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[oldbookshop]

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[demonicmiracle]

[They agreed to wait before deciding whether or not to see how humans have interpreted them, and Crowley has mostly stuck to the agreement. Curiosity had eventually got the better of him, though, and he did a very surface level investigation to see what they're working with.

Turns out it's a TV show, a miniseries sort of deal, and from the summary it does, in fact, feature the both of them quite heavily. But that isn't what gets him. What sticks with him is the fact that every press or publicity photos contains humans who look remarkably like their counterparts in his universe.

He weighs up whether to discuss it with Aziraphale, wondering if he's sort of broken their agreement, but that was just about the media itself, not the cast or anything of the sort, so he's probably in the clear.

It's — weird to be able to just wander down the hall slightly to knock on Aziraphale's door, rather than heading to the bookshop, but at least it's easier.

He waits after the knock, because that's different, too. He can't just barge in the way he would at the shop, not when this is a much more private space. There's no random humans wandering in and out of a bedroom like they would in a shop.

He probably should've brought booze, and quickly summons a bottle of whiskey to tuck under his arm along with the few images he'd managed to print out.

This whole thing is so fucking weird.]

[oldbookshop]

[ It's funny living in a world where Crowley stops to knock and waits for an answer. Funny in the odd way, funny in the sort of way Aziraphale's not actually sure he'll ever get used to it. Which he doesn't really like, per se, after years of being used to different patterns.

But, well.

At least he's learning to recognize the knock. And that's sort of nice, having another little new thing about Crowley he can learn. A silver lining. It means he doesn't have to spend so much time considering if he wants to pretend he's not in here. Of the people whose knocks Aziraphale will always open the door to, Crowley is top of the list.

And at least Crowley is here at all.

So Aziraphale commits to the New Pattern and answers the door, and he supplements the strangeness of that by immediately stepping back to hold it open for Crowley. Yes yes come in flappy little hand gesture, etc.

(Because the North Pole is so on brand for him, Aziraphale's largely left the bedroom as it was. An extra chair here, a desk there, a reasonably modest-- for him-- stack of books he's already borrowed out of the library. That sort of thing.

He has also already acquired a cardigan somehow because he needs layers to survive and that's science.) ]

Special occasion?

[ Whiskey occasion? Should he be excited or worried? ]

[demonicmiracle]

[It isn't the same as the bookshop, where he's felt so comfortable for so many decades, but he's been in this room enough times to make an immediate beeline towards the chair he's claimed as his own, pausing only to set the whiskey and his folder full of photos on the desk.

The folder had seemed like a good idea, so he could give Aziraphale the option to not see the photos, if he really doesn't want to.]

Right, so. [This is not a direct answer to Aziraphale's question, but his tone of voice and the way he drags a hand through his hair as he sits down might clue him in that it's a 'worried' kind of situation.] I've not gone back on our agreement, about the... story, but I got wondering about it and did a bit of digging. Turns out it's a bloody TV show and the actors they've got playing us bear an uncanny fucking resemblance.

[The hair is different, as is how they both... hold themselves, something deeper than just physical appearance, but it's still so very weird.]

There's photos in there. If you want to see.

[oldbookshop]

[ Ah. 'Worried' situation indeed.

Crowley's explanation takes Aziraphale's interest in this mystery folder from curious to Curious, capital-C, in the worst sort of way. He's wondered about it, of course. This story that's channeled them, supposedly. The threads it might follow, the form it might take, how they'd go about finding it if they decided to-- to verify it.

Trust Crowley to lay down a bit of the groundwork for that just by curious nature. ]

I suppose a book would have been too much to hope for.

[ Like he wouldn't just be insanely jealous of OG book Aziraphale's distinctly different vibe. That's neither here nor there. It's a safe starting touchstone, something to be a little genuinely put out about, to use to make the point that he's not going to bristle about this "bit of digging."

He picks up the folder. Weighs his little pros and cons about looking versus not. ]

Uncanny, is it.

[ Fuck it we ball, he opens it to start flipping through them. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[It is absolutely not a surprise that Aziraphale was hoping for a book, and Crowley can certainly see how one would be a lot less strange than seeing themselves portrayed on a screen by people who aren't them. On the other hand, books tend to come with internal narration, meaning that anyone who read it (including Aziraphale) would know what he was thinking, and that seems even more terrifying than anything.

