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There are some games in which a player must sacrifice some of their own pieces if they want to win. Chess might come to mind. After all, most experienced chess players wouldn’t think much about sending a pawn to its doom if it meant putting their opponent in check. However, we are not going to talk about chess at this time. Let’s talk about checkers instead.

Checkers is often thought of as the less sophisticated cousin of chess. It has less complicated rules and a less complicated set up. Two sides with pieces that are all exactly the same in look and function apart from coming in two different colors. It’s so straightforward that most children can become adept checkers players before they’ve lost their last baby tooth.

Yet for all its apparent simplicity, sacrifices are made in checkers too. It’s not uncommon for a strategic checkers player to purposefully set up one of their pieces to be taken by the other side if it positions the board more in their favor for the long game. 

The unique thing about checkers is, if you can successfully maneuver another of your pieces through your opponent’s territory, it’s possible to get that sacrificed piece back. You won’t get it back exactly the way it was before, but that’s not exactly a loss. 

Once the sacrificed piece has been reclaimed and combined with the piece you sent across after it, the two can move in ways no other checker can. 

Crowley was not a fan of checkers in general, although he had been responsible for the distribution of quite a few games that were short one piece. As far as games went, he’d been quite fond of senet during its heyday in Egypt, but nearly a month after surviving Armageddoff and the attempted executions, not even the most exciting of senet opponents could have tempted him into a match. 

He could barely be tempted into a temptation, honestly. 

After the excitement had died down all Crowley really wanted to do was, well… nothing. There had been full days where he didn’t move off of his devilishly stylish sofa until, or unless, Aziraphale called him up for a spot of supper. 

Even then, it took an internal battle to drum up the will required to actually pick up the phone before the last ring. 

He was just considering an attempt to sleep for a decade or two when said phone began ringing again. It wasn’t far. He didn’t even have to leave the sofa to reach it, but still... He glared at it for two more rings before hitting the answer button and the speaker. 

“Yesssss?” he drawled in greeting. 

“Crowley! Wonderful news!” Aziraphale’s voice filled the room and Crowley could practically feel the angel’s excitement bubbling in the air. He smirked a bit to himself as Aziraphale continued. 

“Sergeant Shadwell just phoned to tell me that Miss Device asked Madame Tracy to tell him to contact us as we’ve just been invited to a reunion in Tadfield!”

Crowley stared blankly for a moment as he worked his way through that tangle of words. 

He finally just settled on asking, “Reunion?” 

“Yes, for all of us who met at the airfield,” the angel clarified. 

“...Why?” he asked incredulously, “We were only there for a few hours.”

“Well, we did stop Armaggeddon together. And Madame Tracy and I became particularly close while I was cohabiting her body.”

Crowley snorted. 

“I would also hazard a guess that those involved might still have quite a few questions to clear up. We never really did give them a full explanation,” Azirapahale continued. “Besides, I’ve been told it’s going to be a cookout!”

Crowley dragged a hand over his face.

“.... Do we have to?”

“Please, Crowley.”

Damnit. He knew that tone of voice and the wide-eyed look that went with it. It took a great deal more strength and effort to resist that tone than Crowley currently had available. 

“Oh, fine. When is it?” he grumbled, and managed a fond eye roll at the pleased sound the angel made in reply.

Crowley just stared up at his dark ceiling and let Aziraphale’s voice wash over him.

At least this little get together wasn’t until the end of the week. Maybe Crowley could summon up a bit more energy by then. 

…………………

Well, that didn’t work. 

By the time the day of the reunion rolled around, Crowley thoroughly regretted agreeing to attend.

The mere thought of having to leave his flat, drive all the way to Tadfield to be pestered with questions and socialization, before turning around and driving back to London again was exhausting. 

He just… didn’t want to. Even if Aziraphale would pout at him. He still had some time to come up with an excuse to get out of it before Aziraphale arrived. 

He was lying sprawled on the floor of his plant room in the same spot he’d been in for the past two and a half days. His terrified plants had no idea how to handle the situation. Everytime he so much as twitched, the greenery broke into a new wave of violent trembles.

It was really rather irritating. 

He had half a mind to give the plants the verbal thrashing of their lives, but that would mean getting up. Even a demon can only be so threatening when shouting obscenities from the floor. 

He settled for squirming his shoulders against the tiles to try to relieve the itch that had been building between them. 

This was immediately followed by the rustling of terrified foliage. Crowley grimaced at the annoying sound, edging closer to the limit his frayed mood could tolerate. 

He leveled a glare at the nearest rubber plant, about to verbally eviscerate it despite his prone position (in as much as a plant can be eviscerated, verbally or otherwise), when there was a knocking at his door. 

Damnit! He still hadn’t come up with a half-decent excuse. Or even a vaguely passable one!

“Hello! Crowley?” came Aziraphale’s muffled voice. 

Maybe if Crowley just didn’t say anything, the angel would assume he was out or something. 

“Are you ready? I saw the Bentley out front and just popped on up.”

Blesssss it!

The houseplants’ quaking increased as Crowley’s irritation kept mounting. Really it was a bit of a vicious cycle.

“Crowley?”

The sound of a key in the lock was just barely audible above the rustling. Crowley’s sharp gaze flickered around the room, landing on each plant like a violent strike.

“Behave,” Crowley growled venomously. 

The surrounding plant life snapped to stillness. 

“I know I’m a tad early, but–,” both Aziraphale’s voice and footsteps stopped short at the sight of Crowley lying in the middle of his floor. 

“Crowley! What in Heaven are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

Aziraphale gave him a look that clearly said he didn’t know what to make of the situation. It was rather odd. After all, Crowley didn’t appear to be injured or ill, but had he just been in the mood for a nap there was a perfectly serviceable sofa just the next room over that was conspicuously empty. The demon also didn’t appear to be in the middle of any activity that necessitated being at ground level, and the ceiling in this room wasn’t anymore interesting than any other ceiling in the flat (though Aziraphale did glance up briefly to check). As far as Aziraphale could tell, Crowley truly was doing absolutely nothing. On the floor. 

“Um, yes… so I see,” he said, attempting to return to normal footing. “Do you, um… need a hand with that?”

Crowley made a face and took a deep breath, but didn’t reply immediately. 

Aziraphale took the opportunity to busy himself and retrieved Crowley’s jacket from the umbrella tree the demon had tossed it on a day ago. The umbrella tree did not appreciate losing its improvised shield. 

With a sigh, Crowley’s head rolled towards Aziraphale. 

“Look, angel, do we really have to go?”

Aziraphale crossed his arms, the jacket still slung over one of them, utterly unimpressed with Crowley’s wheedling tone. 

“Come now, Crowley, I already said we would be there. We can’t just not show up! It would be terribly rude.”

Stubborn angel. Crowley groaned again, making sure to draw it out as long as possible before finally flinging an arm in the angel’s direction.

Aziraphale gamely took hold and hauled Crowley to his feet.

“Besides, it will be nice to get out of London for a while,” the angel added, glad that there seemed to be some progress being made. He offered Crowley his jacket, which the demon took and immediately deposited on the nearest flat surface. In this case, the floor.

Aziraphale gave him a look.

“Really,” he said in a manner that was far more comment than question.

“What?” Crowley replied anyways, “I don’t feel like putting it on.”

“What in the world has gotten into you today?”

“Nothing! I would just really rather stay home today than go all the way to Tadfield,” Crowley insisted, even as he followed Aziraphale out of his flat and down to the street level. 

“Why can’t I just stay here, and you can go on your own?” Crowley asked when they reached the curb, trying to wriggle his way out of going one last time.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, pausing where he had been opening the Bentley’s passenger side door, “I promised we’d both be there, and I’ve been told Adam and his friends are quite excited by the prospect of having us all together again.”

That wasn’t fair. Using kids against Crowley was a low blow. It would have made him very proud of his angel’s bastard streak if he hadn't been the target.

“Fine. You know what? If you want to go so bad, you can drive.”

“...I beg your pardon?”

Crowley slid past the startled angel and plopped himself in the passenger seat with as much dignity and affront as he could manage.

The Bentley was extremely alarmed. 

“If you’re going to drag me along, I’m not doing any more work than I have to. So you can drive,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale gaped at his friend in utter shock while Crowley pointedly ignored him in favor of grabbing a pair of the sunglasses that liked to multiply in the glovebox. 

