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It was getting embarrassing, really.
It started with that very first sock Crowley had deliberately stolen in pursuit of some lighthearted mischief and then accidentally fell asleep in. The one Aziraphale absolutely refused to take back even after Crowley regained his human form and made it absolutely clear the item could be returned to the angel at any given moment.
A few months in and the sock was residing in Crowley’s bedroom for the occasions he felt like sleeping in his snake form. That Aziraphale kept cooing (cooing!) about. It would be bad enough if the whole thing stopped there but that was just a beginning.
The socks kept appearing in Crowley’s flat whenever Aziraphale visited. Honestly, who’d even accidentally forget a sock? When it comes to items of clothing, gloves were something a person could arguably forget. Scarf, possibly. But not a bloody sock!
And yet.
At first he had thought it was an accident. A baffling one, for sure, but an accident still. Aziraphale could do things that utterly baffled Crowley so it made sense. But that was just the first sock. An unassuming beige one, fresh from wash and unmistakably Aziraphale’s.
Then the next sock turned up. A tartan one. Which was when Crowley assumed the angel was simply being a bastard and needed to get it out of his system.
He kept both socks, just to make a point, of course.
Then the next sock was suddenly inexplicably there, on the sofa. A new one this time, if still infused with the unmistakable buzz of Aziraphale’s angelic energy. It had little snakes on it.
Crowley sat on the sofa for full ten minutes, holding the sock, wondering what he should make of it.
After five more socks with increasingly bizarre patterns, Crowley had to face a few philosophical questions, such as Why do ordinary items of clothing make me feel so mushy inside? and What is Aziraphale doing with all the right socks?
He was about to bring the socks up in a casual conversation with the angel when the socks suddenly stopped appearing. Aziraphale would still come over, go back home and there would be no inexplicable sock left behind. Crowley had no less than three existential crises about the fact.
There had to be some absolutely ominous explanation. And was it just him or was Aziraphale more nervous than usual? (Or at least the current usual - this was Aziraphale before bi-centennial performance review level of nervousness which was- disconcerting.)
The next time the angel came over, Crowley decided it was time to act. Just as Aziraphale was reaching into his coat pocket to fiddle with something nervously, the demon grabbed his hand in an attempt at reassurance. Which he didn’t exactly achieve but he did manage to get something caught on Aziraphale’s signet ring just as he was reaching into the pocket.
It was a sock. A hand made sock with some uneven stitches and so infused with love and safety it was practically glowing.
Crowley stared as Aziraphale blushed profusely.
“Oh, how silly of me, I have no idea how that got into my pocket. Really now, I should just-”
“Angel?” The demon finally managed. “Did you actually knit this?”
The blush grew deeper.
“I really don’t know what I’ve been thinking. It seemed like something to do at the time, I suppose, but I can see how that was utterly-”
“Did you actually knit the sock for me?”
“Really, my dear, no need to mock. I know it didn’t turn out exactly as I hoped it would.”
“Aziraphale, this is the absolutely best bloody sock I’ve ever seen. You can just bet I’ll be keeping it.”
“Only if you really like it. You don’t need to feel obliged to.”
“Pht. When was the last time I did anything just because of the sense of obligation? I’m keeping the sock, don’t even think about taking it back and I’m seriously contemplating only sleeping in snake form from now on.”