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His brain remembered a different world sometimes. As those were the only memories Aziraphale had any real claim to, he occasionally drew them. Whenever he could get his hands on scrap paper, anyway. Sometimes, he’d doodle in the margins of the manuals the Angels provided. The words in them certainly weren’t enjoyable, not like the ones which composed entire worlds his brain remembered. His brain remembered names like Shakespeare and Georgette Heyer and ghostly fathers demanding revenge and devilish rogues charming swooning ladies. A far cry from cookbooks and repair manuals for steam-powered machines. It may have been nice if the cookbooks at least came with stories, but Aziraphale wasn’t nearly so lucky as all that.
He thought the previous owner of his brain must’ve been quite lucky indeed as sometimes - sometimes - he could remember someone’s touch, someone’s smile, a slight weight on his ring finger, an all-encompassing emotion that made the clockwork-like contraption of wood wool and gears the Angels called his heart tik-tok right off rhythm.
A lucky owner, indeed.
Aziraphale doubted he’d ever feel such things in this new existence. This world of Halloween, something his brain wanted to tut-tut at but that Aziraphale wanted to learn all about. There weren’t any books about Halloween available to him, and asking for one had resulted in an inordinate amount of chores because, “If you have time to daydream, you’re clearly not busy enough.”
What tripe. But he hadn’t asked again. He didn’t ask much of the Angels, really. He’d learned very quickly that they didn’t respond well to his queries, and he was tired of having his fabric shredded and his limbs torn off. Not that any of that necessarily hurt, but it was an inconvenience and none of the fabric they gave him for replacements matched. He’d rather have his coat and waistcoat patchy, so tended to take from the creamy-coloured clothes each time he needed to patch his body. It wasn’t exact, but it was closer. After all, he had standards.
And, apparently, he also had limits on his patience. It took a few years to discover them, but Sandalphon tried to run one of his wheels up Aziraphale’s leg and, well, that was that. He'd walked right out the front door... a few hours later. He'd scampered quickly from Sandalphon to plot his escape, of course, but leaving the manor itself hadn't come so immediately.
And, oh, he’d go back. He wasn’t running away forever. He just needed some peace and quiet away from the Angels in order to, ah... make something. Secretively. He had the spare fabric and could always take some of his own stuffing if the cotton he’d gathered wasn’t enough to fill four little dolls.
He wanted to go into town, but hesitated on the edges of warped buildings and unsettling scuttling sounds. They didn’t leave him unsettled so much as curious and, well, appreciative of the commitment to aesthetic. He wanted very much to know more about this place he’d been created within, but he’d had several years of being locked in a manor being told what to expect from townsfolk. They all sounded horrid and terrifying and wily and wicked and menacing and Aziraphale was none of those things. Aziraphale was rather sweet and calm and - oh, what had Gabriel sneered at him? Soft, yes. He’d been designed that way, created to serve and not belong.
So he abandoned curiosity and went around the town, drawn to a creaking gate and the graveyard beyond. He smiled as he stepped into it, swinging a little basket of supplies as he wandered amongst the stones. His brain had come from one of these grave sites, though he had no idea which.
He wandered up a hill that seemed to spiral downwards as he continued his stroll, depositing him in a dreary pumpkin patch and within sight of a line of cracked trees, beckoning wayward wanderers closer with bare branches. A few had richly coloured leaves stubbornly clinging to the bark, and Aziraphale’s smile widened as he drew closer still. He plucked one and traced the edges. It crinkled curiously in his hold and the satisfying crunch when he squeezed it in his fist had laughter spilling out.
This outside thing was rather nice, he decided, stepping between tree trunks to wander further in. He didn’t want the Angels to find him easily, should they awaken from a very harmless poisoning early, but didn’t want to go so far as to get himself lost. That simply wouldn’t do. As much as he was coming to detest the beasts he served, he recognised that they’d given him his body and recharged this brain in order to power it. He owed them the servitude they demanded.
He just... There were things he wasn’t going to do and if Halloween Town was as wretched as they claimed, some revenge wouldn’t be remiss. Maybe they’d even start to see that he could, possibly, fit in. Maybe he’d actually get to see a Halloween one of these years.
