Chapter Text
After the failed Apocalypse, the failed so-called “trials,” and officially moving from the Arrangement to the formation of their own side, Aziraphale found himself with far more freedom than he could have ever expected. Overwhelming and mildly terrifying levels of freedom. After all, free will was a very human thing and while humanity was contagious, it was still a lot to handle at first. It took time for it to completely sink in and for the old habits of second-guessing himself over what the other angels would think to fade, but it felt like it was worth it in the end.
No more paperwork. No more limits on his miracles or having them scoffed at as “frivolous.” No more worrying over someone spotting him spending time with Crowley. He didn’t have to be afraid anymore. Not of Heaven’s disapproval or Hell’s retribution. They could simply… be themselves.
They were safe. There was no need to be afraid. There was no need to hold back.
Aziraphale knew what he wanted to do with his newfound freedom. He wasn’t even certain how many decades, how many centuries, how many millennia that he’d wanted the same thing. Wanted and yet continuously buried the impulse and desire until he could almost believe that it didn’t exist. It would have been too dangerous. Fear kept him from admitting or accepting what he truly wanted.
Fear of being a failure of an angel. Fear of Heaven’s disapproval, scorn, and rejection. Fear for Crowley. Fear of losing him. Fear of the demon being harmed or destroyed because of Aziraphale’s mistakes and selfish desires.
Those fears made him hold back for too long. It made Aziraphale hesitant to even call Crowley a friend at times. But they were. Crowley was his best friend. After six thousand years of companionship, preventing the end of the world together, and taking each other’s places to protect one another from their executions, they couldn’t be anything less than friends. And it felt wonderful to truly admit that friendship.
The only issue was what Aziraphale felt towards Crowley… The word “friendship” didn’t seem sufficient. Not even describing Crowley as his best, oldest, and dearest friend seemed to truly express the full extent of how he cared for the demon. There were more dimensions than could fit neatly in that tidy box.
Aziraphale treasured the precious gift of their close, powerful, overwhelming, and deep friendship. He treasured the freedom to properly embrace that friendship and he would never take it for granted. But Aziraphale knew that he felt something else as well. Just as precious, but a little different. Not greater. Different.
As much as he was a fan of the English language after spending so long in London, the Greeks were better at differentiating between various forms of love. He certainly felt philia towards Crowley. More than he could describe. But that wasn’t the only type. While later associated with a more divine form of love, some of the older authors would use agape to describe the unconditional and selfless love for one’s children or their spouse. Not that Crowley was anything like his child, regardless of how childish he might behave during certain arguments. Perhaps storge could also be used to describe some of his feelings towards the demon. Still a bit too familial to be completely accurate in its most basic definition, but the term was sometimes used to describe a friendship that gradually grows to include something more. And of course, eros had certain connotations that… that were a bit…
Well, the connotations weren’t completely inaccurate, especially after Crowley saved him and his books in 1941, but applying them always felt like it reduced thousands of years of emotions to something shallow and driven by human biological attraction. Which didn’t even make sense because neither of them was human and the physical appearances of their corporeal forms shouldn’t matter beyond fitting in and a certain amount of aesthetic interest.
But the point was that “friendship” didn’t feel complete. It didn’t properly define their relationship. Or at least, it didn’t define the relationship that Aziraphale wanted to share with Crowley.
They were both free now of Heaven and Hell’s interference. There was nothing holding them back from exploring the possibilities. In theory, Aziraphale could print a full-page ad in the newspaper declaring that he and Crowley were together in a romantic sense and any angel or demon who read it wouldn’t do a thing about it. No outside force would stop them if Aziraphale wanted to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair until the demon fell asleep, letting the angel gently kiss his eyelids before spending a few hours with Crowley’s head resting in his lap. If he wanted to, Aziraphale could even drag Crowley into the demon’s bedroom and test out every physical pleasure that humanity had discovered for two human-shaped beings to do together. They were free to do whatever and be whoever they wanted.
The only issue was how to bring the topic up with Crowley. Aziraphale worried that an open discussion of his feelings would make the demon uncomfortable; after thousands of years of depending on subtler means of communication, change was difficult. Not to mention that the last time that he mentioned the topic of “love,” Aziraphale told Crowley that he couldn’t possibly understand. He didn’t want to risk reminding the demon of that heartless comment. Not when he wanted to discuss redefining their relationship with him.
There had to be other methods. Subtler ones. Normal hints and clues wouldn’t work though. Going out to fancy restaurants, strolling in the park, attending theater or opera or orchestra, and so on. All of these were considered date activities by humans, but they’d been participating in those activities as friends since before London existed. Crowley wouldn’t notice a shift from friendship towards dating because all of those things meant friendship to them by now.
