Archive of Our Own

Being a snake was easy.

It was possible for Anthony to hold onto his full sense of self in that form, but it wasn’t necessary. Truthfully, it took a lot of effort to keep all of the same higher brain functions chugging along when he downsized himself. There was a reason he used to worry about not remembering how to change back.

But now… now he needed easy. Simple thoughts about simple needs. No more pain, just a want for a warm place to sleep. Maybe some days there was a nagging feeling of… something unpleasant. Guilt? Fear? Sadness? He never bothered to sort it out because it was easier to sink even deeper into the haze to escape it. On days like that, he couldn’t even understand what was being said at him. 

There were visitors. He recognized their scents and knew they were safe and kind and he was fond of them. Sometimes they spoke sweetly to him. Sometimes there was heat to their words. None of it concerned Anthony. He had his shop window and plenty to watch.

Often he was watched in return. People passing by outside frequently caught sight of him. Usually Anthony would preen under the attention, showing off his sinuous, agile movements as he drew closer to the glass. Unless they tapped on it, then he would disappear into one of the clever hidey-holes carved into his perch. If they were particularly annoying, he might also send a mildly inconvenient curse their way, but mostly he couldn’t be bothered.

It was raining the first time Anthony noticed the dark haired young man. He had his hands and face pressed against the glass and everything about him was soaked through. There was evidence he had been wearing eye makeup earlier in the day, but the weather had smeared it beyond all recognition.

Anthony slithered closer, stretching from branch to branch, showing off as he studied the human in return. Even through the barrier between them, he could feel the aching sadness that clung to him. There was the tang of current sorrows, but there was also the weight of lasting unhappiness.

Up close, he could see the teenager was shivering as he wiggled his fingers slowly at Anthony and smiled in a way that was both genuine and also failed to touch the dolefulness in his eyes.

Their gazes met and Anthony found himself focusing in a way that he hadn’t in quite some time. Without thinking too hard about why, he sent out a hint of demonic influence. It wouldn’t be understood as actual words, just the inkling of an idea.

Come inside.

A moment passed before the dark haired boy leaned back, glancing towards the front entrance. He turned back to the snake with a look of longing, then looked down the street in the direction he had originally been heading.

Come inside. It’s warm. You won’t regret it.

Maybe Anthony was laying it on a bit thick, but there was something about this human that pulled at him. He couldn't explain it, only knew it was important.

“Fuck it,” the youth muttered as his resolve crumbled and he jammed his hands in his pockets and stalked stiffly towards the storefront.

A quick miracle kept the bell from ringing as the door swung open and closed again and another raised the temperature inside by a few degrees.

The boy stalled in the entrance, glancing down at the water that was already dripping off him onto the floor, then around at the bookshelves. His resolve wavered.

You’re already here. It’s fine. Keep going.

After a quick peek around the rows of shelves that appeared to be deserted, he hunched his shoulders and hurried towards the large branch habitat.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered once he caught sight of Anthony again, though he kept a respectful distance between them.

Anthony shifted forward, flicking his tongue against the air and tasting loneliness and hints of despair. Absently he used another miracle to dry the worst of the wetness from his clothes.

You could talk to the snake. You’d feel better.

“What’s your name, then?” He asked, smiling slightly as Anthony tipped his head to one side in response to the words. “I’m Warlock.” He flexed his fingers at his sides and glanced around again, still nervous. “Wish I could be you. No parents. No expectations. Only have to worry about where your next meal is coming from, right?”

As he spoke, Anthony stretched himself forward into the empty space between them. He bobbed up and down as he reached the limits of weight he could support, looking for all the world like he was nodding along.

Warlock took a deep breath and held it as he reached out hesitantly, his fingers slowly closing the distance between them.

“What mischief are you up to? You haven’t been this active in–” Muriel’s voice faltered as she caught sight of the startled customer she had previously been unaware of.

“I’m sorry!” Warlock called out as he snatched his hand away and took two large steps backwards. “I… I’m not sure why I came in? I thought the snake might be friendly.”

“It’s alright,” she responded absently as she hurried forward. Then she reconsidered. “Is it alright?” she asked, looking at Anthony.

Anthony’s first instinct was to snap and growl and insist he could take care of himself; that he was perfectly capable of sending away a single human if he desired. But he was all too aware that something traumatic had happened recently and he had no memory of the event. Which could potentially mean he didn’t have a leg to stand on.  

I called him . He pushed the thought towards her with more clarity than what he had used when reaching out to Warlock.

Muriel’s eyes flashed wide in surprise.

Belatedly, Anthony realized he hadn’t been communicating at all as a snake and he might regret revealing that he had that ability. With a sigh, he flicked out his tongue and bobbed his head in Warlock's direction.

