Chapter Text
Francisco had just woken up from a particularly spectacular nap. Well, he’d say it was spectacular. It's doubtful that a 800 years or longer nap trapped in a damp mountain unwillingly as a dragon would be something anybody would call spectacular. He’d probably say clawing his way out of the mountain was the best part of it all.
Luckily or unluckily for Francisco, he’s a demon. Not a plain dragon, or any kind of plain creature for that matter. He was a demon, a bringer of destruction, pain, and sin. He doesn’t abide by any rules. Especially the rules that may or may not say he had to stay in one form. His dragon parts morphed into human parts, and he wore 13th century clothes. Clothes like a tattered green tunic, accompanied with green pantaloons and old green leather shoes, from before Nike was invented. Why so many shades of only green? It’s his favorite color, don’t judge him. He was the spitting image of a modern day man! Modern in the 13th century, that is. Definitely not the 21st century.
Walking around central London, he wandered aimlessly into St. James Park. Pigeons. Something familiar. Amongst the hundreds of rushing humans, he stood out. He looked like he got lost on the way to the renaissance faire. He searched his pockets for something, something he knew was there. He couldn't remember what it was. He pulled out a drawstring pouch, opening it the moment it reached his hand. It was filled with bits of grain. Standing in front of a flock of the world's most common birds, he tossed the grain to them. The birds gleefully pecked at the centuries-old grain. Francisco smiled, emptying half his pouch before remembering something and walking away.
Again, he began to wander without purpose. He finally stopped when he spotted a shop that was exactly what he was looking for. The signage read, “A.Z. FELL AND Co. ANTIQUARIAN AND UNUSUAL BOOKS” He ignored everything else the sign said, except for the word “books”. Most demons actually couldn’t read very well, let alone spell properly. But, Francisco has been on earth long enough to at least understand some literature.
Francisco walks up to the bookshop doors. He’s peculiarly drawn to this shop, because something about it feels familiar to him. Aside from those feelings, he's looking for a specific book he was reading before he vanished off the face of the earth, heaven, and hell.
For some reason, out of an unlikely courtesy, he asks for permission to enter. "Hello? Can I come in?" Aziraphale, the owner of this shop, being caught off guard, unknowingly gives the demon his permission to enter the independent embassy. "Oh yes! Of course! We're open!"
Francisco is poking around the bookshop, carefully reading titles and analyzing the different covers of the books. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for. "Do you happen to have this book.." He describes the novel he was looking for. Even if Aziraphale knew what it was, it was quite unlikely for him to have it. If Aziraphale did have it, there is no way he would sell it to this man. "Wait a moment. You're familiar.." Francisco squints at Aziraphale, trying to jog his memory as to who the other man exactly is.
Francisco was slightly familiar in Aziraphale’s mind too, but he couldn't attach a specific memory to Francisco’s face. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but he knew Francisco. Aziraphale thought about it, he guesses they couldn’t have been very close, or he definitely would have remembered him. His memory is sharp as a tack! Perhaps this man was mistaken, and did not actually know him. Errors are possible, after all.
"Mr. Fell? It's me. Francisco. I think we met.. Can't remember, actually. I just know it was with Crowley.." He smiled, thankful to see Aziraphale. "Speak of the devil, is he around? I'm a bit lost. Can't believe how lucky I am to run into a familiar face.."
"No.. Sorry, not at the moment." Even if Crowley was around, it’s not likely he’d want to see Francisco in the first place. Then, Aziraphale remembers. The year was 1204, Crowley was supposed to be meeting Aziraphale at a tavern to talk about something of dire matter, but Francisco got there first. Uninvited, obviously. He was chatting with Crowley about some horrible thing he did to a village, how he set it on fire. Francisco is drunk and actively getting even drunker from the medieval wine. So drunk in fact, he doesn’t even recognize that Aziraphale is an angel. Crowley was looking desperately at Aziraphale, making a “get me out of here” face. Francisco begins talking about how great it is to fly and he starts running around the tavern flapping his arms as if they're wings. Eventually, the 3 gentlemen were kicked out and Francisco sobered up so that he could walk back to.. Well. Wherever he was staying at the moment.
