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Pushing out of the ground in the Garden of Eden is simple enough, Crawly thinks as he slithers across the ground in his beastly form. He’s not entirely certain what he is, exactly; just not an angel. A demon. But the shape he’s taken, the way it slithers across the ground, this is all still new to him. It’s easy enough, of course, and with his orders burning in his mind he makes his way to God’s precious humans.
There are two of them. A male and female, he thinks, though he’s not certain what all that means, really. Humans were still just a concept when he was expelled from Heaven. He knows God made the Earth for them specifically, and the starting point appears to be this lush green place he’s sprouted himself into, but he doesn’t know more than that at this point.
Get up there and make some trouble, Beezlebub said.
And so he shall.
Condemning God’s precious humans is a treat, really. He’s still burning with his own rage and bitterness at being cast out of Heaven for simply asking too many questions, but how was he supposed to just follow along blindly? If She wanted blind obedience then why give any of them the capability to ask questions in the first place? It makes no sense.
She doesn’t want the humans eating from the massive fruit tree at the centre of the garden, which is exactly what Crawly wants them to do. He slithers to the female human, dark of flesh with soft curves, and hisses into her ear:
“Go onnn, it’sss an apple, what could happennn…”
And she takes the bait immediately. He doesn’t even have to push her for it, which is just sad, really. If She doesn’t want the humans touching the fruit tree She really should have put some more stubbornness into them, he thinks as he watches Eve bite into an apple, followed by the male, Adam.
She was swayed so very easily. Why? How was he brought up here so easily? There is clearly an angel stalking the walls, guarding it from outside threats—so why was he able to come inside the garden in the first place? A demon from Hell?
It’s all a little too clean, a little too easy, he thinks. Doubt plagues his mind, but this is not a new feeling. No, he’s familiar with doubt, with shame and pain and grief and—
He hisses as he slithers away into the shrubberies near the tree.
The angel comes to investigate, probably on Her orders. Crawly is too far to hear the words spoken between angel and human, but it’s clear there is a problem. Crawly hisses in delight and makes his way further away from the trio, making his grand escape.
He tempted the humans and got away with it.
Somehow, it’s not as satisfying as it should be.
Instead he just feels… empty.
Crawly never meant to Fall, not really. He disagreed with the way things were run in Heaven, sure, same as any of the Fallen, which is why they banded together in the first place… but he was never close with Lucifer. He just had a lot of questions, and went with Lucifer to ask some of them… and wound up being cast out for it, eventually.
Eventually.
First there was a long, drawn-out war. Angels killing each other, their grace burned away with sacred blades, brother against brother, friend against friend. Crawly never really had ‘friends’ in Heaven that he could recall, but he’d still been abhorred by the sight of all the destruction, death, and chaos. This was not what he wanted for the angels.
When it was finally over, they were all cast out—those who sided with Lucifer. Crawly himself didn’t participate in the war if he could help it; once, he entered a fray on direct orders from Lucifer himself, but his heart was never in the combat. He made stars, for Her sake, of course he didn’t want to fight anyone, and had little idea what to do with the weapons thrust onto him in the first place.
It was, truth told, a nightmare. But the pain didn’t end when the war stopped.
No, some would say that’s when the real nightmare began. When they Fell. When he Fell.
The burning of his wings, dropping endlessly through an unforgiving vastness into a pit of boiling sulphur which burned away at him ceaselessly, relentless, until it tore away all he held dear. His form, his name, his essence, his grace, Her love…
All of it, just gone.
All the Fallen experienced similar things, of course. In the place of all they once loved and held so dear, there was now nothing but pools of empty bitterness and rage, fueling their hellish cores. Crawly isn’t special in his pain.
He is one of many.
Of millions.
A drop of stardust in the night sky. Forgotten.
Some days, the pain of it threatens to devour him entirely. Every day in Hell is the same, in that nothing is ever predictable. Well, except for one thing: the fact there will be pain, inevitably. Demons are struggling to establish some sort of pecking order, with Lucifer invariably at the top and Beezlebub somewhere just under him since Lucifer seems uninterested in politics… even though he’s the reason they all Fell in the first place and it really should be his job, Crawly thinks.
No matter, though; he has no loyalty to Lucifer. No loyalty to Heaven, either.
He just… sort of drifts.
And doesn’t belong anywhere, does he?
