Chapter Text
Over the many centuries he had been on earth, Aziraphale had made an effort to blend in with its inhabitants.
Indeed, he adapted humanities ever changing sense of style, their daily habits of ingesting food and drink, even if he didn’t need it, and he became absorbed in their cultures, their languages, and their art. He well seasoned by now in blending in, and as such, his more divine aspects fell to the wayside. He still performed miracles, yes, at least a few a day, and he was very privy to studying religious literature, but really, Aziraphale had not attended church since the early 20th century. He didn’t keep the crucifix over his doors, nor did he actively pray, and he didn’t participate in heavens ineffable plans unless he was directly demanded to by the head office.
He enjoyed his time away from it all, when he could read his books, drink wine, and observe the world around him. When he had a quiet day to himself, and when his demon companion was no where to be found, Aziraphale did tend to return to his roots.
It was a perfect morning for a bath; the sun shined through the tall windows of his bedroom, and Aziraphale had been looking forward to using the chamomile soap that he had purchased a few weeks prior. Whilst he collected his starched shirt and pants from his closet, he came across a small chest shackled with chains to veil the energy it emitted.
The locks may have been a bit overkill, but Aziraphale made very sure that a certain demon would not be able to stumble upon the chest without getting hurt.
He brushed his fingers along the lid, which unwound the many protective charms. Within the confines of the chest was a small, handwritten bible, and a glass vile of water. Sealed tight by a cork, the water within was blessed, and if fallen into demonic hands, was just enough to take out an entire legion from hell. An almost forbidden relic of his divinity, Aziraphale delicate removed the vial from the chest, and decided that it was long overdue for a cleansing.
He wasn’t a sinner, but occasionally it was nice to be bathed in Her goodness.
The bathroom began to fill with steam from the bath as it filled, and Aziraphale took the time to fold his nightclothes and set them aside as he undressed. Once the bath had been filled, he uncorked the vile, and dumped its contents into the water. Nothing remarkable happened right away, but in its naked presence, the angel’s tense shoulders dropped.
It was a hard job, trying to keep humanity from killing itself. Trying to stop hell from overturning the work of heaven. He deserved a private ritual for himself, a fresh start. Aziraphale tested the water with his hand. Almost instantly, golden light began to envelope his skin, making the ripples in the water glisten.
“Ah, that’ll do!” The angel said to himself.
He wasted no time in sinking beneath the water; the bathroom became awash in glittering gold, and Aziraphale felt his corporation melt against the feeling of it. There was no more pain between his shoulder blades, or in his neck, just the soft lights of the stars reflected back at him. He slipped underneath the water. Beneath the depths of the clawfoot tub, he heard a choirs of his brethren, singing of the birth of the universe, the spinning nebulas. He hadn’t been privy to that song in over 6000 years. Oh, the memories.
When he resurfaced and opened his eyes, he was met with a world sharpened by a thousand knives. Every color was brighter, ever straight edge cut by a knife. The view of his bathroom was suddenly new, crystalline, almost purified. His vision was perfect, his hearing could observe a conversation out on the street of Soho through the walls.
“I must simply do this more often.” He hums, resting his head back on the cold porcelain of the tub.
He takes his time in the bath, scrubbing his hair, although he doesn’t need it, washing his body with the nice smelling soap. The practice itself keeps him grounded, so to speak, reminds him about how humans need the very regular habits, or else they tend to come apart.
Reluctantly, after waiting almost an hour, rejoicing in the feeling of her blessings, Aziraphale pulls the drain, and reaches for his towel.