It is something of a surprise that Aziraphale isn't cross with him, though perhaps he'd just invented that worry all by himself, so he won't look a gift horse in the mouth.]

Aside from the hair, it's like someone's parading around in our corporations.

[Their bodies aren't them but they sort of are but they really aren't and it's all very complicated.

Crowley is glad for his glasses, so he can watch Aziraphale's reaction without staring too obviously. He may also be holding his breath, but that's between him and God.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Oh. Oh, it really is. Uncanny. Like someone's taken their physical bodies for a joyride, somehow.

Aziraphale stays on the top photo longest, head drawn back, brow furrowed, some reflexive mix of confusion and distaste while he processes.

The eyes are-- jarring. In the politest sense. His heart doesn't really know what to do with all that, because of course a human actor wouldn't have Crowley's eyes, the distinctive shape, the lovely shade of yellow, and he does love so many of the distinctive features Crowley has, but that doesn't brace much against seeing what's there.

(He tries not to think back. He really, really does. It's difficult, though, and Aziraphale isn't entirely successful about it.) ]

I don't think I care for this very much at all. [ Is the first thing he offers, faintly, before he's flipping through the rest of them in somewhat shorter order.

Unkempt, he thinks, both of them. Wrong hair aside. Too unkempt, too strangely dressed, too, too casual, too-- a lot of things. Not enough things. ]

Good Lord, they used to be children!

[ You ever just hold up a couple printouts of human actors throughout their long work histories with all the offense in the world, as though it's their personal fault they're humans who grew up and not beings who spawned wholecloth in their forties?

Like, what the fuck is this. ]

action; post-event

[demonicmiracle]

[There's a fight, because of course there is, but Crowley manages to escape that part of the night fairly unscathed, letting the people that are better at fighting handle most of it. Between ferrying kids around, keeping them safe and entertained, and the trip to a bloody Halloween town, he'd done more than enough to help with the efforts.

Now they've all dragged themselves back to the North Pole, the only thing he can think about is a shower and clothes that aren't covered in dirt and some of his own blood. He'd cleaned it off with a miracle, technically, but there was enough of it that it still doesn't feel properly clean.

He's all but forgotten the changes he made while in Halloweentown; the horns and scales and fangs remain.

Crowley's stayed close by Aziraphale, relieved that his own side quest had returned him relatively unharmed, and as soon as they're away from the others and have a little privacy, he remembers the promise he made.]

M'not going back on the — wing situation, but I'm in desperate need of a damn shower. You mind waiting a few minutes longer?

kicks open door

[oldbookshop]

[ The duality of life is that it sometimes presents a demon with very fetching horns and scales and fangs right on the tail of perhaps the most depressing side quest Aziraphale's had to attend to in ages. Which is saying something even just taking the last reality-hop into account.

Rather a lot to be getting on with, really. Aziraphale does what he does best about these things and mostly doesn't let himself address them. Focuses more on thinking about the general situation of whatever present moment is going on the rest of the night, likewise staying more or less out of the final fray.

It's a relief to get back to the Pole. It's a larger relief that Crowley doesn't seem to have taken on any additional injuries of note. Can't let that happen again. Next time they all get sent out, he'll clearly have to stay that much closer. Be more on guard. Yes. Easy. He'll just do better. Next time.

Crowley's question gets a standard issue response, which is to say a slightly delayed hm? like Aziraphale didn't hear him, and then an answer immediately after that because it got to the bottom of Brain Plinko the second he hmmm-ed. ]

It's not as though I've got other plans to adjust. [ Apart from putting on his most comfortable cardigan, which is very easy. Why was it a question, even... if he minds...? Should he be offended? He doesn't feel like being offended.

Maybe Crowley asked to provide a stealthy open door to rescind the offer. Foolish. It's glued to the table and it's a very important issue to boot. Never mind this mysterious demonic etiquette (read: literally just Crowley being polite and communicating). ] Take your time.

noooo my door

[demonicmiracle]

[It's sort of both a relief and not a relief that Aziraphale accepts the stalling tactic with grace. It means that he can't get out of the mortifying ordeal of being vulnerable, but he'd also be unbearably disappointed if Aziraphale didn't touch his wings again.

