Happy Holidays, twilightcitysky!

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The Enlightened Fraternity of the Serpentine Demon

by Secret Author

For twilightcitysky. I hope you like it!

Summary:

A secret society moves in down the street from the bookshop and shows a particular interest in Crowley. They don’t appear to be very competent at first glance, but Crowley feels better poking around to see what they’re up to, just in case. When he fails to return from his investigations, it’s up to Aziraphale to rescue his demon from the group’s clutches before they end up doing something they’ll regret. Rated T.

“Well, thank you for the information, and have a wonderful evening!”

Aziraphale shut the door to the bookshop, having closed for the day several minutes earlier. He turned the lock again and walked back into the office, where Crowley was rooting through the liquor cabinet, trying to decide between single malt scotch or an excellent red wine. Making up his mind, he pulled out the decanter and two tumblers.

“Who was that?”

“Tom from across the street.” Aziraphale held up a flyer in one hand.

“Oh yes. Mr Neighbourhood Watch. What evil is lurking in the alleyways of Soho this time?”

Aziraphale hummed in reply.

Crowley set down the decanter and tumblers on the table in the back where Aziraphale joined him. Sunglasses set aside now that no customers were going to come barging through the door, Crowley got truly comfortable, sprawling in his chair while Aziraphale poured the scotch, commenting he was glad Crowley chose that over the red wine. The flyer lay abandoned off to the side, half-sitting on the elaborate silver candelabra Aziraphale kept on the table. Crowley snatched it up.

“Always with the flyers, too. Like that makes his paranoia worth everyone’s time.”

“Crowley, his vigilance stopped a crime spree a few years ago.”

“Yeah, and? Now he’s saying some secret society has let the former bakery down the way and people in dark cloaks are showing up there during full moons.” Crowley tossed the flyer aside, not believing anyone used that bakery for anything untoward. “Weirdos in secret societies have just as much right to do their thing as long as they’re not hurting anyone. The minute they start drawing pentagrams on the walls, I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s not that. It’s just Tom said they’ve been asking around about you. About why you insist on wearing sunglasses everywhere.”

Crowley set down his tumbler with a reassuring smile for his angel. “It’s not like I’m in any danger.”

He refused to admit he was now a little on edge. Nobody gave a damn about his sunglasses any more now that they were ubiquitous, and he wasn’t the only one to wear them in situations where the sun wasn’t shining. On the rare occasions they were bold enough to ask him directly about it, in contrast to modern-day politeness, he told him he had a condition which made him sensitive to light. It wasn’t a lie. Those vertical pupils of his meant he had great night vision, but also meant bright light hurt terribly. That explanation always seemed to satisfy.

People who were asking others about his sunglasses were not interested in eye defects. They were attempting to suss out what he was. Or at least that was the lesson Crowley had learned over the years. How many prisons had he broken out of throughout the centuries because the superstitious were wary of his serpentine eyes?

“Crowley, I am not worried about you. I am more concerned about them,” sighed Aziraphale. “Remember when you banished that poor man to an aeroplane he wasn’t supposed to be on? We had quite a mess to clean up. I do not want to have to deal with the aftermath if you negligently banish someone into a volcano, my dear.”

“All right! I’ll be careful if I have to get rid of anyone.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale smiled sweetly at him over the top of his tumbler.

Already, Crowley was itching to meet these possible occultists. He knew the drill, since this wasn’t his first encounter with a group that thought he might be an occult being. Also, these secret society members were up to something. There was absolutely no reason for them to gather clandestine information on him unless they had some ulterior motive.

Crowley squinted again at the flyer he had laid back down beside his tumbler of scotch. On it, Tom listed observed gatherings at the former bakery, other areas around the neighbourhood they frequented and known people they had talked with. Tom had quite the attention to detail. His detective skills mildly impressed Crowley.

Soho’s resident snoop could almost out-neighbourhood-watch that idiot up in Tadfield who kept a close eye on Crowley whenever he was in town with Aziraphale secretly checking up on the Antichrist. 