If only Crowley didn’t sleep his way through the majority of the Victorian era. While they certainly complicated things with their various rules for courtship, at least they made it clear to all those involved when they wished to proceed in such a manner. A lady could flirt using her fan depending on how she held it or if it was open or closed, offering enticement or rejection with the smallest change. Interested couples could exchange calling cards with one another. There was an entire language based upon flowers. That would have been useful except Aziraphale didn’t know if Crowley was awake long enough to learn it.
But that thought did spark a slight idea. Aziraphale wondered if perhaps he could solve the problem by approaching it from a different direction. If human methods of flirting or dating would only come across as gestures of friendship, it might be wise to seek out other ideas.
Angels didn’t have traditional methods of flirting or dating someone. They didn’t have the equivalent of taking a special someone out for dinner and a movie. That would imply that they cared about another angel more than all the rest, which none would ever admit to because they were all meant to be equal in Her eyes and picking a specific angel to love more put you at risk of loving that person more than Her. Or at least, that was Heaven’s general excuse. Mostly they didn’t want to fill out the paperwork for dating a coworker.
And even if angels had happened to have developed methods of flirting and courting other angels, Aziraphale knew that wouldn’t help. The Fall was thousands of years ago and Crowley was no longer an angel.
If Crowley was going to be familiar with a specific method of courting someone, it wouldn’t be anything to do with Heaven. It would need to be something else. Aziraphale would have simply have to research methods favored by demons instead.
Demons weren’t supposed to fall in love. That was the shared belief. Most would claim that they were incapable of the emotion, that when She tore Her love and grace out of them during the Fall, She also took their ability to love as well.
Almost all angels believed it. This assumption was mostly due to the fact that they could no longer sense the emotion in demons. And it was easier to believe that than it was to consider that Fall disconnected demon enough that angels could no longer detect their love. Angels were beings of love and light, so demons couldn’t have any similarities to them. Not after the Fall. So angels believed that demons could not feel love because they were evil, the complete opposite of angels in every way.
And most demons assumed the same thing. They assumed that they could no longer feel love, let alone fall in love with another. How could they love anyone or anything when the One meant to love them the most cast them out? Any softer feelings that demons might experience, pale imitations of what it was like to feel Her love, were ignored and denied.
Demons weren’t meant to fall in love and they certainly didn’t trust each other. What sort of world would it be if demons went around trusting each other? But some might develop a preference for another’s company over time.
They could find a demon that they could tolerate, their presence not grating at their nerves and infuriating them constantly. They could find someone that they were relatively certain would only stab them in the back for important reasons instead of on a whim. They might find another demon who might be willing to watch out for them if they were injured or weakened, assuming that they weren’t too busy. If they’re lucky, they might find someone that would be the least likely person to betray them if the chance arose.
And yes, lust often factored into it because it hadn’t taken long for demons to recognize the potential pleasure available from certain acts, with and without corporeal forms. But it was more about a form of companionship. One that was considered somewhat acceptable in Hell as long as no one attached certain labels or mentioned softer emotions when describing it.
Of course, making their intentions known to another demon could be tricky. Especially since lying was practically a requirement for demons. But there were quickly established certain actions that could be used to declare their interest that any demon would recognize and understand.
No one would describe it as demonic courting or flirting, but that’s because no demon would be that honest.
And at some point in history before demon summoning fell completely out of fashion, a few humans called on demons seeking knowledge rather than pure power. Curiosity could never be completely stifled. And at least one wrote down the information that he learned and published it before the demons could slaughter him. And while most copies were destroyed, one of the books found its way into a certain angel’s bookshop.
Aziraphale carefully plucked the dusty old book from the shelves, tucked away from general sight in a dark corner. It was not a volume that he brought out for causal reading. He settled in his armchair and flipped past the more disturbing entries. Both the demons being interviewed and the writer spent far too much time focused on the more gruesome aspects of Hell for his taste. But when Aziraphale found what he was looking for, sections focused on the more interpersonal aspects of demons, he started studying the text carefully.
Though it is stated to be difficult to determine when a demon is showing interest in another demon for reasons that a human would describe as approval, fondness, or attachment, certain behaviors may serve as evidence. No man can truly believe that such dark creatures as demons are capable of actual love after being forsaken by the Lord. They are beasts of absolute evil, cruelty, and darkness. But they seem to have a form of courtship as complex as humans when it comes to forming a bond with another. One that does not require a formal contract or pact. Most of these courtship strategies can be broken down into five distinct types, though there is no specific order and some demons may only employ some of these strategies instead of all.
