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Hungry, the way the stranger was looking at him.
Aziraphale tightened the cloak around himself. His wings, on another plane of existence and yet still too loud, ruffled behind him.
He needed to get out of here. He needed to go back, back to Crowley, back to-
The stranger smiled at him, the white of her teeth stark against the darkness around them. The smile too warm, too bright for the reality around them.
Her hair was red. It had been why Aziraphale had approached her, stupid, hopeful thing that he was. The flood of relief too stark in his bloodstream to let him focus on any other details before he had taken that first step.
"Can I help you, angel?" she asked, taking a step closer, a finger already running over the edges of Aziraphale's cloak. She smelled like him, an apple orchard. But one on fire, the fruit laid rotten and burnt on the ground.
The angel danced out of reach. He would need to burn that cloak, before he got back. The realisation curled around his throat, made him choke. He was being ridiculous, he had plenty of clothes.
It had been a gift, the cloak.
"I belong to someone," Aziraphale blurted out, when the stranger reached out again. Curled her fingers around the lapels of his cloak, tugged him closer.
The smile only widened. "Well, silly of them to let you roam around, all on your own. Anything can-"
"A demon," Aziraphale hissed. Tugged at the collar around his throat, a dark leather thing that fit around him so snuggly. Tried not to show the thrill of satisfaction that danced down his spine as the stranger flinched. Her fingers curled into fists, nails long and claw-sharp but not as dangerous, digging into her own skin.
She turned away. She left.
She wasn't going to help him.
This stranger also smiled at him.
It was a timid smile, fearful around the edges. Their teeth hidden. Aziraphale trusted them immediately.
And then he got closer, felt their own shimmer behind their body. Fainter than his was, the existence of wings almost completely concealed. Undetectable, if Aziraphale hadn't known what to look for.
"You shouldn't be here," they said, wide eyes turning to stare behind him. "It's not safe for someone like you."
Aziraphale nodded. He hadn't meant to leave.
He hadn't left. He had been taken. He could only hope Crowley would know that.
His mind flashed to their last conversation. Their harsh voices, the accusations, both of them spewing words they didn't mean, born out of fear. It would be so easy for Crowley to believe he had just left.
Like he had threatened to do.
Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath, the corners of his eyes stinging. The stranger's gaze snapped to his face, then drifted lower, lingered on his collar.
"Will they look for you?" they asked, voice carefully neutral. They were an angel, they knew what the collar meant.
Except they didn't, not really. Not his collar.
Aziraphale nodded. The stranger might have been an angel, but that hardly meant anything anymore. Not in the dark of the world around them.
The other angel hesitated. Aziraphale could see the pity in their gaze. Could feel their instinct for self-preservation, the only reason they had survived so long, he was sure, fighting with the need to help one of their own. If he needed to breathe, Aziraphale would have felt his lungs shiver in anticipation. As it was, it was his body, pulsing in time with the anxiety in his veins.
Finally, the other angel nodded. Turned their head, the tarnished gold of their halo shimmering ever so slightly and Aziraphale realised. They were going to help him.
Their name was Muriel. They had been on the run for a few centuries, after they had escaped their own demon.
They knew someone who could remove his collar.
"It's not like that," he tried to tell them and it only earned him pity.
"The collar has a way of messing with your head," they explained patiently, as if talking to a child. As if he didn't know, hadn't spent the last millennium-
Aziraphale tugged at the collar again, felt the snake skin dig into the column of his throat. A comforting weight, a reminder he would make it home again.
"Does it hurt?" Muriel asked, gaze so carefully not fastened on the mark of ownership he wore.
It was hard to tell how long Aziraphale had been away, out here, in perpetual darkness. A few days perhaps? Even longer? The pain would be almost unbearable now, to a creature claimed by the collar. Lungs shivering empty, unable to accept anything but air, tinged by the scent of their owner. Body cold and numb, the frost leaching into the skin, further and further until it reached something vital.
That was how it started. It always ended in the same way.
Aziraphale had to hurry.
Seeing the panic in his eyes, and surely misconstruing the reason for it, the other angel rested a hand on his shoulder.
"It won't happen to you," they whispered, a vow which Aziraphale appreciated, but did not believe a word of. "You can escape. You can live freely."
There was urgency in their voice.
"We just need to remove the collar."
And that was the problem, wasn't it? Aziraphale didn't think removing the collar was an option.
"Are they powerful?" Muriel asked, while passing over some berries. They didn't have to eat, neither of them did, but it helped. "Your demon?"
Something warm spilled down Aziraphale's throat, filled his ribcage. His demon.