"Ah. I remember you now. 1204.. You were drunk. We were at a tavern, I believe? Then we were promptly kicked out..” Aziraphale chuckled to himself a bit remembering how absurd Francisco acted that day while he was intoxicated.
"Right.. Onto a different matter... Did you happen to have that book I was telling you about?" He hardly remembered how he acted that day, but he was sure he’d made a fool of himself for a first impression. All he could remember was how Aziraphale and Crowley had looked like total opposites to each other. They were yin and yang before yin and yang was invented.
"No.. I don't think so.. Sorry that I don’t have what you're looking for." Yes, he doesn't have the book. But, he's also trying to get Francisco to leave! He's a demon! He could destroy his beloved bookshop!
"Oh.. I'll just be on my way then.." Francisco leaves the bookshop. Well, he hasn't really left. He's just sitting outside wondering where he should go next. He's also wondering what those boxes with wheels are. Honestly, for a demon, he isn't causing as much destruction as he should, I mean, if he was in his right mind he would've been burning London to bits! Unfortunately for hell, Francisco is horribly disoriented and unable to perform any tasks that involve making anybody's lives horrible.
As soon as Francisco is out of sight, Aziraphale immediately phones Crowley. "Crowley? Yes. Ah. Hello." Aziraphale explains that there's a demon from the 13th century in his bookshop, and that he seems confused. “He came in looking for a book, but recognized me from.. Ah. When was it? 1204. We were meant to be meeting about something important, but he got there before I could, and made a scene, which led to all three of us being escorted out.”
"Is he still there?" Crowley asks on the other end of the line.
"Hold on a moment. I’m going to check." Aziraphale would look through the windows of the doors of his bookshop, seeing that Francisco was still sitting there. It was a particularly idle time of day with nobody really walking the streets, and it looked as if Francisco was feeding a flock of pigeons some grain that was in a little pouch.
"Yes, unfortunately. Oh! He mentioned you. He doesn't seem to have any malicious intent, though.. He didn't even smell that evil.. Which is.. Unexpected. He is a demon, after all.... He came into the shop, looking for a book, actually." He paused for a moment. There was a small crowd of humans forming, gawking at the strangely-dressed man. The coffee-shop owner and record-shop owner were both watching from afar. To be fair, he was wearing raggedy pantaloons and feeding pigeons on the steps of a bookshop. He stood out from all the other humans, which was not good. "Um.. One moment, Crowley." He hung up abruptly and opened the door of his bookshop.
"Francisco!" He whisper-yelled. "Get inside, please." Aziraphale pleaded.
"Oh, but what about the pigeons?" Francisco frowned.
"They can wait. Just get inside, please. Crowley will be here soon." Aziraphale smiled at the man, trying to convince him to just.. Get inside and stop drawing attention to himself!
"Oh! That's great." He stood up and walked inside.
"We're closed!" Aziraphale shut the door and switched the sign on his door to say “definitely closed”.
"Mr. Fell, do you know what those boxes with wheels are? Strange, aren't they? There were people in them." Francisco watched curiously as the cars passed by outside the bookshop.
"Ah.. One moment, Francisco.." He inputs Crowley's phone number onto the vintage-looking dial telephone. "Hello? Yes. Um. How long would it take you to get here?"
"I'm already on my way, Angel." At that moment, a speeding Bentley parks in front of the bookshop, causing most of the remaining pigeons to fly away, and the people to start dispersing.
Crowley exits the Bentley, and enters the bookshop. "Oh wait. I remember you now." He looks at Francisco. "Yeah. Tavern-dragon-demon. Interrupting important earth-work." Crowley chuckles remembering how embarrassingly drunk Francisco was that night.
"I don't understand why you're both acting like the last time we met was such a long time ago. It's hardly even been 10 years since I've last seen you both?" At that moment, Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other in realization. Francisco doesn't know what year it is. Where was he for 800 years? Just.. Gone? I mean, Crowley questioned it a bit when Francisco disappeared but it's not as if he was going to run off, looking for him. They weren’t close enough for him to matter that much. Off the face of the earth, hell, and heaven? Not that anyone was even looking for him, anyway. He wasn't too important to anyone.
