Chapter Text
Yet another method that demons might employ in order to demonstrate their interest in someone involves targeting an outside party to torment or torture. There is some overlap between this strategy and the form of courting that involves enjoying violence together, but they remain two different methods for the purposes of my study. Just as it is possible to perform violence without using against a person, it is possible to torment someone without resorting to violence.
Tormenting a third party can take many forms. Physical torture is the most obvious and common method, however. Causing pain and suffering to a victim can be easily achieved with lacerations, with blunt force trauma, by burns, by starvation or dehydration, by suffocation, or by any number of cruelties. Mental and emotional torture is less common, but can be equally effective and appealing. Mind games, threats, lies, tricks to confuse the senses, various schemes to make a victim doubt his own mind and recollection, or even simple mischief to humiliate and frustrate can be used together in various combinations in order to erode a man’s sanity and composure until he eventually succumbs to madness. Demons can tempt a man into vice and sin, but they can just as easily break him without needing to lay a hand on him. And such inhumane behavior can easily be incorporated into their courting.
The victim of their torture and torment need not be a living human. When it comes to showing their interest in someone by working together, the target and circumstances of their tormenting are not important. Some may choose a man who is still alive, regardless of whether his life has been pious or composed of vice. Others may choose a victim among the souls doomed to Hell by their sins, trapped and already suffering. And more powerful and higher-ranked demons may decide to torment and torture a weaker demon. There is no loyalty among the creatures except to their ruler and master. None would see any reason that harming their own kind should be considered wrong. If they have the power to accomplish it, then anyone can be their victim.
A couple weeks after their spontaneous night of vandalism, everything seemed to settle back to their post-apocalypse normal. No random gifts of thorny plants. No sold-out shows in dark theaters, forcing them to lurk in the back. No late-night sessions of violent destruction. And no Hastur giving him death glares. Only familiar things. An afternoon in the park. A few nice meals in restaurants. Interrupting the angel’s phone call with Anathema by shouting commentary from across the room, earning eye rolls from Aziraphale. Late evening discussions in the bookshop. A couple of movie nights at his flat. All soothing and familiar things that didn’t pull at his subconscious knowledge of demonic social customs.
It gave Crowley time to straighten out his head. To pick apart his thoughts and feelings, sorting them out until he could collect all the dangerous, rebellious, and selfish ones and lock them away. Aziraphale was his best friend. Wanting or hoping for anything else was a path that would lead to heartache for both of them. Crowley waited thousands of years for the angel to embrace their friendship, fully and without reservations. He didn’t want or need anything more than that. He was fine. Better than fine. Everything was perfect.
There was a line that Crowley couldn’t cross. Emotions and thoughts that the angel could never offer him and that Crowley could never share. Not if he wanted to keep what he already had. The unspoken warning behind “you go too fast for me.” A silent message among thousands of years of communicating without saying the actual words. There was a firm line that he could never cross and if his subconscious wanted to drag him over it, then Crowley would build a wall to keep the rebellious parts of him trapped.
He was content the way things were. He liked spending time with Aziraphale, quietly chuckling at the television as Sophia and Dorothy practiced their act as Sonny and Cher for a contest and Rose tried not to stare at their costumes. Crowley liked being around Aziraphale, both of them relaxed because this was allowed now. He liked being with the angel. As friends. Best friends. Anything that didn’t feel like innocent friendship was locked away to be ignored and forgotten.
Everything was back to normal. And since it took six thousand years for Aziraphale to accidentally stumble onto those romantic gestures, then Crowley felt confident that he wouldn’t have to worry about that happening again for a few centuries. Nothing to worry about at all.
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t sleep; his dreams were filled with memories of Aziraphale ripping bars off benches or the pair of them tucked in a dark corner of the auditorium together, leaving his chest aching dully in the morning when those dreams left. It didn’t matter because demons didn’t really need to sleep anyway. And if he tended to linger on his cacti and his Crown of Thorns as he took care of his plants, fingers carefully tracing the spikes, that was because they were gifts from his best friend. They didn’t mean anything else to him. Just like looking at them too long causing his eyes to prickle and burn until Crowley had to perform one of his rare blinks didn’t mean anything either.
