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The mellow evenings spent in his Bentley did little to resolve the growing restlessness within him.
It started with the aftermath of Armageddon.
Everything was torturously thematic only for it to leave a hole in its wake, a hole that left a tense standstill that he and Aziraphale were at the brunt of. The things that were said indirectly to Aziraphale ran through his mind constantly, and he felt stupid hoping things would settle after both of them switched back.
Lunch at the Ritz the same day brought a silver lining, standing strong against their previous meetups. He tried his best to enjoy the ambience as their glasses clinked together. But as the moment settled, he felt a sick pit inside his stomach looking at the affection in Aziraphale’s eyes knowing that Heaven would’ve burnt it up mercilessly. He wanted, no needed, for both of them to be left alone.
It only became more apparent that either side still had their foot in the door. The later eviction from his flat confirmed Hell’s awareness of Crowley’s unwillingness, but Shax and her constant contact made him know he was still being watched.
Through the Bentley's window, the sunrise illuminated the dust floating loosely in the interior. Crowley sat up with a groan, the leather creaking under his shifting weight. He haphazardly raised an arm to pull the glasses from his face, revealing an absent glare. His gaze drifted off aimlessly in thought as his head ached with yet another wave of unease. It began with an intense tingling on his nape that shot down and dispersed across his back. It had been like this for days, and it was wracking his entire body.
He shifted in place uncomfortably, only stilling when he noticed something on his right hand. Scales. A small black cluster of them that contrasted against the surrounding skin. His eyes narrowed as his breath stifled. No, no. He must have done it with purpose, it shouldn’t- couldn’t just appear without his will.
The air grew cold with a sudden change in presence. Shax.
He growled through gritted teeth, promptly placing the glasses back across the bridge of his nose. She was now beside him in the passenger, her eyes already narrowing in scrutiny.
“What is it?” Crowley said impatiently, shifting the angle of his right hand away from view.
“I would’ve thought you’d keep a cleaner space.” She looked to the backseat, noting that the plants he’d taken previously had begun to wilt.
His expression lowered, resisting the urge to show visible frustration. She’d always do this, ramble on about something shallow before not so subtly cutting deep.
Her face contorted into an unexpected smirk. “Somebody’s not too thrilled,” she said with condescension.
Then Crowley felt it. A brief wet movement between his lips. His tongue had changed, forked and now slim. The atmosphere was stale around him as he noticed just how much his mouth had shifted. The human canines he’d grown used to were now long pointed fangs and that dreadful shiver dug into spine once more.
“It’s nothing.” he asserted, feeling the subconscious flick of his tongue.
It wouldn’t revert.
“Hmph.” She stared at his mouth for a brief moment, “Anyway, thought I'd tell you that operations have been rather lax.”
“Really now,” he said indifferently.
“No wonder you’ve stuck it up here for so long, I can’t believe I initially thought that it would be a challenging role.” Her lips pursed with condescension.
He blinked once and she disappeared out of thin air.
He exhaled sharply and slammed his hand down onto the compartment beside him, digging his fingernails into the leather.
“Turn back,” he hissed at himself desperately, his panic outweighing the Shax’s annoying intrusion. He could no longer rely on miracles, but that wouldn’t provide that much help either. A corporation was formed through sheer will, or the volition of the powers at play. Some traits were ever present and permanent, his eyes fit well under that category.
If it wasn’t stress causing this, that meant that Hell was playing at something. Would they really try something this early? After the forces of Hell all witnessed ‘him’ bathe in the purest of holy water and leave unscathed?
A nauseating thought piled onto the rest, what if they didn’t buy that display and were forcing him physically back?
He swallowed, his shoulders rising.
He hadn’t processed just how fast he sped down to Whickber Street until he was at the doorstep of A.Z. Fell & Co. His foot tapped on the pavement as he looked through the front windows of the shop. He had to at least attempt to ease himself, and if that didn’t work, then...
Aziraphale sensed Crowley’s presence as soon as he came into the vicinity, making him lift his head from the book he was engrossed in. He noticed the distinct tufts of red hair from his view inside the bookshop and hurried over to the door.
“Crowley! You’re here early.” His voice trailed off, noticing the distinct change in features.
He noticed Aziraphale hesitate, his eyebrows raised as he said the first thing that crossed his mind, “Just experimenting with stuff.” He glanced around, not making direct eye contact.
A look of unsureness clouded the Angel before he dismissed it and invited Crowley inside.
