Cowritten by Arthur Albion

Autumn 2023

Crowley's eyesight had never been the best, but he would never admit it. His pupil shape was designed for a snake and would have made him an excellent ambush hunter stalking through the night if he preferred that form. And if he actually bothered to hunt prey which seemed altogether like far too much effort when everything would taste like dirt anyway. The slits of his pupils might be fantastic for depth perception, but he was light-sensitive. Sunglasses had many uses. Wonderful invention, in his opinion, into which he had personally dipped his own influence. Unfortunately, eyes designed for tracking prey meant he sometimes had trouble seeing things that were stationary. Reading books, for example, was particularly difficult.

Despite all this, Crowley realised he was squinting more than usual when he had actually blinked at his phone in an attempt to bring the screen back into focus. It didn't help. Sighing, Crowley stood up and slipped the mobile into his pocket. Approaching the mirror in his ostentatious washroom, his suspicions were confirmed. The reflection looking back at him was rather blurry. His brille were both starting to cloud over. Annoyed, he recalled the sensation of being rather itchy over the past few days. It was that time of year again. Time to shed.

Unlike a moult of his feathers which he had to deal with every decade, shedding his snakeskin happened annually, much to his chagrin. Both events rendered him rather vulnerable. They were also both rather uncomfortable.

Pulling his mobile back out, Crowley considered the dark screen. He didn't want Aziraphale to worry about his absence, but he also didn't want the angel to notice his absence at all. Reasoning with himself, Aziraphale hadn't noticed in the centuries leading up to Armageddon. But their time apart had been more frequent than their time spent together. However, it had been particularly difficult to sneak around without detection when they had both been employed in the service of the Dowlings. Crowley didn't want the humans, Aziraphale, or really anyone to discover him.

Well, Aziraphale hasn't worked it out in the few years since Armageddon either, his mind argued back as it did every year when this routine came around. Crowley had even shed very soon after the world-changing events of that August in 2018 without the angel noticing.

The demon had briefly entertained the fleeting idea last year when Aziraphale had finally caught him mid moult that perhaps the angel could also assist him as he shed. The thought had surfaced again a few months later next he shed, but Crowley had chickened out and dealt with it on his own. Just as he had over six thousand times before. It had been mortifying enough to be caught moulting. But Aziraphale had experience with moults. They both had wings after all, and they both moult those wings every decade. This was no reason to guess the angel had any experience with reptiles or would be willing to learn through first-hand experience.

Aziraphale had never seemed repelled by his serpentine form, and he usually seemed quietly amused when customers would flee his shop at the sight of Crowley. A.Z. Fell and Co. was gaining quite a reputation online for the snake that seemingly roamed the shop without restraint. People reported seeing snakes in all sizes, and so theories seemed to believe the eccentric shop owner kept more than just one elapid. All of them black and red, however.

Crowley sighed at the screen as he unlocked the device and pulled up the contact information for the bookshop. He wished he could just text, but he knew better. All attempts to provide the angel with a mobile device, seemingly smart or otherwise, had been vehemently rejected by Aziraphale. He could call the bookshop, or visit in person. Going over in person at this stage, in his state, was right out. Fingers drummed on the counter of the vanity as he listened to the phone ring. He had no idea what time it was.

It was nearly one in the morning. And it was a weekday. No decent person called at this time of night. Closing the novel, Aziraphale set it aside as he crossed the shop. "I am afraid we are quite definitely closed for the night."

"Aziraphale."

"Oh, hello, Crowley dear."

"Yeah, hi. Listen, thought I should tell you, won't be around for the next week or so."

"Oh? Why is that? Has something happened?"

"No, nothing's wrong. Just, going to be a bit, uh, busy. Won't be able to drop by the shop. Didn't want you to, mmm," Crowley trailed off, waving a hand in the air as if he could be seen. Aziraphale would worry no matter what he did or said.

"Yes, of course." The anxious tone was barely concealed and rather obviously woven with disappointment. "And will I see you again when you are, less busy?"

"Definitely. Yes. I'll come round as soon as I can. If you like."

