I take it from the majority of reviews left that you guys are excited about Aziraphale.
As a note, Aziraphale is a main character in a book called Good Omens - if you like Supernatural, I'd definitely recommend it. It's much the same premise as season 5, without being identical. And it's hilarious.
That said, Aziraphale will not be exactly the same Aziraphale from Good Omens. First, it would be kinda unfair to people who have no idea who he is; second, I've got my own ideas for this Aziraphale concerning his backstory and such. Which will be revealed probably in this chapter, or at least hinted at. I'll see where this goes. His character will be similar in most other respects, though.
And besides, Crowley's already a character - so, sorry to those who were looking forward to it, but Good Omens' AJ Crowley will not be making an appearance.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter
"Hellhounds, really?" Aziraphale had managed to get all three of them into his back room in a surprisingly short amount of time, producing a teapot and cups from who knew where. He seemed reluctant to take his eyes off Gabriel; no one, even other angels, could be perfectly at ease leaving an archangel to their own devices if they knew what one was capable of.
"I'm as surprised as you are," Gabriel replied, waving away the offer of a cup of tea. He'd never gotten why people in England liked it so much.
"And they followed you all the way here?" Aziraphale shook his head. "Tracking you down is one thing, but following you from one world to the next is frankly a surprise. I hadn't thought them capable of it. At the very least, you should have had a day or two before they arrived."
Gabriel had wondered the same, when he'd had time to wonder about it. Fleur had taken the explanation of alternate worlds with no more than a vaguely skeptical raised eyebrow, after Hermione first asked how another angel had ended up on her world and then been informed they were back on the one that Gabriel had originally come from.
"But why were they after us?" Fleur asked. "You said that demons had put that...thing onto Hermione. What for?"
"Because you were witches," Gabriel explained. Hadn't he told them that already?
"Witches?" Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. "Gabriel, really." He sounded disapproving.
"Don't look at me like that, you're the one giving them tea. Besides, they're alright."
"I thought you said you stopped that," Hermione interrupted.
"Stopped what?" Fleur and Aziraphale asked at nearly the same time.
"There was a demon killing wizards, but you said it was dead." Hermione was giving Gabriel a look that clearly said start explaining, now.
"It is dead." It was like no one trusted him anymore.
"There were demons, too?" Aziraphale sighed into his cup. "Dear me. That's unfortunate."
"It's a little more than unfortunate. As far as I can tell, the first one got summoned and then got a little too curious about how their magic worked."
"The 'first' one?" Fleur repeated. "There are more?"
"I ran into a few a couple days ago."
"I didn't hear about anyone dying." Hermione worried her lip between her teeth. "What happened?"
"They're dead," Gabriel said nonchalantly. "I took the time to ask them some stuff, but they were just there to track down the first one."
"Are you sure more won't show up?" Aziraphale asked. "It's bad enough here, demons running around willy-nilly. I'd hate for that sort of thing to spread to other worlds."
"It won't." Not if he had anything to do with it. "From what they said, it was hard to get just four of them over. Unless Hell has some sort of breakthrough in dimensional travel, I doubt it's going to get any easier for them."
"If it's that difficult, most likely they'll give up on it," Aziraphale mused. "Especially if none of them come back. But that all depends on whether this 'new' magic is enough of a lure for them." He focused on Fleur and Hermione. "If I may ask, how does your magic work?"
The couple glanced at each other. "That's a bit difficult to say," Hermione said. "Neither of us are magical theorists; I'm still in school, actually."
"Mm. What I meant was, how do you channel it?" Aziraphale clarified. "If it was different enough to attract that many demons despite the difficulty of it, I, er...well, it must be quite interesting."
"Wands, usually," Hermione answered after a moment. "We can use them to do all sorts of spells, but you've got to start with the more basic ones. I think it's because they use less energy. Wandless magic's very difficult. I think only Merlin ever managed it, though of course that's just hearsay. And of course once you get a hang on the basics then you can move to nonverbal spells."
Aziraphale nodded as she spoke. "I take it your spells are verbal incantations, then?"
