ludicrous. The imaginative serpent was certainly kind - however much he’d hate that - for humouring his eccentricities, but he wasn’t foolish enough to hold out hope of more, of ever discovering what it might be like to be held - safe, wanted - in Crowley’s coils. “But we’ll hope it doesn’t come to that. I’ve gotten rather good at escaping, I’d say.”
“That you have,” Crowley said with a grin, pulling himself out of the temporary melancholy. “What was it this time? Blunt force trauma? Waxing the floors so thoroughly they fall on their arses? No, wait, that was last month.”
Perhaps he shouldn’t have felt such delight at some of Halloween Town’s oldest citizens experiencing such hardship, but Crowley hadn’t liked them much even before Aziraphale came into the picture and certainly didn’t like them at all after witnessing how they treated his friend.
“I beg your pardon. I would never over wax the floors. I used the appropriate amount.” He simply hadn't told anyone, and it had rained the same day. And it was hardly his fault that no one tread lightly near the stairs. “No, tonight there was merely a mixup with dinner. Gabriel said he was tired, you see, and my hand slipped adding nightshade to his serving. It's dreadful when unexpected ingredients slip into cauldrons, isn't it?”
Crowley threw his head back, howling with laughter and almost spilling his wine all over his lap. “Ha! Of- of course you did, you utter bastard. How dare I imply you do such things on purpose?” He attempted to stifle his cackles in order to take a drink but was failing spectacularly. “I’m sure something equally as disastrous will befall them again tomorrow,” Crowley said, serpent eyes twinkling with delight and barely contained affection.
He might be a master at coming up with spooks, and Adam’s imagination was something no one could rival, but Aziraphale’s particular brand of chaotic bastardy was one of the many things Crowley absolutely adored about him.
Positively preening at the praise, Aziraphale wiggled in his seat. “Oh, there may very well be an accident. I can be quite clumsy. Sandalphon’s wheels may have been, ah, overly greased.” He seemed to enjoy catching Aziraphale outside of the manor even more than the others, so it was always best to ensure he was dealt with soonest. “Who really knows?”
“Well then, a toast to fortuitous accidents?” Crowley asked, refilling his mostly empty glass and raising it towards Aziraphale. He had to lean more than halfway off the sofa to make sure Aziraphale wouldn’t have to strain to meet him.
“You silly serpent,” he chided, but clinked their glasses together anyway and settled in to enjoy a good bottle of wine and some very welcome company.
He wished, when Crowley suggested opening a second bottle, that the “yes” so ready to tumble off his tongue could do so. It nearly did, but a clock on the wall began to chime. It wasn’t a pretty sound, the cuckoo bird promptly devoured and a snake hissing to mark the time. Aziraphale liked the silly thing. “I’m sorry, my dear. I need to go before they awaken. You know Gabriel already doesn’t like you, so I'd prefer not to be questioned.”
Crowley threw a withering glare at the clock and temporarily contemplated having it turned into wood chips to line some denizen of Halloweens Town’s nest. Not that the show of violence would fix anything, though. It never did. “Yeah, yeah,” Crowley grumbled and lurched inelegantly to his feet. “I would say you could tell him the feeling’s mutual, but I’m sure he already knows.”
He drained what was left in his glass before resigning himself to begrudgingly seeing Aziraphale to the door, desperate to wring out even a few more seconds of time together.
“I’m not so certain. Gabriel doesn’t seem to think anyone actively dislikes him, but I’m not going to tell him otherwise.” No need to make things worse or be outright forbidden from seeing Crowley. It was one thing to know it was frowned on peripherally, but another to actually be told. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked quietly behind the sauntering serpent and fiddled with the ring on his pinky. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my dear. I’m looking forward to your theatrics.”