“It’s a full moon tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Crowley, no. It is one thing if one of them accosts you, but please don’t go searching for trouble. We had our fill of that three years ago in Tadfield.” Aziraphale pleaded with him, his facial expression changing to one of worry.

“I’ll just spy on them. I promise.”

He’d keep his promise to just spy for now, but that could change at a moment’s notice if he felt they were becoming a threat to him or Aziraphale. They had finally earned their peace, and he would be twice damned if he was going to allow anyone to disturb it without consequences. But Aziraphale didn’t need to worry about that now. Instead, Crowley distracted him.

Rising to his feet, the demon pulled Aziraphale to his as well, spinning the angel around so Aziraphale’s broad back rested against Crowley’s slim chest. Crowley nuzzled along Aziraphale’s neck, his lips brushing the skin so lightly, a shiver passed through the angel and Crowley chuckled at what such a simple brief touch could do.

“Angel, I will not risk myself, you, or our relationship. We’ve worked too hard and waited too long to reach this point. C’mon. Grab your scotch and let’s take this party to the sofa. I haven’t had a good snog since this morning.”

“I’d like that very much,” said Aziraphale with a gleam in his sky-blue eyes.

Grabbing both glasses, he handed Crowley his, and they adjourned to the sofa where they abandoned the fine scotch on the coffee table for some good old-fashioned kissing. Crowley sank into the physical display of affection, feeling Aziraphale’s love even more strongly the moment their lips touched. He closed his eyes and simply felt. 

Aziraphale stroked his hair. “You just need to forget about our new neighbours for a while. How about a few games of chess?”

“Fine, angel. I’ll play your favourite game with you.”

Lovingly, he kissed Aziraphale on his upturned nose before the angel took the board off the shelf. Crowley chose black. He always selected black and Aziraphale white. They still bent to the unspoken rules at times, even if they were on their own side. To be fair, the two flipped a coin to decide who went first, instead of going with the custom of white starting.

This time, Aziraphale won the toss, and they started the first of several games that carried them into the night. Unfortunately for Crowley, his mind still wandered to the secret society instead of staying on chess strategies. It became noticeable to his partner.

“You’ve lost thrice in a row,” said Aziraphale as he checkmated Crowley’s king again. “Are you that worried?”

“No. It’s just been a while since I’ve had to deal with secret societies. Most of those went out of style last century. No, eighteen hundreds. Is that two centuries ago now?”

“It doesn’t matter. Either way, they’re not that common. I’d be willing to bet it is just a group of teenagers playing silly buggers.”

Crowley responded with a kiss to Aziraphale’s perfectly plump hand. He’d get this problem solved so they could get back to their well-deserved quiet life without the threat of some stupid humans engaging in some incredibly dumb drama hanging over their heads. After being in the thick of six thousand years of human history, they deserved an uneventful existence.

~*~*~

Crowley leaned against a building across from his target, unseen by the humans as he waited for something to happen. So far, it had been a boring fifteen minutes he stood around in the dark of the silent street, and he had begun to wonder if this super-secret meeting had been cancelled. He was just pondering conjuring up a cigarette for old time’s sake, even though he had quit smoking back in the seventies at Aziraphale’s insistence. Apparently, nicotine wasn’t good for books.

Finally, someone approached the stretch of shops Crowley was staking out, and the demon burst out laughing to see the dark cloak trailing behind the human.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, cigarette forgotten.

The figure in the dark cloak counted the doors after the cross street in its search for the right building.

“One. Two. Three. Oh, yes. There it is.”

“It” was the bakery that had gone out of business. Above the door, a sign still announced the best cupcakes in London, even if the bakery’s name was gone. The building lay in the shadows just after eleven o’clock, when the rest of the shops had been closed for hours. The only people walking around were the occasional lost tourists trying to stumble back to the nightlife that existed in more exciting parts of Soho. Exciting nightlife in the area would have made running a secret society impossible.

