Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aziraphale batted miserably against the assault of another gigantic mosquito. I certainly don’t know WHY I ever agreed to this, he thought. Absolutely nothing could ever be worth this…this…this Hades!

When Gabriel had first invited him on this “adventure,” Aziraphale thought it was an olive branch. A peace offering, of a kind, from his demanding superior. A.Z. Fell was just a lowly accountant. A nobody-very-important whom Gabriel “The BossMan” Armstrong, AngeliCoin CEO, only noticed occasionally.

Such occasions usually consisted of an extremely critical email, or a strongly worded lecture upon ‘useless penny-pinchers’ who request additional receipts before just issuing reimbursement checks. There had been a particularly unpleasant interaction last week after Aziraphale had requested receipt information for several very large sums, leaving him certain that his employment period was over. He almost felt relieved, except that he needed his job to pay the bills.

 It had been a surprise when Gabriel invited him for a “guys weekend” at a country cottage instead. Gabriel had made quite a show of apologizing, offering to show him an extensive collection of duck “decoys” to make up for it. Aziraphale had no idea what that was. He’d rather expected a fascinating collection of rubber ducks, or perhaps sweet little ceramic statuettes you could dress up in adorable outfits for different holidays.

It wasn’t until they’d arrived at the remote hunting lodge that he realized exactly what they were doing. The rustic cabin was truly in the middle of nowhere. There was no running water (a fact Gabriel had VERY MUCH neglected to mention) and the only option for a toilet had been a terrible shock to Aziraphale’s sensibilities. He was disturbed by the lifelike duck replicas and the lurid details Gabriel provided on their efficacy in luring real ducks into their destruction. The air mattress provided for him had slowly leaked all night, leading him to wake up very stiff and sore on the wooden floor – Gabriel nudging him with a foot rather roughly.

“Rise and shine, Sunshine! You’re missing the best part.”

Aziraphale had felt more certain of anything – ever – than that there was no ‘best part’ to being kicked awake at…Aziraphale did a double take at the offensively neon wall clock – 3:00 in the A.M.?? Thrust into clothing, given black coffee without a hint of sugar or even milk, and bundled precipitously out the door into the soggy, grey pre-dawn light to sit on a stool with his legs covered – almost to the knee - in the dirtiest water he’d ever encountered. And without even a hint of breakfast!

It was never an olive branch! This has always been intended as a punishment. A perfectly polite, cleverly concealed, terrifically-tailored-to-me punishment, Aziraphale thought now. There was nothing that could be complained to HR about, nothing overtly wrong with any of it. Yet, Aziraphale was in hell. Gabriel was much more dangerous than he’d realized. The kind of man who could tell you to 'Shut your stupid mouth and die' with a smile stretched across his lips.

He glanced towards Gabriel’s hunting blind. Gabriel was fully arrayed in camouflage gear, a ridiculous hat with flappy ear things, and huge rubber boots. He would, had he any decency, look ridiculous. Instead, if you please, he somehow managed to look masculine and perfectly at ease.

Aziraphale, bereft of his usually stylish waistcoat and tartan bowtie, was also arrayed in camouflage, making him look more like a misplaced (and somewhat overgrown) shrub than any kind of hunter. As he sat in the murky waters of the stinky marsh, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of his cozy city apartment. He missed the gentle hum of busy streets, the aroma of street food vendors, the convenience of food delivery apps…Oh, heavens, I’m starving! And there’s no hope of getting UberEats or DoorDash here. Just…muck, muck, and more muck.

A sudden, loud hissing at his right ear caused Aziraphale to startle badly, slipping off his tiny stool and completely into the water and mud below. He frantically looked around for the giant serpent he’d heard, certain he was about to suffer a venomous bite. But instead of a snake, he found himself confronted by a very large black duck with angry yellow eyes. It was staring at him. There was no way it didn’t see him, camouflage or not. And it was far too close, almost nose to nose.

Hisssssssssssssssssssss

Do ducks hiss? Aziraphale hadn’t realized. It filled him with a cold terror. Frozen in place, unable to breathe or lift himself back out of the water, he looked back at duck helplessly. The duck continued to stare at him, the intensity of its gaze forcing Aziraphale to meet it. It had a little tuft of dark red feathers rising off the back of its head, while the rest of its plumage appeared black as tar. It was stunning, actually. Beautifully fierce. Examining him with what truly appeared to be an intelligent (if hostile) look.

And then, still holding his gaze, the duck tilted its head. Aziraphale tilted his own head in the same direction. The duck let out a strange little “Ngquack” that could almost be a laugh. Do ducks laugh? Aziraphale thought probably not, yet…it certainly seemed like a laugh.

After another long moment, the duck seemed to decide he was harmless. Or at least, sufficiently cowed by its threats. With one last warning hiss, it paddled away. Aziraphale watched it go, a slightly befuddled smile on his face, before abruptly realizing he was still sitting almost fully submerged in green and brown pondwater. He pulled himself back up with a groan, earning a dark glare and warning finger to the lips from Gabriel.

The next couple of hours passed in squelchy misery. Other than the black beauty, Aziraphale had yet to even lay eyes on a duck. How long would Gabriel make him languish in this torment? He didn’t think his spirits could sag any lower, but just a few minutes later, the wind swung sharply to the north. The air grew noticeably colder, chilling his soaked legs and backside.

Fantastic. If I don’t die of starvation, I can freeze to death. I wonder if Gabriel will even bother to bring my corpse back to the city for burial?

One minute, an empty pond. No ducks. The next, swarms of flight-weary birds began landing around the lifelike decoy spread. It was shocking, it had to be a huge flock – or maybe two or three flocks had arrived at once, guided in with the frigid wind. A sudden BANG! BANG! caused Aziraphale to stand and spin around toward Gabriel. Gabriel was also standing, laughing joyously into the sky, aiming again as ducks scattered in all directions, quacking madly. Even as that flock scattered, another was landing – filling in the gaps in the water instantly.

“Look at this, Aziraphale! They’re in kamikaze mode! They’ll just keep coming no matter how loud we are now,” Gabriel laughed. “OH! Look at that big, black monster. What a beast!”

Aziraphale’s heart immediately sank in foreboding as he turned to see the beautiful duck from earlier, hissing and flapping at the new flock. Almost as if it was trying to chase them away from the hunters. Surely it couldn’t be that intelligent? Regardless, it very clearly was trying to herd the other ducks into a different area of the pond.

“Oh, yeah! That one is worth getting stuffed.”

“What?!” Aziraphale swung back to Gabriel, stepping towards him as fast as he could through the knee deep muck without really knowing why. Gabriel’s gun was trained at the black duck, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and an anticipating smile full of teeth. No, he can’t shoot it down. No! Every thought revolted immediately. That gorgeous creature? The protective spirit of the duck marsh? Absolutely unacceptable. “STOP!” He wasn’t going to get to Gabriel in time to…what? Take the gun? Jog his elbow? He wasn’t even sure, but he knew it would be too late for any of those things.

And then Aziraphale did something monumentally stupid.

“WAIT!”

BANG!

“Fell! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? You can’t just step in front of a gun, I almost SHOT you! You really want to die that badly, do it yourself. Don’t drag me into it! I don’t need that kind of paperwork.”

Aziraphale barely heard as Gabriel continued yelling at him – head swiveling every direction, frantically searching the swarming grays, browns, and greens for one large, black body.

Nothing.

Had he been shot? Had he gotten away safely due to the last second jerk of Gabriel’s gun?

He? Why am I suddenly convinced the duck is a ‘he?’ Large as it is, more likely a female.

Gabriel seemed to have decided Aziraphale wasn’t even worth venting spleen against. He’d marched further off, pointedly turned away, and resumed his shooting.

BANG!     BANG!

“I’m…I’m going to walk back to the cabin, I believe.”

Gabriel didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard, but maybe that was for the best. Aziraphale didn’t really want to be told he had to stay and watch the mass murder unfolding. Better to slink away while he could, and if he got fired after all – well, it wasn’t unexpected anyway. 

***

A soggy (somewhat overgrown) shrub made its way across the tiny dirt path back towards the hunting cabin. Actually, he didn’t even look like a shrub anymore. He was just a patchwork of brown and green, mud caked from his feet to his waist. Even his white-blond hair was speckled with sludge and algea.

Oh! And no shower! No running water at all. Aziraphale sniffed hard and blinked back tears. This was the worst experience of his life, and he still had to face Gabriel later for the three-hour car trip back home. Oh, god! Gabriel wouldn't be bringing all the poor murdered ducks in the car with them, would he? He probably would.

Hissssssssssssssssss

Off to the side, a familiar hiss sounded weakly.

Aziraphale ran towards it, unthinking, and stopped abruptly when he saw the black duck just off the side of the path. It was looking at him, unblinking yellow eyes daring him to come closer. It was clearly injured, huddled on the ground with one wing slightly outstretched and a vivid red gash of blood and muscle visible along it’s back.

Oh, god. It was hurt.

“Hello there, my dear,” he whispered softly. “I’m so, so sorry. I was hoping so much that you’d gotten away uninjured.”

Yellow eyes still stared angrily at him.

Do ducks have ears? Must do, that’s how they hear other ducks.

“Now, now, my beautiful fellow, I mean you no harm. I’m terribly sorry about, well, all of this. I’m afraid we’re both rather the victim in this situation.” The duck’s eyes seemed to narrow at him.

Hissssssssssssssssssss

“Yes, you’re right. You really are much, much more the victim in the situation. I apologize.”

“Ngquak” – that one sounded like a scoff.

“Precisely. I’ve been an idiot, I’ll admit. But…I’d very much like to help you, if you’d allow me?”

What am I even doing? Even if ducks have ears, they don’t speak bloody English!

To his shock, the duck gave a soft, short hiss and then hesitantly waddled toward him, right wing dragging slightly on the ground.

 “Uhmmmm, yes. Very good. Let me just…” Aziraphale stripped off his outer, mud coated jacket and quickly tied the sleeves together to form a vague bag shape. “I could carry you - gently, I promise! – to the cabin and see what kind of first aide supplies can be had to fix you up.”

He set the jacket toward the ground, and – after giving him another assessing stare – the duck gingerly stepped aboard. Aziraphale’s heart was pounding in exhilaration. Maybe there was something good to come from this trip after all! Now he just had to get back to the cabin and try to get his new feathered friend cleaned up and assess just how bad the damage was before Gabriel returned.

Gabriel.

Gabriel the duck-murdering-bastard in a one-room hunting cabin with no privacy, no running water – no breakfast – and no cell service to arrange for a rescue from anyone else. And Aziraphale with the duck Gabriel wanted to taxidermy as a trophy. Even if he could hide the duck for the rest of the afternoon, there was still the three-hour car ride back to civilization (and veterinary care) in Gabriel's car.

“Ooh. Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale surveyed the interior of the hunting cabin dolefully. The cabin was quite small, a single room with a twin bed shoved in one corner, the (deflated) air mattress taking up most of what was left of the floor space. There was a tiny table and two chairs shoved under the only window, exactly opposite the door. Everything, everything, was wooden. Wooden walls, wooden floor, wooden furniture. And not attractive, whimsical, rustic wood. Oh, no! It was all plywood and plain boards, blocky hard angles and unfinished edges, slapped together for function alone.

“It’s like being packaged into a grocer’s crate,” he shuddered.

On the table was a small microwave. Two randomly sized shelves on the wall (rather obviously made of scrap leftovers from the bedframe) housed plastic utensils and dinnerware, a few cans of beans and just-add-water packets, and a half-emptied jar of instant coffee. No first aid kit.

He fumbled under the bed as best he could with only one arm, the other still cradling the black duck wrapped in his jacket. He didn’t dare put him down yet – how dreadful it would be if the duck decided to run away once placed on the floor! Aziraphale didn’t know when Gabriel would return, but he was quite certain they wouldn’t have time for an unnecessary chase scene. His sweeping fingers felt only grit on the floor at first, then thankfully he groped something plastic and pulled it into the light. An unlabeled plastic tub.  With a little fumbling, he was able to pop off the lid and confirm that, while it wasn’t technically a first aid kit, there were a few supplies inside.

“Now, my dear. We’re going to try to get you fixed up.” A low grumble was the only response. Aziraphale had no idea ducks could make such a variety of sounds to express themselves. It was almost unsettling. He decided the floor was better than the tiny table, and he certainly didn’t want to sit on Gabriel’s bed and risk leaving blood or feathers there to bear witness. Sliding down to the floor and setting his back against corner of the wall, Aziraphale stretched out his legs and gently placed the duck on the ground. The duck lay quite still, head lifted and golden eyes staring at him again.

“Rest a moment there, my dear.”

“I wonder if he was someone’s pet? He certainly doesn’t look like any of the other ducks I saw this morning, and he wasn’t with a flock. He seems very accustomed to people. Not at all how I’d expect a wild duck to behave.”

Thankfully, the tub had gauze, bandage tape, and an ancient looking tube of antibiotic ointment inside. It also had a variety of sharp fishing lures, causing Aziraphale to yelp more than once as he rummaged inside.

“Alright, I’ll be folding the jacket back now so I can take a look at you, dear. You’re being such a good boy! I do appreciate it, very much.”

Aziraphale kept up a low, soothing ramble as he gently removed the jacket and began to examine the duck’s back and wing. It only took a moment to realize the duck needed professional care. There was blood still oozing freely from the wound on its back, and Aziraphale assumed the bullet must still be lodged inside. He didn’t know if the duck’s wing was broken or just sprained, but something was wrong with it judging from the way it hung limply away from the duck’s body.

“Oh! I’m completely useless at this! I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. I don’t know anything about ducks except that I used to enjoy eating them. Never again! I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a roast duck after today.”

The best he could do was wipe gently at the wound with an alcohol wipe, smear on some ointment, and press gauze against the wound, apologizing profusely as the duck hissed softly in pain. He wrapped tape around the duck’s back as well as he could to hold the gauze in place. It probably wouldn’t last long, sadly. He wasn’t sure what to do with the wing, so eventually he wrapped it close to the duck’s chest with even more tape and hoped it would be more comfortable than dragging on the ground.

“Well, my dear fellow, I think that’s the best I can do for now. I need to get you to an animal hospital for some real help. Gabriel should be back soon, but it’s a long drive back to the city. I wonder…how do you feel about riding in the boot of the car?”

“HissSSSSSSSSssssssssssss.” Its eyes narrowed at him with a withering look that he imagines means something like, ‘You must be out of your feather-free mind.’

“Or…perhaps I could hide you in my suitcase?”

“Nggggggggggggggggrrrr.” That...did that duck just growl at him?!

“Oh, please don’t be upset. I know it’s not ideal, but I don’t have a vehicle here and I’m not sure how else to get you home without Gabriel noticing! Oh, but…I know it’s not practical, is it? It’s simply too far. There’s nothing else for it. I’ll have to tell Gabriel about you and…and beg him to take us to the nearest animal hospital.”

“NgquACkK!”

“I don’t trust him, either. But I only brought my overnight case with me. If only I’d brought a picnic basket! You could have easily hidden in a picnic basket!”

“SGQUAAK?!”

The sound was so unexpected, and so like an affronted gasp, that Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sorry, sorry! You’re far to lovely and dignified to hide away in a picnic basket.” He fretted, thinking about the number of ducks Gabriel was probably bringing back to the cabin with him. “But really the suitcase is the only option. That or throw ourselves on Gabriel’s mercy. Now that I think it over, I’m sure he’s going to fill the boot with his…spoils of war, as it were.”

The duck stared at him a moment, then struggled to its feet and waddled a little closer to his leg and laid its head on his knee. Aziraphale gasped, then slowly reached out to pet the duck softly on the head and neck. It closed its eyes, a soft sighing sound escaping its beak.

There was something magical about it, soothing his anxieties away. The mesmerizing stroke of his thumb on smooth black feathers, soft sighs occasionally coming from both himself and the duck. He realized the darkness of the duck’s plumage was enhanced by an iridescent green when the light caught it just right.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Whoever abandoned you out here on your own was unbelievably cruel. I wish I could have some strong words with them.”

The duck met his eyes again and gave a soft, contented quack before settling back onto his muddy knee.

“Ooooh, I really don’t want to get up, but I need to change out of these awful clothes. And…I really have no idea when Gabriel will come back. It could be any moment, so we should really be prepared. Not, snuggling on the floor.”

“HisssSSSSssss.”

“Right, not snuggling. You’re very clearly NOT a snuggly sort of fellow. I do beg your pardon.”

****

Aziraphale swiftly stripped off the camouflage gear, abandoning it in a pile under the tiny table inside the cabin. He wasn’t sure where Gabriel wanted it (he wasn’t certain it even belonged to Gabriel, it didn’t seem anything like his size), and there really wasn’t anywhere else it could go since there was no hamper. He ached for a shower, but changing into something dry and clean would have to suffice. He stripped off his ruined socks and undergarments with a groan. They should be burned! Even holy water couldn’t remove stains like that. He settled for placing them in the trash bin.

Opening his suitcase, he dressed as quickly as possible, cursing at himself for always bringing spares of everything. If he was going to sneak the duck home in his suitcase, he’d need to empty it somehow. He hated the idea of abandoning any of his clothes given the difficulty of finding suitable replacements. It was always complicated to find exactly what he liked. Partially due to his own aesthetic preferences, but it also had to be just the right combination of comfort and structure. He’d been forced to acquire basic sewing skills over time just to keep his favorites in decent repair.

After a quick deliberation, he decided the only thing for it was to wear…well, everything. Two undershirts, two shirts, two underpants, two pairs of trousers, four socks and one jacket later, Aziraphale was sweating and cursing himself as a sentimental idiot. But the suitcase interior was emptied! The waistcoat thankfully fit in the outer compartment of the case, and he slipped his bow-tie into his jacket pocket. It was extremely unlikely he could fasten either around his rather-more-rotund-than-usual self.

Aziraphale laid the suitcase open on the floor, mentally comparing its size to his duck. It was a lovely vintage 1960’s tartan hard shell overnight case, and the idea of a duck pooing inside it was…upsetting. Maybe he really should just talk to Gabriel, explain the situation. It was ridiculous to think he could successfully smuggle home a live duck without notice. Gabriel was cold and could come off as a silver-spoon “frat bro,” but he wasn’t a simpleton.

With a hum of worry, Aziraphale placed the empty case on the floor and waddled back to the corner, feeling rather like a duck himself (an improvement upon being an overgrown shrub, at least). The dark fowl was still waiting for him quietly on the floor and examined his changed gait pattern with curiosity before letting out a series of raucous quacks that Aziraphale knew meant it was laughing at him.