“Yeah I... I’ll see you there, angel,” Crowley said as he opened the door, biting back all the other things he wanted to say that bubbled to the surface. Things like ‘stay a little longer, I won’t mind,’ ‘stay with me, I won’t make you do my chores, promise,’ ‘you don’t have to go back to them, you can stay here, at my place, if you like.’ He didn’t say any of that, though, sure it would be neither welcomed nor accepted. He simply bid Aziraphale goodnight and watched him carefully make his down the precarious steps and across the lawn, gold-spun curls lit by the moon like a halo.
If he watched a little longer than was strictly necessary, that was his business.
It was a list rather than locks. Aziraphale eyed it, frowning at each and every time-consuming objective. Organize Michael’s potions bottles by size and function? Potions were hardly his area of expertise and she had dozens. Then sharpen and polish each of Uriel’s swords, as if they needed the attention. Followed by polishing the suits of armour in the Western wing, Sandalphon’s collection overwhelming. The other tasks were simpler, mindless things designed to give him plenty of opportunity to mourn everything he’d be missing in the town proper. Missing Halloween.
Missing Crowley’s performance.
The paper crinkled in his grip, but he made himself take a few deep, steady breaths before smoothing the page back out. They hadn’t said it all needed to be done that night, had they? No. Only that he was expected to complete each item satisfactorily. There hadn’t been a timeframe.
Aziraphale stepped into Michael’s laboratory and nodded at her, watching too many eyes blink back at him in bored disinterest before she strolled out. The heels of her loafers clicked on the floors they expected him to clean, but they hadn’t said when he needed to do that either. Slipping one of the potion reference books off a shelf, he opened it and began to dutifully organize the bottles. He could at least complete one of the tasks, then find Uriel’s dullest of swords and give them a fine sharpening.
And then he’d go.
The crowd was roaring before he made it to Uriel’s armory, their screams and the wails of banshees spilling even to the town outskirts. The town square was likely filled with every being in Halloween Town, participating in the games and competitions and the terrible spreading of fear. The night their town lived for, centered on, and he was missing it. Again.
Aziraphale stopped by the front door, hands curling into fists as he gazed at the opulent, oppressive exit. Crowley wanted him there and, so help him, he wasn’t going to let the serpent down. Bugger Uriel’s bloody swords. Lifting his chin, he scurried towards the Eastern Wing to get his favourite outdoor coat rather than his cosy housecoat, and sped outside to join in the revelry.
The shadows were long, the breeze like icy fingers over the back of his neck and pulling at his clothes as he made his way towards town. The music blared, loud and wonderfully out of tune, and drew him in. He kept a cautious eye out for the Angels, avoiding the competition arenas as he had little doubt they’d want to show off every bit of power they had. They always did, after all, even if he was the only one around to witness them.
Overhead, a shadow covered the moon and caused a shiver down nearly every spine. Aziraphale assumed it was nearly every spine, anyway, hardly able to imagine Crowley or even The Them quaking under the manipulation. Creatures of all shapes and sizes riddled the streets, filling it with their version of wicked delight and putrid... somethings. Aziraphale didn’t dare name some of it, but kept his shoes out of the worst bits as he scanned the crowd for the familiar faces of the Them. Who knew if Crowley was already in the fountain?
He slipped out of sight of the vampires, weaved around a rather sizeable family of were-animals, ducked under a sentient tree’s branches, and soaked in the emotions pouring from them all, their excitement palpable. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the heights of joy all around him or not, but he adored it. He adored the way smiles and laughter were as welcome as the screams on this one night of the year, when fun was valued more than one’s place.
It was reaching some sort of crescendo, though. That, he knew, wasn't in his imagination. That and the sight of The Them as the massive fountain in the center of the town square came into view. The crowds here were packed tight. Anticipation and delight were heavy in the air as they all waited with baited breath to see what sorts of frights their Pumpkin King had come up with this year.
