Chapter Text
Genesis. The beginning of time—some six thousand years ago, in the Garden of Eden.
It began with a whisper, a snake, and a choice.
Crowley, all slither and charm, offered Eve the apple. She took it, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. And then, she bit. She shared it with Adam—two bites,
one sin.
Together, they tasted the forbidden knowledge of the tree.
The first sin of humankind.
“Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat from it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles. By the sweat of your brow you will eat until you return to the dust—
for dust you are,
and to dust you will return.”
So it was written. So it was done.
And so, the Lord God drove man out of Eden. The gates sealed behind him, guarded by a flashing sword and a solemn angel—Aziraphale, newly burdened with duty. He stood east of the garden, fire in hand, wings trembling, unsure whether he was protecting the tree... or preventing grace from being reclaimed.
But as the gates closed behind mankind, the angel gave the flaming sword to the man. To keep the expecting woman warm, and protect the humans of the vicious animals that roamed outside.
Defying god, one step at the time.
God, in Her ineffable wisdom, created consequence: the Four Horsemen. Pollution. Famine. War. And Death.
They were not merely punishments—they were prophecies. Harbingers of the End.
But Death, did not wish to walk alone. So from his shadow, a companion was born. A messenger. A crow.
She was named Edri.
The Harbinger of Death. Wherever disaster stirred, she appeared—silent, observing, waiting. An omen in feathers.
But humans, ever clever and ever fearful, began to associate crows with death. They hunted them. Shot them from the skies. Drove them from cities.
Edri, the observer, became the hunted.
So Death gave her a form.
A woman.
She stood tall, slender so. Her skin pale like porcelain left under moonlight, her eyes bottomless and black as the sea in the night. Hair raven-dark, straight as fallen silk, cascading past her shoulders. Her face was sharp, too sharp—high cheekbones, a hooked nose, and a jaw that could cut paper. She was beautiful in a way that was not meant to comfort.
Now, she could move among humans undisturbed. A crow by instinct, a woman by necessity.
She was there when they burned each other alive. When kingdoms rose, and when they crumbled. She stood beneath skies raining fire and floods alike—silent, unmoved.
She watched the ten plagues crawl through Egypt,
witnessed the Crusades erupt in God's name,
and watched Noah's ark drift while the world drowned beneath divine regret.
It was during the flood that Crowley and Aziraphale first saw her.
Black hair tangled like straw. Dirt beneath her nails and on her fingers. She glared at the chaos, at the humans, at the sky itself. And she stepped away from anyone who mistook her for one of them. She wasn’t there for chitchat, nor did she didn’t smile. Why would she?
They all turn to dust in the end.
And yet… Crowley was puzzled. She hadn’t shown up at the crucifixion. Not a feather. Not a whisper. She had never missed a moment of human ruin. Until then.
When he asked Aziraphale about it, the angel had only murmured, “He will rise in three days, and all sins of mankind will be forgiven.”
Forgiven. Just like that?
Because God's son died?
“Tsk,” Crowley had muttered. “Could’ve skipped a whole lot of trouble if He’d just done that before I saunter vaguely downwards.” But it explained why Edri wasn’t there. There was no death, there was no storm. There was forgiveness.
But Edri returned. Always.
She stood at the edges of every human catastrophe.
The Black Death.
The first witch trials.
The horror of the Congo under Belgian rule.
World War I.
So much fire, so much waste. She was there, unmoved, watching them unravel what had been carefully made.
They broke the world.
And God?
Did nothing.
It was the curse of free will. The first sin’s true legacy. God was only a prayer away, yet even angels and harbingers strained to hear Her. She spoke in riddles, rarely reached out, and when She did, it was cryptic. Symbolic.
Was this divine negligence… or all part of the Great Ineffable Plan?
Crowley nor Aziraphale had the answer.
But Crowley always found Edri in the crowd. A sign humans would pay the price of the first sin.
She had a presence. An edge. The kind that made even demons keep their distance.
She was there when Vesuvius smoked over Pompeii. There when World War II broke loose like a scream.
But she never spoke.
Not to him. Not to anyone.
When the chaos started, she vanished. Her job was to signal the storm, not to sing in it.
Aziraphale always found her spooky. Not in the delightful, butterflies-in-the-stomach sort of way. Truly spooky. eerie. She was death’s shadow, after all. Taking, never giving. Always lurking when mass destruction was around the corner.
A far cry from Aziraphale’s work to keep humanity on the right path, while Crowley had to tempt them with sins and desires.
They’d all learned the same truth in time:
Humans don’t need pushing. Not toward good. Not toward evil. They manage both just fine.
