Chapter Text
It was a small café in Zagreb. Crowley had taken his glasses off for a moment to clean the fogged lenses while idly chatting about how they could reach Plitvice much faster if they flew - and expecting protests from Aziraphale - when they heard a gasp and the waiter almost dropping the empty tray.
The demon looked up and was met with the astonished hazel eyes of an older man, well into his sixties. The owner, most likely.
"Zmija!," he gasped, looking into Crowley's eyes.
"J-- Ja nisam," he quickly replied. I'm not.
Aziraphale frowned, racking his brain for long-lost knowledge. Zmija... zmija... Ah, there it was.
"'Snake'?"
"It is you," said the man in Croatian, "I would recognize those eyes anywhere."
Crowley quickly placed his glasses back onto his face and looked out the window and the moving crowds were background noise to the scenes replaying in his memory. Little heads on his shoulder, tiny hands grabbing his fingers and mud everywhere.
Aziraphale looked between the two of them with a frown, and the man switched to a broken English.
"I believed my whole life it was a dream. Doctors said it's imagination, story my mind create to cover trauma. Other children remembered Zmijske Oći too, but nobody believed."
"'Snake eyes'?"
"Yes! The legend of Zmija started among the survivors, and passed down generations."
Crowley's eyes darted around the busy early-morning traffic of tourists and locals rushing about in the summer heat. "Keep your voice low," he conceded in a rusty language laden with his English accent and trademark grumpy mumble. "Still not me, though."
It may be the same eyes he saw but it wasn't the same Crowley. Not with the weight of the years and similar experiences he dragged around in his mind while he plastered an ironic smirk on his face and hid everything else.
"Tell us about the legend," asked the angel. Crowley groaned. Hated being hailed as a hero, when all he ever did was barely enough just to wash the pain off his chest. The deluge would rust the cogs and it would hurt hurt hurt otherwise.
"In 1964 the Sava flooded and houses and families go underwater very fast. It was the middle of the night in Trešnjevka and Trnje. A man appeared from the waters and pulled children to safe place. Total 28 children," and he would always remember each one of them and their terrified, confused muddy faces.
"Long time later rumor spread of man with hair of fire and eyes of snake. I didn't understand for many days because it was very dark and I was scared, but I remembered like pictures in my mind, yellow eyes not human. Only 13 children remembered. Not enough for adults to believe, but enough to talk to everyone. Few people believed but many thinked it was interesting. One of the children made a book," and Crowley thought he'd bought every copy available and locked them away, but it seemed he hadn't, "it didn't sell a lot but it started the legend of a man who breathed in the water and saved kids of the flood."
There was a long pause. Crowley was still turned toward the window but his eyes were cast down, and he felt two sets of eyes boring into him.
Aziraphale smiled sadly at the man and said, "That's a very lovely legend, and I do believe you. But my friend wasn't born until 1971, so it couldn't have been him."
"But... the eyes."
"It's a genetic condition."
The man paused. He smiled sadly too, understanding and disbelieving.
"I see. That's okay. But," he turned to Crowley and waited for the demon to look back at him.
He finally did, and they stared at each other silently for long heartbeats. The man's face flickered between complicated emotions, his eyes brimming with tears. He saw every children of the many centuries in them, and they all said,
"We are very thankful," their voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for saving my life."
Crowley swallowed hard and nodded slightly in acknowledgement.
"Ask whatever you want, it's on the house. And there is a bus to Plitvička Jezera."
The man walked away and disappeared behind the counter, but Aziraphale barely noticed. He stared at him for much longer than it felt comfortable, smiling softly, beaming with pride and love.
"Shut it," the demon mumbled and the angel laughed.