“Yes. Quite alright,” Muriel said brightly as she turned back to the human and really looked at him. It was a skill she had been working on. Anthony had a feeling that she was a natural. He knew she would feel the same dark emotions he had. “I just didn’t hear you come in,” she said softly as she gave him a genuine smile.

“I really like the snake. Is it yours?”

For some reason, the question seemed to alarm Muriel. “Well… we both live here at the shop, but I don't…” She floundered, glancing frantically back at Anthony. “He just belongs to himself mostly?”

“That’s a peculiar answer,” Warlock said with a small smile.

“Well… he’s a peculiar snake,” she offered, sounding apologetic.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Warlock coughed and shifted towards the door. “I should probably–” 

“Tea!” Muriel blurted, reaching towards him without actually making contact.

“Uh…” Warlock’s eyes swung to the exit and back again.

“Or I could make hot chocolate or coffee? I’ve been practicing.”

“Oh, um, no thank you?” Warlock took another step away.

“It’s just, I thought you might want to hold him?” By all appearances, Muriel was desperate to keep Warlock in the shop. She shot Anthony a frantic look like she just realized what she had offered to allow him to be manhandled without even asking, but she kept going anyway. “Only your hands are cold?”

Warlock’s eyes flicked to the door before turning back towards Anthony, obvious longing in his expression. “Do you have a sink? Maybe I can warm them up that way.”

The suggestion made Muriel beam with joy and she pointed towards the back room, pausing just long enough for Warlock to move out of earshot. “If you don’t want this to happen you should tell me,” she whispered at Anthony before she hurried towards the back of the shop.

“Is he dangerous?” Warlock asked curiously, once they had both returned. His hand was already well within striking distance.

Out of his line of sight, Muriel absently nodded her head yes, but out loud she said, “No?”

Warlock turned with a questioning look, though he didn’t pull back.

“The owner would never allow him on the shop floor if he wasn’t safe to be around,” she clarified, though her voice held a thoughtful quality that implied she had only just worked that line of reasoning out.

It appeared to mollify the boy, though, because he turned back and held his hand out in invitation. “What’s his name?” he murmured.

“Oh… um…” Muriel floundered, her eyes darted around searching for inspiration.

Crawley. Anthony supplied as he shifted his weight forward and slid into the offered palm. He twisted once loosely around Warlock’s wrist and paused while they both got a sense for each other.

“Crawley,” Muriel offered hesitantly.

Warlock was quiet for several seconds before he smiled. “Because of the store name.”

Despite Muriel’s best efforts, the human left a short while later. After encouraging Anthony to return to his branch and rewashing his hands, he hurried towards the exit. “I’m already running late, my father has a big important event thing tonight and he’s going to kill me. I have to go.”

“Your father?” Muriel asked, still trying to delay the inevitable.

“Thaddeus Dowling,” Warlock called as he reached the door. “He’s a diplomat. It’s dumb.” He slipped out in an obvious hurry, but he paused briefly outside Anthony’s window. 

Come back any time. You’re always welcome. Anthony sent the nebulous sentiment right into the heart of the boy and a smile bloomed across Warlock’s face before he turned and bolted down the crowded sidewalk.

“I have no idea what to do with you,” Muriel said as she walked up behind him.

There was a rare moment that Anthony missed his human form. The versatility of a shrug as a means of communication was really something he hadn’t appreciated until it was no longer available. He yawned in her direction instead.

“Alright. You don’t want to talk about you.” Muriel sighed heavily but seemed willing to let it go in favor of something else. “Why did you reach out to the human?”

It was a valid question. When Anthony considered it, there was a blending of tenses that he wasn’t sure he could untangle. Warlock… had been… is… would be… important? The harder he tried to sort it out, the less he could grasp the nature of why he felt that way. But trying to examine it made him realize that wasn’t actually the root of his motivation.

He needs help.

There was more to it than that. The boy thought he was alone, but he wasn’t. Or he shouldn’t have been? Exhaustion was creeping in on Anthony. After months of lethargy, his sudden surplus of complex thoughts and use of powers left him feeling drained.

Muriel locked up the shop and headed across the road, leaving him in peace, though he had no doubt she was relaying the afternoon's events to the other people who visited him regularly. That was alright. He might need to get them all involved if he was going to help the Warlock boy.

Two days later, Warlock returned. Muriel asked how the rest of the evening of his previous visit had gone. He confessed that, although he had been late, it had turned out alright. His father had been hit with a series of unlikely and unfortunate events that had caused him to arrive even later which had saved Warlock from another lecture about responsibilities and disappointment.

Over the course of the visit, Muriel managed to coax the boy into sharing more about himself. He had just turned 18 and his parents had all sorts of expectations for him to go to the college of their choosing and eventually for him to follow in his father’s political footsteps.

“They were going to name me Thaddeus, after him,” Warlock said, speaking to the snake slowly winding its way up his arm. Sometimes it was easier for him to say certain things to Crawley. “But then Harriet got mad at him for not being there for the birth and she picked Warlock instead. Wish that had been the last time they put me in the middle of their little wars.”