Crowley was fine. He was perfectly content. He felt nothing except deep friendship for Aziraphale. There was nothing else.
If any of Agnes Nutter’s prophecies for the world after the Not-Quite-The-End-Times had survived Anathema’s decision to burn them, one of them would have demonstrated her rather strong opinions on Crowley’s current thought process and Aziraphale’s attempts.
“For truth, the Serpent must be driven from the lands of Egypt for he be nearly drowning in de Nile. And while the foole of a Principality doth try to make his intent known, his mouth never moves and no words be heard. Be thankful, my Anathema, that thou man hath a tongue to speak his heart’s contents and the wits in his head to use it.”
“Where would you like to go for lunch, angel?” asked Crowley as soon as he sauntered into the bookshop, causing Aziraphale to look up from where he was obviously trying to convince a customer to step away from a rather well-read penny dreadful that he’d bought new. Crowley leaned against the closest shelf and added, “My treat.”
Sparing a moment to give the demon one of his bright and warm smiles, Aziraphale turned toward the woman and said, “I’m afraid that I didn’t notice the time. I need to close the shop for a lunch break and that means all customers need to leave the building while I lock up. But I wish you the best of luck with your shopping. I can recommend a few other places that might interest you though. So sorry for the inconvenience.”
The angel was carefully shepherding the woman towards the door, polite and yet firm. But she didn’t seem to mind. Her gaze was moving up and down Crowley’s lanky form in a rather appreciative manner. The smug grin that crept across the demon’s face only seemed to improve her opinion of the view.
“I understand, Mr. Fell,” she said, still staring at Crowley far too eagerly. “I wouldn’t want to wait either. Not if I could spend the afternoon with someone like him. Enjoy your lunch. I hope that you both have a lovely time.”
She slipped out the door as Aziraphale looked mildly flustered and muttered something about patience being a virtue. But he did look mildly pleased at the same time. Mostly likely because he managed to chase off yet another customer without making a sell. Regardless, Aziraphale was smiling by the time he turned the sign to closed.
“So where do you want to go?” repeated Crowley. “Up to you. You’ve always been better at picking out somewhere nice for lunch.”
Nodding as he disappeared among the shelves, Aziraphale said, “I might have a few ideas on how to spend the afternoon. Ideas that I think you’ll quite enjoy.”
For some reason, his tone made Crowley pause. It reminded the demon of something. Something quite recent that stuck out in his memory quite firmly.
“You’re not bringing a sledgehammer to lunch, are you? Because as amusing as it might be to have you embracing your retirement from Heaven by starting a life of crime, we’re not performing vandalism like that in daylight hours. Got to draw the line somewhere, angel.”
From somewhere deeper in the bookshop, Aziraphale called, “We’re not bringing sledgehammers.”
“And no crowbars either.”
“We’re not destroying anything, Crowley.”
“But you are planning something. Admit it.”
Walking back into view carrying a small paper bag, Aziraphale said, “Well, I know that I tend to take longer to finish my meal than you do. And I thought it might be nice to bring along something to keep you from being bored.”
That made Crowley frown. First of all, he wasn’t a child. While toys, books, and eventually handheld video games were useful to bring places when they were caring for Warlock to keep the child entertained, the demon had an attention span longer than that of a five-year-old. Second, he didn’t need anything to occupy himself because Crowley had long since figured out that watching Aziraphale enjoy a meal was always better than the food itself. It gave him a chance to spend time with the angel back when it was a rarer commodity and seeing Aziraphale happy as he savored every bite… He just liked seeing Aziraphale happy in any context. Crowley always lo— liked seeing the angel enjoying himself. How could he possibly grow bored of that? And third, he had no idea what Aziraphale would consider to be suitable entertainment for a demon. Especially if it involved the contents of a small paper bag.
