23. The elephant in the snake
Aziraphale is getting stronger. He's able to stay awake for a few hours at once and talking doesn't exhaust him so much anymore. His wings are hidden now, tucked away safely in the ethereal plane where they can recover without additional strain of material form. His essence is still very weak, but is filling most of his body, even if it has to stretch thinly to do that.
There are some better moments now.
"Thisss isss black tea," the snake explains. "It's from the sssame plant as the green one, but the leaves need to be crushed and left in the air for some time. It's not asss good as wine, but it doesn't take that long to make."
"Wine, yes. You told me about wine. It's in the barrel in the basement of the storage room, right? But not ready yet."
"That'sss right. You remember well," the snake says and Aziraphale beams.
You are so beautiful when you smile. So charming, just discovering the world like a child. And like a child you love being praised, don't you? You deserve it, every bit of it. Don't let the memories tell you otherwise, when they come back.
"Wine can't be rushed, at least for the firssst time," he continues. "Until then, we have tea. It's made like thissss."
He shows Aziraphale how he heats the water and steeps the leaves in it. Then he takes a wooden spoon into his tail and without thinking, adds two spoons of sugar, just like the angel likes. "Do you remember what's sssugar made from?"
Aziraphale thinks for a moment. "The cane?"
"Yes, from sssugar cane. Wonderful, angel. And then almond milk. I hope you'll like it, we don't have the usual milk that you… oh, never mind that. It just needs to cool down a bit. You either wait or help it a bit with a miracle, like thisss."
"I can't do miracles, demon."
Demon. Yes, I am a demon. That's all you need to know now, angel. That's what I told you when you asked for my name, so I don't know why it still stings to hear it. I wanted you to know what I am, I wanted you to know that we are opposites. But I can see that you are not bothered by that. My dear angel. I don't know why I thought you would. You never minded it, since our first meeting here. You say that word in the same tone I call you 'angel' with. I want to enjoy it while I can, even though I long to hear my true name from your lips. I don't want to awaken the fear in your eyes with that name and my human face. I will stay a serpent and just demon as long as it takes you to remember.
"Jussst because you are weak now. As you get stronger, they will come back to you, you will see," Crowley says encouragingly.
I don't want you to depend on me. I want you to be free in your decisions.
The snake's tail winds around the cup and puts it into Aziraphale's hands. "Here, try it."
The fingers curl around the warmth seeping through the clay. Aziraphale had been very sensitive to any temperature differences in the first days, but now he already finds warmth pleasant.
Crowley smiles at that - inwardly, of course, because the snake face is not too expressive. He supports the angel in a half-sitting position with the coils of his body and guides the cup to his lips, because Aziraphale is not strong enough to lift it.
Aziraphale takes a gulp. Then he takes another one and closes his eyes. "Oh demon, that's delightful!"
"I know, right?"
"Would you like some?"
Oh angel, you are too kind. I don't deserve you being kind to me.
"No, thank you. If I want tea, I can make it by miracle."
"Couldn't you miracle this one, too?"
"I thought you would like it better this way. Sometimes it just doesn't feel the sssame, you know? And to be able to miracle it, you need to know how it's made. Do you remember what I told you about the miracles here? "
"I do."
"Good angel."
Aziraphale beams.
There are some worse moments.
"Have you been ssscratching it, angel?"
"No."
A liar and a bit of a bastard, are we? Oh my heart, hold still.
"Alright, but it'sss bleeding again. I will get the aloe balm."
Aziraphale whimpers. "Don't go…"
The snake doesn't. He comes closer, sad and comforting. "Does it hurt?"
Aziraphale nods. "And itches," he pouts, on the verge of tears.
Oh angel… Nobody has told you yet to suppress what you feel, did they? I wish it could stay that way, but you will remember. I hope it won't be too soon. I can sense the memories lodged in your brain, lurking in the shadows and waiting for their time. I hope you get stronger before they assault you. It wouldn't be fair now, when you have to rely on me.
"The balm will soothe that. I will not leave, don't worry. I'll just miracle it here, okay?"
"Okay," Aziraphale says in a small voice.
Crowley summons the little jar and uses his tail instead of fingers to scoop up the balm. Most of the things human hands can do, he can get around with some creativity and miracles.
The breath hitches between his fangs as his snake tail traces the sigil burnt into Aziraphale's chest. The sigil looks like a snake, too. An angry, possessive snake.
When will you make the connection, angel? Yes, that's me. It's me who's hurting you, makes your skin itch and bleed.
