Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Crowley was on his way to the bookshop, looking forward to a relaxing afternoon with his favorite being in the world, when the hair on the inside of his nostrils abruptly stood up.

He frowned, slowed the Bentley down, and rolled down a window.^[1]  Leaning out the open window — with no regard for the congestion caused by his stopped car — he sniffed deeply.

Things had been quiet — well, at least on the supernatural front; London was still London — ever since the series of events that had culminated in his and Aziraphale’s retirement. Still, Crowley had not yet come to fully trust the quiet. And he had not spent several thousand years honing excessive self-preservation instincts for nothing.

He sniffed again, pensively; then stuck out his tongue for good measure.

And blessed under his breath.

The nature of the scent that had caught the attention of his nose and tongue was unmistakable: an entity of holiness was nearby. And not the entity of holiness who was usually to be found in Soho, puttering around with books or going to the theater or drinking wine with his adversary.

No: unless Crowley’s senses were deceiving him, which they did not usually do, there was a different angel in London.

*

It had been Little Ash’s idea, as was often the case. You’ll enjoy it, he had said. It will be interesting. Besides, the world is so big; we should see more of it. It’s what humans are always doing nowadays, if they can.

Uriel had pointed out that the last time they traveled across an ocean (which had, it recalled, also been Little Ash’s idea), the experience had been significantly less than enjoyable. Not to mention how rapidly the all-enveloping stagnant, seasick misery had become tedious rather than interesting.

Little Ash, in turn, pointed out that that was over a century ago, and travel conditions must have improved since the two of them had come in steerage to Ellis Island. And even in steerage, they had still gotten to America in the end, hadn’t they? Anyway, this time they didn’t have to be on the ocean at all; Little Ash wanted to go in an airplane, one of those flying machines that flew faster and higher than even the biggest of his brothers.

The argument, of course, had not ended so easily. Arguments between the two of them seldom did. This one had continued for a couple of years — which, in the grand scheme of things, was not so long at all.

But eventually, to Little Ash’s great and somewhat obnoxious delight, Uriel came around to the idea of taking a vacation.

And so, not long after Pesach, the angel and demon who had once lived in a shtetl called Shtetl, and who now lived in a city called New York, had found themselves reciting Tefillat HaDerech in a plane taking off for a place called London.

*

Crowley knew what Aziraphale smelled like, holiness and cologne and all, and this particular scent — which was, if anything, only growing stronger — definitely did not belong to him.

But the angelic twist of the scent itself was equally definite.

Crowley blessed again — slightly less under his breath this time — felt around under the seat to make sure the tire iron was there, and went to track the uninvited angel down.

*

Uriel had momentarily lost track of Little Ash. This happened sometimes, and while Uriel did not like it, especially when they had only just recently arrived in a strange new land, nevertheless the occurrence was not especially worrisome. It was simply that there was so much to see, the sheyd found it difficult to stay in one place. In any case, it was partly Uriel’s fault too — the angel, distractible at the best of times, had also been interested in seeing things now that it was here, and as a result it had briefly neglected to hang on to its companion as tightly as usual.^[2]

In hindsight, maybe it should have been more concerned. Because the consequence of Little Ash’s momentary absence was that Uriel was alone when a black car pulled over and a stranger got out, stalked over, and demanded without preamble: “What are you doing here?”

The angel, startled, blinked at the stranger. He looked a few decades older than Uriel’s body appeared; his hair was redder than David HaMelech’s; he was wearing sunglasses; and he was scowling with enough intensity to get the attention even of someone who was accustomed to Little Ash.

“...Excuse me?” said Uriel.

“You’re not supposed to be here!”

Uriel, who had been uneasy about going to England for the same reason it had been uneasy about going to Spain or France or any number of other countries, stiffened. It was suddenly very aware that it was wearing a kippah and its peyot were visible. 

“They let us come back in your 1800s,” the angel said defensively. Little Ash had reassured it using that same point — though Uriel knew even as it spoke that the information was unlikely to make a difference to the person accosting it.^[3] “And we’re just visiting."

The accoster looked taken aback. “Huh?” He shook his head, perhaps more out of confusion than actual denial. “Whatever. They promised we’d be left alone. And you lot have put Aziraphale through enough already. If you dare come near him…”  

The stranger hissed, then, and Uriel caught a glimpse of his feet and had an abrupt realization… at the same time that Little Ash reappeared, hand slipping into Uriel’s, and said with a questioning tilt of the head, “What’s going on?”

*

That’s a demon, Crowley realized with a jolt of shock, just as the new arrival said to the strange angel, “That’s a demon!”

“I know,” said the angel, in an accent that Crowley had not heard in a very long time. “I had just noticed.”

This was followed by a brief, muttered exchange of comments, too low for Crowley to make out the words. He wondered vaguely if the fact that his demonic nature hadn’t been immediately recognized should be flattering, offensive, or both. He wished he could hear what they were saying.^[4]

He was also finding himself distracted by the fact that a demon and angel were holding hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and the demon and angel were not him and Aziraphale. 

He was also thinking that perhaps he should have called Aziraphale in for backup before going to confront the intruder. But then, he hadn’t expected to be facing an alliance…  

Although he couldn't help thinking that the way they were standing together looked like a bit more than a mere alliance of politics.

“Anyway,” the angel continued, “as for what’s going on, I am not sure. But I think he was in the middle of threatening me.”

The demon in the little cap looked alarmed at this information. He took a step forward, ending up partially in front of the angel — though their hands were still linked — and glared at Crowley. “You shouldn’t do that.”

Crowley was beginning to think that perhaps he had leapt to some unnecessary conclusions, considering that he was outnumbered and yet neither violence nor threats of violence had ensued as of yet. (The demons and angels he was used to were not known for either subtlety or patience, especially when they had the advantage in a situation.)

Still, he had been the target of plenty of glares before, often from much scarier demons, and he was perfectly capable of holding his own and glaring back. Accordingly, he did so.