“Oh, laugh while you yet may, you fiend! I’ll have you know this look is all the rage. Waddling is stylish!” Aziraphale laughed along.

It was remarkable. He knew he was having the most horrific day of his life. At this very moment, he was facing a great deal of trouble and bother. But despite knowing he should feel upset, for a moment he simply didn’t. He had already grown attached to his feathered friend and talking to him, laughing with him, seemed perfectly natural. It made him feel so happy, so much lighter than he’d felt for years. He’d never been much of an animal person. For that matter, he’d never been much of a people person. Maybe he’d been far lonelier than he’d realized.

“You’re going to need a name, eventually. I cannot keep calling you ‘duck’ forever. Given your penchant for hissing, perhaps Snaky would be fitting?”

To his surprise, the duck suddenly struggled to its feet and began running straight at him – hissing urgently and angrily.

 “Whoa! I’m, I’m sorry? I didn’t really mean it…” Aziraphale held his hands out, unsure whether he was trying to catch the irritated bird or defend himself. It didn’t matter either way, the duck zoomed right past him into the dark space below the bed frame. “Oh, no! Don’t go under there, how am I ever going to get you back out again?!”

Stooping down, he could just barely make out the duck’s yellow eyes against the far back wall. The duck stilled immediately, staring into his eyes without blinking.  What had all that been about?

“Come on, dear, please come out of there. I don’t think I can get to you with all these layers on. Come along, boy, please?”

Silence. Stillness. Steady yellow gaze. But only for a heartbeat.

“FELL!! Where the fuck are you?!” Gabriel roared as he threw the cabin door open with a crash.

Aziraphale jumped out of his skin, turning around so fast he nearly lost his balance. The devil! He hoped Gabriel hadn’t seen him bending over the bed. Aziraphale waddled towards him, away from the bed, trying to walk as normally as possible under the circumstances.

“Why did you leave? I did not give you permission to go. I’ve had to pick up all the ducks and carry them all back by myself. Do you know how irritating that is? You were supposed to do that part.”

Aziraphale couldn’t suppress a shudder at the idea. Thank someone he’d left when he did.

“But, Gabriel, I…I did tell you I was going back to the cabin. Oh, dear! I don’t think hunting ducks is something I’m really cut out for, you see. The poor little things…” he gasped.

Gabriel pulled Aziraphale out of the doorway and outside, thrusting two large cloth bags into his chest. With horror, Aziraphale realized that the bags contained upwards of a dozen ducks. Vomit rocketed up his throat and he swallowed it back with difficulty.

“I’m going to change clothes,” Gabriel bit off in a low voice, “and YOU. You are going to go lay all these ducks out in the trunk, single file. Now. Then we’re getting out of here ASAP. I want to get back early enough to clean them all tonight. Count yourself lucky I’m still willing to give you a ride back.”

“Oh, uh, ok,” Aziraphale stammered. “I’m terribly sorry. Thank you for giving me a ride back. And, actually, about heading back, I was wondering –”

“Shut. Up. I don’t want to hear another word out of your stupid face. You cost me a rare piece – that huge black duck would have been a great trophy. I’m not going to forget whose fault that was. So. Not. Another. Word.”

Gabriel loomed over him, eyes black instead of their normal blue. Aziraphale shrunk back, head tucking down instinctively and shoulders tightening. He’d seen that look before, though not from Gabriel. His throat convulsed again in warning.

“Y-yes, s-sir. Right away, Gabriel.”

And with a dark chuckle, Gabriel strode into the cabin.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.”

Aziraphale couldn’t stop trembling, stumbling as quickly as he could to the car. Gabriel’s laughter and the coldness of his eyes were a terrifying match, violence simmering just out of sight. Aziraphale dumped out the morbid contents of the cloth bags as gently as possible into the trunk, touching them only as much as necessary to create a single file line as instructed. He couldn’t risk any further confrontation on this trip, or he might devolve into a full panic attack. As soon as the bags were emptied, he shut the lid, turned away…and vomited violently.

“Oh god. Oh my god! Maybe…maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe I should just leave the duck. Surely it’ll heal up on its own? No, I know it wouldn’t. He’d just have a lingering, painful death. Oh, god. I have to get back there. Make sure Gabriel didn’t see him. Oh god, there’s no way he didn’t see him!”

Aziraphale scrambled the short distance back to the cabin, where the door was open. Gabriel, already changed, was vigorously shoving dirty clothing into a trash bag. Aziraphale’s suitcase appeared to have been kicked under the bed.

“Good. Make yourself useful. Roll up the air mattress,” Gabriel barked as he strode outside with the trash bag.

Aziraphale swooped towards the bed, hissing wildly, “Duck! Where are you? Where are you, darling? Please! Oh god!”

A tarry black head lifted over the edge of the case, lying open under the bed frame, and yellow eyes glared angrily at him.

“HisssSSSSSSSsssss”

“Oh! Oh, thank heavens. I’m…I’m sorry!” Aziraphale realized he was sobbing and tried to quiet himself. “Gabriel will be coming back any second. I’m very sorry, I have to close you in.”

“Why do I keep doing this? It can’t really understand me. I’m overwrought, I’ve got to calm down. Be sensible, Aziraphale!”

But the amber gaze seemed to soften, and the duck blinked at him once, slowly, then tucked his head back into the case and lay quietly. Aziraphale’s breath caught for a moment at the demonstration of trust, then swiftly closed the lid to the case and zipped it, leaving just a small corner undone for air.

He rolled up the air mattress rather sloppily and shoved it under the bed just before Gabriel started jingling the keys at him from the door and fluttering a hand at him to speed up. Aziraphale lifted his case and made his way to the vehicle as gingerly as he could.

He slid the case into the back floorboards, unzipping it as much as he dared and propping the corner open slightly by tucking his bowtie partially inside – just to make sure he didn’t accidentally deprive his friend of air. Aziraphale himself sat down on the back bench seat, hoping Gabriel wouldn’t demand him to sit up front. That encounter had been truly frightening. Conversations with Gabriel were always unpleasant, but that chill in his eyes…familiar panic began to crawl up again. The backseat would be close enough to the danger he’d felt. Too close, but it couldn’t be avoided if he wanted to get out of here.

“I will never go anywhere ever again in anyone’s car but my own. I never want to be trapped like this ever, ever again. Oh god. Oh, oh, oh...”

He was breathing too fast, tears barely restrained. A soft quack sounded at his feet, and he realized he could see a golden eye looking at him through the gap with concern. Aziraphale forced himself to slow his breathing.

“Ah-Aurelius. I’m going…I’m going to call you Aurelius,” he whispered.

Aziraphale glanced out the window – no Gabriel yet – and briefly leaned over to put his finger in the case. Aurelius rubbed his head against it, softly, and Aziraphale felt his heartbeat slow slightly.

“Thank you, dear,” he whispered. “I, I’m afraid that I’m…terribly nervous about the drive back. We’ll muddle through it together, yes? It’s going to be ok.”

Gabriel marched back to the car a moment later, opening the trunk to inspect his dreadful trophies. Apparently, Aziraphale’s quick dump job passed because he slammed the lid and climbed into the driver’s seat. He looked at Aziraphale suspiciously in the rearview mirror for a long moment but said nothing. Finally, he started the car, rapidly leaving the hunting cabin behind.

****

“Why are you in the back seat?”

It had been about forty minutes of tense silence in the vehicle. Aziraphale, trying to maintain a calm exterior, was sorry to see it end.

“Oh, I, erm, twisted my knee, I’m afraid. I thought it might be better if I sat back here where I could stretch it out, if necessary.

“God, that’s just like you. You’re so whiny! It shows weakness.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Gabriel wanted a response, or if he did, what the proper response would be, so he remained silent.

“Look, Fell, I’m sorry, alright?” Gabriel let out a slow breath.” I shouldn’t have yelled at you, you just made me really…irritated. I’m sorry that you got upset. I was honestly just trying to help you out. You obviously don’t know how business works. It’s the reason your work has been found…lacking.”

“Lacking?” Aziraphale couldn’t help repeating. He rather prided himself on being extremely thorough in his documentation.

“You have no sense of go-getter-ness. Take this trip, for example. You’ve been a drag the entire time when anyone else in the office would have killed for the chance at some one-on-one time with the CEO. You could have impressed me. Instead…wellll. You didn’t,” Gabriel smirked.

“Oh, well, I. I’m sorry, sir. I do my best. I, I admit I’m not very ambitious. I prefer to keep a low profile.”

“That’s the problem, Fell. You’re soft. Ineffective. Lose some weight, maybe get some better clothes. Have some respect for the company you represent.”

“HsssssssssssssSSSsss”

Aziraphale desperately cleared his throat to cover the wayward sound. “*COUGH* hhhmaaaahhssshhhssss. *cough cough* Pardon me, heh, frog in my throat. Heh. Um well, that’s very, uh, thought-provoking. I’ll. Yes. I’ll consider that.”

“Do you even want to keep your job? I know you haven’t been with the organization long, but AngeliCoin is about to take off. We’re going to overtake BitCoin by this time next year. If you want to be around for it, you should try to get along. Rub some backs! Grease some elbows. Keep the higher-ups happy, and they’ll keep you happy. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Ngrrrrrrgggrrrr”

“Oh, errrrrrrrrrrrrggmmmm,” Aziraphale desperately tried to drown out the growl. “Yes! Yes, I think I understand. Thank you, sir. I’ll endeavor to make a stronger effort in the future.”

“Excellent! Glad to hear we could come to an arrangement.”

“Arrangement? Oh, yes. Of course! I’m, well, I’m very glad, too.”

Gabriel blessedly let the conversation drop, turning on the radio. Aziraphale was grateful; the more he was expected to hold a conversation with the man, the higher his anxiety swelled. Gabriel’s voice seemed to provoke Aurelius into making noise too, which ratcheted up his panic even further.

Throughout the remainder of the drive, Aziraphale kept a vigilant eye on the suitcase. Every bump in the road made him cringe, imagining Aurelius getting tossed about inside. Gabriel maintained the silent treatment for the remaining two hours of the trip. Miraculously, there were only a few times Aziraphale had to exhibit exaggerated stretches and yawns, hoping to divert Gabriel’s attention from any mysterious suitcase sounds.

As they neared the city, Aziraphale’s heart leaped with anticipation. However, so did his foot, accidentally landing a rather hard kick on the tartan case with his heel. Aurelius let out a surprised ‘quack’ and Aziraphale winced. Gabriel glanced at him in the mirror, puzzled.

"What was that noise?" Gabriel asked, slowing the car.

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, then responded with his best poker face. "Oh, I think it was just my stomach. Must be hungry! No, ahem, no breakfast or lunch, you know. Not, uh, not used to it."

Gabriel sniffed with derision but made no further comment.

Just ten minutes later, Aziraphale was unceremoniously dumped out in his apartment parking lot, case balanced carefully on his arms.

He hurried inside, fumbling with the lock a little in his haste, and unzipped the lid. Aurelius was laying quietly inside, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes half- closed.

“Oh, dear! Aurelius? Poor darling. How are you? That was a dreadfully long trip” Aziraphale asked as he tentatively stroked Aurelius’ head.

He could feel the duck trembling and shivering under his palm. That probably wasn’t a good sign. Aziraphale retrieved a soft tartan blanket and gently began to wrap Aurelius up – the duck offered no resistance, neck and head hanging limply. That probably wasn’t a good sign, either.

“Try to relax now, the worst is over. I’m calling an emergency vet and I’m going to keep you warm and cozy, alright? Hold on, my dear. Please.”

Chapter Text

The animal hospital emergency line had told Aziraphale to bring the duck in right away, giving clear instructions on locating the correct parking area and entrance. Once they arrived, Aurelius wrapped thoroughly in a blanket and cradled in Aziraphale’s arms, a technician took them directly into a room. A few moments later, a slender dark-haired woman with round-framed glasses and a no-nonsense air joined them.

“Good evening. I’m Dr. Device, I understand you’ve brought in an injured duck for emergency care. Can you set it up here on the table, please, Mister…”

“Fell. Aziraphale Fell.”

“Ah,” Dr. Device smiled, “I see your parents were fond of “unique” names too. My name is Anathema. Anathema Device.”

“Oh. Well, yes, that is rather…distinct.”

As she spoke, Dr. Device had been carefully unwrapping Aurelius from the blanket. She paused and tutted suddenly, as if surprised, before she began gently cutting away the tape around its body.

“Dreadful, you mean. That’s alright, it could be worse. My fiancé has been researching his family tree and apparently one of his ancestors had the unfortunate privilege of puritanical parents. Would you like to guess his name?”

Aziraphale seized gratefully on the distraction from his fretful attention to the duck’s limp form.

“Um, well I believe the Puritans tended toward names that reflected their rather dour religious and moral values. He, you said? Hmmm… Fear-God? Or perhaps Lamentations?”

“Good guesses, but too plain for their taste. It was ‘Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery.’” She gently lifted the duck’s head and examined its eyes.

“NO! Oh, I say, that really is beyond the pale! That poor child.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t feel overly sorry for him. From all accounts, he was a horrible person,” Dr. Device replied with a tight smile. “Mr. Fell, please tell me what happened and how you came across this…bird.”

“Um, I…well, I was sitting in a duck pond, you see. When this handsome feathered gentleman decided to visit me. He was all by himself, no flock around. And then later in the day, I found him a little way up the trail from the pond. He was hissing, and his wing was kind of dragging on the ground, and he was bleeding! I’m…I’m afraid he was shot by a hunter. And then I tried to fix him up a little and … brought him here as soon as I could.”

Dr. Device had a rather disconcerting way of staring directly into his soul as he spoke, as if she could tell there was more that he wasn’t sharing. Aziraphale felt his unease grow the longer she remained silent, feeling the judgement behind her spectacles.

“Mr. Fell. Did you shoot this duck?”

“No! No, absolutely not! I would never do such a thing, I…” Aziraphale exhaled heavily. “My companion did. I did try to stop him, but he fired a shot off anyway. I hoped the duck was unhurt, but then I found him later. And I couldn’t just leave him there, you see.”

“I see. I appreciate your compassion, Aziraphale. I’ll do my best to assist him,” Dr. Device gave him a slightly warmer smile before continuing in a practical tone. “It does seem like we have a wing injury, probably a fracture. And he’s showing signs of shock, which can be deadly so it’s a very good thing you brought him in when you did.”

“What can we do to help it, Dr. Device? Is there…will he recover?”

“I think so. The first thing we need to do is get him stabilized. I’ll start by administering warm fluids to combat the shock. We’ll immobilize his wing to minimize any further injury. After that, we’ll remove any visible foreign objects from his wounds. Then do some imaging to try to locate any birdshot pellets that might still be inside and to confirm the fracture. If there are still pellets inside, we might have to do surgery to remove them, but I’m cautiously optimistic that won’t be necessary. It seems like a fairly superficial wound.”

Aziraphale exhaled in relief, tension flowing out of his shoulders as Dr. Device explained her sensible treatment plan. Aurelius was going to be ok! It was still a little shocking how quickly he’d bonded to the duck, but he would have been devastated if he’d gotten medical care too late.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m so glad. Do you mind me asking, is he a wild duck? I rather thought he might have been someone’s pet, dumped out in the country to fend for itself. He’s quite tame.”

“No. Not a pet. Not a wild duck either,” Dr. Device chuckled.

“Oh. Well, a farm variety, then?”

“No, absolutely not. This ‘feathered gentleman’ as you called him is…one of a kind,” she gave him an enigmatic smile.

“I…I see.”

Aziraphale did not see.

****

Aziraphale waited in the lobby as patiently as he could. It helped that there was a vending machine – the junk food on offer wasn’t really up to his usual standards, but it was almost eight-o-clock in the evening, and he was desperate enough to eat anything by now. It had been a very long, very stressful day. He munched peanut butter crackers and chocolate bars, scanning through the few magazines available over and over.

Finally, a technician led him back to the examination room where Dr. Device and a cardboard pet carrier were waiting.

“All good news, Mr. Fell!” Dr. Device smiled warmly at him. “Your friend here responded very well to fluids, and there’s no surgical needs. His wing is fractured, unfortunately, but it’s a simple one with no significant soft tissue injuries. He’s young and healthy, so hopefully it should heal up well in four to six weeks.”

“Oh, that all sounds excellent! Thank you so much, Dr. Device! I cannot tell you how relieved I am. What should I do to care for him at home?”

“You’ve already done well; you seem to have good instincts about his needs. Once you get him home, keep him warm and comfortable, and limit stress as much as possible. He’s going to need regular checkups to monitor his progress. Once his fracture has healed, it may take a few extra weeks to properly rehabilitate his wing with exercises and gradual usage. I’d like to see him again in two weeks to check in.”

She provided Aziraphale with written instructions and pain medication for Aurelius, a follow-up appointment card, and finally the cardboard carrier with the sleeping duck nestled into his blanket. Dr. Device then stood there, looking at him thoughtfully for a long moment.

“Thank you so very much, Dr. Device. Is…was there something else?” Aziraphale could feel the doctor wanted to say more. He didn’t want to miss out on any pertinent information to Aurelius’ care.

Anathema tapped a finger against her mouth for a moment, looking at the cardboard carrier. Slowly, as if she couldn't quite find the words, she whispered, “Be Wary. He will understand all you say. He will not do you harm, but...I’m not yet certain of his intentions.”

A prickle ran up Aziraphale’s spine. Her words didn't make sense, but - they did. In a teasing, tantalizing way they danced at the edges of his ignorance, his mind almost aware of their portent.

In a daze, he somehow made it home, settling Aurelius’s carrier right next to the bed so he would hear him if he stirred. Aziraphale had just enough mental and physical energy left to strip off all his many extra layers of clothing, finally falling into the bed and immediately into a disturbed sleep.

***

“Come now, Aurelius. There’s no need for all this hullabaloo –” Aziraphale tiptoed toward the disgruntled duck with a syringe of liquid pain medicine in hand. “Look, I’ve saved you some crumbs of coffee cake! Ooooh, yum yum!”

“HissSSSSSSSSSSssssss.” Apparently, Aurelius was uncharmed by the temptation of cake. He dashed nimbly under Aziraphale’s arms and under the table, quacking triumphantly at his continued freedom.

The first couple of days had been so easy! Aurelius had been sleepy and slow, grumbling and growling over the medication but accepting it all the same. He’d spent his time nestled in a blanket on the bathroom floor, surprisingly willing to use a puppy pad for his *ahem* necessary business. Before and after work, Aziraphale would fluff his blanket, refresh his water, and stroke his lovely feathers gently.