He was, wasn't he? The situation wouldn't be quite as dire if he wasn't.
Their fight flashed before his eyes again. Crowley demanding, begging really, that they leave. Make a life for themselves, somewhere else, somewhere safe. Vowing he would take care of Aziraphale, that he would never let anything happen to him. One arm outstretched, seeking the warmth of the angel before him.
Aziraphale moving away, rejecting the demon with both his words and his actions.
He nodded, the burn of the memory unbearable. "Not as powerful as he would like everyone to think."
His words made Muriel chuckle, a surprisingly light sound, considering their usually stoic demeanor. And for a moment, Aziraphale let himself imagine it. Another world, another life. The smile dancing on the edges of the angel's lips freely, their eyes wide with mirth and not the fear of existence.
"How did you escape him?" they asked. They were still avoiding looking at his collar, which only made Aziraphale tug at it anxiously.
His fingers curled around the hidden clasp. The lies, lies that he had grown so used to uttering, pressing at the seam of his mouth. And yet-
"I didn't," Aziraphale said, letting go of his collar, to rest his hands in his lap instead. "We had a fight, I- I said some things that I shouldn't have. The way he looked at me, I couldn't bear it. So I left, just for a minute, just to clear my head and-"
"You got attacked by demons," Muriel noted with a grimace. It wasn't a question.
Everyone knew what happened to unclaimed angels on this side of the world. The collar should have been a deterrent, should have ensured Aziraphale's safety. And it had, many times. Just not that one.
He nodded. His hands were shaking and he clenched them into fists. But it wasn't fear that made crimson flash through his veins.
Angels were made warriors, soldiers. The collar, an actual mark of demonic ownership, it dulled their strength, made them vulnerable. Permanently. But without one? It had been easy for Aziraphale to fight the demons off, to tear them apart. But not before they had dragged him further into their realm.
Away from Crowley.
Muriel nodded, not privy to any of this. They didn't ask any more questions.
"She is just up ahead," the other angel said, careful eyes trained on Aziraphale's face. "She can help us."
It had been a week now, he had been counting. The tremors would be full-body shivers, the warmth seeping out of every pore of the marked creature's corporation. Pale and bloodless, every movement torturous, every breath - poison.
'Please,' Aziraphale prayed, to a God who had abandoned them all so very long ago. 'Let him be okay. Stop him from being stupid.'
But it was useless, wasn't it. It was Crowley. Reckless, lovely demon that he was.
"Who is she?" he asked, making sure to follow in Muriel's steps. They were deep into the demons' realm now, the earth shifting underneath them, eager and hungry. One wrong step, they had warned him.
"A witch, like her mother and her grandmother before her. Ever since the Great War, she has helped angels escape." Muriel gazed at him. They knew something was wrong, Aziraphale could tell. But they also, foolishly, believed that angels did not lie. "She will remove your collar and you will be free."
Their words made Aziraphale's steps falter. Surely, one look and the witch would know, would discover the ruse they had gotten away with for centuries. Maybe, then, she would help him find his way back home. Aziraphale's fingers crept up, wrapped around the warm weight around his throat. He should tell Muriel, shouldn't he? They had been so helpful, generous with what little they had, they deserved to know-
Perhaps noting his hesitation, but unable to fathom the reason behind it, Muriel also stopped.
"I know how you feel." Their smile had a drop of regret and an ocean of bravery. "Your demon, you fear you won't be able to exist without him, like you will die if his mark is removed. It's a demonic miracle, it's not real."
Aziraphale shook his head. Tugged at the invisible clasp. It wasn't like that.
He loved Crowley, couldn't remember a time when he hadn't. Even before, before the Great War, before demons had killed every angel they could find, enslaved the rest.
Muriel's smile twitched.
"You will see. And when you feel better, we can go somewhere. A place for us both."
But Aziraphale wasn't listening anymore. The snake around his throat had tightened, had pulsed. Warm, almost burning, and he gasped. Crowley.
His Grace was weak, millennia of disuse and the War before that having depleted it. It didn't matter. His demon was here, somewhere, and he needed to find him. It took no more than a minute for him to pinpoint the demon's location, his body so used to his presence, so eager to wrap around him that nothing would have stopped him.
He found him by a stream, kneeling on the ground. His coat billowing around him, blood red, and for a moment Aziraphale wondered about that, Hell knew his darling demon only had one colour in his wardrobe, before realisation struck the base of his spine. Almost made him topple down too.
Crowley's head snapped up. Goodness, but he was pale. And so very thin, his features, always so angular, now razor-sharp.