Someone–landlord or former tenants–had covered the glass door and picture windows in brown paper to keep the curious from peering in. It was perfect for keeping secret business secret. The figure knocked in a special cadence–three knocks, a pause, two more–and the door opened a crack.

“Yes?” said a pair of eyeballs that peered out from the darkness inside.

“Uhhhh, it’s a wet day for cricket.”

A sigh emitted from somewhere below the eyeballs. “Football, Brother Smith. ‘It’s a wet day for football.’ What’s the point of secret passphrases when you can’t be bothered to remember them?”

“It’s not like we need them. Who exactly is going to show up here but us?”

“We’re doing this proper, so Supreme Sister Taylor said we need to use passphrases.” The doorkeeper allowed Brother Smith to come in, followed closely by one invisible demon.

This old bakery still had its furniture, and now a handful of figures in dark cloaks sat around two or three small tables, quietly conversing in a room lit with only candles. The candles were supposed to add to the mystique of the society’s mission, but unfortunately, the sunshine-yellow walls and the menu behind the counter written in cheerful letters on a chalkboard framed in sketched flowers did a very good job of cancelling out any occult effects. The group tried their best with what they had to work with.

“Are we all here?” asked the Supreme Sister Taylor, who was standing in front of the till between two very dribbly candles on tall stands. They all went by generic last names–Johnson, Smith, Taylor, Brown–to hide their identities. “Looks like it.”

The last stragglers took their seats. None realised there was an extra person who had seated themselves off to the side unnoticed. Crowley sat back in his chair with his feet on the table and arms across his chest as he evaluated the motley group before him. Maybe Aziraphale was right, and they had no clue what they were doing.

“And now we begin, oh Enlightened Fraternity of the Serpentine Demon!” called out Supreme Sister Taylor. “Let us recite our order’s laws and repeat the Oath of Fealty and Secrecy!”

There was a great rising of cloaked figures, chairs scraping across the tile floor like nails across the chalkboard menu.

“On my honour, I will do my best to promote the mission of the Enlightened Fraternity of the Serpentine Demon…”

“Oh, for the love of all that’s unholy,” said Crowley under his breath as they chanted. “Just…how?”

He listened to them regurgitate more such asinine phrases in unison until their opening ceremony finished with a great rising of members who put their left fists over their hearts and pledged fealty to their secret order’s mission.

“...and I promise to take the secrets I shall learn here to my grave. So help me, God.”

They seated themselves again with another ear-piercing scraping of chairs.

Unfortunately for Crowley, this little ritual of theirs failed to spell out what that mission was, but he didn’t have a good feeling about it. Who else could the Serpentine Demon be, but him? Ten million demons yet he was the only one gifted a snake form when he Fell. Oh, there were thousands of fish, loads of insects, and even a handful of hyenas, but when the Almighty made Hell a zoo, she decided one snake was enough. Maybe it was to let him know when he became the subject of a secret society?

“Brother Jones has a report on the activities of our suspected demon.”

All eyes turned to the figure of average height and probably average build under that voluminous cloak as Brother Jones shuffled up to the improvised speaking area, a dirty notebook clutched in one hand. He cleared his throat and flipped through rumpled pages of notes before he addressed the small crowd in front of him. Crowley pulled his feet off the table to lean forward with interest. Did these wankers actually have someone following him without his knowledge?

“Umm… So, you know, last spring Supreme Sister Taylor founded this group. She saw our suspected demon using his powers to gain small advantages and curse people in minor ways, especially if they wronged his companion. I saw one guy fall into the mud after knocking into the companion at St. James’s Park. Oh, yeah. And several people suddenly left a long line at the coffee shop near the companion’s bookshop when our suspected demon joined it.”

“Yeah, and?” muttered Crowley. “It proves nothing of me being a demon.”

“It’s taken me a while, but I finally have discovered where he lives, if you can call it that. I don’t think demons truly have homes, but he’s got to go somewhere at night if he’s not out collecting souls for Hell.”

