Cowritten by Arthur Albion

Spring 1025

Heaven had been unusually quiet the past few years. Aziraphale was sure to keep in touch and up to date on all the latest plans he needed to be involved in on Earth. However, assignments had been slow to come in and that left the angel plenty of time to spend as he pleased. It was the perfect time to take a holiday.

Daffodils lined the wall of the inn Aziraphale was currently approaching. Most were still just budding in the early season of spring, stalks of green pushing up determinedly through the dirt. The angel briefly admired them before entering, weary from his journey and hoping to get a quick bite to eat. He made a beeline for the bar, ordered some food and drink, and then turned to take in the room to find a table. Blue eyes met a familiar yellow gaze hidden away in a darkened corner. Aziraphale approached without hesitation.

"Hello, Crowley. Fancy meeting you here," he said pleasantly. The angel hovered opposite at the demon's table and gestured at the empty chair. "May I join you?"

It didn't actually surprise him that he ran into the demon. They had been meeting quite frequently these past few years to smooth over the details of their recent Arrangement, as well as share philosophical debates over a few drinks. Crowley was quite an amiable companion for being the Enemy.

"Aziraphale! Cor, have a sit. Been in town long?" There was a mostly empty tankard on the table, and the angel could guess it wasn't the first. Crowley was well in his cups.

"No, just arrived. I thought a change of scenery would be nice. What about you?" Aziraphale sat in the chair opposite and wiggled his shoulders as he settled.

Crowley winced as he sobered up, the alcohol leaving his bloodstream. "What? Oh, uh, been around for a few weeks. Not much here, but the drink is good. Hasn't been much in the way of assignments since, might as well relax, y'know."

"I do know. It's been the same for me." Aziraphale frowned a bit. "Not that I'm ungrateful for the unofficial holiday, but it's been rather dull. Travelling helps keep me busy but it's quite uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes, riding a horse all over the country."

"Riding? You? Why not travel by cart?"

"Don't want to spend too many frivolous miracles. Since I'm not assigned any great tasks, I shouldn't be indulging myself too much. Ah, thank you," Aziraphale said as the serving girl placed his food and drink in front of him. The angel immediately dug into his meal while it was still hot.

Crowley waited for the girl to leave again. He rolled his eyes. "Your lot are too strict about the most mundane things, angel. I'd like to see Gabriel ride a horse and then call it frivolous."

"I doubt you'd catch him discorporated on a horse. He'd rather miracle himself exactly where he intends to be and then vanish off back into Heaven," Aziraphale said tartly.

An expression of confusion crossed the demon's face at the tone. It was unlike Aziraphale to be curt, but very unlike him to be so candid about Heaven. Crowley's eyes narrowed slightly as he sat forward to lean on the table. He wondered what was the real problem. "Yeah, uh, exactly. So, so, just get yourself a cart. You could even get one the human way if miracles are the problem."

"I can't afford it yet. I have to wait out my next payroll period. Celestial Accounting has been a bunch of sticklers lately. Upset over messy records or some such nonsense. While they're fixing the system, everyone has been relegated to emergency only miracles. The exception for me is if I'm on assignment. Or if you are on assignment. You still need thwarting after all. Regardless, that won't inconvenience the angels in Heaven, of course." The angel took a deep drink from his own tankard.

"Course, and you're the only angel on earth." Crowley seemed annoyed on Azirapahle's behalf and he quickly glanced away. It was almost flattering, in a way, to know Heaven considered him a specific problem. "Hell can't be bothered with Accounting, despite how many accountants we have. It's encouraged to indulge. Selfishness, y'know. You have a horse though?"

"Yes. Fortunately, I had a horse before all this happened. I certainly can't get very far walking."

The demon nodded thoughtfully, agreeing silently about the means of travel common to the times. He didn't own a horse, nor did he ever intend to come into possession of such a beast. Or any beast. Animals decidedly did not like him. "You just passing through then? Fomenting peace and tranquillity?"

"I'd hardly say it's been tranquil."

"Oh? Why's that? I've not been fomenting dissent and discord in, uh, few centuries, at least."