“Is there anyone you’re close with?” Muriel asked quietly.

Warlock shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. “I have friends here, but I’m pretty sure Thaddeus is about to be reassigned, which means I’m going to have to move with them somewhere else.” After a long pause, he continued. “I used to be close with some of our house staff. I had a nanny. And there was a gardener. They were both weird as hell. Whenever I tell anyone about them, nobody believes a word of it. But it felt like they actually… saw me, I guess?”

“Where are they now?”

“They both quit right before I turned eleven,” he replied gloomily. “I think they ran off together. There was always a tension between them that I didn’t really understand until I got older.” He appeared to be lost in thought as he stroked a finger down Anthony’s scales. “I hope they took off and got married. It’s nice to think they’re out there somewhere together, being happy.” 

The unspoken words being heavily implied were that Warlock himself had been left very much alone. Anthony ached for him, climbing the rest of the way up to his shoulder so that he could flick his tongue against Warlock’s cheek.

Several visits later Warlock admitted he wouldn’t be able to come back for much longer. In two month’s time, his parents were returning to the states and his meticulously prearranged adulthood would begin.

It was enough to make Anthony finally decide he was running out of time.

They had fallen into a bit of a routine. When Warlock arrived, Muriel would slip out to grab drinks from Nina while the teenager gathered up Anthony and made himself comfortable on the sofa. At the start of the very next visit, Anthony relocated himself to the flat upstairs as soon as he sensed Warlock cross the threshold and braced himself. It would have been a horrible time to discover he had actually lost the ability to turn himself human again. 

The transition took longer than usual, and he was a wobbling mess by the time it was done, trying to sort out how to maneuver with feet and hips and arms, but he was short on time, so he buckled down and headed towards the spiral staircase.

Warlock was anxiously surveying the branch habitat, murmuring softly as he looked for where Crawley might have tucked himself away. Anthony could tell he was trying not to panic over the absence.

“You must be Warlock.” His voice sounded like it had been roughed over with heavy grit sandpaper and Anthony coughed to try to clear it. “Muriel said you’ve been helping socialize Crawley.”

“I guess.” Warlock had gone stiff, watching warily as Anthony reached the ground floor.

“I’m Anthony,” he offered, keeping his distance. After a moment he realized he was gently swaying back and forth in a very snakelike fashion and forced himself to still.

The judgmental once over that Warlock gave him was full of the mistrust that teenagers were uniquely qualified to exhibit. Finally he filled the silence with a question. “Do you have a sister?”

Of all the things Anthony had anticipated, inquiries on familial relations hadn’t even occurred to him. He laughed, a short, sharp sound that cut off quickly, mostly fueled by how unexpected it was, but partially driven by the deeper understanding that being made and not born left him with very complicated family relationship dynamics. “‘fraid not,” he said with a grin. “One of a kind, I am.”

The bell over the shop door jangled harshly, undercut by an audible gasp and the sound of a drink carrier and its contents hitting the floor.

Anthony felt the miracle Muriel pulled down the fix the spilled drinks forming even as Warlock was already starting to turn towards the commotion and he stopped time with a groan.

The look of shock on Muriel’s face made it appear briefly like she had also been caught up in his miracle.

“He heard the drinks fall,” Anthony told her, trying very hard to keep the frustration out of his voice. It wasn’t her fault his sudden reappearance in human form had caught her completely off guard. “You’ll need to drop them again.”

Her expression was quickly shifting from stunned to distressed as she glanced down at the miraculously recovered carrier in her hand. With a grimace, she let it slip from her fingers again. Anthony felt the wisps of angelic power that kept the liquid from splashing against any of the nearby books, but nothing could be done to save the rug from being thoroughly soaked. Before he could direct her further, she was moving towards him, arms outstretched and a sheen of tears in her eyes.

Feelings were hard. Expressing them had never really been Anthony's forte, but he recognized how badly an angel like Muriel needed a safe place to be allowed to feel things. Despite his instinct to deflect, he held steady as she crashed into him and gave back what he hoped was adequate reciprocation.

“I’ve been so worried,” she said wetly into his chest.

“I know.” Guilt rose up, leaving him feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He leaned back so he could see her face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” There was a dark and angry undercurrent to her words. Her eyes darted to the side, frustration clearly written in the slant of her brows, as she withdrew from their embrace.

Which only made Anthony feel worse. Muriel very obviously blamed someone else for whatever had occurred. It was the sort of thing he would usually relish getting involved in. The desire to find a way to distract her or to bring about retribution against the offending party–depending on what the situation called for–was instantly smothered by the understanding that he couldn’t ever know the cause of the hurt he could see in her.

With a look of determination, she wiped at her eyes, squared her shoulders, and returned to her place just inside the front door.