 Now, however, Aurelius was evidently feeling better. Which apparently meant his true demonic nature was coming to fruition. Alright, perhaps calling him ‘demonic’ is a bit far. Still…

He’d come home from work today to a very different experience than before. The blanket had been ripped and twisted, with gashes all over from Aurelius’ webbed toe-claws. The water spilled everywhere, soap dispenser and toothbrush holder shattered across the floor and sink, and the shower curtain ruined by several long gashes. As Aziraphale stood gaping at the unexpected mess, a feathered burst of speed had hissed and whistled past him and out into his living area.

He’d been trying to catch and soothe the bedamned bird for over an hour! Aurelius seemed intent on escape – rushing for doors, awkwardly jumping toward windowsills while flapping his good wing and pecking desperately against them. Every time Aziraphale thought he’d caught hold of him, the duck seemed to employ ninja-like reflexes to slither away with a series of squabbling quacks and hisses. Aziraphale’s arms and calves were covered with scratches from each near miss.

Aziraphale held the syringe now with determination, the disgruntled duck staring him down with an air of defiance. It reminded him, rather unfortunately, of a Wild West showdown - Aurelius, the handsome, noble, defiant gunslinger. Aziraphale…the dastardly villain.

“HisssSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssss. Nngggggggggrr.”

As his heart rate slowed, Aziraphale realized Aurelius was probably frightened at being trapped in an unfamiliar place. The pain medication had made him very lethargic, could he have somehow made the connection between the medication syringe and that sleepy impotence? If he had, it could explain why he was resisting it so stringently. He probably felt like a prisoner, shut into a tiny room, alone for hours, vulnerable…

Aziraphale understood that panic.

He sighed heavily, all the energy dropping out of his limbs, and lowered himself gently to sit on the floor.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I won’t chase you anymore – please feel free to look around at your leisure. I do have your pain medicine for you here, but it can wait until bedtime if you’d prefer.”

Aurelius eyed him suspiciously, waddling a little closer as if to test his assertions. Aziraphale resisted the temptation to reach for him, sitting quietly and keeping his hands firmly in his lap. With a sudden war-like screech, the duck rushed towards his face, flapping his good wing, and hissing ferociously. Aziraphale couldn’t help releasing his own screech and cowering behind his arms, which seemed to please Aurelius immensely.

Performing a final triumphant ‘hiss,’ Aurelius held his nose high in victory and sauntered away. He continued his explorations, beginning an unhurried inspection of the kitchen and living room. He ignored the bathroom, apparently having explored it enough during its earlier destruction.

“Good lord! I must say, you’re very dramatic. Was that quite necessary?!”

“Ngquack. Nggk.” Aurelius gave him a laughing glance.

“I see. Well, now that you’ve sufficiently shown me who’s boss, please do try not to break anything else, dear boy.” Aziraphale laughed and stood, giving Aurelius a flourishing bow. “Please, dear sir, if you need me to move a curtain or open a door, you’ve only to ask! I’m happy to do so. You’re my honored guest in this castle.”

Aurelius tilted his head at him quizzically, but then gave an affirming quack and returned his attention to underneath the dining table. A few minutes later, he issued a commanding hiss at a curtain, turning toward Aziraphale expectantly.

Be Wary. He’ll understand what you say…Dr. Device’s odd warning floated into memory and Aziraphale felt a sudden frisson of disquiet. That was probably a coincidence, wasn’t it?

“Would you…like that curtain drawn?

Aurelius hissed again, looking from Aziraphale to the curtain meaningfully.

Aziraphale obediently strode over and pulled it back, and Aurelius quacked a quick thanks before bustling forward to examine the windowsill. He quickly moved on to all the other windows, each time hissing a command and looking intently at Aziraphale until it was pulled aside for him.

Be Wary. He’ll understand what you say…

Aurelius next turned his attention to the closed door leading to the spare bedroom, which Aziraphale instead used as a home office and library. Aurelius issued another commanding hiss when he reached the door, glaring at Aziraphale until he’d opened it. The duck glanced over the stacks of printer paper and the metal filing cabinets - full of meticulously organized financial records – then quickly moved on to the bookshelves spread over all the available wall space. He lingered, examining the lowest and closest shelf which happened to contain tax law manuals and Aziraphale’s old accounting textbooks. His head turned to the side and bobbed up and down slowly, a singular eye fixed intently on each book spine as he moved…as if he were reading the titles.

Ha, that’s…that’s ridiculous. Of course he’ll understand some of what I say. Most pets learn at least some word association from their owners. That’s all it is. A reading duck? I should be so lucky – probably be able to make my fortune and never darken AngeliCoin’s doors again.

Aurelius waddled back slightly, lifting his neck high and tilting his eye at the next shelf upwards before quickly abandoning the effort and waddling sideways to the available offerings of the next bottom shelf to the right. He repeated the slow, single eyed bobbing motion for each book on this shelf too. And then again for every other low-level shelf and stack of books in the room.

Reading…NOT reading! Certainly not.

Against the window, Aziraphale had set up a quiet nook for himself, complete with cozy wingback chair and a little table with a mug warmer to keep his cocoa steaming no matter how long he got lost in the written word between gulps. Aurelius carefully examined the legs of the chair and rubbed his head against the bottom of the cushion, then attempted an unsuccessful bounce upwards to the seat. Aziraphale giggled at the silly, flappy scene – which appeared to offend Aurelius very much.

“HissssSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS,” Aurelius glowered at him, which made Aziraphale giggle even more.

At the second, even more offensive burst of giggles, Aurelius cast Aziraphale an imperious glance and pecked sharply at one of the books in a nearby stack.

“Here now! Don’t destroy my books, you fiend!”

Aziraphale rushed forward as Aurelius pecked repeatedly at the same book. His eyes landed on the title… It was a leadership self-help book, or motivational book, or some such. He’d purchased it on a whim some time back but somehow never got around to reading it. On the spine, in large bold capitals, it said ‘LIFT: Fostering the Leader in You.’ The prickle ran down Aziraphale’s back again. Aurelius pecked once more at the word LIFT and hissed – gazing directly into Aziraphale’s eye for a moment, and then staring hard at the chair.

Be Wary…

Aziraphale hesitantly put out his arms and slowly reached for Aurelius. The duck held very still, allowing Aziraphale to pick him up and place him onto the chair. With a happy quack of thanks, the duck settled down into the seat cushion and began grooming his back feathers.

Aziraphale’s throat felt disturbingly dry, hands clammy and trembling slightly. A sense of wrongness darkened at the edges of his vision. Backing slowly out of the office doorway, he fled to the living room and firmly sat himself on the sofa.

Be Wary…I don’t yet know his intentions…

How ridiculous. He was allowing his imagination to run away. Dr. Device’s cryptic warning was ridiculous. Yet, the wrongness lingered – the sensation that he was sharing his home with an unnatural thing. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes tightly and clamped his hands over his face, air twisting from his lungs with a whimper.

Breathe in. 1. 2. 3. Breathe out. 1. 2. 3. Breathe in. 1. 2. 3. Breathe out…

After several moments, Aziraphale felt a little calmer though his heart continued to stutter a staccato which would rival any Viennese waltz.

You’re being silly, old boy! Come on, buck up. It’s just a duck. A lovely pet duck that was cruelly abandoned in the middle of nowhere by…some person. A human person.

He sniffed hard, breathing out one more time before opening his eyes. The exhalation of relief instantly changed to a yelp, as he realized Aurelius was inches from his foot, looking quizzically at him.

“Oh! God. Please, please, please don’t do that!”

Aurelius gave a small ‘Ngk’ of apology, gently rubbing his head along Aziraphale’s calf. The amber gaze was soft again now, no longer angry or haughty. Apparently, he’d been forgiven for shutting Aurelius in the bathroom. And something about the soothing, repetitive stroke against his leg calmed the remaining panic lingering at the edges of Aziraphale’s self-control. The dark wrongness retreated, a lovely calm flowing into his limbs.

“Aaaaaah,” he sighed, allowing his stiff shoulders to drop. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve been rather silly. Again. Would you like to sit up here on the couch with me?”

An accepting grumble later, Aurelius was properly seated next to Aziraphale in a little blanket nest. They spent the rest of the evening watching the BBC, Aziraphale stroking Aurelius and receiving little hisses, grumbles, and happy flutters in return.

It turned out to be a pleasant evening. Aurelius even took his medicine at bedtime without a fuss.

****

The rest of the week passed quickly. Each morning, Aziraphale would refresh the water bowl and provide Aurelius with some of the duck feed the animal hospital had been kind enough to supply. He ensured all the doors inside the apartment were wide open before he left for work so that Aurelius could explore. There had, thankfully, been no repeats of the destruction in the bathroom.

Whenever he returned in the evening, Aurelius would be waiting, demanding imperiously to be given a lift to the chair or a windowsill. And they would sit and watch something on the couch, Aziraphale stroking Aurelius’ feathers and reveling in the soothing calm that it provided after a day fraught with anxiety and scorn at AngeliCoin.

There were a few other…incidents where the wrongness would rear up. When Aziraphale came through the living room and found Aurelius looking thoughtfully through his small collection of records, flipping each one forward with his beak so he could examine the one behind it. And the time Aurelius had sauntered into the bedroom as Aziraphale was undressing for bed, fleeing the room suddenly with a squack of embarrassment. And there was the general understanding of everything that still unsettled Aziraphale if he thought too much about it. No duck - regardless of how familiar with humans it was, regardless of how intelligent it might be - should watch the news with such interest and scoff at politician’s non-speak, or hiss with laughter at late night television jokes.

But Aziraphale was quite practiced at shoving down discomfort. He was a survivalist, in his own way. He liked the soothing companionship Aurelius provided, and therefore he would accept that some ducks were simply much more intelligent and in-tune with their human owners than most. That’s all it was. Aurelius was picking up on Aziraphale’s reactions and mirroring him.

Aziraphale was looking forward to an entire weekend at home, resting and salvaging his mental health after the stress of his work demands. Just sitting and stroking Aurelius’ feathers in the evenings calmed him immensely, an entire weekend to relax and enjoy the duck’s company would be even better.

Next Saturday, Aziraphale had plans to take Aurelius for his check-up with Dr. Device. She had arranged a special weekend appointment time for them, so that Aziraphale wouldn’t be required to take time away from the office.  And hopefully there wouldn’t be any further folderol and ambiguous warnings.

And each night, with Aurelius tucked into his blanket nest in the bathroom and drowsy from his medication, Aziraphale’s heart stuttered up in protest. Each night, he practiced his meditative breaths and convinced himself that the wrongness was his own overactive imagination. Each night, he pretended that he did not fall asleep with Anathema Device’s strange words echoing softly through his chest.

Be Wary…unknown intentions…He Understands…

Chapter Text

Friday afternoon was dreadful. Every day at work was dreadful, but Friday afternoon was something beyond the ordinary even for AngeliCoin. Because Friday afternoon, Gabriel “The BossMan” Armstrong appeared at Aziraphale’s desk just as he was wrapping up a telephone conference with a compliance officer. The conversation immediately devolved into gurgles and sputters on Aziraphale’s end, to which the compliance officer offered a confused “You too, have a good day,” and hung up.

Gabriel loomed with a wide smile at Aziraphale’s desk chair, curving slightly over his seated form. Aziraphale forced himself to return the smile and meet Gabriel’s eyes, fingers digging into his knees out of sight under the desk.

“Fell! Good to see ya, how was your week?”

“Oh, um - ”

“Good! Glad to hear it. Big weekend plans?”

“Erm, no just – “

“Oh, sorry, that’s too bad. Good looking guy like you, no weekend dates lined up around the block?” Gabriel laughed loudly, and his smile grew even wider – flat lips stretched over square teeth.

“Ah, no, I don’t really – “

“Well, say pal, since you’re not doing anything for the weekend, I need you to do me a huge favor. I really need someone I can trust to handle some time-sensitive financial forecasts. And who better than A.Z. Fell?”

“Oh! I really, that’s very flattering, but –“

As he spoke, Gabriel placed two huge binders on Aziraphale’s desk.  

“But nothing, Fell,” Gabriel’s volume dropped and so did the false smile, his face now flat and still. “We talked about this. About you showing you want to stay at this company. Remember? Here’s your chance to show me you can play nice with others, instead of just scuttling away like a crab every time the pressure picks up.”

With that, Gabriel stretched his lips broadly again, clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder and proclaimed loudly “Thanks, Fell. Knew I could count on you. I need those forecasts first thing Monday morning for next quarter’s budget meeting.”

“Monday morning?! But Gabriel –“ Too late. Gabriel’s long stride had already carried him far away from Aziraphale’s soft, mumbling protests.

Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped. Of course, Gabriel hadn’t finished punishing him yet. The binders were certain to be a mess and it would likely take him hours to even sort them into a usable format.

“Bad luck, Aziraphale. Well. That’s going to take forever. I have a method I use to simplify the reports that speeds it up quite a bit. Maybe I could show you?”

Michael’s desk was to his left. She - honestly probably everyone in the office - had clearly heard Gabriel’s loud proclamations. Aziraphale had attempted to make friends with her in his early days at AngeliCoin, but everything he tried was met with a severe lip and incredulous gaze. Offer a donut? You would think he’d tried to feed her a snake. Compliment her sharp new suit? Her harsh glare at his own clothing told quite plainly that his opinion was unflattering and unwelcome. Attempt to meekly correct a minor report error in a private email? Receive a scathing essay, CC’d to the entire department, on his lackluster public college education which had evidently left him incapable of understanding higher-level financial strategy.

Michael stood now looking over the low partition that separated their workspaces. Aziraphale smiled wobblily at her, appreciating the unexpected kindness. Until she opened her mouth again.

“Actually, now that I think it over, I’m afraid it requires a versatile understanding of financial modeling and statistical analysis. Not something that can be easily explained to someone without the appropriate background knowledge. It would probably just slow down your…process.”

The nearby cubicles erupted with barely contained snickers and Aziraphale felt his face burn with embarrassment. He wished he could come up with a suitable, biting comment. But as much as he loved words, he wasn’t very good at using them in confrontational situations. As cutting as he could be at home, later, by himself, when it was too late to matter anymore…his mind was always blank and gasping in the moment it would have been useful.

Aziraphale resigned himself to working through the weekend and kept his head down for the last hour until he could escape. So much for his lovely plans of lounging around in his soft tartan pajamas and slippers, wrapped up with Aurelius in his blanket nest, watching all his favorite Jane Austen film adaptations. Perhaps, if he could finish the forecasts quickly there would still be time to at least sigh through the episodes of ‘Pride and Prejudice.’

Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy always lifts my spirits…those elbows, that sharp brow…

Aziraphale caught himself abruptly. Time enough to daydream about the lake scene later in the safety of his own apartment. If he was able to finish his reports in a timely manner.

****

“STOP it, Aurelius. Please! Go off and entertain yourself for while, I beg of you!”

Aziraphale had expected the financial reports Gabriel dumped on him to be time-consuming, and difficult, and horribly out of order. And they were. What he hadn’t expected was the extra layer of challenge that Aurelius’ desire for attention would add to the task.

It had started out simply enough. Aziraphale perched at his desk, ancient laptop booting up and binders spread open. Aurelius sauntered in, casually hissing at the chair for a lift onto the cushion. When his command was ignored by a preoccupied Aziraphale, he waddled over and stroked himself along Aziraphale’s legs like a cat. This too, was ignored beyond a tiny pat on the head.

“Hissssssssssssssssssss.” No response.

“NGQaucK! … Ngquck?” Aziraphale still bent intently over the binders with concentration.

Aurelius tried nibbling at Aziraphale’s trouser legs, pulling and tugging at them insistently.

“No, no, my dear. Sorry, not now,” Aziraphale murmured, eyes deeply focused on his paperwork.

Aurelius flapped his good wing vigorously against Aziraphale’s legs, quacking with rapid-fire, enthusiastic wildness.

“Aurelius! Please, I’m trying to concentrate.”

It became very clear, very quickly, that Aurelius did not appreciate being ignored. That it did, in fact, bother him very much that anyone could be capable of such a thing. The last couple of hours had seen a gradual escalation of Aurelius efforts. He quacked, he hissed, he scratched at Aziraphale’s calves and pecked at his slipper-encased toes.

“STOP it, Aurelius. Please! Go off and entertain yourself for while, I beg of you!”

Aurelius finally seemed to admit defeat. Head bunched and red crest flattened in dismay, he gave a sad “hissss” and slunk out of the office.

With relief, Aziraphale was able to work steadily through a large portion of the financial paraphernalia Gabriel had haphazardly shoved into the binders, sorting and organizing it into appropriate categories and timelines.

It actually wasn’t so bad, doing this at home. Oh, he hated that it was taking up his weekend, of course. But it was peaceful, almost relaxing, to quietly bring structure to chaos. He liked putting things in their proper order. It was the best part of his job! He supposed it might be a little lonely, sitting here without anyone else all day, but…to be frank with himself, he was even more lonely when he was surrounded by his coworkers. In the almost two years he’d been at AngeliCoin, he had yet to make a single friend. He was still the outsider, out of step with the rest of the organization.

Focus, Aziraphale. Don’t become maudlin, there’s no reason to expect to make friends at work.

He pushed down the sad reality that most of his “friendships” only ever were people he was temporarily in close vicinity with – school mates or work colleagues who were pleasant company while they existed in Aziraphale’s sphere, but only really acquaintances who quickly dropped away when that sphere dissolved. They never really got to know Aziraphale, and he never really tried to get to know them, either.

“NNGQUAAACK!” Aziraphale startled at the sharp quack, looking up to find Aurelius…dancing?

Aurelius was doing an adorable side-stepping waddle, beak tilted high. The dark red feathers on the back of his head were fluffed upward, good wing outstretched. When he met Aziraphale’s gaze, he began swaying and turning in little circles, all the while emitting soft, endearing chirrups and quacks.

“Oh! You’re so cute! You’re –“

 “HIsssssssssSSSSSSSS”

“NOT cute, sorry. You’re, ahem, a surprisingly good dancer! That’s all.”

Aurelius puffed with pride and stroked his head along Aziraphale’s calf again, looking up at him imploringly.

“Ooooooh, very well. Alright! You win! I’ll take a short break. But just a short one, I must finish organizing these so I can start creating an entire quarterly financial forecast by Monday. This Monday!”

 Aziraphale groaned and stretched his back, then bent down to scratch gently under Aurelius’ neck, earning a purr and slow golden blink.

“I tell you what, my dear. I really need to work at least a few more hours until dinner. While I’m working, would you like to watch something on the television?”