Adam, looking almost like a completely human boy except for the dark paint around his eyes, Pepper, fully transformed into her werewolf self, Brian, in slime soaked robes and leaking a veritable puddle, and Wensleydale, skin vaguely green and in his usual dirty lab coat, were gathered at the cardinal directions of the fountain, waving strange bundles of what smelled like various herbs and chanting in a strange tongue that Aziraphale was certain wasn’t a real language.
Aziraphale ducked behind a nearby building, close enough to still see what was going on but hopefully hidden from the Angels should any of them happen by.
He had to assume Crowley was already in place, seeing as there was no snake-wrapped version of him lying around. Aziraphale was almost sad he’d missed the children carrying him - or dragging, more like - from wherever he had been hidden. Had he thrashed and writhed and made a spectacle of himself? Or had he been limp as death so as to go unnoticed?
When it seemed the festival had reached its fever pitch, or perhaps on some secret signal, The Them threw their bundles into the water, their voices going from simply chanting to screaming wildly. The water of the fountain began to bubble and spew black smoke, quickly blocking out the few torches and lanterns and street lights that had been lit for the festival.
With everything covered in a thick, inky, black it was impossible to see what, exactly, was going on. The screams of The Them were drowned out by the surprised screams of the other festival goers and even Aziraphale gave a gasp at the loss of his vision. This was so much more than simply popping out of the fountain.
Luckily, the complete darkness didn’t last long as great glowing yellow eyes rose from below and pierced through the smoke, causing fresh shrieks and some uncontrollable fainting. Though the terror of the moment was surely resonating with the humans celebrating far away from their town, Aziraphale felt himself grin at the familiar sight of those serpentine eyes. Crowley could be truly frightening when he wanted to be, as evidenced by his title of ‘King of Halloween,’ but he’d never frightened Aziraphale.
Up and up his eyes rose until Crowley let out a hiss, a gust of wind following to chase away the smoke and reveal the four children wrapped in deep black coils. Spilling with what might loosely be called water - the oozing liquid splashing the feet and fins of all those within reach - his coils draped over the edges of the fountain. His serpentine body was much too large to actually fit within the fountain, masses of the deepest black and the bloodiest of red impressively dwarfing the structure.
The children squirmed and beat at Crowley’s scaled tail, crying out for help and pleading to not be eaten. They were helpless, yet Aziraphale was beaming.
Crowley slithered around the fountain to thoroughly encircle it in his coils before, with barely a flick of his tail, he sent the young Adam flying into the air above his head. The boy let out a shriek as he soared over the town.
Aziraphale felt whatever might amount to a heart lurch in his chest. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Crowley would never harm one of the children. Even if he might boast of doing so, it was all bluster and pomp. But that didn’t mean things couldn’t happen by accident, and, when Adam and Crowley put their heads together, things usually got out of hand rather quickly.
Adam’s journey reached its peak as Aziraphale and the still-conscious townsfolk watched, and he began falling fast towards Crowley. He let out another vicious hiss, his tail thumping excitedly. Though it was very likely simply because he was excited about the performance, it could very easily be mistaken for a hungry snake excited about his next meal.
Crowley opened his massive jaws, long fangs gleaming in the low light, as Adam drew nearer and Aziraphale found he couldn’t watch. Had to turn his head away and brace for the sickening crunch of impact.
It, thankfully, didn’t come. Instead the sound of horrified gasps and yells filled the air and Aziraphale peaked from behind his hand to see Crowley writhing in the air with Adam held safely in his mouth. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief, knowing Crowley would never forgive himself if something terrible happened to the boy because of him.
Nothing did happen to him, thankfully, or to the other children in Crowley’s coils. Instead, cheers and applause rose up from the crowd. The Them were set loose and those impossible coils shrank and shifted and left a tall, slender redhead in their wake. He looked so very proud of himself, grinning as Mayor Shadwell congratulated him - both young and old sides vying for a moment of his time until Tracy was able to diffuse the situation.