So that's the emotional turmoil that's going on beneath the surface while Crowley guides them towards to his room.]

Haven't got any pressing engagements to take care of?

[Teasing, a little bit, even if there's an obvious edge of exhaustion in his voice; the rituals are important, and he doesn't want Aziraphale to to think that something is wrong, which he might, if Crowley starts acting different.]

You want to pop back to your room for anything? Or you're welcome to wait at mine, if you'd like.

🧍‍♂️

[oldbookshop]

[ Aziraphale reserves his thinking something is wrong for the thing he saw for himself was wrong earlier. That's a tonal mission success, because he loves a bit of familiarity like that. Tired but not beyond teasing him. So Crowley is almost definitely not dying at the moment. Always good to know. ]

Worry not. My intensive socializing regimen takes place during different hours. [ Intensive socializing: making unplanned small talk that he did not personally choose to initiate, in a public area, with anyone who isn't Crowley.

The hours in question? Unknowable. ]

Once I've fetched my housecoat, you're stuck with me. We'll be, um. [ He squints. What will make him sound very modern, and not like he'll be overbearingly fussy? Merely tolerably fussy. ] Two peas in a pocket.

[demonicmiracle]

[His ruse has been successful. Whatever ruse it was, exactly, when most of his mental space is taken up by trying to brace himself for the near future.]

Are those about the same hours as the bookshop's hours?

[Which is to say: unknowable and as changeable as the wind and mostly designed to avoid interacting with humans too much. They both like humans, but Crowley tends to be the slightly more hands on of the two, at least when it comes to socializing.]

You best not be keeping any peas in your pocket. [What's next? Pocket pudding?] It's pod. Two peas in a pod.

[The important part, though, is that Aziraphale is going to put his housecoat on, because that's one of Crowley's favourite things. Not that he'll ever admit it.]

[oldbookshop]

In the sense that they hardly apply to you and therefore aren't your business, yes.

[ That is either a compliment or an insult. Possibly both. Oh, to maintain an air of mystery in these trying times. It's vital. ]

Ahhh. That does make more sense, doesn't it. Must have been thinking about feeding ducks. [ The only time it ever makes real sense to have a baggie of peas in one's pocket. Peas in a pod, though. Of course. Adorable. Which Aziraphale wisely won't say about it, given he just tried to say that they're going to be the peas. ] No rush in either case. Won't be a minute.

special delivery!

[demonicmiracle]

[At some point on Christmas Day, when Aziraphale isn't in his room, a series of gifts appear on his bed, wrapped neatly in black paper.

The first box contains a cashmere scarf, in a cream color that's a perfect match to the cream in Aziraphale's tartan. The second gift is a series of records, some of Aziraphale's favorites, but they're also records that they've listened to together plenty of times. The third and final gift is a box of very expensive, very rich chocolate truffles.

He doesn't bother leaving a card; they both know who it's from, but this makes it easier to not talk about it.]

beep beep it's grooming enrichment time in the gomens enclosure

[demonicmiracle]

[It shouldn't come as much of a surprise, how little things have changed since they finally admitted their damn feelings to one another, but Crowley still finds it catches him off guard, as if he's going to blink and find out that he imagined their entire conversation and they'll be right back where they started. It hasn't happened yet, and he relaxes slightly with each day that passes.

But it's also reassuring, in a way, that there's been no drastic changes, that their relationship feels as easy and comfortable as it always has, except now he gets to steal the occasional kiss, or reach out to touch without worrying he's crossing some unspoken boundary. It means they can sit on the same sofa while sharing a few bottles of wine over one of Aziraphale's records, and Crowley can spend an hour of that time drinking far too much wine as he gathers his courage to broach yet another difficult topic.

It takes him a few attempts, but he manages it finally during a lull in conversation.]

I've been, er— I've been thinking— [Come on, words.] — I owe you one, from when you helped out with my wings. If you'd ever like me to return the favor.