“I missed you,” she told him before she gave a firm nod to indicate she was ready.

There was no good response. Anthony never stopped caring, but he had specifically cut himself off from the more intense emotions that were required to actively miss someone when he was a snake. Just one more thing to feel ashamed over.

With a quick nod, he set time flowing again.

There was an awkward pause where they all stared at the dark stain spreading across the rug.

“I forgot you were… back,” Muriel said stiffly. Mixed with the complex emotions still lingering on her face, it was going to be an uphill battle to convince Warlock she wasn’t afraid of her recently returned boss.

“No worries,” Anthony said in a soothing tone as he slipped into the backroom and miracled up several dark towels to use on the mess.

“I’ll go get new ones!” Muriel called as he headed towards her. “And I’ll get you something, too.” She was practically vibrating with excitement as she turned and bolted from the shop.

“That’s—” Anthony didn’t manage to get his refusal out before she was gone. “Not necessary,” he finished dejectedly despite knowing she wouldn’t hear it. Muriel would tell Nina he was back and Nina would tell Maggie. Somehow the fact that he would need to face them again hadn’t factored into his plans to interact with Warlock.

Switching his grimace into a more personable expression, Anthony nodded towards the couch Warlock had sat on during past visits. “You can go ahead and get comfortable, if you’d like. I’ll just get this cleaned up.”

Without waiting for an answer, he approached the mess, dropped a towel over the spilt liquid and pressed it down with his foot.

“Do you need help, Mr. Crowley?” Warlock asked like he resented having to offer but knew it would be expected of him.

“The only people who call me Crowley either don’t know me or are likely about to hurt me.” He smiled at his own joke before he turned his gaze towards the boy and realized that it hadn’t landed. “I prefer Anthony,” he said more seriously, then clarified, “bad associations with the last name.” He threw down another towel and offered a change of subject. “There’s a bin behind the counter if you could fetch it for me.”

By the time he had soaked up the worst of the spill and tucked the bin, overflowing with the original cups and coffee soaked towels, in the backroom to be dealt with later, Warlock was sprawled on one end of the couch, watching him carefully.

During previous visits, Muriel had always pulled up a different chair, opting not to sit in the one by the desk. Anthony made a point to do the same, making space for her before he dropped into his seat and turned his attention back towards the young man. Then he waited, curious to see what would develop.

Warlock looked like a seasoned veteran when it came to a battle of wills, but it seemed he had questions, so it wasn’t long before he spoke. “Where’s Crawley?”

“Took him home to my flat for a few days.” Anthony rubbed the back of his fingers against his cheek a few times, wondering idly if he still even had the flat considering he wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed. It was possible some poor sod had already had the misfortune to be forced to attempt to evict him.

“How much did Muriel tell you about me?” Warlock asked with a hint of defensiveness.

A slight rise of Anthony’s shoulder might have implied the start of a shrug, but was too nonchalant to be fully executed. “Mostly that you’re not particularly happy, currently. Which I could have figured out on my own during the short while that we’ve been acquainted.”

The boy's eyes narrowed. “Maybe I just don’t like you.”

“I get that a lot,” Anthony replied mildly, letting the hint of a smile convey he took no offense from the jab.

There was a flash of annoyance in Warlock's expression, but it was quickly smoothed into a suspiciously neutral expression as he changed the subject. “That’s an interesting tattoo. I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

“It’s part of the shop logo.” Anthony snagged a business card off his desk and held it up between two fingers. The familiar serpentine design that graced his face was embossed into the black surface of the card under the elegant silver script that read ‘Anthony J. Crowley Et Al.’.

Instead of focusing on the card, Warlock dropped his attention to the arm of the sofa, tracing a crease in the leather with one finger. “Pretty sure it was somewhere else,” he mumbled. 

Anthony offered a noncommittal hum as he flicked the card towards his desk without caring where on the surface it landed. He leaned heavily into one arm of the chair, and tossed one leg over the other.

The movement caught Warlock’s attention and he glanced up to study the man sitting across from him. His gaze was calculated as he took in the dark attire and the sunglasses, still present despite the dimness of the interior of the shop on a cloudy day. “What did you do before you owned a bookshop?”

This was more familiar ground. Anthony was used to people fishing for information. “This and that,” he offered vaguely. “Are you attempting to gauge how checkered my past is or just making small talk?” 

“It’s not important.” The response was said with the sort of quiet resignation that likely indicated it was actually very important.

The dismissal piqued Anthony’s curiosity, but he recognized pursuing it would do more harm than good at the moment. His intent was to determine if the boy needed or even wanted help so he was attempting to foster goodwill instead following his usual tendency to pry.

The chime of the bell over the door announced Muriel’s return. She beamed at them– the essence of sunshine and happiness–as she handed out the drinks and took her seat.

