Chapter Text
Aziraphale staggered along the dirt path, his wrists shackled behind him. He wanted to run in the opposite direction, but he knew he wouldn’t get far. There were several village officials walking in front of him, two guards flanking him, and an angry mob of villagers following close behind. Some of them used to be his friends.
The dirt path led away from the village he’d once called home and out towards the mountains.
A giant boulder came into view, pressed against the rock face.
The mob surged forward with loud cries. Aziraphale cowered, but they ran straight past him and swarmed to one side of the boulder, pushing it with all of their strength. The boulder slowly rolled away, revealing a hidden entrance.
Aziraphale’s legs trembled. He tried to back away, but the guards took hold of him and dragged him towards the cave entrance.
Men and woman entered the cave ahead of the group, armed with flaming torches and weapons.
“Don't worry,” said one of the torch wielders to their nervous companion. “The snake-demon won't come out here. Direct sunlight kills them, and they’re scared of fire. We’re perfectly safe.”
Aziraphale wasn’t safe. He'd never felt less safe in his life. His legs buckled and he dropped to his knees.
New Haven had seemed wonderful when he'd first arrived six months ago. The people had been so welcoming, and he’d quickly made plenty of friends. He’d been happy. He’d started to think he might spend the rest of his life in this beautiful and peaceful village. But then he'd started to see the cracks, and everything had fallen apart.
It all started when he found out about Madame Tracy. He’d been helping Gabriel and Sandalphon translate an old text, and the conversation had somehow come around to this poor woman. They'd called her a degenerate with loose morals. A pervert and a prostitute. They’d said she got what was coming to her, and then proudly explained that she’d been sacrificed to a demon. Aziraphale had been horrified.
Afterwards, he’d asked his friend, Anathema, about it, and it turned out she’d been good friends with Tracy. She’d bitterly explained that selling oneself was a criminal offence here, but, conveniently for the men, paying for such services wasn’t. She’d had to explain what a dominatrix was, and it’d made him blush.
In the village archives, he’d found a transcript from Tracy’s almost non-existent trial. He’d found notes from previous trials too, dating back to just over a year ago. An eleven-year-old boy – an orphan - had been sentenced to death via demon for stealing an apple from an orchard. A fucking apple.
If they’d kill a child for stealing an apple, there was no telling what other ridiculous things they’d kill you for, and he didn't want to find out.
In hindsight, he should have immediately taken Anathema with him and fled. He was homosexual, and that was a crime here. It was a crime everywhere he'd ever been, but at least there were places where it wasn’t punishable by death, where he’d at least receive an actual trial, and certainly wouldn’t be sacrificed to a monster.
Instead he’d dithered for a few days before finally going to Anathema’s cottage early one morning to ask if she’d like to go north with him, only to discover that she'd been whisked away in the night and her home had been turned upside down. She’d been accused of witchcraft. Aziraphale went to the courthouse and then to the prison, but he was too late. He rushed to the mountain, but the giant boulder was back in place, cutting off all access to the cave behind it. It needed at least half-a-dozen men to move it, and although he begged his friends to help him, they all refused.
Aziraphale knew he needed to leave immediately. He’d rushed back home to collect his things and found a mob waiting for him. Guilty by association. They’d raided his home, looking for something – anything - that could be used against him. They’d wanted proof that he practiced dark magic like Anathema, but all they found was incense. They'd discarded it, leaving the brightly coloured wooden sticks strewn across the floor. In the bedroom they'd emptied his drawers and found the beautiful glass dildo that he'd purchased years ago and kept hidden in his sock drawer. They'd left it in the open, ignoring it, too naive to understand what it was. Thank goodness it hadn’t looked overly phallic.
But then they’d found the hidden book. He’d kept it in a locked box, but he'd become complacent and stupidly left the key in the lock. The book contained a collection of homoerotic short stories. The stories were all written in a language that none of the villagers understood, and he might’ve gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for the highly graphic illustrations.
Aziraphale was labelled a sodomite and thrown into prison without a trial. He was left there for two weeks, until it was decided the demon would be hungry again.
Today was that day.
Aziraphale was dragged into the darkness of the cave and then forced up against a wooden stake, his back to it. His wrists were unshackled and then pulled behind him, where they were bound with rope, trapping him in place.