“Are you really quite sure about that?” Aziraphale asked, still standing next to the open car door. He was much more familiar with this side of the Bentley than the driver’s side, after all.

“Well if you’re not going to…” Crowley said, making a move to stick his foot back out.

“No!  No, I’ll do it!” Aziraphale said, shutting the passenger door and darting around to the driver’s side before Crowley could back out of attending, “After all, I’ve seen you drive a thousand times. How hard can it be?”

“Just don’t sssscratch it,” Crowley replied as he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

……………………...

One harrowing and most miraculous drive later, the two arrived at Anathema's cottage in Tadfield. 

The Bentley idled in front of it for several minutes while Aziraphale peeled his white-knuckled fingers off of the steering wheel. He had come to the conclusion during the journey that although Crowley tended to drive like a bat (or snake) out of Hell, he much preferred the demon’s driving to his own. 

Either oblivious or willfully ignorant to the angel's internal struggle against his heart rate, Crowley opened his eyes and blandly remarked, “Oh look. We made it.”

The Bentley’s response was to continue playing Save Me . 

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale replied, mopping lightly at his brow, “that’s mission accomplished at least.”

Crowley’s, “wahoo,” in response could not have sounded less enthusiastic had he still been asleep. 

“The main thing is, as you say, we made it,” Aziraphale continued as he made short work of turning off the car and leaving it now that his legs felt less like jelly. “And it’s an absolutely beautiful day, too. Perfect for a cookout!”

He hurried around to the passenger side, giving the demon an encouraging smile as he made a show of opening his door.

Crowley exited the Bentley with less energy than his angelic companion by far, groaning like being upright was a trial of monumental proportions.

The weather in Tadfield was exactly as Azirphale said; bright, clear, and cheery. Something about it made Crowley’s skin crawl. He gave the sky a look like it was guilty of some unexpected act of betrayal against him. 

“It’s hot and it’s dry. Why’s it so dry out?” he asked, the picture of perplexed dismay, as he stood there, rubbing at his neck and glaring up at the sky. 

Aziraphale gave him an unimpressed look. 

“You just want it to rain on the cookout,” he accused in that disapprovingly prim way he’d perfected sometime during the Elizabethan era. 

Crowley responded with the mock-disapprovingly prim face he had perfected shortly after. 

Aziraphale just made a gesture towards the cottage that quite clearly communicated both the sentiment of “after you,” and an extraordinary amount of sarcasm. 

Crowley felt that at least a small fit of pique was appropriate at this time, so he roughly tugged his tie off and tossed it in the car. It had been irritating his neck anyway, so it made the perfect dramatic statement seeing as slamming his precious car’s door was right out of the question. Crowley then did a masterful job of ignoring Aziraphale’s smug glance as he trudged towards the cottage. That said, he did make a point of grumbling about how he hadn’t even wanted to come in the first place just loud enough for the angel to hear.  

That only seemed to make said angel’s smile a little bit broader, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered. 

The cottage itself was what one could accurately describe as “quaint,” especially in the daylight. It made quite a difference compared to the only other time they had been there when it was well after dark. In the light, there was a certain fairytale charm to the whole setting. Though the fence could use a fresh coat of paint, and the flowers in the garden appeared rather spoiled to Crowley’s eye. (Had he witnessed the broken shards of flowerpot that still littered the garden earlier that morning, his opinion of the garden’s prospects may have been better.)  

Overall, it was a perfectly pleasant location, but Crowley could have sworn that he hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since he hopped down a church aisle in the blitz. 

He came to a dead halt as they neared the cottage door. 

“No. Nope. I knew I should’ve stayed home. At least I’m always welcome in my own flat!” he said, summoning up some energy to fuel his indignation. 

“What in Heaven’s name do you mean?” Aziraphale asked, exasperated. Usually Crowley didn’t need quite this much convincing to indulge in a day out. 

“What do I mean? I mean that!” Crowley said, pointing an accusing finger at a horseshoe hung over the otherwise innocuous door. “It’s a fine thing to invite someone over and then put a great big Go-Away-You’re-Not-Wanted-Here sign above the door.”

Aziraphale glanced at the little piece of rusty iron. 

“The horseshoe?”

“Yes! That thing’s got it out for me!” Crowley insisted. 

The angel placed a hand on Crowley’s arm, trying to gentle the demon’s unexpected outburst. 

“I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it, my dear,” he said, “They probably just overlooked it.”

“Well I’m not going under it,” Crowley replied petulantly. “I’m going back to the car.”

The expression on Aziraphale’s face bordered somewhere between confusion, disappointment, and concern.

“Crowley, please,” he said softly.

There was a beat of silence between them as Crowley met his angel’s imploring look. Then the energy Crowley had scraped together for this episode of indignation seemed to drain back out of him abruptly. His shoulders slumped and his slouched posture seemed to radiate exhaustion rather than its usual air of casual ease. 

Aziraphale watched the transformation with a furrow in his brow. 

“You don’t know how draining it is walking under one of those, angel. It’s like it takes all the fire right out of you.”

Aziraphale looked from Crowley’s tired face to the horseshoe and back again, visibly unsettled that such a small thing could become such a large hurdle for the demon.

“We– we can find another door, they can’t have them hung over every entry.”

“Angel—.”

The sound of creaking hinges interrupted whatever Crowley was going to say, and the two turned to see Anathema Device opening the door.

“Hello?” A smile lit up her face as recognized the odd couple on her garden path. “I thought I heard someone out here. I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Could have fooled me,” Crowley snipped.

Anathema’s smile faltered. 

“What?” she asked, confused by the frosty response.

Sensing the venom in Crowley’s mood, Aziraphale quickly stepped in to explain before he could bite the poor girl’s head off. Even tired and sulking, this snake had fangs, after all.

“It’s very good to see you again, Anathema dear,” he said with a reassuring smile. “There just seems to be a bit of an issue getting through your front door.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping out to study door from the outside. “Do you need to be explicitly invited inside or something like that?”

“That would be vampires,” Aziraphale replied matter-of-factly.

Crowley blinked at him from behind his sunglasses before shaking his head and once again pointing out the problematic horseshoe.

“That.”

It didn’t take long for Anathema to realize what he meant.

“Oh, oh my God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think!” she said, with a mortified expression as one of her hands flew to her mouth. 

“Clearly.”

“Crowley!” Azirpahale scolded under his breath before assuring Anathema, “We really are quite tickled to be here, my dear.”

“Says you,” Crowley grumbled.

Anathema looked unsure how to react to the two supernatural beings bickering at her front door. Really, the brief interactions she’d had with them during the bicycle accident and the ride back to Tadfield from the airbase had done very little to help her figure out how to approach them. In fact, one of the reasons she planned this whole get together was to learn a bit more about just what had happened and the people… beings… involved. She was going to need to understand the supernatural even better if she planned to keep an eye on things without Agnes’s help. So accidentally insulting the only demon she could actually sit down and talk to was not how she’d hoped to start.

Aziraphale noticed her discomfort and took pity.

“Don’t mind Crowley, Dear. He’s just been a bit tetchy today.”

Crowley gave him a look that spoke far more eloquently than any snappy comeback could’ve for only a fraction of the effort.

Anathema still didn’t look entirely at ease, but she did her best to collect herself and act like the host she wanted to be.

“Still, I’m so sorry about the horseshoe,” she said to the scowling demon. “I’ll ask Newt to get it down while I check for any other charms I might have missed. Everyone else is around back if you want to head that way.”

“That sounds perfect,” Aziraphale replied, and, given a prod from an angelic elbow, Crowley added a, “yeah, fine,” as well. 

After sending one more somewhat flustered smile in their direction, Anathema darted back inside, calling out for Newt to grab a step ladder as the door closed behind her.

With an amused shake of his head, Aziraphale gently guided Crowley towards the back garden. His hand was warm where it had remained on the demon’s arm throughout the conversation. 

“See?” he said. “No harm done, and no offense intended.”

“... Do you know what they pave the roads to Hell with, angel?” Crowley countered as he allowed himself to be towed along.

“Come now, a little time to bask in the sun with good company is just what you need to perk up,” Aziraphale replied as they turned the corner together. 

Behind them, the horseshoe was both disappointed about losing the chance to add a genuine fallen angel to its long list of triumphs, and relieved not to have to take on that much diabolical energy so soon after tangling with a hellhound. Frankly, it thought it had earned a vacation. 