And through it all, Edri watched—feathers or flesh—never interfering.
Only witnessing.
The messenger of endings.
Even at the end of Armageddon, she was there. There when the Four Horsemen came to ruin the world. There when Satan clawed his way out of Hell. There when Satan perished—defeated by Adam.
She was there, watching. But she disappeared with Death when Armageddon didn’t go through.
Aziraphale and Crowley had saved the world, but at what cost?
Aziraphale wasn’t exactly favored in Heaven anymore. And Crowley—he was fired as Earth’s representative demon. Not that he cared. He didn’t care about Hell or Heaven.
He cared about this. This fragile little life he had carved out for himself… and Aziraphale.
Maybe one day, they’d go to Alpha Centauri.
Maybe, Crowley thought to himself, as he pretended to read the papers, sitting on their bench. The bench. Listening to ducks quack while the breeze rustled the trees overhead.
But mostly, he was lost in thought. Thinking about Earth, and how lovely it was that—for now—they were being left ‘alone’ by their respective sides. Thanks to one little body-switching miracle. He smirked, flipping a page he wasn’t reading.
He thought about the apartment he’d lost. He liked that place. Now he was sleeping in the Bentley. And while the Bentley was... adequate, it wasn’t exactly home.
Not that he wanted to look for a new place. No. He was waiting. Waiting until Aziraphale saw him sleeping in the Bentley. So he could ask. He loved it when Aziraphale saw him in trouble and helped. He’d never say it aloud. But he hoped. Hoped Aziraphale would ask him to stay. Stay in the bookshop.
One step closer.
Not having to come in from outside. No—he’d already be there. And they could go to the Ritz. And come home together.
To the bookshop. To the musty smell of old books.
To his angel’s scent—tea and honey. And maybe, if he were there too, the scent of leather and whiskey would curl around it.
Maybe even... for eternity.
He smiled softly to himself, as he listened to the ducks and the breeze and people passing by, and the birds flying through the air. Then came the feeling.
That eerie, familiar feeling.
He frowned and peeked over his paper.
A crow.
“No…” he murmured, not believing. It couldn’t be her. It was just a crow, he told himself. But the feeling didn’t pass. And the crow didn’t move.
It tilted its head at him. Side to side.
Crowley stared for a beat, then lowered the edge of his paper. “Edri?” he whispered. Unsure. Maybe he was just talking to a crow.
The bird looked around. Scanning. Crowley followed her gaze. “No one’s watching,” he muttered.
And just like that, the crow leapt from the fence. Black dust, feathers swirling. And the crow grew taller. Broader. Transformed.
Edri.
Her eyes were still black. Her skin pale, features sharp. But not filthy this time. No straw-like hair. Now smooth. Clean. tight black clothes—turtleneck, short black jeans, dark panties beneath, black-heeled boots. A silver chain belt, and a black with silver detailed feather like bracelet around her upper arm. Subtle jewelry glittering in the light.
Crowley gave her a once-over. “Well. Don’t you look nice,” he smirked. “Dressing up to announce the impending doom?” he mocked, flicking the paper.
She didn’t answer right away. Just stared. “ No. Not dressed up for that. But I am here for doom. Yes,” she said finally, clipped, as if adjusting to speak again.
“What is it now?” Crowley asked, disinterested. The world kept spinning. He was done chasing every shadow of doom.
“I don’t know yet,” she said, scanning the area. “But it led me here.”
He smirked amused “Last time I saw you, you vanished with Death. You were… what, her intern?” He mocked with a silent chuckle.
Her head snapped to him. “I am death’s messenger,” she sneered, “and you know it, serpent.” She snarled shaking her head in disbelief for his sarcasm and mockery.
“Well, if you find it, I’ll read about it in the paper,” he shrugged, standing up to walk away. But as he walked away, he heard footsteps.
He stopped.
She was behind him. He frowned at her, looking her up and down. “What are you doing?”
Edri looked around, then back at him. “Hm…” She hesitated—a rarity. “Step back again.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow but did as asked.
Edri tensed. Stared at his shoes. Then at him. “It is you,” she muttered.
“Hmm? What?”
“You are… the bad omen,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “Something will happen to you. Something big.”
“Me?” He scoffed. But she wasn’t a liar. They weren’t close. They barely knew each other beyond work. And Edri never came for chitchat.
“Well, I feel fine. Have yet to started a war,” he smirked.
She didn’t smile. “You think this is funny?”
“Meh.” He rocked on his heels. “I’m a demon. Doom comes with the job.”
“I don’t follow what causes doom. I feel doom itself,” she said sharply. “And it’s following you.”
He grimaced. “Alright, alright. No jokes about death.”