"No, no, it's not you, dear boy. With all this kerfuffle in Heaven and limited miracles and, oh, never mind all that. I've blathered enough. What have you been up to if not fomenting porridge?" Aziraphale waved a hand vaguely and resumed eating, hoping to get the demon talking so he could finish off his plate.

"It's clearly something, angel," Crowley ignored the question. Something was wrong, something he hadn't caused. He was curious, and that was evident in his expression.

"Nothing you need to worry about, I can assure you," Aziraphale said kindly, but firmly.

The doubt was obvious, but Crowley knew better than to push too far with Aziraphale. They might have recently reached their Arrangement, but that did not entitle him to anything and everything he might want in information. Aziraphale was still, technically, the Enemy. He sighed. "Fine. I've been here for the past few weeks after I returned from Denmark."

"Oh. Have you tried the gravlax?"

"No."

"Quite scrumptious, you simply must try it next time you visit. Any exciting news from the Continent?" Aziraphale scraped up the last morsels of food on his plate and sat back with a content sigh.

"If there is, I don't know it. I was rather more preoccupied planting seeds of war into the ear of our lovely king, ol' Cnut. Apparently, Hell thinks he should expand from England and Denmark into Norway. Going to be quite the thorn in Sweden's side from the sounds of it. Shouldn't be too long before they get on with it all, but I don't want to be around for the actual fighting, you know. Thought coming back to England might be more fun."

The angel's brow furrowed, more perplexed than upset. "Is that so? Heaven also has an interest in Norway, but on the side of the Swedes, of course. I suppose it's a bit late to do much about it if you've decided to return here."

"Well, might be, yeah. Special assignment, anyway. I can't see what's so important in Norway. Too bloody cold, if you ask me."

"It's ineffable."

Crowley huffed a sigh in irritation. It was no secret he loathed that word. It wasn't ineffable. Nothing, in his opinion, was ineffable. Ineffable just meant too damn lazy to bother explaining; a pathetic lie to keep information secret. "Whatever. England is too cold and damp enough as it is. I don't like Scandinavia."

"It's not so bad. The fjords are quite lovely." Aziraphale subconsciously reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "The winter may be harsh, but there's something rather homey about sitting next to a warm fire and having a good meal with a storm outside. I suppose you could get that about most anywhere else."

Rolling his eyes again, the demon scoffed. "I'll keep that in mind if I receive orders to go back. You can enjoy the gravlax too."

"Only if Heaven catches wind of it. As it stands, I think it would better suit our arrangement if we simply let the humans get on with it." The angel spoke almost disinterestedly, giving his neck a good rub. "I expect you're as eager to face off in battle as I am. And it seems a shame you came all this way back to England only to return to Denmark."

Crowley nodded in agreement. He had no interest in wars, and was generally against them happening at all. He especially had no interest in a war in Scandinavia. Even in the middle of summer, it was still a bit cold for his liking, but so was England. "Right, yeah."

Watching everything around them closely, he realised just how often Aziraphale was itching at his neck and shoulders. It wasn't really strange behaviour, but it was strange for an angel. They didn't suffer itches and illnesses like humans. Crowley reached one arm over his own shoulder to mirror the motion and suddenly realised why Aziraphale was in a bad mood. "You're moulting." His tone was surprised, but it hadn't been a question.

Aziraphale gave a start at the declaration and blushed. "How on earth could you tell?"

"I have eyes, angel. You keep scratching your back and neck. And I've had a moult before. I know how it is."

"Yes, all right, that's the other thing that's been bothering me," the angel sighed in defeat. He itched again at his shoulder. No use in pretending anymore. "It's been going on for a while now. I can't quite reach all of the feathers to help it along, so it's been a pain in my side. Or my back, rather."

"Let me guess, those feathers right at the base? Right where shoulder blade meets wing? Tricky bit, yeah. I have trouble with that area too." The demon glanced down at his near-empty cup, before meeting blue eyes once more. "I could, uh, sort them out, y'know. If you like."

Wings were something particularly personal in both Heaven and Hell. They could be so easily damaged, and a broken blood feather or two could mean death. It took a lot of trust to allow someone to touch and preen. Something like this was far more intimate than anything they had discussed as far as the Arrangement was concerned. Crowley was expecting the angel to decline.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley in utter disbelief and opened his mouth to do just that, but then shut it again. It was one thing to chat with the Enemy on the wall of Eden just after the Fall of Man. It was one thing to call a truce of sorts for their benefit when Good and Evil cancelled each other out anyway. It was another matter entirely to allow a demon to touch his wings.