That pleasant hope buzzed in his mind as he discovered a clearing in the woods, gasping at the way the fading sun shone down upon this burnt circle of earth. He tested one of the rotting logs surrounding the circle and, pleased to find it sturdy enough, sat down and pulled out the first swatch of brown fabric and a pair of fabric scissors usually used to stab into him when he did something that wasn’t approved. Stealing them was incredibly satisfying.
Smile soft and sweet, he began cutting an outline of what would be a tiny, stabbable Sandalphon first and time soon began to slip right away.
Crowley was basking. Not sulking or hiding or running away from anything. Just basking as far from Halloween Town as he could reasonably get while still being near enough to return if something happened.
Not that anything ever did, not often anyway. Not when Halloween Night was still four months away. Shadwell and Tracy were on his case about how to accommodate the recently expanded werewolf pack before the big night but, in all honesty, he couldn’t be arsed to care about that right now. He was struggling to care about much of anything lately.
Being Pumpkin King had its fun times, but the last few years had started to just feel repetitive. It was the same old thing year after year. Sure, new citizens arrived and shook things up occasionally and the big Halloween celebration was usually enjoyable, but the spark and excitement just wasn’t there anymore.
Crowley hissed out a sigh and stretched out farther on the branch he was perched on. High enough above the ground to not be noticed, though almost no one ever entered the Infernal Woods. Occasionally new citizens would stumble out of it dazed and confused, but it was well known that most who entered never returned. Where they went or what befell them was a mystery. Crowley had searched it once when one of their oldest witches, Agnes, had disappeared into it, but he’d never found her or what had become of her.
He was contemplating napping, maybe dozing off for a few days to cause some minor chaos in town just to keep things interesting, when the crunch of a leaf drew his attention. Peeking his head over the branch, the sight of an unfamiliar tan and cream being laughing as the destroyed leaf crumbled in their fist was a surprise. Crowley was certain he knew everyone in Halloween Town. It was part of his job to know everyone. He slithered quietly over the branch as they made their way beneath him, head turning excitedly with each step and a basket of some sort swinging from their arm.
With nothing better to do, and something delightfully new to see, Crowley used the upper branches to follow the curious creature as they made their way farther in, occasionally stopping to touch a nearby tree or giggle as they crunched another leaf. It was, dare he think it, cute.
He was beginning to wonder if he was dreaming or if this was a hallucination brought on by Tracy slipping him mistletoe berries when they came to a small clearing and let out a gasp before toddling happily over to a partially rotted log to take a seat and pull out fabric and scissors. They were… sewing? In the Infernal Forest? He didn’t understand, but was captivated by the boldness of it. Were they not frightened of never being able to return? They didn’t seem scared at all, nor even a little worried.
Crowley watched curiously as they cut the fabric, setting aside each piece delicately once it was removed from the whole. Then they plucked a needle straight out from behind their ear and began to methodically stitch the pieces together. Crowley was completely entranced at how sure and steady their hands were; being someone who did not come standard with arms or legs, such precise work was something he struggled with.
He inched closer on his branch at the edge of the clearing, wanting a better look at what was being made. He was too high up to get a proper look at it, but from this distance it seemed to be taking an odd shape. Not exactly person-shaped as there were quite a few circles to it, a few unusual arcs.
So distracted as he was, Crowley hadn’t even noticed how far along the branch he’d slithered, the bulk of his serpentine body balanced precariously at the end. A crack and a lurch downward was his only warning before the branch broke off entirely and sent him plummeting into the bushes below.
The patchwork being faltered, his needle going straight through his own palm as he looked towards the bushes. A branch was sticking up at an odd angle and he couldn't see any flames. So it likely, and relievingly, wasn't the Angels. That still didn’t mean it was anyone good, wary as he’d been made to feel about the denizens of Halloween Town. “Er. Hello?”
Shit. This was not the intended first impression. What were they supposed to think of a Pumpkin King who fell out of trees like an idiot? Nothing at all good. Well, he couldn’t imagine it could get much worse.
Crowley righted himself and slithered part of the way out of the bush. “Erm, hi.”
Silk lashes fluttered in surprise. Not necessarily because it was a snake which spoke, though should Aziraphale find that odd? Perhaps. But he was such a lovely thing, scales a glittering black and fiery red. His golden eyes were like twin suns, the narrowly slitted pupils like slashes of ink. Aziraphale felt himself smile before he could remind himself he wasn't supposed to smile at things, but didn’t stop the expression. It seemed rather pointless now. “Those branches seem rather brittle, my dear. Perhaps you should stay safely on the ground.”