Gabriel - the leader of New Haven and someone Aziraphale had once thought of as a friend - now stood before him, watching with cold, dispassionate eyes.
“Gabriel! Please don’t do this!” Aziraphale pleaded. “I'll leave and never come back, I swear!”
Gabriel gave him a disgusted look and then turned towards the guards. “Someone gag him already.”
“No! Please! Don’t leave me here!”
Sandalphon stomped closer. A thick, rough rag was forced into Aziraphale’s mouth and then knotted at the back of his head. Aziraphale made muffled sounds of protest and shook his head wildly.
Gabriel crossed his arms. “A pervert like you deserves everything they get.”
Sandalphon lowered his voice. “The demon will probably fuck you before it eats you. But you’ll enjoy that, won’t you? They say a demon’s cock is as big as your leg.”
Aziraphale felt sick. His head was spinning. He’d never seen a snake-demon before. They were a thing of legend. He’d heard stories about them in other villages, and he’d seen illustrations of the snake-demon from these very mountains in the archives while researching Tracy’s trial. Gabriel’s eyewitness account of the creature had been written down. He’d described it as a huge beast with blood-red hair and a savage face full of fangs.
Only one snake-demon had been seen, but there could be a whole horde of the things. According to the archives, the cave has been sealed off just over a hundred years ago due to the sinful creatures living on the other side.
The villagers rushed out into the sunshine. Gabriel and Sandalphon were the last to leave, and in his panic Aziraphale tried to shout after them, the words mangled and muffled by the gag.
Gabriel glanced back at him over his shoulder. “Shut up and die already.” And then he and Sandalphon stepped out of view, leaving Aziraphale completely alone in the cave.
The boulder shuddered and then rolled back into place with a loud thud, the echo reverberating around the chamber. Aziraphale found himself plunged into complete darkness. Tears streamed down his face, soaking the gag as he tried desperately to free himself. He struggled against the ropes until eventually he became too exhausted and sagged forward, breathing heavily through his nose, knowing he was going to die here in the dark, either by monster or dehydration.
His eyes adjusted slowly, and he realised it wasn’t as dark as it’d first seemed. Small bioluminescent mushrooms sat in clumps between the rocks, and in the distance, a green glow came from around a corner suggesting a passageway of sorts at the very back of the cave.
The only sounds he heard for the next several hours were the dripping of water, stones falling somewhere deeper within the cave system, and his own laboured breathing, but worst of all was the sound of his own thoughts.
There was a distant whistling, eerie in the near silence. Aziraphale froze, listening intently, his breath coming sharp through his nose. The sound came closer, grew louder, ominous as it echoed around the chamber.
Aziraphale recognised the tune! Yes! From a village he'd visited many years ago up north. The local bard had sung this song often while strumming along on a lute. The song was in a different language to the one spoken in New Haven, but Aziraphale knew many languages, and while he'd not needed to speak this language in many years, he remembered it well. He even remembered some of the lyrics. How did it go? ‘Don't stop me now, I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball.’
This meant there were other humans in the caves! He was saved! Surely demons didn’t whistle. Perhaps there had never been a demon at all. Perhaps Anathema and the others had been rescued. Hope blossomed and then died when he saw a shadow against the far wall at the back of the cave, lit by a ghostly green light. A huge serpent with a human torso and long hair that curled like so many snakes. Perhaps they were snakes, like Medusa from the legends.
No one was coming to rescue him.
The monster came into view, not as big as the shadow had suggested but still an unnatural thing, all dark scales and red hair. It was on the other side of the cavern, far away from him, emerging from a tunnel. A lantern hung at its waist and cast the figure in a ghostly white light.
Aziraphale kept very still, staring at the thing as it slithered across the ground, seemingly oblivious to his presence, and then it looked in his direction. It's eyes widened, and the whistling came to an abrupt stop.
Aziraphale let out an involuntary sound of terror and thrashed against his bonds, renewing his efforts to escape. He knew that it was useless. He hadn’t even managed to loosen the gag around his mouth, but panic had him trying anyway.
“Oh, no,” said the monster wretchedly. “Not again.”