Aziraphale lifted a hand to his chest, sighing quietly and leaning against the building. Admirers flocked to him, a chorus of “Happy Halloween!” ringing out. And wasn’t it just? Even though the town clock had officially reset to begin the countdown for the next year, the revelers still weren’t done wishing one another well and enjoying themselves.
When Mayor Shadwell shouted about prizes through a megaphone Tracy handed him, attention began to shift and Aziraphale realised those golden eyes had found him. He didn’t hide his bright grin, lifting a hand to wave at him. For a moment, he thought Crowley might come his way, but the thought of prizes hadn’t distracted everyone from the impressive serpent.
While wondering if it would be too bold to approach him instead, when so many other beings were showering Crowley with the praise he deserved, or if his presence would possibly be welcomed, his wrist was grabbed. “Aziraphale,” Sandalphon snarled, the spinning wheels around his legs too wet to do more than spark. Oh. He hadn’t intended to render him nonflammable, but the tight grip was rather uncalled for.
“Sandalphon, I-”
“You are supposed to be completing your duties.”
“Yes, well...” His excuses dried up on his tongue, Sandalphon’s stern tone and harsh tug making him stumble in more than one way. “It’s Halloween,” he tried anyway.
“That’s not your concern. You think you’re frightening enough to even matter? Your presence won’t be missed one way or another.”
Aziraphale stared at him, letting himself be dragged along a few stumbling steps before he pushed up his sleeve and wrenched a string loose. His arm came away easily with Sandalphon’s yanking, the loss of a counterbalance and his over-greased wheels throwing him to the ground whilst Aziraphale made a hasty retreat.
The full moon’s light glinted onto his bright curls as he ducked into an alleyway, empty sleeve flapping in the freezing wind and eyes painfully dry because he refused, simply refused, to allow Sandalphon to upset him to the point of tears. He already knew he wasn’t particularly frightening. He already knew he didn’t particularly fit. He already knew he could be replaced as easily as he’d been created.
He didn’t like to dwell on any of it, though. He didn’t like the reminders.
And surely if he wasn’t out of place with the Pumpkin King himself, he wasn’t truly that wrong here. Surely not.
Though he yelped like a frightened human when he felt a fresh tug on his empty sleeve right on the outskirts of the cemetery. Until he saw who’d done the tugging. “Crowley!”
“Angel,” Crowley breathed, glad to have caught up to him.
He’d looked down for just a second to tell Tracy he was leaving, but when he’d looked back Aziraphale was disappearing around a corner. At first he’d wondered if Aziraphale hadn’t liked it, and that’s why he was leaving so soon, but then Adam had pulled him out of the crowd and shoved him towards the alley Aziraphale had vanished in. Being told “Go after him you idiot,” was the final kick in the pants he’d needed to do just that.
“Didn’t know if I’d catch up to you.”
“If I’d known you were following, dear fellow, I would’ve slowed.” Aziraphale couldn’t wring his hands together as he was wont to do, but he could fiddle with the cufflink of his empty sleeve. “I assumed you’d stay for the awards. I’m quite certain that performance won you several.”
Crowley shrugged. He was sure it had, but more than half his study was devoted to displaying awards. He’d even had to start throwing some of them away if he didn’t want them spilling out into the rest of the house. “Mm, yeah probably. I’m sure Shadwell will be more than happy to accept them on my behalf and drop them off tomorrow.” His eyes caught onto Aziraphale’s usual nervous ticks, finally noticing he wasn’t quite as whole as he should be. “Hang on, what happened to your arm?”
“Oh... I'm afraid I wasn't as diligent as I ought to be. Sandalphon caught me, but I wasn't quite ready to go back to the manor with him.” He looked up, smile weak. “I had to allow him to take a piece.”
“You- He-” Crowley had to choke back the first few things he wanted to say as white hot rage settled in his gut and filled his fangs with deadly venom. He knew these things happened, of course, but the fact that Aziraphale’s own creators, the ones who should have cared to keep him safe and whole, would force him to lose pieces of himself if he did not satisfy their every whim made Crowley want to dually destroy everything in his path as well as wrap Aziraphale in his coils and never allow it to happen again.