"Francisco. Ah. Can you tell me what year it is?" Aziraphale wanted to make sure they were both understanding this correctly.
"What? Maybe like. 12.. 12 something. 1216?" He looked uneasy.
Oh. Where was he? For that long?
"Wait. How long has it been? I can’t have slept for that long.. What year is it, Mr. Fell? Crowley?" Francisco was horribly disoriented.
"It's 2021." Crowley told him. "Where were you ?"
"20.. 2021? That's.. That's... Hold on." He counts on his fingers. "800 years!? Wait. Just a moment. Humans don't live that long.." He turned to Aziraphale. "You’re not a demon. I know you’re not. Crowley is, but you aren’t. I knew there was something off about you. So.. You.. You’re an angel?” He couldn’t be more terrified. I mean, of course all demons were supposed to think they’re better than anything heaven could throw at them. But, he wasn’t stupid. He knew angels were powerful, and not something to aggravate. “You’re an angel!” He had just gotten back. He couldn’t risk discorporation! Also, there’d be paperwork. His least favorite kind of work.
Francisco ran out of the bookshop before Aziraphale or Crowley could butt-in to say anything. Aziraphale shouted after Francisco, but Francisco was already running for the hills. He didn’t know where to go. He didn’t feel safe. Maybe he was overreacting. If Crowley was there, shouldn’t it be safe? He couldn’t go back. Not now. He wasn’t ready. He needed to think, to justify how he feels, to rationalize the situation. He was now back at St. James Park, and he sat himself on an empty bench that overlooked the lake. The pigeons recognized him and they all began landing around, on, and near him.
Francisco was retracing his whole life, from the top. Before he had fallen, or as Crowley likes to describe it, “sauntered vaguely downwards” he was once an angel. Just like almost all demons once were. He wasn’t special. How could he not have known Aziraphale was an angel? I mean, he wasn’t particularly popular up there but how couldn’t he have known?
Before the creation of the universe, Francisco was tasked with creating a multitude of creatures of the avian variety. Birds. He created many birds, some having his own artistic liberties and some just looking plain and boring. His favorite was the pigeon and its relatives. But, all of them had one thing in common. The wings. He created birds in the image of angels. He thought they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever created. When he fell, and was punished, his punishment was the harshest thing he’d ever gone through. In general, most demons have had their white wings turned a jet black to set them apart from angels, like Crowley. But, Francisco adored his wings far too much, being turned a different color wasn’t enough. When he fell, his feathers withered, burning away. In place of them, he had dragon-like wings. Disgusting. He finds them disgusting. Thinking about them makes him gag. He hates them. Nothing about them is beautiful to him. It’s the worst thing God has ever given him.
After the beginning, he hadn’t been to earth yet. He was stuck in hell. He didn’t have an important job, so he mostly just wandered around, disobeying the signs plastered that told him “don’t lick the walls”. A sign can’t tell him what to do! This went on until he was told he had an assignment in 4500 BCE, China. He caused a great deal of chaos in China. In fact, he’d even had stories written about him, paintings of him, statues of him. The stories said that he was.. Good.(1) For some odd reason, the Chinese liked him. That wasn’t good. If hell got wind of this, he could be destroyed. Then, he was gone from earth for a little while.
When he finally was allowed to come back to earth, he went to the Nordic countries to cause trouble. Then, Egypt, the Philippines, Japan, Korea and Europe. He’d changed the way he looked as a dragon many times by now. For most of these countries, he’d had a long, slithering body. Sometimes he had wings, sometimes he just flew on account of a miracle. He travelled to these different countries over the course of many, many years. His final stop was Europe, in the 13th century. Which is where his story temporarily ended. He had a great reign of terror, destroying villages and whatnot. It was good for him, too. He was on the better side of hell, doing what he was supposed to do. He hated that. He hated being evil, but it’s not as if he could go back to being a do-gooder like he used to be in heaven. He’d be destroyed by hell, and unnoticed by heaven.
The day he was trapped in the mountain, he was with a friend. Sort of. Pestilence. She’s one of the horsemen of the apocalypse. Sent down by god, plaguing any organism she happens to pass by. She was the master of making people ill. It was her purpose, after all. He finally had a friend. He was trying to impress her, by setting a castle aflame, but it immediately backfired on him. The guards were ready this time around, which is how he got himself trapped in a mountain for 800 years. Sometimes, he wonders if Pestilence even noticed his disappearance.