"That would be lovely, thank you, my dear."

"Uh, right. Yeah. See you. Uh," Crowley hung up before he could continue rambling.

Aziraphale placed the old rotary in its cradle slowly as his frown returned. Turning to the wall, he consulted the calendar hanging there. It was something he had noticed when they had been employed by the Dowlings for the better part of a decade, Crowley had always managed to slip away from the house for a week in the Autumn. At the time, Aziraphale hadn't thought much about it. They, like all the staff, were given holiday time, and Crowley seemed to always take his at the same time of year. Nothing too strange. Humans did this, usually in the summer, to his understanding. Aziraphale had tended to spread the days over the year rather than take them all at once. The singular exception had been when they both used the time off during the Spring of 2015. Aziraphale had been due for a moult, and Crowley had graciously assisted him.

Still, the angel had found it a bit suspicious when Crowley had claimed to come down with some illness the following Autumn. At the time, Aziraphale had suspected the demon was also moulting, but he knew now that the demon had moulted his own lovely grey wings three years prior in 2012. So, what had Crowley been up to that Autumn in 2015? Hell had only given him one assignment since 2007 and that was raising Warlock.

Always in the Autumn. Always for a week. Not even a month after Armageddon, this had still held true. Which only confirmed this ritual was not, in fact, related to Hell. Aziraphale's curiosity only increased.

He wanted to trust Crowley, and he did trust Crowley. But there was no denying the presence of something the demon was pointedly and purposefully not telling him. It had taken a few years, and some research, but Aziraphale thought he might have worked out what was happening to his friend. As far as he knew, Crowley's original demonic form was that of a great, black and red serpent. Serpents might not exactly be snakes, but they were both reptiles. And reptiles shed their skin.

Since he had caught Crowley mid-moult and theorised about shedding, Aziraphale had been waiting for the serpent to ask for help. In Aziraphale's mind there was no difference in the vulnerability and intimacy when comparing moulting and shedding, not that he had experience in both. At the very least, Aziraphale hoped Crowley would trust him enough to confide the nature of his autumnal absences. However, Aziraphale hadn't heard so much as a peep on the subject from Crowley as the year slowly whittled away as an angel waited in vain for a demon to trust.

Aziraphale couldn't blame Crowley. Their understanding of each other had evolved gradually over the centuries, their delicate balance nurtured meticulously as they learned to grow together. They tested each other's boundaries guardedly and it was always clear when a wall was discovered. Usually by the elegant method of running smack into it. Seemingly, Aziraphale was normally the first one to put his foot down and throw up his barriers. It seemed this way only because Crowley had never lowered his own. Not all the way.

In the wake of failed Armageddon, however, Aziraphale found himself enjoying Crowley's accelerated pace in life. So much so, the angel had begun to change his own pace in an attempt to better match. This caused their one well practised dance, formed and learnt over the millennia, to suddenly falter. They were awkward with each other now, stepping on the other's toes as they struggled together. The long-established sense of direction and rhythm had been disrupted. Aziraphale, for once, wasn't uncomfortable with this newfound uncertainty. He had full confidence that nothing could ever again drive them apart. Neither Heaven nor Hell had such power over them anymore.

Aziraphale brushed his pondering away, knowing he was overthinking it all. Crowley had never been one to share something like this unprompted, and he reasoned the demon simply was not used to such an intimate type of trust. The type they were starting to discover, together.

A day passed before Aziraphale popped over to Crowley's flat. He reasoned if Crowley truly was out, then it was the least he could do to water the plants. More likely, however, Crowley would be in. At least that was what the angel was hoping for. Aziraphale didn't want to think of the guilty possibility that Crowley hadn't been lying at all and really did have business to attend.

Crowley had never given the angel a key to his flat, but then Aziraphale had never given the demon a key to the bookshop. Locks were meaningless to them both. Aziraphale took the first bus over to Mayfair. The lift was empty as he rode it up to the top. The penthouse. No one else inhabited this floor.

