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Aziraphale sighed heavily as the bell rang, signaling that a potential customer had unfortunately come into his shop.
Why now, he asked himself. It was less than an hour to closing time, which was basically closing time itself, and it was raining cats and dogs out there! He fervently hoped that whoever they were, they were simply lost, and the sight of the bookshop would cause them to make their stilted apologies and awkwardly shuffle back the way they came. Yes. That would be best, so as not to get rainwater on the books.
But alas, the person’s footsteps were approaching him, and there came a sound of insistent throat clearing.
Aziraphale put together his best forced smile before he turned around to see a human—fairly young, close-cropped blonde hair, black jeans, and a jacket that was very...what was that term that Crowley used? “Punk”? It was a fashionable black jacket, at any rate. In fact, the only thing colorful about their entire outfit was a green “They/Them” pin on their lapel.
“I’m afraid we are soon closing,” Aziraphale warned the bedraggled youth.
“Oh sorry,” they said, taking a step back, “I-I promise I won’t be long. I just...I actually just wanted to look up a book, to see if you had it? I doubt I could ever afford it, but...I just want to uh. Read a bit of it.”
Aziraphale brightened slightly, intrigued.
“A. Z. Fell, at your service my dear,” he said, shaking their hand politely, “What’s your name?”
“A-Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale1 made many strangled noises oddly reminiscent of Crowley, as his eyes bulged out of his head.
“Wh-uh-my dear CHILD, you MUST stay just for a moment longer,” Aziraphale1 said, striding purposefully away and throwing miracling gestures in the air, “I shall make you some of the finest cocoa to warm you up before you go back out into the bitter cold.”
Aziraphale2 looked quite taken aback.
“I, uhm, a-about the book-” they stuttered.
“Come come,” Aziraphale1 motioned, “We can talk business later. Sit!”
By the time that Aziraphale2 had cautiously walked around the shelf, two overstuffed chairs and a coffee table with two mugs of steaming hot cocoa had already manifested themselves.
“I, uh, I don’t have any money-” they said hesitantly.
“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Aziraphale1 said, sitting down and clasping his fingers together, “All I would like as payment is...tell me the story of how you came to be named this way.”
Aziraphale2 looked from the cup of cocoa, to the door, to the chair, and back to their host's eager face.
They made their decision and cautiously sat down on the chair, tucking their legs in close.
“Well, um,” they said haltingly, picking up the cocoa from the table, “That’s...actually what I came in here to find. There was this book, that I read as a kid, called Lesser Known Angels, Saints, and other Divine Heroes, which my mum only let me read ‘cos it had to do with religion.”
Aziraphale1 deflated with relief. He hadn’t ever heard of that book, so it definitely wasn’t in stock.
Aziraphale2 chuckled. “Probably shouldn’t’ve been reading it that young. But, I turned out alright, if a bit goth.”
They took a sip of their cocoa.
“Anyway. I remember, in it, that there was a short entry on the Angel Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale1 leaned in. “What did it say?”
“Not much,” they shrugged, “I can’t remember all of it, to be honest, but Aziraphale was always...associated with humanity, throughout history. Some said he was one of the guardians of Eden, some say that he was a saint that ascended to angelhood upon his death…”
“I can assure you that it was quite the opposite,” Aziraphale1 mumbled.
“But what really struck me was, he was most widely known for and-and associated with...queer love,” Aziraphale2 said.
Aziraphale1 nearly spit out his cocoa.
“Th-that’s what I’m-w-w-what he is KNOWN for???” he sputtered, positively agog.
Aziraphale2 nodded. “Almost all of the recorded stories about Aziraphale involve the gay subcultures of the time, and in almost all of THOSE he’s depicted with a male companion. Legend has it that he was here in Soho in the sixties, in gentlemen clubs at the turn of the nineteenth century…”
Aziraphale1 loosened his collar uncomfortably.
“It’s a whole...thing,” Aziraphale2 said, sobering. “Aziraphale’s entry in that book was the very first time that I had ever seen the word queer, that wasn’t something hellish and terrible, like they said in church.”
Aziraphale2 took another sip of cocoa. “It was comforting, especially after I realized that the word queer definitely applied to me, to think that there was a heavenly presence out there that...that accepted me, and-”
They interrupted themself with a gasp. “I-is that a snake?”
Aziraphale1 looked down to see Crowley’s snake form winding his way up the legs of his chair.
“Oh, he’s just being nosy,” he said, picking him up bodily and letting him coil around his shoulders, “Aren’t you, dear.”
Crowley’s face was nothing but innocence, as he flicked his tongue out.
“So sorry for the rude interruption. Continue,” Aziraphale1 said, settling back into his chair.
Aziraphale2 shook their head a little, and continued their story.
“When I came out to my mum, she naturally...well, it wasn’t good. That was the last night I spent in her house.”
Aziraphale’s1 face darkened.
“I wish I could have taken that book with me,” they said wistfully, “But still I...I took comfort in the idea that there was a guardian angel out there, who would probably tell me that...that it was alright to be who I was. I held onto that, it-it kept me alive, during one of the darkest years of my life.”
They rubbed their face with their hands.
“So, when I thought about changing my name, legally this time, I decided to name myself after the angel that saved my life,” they concluded.
Aziraphale1, moved to tears by this young person, couldn’t help but perform a small blessing.
“May you find peace in your time, Aziraphale,” he said, reaching out and tapping them on the forehead twice.
That appeared to be the last straw for Aziraphale2. They abruptly stood up, realized that they were still holding the cocoa cup, and placed it back on the table so quickly that it probably should have cracked the ceramic.
“I must be going, goodbye,” they blurted, and rushed out of the shop.
Aziraphale1 waved them goodbye, as the snake around his shoulders widened, filled, and became a rather human-shaped demon standing behind him, arms still slung over Aziraphale’s1 shoulders.
“Weren’t they sweet, my dear?” Aziraphale1 said, leaning his head against Crowley’s.
“The angel that saved their life,” drawled Crowley, resting his chin on Aziraphale’s1 shoulder, “By that logic, I should be called Aziraphale3 too.”
"Or I should be called Crowley," Aziraphale1 laughed, kissing him on the cheek.
-
As Aziraphale2 walked out of that bookshop, they were running high on the adrenaline of having an absolutely wild cryptid encounter to go home and tell their flatmates about, mind spinning as they sped through the rain to the nearest Tube entrance. But as that faded, and they settled back into the normalcy of London life, they realized more and more that they also felt...strange. Not bad strange, just...strange. It wasn’t until they had gotten home and went to tug off their jacket that they finally realized what they had been feeling—their dysphoria, that had been pretty bad when they went out that morning, was all but gone.
“Weird,” they muttered, and then closed the door.