Aurelius sqaucked with pleasure and waddled out of the office expectantly. After getting him lifted onto the couch, Aziraphale turned on the BBC News but Aurelius hissed at it. Aziraphale thumbed through several channels with Aurelius hissing his disdain at each, before finally landing on a Discovery Science documentary about star formation. Aurelius chattered excitedly, bumping his head against Aziraphale’s hand and making him laugh.

“This one? Alright. Please, enjoy. I’ll be in the office if you need me, but PLEASE let me get my work finished in peace if at all possible, yes?”

Several hours later, the binders were sorted and Aziraphale had been able to create a rough draft to the forecast. It was enough progress that he was certain he could finish it tomorrow and be ready for Monday morning. He felt comfortable joining Aurelius now, having a little dinner and – if he could somehow manage to reclaim the television from the feathered fiend – rewarding himself with a little Regency romance.

Aurelius was feeling very companionable this evening, staying pressed against Aziraphale’s leg and resting his head on Aziraphale’s knee while they watched Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy stumble along until reaching harmony. The duck seemed disgusted by Mrs. Bennet, hissing a derisive laugh at most of her lines.

Aziraphale soaked in the sense of well-being, caressing Aurelius head frequently. They laughed together at Mr. Collins, grumbled in suspicion at the appearance of George Wickham, and sighed appreciatively over the delightful sight of a sodden Mr. Darcy striding along in his clinging wet shirt.

Nothing strange about that, Aziraphale told himself. Aurelius is simply mirroring me again.

He tamped down his awareness and allowed himself to relax.

****

Monday arrived, Gabriel appearing to collect the binders and the finalized financial forecasts the instant Aziraphale sat at his desk. He seemed disappointed for a moment that Aziraphale was able to provide them, but then gave him a tight smile and hard clap across the back.

“Nice job, Fell. I have to admit, I was a little concerned about whether you could handle it. But it looks like everything worked out just fine.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Aziraphale attempted to return the smile through his unease. “I’m very glad I was able to meet your expectations.”

“No need to worry about that. I’m sure you’ll keep on doing…your best. Right?” Gabriel smirked as he strode away, leaving Aziraphale with a growing pit in his stomach.

That’s…probably not a good sign.

Despite Aziraphale’s misgivings, the rest of the week sped by in much the same way as the previous one. Gabriel ignored him, as did Michael and everyone else in the office. Aziraphale bent his mind and attention to nothing but his accounting duties while at the office, ignoring all of them in turn as much as possible. He'd then rush home immediately when the workday agonizingly dragged to the finish.

At home, he would make dinner and enjoy Aurelius’ company. The only things that had changed were that Aurelius now demanded first choice over their television programs and had begun insisting on a share of Aziraphale’s meals as well. After a little research into the appropriate dietary needs of a duck, Aziraphale was surprised to learn ducks could safely be fed cooked chicken and turkey in small portions. Aurelius could also be fed fish, crustaceans, and insects. Armed with this new culinary knowledge, Aziraphale happily began to make Aurelius a miniature plate of dinner every night. If Aziraphale happened to be eating something not quite right for a duck’s digestive system, he prepared his demanding beast a plate of fresh peas, a couple slivers of chicken or fish, and berries for dessert.

The evenings of stroking Aurelius’ soft feathers still soothed Aziraphale. He’d become more and more accustomed to the strange un-ducklike aspects of his feathered friend’s character. More accepting that Aurelius really did understand his speech. He had decided the entire “reading” incident had been a product of his overactive imagination. It certainly hadn’t occurred again, and he avoided thinking about it as much as possible. While Aurelius was with him, Aziraphale was happy and calm.

But the wrongness still rose to demand his attention when he was alone after putting Aurelius to bed. It worried at the edges of his mind, creeping at his survival instincts.

Wrong.     Wrong.              Something is wrong.

But it was fine. The duck was fine, Aziraphale was fine. It’s all fine.

Absolutely tickety-boo.

****

The Saturday of Aurelius’ follow-up with Dr. Device arrived. Aziraphale was feeling extremely positive about Aurelius' progress. His appetite had steadily increased, as well as his energy levels and demands for attention. Hopefully Dr. Device – Anathema, he reminded himself – would agree.

He did have some initial trouble coaxing Aurelius into the pet carrier, but after explaining where they were going and bribing him with a promise of re-watching his favorite ‘Journey to the Edge of the Universe’ for the third time this week, the duck allowed himself to be deposited inside.

“Hello, Aziraphale! Have you lost weight?” Dr. Device stepped into the examination room with a slight frown, studying him intently. “Have you been feeling alright?”

“Oh, um. No. I mean, yes, I’ve been fine! I was just wearing rather a lot of layers the last time we met, Dr. Device,” Aziraphale chuckled self-consciously.

“I see. And remember, it’s Anathema. Please.” The frown finally reformed into a smile, and she gestured for Aziraphale to place the pet carrier up on the counter.

As Anathema began carefully removing the bandaging on Aurelius’ back, she peppered Aziraphale with rapid questions regarding the duck’s appetite, energy levels, and medication compliance. She seemed generally pleased with the answers.

“And…have there been any…unexpected behaviors you’d like me to know about?” Anathema’s body was still, hands placed firmly around Aurelius as if prepared for the duck to bolt. She scrutinized Aziraphale closely as she waited for an answer.

Aziraphale hesitated a little too long. “Um, No! No, certainly not.”

Dr. Device looked at him sternly through her spectacles for a moment before turning her attention back to Aurelius.

“Very well. If you’re going to lie to me, I will have to ask him instead. Aurelius – or whatever your true name is – I assume you’re aware that this cannot continue?”

His TRUE name? What in heaven's name is that supposed to mean?

Aurelius ducked his head away from Anathema, giving an angry little hiss. He wriggled in her grasp, suddenly desperate to slither free, but unsuccessful.  Dr. Device was obviously stronger than her slender form would imply, and she had carefully placed her hands where Aurelius couldn’t bite or scratch her.

“I’ve consulted my mentor and the cards, and I don’t believe you meant harm. If I thought you had, I would remove you immediately. Do you understand?”

“Nnnnhisss. HISSSSSsssssssSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.” Just because he couldn’t escape or reach the veterinarian, didn’t mean Aurelius was content to be still. He snapped and kicked at her, waggled and twisted his body as much as he could, hissing and growling. “NNNnnnggggGGGGgggrrRRRRrrrrrr.”

Dr. Device remained still and quiet, holding him tightly. After a moment, she raised her voice over his noises, “He has a right to know what and who he’s really dealing with. He has a right to decide if he wants to be involved! You can’t just use him for shelter without his knowledge and consent.”

Aurelius hushed and ducked his head again, seeming to fold in on himself with…something. Embarrassment? Sadness? Aziraphale was lost, the wrongness flooding up again, refusing to be pushed down this time. The staccato rhythm returned to his blood, pommeling so loudly against his temples that he could no longer hear the conversation Anathema was somehow holding with the not-a-duck.

Not. A. Duck. Wrong. It’s wrong.

His throat seized and he choked suddenly on his last breath. His lungs were wooden. His skin was covered with sweat, yet he shivered with cold. He could dimly hear Anathema’s voice and Aurelius’ sharp quacks.

Breathe…breathe! Aziraphale? Aziraphale?

A smooth, soft presence under his palm. Aziraphale gasped in, exhaling with a rattling cough.  When the darkness receded, he was sitting on Anathema’s stool. She observed him with concern, one hand on his back and the other holding his slumped shoulder to prevent him from falling forward. Aurelius was looking pointedly away, avoiding his gaze, but his head was placed firmly under Aziraphale’s hand.

Acrid bile scorched his throat, but Aziraphale managed to scratch out, “What…what is happening?”

“Aziraphale, look away from him. Look at me,” Anathema instructed.

Aziraphale tore his gaze from Aurelius and back to Anathema. The wrongness swelled higher again.

“Aziraphale, I’m afraid your emotions are being tampered with. Were being tampered with.” This was said with a meaningful glance at Aurelius, who waddled away out of Aziraphale’s hand and sight with a dejected hiss. “Whenever you touch him, pet him, even look at him - it reinforces your dependence on his presence. Like a drug. Keep looking at me.”

Aziraphale realized his face was covered in tears.

“That’s right. Breathe in. Breathe out. Good. Keep going. I’m going to help you. I’m going to help you both.”

He tried to stay, really. But the darkness collected him, carried him away, far from Anathema’s voice.

Chapter Text

An Excerpt from ‘Hexed Bestiary: Concerning All Known of Werewolf, Chimera, Gargoyle, Banshee, and Miscellaneous Other’

Author: A. Nutter, with addendums and additions contributed as discovered necessary by her Descendants.

Editor: Gabriella Device, Professional Descendent.  

Edition the 4^th, 1887, Pg. 58-59

"Identification of the Lesser Hexed Beasts proves a task of formidable complexity. Unlike many of the Greater Hexed Beasts (ie. werewolves, griffin, monopods), they present themselves with appearances less conspicuous and auras more subtle, attempting to blend in with natural creatures. In addition, they are often endowed with abilities to obscure their true essence. However, certain attributes and telltale indications may serve to aid a discerning Descendent in their detection.

Peculiar Aspect: Despite appearing similar to natural creatures, Lesser Hexed Beasts typically display features that deviate from their genuine counterparts. This may encompass uncommon hues, luminous eyes, overlarge bodies, or other unusual traits.

Accursed Atmosphere: Witches and other Sensitives may detect an eerie or malevolent aura that clings to a Hexed Beast. For most other persons, the proximity of a Hexed Beast shall evoke sensations of discomfort or disquietude.

Solitary Predilection: Many of the Lesser Hexed Beasts assume forms akin to creatures that flock or herd. Yet, Hexed Beasts invariably are alone, for their cursed presence compels the natural beasts to shun them.

Associations with Cursed Artefacts: The Lesser Hexed Beasts may demonstrate connection with an accursed relic or object, either as custodians or as vessels of vitality. These artefacts are frequently enmeshed in dark rituals or manipulated by malevolent practitioners. It can be that the destruction of such objects can free the Beast, however it is equally probable to cause the Beast’s death.

Aberrant Longevity: Whilst it remains an infrequent occurrence for a Lesser Hexed Beast to break the bonds of its curse, on those rare and historical occasions* when such emancipation is achieved, many recount the duration of their affliction to have spanned decades, if not centuries.

Malevolence: All Beasts are purveyors of malice, their actions orchestrated to mete out pain, misfortune, or even fatality to those who traverse their path. Certain Beasts incline more toward capriciousness or chaotic mirth, instead of sheer vindictiveness. Nonetheless, these Beasts warrant approach with the utmost prudence.

Engravings or Portents: The Lesser Hexed Beasts may exhibit arcane symbols or markings upon their corporeal forms. These markings may manifest as tattoos, curious inscriptions, scars, or resplendent tints beyond the gifts of nature.

Resistance to Conventional Measures: Hexed Beasts, whether of Lesser or Greater ilk, shall defy or remain immune to conventional methods intended to subdue or domesticate mundane creatures. They shall elude most traps with ease and are immune to most poisons.

Responses to Protective Symbols or Rites: Some Beasts shall react unfavorably to protective symbols, rites, or artefacts. Beware, the reliability of this method is in question, given a wide range of contextual milieu.

Unusual Conduct: One of the most assured modes of identifying a Lesser Hexed Beast lies in their exhibition of behavior that strays markedly from the norm for their semblance. This may encompass aversions to certain surroundings or objects, atypical vocalizations or movements, and manifestations of uncanny intelligence.

Supranormal Potency: The manifestation of abilities beyond the scope of ordinary creatures, such as telepathic communion, manipulation of the elements, telekinesis, or the conjuration of illusory phenomena, and so forth. Such phenomena are more frequently witnessed in the Greater Hexed Beasts but have been known in the Lesser.

 

*See Appendix C for recommended case studies and further investigation.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was warm and comfortable. An unusual scent tinged the air and soft light warmed his eyelids. He hummed a little through a smile, stretching luxuriously as he opened his eyes, ready to greet the morning.

He was not in his bed. He was not in his home!

Surprisingly, this only gave him mild concern. He was in a small, neat room with practical furniture. Two plain bookshelves were stocked with not only books, but also several unusually shaped bowls and vases, and an array of dried flowers. Dr. Device was standing nearby at a little table, but upon hearing his movement she turned and smiled at him.

“Hello, Aziraphale. I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’m afraid the sudden withdrawal of Aurelius’ charm was overwhelming. Here, drink this.”

She handed him a small mug of hot tea, and Aziraphale drank it obediently. It had a pungent, but not unpleasant taste. How could he be here? The last thing he remembered, he’d been at the animal hospital. And where was here?

 “Um. Thank you, Dr. Device.”

“Anathema, please.”

“Of course. Thank you, Anathema. Um, I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know what happened or – did I, did I faint? Where am I, please? And why?”

“Not exactly,” Anathema replied, carefully studying his face. “Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Feeling short of breath?”

“Um. No. No, none of those. I feel quite well actually,” Aziraphale rubbed his temples, “A slight headache. But that’s all.”

“Excellent.” Anathema stood and briskly removed the now empty mug from his clasped hands, placing it on a side table. “To answer your questions: what happened is that Aurelius has been using his magical ability to repress your anxieties. When that charm was withdrawn your mind became overwhelmed, and you lost consciousness. We are in my workshop. My fiancé helped me get you here. As for why, I’m a witch. It’s a matter of professional interest that I help you with the business at hand. I thought I might need some of the materials I store here.”

“Buh..business?” Aziraphale sputtered, mind lurching to keep up with the pace of Anathema’s speech. “What business?”

“The business, Aziraphale, of figuring out how you became host to a Hexed Beast and what we’re going to do about it.” Anathema’s lips twisted into an amused grin. “Unless you’re still planning to tell me you haven’t noticed a single unusual thing about that infernal bird? He’s been an absolute demon the entire time you’ve been asleep! I think he’s worried about you.”

“A hexed beast? I’m sorry, I do apologize, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what that is! What are you talking about?” Aziraphale rubbed his temples again and groaned.

Anathema’s hands appeared under his nose, offering two white pills and a glass of water. Aziraphale accepted both gratefully.

“A Hexed Beast. A creature that is under a curse or enchantment. Usually dark magic, but not always. Also usually malicious, but in Aurelius’ case, his aura doesn’t indicate evil…just trickery and massive amounts of ego.”

“HisssssSSSSSSSSSSSS”

“Don’t even start with me, duck! I don’t even need to read auras to see the ego on you! You’re lucky I can though, since I can tell you’re actually kind of nice.”

“SQAAAUCK!”

“Yes, nice. Little swirls all over you. Helpful, compassionate, loyal…”

At this shower of compliments, Aurelius began letting out such a sustained repetition of quacks and hisses that Aziraphale was finally able to locate him. The awful din was pouring out of a large covered basket in the middle of the floor.

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, his mind clutching at the silliest possible image. “I just knew he would fit perfectly in a picnic basket!”

Anathema choked with laughter, while said picnic basket vibrated with indignation and squawked infuriated threats.

“Peace, duck!” Anathema smiled, “We have a lot to discuss.”

“Sorry, going back for a moment…you said you’re a Wiccan?” Aziraphale still wasn’t certain what was happening. He’d fainted. He’d awoken in a witch’s workshop. A witch who also was his pet duck’s veterinarian. A pet duck who was also a cursed animal of some kind? It was rather a lot to take in.

“No. I’m a witch. A Professional Descendent, to use my proper designation.”

Aziraphale waited, but apparently Anathema wasn’t planning to elaborate.

“Er, right. Jolly good. Um, perhaps you could explain why you think Aurelius is a…a cursed animal?”

“A Hexed Beast. Yes. It’s probably best if you let me explain things as thoroughly as possible, then you can ask questions when we’re done. Aurelius has agreed to remain in the basket for this discussion to ensure your emotions aren’t influenced. I recommend against you seeing him at all, to be safe. He will, however, be able to hear us and I’ll be able to ask him questions if needed.”

“Oh. I. I see?”

It should have been ridiculous. But Aziraphale felt an instinctive certainty that Anathema was exactly what she claimed. And the wrongness was…missing. It had been such a constant underpinning of his mind for the last two weeks. But it was gone. The relief was enough to dispel any hesitations about hearing Anathema out. He realized he’d been silent for several moments as he thought. When he looked up, a little embarrassed, Anathema was simply waiting.

“It’s alright,” she said. “It’s a lot to take in if you’ve never encountered magic before. Are you ready now?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and nodded once.

****

Dr. Anathema Device was a witch, the daughter of a witch, the grand-daughter of a witch, and the great-great-great-great-ad-infinitum descendent of witches going back at least 400 years. She was very matter-a-fact about it all, sniffing in disdain when Aziraphale asked if she made potions or protective amulets.

“Not at all. I’m a Practical Occultist. No sensible witch believes in superstitions like that.”

She explained that the power of magic relied on the gifts, discipline, and intentions of the practitioner. She also described various magical gifts her ancestors possessed. Supposedly, one of her foremothers was strongly gifted with prophecy. Another had the gift of erupting into dreadful hiccups whenever danger was nearby (a useful gift, but so very, very undignified).

If she hadn’t been so rational about it all, Aziraphale would have found it much harder to believe. But Anathema spoke of magic in the same way one would discuss learning how to cook an old family recipe or successfully purge a stubborn stain out of a carpet. It somehow seemed less far-fetched than “magic” Aziraphale had read about in books and imagined in daydreams. He found himself nodding along frequently, as Anathema nonchalantly described connections between the underlying rules of the natural world and the ways in which witches could channel or transform energy into an alternative direction.

It was fascinating; Aziraphale could have listened and questioned for hours and hours. Shortly, however, Anathema circled the conversation back to her own gift: reading auras. How animals generally had very simple auras, while human auras were extremely complex. And how Aurelius’ aura, even in his state of shock when brought to the animal hospital, was clearly human.

“Now then, let’s talk about Aurelius.” Anathema stood and retrieved a thick, leather-bound tome from one of the bookshelves. She placed it on the table between them. Gold embossing on the front cover titled it ‘Hexed Bestiary: Concerning All Known of Werewolf, Chimera, Gargoyle, Banshee, and Miscellaneous Other.’

Aziraphale’s fingers itched to hold it and he watched jealously as Anathema began to flip through the pages.

“I’ve never encountered a Minor Beast in the wild before, but I have been trained in recognizing them. My mother was positive that I was destined to be a Beast Hunter. But once I’d met a werewolf and actually talked to them, I couldn’t see myself going that route.”