Aziraphale knocked once, waited, twice, waited again, then finally opened the door with a small miracle. All was quiet, and the flat looked empty. Well, it always looked empty, even when Crowley was here. Closing the door behind himself, the angel paused as he focused. Extending his senses, he searched the immediate vicinity. Opening his eyes, Aziraphale smiled. Crowley's familiar presence was indeed here in the flat.

There was no rush, so the angel crossed the flat quietly until he found the plant mister. He recognised the green bottle and actually did begin watering the plants. Feeling a bit guilty by how they seemed to lean in towards him in the absence of shouting and threats, he gave them an encouraging smile and some whispered encouragements.

"Angel?"

The voice came from the floor. Once his shed began, Crowley was stuck as a serpent until he finished. He couldn't really see Aziraphale, but he had smelled the angel as soon as Aziraphale had entered the flat. No sense of taste, but two senses of smell came in handy sometimes. He tried to direct his face towards where he thought Aziraphale was standing. His eyes were visibly clouded, but hopefully, the angel would not notice this fact.

"What are you doing here? I said I was busy this week."

"My apologies, I didn't realise you would be home. I assumed you were away on business and thought I might make myself useful by watering your plants in your absence." Aziraphale instantly knew Crowley couldn't see him but still tried to look and sound as innocent as possible.

"The plants?" Crowley moved forward a bit as if pretending to look at the nearest. It began shaking. "Have you been nice to them? You know you can't be nice to them."

"Oh, well, yes. A bit. Nothing too lavish. Not to worry."

Serpents didn't really have the vocal capacity for words or many sounds, but this had never stopped Crowley and it didn't stop him now as he groaned in response. Crowley turned back to Aziraphale's approximate fuzzy outline and reared up to be slightly more at eye level. It might have been a threatening pose for any other snake.

"Angel, look, I appreciate the, uh, generosity, but really they'll be getting on just fine. You can return to your books. I'll see you in a week."

Aziraphale had been watching the black serpent closely and spotted the peeling skin on Crowley's snout. He decided to throw caution to the wind. "Well, if I can't help with your plants, perhaps I can help with your shed."

Crowley hadn't been intimidating before, but he certainly looked nothing short of docile as he slunk back down to the floor and curled in on himself. Really, he wasn't surprised in the slightest. It would have taken a real miracle for the angel not to notice. Slowly, the serpent began to slink back the way he had come as if Aziraphale wouldn't notice the large black serpent leaving.

"Oh, I, uh, no. It's fine. I'm fine. You don't have to. It's not like a moult. You, uh, you probably wouldn't like it. I'll see you in a week?"

The angel watched in open amusement at the giant serpent trying to slither away. He waited until he was sure that feeling wouldn't bleed into his voice. "Are you sure? I'm certain it would be easier for you if I'm here. I've read up on the subject extensively and I don't mind."

That gave Crowley pause and he glanced back even though he couldn't see Aziraphale. "You've been reading up on snakes and shedding? Why?"

"Well, I've had my suspicions for a while now and I thought it would be, erm, beneficial for both of us if I could assist."

"Oh." Crowley couldn't blush in this form, but somehow the serpent still managed to look embarrassed. "I thought I was doing a better job of hiding it. How, uh, how long have you known? That I shed every year, I mean."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean- well, you were quite good at keeping it quiet. I only began piecing it together when we worked at the Dowlings and you took holiday every Autumn."

"Good." Nodding, a very un serpent-like thing to do, Crowley seemed satisfied. "Just, y'know, I don't- didn't want Hell to ever find out. Or Heaven. Or you."

The atmosphere rather thick between them now. The air too. Steam was rolling out of the washroom into the rest of the flat. The bath itself was empty, but the air was just as thick and humid as if it had just been filled with very hot water.

There was a quick intake of breath from the angel, then a pause. "Oh. Well, I suppose if you'd rather have privacy, I understand. I'll see you in a week?"

"Uh, well, I, sure. If you like. You don't have to stay."

"Really, it's no trouble. If you'd like help, you need only ask." Aziraphale had not moved an inch.

"You are really pushing it, angel." Crowley groaned again as he felt the cool tiles of the corridor change into the warm tiles of the bathroom. Unable to sense his exact location, however, he practically yelped as he fell into the empty bath.