“My friend is very powerful, you know.” The little demon, still glowering, let go of the angel’s hand in order to put an arm around its waist, glancing around as he spoke.^[5] “Don’t think we can’t defend ourselves.”

He was probably trying to sound dangerous, although — despite the instinctual spark of terror upon seeing an unexpected entity — to Crowley’s fairly experienced senses the demon’s power did not actually seem all that threatening. Otherwise, his presence would have been noticeable sooner, as the angel’s had been. 

The angel, looking distinctly uncomfortable, said something in an undertone that Crowley couldn’t quite catch — though the dynamic was familiar enough that he got the feeling the demon might have been being scolded for being provocative.^[6] 

“So can we,” Crowley snapped, provoked. “Defend ourselves, I mean.” He realized too late that he had forgotten the tire iron in the Bentley after all. A pity; whether or not the strangers were actually powerful enough to be a threat, it would have been an appropriate moment to brandish it intimidatingly. “Who are you, anyway?” he demanded, trying to regain control of the conversation. “First day, huh?”

“Who are you?” the demon shot back, glare intensifying.^[7]

At that , Crowley stared. He had assumed that at this point, since the failed apocalypse and subsequent live-streamed execution attempt, every demon in Hell must be aware of the identity of the traitor.^[8] “Um,” he said, “don’t you know?”

The two exchanged glances. “We’re not from around here,” the angel said cautiously.

The demon nodded, looking similarly wary. “We live in America. We’re just here on vacation.”

“...Oh. Ngh.” Crowley blinked for the first time that week, as his assessment of the situation readjusted. “I thought you were looking for—” he swallowed the us off the tip of his tongue; if they really weren’t already after him and Aziraphale, it was better not to drag Aziraphale into this — “me.”

They looked at him askance, as if that wasn’t by far the most plausible explanation for their presence in the city.

“Well,” said the little demon, “I have no idea why you’d think something like that. But we aren’t.”

“Oh.”

Feeling very stupid, though still not entirely trusting, Crowley ended the conversation as quickly as possible. Fortunately, the Jewish pair seemed as eager as he was to get out of the awkward confrontation.

*

“So what was that about?” Little Ash asked, when the goyish snake demon had gotten back in his black car and driven off again, fast enough to leave the tourists wondering if England had speed limits.

“I don’t know.” Uriel still looked unsettled, which meant Little Ash was unsettled too. Though he would have been unsettled anyway, after the experience they’d just had. He’d been braced the whole time to dodge in case the demon went for his soul — or to fight if he went for Uriel’s. It was a while since he’d found himself within arm’s length of a Christian demon, and he hadn’t missed the feeling. “I thought he didn’t like that I was Jewish,” the angel said, “but now I’m not sure. And I felt good middos about him.^[9] At least, I thought I did.”

Little Ash, who never felt good middos — but who also had not picked up on nearly as much wickedness as he would have expected from a gentile demon who threatened random Jews on the side of the road — shrugged. “He didn’t actually say who he was, did he.”

“We didn’t either.”

“I guess not. But he didn’t seem to think he had to. He thought we were here to see him!” Little Ash made a rude face, and a ruder noise.^[10] His skin was still crawling with the memory of the horrible power of the Christian demon’s magic, hot and dangerous. “Thinks he’s so famous, feh.”

“Maybe he is famous. Among gentiles in London.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, well.” Uriel sighed. “Where did we want to go next, do you remember?”

And with that, they resumed their sightseeing — Little Ash made sure this time to stay close by Uriel’s side — both trying to brush the unpleasant encounter out of their mind. It was over and done with, and God willing, they’d never see the goyish demon again.

God was, evidently, not willing.

Footnotes

^{1 Crowley’s Bentley was the only car from its era that had power windows. It was quite proud of this, though it had admittedly been a bit unnerved when the ability first manifested.[return to text]}

^{2 The angel had been exceedingly disappointed when suspenders went out of fashion; it made holding on to Little Ash so much harder.[return to text]}

^{3 Even so, Uriel had presence of mind enough to provide the year in the goyish Common Era for the benefit of the one it was speaking to. After a century in America, it was still not fond of that calendar system, but had with great reluctance learned to use it.[return to text]}

^{4 Switching to Aramaic, as they often did for private asides, Little Ash had asked, “Have you ever seen a demon with snake feet before?”
“Snakes don’t have feet,” Uriel had responded. “Not since Gan Eden.”
“Well,” said Little Ash, “this one does.” [return to text]}

^{5 Little Ash was scanning their surroundings for possible escape routes.[return to text]}

^{6 The words he hadn’t caught were, once again, in Aramaic; not having heard the language in a large number of centuries, Crowley was a bit too out of practice to translate a sentence that was not fully audible. However, he was correct about the scolding; what Uriel had said translated roughly to “Ashel, stop it.”[return to text]}

^{7 Little Ash had worked very hard in America, for over a hundred years, to stop seeming like a greenhorn. He did not appreciate being called out for being new to town, even if it happened to be true.[return to text]}

^{8 This assumption was more or less correct. Little Ash, however, was not a demon in Hell. He almost never hung out around Gehinnom or its various counterparts, even to go ice-skating.[return to text]}

^{9 Crowley would have been offended at that allegation. Aziraphale would have nodded smugly and agreed.[return to text]}

^{10 Scoffing helped him feel more secure.[return to text]}

Chapter Text

It was looking to be a quiet day at the bookshop. Few customers, fewer sales — which was just the way Aziraphale liked it. All the day needed to perfect it was for Crowley to stop by. Which, considering how often that happened these days, was exceedingly likely.

Which was why, when the bell over the door chimed, Aziraphale looked up with a delighted smile to see the new arrival… and then promptly nipped his smile in the bud, when he realized that said arrival was not Crowley. 

“I’m afraid we’re just now closing for the day,” he called firmly.

“At 1:00?”

“Our hours are posted on the sign on the door,” Aziraphale said with withering dignity.

There was a pause as the prospective customer stepped backwards, presumably to read the sign. To Aziraphale’s disappointment, he held the door partly open as he did so.