Months of a caffeine free existence weighed heavy and Anthony was already anticipating the biting jolt of bitter espresso as he tipped back the travel cup. The blend of surgery sweetness that hit his taste buds was an affront to his very existence. He inhaled sharply in shock and would have fully choked on the liquid if breathing had been necessary for his continued existence. As it was, he managed to get away with some indignant sputtering.

“Nina made it specially for you.” Muriel’s eyes were wide and her expression held a fair amount of guilt. “Sorry.”

It was a curious thing, realizing she had, at the very least, suspected the drink was not his regular order, but had opted not to warn him. There was a part of Anthony that wanted to be proud of her for it, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something there he should be worried about. “I suspect it’s her way of letting me know I should patronize her establishment more often if I want her to remember my order.”

The shift in the conversation seemed to decide something for Warlock because he spoke up suddenly, his voice full of nerves, his words tumbling over each other. “Are you going to bring Crawley back to the shop? I was hoping to see him again before we leave for the states.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Anthony set the offensive drink on his desk, as far away from himself as he could comfortably reach without shifting his sitting position. “Might do,” he said slowly. “Doesn’t really sound like you actually want to leave, though.”

Warlock stiffened, going tense while he decided how he wanted to respond. Hints of anger, frustration and annoyance all flashed across his face in quick succession, but when he finally spoke, his voice held only resignation. “Doesn’t matter, it’s not my decision to make.”

“Isn’t it?” Anthony asked softly, just above a whisper. The place where hope began was often quiet and gentle. He continued, at a normal volume, “You are an adult, legally. Have you thought about what you actually want, or just accepted that it was out of your hands?” This wasn’t a traditional temptation. There was no reason to put any demonic influence behind his words. Today, Anthony was simply asking questions.

“If you think I have any say in the matter, you’ve never met my father.” Outwardly, Warlock was curling in on himself, trying to protect his soft and vulnerable places, but his eyes were full of longing. “Or maybe you have,” he muttered, so hushed, it was obvious he assumed he wouldn’t be heard.

The words reached Anthony, but didn’t give him anything new to work with, so he focused on the first part. “I’m familiar with the type. Big man with an important title, money, power. On top of the world. No doubt he’s figured out exactly how he wants the next ten years of your life to play out.”

Warlock shrugged, defeated, as if admitting it out loud would have hurt too much.

“Following that preplanned route is a valid option.” As much as he disagreed with it personally, Anthony was well aware people had to be allowed the freedom to make their own choices. He wouldn’t take that away from Warlock. “No one would fault you for going along. The sort of life it can get you can be quite comfortable.”

The look Warlock gave Anthony was searching. The slant of his eyebrows and the desperation in his gaze was so intense that it cut right to the heart of him. It felt like coming to the edge of something Anthony wasn’t supposed to remember, but he didn’t sense the usual danger of an approaching memory. Only a fierce desire to protect this young man from a world that had given him too much privilege but not enough love.

Just as it all started to feel too heavy, Warlock glanced down, took a deep breath, and seemed to come to a decision. “I can’t remember the last time my parents were actually happy–not the fake happy they do for the cameras and the crowds–really, properly happy.” He nodded to himself, then made eye contact again. “I don’t want to end up like them.”

Whatever had just built up between them left Anthony feeling uncertain, but didn’t change the purpose of the conversation. “Sure,” he agreed. His voice sounded rough and he cleared his throat before he continued, “It’s still up to you to figure out what that looks like. Maybe it means sticking it out with them until you graduate university. Maybe it’s letting your Dad’s influence open doors for you just long enough for you to get established in a career. Maybe it starts now. But it’s your choice to make.”

Warlock shifted in his seat, uneasy as he considered the options. “If I tried to do my own thing, they would cut me off completely.”

“Sometimes, the freedom to make your own choices and decide what’s right for you comes at a price. You have to decide if what you could gain is worth more than what you’re risking to get it.” Anthony let his words hang between them. He tried hard not to think about his own choice to forget so much of his life. “Think about what you actually want. There are resources and people that can help you get back on your feet if you need it.”

Anthony shifted up out of this chair and leaned over the desk so he could reach one of the smaller drawers at the back. He retrieved a business card that was similar to the one he had shown before but this one contained only his name and personal cell number. Without looking at Warlock, he set it down on the arm of the sofa, where it could be reached easily, then collapsed back into his own chair, slouching down so he could comfortably put his feet up on the desk. Once he was settled, he made pointed eye contact. “Call if you need anything .” For the first time that day, Anthony put intention behind his words. If any trouble came from this, he wanted to be the first call Warlock would think to make.

After a long pause, Warlock shivered and glanced away, reaching for the card and running his fingers over the pattern of the raised snake. “My dad may come after you if he thinks you're helping me,” he said without making eye contact.

“I'd like to see him try.” Anthony made no effort to disguise the note of eagerness that crept into his voice.