He didn’t mean to Fall, and he hates Hell so far. Hate is a strong word, one not meant to be used by angels—but he’s not an angel anymore. He’s a demon, torn apart by Her fury, and what’s left is this broken, twisted mess of a form, dark and angry.
Taking the assignment to pop into the Garden and ruin God’s plans was honestly a breath of fresh air—getting out of Hell for a bit. Out of that constant struggle.
But the shadows still follow him everywhere he goes.
Even now, as he sits in the shrubberies and watches the humans adorn themselves in frilly green vines to cover certain areas as they prepare to leave the Garden, he knows he will have to slink back to Hell once this is finished.
He will have to await further orders, and Beezlebub only said to cause some trouble, not to stay up here.
But rules were meant to be broken, he thinks, watching the humans slink out of the Garden via a hole in the wall, curtesy of the angel standing atop the wall now. Adam and Eve flee the garden, the only home they’ve ever known, cast out from all they’ve ever known… just like the demons before them.
Guilt is certainly a strange feeling. It’s not his fault God is wrathful and petulant. Sure, he got the humans tossed out—but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Even if it does seem a bit much for a reaction for a first offence…
He should go.
Back to Hell, perhaps, or follow the humans through the hole before the angel seals it up.
But there’s an angel atop the wall, and it’s been a long time since Crawly’s seen the sun. He doesn’t remember what presences felt like Before, angel to angel, but as a demon? Sensing an angel? There’s an ebb of warmth and love and peace coming from atop that wall, and he just needs a glimpse, he thinks—just a look at the angel causing such a sensation.
He’s never been good at curbing his curiosity.
So he slithers up that wall and twists his form into something resembling a human—with long curly hair and dark wings behind him.
The angel eyes him briefly, but that sense of sunlight never vanishes. Not even for a second, not even when those eyes land on him and discover he is, in fact, a demon.
He says something to the angel—not even truly aware of the words he speaks, unused to having to speak at all, really, except to the humans earlier, as angels and demons can communicate without such verbal usage. The angel hums nervously and eyes him again, though not unkindly.
“Sorry,” the angel apologises instantly, “what was that?”
Did an angel just apologise? To a demon? To me? “I said… well, that went down like a lead balloon.”
“Oh,” the angel says, nodding. “Yes, it did, rather.”
Crawly’s not sure why he keeps talking. He should really get out of here now that he’s seen the angel and sated his curiosity—but he can’t stop talking. “Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me. First offence and everything. And I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway.”
“Well, it must be bad…” the angel stops, lingering as he stares at the demon next to him.
“Crawly,” he supplies.
“Crawly. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.”
Crawly finds himself shrugging—an odd movement, to be sure, but perhaps familiar to this body. “They just said ‘get up there and make some trouble’.”
“Obviously. You’re a demon, it’s what you do.”
Crawly hisses. “Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘don’t touch’ sign. I mean, why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon? Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.”
This is it, he thinks; a test, though he’s not sure why or for what.
Perhaps to see if this angel will smite him. Destroy him. Maybe a part of him even wants this to happen, on some hidden level—better than going back to Hell, at any rate. Better than returning to the monotony of pain.
The angel shakes his head. “Best not to speculate,” he says quickly, but gently. “It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand; it’s ineffable.”
Crawly bares his teeth briefly. “The Great Plan’s ineffable?” Right, so I might be a demon, but I do know about the Great Plan just like you, you know.
“Exactly,” the angel says, unaware of the bite to his words, which is really rather… odd. “You can’t second-guess ineffability. There’s Right and there’s Wrong. If you do Wrong when you’re told to do Right, you deserved to be punished.” A sudden flush of pink to those porcelain cheeks. “Er.” The angel clears his throat. “I don’t like the look of that weather.”
Crawly eyes the angel for a moment. Just sort of… drinking in the warmth ebbing off the being clad in white. Eying those white feathers and the curly light hair, and just basking in the sunlight for a moment. Some part of him feels rather attached to warm, sunny places suddenly. Maybe it has to do with whatever form he’s taken recently—that slithering creature can’t seem to stay warm. Or maybe it’s because this warm presence is just… exhilarating. In a way.
Something is missing, though. Something…
“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”
The angel sputters for a moment. It’s amusing to see, really. He’s used to angels being stuffy creatures.
“You did,” Crawly says. “It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?”
The angel mumbles something very quietly.
Crawly blinks at him. “Lost it already, have you?”
“Gave it away…”
“You what?”