Aziraphale froze. He could understand what the monster was saying. It was speaking the same language as the whistled song.
The monster moved towards him slowly, making soothing sounds like it was trying to comfort an injured animal, wrists bared in a submissive gesture.
“Shush now, it's okay. I won't hurt you. You poor thing. Let me just- I'm not threatening, see? Nice soft voice from a nice soft naga.”
It was clear that the demon – or naga, whatever that meant – didn't know that Aziraphale could understand him. None of the others would have known this language, not even Anathema. She’d come from the west, far away over the sea, not up north where this language was spoken.
The demon was almost upon him now. His tail was long and muscular, strong enough to support his human-like torso with ease. The scales were black, save for a red stripe down the front. His loose black shirt had a low-cut collar, and the hem reached down to about mid-thigh – or at least, where his thighs would be if he were human. The lantern turned out to be attached to a satchel slung over one shoulder. The white light came not from a candle but from a collection of bioluminescent mushrooms growing inside.
As the demon approached, his tail drew down, lowering his human body until he was the same height as Aziraphale. His hair wasn’t made of snakes. Instead, long, red curls brushed his shoulders. The creature bowed, his head low.
“See?” the demon said in a soothing voice. “I wouldn’t bow to you if I wanted to hurt you, now would I?”
The demon straightened, and Aziraphale found himself staring into unnaturally yellow eyes with slitted pupils. Aziraphale squeaked and renewed his efforts to escape, instinct kicking in.
“Fucks sake,” said the demon, but his tone remained gentle. He looked worried. “Who left you here? Why? I don’t understand. I'm so sorry.”
Aziraphale made a garbled sound around the gag, desperate to communicate, to talk to him.
The demon opened the satchel which hung at his side. “I know, I know. Settle down. Let me grab my picture board.”
The demon produced a piece of card with a series of simple drawings on it. It portrayed a snake-demon and a human traveling through a series of tunnels. Three symbols were drawn above it, connected by arrows – a sun, a moon, and a sun. At the end were two sketches. The first showed a human trying and failing to climb up to a cave opening, clouds, trees and rooftops visible outside. A sad face was drawn beside it. The second showed a similar scene, except a snake-demon was lifting the human up onto a high ledge so they could reach the exit. Happy face.
“So, you see?” said the demon. “You’re going to need my help to get out.”
Aziraphale made a frantic sound around the gag.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” The demon reached out and pulled the gag out of Aziraphale’s mouth.
“Oh, my goodness! I mean you no harm!” Aziraphale gasped. “Please untie me!”
The demon dropped the card in his shock. He stared at Aziraphale, a look of amazement in his strange eyes. “We talk the same language! That’s fantastic! You're the first sacrifice that could understand me. You're safe. I’ll help you reach the exit. The climb up the cave wall is too difficult for humans, so you'll need my help.” He bent down and picked up his card. “Please tell me at least some of that was clear from the pictures.”
Aziraphale swallowed. “I- Yes. Sorry. This is all rather a lot to take in.”
“Everything is going to be alright. I’m Crowley, by the way.”
“Aziraphale. Can you untie me, please?”
“Sure. Although I’m gonna have to frisk you first.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He couldn’t remember what the word ‘frisk’ meant, but he remembered what ‘frisky’ meant and he didn't like the sound of it. Some of his fear must have shown on his face because Crowley hastily continued.
“Sorry, but I’m gonna have to frisk you. Pat you down for weapons. The last girl had a bread knife hidden in her belt.”
“Anathema! Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. Long brown hair and round eyeglasses, right?”
Aziraphale’s heart was racing. “Yes, that’s Anathema! Where is she?”
“I got her to the exit. There’s a human village on the other side. I take everyone I find there. She was okay with me in the end, but I had a right time getting that knife away from her. Determined lady.”
“I’m so sorry. I hope she didn’t injure you.”
“No harm done.”
“Please don’t think badly of her. I’m sure she was just frightened. Thank you so much for helping her. She’s a dear friend of mine.”
Crowley shrugged. “I did what anyone in my position would’ve done.” Crowley gave Aziraphale an apologetic look before patting him down, hands brushing up and down his arms, legs, and sides. “Why are people being left tied up here, anyway? It's driving me nuts. Are you sacrifices? I don't want that. If you’re supposed to be sacrifices, then we should wait until your people come back. Tell them they need to stop. You speak their language, right? Can you speak on my behalf?”