“I’m sorry, a real werewolf?!”

“Hmm,” Anathema confirmed absently, all her focus on scanning and flipping through pages at a furious pace. “Ah! Here, look through this list of characteristics. I think you’ll agree there are several that fit Aurelius.”

Aziraphale reverently stepped forward and touched the handwritten pages, running a finger down the neatly printed bullet-points.

Accursed Atmosphere…Solitude…uncanny intelligence…Yes. He found himself nodding repeatedly as he read through the list.

“This is fascinating,” Aziraphale breathed, eyes still roving greedily over the text. “Could I, would you ever consider allowing me to borrow this? I would love to read it in its entirety.”

“Hm. Maybe. For now, let’s just focus on the task. I’ve already tested a few protective symbols against Aurelius, and he doesn’t seem to have a reaction to them. Can you identify how well the description of a Minor Hexed Beast fits your feathered friend, based on the characteristics listed?”

Aziraphale carefully considered the list of characteristics again, mentally sorting through the antiquated language and comparing the list to his interactions with the duck. It was comforting, amid so much strangeness, to allow his mind to fall into its normal, analytical pattern.

“Was…was Aurelius the source of that, wrong feeling?” Aziraphale hesitated, “Is that what you meant?” He did not want to ever experience the sickening lurch in his mind or the clammy, panicked flutter in his heart again.

“Yes and no. He possesses the ‘Accursed Atmosphere,’ which would make you fearful and uneasy around him. I think he was trying to repress that effect with a calming field. Which would mean he also posesses ‘Supranormal Potency.’ Anyway, whenever you were in close proximity – talking to him, petting him, anything like that - it reinforced a sort of soothing haze. When you weren’t touching him or looking at him, the calming field shrank, and your subconscious tried to warn you that there was a cursed being nearby. The “wrongness” you describe was probably the result. A combination of the two effects pulling at your feelings and instincts in contradictory ways. When he suddenly stopped providing the calming field at my office, well. A sudden flood of long-repressed fears isn’t something human minds usually deal with comfortably.”

“I see.” Aziraphale considered that for a moment. He was used to fighting his instincts, distrusting them. He loved stroking and petting Aurelius. It did calm him. Quite a lot. He could understand why the double punch of removing that calm and adding to his ever-present anxiety would hit him so strongly. A combination result, indeed.

“To be frank, I have PTSD and anxiety disorder – from before I ever met Aurelius, I mean. Could that increase the…unpleasant effects of his ability?”  

“Yes.” Anathema looked thoughtfully at him, waiting patiently while he thought for several minutes.

“Just to clarify, was Aurelius capable of doing me real harm, if he wished?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely. I don’t think he intended or expected it to be so powerful – he was very distressed when you lost consciousness. Biting at me, screaming and hissing – took me forever to convince him I was only trying to help. He’s not very trusting.”

He trusted me. He even climbed into a suitcase. Aziraphale almost said. But he kept the warm thought huddled against his chest. Perhaps Aurelius had simply been more desperate for help than he was now.

Aziraphale returned his attention to the book, scanning again through the list.

“Yes, I can see that Aurelius matches quite well with many things on this list. I haven’t seen any unusual items around him at any point – certainly didn’t bring any home with me. So, I think we’re safe from cursed artifacts at least.  He was also solitary when I first encountered him at the duck pond. Approached me quite aggressively at first, but then I think he decided I was rather harmless. I watched him for at least a couple of hours before any other ducks arrived and he…he was completely alone. Even when the other ducks arrived and he was trying to drive them off - keep them away from Gabriel and I, from the guns, you know – they didn’t seem to pay attention to him at all. Even after Gabriel started firing.”

Anathema had started taking notes at some point, he realized. She waved a hand at him to encourage him to continue, so he did.

“Malevolence…I…I don’t think he was ever unkind. Oh, a little wicked now and then, but in a playful way.” Aziraphale smiled a little, “He does silly little things to make me laugh. We bicker, but he…”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, blinking back a sudden, embarrassing moisture. “I…I rather felt like we were friends, really.”

From the basket, forgotten in the middle of the room, a sad “hissssssss” whispered.

Anathema allowed him a beat to compose himself, then moved the conversation forward again relentlessly.

“I haven’t found any magical symbols on him. I’m sure he has demonstrated several unusual behaviors, so I’d like to know about some of those, please.”

“Oh. Certainly. Although – the magical marking – it does say luminous colors? His feathers sometimes have a lovely greenish shine to them. They’re still black, but…with a, a gleam to them. I don’t know if that would count.”

Anathema wrote it down, then waved for him to resume.

“Peculiar behaviors. Right. Um, I’m quite certain that he can read, and once he tapped on a word along a book spine until I understood that he wanted me to do the action the word gave. He loves watching television, and he reacts just like a person would – laughs at jokes, sighs at romantic gestures. Oh! And he loves documentaries about space and astronomy. He…danced once, for me. He - ”

“Wait.” Anathema held up a hand, writing furiously. After a moment, she finished and then looked up at Aziraphale. “He danced for you? What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, well, he’d been trying to get my attention. We generally watch television together in the evenings for a little while, but since it was a weekend, we’d... well we’d planned, that is, I’d hoped…I had told Aurelius we could spend the entire day together just relaxing. But I’d…unexpectedly, you know…I’d been assigned a lot of paperwork to complete for Monday. So, I couldn’t spend the day with him the way I’d promised. And he wasn’t happy, kept trying to wreck my concentration. So he danced, which finally distracted me enough that we arranged a compromise. I turned on one of his space documentaries for him to watch until I’d finished my work for the day and then…we…we watched a movie and had dinner.”

Anathema’s eyes grew continuously wider until Aziraphale rambled to a slow stop.

“Well,” she said. “Just. Give me a moment to think about this. That’s…that is not what I expected you to say.”

Aziraphale waited, shoulders tight with hesitation. What had he said? Aurelius’ behavior was peculiar for a duck, it clearly met the characteristics the text forewarned. After a moment, Anathema nodded her head slowly, face carefully flat. She wrote something methodically in her notebook, just barely out of sight under the table’s edge. Aziraphale would really like to read those notes.

Anathema finally broke the uncomfortable tension. “What have your friends thought about your sudden withdrawal from society? It sounds like you’ve been spending every spare moment with the Beast since his arrival.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t... I’m rather a hermit. I prefer a nice evening with a book or movie to actual company.”

“You must have some friends?”

“Lots of acquaintances, certainly. Nobody I speak to on a regular basis, but I try to be friendly whenever I can.”

“Hmm. I see. Well, everything you said definitely falls into the category of peculiar behavior. I’m just not sure what his motives were. Generally speaking, a Hexed Beast has a reason for everything. But I guess it could be as simple as making sure you liked him enough to keep giving him shelter and food.”

Anathema leaned over her notebook, glance shifting between it and the Bestiary beside it. “I think that’s enough for me to start narrowing down which category he may be in, and how to get rid of him safely.”

“Get rid of him?!” Aziraphale gasped.

“Not to hurt him, just to get him back to wherever he came from. It’s never safe to keep a Hexed Beast around, Aziraphale! Even though he doesn’t seem malevolent, the fact is he’s cursed. And curses have a nasty tendency to cause harm to everyone in the vicinity, whether intentional or not. He’s doing well enough now that we could let him back into the wild.”

“But his injuries?” Aziraphale asked, heart skittering just a little faster, “He’s still going to need at least two more weeks for it to properly heal, and then you said he’d need gradual exercises and –“

“It will be fine.” Anathema stated firmly. “I’ll remove the splint before we release him and let his wing finish healing on its own. It won’t be perfect, but it will be functional. He’ll be alright. Predators avoid him anyway, so he just needs time.”

Aziraphale’s bewildered heart sank and rose at the same time. Things could go back to normal! But…Aurelius would be gone. Aurelius hadn’t really liked him, was using him.

You were using him too, his treacherous mind whispered. Be honest, you knew something was wrong, but you liked it too much to face it. Pathetic, useless coward.

It was true, wasn’t it? Normal, for him, was not very pleasant. It was stressful and lonely. He hated how poorly he fit into his own life. Aurelius had been a bright spot in each day, cranky and demanding moods not-withstanding. And Aziraphale had seized the opportunity to have a companion. He had been a very willing participant in repressing his instincts. Had known that something was different about this particular duck, but chosen to ignore it in favor of the unprecedented access to some small happiness.

“Anathema, just to clarify something, how powerful is Aurelius? I’m just curious if he was unable to fully repress my anxieties or if he was choosing not to do so. Because I…I certainly still felt anxious and discomfort daily.”

“Hmm. Difficult to say for certain but…based on the minimal symptoms you’ve experienced after the charm’s withdrawal I’d say it was a very light allure. The power in his aura suggests he’s capable of a much stronger one. But that would have probably caused lasting damage to your mind, not a fainting spell and light headache.”

He could have destroyed me, then. Why didn’t he? Maybe Anathema was mistaken, and Aurelius simply hadn’t had enough magical power to cause him actual injury. What was it she had said when he first woke? Aziraphale could feel nausea mounting again, the thoughts were becoming too wild and strong to hold steady. He lied to me. Lied to me. He lies. Each of his breaths felt loaded with a swelling dread, hurt and betrayal causing his eyes to blur and prickle. No. He didn’t lie. Just…not a friend. Not a duck. Not a friend. Not a… He hated this! He hated that he was like this, the way it kept him walled away from the rest of the world. The way he couldn’t trust even himself.

Breathe in. 1. 2. 3. Breathe out. 1. 2. 3. Breathe in…

“He’s been an absolute demon the entire time you’ve been asleep! I think he’s worried about you.”

And out of the confusing whirl of thoughts and feelings, one core certainty crept forward.

Aziraphale wanted to see Aurelius.

“I need to speak with him!” It burst off his tongue much louder than he’d intended in the silent room.

Anathema startled, nodded her head, then shook it just as quickly. “That could be a bad idea. He is Hexed, and should be treated with caution, not trust. Are you sure?”

“You would be able to recognize it if he tried to use his … his allure… on either of us, correct? And…now that I know what that wrong feeling was, wouldn’t I also be able to recognize the change? The influence? If he could have seriously harmed or manipulated me all this time and didn’t, surely that’s worth something. I want to talk to him.”

Anathema stared wordless at him for several eternal breaths.

“I. I - I’m afraid I must insist.”

Aziraphale tugged his waistcoat down and straightened his back, hoping his declaration came out sounding more confident than his quivering hands indicated.

Finally, Anathema sighed and nodded. “Ok, as you wish. Give me a few minutes to get things ready. But if you pass out again, I’m not giving up any more of my special tea! It’s stupidly expensive.”

****

Anathema had retrieved a wooden board from somewhere - Aziraphale was too much in his own thoughts to pay attention - and positioned it on the floor near the basket containing Aurelius. The board was carved with a set of the uppercase alphabet and the words “Yes” and “No” on opposite sides. She double checked the doors and window latches, then snatched a heavy, iron poker from a corner before returning to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was settled on the floor now, near the basket but not touching. Anathema had insisted that he not touch the duck at all. When Anathema opened the basket lid and pulled Aurelius out, he somehow seemed even larger than Aziraphale remembered – almost as large as a swan! Had he always been so gigantic?

Aurelius allowed Anathema to handle him quietly, though he kept his gaze downward, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. Anathema placed him on the floor, then stepped carefully back and stood guard behind Aziraphale, casually holding the poker as if that were a normal thing to do.

I suppose it is a normal thing to do, if one is used to dealing with magical, dangerous animals.

“Alright, Beast. I assume you’ve been listening from inside the basket and are up to speed? You may use the spelling board to answer any questions Aziraphale has for you.”

The duck sighed a little hiss, then looked up at Anathema and nodded. Aziraphale’s breath caught at the tiny, deliberate movement.

Not a duck. Right.                                  

“Aziraphale,” Anathema continued, “I will let you know if I detect any effort from Aurelius to influence you. Please keep me informed if you notice anything, too.”

Aziraphale nodded and let out a shaky breath.

He had bonded so quickly to Aurelius, felt so close, so…friendly. The interactions with the duck had brought him more happiness and peace than he could ever remember feeling. A friendship that had been happy to the tongue, but now sour in his stomach.

Of course, he needed someone to save his life. I was convenient. Can I really blame him for that?

Aziraphale was silent too long, not sure what he wanted to say. Anathema was watching him steadily, but Aurelius was still avoiding his gaze.

“Aurelius,” Anathema spoke suddenly, “would you like to say anything to him first?”

“hhissss” Aurelius delicately pecked at the communication board.

H. I.

“Um, hello, Aurelius. I’m, erm, I’m glad to see you unharmed.” Aurelius finally looked at Aziraphale, staring into his eyes in surprise. And then he suddenly shook all over, feathers twitching restlessly as he keened a brief, high-pitched noise before angrily pecking at the alphabet again.

S. O. R. Y.

Aurelius head went down again for a moment, then his eyes met Aziraphale’s again. Steady. Serious.

S. O. R. Y.

“You are…sorry?”

Silence. Stillness. Steady yellow gaze.

“I see. Well. Thank you, I think.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. It felt easier to breathe now, knowing that Aurelius was here. He glanced back at Anathema, questioningly, but she shook her head. So then, no influence. Aziraphale couldn’t stop the rush of relief he felt. He had been afraid that it was all deceit, that he had no real fondness for Aurelius and the duck had manufactured every last morsel of their interactions. It was good to realize that not all of his instincts were wrong.

“Aurelius, were you aware that you were using a…a magical effect on me?”

YES

“Ah. And do you…that is, are you planning to attempt such a thing again?”

“HisssSSSSSssssss”  NO

“I would have let you stay, you know,” Aziraphale said sadly. “I would have taken care of you, just because you were hurt. You didn’t need to pretend or…or to simulate feelings in me. You didn’t need to trick me into it.”

“NNNNNnnnnnnnKKKKKKnn.” Aurelius’ keened another strange, high-pitched noise. Longer this time, his lovely amber eyes closed.

Aziraphale could feel Aurelius’ regret. He started to reach out, to touch – then yanked his hand back with a gasp.

“Anathema, is he…is he doing anything?”

Anathema stepped a little closer, poker raised protectively, and examined Aurelius sternly through her lenses. After a moment’s scrutiny, she shook her head and relaxed her pose, stepping back.

“Nope. Just sitting there.”

“Do…you feel anything from him? Because I can still feel him. Right now. It doesn’t feel wrong, it’s…I just can sense how he’s berating himself about the whole thing.”

Anathema examined him with the same scrutiny she’d bestowed on the Beast. Then, again, she shook her head. “I don’t see or sense anything unusual. I can see your fondness for Aurelius. But that’s all.”

Aziraphale looked forward, noticing that Aurelius was angled away again, his eyes still closed.

“Aurelius, I…I don’t believe that all the emotions I felt towards you were false. Merely that you, erm, enhanced them. However, I can’t pretend that knowing you did that doesn’t, well it hurts. It hurts that I believed you were my friend.”

“Nnngggquack hisssssssSSSSssss,” Aurelius somehow tucked even further away for a moment, then suddenly jerked his neck around and looked resolutely at Aziraphale’s shoes. “hiisss”

Aurelius slowly stepped closer, golden gaze fixed on the ground, then laid his head next to Aziraphale’s foot. Not touching him. Not forcing eye contact this time, either. Just present and nearby.

An offer. Aziraphale’s hand lurched toward Aurelius’ head for a instant before he firmly placed it back in his lap.

“I would like that, too, dear boy. But, how can I be sure I can trust you? What about the curse and the, the, malevolent-ness or what have you?”

Aurelius opened one eye with a soft, sincere quack, looking up into Aziraphale’s face again. “nnngggg. Nghquack.”

“And…I should apologize to you as well. I’m sorry, for, erm,” Aziraphale sighed heavily. “I’m sorry for using you as an…an emotional support. Like a crutch, or an object. You aren’t, you’re a person. I should have considered your feelings. I didn’t understand the entire situation, of course, but still. I promise to be more considerate in the future.”

Aurelius had lifted his head and opened both eyes wide during Aziraphale’s apology. He seemed touched, and a little confused. “Hisssnnnnnggg. quack.”

Aziraphale could still feel the regret, now layered with promise.

“I understand. I’m not expecting a quick fix, but…I don’t want to lose our friendship, Aurelius. I’ve – I’ve valued it too much. More than anything, really.”

Aurelius did a small step sideways and turned a circle, plunging his head almost gracefully in a dip. He hissed again and then lay back at Aziraphale’s foot. Still not touching him.

An apology dance?

An offer.

“I…suppose that’s a start. It will take time, you know, to rebuild that trust. And I will have your word that you won’t try to influence me again, ever.”

“NQAAUCK.”

“Very well. Apology accepted.” And Aziraphale reached forward, stroking Aurelius’ neck and head as the duck instantly arched up into his palm, hissing happily.

It was several moments of contented pets before they heard Anathema’s voice crack in a shocked yelp.

“WHAT the actual FUCK?!”

Chapter Text

An Excerpt from ‘Hexed Bestiary: Concerning All Known of Werewolf, Chimera, Gargoyle, Banshee, and Miscellaneous Others.’

Author: A. Nutter, with addendums and additions contributed as discovered necessary by her Descendants.

Editor: Gabriella Device, Professional Descendent. 

Edition the 4^th, 1887, Pg. 211

 

The unraveling of curses placed upon Hexed Beasts is a captivating subject. In lore and tales, there are often intricate avenues of redemption, culminating with a happy end and the formerly piteous soul returned to human form. It is truly unfortunate that reality mirrors these enchanting stories only rarely. It is of paramount importance that I urge the careful Descendent to withstand all temptations of ‘curse-cracking.’

Many perils accompany endeavors to break the curses afflicting Hexed Beasts. Beyond just the physical trials faced, many would-be saviors suffer profound psychological and emotional tribulations. Upon the Beast, the toll of repeated failure can cast a pall of despair and heighten malefic conduct. Repeated unsuccessful attempts may also inadvertently exacerbate the curse, rendering it yet more entrenched and difficult to remove.

Even in the extremely rare instances of success*, the path to redemption is seldom straightforward and the former Beast and their Savior often suffer permanent disfigurement or mental illness. The pages of history are replete with those who, despite their fervent efforts, remain wholly ensnared by the enigmatic web of hexes. Successful or (more likely) failed, all attempts at ‘curse-cracking’ are a sobering reminder of the inescapable nature of such magical afflictions.

*See Appendix A for further information and case studies.