“Ssssafe? Perhapsss you sshould be worried about your own ssssafety,” Crowley hissed and slithered closer, revealing all three metres of his current size. Not his full size as that was much too large to be lazing around in trees, but still frightening enough to most.
The patchwork being's smile turned apologetic rather than fearful. “Oh, I'm afraid biting me would be a bit of a waste of time if that's your intention. Venom doesn't have any sort of effect. But you are properly frightening to others, I'm sure.”
If eyelids were something snakes had, Crowley would have been blinking his. There was no cloying taste of fear on his forked tongue and now that he was closer, he could see this being - distinctly man shaped - seemed to not have proper skin. Instead he was covered in light coloured fabric, all his joints stitched together with thick thread. Once the initial shock wore off, he cocked his head. “Not even a little intimidated?”
“Oh. Ah. I could be if you like?”
“No, no, it’ssss… fine?” Odd was what it was. Very odd. “Not what I’m ussssed to iss all.”
“Terribly sorry, my dear. I don't mean to be rude.” He pulled the needle out of his hand and pushed it behind his ear without so much as a wince. “It's not your fault. I'm sure a handsome, venomous thing like you has frightened many, many beings before.”
Handsome. Crowley didn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand er, scale, the compliment sent a tingle of warmth down his winding spine; on the other, it sounded much too similar to the various beings in town who continued to pursue his affection despite the many rebuffs. “Of courssse I have. M’the mosssst frightening thing there isss.” On the other other hand - scale, whatever - this particular being wasn’t reacting with the usual level of awe Crowley had become bored by and accustomed to. This was delightfully new.
Aziraphale nodded, not wanting to insult the poor thing. He just didn't have anything for a doll to be afraid of. He didn't have flames or claws or anything which would undoubtedly damage Aziraphale. He didn't even have limbs. Any tight squeezing would be a nuisance, to be sure, but it was hardly frightening. “Alright, ah... Do you have a name, by chance?”
Oh. Well that explained it. Somehow, miraculously, he didn’t know who he was. But how? Crowley was certain he’d come in the woods from Halloween Town. “Of courssse I have a name. Who doessssn’t have a name?” He slithered onto the log, next to this ridiculous being who didn’t even know who he was talking to and encouraged his body to change, growing arms and legs and leaning back in a sprawl. “It’s Crowley, by the way.” Surely, the serpent was sure, he would recognise the name and then he could find out just who this patchwork being was - and where he’d come from - in turn.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated, rolling the name over his tongue as if it was the finest of delicacies. It wasn't fear, though, that widened blue eyes. Fascinated, he patted Crowley’s arm. He had such long limbs, and his eyes were just the same as they'd been - golden with dangerously slitted pupils. His coiffed hair was reminiscent of his red underbelly, like the burning embers of a deep flame. Oh, yes, he was terribly handsome in either form. “It's my utter displeasure to meet you, Crowley. What a wonderful trick that is, your shapeshifting.”
That… That still wasn’t recognition, but Crowley was struggling to be offended by it. The warm hand, and it was incredibly warm, thoroughly distracted him before it was removed. “Ngk. Mmm, yeah. Trick. Definitely a trick.” Up close he was just as cute as Crowley had thought. Upturned nose and wide blue eyes framed by pudgy cheeks. “What, er, what about you? Bit rude to ask for a name and not share yours, innit?”
“Oh!” he gasped, the half-finished thing in his grasp tumbling into the basket at his feet. “I suppose you're right. I'm so sorry. I'm Aziraphale.”
“Azsssiraphale…” The name sparked something in the back of his mind like a long forgotten memory. This being, his name, this entire encounter like something familiar or nostalgic. A happy reminiscence he couldn’t quite place. “So, Aziraphale, what’s a being like you doin’ all the way out here?”
“Oh, just, ah...” He averted his gaze, reaching for his basket and the partially finished doll within. “Nothing of import.”
Crowley didn’t believe that for a second. Quick as a whip, he shot forward and snatched the fallen creation from its basket. “Looks to me like you were makin’ something.” Up close and in his hands, though not entirely finished, the multiple wheels and wings were unmistakable. “Is that… Sandalphon?”
He wrung his hands together. “You won't tell him, will you? Any of them? I'll be in enough trouble once they realise I've left.”