He realised he had organised to visit Aziraphale for lunch later that day, his stays were getting frequent. Any minute with him was time well spent and he was none the wiser to Crowley’s living situation.
The scent of the old books wafted through the air, soothing him as he sauntered across the space. He stretched across the lounge, watching as Aziraphale poured two glasses of wine atop the coffee table.
“So,” he started, settling into his armchair, “how have things been on your end?”
Crowley leaned back, extending his body further, “nothing interesting, quiet.”
“Good to hear,” he responded warmly..
As he drank he realised the way Aziraphale was studying his appearance. He crammed any thought about his forked tongue or scales away, hoping it would resolve by itself.
“You?” He questioned.
“Haven’t heard anything from Head Office,” he continued, looking toward a pile of vinyls, “I picked up some new records earlier. Maggie is quite generous.”
“Hm.” Crowley grunted in acknowledgment, trying to drop his shoulders.
Aziraphale's glance flickered over Crowley’s now full yellow eyes. Over the course of their relationship, his eyes had been the most consistent aspect of the Demon. There was hardly a time during Armageddon that his eyes had a human shape to them, and with that averted he was wondering what could be getting Crowley like this. Though, then again, it could just be him ‘experimenting’.
“What?” The Angels microexpressions could not go unnoticed by him.
There was a brief silence that weighed over the room before Aziraphale approached the topic, “Is there something wrong?” he furrowed his brows.
“Wrong?” He feigned ignorance. “Angel, there's hardly any harm in switching stuff up sometimes.”
His molars as if they were going to crack from pressure, the agonising prickle rolled across his arm until it was a scaled mess. Aziraphale seemed to notice this abrupt crack in composure as his eyes widened.
“Crowley-” His voice rang out but only grew distorted, registered barely by Crowley's ears.
The world warped, elongating and shortening at different points in the room. Everything grew frigid as his vision became murky and indescribable. He felt his body contort without control, an oppressive weight only mounting. He fell. He breathed in so sharply he gagged, the searing agony of blistering sulfur dripped through his throat. Autonomy was gone, and he could hardly recognise himself.
Darkness surrounded him as stillness enveloped the area. He felt Aziraphale's presence return to his senses, warm and nearby. He heard his steady voice vibrate across the ground,
“Please Crowley,” he said flustered, “are you alright?”
He was bent over awkwardly, positioning his head to look under the couch. Crowley had fully morphed into his snake form, wasting no time to flee and hide himself from view.
Crowley soon realised the situation he was in and wanted to disappear. He was sickeningly cold, already knowing what he reverted to. He pushed against his own skin trying to change back, but was only met with a concentrated ache.
“Fuck,” he rasped.
Aziraphale’s face relaxed at the sound of his voice, finally getting a response after minutes of pleading with him.
“I can’t turn back.” His head angled upwards, his unblinking stare aimed at Aziraphale. “Hells done this, I don’t know what they discovered but…” He frantically rambled, letting his weeks worth of ruminations slip.
His lips tightened, “Hell!?” He stammered from overwhelm, “They found out about…?”
“Or they think the whole thing was a bluff,” he sputtered, returning Aziraphale's attention, “probably testing limits, the bastards.”
The Angel glanced left and right, trying to gauge what to do.
“Do you feel a pull?” he gestured to the floor.
There was a brief pause, Crowley kept checking himself over and over. He didn’t feel a direct force over him, or even the proximity of other demons. It didn’t eliminate the fact that someone of a higher rank was pulling strings.
He was grounded by the sudden sensation of Aziraphale’s fingertips touching his scales. Each brush having a gentle radiance to them.
“Here…” The palm of his hand was open and flat, inviting Crowley to slither upon his arm. His heart fluttered against his chest, this contact was new.
He made his way up the Angels arm, coils wrapping methodically and ending at his wrist. Safety exuded from every point of contact, overflowing with heat. It burned away and revealed a vulnerability that he was ashamed of.
His scales were a faded dull grey, a far cry from what they looked like during Eden. He remembers the first time he laid eyes on them glistening under the young sun. Aziraphale had to shake the thought that Crowley looked stunning when they first met.
Stuck shed trapped his body in different areas, he even let out an embarrassing hiss when Aziraphale rubbed against them.
There was a silence between the two of them as the initial shock calmed, “Crowley, I uh- if this is the work of Hells forces, maybe we could try to counter it.”
“Miracles won’t work, they’d only bring more attention.” Crowley stated, paranoid.
Aziraphale wondered how Crowley would take his response, he was offering something entirely different. “What if your form can be coaxed back?”