Carefully, he spreads the balm on the inflamed scar and over the red traces of nails.
I understand if you want to scratch it out of your body. I really do. But I don't want you to hurt yourself. I fear you are stuck with it forever. Because of me…
Aziraphale whimpers in pain as the snake's tail touches an especially sore spot.
"S-sssory… Sssso s-s-sorry…"
I'm hurting you. I'm hurting you. I'm hurting you. I'm killing you. Oh God, it's hellfire. I'm killing you!
He sees the reflection of his own eyes in a mirror, yellow and demonic. He smells burnt flesh. It makes him sick. He can't breathe. He wants to drop the branding iron he is holding, wants to get away from there.
I'm hurting you! I'm hurting you! I'm hurting you!
o
He's outside, on the other side of the pool, and doesn't know how he got there. The waterfall rumbles nearby, spraying his scales with a fine cool mist. It takes a while to remember what happened. But when he does...
Oh shit! Fuck! Aziraphale!
Lightning-fast, he uncoils and shoots into the pool like an arrow, swimming to the other side as fast as he can. His undulating body sends ripples across the water. The cold clears his mind and suppresses memories of fire, leaving just a gaping, aching hole of worry and guilt.
He slithers out on the bank and slips through the door, slightly ajar.
"Aziraphale!"
He stops, taking in the scene in front of him. The angel is crumpled on the floor, sobbing.
Oh no. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Anthony J. Crowley, you messed up. You are a failure. Look at him. You totally messed up. Fuck.
"Aziraphale? Angel, did you hurt yourssself? Aziraphale, pleassse..."
Hearing the familiar hissing voice, Aziraphale sobs even harder, but then forces himself to stop. He swallows the sobs, arranges his features into a mask. He's not too successful in it. He manages to shake his head negatively, but the sobs still rumble under the surface and his face is too open to hide his distress.
No no no no no… Don't do that angel. Not for me. Not for anyone, but especially not for me. Don't hide, please. Don't pretend that all is well when you are hurting inside. You've spent too long doing that…
"Angel, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…" and "Demon, please… I'm sorry…" they speak at the same time.
"No, no," Crowley says, scales rustling as he is coiling his body in nervous loops. "Not your fault. Mine. Pleassse look at me, Aziraphale. You didn't do anything wrong."
Aziraphale does look at him, almost like moving against his will.
Damn. That wasn't an order. Don't follow it like an order. Stupid… So stupid from me.
"It's all right," he tries to reassure the angel. "It really is. Let me help you back to the bed, okay? Are you sure you didn't hit yourself?"
Aziraphale's lip wobbles. He tries to blink the tears away, but they roll down his cheeks. "N-No… It's not. Not all right. I c-can see it…"
Shit. Do you have to be that perceptive?
The snake slithers closer, avoiding the sight of the scar on Aziraphale's chest. He watches for any sign of distress before he touches the pale skin, but it seems that his touch is still welcome. More than welcome. Aziraphale leans into it, tears falling from his eyes freely now. Crowley licks them with his forked tongue. They taste like a dying star.
"It'ssss not your fault, angel. I'm sssorry I made you think that. You did nothing wrong."
Aziraphale weeps even harder.
Crowley conjures a handkerchief and holds it to Aziraphale's nose with a minor miracle.
"Blow," he says.
Aziraphale does that. "I lied to you!" he wails even before the handkerchief is removed. "I… I scratched it!"
Oh, angel. That's what you think you did wrong? Oh love…
"That's all right, Aziraphale. Really. You don't have to be afraid to tell me the truth, but if you choose to lie, I don't mind it. Hey, I'm a demon. Lying is fine in my book. Sometimes you just… uh... don't feel like explaining yourself, so you tell a lie that doesn't need an explanation. No problem with that. Whatever makes you feel better."
I fell in love with you when you lied to God. How could I be angry with you for a little lie?
Aziraphale watches him intently. There can't be much to see in the snake face, but gradually, his tears cease. "What's wrong, then?" he asks, and there's something very vulnerable in his voice.
That concern in your eyes. It feels like a white wing shielding me from the first rain. Not knowing if you did the good thing, but doing it anyway.
Crowley licks the traces of tears on his cheeks. "Pleassse, don't ask. I don't want to lie to you," he whispers. "I just want you to know that you didn't do anything wrong. It's me, all me. And now you need to get back on the bed. Did you fall because you wanted to go after me?"
"I… I was worried. You had been gone for a long time," Aziraphale says as the strong coils wrap around him and lift him onto the bed, his expression open and honest.