And yet, Aziraphale hesitated.

It would have been so much easier to simply return to Heaven where he wouldn't have to worry about frivolous miracles and an uncomfortable moult, but that thought was somehow less desirable than the unexpected alternative which had presented itself. Even worse, Aziraphale suddenly realised, this horrible unexpected alternative actually sounded quite nice.

The angel wasn't a fool. Demons could be tricky creatures, spinning elaborate schemes only to attack when their victims let their guard down. But Aziraphale had watched Crowley closely since the Beginning whenever they ran into each other and knew that this demon was different from the rest. Warmth flooded his chest as he recalled how gentle Crowley had been with the children plaiting his long red locks thousands of years ago. And it had looked quite fetching when they were done.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I, uh. Well, if you could assist me then I shall be sure Heaven notices nothing untoward in Denmark. Seems only fair. With our arrangement and all."

Crowley's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Oh, uh, yeah. Course. Offered, didn't I. Hmm, uh. We should, we'll have to find, somewhere. Anywhere. Can't have wings out in a pub." He picked up his empty drink only to put it back on the table. Standing up, his eyes glanced around the room and occasionally back to Aziraphale. "Just going to, uh," he trailed off as he slithered away.

Approaching the owner of the establishment, he asked about rooms. Paying the man, he hesitated for a moment before returning to their table. "We can head up whenever you want, angel. Not that I'm rushing you, just thought you might want to get it over with." To stop himself from babbling more, Crowley dropped the key onto the table. It was best that the angel felt in control of the situation.

The angel looked at the key. He swigged the rest of his drink quickly, afraid they would both lose their nerve if he stalled. Nerves aside, the irritation in his wings was becoming truly unbearable. He wasn't sure how much longer he could bear the annoyance. Aziraphale swiped the key off the table as he stood. "I just finished anyway."

"Right." The demon hadn't bothered to sit again, shifting back and forth on his feet, and that seemed to be a good thing. He followed a few paces behind Aziraphale as they made their way upstairs.

The room was sparsely furnished with only a bed in the middle of the room, bedside table with a washing bowl and candle, and a small wardrobe. It would serve their needs well enough.

Crowley hesitated awkwardly near the door after he closed it, hoping to let the angel take the lead. To feel comfortable with what was about to happen. As if any angel could be comfortable around a demon.

Aziraphale stood before the bed, keeping Crowley in his peripheral vision as he took off his light coloured cloak. He laid it flat on the end of the bed before slipping off his coat and belt, pulling his tunic over his head so the wings wouldn't tear his clothes. He shivered as the cold air hit his bare skin and pulled his wings into view. He glanced at Crowley who still hadn't moved from the doorway, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

The demon had been doing his best not to stare at the angel as he undressed, but he snuck a few glances here and there. His eyes caught on the markings of the angle's left arm. He recognised the markings of an angel, the leaflet looking patterns that adorned the servants of God. Crowley noticed they seemed to only appear on the left arm, above the elbow, rather than being symmetrical to both arms. The marks were also silver. It was enchanting, and he couldn't look away.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, heat rising his to face. "Best get on with it then."

Colour rose in Crowley's cheeks as well at having been caught in the act. He coughed awkwardly and nodded. "Right, yeah. Course. Uh, you should probably, ngh, sit on the, bed."

"Oh. Right." Aziraphale sat on the edge, still watching Crowley. He stretched his wings out enough so he could sit comfortably, a few loose feathers fluttering to the floor.

The mistrust in those blue eyes didn't escape his notice, but Crowley shuffled around to the other side of the room so he could stand behind Aziraphale trying not to look as guilty as he felt. He hadn't even done anything wrong, but the angel had a way of making him feel otherwise.

Crowley had seen Aziraphale's wings before, on the wall of Eden, but that had been the first and last time until now. They were mid-moult and generally seemed long in need of a good preening anyway. He could see the trapped feathers near the base as well as many other feathers and barbs that did not flush properly. "You're wings haven't seen the better side of preening in ages, angel. When was the last time you tended them?"