***

“Idiocy!” Another book slammed onto the table. Another furious flipping of pages, growling of frantic invectives. “Unbelievable!” Not finding what she wanted, Anathema yanked yet another book down, slammed it open, and ravaged it. “You two are bound. You’ve just voluntarily bound yourself to a Hexed Beast, Aziraphale! That’s…that’s idiocy! Lunacy! Why?! How did you even manage such a stupid, stupid thing?”

“I’m…I don’t know what that means.” Aziraphale whispered from his frozen position on the edge of the bed. Aurelius was pressed close to his thigh, almost in his lap, hissing in scorn, fear, and victory by turns. The swift changes in the duck’s mercurial mood were more potent than ever, and it was frankly dizzying to keep up.

Aziraphale could see that Anathema was genuinely shocked by how he and Aurelius interacted. Should he be concerned about that? Perhaps he should be. After all, she was the expert, and she had warned him several times about the dangers of fraternizing with a Hexed Beast. But it was also clear that she’d never encountered anything like the two of them before, was searching desperately for some kind of answer in her numerous tomes and manuscripts.

“It means that there’s no getting rid of him now. You two knuckleheads have forged a Hexed Bond. Your spirits and fate are now interwoven. You’ve agreed to share a magical connection. Even if I tried to channel your energies apart, it’s not possible anymore. You’re stuck! For life. Everything, everything he does now will directly affect you – and there’s no way to shape whether it will be good things or awful.”

It took many more explanations, curses and beratements, but after quite some time Anathema finally seemed to regain her normal cold equilibrium.  “Well. There’s nothing I can do now. On your own head be it. It’s a terrible idea to keep a Hexed Beast around, but I obviously can’t reverse it. I suppose my work here is done.”

“Oh, but no! Of course it isn’t! We must determine if Aurelius’ curse can be broken, surely?” Aziraphale pleaded. “Won’t you please assist us? As a … a matter of professional interest? Surely, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, even for a Professional Descendent.”

Anathema glared at him repressively “It’s extremely unlikely that the curse can be broken, Aziraphale. There are only a few verified cases of a Hexed Beast being freed in any way other than death a handful of times over hundreds of years. You understand that, right?”

“I, I do. But you know, the records may be incomplete. They often are when dealing with anecdotal or…or controversial…topics over long time periods. Witchcraft, you know, many records were, were destroyed or lost – ”

“YES. I’m very well aware that many of my family records and my family members have been sought out and destroyed by bigots and terrorists. Thank you VERY MUCH for feeling the need to correct me about magical history. ME! I’ve been studying Agnes’ prophecies and learning all the practical applications of magic from childhood, when you just a few hours ago thought it was fairy stories. How could I not defer to your very superior opinion?”

Aziraphale inhaled, offended for a moment by her tone, but then deflated just as quickly. She was right, after all. He may have a love of research, but that didn’t mean that he knew more than a woman who’d both been raised in Magic and studied it as an adult. It was her history, her birthright. It was right to listen to her, to learn from her. And besides that, it was extremely ungrateful to nitpick the tone of someone he desperately hoped could help them.

“I apologize. You’re absolutely right. I…it’s just I supposed I rather was hoping there might be a chance.” Aziraphale sighed, looking down at Aurelius with a quivering lip.

Anathema’s glare softened a little, though she still frowned at him. “There is a small chance. But it really is extremely unlikely. The most likely thing that could happen is you’ll be bound to the Hexed Beast until he – intentionally or unintentionally – ruins your life. Or one of you dies.”

“I appreciate the warning and understand the risk. But I can’t just…I can’t just let him live as a duck the rest of his life without even trying! Please, isn’t there anything you can do?” Aziraphale’s eyes implored her, his hands knuckled so tightly in his lap that they were starting to go numb. And somehow, with gentle, persistent pleading, he gained Anathema’s reluctant agreement.

“We’ll need more details from Aurelius in order to narrow the list down further,” Anathema grumbled. “I’ll set get my notebook. Just for the record, I’m completely against this.”

“Noted. And just for the record…thank you.” Aziraphale smiled gently at her, and Aurelius surprised them both with an echoing hiss of agreement.

****

Anathema was reshelving her books when Aziraphale suddenly thought of a very important question. “Aurelius, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think to ask before. What is your real name?”

“HHHIiiiiSSsssssssSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssssssssss” Aurelius sharply pecked NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

“PEACE, Beast! He didn’t know,” Anathema yelled, interrupting the cacophony. “Aziraphale, a magical creature never reveals their true name. It gives others power over them and can be used to compel them into all sorts of things against their will – even to the point of self-mutilation and death. Do not ask him that again.”

“Oh, heavens! I’m terribly sorry, my - I, I had no idea. Of course, I’ll never ask that of you. I promise. Please, my - Aurelius, forgive me.”

“Nguaack” YES

“Thank you. Is…is it alright to continue calling you Aurelius? Or is there another name you would prefer?”

F.I.N.E.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale sighed. “This has all been so strange. Why were you even at that duck pond?”

W.A.T.R.  M.O.N

“I’m sorry - water? mon? I –”

“NGQUACK!” Aurelius pecked waspishly at the alphabet some more.

M. O. O.N.

“Oh! Oh, the moon, I see. Sorry. Um, we were there during the day though? I distinctly remember being awoken at an unspeakable hour and missing breakfast and lunch on the occasion.”

“HissSSSSsss” W. A. T. R.   M.O.O.N.   M. A. N.

Aziraphale groaned in frustration. Waiting for Aurelius to carefully peck out single letters was excruciating, especially since the answers didn’t make sense. “Anathema, this is torturous. Isn’t there any better way to communicate?”

“Oh, now you want my help again? I thought you’d decided to do an entire interrogation yourself,” Anathema deadpanned. But she seemed to take pity on him as he flushed in embarrassment. “Why don’t you just let me get some of the basics, ok?” Without waiting for a response, Anathema began to barrage Aurelius with brutal efficiency.

“Do you change back into a man during the full moon?”

YES NO YES

“Do you change back into a man?”

YES

“When?”

N. I. T. E.

“And what are the conditions of changing back?”

M.O. O. N. W.A. T.E. R.

“What kind of moon?”

A. N. Y.

“Hmm…and what kind of water?”

S. T. I. L. L.

“Ok, then, let me just –” Anathema had been making rapid notes in her little book. “Do you have to be in the water to transform?”

YES

Anathema continued in the same vein for about 20 minutes, coming up with and reshaping questions faster than Aziraphale could even process the answers. At the end of that short time, she’d parsed out a great number of details. Any still water on any night with any moon would do for Aurelius to transform back into a man temporarily. He was uncertain how long his curse had been in effect, but at least several years. Maybe even over a decade. Unfortunately, he also didn’t know who’d cursed him, or why, or how to break it.

They had been able to siphon out enough details that Anathema was busily riffling through her books and noting down potentially matching categories in an attempt narrow down the dozens of different origins of Hexed Beasts (and the most likely means to break the curse) into those that fit the characteristics Aurelius displayed and remembered.

There were five or six main contenders, and Anathema explained them all to Aziraphale as she went. Aziraphale found it fascinating to watch her work. Equally fascinating to realize that he was now, utterly and completely, a believer in witches and magic spells. So much so, that he itched to pick up the magical textbooks and burrow into them for hours. Was it possible to learn to be a witch, at his middle age? A thought best left for another time, surely.

“How do we find out which is correct?” Aziraphale asked, eventually.

“I think we have enough to go on for now,” Anathema said with a satisfied smile. “We’ve done a lot in just a few hours. I’ll reach out to my mentor, hopefully she’ll be able to offer further guidance. In the meantime, let’s all get some rest.”

Aziraphale sighed in relief, heaving himself off the edge of the narrow bed and stretching his back and neck until they cracked deliciously.

“That sounds like a wonderful plan, Dr. Device. You’ll notify us once you hear something, then? Aurelius, shall we get on home? It’s rather late and, I must admit, has been a very trying day indeed.”

Anathema’s eyebrows shot up over her spectacles before she carefully said, “You’re planning to take Aurelius back home with you? He can stay here in the workshop. It’s probably safer that way, even if you are still…bonded.”

“Oh, I, well, I - ” Aziraphale stuttered, “I assumed…” He turned to Aurelius contritely. “I should have asked instead of assuming, my dear fellow. Would you like to come back to mine? Of course, I understand if you’d rather not. But…you’re welcome to stay.”

“NggsssQUAK.” Aurelius smirked wickedly at Anathema, a deliberate swagger in his step as he waddled over to Aziraphale’s side.

Anathema snorted, “Ego. Massive, massive ego.”

****

Anathema’s fiancé, Newton, was an agreeable, awkward sort of fellow who had meekly arrived, picked them up, and delivered them home without question once summoned. Aziraphale appreciated the quiet, inconsequential chat about weather and computers (of which he knew almost nothing) during the drive. It gave him a chance to believe that this was fine – that his daily life could blend with this new, magical knowledge somehow. If a stolidly average man like Newton could do it, surely he could as well.

Once home, he had clumsily asked Aurelius where he’d prefer to sleep (no longer comfortable shutting his friend up in the bathroom at night). The duck-man had chosen Aziraphale’s reading chair and quacked a quiet thanks after being lifted to the cushion.

“Good night, dear boy,” Aziraphale whispered, gently stroking the feathered head as Aurelius nuzzled against his hand. “Sleep well.”

“Nghkk.”

Aziraphale usually avoided sleeping as much as he possibly could. But he had no bad dreams that night. No wrongness. And no enigmatic whispers of warning in his spirit.

It was the best sleep he’d had in ages.

****

In the morning, a panicked self-consciousness enveloped him. It had been easier when he could pretend that Aurelius was a pet. He could stroke him, whisper little sweet endearments, tease him…and now that felt extremely embarrassing and inappropriate with the knowledge Aurelius had been human on the inside all along. Aziraphale lingered in his bed, fretting over every interaction, much longer than his usual rising hour.

It's not going to be any better from hiding from him. You invited him to stay with you. He is a guest. Get up and go make breakfast like a civilized host. Oh, dear…

Eventually, he managed to force himself up, dressed mechanically, and yanked the bedroom door open before he could reconsider.

Aurelius was waiting in the living room, sitting quietly. Their eyes met, and both glanced away immediately.

Well, at least he’s feeling the awkwardness too.

“Um…good morning, my – ahem – Aurelius. Good morning.”

“Hissss”

“Yes, I slept quite well, I think. Yourself?”

Aurelius kept his gaze averted but fluffed his neck and back feathers in a small wriggle, “NGk hisss.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” They both stood uneasily for another moment, carefully examining their feet.

“Tonight…um, that is. I was looking into ponds and lakes nearby. There’s a national park about 20 minutes from here that we could visit tonight. If you’d like. The moon is still half full.”

A rush of something slammed against him, and Aurelius stared at him in shock before hissing a dazed acceptance. Aziraphale smiled, timidly. He was nervous. Why? He rushed onward - “Um…breakfast? Would you like any pancakes?”

“NgQAUCK” Aurelius sniffed in disdain and made a gagging motion with his beak.

“Here now! I admit I do have a fondness for sweets. But I’ll thank you to mind your manners if you want me to cook for you anymore, thank you very much!”

They both laughed, Aurelius hissing a conciliatory apology. And the rest of the day passed easily enough with shared meals, light bickering, and Aurelius watching television while Aziraphale read on the couch.

****

Aziraphale had no experience with what a person might want if they had been trapped in a duck’s shape for years during their brief transformation time. But he knew what he might want in such a situation – a large tin of biscuits and a thermos of hot tea. The nights were damp and chilly at this time of year, so he also brought a couple of large, fluffy tartan blankets. And now, he and Aurelius were sitting on an aged bench, waiting for the sun to set, and hoping that the lonely park would soon be free of other patrons.

They lounged companionably, Aziraphale reading aloud from his most recent acquisition. It was a slim, comedic collection of memoirs by an Iranian immigrant. There was a particularly delightful tale about her uncle’s obsession with bizarre American exercise gadgets which made Aurelius gurgle and hiss with laughter. The time passed very pleasantly. And eventually the sky grew too dark to read comfortably and the single lamppost flickered awake.

Aziraphale and Aurelius waited in growing tension as patrons slowly trickled off the grounds. Finally, the last visitor besides themselves packed up his fishing gear and grumbled away up the path. A little longer until the night grew solid and quiet.

Then, at last, the odd pair walked together to a muddy bank. The half-moon reflected coldly on still water.

Aurelius hesitated at the edge, looking up at Aziraphale with worry. “NgQquak?”

“I…it’s alright. I’m not afraid of you, I just…I’m just worried about, well the entire situation, I suppose. It’s untraveled ground, isn’t it?”

“hisssssss.” Aurelius briefly stroked his neck along Aziraphale’s calf in comfort, then waddled forward and paddled off into the middle of the pond. A heavy fog seemed to bubble out of the water around and beneath him, swallowing him up, roiling upward into the sky then outward to the banks, obscuring all sight.

Aziraphale held his breath, eyes straining for a glimpse of Aurelius. Was he doing the right thing? Was Aurelius-the-human going to be a good person? Or had he been tricked again and was now in an even worse position than before? Not just host to a Hexed Beast, but bonded? He couldn’t stop wringing his hands, shoulder blades so tightly pressed together they ached.

After a moment of eternity, a tall shadow moved out of the water towards him.

Why didn’t I bring a torch?

“Ah-” the voice cracked with rust and coughed heavily before trying again. “Aziraphale?”

Breathe. Just Breathe. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine.

“I’m…I’m here! I’m just…I’m right here.”

The figure stepped out of the water and the fog revealing a tall, angular man. His face, what wasn’t swallowed in shadow, was obscured with an unkempt beard. He was extremely skinny, and his hair was long and dark. But the eyes…his eyes were almost identical. Too bright, too yellow to be human. The same beautiful gold and staring with the same silent, steady gaze Aurelius always used when communicating something important.

Oh! There you are.                                                    

Aziraphale reached out a hand toward the man.                             

An offer.

And Aurelius grasped it tightly.

****

They walked back to the bench in silence. Aziraphale couldn’t stop shooting stunned glances at the man, who in turn couldn’t seem to bear looking at him at all.

They sat in silence.

In silence, Aziraphale offered the thermos.

In silence, it was accepted.

In silence, Aziraphale held out the biscuit tin.

“Arrggm, No. No, thank you.” His voice was still cracked with disuse, but Aurelius smiled a little nervously as he spoke.

“Oh, are you certain? They’re really very good. Can I tempt you to try just one?” Aziraphale shook the tin encouragingly.

“Nghg, not really my thing. Sweets. Your thing. You go ahead.”

Aziraphale was a little taken aback, but smiled gently and nibbled a biscuit.

The awkward silence returned. Aurelius was broodily looking across the moonlit water and Aziraphale couldn’t help but linger over the man’s wild appearance. His hair, though messy and tangled, was revealed to be a lovely dark auburn in the lamplight. His clothing looked as if it had once been a high-quality suit but was now thin with age and possessing several holes and rips. Bare feet and ankles poked below the ragged hemline of his trousers.

He's been wearing the same clothing for years, I suppose.

“See something you like?” Aurelius drawled, suddenly fixing Aziraphale with a glare. Aziraphale blushed with shame – surely, he knew better than to stare? He must have made Aurelius very uncomfortable. Aurelius was now examining him frankly in reciprocation, and Aziraphale felt oddly distressed. He knew he presented a rather unusual sense of style. He hoped Aurelius didn’t think him too frumpy.

As if that matters. What an idea.

“Hmmmm,” Aurelius didn’t smile, but the glare had softened into a mocking sneer. “You look the same. A little shorter than I thought.”

“Well, I’m afraid I had no idea what I thought you might look like.”

“Yeah? None at all?”

“Well, I did think you might be rather more…transcendental. I’m afraid you’re just…ordinary.”

“Hsss, ordinary. Righ-t. Just for that, I’m not sharing any of the tea with you!”

And their sudden, shared laughter chased away the awkward silences.

Aurelius smirked at him. “Though…if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, perhaps tomorrow night you could bring a razor and a brush? I’m ‘fraid to even face my sad, ordinary, reflection.”

“Of course, that wouldn’t be any trouble at all! Or, why don’t we head back to the flat and –”

“I’ll be a duck again by then. Only get about 30 minutes this time of month” Aurelius seemed to be attempting to speak lightly, but Aziraphale could feel the flicker of bitterness and pain that accompanied the words.

“Oh, that’s. No, that’s not even long enough for the drive, is it? I suppose…I suppose you turn back into a duck whether you’re on the water or not, don’t you?”

“Ah, yep. Tried that in early days – staying out of the water, hidin’ from the moon, anything I could think of, really. Tried it all, multiple times just in case I’d been stupid the first few. Hurts more if I’m not on the water when I switch back so…learned pretty quick to just stick close to a pond.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed out in dismay, “that sounds…unpleasant.”

“Nggh, yeah. It is. But you sorta get used to it, eventually. The longest I get as myself is around an hour on the nights with the full moons. The less moon, the less time I get. No moon, no man.” Aurelius sprawled on the bench, waving a hand carelessly at the sky.

“I see. Well…tomorrow a shave and…perhaps we can find a location close enough for a spot of dinner?” Aziraphale said, striving to match the nonchalant affect Aurelius was clearly attempting.

They spent the time they had left sharing the blankets and chatting about Aziraphale’s schedule for the coming work week, movies Aurelius would like to watch during his hours alone, and how they might set up a better communication system at the flat. It was decided that they’d continue using the alphabet board for now, but Aziraphale had an idea for creating a larger “word board” eventually. Finally, silence fell around them again as Aurelius’ time as a man rapidly slipped away.

When Aurelius rose from the bench and held out his hand, Aziraphale took it and walked with him back to the water’s edge sadly.

“Crowley.” Aurelius whispered suddenly, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand tightly. Aziraphale looked at him, startled but caught in the golden eyes.

“My real name. It’s Crowley. Just, justdonttellthewitchplease.”

With a rush, the tall man flung himself in the water, the fog performed its strange boil…and a black duck waddled back up the bank a moment later to shuffle nervously beside Aziraphale’s leg.

Be not afraid, my dear. Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from smiling fondly and reaching out, tentatively. The duck hissed a little in relief, pressing up against his palm.

“Hello, Crowley. I’m very, very glad to make your acquaintance.”

Chapter Text

The duck, Crowley, really was no different from the duck Aurelius. Well, obviously, they were the same duck. Not duck. Man? Oh, dear.

The trouble was, Aziraphale could cuddle Aurelius. Could hold him, stroke his feathers, speak every little bit of nonsense on his mind…and now, with Crowley, he just couldn’t. It felt awkward and wrong, too intimate a thing to share with a stranger. He was touched by the trust Crowley had shown in giving his true name. But that only increased the pressure he felt.