Crowley can still feel the shivers running along the angel's spine.
"You really didn't hit anything?" he asks for the third time, patiently.
"No. But you are hurting and I don't know why. I will not ask if you don't want to talk about it, but I don't want you to hurt. I'd like to know what to avoid. Was it the scratching? I won't do it again, I promise…"
Oh bless it, you're not going to let me change the topic that easily, are you?
"It's fine. I know it itches and it's hard to resist. I would be glad if you do, but don't promise. And I can't promise this won't happen again. It's hard to tell what to avoid, really. Don't worry about it, okay? And don't try to follow if it happens. I will come back. I'll always come back, as long as you want me to. That I can promise."
"Okay," Aziraphale says tiredly, accepting the answer. "I just wish I could remember…"
"Don't. You will eventually, but don't try to force it."
"But why?"
"You might remember how annoying I am and kick me out of the house."
Aziraphale chuckles, but the concern in his eyes doesn't go away.
Oh angel. You don't even remember me and I'm falling in love with you all over again. But when you remember me… will you still love me, after what I did?
Some moments start badly, but turn out nice, in the end.
The angel is asleep. He still sleeps a lot, but can already get out of the bed briefly, even manage a little walk around the pool.
Crowley watches him for a moment, making sure that his sleep is peaceful. Then he slips out of the cottage and slithers away along the path. There have been no paths in Eden when they arrived here. He wonders how long ago that was and concludes he has no idea. The moonlight paints the night in greyscale, but it's not too different from how Crowley sees in his snake form during the day. It's getting to be too much. Too much to hide, too much to suppress. He feels he must get away, even for a little while. Away from the cottage, away from demon, away from snake.
Away from Aziraphale. That stings most, that he feels the need to get away from Aziraphale.
Oh angel… I'm so sorry you have to be stuck with such a stupid wreck who can't get a hold of himself. Who can't even be there for you properly… who's constantly tense and afraid that he'll have another fucking breakdown, or that you remember… or don't remember. I shouldn't be feeling relieved to get away from it for a while. What kind of monster am I, to feel relieved to be away from you when you need me?
He stops near the base of the cliff that towers above the largest pool. He waits and listens. But of course the only sound is the water and the wind in the trees. It's just a habit, making sure he's not disturbed.
He takes a deep breath and changes his form. It's hard at first. For a terrible moment, he is stuck in some nightmarish shape in-between. He has been in the snake form for too long. He has been getting cravings for devouring furry things whole and then sleeping for a week straight. But there are no furry things in Eden and he can't afford to sleep for a week and leave Aziraphale alone. And so he sneaks out at night to a place where Aziraphale can't see him, and tries to change. The form resists.
A monster. A monster.
Something finally yields and he changes into his preferred form. It's a human one, with lanky limbs and fiery hair, and it finally manages to get rid of the scales and grow those limbs in proper proportions.
He sighs with relief.
He takes a few unsteady steps, finding his balance. He almost plants his face into the soil with the third step, but fourth and fifth are a good recovery of his dignity. To make him look less like a newborn foal and more like a cool demon, he miracles his grey tunic to rise on the dignity scale a bit more.
With his limbs more under control, he kneels at the pool and splashes cold water on his face. Then he digs his fingers into the soil, bending and straightening them again. He can still feel the phantom pain and stiffness in his tail. Snake tails did not evolve for the fine motions that he is forcing it to do. It is nice to have fingers again. Fingers that once used to caress white feathers. Fingers that held a branding iron heated in hellfire. For a long time, he stays there, looking at them.
I've done something terrible, angel. Something so terrible, and you don't remember it. I can't look into your eyes, so trusting and innocent, not remembering what I have done. A part of me selfishly wants you to never remember. Or would it be unselfish, to trade 6000 years worth of memories of me for the mercy of not remembering what happened between the mirrors? I don't know anymore. I don't know, angel…
"Demon?"
"Ngk!" Crowley jumps a few inches up into the air without changing his position, like a child startled while doing something forbidden.
He lands, but his heart stays up there, beating in his throat as he is trying to gather his bearings enough for a change of form.
Aziraphale is there, watching him.
Aziraphale is there, seeing him.
Aziraphale is there, staggering.
Before he can think of it, he is at the angel's side, supporting him.
"What were you thinking, coming all the way here? You are not strong enough to walk alone at night! You… You..."
He's in his human form.