“So what—are you just gonna stalk me until something explodes?” he asked.
She chuckled, folding her arms. “Stalk you? Rather not. But I can’t report doom if I don’t witness it.”
“So you’ll just… haunt me a bit?”
“Basically.”
Crowley eyed her. “Well, you can watch me,” he smirked. “Or…”
She raised a brow.
“…we could have a little fun.”
“I don’t do fun,” she said flatly.
“Exactly.” He grinned. “So since I’m the doom you’re tracking… why not come with me?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why would I follow you, serpent?” she mocked.
Crowley tilted his head, smiling slyly. “Well, I mean, for 6,000 years we’ve seen each other, but never really talked. And, I don’t know, a little living company would be nice.”
“I’m not some being you ‘hang out’ with,” she retorted, rolling her eyes at his usual blend of sass and charm.
“Maybe not. But if I’m going to be watched, I’d rather at least know the being doing the watching.” His smirk widened. “I know places here that make life worth living.”
She snarled. “Are you going to keep making ‘life’ jokes around me?”
“Maybe. Oh, come on, it’s just a bit of fun. Besides… you have to follow me anyway, don’t you? Waiting for the doom to come.” He gestured wildly around. “Let’s go out for drinks. We can talk a bit.”
“Drinks?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Yhea, al-co-hol,” he sang, grinning. “A lovely human invention. Makes your brain go all woozy.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s fun,” he said, tilting his head again. “Come on. You and I have a lot more in common than anyone would admit.”
“Ha.” She scoffed, arms crossed. “I doubt that.”
“Well, we’re both bad omens. Blamed for human cruelty. Always there when the world burns.”
That made her pause. He wasn’t wrong. She was the harbinger of death. Where mass death came, she followed. And humans—well, they were good at making their own doom.
“Well,” she said reluctantly, “in that sense, I suppose we are, demon. But we’re not alike.”
He waved it off. “Oh, no, no. You’re the right hand of Death. I’m just a retired Hell rep.” He gestured at himself with dramatic flair. “But now we’re stuck here.
So why not cast a little light into Death’s shadow?” he added with a whispery hiss.
“Oh, how poetic,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
He smiled. “Bit like Shakespeare,” he said fondly. A small flashback of sitting in the theaters of Shakespear entered his mind.
She sighed. She’d seen dooms unfold, watched from the shadows as empires collapsed and lovers betrayed each other. But this? A walking doom asking her for drinks?
“…Fine. I suppose I have time.”
Crowley laughed, delighted, slipping an arm around her in mock camaraderie before letting it drop. “Oho, let me tell you—you’ve got eternity.”
They ended up in a loud pub. Edri’s senses were assaulted by laughter, drunken singing, arm-wrestling. She stood rigid, unused to anything but screams and the stink of war.
Her black eyes scanned the crowd—cold, reflective, soul-piercing. Crowley waved her over, leaning at the bar, sunglasses on and smug as ever.
“What do you want, Edri?” he asked as she peered over the menu.
The words meant little to her—whiskey, rum… but then she saw fruit, especially cherry. She loved cherries.
“A Cherry Red, please,” she said, watching the bartender work, following their movements.
“You don’t have to look so intense,” Crowley chuckled.
She snapped her eyes to him. “What?”
“Humans don’t like to be stared at when they’re doing something.”
“As if I care,” she muttered, turning back to look at the bartender.
Crowley sipped his whiskey. “If you’re here, might as well try.”
“I don’t plan to stay long.” She murmured under her breath. Still moving her head side to side, her eyes sharp and focused.
He watched her for a moment, and then it came to him. “Ah,” he chuckled knowingly. “I get it.”
She looked up, eyes narrowed.
“It’s hard, huh? First being a crow, then a human? Never quite get the hang of it.” Understanding how the switch between animal and human can be... annoying.
She grumbled. Being a bird had been easier. Safer. But she looked… pleasant as a woman. And that was what mattered now.
She took a sip—turned her head, like in disgust. Then tasted it fully. Cherry water, with a little bite. She sipped again.
“There we go,” he murmured.
She turned to him, glaring. “Don’t think you’ve won some tempting game.”
He raised his hands. “Oh no, not at all.” He definitely thought so.
Leaning closer, he whispered, “But if I were you? I’d pick an Apple Cinnamon Mule next.”
She snarled. “Apple.”
He sipped casually off his whiskey. “Just a suggestion.”
He knew this tale all too well. The apple for Eve. The rib for his angel. He grinned. The crow and the serpent—what a pair. Falling for the snakes temptation, letting it coil around you as if a comforting embrace was choking you.