What, exactly, was their relationship? What, exactly, did their Hexed Bond entail? He’d felt the offer of friendship, had accepted it, had offered his own in turn…

And while he didn’t regret it, he couldn’t help fretting over the finality of forever. It was all going too fast for him. The only solution, the only practical thing to do, was to maintain a sensible distance. No feathery snuggles, no little endearments, and, for heaven’s sake, no reaching out to stroke Crowley’s head to anchor his own anxious, pattering heart during one of his episodes.

This was the resolution Aziraphale settled with himself the morning After, safely ensconced in his bed. After a final sigh (of relief or disappointment, he wasn’t sure), he ventured out to face the day – and the duck. Crowley quacked a happy greeting from the office, where he was presumably still nestled in the chair cushion, but Aziraphale ignored it for now.

He quietly rushed through making breakfast for himself and Crowley, setting Crowley’s down on a small stool he’d gotten into the habit of using as a makeshift table for his ducky fr…companion. Crowley soon waddled out of the office sleepily and quacked another greeting.  “Um, yes. Good morning,” Aziraphale responded hesitantly.

Something in his voice (or maybe their bond) made Crowley’s eyes narrow.

“HissSS?” Crowley took a few steps towards him, but Aziraphale bolted the last remains of his breakfast and raced out the door, throwing a hasty excuse about being late for a meeting over his shoulder as the door slammed shut.

****

Aziraphale’s heart sank as he watched Gabriel’s tall, smiling form enter the office, chatting amiably with Michael. The two of them glanced toward him for a second, before Michael marched away to her own desk. Gabriel grinned and swooped towards Aziraphale.

Not good. Brace for impact, old chap.

"Sunshine! Just the man I wanted. Here ya’ go, I’ve got some requisitions that need done A.S.A.P.” Gabriel dropped three sheets of paper on the desk, still chortling a little.

“Ah, certainly I’d be happy to help.” Aziraphale picked up the papers and realized they were little more than a supplier address and a rather high dollar amount. “Um, do you have the documentation for these? Item numbers, quantity, individual co-”

“Why do you always complicate such easy tasks?” Gabriel interrupted coldly, his voice loud enough for the entire office to eavesdrop. “I’ve already arranged those details with the company, I just need you to process the requisition amount and get it sent over.”

As Aziraphale stammered an apology, the tirade continued. "I don't understand why I have to explain everything to you like you're a child! It's a miracle we get anything done with you around."

Aziraphale’s eyes blurred, and he pressed his shaky hands against the desk to steady them. “I’m, I’m terribly sorry, Gabriel. I’ll put these in right away.”

The only response was a condescending chuckle as Gabriel strode back out the door. The silence in the office only lasted a heartbeat before the titters began, and Aziraphale escaped gratefully to the bathroom before the tears could begin in earnest.

In a small act of rebellion, he spent the rest of the workday researching non-verbal communication techniques and looking up local ponds and parks. He really wanted to locate something closer to the flat so he and Crowley could go home if they wanted. At the very least, he needed to find something with a real bathroom so Crowley could shave properly the way he’d requested. After searching as many variations of “ponds near me,” “lakes near me,” “parks near me with pond,” as he could think of, Aziraphale finally chose a park that was about 15 minutes from the flat. Further than he’d like, but according to the facilities listed online, it did have a 24/7 bathroom available. It would do.

Now, for the more difficult project. Aziraphale happily submerged himself into researching communication options. It was all very well that he could usually get some indication of Crowley’s feelings and intentions, but that wasn’t the same as knowing exactly what Crowley wanted to say. Sometimes, it would be nice to have specifics instead of generalizations.

He felt that they ought to be capable of communicating through the bond fairly fluently, but since he was trying to lessen – or at least slow – the impact of the bonding, it seemed unwise to use it more than absolutely necessary.

Sadly, the internet held only ideas with limited usefulness. Most of the options weren’t even possible in their case. Aziraphale allowed himself a small chuckle thinking of Crowley attempting sign language in his duck form. Writing notes was also out. High-tech devices could work, but there was no way he could comfortably afford hundreds or thousands of dollars for one right now.

However, he eventually found himself intrigued by the idea of a communication board as used in some intensive care units with patients who, due to surgery or inhibiting oxygen devices, were temporarily unable to speak for weeks or months. It was of a very similar nature to Anathema’s alphabet board, but expanded to include pictures or full words that might be commonly needed. “Drink” for example, and “pain.” Aziraphale hummed with excitement as he began creating a collection of words and arranging them.

Eventually, he decided on a configuration including “book,” “movie,” “change,” and “I don’t know.” It would probably take a bit of trial and error to finalize a system that worked for them both. But at least it was a start. Better than just the painstaking spelling on the alphabet board or limiting themselves to yes/no questions.

Better than excavating his soul across a bond that might leave him hollow.

All in all, a much more satisfying days’ work than he’d had in months.

****

When he arrived home, he bustled around the kitchen preparing dinner and chatting happily to Crowley about his day. Crowley had been set up with a series of Planet Earth documentaries in the morning and had enjoyed them very much.

“Chicken or salmon, dear?”

“Hrn…Nhgss.”

“I quite agree.” Aziraphale began portioning the chicken and soon the kitchen smelled delicious. “This will serve us quite well now, and cold chicken has always been a favorite of mine for picnics. It will do nicely for our excursion later.”

While the chicken sizzled, Aziraphale packed a basket with a shaving kit, a bottle of wine and two glasses, grapes, crisps, a pair of socks, slippers, and a set of soft tartan pajamas. He’d hesitated over that last addition, not wanting to be insulting. The pajamas would be far too big for Crowley, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but think the man might like anything other than his ragged suit at this point. He would add the leftover chicken later.

Crowley was busy sorting delicately through movies with his beak, nudging and pecking them in and out of his way as needed, until he finally settled on his choice for the evening.

“Oh! That’s a delightful choice. Sir Alan Rickman makes a divine Colonel Brandon, doesn’t he?” Aziraphale wholeheartedly approved, even more happy when he felt Crowley’s surge of contentment. He took care, however, to sit a full cushion length away from Crowley after lifting him to the couch. Crowley did not come closer.

After dinner and a quick tidy, Aziraphale and Crowley (and the basket) packed into the car and drove to the newly chosen park. It was quite small, with only enough space for perhaps a half dozen vehicles in the parking lot. But there were, indeed, proper bathrooms (a single stall for each gender). There were no benches, but a small picnic area with a table was situated near the water’s edge under a large tree. The park was also completely deserted, perhaps because it was so small and offered so few amenities.

It was perfect.

Aziraphale laid claim to the picnic table while Crowley waddled about inspecting the area. After a few moments, Crowley splashed out into the pond, hissing and quacking in evident happiness. It was…adorable. Aziraphale realized he was smiling like an idiot, enjoying how cute Crowley looked dashing around. He hastily looked away when Crowley gave a curt hiss and looked directly into his eyes with a defiant glare.

To distract himself from the uncomfortable knowledge that Crowley knew he’d found him adorable, Aziraphale pulled out the small collection of short stories he’d brought with him. It contained submissions from various authors, all centered on the theme of cats. Aziraphale had always liked the idea of cats, though they didn’t seem to care for him. Whenever he chanced across a feline, he was either completely ignored or elegantly attacked.

Aziraphale felt a sly pulse skitter across his awareness.

What is he up to, I wonder?

He tried to look up from his book casually, not wanting to give up any small advantage. Crowley was still splashing happily in the pond, closer to shore now, paying no attention to Aziraphale at all. How suspicious.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at Crowley, but since nothing happened for several minutes, he returned to his book. This was apparently all Crowley had been waiting for. A sudden burst of wet duck flashed toward him, shaking and flapping water droplets all over.

“Here now! Begone, foul fiend! Really, Crowley? The book!”

The duck hissed and trumpeted his revenge, triumphant pleasure sparkling through Aziraphale’s chest.

“I’m sorry! I do know you hate being called cute. But I didn’t actually say it. Surely there should be some, some leeway?”

“HisssSssssSsssssSS” Crowley laughed and sauntered closer, defiance incarnate.

“Cheek! Very well. I accept my punishment.” Aziraphale laughed in return.

The remaining hour until nightfall was spent with short walks around the pond, Aziraphale reading aloud, and scattered contrariness from Crowley. And, to Aziraphale’s secret delight, a tiny cuddle when Crowley petulantly requested a lift to the table, rubbing his neck along Aziraphale’s arm in thanks. It wasn’t much, but Aziraphale was glad of an excuse for even that small contact.

****

Crowley – the man – stared at the tartan pajamas in poorly concealed horror but accepted them meekly before disappearing into the bathroom with the shaving kit. Aziraphale managed to hold in his giggles over his friend’s dismay, but only just. While he waited for Crowley’s return, he began setting out the picnic things over the table. A throat cleared at his elbow and Aziraphale turned…

Oh, merciful Heav – Someone. The most beautiful person he’d ever seen was standing beside him. Now that the ridiculous, wooly beard was gone, it revealed sharp cheekbones and a pointed, angular chin. A graceful neck swept down into a hollow where piercing collarbones barely peeked out from the oversized neckline of the pajamas. Aziraphale realized he was staring and wrenched his eyes up to meet Crowley’s – embarrassed to find the golden yellow eyes fixed on his face. Thankfully, Crowley just chuckled at his flush of shame and moved without comment to sit at the table.

They ate quietly at first, but Aziraphale finally found the courage to venture a small apology for the oversized clothing and an offer to get Crowley whatever he’d like if he’d be so kind as to provide his sizes.

“Don’t be silly, this is fine. I ‘preciate it, I…really, I do. It’sssss, ya know, nice of you. Over and above.” Crowley squirmed, waving his hands as if he could shoo Aziraphale’s kindness away like a pigeon.

The discussion flagged for a few minutes, until Crowley determinedly wrenched it forward. “What exactly is your job? You can’t like it, you’re clearly miserable.”

 “I’m an accountant for a digital currency company.”

“You hate the people there.” Crowley said this with supreme confidence, eyes briefly flicking up to Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale flushed, wishing he could argue but a little too honest to attempt it.  “Not at all. I...I shouldn’t say so, but I do dislike them. They can be very unkind. Especially Gabriel. But I wouldn’t say I hate them. I should hope I don’t hate anyone.”

“Course you don’t. You’re an angel, don’t think you could, could you?” Crowley snickered, but abruptly caught off when Aziraphale blanched. “’m’sorry. Ehr, what’d I say?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Aziraphale quickly changed the subject back to safer, less personal topics. “Gabriel has special talents that make him a good CEO, I suppose. He has his…his strong points.”

An expressive snort preceded several guesses Crowley ventured to make about Gabriel’s leadership qualities. “Most impressive grower of toe fungi? … Best hand-to-lap motor coordination? … Born leader of the lost-my-marbles committee? … Excellent conveyor of static electricity?”

Aziraphale tried to maintain a disapproving air, but quickly succumbed to giggles and then gales of laughter as Crowley grew more and more outrageous. They finally settled into an easy banter, the topic moving away from Angelicoin and on to more pleasant subject: food and drink.

They found that they had very similar tastes in wine, though Crowley also drank several other types of spirits. Crowley was not, in general, a fan of tea and much preferred coffee – a revelation which Aziraphale declared far more disturbing than all the other “oddities” involved in Crowley’s circumstances. This provoked a flurry of disparagements against Aziraphale’s sweet tooth which, naturally, was not to be born quietly - Crowley was very welcome to go back to eating duck feed and pond scum if Aziraphale’s cooking was so egregious! This earned him both a shout of laughter and a scowling gesture of reconciliation. The time passed swiftly - much, much too swiftly. It was a shock when Crowley stood, ready to step back into the water.

“Oh, no! It can’t be time already, it’s been scarcely 20 minutes,” Aziraphale frowned in dismay.  

“Nggg, ’Fraid so. The moon phase is…eh, watsit, ‘waning’ I think? It’s getting smaller. Little less time in my boring, old ‘ordinary’ body each night.” Crowley shrugged.

Aziraphale thoughtlessly swept his gaze across Crowley’s body, blushing hotly. But said mildly, “I think you look very nice.”

Crowley’s golden eyes flashed oddly, but he said nothing as he stepped into the water.

****

The next couple of days were almost identical, minus the shaving. Crowley’s arm was tender, and he guarded it closely during humanity, but managed without a splint or sling for the short time he had each night. They found various things to chat about over each night’s small picnic. Crowley exclaimed over Aziraphale’s archaic music preferences and almost got whiplash from the shock of hearing Velvet Underground confidently dismissed as “Be-bop.” Aziraphale bemoaned Crowley’s dismal ignorance of Shakespeare, Dickens, and Keats. They both enjoyed Austen (Crowley’s favorite was Northanger Abbey, which he declared funnier than all the rest).

Aziraphale had continued to avoid Crowley most of the day but couldn’t resist indulging in the chance to really talk to Crowley during his human time. Crowley had a biting but entertaining humor, even with the mostly mundane topics they’d covered in their short acquaintance. Aziraphale wanted to know more. Aziraphale wanted to know him. It was all too fast, his reserved and cautious nature warring with the feeling that he’d known Crowley (as himself) so much longer than a few days. And so…Aziraphale held himself a little more apart and a little more aloof than he had been before learning what ‘Aurelius’ truly was. The communication board sat in his home office, unfinished and unused.

On the fourth night, Crowley turned back toward him hastily before stepping back into the water.  “Listen, I’ve only got another minute or two but…but have I done something wrong? You don’t – nggggk -you don’t have to. I’d like if you’d tell me if I have. It’s just, you, errrr, don’t seem to want me around? As a duck, I mean. You’re…always kind of rushing off or…or just not wanting to touch me at all. Avoiding me. I won’t use any calming effects on you, I promise! It’s safe. I’m safe. For you. Swear it!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, tears springing to his eyes at the bitter loneliness he felt throb against the bond. “No! No, not at all! You, you haven’t anything wrong, my dear. I’m sorry. I only… I felt it was a little improper of me to be petting you and using endearments when…well, you know, you’re a man. Not an pet. And…and I didn’t want to rush our…friendship? It’s all been a bit sudden, and …”

“Right. ’Course. Only,” twitching closer and closer to the water, Crowley met Aziraphale’s eyes steadily and blurted, “only I do miss it. That’s all.”

And he plunged into the pond, leaving a speechless Aziraphale wiping back tears.

They avoided looking at each other on the way back home.

****

They fell into a strange routine for the next two weeks. After Crowley’s confession, Aziraphale was careful to offer strokes, cuddles, and endearments more often. Crowley attempted to appear blasé, but clearly enjoyed being fussed over and pampered.

A drama queen, I believe. Aziraphale smiled to himself. He enjoyed coddling Crowley quite as much as Crowley liked being coddled. I suppose that must make me a…sugar father? I’m not certain that’s the correct term. Ah, well.

Crowley was cranky in the mornings, but even crankier if Aziraphale left for work without saying goodbye. So Aziraphale began making breakfast for them both before gently waking Crowley with a few head pats and whispered entreaties. After a quiet breakfast, Aziraphale would start a television program to keep Crowley from becoming completely bored. Then Crowley would stroke his neck along Aziraphale’s calves in a soft goodbye.  

Angelicoin was as stressful as always, Gabriel dropping by his desk with alarming frequency to “encourage” Aziraphale to work faster, harder, and smarter “for the greater good of the company.” Michael, Uriel, and the rest of the office would titter and enjoy the show, sometimes adding “advice” of their own. Aziraphale would return home, anxious and overwhelmed by a day on constant alert.

And Crowley would be waiting for him.

They would sit down on the couch together like they had at first – before Aziraphale knew Aurelius was something more. Aziraphale would perform his breathing exercises and stroke Crowley’s feathers, enjoying the soft hisses of contentment. It was peaceful. Beautiful really, how their friendship had unexpectedly clicked into place. It still frightened Aziraphale, a little, but he thought he had it pretty well under control.

After dinner, they would go to “their park” and enjoy Crowley’s brief period of humanity chatting with two voices rather than just one, learning one another’s personalities and interests. Their conversations flowed easily from how they spent their day, to criticizing Gabriel (something Crowley delighted in), to astronomy, literature, music, religion, and even dolphins.

They avoided talking about the things they both wanted to talk about most. They didn’t discuss families or personal histories. They avoided speaking at all of Crowley’s curse. No conversations were held about the Bond they’d created and what it meant.

Every night, the time grew shorter, each tete-a-tete a few minutes less than before.

Every night, Aziraphale fought the growing impulse to stroke Crowley’s hair the same way he stroked his feathers. To stare into his beautiful, yellow-gold eyes. To keep his breathing steady when their hands accidentally brushed while reaching to pour another glass of wine.

Every night, Aziraphale’s heart became a little more broken when Crowley stepped back into the water. He couldn’t bear the swiftly choked off pain that he knew Crowley was trying to hide from their bond.

The new moon would be here in just a couple days, and then the time would begin to grow longer again. Anathema had said she would reach out once she’d heard from her mentor, and Crowley’s next appointment was rapidly approaching to remove his wing splint. Aziraphale hoped there would be news soon. Something, anything to go on. The better he came to know Crowley, the stronger his desire to help rid him of his terrible burden. But for now, all he could do was wait.

****

Chapter Text

At Aziraphale’s insistence, Crowley joined him at the ancient laptop in his home office to shop. He’d been wearing Aziraphale’s pajamas for a couple days, and while Aziraphale certainly didn’t mind sharing anything out of his closet with Crowley, he wanted him to have clothes that fit properly and that he liked.

Oh, no, I certainly do not mind Crowley borrowing my clothes, not at all….

Such thoughts required swift, brutal redirection.

“Now then, my dear fellow, would you prefer a suit like the one you’d been wearing or something more casual?”

“HnggquaKK”

“Casual it is.”

It took a couple of hours – and a series of hisses, quacks, and a few very speaking feathered gestures – to narrow down the options. But eventually the little shopping icon proudly proclaimed the number SEVEN, and Aziraphale felt that was a pretty solid score. All of Crowley’s choices were black or dark grey, apart from one pair of flaming red underpants that Crowley had absolutely insisted on, taking obvious and perverse delight in the way Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A pair of jeans, two shirts, a package of socks, a pair of shoes, and…the red underpants. Aziraphale swiftly checked out before the heat from his cheeks could elicit further hissed jeers.

****

Crowley emerged three nights later from the park bathroom in his chosen outfit –scandalously tight black jeans, knitted dark grey shirt, black boots…Aziraphale swallowed hard, forcing himself to stop scanning over the results of their shopping trip. Crowley looked incredible. And Crowley was smirking at his apparently all-too-obvious reaction.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn.