Then the stranger laughed, loud and sounding something like a hyena. “That’s a great sign,” he declared — and continued, in a language Aziraphale recognized but hadn’t heard spoken in at least a millennium and a half, “Uriel, you should read this sign.”

Uriel?

The name, like the language, was pronounced in the old way; the archangel Aziraphale knew had switched to using a different pronunciation some centuries ago. Still, tensing, Aziraphale rose behind his desk in preparation for… he wasn’t sure what he was preparing for. He stayed standing anyway.

“The sign? Ashel, I thought you were asking for directions,” said a second voice from just outside — a voice that, thankfully, did not belong to the Uriel with whom Aziraphale was familiar.

That relief, along with the revelation that they had apparently come to the bookshop for a more innocuous purpose than book-buying, was enough to make Aziraphale feel downright warm towards the foreign-sounding strangers on his doorstep.

“Oh, do come in,” he called to them — adding, to be on the safe side, “The till is already locked for the day, I’m afraid, so I can’t do business, but I can certainly give directions. Where were you trying to go?”

After a moment, the two came in together, letting the door shut behind them. “We’re looking for a restaurant,” one of them began, speaking in accented English again, as they approached the desk. “Someone said—”

But Aziraphale didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because at that point the pair of tourists got close enough for him to see their eyes.

He noticed the smaller one first, who was a step ahead of the other. Short, curly hair, slightly shaggy around the ears, wearing a small cap, a friendly face with a faint edge of nervousness and a more prominent edge of mischief to it… 

And dark, vertical pupils, set in grey, long-lashed eyes. 

Despite himself, a part of Aziraphale softened at the almost-familiar shape of those slit-pupiled eyes.

His gaze moved on to the cat-eyed tourist’s companion — taller, with equally curling hair and longer earlocks, and eyes that were big and brown and had rectangular pupils.

“Pardon me,” he said, “but who are you?”

The two looked at each other.

“I am Uriel Federman,” said the one with the huge goatlike eyes. “My friend and I— Oh.”

It broke off, eyes growing even bigger, seemingly having a parallel realization to be the one that had just struck Aziraphale. “Oh,” it said again — and added, in Hebrew, “Peace upon you.”

“Upon you, peace,” Aziraphale responded automatically. And then in English, because he didn’t know what else to say: “Would you like some tea?”

*

They accepted the tea, although only after a brief, whispered argument in Aramaic about what the Shulchan Aruch had to say on the matter. The bookshop angel — who introduced himself as Aziraphale, which Little Ash thought sounded familiar but wasn’t sure why — assured them that the pot was only ever used for tea.

Little Ash, who was not in the mood to draw any more attention than necessary to his smallness — and who saw no point at this juncture in avoiding drawing attention to his demon-ness — introduced himself as Ashmedai. This drew a blink and a raised eyebrow, but no further reaction beyond a nod and a polite greeting.

Soon enough, the shop was officially closed and the three of them were sitting in a small, book-cluttered room behind the main area, drinking tea and making awkward but not-unpleasant conversation. Little Ash liked bookshops, as did Uriel. If they ignored the contents of the books, and the absence of goat smell, they could almost have pretended they were in the little old beys-midrash where they’d once spent their days and nights in Shtetl. Or, at the very least, in the Shulmans’ old shop in New York.

“So,” said Aziraphale after a little while, looking between his two guests, once they’d covered the basics -— names, the weather, where Uriel and Little Ash were staying in London, how long A.Z. Fell’s had been in business — “how do you two know each other?”

Little Ash tensed slightly, and felt Uriel pat his knee, which was aggravatingly comforting.

“We came together from the Old Country,” he explained, watching the British angel warily. Aziraphale seemed amicable enough so far, true. But Little Ash did not know many angels, and he especially did not know what to make of an angel who lived somewhere without a mezuzah. Anyway, he had never liked answering questions about their relationship. “We study together. And it hinders my mischief. At least, it tries to.”

The answer was true, as far as it went — though it did not quite convey the three hundred years they had spent with hearts, souls, and lives cleaving ever closer together, even as they argued their way through one tractate of Talmud after another. It did not quite convey the deep and definite love they had shared through a hundred names and thousands of miles, or the fact that he could hardly imagine himself without his chevrusa. It did not quite convey the fact that Uriel’s presence at his side felt like magic beyond anything his brothers could ever imagine, or that Uriel had compared their bond to a mitzvah and a miracle.

Still, that was none of the strange angel’s business, and he didn’t have to say I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me for the answer he had given to be true.

And Aziraphale's bearing softened further, as he nodded as if a demon and an angel being chevrusas was something he heard every day. "I know the feeling. I’ve been thwarting Crowley — that’s my demon — for quite some time. It’s nice to have a partner in life, isn’t it?”

“...Yes,” said Uriel, meeting Little Ash’s startled glance halfway. “Yes, it is very nice.”

That was when the door behind them banged open, with such force that Uriel dropped its teacup.

Chapter Text

If he hadn’t been so busy panicking at the sight and smell of the strangers in the bookshop, Crowley would have been banging his head against the wall in fury at his own gullibility. What had he been thinking , trusting the word of an angel and demon he’d never met before, just because they had young corporations and claimed they were “on vacation”? How could he have believed, even for a moment, that they might have been here for anything other than the obvious reason?

Stupid, stupid, stupid… 

Worst of all, why hadn’t he gone immediately to warn Aziraphale of the danger? He’d taken some time after the encounter to drive around London for half an hour or so, blowing off steam and letting his temper cool. It had seemed like a prudent plan at the time, so he wouldn’t show up at the bookshop still in a bad mood.

In retrospect, it did not seem like a prudent plan at all.

And now there they were, in the bookshop — the prickle indicating unfamiliar ethereality and occultness, mingling with the usual sense of Aziraphale’s presence, was unmistakable — and he hadn’t been there to stop them. Worse, he realized as the front door opened to his touch and obligingly relocked behind him, they’d somehow gotten through to the back room.

Heart pounding, clutching the tire iron that he’d remembered to bring this time, Crowley crossed the shop and then flung open the door to the back room.

Three alarmed faces, arrayed around a table in the middle of the room, turned to gape at him.

“My dear boy,” said Aziraphale, rising quickly to his feet, “whatever is the matter?”

That question was so absolutely ludicrous, the answer so obvious, that Crowley’s own mouth fell open. He gestured, speechlessly and expressively, at the two trespassers — who were on their feet as well by this point, standing close together and staring between him and Aziraphale.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, understanding washing across his face. “Oh, botheration . Crowley, this– they’re only—”

Crowley was barely listening, other than to be relieved that Aziraphale was apparently still well enough to use ridiculous words like botheration. “Are you all right?” he demanded, urgently. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m perfectly fine! My dear—”

That most vital piece of reassurance obtained, he whirled on the intruders, tire iron at the ready. “Get out of here. I told you not to come near him. You were supposed to leave us alone after the apocalypse! You—”

The strange angel with the goat eyes had stepped even closer to its demonic companion, and for a moment both of them looked young and scared enough that even in his current mood, it gave Crowley pause.

His instant of hesitation provided a chance to get a word in edgewise. The other demon seized the opportunity, speaking with a defensive sort of hiss that (although more feline than serpentine in sound) was a little more familiar than Crowley cared to admit.

“He invited us,” the demon spat, pupils dilated in the center of grey eyes. “And we’re not the ones waving a metal stick at people who didn’t do anything to us.”

“It’s true, you know,” Aziraphale said before Crowley could hiss a retort. His hands were held out in a gesture perhaps meant to be soothing… though the fact that he sounded distraught while saying it did little to help Crowley feel soothed. “I did invite them in. And they’ve been very polite, and I’m perfectly safe, and—”

While he was speaking, the two intruders had been sidling quietly along the wall, until all at once they were almost behind Crowley.

He spun on them, snarling. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You told us,” said the angel, enunciating very clearly through its accent, “to get out. You are in the way of the door.”

That was a fair point, upon reflection. Not feeling very reflective, Crowley hissed — but he did move aside so they could pass.

He followed the pair to the door to make sure they left (after a brief struggle with the lock), then watched out the window as they went off down the street. Aziraphale came up behind him, placing a gentle hand on Crowley’s arm, which Crowley ignored other than to lift his other hand to place it across Aziraphale’s.

He did not relax until he could sense that the prickling presence of the other angel and demon was definitely receding into the distance.

Then he turned, trembling all over, and fell into Aziraphale’s arms.

*

Outside, a few blocks away from the bookshop, Little Ash was also shaking rather badly.

Uriel suspected that this reaction was because he had been reminded a little too vividly of the last time he had been trapped in a small room with a hostile Christian demon blocking the door. The reason Uriel suspected this was that Uriel, too, had been reminded with unpleasant intensity of that other experience.

They slowed from their not-quite-run once they could be confident the goyish demon was not following them. Little Ash was limping, Uriel noticed. When they passed a sidewalk bench, the angel took its chevrusa’s sleeve and pulled him over to rest.

They sank onto the bench together, both panting.

“I think,” Little Ash said, still shivering and wearing the expression that said he was angry with himself for it, “I don’t like London.”

Uriel did not say It was your idea to come here, nor did it say You were enjoying yourself this morning. It put an arm around its partner, and then another, and Little Ash’s arms came up around its body in turn, wrapping around the place where the angel’s tallis often lay.

They stayed like that for a while, folded in the comfort of each other, as their breathing and heartbeats gradually settled. Passersby paused, looked at them, then shrugged and continued on their way.

“We never did get directions to the kosher restaurant,” Uriel said at last, pulling back a little but not yet letting go.

Little Ash let out a shuddering breath, half laugh and half sigh. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Nor was Uriel. 

They sat there a few minutes longer, then got up and made their way out of Soho.

*

Setting his own frustration with the way the afternoon had gone temporarily aside in favor of the more urgent distress at hand, Aziraphale held Crowley as the demon rode out the aftermath of adrenaline — alternating between hiding his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder and staring wildly around as if to make sure the bookshop was still intact. He rubbed Crowley’s back, and stroked Crowley’s hair, and focused on taking deep, slow breaths in hopes that they would encourage Crowley to do the same.

Maybe it worked, or maybe the storm simply ran its course, because eventually Crowley pulled away and sat back, fidgeting with the tire iron he was still clutching, evidently calm enough now to begin to look embarrassed about the display.

He opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said quickly, before Crowley could say whatever he was going to say. “I should have thought about how it might look. An angel and a demon in the shop when you didn’t expect them. Of course you would be… concerned about their reasons for being here.”

Concerned was, admittedly, a drastic understatement of the state in which Crowley had burst through that door.

Crowley put down the tire iron and took off his sunglasses (Aziraphale noted these actions with relief, each being a sign in and of itself that the demon was feeling more at ease) to run his eyes. “Why were they here, then?” he asked.

“Visiting,” Aziraphale said promptly. “They’re from America.”

“Fine, fine. That’s what they told me too.” Crowley swept an arm out, indicating the bookshop. “But why here here?“

“Well, they came to the shop looking for directions somewhere, I believe…” Aziraphale broke off with a groan of realization. “Directions I never gave them. Bother.”

Crowley was squinting at him now. “So they came from America, and randomly ended up at your shop of all shops, and asked for directions, and so… you took them back for tea?”

“Er,” said Aziraphale, and then yelped in alarm and sprang upright. “The tea ! Oh, oh dear, I do hope it didn’t spill on the books…”

Thankfully, it hadn’t, though the carpet was not as lucky as the books. Crowley staged a cleaning intervention with a snap of the fingers, and that miniature crisis was averted. Aziraphale put a new kettle on to boil.

When they found their way back to sitting on the sofa, nestled against each other, Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, frown now more curious than upset. “You didn’t answer my question. Why did you invite them back, if all they wanted was directions?”

Trust Crowley not to let a difficult question slide past unanswered. Aziraphale sighed. “I… I don’t know.”

Understandably, Crowley looked suspicious of that response.

Because it felt right, Aziraphale wanted to say, and that was true. But his perspective on what was and was not “right” had undergone some major remodeling lately, and it felt like an incomplete answer.

Why?

He sighed again, then, as another answer came to him; more complete, perhaps, but also less comfortable. He took Crowley’s hand, not sure which of them he was seeking to reassure most, and spoke softly.

“I think I may be… a bit lonely.”

*

Little Ash found a bus that was going to Golders Green, where they were staying with Rose Cohen’s brother’s grandson’s wife’s cousin’s daughter’s friend’s nephew’s family. It was a comfort to arrive back in the neighborhood, where there was at least the occasional yarmulke or yeshiva around to remind them they were not without community. Being on vacation was all very well, and being tourists was much more pleasant than being immigrants, but in a way it did still feel like being greenhorns again — not an altogether desirable experience to relive. It was nice to have somewhere familiar; somewhere with at least a hint of home about it .

Their hosts were all gone for the day, variously at work or at school, which meant the house was quiet. That suited Little Ash and Uriel just fine. They went into the guest room, where Little Ash promptly — and with great relief — took off his shoes and put his claws up on the bed. Uriel pulled a small volume of Bava Batra from the air, and they passed an enjoyable hour or so studying. Once their appetites returned, they shared some snacks, which their hosts had left for them along with a nicely printed list of the hechshers commonly available in the area.

All in all, they were feeling much better, and even cheerful enough for Little Ash to decide that maybe he didn’t hate London so much after all, when there was a knock on the front door.

They looked at each other.

Little Ash was inclined to ignore the knock and pretend nobody was home. Uriel, however, wouldn’t hear of it (“What if someone is asking for tzedakah? We would miss a chance to do a mitzvah!”) — so Little Ash grumbled a little, hopped off the bed, and accompanied his chevrusa to the door to tell whoever was there that the Blooms were out and wouldn’t be back until evening.

By the time they opened the door, whoever was knocking had already given up and left. But there was an envelope, wedged between door and doorframe, that hadn’t been there when they arrived earlier in the day. Little Ash caught it out of the air as it started to fall, glancing casually at the address on the front of the wax-sealed envelope… and then glanced again.

He showed it to Uriel.

In meticulous cursive handwriting that took a few minutes for them to decipher, the first line of the address read:

Uriel Fetterman & Ashmodai

Chapter Text

Crowley’s emotional state felt like it had been put through an exceptionally violent car wash^[11] — except without the benefit of coming out clean on the other side.

Panic, not to mention its aftermath when logical thinking returned, was never fun. But panic aftermath combined with guilt was even worse.

It had not occurred to him that Aziraphale might be lonely.

Well, no, that wasn’t true. Of course it had occurred to him. Aziraphale was at core a social being, for all his fondness for sitting alone with books. Crowley knew that. And Crowley had known that the break with Heaven — the loss of even a semblance of community, aside from the occasional human friendship, which just wasn’t the same — had been hard on the angel.

But Crowley had determined that he simply had to make up for it himself, by throwing all that he had into our own side and hoping desperately that it could be enough. He hadn’t thought that there could be any other option, with the hosts of Heaven and Hell firmly relegated to the category of threat. 

And then, apparently, the other option had walked into the bookshop, sat down for tea… and Crowley had chased it out with a tire iron.

Guilt is not a feeling that most demons enjoy.^[12]

As a result, he had done the unthinkable, though his heart still felt a bit like racing at the mere thought of allowing the occult and ethereal wild cards back into Aziraphale’s vicinity: suggested making amends.

*

Dear Uriel and Ashmodai,

It was lovely to meet you today. I am sorry you did not have the chance to finish your tea. My partner, Crowley, has been rather overprotective ever since the apocalypse, and I am afraid he thought you had come to attack us. I have explained to him that that is not the case (I do hope it is not), and that you are just visiting from America. We both hope that you enjoy your stay.

Also, if you would still like directions somewhere, we would be happy to assist. If the bookshop is closed, you may knock on the door, and if we are not there you may leave a note. Perhaps we could become friends.

Yours Sincerely,

Aziraphale (and Crowley)

“No!” Little Ash said promptly when they had finished reading the note. He crumpled it up in his fist, threw it at the wall, then did the same with the envelopes. “Friends? Friends like that, I need like a hole in the head. Such chutzpah I‘ve never seen.”

Uriel, less certain of how to react to the unanticipated note, stood up to retrieve the paper. “I thought you approved of chutzpah.”

“Only sometimes. Some chutzpah. It all depends. Not this chutzpah. I wish you hadn’t said who we were staying with.”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Little Ash muttered direly. “We’re lucky they didn’t break in to eat us all, and the Blooms too.”

“You shouldn’t say such things.” Uriel smoothed the paper back to a state of readability and returned to its contents. “But Ashel, they are asking for mechilah. Surely we ought to forgive, if they are sorry?”

“Mechilah, shmechilah.” Little Ash snorted, as rudely as he could (which was quite rudely; he had, after all, had a long time to work on his snorting technique). “Forgiveness comes after atonement. A little bit of writing doesn’t count as teshuvah.”

“Of course it doesn’t. But don’t you see, they were only frightened. He says here that the demon — Crowley? — was afraid we were there to attack. I think it’s true.”

“What, because the first time he thought we were looking for him? He just thinks he’s a big shot.”

“He didn’t look happy about thinking it,” Uriel pointed out. “He thought we were going to hurt him. Or them. Remember, when he came into the bookshop, he asked if Aziraphale was all right.”

“So what?” Under the circumstances, Little Ash was unimpressed. “ I thought he was going to hurt us .”

The words came out sounding a little less scathing, a little more sullen, and a lot more vulnerable than he would have liked.

The angel deflated. “So did I,” it admitted unhappily, getting back on the bed. “Only… he didn’t hurt us. He didn’t even hit us.”

“Only because we got away in time! Didn’t you see that metal thing? He was ready to give me a hole in the head. And you. You want we should give him another chance?”

“All right, all right.” Uriel surrendered and handed the note to Little Ash, to do with it as he pleased. “So, we won’t go back.”

“Good,” said Little Ash. He took the paper, glanced over it one more time, then looked sharply back up. “Uriel?”

“Yes?”

The sheyd pointed with a puzzled frown at a line on the page, as he might have pointed to a difficult passage of Gemara he didn’t understand. “This says since the apocalypse. What are they talking about?”

*

“Oh, I do hope I didn’t misremember their hosts’ name.” Aziraphale was fretting aloud, having by this point slipped all the way from Comforting mode to Overthinking mode. “And that the address we found in the telephone book was correct. What if we left the envelope in the wrong door? Or—”

“Relax, angel,” Crowley cut in. Not that he was doing the best job of relaxing himself. But hypocrisy was, after all, a suitably demonic trait. “It was definitely the right place. I could smell them. Besides, there was Hebrew on the doorpost.^[13] ”

The attempt at reassurance backfired; Aziraphale only wrung his hands harder. “Oh no, do you think I ought to have written in Hebrew? Perhaps that would have been better. It certainly would have been better. I’m so out of practice, though…”

“Angel,” Crowley cut in before said angel could spiral any further into anxiety. He’d decided it was his turn to be the one channeling comfort and calmness, even if he didn’t exactly feel it. It seemed only fair, to make up for earlier. “Angel, you did your part. Got it? You did your part, and it’s up to them to decide what happens next.”

…And wasn’t that a terrifying thought. Crowley didn’t even know anymore what he wanted to happen next.

*

Little Ash had a general idea of what an apocalypse was, of course; generally involving bombs and plagues and brain-eating monsters. He had been to the movies, like a real American. He’d even dragged Uriel out to a few films over the decades — although the angel had never really understood why anyone would waste their time in such a manner, when they could instead be learning Torah.

“Only,” Little Ash said now, still glaring at the note in deep annoyance at its refusal to explain itself, “apocalypses aren’t the kind of thing that happen without you knowing about them. Chas v’chalilah. Are they?”

"Chas v’shalom," agreed the angel, who had a much vaguer understanding of the concept but was inclined to be uneasy about any word that was written with so many vowels. “Why should I know?”

There being no particular reason that Uriel should know, Little Ash shrugged. “It’s a trick, maybe. A trap. They’re trying to make us be curious, so we’ll let our guard down and go talk to them.”

He wasn’t sure if he actually believed his own theory. But if the note was a scheme designed to trip him into curiosity, then… well, then, it was definitely working.

That was an aggravating thought. He tossed the paper aside, impatient to distract himself, and leapt to his feet. A creature like Little Ash could only stay in one room for so long without getting restless, and things that annoyed him hastened the process significantly. “Come on,” he said to Uriel. “I’m bored, and there’s lots of London left to visit. Why are we just sitting here doing nothing?”

“We aren’t doing nothing,” the angel pointed out. “We’re talking. And you said you wanted to come back here. But all right, what do you want to do now? The museums will be closing soon.”

“We’re here to see London, aren’t we? So, let’s do that.” Little Ash paced to the window, then back. “The Blooms said we should look at the parks.”

“Parks?” With a not-very-put-upon sigh, Uriel stood up as well. “Very well then. We will go and look at parks.”

It handed Little Ash his shoes, which the sheyd reluctantly put on. He stepped on the crumpled note and stomped a little more energetically than was strictly necessary as they went out, then wished for the sake of his aching foot that he hadn’t.

*

Aziraphale had not been able to settle down since they’d left the note in the door at the house where Ashmedai and Uriel were staying. It was foolish, really, to be so caught up in his worries over how — and, more to the point, if — they would respond. He’d only just met them; knew almost nothing about them; hadn’t even had a full cup of tea together.

Still, that brief taste of companionship was something he had not felt in a long time (outside of his relationship with Crowley, that was). Since well before his official retirement from Heaven’s employ, if he was to be honest. And… it had felt so good . Which meant it was difficult to keep things in perspective now.

After Aziraphale had picked up a book for the ninth time only to stare at it for several minutes without turning a single page, Crowley — who had been slouched next to him on the sofa, playing something or other with his Clever Phone — reached out and plucked the book from the angel’s hands.

Startled, Aziraphale turned to look at him. “What are you doing with my book?!”

“Nothing,” said Crowley dryly, “just like you. You know you weren’t reading it.”

“I… suppose I am having a bit of difficulty concentrating at the moment,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Yeah? Funny, so’m I.” Crowley sighed. “I think we need to get out of here. Do something other than sit in our own heads.”

“Do what?”

“I don’t know. Something fun. And not stressful.” Crowley unfolded partially from his slouch and set the book carefully down on a side table. “Feed the ducks? Then maybe dinner after?”

Come to think of it, feeding the ducks did sound rather relaxing. And they could both use some relaxation. But… “What if they come by while we’re out?”

“Then they can leave a note,” said Crowley — there was a touch of snap in his voice, reminding Aziraphale that the demon was still on edge for his own reasons — “like you told them to do.”

That was, Aziraphale supposed, a valid point. He got up, offering Crowley a hand off the sofa. “Ducks it is, then. I’ll get some bread.”

*

One of the most highly recommended parks in London was, so Little Ash and Uriel had been told, a site called St. James’s Park. As a result, at the end of a forty-five minute ride from Golders Green, they found themselves walking past a couple of cherry trees (Uriel made Little Ash pause to admire the blossoms, though they had already recited Birkat Ha’Ilanot at the beginning of Nissan, in Central Park) and towards a pond.

It was a pretty park, Uriel thought, despite its qualms regarding the name. Coming here had been a good idea. It would be good for them both to end the day on a quiet, uneventful note.

They were just drawing near the water — close enough to see the several ducks gliding around on the surface — when Little Ash elbowed it, very suddenly and very sharply, in the ribs.

“What? Ashel, what are you—” Uriel began, and then broke off and stopped in its tracks as it saw the reasons for the jab.

So much for an uneventful time in the park.

Footnotes

^{11 The kind of car wash to which he would never in six thousand years consider exposing the Bentley — not even after his favorite music had been turned into Queen.[return to text]}

^{12 In this, demons are very similar to humans. And also to angels, not to mention most other sentient beings.[return to text]}

^{13 The mezuzah had told Crowley in no uncertain terms to go away. Crowley, who hadn’t done anything to it, thought that very unfair. He supposed it was a taste of his own medicine.[return to text]}

Chapter Text

“You think they followed us?” Little Ash hissed in Uriel’s ear.

Uriel looked uncertainly at the other couple, whose backs were still to them. “I don’t  know. It looks like they were here already, yes? And they haven’t noticed us yet.”

As if on cue, the pair of man-shaped-beings who had inspired Little Ash’s elbow turned suddenly… and froze for a second, simply staring.

And then, after a quick and inaudible conversation, came towards them hand in hand.

There was no metal rod visible this time, which made Uriel at least feel slightly better; it had seen Little Ash be hit over the head before, and did not like the thought of seeing it happen again.

“Hello,” Aziraphale called, coming to a stop a few feet away. “Goodness, however did you know to find us here?”

The Christian demon, standing next to him with a small bag in one hand, said nothing. The sunglasses made his expression difficult to read.

“We didn’t,” said Little Ash sharply, before Uriel could answer. “We only wanted to see the park. How did you know we were coming?”

“…We didn’t,” Aziraphale echoed, blinking. “Crowley and I come here often. We were feeding the ducks.”

“Ah,” said Little Ash, sounding like he wasn’t sure whether to believe it. “That’s a funny coincidence.”

“Quite so.” Aziraphale chuckled awkwardly. “Perhaps it’s ineffable.”

“What does ‘ineffable’ mean?” Uriel whispered.

“Hm? Oh, hashgacha pratis, probably.^[14] Who cares?” Little Ash shrugged, doing a very credible impression of unconcern. Uriel, however, had known its chevrusa long enough to suspect that he was currently struggling with the conflicting urges to flee, to fight, and to ask questions.^[15]

Wary of the first two possibilities, it put a restraining hand on the sheyd’s bony shoulder. (It was wary of the third possibility too, of course, depending on the specific questions and answers. But there was nothing much that could be done to prevent that one.)

Little Ash shot him an annoyed look. But though he could easily have pulled away, he did not do so, which in Uriel’s opinion said much more than any scowl.

The silence was growing increasingly uncomfortable, and Uriel was just wondering what he should say when Aziraphale spoke instead, hands twisting together. If the other angel had been wearing tzitzis, Uriel imagined he would have been fidgeting with them.

“We, er… well, that is to say. We sent a note to you. To the place you said you were staying. Earlier today, that is.” Aziraphale took a breath, as if to collect himself. “Did… did you receive it?”

“Yes,” Uriel said, since it saw no reason not to acknowledge having done so. “We got the note.”

There was a pause.

“It was a very nice note,” it added uncertainly. “We appre—” 

A pointy elbow, once again, collided with its ribs.

“I appreciate it,” Uriel corrected, which was true and which also seemed like the least likely way to make any of the three other parties more upset than they already were.

“I,” Little Ash announced, evidently having decided it was his turn to reenter the conversation, “have questions.”

So, then, it was to be the third possibility. To start with, at least. It could have been worse.^[16] Uriel let its hand remain on its chevrusa’s shoulder, now more as a sign of support than for purposes of restraint, and wondered what would happen next.

Surprisingly enough, it was the demon who chose to respond. Much of Crowley’s facial expression was still hidden behind the glasses, but his bearing was noticeably less aggressive than it had been on either of their previous encounters.

Not that that was saying much, considering how their previous encounters had gone. But Uriel was used to demons who were feeling ashamed of themselves but did not know how to apologize, and it thought that it recognized the signs.

“Questions?” said Crowley. “I like questions.”

*

Crowley had asked more than his share of questions over the course of his existence. Hypocrite that he was, however, he hadn’t spent nearly as much time answering questions posed by others. Indeed, he often tried to wriggle out of giving answers at all, when he could. At least, when the questions concerned himself.

All that said, he had also seldom been faced by someone who asked quite as many questions, at quite so rapid a pace and with such evident determination to track down the explanations — and yet, remarkably, without using violence as a method of forcibly extracting the desired information — as the little demon named Ashmedai.

But as impressive as Ashmedai’s questioning technique may have been, the content of his questions was even more astonishing.

“That letter you wrote,” he said, “mentioned ‘the apocalypse.’ And you said the same thing when you were yelling at us before. What did you mean by it?”

Crowley gaped, all his determination to make a better impression for Aziraphale’s sake while also not letting his guard down now forgotten in the face of sheer bewilderment. It occurred to him to wonder if this might be some kind of surveillance maneuver after all; was Hell trying to draw out more information about what had happened?

But surely, not even Hell would be stupid enough to think a question like that made any sense whatsoever.

“The— the apocalypse,” Crowley repeated, goggling intensely enough that he doubted even the sunglasses could hide it. “You know, when the world was going to end last summer? That apocalypse?”

“When the world was… what? ” Uriel, the other angel, stared around with wide eyes as if checking to confirm that the world was in fact still there.

“I mean, it didn’t end,” said Crowley irritably, “obviously. We stopped it. But it was supposed to.”

Uriel whispered something in his companion’s ear.

“How should I know? It’s what I’m asking,” said Ashmedai, apparently not bothering to whisper. He turned back to Crowley and, indeed, proceeded with asking. “Why was the world supposed to end?”

“Um. Because… it was Written?”

“By who? And why?”

“...Good question,” said Crowley, who had sometimes wondered that himself.

“How was it supposed to end? And how did you stop it?”

Crowley got the sudden, strong feeling that they had a very long conversation ahead of them.