He slumped back on the bench, realizing he’s wasted most of his time on earth sleeping of all things. He took the pouch from his pocket again, tossing the last bits of grain to the pigeons until he was out. “Sorry dears, I don’t have any more..” He put the pouch back in his pocket and observed the ducks, geese, and swans in the lake. He still hadn’t figured out if Aziraphale was trustworthy or not. Him and Crowley surely seemed so close. Crowley is smart, he couldn’t have been fooled. He definitely knows Aziraphale is an angel.
He could hear people coughing and sneezing around him. Some of the people were blowing their noses. Some of them were desperately sniffling and sweating. Something, or someone was coming for him, and very fast. The amount of ill humans intensified. The loud cacophony of coughing, sneezing, vomiting, and sniffling scared the pigeons near Francisco away. He turned behind him after feeling a hand on his shoulder.
“Francisco?” A woman wearing a pink veiled henin(2) and a pink dress had her hand on his shoulder. “You better be Francisco or this’ll be embarrassing as hell.”
He turned around. It was her. His friend. One of his only. “Pestilence?” He looked up at her. “Where are we, Pestilence?” Somebody he could finally ask his questions to.
“Central London. St. James Park. Why are you wearing that ?” Scowling as she looked at his outdated clothes.
“My clothes have never been a problem before, how come they’ve become a problem now?” The pigeons landed in front of Francisco yet again. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any more grain.” He turned to face Pestilence, who was now sitting next to him on the bench. “How long?” He’d demand an answer, as if his vague question was enough for Pestilence to know what he was talking about.
“Look around, you idiot! You look– Stupid. Ugh.” She gagged at his outfit.
“Right. It is quite cold. Not too appropriate for this weather… How long, Pestilence?” One of the pigeons landed on his lap. He pet the thing on its head, inspecting its wings.
“It’s been over 800 years, Franny. Its 2021, you dumb fuck. Pantaloons aren’t appropriate even for this century .” She sighed in disappointment.
“Right.. I have been gone that long, haven’t I?” He continued to stroke the little pigeon standing on him. “It feels good knowing my creations are still around.”
“You have. I’m not even a horseman anymore. The end of times didn’t happen. Oh! Also, heaven and hell collectively decided to wipe out your precious birds.” She was playing two truths and a lie. Only, her version makes it so she’s the only one who knows they’re playing.
Francisco skimmed over the fact armageddon didn’t happen, and that Pestilence isn’t a horseman anymore. Instead, he focused on her lie. “What!? No! They can’t do that! They’re beautiful creatures! I made them! They’re important! They can’t just– It’s not right!” Francisco was being a bit too loud about this.
“Yeah. Delicious creatures. They’re going to eat them all.” Pestilence smiles and nods. She can’t believe he’s really falling for this.
“You can’t possibly be serious. First, I find out I’ve been in some kind of hibernation, now they’re going to destroy the only things that could possibly ever truly bring me joy?” Wait a moment. They wouldn’t do that. There’s no way they could actually get rid of his avian works of art. He furrowed his brows, looking at Pestilence's face to figure out if she was lying to him or not.
“I’m completely serious.” She was straight-faced. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started typing something on it. She shoves the phone into Francisco’s face, showing him a picture of a bucket of fried chicken from KFC.
“What is this?” He took the phone from her and began to examine it. Why is it glowing? How is there a painting on it? Why is there a painting and how does the painting glow?
“It’s a phone, you dim dragon.” Pestilence did not appreciate her phone being grabbed from her. Francisco scrolls through her camera roll which had copious amounts of anti-vaxx art, twitter posts, and fake science articles about how vaccinations do more harm than good. “Give it here, Franny.” She held her hand out, waiting for him to give her phone back.
“No.. This ‘phone’ thing is intriguing..” He discovers the camera app and takes multiple unflattering pictures of himself.
“You are butt-fucking ugly and I do not want ANY photos of you on my phone.” She forcefully takes the phone from him, snarling. Pestilence looks at the photos he took. “You look terrible .” She gagged at the sight of him.
