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The metaphorical lesson of his situation was not lost on him. He recently spent enough time in golden shackles of divine might, with a halo choker collar, to come to devastating terms with how lost he'd been, searching for God and his own purpose. How mired he was in his own internal turmoil as well as Heaven's extortion, enough to lose sight of what mattered most. It took being on his hands and knees before The Metatron to see how caught in Heaven's intricate web of guilt and sacrifice he was for centuries. The ethereal binds encased him, separating him from himself, and Crowley for too long; the being who he didn't only love, but who helped show him what real love was. What love could truly mean. What—
“There now, locked, snug, I think,” said the demon Eric, standing above him. “Ha, I can't believe I caught you.”
“Yes, have a gold star,” quipped Aziraphale dryly. “Crowley will be along any moment, and then you'll answer to—”
“Nah, mate. These are Earth shackles, iron, but 100% miracle proof. Came up with them myself. The patent paperwork is airtight on these.”
Same as his last days of confinement in Heaven, Aziraphale now sat in a wooden chair in the bookshop, his hands bound heavy with the weight of comically large cuffs, except this time there was no heavy weight on his heart.
Then the phone rang.
“That will be Crowley. Answer it and tell him I'm hopelessly trapped and—
“Me? I'm not talking, you tell him!”
“Huunngh, alright, fine, just bring me the receiver.”
Eric warily picked up the handle and gave it to Aziraphale.
“Crowley, where in hell—”
“‘Ziraphale, change in plan. The new Vietnamese fusion restaurant you wanted to try. I'm at—”
“I don— the one across from King's Cross? Near Mestizo's?”
“Yes, nicked us a table. If you come straight, we can fit in dinner before curtain and do a late dessert instead.”
“Oh, splendid. I thought it would take weeks to get in, even with miracles. I'm finishing off something. Be there in… twenty minutes?”
“That'll do, angel. I'll pick us out a bottle in the meantime.”
“Excellent. See you in a bit.”
Eric glared in disbelief. “In a… a bit? You're not going— I have—”
“Eric, sorry, struggling, the receiver— uh-uhh, b-be a good demon and help hang this—”
The demon reached.
“Yes, yes that's— before I-I drop it, please come take— quickly— oh, oh no—”
As the demon dove, reaching out both hands towards the falling receiver, the cold, hard weight and burning sting of a shackle came down on his left wrist.
Eric flinched. “What, no—”
With sounds of loud, clinking mechanical metal, by the time Eric blinked, Aziraphale twisted under, freed his own left, crossed and then shackled the demon's right wrist, binding tight, the dangling phone receiver and cord still balancing on Eric's fingers. With a hand firmly pushing his shoulder, the demon collapsed with a loud creak into the wooden chair.
“Muriel, I'm heading out. Would you be so kind as to take care of this little demon invasion down here?”
“Oi, who you calling—”
Muriel appeared over the second floor railing. “Oh, hello Eric, back again? Thank you, sir, I should be able to manage.”
Aziraphale would have to save playing distressed damsel for another time. Much like with Heaven, he had the power to dig deep and free himself, to truly find balance, space and love in his life. A love, and a wine glass, that were now waiting for him.
Eric struggled to get his jaw and words working, staring between Muriel and a swiftly exiting Aziraphale. The demon called out, “Mate, you couldn't use miracles, how'd you escape?”
As Aziraphale opened the shop door to exit, he tucked his lock pick back up his sleeve, turned with a stage-worthy sweeping bow and said with a flourish, “How? Because I am no ordinary angel. I'm a magician. And a good magician never tells.”