Aziraphale felt a surge of panic. “I- I don't think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
Aziraphale hesitated, heart racing, but he found himself blurting out the truth anyway, or part of it at least. “They want me dead.”
Crowley looked horrified.
Tears blurred Aziraphale’s vision. “They think I'm a criminal. But they're wrong! I was falsely accused! I didn't even get a trial. I’m innocent, I swear!”
Crowley nodded. “And the others? Were they accused of crimes too? Is that why they were left tied up?”
Aziraphale nodded.
“That explains why none of them seemed to like the idea of hanging around for that boulder to roll back,” Crowley muttered. “Your friend with the knife, did she...” He made a stabbing gesture.
Aziraphale gasped at the insinuation. “No, she wouldn’t hurt a soul! Well, not unless she felt threatened, I suppose. But no. She was accused of being a witch.”
“What's wrong with being a witch?” Crowley asked in disbelief.
“Can you untie me please?” Aziraphale was feeling more anxious by the second. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“Sure. What did they accuse you of anyway?”
There it was. A fresh wave of panic washed over Aziraphale. “I’d rather not talk about it. It’s not true anyway.” His head was spinning, and he couldn’t think of a decent lie, but if Crowley kept prying, he'd have to come up with something.
“Okay. I’m sorry,” said Crowley. “Wait a minute... There was a boy. Maybe eleven or twelve? You’re telling me they sentenced a child to death? What was he accused of?”
“Stealing an apple,” Aziraphale muttered.
“Fucking hell. Your people are nuts. No offence.”
“No offence taken. I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to realise it myself.”
Aziraphale felt the ropes come loose and drop away. He rubbed at his sore wrists and then stepped away from the post, his hands shaking.
Something moved in the nearby shadows. Aziraphale gasped and backed away. It turned out to be the tip of Crowley’s tail, which, in all honesty, didn’t make him feel much better.
“I always assumed they were ritualistic sacrifices,” Crowley said, gliding backwards to give Aziraphale more room. “Like the locals thought I could make it rain or help the crops grow faster or something? Assuming they even knew I was here. It was clear none of you were volunteers though.”
Aziraphale dried his eyes on his sleeve. “From what I understand, the idea was to sacrifice undesirable people to the snake-demon in the cave so he wouldn’t terrorise the village. Although, in truth, I think the village officials simply wanted an excuse to get rid of people they didn’t like.”
“I’m so sorry you went through that. I'm not a demon, by the way. I'm a naga.”
Aziraphale was horrified by his own insensitivity. “I’m so sorry. Obviously I don’t think you’re a demon. I’ve never heard the word ‘naga’ before. You’re the only naga I’ve ever met.”
“It’s okay.” Crowley gave him a smile. “I'll take you to the exit. You’ll be able to see your friend.”
Aziraphale felt a stab of hope at the thought of seeing Anathema again. “Is it far?” The sooner Aziraphale stopped being a burden to Crowley, the better. He’d surely offended him enough already.
“It’ll take us a couple of days, I think. I tried to show that in the picture. The sun and moon repeated with arrows?”
“Ah! Yes. Of course.” Aziraphale bit his lower lip. They were going to be stuck together quite a while. “Are there other nagas here?”
“Nah. I'm the only one this far south.”
Aziraphale glanced at him, wondering if he could trust him. But surely if Crowley wanted to hurt him, he'd have done so already. The thought of finding Anathema and somewhere safe made his chest ache. He'd been so sure he was going to die.
“Are you hurt?” Crowley asked.
“Only my pride,” Aziraphale said with a weak laugh.
Crowley glanced at the stake Aziraphale had been tied to. “How long were you there?”
“A few hours, I think.” It had felt like forever.
A look of guilt Crowley’s face. “I’m so sorry you were stuck there for so long. I wasn’t expecting another person so soon. There’s usually at least a month between each one.”
“They decided to wait two weeks before bringing me here. They thought you might, er, not be hungry again for a while.”
“They think I eat people?!” Crowley looked mortified. He shook his head. “Absolute madness.”