Shit. Oh no. Please, not yet. Not now. Don't remember yet. Just a little longer…
"Sorry… I'm sorry…" Aziraphale whispers on the verge of tears, sinking into his hands. "I was worried…"
The concern just adds to Crowley's guilt. His heart is breaking under that weight. But there is no fear in the angel's eyes, no recognition. It almost feels like he didn't notice the change at all.
"Shhh, it's all right. I told you I'll always come back, didn't I?"
"Y-Yes… I'm sorry, demon… So sorry for intruding… I woke and you weren't there and… and…"
Still a demon, then. Well, obviously not an aardvark, but no 'Crowley', either. Good, that's good… Just a little longer...
"No, no, it's all right." Crowley caresses white hair with his fingers. Holding the angel in his hands. Hands. Fingers. It feels so nice. It's a feeling that wouldn't let him forget how to change into a form with hands and fingers.
Let me hold you just a little longer, before the memories tear us apart...
"You are so pretty," Aziraphale murmurs into his shoulder, exhausted by the long walk. "I wish I could be so pretty."
"You are, angel. Of course you are."
Some moments start nice, but...
It is dark outside and the fire casts a warm glow across the room. It is contained within the fireplace, surrounded by stones and a trough filled with water, for good measure. It makes the room feel cozy, reminding Crowley of the fires he shared with Aziraphale over the millenia. Campfires, fireplaces in mead halls, hearths, flames in a bombed church… Not hellfire. The colour of the flames is more earthy, the sound of cracking logs much friendlier than the hungry roar of hellfire. Only someone really stupid could mistake those two. It would have to be a total moron.
Crowley presses his lips together, pushing those thoughts aside. He's become a master in pushing thoughts aside. There are so many thoughts heaping at the side that they threaten to topple at any moment. But this is a nice moment. He doesn't allow those thoughts to ruin it.
Aziraphale's hair is soft under his fingers, his slightly damp curls still smelling of soap.
As they were taking a walk yesterday, Crowley found soap nuts growing near the stream. He made a big wooden bathtub over the evening and the morning of the next day, and just as it was getting dark, the bath was ready, steam rising from heated water and bubbles frothing on its surface.
Aziraphale looked so content in the bath. And he looks so content now, as Crowley is brushing his hair and massaging his scalp. It has become a bit of an obsession to Crowley - the pleasant touches, all the ways he can make the angel feel good by caring for his body.
The cosmetic industry was not really his idea, despite claiming credit for it. The idea to cement into people's heads that you have to look a certain way to be considered a worthy person and then sell products that will make you look that way was all humans'. But he did some research on it when claiming it, and found that some parts had an appeal. Those that allow people to look how they wanted. And then there were those that could be connected with a caring touch. With relaxing and indulgence.
Aziraphale makes a pleased sound deep in his throat and Crowley marvels at the feeling of his fingers bringing pleasure instead of pain. He can't get enough of it. He feels like there will never be enough of it to make up for the pain he caused.
C-Crowley... Crowley, please… It's too much! I can't… Please, kill me! Agh! Kill me, dear! Please… Please…
Chocolate. He was so proud when he figured out how to make it without proper milk. He defined a lot of different kinds of chocolate to the reality of Eden, so when he now calls for a praline with salty caramel filling, it obeys.
"Open your mouth," he whispers and Aziraphale obeys without opening his eyes. So much trust...
Aziraphale's lips close around the praline.
"Mhm," he hums appreciatively as he turns it around with his tongue and savours the taste.
Crowley takes in that blissful expression like a junkie taking a hit. It's never enough. He needs more and more. But no amount of it can erase the memories.
Oh God! Kill me, Crowley! Aaaah! If you love me, kill me now! Please!
His fingers are steady in Aziraphale's hair, never trembling. He has gotten very good at pushing that voice into a corner of his mind where it can't affect anything he does.
Aziraphale is relaxed, his aura getting stronger in contentment. His essence is not as strong as it used to be yet, but it is slowly getting there.
Crowley miracles another praline, with strawberry filling this time. But before he can put it into Aziraphale's mouth, he feels a sudden tension under his fingers.
"Angel?" he asks quietly. "What's wrong?"
Aziraphale shivers. He opens his mouth, but closes it again like suppressing a scream. His eyes are still closed, too. They are closed so firmly that they make a deep wrinkle at the root of his nose.
The breath catches in Crowley's throat. He doesn't dare to say anything more, doesn't dare to move.
Aziraphale finally opens his eyes, scared and confused.
"Crowley?" he asks hoarsely.
But there's just an open door and a tip of a snake tail disappearing into the night.