“Yeah, like I take anyone’s soul unless they’ve handed it to me on a silver platter.”

But Crowley quieted when Brother Jones gave the address of his building and pulled himself upright in his chair. 

“That flat is one of a few places he goes without the companion. That and nightclubs. Well, the companion does sometimes visit our suspected demon’s flat but, you know, sometimes he’s just there alone. No company or anything. Like people do. It’s weird. You’d think he’d have something going on, like communicating with Hell.”

“How do you know he’s not?” said someone at the tables.

“No weird green lights, duh!”

Brother Jones continued after answering that question so eloquently, but Crowley was too busy seething to listen. His entire life was being tracked by a bunch of incompetent sods, an offence he could not allow to continue. Angry, he slouched back into his chair, losing himself in preliminary plans to chase these stalkers out of Soho so he and Aziraphale could live life in peace. He didn’t notice when the speaker sat down and those at the tables started asking questions.

“So, what’s up with the companion?” someone else asked. “I could swear they’re dating or something from the way our suspected demon treats him.”

“Dunno,” another member at a different table said. “But he also seems to have supernatural elements about him. I swear I saw him use magic once. Kept a bird from pooping on a guy’s head.”

“A magic-using supernatural being kept a bird from pooping on a guy’s head? That’s your example?” asked another member.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that? Maybe he’s a nice supernatural being. Nobody wants bird poop in their hair.”

Crowley groaned. How could a group that appeared so incompetent have actually been so good at spying on them? Aziraphale was more than capable of handling trouble, but that didn’t mean Crowley wanted it knocking on the bookshop’s door. 

“Another demon?”

“Would a demon stop a bird from pooping on someone?”

“Can we forget the bird already?”

“Nah, I think an angel,” said a more level-headed member of the fraternity. “Blond guy, dresses in light colours, is polite as long as you don’t try to buy the books in that bookshop he runs.”

“That’s stupid. What kind of angel would date a demon?”

“A corrupted one.”

“It doesn’t seem like the guy’s under any kind of evil influence.”

“Aziraphale is not corrupt. I don’t corrupt people.” Crowley was seething now. “So Fourteenth Century, that…” The conversation continued like they didn’t hear him, but that was because they didn’t.

The more they discussed Aziraphale, the angrier Crowley became. He snarled at their talk about him and Aziraphale, his eye teeth lengthening into discernible fangs. Feeling them grow, Crowley took a few deep breaths and stood up to leave. 

He had seen enough, but he was too worked up to take any kind of logical action against them. Discouragement was the name of the game here, not allowing his temper to get the best of him. Scaring them off permanently should wait a day or two until he could cool down because otherwise, they were in for a lifetime of horrible mobile phone service and socks that always felt slightly damp. 

“I think we need to ask our suspected demon. We’ve gathered enough information. It’s time we got answers.”

“Oh shit! Nononono!”

Crowley bolted for the exit as the Supreme Leader pulled out a book on demon summoning out of a pink flowered suitcase on wheels full of tomes, walked to the furthest corner of the dining room and started drawing chalk runes on the floor.

~*~*~

Crowley had said he would only be out for an hour or two, but by four in the morning he had not returned, and Aziraphale was getting worried. When Crowley said he would be back in a certain amount of time, he was. If he couldn’t be, he would call. The ancient telephone had been quiet the entire night, giving Aziraphale a reason to be concerned.

Four cups of tea passed the time while he waited at his desk where he fiddled mindlessly with some minor paperwork while he glanced at the silent phone every few minutes, each time he hoped for a ring only adding to the uneasiness. He was on his fifth cup, camomile this time, when he decided enough was enough. Maybe he should go see what was holding Crowley up.

What was that address again? Aziraphale poked around the back room table, then searched the side of the sofa Crowley hadn’t sat on. He often stashed items there, putting them down absently before forgetting that’s where he left them. He’d evidently abandoned the flyer there beside a spare pair of sunglasses.