“Er…” He looked from what was obviously a voodoo doll to Aziraphale and back to the doll. “No? Got no reason to tell those wankers anything. You wanna make voodoo dolls of the lot of ‘em, be my guest.” It might even be funny to see them twitch and wince at town meetings. “Waaaaait… Hold on a tick. Left? What do you mean left?”
“I... Er...” He twisted the ring on his pinky around and around, watching it rather than this unusual serpentine man. “It's only temporary. I've just never been outside since that first day, and it's gotten rather... Well, that is to say... I'm very grateful to them for the, ah, body and all. I only wanted to be away for a little while.”
Crowley stared at the patchwork man beside him. Snippets of conversation and context slowly slotting into place. He could recall (vaguely because he honestly hadn’t been paying attention) Madame Tracy mentioning something to Mayor Shadwell about the Angels having some new servant they’d constructed. At the time he hadn’t really cared. What they did in their own home was no business of his, and it wasn’t as if the witches and hags didn’t create temporary animated servants to do their bidding on occasion. Ones who had no thoughts or feelings and would disintegrate once their task was done.
This man wasn’t temporary though. He had a mind, agency, thoughts and opinions. He was a person, and they’d just been keeping him in their manor for… however long without letting him out? “That’s, uh, yeah I can understand wanting to, er, get away. For a bit.”
“Oh, really?” He looked back up, smile relieved. “Thank you. It's been a few years, you see, and it's gotten rather dull.”
Crowley couldn’t help but return the smile. “You’re tellin’ me. Same thing, day after day, gets boring. Gotta spice it up somehow.” He handed back the doll. “Here, s’pretty good. Uncanny likeness.” He was already planning all manner of nasty surprises for Gabriel and his lot. They created Aziraphale, so technically they had “ownership” of him, but that wasn’t going to stop Crowley from annoying them into an early grave in retaliation for keeping a sentient person like a pet.
And if that sentient person ever wanted to leave their employ, he’d be the first to offer assistance.
Aziraphale’s lashes fluttered, eyes sparkling. This Crowley wasn't at all what he'd been told to expect from Halloween Town residents. He was certainly much kinder and freer with compliments than the Angels. “Do you think so?”
“Oh, yeah. No mistaking who that is. Good choice too. Ol’ Sandy’s always been a bit of a creep. Might put him in his place a bit.” If Crowley didn’t throw him in the lake first.
“He can be... occasionally, ah, inappropriate,” Aziraphale allowed, not entirely willing to speak ill of his creators. “I'm making one of each of them, though, and then I'll need to return home.”
Inappropriate. The lake was too good for the likes of that. Maybe drowning him in the swamp would be better. Not that he could, actually, do anything with no tangible proof. The Angels were ancient beings, having lived in Halloween Town long before he’d even come into existence, and it would be their word against Aziraphale’s.
Instead of lashing out like he wanted to do, Crowley leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”
Aziraphale blinked at him, hesitating a moment before he retrieved the needle from behind his ear. “There's no need for you to stay. I'm told I'm terribly dull company.”
Crowley hummed and leaned his head back to soak up as much of the meager light as he could. “Those Angels wouldn’t know interesting if it came up and bit them on the wings. I think I’ll decide if you’re ‘dull’ for myself, unless you’d rather I bugger off.”
Aziraphale stitched quietly for a few seconds, casting Crowley curious glances. He hadn't expected a visitor, particularly not one anything like this. Not someone who could be kind and calm. Yes, he’d tried very hard to be threatening, but he’d accepted Aziraphale’s apologies for not being afraid rather quickly. And now he wasn’t trying at all. He was just relaxing. He wasn’t going to tell the Angels he’d left, didn’t sound altogether fond of them, and was supporting his making voodoo dolls to subtly torment them. It was surely too good to be true, wasn’t it?
“Is this a trick, by chance?”
“I wasn’t planning on it, but I’m sure I can come up with something if you like,” Crowley said, grinning and flashing his fangs. It was… nice being able to talk to someone who didn’t already have expectations of him. Someone who wasn’t constantly expecting grand scares, as much as he enjoyed causing them.
With teeth like that, Crowley probably didn’t need claws to tear him apart in snake form. Aziraphale considered that for a moment before deciding that he still wasn’t particularly frightened of him. “No, thank you.” He began pushing cotton into the Sandalphon doll, eager to finish and start on the next. “You may keep me company if you’d like, my dear.”