“I suppose you’re still the same as ever then? Insulting a handsome man such as myself?” He chuckled at his own compliment. “What is this photo you’re speaking of?”
“It’s a portrait, but very quick.” Pestilence deletes most of the photos Francisco took of himself and tucks her phone into her back pocket. “Why have you been gone for so long?”
“You’re meaning to tell me you have painters inside that tiny little glowing rectangle?” He doesn’t answer her question.
“No. It’s similar. It’s called technology.” She struggles with explaining this to him. “Why are you ignoring my question?”
“What question?” He hadn’t even realized she asked him one. He was too busy trying to get her phone from her.
Pestilence screams and backs away from Francisco. “No! It’s my phone! You smelly reptile.”
“I don’t know what you were trying to ask me. I can’t answer if I don’t know what it is.”
“Why have you been gone for so long, Franny?” She sounded sad asking him about it.
“You were there, Pestilence. Can’t you remember? It was when I hadn't really made many friends. Until you. I think.. How did it go again? Right. I was trying to impress you, by setting the king’s castle aflame, but they prepared for it this time. They chased me into the mountains, then there was a cave-in. I got trapped inside the mountain. I was quite tired from all the chasing, and flying, breathing fire.. You know. So I decided I should take a nap then claw my way out. I figured you’d probably find me or that I’d wake up some time.”
“You were inside the mountain! And, you flew away before I could even see where you went.” She argues. “What could I even do? Make the mountain sick so you could get out? I’m not exactly made for mountain break-outs.”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking rationally.” He paused. “Can I see that ‘phone’ thing again?”
She ignored his request purposefully. “Why are you human now? I mean. You’ve always been a green, flying reptile.”
“I’ve always had a human form! There’s no use in me being on earth among humans if I can’t blend in. Have you really never seen me like this? Come on. There had to have been at least one instance.” He pouted.
“No.. You’ve always been a giant, green dragon. I don’t even know how I recognized you. I think I just.. Sensed it was you.” She seems confused with herself. “Well. I’m not a horseman anymore. You really don’t have anything to say about that?”
“Wait. Seriously? Why? For what purpose? Were you demoted?” He looked upset.
“I’ve been replaced with Pollution. Apparently they’re the big killer now. Not sickness, or ailments, or anything like that. It’s more like.. Being fired.” She frowned.
“Oh! But they can’t fire you! You’re important!” He defended her.
“Oh my god! I know! I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this since forever.” She looked happy to finally have someone to talk to.
“I mean, come on. You’ve had to at least gotten hundreds of people sick just pushing through those crowds in the park! They couldn’t do that in a week if they tried!” He couldn’t believe they really fired her.
“I know! Pollution isn’t even that cool! Like, I just walk around and people start coughing. Now that's cool. Pollution doesn’t do anything like that!” Pestilence bragged.
“Exactly! See, someone is vomiting into the lake at this moment!” Francisco pointed out a man who had just started projectile vomiting onto a swan that he was feeding bread crumbs.
Pestilence sighed. “Well.. I guess hell should be looking for you right now, huh?”
“I’m not too sure about that. I’ve been here for hours, and nothing. I mean, I’ve been MIA for years. They should be properly pissed. Speaking of me being here, do you know of the demon, Crowley?” He asked Pestilence.
“Crowley? Oh! Yes. Crowley. Smart fellow. He’s great.” Pestilence smiled. “What about Crowley?”
“Listen. Not accusing anybody of anything, but.. I saw him with an angel. I’m not sure what it was about, but that angel? He tricked me into thinking he was human. He blends in quite well. I ran away from them as fast as my legs would allow me. That’s why I'm sitting on this bench. I was looking for a book before that. I found this little.. I don’t know what it’s called but it was like a merchant's table but in a big.. Structure. Many books. The angel didn’t have what I needed, though. The angel and Crowley were the ones who made me realize I had been asleep for 800 years, though. But as I realized, I also realized humans don’t live that long. Which is how I’ve come to the conclusion that the angel, aka Mr. Fell, is in fact an angel. I ran before they could stop me.” He finished his explanation as to why he mentioned Crowley.