Gabriel leaned back in his chair as Hermione and Aziraphale descended into a discussion on magic and how it might, possibly, work. He didn't doubt that more demons were coming, whether to find out what happened to the others or motivated by greed for a new place to spread their metaphorical nets. This world wasn't the only one that had crossroads. Hopefully Aziraphale was right about them possibly giving up on it; he'd know more about them. He'd spent so much time on Earth that Gabriel doubted he hadn't run into more than a few.
Still, Gabriel thought it was unlikely.
"Hold on for a moment." Fleur spoke up, breaking into Hermione and Aziraphale's conversation. "You haven't told us what these demons want. Not really."
"They want to know how your magic works." Gabriel said. He was sure he'd mentioned that already. "Probably to see if they can manipulate it so they get something out of it. Demons possessing magical vessels would give them control of that vessel's magic."
"Oh, wonderful," Aziraphale muttered. "That's exactly what we need. Demons with strange powers."
"So demons are running around and doing whatever they like?" Fleur was frowning.
"Crowley sent a few of them. Beyond that, I don't know who else is involved."
"Who's Crowley?" Hermione asked curiously.
"The King."
"Of what, Hell?"
"Exactly," Aziraphale said. He looked thoughtful. "I know I've heard of Crowley before. If he's behind this, he's probably just looking for more people to corrupt. Souls and whatnot."
"Souls?" Hermione looked incredulous. "You mean human souls? What do demons want those for?"
"Power," Aziraphale said simply. "A human soul's one of the most valuable things in existence. Crossroads demons will give a person anything they want, and ten years to enjoy it of course, in exchange for the person's soul."
"People actually sell their soul?" Hermione seemed to have forgotten about her tea. "That's - why?"
"If they're desperate." Gabriel shrugged. "For fame, for power, to get rich quick."
"To bring someone back from the dead," Aziraphale added.
"You can't bring someone back to life," Fleur said. She was looking at them as if she was just realizing that she was at a table full of dubiously sane people. Or one person and a few ethereal beings, to be technical about it.
"Sure you can," Gabriel said. "You just need to have the right kind of power. Or sell your soul to someone who does, in this case."
The two of them glanced at each other incredulously. "Then why don't you do it all the time?" Hermione demanded.
"Because just because we're capable of doing it, doesn't mean we should." Aziraphale sipped his tea. "Gabriel and I possess enough power individually, not to mention if we worked together, to do quite a lot of nasty things, but we don't. Death is certainly a bad thing, but that doesn't mean we go around resurrecting people just because we can."
"And Death gets pissed off if we do," Gabriel put in. "So, y'know, it's also to avoid having to deal with him and whatever he'd do."
Aziraphale frowned at him. "He's not that unreasonable of a fellow, really."
"Yeah, and he outranks me by like, a million."
"He's Death. He doesn't have a rank, and certainly not by Heavenly standards." Aziraphale replied primly. "Regardless, resurrecting people for no reason at all would just be in bad taste. And demons only do it for the soul. It's not as though they're trying to be nice."
"That would be weird."
Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. "So," she began, changing the subject, "how long are we going to stay here, anyway?"
Judging by the way Aziraphale's attention sharpened, he wanted to know the answer to that question, too. "There's still demons to consider," Gabriel said evasively. "This world has a lot more of them, even if the store is warded. And we still don't know who sent them after you."
"Crowley?" Aziraphale suggested.
"I doubt it."
"It's late already," Hermione reminded them. "If we take too long, it's going to be morning before we can leave. Couldn't we just ask Michael-"
"Michael?"
Aziraphale dropped his cup.
It hit the table, the dregs of the tea spilling out. He didn't seem to notice.
"Yeah," Hermione said slowly, glancing at the spreading puddle of tea and pushing her chair back slightly. "Shouldn't you get a...paper towel or something?"
Aziraphale waved his hand almost absentmindedly at the mess. The tea gathered itself back into the teacup, which righted itself. He was looking at Gabriel. "I need to speak to you. Privately."