They kept talking—mostly about humans and their unrivaled ability to be the absolute worst. But Crowley, slurring through his whiskey haze, also spoke of their inventiveness, their resilience, their bizarre knack for problem-solving.
Unlike most demons, he didn’t sound entirely disgusted. He sounded… amused. Maybe even impressed.
Something about him was different. Something rather human.
The drinks kept flowing. Edri was deep into fruity cherry cocktails while Crowley stuck to his whiskeys.
“You know,” Crowley said, swaying slightly as he leaned on the bar, “if you’re going to follow me into impending doom…” He paused, vaguely gesturing toward the shelves behind the bar, “you should get… a…”
“A bar?” Edri asked, sipping her latest cocktail.
“Nooo,” he scoffed. “A place. To stay,” he said, pointing a wobbly finger at her.
“Oh please,” she smirked. “I’ve got a place. By Death’s side.”
Crowley chuckled. “Back in the dark, in the shadows,” he mocked lightly. “Don’t you want a place? Somewhere… closer to me?” He leaned closer, grinning.
“And why would I want that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and matching his lean.
“Because of doom. I am doom, remember?” He tapped her forehead gently.
She turned her head with a glare, but didn’t answer right away. She did, however, consider his suggestion.
“And what about your place, huh?” she teased.
Crowley paused. His face flickered for a moment before his devilish smirk returned. He slid his sunglasses down his nose, revealing his piercing yellow eyes.
“You’re not getting my place, feather.”
She let out a low laugh. “Your place? I don’t want your place. I’m just curious about it.” She stated. “what? Can’t I ask questions anymore?”
Crowley looked into his empty glass. “No, no… I like questions,” he slurred. “But you know what they say—the cat killed curiosity.”
She nearly collapsed with laughter, clutching the bar counter for balance. “Yes, yes, we’ll go with that. Genius.”
Crowley drained the last of his whiskey and slammed it down on the counter with a hiss.
Eventually, the bartender kicked them out, grumbling about the late hour.
Outside, the night air hit them. Crowley hissed and crossed his arms, not made for the cold. Edri, used to harsher conditions, didn’t mind it as much—but even she had to admit, warmth sounded nice.
“Well… a place, huh?” she teased, watching him shiver.
Crowley grumbled. “There are renovations happening, but I do have a place.” His eyes lit up suddenly. “Oh! I have the perfect place.”
Before she could protest, he grabbed her arm and started dragging her along.
“Hey, hey—I have a place!” she insisted.
“With Death?” Crowley shot back over his shoulder. “Do you really want him seeing you like this?”
She scowled but fell into step beside him. “I’m only doing this to keep an eye on you.”
“Mhm. Whatever you say, feather,” he chuckled. The two of them stumbled through the quiet night, lit by moonlight, their laughter and bickering echoing faintly.
Eventually, they arrived at a cozy bookshop.
Crowley banged on the door. “Angel! Angel!” he called, voice heavy with drink. “Where are you, angel?!”
“Angel?” Edri murmured. The name clicked. Aziraphale. The one Death mentioned. The angel who, with Crowley, had stopped Armageddon.
She hadn’t cared much at the time, her opinion wasn’t listen too by the other horsemen. She simply had to nod and look forward.
And then there he was. In soft pajamas, despite not needing sleep. “Crowley?” Aziraphale frowned, rushing to support him. “And… someone else.”
“Angel,” Crowley slurred fondly, leaning in close. “This is…” He turned toward Edri. “Edri.”
Aziraphale’s face shifted. Recognition. Surprise. “Edri.” He glanced at her—she looked cleaner, more modern now. Like Crowley, she is following fashion.
“You’re drunk,” he said flatly.
“Ngk,” Crowley mumbled. “Only to get her to… see humanity.” He gesturing vaguely toward her, his eyes only on his angel.
“Why… would you do that?” Aziraphale asked, frowning.
“She…” Crowley winced. “I’ll explain tomorrow, angel. My head’s killing me.” And with that, he half-collapsed into Aziraphale’s arms.
“You know you can sober up,” Aziraphale muttered.
“I know,” Crowley whispered. “I know.” But he didn’t want to—not when being drunk meant being here, like this. In his arms.
Aziraphale grumbled under his breath but gently led him upstairs, placing him carefully in bed.
Downstairs, he looked at Edri. She was already passed out on the couch, boots still on.
He knelt, tugged them off, placed them neatly by the side, and lifted her legs onto the cushions.
With a snap, a blanket appeared over her. The lights dimmed.
And then he disappeared into his room.
The moonlight bathed Edri in silver, the night calling softly to her.
But she curled tighter under the warmth, sinking into a warm comforting slumber.