“It’s called a bookstore.” She says abruptly afterward. “That’s… Interesting. What book?”
Francisco pauses awkwardly before starting. “A.. A knight wrote a book about me..” He turned away shamefully.
“The same knight that tried to rescue me in our fake kidnapping stunts!? That idiot?” She frowns. “You are so self absorbed.”
“I couldn’t help myself! The descriptions for me as a dragon are so.. Angelic! So.. Powerful! Astonishing! He wrote about me like I was beautiful. Like how a chef would describe his own dish. How a king would describe his own crown.” He looked down at his feet. “I’ve had my personal copy signed by the author..” He started again. “He also happens to be the only one who has managed to depict me correctly in paintings or little sketches in a notebook. They’ve always drawn me strangely. In every culture.”
“Well maybe that angel has a copy. Though, I doubt it. If you haven’t realized, the author is long dead. Maybe I killed him myself. I can’t remember.” She sighed.
“Right. Humans don’t live very long, do they?” He frowned. That knight was the only human to show him kindness like that. He adored him deeply.
“Sorry.” Pestilence looked around nervously. “Maybe you can find a PDF? It's like.. A book! Inside of a phone! Two of your favorite things!” She handed him her phone to cheer him up.
“What’s a PDF?” Francisco figures out how to zoom in on the camera app, and takes a picture of the swan that was vomited on earlier. “Do you know that angel? The bookshop one? I can’t remember him well. Well.. I don’t have a great recollection of heaven in general . Just things about birds, and such. I couldn’t remember much about what I did in heaven after I fell.” He stared at the ground beneath his feet. “I wonder why hell hasn’t gotten to me now. They have to be mad at me. I’d be mad if one of my employees went up on an 800 year vacation with no explanation whatsoever…”
“Looks like hell doesn’t care too much about us. They let me go, and they haven’t gotten to you yet. Seems like it's for the best.” She shrugged. “I guess I know a little about him. I try not to visit so often. Seeing his customers get sick upsets him. Especially when they start vomiting on his books.”
“Right. Not as if you can just.. Stop making people sick. It is your sole purpose after all.” He sighed. “Do you remember the reason why I fell? Everything looks blurry when I think about it.”
Pestilence shrugged. “I’m not meant to tell you. None of you guys are supposed to remember.”
Francisco sighed loudly. “I guess I’ll never recall, then..” Francisco looks out at the lake, observing the waterfowl. “Listen, I’ve been going on about that angel and Crowley because I’m worried if I made the wrong decision about running away from them. I think they were.. Only trying to help. That angel frightens me, I’m afraid he’ll smite me.”
“..You do know you can always just stay with me, right? But, it’s your choice.” She shrugged. “But.. Those two are nothing to be worried about. I think they’re a couple.. Aziraphale is nothing to be frightened of.” Pestilence wanted Francisco to stay with her.
“I might stay with them. The angel seemed more on-par with subjects of the earthly matter. He does run a human bookshop after all. He also has many books. More than I can count.” Francisco turned to face Pestilence. “Can you take me to them?”
“Fuck no! You can walk there on your own, fatty.” She scowled, gesturing for him to talk to the hand.
“You said it was my choice! Why are you upset with me?” Francisco moved her hand out of his face.
“You can choose to walk there on your own. I don’t like visiting them. Aziraphale makes me anxious.” Pestilence remembers how she knows Aziraphale. It was the early 1960’s. They were at a gay club(4) and became friends. Well, Aziraphale was friends with Pestilence. The feeling wasn’t so mutual. She thought he was unimpressive, boring. Lame.
“Oh, come on! It can’t be that bad. And you told me not to worry about him! Please! You don’t even need to go inside. You can just.. Drop me off on the street in front of the bookshop!” Francisco pouted.
“Hm! Let me think about it.. Err.. No! Eugh, he’s going to talk to me then we’ll ‘catch up’ then he’ll offer me a cup of tea, which I’d have to say yes to then I’ll stay longer than I even wanted to in the first place! It’s also embarrassing for me to even catch up with anyone. You’re forgetting I’m jobless now.” Pestilence sipped from a nine-dollar, small iced matcha as she dons her LV bag.