Warlocked gave him another once-over, his expression clearly skeptical. The way he hunched his shoulders suggested he was also worried.

“Believe me, I’ve fought things far worse than your father.” Anthony flashed a confident grin that he knew showed off a few too many teeth. “If Thaddeus Dowling wants to tangle, he'll find I'm most definitely more than he can handle.”

It was clear from his expression how badly Warlock wanted to believe him. “He fights dirty.” There was a note of shame in his voice.

Anthony let a sliver of his demonic nature shine through. Physically, nothing changed, but Warlock sat up straighter and blinked rapidly several times. It was the ancient human instincts, screaming that danger was at hand, without providing any indication of what the actual threat might be. 

“It's so much more fun for me if he does.” Anthony smirked, imagining the sort of entertainment that could be had facing off with an American diplomat who foolishly believed he had the upper hand against a former demon. Then he tucked it all away again. The malevolence and the devilry faded and left the middle aged bookshop owner, dressed to impress, but currently looking a bit rough around the edges.

There was a weighted pause. Warlock seemed to be struggling to reconcile the unassuming man lounging across from him with whatever had spooked him so thoroughly. “Okay.” He spoke hesitantly, like he was still trying to convince himself.

“It’s not your job to protect me from the choices your father might make,” Anthony told him simply. “I appreciate your warning. Very honorable.” It did also imply that Thaddeus had a history of throwing his weight around to get his way, which was worth looking into. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I can help you. And I’m willing to, if you decide that’s what you want.”

For a moment, it looked like Warlock was about to break emotionally, then he took a deep breath, braced himself, and glared at Anthony instead. “Why do you even care?” Despite his heated gaze, he sounded plaintive.

It wasn’t enough to say he had a feeling; that something about the loneliness he sensed in the boy called out to him. Anthony couldn’t really explain the sense of familiarity that drew him to reach out in the first place had only grown stronger the more they interacted. “Because I can,” he said, knowing it was woefully inadequate. “I have empathy for your situation and I am uniquely qualified to help. Though I suspect that’s not answer enough to assuage your concerns, so I’ll add that once upon a time, I was forced to choose between following someone else’s great plan, or doing my own thing.” He stopped, debating whether or not he should continue. It wasn’t something he talked about. Ever. Yet he found himself speaking anyway. “I chose the latter and had a little fall from grace, but it was better than twisting myself into some version of me that never fit quite right.”

“I’ll… think about it.” The disappointment was almost painfully obvious. Warlock had been hoping to hear something specific that clearly had not been said. “I should probably go.”

Anthony nodded, accepting he had done all he could. It was up to Warlock to decide what his future would look like. He watched as Muriel walked the young man to the door and tried not to feel too dejected. For a few minutes, they spoke quietly to each other. 

Anthony felt some of the tightness ease in his chest as he sensed Muriel put a blessing of protection on the boy. With a sigh, he regained his feet and sauntered towards the front, arriving just as the door closed on Warlock’s exit. 

Muriel turned to survey the coffee stain she had inadvertently left on the rug.

“It’s fine,” Anthony told her, bumping his shoulder lightly against hers.

“It’s stained,” she countered, starting to pull down a miracle to fix it.

Anthony reached out and caught her wrist lightly, hoping to avoid giving the impression his goal was to actually restrain her. “It’s evidence of life being lived,” he said gently before he let her go. “Proof that you were here.” He wasn’t sure he even understood how important it had suddenly become in his own mind that some evidence of Muriel was left behind when the time came and she decided to return to Heaven. At the same time, he knew he wasn’t desperate enough to beg her for it. 

“It was a mistake.” The way she said it made it sound like something to be ashamed of.

“It was an accident. Those aren’t the same thing.” Moments like these really made him angry about her treatment in Heaven all over again. Still, allowing her to make her own choices was more important than whatever issues he was currently struggling with. “You can clean it if it makes you uncomfortable, but I like it. Adds character.”

Muriel’s face was screwed up in thought long enough that Anthony started to walk away, intending to leave her to it. Before he managed more than a step, she turned to him with more focused intensity than he was used to.

“Was that a temptation?” She asked with a stern sort of curiosity.

Ah. It was a reasonable concern. There hadn’t been much cause for him to use his wiles in her presence, at least as far as he could remember. “It was not,” he told her simply. “Just because I feel like I know what the right answer is doesn’t give me the prerogative to make the choice for him.”

“You did something though,” Muriel prompted, “it felt… almost benevolent.”

It was the sort of thing he never would have copped to when he was still under Hell’s purview, but he had decided to put his trust in Muriel, so he answered honestly. “It was only a precaution.” It also would have been dangerous to admit if he wasn’t retired. “If he ends up in trouble, he’ll remember my offer of help and my number, even if he doesn’t have the card.”