[He did it. Everybody please clap.]

zooms

[oldbookshop]

[ Oh thank god Crowley wasn't trying to work up the courage to break up with him.

Aziraphale can't logically fathom why that would have been what he was doing, of course, because things have been-- well, quite lovely, if he does say so himself. Nice. Good. Marvelous. Things like that, that Crowley might get squirmy about hearing all at once, and that don't feel like they convey the feelings properly anyway.

Every day is one step further away from worrying about that at all. ]

A flower doesn't owe the bee any more than the bee owes the flower, dearest. [ They both get something out of pollination. So no applause. Just Aziraphale realizing that what he said didn't address the core point of what Crowley was saying. ] Not that-- not to say I wouldn't be interested. If you were. Of course.

[ Maybe there's something about a mortifying ordeal and the blatant vulnerability of the notion in his head. Or maybe he's quietly dreaming of a future day where he spends several hours just touching Crowley's wings for non-emergency reasons, having zero thoughts in his head. ]

they're both so fucking stupid

[demonicmiracle]

[The problem with twisting himself up in knots about expressing any kind of vulnerability is that once it's over, there's a bit of a manic rush that leads to him being stupid.]

Nah, I offered purely out of obligation and I think it'd be rubbish.

[Case in point.

He's looking at Aziraphale like he thinks he's a bit dim, because he does think Aziraphale might be a bit dim.]

'Course I'm bloody interest, s'why I said anything.

not a single brain cell between them

[oldbookshop]

[ Aziraphale is so suave and polite (citation needed) just for Crowley to be rude and look at him like he's an idiot. Insufferable.

He could be like well, why couch it as a favor at all then?, but he'd probably do the same thing. Intricate rituals and old habits and all.

... okay actually Aziraphale isn't that self-aware. That's his secret. He looks away and does not see it, even though ignorance has never been bliss. So, ]

Well, why couch it as a favor at all, then? We're an item now, you're more than welcome to say you're interested. I'd like you to be interested.

[ Is he not a very relaxed and low maintenance significant other???????

Don't answer that. ]

I hardly need to be worried about it when it's you, anyway.

[ It's not like Crowley would have aims to hurt him. Least plausible thing in the world, really. ]

orange cat kings

[demonicmiracle]

[This is Hell. He's in Hell. He did the very brave thing of gently suggesting something that he wants and now Aziraphale is making him continue talking about it and he'd rather be in a fiery pit.]

It's a bit forward, innit? [The Britishness only gets worse when he's tipsy and riled up. He has no one to blame for being riled up but himself.] Wanted to give you the option to say no without having to actually say no.

[He could've just assured him the favor didn't need to be repaid and Crowley would've gracefully taken the hint and dropped the subject forever.]

Just 'cause you've no need to be worried doesn't mean it'd be something you want.

[Crowley wouldn't hurt him, but that doesn't mean Aziraphale might not have other reservations about something so intimate.]

[oldbookshop]

[ The ordeal will continue in that Aziraphale is going to look at him like he's very touched and in love and thinks Crowley is the sweetest person in the world.

Insufferable status amended to "insufferable but I love this drunk disaster so much." ]

That's very thoughtful of you. [ Down bad: the ineffable husbands story. ] I imagine we'd both know in very short order if I didn't like it.

[ Worst case scenario, Crowley fails the dexterity roll to dodge a whole-ass wing. But, also, importantly. ]

Does this mean I could ask to do yours again without the grievous injury? While we're asking.

[ Vital, vital information. Needed for his records. ]

post event nonsense

[demonicmiracle]

[It's an odd sensation, the after effects of spending time as human. Some of the exhaustion had faded once he was restored to his proper demonic power, as had the minor aches and pains of age, but there's a lingering sort of wrongness clinging to him. It's mental as much as it's physical, he's sure, a result of having his damn memories messed with and the uncertainty as he tries to piece together what was real and what was imagined, while they were in that awful town.

As soon as the situation was handled, he'd shifted into a more comfortable shape, shrinking himself down to the size of a garden snake so he could slither up Aziraphale's arm to wrap around his shoulders, tucked under the collar of his coat, head resting down near his heart.