The first method that I am recording is the most straightforward and simple. When courting another, demons may exchange sharp or pointed gifts. Common tokens of their interest might include knives, swords, spears, and various tools employed for the use of torture. Some will focus more on choosing the sharpest instruments. A straight-edge razor or a doctor’s scalpel, for example. Others might prefer a narrow and pointed tip, meant for stabbing rather than slicing. Needles and pitchforks, for example. Demons are not the most creative creatures, but they have a wide knowledge of such items. The important component is the capacity to cause harm. Even a hatpin could serve as a gift for their version of courting.
A few months after Armag-Gonna-Fail, Crowley opened his door to find Aziraphale standing there with a cactus.
The angel showing up at his flat was no longer a completely unprecedented event. While they both still preferred to curl up in the bookshop, they occasionally found their way to Crowley’s flat in the months after that night after the world didn’t end. The demon had added a fashionable couch to let them watch movies together on his television. His sound system played a mix of classical music and more modern songs, usually as they explored Crowley’s new wine collection that he’d been gathering. He’d even added a small shelf with a handful of books arranged by the color of their covers rather than titles, making Aziraphale scowl even as he enjoyed the thoughtful gesture. Sometimes the angel would spend hours visiting.
It was nice having Aziraphale around so much. He’d grown used to his constant presence during the years leading up to the Apoca-Oops and Crowley was thankful that they continued to spend time afterwards. He sometimes wondered how they ended up as lucky as they did. With the exception of Hastur occasionally glaring at Crowley from across a crowded area, Heaven and Hell were giving them some distance. No more assignments. And without the threats of outside retaliation, Aziraphale was no longer trying to keep him at a safe distance. He admitted and accepted their friendship fully. Everything was as close to perfect as Crowley could have ever imagined.
He never doubted the angel’s friendship. Not since the day that Aziraphale tried tempting him for oysters in Rome. No matter what he might say or how he might slip into denial when he was scared, Crowley knew the truth. But it was nice having it out in the open. And the angel seemed happier and more relaxed without that anxiety weighing him down. As long as Aziraphale was happy and wanted his friendship, then Crowley was good.
You go too fast for me.
Everything was fine. They were friends. Best friends. And Aziraphale fully embraced that relationship now. Without any doubts or fears. No longer holding the demon at arm’s length. It was more than he could have ever hoped for. Crowley was more than happy with that. Anything that the angel wanted to offer, he would accept.
Which brought him back to Aziraphale standing at his doorstep with a cactus, the angel smiling brightly.
“Uh… Angel?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Did we have something planned and I forgot?”
Holding out the small pot, Aziraphale said, “Not really. But I found this lovely specimen at a shop and thought it might be a nice addition to your collection. It looked like it could use a little encouragement.”
Crowley accepted the offered plant, looking it over. Most of his houseplants were closer to tropical or temperate than something that belonged in the desert. Broad and luxurious leaves that preferred humidity and generous watering. He didn’t have a cactus in his current group. But he didn’t actively dislike them. In fact, this particular one seemed strangely appealing in a way that Crowley couldn’t describe.
The cactus didn’t look like anything special. Short, stout, and covered in long rigid spines, it was only slightly smaller than an apple. The body was the deepest shade of green while the spines were the palest yellow verging on white. Crowley vaguely recognized the species as a barrel cactus.
He knew that he would need to find a spot in the flat with plenty of sun. He also knew that he wouldn’t be able to yell at the small cactus to get it to grow better. Not a plant that Aziraphale gave him. And yet he couldn’t seem to focus on those facts too much. He just kept running his fingers cautiously along the spines. Why did his mind keep returning to the sharp and pointy spines? It was actually very distracting. Why did it feel important?
“What do you think?” asked Aziraphale.
Looking up, Crowley said, “It’s nice. Should I thank you?”
“If you want,” he said with a smile.
Giving a short nod, Crowley opened the door wider and gestured for the angel to come in. Aziraphale stepped past him, straightening his coat as he entered. Crowley smiled to himself as he closed the front door behind them. His fussy angel. His best friend bringing him gifts of spiky plants. It made something inside him pleasantly warm for some reason.
“We’ll find a decent spot for the cactus, lay down a few ground rules about what I expect from my plants, and maybe afterwards we could open up a bottle of wine since you’re here,” suggested Crowley. “I’ll let you pick which one.”