Aziraphale bristled, literally. His feathers puffed out indignantly, making the dishevelled appearance even worse. "A decade ago or so and I can only reach so far, so pardon me for missing a few spots. We can't all be as vain as a demon. Vanity is looked down on after all."

"A decade! You mean not since the last moult?!" This was genuinely shocking. Crowley didn't rise to the bait about vanity, knowing Aziraphale wasn't in the best of moods.

"When else am I supposed to preen?"

"I don't know! I do at least every month. Sometimes more often if I feel like. Or I get bored." He slipped his gloves off and dropped them onto the table next to the washing bowl.

"Once a month?! How do you find the time during assignments?"

"I have time. I make time. My wings are important to me." What was left of them, at least. He could see where he should start, the right side was looking a bit more in need with more trapped feathers, but it was the starting that seemed to be difficult.

"I take offence at your implication. Just because I don't spend hours shining my feathers doesn't mean they aren't important to me."

"Never implied that, angel."

Very slowly, Crowley reached out and placed his hands gently near the base where wing met skin.

Aziraphale twitched out of reflex when he felt the hand touch his back, wings starting to pull in instinctively but he managed to stop himself before he accidentally clocked the demon over the head. Trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart, he forced himself to sit still.

Ducking out of the way at the movement, Crowley kept his guard up. Even if it was just a jerk reaction, he didn't really want to be smacked. After a moment of hesitation, he leant in closer so he could see more easily. There wasn't a lot of light in the room, and his eyesight wasn't the best anyway. He carefully felt along the trapped feathers, his fingers showing him just as much as his eyes.

Without giving it much thought, he slowly sat down on the bed as well. At first, his legs were on the floor as he twisted into the wings, but he quickly shifted to curl limbs under himself. Hands never left Aziraphale as he worked to free the feathers there.

Once the scapulars had been released from their casings, his hands moved across the wing as he picked out old feathers and smoothed coverts into place. Nimble fingers also removed bits of dirt and leftover casings. The demon was silent as he worked, all his attention was focused on the task.

When he had finished, the wing had a beautiful shine to it. He moved without asking to the left wing and began the same process over again. It was a slow process, but Crowley would not be rushed. He cared a great deal for his own wings, but caring for Aziraphale like this made him even more meticulous.

As Crowley worked, slowly, very slowly, Aziraphale began to relax. After weeks of discomfort and irritation in his wings, it was a relief to have someone to help the moult along in the places Aziraphale couldn't reach. The angel's shoulders lowered and he rolled his neck, first to the left, with a small sigh.

When the task was complete, Crowley almost didn't want to pull away. But his hands returned to his own lap. Overstepping their boundaries had gone far enough tonight. Almost.

"And you don't have to keep Heaven out of the loop just for this. About Denmark. Or anything. As payment. Whatever. You don't owe me anything, angel." Crowley stood up, moving away from the bed and stood near the door again to give Aziraphale space.

Aziraphale folded his freshly moulted wings against his back, the smoothed feathers rustling almost silently as they folded over each other before vanishing into the aether. Without standing, he slipped on the cream coloured tunic over his head. He didn't bother to finish dressing as he looked at the demon backing toward the door. "I didn't think demons did any favours freely."

"Not a favour."

The angel gave Crowley a perplexed look. "Then what would you call that? What are you looking for in return?"

Crowley shifted nervously from one foot to the other again, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze. "Well, I just, uh, nothing really. Nothing. Like I said, don't owe me anything."

"What the devil are you playing at? Is this some kind of rain cheque? Saving the favour for another time?"

"No, nothing like that," the demon felt as guilty as he probably looked. He avoided looking at Aziraphale by glaring at the water bowl where he had forgotten his gloves.

"Then what?"

"I was just, just enjoying the company," Crowley muttered quietly. His hands slipped into his pockets and shoulders slumped at the unfortunately truthful admission.

"Oh." Aziraphale was suddenly unsure how to feel, what to do, or what to say. He stared at Crowley, then looked around the room, then fiddled his hands together, then looked back at the demon, then away, then back. "Well, thank you for, for, whatever this is."

"Don't thank me. Just, uh, I should probably be leaving. For the best, yeah. Let you, ngk," throwing open the door, Crowley bolted into the corridor.