The angel rushed into the bathroom. "Oh dear, are you alright?"

"Just, go. Please." His pride was hurt, as was his nose. "I've been dealing with this forever. It's bad enough without you here to watch."

Aziraphale sighed loudly in exasperation. "Yes, but you don't have to. Now tell me what to do, you stubborn old serpent."

Unfolding himself from the pile he had become on the floor of the bath, Crowley tilted his head up and looked just a bit left of Aziraphale. A moment passed before he sighed. "Fine. Fine. If you could, just, gently peel the skin from my nose back." In an attempt to put his face within arms reach for the angel, Crowley clumsily thumped himself into the side of the bath wall. He growled in frustration. Being almost blind did not suit the serpent.

"Right," the angel quickly crossed the bathroom when he saw Crowley move. "Hold still. I can't help if you keep moving everywhere."

Giving up, Crowley laid down in the bath and just waited. Helping never really was his thing. He felt vulnerable and humiliated. Next year, he resolved to leave the continent so Aziraphale couldn't find him. Maybe he would always have to flee to avoid this when he had to shed and moult.

Aziraphale went down the stairs of the gigantic bath that was really more of a pool, and hovered near Crowley, suddenly hesitating. Despite insisting on helping, the demon did have a point. Aziraphale had never helped with a snake shedding before and didn't want to make the situation worse for Crowley. It was one thing to read and become knowledgeable about a subject, but it was another to actually do it.

"Let me know if I'm hurting you. My hand is right in front of you, just so you know." Aziraphale pushed away any lingering doubts as he approached with as much care as he could.

Crowley could hear and smell the angel, but he was all but blind to actually see the movements and proximity as Aziraphale got down into the empty bath with him. The serpent was resolved to remain as motionless as he could. There was no risk of him injuring Aziraphale, even being venomous, but Crowley still didn't want to move much at this stage. He could hear the hesitation that had replaced the smugness in the angel's voice now that he was being forced to put his money where his mouth was, as it were.

"'S fine, angel. I don't need commentary." Crowley reassured. He hesitated, "I trust you."

Aziraphale couldn't help the smile that spread across his face but didn't trust himself to speak just yet. Instead, he gently touched the snake's snout and then even more gently peeled back the skin.

The peeling started slow. Aziraphale was hesitant and tentative when it came to pulling on the skin, but it was also fascinating in a way to watch and feel it slide off the smooth, new scales underneath. Once they had made it past Crowley's eyes, things were a bit easier. Aziraphale had gained a bit more confidence, and with the peel already going Crowley was able to move things along at a more reasonable pace. Muscles shifted and undulated under the angel's hands as the serpent quite literally slithered out of his old skin.

Normally, this process took him nearly a week from start to finish on his own. With Aziraphale's help, he was out of his old skin in shorter than two days. Having started the shed before he had called the angel, it was almost unbelievable to be nearly finished with the whole ordeal.

With the privilege of sight returned to him, he could have smiled. If his serpentine features allowed for such an expression. They did not. When his tail had slid out, he looked himself up and down feeling rather pleased.

"Thanks, angel." Hissing like a snake, Crowley could have blushed. He focused. "You didn't have to, y'know, help."

"It was my pleasure." Aziraphale beamed at the serpent, secretly glad to see those beautiful yellow eyes so clear and bright once more. The angel looked mildly dishevelled, but that just comes from helping with a two-day shedding.

Crowley doubted that very much, but he decided to hold his tongue on the matter. Using his tail, he flicked his old skin out of the bath onto the floor above. It was an unusual sort of motion, but one he seemed very practised in. "Yeah, well. Uh. Right." Still a serpent, he laid himself flat against the bottom of the bath once more. This time, though, he had the pleasure of actually watching the angel.

Aziraphale sat back on his heels and looked at the serpent expectantly. After a pause, confusion crossed the angel's face. "Aren't you going to change back now that you've shed your skin?"

"Uh, right. Thing is, I, well, I need a bath. Before I can shift back." Crowley almost sounded apologetic.