…………………….

In short time, Crowley was ensconced in a folding chair in the back garden; tired, irritated, paying very little attention to the rapid-paced conversation flying about him, and hoping he wouldn’t be asked to contribute very much to it.

“So you really are an actual angel and an actual demon?” Wensleydale asked, looking from one figure to the other. The rest of the Them were gathered as closely as Aziraphale’s air of British propriety would allow, and Crowley was shamelessly using that to his advantage by sitting on the angel’s other side. That way he wasn’t directly in the path of the energetic children or the curious adults behind them.

“Yes, indeed,” Aziraphale confirmed, “although neither of us is in the best standing with our head offices at the moment so… I guess you could say we’re freelance.”

Off to the side, Shadwell snorted into his glass of root beer.

“You dinnae look much like it to me,” he commented. He had been skeptical of the whole get together from the beginning. It all made him rather twitchy. Visiting a witch’s cottage to consort with unnatural beings... and he hadn’t even been allowed to bring his pin!

Any further grievances he had were put to the side as he accepted a cake from Madame Tracy. They shared a sweet smile before she returned to helping Anathema pass out the sweets, adding, “They really are. I can vouch for that,” over her shoulder.

Anathema nodded in agreement as she surrendered a plate of cakes to Brian’s eager hands.

“Not that I doubt you, but you two do rather look like, um, well… just a couple of blokes,” Newt added tentatively around a bite of cake. He was not nearly as skeptical of the fantastic as he used to be (Anathema’s influence had quite quickly overshadowed Sergeant Shadwells’s) but believing without seeing is a very hard skill to master.

“Right. In pictures they always have wings, or horns, or something!” Pepper added. If she was to keep company with angels, and demons, and the like, they could at least look like proper ones.

“Or big pointy forks!” Brian added, and took the opportunity to poke at Wensley’s side with his own less big, less pointy fork. This started a bit of a plastic fork battle amongst the Them, during which Adam managed to both launch a successful defensive with his empty plate and add his own thoughts to the conversation.

“They did have wings at the airfield,” he said, sending Pepper’s fork flying. “At least for a little bit.”

Dog barked in support before he set about chewing on a fork gone rogue.

Usually, Crowley would have been enjoying the hell out of this. Little humans were just so naturally gifted at causing chaos! Part of him wanted to egg them on into a full plastic cutlery war, but that was too much like work for today so he just settled on making a mental note to teach them all how to turn a plastic knife into a trebuchet someday. For now he just decided to passively observe and let the angel continue to handle interactions.

“We always do have wings, although they aren’t always kept on the same plane of existence, for practical reasons,” Azirphale explained, daubing at his mouth with his napkin.  “In fact our truest forms cannot be accurately perceived on this plane at all and are quite beyond the scope of human comprehension. That’s why we use these corporeal forms while on Earth, which I must thank you again for restoring for me, Adam.”

Adam acknowledged his thanks with a nod, now much more interested in the information of the otherworldly, than the very worldly squabble that was dying down behind him. 

“So there’s no way to tell you lot from regular humans on Earth?” he asked, scooting a bit closer.

“Well,” Aziraphale hedged, “sometimes there may be some less than human traits that sort of… seep through our corporeal forms.” 

Adam leaned closer, eyes wide.

“Really?” he asked.

Before Aziraphale could respond, he was inundated by many human voices begging him to show them. The angel clutched his plate of cake close to his chest in surprise.

“Oh! I- I’m really not the best example…” he trailed off, turning ever so slightly Crowley’s way. 

Crowley sighed. He knew that tone of voice. That tone clearly meant that Aziraphale wanted someone to do something for him without having to actually ask for it. As always, that someone was Crowley.  

Welp, showtime. 

“Like thisssss,” he hissed, allowing himself to really dig into the sibilant in a way he usually avoided. 

With an air of casual flair, the demon removed his sunglasses and turned slitted yellow eyes on the gaggle of humans.  

He was going for dramatic and imposing, but the effect was somewhat diminished by the way he squinted. Sure, the humans sounded suitably impressed with their ooos and aaahs, but he wasn’t really seeing them all that well. Everything seemed a bit blurred at the edges, like he was looking through a film, and he couldn’t seem to focus on any of them.

He was so intent on trying to will his vision back to clarity, that he didn’t take in much of what they were saying until he heard Newt exclaim, “You have cat eyes!”

Crowley slowly turned to face the flustered man directly before spitting the word, “Cat!” with so much contempt, it was practically dripping with it.

Newton’s frightened squeak was so satisfying to hear.

The venom in the word also had the bonus of prompting Aziraphale to launch into an explanation of Crowley’s serpentine nature, which of course lead into the story of meeting Crowley as The Serpent in The Garden and then the angel was off telling the humans their whole damn story.

Perfect.

Crowley let out a slow breath now that the focus was once again off of him. He didn’t have the energy to either entertain or intimidate at the moment, so Aziraphale stepping back into the spotlight suited him just fine.

He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and slid his sunglasses back on. Then he readjusted them. Then he took them off, and put them back on again. He just couldn’t seem to get the frames settled comfortably. It was like once it had been freed from the pressure, light though it may have been, the skin at his temples and the bridge of his nose had decided it wouldn’t tolerate his glasses anymore.

If he’d had the energy, he might have thrown the blasted things across the garden, but that seemed like too much effort at the moment, so he settled for huffing to himself and crossing his arms. The scowl on his face would have been most forbidding had anyone noticed.

That was how he was resolved to stay until this whole annoying exercise was over with. It couldn’t be that long in the grand scheme of things. Heaven knew, Crowley could withstand a lot more than these minor irritations. He could manage a few hours of sulking while the angel got whatever socializing he needed out of his system.

He lasted ten more minutes.

Everything was grating, and Crowley couldn’t really bear it anymore. Trying to keep up with the conversation was exhausting; enough so that he had given up even attempting to look like he was following along. It seemed like all he could focus on was his mounting discomfort. He was torn on whether to leave his sunglasses on and endure the irritation they were causing his temples, or take them off and endure blatant staring. And to make matters worse, the smooth back of the lawn chair was absolutely no help in his attempts to relieve the stubborn itch that now extended down the length of his spine.  

All together, the feeling of “I-don’t-want-to-be-here” that had pervaded over him since before they’d even arrived had reached an intolerable level.

Certainly, it couldn’t hurt to slip away for just a little bit; just to give himself a break. A little quiet and some privacy to deal with the aggravating sensation of a hundred tiny tap dancing celestial beings under his skin would do him a world of good.

As subtly as he could, Crowley took a furtive look at the others. Everything still looked hazy, but just by posture Crowley could tell that Aziraphale was entirely absorbed in the story he was telling, and his human audience was just as captivated. The angel was good at that. Sure, he tended to hem and haw at the beginning of a story, but once he got into it, Aziraphale could tell a tale with such passion and detail that listeners couldn’t help but be drawn in.  

No one would really notice if Crowley ducked out for a bit.

He made a quiet comment about getting a new drink and received an absent wave of acknowledgement in return. Thus satisfied that if any of the spellbound fussed at him later he could honestly say he told them where he was going, he levered himself out of the chair and staggered toward the cottage. He’d intended to make the trip with his usual saunter, but hips and ankles suddenly seemed to have gotten much more difficult to coordinate. 

As soon as he rounded the cottage corner, Crowley ripped the sunglasses from his face and furiously scrubbed at his itchy eyes. The world still appeared blurry and glaring, like someone very inconsiderate had smeared Vaseline all over the lenses he was looking through. As those lenses were actually inside his eyes, that scenario was highly unlikely, but it was the best comparison he could come up with at the moment. Blinking made no difference either when he gave that an experimental try. 

He leaned against the cottage; frustrated, exhausted, and still itching like mad.

In fact, the itching had grown so much, it now felt like every inch of skin had become a hypersensitive source of torture. Even the light brush of fabric shifting against him set his skin prickling with such intensity that his brain insisted he had just caught fire. And Crowley had plenty of experience in the fiery torment area.  

He scratched at his arms furiously, squirming against the cottage siding in a desperate attempt to relieve the scorching down his back. Just a bit of relief. Was that too much to ask for? At this point he almost just wanted to tear his skin right off.

With an aggravated growl he slumped back, the fight draining out of him as his attempts only made the fire in his skin grow brighter.  It was no use. His shirt was simultaneously providing too much contact for his skin to handle, and too much of a barrier between his skin and the rough siding to really give it a good scratch.  

