Chapter Text
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”
The yellow Beetle readily opens its door at the sound of its master’s fretting.
Aziraphale doesn’t slump into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t, that would be utterly unbecoming of a gentleman, not to mention inconsiderate towards the car, his faithful companion. What he does is carefully lower himself inside, place the cage on the front seat and close the door.
He takes a moment to lift the cage cover off the dense little bars, just enough to peek inside and make sure the occupant is undistributed.
Then he collapses over the wheel.
The sound of the impatient horn makes his head shoot right up though.
“Oh,” the demon presses his palm over his heaving chest, his head still knocked back with the distress he has suffered, “I’m so sorry, dear Oscar,” he tells the car, “I’ll tell you all about it in a minute.”
But, he doesn’t get the chance as Gabriel beats him to it.
“Aziraphale,” the voice of the Duke of Hell booms from the unsuspecting old-timer’s radio, making the demon jerk away.
“Yes,” he admits.
“Well done, yet again,” the Duke’s overenthusiastic voice makes his ears ring, “I have never doubted you, of course.”
“Of course.” Aziraphale forces a smile, hoping it will reach his voice to cover up the utter misery his “successes” always bestow.
“But this one outshines everything you’ve accomplished before!”
“Indeed,” Aziraphale agrees, feeling queasy.
The thing is, Aziraphale is really awful at being a demon. In fact, he’s so awful that his incompetence has developed a vexing habit of making a full circle and coming back as a resounding success.
At least in demon terms. Other demons’ terms.
“I have to give it to you,” Gabriel continues, “when I sent you to ruin that kid’s party, I thought you were going to pull out the usual – sow wrath among humans with your depressing magician’s act.”
The Duke’s sudden self-satisfied laughter startles the poor car into another honk. Aziraphale is lucky that nobody can see him right now, as he would certainly feel even more foolish sitting there with his crayon-drawn moustache.
“But raising a dog from the dead?! Ha! I say, sunshine, the miracle triggered such an alarm down here, I think half of demons soiled their pants!”
The Duke is so busy choking with laughter he doesn’t notice his employee never joins in. Aziraphale takes his sunglasses off to rub on his eyes. They are bloodshot, making the electric-blue of his irises stand out even more.
Unlike your average demon, Aziraphale has never been inclined to inflicting harm upon anyone. He has always been terribly prone to it, nonetheless. This morning was not an exception.
He hadn’t wished to hurt the dove that nice young man Pulsifer had borrowed him for the act. But the poor bird simply hadn’t fared well inside his sleeve, waiting for its moment of fame to come. The instant he pulled the limp body out and saw its head hanging lifelessly from its neck, Aziraphale’s panic reached astronomical levels so abruptly that it pulled out the most powerful miracle out of him.
To his temporary relief, this made the unwilling sidekick coo with surprise and perk its plumage up.
But, who on Earth buries their pets in their backyard in the twenty-first century? The Young family, that’s who.
The sight of screaming children and parents scattering around, bumping at each other will haunt Aziraphale until the end of time. Little Adam’s ecstatic face will as well. Aziraphale shudders as the picture comes back to him, slamming him in the head with the full force of a runaway train. The birthday boy kneeling with his arms spread wide. The poor mutt covered with mud flying into his embrace.
If Aziraphale’s hair hadn’t already been very pale in colour, it would most likely have turned completely grey at the sight.
“Ten full Lazarii!” Gabriel howls, making the culprit lean his forehead over the wheel in defeat, “They were just lucky the mediaeval burial site was half a mile away, otherwise the party would have received some uninvited guests.”
The interpretation of the success story makes its main protagonist so fed up with guilt that he simply has to interfere with the Duke’s appraisal, manners be blessed.
“I did fix everything, Gabriel,” he makes sure the Duke is aware of this, “I reversed the miracle and made everybody think that they had been victims of mass hallucination. You know, so that Heaven wouldn’t interfere.”
“An overreaction,” Gabriel offers generously, “those dunces wouldn’t have bat an eyelid over a zombified animal anyway.”
This actually makes Aziraphale close his eyes and make a barely perceptible sigh of relief. It’s two zombified animals actually – the dove in the cage by his side still looks rather confused, but alive nonetheless. However, if Gabriel hasn’t received any news of a surprise angelic inspection, then Aziraphale might still have time to put things to rights.
Somehow.
“Anyhow,” the cheerful Duke continues, “I’m increasing your miracle ration again.”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary...” Aziraphale waves both of his hands before the radio to defend himself from such an honour, but, in the next moment his entire body gets riddled with tremors.
“Oops, too late,” the voice from the old-fashioned speakers chirps, “You almost sounded modest there, sunshine, you almost got me for real.”
“Yeah,” Aziraphale stretches his lips in a tired smile. His entire body buzzes uncomfortably with the energy his muscles have received. “Always a jokester, me.”
“Well, off I pop,” Gabriel finally says, “keep on the bad work up there, and the world will be a much worse place in no time.”