Oh, he planned on it. So far Aziraphale was the most interesting thing to happen to him in decades. “Your loss. Don’t mind if I drift off; the sun makes me sleepy.”
Aziraphale paused, gazing at him anew. He would absolutely never trust anyone enough to fall asleep in front of them, yet Crowley was just going to allow that sort of vulnerability? “If you do, could I wake you to say goodbye before I leave?”
“You had better. Do you even know how dangerous these woods are? You’re lucky it was me who found you and not something properly nasty.” He hadn’t, actually, seen anything dangerous in the woods, but people still never returned from them. He didn’t want that fate to befall Aziraphale, despite only knowing him for such a short time.
“I suppose I am.” Though, no, he had no idea how dangerous this place was. “Do the woods have a name?”
“Have those winged wankers not told you anything? This is the Infernal Woods. Everyone knows the beings who come in here almost never come back.”
“Oh. That might not be so bad.” Aziraphale stitched the Sandalphon doll shut and tossed it into the basket, rifling for dove grey fabric to begin the Gabriel one. “But, no, I suppose I don’t know much of anything. I’ve only seen town once, and it was very difficult to see anyone or anything through their wings and flames and such.”
He almost couldn't believe it. They would really risk Aziraphale’s safety and just leave him ignorant of all the ways their world was dangerous? The Infernal Woods was just one of many things in and around town that could cause harm. Sure, they had necromancers to bring people back, but he wasn’t sure how it would work for a construct who had been animated like Aziraphale. If they weren’t going to let Crowley do his job, and make sure any newcomers knew their way of life, they should have at least taken the time to do it themselves.
Crowley let out a growl before he could stop himself. “How bloody irresponsible! They’ve lived here longer than anyone! There’s no excuse for leaving you vulnerable like that! I’ve half a mind to march down there and give them a piece of my mind.” He wouldn’t as Aziraphale had said he’d be in trouble if they knew he left, but he still wanted to.
“It’s my own fault,” he excused, the words easy and immediate. “I know I’m not meant to be out of the estate, but I am.”
“What? No, it’s not your fault. No way you would know without someone tellin’ you. Dunno why they wanna keep you locked up in there anyway. Bet you haven’t even seen the Halloween celebrations. S’criminal, is what that is.” Should be a law against it, but it was his own fault that there wasn’t. He’d never expected this. Halloween Town was wicked, but it wasn’t deliberately cruel.
“Well, no, but I can hear them from my tower. All the screams and the cheering...” Aziraphale sighed wistfully. “I’m sure they’re thrilling, but Gabriel claims they’ve started to become rather lackluster. I’d still like to see one.”
Crowley gritted his teeth. Lackluster?! How dare Gabriel insult his craft like that. “As if he could do any better. Wankwings thinks fear can be catalogued and measured. If he could do better he’d be the one in charge, and seeing as he’s not I wouldn’t put any stock in what he thinks about Halloween.”
“Oh, I know. The cobwebs at home can't go beyond a certain size or number. And everything needs to be organized and polished just so. The tarnish on things like Sandalphon's armour or Uriel's swords can't be too opaque. The dust on shelves can't be too thick, so I have to alternate where I clean when, and that’s just to start, really.” Aziraphale sighed as he neatly cut into fabric. “I get lists from him daily as if I'm incapable of remembering the numbers, but it's alright. I get to use the free space to draw at night.”
“Ugh!” Crowley groaned. “That’s just embarrassing, that is. You can’t break scary down into lists and checkboxes. It’s an art, not bloody statistics. You’d think someone who’s lived here as long as he has would understand that.” He watched Aziraphale cut and measure with steady hands. “Speaking of art, you sew and draw? Sounds like you’re a veritable artist.”
“Well, I have to sew. Be a bit difficult to fix myself when they- when I happen to come apart otherwise. The art is just to pass the time. There's only so many times one can read a manual before doing something else with one’s hands.”
“Yeah, but just because you have to do somethin’ doesn’t mean you’re good at it. And you’re obviously good with a needle.” And knew how to handle it. Crowley might even be worried if Aziraphale decided to wield it against him, his skin prickling at the gleaming glint of metal. “Manual? Just the one? Sound’s very boring.”
