Chapter Text
Anathema was a curious woman, that much could not be denied. So much so that the idea of pestering a centuries-old being for information on historical topics seemed meniscal compared to the joy of just knowing. Aziraphale was quite excited about her injuries, his knowledge was just vast enough to fill Anathema’s curiosities. Her curiosity peaked, and his ego was stroked, a match made in heaven (or Hell if you asked Crowley).
And such began they’re weekly meetings to discuss history, books, magic, earth, romance, or whatever that decided to discuss over tea in Anathema’s Garden. The days were blissful and joyous, filled with laughter and fond memories.
Oftentimes someone else joined their discussion usually Crowley or Newt, sometimes Madam Tracy when she was invited (Oftentimes dragging Shadwell with her), and the Them sometimes liked to pop over to hear the fun ramblings (and play with Crowley, although none of them would admit to that).
This meeting was a little out of the ordinary, not that most followed the ordinary.
Aziraphale had invited her to come down to the bookshop, she’d expressed some interest in some of the books in his collection, and he was more than happy to show them off to her.
So here they were, browsing past the dust collecting shelves, his hand grazing the perfectly leather-bound books, Crowley trailing quietly behind the pair scrolling through something on his phone.
“I was wondering…” she began then caught herself before she stumbled with the request, “I mean it’s really just something me and Newt were thinking about the other day…”.
“Well spit it out then” Crowley hissed out, not even gazing up from his phone, Aziraphale glared at him then turned his attention back to Anathema.
“What was it that you are wondering, dear girl?” Aziraphale spoke softly.
She cringed a little, slightly regretting bringing it up, “Well we were just wondering, how many things mention you two?” Crowley perked up a little, “Or like you influenced? There’s got to be a couple at least?”.
Crowley looked up at her, “I actually know the answer to that one”. He then spun around and quickly rushed away.
Aziraphale smiled fondly, “He’s a sentimental demon” he explained once he caught sight of Anathema’s confusion, “He’s got a stash of things like that”.
Aziraphale carefully led them back towards the couches, hidden amongst the old bookshelves. Anathema made herself comfortable beside Aziraphale. She had learned the hard way not to sit on Crowley’s couch, as he’d kicked her off loudly the first time, she tried to sit down on it. She’d also learned that no matter how much he loved Aziraphale, he wouldn’t give up his couch to sit next to his boyfriend.
Crowley quickly found them, in his hands rested a rather large wooden chest. The wood was a dark stained wood containing a couple holes made by knots in the grains, around its edges was some sort of polished metal that shined brilliantly. Once he set it down on the coffee table she saw that on top of it was a strip of bright red duct tape with the words DON’T TOUCH sharpied on it.
Crowley’s slender fingers brushed off a thin layer of dust off the top, then slowly pushed it to open to the contents inside. Anathema peaked inside, vinyl records, CDs, Scrolls, Books, random papers, and other items sat inside. Aziraphale looked inside fondly, then motioned for her to take a closer look, so of course she did.
She stuck her hand inside and grabbed the first thing it brushed against; a black record just labeled GOOD OLD-FASHIONED LOVER BOY + BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY. Her mouth gapped open as Aziraphale snickered beside her.
“Got real drunk with him one time” Crowley grumbled as he snatched the record out of her hands, “Decided he’d never let me live it down”.
She looked up at him, “You knew Freddie Mercury?!”
Crowley laughed as he set the record down on the table, with incredible fondness and gentleness, “Of course, he was a fantastic man”. He gazed into the air, she couldn’t see his eyes through the glasses, so she could only guess that they contained the same fondness as his movements, “Knew the rest of the band, but wasn’t as close with the rest of them”.
As Crowley slumped down into his spot on his couch, she reached her hands back in grabbing a book, as she looked closer, she saw it was written by Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Aziraphale laughed fondly beside her, “I rather enjoyed the young man, such a nice gentleman”.
This continued through the hour. She’d pull out an item, and one of the beings would explain its significance. Oftentimes with a hearty laugh and short story. And she rather enjoyed learning about how many musicians Crowley’s known over the years.
Anathema laughed at a pervious joke cracked by Crowley whilst grabbing for the final item in the chest. Her hands wrapped around a soft papery tube. She quickly lifted it up to get a better look.
It was an old crackly paper scroll, glued on the ends were thin paper sticks, she knew it was old, she just didn’t know how old. While she unwrapped the scroll the two entities were dead silent, Aziraphale looked on curiously.
“I must admit I don’t remember what’s in this one” he said with a soft laugh. Anathema heard Crowley mumble something out beneath his breath.
The scroll was long, making it a good couple of feet. She could now clearly see the words written down on the old papyrus, or lack thereof. Upon the paper -that she could now safely say was papyrus- laid line upon line of hieroglyphics. And near the middle of the whole thing lay a painting.
The picture depicted two beings, the two beings. One sported long red hair, most definitely Crowley, the black garment it dawned with fitted with gold jewelry. The other figure, which she guessed was Aziraphale, was clad in a simple white tunic. A little odd, but not incredibly unusual. What was unusual however were the sets of wings each figure had. The left, Crowley, had a large pair of black broad wings, Aziraphale’s were like a white swan.
Anathema heard a sniffle beside her, Aziraphale had a few tears running down his cheeks, “Oh my dear, how long have you had this one?”. Aziraphale moved himself over to Crowley’s couch sitting beside the leather clad demon.
“Just for a while” Grumbled the demon as he awkwardly rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale ran a soft finger through the back of Crowley’s hair.
“What is it exactly?” Anathema asked as she sat back down on the other couch.
Aziraphale ran a hand through a few strands of Crowley’s short hair, “Well my dear girl, it’s an ancient scroll from me and Crowley’s time in Egypt”. He used his other hand to brush away the tears that had taken to staining his own cheeks. Crowley just sat silently, slightly embarrassed at his own sentimental nature.
“Is there a story behind it? Or is it just a scroll that you’ve got randomly?” Anathema looked at them with the same curious gaze that began their tea meetings.
“It’s a rather long story my dear, are you sure you want to hear it?” Aziraphale asked.
Anathema looked a little excited at the mention of a longer story, “As long as it’s a good one I’d love to hear about it!”.
Crowley grumbled something and curled up against Aziraphale’s side, “oh you’ve gotten him started now”.
Aziraphale laughed fondly and slipped an arm around Crowley, “Oh hush, you old serpent,”. He then stared at the air for a minute, lost in where to begin. “If I recall I was searching for Crowley at the time…”