“Madness,” Aziraphale agreed, as though he hadn’t believed the exact same thing not long ago.
“Naga eat the same food as humans,” Crowley explained. “I’ve got food and water stashed away in my camps around the cave system. And warm clothes if you need them. There’s food and water in my bag too. Would you like anything?”
Aziraphale suddenly realised just how hungry and thirsty he was. It must be well past lunchtime, and he hadn’t eaten anything since dinner last night. The food in prison had been meagre and unappetising, but to his surprise, Michaela - who he’d never particularly liked - had taken pity on him and occasionally smuggled snacks in for him. Aziraphale hadn’t been offered breakfast that morning, but he doubted he’d have been able to eat anything even if he had. Believing he was about to suffer a horrible death had rather ruined his appetite.
Crowley handed him a flask. The water was cool and refreshing, soothing his dry throat.
“Thank you,” said Aziraphale, conscientiously wiping the top of the flask before handing it back.
Crowley rooted about in his satchel. “I have bread and cheese. Oh, and some crab meat and cured herring if you fancy it?”
“Yes, please,” said Aziraphale. “I love seafood.”
New Haven was so far inland that seafood options were limited, especially in comparison to the seaside towns he’d stayed in during his travels. The fishermen of New Haven caught trout and eels in the river that ran beside the village, and occasionally, traders brought salted cod from the nearest seaside towns, but it was pricey due to the long journey. Aziraphale liked to save up his money and treat himself. Sometimes, he was even able to get his hands on mussels, crabs, and his favourite – oysters.
Aziraphale sat on a rock while they ate their makeshift lunch, glad to be able to rest his feet. He’d been stood for such a long time. Crowley simply sat back on his coiled tail, but he seemed more interested in talking than eating.
“Were people purposefully being sacrificed during the full moon, or was that just a coincidence?”
Aziraphale looked up from his bread and cheese in surprise. “Full moon? I didn’t see any mention of it in the archives. In fact, it must have been a coincidence. The full moon is associated with paganism, so I’m sure Gabriel – the village leader – wouldn’t have done it on purpose.”
Crowley nodded. “For a while, I thought sacrifices were only being left during the three-night window of the full moon. The boy - the second sacrifice – was definitely left during it. But the first sacrifice... I was too stressed at the time to pay attention to what day of the month it was, but after finding the boy I assumed she must’ve been left on the full moon too. There was about a month between them. When the orange hair lady arrived a couple of months later - also during that three-night window - that convinced me I was right. I made sure I was always nearby during those three days. I have a calendar, so I marked the days off on there. I thought it didn't matter how far away I was during the rest of the month.” Crowley let out a bitter laugh. “I was a fool. Luckily I was close enough to hear the boulder being rolled back when Anathema was brought here. I’ve stayed close ever since then, just in case. But I still managed to sleep through it somehow when you were left here. I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to apologise for. You've already gone above and beyond. Besides, you need rest just like everyone else.”
“Never thought I’d sleep through a racket like that though,” Crowley said. “The boulder is so loud when it's moved - the sound echoes for miles around. It vibrates through the ground. I can feel it. I did have strange dreams during my last nap though…”
Aziraphale found himself reminded of something he’d read in the archives. “It’s usually forbidden for people to go into the caves – hence the giant boulder – but according to the records, just over a year ago there was a report of noises coming from within. People were worried a child had found their way inside and gotten lost, so Gabriel decided to investigate. According to the archives, he found you asleep. I’m guessing you didn’t see him?”
Crowley’s eyes widened. “Someone was watching me sleep? Fucking creepy. I’m lucky I wasn’t murdered. Wait... What made him think he needed to wait two weeks before I’d be hungry again? Did something happen? Did-” he swallowed. “Did they come back once, and…”
“No! Certainly not. Nothing like that was mentioned in the records. No bodies found. It said Agnes Nutter was tied to the stake first. Adam – the boy - was next.”
Crowley nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Then Tracy.”
“She must be orange hair lady.”
“And then my friend, Anathema, and then me. That's everyone.”
Crowley let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“And for the record, if anything awful had happened, it'd be Gabriel’s fault, not yours.”
A smile pulled at Crowley’s lip. “Thank you.”