Outwardly, he struggled to present a neutral smile and complimented Crowley on looking “very nice indeed.” Unfortunately, the night was a short one for Crowley’s humanity and only a minute later they were walking back to the pond. Before stepping into the water, Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and whispered a quick “Er, y’look nice too.”

****

“O Seraphim, messengers of the divine God,

 I place upon myself the Armour of Heaven,  

With heart open, spirit devoted,

Seeking to submit to your celestial plan.”

As a child, Aziraphale had been drilled relentlessly in the religious beliefs of his mother. She was extremely devout, originally raised in the Orthodox Church of the British Isles but later branching out to lead Her own little group of “Heaven’s Saints.” Heaven followed Her visions and theological interpretations without question; She was the Voice of God. And he had followed Her too, until he was eventually shunned by the cult.

“I put on the belt of truth,

That I might not fall to the deceitfulness of demons”

She had named him an angel. He’d been born to Heaven; tried so very hard to be good. He’d tried so hard to stay, to perform every task Heaven prescribed. He had fasted. He had prayed. He had been exorcised (numerous times).

He had failed. Despite his best efforts, he had eventually been forced to see She was not worthy of his worship.

He had lost everything. He had lost everyone.                     

“I don the breastplate of righteousness,

That I might not debase myself with sinful desires”

It was a good thing, too, according to a former therapist. Aziraphale tried to believe that – did believe it, really. But She was still with him, despite his best attempts to purge Her from his mind. He had tried to hold on to some scrap of his faith in “God.” But every time he tried to relax his body or quiet his mind for worship…every thought of god was an invitation to Her. She was the only god he knew; no other had ever bothered to show up for a proper introduction.

“I fasten the shoes of peace upon my feet,

That I might not spread discord among my brethren”

One of the daily rituals required of Heaven was “Putting on the Armour of God.” It was a prayer ritual which She had twisted out of a passage of Ephesians.

A reminder of the fragile position of each saint.

“I heft high the shield of faith,

That I might not waver from Heaven’s ways”

A reminder that there was a thin edge between salvation and damnation.

“I bow my head to wear the helmet of salvation,

That I might not be too proud to be saved”

A reminder that She held them all in Her hands, to save or destroy. In whatever way She chose to use them in Her ineffable plan.

“I take hold of the flaming sword of the spirit,

That I might pierce all iniquities from my soul”

These days, he put on armour of a different sort. A ritual of his own to plaster together the shards She’d left him. The soft shirt of soothing; the hugging snugness of the waistcoat for steadiness; the bowtie of individual preference. Aziraphale chuckled to himself at that one. There was something liberating about dressing exactly the way one liked, and only the way one liked.

Not to say it was entirely without negative consequences.

“Wow, Fell. You do realize we’re doing new company headshots today? You could have tried to be less…you.” Michael’s snide voice was not the best way to start any morning. Or afternoon, for that matter. Aziraphale had forgotten about the photographer coming today, but…well, it had been an extremely eventful few weeks, after all.

Aziraphale ignored the office snickers as he settled into his cubicle and began plodding through billing data. His fashion sense was always an easy target, jibes as a “time traveler” or a “hobbit” only so much background noise in his daily life. He’d tried, in the past, to wear modern jeans and T-shirts, or the tailored suits favored by other professionals. He couldn’t manage it – the clothes were uncomfortable, he felt self-conscious, and worse, he felt ugly. He knew that at least a part of it was his upbringing; the deep-seated need to be “not of the world, but of Heaven.” But much more importantly, he liked how he dressed and how he felt in his clothing. He was uneasy enough in his life, he might as well be secure and comfy in his own body. 

And besides, Crowley doesn’t seem to think it’s that bad. In fact…in fact, Crowley said I looked nice.

He beamed happily during his headshot; bowtie carefully regulated into a dashing angle.

****

It finally arrived. The New Moon. They stayed home this night, no park, no pond. No human Crowley. The night before had only been a few moments of time, but Aziraphale had insisted on making the trip anyway. He felt how much every moment in his true form meant to Crowley, and it was worth the effort. Crowley had stepped out of the water, sprawled next to Aziraphale, and leant against his side for the entirely too-brief time. They simply sat, both leaning into and somehow bracing against one another simultaneously. It had been too heavy a night for chatter.

And so it was tonight, also. The room radiated sadness; Crowley snugged away in the corner of the couch with his head tucked under a wing. Aziraphale had never wished so much that he could say something, do something. But as much as he loved words, he’d never been very good at using them well.

Maybe there is something though.                                                                    

A few minutes of preparation, and then Aziraphale gently gathers Crowley into a warm blanket on his lap, provoking a sound that could almost be a sob from the duck. He flips on ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’ – a Richard Curtis film feels right, somehow.

They remain silent. Together. And if Crowley spends more time with his trembling head tucked under Aziraphale’s arm than watching the movie, that’s alright. That’s perfectly all right.

The next morning, Aziraphale had the distinct impression they’d passed some test that he hadn’t realized they should study for. What the consequences of failure might have been he didn’t know, but he was thankful they’d succeeded. Crowley practically glowed, iridescent green shimmers sparkling against the walls, flooding the Bond with a heady mixture of relief and satisfaction. He stayed close to Aziraphale the entire morning, pulsing with happiness.

Aziraphale did not want to leave. He felt soft. Open. He just wanted to hold on to the strange vulnerability with Crowley today. So Aziraphale did something that was, for him, unthinkable.

He lied.

“Yes, yes, thank you so much. I’m sure I’ll feel better soon, just…just don’t want to spread any nasty bugs around the office. Thank you for understanding.”

****

The veterinary office called, but only to inform them that Dr. Device would be unavailable on the day of Aurelius’ appointment for his splint removal. Dr. Shadwell could see them instead at the scheduled time if that was acceptable. No, Dr. Device was going to be out for an undetermined time frame, it was not possible to reschedule with her.  No, sorry, they were not at liberty to give any details about why Dr. Device was unavailable or how to get in touch with her.

Chapter Text

The examination room door slammed open, causing Crowley to squack and Aziraphale to gasp in shock. The shock did not improve upon seeing a grizzled, elderly man shuffle inside, waving a grungy finger at them. A slight, unpleasant odor accompanied him; his stringy hair was obviously in desperate need of a wash and around his mouth his beard was stained a sickly yellow. Over the top of his baggy, soiled clothing, he wore a white coat.

"Whit th' de'il business wis it ay yours tae brin' a WILD DUCK hame fer a PET? An' whit fool names a big ugly bugger like that a bluidy fool name like ‘Aurelius.’ No' a PRINCESS, is it? Should I bow tae th' queen?" With this incomprehensible speech, the man burst into hearty laughter, lips pulled back in a wide grimace.

“I’m…sorry, what? Are you…You are the…Dr. Shadwell?” Aziraphale asked, bewildered. Crowley’s flummoxed status pulsed through the bond to join his own. It should be a simple enough visit – just removing the splint from Crowley’s wing, a quick examination, and hopefully they’d be on their way. But this fellow was decidedly odd. And dirty. Surely a veterinarian wouldn’t come to work so grubby?

“Ay, dat’s Sairgent Doctor Shadwell tae ye, laddie. Now, I hear ye wur workin' wi' that lass Device afore this. Heard frae her, at all?” Dr. Shadwell peered intensely at Aziraphale, grizzled finger poking again impatiently at him. "I've been lookin' tae…get in touch wi' her, but she didnae leave a number ahint."

“Oh, um, no, I’m afraid I haven’t heard from Dr. Device. Did you have questions about Aurelius’ care? I’m happy to answer what I can, though surely Dr. Device kept documentation of his treatment so far.” Aziraphale was feeling more and more uncomfortable with the man. The disturbingly bright gleam in his eye coupled with the intensity of his movements felt off, intimidating in a way Aziraphale couldn’t pinpoint.

It was difficult to resist leaning away from the smell of dirty flesh and the jabbing finger. He could feel an increasing alarm emanating from Crowley as well, though he was evidently trying to appear as duck-like as possible, sitting softly and quietly on the counter.

Dr. Shadwell surveyed Aziraphale with open disdain before stepping up to look at Crowley. As he muttered vaguely threatening, indiscernible phrases, he rubbed his fingers intrusively over and under Crowley’s wings and feathered chest, causing the duck to peck sharply at him in protest.

“NGnnnnrrrggrrrrssss”

“Pardon me! What exactly is it you’re doing?!” Aziraphale barked, alarmed by a spike of Crowley’s fear.

“Checkin’ fer nipples.”

“HISSSSSSSsssssSSSSSSSSSSSSS”

“I hardly think that’s necessary! Birds…birds don’t even have nipples, you stupid man! You CANNOT be Dr. Shadwell. Let Cr – let Aurelius go! Someone! Help!” he yelled, hoping a veterinary tech would rescue them. “Someone get a real physician in here, please!”

"Calm doon, I didnae find any sae he’s clean. Doesnae mean yer no' a great soothern pansy fer blindly acceptin' any animal that flutters its eyelashes at ye. Bluidy guid way tae get mixed aboot wit’ demons. Fer aw ye ken, this could be a witch's familiar! Ye dinnae just pick up an' bring hame strange animals!”

While Aziraphale sputtered a bewildered protest, Dr. Shadwell briskly snipped off the splint and roughly pushed Crowley back into the pet carrier, ignoring the duck’s attempts to bite him.

"There ye ur. All better. An' eh, ye'll let me ken, wontcha, if ye hear from that young lass? Dr. Device? I’ve got…questions ta ask her. Oi! And ye’ll tell me if’n yer duck starts growin' any nipples? Guid!” And with that, the strange old man shuffled back out the door, leaving a mismatched pair of gaping beak and mouth behind him.

****

Crowley flapped his arm experimentally before grinning at Aziraphale. “Well, feels the same as always. But it felt nice to get that fucking thing off my wing. I’ll be able to fly again! No more need to pester you for a lift up on the cushions, angel.”

Aziraphale smile faded slightly at the nickname. “Crowley, dear, why do you call me that?”

An intense golden gaze was immediately turned on him. “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. But…it’s because you’ve been an angel. To me, at least. My own guardian angel, taking pity on a cursed demon like me.”

“Hmmm. I see. I…I suppose I’ll get used to it. My mother used to call me Her angel, but…well. Anyway, it sounds much nicer coming from you.” Aziraphale fiddled with his waistcoat buttons, not meeting Crowley’s eyes. Feeling the concern and pity was bad enough but seeing it…seeing it might break his walls completely.

“Ngnnnn do you…ever see your parents? You’ve never mentioned them. Not that I’ve mentioned mine, either. Feel free to tell me to fuck off, ya know.”

“Oh, never, my dear! I would never do that. You don’t, well… My…She passed away several years ago now, but we were estranged. It had been several years before her death since I’d even spoken to her on a telephone.” Aziraphale lowered his head, exhaling sadly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley twitch his golden eyes towards him again for just a second before looking away again.

Crowley’s face and tone softened, “I’m sorry to hear it. Do you have any other family?”

“Uh, no, not really. I do technically have an uncle, but I’ve never met him. I believe he lives in America somewhere. You’d like his name, though. Lucifer.”

“Lucifer…Lucifer FELL? Oh, that is awful! I do like it.” They shared a slight chuckle. It felt nice – the bond pulsing softly with affection and camaraderie. It made tears prick at his eye for a moment, but he quickly blinked them back – hoping Crowley hadn’t seen.

“Aziraphale, how long have you been so lonely?” Crowley whispered gently.

“I…” Always. Aziraphale closed his eyes, breathing slowly and rhythmically. He let his mind search back, and realized it was true. “Always, I think. I can’t remember a time I wasn’t lonely.”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to look toward the answering hiss and pulse of indignation. This sorrow was a familiar ache. Comfortable. Straightforward. Not like the newly won pleasure and happiness that terrified him in this strange relationship with Crowley.

Crowley’s fingers twined with his. It was strange - and frightening - to have a companion. Perhaps it was time he learned how not to be alone.

****

Weeks pass, concurrently swift and slow. Anathema’s whereabouts remained unknown; Aziraphale began to despair of ever hearing from the witch again. He felt strongly that her disappearance had something to do with the strange “Sargent Doctor Shadwell” but was at a loss of what to do about it. Should he try to locate her workshop? He’d been unconscious when taken there, and then driven home in the dark while in a very distracted state. He hadn’t exactly been thinking about tracing his way back. Had she ever even told him her fiancé’s name? If she had, he couldn’t recall it. He knew how to conduct research, but…where does one find witch’s books if one cannot find a witch?

Unfortunately, Shadwell wasn’t leaving them alone. The strange man seemed to be popping up everywhere. Granted, Aziraphale didn’t socialize much, so it was possible that he’d simply overlooked the man until meeting him at the veterinary office. Just barely possible. Shadwell was such an odd character, with such a loud, gruff manner, that it seemed unlikely that anyone could overlook him for long. And Aziraphale had the unsettling feeling that Shadwell was closing in on him. Circling, hunting, following him somehow.

He'd turn around at the grocer after selecting vegetables for dinner and see the man shuffle behind a shelf. Walking down the street there would be glimpses of Shadwell’s scraggly beard and baggy clothing in the shop windows. As he drove past to work, Shadwell would be casually standing at the bus station nearest his flat, raising a hand in greeting and burning Aziraphale with his intent, unhinged scrutiny.

It was dreadful! What did he want? And why didn’t Dr. Device do something to get in touch? Was the disturbing older man preventing her, somehow?

He is. I don’t know how. But it’s related, someway or other.

There wasn’t any other choice but to continue on. He’d discussed the situation with Crowley and they’d both agreed it was best to watch carefully for the man when leaving the flat for their nightly excursions. He was the last sort of character they wanted to be present for Crowley’s transformations.

So, he waited in growing discontent, wishing there was something he could do to help Crowley escape the terrible burden of his curse. And, the more honest part of his mind whispered, he wanted Crowley free for his own reasons too. What could their friendship become without the strange power dynamics at play? He wanted to find out.

They just had to wait.

****

He’d begun to draw again.

It was a “gift” he’d used to serve Heaven as a teenager, but since leaving the cult he’d stopped. Not because he didn’t love it, not because he didn’t have some measure of talent. He’d stopped drawing because he couldn’t After. His mind was too preoccupied, too busy holding itself together and muddling through his anxieties – there was no attention left for artistic expression. Sometimes hardly enough left to read or even watch a movie. Motionless, he would sit at his desk, pencil held in the air. Immobile. Struggling to think of a single lovely idea to sketch, reeling from a gaping certainty that anything he created would be hollow and empty. He was hollow and empty.

But now…now he was doodling.

Small, silly things mostly. But it felt nice. Almost all his doodles were about Crowley in his duck form. Crowley hissing threats against a lumpy cushion. Crowley snuggled inside a picnic basket, his belly rounded with all the erstwhile contents. Crowley dancing to Bohemian Rhapsody and then flying up in a rage when he realized he was being watched by Aziraphale and being found cute. Crowley stealing every single pea from Aziraphale’s plate while he fiddled with the television, feigning an innocent expression when confronted with the empty dish.

And more than mere doodles. He was sketching again, too. Pencil sketches of true Crowley. Crowley with his ridiculously sharp cheekbones and angular hips. Crowley smirking, Crowley smiling, Crowley scowling. Crowley with his head thrown back, throat exposed in laughter. Aziraphale’s printer paper was almost used up from all the expressions he had captured.

He should buy a sketch pad. A large one. And some nicer pencils.

****

Aziraphale and Crowley remained vigilant. The pressing concern of the curse, combined with the enigma of Anathema's disappearance, weighed heavily on Aziraphale's mind. The unspoken understanding between Aziraphale and Crowley tethered them to a cautious routine, avoiding Shadwell's presence during their nightly activities, knowing the risks of his unwelcome intrusion during Crowley's transformations. Shadwell had taken to lingering near the flat, usually visible outside the windows. Thankfully, the man seemed to forget that not everyone went to bed with the sun, and he usually wandered away hours before their nightly trip. So far, at least.

Yet, despite the steadily escalating sense of foreboding, they talked and laughed and drank every night. And it was easy.

It’s so, so easy to fall in love with Crowley.

It was easier when Crowley was in duck form for Aziraphale to reach for him; touch him. Whisper ‘my dear’ and ‘darling.’ With the man – the beautiful, clever, funny, thoughtful, wonderful man – Aziraphale blushed and stammered, awkward silences and strange half started and ended sentences. Crowley always rescued the conversation. Crowley made him smile and laugh and feel comfortable again.

Logically, Aziraphale knew the man and the duck were one in the same, but still. It was easiest to be affectionate when Crowley wasn’t quite so…alluring. Crowley was so beautiful, and Aziraphale was decidedly not. It made him feel unbearably self-conscious. If they’d met under normal circumstances, Crowley would never look twice at someone like him.

At some point every night Crowley held his hand. He would tuck Aziraphale’s arm into the crook of his own, Crowley’s other hand laid securely on top. Or he would clasp Aziraphale’s hands loosely in his lap or on his thigh. Most nights, he just squeezed Aziraphale’s hand gently for a moment too long before Crowley slipped back into the water and into his duck body.

Aziraphale loved it. He loved it much more than he was comfortable with – it was all so fast, and his feelings so intense. He couldn’t help but worry over it all. Aziraphale couldn’t bear the idea of receiving affection out of a sense of obligation or gratitude, but he was very afraid that exactly that was happening. He knew Crowley cared for him; he could feel it through the bond. But the power dynamics at play in their relationship were insurmountable. He knew that. He couldn’t let himself take advantage of Crowley; he cared for him too much to be so selfish.

Yet he could not resist holding Crowley’s hand when it was offered. He would cherish this small thing while it was his and suffer the loss later when it came.

Shadwell waves every time Aziraphale walks past. Shadwell says “Guid morning” or “Guid efternuin” daily. Papers, pins, and little candles litter the flat hallway around Aziraphale’s door – for what purpose, he doesn’t understand. But with each passing day, the weight of the situation intensified, leaving Aziraphale with an urgent helplessness. The unknown status of Anathema, the mysteries of the hex that surrounded them, and the ominous ever-increasingly-common presence of Shadwell deepened every layer of his apprehension.

But they waited.

****

Aziraphale did own a cell phone. It was even a smart phone, technically, though rather outdated. He mostly used it to read or check the news on his breaks at work. He very, very rarely got phone calls. Other than spam, he’d never gotten a text message at all. Ever.

Today was the first.

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