“Of course. Indeed. Toodles.” The demon wiggles his fingers, but the Beetle’s interior is already empty of the hellish presence.
Aziraphale gives himself just a moment to close his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Then he turns the engine on.
“We need to go, Oscar,” he almost apologises to the old-timer, “let’s take the bird back to Mr. Pulsifer while it’s still unharmed. The ride might even help me clear my head to an extent.”
With this, the car pulls out from its parking spot with utmost care, ready to join London’s turbulent traffic with an unhurried elegance of an old distinguished gentleman.
It’s also ready to hear the entire story, since Hell normally constructs its own version of them around the ten percent of the information they receive.
“I can’t go on like this, dear Oscar, I can't,” Aziraphale wails into the understanding interior, “I’m not meant for this sort of work. It's been six millennia and I still can’t get the hang of all these miracles. They never do what I want them to do.”
A familiar buzz in the speakers announces that the vehicle is about to speak, and this time in Agnetha’s voice:
“For every good man needs a helping hand,” the ABBA’s song goes, “I should have known too. Some of us learn too late, I'm sorry. Every good man needs a helping hand. It's true.”
“You are absolutely right, dear boy,” Aziraphale nods, “if only I could somehow find somebody to teach me how to finally control my powers. Or even better – to do my temptations for me.”
***
The chimes of the pet shop’s door sound as jovial as always, but even from his spot behind the counter Newton can see the grim expression on that peculiar curly man Anathema likes for some reason.
“Mr. Fell,” the young man tries to lighten up the confusing atmosphere, “you haven’t allowed my dove to join its ancestors in the great unknown, have you?”
But the young human is as accomplished at stand-up comedy as Aziraphale is at his temptation control.
“No, ofcoursenot, whywouldyousaythat?” the demon babbles with both of his hands cramping around the little cage that obviously contains one very healthy looking dove.
“Uhm, it’s just a bad joke really,” the human tries and takes the offered object, “I hope she behaved for you?” he offers as a compensation.
But the man just keeps sweating around a huge smile. “Indeed. She was tickety-boo. She still is, that is.”
Newton is uncertain how to react to the customer’s unusual behaviour, so he just returns a confused smile of his own. “Good.” But the moment the blonde turns his back to look around the shop, he gives the feathered animal a quick check from all sides.
“So, uhm,” Aziraphale asks, “Anathema hasn’t happened to be back from her trip by any chance?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Bummer,” Aziraphale mutters to himself. He’s been hoping that he might receive a piece of advice from the young witch. Her store of Modern Occult Practices is so crammed with magic items that the inapt demon was hoping to find something that could aid him in his search for the solution.
“I know,” Newton agrees, “I wish she was here as well. I keep getting her orders of goods, all addressed to my shop. I’ve lost track of what’s mine and what’s hers.”
This makes Aziraphale knit his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and give the seller a look. “Oh? And how’s that, dear boy? Your two businesses can’t be any more different than they already are.”
“I agree,” the lanky human disappears under the counter for a moment and produces a large cardboard box, “but, take a look at this, please.”
The first glance is sufficient for the demon to understand the seller’s trouble. The box is filled to the brim with what could be bones as well as dog toys. “Oh. Indeed.”
The bones are fake, the demon sees that clearly, but so are numerous objects in Anathema’s store. But what sets even the fake occult items apart from, let’s say, a chew-toy, is the undeniable aura of the modern witch’s sheer belief in them.
Which can’t be said for the things in the box, as they haven’t been in her possession yet.
But, even through his dark lenses, Aziraphale’s demonic eyes do catch a glimpse of something potent inside the box.
“What is this?” Aziraphale is so amazed that he gives himself the liberty to shove his hand among the objects and pull out – a stuffed ginger cat.
“Meh, it’s just a plushie,” the untrained human dismisses, “Anathema does sell them too for some reason. If you ask me, they’re just dog toys and she calls them ‘families’. No, uhm... ‘domestics.’”
“A familiar,” Aziraphale utters with awe and takes the magical item in both of his hands, as if handling a living thing.
“That’s the word. She said I can sell them for her for whatever price I deem suitable.”
“Name your price,” the leisure-time magician raises his head so abruptly that his glasses slide down his nose a bit, revealing the inhumanly blue contact lenses he always wears, “and I’ll give you double the amount.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Fell.” Newton shrugs his shoulders looking equally surprised and pleased. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
The comment would force another fretting fit upon Aziraphale, if only a potential solution to his issue wasn’t looking at him with little yellow cat eyes.
“Well, let’s just say there is a dog...”
***
Aziraphale has to admit, the cat is a masterpiece of someone’s occult craftsmanship. The coat of the little animal is of a lovely shade of red, making a striking contrast to the white underbelly. There are even those tiger-like markings over its back as well as on its head.
But the eyes certainly give it character, with their yellow glow and vertical pupils. Aziraphale only hopes the said character is manageable.