Oh, yes.Aziraphale perused the flyer. The old bakery. How could I forget?

He took a moment to make some cocoa, pouring it into a thermos. It might come in handy, he thought, since he was of a mind that killing them with kindness was a better solution if Crowley truly was in trouble. If kindness wasn’t enough, he would trot out more persuasive means of getting his partner out of an unpleasant situation. He had to rummage for a bag, but he eventually found one to put the thermos in, along with a few other provisions. Prepared, he walked out into the chilly morning air.

t was clear this full moon, but Aziraphale was disappointed little of its silvery light made it down to Earth, most of it being chased off by the bright lights of London. The moon was well on its way to setting. Dipping low enough in the sky, it could have been touching the city skyline. Aziraphale would have appreciated the sight more if he wasn’t worried about Crowley.

With any luck, he would soon set everything to rights again.

~*~*~

Crowley opened up his eyes, flat on his back inside the chalked circle holding him prisoner. The magic that kept him in this place rippled in his demon sight like heat waves off of hot pavement.

A little sick to his stomach after the summoning experience, he pulled himself to a sitting position with one leg bent at the knee and the other tucked under it. His sunglasses were gone, and he wondered who had braved the circle to take them while he was unconscious. 

He groused wordlessly under his breath, now annoyed his usual armour was gone. Crowley felt very vulnerable without the dark glasses, but he couldn’t allow the humans to know that. He could not afford to give them an advantage when they currently confined him to a circle, unable to influence anything that happened outside of it.

But that was the danger of being summoned – it knocked you out for a time, and left you completely at your captors’ mercy. He did a quick scan of his corporation and senses. At least he had not been Bound. Not yet, anyway. He had been Bound before while unconscious, forced to do his captor’s bidding, and what they wanted always left him hating himself, even if such actions were performed when he had been robbed of his free will.

Aziraphale had extracted him from that kind of situation twice, and afterwards, Crowley had buried himself in Aziraphale’s embrace until the self-hatred evaporated. The angel’s loving touch healed him, making him thank his lucky stars for their wonderful relationship.

Other demons weren’t always so lucky, but hey…they survived just fine without hugs. Plus, after triplicate paperwork and the Department of Requisitions dragging its feet as long as possible, they could get a new corporation if their escape attempt didn’t go as planned.

“Aren’t you going to ask us what we want?” said a young-sounding human whose face was hidden in the shadows of their raised hood.

“Well,” said Crowley, making it appear like he was giving it some thought. “No. Go fetch your fearless leader. I’ll only speak with her.”

He hissed at them, showing off the fangs that had grown in his distress and anger, alongside his preternaturally long tongue. Alarmed, the young member scampered off to the backroom to get the leader. Only a few of the fraternity remained in view, speaking in whispers around a charming little bakery table piled precariously with ancient-looking tomes, probably from that same pink flowered suitcase which sat empty nearby.

The rest of them must have been in the back with Supreme Sister Taylor. Or maybe they had to go home before their parents punished them for breaking curfew. Crowley didn’t know or care. He was happy nobody else noticed he was awake yet.

Alone for the moment, the confined demon reached out to test the side of the circle only to hit an invisible barrier. These idiots had actually done it right, it seemed. Frustrated, he curled his hand into a fist, only to relax it before anyone noticed.

“The Serpent.” Supreme Sister Taylor said, approaching his invisible cage. “You’ve been here since the beginning.”

“You must be the smart one.”

He had to remain calm. It wasn’t like Aziraphale was just going to leave him here.

She shrugged, the hood still obscuring her features. “They’re young. They’ll learn. I also had hundreds of years of my family’s writings to go on. All I had to do was track you down, and that was easy since you’ve spent the greater part of the last two hundred years around Soho. The rest had to learn and believe first.”

Crowley shifted into a more cross-legged position where he propped his elbows on his lanky thighs and his chin on his thin hands. “So, this is a generational stalking. It didn’t just start with you asking questions of my neighbours. Care to tell me more?”