He could feel frustrated tears building at the corners of his eyes and doing absolutely nothing to help his vision situation either. Thankfully there was no one there to see him will them back or hear the strangled whimper that he stuffed back down his throat. Really this had to be some kind of punishment.  

Damn clothes. What good were they? Worst thing to come out of that whole fruit of knowledge business by far! He was half tempted just to ditch them all together.

Then it hit him. Scales! Scales were the answer. No one cared if you weren’t wearing clothes when you were in your scales. Why in the world hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

Yes. That’s what he’d do. He’d slip into his scales, find some place dark and quiet, and spend a little time getting over whatever the heaven this mess was.  

His glasses slipped from his hand, landing on the soft ground with no more sound than a serpent slithering through the grass.

………………………………….

“I mean it! I absolutely swear he doodled rear ends in the margins of every single notebook he owned!” Aziraphale tried to convince a disbelieving Anathema later on, much to the amusement of the children sitting on the grass. “Isn’t that right, Crowley!”

There was no response. 

“Crowley?”

He turned towards the demon only to find his chair was empty. A glance around the garden didn’t reveal a glimpse of the demon either. It was like he had disappeared. True, Crowley did enjoy making mysterious and dramatic entrances and exits when the opportunity arose, but something about the empty chair made Aziraphale uneasy. 

“Now wherever could he be?”

The question had been meant more for himself than anyone else, but Madame Tracy still offered an answer.

“I thought I saw him heading towards the house just a bit ago,” she said, taking advantage of the lull in the story to collect some of the empty plates.

“Towards the house…” Aziraphale echoed, recalling Crowley’s earlier reluctance to do, well, anything without his prompting.

“Yes. Something wrong, dear?” she asked, picking up on his tone.  

“Oh, no. I’m sure it’s nothing,” he assured. “He’s just been a bit off today.”

Yet even as he said so, Aziraphale was wringing his hands together, which didn’t go unnoticed by several sets of perceptive eyes.

“You worried?” Adam asked bluntly.

Aziraphale blinked at the boy, his mouth flapping open and shut again, feeling rather called out and wrong footed before he formulated an answer.

“I— well, really Crowley is a perfectly capable demon who has taken care of himself for centuries. So there’s nothing to worry about, in the first place.”

“Alright, but are you worried?” Adam pressed.

Bless him; for all that he put his all into enjoying life as a normal child, there were moments like this where he was just a bit too perceptive and a bit too aware for a boy his age. It also made him very difficult to lie to.

“...yes,” the angel admitted.

“Alright, then! We’ll take a break to go find him and then you can get back to the story.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary! I’m probably just being a silly, and he’s likely just off… having a sulk somewhere to be contrary. I’d hate to cause a fuss when everyone’s meant to be having fun.”

“Nonsense!” Madame Tracy replied, already getting up from her lawn chair.

Anathema nodded in agreement as she stood as well. “Come on. It won’t take long with all of us looking,” she said with a smile.

Aziraphale could feel his fondness for these humans grow as he watched them all get to their feet. Really, it was the little things people did; the small acts of kindness and shows of friendship that made them so endearing.

“Right then,” Aziraphale said with probably more grandiosity than the moment really called for, “But I swear if he’s in the car, I’ll… I’ll… Oh, I’ll think of something.”

So it was with high spirits the group dispersed to search for the missing demon. It was a bit like a scavenger hunt, or backwards hide-and-seek according to the children, with only one hider and a bunch of seekers. But they didn’t find Crowley in the cottage, or in the front garden, or even in his beloved car.

As every moment ticked past without the demon’s discovery, the mood amongst the seekers grew tenser, and after more than half an hour of searching the property the group was significantly less excited and much more worried on the whole.  

Had anyone asked the children at that point, they would have said it had become less like a game and more like the feeling of searching for a comic book you knew you once owned but feared was thrown out during spring cleaning.

Bit by bit the searchers reluctantly regrouped in the garden as they exhausted all of the hiding places they could think of on the property of Jasmine Cottage.  

Aziraphale was wringing his hands together as he watched Anathema and Newt rejoin the rest of the group.

“Anything?” he asked, but the two were already shaking their heads.

“No sign of him in the attic,” Anathema said, “or any other place I could think of.”

That was not what he wanted to hear. Really, it was so silly. It wasn’t like he kept track of Crowley’s whereabouts at all times of day. They used to go centuries without bumping into each other, for Heaven’s sake! So why did Crowley’s absence make him so nervous all of a sudden?

Madame Tracy put a supportive hand on his shoulder as he felt his worries get the better of him.

“Oh, dear. And he wasn’t even feeling up to leaving his flat this morning, but I just had to insist!”

“Let’s not be hasty now. Where else could he have gone?” Tracy tried to calm him.

“Right. If he didn’t feel like coming today, maybe he magicked himself home?” Newt offered, but Aziraphale was already shaking his head.

“You don’t understand,” he insisted, “Crowley wouldn’t leave his car behind, especially not without… without me.”

“Then I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” Tracy replied giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“I dinnea know why you don’t just call his mobile,” Shadwell commented as he absently brushed some dirt off his trousers. 

There was a moment of perfect silence following that statement before the group ignited into a flurry of motion and sound as mobiles were dug out of pockets and the demon’s number was dialed. The silence descended again as the phone rang; breath collectively held as all assembled waited for the call to be picked up.  

They waited, and waited, and waited until Aziraphale looked up in confusion.

“Disconnected? Why would his phone be disconnected?”

No answers were forthcoming. 

During the quiet contemplation, Anathema felt a tug at her sleeve.

“Can’t you find him with your witch powers?” Adam asked.

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” Anathema explained, “especially in an area like Tadfield where there’s already a lot of ambient occult energy.”

“He– he can’t just be gone, though. He simply must be somewhere,” Aziraphale interjected, clutching the mobile tightly as he thought aloud. “Something must– must have happened to him.”

With a gentle hand, Anathema carefully removed the creaking mobile from the angel’s clutches.

“We’ll keep looking,” she assured him, “maybe one of the neighbors saw him, or maybe he went into town.”

Aziraphale breathed a deep sigh and tried to take heart.

“Thank you, Anathema,” he said, though the furrow remained in his brow. “I just can’t understand why he would have gone off like this.”

“We can ask him once we find him,” she replied firmly.  

He nodded once, and then she stepped back and clapped her hands together.

“Right. Let’s spread out and find a demon.”

In short order, the adults had divided into two groups based on who knew the Tadfield area and set off to expand the search.

The Them had wanted to go out searching too, as they did arguably know Tadfield best, but the adults had insisted that someone needed to stay at the cottage in case Crowley returned, and no one really felt comfortable leaving either Aziraphale or Sergeant Shadwell there. Therefore, the Them had been the only choice.

This left the children with plenty of time to speculate amongst themselves while Dog poked around the garden for any scraps of cake that might have taken a tumble.

“What we really need is a clue,” Adam was saying, “like some footprints or a trail of breadcrumbs. Then we could follow the trail right to Mr. Crowley.”  

“Maybe we can hire a detective,” Brian added, “or some bloodhounds to track him down.”

“Can bloodhounds track demons?” Wensleydale asked.

“I dunno,” Brian replied, “but they can track people, and I bet they can track snakes too.”

“But we don’t have any bloodhounds,” Pepper reminded them.  

“Well, we’ve got Dog,” Adam mused, watching the little hellhound follow his nose around the corner of the cottage. “I bet he can track down Mr. Crowley.”

“Maybe,” Brian said scratching his chin in a thoughtful way he’d seen detectives do on tv. “First we’d need something with Mr. Crowley’s scent on it so he could pick up the trail—”

As if on cue, there came some barking from around the corner.  

Adam grinned widely at his friends. “Well, come on! Let’s see what Dog found!” and with that, they took off around the other side of the cottage. They rounded the corner to see Dog barking at a pair of stylish sunglasses partially hidden in the grass.

You see, bloodhounds may be the gold standard when it comes to human tracking canines, but it’s the little dogs that are hardwired to hunt down the pests; including snakes. It helped the scent of this particular snake, and his glasses, reminded Dog vaguely of his distant puppyhood. It was only right he tell his boy about it.

Adam must have agreed, because Dog was rewarded with some fantastic scratches behind his ears.