They went back to eating, and it wasn’t long before Aziraphale was licking his fingers clean. He felt much better for having eaten something.
“I’ve got octopus tucked away at my next camp, if that’s something you like,” Crowley said. “Caught and prepared only yesterday. And some more bread.”
“Thank you for all of this.”
Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help. And to be honest, it’s a relief to finally be able to talk to one of you and figure out what’s going on.”
The flask of water was passed back and forth between them a few more times before it was returned to Crowley’s satchel. “Are you ready to set off?”
Aziraphale climbed down from the rock. “I’m ready.”
Crowley unfastened the mushroom lantern from his bag and then thrust it towards Aziraphale. “Take this. Your eyes aren’t as used to the dark as mine.”
Aziraphale clung to the lantern like a lifeline.
Crowley uncoiled his tail, doing the naga equivalent of standing up. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.”
Aziraphale took one last look at the wooden stake, at the ropes and the gag abandoned on the ground beneath it, and then he turned away and followed Crowley towards the unknown.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the back of the cave. Aziraphale found himself at the place where he’d seen luminescent light coming from around a corner, suggesting a passageway. The same place where he first spotted Crowley. There was a large tunnel, wide and tall, the walls covered in algae. Or was it moss? It glowed a luminescent green, making the path seem eerie.
As they made their way along the path, Aziraphale found himself constantly glancing this way and that, trying to make sense of this strange and alien place. But his gaze always, inevitably, returned to Crowley. His half-serpent, half-human body was so surreal that he kept catching himself staring. Thank goodness Crowley didn’t seem to notice.
Crowley was nothing like the mindless monster Aziraphale had been led to believe. He was chatty, intelligent and kind. He was so… human, for lack of a better word. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley was being so talkative to put him at ease or if he simply enjoyed having someone to talk to. Probably a bit of both. It must be lonely in these caves all alone.
“Where are the other naga?” Aziraphale asked as they followed the curve of the passageway.
“Up north. In the opposite direction to the human village we’re going to. My lot rarely stray this far south, but these tunnels connect with their mountain ranges. It's just under a week’s glide for me to get there and back. There’s a market on the outskirts.”
“Do you go to the market?”
“Sometimes. When I'm not rescuing criminals,” he said with a chuckle before looking embarrassed. “Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke. I didn't mean- I know you’re not really a criminal. None of you are, probably. I’m glad to be able to help.”
Aziraphale smiled. But deep down he wondered if Crowley really believed him when he said he’d been falsely accused.
“I go to the market to buy supplies and to sell my wares,” Crowley said. “Many of the plants here are rare. I make medicine and stuff. Plus, it's nice to catch up on the latest gossip. I don’t go very often nowadays though. I don’t wanna risk sacrifices been left at the stake while I’m gone. Even if there’s only been a handful of you. It’s good to know that there will always be at least two weeks between each sacrifice. I suppose it’s because they think of me as being a snake? Adult snakes go a long time between meals.”
Aziraphale nodded, embarrassed by how animal-like the villagers saw him.
“Well, for the record, I’m a three-meals-a-day kinda guy,” Crowley said with a grin. “Plus snacks.”
Aziraphale smiled. “Snacks are very important.”
“Speaking off,” said Crowley. “We’re coming up to my camp. Octopus time.”
The camp had been set up in a small alcove in a wider section of the tunnel. The area was heaped with cushions and blankets, and in one corner sat several tightly sealed boxes and containers. Up ahead, the path split into two, one turning left, the other right. Crowley explained that one headed north to the market and the other headed south to the village exit.
“Make yourself at home,” Crowley said, curling up beside the boxes on a heap of cushions. “There’s a cloak in the corner if you get cold.”
Gingerly, Aziraphale sat down on the cushions, which were soft and plump with feathers. He felt glad to be able to rest for a while. They’d been walking for about twenty minutes, and although it was certainly chillier down here than it was on the surface, he’d warmed up so much from the excursion that he didn’t feel the need for an extra layer just yet.
Crowley handed him a flask of water. “This one’s yours. There’s a place an hour away from here with a proper water supply, but I’ve got water stored here too, so drink as much as you want. No need to ration it. Same with the food.”