"Darling," Aziraphale couldn't help but gasp, the storm in his soul quieting for a moment, relief so palpable he could taste it, an almost sourness on his tongue.
"Angel."
Crowley struggled up, almost managed before he was sliding onto his knees again. He was shaking, every part of him, even the ones invisible to anyone but Aziraphale.
It didn't matter. The moment Airaphale reached him, he was falling onto his knees too, gathering his darling demon into his hands, dragging him closer until he was nestled into each curve of the angel's body. Hands, always too thin, but almost skeletal now, wrapped around the edges of his cape. Rubbed where she had touched, before giving up. Reached further into Aziraphale's warmth, instead.
"Thought I lost you," Crowley whispered into the curve of his shoulder. His nose was freezing as it pressed into Aziraphale's neck. "Thought you had gone."
"Never, my love. I would never."
It was a vow they had exchanged often and yet, never without feeling. Never as a cursory thing, taken for granted. Aziraphale's fingers burrowed in red locks, not as fiery as he remembered them, and the thought was like an iron prod into his heart. He had done this. It was all his fault.
Sensing the turmoil in his heart, and when hadn't he, Crowley hurried to shake his head, his breath, a ghostly shivery thing sliding over Aziraphale's skin.
"Not your fault," the demon whispered into their embrace. "Shouldn't have asked you to run away, shouldn't have pushed. I know how you feel. I would never-"
Aziraphale shushed him, with both his words and his lips. And when that wasn't enough, when Crowley continued to mutter apologies and vows, he dragged him closer, nestled him into himself until the edges of their corporations would be too blurred for anyone but God Herself to separate them again.
Movement, in the corner of his eye, and Aziraphale tipped his head back, careful not to jostle the bundle of love in his hands.
Almost hidden from view, in between vicious, hungry trees, Murial smiled at him. It wasn't a pretty smile, not the concealed radiance that Aziraphale had almost gotten used to, in the short amount of time they had known each other. It was an apology and it was a goodbye, but mostly, mostly it was pity.
"Wait," he called out to them. "Please."
The other angel hesitated, one hand resting on the satchel where, Aziraphale knew, the tools for their survival hid. He didn't think they would hurt Crowley, not without cause and yet... Wasn't the fact that the creature in his arms was a demon cause enough?
Crowley raised his head, turned to follow his gaze. He wasn't shaking anymore, colour dusting his cheeks and his mouth, each place Aziraphale had kissed. But it was clear enough. What had almost happened.
Muriel's gasp was deafening enough to make them both flinch. Their eyes danced, between the collar fastened around Aziraphale's throat, and the pendant resting above the demon's heart. The snake on them both, Crowley's mark of ownership, identical but for one small detail.
Its eyes, glowing against the demon's skin, sapping his own life energy.
"How is that even-" Muriel murmured, almost to themself, as they stepped forward.
Crowley's hiss made them freeze, "Ssstop."
Still a demon, even if one half-dead from being too far away from the one that called him his own, for too long. Crowley seemed to realise it, at the same time Aziraphale did, and he shook his head. Let his body slide down even further until there was no way anyone would think he posed any danger.
"Careful of that plant, just next to you," Crowley said slowly, voice even and sibilant-free. It made Aziraphale's heart ache with the endless stream of love he felt for the demon. Made him wish he could drag him home and cage him in his arms until not a trace of his pain remained.
Muriel looked down, their eyes widening as they landed on what would have quickly ended their existence, had they made the grave mistake of approaching it.
"You are a demon?" they asked, when they finally made their way to Aziraphale and Crowley. Both of them having used the time to put themselves to rights, no longer so tightly wrapped around each other.
Well, apart from their hands, twisted together, fingers pressed close, warm and tight.
"Last I checked."
Crowley smiled, a crooked little thing that made one of his fangs catch the dim light. Must be feeling better, Aziraphale thought, if he was back to his smug self. The realisation, a lovely warmth against the edges of his corporation.
Muriel, at least, didn't seem to mind. They nodded towards the pendant around his neck, the snake's eyes now dim and lifeless. "But you are marked. A demon can't-"
A roll of perfect golden eyes. A sigh falling from lovely lips. Aziraphale tightened his hold around the demon's hand in warning. Judging by the mocking quality of Crowley's voice, he wasn't sure he had quite succeeded.
"Pretty dangerous for an angel to be walking around unmarked. Surely, you are aware of that."
Muriel scoffed.
"I knew that." They sounded insulted at the idea they hadn't noticed how horrible it was for angels after the Great War and even Crowley looked somewhat shame-faced at having suggested it. "But you are the demon. You are not supposed to wear that."