“Good boy, Dog!” Adam praised, plucking the glasses off the ground to show his friends.  “These are definitely Mr. Crowley’s.”

“He must have dropped them here!” Wensleydale added with growing enthusiasm.

“So if we know he was here, all we need to do is figure out where he went next,” Pepper agreed, getting swept up in the excitement of finding an actual clue.

“I knew Dog could do it,” Adam bragged with a grin. Then he thrust the sunglasses back under Dog’s nose so he could get another sniff. “Alright Dog, find Mr. Crowley,” he commanded.

Well if they wanted to go on a demon hunt, why didn’t they just say so sooner!

With an excited “yap!” Dog took off towards Hogback Wood, stopping only here and there to check the scent as the Them followed in hot pursuit. Dog led them through the underbrush, around tall oak trees, and further into the wood as he happily followed the trail.  

The group made for anything but stealthy hunters with all of their shouting and cheering, so really any creature that wasn’t inclined to be found should have had plenty of warning if it wanted to hide. That is, if it had the energy to get out of their way. The creature Dog led them to barely moved at all.

The Them burst into a clearing where Dog was practicing his jumping and barking at the snake he had tracked down, and who could blame them for gaping in awe?

The snake was absolutely immense in size! It was several times larger than any of them were tall at the least, and nearly as wide as the fallen tree it was laying on. They watched as a sinuous ripple traveled down its body as it shifted against the rough bark. It looked incredible, powerful, and… old.

Its dark scales appeared hoary and dull in the dappled light, and its great eyes were cloudy like Brian’s Nan’s. That on top of the way it seemed to slump as it settled, and its near lack of reaction to the excited hellhound bouncing at its side, just made the thing look so tired and worn out.

“Is that…” Wensleydale trailed off, staring at the massive snake.

“Well,” Adam mused, “Mr. Aziraphale did say that Mr. Crowley was a serpent.”

Then he cleared his throat and took a step closer, Dog returning to his heel.

“Mr. Crowley? We’ve been looking for you,” he called, but the snake didn’t react. It just continued lying there.

The Them exchanged a look between themselves and shuffled a bit closer.

“Mr. Crowley?” he tried again to the same effect.

Collectively emboldened by the snakes continued lack of reaction, the children approached until they were practically standing over the thing.

“Do you think it can hear us?” Brian asked.

The others shrugged.

“I dunno,” Adam replied. “Doesn’t look like its got any ears, but snakes have got to be able to hear other snakes at least, don’t they?”

That was followed by another round of shrugging as no one could really argue against that reasoning, but again none of them knew for sure.

Pepper took a deep breath and moved right up to the snake’s head.

“Mr. Crowley!” she tried much louder and slower. “Can! You! Hear! Us?”

When this didn’t elicit anymore reaction than before she huffed and crossed her arms.  

“Maybe it’s not Mr. Crowley,” she said. “Maybe it’s just a big old stupid snake.”

The snake shifted. All the children gathered close immediately, but it made no other indication that it had heard, or taken offense to, Pepper’s comment.

“What if something’s wrong,” Brian asked, “and he can’t talk to us.”

Adam put a hand to his chin.

“Hmmm… that would definitely be a problem,” he said thoughtfully. “There’s got to be some way to tell if this is Mr. Crowley or not. We don’t want to bring back some wild snake if he’s still lost.”

There was a lot of nodding in agreement until Wensleydale suddenly snapped his fingers.

“I know!” he said, before leaning towards the snake. “If you’re Mr. Crowley, blink to show you understand what we’re saying.”

The Them crouched low around the snake’s head, getting much closer to its large, unblinking eyes, and mouth full of sharp fangs, than any of their parents would have been comfortable with. For a moment there was nothing but the quiet sounds of the forest, until Pepper noted, “I don’t think he’s got any eyelids, Wensley. You can’t blink without eyelids.”

“Well actually that’s what they always have people do in the movies,” he defended. 

“No, it’s not a bad idea. We’ll just have him do something else,” Adam cut in to avoid any ensuing arguments, “something snakes can do.” 

“Right. That should work,” Brian agreed readily. “What do snakes do?”

Another quiet moment passed between the thoughtful children and the lethargic snake. 

“Got it,” Adam said, turning back to the snake. “If you’re Mr. Crowley, stick your tongue out.”

The Them watched with bated breath until the snake lazily flicked out its forked tongue, as snakes are inclined to do. 

Cheers of, “We did it!” “He stuck his tongue out! Did you see it?” and, “We found Mr. Crowley!” rose from the Them. The snake, now undeniably confirmed to be Crowley, seemed less enthused. 

“I’ve got to say, Mr. Crowley, you look less than well right now,” Adam told the demonic snake after the celebration died back down.

“Yeah, are you ill or something?” Brian asked.

At this point the children were growing used to the snake’s non-answers, so they simply continued the discussion without its input.

“I’ve never seen a sick demon, or a sick snake before,” Adam commented, “but this is what I suspect one looks like.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s all snake-y, and not talking, and stuff,” Pepper speculated. “Everybody acts weird when they’re sick.”

“Well, what do we do about it?” Wensleydale asked. This was the question, after all. What did you do with a sick demon snake? Not that the Them were aware of it, but this was the first time that question had ever really been asked. There had never before been a sick demon snake for the question to be asked about.

Still, the Them came up with the best solution they could.

“Let’s ask a demon specialist!” Brian finally said.

“I don’t know any demon specialists, aside from Mr. Aziraphale, that is,” Adam hedged, “and he’s probably still out searching.”

“Do you think someone at church might know about demons?” Wensleydale asked.

This was immediately followed by a hiss from Crowley, causing the children to jump. They had almost forgotten that the subject of their conversation was still right in their midst.

“Not the church then,” Adam concluded. It hadn’t been a very vehement hiss, but it was still more of a reaction than anything else so far.

“I know a vet,” Pepper offered. “He probably doesn’t know much about demons, but he should know about snakes.”

When no hiss followed this statement, the children decided to take that as an agreement. It was more likely that Crowley just didn’t have the energy to hiss again, but the Them didn’t know that.

“Right then,” Adam said sizing up the long serpentine body critically, “first things first, we get Mr. Crowley to the vet. Then we can help him get better again.”

With that, Adam hefted the snake’s head over his shoulders, as if Crowley was a rather unimpressed boa of the feathered variety. Pepper wrapped her arms around the next section of snake body, and Wensleydale did the same following their lead. This left Brian to gather up as much of Crowley’s tail as he could without letting the tip drag on the ground.

And so that is how the Them ended up marching out of the woods and into town with the infamous serpent of Eden strung between them like holiday bunting.

Small towns are not known for having many conveniences, or facilities. In fact, most people who called a small town home would be very familiar with the need to drive 45 minutes or more to run any given errand. Thankfully, however, the one thing all little towns in the countryside have, is someone who knows how to handle sick animals.

Even with the serious nature of their task, the children had quite a bit of fun carrying it out.  Trying to walk through town without snagging the snake on anything made for a very novel version of follow the leader. It was also great fun to watch the receptionist’s eyes grow wider and wider as each subsequent child came through the doors carrying more and more snake.

This marked the largest snake to ever be brought to Dr. Duelot’s practice, which would be a much more impressive feat if it hadn’t also been the only snake brought to the practice in his receptionist’s memory. 

Working in Tadfield, Dr. Duelot was much more familiar with dogs, cats, and livestock from the surrounding area. This could have been a problem, but thankfully, Dr. Duelot had never quite given up his dream of becoming one of those television vets famous for treating all sorts of strange animals with unusual diagnoses (there was quite a hole in the market for a British television vet in his opinion), so although his practical knowledge of reptiles was beyond rusty, he did still recall some of what he’d learned in University. 

It took quite a bit of Adam’s creativity to get through the exam without giving away Crowley’s demonic nature. They’d agreed that the vet didn’t need to know about that. Adults could be so unreasonable about that sort of thing. Thankfully, Adam managed to come up with a story just believably enough to get by. 

(“Where in the world did you lot find a snake like this!”

“He’s my god-father’s.”

“I see... And, what kind of snake did you say he is?” 

“A big one!”

“Ah, of course. And what’s his name?”

“….Apple.”)

It was not an easy exam, at least as far as the humans were concerned, but in the end Dr. Duelot was able to give them a diagnosis. He sent them off with a set of instructions, a bill to give to the snake’s owner, and a confused wave as the kids headed to Adam’s house.