Of course, now Crowley was curious. And he’d never been able to resist his own curiosity.
It was official. Aziraphale was both the best angel in all of Creation and could truly be a proper menace when he felt like stirring up some trouble.
Aziraphale had directed Crowley once more to a rather expensive neighborhood. Not completely surprising. While the angel adored quaint family-run restaurants with made-from-scratch meals and where they knew the names of every repeat customer, he also enjoyed the more exclusive locations with only the finest ingredients and professionally-trained chefs. The Ritz wasn’t exactly cheap, after all.
Aziraphale had selected a café with outdoor seating. From their table, the pair of them could watch people pass by on the street. People mostly wearing outfits that cost more than their server would make in a month, not including the added cost of their jewelry, watches, and sunglasses.
After Aziraphale pondered over every item on the menu extensively and ordered, he finally showed Crowley his surprise in the paper bag. A small container of super glue and a handful of cash held together by a money clip. And it was all that Crowley could do to keep from laughing right at that moment.
The average income of the population passing by meant that most of them would ignore a coin on the sidewalk. It wasn’t worth the effort to stop and bend over. But a larger sum of money, carefully positioned to be perfectly in view of the angel and demon dining at the café, was more than enough to spark some greed. And absolutely no one was prepared to find that much cash literally glued to the ground.
There was a pattern to how it happened. A human’s gaze would fall on the money clip, sometimes looking up from their mobile. There would be a blink of surprise and their pace would slow. And then stop. Some might glance around in search of whoever might have dropped it, but most didn’t bother. They would reach down and try to casually pick up the money.
And then, depending on how strong of a grip that they managed, the cash would either slip through their fingers or they would jerk slightly when the money didn’t move when they tried to stand. A few people would try a second or a third time, but most were more focused on regaining their dignity. Because they always ended up catching the attention of those around them and end up embarrassed. Sometimes the other witnesses might attempt to pretend they didn’t notice while other times they were trying to hold back snickering.
The current victim would be forced to hurry away as quickly as possible while acting like nothing happened, faces often turning a shade of red. Then Crowley would have to wait a few moments for the current batch of witnesses to move away. If the cash was crumbled too much by the attempt to pull it up, a stealthy demonic miracle would smooth them out again. And once someone new wandered up, the cycle would begin anew.
Crowley was always fond of the glued coin trick. It was simple way to encourage greed, frustration, anger, and damaged pride in some random targets with minimal effort. And it was funny to watch their reactions when they couldn’t pry the coin off the concrete. But there was something even more amusing when the targets came from a higher tax bracket.
Even Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying the show. He smirked into his sandwich at the scowls and frustration coming from people who didn’t actually need the money that they were trying to pick up. After a certain point, the two of them started whispering predictions on which person would try next. Crowley was better at picking them out. He had more experience with the trick and he was studying each face closely, partially for his predictions and partially in case he saw someone’s eyes filled with true need and desperation.
If he’d spotted someone who actually seemed to need the money, that person would have miraculously found the cash no longer glued in place. It was only funny when it only annoyed someone. Not when they actually needed it.
Aziraphale was right. Crowley was enjoying himself. For the first time that he could remember, Crowley was sharing a meal with Aziraphale and the angel wasn’t his sole focus. He was actually having to divide his attention.
As they chuckled quietly over a woman breaking off one of her expensive acrylic nails trying to pry the cash off the ground and refusing to give up easily, Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand briefly rest on his arm to steady himself. Only then did the demon notice how warm that he felt. Warm, bright, and practically buzzing with something wonderful. It felt nice. Too nice. Like all the emotions and thoughts that he’d locked away were now slithering back out.
Oh no…
What was it? What was happening this time? What innocent gesture was sending his subconscious into hysterics now?
Nothing sharp or pointed anywhere in sight. The knives on the table were dull things meant for spreading jams and so on rather than slicing. And they certainly weren’t gifts. The sun was relatively bright overhead and they were sitting. Not even close to lurking. And even if some of the people looked angry, none of them were reacting violently. Nothing should be sparking that hopeful warmth and the dull ache that tended to follow.
They weren’t doing anything remotely close to… It was lunch. That’s it. Nothing else. Nothing different. They’d done it countless times without Crowley reacting like this. Without feeling… It was only lunch. Lunch and…
And watching humans get tormented with frustration by the glued money trick.
It took all of Crowley’s self-control to keep the realization from his expression. His sunglasses would only hide so much. At least he resisted his initial impulse to bury his face in his hands and drop his head on the table. None of this was something that he wanted Aziraphale to know or ask about.
Tormenting a third party. They were tormenting humans by tricking them with money glued on the sidewalk. That’s what it was. That was the problem.
Clearly his subconscious had no issue with taking creative liberties when interpreting demonic social mores.
Crowley noticed that Aziraphale had nearly finished his sandwich. A light meal rather than a more extensive feast. Normally this would be the point where Aziraphale would either ask about the dessert menu or suggest a charming bakery that he was familiar with. And then Crowley would give him an indulgent smile and go along with the angel’s sweet tooth.
But today… Crowley wanted to go back to his flat and curl up under his expensive black sheets. Because he was tired. Tired of fighting it. He was tired and the warm feeling from before had been completely replaced with that painful ache.
Aziraphale was his best friend. But Crowley loved him. He’d loved him for longer than he could remember or admit. Trying to bury that feeling wasn’t working. He’d tried as hard as possible. But Aziraphale kept accidentally dragging those emotions into the open with those gestures. They weren’t going to stay locked away anymore. He knew that. He could finally accept that fact.
He loved Aziraphale, but he could only be the angel’s friend. Aziraphale couldn’t love him back and would never accept what Crowley wanted to give him. Too much, too fast. That impossible line. He could love the angel all that he wanted. He clearly couldn’t change or ignore those feelings anyway. Crowley would just have to live with the fact that he loved Aziraphale. Live with it and hide it.
It wasn’t fine. Thousands of years of barely acknowledged hopes and layers of denial had been stripped away by accidental gestures that Crowley kept believing on some level meant more, leaving behind raw and aching pain. But Crowley’s rebellious feelings weren’t Aziraphale’s responsibility. The angel made his position known long ago. It hurt, but he would just have to make sure that Aziraphale never realized.
They were friends. That would never change. Crowley couldn’t have anything else, but he would always be his friend. And that meant that Crowley refused to risk the angel feeling guilty over something that wasn’t his fault.
As the money clip caught another victim, Crowley pushed himself to his feet and stalked over. That was enough. Even if he knew it didn’t matter and the angel didn’t intend anything, Crowley was ending the trick. He couldn’t bear what it was doing to his emotions. Not right now. Crowley picked up the cash, the glue miraculously gone. Then he sauntered back towards the table.
It wasn’t exactly fine. But Crowley would curl up and sulk in his misery for a little while and then he’d get past it somehow. It wasn’t like he could afford to nap several decades this time. He couldn’t bear the idea of being away from him that long. And disappearing would hurt Aziraphale. Crowley refused to risk that.
“Come along, angel,” he said, keeping his voice as light as possible. “I know you mentioned picking up a few new books a month or two ago. Don’t tell me you’ve read them all already.”
Blinking in surprise, Aziraphale started slowly explaining that no, he hadn’t finished them quite yet. Crowley patiently listened, trying to ignore the confused and uncertain tone in the angel’s words.
Aziraphale wasn’t expecting him to look for an excuse to leave. Not so soon. And the server certainly wasn’t expecting the rather large tip left behind on the table, soon to be discovered when she arrived to clear the plates. But Crowley knew that he needed to get Aziraphale back to the bookshop before he could crawl back to his flat to wallow in self-pity. And that led to his exit being a bit abrupt.
It wasn’t working. Aziraphale didn’t know why or what exactly was wrong, but his plan wasn’t working right.
The angel quietly shuffled his scattered notes. Organizing the various sheets in a variety of different ways, keeping his hands occupied and trying to calm his worries. His anxiety and stress had lessened in the days since they broke away from Heaven and Hell respectively, but they didn’t disappear completely. He’d been worrying since the start of human history and it was a hard habit to break. Sometimes it would come back without warning, all those doubts squeezing his chest and throat until he would have suffocated if he was human. He’d gotten better, but he could never completely banish the feeling that he’d done something horribly wrong. Not even when he knew for certain that he hadn’t.
But this time, he truly did believe that he must have done something wrong. There was a mistake somewhere and he needed to find it.
There were moments when he’d thought things were working. When Crowley seemed happy, relaxed, and his expression would subtly soften. When his posture would ease, he would lean towards Aziraphale, and he would smile in an open, honest, and beautiful way. There had been moments where Aziraphale felt certain that the message had gone through and Crowley knew how much he loved him.
But then Crowley would close up.
It kept happening. Crowley had seemed happy when they were lurking in the theater together, but then he edged away part way through the performance. He had seemed happy destroying the hostile architecture, but then he seemed distracted and off when they were leaving and Aziraphale asked if he enjoyed himself. And he had seemed happy when the two of them were watching people get annoyed by the glued money clip, but then he abruptly stopped it and dropped Aziraphale off as quickly as possible.
He wasn’t rejecting Aziraphale. He was still certain of that much. Regardless of the mixed reactions, Aziraphale knew it wasn’t a rejection. It felt more like… Confusion. Frustration.
Crowley wasn’t rejecting him and he wasn’t accepting.
Was Aziraphale still not doing something right? He’d tried his best to follow the information from the book, but maybe he missed something. Or maybe the human who wrote it made a mistake. Or maybe the demon who was summoned and interrogated left out key information.
There was one more option that he could try. Something that might work. Something that might just be enough to make certain that Crowley understood how much he loved the demon. Something too obvious to ignore or misunderstand.
But it was the option that Aziraphale had also been saving as a last resort. Because it wasn’t the safest or most sensible option. It was the one that couldn’t easily be reinterpreted into something more pleasant or less dangerous. Not if he wanted it to work.
He would have to do it strictly by the book. No real alterations.
He could make it work. Aziraphale knew that if he was smart about it, he could make that final method work. And even if Crowley didn’t accept it in the end, if he finally understood what Aziraphale was trying to tell him and turned him down anyway, it should at least make things easier for the demon in the long run. A small favor. That would mean at least one good thing could come from the entire endeavor, regardless of how the rest of it turned out.
There were risks and it felt a little distasteful, but Aziraphale knew that Crowley was worth it.
Aziraphale carefully set aside his notes. Then he headed for the narrow staircase that led upstairs, where not even his pushiest customers were allowed to set foot. While he wasn’t fond of selling any of his books, some were too dangerous for humans to catch even a glimpse. Books that could get someone hurt if misused. But dangerous knowledge could also be used for good. It could be used to keep safe. And Aziraphale needed that knowledge if he wanted to do this right.
A little research, one final attempt at demonic methods of courting, and that would be it. He would either succeed or stop this entire strategy. If it didn’t work, then Aziraphale would have to go back to square one and find another way.
Human methods seemed less reliable, but he might have to fall back on those if his final demonic one failed. Maybe he could consult with Marjorie Potts. She was a professional and her time working as the talented Madame Tracy would have given her experience and insight regarding matters of the heart. Or perhaps Anathema could offer some suggestions. She managed to catch the attention of her young man, even if she had the advantage of prophecies on her side.
Regardless, Aziraphale wasn’t ready to give up. He had his books and he had human resources that he could consult. If worse came to worse, he could try composing a letter to do the job. Though, if he was honest with himself, it would probably take him at least a decade of editing and rewriting in order to find the words to express his feelings for Crowley.
Using a dangerous demonic courting strategy sounded far easier.