Aziraphale brightened at his words. The grin was positively luminescent. Crowley almost expected him to literally start glowing. There was a reason that he would always go out of his way to accommodate Aziraphale or to cheer him up. That bright and warm smile. Aziraphale’s smile was always worth it.
“That sounds delightful, Crowley. And perhaps we could watch that program that you enjoy? The one about the four women living together in Florida?”
“You mean ‘The Golden Girls’? Yeah, I’m certain there’s a marathon showing somewhere.”
And if there wasn’t before, there certainly was now. One that would last all evening and into the night, if his television knew what was good for it. Crowley was liking the idea more and more every minute. He and Aziraphale could curl up on the couch with a couple glasses, watching Dorothy, Sophia, Blanche, and Rose getting into amusing situations. Maybe they could order take-out or miracle up some popcorn from the nearest movie theater. Then he could wrap a blanket around them both, which would involve snuggling next to the angel. The more he thought about the idea as his fingers gingerly traced their way along the cactus spines, the more that Crowley lov—
Nope . Crowley yanked his thoughts away from that direction. He shouldn’t even be thinking like that. He knew better. What was wrong with him today? Slow down and stop. He was fine with their friendship. More than fine. It was more than enough. And even if he was a demon, Crowley wouldn’t be that greedy.
They were best friends. And best friends could curl up on the couch watching sitcoms with each other, drinking wine and sharing a blanket. He could have all that. He could have the angel’s friendship. He didn’t need anything else.
An enjoyable evening passed, not much different than some of the others since Nope-mageddon except for the addition of Aziraphale’s gift and Crowley’s uncooperative thoughts distracting him more than normal. Overall, not a bad surprise. He made certain to return the gesture by bringing the angel some of his favorite pastries the next day.
But that wasn’t the end of it. A few days later, Aziraphale brought him an aloe vera plant. An easy-to-raise aloe vera plant, with its thick fleshy leaves with tiny teeth and its sturdy nature. Useful for burns and hard to kill, it was exactly the type of plant that a nursery would recommend to the clearly-novice gardener Aziraphale. Finding a spot in his flat for that one was easier than the barrel cactus.
And they kept coming. Another species of cactus, one with hair-like needles that were still sharp enough to break skin if mishandled. A decent-sized Crown of Thorns plant, covered with bright red bracts around tiny flowers and spiky thorns. Yet another type of cactus, taller and with the spines arranged in tidy clusters.
Something about the situation nagged at the edges of Crowley’s thoughts. He appreciated the gifts. He would have loved— liked anything that the angel wanted to give him and Aziraphale was clearly picking out houseplants because he knew that Crowley enjoyed gardening. But it was certainly a change in routine. And he couldn’t stop thinking about them. They meant something. Something important that gnawed at him in a distracting manner.
The plants reminded Crowley of something. And it was important. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Crowley felt certain that it had to do with why everything to do with Aziraphale seemed more distracting than normal. His thoughts kept drifting in directions that he knew better than to consider.
Crowley was turning over the issue in his head as he rearranged his plants to make room for the newest addition. A young saw palmetto. He highly suspected a miracle was involved because they weren’t generally sold as a popular houseplant in London. Perhaps Aziraphale picked it because the species was native to Florida, the setting of “The Golden Girls.” Thankfully they were relatively slow-growing because it would eventually get a little large to keep in a flat. Choosing a spot for the plant would be tricky. Crowley would need to put it somewhere that he wouldn’t bump into it accidentally. There’s a reason that it was called a saw palmetto. The fan-shaped fronds were connected to stalks covered in dangerous saw-like teeth capable of cutting through skin or ripping fabric. Yet another sharp and pointy plant from Aziraphale…
Crowley stiffened, eyes widening in a realization. Oh, that’s why he kept reacting strangely whenever Aziraphale gave him a plant. His subconscious made a connection that the rest of him missed. A saw palmetto, multiple cacti, the aloe vera, the Crown of Thorns… All plants that were sharp in some way.
Gifts of sharp and pointed objects.
He shook his head sharply. Crowley knew better. It didn’t mean anything along those lines. Aziraphale was an angel. He wouldn’t understand what that type of gesture meant among demons. He didn’t understand the implications. Maybe Crowley’s subconscious got a little excited, but it didn’t matter because that’s not what the angel meant. Aziraphale was giving him plants because he knew that Crowley liked them and because they were friends. Aziraphale cared about him as a friend and wanted to be nice. That was it. Nothing else.
Crowley refused to be disappointed. He was just relieved that he figured out what was distracting him before. Now he could focus on moving the saw palmetto to a good spot. And that ache in his chest meant nothing. He was fine.