Once there, the Them made quick work of enacting the vet’s instructions. It was only after they finished that Wensleydale made the observation that they should probably let the adults know why they left the cottage. The others agreed, adults didn’t handle unexpected changes in their plans well after all, so Adam called Anathema’s mobile from his house phone.

The adults indeed, had not taken it very well when they returned to Jasmine Cottage without any sign of Crowley and then found the children missing as well. Had Adam not called at that exact moment, they would have likely dissolved into an outright panic.  

Instead, after a brief call that consisted mostly of, “Hi Anathema. Sorry we ran off without telling anyone, but we found Mr. Crowley! He wasn’t looking well, so we went to Dr. Duelot’s office and then took him to my house. Hold on a moment. I just heard some splashing. Got to go! Bye!” the search party set off for the Young household as quickly as possible.

They ended up arriving just moments after Mrs. Young returned from the shopping. Quite fortunate, as that meant they didn’t have to waste the precious seconds it would take for someone to answer the door, as the Them were already outside to help carry in the bags.

“There you are!” Anathema said, a hand pressed to her chest. “It nearly scared me to death when we got back and you were gone too.”

There was a collective guilty shuffle that swept through the Them.

“I’m sorry, Anathema,” Adam replied, truly sorry to have given the others a fright. “We were going to stay, honest, but Dog found Mr. Crowley’s glasses and he led us right to him!”

“Is he alright?” Aziraphale cut in urgently. 

“Well… I’m sure he will be. He’s…” Adam tried to think of the least alarming way to explain everything. 

Brian was less concerned about tact.

“He’s a bloody big snake!”

The statement was met with increased confusion, rather than increased understanding. 

“An actual snake!” Sergeant Shadwell blurted looking rather pale, while Aziraphale pondered, “Why on Earth would he…” aloud, and Anathema flatly asked, “What?”

Adam gave a helpless shrug. 

“Well, yeah. He’s a really big snake, and he didn’t look so good. But we took him to the vet, and it turns out it was a snake problem all along. The vet said Mr. Crowley’s having trouble shedding his skin. We figure he’s probably stuck as a snake until he gets his old skin off.”

“That explains the mobile,” Newt remarked.

Anathema gave him a puzzled look.

“Snakes don’t carry mobiles,” he explained, pleased with his deduction as she groaned.

Aziraphale paid them no mind. He was still puzzling through what Adam said, looking even more confused than before. His gaze flicked back and forth as he rifled through his memory.  

“But… I don’t believe Crowley has ever needed to shed his skin in the past,” he said, gaze landing on the door as if he could see Crowley within. In fact, he was nearly certain of it. Crowley didn’t tend to hide his more serpentine features from Aziraphale. Surely if he had to deal with sheds, he would have complained to Aziraphale about it.

“That explains why he’s having so much trouble with it,” Pepper commented.

“It’s alright, Mr. Aziraphale. The vet told us how to help, and it’s really easy,” Wensleydale assured the fretting angel. “He said we should have him soak for a while so the skin comes off easier.”

Adam nodded encouragingly. 

“That’s why we took him to my house, it was closest and I know where the thermometer is so we could make sure the temperature was right,” he explained.

The kids looked so earnest in their reassurances, that it finally teased a reluctant smile from the Angel. He heaved a great sigh to pull himself back together. 

“Then I really should thank you for taking care of dear Crowley,” he told them, watching as they lit up with pride. 

“I’m sure I’ll feel better once I see him for myself. Would you mind showing me to him?”

(...Oh fuck this noise. He was done. So done. Beyond done. The done-est.)

A shriek from inside the house suddenly rent the air, and the peace shattered. 

In a startled jumble they rushed inside and were immediately confronted with a panicked Mrs. Young racing down the hall, her expression wild. Like a guided missile of maternal instinct she went straight to Adam, pulling him close as she managed to stammer out the phrase, “Snake! In the bathtub!”

To be fair, it wasn’t like the Them had any other options large enough to fit a snake of Crowley’s size. 

It took a lot of reassuring words in soothing tones before Mrs. Young was calm enough to get her breathing back under control and stop trying to tug Adam out the door. And even then, she didn't find their reassurances all that reassuring.  

“Why on Earth would you put a snake in the bathtub! I nearly had a heart attack when I opened the door, Adam!” she asked her son incredulously. 

Adam scuffed his shoe against the floorboards, not meeting his mother’s eyes. 

“I was just trying to help, Mum,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The thing about Adam Young that his mother had known long before most anyone else, was that his heart was in the right place no matter what kind of trouble he got into. And he could get into all kinds of trouble when he put his mind to it.  

Deirdre Young sighed. 

“I know,” she replied in a tone of voice that was both rather exasperated and rather fond, although the exasperation was winning out. “I know you’d try to help it, but we do not need a giant snake in this household, Adam. Dog is enough.”

“ Muuum! He’s not my snake. He’s Mr. Aziraphale’s!” Adam protested, completely ignoring the way said angel sputtered and blushed behind him. It was true, after all. 

“Yours?” Mrs. Young asked, turning to Aziraphale. True, they had only briefly met once before, but he had seemed like such a reasonable person. 

He blinked back, fidgeting, and offered her a somewhat bashful smile. It was really rather reminiscent of the children when they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

“Ah, well… I did bring him to the cookout,” he admitted.  

A quiet moment followed, in which Mrs. Young’s mouth worked soundlessly before she worked up to asking “Um, I’m- I’m sorry, but why did you bring a giant snake?”

“Well it just didn’t seem right to leave him behind,” Aziraphale responded primly. 

It was only eleven-plus years of practice dealing with Adam that allowed Deirdre to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. 

Really, it seemed even the most reasonable people that Tadfield attracted were odder and odder nowadays. Deirdre Young was going to have to work on getting used to that. 

“I see.”

She didn’t. 

“Do you think it would be possible to get your snake out of my bathtub?” she asked.

“Oh, certainly! Right away!”

“But, Mum! He might not be done soaking,” Adam protested. 

Thankfully, Anathema places a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay. If he needs to soak a little longer, we can put him in the tub at my place,” she offered. 

“Thank you,” Mrs. Young said earnestly. “It’s going to be enough of a job getting all of the mess in there cleaned up.”

“Mess?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Young replied, a polite but unmistakably displeased look on her face. “There’s water absolutely everywhere.”

“Oh, dear.”

Aziraphale turned on his heel and set a quick pace down the hall to see the damage for himself. 

Mrs. Young hadn’t been exaggerating. 

The cozy little bathroom was an absolute sopping wet mess. Bath water stood in puddles all over the tile floor, the bath mat was soaked through, and even the bottoms of the curtains were dripping. It looked like a typhoon, a small yet still powerful one, had wreaked havoc in the room. It was a regular disaster zone. Unfortunately, Hurricane Crowley had moved on judging by the trail of water that led from the side of the tub to the miraculously open window. 

(Off, off, off ! He wanted it off! He wanted out! Right the bloody Heaven now!)

“Now really! Is that anyway to act?” Aziarphale asked, aghast at the state of the room.  Although if he was being honest, he wouldn’t have cared a wit for the mess if there had still been a certain demon in it. He had been so close and it just wasn’t fair. 

“That’s from before he scared Mum,” Adam explained, coming up behind him with the others in tow. “He really didn’t like getting in the bath, even though we made sure the water was the perfect temperature for a snake.”

“No less than 26 degrees. No more than 29 degrees,” Wensleydale added. The vet had been very specific about getting the temperature just right. 

“Right,” Pepper agreed. “He did a whole lot of splashing and wiggling about until he got his tail around the taps.”

“Snakes just aren’t very fond of baths, I guess,” Adam commented with a shrug. 

Aziraphale just crossed his arms and attempted to look more affronted than distressed. 

“Still, running off again when he’s had us all so worried!”

“Or slithering off,” Newt commented from over the angel’s shoulder. Anathema elbowed him in the side and gave him a look that clearly communicated that it was neither the right time, nor the right place for a comment like that. 

There was little cough from behind them and they turned to see Madame Tracy gesture down the hall; an impatient look on her face. 

“Well come on!” she urged and started heading towards the door. “Before he gets too far away!”

Her words served as a catalyst to get in motion, and with that reminder they all took off out the front door, leaving a still rather confused Mrs. Young behind to contemplate the wreck of her bathroom. 