Aziraphale guessed it was as good a time as any to finally put a stop to this. "Muriel, my dear-"
Crowley was faster.
"You think I would ever let him go through that?" the demon hissed, one eyebrow arching over his fully golden eyes now. "That I would sit around while something messed with his head, made him feel like he'd die without me?"
Aziraphale tipped closer, nuzzling into those familiar scarlet locks. "I would die without you."
His demon groaned, but even that wasn't enough to stop the corners of his lips from twitching up. "Not the point, angel."
Still, when he turned to Muriel, his tone was softer, irritation, both performative and inherent to the prickly thing that he was, muted. "Works like any other bond. Helps him find his way to me. Protects him."
Muriel hesitated. It seemed, for the first time they had approached Crowley, they were finally looking at him. Taking in his shivering form, the pale skin, the life slowly seeping back into his eyes but exposing all of the cracks underneath the surface.
When they spoke, their voice held the same urgency it had done for Aziraphale. "You could have died."
Aziraphale, too, had a problem with that particular revelation. His grip tightened around the demon's hand.
"Why did you not remove it?"
Their collars had never been enchanted to stay fastened forever. Nothing more than theater when they needed it, when Aziraphale's safety was more important than the slight dip in demonic power Crowley might suffer. The fact that they would never be away from each other long enough to suffer any of the more serious consequences, a truth they had both believed in. And yet-
Crowley shrugged, so very careful not to meet either angel's eyes.
"Would have severed the connection. Wouldn't have been able to find you."
His voice did shake with the words, but, Aziraphale was horrified to realise, not out of fear for his own safety. Here his lovely demon was, on the very brink of suffering the most horrific death imaginable for one of their kind. Of slowly withering away while something, designed to protect and help him devoured his energy. And the worst thing that he could think of was, what? That Aziraphale might remain lost for a tad longer.
And Aziraphale loved him, adored him beyond words, beyond anything She had ever created. But the urge to strangle him was suddenly overwhelming.
"You will never risk your life again," he growled, his wings fluttering behind him. His halo, polished gold and as bright as a supernova, blinking into existence for the one moment he was unable to control it. "Promise me."
Crowley, his lovely, infuriating, darling demon, simply scoffed. Trust him to answer the raw, kinetic power of an unmarked angel with petulant indifference. But he did also lean to the side, shoulder brushing against Aziraphale and- That was the best Aziraphale could hope for, wasn't it? At least, when it came to Crowley promising to value his life over the well-being of his angel.
He shifted so Crowley could tip into him fully, a sharp shoulder digging into Aziraphale's chest, the demon's warmth faint but familiar. An arm curled around his waist, holding him, keeping him close. There was nothing to say. That was a lie. There were so many words, bound and mute between them. Promises and apologies and vows, each one soaked in the same desperate reverence that was choking them both.
But not now. Not deep into demons' territory, Crowley far too weak from what had almost happened.
Muriel was the first one to talk. Surprisingly, it was Crowley, that their eyes drifted to, voice soft.
"I am glad that you found him. I hope your trip home is uneventful."
A goodbye and a blessing, and the angel was smiling at them both, making to turn around and Aziraphale- Aziraphale hesitated.
That had been the reason for their fight, after all. One of them making decisions for them both, certain that it was for the best. How could he do the same now?
But Muriel was leaving, a small nod in their direction, and they didn't have time to discuss it.
The bundle in his arms twitched. Crowley was looking at him, had been looking at him for who knows how long. Always so in tune with his angel's desires, he had probably figured it out even before Aziraphale had thought to ask. So he didn't have to. Crowley nodded, before jerking his chin towards the departing angel.
"Muriel, my dear," Aziraphale called after them. A dangerous thing to do, surrounded by the rot and hunger of this place. But for the first time in a long while, he wasn't afraid. How could he be, when here he was, his universe contained in the width of his arms. Another piece, hopefully, ready to fall into place.
Muriel didn't turn around, their shoulders raised up towards their ears, their hand on their satchel. But they had stopped and Aziraphale let that fact be reassurance enough.
"We have a cottage, not far from here." He glanced at Crowley again. Let his heart tremble with new-found hope when the demon simply smiled at him. "Would you like to accompany us? You can stay for as long as you want."
It was one angel. There were so many, still bound, still marked. In need of help Aziraphale was desperate to provide.
But as Muriel turned around, their smile carefully contained but the blinding radiance closer to the surface now, Aziraphale knew.
It was one angel and it was enough.