Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean hummed along with the music as he drove along the country road, enjoying the breeze from the open windows and the relaxed feeling that came with not having had a crisis in nearly six hours. Hopefully they could keep this streak up for the rest of the day.

“Hello, darling,” Crowley said.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean nearly leaped out the car window by pure reflex, jerking the steering wheel hard to one side. He would have run off the road if Crowley, who was suddenly sitting in the passenger seat, hadn’t waved his hand to save them from crashing.

“Now, now, there’s no need for hysterics, Grandma,” Crowley smirked. “You’re not used to friends dropping in unexpectedly?”

“We’re not friends,” Dean growled. “Get out of my car.”

Crowley pouted. “Is that really how you treat me after all we’ve gone through together, Dean? And here I thought we were besties.”

“Cut the crap, Crowley,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

“What makes you think I want anything? Can’t I just pop round to visit an old friend?”

“No. You can’t.” Dean was still gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead without looking at Crowley.

Crowley sighed. “Very well. I need your help.”

“No.”

“Come on, darling, don’t be like that,” Crowley purred as Dean put the car back into gear and started driving back the way he had come. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the bunker,” Dean said. “If I have to deal with you, I’m not doing it without backup.”

“Lovely,” Crowley sighed. “Let’s get the gang back together, shall we?”

Sam and Castiel were sitting at the kitchen table, watching a movie on Sam’s laptop, when Crowley strolled into the bunker like he owned the place. Instantly Sam and Cas were on their feet, weapons in hand.

“Oh, take it easy, children,” Crowley rolled his eyes as he walked straight past them and opened the fridge. “I thought we were past this by now.” Cold drink in hand, he settled at the table and eyed the men glaring at him. They hadn’t lowered their weapons.

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “Come on. When’s the last time I attacked you fellows unprovoked?”

Sam and Cas shared a glance, weighing the merits of his statement, then Sam holstered his gun and the angel blade disappeared from Cas’s hand.

Still, neither of them sat down. “How did you even get in here?” Sam demanded.

“I let him in,” Dean said as he walked into the room. Sam and Cas both whipped around to glare at him instead.

“What?” he said defensively. “If he wants to get in here, he’ll find a way. At least now he’s not catching us with our pants down.”

Castiel looked quizzical, but Sam just rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms and turning his scowl back to Crowley. “What do you want?”

Crowley sighed dramatically, popping the top off the stolen bottle. “Always straight to business with you people,” he lamented. “No ‘hi Crowley, how’s the family?’ or ‘how are things in Hell, let’s gossip and paint our nails!’ You three are no fun, honestly.”

None of them said a word, continuing to stand and glare at the offending demon. After a few long seconds of silence, he ‘humph’ed irritably.

“Fine. I’m here to make a deal, what else?” he snapped.

“We’re not giving up our souls,” Sam said automatically.

“Who said I wanted your souls?” Crowley sneered. “Those old things have been through one too many spin cycles to be worth my time. You can keep them, thank you very much.”

“Crowley,” Dean growled in a tone that meant he wouldn’t be asking again. “What do you want?”

They stared each other down. “I need your help,” Crowley finally said. “I’m looking for someone. An angel.”

“Well you can’t have ours,” Sam said, raising an arm protectively in front of Castiel.

“A specific angel, as adorable as your little mother-hen instinct is,” Crowley rolled his eyes. “If I wanted any old angel, I could have my pick without resorting to calling in the cavalry.”

“Who is it?” Castiel asked.

Crowley raised a finger. “Not so fast, boys. You don’t get his name until you’ve signed the contract. Now let’s talk exchanges. What do you want in return?”

“You don’t have anything we want,” Dean said darkly.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? There’s always something you three are scrambling to find while a clock counts down. A weapon, a spell, some magic McGuffin that you’re in desperate need of at any given time. Name your price.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a loaded glance.

“Well-” Sam started.

“No,” Dean interrupted. “We don’t need him for this. We can do without it.”

“I knew there was something.” Crowley grinned, sharklike.

“You’re awfully eager,” Dean noted suspiciously. “You must really want to get your hands on this angel if you’re willing to give us anything we want .”

Crowley shrugged, feigning an air of nonchalance, but there was tension in his expression. “What can I say,” he said. “I’ve been on the trail of this angel for a long time, and frankly, my patience is wearing thin. I’ve knocked on a lot of doors and hit a lot of dead ends. You three buffoons are hardly the first people I’d turn to for help, but as far as last resorts go, there’s no one better. If anyone can find him, it’s you.”

“You sure have a lot of faith in us,” Dean scoffed.

“Yes, well. I’ve seen the way you steamroll anyone who gets in your way.”

“Frequently, that someone is you,” Sam pointed out.

Crowley acknowledged the point and sipped his drink. “That just means I know all the better how difficult it is to stop you from getting what you want. Now do we have a deal or not?”

“Not yet,” Dean snapped. “We don’t even know if you can get us what we want in return.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

“You really think a demon like you could get his hands on an Archangel’s Grace?” Dean challenged.

“I think I can swing that,” Crowley said confidently.

“How?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Dean deflated slightly. “Probably not,” he admitted, hating Crowley’s smirk. “So you get us some angel mojo, and we get you an angel? It’s that simple?”

“Precisely,” Crowley said. “Ready to sign on the dotted line?”

“Hold on,” Cas interrupted. “I may not be on the best of terms with the rest of my kind, but I don’t want to have any part in delivering one of my brethren to a demon.”

Sam and Dean turned away from Crowley, heads together in a miniature powwow. “He’s right,” Dean murmured as if Crowley wasn’t sitting four feet away and could hear him perfectly. “Angels are dicks, but I don’t want to just… hand one over. Who knows what Crowley will do to it?”

“We could ask,” Sam pointed out, then raised his voice slightly. “Crowley, what are you planning to do to this angel?”

Crowley’s grin widened. “None of your beeswax.”

“Thought so,” Dean grunted. “He’s not going to give us anything.”

“We could include it in the terms of the contract?” Sam suggested. “Make him tell us what he’s planning?” They all glanced at Crowley again, who was still smiling like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Nah. Slippery bastard would just find a way around it. We all know it’s impossible to make him do anything he doesn’t want to do,” Dean grumbled.

“If I may, gentlemen,” Crowley said. All three turned to look at him.

“It seems as though your rather inconsistent and inconvenient sense of morality is bothering you about this, so I’d be happy to offer a compromise. The contract will state that you will provide me with a single opportunity to talk to this angel. No implied violence, no delivering him into my custody, no blood on your hands. Just give me one chance to meet him face to face. That way, your collective conscience is clear.”

“That’s really all you want?” Sam said skeptically.

Crowley’s poker face turned into a tight smile. “It’s all I need.”

After a lot of intense glares at him and loaded glances at each other, the three seemed to reach a silent conclusion.

“Fine,” Dean grunted. “We’ll sign your stupid contract.” He made to sit down at the table, but Cas stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait, Dean,” he said. “ I’ll sign it. Just me. If it concerns a fellow angel, then it should be my responsibility.”

Dean frowned, but nodded. Castiel sat across from Crowley at the table.

“How very touching,” Crowley said flatly. He slid a sheet of paper, which had definitely not been in his hands a moment ago, across the table to Castiel, followed by an old-fashioned fountain pen. “Works for me. Cassie here is the one I need, anyway, but I already know you three are a package deal. No kissing required this time, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

Castiel steadfastly ignored Crowley and focused on reading the paper before him. It was brief and straightforward, difficult to misinterpret or find any loopholes.

- The angel Castiel will locate the angel specified by the demon Crowley and provide said demon one (1) opportunity to meet said angel face to face for a non-violent conversation. If said angel is found to be dead, proof of death must be provided and, if possible, the identity of the angel’s murderer.

-The demon Crowley will obtain a specified amount of Grace from an archangel and deliver it to Castiel or one of the Winchesters upon completion of the previous request.

x______

x______

Castiel scrutinized the contract thoroughly, examining it for fine print, and even flipped the paper over to search for hidden clauses or traps. Crowley waited patiently, one eyebrow arched, for Castiel to pick up the pen. After one long, searching glance, Castiel pricked the side of his thumb with the pen and dripped a dot of blood onto the signature line. His true name, written in Enochian, appeared in an instant.

“How about giving us a place to start?” Dean asked as Castiel slid the paper and pen back over for Crowley to sign in the same fashion.

“He’s an angel,” Crowley said sarcastically as he pricked his thumb and signed the contract. “Try Heaven.”

With that, he stood, finished his drink, and rolled up the contract. As he slipped it into his pocket, a second copy appeared on the table. “Good luck, boys, do call me if there’s any interesting news.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sam said before Crowley left the room.

Crowley turned back with a smirk. “Am I? Ah, yes. His name is Aziraphale.”

An instant later, Crowley had vanished.

Chapter Text

“I don’t like it,” Sam said for the fourth time. “He’s got to be up to something.”

“Of course he’s up to something,” Dean responded, also for the fourth time. “He’s always up to something. But when the king of Hell shows up at our door needing a favor, we can’t just kick him to the curb. Asshole-ness aside, he’s a hard man to say no to.”

“For a lot of reasons,” Sam agreed. The three had migrated from the kitchen to the lounge to open some drinks and discuss a plan of action. Dean was hogging the sofa, his legs kicked up on the coffee table. Cas sat stiffly in an armchair, beer untouched, his mind obviously far away. His perpetual frown was deeper than usual.

“Cas,” Dean said, bringing his angel back to the present. “What do you know about Arz- Azra-”

“Aziraphale,” Cas supplied. “I’ve never met him, but I know of him. Everyone does.” He took a sip of his drink and a dramatic pause.

“The Principality Aziraphale,” he said in an almost reverent tone. “Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden and protector of humanity. He’s been on Earth since the very beginning. Older than most other angels, except the archangels. Far older than me,” he added, slightly wistful. “After most of the angels were called back to heaven when Eden fell, Aziraphale remained on Earth and accepted the responsibility of watching over the humans. He’s seen civilizations rise and fall. He’s practically a legend.”

“What happened to him?” Sam asked, enthralled.

Castiel shook his head. “No one knows. He was so rarely seen in Heaven, it’s impossible to determine when he actually disappeared. Somewhere between thirty and a hundred years ago would be my guess.”

“He vanished? Just like that?”

“As far as I know,” Cas said grimly. “He just… stopped showing up in Heaven, and he’s never been heard from since. He reported directly to the archangels, and none of them raised any concerns, so I never wondered what happened to him. None of us did.”

Dean frowned. “If he disappeared from Heaven, does that mean he’s on Earth somewhere? Like, stuck? Or in Hell?”

“That would have been my guess, but if he were in either of those places, Crowley would have found him by now,” Castiel said. “If he’s resorting to asking for an angel's help, he must suspect that Aziraphale is in the one place he can’t reach.”

Dean took a gulp of beer. “So, to recap, assuming this guy is alive, he’s trapped in Heaven? And the archangels covered it up for some reason? Do the angels have, like, a witness protection program?”

“Possibly,” Castiel acknowledged. “If someone like Crowley was trying to find him, the archangels could have helped him go into hiding and covered his tracks. If that’s so, then it explains why he was never reported missing.”

“Does that mean we’ve just agreed to drag an innocent angel out of hiding and deliver him to Hell’s doorstep?” Sam groaned. “Remind me why we thought making a deal with Crowley was a good idea?”

Dean pressed his knuckles against his forehead. “That guy makes everything sound like a good idea until after it’s too late.”

“What could he possibly want with Aziraphale?” Sam asked. “Cas, any ideas?”

Castiel frowned contemplatively. “Aziraphale was said to guard Eden with a flaming sword. Crowley could be looking to get his hands on a weapon of legend like that.”

“That’s great,” Dean scoffed. “Let’s hand an ancient flaming sword over to our least trustworthy frenemy. This is turning out to be the best idea we’ve ever had.”

“It might not be about the sword,” Castiel responded. “He could be looking for the Serpent.”

Dean gestured irritably for him to continue.

“The Serpent of Eden was a powerful demon who was also on Earth from the beginning,” Castiel said. “He was said to be the one to tempt Eve into original sin.”

“I thought Lucifer did that?” Sam said.

Castiel shrugged. “The legends differ. The point is, the Serpent and Aziraphale were ancient rivals. They remained in opposition throughout human history. Allegedly, the Serpent also disappeared at the same time as Aziraphale. If Crowley wants to find the Serpent, Aziraphale would be the one to know where he went.”

“So, Crowley could be trying to track down another super-powerful demon?” Dean said. “This just keeps getting better.”

“Well, there’s always the chance that Aziraphale wronged Crowley somehow and he’s just looking for some old-fashioned revenge,” Sam pointed out. “I wouldn’t put it past him to go to any lengths to find someone who pissed him off and make them pay.”

“Great. So, our options are: he wants a magic flaming sword, he’s looking for an ancient mega-demon, or he’s enacting hideous revenge?” Dean summed up. “Is it a bad sign that I’m hoping it’s the hideous revenge?”

“It could be something entirely different,” Sam said. “But knowing Crowley, it’s bound to be nothing good. Do we really want to go through with this?”

“If we back out of the contract now, he’ll make us regret it.” Dean grimaced. “Cas, it’s your head on the block, what do you want to do?”

Castiel frowned for a long moment. “I don’t like the idea of putting one of my brothers into danger,” he admitted. “But there’s something about this whole situation that we’re obviously not getting. Crowley didn’t tell us everything.”

“He hardly told us anything,” Dean grumbled.

“I’m not popular in Heaven, but I can still do what Crowley’s asking,” Cas said. “If Aziraphale turns out to be dead, then no harm will have been done. If he’s alive and I can manage to locate him, then I can ask him personally. He should have a say in the matter, don’t you think?”

Dean nodded slowly. “We sorta did promise to bring him down here for a face-to-face conversation with the King of Hell,” he admitted. “It’s not like we asked if he’d want that.”

"What if he refuses?" Castiel said, worried. "I don't want to force him into this, especially if it puts him in danger. I'm not sure I even can force an angel to leave Heaven..."

“Guys,” Sam said suddenly. Dean and Cas both turned to look at him. “All we promised was to give him one conversation. What if we could guarantee Aziraphale won’t get hurt?”

“I’m listening,” Cas said.

Chapter Text

Castiel’s official queries in Heaven had yielded very few results. Anyone he asked would go quiet when he said the name and quickly turn to walk away from the conversation, tight-lipped and insistent that they knew nothing. The only piece of information any of his fellow angels gave him was from one who pushed him against a wall, frantically glanced in both directions, and hissed for him not to speak that name in front of the archangels as long as he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders.

Very confused and with more questions than ever, Castiel had watched the nameless angel scurry off down the hallway.

The mood in Heaven was as dour as it ever was these days. Recent events had left the angels with a reduced population and a bitter distaste for humanity. They withdrew into their own communities, away from both the Earth and the human souls that resided among them. Heaven’s administration office, where Castiel was currently searching for information, was staffed by a skeleton crew. Very few of them roamed the hallways with a moment to spare to talk to Castiel. He felt bad for taking up their time, since he knew they were completely overwhelmed with paperwork. Mortal souls didn't just process themselves, you know.

He decided to do some snooping in the Hall of Records. As an ethereal higher dimension, Heaven didn’t simply leave doors unlocked. The doors opened for the angels that were allowed to go through, and closed for anyone else. Castiel’s security clearance, or lack thereof, would only allow him to access outdated records on Earth-related matters. Still, that might just be what he was looking for. After all, Aziraphale was both Earth-related and very old.

He lucked out when he found an archived memo from Gabriel to Michael several centuries ago, mentioning Aziraphale’s chosen residence on Earth in a somewhat derisive tone. A bookshop in London. There was no address, but that would be a simple matter of earthly research.

“Got it,” Sam said, hours later. He turned the laptop screen so Castiel and Dean could see. “An antique bookstore in Soho. It matches the time frame on the memo, and it’s been abandoned for decades. I found the address on a list of historical sites.”

Dean grunted affirmatively, then went back to his plate of pizza rolls. Castiel stood up.

“Let’s go,” he said, reaching to grab Sam and Dean’s shoulders. An instant later, they were standing on a crowded London sidewalk with traffic all around them. No one batted an eye at their sudden appearance.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shrieked in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, lurching away from the angel’s grasp. “Dammit Cas, how many times do I have to tell you, warn me before you do that!”

“Sorry, Dean,” Cas said, not sounding remotely sorry. He had already turned his attention to the boarded-up building on the street corner. It stood out like a sore thumb among the more modern buildings surrounding it, but no one seemed to take note. They simply walked past as though the building was invisible.

“A.Z. Fell and Co.,” Sam read out loud. “Well, the name is a bit of a giveaway, so I’d guess we’re in the right place.”

“We are,” Castiel confirmed. “The building has a definite angelic aura, though it’s a bit faded. An angel definitely lived here, but hasn’t been back in a long time.”

“Should we, uh,” Dean mimed picking the lock.

“It probably won’t be that easy,” Castiel cautioned, still looking up at the building. “I’m certain there are precautions in place against unwanted visitors. It might not be possible to get inside.”

As he walked up to the door, it swung open for him. A bell chimed cheerfully.

“...huh,” said Dean, sharing a glance with Sam. Without further comment, the three carefully made their way into the dark shop.

Castiel had thoughtfully included their usual weapons (and Dean’s pants) when he teleported them to London, so they pulled out their guns just in case. Buildings that invited them inside autonomously rarely held anything friendly.

As could be expected, the main room was filled with dusty bookshelves crammed to the ceiling with old books. Faint streams of sunlight made their way through the boards on the windows, providing barely enough light to see. There were no signs of life.

“Look at these books,” Sam breathed, running a finger along the spines. “Some of them are… incredibly rare.”

Dean grunted indifferently. “Maybe save the looting for later,” he advised. “Remember, we’re looking for the guy who owned this place. He might not be happy you messed with his stuff.”

“Right,” Sam agreed reluctantly, with a wistful glance at the shelves.

The trio wandered through the shop for a time, inspecting things at random and thinking out loud to each other. The back room on the first floor seemed much more lived-in than the flat upstairs, further indicating the presence of an angel with no human needs to attend to. An ancient but immaculate copy of Pride and Prejudice was open on the table next to the armchair, a pair of slippers on the floor next to it, as though whoever lived here had simply stepped out for a moment with every intention of returning.

It felt like invading a dead man’s privacy. Sam and Dean were all too familiar with that feeling.

“What are we looking for?” Sam said, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where someone was meant to be sitting. “I doubt he would have left a forwarding address.”

“Dunno,” Dean said. “Anything… angelic. Something that will point us to where he went. Or at least an idea of what Crowley wants with him.”

“Thanks, that’s helpful,” Sam said dryly. “Do you think Crowley knew about this place?”

“He must have,” Castiel mused. “There’s no way he missed it if he’s been searching for so long, especially if he knew Aziraphale before he disappeared.”

“Then why didn’t he tell us?” Sam asked.

“Because he’s a dick,” Dean growled, as if that answered every question. 

“Or because he’s already searched the building and found nothing of importance, and therefore didn’t think it worth mentioning,” Castiel pointed out, more reasonably.

“Then why are we here?” Dean grumbled.

“Because something important to him is not the same thing as something important to us,” Cas said, in the tone of someone explaining something to a child. He and Sam both looked irritated at Dean’s attitude.

Dean sighed heavily, already bored beyond measure. He wandered back into the main shop, irritably bumping the shelves with his foot. All that accomplished was a stirring of dust which made him sneeze.

“Son of a-” his elbow knocked a book off the shelf. As he bent down to pick it up, he noticed something halfway hidden behind the shelf in the corner.

“Guys?” he called. “Check this out.”

Behind the shelf was a small white feather.

Chapter Text

“Is this really that big of a deal?” Dean asked five minutes later, staring at the feather incredulously. They had returned to the bunker posthaste, Castiel insisting that the feather was the missing piece they needed.

Castiel picked up the small feather, eyeing it thoughtfully. “If this does belong to Aziraphale, I can use it to locate him. There’s a reason angels don’t just give these things away, you know. They can be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“So it’s like a… magic compass?” Sam asked.

Castiel cocked his head. “Essentially.” 

He stood up from the table. “I should be in Heaven before I activate the spell. I don’t know how long it will take, so be ready to summon Crowley as soon as you can.” He paused. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Sam said.

“Be careful,” Dean added.

An instant later, Cas was gone.

After a few hours of aimless wandering, since the feather never seemed to want to point him in a direction that contained a hallway he could walk down in a straight line, Castiel found himself staring at a blank expanse of wall.

He was in a nearly abandoned building deep inside the farthest reaches of Heaven, in a place few angels had reason to find themselves. He had had to pass through numerous interconnected human heavens as Aziraphale's feather led him every which way, twisting back and forth in his hand as it searched for its owner. He had wandered through the personal heaven of one Hannah Greenstone, died 1961, four times through various doors in her house. When he appeared out of her bathroom closet, she had chased him from the house with a broom.

Eventually the feather had settled on a direction that led him back from the human realms into the far side of Heaven proper, if an ethereal and non-physical dimension can be said to have a “far side.”

There was no sign of life anywhere in these uniformly white hallways. More importantly, there was no sign of Aziraphale. But no matter which way Castiel walked, the feather continued to point insistently at a particular section of the wall. Castiel cocked his head quizzically, pressing one hand against it. A brief sonar ping of Grace confirmed that there was definitely a presence behind it. Summoning his strength, Castiel willed the wall to disappear.

A door-sized portion of the wall vanished in front of his eyes, revealing a small, dimly lit room hidden behind it. The only furnishing was a desk at which a white-haired angel sat, focusing intently on a stack of papers in front of him.

“Excuse me?” Castiel ventured hesitantly as he stepped into the hidden room. The angel ignored him, setting a page aside and beginning to write on the next one.

“Excuse me?” Castiel said louder, tapping the other angel on the shoulder. “Are you-”

“Good heavens!” the angel shrieked, nearly falling out of his chair. He whipped around to stare at Castiel, his blue eyes wide with shock. “I- I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t hear you come in!” He glanced behind Castiel at the hole in the wall. “Didn’t realize there was a door there…” he added, almost to himself.

“Are you Aziraphale?” Castiel asked.

The angel blinked rapidly. “Oh, of course, where are my manners? Come in, come in. What’s your name, my dear?”

There were so many questions about this strange angel swirling through his head that they got stuck on the way to his mouth. All he managed to say was “Castiel.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, but there was something hollow in his expression. “Pleasure to meet you, dear boy. I’d offer you a cup of tea, but I’m afraid I don’t have any. I wasn’t exactly expecting guests.”

“That’s alright,” Castiel assured him, utterly nonplussed. He had found this angel in what he was coming to realize was a prison cell, and he was concerned with hospitality? "I'm... not thirsty."

Aziraphale's smile returned, looking slightly more genuine. "Glad to hear it," he said cheerily. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Questions could be saved for later, he decided. He’d come here on a mission, after all. The others must surely be wondering what was taking so long. And the longer he spent here, the higher the chance they'd be discovered.

“I’m here to take you back to Earth,” he said bluntly. "Are you ready to go?"

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Back… back to Earth?” For a moment he looked far away, his expression troubled. Then he shook his head sharply.

“No, I’m afraid that won’t do at all,” he said firmly. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, you see, and I really can’t afford to take a break. Perhaps you could come back in, oh, a decade or so? I should hopefully have some time by then.”

Castiel wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Should he insist on leaving together? Take him to Earth by force? He’d never expected his own social ineptitude to come back to bite him in Heaven, of all places. Compared to most angels, his social skills were amazing. Not that that was saying much, considering the average angel had the communication abilities of a turnip.

He decided to try a tactful approach. “What are you working on that’s so important?” He leaned over Aziraphale's shoulder to examine the papers on his desk. 

Aziraphale waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, administrative business, important Heaven things, you’ll understand if I can’t tell you the details. I was assigned a very important job, you know, and I can't take it lightly. Now thank you for dropping by, but I really must be getting back to work.”

Castiel slid the half-finished form off the top of the stack, examining the one under it. “Aziraphale… these papers are all the same.” Sure enough, it was a basic Heavenly intake form, but with the same information printed across the top of each sheet. Aziraphale had been filling each one out in the exact same way, but hadn't seemed to notice.

Aziraphale frowned, looking down at the stack as if seeing it for the first time. “Is that so? That can’t be right… they told me it was very important, but… oh, it’s so hard to remember…” he nervously played with the pen he was holding. “It must be important, right?” he glanced up at Castiel, troubled but unfocused.

Castiel was beginning to wonder exactly how long Aziraphale had been alone in this room. There was only so much uninterrupted isolation anyone could take, even an angel, before suffering psychological damage. If he had been locked up in here as long as Castiel suspected he had, then it was certainly possible he had more than a few screws loose by now.

“I’m sure it is,” he reassured Aziraphale. “However, there’s someone looking for you on Earth, and that’s important too, isn’t it? I’m sure they’ll understand if you step away for a while.”

"On Earth, you say? Are you sure? I can't imagine who would... unless..." Aziraphale looked doubtfully back at the stack of papers. “Do you really think they won't mind?” he said. “I’m sure they told me… but it was so long ago… maybe I could, for just a few minutes...”

“If you get in trouble for leaving, I’ll cover for you,” Castiel assured him. “I’ll tell them it was my fault for taking you away from your… important work.”

The clouds lifted from Aziraphale’s expression, and he beamed at Castiel. “Oh, thank you, my dear boy.” He made to push out his chair, but stopped suddenly.

“Oh bother,” he mumbled, glancing at the floor with a frown. “I’d forgotten about that…”

Castiel was mildly appalled to see a metal cuff around Aziraphale’s ankle that connected him to the desk via a short chain. Without a word, since it doubtless would have come out as an enraged growl, he bent and snapped the chain with his bare hands. Castiel didn’t know what Aziraphale had done to merit this sort of treatment from his superiors, but if he hadn’t already had reason to exchange harsh words with several of the Archangels, he definitely did now. 

Castiel held out a hand to help him to his feet, then steadied him after he nearly collapsed.

“Oh… thank you, dear boy,” Aziraphale murmured, leaning on Castiel to keep from dropping to his knees. “It’s just been-”

“A long time, yes,” Castiel said tersely. He’d already determined that the sooner this poor angel was away from Heaven, the better. He could deal with whatever Crowley wanted from him, and then Castiel would ensure that this soft-spoken, well-mannered, rather confused angel would never be harmed again.

Castiel sealed the hole in the wall behind them. With any luck, no one would ever realize Aziraphale was gone.

“Come on,” he said, leading Aziraphale gently down the hall. “Let’s get you back to Earth.”

Chapter Text

As soon as they received Castiel’s message that he was on his way, Sam and Dean set to work. They could have called Crowley’s mobile, since he’d upgraded the cellular service in Hell to 5G, or probably have gotten his attention simply by shouting his name loudly enough. This time, they wanted to be thorough.

“How long has it been since we’ve actually summoned Crowley instead of him just showing up?” Sam remarked as he laid out the ingredients for a demonic summoning. The bunker was always well stocked with such things, just in case.

Dean shrugged. “Sure wish he’d knock it off. I’m sick of doing his dirty work. I swear, next time he pops in here to make us do his laundry or whatever, I’m just gonna gank him.”

Sam snorted. “At least we can get him to do our dirty work sometimes, too,” he pointed out. “It’s ready. Let’s do it.”

They’d emptied out a storage room to hold the summoning circle. Sigils glowed on the walls to suppress demonic magic, ensuring that Crowley wouldn’t be able to try any funny business with their angel guest. Still, it was impossible to guess what Crowley might have up his sleeve. With a last worried glance between them, Sam and Dean began the summoning.

“Well, it’s about time you ladies called me,” Crowley said the instant he appeared in the circle. “What took you so long, did your angel go so native that he forgot how to get into Heaven? Please tell me you’ve at least found Aziraphale, or else-”

His eyes narrowed as he spotted the devil’s trap on the floor, in the center of which he currently stood.

“What is this?” he growled, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. His face had lost all trace of its usual smirk, and he now glared at the brothers with murder in his eyes. “Please tell me that you two, of all people, are not stupid enough to double-cross me?”

“Calm down, Crowley,” Sam said, raising his hands peaceably. “We’re not double-crossing you. Castiel’s bringing Aziraphale here soon. We just wanted to make sure you weren’t planning to, you know, hurt him. Or us.”

“It was in the contract, you simpletons!” Crowley growled. “I’m not going to hurt him!”

“Yeah,” Dean said smugly. “And now we know for sure that you won’t.”

“I need to talk to him alone,” Crowley demanded. “You are the last people on Earth I want sticking their noses in my personal business. Now let me out of here and let me talk to Aziraphale in private, or I promise you both will regret this until the day you die, and for a considerably long time after that.”

Sam and Dean both crossed their arms. “That wasn’t part of the contract,” Dean said innocently. “Nothing saying we couldn’t supervise your little chitchat.”

Crowley snarled, an inhuman sound, his eyes glowing red with infernal fire. “You idiots don’t know what you’re doing,” he warned, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

“We’re just making sure you get whatever you want from this angel without resorting to violence,” Sam said with an infuriatingly holier-than-thou attitude.

“Oh, I’ll resort to violence alright-”

“Oh dear, I do hope we’re not interrupting something,” a new voice said from the doorway.

Sam and Dean turned to see Castiel walking in with a white-haired man in tow, who looked nervous and vaguely confused. They would have instantly pegged him as an angel even without knowing beforehand. Out of all the angels they’d ever met, this was the first one who truly looked angelic. There was a certain aura about him that brought to mind cuddly animals and the laughter of children.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed. 

The angel’s face lit up. “Crowley? My dear, is that you?” 

Crowley took a half step forward and reached a hand towards Aziraphale, almost unconsciously, until his fingers hit an invisible barrier. Aziraphale looked puzzled for a moment until he spotted the devil’s trap on the ground. With a wave of his hand, the painted circle disappeared, and angel and demon lunged for each other.

Sam and Dean fumbled for their weapons as Crowley and Aziraphale crashed into each other until they realized that the pair were not fighting, they were hugging, so tightly that they would have broken bones had they been human. 

“You’re alive,” Crowley whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “Ohh, I was so worried, angel, I thought I'd never see you again… I missed you so much…”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, seemingly incapable of saying anything else. “Oh, Crowley …”

After a long moment, Crowley pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye. “Never do that to me again,” he said sternly.

Aziraphale laughed breathlessly. “I’ll try my best, my dear.” 

Crowley looked him up and down, searching the angel for damage, and Dean’s suspicions that the Crowley they knew might have been suddenly replaced with a Crowley from an opposite dimension where he rode unicorns and wove flower crowns and hugged angels were refuted when Crowley let loose a string of horrible curses.

“Those utter bastards, those smug arseholes, I’m going to rip every single one of them limb from limb, I’ll tear their precious Heaven to the ground and watch those fluffy cowards burn…” He was looking at the cuff still attached to Aziraphale’s ankle. With a snap of his fingers, it vanished into nothing, but Crowley still looked murderous. 

“Shh, darling, I’m alright,” Aziraphale murmured, stemming Crowley’s tirade and cupping a hand around the demon's face. He leaned closer to press their foreheads together, noses touching, staring into each other’s eyes in a way that somehow seemed more intimate than a kiss.

Dean suddenly regretted insisting on being present for this reunion.

He shifted his weight, possibly intending to slip away and give them some privacy, and the spell was broken. Crowley jerked away from Aziraphale as though he had been stung, suddenly remembering the other people in the room.

“God fucking damn it,” he muttered to himself.

Aziraphale looked around at the humans in the room as if noticing them for the first time. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” he said brightly.

“No,” Crowley growled. “In fact, I need to talk to them for a moment, alone, and then we’re leaving and hopefully not coming back.”

Aziraphale’s forehead creased with worry. He took Crowley’s hand and held it like he never wanted to let go “But-” 

“I know, darling, and I’m sorry,” Crowley murmured, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand and then dropping it. “But I’d really rather you not hear this. There’s a library down the hall, if you want to have a look while I take care of things, and then we can go straight home.”

Aziraphale still looked concerned, but his face lit up at the mention of a library. He vanished down the hall so quickly he might have teleported.

Which left Sam, Dean, and Cas alone in the company of a very angry King of Hell.

“Crowley-” Sam started, but Crowley raised a hand to stop him.

“Kitchen,” he said flatly.

Sam, Dean, and Cas sat down at one side of the table while Crowley sat across from them, his face unreadable.

“I hope you’re happy,” he finally said after a long, uncomfortable silence. “You just can’t ever leave things alone, can you? You just have to keep digging and digging until I’ve no secrets left to give up? Want to come to my house and rifle through my bathroom cupboards while you’re at it?”

“Crowley, we didn’t-” Sam started.

“You didn’t what?” Crowley said harshly. “You didn’t summon and then trap me so you could supervise me like a delinquent teenager? You didn’t refuse to put the tiniest sliver of trust in me after all we’ve been through? You didn’t interfere with my life over and over, breaking and remaking things as you saw fit until I could barely recognize myself? You didn’t do any of that?”

There was a guilty silence.

“We’re… sorry,” Dean finally said quietly.

Crowley fixed him with a poisonous look. “I’m so very glad to hear that.”

“Why didn’t you just tell us he was your friend?” Dean said, defensive and slightly accusing.

“Would you have believed a word of it?” Crowley said.

Dean deflated. “No.” Not only that, they would have almost certainly refused to bargain with him in the face of such an obvious lie.

“We won’t tell anyone,” Sam offered. “If it helps, you can trust us.”

Crowley’s glare turned to Sam. “Oh, I can, can’t I?” he said nastily. “I can trust you three? As though we’re sharing secrets at a slumber party? I have to trust you now, whether I like it or not, because you’ve uncovered the one thing I’d do anything to protect. And you’ve made it your mission in life to suck me dry until I have nothing left to give you, haven’t you?”

“We won’t use this against you,” Cas put in awkwardly.

Crowley laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, won’t you? You won’t use the most powerful weapon you have against me as leverage? Because we’re friends? What about a month from now, when you’re backed into a corner on a hunt and you need some demonic intervention? Or a year from now, when Sam dies again and I hold his soul in the palm of my hand?” Dean flinched, but Crowley didn’t stop. “You’re not going to think to yourselves, ‘oh, dear, Crowley’s not willing to stick his neck out for us this time, but what if we reminded him of his extremely vulnerable angel friend? Maybe he would help us then?’”

There was silence on the other side of the table. No one seemed to be able to argue.

“You could just… help us anyway,” Sam finally offered.

Crowley laughed again. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Having the King of Hell at your beck and call like a trained puppy, with a threat like that hanging over my head? Even I’m not exempt from consequences, darling, and messing with the natural order and bringing people back to life willy-nilly isn’t good for my health. But if you told me to jump, I’d be too damned afraid to say anything but ‘how high?’”

No one managed to come up with a response before Crowley stood up, knocking his chair over.

“Congratulations, boys,” he said cooly, his emotionless mask finally back in place. “You’ve got me by the short and curlies. Can’t wait to see what you do with it.”

Before the other three could say anything, Crowley swept out of the room in the direction of the library.

Sam, Dean, and Cas continued to sit at the table in silence long after Crowley and Aziraphale had disappeared from the bunker.

“He was right,” Cas finally said. “We shouldn’t have seen that. We had no right to know that about him.”

“What, that he has a heart after all? Isn’t that a good thing?” Dean said with a frown.

“Cas is right,” Sam said morosely. “Some secrets just shouldn’t be found out like that.”

“We wouldn’t use it against him, though, would we? We’re friends, sorta.” Dean sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Sam almost laughed. “We totally would. That’s our thing and Crowley knows it. We use people, just like he said, and we certainly don’t leave them better off. We survive by the skin of our teeth, and we take every advantage we can get. If we have this kind of leverage over him, we’ll be bound to use it sooner or later.” 

“Would that really be such a bad thing?” Dean said weakly. The answer was so obviously yes that no one bothered to say it.

“Even if we were desperate enough to use Crowley’s angel against him, that’s a trick that would only work once,” Sam continued. “He trusts us a tiny bit right now, but if we put Aziraphale in harm’s way, he will make absolutely sure we never do it again. And then we’d have the wrath of Hell on our asses.”

Another silence fell over the table.

“So…” Dean finally said. “What do we do?”

“You got a new body,” Aziraphale said, as though he’d only just noticed. They were sitting in Crowley’s old flat, which had remained untouched throughout the years even though he’d never gone back to it. Even his plants were as vibrant as ever. They wouldn't dare wither, even without his constant supervision.

Crowley handed him a mug of tea before sitting next to him on the sofa, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I did. I had to- well, it’s a long story. Do… you like it? I still have the old one in storage, if you’d rather-”

Aziraphale side-eyed him, giving his demon a fond smile. “I’d like you in any body, my dear.” 

Crowley grinned back. “Well, I am still just as devilishly handsome, even if the hair isn’t nearly as fabulous.”

They sat like that for a while, sipping their drinks, enjoying the closeness in silence. They both knew there would be a lot of sticky topics to address, such as Crowley's new status in Hell and the precautions they would take if the Archangels came for them again, but it could wait. Everything could wait.

Aziraphale stayed at Crowley’s flat for the first few days while they sorted out the bookshop, neither of them willing to be apart from the other for longer than a few minutes. Aziraphale had been shocked to learn he’d been imprisoned in Heaven for more than fifty years, having only assumed it to be a few months at most. He was even more out of touch with modern times than usual, though that wasn’t saying much.

A week after Aziraphale’s return to Earth, a white envelope showed up in the mail.

“Look, my dear,” Aziraphale said delightedly as he opened the letter over breakfast. “It’s from your friends, Castiel and the Winchesters.”

Crowley spewed a mouthful of coffee all over the table. “Wh- they’re not my friends!” he spluttered, snatching the letter. "What are they doing writing me? How did they even find my address?" 

Aziraphale made a noise of distaste, vanishing the mess with a wave of his hand. “Well, they must be your friends if they’ve invited us over for tea,” he said primly. 

Crowley rubbed his forehead, feeling a familiar migraine coming on as he read the letter inviting him and Aziraphale back to America for a social visit. Those Winchesters were determined to worm their way completely into his life, weren’t they?

Beneath everything, he still felt a looming sense of dread, knowing that they knew. Being forced to have his reunion with Aziraphale right in front of them would have been damning enough under any circumstances, but any hopes of pulling himself together and playing it cool even slightly had flown out the window as soon as Aziraphale had walked into the room. He had forgotten, immediately and completely, that his enemies were standing right there watching everything. The only thought in his mind was that he was about to blessed discorporate this instan t if he wasn’t hugging Aziraphale right now.

Of course, after that embarrassing display, he’d needed to balance that out with some threats to their lives. A fat lot of good that had bloody done him, since the Winchesters had apparently decided to lean into the whole “friendship” thing.

Aziraphale was looking at him expectantly. “So, shall we take them up on the offer?”

Crowley thought about it for a long moment while he sipped his coffee.

“Sure,” he finally said. “Why not.”