Gabriel stood up reluctantly, letting himself be pushed out of the room. The door closed behind them with a click.
"Exactly when did Michael get out?" Aziraphale demanded in a whisper. His calm demeanor had immediately vanished.
"Last year." Gabriel kept his voice quiet, acutely aware that Hermione and Fleur were only separated from then by a piece of wood.
"How?"
"I don't know for sure."
"Why are you being so calm about this?" Aziraphale hissed. "I thought you of all angels-"
"That I'd what?" Gabriel snapped back in what could barely be counted as a stage whisper. "I didn't get Michael out myself, do I look insane to you? They just showed up!"
"And you just went with it?"
"I didn't realize they were Michael until recently."
"Realize? You can't be serious." Aziraphale sputtered.
"Be serious about what? That they fell?"
"Since when would Michael do anything like that?"
"They say they didn't have a choice."
Aziraphale laughed under his breath. "And you believed them? Falling itself is a choice."
"I don't know."
"This all sounds ridiculous. You're saying Michael was..." Aziraphale faltered, as if unwilling to actually say it.
"Human." Gabriel finished for him.
"Please tell me you're joking."
"Why would I joke about this?"
Aziraphale was moving his hands nervously, lacing his fingers together and tangling them up in each other. "But it - if they were human-" He cast a glance at the closed door. "I - I haven't heard anything about this. Surely if Michael were back-"
"There'd be 'something' going on and you would be able to tell?" Gabriel's mouth twisted. "They're...different. Michael apparently isn't too keen on picking up where they left off."
"Oh. Well. That's a relief." Aziraphale didn't look any less nervous. His hands didn't stop moving. "I...assume humanity er, impacted them rather drastically, then."
Gabriel gave him a flat look, raising one eyebrow. Aziraphale seemed to get the message.
"So what happens now?" he asked, changing the subject.
Gabriel hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted grudgingly.
"Who knows what will happen with Michael back in Heaven." Gabriel wasn't entirely sure Aziraphale was still talking to him. "If that gets out...well, there are more than a few who would refuse to follow them simply on principle. A more human Michael...I don't think Heaven's ready for that. And of course with such a radical shift in ideals..." Aziraphale paused, eyes flicking to Gabriel for a moment.
Gabriel crossed his arms. "You think there's going to be another war."
"It's been chaos since Michael was trapped." Aziraphale said, sounding almost wary of reminding Gabriel of it. "Many would wish for the same sort of order that they imposed before. Michael trying to change things will only exacerbate the situation."
"You're saying they shouldn't try to change it?" Gabriel said, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice.
"No, no, of course not," Aziraphale replied hurriedly. "I'm only saying-"
"I know you've been on Earth since before all of this went sideways, but Heaven has to change," Gabriel snapped. "If that comes with Michael owning up to their mistakes, even better. I don't care what anyone else has to say. Not all of them want that back."
"I'm aware," Aziraphale assured him. "But if it does go badly, this will be the second civil war in four years. I haven't been completely out of the loop."
"Don't remind me." Gabriel gritted his teeth. "You weren't there."
"So that means I don't know how bad it was?" Aziraphale shot back. "I may not have been, but that doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention. I saw all those who fell. You don't think I guessed what had happened? Guessed who had cast them down?"
"Shut up, Aziraphale!"
Aziraphale jerked backwards, startled by Gabriel's shout. Gabriel pinned him in place with a dark look.
"I left for a reason," he said shortly, biting out the words. "I don't need you bringing all that up again."
"I - Of course!" Aziraphale said hurriedly. "I should have known it would be a sore subject, what with you-"
"Just stop talking."
Aziraphale opened his mouth and then closed it, seemingly thinking better of whatever he'd been about to say. He made as if to open the door and reenter the back room, then hesitated again. "You know," he said quietly, "avoiding an issue doesn't make it disappear."
He vanished through the door before Gabriel could think of a good retort, closing it behind him. Gabriel settled for scowling at the door.
Aziraphale was too damn perceptive for his own good, sometimes.