“You don’t think he’s going to come back on his own?” Muriel glanced out the windows in the direction Warlock had walked when he left.

Anthony tried not to feel any sort of way about how easily she had sussed out his feelings on the matter. “There was something he was hoping to get out of that conversation and he left disappointed. If I had more time, maybe…” The thought of following Warlock to America made him think of abandoning the bookshop. Mentally, he flinched away from the idea. It took all of his willpower not to turn into a snake to escape the howling desolation suddenly threatening to overwhelm him.

A gentle touch on his arm and the look of concern on Muriel’s face grounded him. Anthony nodded his thanks as she pulled back from the brink of a very strong emotion.

He sighed heavily and finished his explanation. “I didn’t find the words he needed. Sometimes all you can do is wait and see.”

“I think he’ll be back.” Muriel gave him a reassuring smile. It held for several seconds before it devolved into a more anxious expression. Her gaze flitted away from his face anxiously, a sure sign there was something bigger on her mind. 

Anthony jammed his hands in his pockets and leaned back, waiting her out.

Finally, she drummed up the courage. “Earlier, you were talking about your Fall, weren’t you?”

That was the problem with spending so long as a snake. Usually he was better at keeping track of all the moving pieces in any given situation, but he hadn’t been considering what Muriel might take away from the conversation he had catered to Warlock while it was happening. “Just trying to help a kid out,” he muttered, hoping to deflect. If he could keep the focus on the boy, maybe they could avoid talking about his past. “Ultimately, the Dowlings will be happiest if they can find a middle ground where Warlock has input on the trajectory of his life and his parents are willing to support him through it.”

“Not like what happened…” Muriel gestured vaguely upward with a nervous sweep of her hand.

“No,” he admitted, reluctantly. “But what we had back then was hardly a family dynamic, healthy or otherwise.” It was hard to know how much exposure an angel of her rank might have had to the actual war and the punishment that followed. “Besides, the whole Fall business had a very specific and intended purpose in the grand scheme of things.”

Something dark shifted across Muriel’s expression, too quickly to be parsed. “Would you do anything differently?” Her voice was quiet, but there was weight to the question. “If you were given the chance?”

Anthony was no stranger to dangerous questions. He might even have invented the concept. Everything in him wanted to tell her to step back from this particular ledge. “Not entirely sure how to answer that,” he said weakly, “considering I’m missing huge chunks of my memory.”

Muriel’s discontent at his non-answer was obvious. Something about her countenance seemed to dim.

Thankfully, Anthony had never intended to stop his response there. It wasn’t in him to leave honest questions unanswered, even the painful ones. Especially the painful ones. “I don’t think Heaven was ever an option for me,” he began slowly, “by design. I ask too many questions, I pull on threads, I stir the pot. Too much curiosity in my core components. I was always going to be the fly in the anointing oil, so to speak.” At some point he had glanced away, worried about his words might land, especially with someone still under heavenly influence. He flicked his gaze back, bracing for some kind of negative response. The sorrow in Muriel’s expression caught him completely off guard.

“You think you were made to Fall?” Her hands fluttered at her side like she was fighting back the urge to reach out towards him.

Anthonly huffed out a breath, trying to get some distance from the emotions that were getting stirred up. “Hard to say. It’s all–” the word ineffable caught in his throat and he swallowed hard, rubbing a fist against a sudden ache in his chest as he tried again, “–unknowable, right?”

Unfortunately, Muriel kept looking at him like he was an orphaned puppy that had just been kicked.

“It’s ancient history, anyway. I’ve done alright for myself.” Anthony bent down so their faces were on the same level and smiled encouragingly at her. “No use worrying about what could have been.”

“It’s just… you’ve never felt very evil, to me,” she said, almost apologetically.

“Bite your tongue!” Anthony laughed with no real heat behind his words. Then he thought about the possible repercussions around her line of thinking and turned serious. “You should know, I’m not blameless. I was an agent of Hell, and that comes with expectations. Job requirements. I bent the rules where I could, but I also did what I needed to survive.”

Something about the way Muriel smiled at him, her eyes narrowed every so slightly, was almost charming, even as it telegraphed she had decided not to believe him.

For some reason Anthony couldn’t see, or maybe just didn’t remember, she had decided there was something good in him. “Don’t put me up on any pedestals, Muriel,” he warned, but he could hear how weary he sounded. “If you only believe in some artificially sanitized version of who I am, that leaves room for someone to use the truth to hurt us both.” He let the words sink in before he continued. “And, I don’t want you thinking the way I am currently is a likely starting point for any demons you might meet in the future.”

There was a sort of stubborn set to Muriel’s face and she looked nearly ready to stamp a foot over the turn of conversation. “I’ve met other demons…” Her thoughts seemed to catch up with her words and she visibly winced. “In the past, at a place.” The sudden falter was a clear sign whatever she was referring to was something he had needed to forget.