Francisco handed Pestilence his medieval burlap gold pouch. “Here. Money. Sorry, it’s not much.” It was filled to the brim with valuable gold coins any human collector would pay top dollar for. Francisco started to stand up, stretching his arms and legs.
“Oh, yeah these became obsolete. Not worth much now. I’ll keep them, though. As a paper weight.” She stuffs it into her purse. “Come on now, I’ll take you. But we have to get you new clothes. These ones are hideous.”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re lying to me but I’ll let you keep them because I saw people using leaves as currency.” Francisco stretches his back. “I think I look quite fine. My clothes are just as fine as the day I bought them.”
“Er. No they’re not.” Pestilence quickly transported them both to her flat. “Come on now, we’re going to match. I have some clothes you can wear in my closet.” Pestilence changed into a shirt that said “I heart soho” with some other clothes that surpassed the quality of her t-shirt.
Pestilence handed Francisco three pieces of clothing. Two of them were 100% polyester. The type they use for cheap imported chinese shirts with stolen artwork on them. A slippery white shirt that read “I heart soho” and a pair of “jeans”. There’s a pair of parentheses around the word jeans because they weren’t quite jeans. They were made from the same material of the shirt. The denim was printed out and faded. There was even a printed chain attached to a printed belt-loop. The last piece was a pair of bright red 7-inch high heels.
None of these articles of clothing are fitting him correctly. He somehow has four wedgies. The pants are hugging his ass tighter than a knot. The shirt she gave him is 2 sizes too small. It has somehow given him boobs, and half of his stomach is being shown to the world. It fits him more like a crop top.
“You look dashing!” She smiles widely before taking a selfie of them together. Francisco has this horrible disoriented look on his face. The same look that deers make before they get pummelled by a car. “You should get twitter…” Pestilence posts the photo on her account. The caption reads; “With my autistic cousin! #hewasgivenvaccines #lookwhatvaccinesdo #antivaxx”(3) She smiled and tucked her phone away.
“I don’t know what that is.” The collar of the shirt is practically choking him. He’s desperately pulling it away from his throat like he’s a rabbit in a snare.
“It’s an app about birds.” Pestilence miracles an I-Pad into his hands. “The password is 1123.”
“Err. What?” He figures it out eventually. Pestilence eventually takes the I-Pad away from him because he’s ruining her Twitter recommended feed with random videos meant for five year olds.
Pestilence transports them to St. James Park and they walk the rest of the way to Aziraphale’s bookshop. On the way, Francisco has been catcalled and whistled at by a numerous number of people. Sixteen men and one woman to be exact.
Aziraphale notices them, and stands up from his desk. Pestilence gives him a gesture that asks if she can come in, and he allows it. She shoves the door open. “AZIRAPHALE! Hi!” She smiled at him.
“Pestilence?? What are you doing here? Oh! You’ve brought him back! How kind of you to help him!” Aziraphale faked a smile back at her, sort of. It was a half smile. One half was happy that there wasn’t a disoriented demon wandering around central London. The other half was wondering why there were so many demons and entities in his bookshop. “Uhm. Francisco.. What are you.. What are you wearing..?” He noticed the hideous outfit delightfully procured by Pestilence.
“Pestilence told me these would make me fit in with humans more.” He was embarrassed he believed her.
“Aha. It’s cute. Isn’t it?? We’re matching!” It’s not cute. She’s lying. Don’t believe a word she says. She loves tormenting Francisco.
“These shoes hurt my feet terribly.” Francisco takes them off and places them on a table. He’s now standing barefoot in the bookshop.
“Oh, suck it up. You looked like a princess before. And trust me, I know princesses.”(5) Pestilence crossed her arms.
“Err. Yes. That’s quite a word to describe his outfit..” He cringes a bit before smiling again. “So, what brought him back to the bookshop?” Aziraphale wondered why Francisco decided to come back.
“Oh, well he hates me very deeply and wanted to come here so someone could help him. He told me you offered him help.” Francisco did not hate Pestilence. Pestilence is his best friend, thank you very much.
“What? I don’t–” Pestilence was already gone.
bonus for those who made it to the end:
