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Rain poured down from the raging storm overhead.
Dr. Aziraphale Device—witch, supernatural expert, and paranormal investigator—thought it a fitting atmosphere given the past few days. His assistant Muriel made no comment about it as they parked their car, but again asked if he was sure about being left at the bookshop. They didn’t mind driving him to his home. It was the least they could do for him after—everything.
Aziraphale assured them the bookshop was good enough. His main office was there anyways and he needed to finish his report. To file everything away after the investigation. And Muriel’s flat was just around the corner from the shop after all. He didn’t want them driving any more than necessary in the storm.
Once inside the bookshop, he gave his assistant a wave from the door’s window, signaling his safety and permission to drive away. Then he locked the door and pulled down the window shade.
He winced and let out a muffled groan at the movement. The bandages beneath his shirt pulled at his sore muscles and tender flesh. He needed to be more mindful as he recovered.
Rolling his suitcase over to the hat and coat rack, he gingerly worked to remove his leather satchel, overcoat, and hat. He smiled as he recalled his younger sister’s scoff whenever he wore it out in the field. Anathema teased him about being an old-fashioned newspaper report, ready to find his next big scoop.
Suddenly memories of his sister’s laughing face morphed into one of her horror and screams. A surge of power, overwhelming her as she collapsed to the ground. Newt rushing to her side, crying out and clutching at her unconscious form. Muriel beside them, eyes wide with terror but determined as they continued their loud chanting.
His team had done everything right, but they had underestimated the entity’s power.
He had underestimated the entity’s power.
A high-level demon—an infernal Duke…
His misjudgment caused it to break containment and attack his team—and it had been his responsibility to save them.
With a heavy sigh, Aziraphale shook the dreadful memories from his mind’s eye. Everyone was safe and secure—now. Anathema and Newt were on their way back to Jasmine cottage. Muriel should be getting home any minute. Both would text him when they arrived to ease his anxieties. He needed a level head. Needed to finish his debriefing and writing up his report. His clients wanted final conformation the situation had been dealt with.
Yet as he carefully returned the leather satchel to his shoulder, he sensed another presence within the darkness of his shop.
Further within. Waiting for him.
He twisted the ring on his hand as he slowly walked towards his back office—and the presence. The coolness of the metal soothed him. The intricate designs etched into it were full of magic and meaning—intended to protect and connect. It gave a slight pulse as his fingers slid against it.
The investigator stopped at the opened doorway of his office. The pale light of a nearby streetlight cast a faint glow through the single small window in the room. But Aziraphale didn’t need any light to recognize the shadow sitting gracefully upon one of the worn arm chairs. The figure’s image had already burned into his mind’s eye years ago.
Perfectly styled red hair. Dark sunglasses. High cheekbones and sharp nose. Thin lips carved in a near-permanent impish smirk. Black shirt and suit with matching trousers. Snakeskin boots.
“Evenin’, Angel,” the warm voice drawled out.
Dr. A. J. Crowley
Accomplished professor, award-wining author, renowned expert in the occult and supernatural fields—and one of the world’s leading specialists in Demonology. He and Aziraphale had met in their early university days, an instant rivalry igniting between them.
The lamp on the side table flicked on, illuminating the unexpected visitor.
Aziraphale gave his eyes a moment to adjust before fully stepping into the room. “I see you helped yourself to some of my wine.”
Crowley brought the glass of a deep red to his lips. “Got thirsty, waiting.”
Aziraphale watched as he tipped the glass back to down the remaining contents. Watched the slender throat swallow.
“Shall I pour you a glass? Since it is your wine, as you said.” Crowley gestured to another glass on the table. He lifted the wine bottle to pour, but waited as his face turned back towards the investigator.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, my dear.” Aziraphale ignored the offer, heading straight over to his desk. He needed to keep his wits about him. Needed to collect his thoughts and explanations. “Don’t you have papers and research programs you should—”
“Where’s your favourite coat and waistcoat, Angel? Rarely see you this dressed down when you’ve been out.”
Aziraphale froze as he reached his desk, the satchel strap halfway down his arm. “Am I not allowed to change my attire from time to time?”
Crowley snorted, “You haven’t changed your attire in over 30 years, sweetheart.”
Aziraphale continued removing his satchel, deciding to try and change topics. “Where’s your beloved Bentley? I didn’t see her parked outside.”
“Parked her around back in the alley. More protection from the storm.”
“And better to sneak inside the bookshop unseen.”
Crowley hummed, “Less questions from the neighbors. Well-meaning gossipers, the lot of them.”
Aziraphale began to empty the contents of the satchel onto the large cluttered desk. Maybe if he ignored Crowley for long enough…
“You’re back later than expected. Run into any trouble?” The clink of a glass hitting the table a bit firmer than necessary rang out.
Aziraphale braced himself, “The case was more serious than we originally thought. There was a bit of an incident—”
“I know.”
“Do you now?” The etched ring pulsed on Aziraphale’s finger.
“I always know when you’re in trouble, don’t I?”
Aziraphale sighed, trying to focus on organizing his desk—though he was mostly pushing around papers and empty mugs. “The investigation is complete. Case closed. Everything is tickety boo.”
“Tickety boo, hmm?”
Aziraphale noted the slight rustle of fabric and sharp clack of heels as Crowley rose to his feet.
“Yes,” Aziraphale swallowed, still determined to feign interest in his desk. “There was a tense moment or two, but it all worked out in the end. A few miscalculations, a few overlooked details. Some of the original information we received wasn’t as clear or correct as we perceived. Fortunately Anathema sensed something suspicious—”
“She’s a clever witch,” Crowley muttered. “Agnes’d proud…of the both of you.”
“Hmm. My sister is quite clever and resourceful. Her detection allowed us some extra time to better prepare—”
“Prepare for what?” Crowley’s footsteps halted their approach.
Aziraphale released the papers and folder in his hands. There was no avoiding the truth now. “An entity of a stronger occult nature than we previously realized. One who used possession and tempting to their advantage.”
“A demon,” Crowley growled.
The room’s energy suddenly shifted with a crackling charge.
“One of the Infernal Dukes, to be precise—though I did not catch which circle or official rank—”
“Why didn’t you call ME?!”
The energy sizzled along with Crowley’s loud snarl.
Aziraphale took a steadying breath, “My team and I could handle it—”
“Angel—”
“We have dealt with demons before, dear boy—”
“Azira—”
“Crowley!”
The investigator whirled, regretting the sudden movement as pain erupted along his back.
The red-headed professor was still a few feet away from him. He had his arms crossed angrily against his chest. Hips cocked in a defying stance. Despite the sunglasses blocking them, Aziraphale knew Crowley’s eyes were piercing into him.
“It was my call to make. My investigation. You had other priorities to focus on—like your career and your students. It is the end of term after all.”
Crowley snarled, “You still should have—”
“I am your equal in the affairs of the supernatural, Crowley. This is my career, my life—”
“Exactly, Angel—your LIFE!”
“My team and I are quite capable—”
Aziraphale froze as the events leading to his team’s attack and his injury surged into his mind. Flashing images. Snippets of the past 24 hours.
“Stay out of my mind, Crowley!”
The red-head sharply turned away, arms falling to his sides as his shoulders slouched in guilt. “Sorry, Ang—Aziraphale. I didn’t mean—ngk—just answer my questions. Please, Angel.”
Aziraphale’s hands instinctively met together in front of his waist. Fingers soothed themselves on the pulsing ring on his left hand. “My clothes were damaged during the investigation. Nothing my tailor can’t fix—hopefully.”
“Damaged?”
Aziraphale hummed, but turned back towards his desk again. He knew how Crowley would react next.
“Damaged how?” The footsteps resumed at a quickened pace.
“As I said, an incident occurred. Simple miscalculations—”
“You and Anathema don’t make simple miscalculations, Angel.” Crowley’s tone was softer but still contained a slight biting edge to it.
“Well I did!” Aziraphale gripped back of his desk chair. He closed his eyes, fighting the swirling emotions threatening to spill over. He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. But he hadn’t expected Crowley—no, he knew better. Of course, he would have sought him out as soon as he arrived back in London. “The demon proved to be particularly tricky and managed to gain the advantage on me—only once, mind you—”
“Once is all it takes—”
“I had to protect my team,” Aziraphale winced from his wound and shame.
It was his fault. He'd been too confident. He'd misjudged and the demon lashed out towards his team—his family. He'd thrown himself in front of them, weapon drawn and spells ready…
“I smelled blood the moment you entered the shop, Angel.”
The words came out in a low growl, but one of fear not anger. Tentative hands touched Aziraphale’s shoulder and hip. The investigator shivered despite feeling the warm presence pressing in behind him.
“It’s your back, isn’t it?” Crowley lowered his voice to a near whisper as he spoke. “Where you were injured?”
“How did—”
“You wince whenever your back moves.” A slender nose nudged against the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “Blood smells strongest here too.”
“Claws caught me across the back during the fight. Luckily Muriel and Anathema were able to use their skills to patch me back together…”
“How bad?”
“Crowley—”
“How bad, Angel?!”
“Bad enough.”
He shouldn’t have survived.
The ring throbbed with energy and magic.
Anyone else wouldn’t have…
“I almost lost you, my Angel,” Crowley breathed into Aziraphale’s ear. “I felt it. I thought—”
Aziraphale clutched the hand at his hip, linking the fingers together.
“Let me help you, Angel.”
A sudden hot kiss pressed against the investigator’s neck. The unnatural heat spread throughout his body, but concentrated its intensity on his back. It flashed abruptly, nearly burning him. Then tender fingers eased their way along his back.
Aziraphale bit his lip to keep from crying out. But when the lips and fingers pulled away, a cooling sensation quickly replaced the searing heat. He released the tension within his body and slumped against the desk chair.
Strong arms gently wrapped around his waist to support him.
“Sorry, Angel,” Crowley whispered, full of affection. Another kiss, softer than before, pressed into his ear. “Wasn't made to heal.”
“Thank you anyways, my darling.”
Crowley nuzzled against his white-gold curls, “Should have been there to protect you. As soon as I sensed you were in trouble—”
“I don’t need you to always rescue me, dear boy,” Aziraphale slowly spun around to face Crowley.
“Not a matter of need, Angel. It’s my job—”
“Your job is that of a distinguished professor—”
“My job to protect my husband,” Crowley brought a hand up to rip off his glasses, revealing his blazing eyes.
Golden orbs. Slitted snake-like pupils. Demonic energy swirling within.
“That’s what you get for summoning a demon all those years ago, Angel.”
They were Aziraphale’s favorite eyes in the whole universe. The eyes of his darling demon…
Imagine a witchy university student’s shock when attempting his first proper summoning to prove himself to his academic rival and secret crush—only to summon the red-headed fiend himself and reveal his hidden identity.
“It’s what I get for falling in love and marrying said demon, my dear,” Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s cheek, caressing his husband’s face. “And binding myself to him for all of eternity.”
“Sensed you were in danger. Felt your essence flicker,” Crowley threw his sunglasses on the desk behind them and took his human husband’s face into both his hands—pulling their foreheads together. “I know I promised to trust you, to leave you be during your field work unless you ask—”
“I know, my dearest demon. I’m sorry,” Aziraphale placed a tender kiss against his lover’s wrist. He felt Crowley’s wedding band magically pulse against his skin. The one identical to the silver ring on his own finger. The rings they created together to link them—a physical representation of their love and commitment. “I didn't mean to scare you. I forget how much we’re connected sometimes—”
“Would’ve shown up if Ana hadn’t text me that you were alive.”
“I told her not—”
“Clever witch knew I’d worried,” Crowley leaned forward to bring their noses together. “When I get my hands on that infernal beast—”
“No need to worry. Newton took care of him.”
“Wot?” Crowley pulled back, eyes wide with surprise.
Aziraphale chuckled as he pulled their faces back together, “Remember that water pistol he insisted on filling with holy water and carrying in his camera bag? Turned out to be more effective than we anticipated.”
Crowley unleashed a hearty laugh, making Aziraphale heart swell. “Remind me not to tease him too much next time I see him.”
“He would never aim it at you, dear boy. Bad form to melt your fiancee’s brother-in-law.”
Crowley bought their lips together. It was a sweet and gentle gesture— at first.
“I love you, Aziraphale.”
“I love you too, Crowley.”
Any thoughts of finishing his report faded away from Aziraphale’s mind as the kiss increased in passion and tempo.
Another demon now demanded the investigator’s attention…