The demon was hardly a surprise, but they caught Gabriel's attention anyway.
This time, he didn't immediately reveal himself. The demon was too obviously in the middle of something, glancing around furtively and ducking around corners. They were doing their best to blend into the crowd. Gabriel, if he hadn't been able to see their true face under the host, might have lost them in the crowded London streets.
Gabriel stayed a generous distance behind the demon. Too close, and he'd be spotted in an instant. Demons seemed to have a built-in survival instinct when it came to angels.
Eventually, the demon slipped into an alleyway. Gabriel lingered at the end of it, peeking around the corner to see them enter a building from the back.
"Damnit." He wouldn't be able to go inside without the demon knowing something was up. Gabriel was tossing up between waiting and just flying in and grabbing them when the windows lit up, magic sparking from inside the building.
Gabriel's eyebrows shot up. This was a new development.
Who else was in there?
The demon was gone, that was for sure. Gabriel flitted closer, taking a look inside. There was only one human in there, but - oh.
One, very familiar human.
Gabriel laughed under his breath, changing his vessel before letting himself in through the open door. "You're having some trouble tonight."
The dark-haired man spun around. The demon's host lay burnt out and discarded on the ground.
"Loki?" The man said disbelievingly in a thick Irish accent. "I'd heard you were dead."
"And you believed it? I'm offended, Patrick. You know I'm better than that."
Patrick snorted, kicking the empty body away from him. "I also heard there was an archangel involved. Forgive me for thinking the worst."
Gabriel's smile faded. Shit. He'd forgotten that Kali had blown his cover.
Maybe she hadn't told anyone? She was the only one who had made it out of the Elysian.
...Yeah, doubtful.
Patrick, though, was grinning at him. "It's good to see you," he said. "At least now I know someone who can actually give me a good game."
"I'm not here to play," Gabriel said.
"What, like loosing a few years bothers you?"
"In this economy? I've got to conserve what power I've got. In case you haven't notice, but Norse paganism hasn't really been big for the last few hundred years."
"Fair enough," Patrick admitted. "But if you didn't come here for a game, then I doubt you came to see me. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you since your supposed death."
"I've been keeping low." It wasn't, technically, a lie. "I was following that demon, actually. What's a demon want with you?"
Patrick sighed. "The same as the last three I've been forced to deal with. Honestly. Three different cities in three days. It's getting a bit tiring." He flipped a poker chip in his hand, and Gabriel could see the echo of magic on it. "They wanted these."
"What's a demon going to do with those?" Gabriel's brow furrowed. Demons didn't need the extra years Patrick kept tethered to his poker chips until he used them for himself. They were pretty much immortal unless they got killed.
"You've got me," Patrick said. "Unless it's for someone they're dealing with, but I doubt demons would give someone immortality. Defeats the whole 'selling your soul, dying, and going to Hell' bit, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," Gabriel agreed absentmindedly, mind racing. Patrick had, unknowingly, struck gold.
Demons didn't need immortality, but if they dealt with someone who wanted it...what better way to do it than by giving to them with a method that didn't make them any more difficult to kill?
And Gabriel definitely knew of someone who would sell his soul for immortality; or at the very least get someone else to sell theirs for him.
"I know that face." Patrick had crossed his arms. "You're about to pop out on me without so much as a goodbye, aren't you?"
"Unavoidable business?" Gabriel offered. "Look, I've been laying low, but I've still got stuff to do."
"Of course you do," Patrick sighed. "And if I ask, you're just going to say 'god business' and poof off."
"You know me so well," Gabriel said, falsely nostalgically. "But not really god business. I've been staying out of the loop for a reason."
"I'd almost say you want them to think you're dead," Patrick said. "Honestly, I know you've faked your death before, but this is taking it a bit far."
Gabriel just smirked, arching his eyebrows. "The limit's where I say the limit is."
"Sure." Patrick rolled his eyes. "Really, though. Don't be a stranger. I could use the company."