There was almost an electric charge running through the search party as they rounded the corner and made for the bathroom window. This time, they wouldn’t be forced to return empty handed in defeat!

They had two things going for them that they hadn’t had the first time around; a distinctive trail of water to get them pointed in the right direction, and a hellhound already locked on the scent of demonic snake. 

In bare seconds, they were dashing through the gardens on Dog’s tail as he led them onward towards Crowley 

By virtue of being young and full of energy, the children ended up leading the pack as they raced through the gaps in hedges and over garden fences. The chase was thrilling… and exhausting. How Crowley managed to get so far in the time they’d been talking was probably a demonic miracle. 

For those puffing along behind them, it was a blessing when the kids suddenly skidded to a stop in front of a craggy old stone fence. An awestruck “whoa…” drifted from one of the children as the adults came up behind them to discover what had stopped them in their tracks.

There, looping over the rough stonework, was the enormous snake skin of the one and only Serpent of Eden. It seemed like some massive, papery ghost lying in wait, watching the world pass by through cloudy eye caps. It was, without a doubt, awe inspiring. 

Or terror inducing, depending on the person.

Sergeant Shadwell, for example, grew rather pale as he stared at physical proof of a snake far larger than his limited imagination could conjure. “Is that all from one snake?” he asked faintly.

“Wicked,” Adam breathed.

That was putting it lightly. The sight was arresting. Even the world’s least perceptive person could have told you there was something ancient and otherworldly about it. Something about the way the light passed through it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Tentatively, Pepper reached out and poked it.

Sergeant Shadwell made a sound like a whimper.

Madame Tracy helped him sit down before he passed out, quietly murmuring about how she hadn’t known he was so frightened of snakes. The Sergeant was feeling too faint to put on a brave front, but thankfully he was also too faint to be embarrassed by that.

“Do you think Mr. Crowley will let us keep it?” Adam asked.

“I’m sure you can ask him once we find him again,” Aziraphale answered. The skin was certainly impressive, but he was far more concerned about the being that once inhabited it.  

A curious sensation was drawing him onward.  

He couldn’t really describe it. It wasn’t anything to do with his earthly senses. There was nothing to see, or hear, or smell, but something was telling him Crowley was near. The closest comparison he could come up with was the unexpected tug of a previously unnoticed loose thread suddenly snagging on something. Distantly he wondered if that was like what Crowley experienced all those times he unexpectedly showed up right when Aziraphale needed him.  

As of that moment, the sensation was telling to keep going forward, further into the garden. 

He walked up to the fence, fingertips absently running down the length of Crowley’s abandoned skin just to feel the ridges of keeled scales beneath them. He let his hand run down the curving path until he reached the very tip of the tail, then he hauled himself up and over the fence. 

“This way!” he called, striding purposefully into the neighbor’s garden.

From behind him, Aziraphale could hear Anathema asking the children to stay with the poor Sergeant until he was more recovered. Then there was the sound of scrambling, presumably the others following as he entered an area that appeared more orchard than garden.  

Every step he took stirred a chorus of ‘almost, almost, almost,’ inside him and his pace quickened. 

“Keep a sharp eye,” he called to the others without looking back. “He’s close.”

Further and further onward he drove; his heart beating a rapid tempo as the feeling grew stronger. Until finally he rounded a tree trunk and the feeling suddenly changed from ‘almost,’ to ‘ here!’  He stopped in his tracks. A sense of relief, like coming home after a long, fraught day, washed over him and his corporeal knees nearly failed him. He braced a hand against the tree trunk and let that blessed relief sweep through him as he breathed Crowley’s name.

There, tucked against the dappled bark of an old apple tree right across from the tree supporting Aziraphale, was Crowley. There wasn’t a single stitch on him and his hair, longer than it had been in centuries, was tangled about his shoulders in a fiery cascade. 

The sight took Aziraphale’s breath away, but he didn’t give himself more than a moment to savor it. He was already rushing to Crowley by the time Anathema, Newt, and Tracy made it to the tree. He was deaf to anything they might have said, his focus entirely narrowed to the demon they’d been searching for so frantically all day. With barely a thought, Aziraphale miracled a blanket into existence and wrapped it around Crowley’s still form as he knelt by his side.

Thank goodness, he was here and whole. 

Aziraphale carefully tucked a few locks of wild red hair behind Crowley’s ear so he could get a better look at the demon’s face. Thankfully, there wasn’t a single shadow of distress on it.

Crowley’s expression was serene, eyes closed in sleep. Just sleep. As Crowley had been wont to indulge in often in the past. Occasionally for decades at a time. 

...Aziraphale desperately wanted to see his eyes.

As gently as he could, he gave the sleeping demon’s shoulders a shake, softly calling, “Crowley. Crowley, my dear.”

For a breathless moment Crowley’s expression remained unchanged, until his eyelids finally fluttered and gradually slid open. His slit pupils constricted as they adjusted to the light and his face scrunched as he squinted up at the angel beaming at him.  

“Whu… ‘Ziraphale?” he murmured, eyebrows drawing together in the honest befuddlement of the newly awakened.

Aziraphale couldn’t help the relieved smile plastered to his face as he sagged in relief, bowing his head so his pale curls brushed the  point where soft tartan fabric met the skin of Crowley’s shoulder.

“Thank the Lord,” he breathed before continuing louder, “You gave us quite a scare, my dear. I didn’t know what to think when we couldn’t find you.”

His voice wavered near the end.

“Angel…” Crowley’s voice was soft and wondering. He pulled a hand free from the blanket and placed it on the side of Aziraphale’s face so he could tilt it up and see those storm colored eyes again. They were damp.

He offered the angel his most convincing reassuring smile. 

“M’okay. Bit confused ‘bout what just happened, but I’m okay,” he said, brushing his thumb over the angel’s cheek.  

That fine-boned hand was so welcomingly familiar that Aziraphale wanted to freeze time himself just to have the luxury to savor the feeling for a week. The fingers that cradled his face were softer that he recalled, but still unmistakably, wonderfully, Crowley’s. Aziraphale presses one of his hands over Crowley’s.  

The demon looked concerned, like Aziraphale was the one in need of comfort when it was Crowley who had just been through an ordeal. It sat poorly with Aziraphale. 

“I am so sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale apologized. “I shouldn’t have insisted so when you obviously weren’t feeling yourself.”

Crowley shrugged it off. He’d never gotten used to being apologized to. 

“S’not a problem, Angel. This is as good a place as any to wiggle out of your skin, I suppose,” he told the guilt ridden angel still clutching his hand. 

Aziraphale didn’t find that as reassuring as Crowley would have liked, but acquiesced with an, “If you say so,” anyways. 

At this point, the humans who had been awkwardly waiting near the tree while the two had their fervent reunion figured it was okay to make their presence known again. 

Newt and Tracy followed Anathema’s lead as she approached the two, careful not to trip over any tree roots. She cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the two immortals who had quite forgotten about her existence for a moment.

“It’s so good to see you, Crowley. We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you alright?” she asked.

Crowley just shrugged and rose to his feet. He may have muttered something about disobedient joints as he did, but that was not really meant as a response. 

Aziraphale’s hands hovered nearby as he rose and remained even after he was standing, as if the angel couldn’t help himself.

“I feel fine,” Crowley finally answered, adjusting his grip on his blanket wrap. “Better than I’ve felt in weeks, honestly. I thought I was really going to go completely out of my mind for a while there.”

“We’re very glad you didn’t,” Newt commented from over Anathema’s shoulder. 

Madame Tracy added, “Absolutely. You had us worried for a while, dear,” as she looked the demon over taking note of the style of wrap he’d fashioned. Never too late to pick up new tricks, after all. 

“Well, false alarm I guess,” Crowley replied. Dry dirt came loose beneath his feet as he shuffled under their combined gazes. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Anathema assured him. “It kept the cookout from getting boring.”

Crowley huffed a little laugh at the conspiratorial smirk Anathema gave him. Maybe it was because she’d spent an afternoon comforting a literal angel, or possibly because Crowley looked like a guest at the world’s fluffiest toga party, but the day had done wonders for her nerves about interacting with celestial beings.

“Alright, apology retracted, then,” the demon replied with a smirk of his own.  

With the stress of the hunt, and the shed, finally relieve, a lighthearted mood blossomed amongst the group. Smirks easily grew to be full fledged grins as a weight seemed to lift, and the conversation took a less serious turn.