Especially since he was finding suddenly that he had more than a few questions of his own, about the Jewish angel and demon from America who held hands and somehow hadn’t heard about Armageddon.

And so it was not just for the sake of Aziraphale’s loneliness that he sighed, slipped the bag of duck feed into his pocket, and said, “Why don’t we ask each other questions over dinner?”

* 

Had they just been asked to dinner? Little Ash turned to Uriel, only to find that the angel was looking at him for help. It was his own fault, he supposed, since he’d elbowed Uriel before for speaking on his behalf.

Well, but now he wanted the answers to his questions. And if dinner was what it took to get answers, then dinner it was. Besides, they hadn’t ever gotten around to having a proper lunch, and he was getting hungry.

“Sure,” he said, very nonchalantly, like he and Uriel went out to dinner with gentile demons and angels all the time. “Let’s.”

“We could do the Ritz,” Aziraphale suggested, then looked them over in a way that made Little Ash suddenly very conscious of just how well-dressed the other pair was. “Our treat,” the angel added, which he probably meant kindly.

“Is the Ritz kosher?” Uriel whispered.

Little Ash did not know if the Ritz was kosher, which almost definitely meant it wasn’t. He’d done his research before they’d come to London, knowing full well that the angel could not be trusted to plan ahead but would also refuse to eat anywhere without a hechsher.

While Little Ash was thinking this, Crowley had followed Uriel’s example, leaning over to hiss something into his own partner’s ear.

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, seeming flustered. “Of course, not the Ritz, I’m sorry. There’s a lovely little place in Hackney, I’ve met the rabbi there… although, well, I suppose that is a bit of a distance…” He hesitated and looked back at the tourists. “What was that restaurant that you were looking for earlier?”

Little Ash squinted at the pair of them, wondering if it was normal for goyish demons to know about kashrus. Either way, he was fairly positive that it wasn’t normal for them to think about kashrus. And certainly not to care , let alone to remind angels about it.

Well, that was just one more thing to find out about.

He said the name of the restaurant the Blooms had suggested; if the way Aziraphale’s face lit up was to be relied upon (which, admittedly, remained to be seen), it must have been a good one.

Crowley offered a ride, although Little Ash wasn’t fool enough to let either himself or Uriel get in a car with a gentile demon and angel they’d just met. (Aziraphale must have had similar qualms, as he seemed to emphatically approve of the decision to decline.) So, in the end, the four of them walked to dinner.

That was for the best. It meant they could get a head start on the questions.

“So,” said Little Ash, with his hands in his pockets, as they headed away from the duck pond. “You tell us about how the world didn’t end. And we can tell you about America.”

Footnotes

^{14 This was a total guess on Little Ash’s part, having never heard the word before.[return to text]}

^{15 It was not unusual for this particular collection of urges to come into conflict within Little Ash.[return to text]}

^{16 It could always be worse, as a certain rabbi Uriel and Little Ash had known many years ago had been very fond of reminding people.[return to text]}

Chapter Text

Bava Batra — A section of the Talmud that deals primarily with the laws, rights, and responsibilities related to issues of property ownership, inheritance, and neighbors.

Birkat Ha’Ilanot — A springtime blessing recited over blossoming fruit trees.

Chas v’chalilah/Chas v’shalom — Two phrases, each of which has approximately the same meaning as “God forbid.”

Chutzpah — Something along the lines of audacity/insolence/sheer nerve.

David HaMelech — King David: a biblical shepherd, singer, warrior, ruler of Israel, and redhead.

Gan Eden — The Garden of Eden.

Gehinnom — A place where souls go for purification after death (not the same as Hell in Christianity, but the closest analogue to be found in Judaism).

Gemara — Rabbinic analysis and commentary on the Mishnah. Together, Mishnah and Gemara make up the Talmud.

Goyish — Non-Jewish.

Hashgacha pratis — Divine providence.

Hechsher — A certification indicating that a given product has been verified by a rabbinic authority to be kosher according to Jewish law.

Kashrus — The set of Jewish dietary laws regarding what is or is not kosher.

Kippah — A skullcap/head covering traditionally worn by Jewish men; also known (in Yiddish) as a yarmulke.

Kosher — A word indicating that something is appropriate/permissable according to Jewish law. The term is most commonly used for describing food, but can also be applied to other items or actions.

Mechilah — Forgiveness/pardon.

Mezuzah — A piece of parchment on which is written the text of the Shema (a central prayer in Judaism and a proclamation of monotheism) which is affixed to the doorframe of a Jewish home, usually in a decorative case, to fulfill an obligation stated within the Shema. Many also hold the belief that a mezuzah has protective powers for the home.

Middos — Character traits.

Mitzvah — A commandment/obligation in Judaism. Also used more generally to mean "good deed."

Nissan — A springtime month on the Hebrew calendar, which falls somewhere around March–April. No relation to the car manufacturer.

Pesach — Passover: a springtime holiday commemorating the Exodus from Egypt.

Peyot — Sidelocks of hair falling in front of the ears, worn by some Jewish men.

Sheyd — Mischievous demon or spirit of the earth.

Shulchan Aruch — A widely-consulted code of Jewish law, compiled in the sixteenth century by Yosef Karo. The title literally means “Set Table”.

Teshuvah — Repentance; literally, “returning”. Teshuvah is a process that includes admission of error, regret, taking steps to make amends if possible, and resolving to avoid repeating the problematic action.

Talmud — An central text in traditional Judaism, consisting of thousands of pages of compiled teachings from centuries’ worth of rabbis. The word literally means “study” or “learning.”

Tefillat HaDerech — The Traveler's Prayer: a Jewish prayer for a safe journey, said when setting out on a long or potentially perilous trip.

Tzedakah — Charity.

Tzitzis — Knotted tassels attached to the corners of a tallis, or Jewish prayer shawl.

Yarmulke — A skullcap/head covering traditionally worn by Jewish men; also known (in Hebrew) as a kippah.

Yeshiva — Traditional institution for Jewish education.