“Coaxed?” A dark whisper emanated from him, making the Angel shudder.
“Well, if I were to tend to you…it might fight this all off.” Aziraphale talked around what he meant, already suspecting Crowley’s response. “Hopefully,” he added.
If he had eyebrows in this form, they’d be raised to the high heavens. Aziraphale tending to him?
His vehement defences that fell flat, he was now being held suspended above a sink slowly filling with water. The Angel fashioned a guilty look whenever the Snake looked up at him with scorn.
Long ago, Aziraphale planned to have this bathroom removed for book storage. Too many guests made use of it, and it would be more tedious giving directions to the nearest restroom than just having one. In times like these where nothing could be miracled into existence, it proved extremely useful.
He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, placing Crowley lightly into the water. He tensed for a moment, wanting to shrink into himself. Then he felt Aziraphale's hands over him, he almost bolted out the bath feeling the sensation of his soft fingers nudging the shed. In any other context this would be so confronting they wouldn’t be able to look each other in the eye.
Aziraphale bathing and holding him? It didn’t help that he was peering down so attentively at him at the same time, minding every small movement he made in response to contact. He had a mental block of viewing Crowley as some helpless creature in need. It would be too far off.
After peeling away the last bit of trapped shed, he patted him dry with a short huff of satisfaction. He observed the way Crowley subconsciously gravitated to him even more so in this corporation. Then an idea struck him.
“Maybe my body heat will help.” He said curtly.
His mouth clenched at the idea, almost scoffing from disbelief, “Body heat? What, you think snuggling up is going to work?”
“It has to do something, you could use the energy.” Aziraphale advised, “You seem to be drawn to it already.”
“Ngk,” He muttered. He angled his neck as the Angel lifted him once again.
Aziraphalel knew very well how to get on the nerves of Crowley. The large cup of lukewarm water served in an angel wing mug was added mockery. It’s not like demons or angels needed sustenance, but this body was sensitive. The poor snake gulped every ounce of it in a matter of seconds.
Hours melted into each other, the sounds of page turning and subsequent hums filled the ambience. Crowley sat curled around Azriphale's neck as the end of his tail drooped into the back of his coat. His warm internal glow engulfed the Demon like a soothing balm, shielding him from the whims of the outside world.
The shop was now dark, only lit by the faint radiance of a candle next to him. He couldn't tell whether Crowley was awake or not and he let out a thoughtful sigh. There had been no signs of danger but something deeply unspoken was lingering.
“Crowley, ” he started, figuring out ways to phrase his question, “You can be honest with me…we…we’re a team.” He stared off into a distant shelf.
“There’s something more bothering you, isn’t there?” his words lingered when quietness continued.
He was caught dead in a trap. His breath deepened, now fully awake.
“I…” he stammered briefly, “Look- Heaven and Hell, they won’t leave us alone, you know that, right?” he said with bitterness in his chest.
Aziraphale's jaw tightened, his gaze now fixed to the floor. So that’s what had been worrying the poor boy. He hoped that either side, or at least Heaven, would come to an ultimate understanding. What he and Crowley did was right in all respects, God didn’t interfere. He wanted nothing more than to fix it all.
“...I’m sure if we evaded the end of the world we can make it through anything, dear boy.” he smiled endearingly.
“I suppose so,” His voice softened with a faint croak.
He felt the brief movement of Aziraphale leaning forward. He was grabbing a tartan blanket, its colours barely distinguishable in the dimness. He then leaned back, unfurling it across his lap to sleep with.
Crowley hadn't known a burning this consoling. It was as if his mind was melting wax under a spark. The Principality sat guarded and motionless, ready to protect at any call.
Aziraphale shifted in place, inhaling when the first light brightened the shop. He felt a heavy weight on him that made him catch his breath. Crowley. In his human corporation.
His breath was softly tickling his neck and got caught between occasional fidgety grunts. Extended across his body were his right arm and leg, his hands tightly gripping the Angels collar unable to let go.
Instinctively, he moved carefully in the same way you’d step around a faun to not wake it. His blue eyes wandered across each detail of Crowley’s face, savouring it. The angular shape of his nose, the faint wrinkles on the corner of his eyes, all of it. Guilt chipped at him despite this. He’d never been this close to him, not when he took on this corporation. But oh, how his soul thrummed for it. How his hands shook when he ran his fingers through those red curls, watching greedily as they moved.
His eyelids lowered, accompanied by an audible swallow. How could he ever resist him?