She pulled down her cloak’s hood and smiled, a mousy-brown greying woman who looked to be in her mid-forties. “No, I don’t think so.” Her voice wavered slightly, even though she showed no other signs of nervousness.

Crowley snapped his fingers to manifest a new pair of sunglasses. Thank someone his powers still worked within the confines of his prison.

He smiled when Supreme Sister Taylor jumped. Good, he read her right, and she really was anxious about this. Nervous people were easy to distract. He could keep her talking and himself out of trouble until Aziraphale got here.

“Of course. Of course. Can’t give the charming, dashing demon an advantage, can you?” He leaned back on one hand, unconcerned about his imprisonment. “It’s too bad I already have one or two. So, you might as well just make your demands, because maybe I’ll be less inclined to send your souls to Hell if you amuse me.”

His eyes flickered a brighter yellow for a moment, and the Supreme Sister stepped back when she saw the supernova in them. Crowley grinned. Fantastic. Bluff though it was, he had their attention. The remaining members were gathering behind her, shuffling over in ones or twos from the front of the room.

“Sooo,” he said as he slid his new pair of dark glasses into place. “What do you need a demon for? To curse an enemy? Wealth and power? Gardening tips?”

“Gardening tips?” Supreme Sister Taylor gawked at him like he was mad.

“Oh, it would surprise you how many people have trouble getting plants to grow. Few seem to know that African violets like a north-facing window, if you want an example.” 

A cheery knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Crowley smiled widely. A surprised Supreme Sister Taylor looked over her shoulder towards the front of the building, annoyed by the intrusion.

“That’ll be my ride,” said Crowley, a smug look passing over his face.

~*~*~

“Good morning!” said Aziraphale, his heart pounding against his chest while he hoped his smile was genuine enough to pass muster. 

“We’re not open,” said Brother Smith, who attempted to close the door.

Aziraphale’s hand shot out, pushing it open with gentle strength, and he barged past Brother Smith into the bakery. “Since you seem to do your business by night, this was only the logical time to come over, isn’t it? Welcome to the neighbourhood.”

In his inescapable bubble, Crowley stood up, a thankful look on his face. “Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale gave him a tiny wave before walking to a table to set his bag on it and rummaged through it for the thermos. He waggled it at the dark cloaks huddled by the papered-over windows. “Refreshments? I brought cocoa and some biscuits I baked.”

“You’re offering cocoa to the idiots who kidnapped me?” Crowley looked dumbfounded at him from his prison inside the circle of chalked runes. “Aziraphale, we’ve discussed this!”

“Hush, my dear. We’ll talk in a minute.”

“Seriously? You’re supposed to be rescuing me!”

The cluster of hooded figures looked at Crowley, then at the spread Aziraphale had laid on the table, including the thermos, some paper cups and plates, and an open tin containing the aforementioned home-baked biscuits. One hooded figure shrugged at the fellow fraternity member beside them in confusion.

“Who are you?” another asked.

“Mr. Fell, proprietor of the bookshop down the way. I must say I’m surprised a group such as yourselves came into our quiet neighbourhood. I’m sure it’s quite dull by your standards around here. One would think someplace closer to the nightclubs would more be your style. Come sit.”

He busied himself pouring steaming cups of cocoa while Crowley uttered vowel-less noises in the background in protest, and the members of the fraternity looked to their leader for guidance. She shrugged as she sat down. Several others joined her while a couple more pulled tables together so they could all gape at the oddity who had invited himself into their secret meeting. Aziraphale passed around the biscuit tin.

“So, where shall we begin?” Aziraphale asked as seated members sheepishly took a biscuit, then handed the tin on.

“Freeing the demon would be nice!” said Crowley.

Aziraphale turned to give him a beatific smile and a wink. “Patience, Crowley. Now, my dear Supreme Sister, I must ask what you want with my demon?”

In the background, Crowley gave a frustrated groan and flopped back down into a seated position.

