Chapter Text
Blythburgh wasn’t that big a town but he hadn’t specified where they should meet. He should be able to easily sense Crowley, if she came at all. He still wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing. He could have just let the hound go, but it might have just circled back to try and ambush him again, or brought a whole pack down on him. Crowley might have been forced into hunting him. For all the damage done, he felt that acting had been better than doing nothing.
Heaven had been pleased with the smiting. Aziraphale had gotten rare praise for it. “Now there’s a real angel!” Heaven had issued no orders about cleaning up afterward nor sent anyone to assist. He had anyway, after his initial period of waiting to see if anyone swept in to try and take advantage of the chaos.
He didn’t think the majority of the people would remember the smiting so much as the gigantic black dog and the collapsing church, so long term he wasn’t sure what he’d done other than bar one unlucky hellhound from earth. On the other hand, humans were often much better at responding to a crisis than something requiring long term care. There had been an outpouring of aid for those injured and the community seemed committed to rebuilding the church. It gave them good works to focus on.
The demons seemed to have scattered. They weren’t cowards, but they weren’t stupid either. He wasn’t known for smiting, so something had shifted him out of his usual pattern of avoiding confrontation. Let them think he was hunting them. They didn’t need to know he was still avoiding contact with demons.
All except one. He couldn’t see Crowley yet, but could feel the weight of his regard like a tug at his clothes. He could feel it reaching out towards him rather than immediately pulling away.
He scanned the crowd and found Crowley by the central well, clearly trying to look nonchalant. He’d swapped clothes again, back in a black doublet and hose, looking every bit the rascal. His hair was still cropped short and just as messy as if he’d been sleeping. Aziraphale watched him scruff his hands through his hair, trying to settle it and making it worse. Aziraphale smiled at the ridiculousness of it.
Crowley clearly sensed him as well and he felt that searching feeling pull back. Crowley started through the crowd toward him, looking increasingly delighted before pausing to straighten his hat and school his face. He just made the hat crooked. The dark lenses did not extend far enough to hide the crinkling around his eyes.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Crowley tried to make it sound casual, like it wasn’t a planned meeting.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
“You asked me to.”
“Told you to.”
“Don’t think I agreed to love, honor or obey you, so it was asked.”
“I did threaten to smite you.”
“Welllllll, I asked you to. Bit dumb of me.”
“A fine pair we make. Though I suppose no one will mistake you for my wife now.”
“No. Wouldn’t want that. What do you want me to be?” Crowley asked it so casually and yet it was a question Aziraphale could not answer truthfully.
“I think you’ll just have to be a fellow teacher for a bit while we sort out that summoning problem.”
“What do I teach?”
“Perhaps…. the Bible?”
Crowley rolled his head and made a scoffing noise. “Of course, of course, what else would I teach?”
“A great many things, but that’s the most useful right now. Come along, let’s have dinner at the White Hart.” Aziraphale put his hand behind Crowley to guide him, hand hovering behind the small of his back, careful of that distance.
What did he want Crowley to be?
Closer. Crowley's doublet was soft under his hand.
Crowley just accepted the hand guarding his back as if it was meant to be there.