“I gave it away,” the angel says firmly. “There are vicious animals out there and she’s expecting already! And I said ‘here you go, flaming sword, don’t thank me and don’t let the sun go down on you here.’ Oh… I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”
The wrong thing.
Angels are perfectly capable of doing the wrong thing. Just look at the Fallen, after all. But even still, he says, “oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”
This is… not true. Sarcasm, he thinks. A hidden bite to the words.
The sunlit angel doesn’t notice. “Oh, thank you,” the angel says so very sincerely, eying him again with a tentative smile.
Ngk, Crawly thinks.
“It’s been bothering me,” the angel continues.
Then he looks off into the distance. After a moment, Crawly exhales slowly and follows the angel’s gaze out toward the sandy wasteland beyond the walls, where Adam is using the flaming sword to swipe at some sort of creature which is swiping claws at them.
The angel winces next to him as Adam takes another swipe at the creature.
Crawly clears his throat. “I’ve been worrying too,” he says very quietly. Some part of his mind has been worrying that this whole mess was too easy, which has made him… nervous. “What if I did the right thing, with the whole ‘eat the apple’ bit? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” He draws in a slow breath, tasting sunlight on his forked tongue, before he eyes the angel next to him again. “Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.”
The angel nods before the words register. Then he whips his gaze back toward Crawly, and the demon is frozen in the glowing blue orbs of warm light. “No,” the angel says quickly, “that wouldn’t be funny at all!”
Crawly shrugs again, and some strange rumbling noise claps in the distance. He looks out over the horizon at the dark clouds rapidly approaching, and then something wet is raining down from above.
He only has half a second to realise something is falling from the clouds, before the sensation abruptly stops. He glances upward, at the blanket of white shielding him, the angel’s wing extended to keep him dry and warm from the cool water falling down.
Crawly looks at the angel for a long moment. The angel keeps his gaze focused out on the horizon, watching the humans as they wander off into the distance—but Crawly keeps watching him.
Something deep in his core—twisted and knotted and tight—is starting to unravel. Something he never thought could be fixed, could never not be painful.
Something like hope.
Maybe there’s more to life than pain, after all.
An angel showing kindness to a demon is certainly unexpected, and this angel feels like the sun he misses so much from his days forming stars out in the vast emptiness of space…
I’m in trouble, he thinks.
But he doesn’t want saving.
The angel keeps his wing over the demon for the entirety of the first storm the Earth has ever experienced. It’s not very long, but the rains did pour down harshly, relentlessly, and the angel is soaked but still burning with some bright warmth nevertheless, and Crawly huddles closer to that blessed inferno.
They don’t speak. Words aren’t really needed.
Crawly is more than content to bask in this light.
Finally, the rains stop and the angel drops his wing, shaking off the water briefly. Then he turns on Crawly with a bright, warm smile.
“Mind how you go,” the angel says, and then moves forward to step off the wall. Crawly watches as the angel plummets, something twisting in his stomach briefly, and then finally the angel lands on the ground below, on his feet, perfectly fine.
Crawly moves to follow.
Then stops himself.
He really should get out of here. God might pop in to give the angel instructions, and he should really be getting back to Hell…
But rules were meant to be broken.
He follows after the angel, landing next to him.
The angel looks at him, frowning. “You don’t want to leave?”
“What’s your name?” Crawly asks.
“My…? Oh! Right, apologies. My name is Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale.
A shudder slips through this human-esque body as Crawly converts the name to memory. Aziraphale. Aziraphale. He smiles for the first time ever—and it feels… good, on his face. “I’ll see you around, angel.”
Aziraphale smiles back. “Mind how you go, Crawly.”
And Crawly gives a mighty flap of his wings and bursts into the air, flying away from the garden—from the first temptation of humanity, and from the angel guarding it.
Distantly, he wonders if he will see the angel again.
This doubt leaves him circling back, high in the sky, out of sight from the ground, searching with his own essence until he can feel that slight pinprick of heavenly sunlight far below.
He’ll linger here, he thinks—out of sight, out of mind, just until he gets orders… or until the angel gets orders…
And if the angel returns to Heaven, well, maybe he’ll go back to Hell.
He really should go back to Hell.
But hope is a funny thing, especially in a demon.
The angel—Aziraphale—doesn’t return to Heaven.
He wanders off from the Garden into the sandy dunes, walking the Earth.
And Crawly follows.
Chasing the sun.