“Your demon? I’m the one who trapped him.” Supreme Sister Taylor bristled, her hand just about crushing the flimsy paper cup she held. She had only taken it because Aziraphale handed it to her.

“And I give you my most heartfelt congratulations on that.” Aziraphale gave a genteel nod. “But I have a vested interest in this particular demon.”

“Nobody should have a vested interest in any demon.”

“Yet here you are, holding one captive.” Aziraphale kept his tone light and remembered to put on his most friendly smile.

“I hear you’re a supernatural being, too. Do you want to join him? I’m sure I can find a spell to hold an angel, if that’s what you are.”

Aziraphale sighed. He had wanted to negotiate Crowley’s release in the most friendly way possible, but it looked like he was going to have to put his foot down. These shenanigans could not continue. He knew the longer Crowley stewed in his prison, the more he would want to curse the fraternity’s lives full of annoying minor inconveniences. Even if it was just mischief, Aziraphale would rather Crowley didn’t condemn someone to a lifetime of constant flat tyres and plumbing that perpetually dripped.

“Do you really want to?” he asked with complete calm and turned his gaze upon the precariously stacked tomes two tables away. “That you even found a volume containing demon summoning is a surprise. Most of those aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on and aren’t as ancient as you believe.”

He used a little angelic influence to push his growing feelings of impatience upon his audience. Some closer brethren recoiled in their chairs. One poor soul choked on a mouthful of cocoa. A stream of it splattered on the dusty table as their neighbour pounded them on the back. Supreme Sister Taylor didn’t move.

“Well, we don’t need them any longer,” she said. “We have the demon now, and I’d rather you didn’t interfere. We just need him long enough to fulfil our wishes.”

“And you think he’s going to be forgiving once you let him free?”

There was silence for a moment or two until Crowley ended it by adding his own voice to the conversation. “I can guarantee there will not be any forgiveness!”

“Crowley, you know such outbursts do not help negotiations!”

“Oh, I think we’re beyond negotiations, angel. Get me out of here.”

“Give me half a second.” Aziraphale smiled nervously at Supreme Sister Taylor. “You heard him. No forgiveness and he’s not a demon who forgets. May I take him home now before everything gets out of hand?”

“Just fly back to Heaven and let us work,” Sister Taylor replied nastily. “I don’t understand your interest in this. You two are on opposite sides. I would have thought an angel would enjoy seeing a demon get his due.”

Aziraphale flushed with fury as he rose from his chair. How dare they? He trembled momentarily while his wings unfurled, the tips of his snow-white feathers glowing with an ethereal light that spread to encompass his entire body. Bright blue eyes opened here and there on his wings, randomly placed among the feathers. If they hadn’t been unsettling enough on their own, their scattered appearance only heightened the sense of unease when the humans looked upon them.

It was even worse that they blinked with no discernible pattern. It was like watching strings of fairy lights that flickered at different speeds.

Half the cloaked figures made a stampede for the door. The other half froze in place, glued to their chairs as they stared at the imposing angel before them. One of them started praying.

“That will not help. It all just goes to voicemail. Anyway, as much as you pride yourself on your surveillance, it has more holes than a wheel of Swiss cheese. I am no longer with Heaven and he…” Aziraphale pointed in Crowley’s direction, “…is no longer with Hell. We have sided with the humans and until now, I have never been ashamed of the people I have met in Soho in the last two hundred years I have lived here. But you lot are the first. Congratulations.”

“But…” 

“I am not finished. That demon has done more for humanity than most angels would even think of, and I will not have him mistreated. He helped save the world once…a little incompetently…” Aziraphale’s anger wavered a little, and he wrung his hands with a touch of anxiousness.

“Oi!” said Crowley. “It’s not like either of us knew what we were doing!”

Aziraphale ignored him. He’d get over the small slight.

“The point is that he did what he could because he loves humanity. You should be thanking him, not trying to think of ways to get him to grant your wishes.” The angel paused, his wings flapping in the confined space. “I am going to break that circle now. You are going to stay right here and allow me to do it. Because if you don’t, I will not stop Crowley from cursing you all to his heart’s content. Do you understand?”