That he could do neither without risking their delicate friendship was frustrating to an immeasurable degree.
Eventually he settled on saying, “Need help getting it back?”
“Oh, no. This is hardly the first time, my dear. If he decides not to return my arm, I'll simply fashion a new one. But I do have quite the list of things to complete, so I'm sure Gabriel will make him return it.” Aziraphale tucked the empty sleeve into his pocket to prevent any loss of cotton. “It doesn't even hurt. I'm hardly more substantial than stuffing and fabric anyway.”
Crowley bit back his disagreement; he thought Aziraphale was quite substantial, thank you very much. Soft and round in all the right places, perfect to wrap around and squeeze. Not that he would say as much out loud. “Well, if you can’t get it back, you let me know. Sure I can find the material you need.”
“It's alright, Crowley, truly. I have everything I need in my room. You shouldn't be worrying about me anyway. You should be celebrating.” Though the concern was almost unbearably sweet, more likely to bring tears to his eyes than Sandalphon's cruelty. “You were magnificent.”
Crowley preened as if he were a peacock instead of a snake. “You really liked it, then?” The praise from Aziraphale meant so much more than the praise from the rest of the town.
“Oh, of course.” Aziraphale reached out and lightly touched his arm, smile brightening. “I had no idea you could toss Adam so high, and having your eyes appear in the darkness as they did was inspired. They're such a striking feature.”
“Ngk.” Crowley flushed and squirmed in place, trying not to seem too affected by the touching and the compliments and the attention while also wanting to soak it up like a parched flower. “Ngh, well, mm, you know, can’t take all the, er, credit. The eye stuff-thing was mine, ‘course. But Adam - he, er, came up with the tossing.” He reached up and cautiously touched the back of Aziraphale’s cloth hand. “‘M really glad you liked it.”
“Oh...” Aziraphale pulled his hand away in surprise, fingers fluttering when he couldn't wring his hands together, and it ended up in his pocket. Goodness. “I- I very much did. Would you... care to stroll through the graveyard with me? Just for a bit. I'll need to head back shortly.”
As if Crowley would ever say ‘no’ to spending more time with Aziraphale. “I’d be delighted, angel.” He had to fold away the slight twinge of hurt at Aziraphale recoiling from his touch and thought it better not to offer his arm. It wasn’t that sort of stroll. Instead, he nodded his head towards Spiral Hill, hoping that farther from town would mean they were less likely to run into late night revelers.
Smile returning at the easy agreement, Aziraphale walked with him. Beyond the tombstones and up the narrow hill, the moon nearly blinding in its brightness. “What's your favourite bit of the holiday, Crowley?”
He couldn't say ‘you,’ which was the answer at the tips of his forked tongue. “Er, well, I guess it would have to be seeing everyone so delighted with the spooks we came up with this year. You know, before I was Pumpkin King, I used to join in with everyone else to make it the best Halloween it could be. Don’t get me wrong, I like this gig, lets me do my own thing, but it’s still fun to get in the middle with everyone and build off their scary ideas to make it truly frightening.” Feeling mischievous, Crowley lengthened his strides to walk ahead, not that it was difficult to do, being so much taller than Aziraphale, and turned around on his heel to walk backwards, stepping easily over a gravestone. “What about you? What part of the holiday do you like best?”
This, he nearly said. Crowley was more blinding than moonlight, the ends of vibrant hair catching fire in the golden hue, and his eyes brilliant in shadow. “It's silly,” Aziraphale said instead.
“Oi, here I go spillin’ my guts, and you can’t even give me something to work with?” Crowley replied in a teasing tone.