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley opened up a box of chopped octopus tentacles and offered it to Aziraphale. While Aziraphale ate, Crowley searched through the pile of boxes and containers, looking for the bread.
Aziraphale found himself staring at Crowley’s tail, at the way the black scales shimmered in the light of the mushrooms that surrounded them. Aziraphale forced himself to look away.
“Sorry,” Crowley said with a sigh. “It looks like I’m out of bread. But- Aha! Salted rat!” Crowley offered him a skewer with roasted meat on it.
Aziraphale’s dismay must have shown on his face, because Crowley’s smile faded.
“You don't like rat?”
Aziraphale hesitated, not wanting to offend, trying to find the right words.
Crowley cringed. “Wait, do humans not eat rat? Shit. I've been feeding it to the others. Will it make them sick?”
“No,” Aziraphale said hurriedly.
“Oh, fuck, are rats sacred to your people or something?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just not something humans tend to eat. I was just surprised, is all.”
“It’s a delicacy for naga.”
It made sense, Aziraphale supposed. Snakes do eat rats. Or was it ignorant to compare nagas to snakes?
Aziraphale had travelled to many different places and tried many local delicacies. In one village, people had eaten snails with garlic butter – periwinkles, they called it - and in another, insects dipped in honey. He’d had haggis, which was cooked in the animal’s stomach, and he’d had blood pudding. All of it had been delicious. He liked trying new things, and why should this be any different? Besides, it didn't resemble a rat, and he was curious to know what it tasted like. The worry on Crowley's face made up his mind for him. “I’ve never had rat before. I’d like to try it.’
“You don't have to,” Crowley said.
“I like trying new things. I understand if you'd rather hang on to it, what with it being a delicacy. But I’d love to try some.”
“Have a little bit first, to see if you like it.”
Crowley gave him the smallest skewer in the box, and Aziraphale nibbled on a corner of the meat thoughtfully before devouring the rest in one bite. “Tastes like rabbit. Delicious.”
“Yeah, it kinda does. I like rabbit. I often buy it when I go to the market. The people in the village we’re heading to sometimes leave food out for me at the mouth of the cave. Rabbit pie is one of my favourites. And it means I don’t have to go to the market as often.”
“They clearly appreciate all of your help with the sacrifices.” Aziraphale couldn’t resist taking another skewer when it was offered. “Did Anathema have some rat?”
Crowley looked guilty. “Yeah. She seemed to like it. I should stop feeding it to them, I suppose. The new sacrifices, I mean. But they tend to refuse octopus.”
“Most people in New Haven haven't had octopus before. I doubt they even know what it is. I've had it several times while staying in seaside towns.”
“I'm glad I can learn all this stuff from you. It’ll make things easier in the future. Maybe you could teach me some words so I can tell them about the food? And reassure them that they’re safe. And tell them about the other village.”
“Of course. It's the least I can do. You’ve already done so much for me. And for the others. Thank you.”
“S’ no problem,” Crowley said with a shrug. There was an adorable blush to his cheeks, the praise leaving him flustered. It endeared Aziraphale to him all the more.
Aziraphale smiled fondly. Crowley really was quite sweet. And good-looking. He had such a handsome face. Aziraphale felt that familiar, unwanted stab of attraction and pushed it away, ignoring it as best he could. No good would come of it. This man wasn’t even human. Why did he always get such inappropriate crushes?
Aziraphale distracted himself by teaching Crowley a few words and helping him to pronounce them properly. Crowley took a charcoal pencil and a notebook out of his satchel and wrote out the words phonetically so he wouldn’t forget them. Aziraphale was impressed. Very few people he met on his travels were literate. The only people who could read and write tended to be wealthy merchants, the high born and holy men. Priests needed to be able to read the bible to their flock, and monks were the ones who copied out the bibles in the first place.
“Could you write out some messages for me to show them?” Crowley said. “To go with my picture boards?”
Aziraphale considered this. “I can, but most people in New Haven can’t read, so I doubt it’d help you much. It’s certainly worth a try though.” Aziraphale smiled. “Just in case someone I taught how to read steals an apple.”
Crowley snorted a laugh.
Aziraphale took the pencil, and together, they decided what he should write.