"Wait!" Aziraphale jumped off the bed to his feet, started to hurry after the demon before he stopped short with a swear word almost toppling off the tip of his tongue. Biting it back, he hurried back to the bed to finish dressing.

Crowley's face felt too hot, and he was just lucky he didn't need air to survive. He had forgotten to breathe around the time he had sat down on the bed.

Scurrying down the stairs back into the hall where a few late-night patrons were still seated at the bar, he tried to shuffle out of the inn just as quickly. A man, probably a local, well in his own cups, raised his glass at the demon with a knowing wink. Crowley averted his eyes and made no response as he walked out into the cold night breeze.

He came to a stop near the stables around the back of the inn and leant against the door. He didn't have a horse, but he was weighing the need to leave quickly against, well, he didn't really care about stealing actually. Slipping into the barn, he began sizing up the horses until he noticed the pure white horse practically radiating angelic energy. Rolling his eyes, he snapped his fingers. A cart appeared next to the white beast along with a plain-looking sack that would repel anyone looking to steal. Crowley was trying to work out which horse was the least likely to immediately attack him when the door opened. He ducked behind a stall wall, hoping not to be caught in the act of horse theft. He also stayed away from the horse, not wanting it to kick him.

Aziraphale stood inside the stable doors, panting a bit. "I know you're in there, Crowley. Aren't you going to use the room you paid for?"

Crowley sighed in relief that it wasn't a human, before swearing under his breath that it wasn't a human. He stood up. "Oh, uh, nope. All yours. I have to, uh, got work to do."

"Oh, well, alright. If you're certain." Aziraphale paused. "Hang on, I thought you said you didn't have any assignments?"

"Well, I, lied. Yup. Demon. That's what I do, lie. Lots of work to do."

The angel gave Crowley a dubious look. "Right."

Aziraphale moved away from the door. "Well, I'm grateful for your, ah, assistance. Mind how you go. May we meet again soon."

Crowley made a noncommittal sort of sound in response, not watching Aziraphale leave. Unfortunately for him, he had also not been watching the horse he had been hiding with. The horse had decided this was the moment to reclaim its stall.

"Agh!" Crowley was kicked very solidly in the side, over the wall, and onto the dirt floor. The demon groaned from the ground, positive he had broken something. Probably a bone. Annoying things, bones.

The angel was at his side in a flash, having moved faster than was humanly possible. "Oh, my dear, are you all right?" Before the demon could protest, he laid a hand on Crowley's side and the pain melted away instantly.

"There, that's better. Now we're even." The angel beamed, obviously self-satisfied, and helped Crowley to his feet.

Finding himself on his feet again, Crowley felt his torso for the wounds that weren't there. It had all happened rather quickly. His mind finally registered the words, and he held in a groan. "Told you, you didn't owe me. You shouldn't be healing demons. Heaven will notice. And you're not supposed to use miracles anyway. Celestial Accounting and all that nonsense."

Aziraphale waved a hand in the air carelessly. "Never mind all that. At worst, I'll receive a reprimand and nothing more. Besides, isn't my angelic duty to help those in need? It's a selfless act to help a human who had a nasty accident with a horse."

"Yeah? Only I'm not exactly a human, Aziraphale."

"I couldn't tell. It was very dark," Aziraphale said with false innocence.

The groan Crowley had been holding back a moment ago could no longer be suppressed.

"It's too late to take it back now, so you'd best just run along," Aziraphale continued, a little too smugly.

"Still, you shouldn't be healing a demon. Even if Heaven doesn't know."

"Didn't you have some very important hellish deeds to attend to?"

Crowley ducked his gaze away from the angel. "Oh, right. I guess. Said as much, yeah." He felt bad about how the evening had gone very drastically downhill, but there was nothing he could say or do to fix things.

Aziraphale stepped back, releasing his gentle hold on the demon's arm from having helped him up. He hesitated. "Safe travels, dear boy." He hurried out of the stables.

Crowley let the angel go without saying anything. He slumped back against some wall and exhaled a long sigh. "Night, my angel."

He stayed there a moment or two longer before he looked up to glare at the horse that had kicked him. "And you. You're coming with me. And you won't like it."