“Oh, you wily serpent.” Aziraphale wiped his hand on his trousers, warming the palm and soothing his nerves. “I suppose... Well, I rather like the- the cheer. All of those good feelings everyone hides away all year. Everyone smiles and laughs freely on Halloween, and it's wonderful. I wish there could be more cheerful nights like this.” The joy they took in being themselves, just one day a year, was infectious. He hadn’t felt out of place at all until he’d been grabbed. “Now don't you dare make fun of me for it either.”
Crowley grinned. “I wouldn’t dare. S’long as you don’t make fun of mine. You really think they're ‘cheery?’ On Halloween? Point’s supposed to be spooked, not cheery.” He frowned exaggeratedly and thought about it, missing the way Aziraphale’s shoulders tensed. “Think I’m not doing a good enough job spookin’? Need to up my game a bit?”
“N-no, I-” Aziraphale stopped, Sandalphon's harsh words too fresh in his mind to hear the light tease in the words. Instead, he only heard that he’d missed the point. That he enjoyed the wrong things. “I know it's an odd thing to enjoy. I don't need you or anyone else reminding me that I don't truly belong here.” Hurt, he turned on his heel to go. “I need to return home now, Crowley. Goodnight.”
“Wha- Ack!” Crowley yelped, heel caught on an unseen grave. He tumbled over it, landing on his arse in the loamy soil. “Ow! Fuck! Wait! Angel!” He scrambled back to his feet, climbing over graves and tripping over his own feet to catch up with Aziraphale.
He kept his head down, clutching his coat since he couldn’t clutch at his own hand. “Please leave me be, Crowley. I shouldn't dilly-dally on my chores, and I would rather like my arm back.”
Crowley froze, hand outstretched, and watched as Aziraphale weaved his way between gravestones and barren trees. “I don’t- Angel- What did I say?” he asked the air, arm falling back to his side as Aziraphale disappeared through the rusty gate to scurry back into town.
He thought about following him again. Marching up and demanding to know what it was he’d said that was wrong. Or maybe apologize, beg Aziraphale to not go.
In the end, he decided neither of those things would be welcome. He would respect Aziraphale’s request for space; someone had to if the Angels wouldn’t. Besides, they’d been friends for years and had had much worse arguments.
Not that he’d call this an argument. More like a miscommunication, maybe? Apparently, he’d missed something.
With a sigh Crowley turned away from Halloween Town and headed deeper into the cemetery. Not ready quite yet to face the winding down celebrations and adoring townsfolk congratulating him on a ‘Halloween well done.’ For the first time in his capacity as Pumpkin King, it didn’t feel ‘well done.’ What was the point of winning all those awards if the performance didn't do what he’d intended? Sweep Aziraphale off his feet, swoon into Crowley’s waiting arms (or coils, he wasn’t that picky), and ride off into the moonlight… or something like that, anyway. Not like he’d spent much time thinking about it. Nope. Not him.
He eventually made it to the top of Spiral Hill. The cemetery that surrounded most of Halloween Town spread out behind him, a full moon round and bright in the sky, and the Infernal Woods rising up large and foreboding at the far edge of the graveyard.
Normally, he loved this spot. Isolated, quiet, the perfect place when one needed to think, or practice throwing and catching mischievous children. Him and The Them were the only ones who ever came out this far, usually, most of the other townsfolk content to live their lives within the town and nearby area. The cemetery was for larks or lovers or greeting the occasional new habitant.
A small white figure moving rapidly towards the woods, almost glowing in the moonlight against the grey and darker grey landscape, caught his attention and distracted him from reverie. Squinting in an attempt to puzzle out what, exactly, he was seeing, a sharp yip solved it before his eyes could.
Crowley scowled. It was Adam’s little ghostly mutt, Dog.
He glanced around the area. Usually if Dog was nearby, Adam was not far behind, but there was no other movement nor any other sign of Adam and his troublemaking friends.
Groaning, knowing that if something happened to Dog Adam would be beside himself, Crowley marched into the woods planning a full lecture on responsibility and taking care of your things once he returned the pup to its master. He just had to track the mutt down first.