Now that he mentioned it, Gabriel didn't sense his girlfriend anywhere nearby. He doubted Patrick would react well if he asked about her. "I'll consider it." He conjured something behind his back, taking it out of non-existence into something solid and tossed it at Patrick. "Here, use this."
Patrick caught it easily. "A hexbag?" He asked skeptically, examining the object. "You're usually classier than this."
"It gets the job done if you don't want demons to find you," Gabriel told him. "Unless you'd rather give it back-"
"I just didn't know you even knew what these were, much less how to make them," Patrick retorted teasingly.
Gabriel just rolled his eyes, raising one hand in a wave as he transported himself away.
He didn't use his wings, going instead for the method Patrick would expect Loki to use. Pagan magic was slippery and reluctant to let him use it, after so many years of not doing so, but Gabriel managed to get himself back to the bookstore, his disguise slipping off him like water. Shapeshifting, on the other hand, was hard to loose a knack for once you'd got it. It was pure muscle memory, if magic counted as a muscle.
"Oh, there you are." Hermione looked relieved to see him. She'd taken refuge on Aziraphale's sofa with a relatively newer book, as far as the latter's collection went. Gabriel guessed that was why he'd let her take it off the shelf. "Where did you go?"
"Out and about. I was trying to dig up some more info on our demon friend with the hellhounds." Well, it wasn't a lie.
Hermione closed the book, looking at him expectantly. "Did you?"
"All I got is hunches." Gabriel flopped onto the sofa next to her. "We should probably leave soon."
"Oh, good," Hermione sighed. "It was getting so late, I was beginning to think you weren't coming back. Aziraphale was hardly helpful, you know." She imitated Aziraphale's posh accent. "'That's Gabriel for you, never stays in one place long. He'll be back eventually'. I got the feeling he meant more than a few hours."
"Time's different for us," Gabriel said, shrugging. "We don't see it the same way."
"Well, I figured." Hermione said. "You've been around so long, a day or so must seem like nothing."
"That's one way of putting it."
Hermione carefully placed the book on the table. "Aziraphale's nice, though. And his collection's amazing."
"He's mentioned that basically every time I come over," Gabriel said dryly.
"Because you always manage to cause some sort of chaos," Aziraphale said primly, appearing from between two shelves and whisking the book off the table. "I really should put this back, I got it as a first edition so it's rather older than some of these."
"A first edition?" Hermione repeated, looking surprised. "That's from the twelfth century, at least." She seemed to remember that that wasn't very odd for an angel as she was saying it, but Aziraphale had already started talking.
"Thirteenth, actually, the woman who wrote it owed me a favor. I nearly got it autographed, but she had to run; women didn't really get published back then, you see, and she didn't want anyone to realize it was hers and force it out of print." Aziraphale sighed. "A shame. She had some good ideas, if a bit too proud of herself."
"It's a first edition, and you let her read it?" Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "You've never so much as let me touch one."
"Because you do not have any respect for books whatsoever. Miss Granger does." Aziraphale replied.
"What, are you going to break out the books of prophecy next?"
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I've never really put much stock by prophecy."
Gabriel remembered what he'd heard about a certain witch storming out in the middle of Divination. "Prophecy and Divination are two completely different things."
"Divination?" Aziraphale tutted. "Well, that's a different kettle entirely. Prophecy's usually correct - psychics and the like do very well, if they're not just pretending to have some sort of power. Prophets, though, well unless they're Heaven-chosen, Heaven usually puts out enough interference on whatever psychic line they've got to make sure they don't get too much right."
Hermione didn't seem quite sure what to make of that. Neither did Fleur, who had trailed Aziraphale into the room.
"That seems pointless," Fleur said after a moment.
"It's in the name of ineffability, really, the idea that Heaven has all the answers and all that." Aziraphale explained. "Or I suppose it is, at least."
"You don't know for sure?" Hermione questioned as she stood up.
"Oh, goodness, no. I haven't been in Heaven for..." Aziraphale hesitated, then managed a sort of smile. "Well, quite a long time now. But it's nearly morning - shouldn't you be going? Staying up all night is hardly good for you."