Supreme Sister Taylor and those still seated around the tables nodded

“Good,” said Aziraphale. “Once you exit that door, you’ll remember nothing about this little fraternity of yours, and this building will go back to being vacant. I suggest you go find better hobbies.” He turned on his heels and tucked his wings away before stopping and marching back to the table to snatch up the thermos he had brought. “Excuse me, I forgot this.”

The humans scrambled for the door, making such a mad dash for the exit they knocked a few chairs over.

He walked deeper into the bakery to the summoning circle, where he scuffed the toe of a well-polished brogue across the chalk barrier. The shimmer, visible only to the angel and demon, faded away. Grateful, Crowley stepped out to pull Aziraphale into a warm, thankful embrace.

“One of these days you’ll actually just rescue me instead of either turning the whole debacle into a feel-good moment for my captors or lecturing them into shame. At least you didn’t send this lot home with treats.”

Aziraphale held up the thermos he still carried. “They do not deserve them.”

The books piled on the charming little table suddenly went up in flames with a little demonic encouragement from Crowley. Aziraphale winced at the bibliostruction, but suspected the demon didn’t want any summoning spells left lying around for the next human curious about the occult. He couldn’t say he blamed his partner.

“Well, I have to at least try to turn them towards the light. I’m still an angel. Also, I was never as good as sneaking in and out as you.”

Crowley’s laughter echoed through the abandoned bakery as the two strolled towards the wide-open front door. Crowley gave the offending chalk circle one last glare before heading out the door hand-in-hand with Aziraphale. It disappeared.

They walked off towards the bookshop, the barest light peeking above the horizon. There on the pavement before the building, they paused a moment to admire the beauty of the dawn’s birth before slipping inside.

Crowley didn’t wait to get out of the entrance before he backed Aziraphale against the wall to kiss him passionately while his hands roamed the angel’s body. Aziraphale hummed in appreciation.

“So, what do you say to me thanking you properly for the rescue?” Crowley whispered in his ear.

“I wouldn’t object,” said Aziraphale breathlessly.

Taking the angel’s hand in his, Crowley made for the spiral staircase and the tiny flat that awaited them in the bookshop’s first floor. There, they would spend a passionate morning that quietly drifted into a romantic afternoon. By evening, Aziraphale was feeling very appreciated by his demon. It was too bad rescue situations only came up on rare occasions, Aziraphale thought wryly as he lay in bed with his head on Crowley’s bare chest. He could definitely get used to more days spent like this.

Comments

Wonderful

[holrose]

I loved this. They are perfectly their demonic and angelic selves. I loved Aziraphale beginning with cocoa and biscuits served with politeness and then went for righteous wrath once that didn’t work. Fabulous. 💖

[(Anonymous)]

Very cute! I loved the "it all just goes to voicemail" line. And trying to persuade humans with treats is so typical Aziraphale. Thank you so much! -Twilightcitysky

[(Anonymous)]

I'm so glad you liked it! I always worry I'm going to write exactly the wrong things when I do exchanges. 😉

[(Anonymous)]

One of them started praying.
“That will not help. It all just goes to voicemail"
keyboard, meet coffee.

and wrap it all up with quite a bit of implied smut.

perfect. thx.

[(Anonymous)]

Oh, dear. I totally forgot to give thanks to my beta, Lacuna, who graciously helped me rework a couple of sections of this and make them better. -The author

[maniacalmole]

Ooh, hyena demons sound fun—or maybe horribly obnoxious. Or both!
“You’d think he’d have something going on,” INSULTING hahaha
“No weird green lights, duh!” Well, they’ve got a point.
“A magic-using supernatural being kept a bird from pooping on a guy’s head?” AMAZING
“socks that always felt slightly damp.” NO!
“she saw the supernova in them” OOOOH
Aziraphale giving everyone snacks XD
This was really fun!