“Oh, no, there are a few. After all, someone has to go about fixing things when they break.” There wasn't bitterness in his tone, but a quiet sort of resignation. “But that's more than enough about me, please. I've heard from the Angels that Halloween is much more, ah, spontaneous? Far more so than Gabriel approves of at home. Are they, Crowley?”
“Hmm, I suppose so? Most everyone has their niche. The witches and hags cast curses and brew potions, almost guaranteed at least one fight between the werewolves and vampires will break out, plenty of skeletons hide in closets around town, the groups who did best last year get access to the human world to cause some mayhem, and of course there’s the Pumpkin King’s finale. It’s great fun, you really should go at least once.”
“I'd like to. I'm getting very good at lockpicking, so maybe I'll escape this year. I would like to see the finale.” He hummed, toying with the end of the needle. “Could I... tell you a secret?”
Crowley leaned in, eyes gleaming and chin in his hand, “Absolutely, love secrets, me. Big secret fan.”
Aziraphale giggled, though lowered his voice as if someone might hear them. “Gabriel hates them. The finales. They scare him every year, so he rants about them incessantly. I get to hear all about it.”
“You’re pullin’ my leg,” Crowley gasped, lowering his voice to match. “Ol’ bluster-wings, who thinks he’s someone’s gift to Halloween, gets scared every year?” Oh, that was just too rich. He’d felt that the last few years weren’t his best, but if he was scaring Gabriel he must still be doing something right.
“He does, and he's so furious that they're always kept a surprise so he can’t properly prepare. Really, I just think the Pumpkin King must be so clever and imaginative.” Aziraphale sighed wistfully, his project resting in his lap and his smile shifting into something sympathetic. “Though it must also be terribly difficult for the poor dear. All that responsibility must be a burden.”
Crowley flushed. Aziraphale thought he was clever and imaginative and he wasn’t saying it to get attention or because he wanted something. It was his honest opinion and it made Crowley’s cold-blooded heart skip a beat. “Ngk, y-yeah, er, lotta responsibility, that.”
“I don't know much about it, obviously, but I'd think... Well...” He jabbed the needle into the bundle so he could twist his ring, clearly not used to having someone listen to his opinions. “It might even be lonely. From what I understand, he's instrumental in keeping our holiday and the entire town going. I can't imagine that not wearing on someone after a few years, but he's still continuing on, and that's so very admirable. So I...” He trailed off, not sure what to make of the way Crowley stared at him. “I'm sorry. Nevermind. I'm sure I sound completely ridiculous. Just a- a- silly toy talking about things he doesn't understand.”
Crowley couldn’t help but stare, transfixed. No one had ever said that before, expressed concern or worry about him being lonely or overburdened. “Nooo, nonono. You’re not ridiculous. Not at all. You’re right. So, so, right. It is lonely,” he whispered. “Terribly so.”
Aziraphale stopped fidgeting to look at him again. “Do you think so?”
“Oh, yes. Haven’t heard it said like that before, but you have the right of it. It’s a very lonesome job.” Crowley felt drawn in, like a plant to the sun. Here was someone who understood the isolating existence, someone who shared in his loneliness.
“I hope it doesn't stay that way. Someone who manages to scare Gabriel in such marvelous ways should have oodles of friends. Pots of them.” Aziraphale smiled and retrieved his sewing again, wary of being out too long. He was too aware of golden eyes on him, though, and the way his attention was so firmly rooted on him. It was unusual and, admittedly, a bit pleasant.
No, this was most certainly not what he’d been told to expect from Halloween Town’s residents and Aziraphale found himself eager for more. He glanced over at the serpentine being, wiggling in place as he worked up his nerve. “Crowley?”
He’d never felt like this before. Limbs all warm and gooey feeling, his heart beating out a rapid rhythm in his chest, or the want - no, need - to spend as much time in this being’s presence as possible. “Yeah?”
“I don't wish to presume anything, but the next time I escape,” because this had been far too lovely for there not to be a next time, “do you think we could, perhaps, chat again?”
Crowley nodded vigorously. “Oh, absolutely. ...I do have one condition, though.”
Oh. Of course there would be a condition. Aziraphale struggled not to deflate. “Yes?”
“You have to promise to come see my Halloween finale this year.”
Aziraphale stared at him for a few seconds, turning the request over in his mind. His finale? But that... That would mean... The needle went straight through his finger. “Oh!”