“I like the hair,” Newt remarked with a nod towards Crowley’s newly grown fiery mane.

With a considering look Crowley ran a hand through the ends of the coiled tresses, watching as the long strands slipped through his fingers.

“Yeah, didn’t expect that,” he replied offhandedly. “Didn’t expect any of that, really... What was that?”  

He turned towards Aziraphale with a furrow in his brow, seemingly coming to realize just how bizarre the situation was even by their standards. 

“More than six thousand years I’ve been a snake and I haven’t needed to shed once in that whole time! Why now?” he continued.

Aziraphale just gave him a helpless shake of his head.

“I haven’t the faintest idea, I’m afraid. I’m just glad you’re alright, my dear,” he replied.  Both his voice and expression were blatantly warm which helped settle Crowley before he could go spiraling into a tangent.

“Maybe you just grew too big for it,” Newt suggested, scratching at his head. He knew that as far as demon specialists went, he was the least qualified of the group, but that was how it went for snakes, right?

Crowley mulled the suggestion over before drawing back the top of the blanket to peek down at himself, completely oblivious to the way Madame Tracy had to stifle a laugh.

“Everything looks the same to me,” he commented before turning to Aziraphale again to ask, “Do I look any different to you?”

Aziraphale studied him critically, even glancing down the blanket himself, at which point both Madame Tracy and Anathema had to bite their tongues.

“Not significantly, apart from the hair,” the angel replied before adding, “Although, your skin does seem rather lustrous today.”

Crowley considered that, performing some kind of swivel that the humans among them had difficulty comprehending. 

“I do feel kind of silky all over, now that you mention it,” he concluded.

“Seems like an awful lot of effort to go through for a skin treatment,” Madame Tracy remarked.

“Not the strangest thing I’ve heard of people doing in the name of good skin,” Anathema replied with a shrug. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow at her. 

“You should see some of the extreme skin regimes they use in California,” she replied flatly. 

“Really?” Newt asked. 

“Oh yeah,” she elaborated, “I’ve known people who used diamond powder, bee venom, blood–”

“Blood!”

“Yes Newt, but it was just their own, I think.”

Her reassurance did little to restore the color to her boyfriend’s face. 

Aziraphale turned to give a Crowley a speculative look, but the Serpent just pulled a face in return. 

“Hey, we may have started the whole beauty industry thing, but what the humans have done with it since has nothing to do with me. Personally, I’d just invest in a good sauna. Or one of those Roman hot rooms. You remember the kind they had at the baths, right angel?”

Said angel smiled at the fond memory. “Oh yes, the were divine.”

“Devilishly good, I’d say,” Crowley replied just to see the eye roll it earned him. 

“And you’re already dressed for one,” Madame Tracy added, gesturing at his fuzzy tartan pseudo-toga and thoroughly enjoying witnessing their back and forth. 

“Bit overdressed for the baths, actually,” Crowley replied before he gave Aziraphale a significant look. 

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed lightly; his thoughts clearly returning to an earlier time before he shook himself back to the present.  

“You did always like to make an entrance at the baths,” Aziraphale commented, clearing his throat. “But you do cut a dashing figure in tartan as well, my dear.”

Crowley made a complicated facial expression that seemed to be a bit pleased, a bit flustered, and a bit disgusted with himself. It was really rather endearing. 

Anathema cleared her throat to draw their attention. 

“Not that the blanket isn’t lovely, but we might want to find you some actual clothes before we get back to town,” she suggested, and then glanced towards the house at the far end of the property, “or Mr. Tyler sees.”

“Right,” Crowley replied. 

Newt was just about to offer to fetch some of his clothes for Crowley to borrow when the demon drew his hand up his body with miraculous intent. Amazing how even after everything these humans had experienced during the apocalypse, watching the demon’s usual attire materialize from underneath the blanket was still enough to inspire awe.

“That’s more like it,” he said to himself, shrugging off the blanket to admire the cut of his miraculous skinny jeans.

“Now that would be a handy trick!” Madame Tracy remarked, her eyes alight with the possibilities. 

Crowley preened at the attention and Aziraphale gave them both an indulgent look. 

“Handy, yes, but there’s something to be said for handmade,” he commented, adjusting his well loved waistcoat.

Crowley paused where he was bundling up the blanket and gestured at his outfit with his free hand. “What of that wasn’t hand made? I literally just made it with my very own hand!”

“Miracling an outfit is cheating.”

“Oh now it’s cheating? I thought it was ‘barely a miracle’ back in 1793.”

Anathema decided to jump in before the conversation could spiral into another tangent. 

“Gentlemen! We really should go collect Sergeant Shadwell and the kids. They’re going to want to know what happened.”

And with a gesture, the troupe set off towards the edge of the orchard. Nobody commented on the arm Aziraphale kept slung around Crowley’s waist, or the way held the tartan blanket close to his chest. “I don’t suppose you feel up to anymore of the cookout, Mr. Crowley?” Newt asked. It was quite an impressive feat considering how much of his concentration he had devoted to not tripping over tree roots.

“Oh, why not?” Crowley replied easily, “We’re here anyways and I wouldn’t mind relaxing a bit before the drive back to London. Unless the angel here wants another crack at i—”

“No!” Aziraphale cut in quickly. “That is, no thank you. I find I much prefer letting you drive, if you’re feeling quite recovered.”

Crowley shrugged, holding up a branch so he and Aziraphale could pass under it together. 

“Yeah, I’m doing alright now. I’m just glad that’s all done with,” he replied.

Newt stumbled up ahead as another thought occurred to him. He thanked Anathema for steadying him before asking, “Do you think you’ll have to shed again someday?”

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks, horrified. 

“Dear ssssomeone, I hope not! That was miserable!”

Aziraphale placed a comforting hand on his arm, aiming for as reassuring as possible.

“At least we’ll know what’s going on if this should happen again, but for now let’s just enjoy that it’s over.”

He paused for a moment as the demon visibly shook off the haunting thought of future sheds.

“We should probably go smooth things over with Adam’s mother too,” he mused aloud. “You gave her quite a fright, dear.“

“I gave her a fright? What about me! You try having someone walk in on you and start screaming their head off while you’re in the bath,” he replied with an indignant huff. 

Anathema chuckled behind her hand as the two beings fell into another round of banter.

“Even so, we should at least offer to help with the mess in the bathroom,” the angel insisted. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you managed to get the water all over that room.”

“You know me, I breed chaos wherever I go,” Crowley replied smugly. “And it’s freaky when you can’t get a grip on anything. Kinda makes you go all thrashy.”

It seemed that once all of the serious concerns had been laid to rest, Crowley was more than happy to bemoan the injustice of all he’d gone through as they rejoined the others and the whole way back to the Young’s house. That said, he promptly rolled up his sleeves and helped the Them clean the soggy bathroom when they arrived. He also made a point to assure a still anxious Mrs. Young that the snake had been located. She didn’t quite seem to understand why Mr. Crowley was so keen to clean her bathroom, but she was quite relieved to know the massive serpent wasn’t still roaming around somewhere. Crowley decided against informing her about the barred grass snakes he’d crossed paths with in the forest.  

Alongside the children and their demonic companion, Aziraphale was also put to work.  Madame Tracy had been happy to point out that it was his snake that had made the mess, after all. He’d been blushing too hard to think of arguing otherwise. Crowley had been highly amused.

Thus, as Deirdre Young kept an eye on the children at work and inadvertently prevented the two man-shaped beings from miracling her bathroom spotless, all those in gathered in Tadfield remained unaware that something truly momentous had just occurred. 

An escalator had just moved. An up escalator, to be more precise. The up escalator leading out of Hell which had not moved in anything resembling an upward direction in millennia, to be exact. It hadn’t moved a full step, mind you, but did ascend nearly half of one.  

Not that anyone noticed, or was likely to notice for quite some time. 

After all, it had taken most of his existence for Crowley to step into a church for the first time. The most worldly of demons had remained ignorant for nearly all of history that holy water was just left out in the open. And even then, it took an extreme set of circumstances to bring that discovery about. It would probably take him even longer to step into another church and notice that consecrated ground no longer burned his feet.  

This was really quite understandable though, as mostly-demons are quite hard to tell apart from typical demons at a glance. Even though they’ve been reclaimed. 

King me.