Briefly, Anthony considered asking if she remembered any names, but decided he was probably better not knowing.

“They weren't like you,” she continued with her eyes downcast after an awkward pause. “I wouldn’t have trusted them.”

“Why do you trust me?” It was something he had been wondering about for a while now. At face value, it didn’t make much sense, but he couldn’t remember their first meeting so he couldn’t be sure. “I mean… I know it’s…” he touched his head and shrugged. “Complicated.”

She considered her answer long enough that Anthony was about to wave her off and say they could forget it.

“Love,” she finally offered.

“ Love? ” he nearly choked on the word.

“In all my time in Heaven, I had never met anyone who loved so openly. I could sense it all around you,” she said, sounding wistful. “I might not have noticed, but it’s what I was sent to Earth to verify, so I was sort of… attuned to it.”

It was a horrifying thing to realize an angel could so easily ascertain his deepest failing as a demon. It was no wonder she was never afraid of him.

“You care so much.” She was smiling at him again, all happiness and light. “How could that be bad?”

There wasn’t a response to her explanation that Anthony was quite ready to face yet. “Yeah, well…” he muttered, still feeling a bit off kilter. “Maybe keep that to yourself.” 

A moment of uncertainty hung in the air between them, and then Muriel was chasing it away with another easy grin as she bounced up onto her toes. “I’m supposed to take you over to the coffeeshop,” she said, digging her phone out and showing off a series of messages in the group chat that included a lot of capital letters and exclamation points.

Anthony tipped his head back and let out a long groan.

Muriel patted his arm with a friendly sort of awkwardness as she passed him on the way to the door. “They were also worried.”

“I know,” he grumbled, turning to follow her. It was better to just get it over with.

“Maybe Nina making you the wrong coffee was meant to be a conversation starter,” Muriel said thoughtfully as she flipped the shop sign to closed.

“How kind,” he responded dryly as he stepped out of the bookshop, snapped his fingers to lock it up, and tossed one arm easily across Muriel’s shoulders.

Elsewhere…

Aziraphale had been in a meeting when he felt time stop around him. Every other angel present froze in place, even Metatron, which was almost a relief.

He flexed his hands, and let the ache of the scars he had gotten from handling Anthony’s memories ground him. He focused on his breathing and tried desperately to remind himself that everything was okay. Time being stopped meant Anthony was still alive. It meant he was using his powers. He could handle whatever was happening to him. Probably. Hopefully.

Aziraphale had promised to leave Anthony alone, and he was. It just didn’t stop him from being terrified of losing even more than he already had.

When the meeting resumed, a blessedly short while later, Aziraphale watched the faces of the other angels to see if any of them registered the anomaly, but they gave no outward signs. He forced himself to sit through the remainder of the discussion, but hurried from the room the moment he thought he thought he could reasonably get away with it.

With a quick thought, he located Anthony on Earth, feeling some sense of relief when he found him at the bookshop. Despite everything that had happened, many of its layers of protection remained intact. There was still a considerable amount of safety to be found within it.

As Aziraphale stepped into the elevator, he was at war with himself, attempting to justify that he was still respecting Anthony’s choice and his own promise to keep his distance. Aziraphale was only returning to check he was safe. The justification was weak, but he wouldn’t have been able to function if he didn’t confirm it.

It only took a whisper of his power to make sure he could move unnoticed. He took up a spot in the corner of The Dirty Donkey with a clear view of the bookshop. There was movement behind the windows near the door, but it was still too light outside for the shop's dark interior to be clearly visible. 

Anthony and Muriel were both inside. Aziraphale could sense them as he scanned his surroundings, taking comfort in the familiar feeling of their essences. There was no one else of note nearby, which meant there was likely no danger present, if there had ever been. Crowley occasionally stopped time on a lark; it was possible Anthony might as well.

Aziraphale suspected allowing himself to start picking apart the similarities and differences in the two personas was an easy way to drive himself mad. The best course of action would be to leave now. He had the information he needed to put his mind at ease. And yet, he lingered.

It was the wrong choice. As soon as Anthony stepped out of the bookshop, Aziraphale knew it was a mistake. The former demon looked… lovely, because he had always been enchanting, but he also looked weary and worn down, as if he were only a shadow of his former self. A stranger passing on the street probably wouldn’t have noticed the change at all, but Aziraphale had studied that face for millennia. 

It was a wonder there were so very many ways to ache for someone. Aziraphale had thought he knew them all, yet he kept falling headlong into new, torturous ways to be hurt.

He watched as Anthony snapped his fingers and slung his right arm across Muriel’s shoulders before they ambled towards the coffee shop. Their easy sort of comradery was another reminder of what Aziraphale had never been able to allow himself to have. 

He didn’t bother wiping away the tears that fell on his cheeks. No one was paying him any attention anyway.