"Oh." Aziraphale stood. Exiting the bath he backed out of the room, a bit of colour on his face. "I'll be just out there then. If you need anything."

Aziraphale closed the door behind himself, leaving the serpent alone in the steamy room. He straightened his coat and bowtie as he crossed the flat to the kitchen. It was just as unused looking as the rest of the flat tended to seem, but the fridge was fully stocked and the cupboards seemed to have everything he could want.

Settling on just some tea, he waited for it to boil by snooping a bit more through the kitchen. He very rarely saw Crowley eat, and even then it would usually just be a bite or two of whatever Aziraphale was insisting he try. It was unfathomable for all this food to be here. Maybe it was just for appearances, but he very much doubted the demon hosted. Ever.

Holding the warm cup, Aziraphale allowed himself to wander from room to room. He had trouble actually visualising the demon in this flat. With the exception of the unmade bed, the plants, and the ansaphone, there wasn't much else to suggest anyone lived here at all. Even despite the kitchen. So few touches of the demon's personality in this stark place. It was something he had distractedly observed when he spent the night after Armageddon, but there had been other things on his mind that night.

"Having a nice tour, angel?"

Aziraphale spun on his heel at the voice, feeling a bit guilty to have been caught. He had been standing in Crowley's office admiring the sketch of the Mona Lisa. Now he was admiring something else.

Crowley stood there in his preferred form with trousers, but without a shirt. He would have never been caught in such a state before, not with the four missing wing scars on his back. But Aziraphale already knew about them. His hair was also hidden under a towel twisted up on top of his head. The sunglasses were nowhere in sight.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have intruded."

"It's okay. Not much to intrude on anyway. Signora del Giocondo enjoys the company." Shrugging as his eyes flicked from the angel to the portrait and back, Crowley finally noticed the way Aziraphale was looking at him. It was reminiscent of how he looked at pastries. Yellow eyes widened slightly before he glanced away. For something to do, he bent forward slightly and flipped the towel twist off his head and began drying his hair. Crowley had been wearing it short after Armageddon, but it was currently as long as it had been when they met on the wall of Eden.

"Does your hair grow out like that every time you shed?"

"What? Oh, yes." Crowley shook his head a bit when he was done then tossed the red curls over his back. Damp, but no longer dripping.

"You've always had such lovely hair."

"Oh. I, uh, thanks," said Crowley sounding a little shy. "You've never mentioned that before." In truth, the demon hadn't thought Aziraphale ever really considered his corporation. In any of its forms.

"I never dared. Before. But I've always thought it."

"Oh," Crowley repeated. He wanted to ask why, but he knew exactly why. Instead, he glanced away again. Turning, he left the doorway to his own office and slouched down onto one end of his stylishly pure white and very uncomfortable leather sofa. He almost never sat here, and the few times he did were enough of a reminder why. Crowley didn't know what to say or do. This had gone better than his moult the previous year. Not that either event had set a high bar for trust and familiarity between them.

Aziraphale sat on the other side of the couch with his tea, but he seemed much more at ease with the situation. Placing the empty cup out of the way, he shifted subtly to face Crowley. After a slight moment of hesitation, he slowly reached out. His fingers slid easily through Crowley's hair, even in spite of the lingering water which should have tangled together. As if his hair had ever dared to tangle or knot.

Crowley had watched every movement but still tensed under the initial contact. Unlike when he shed, or when he had moulted, the demon relaxed within a few seconds and practically leant into the warm hands. This was comforting in a way exposing his most vulnerable nature, twice, had most certainly not been.

If Aziraphale had been smiling before, it was nothing to the expression of love that settled onto his face. Crowley had always enjoyed wrapping himself up when on the angel's shoulders in his more mischievous moments in the shop, and Aziraphale had wondered, on more than one occasion over the years, about how touch starved the demon must be.

Within half of an hour, Crowley had gone from leaning into the touch to full-on laying across the couch with his head in the angel's lap. He wasn't asleep, but his eyes were closed in contentment. Maybe being caught by his angel in the most vulnerable states hadn't been such a bad thing after all.