They've been on more dangerous missions, but the simple fact that he could be made to forget Aziraphale has left him more rattled than he'd like to admit, and being nestled in close helps. He can only imagine that Aziraphale feels similar and hopes that the closeness is reassuring in turn.

He stays there even once they're back at the Pole, even after the debriefing and typical post-mission nonsense, especially since he doesn't have much information to contribute. It's easier to stay quiet and warm, comforted by the steady beat of Aziraphale's heart, until they're dismissed.]

My place or yours?

[oldbookshop]

[ Crowley's completely on the mark as far as providing mutual reassurance goes. This mission was... hm. Well. What it was. Troubling, to put it simply.

Crowley is a comforting weight through the return to the North Pole, through the debriefing, through everything. Undeniably present in ways that weren't possible without access to their powers, and right where Aziraphale can keep him secure.

(And maybe occasionally rest a hand on Crowley's snakey head for the extra comfort, as best as possible with layers of clothing separating them.)

It's a relief when all the metaphorical paperwork is done with. Crowley probably feels some tension drain out of Aziraphale's shoulders the further away they get from all that hubbub. ]

Yours, I think. [ Better drink selection, less visual noise to breathe in. He's starting to see why Crowley keeps to that interior design aesthetic in most regards, actually. Couldn't imagine living in it all the time, but it's sort of nice. Dark and cool and quiet. ] A quiet night in sounds like just the ticket, doesn't it?

[ Take a breather, stay as close to Crowley as possible for literally as long as Crowley will tolerate it, maybe think on that London trip. Maybe think on some other things. ]

[demonicmiracle]

Good choice, there's better liquor at mine.

[The best wine lives at Aziraphale's room, but Crowley keeps the top quality liquor, and after the time they've had, they deserve something a little stronger. He wouldn't have minded going to Aziraphale's room; the clutter and warmth is comforting, but his own space is reassuring, too.]

Not sure if I could sleep for a week or stay up that long out of bloody spite.

[He likes sleep, but not when he's forced to do it to keep a stupid, human body alive.

He's sure Aziraphale is feeling even more cranky about it, considering he doesn't like to sleep at the best of times.]

[oldbookshop]

[ As ever, Crowley understands him perfectly. Good liquor after an experience like this is something that can be so personal. ]

I'll leave that to your discretion, love. [ Crowley should be allowed to do whatever he wants as long as he feels better after it. That's immutable. ] Personally, I've done enough sleeping for at least the next thousand years. It really is starting to get ridiculous.

[ First the Wilderlands and now this random mission with the Guardians? The universe is doing this on purpose somehow. Absolutely horrific. Being forced to lose those hours and for what? Dreams? Involuntary vulnerability??? "Needing it" to "live"?

Maybe humans were God's strongest soldiers all along, to put up with that design choice.

He supposes, theoretically, the occasional very brief catnap in a bed with Crowley could make the exceptions list. If not anytime particularly soon. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[The only downside to going to his room is that being a proper host means he'll need arms and hands, but they can cross that bridge once they finish the journey there. For now he's going to enjoy being close.]

Had a feeling you'd say that. [There's a hint of disappointment in his voice, but it's nothing really serious.] This place keeps messing with my nefarious plans to get you into bed.

[The joke is that Crowley has zero problems getting him into bed, they just don't do much sleeping once there.]

[oldbookshop]

Don't be silly. Your bed sees more of me than any of your other furniture.

[ Dare he say it's his favorite landmark in Crowley's room? Perhaps.

He does dare say that disappointing Crowley has crawled its way back up a few rungs on the ladder of things to worry about, for a veritable hodgepodge of muddled-up reasons. Nothing a bit of fussing can't improve. Crowley didn't sound properly upset, after all. Probably just having a bit of fun. ]

But I'm sure we can... revisit the sleeping at some point. [ Aziraphale does a silly gesture for emphasis even though Crowley's in his shirt. Because he is so magnanimous. ] After my raincheck.

[ Timetable on that: currently unknown. He needs to be Awake, he needs to be Doing Things. Sometimes in bed with Crowley. And obviously he needs to work out how to keep this memory issue from happening to them ever again. Much to do. Sleep would be a setback. ]