Hermione frowned, but didn't call Aziraphale out on the abrupt subject change. "Fleur and I were going to Apparate back, since she's got her license, but I doubt that would work well across worlds, or however it works."
"I could drop you if you want," Gabriel offered, standing up. "I would be heading back to that Earth anyway."
"You don't even know where our apartment is," Fleur pointed out.
Gabriel laid a hand on each of their shoulders. "Think about where it is really hard. I'll probably get it right."
He took off without pausing to say goodbye to Aziraphale.
Again, both of the human witches staggered as they landed, this time in a sensibly furnished living room.
"Next time," Fleur said, "I'd appreciate if you gave us a warning."
Gabriel only flashed her a grin, taking off in the same moment and touching down lightly back home.
Back home. Gabriel laughed to himself. A decade ago, he wouldn't have thought he'd have any place to call that anymore. But here he was - he'd made his own home, on Earth.
Gabriel's smile faded somewhat. Aziraphale had gone and dredged up old memories; they were still lingering at the back of his mind, impossible to get rid of. He'd have been perfectly happy not thinking about any of that. He'd done very well at pretending it had never happened - at least, not to him - for the better part of the last two millenia.
Then again, with Michael nemself around, it was difficult not to think about.
Gabriel, briefly, considered the benefits of shouting into a pillow to try and vent his frustration. It seemed to work for humans. He sprawled out on the sofa, glad no one else seemed to be awake or, if they were, in the house - he didn't feel like trying to socialize and pretend like everything was fine.
Why was it always Michael who was at the root of his problems? Every time he figured something out, he had to tell Michael or people would think he was keeping secrets. He had to work with Michael to stop demons. He had to spend most of the year in close quarters with Michael.
And then there was Hermione, who seemed to think that she could solve all their problems if she got them to talk about it. Objectively, Gabriel knew she was only trying to help, and he understood. Really. She hated that they didn't get along and was trying to fix it.
She was just going about it in the wrong way.
Gabriel grabbed a pillow and shoved it in his face. It was strangely therapeutic. Difficult to breathe, though. I'll just stay here forever and let them solve their own problems. It was a tempting thought, to just try and ignore the wizarding world and leave regardless of what would happen, but Gabriel knew he couldn't. He was too invested in making sure Hermione came out alright; and yes, maybe a little bit because he knew that Voldemort was someone who needed to be stopped.
He hadn't really made an effort to stop the dark wizard, only when they ended up in the same place; and even then it was only a halfhearted attempt. The only reason no one had called him out on it was because they still didn't get how powerful he was.
Although if demons were getting involved with Voldemort now, then that was something to be worried about. Why couldn't it have just ended when Michael killed the first one?
Demons were looking for Patrick's immortality cure to give to Voldemort. Someone had sold their soul for it; there was no way it had been Voldemort, but if one of his followers made a deal for Voldemort to get immortality in exchange for the death eater's soul, then a demon might take that deal. They didn't want Voldemort's soul. They'd take any soul they could get their hands on, sure but not one that mutilated.
Patrick could deal with demons, but sooner or later one of them would find a way to give Voldemort what he wanted. That was a no-go. Gabriel sighed into the pillow. This meant teaming up with the Order, no matter how suspiciously they regarded him.
At least Muriel might be able to back him up, if the Order trusted her.
I managed to write all of this surprisingly fast. Seriously, I don't know how I managed it.
The 'Patrick' I'm referring to, for those of you who don't know/don't remember him is Patrick from 5x07 (The Curious Case of Dean Winchester). He was a witch who played poker with people for years instead of money - if you won, he gave you years, maybe enough to be young again. If you lost, you got really old and he took the years you lost for himself to keep himself young. Dean of course ended up losing a game, etc, but Patrick didn't actually die in that episode so I'm hardly breaking canon.
I would have put this in the author's notes, but I didn't want to spoil anything. As for him knowing Gabriel as Loki, I figure Gabriel knew a lot of people. Why not him?
Anyway, read and review!