He lowers the paper bag with his purchase on the backseat of the car with gentleness. He even considers fastening the seatbelt around it, but swiftly changes his mind. The poor familiar, dormant inside its plush carrier or not, might find it too tight in all the wrong spots.
“Alright, dear Oscar.” Aziraphale rubs his hands and places them neatly on proper positions over the wheel. “Let’s get straight to the bookshop. There’s a handbook on spirits and supernatural entities there which might hold the key on how to stir a familiar awake.”
The car obediently starts, but Aziraphale can feel it’s a bit reluctant about the passenger on its rear seat. Still, the demon’s brain is too preoccupied running through the catalogue of his vast library to offer more explanation to the Beetle.
But the old car sure has its way of attacking its driver’s attention.
“I am behind you, I’ll always find you, I am the tiger. People who fear me never go near me, I am the tiger.”
But not always to his full understanding. “I know, dear boy, but don’t worry,” the demon comments, trying to keep his eyes on the road, “Familiars are perfectly harmless. I think.”
But Oscar is persistent.
“Yellow eyes are glowing like the neon lights,” the car insists, “Yellow eyes, the spotlights of the city nights.”
“Indeed, I’ve noticed, its eyes are truly compelling,” the demon nods, turning around the check on the bag, tearing his eyes from the road with reluctance, “But I don’t think it’s a tiger.”
“I might as well be.”
Aziraphale shrieks and hits the brakes, but the back seat passenger barely jolts with the inertia, looking at home in the chaos, loving it even.
The familiar is only lucky that the demon has recognized him instantly – well, the general air around his new form, at least – as Aziraphale is so high-strung right now, which is the state that usually makes him trigger-happy with the miracles.
The helper spirit, now man-shaped and dressed in black from head to toe, is greeting his dismay with a huge grin, sitting with his knees spread wide in the narrow space of the old-timer’s back. Both of his elbows have found purchase over the seats before him, making him all spread out, looking even more long-limbed than he is.
His features sure are striking! The red of the cat’s fur has translated into one of those modern shoulder-length hairstyles, complementing the eyes that have remained golden, cat-like and smirking. A huge smile shows there are more animalistic traits that have made the journey across the forms – the canines look long, white and very, very sharp.
But there must be a bit of a serpent in the familiar as he raises his eyebrows in victory and comments, “You like my eyes.”
Aziraphale lets the breath he’s been holding puff his cheeks. Well, at least there is no need for rummaging for the book in the true labyrinth that is his bookshop. He’s pressed with time as it is.
“Indeed,” he offers with as much dignity as he can muster, “Look, I’m truly sorry for bothering you, my dear fellow, and I didn’t mean to interrupt your slumber, so to say, but I do urgently need your help.”
“Aha...” the playful yellow eyes narrow a bit as the familiar’s smile grows wider, “why don’t you tell me all about it over lunch, hmm?”
Oh, lunch does sound superb to the poor distressed demon. If there only wasn’t for that truly desperate situation that he has caused.
And if only the familiar wasn’t... Hold on. Is he flirting?
“Uhm, I wish I could,” Aziraphale takes his glasses off with some caution, but certain he's mistaking about his passenger's intentions, “but this matter is of utmost emergency, I’m afraid.”
With the true attitude of a cat, the familiar doesn’t seem too bothered by the seriousness of the situation Aziraphale is trying to convey, but carries on pursuing his own agenda. The vertical pupils expand a bit when the demon’s – now unshielded – eyes find them.
“Whatever you say, angel,” he offers, “I myself love snug places, I just thought you’d be more comfortable somewhere else so we could, you know,” and the devil downright wiggles his eyebrows, “talk.”
The flirtation, even though it’s endearingly clumsy, couldn’t have come at the worst moment. Aziraphale doesn’t even have time to regret the fact as everything inside him urges him to act upon the more pressing situation.
“First of all, I have to correct you there, my dear. I am definitely not an angel... Secondly...”
“I see your nature quite clearly,” the familiar dismisses, leaning his cheek on his hand, “but I also see your true nature deep within, and you are – an angel. That’s where all your problems come from, right?”
Aziraphale has never been so openly and so accurately dissected in his life. It feels so new and more than a little daunting. “Oh, dear... I hope it doesn’t show that clearly.”
Oscar was right. The familiar’s laughter is so vigorous, his eyes are filled with brilliance, his entire human-shaped body vibrates with compelling energy – like that of a tiger.
Notes:
The second chapter will be with you in a few days, hopefully for the weekend, but I will post it sooner if I manage to grab some time and finish it earlier.
Love you, take care!
Chapter 2
Notes:
I keep waiting for a less busy period of life to come so I could write things faster, but so far, nobody has heard my wish. 😑
I've somehow managed to finish this little story.
I hope you enjoy the little ride. 💗
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It is very new to willingly be spending time with another occult being, if Aziraphale may notice. Little is to say that he has never found the company of his own kind to be anything else but aggravating, but this is an experience so unique that he can’t but ask himself why he hasn’t thought about obtaining a familiar earlier. Crowley, that’s the cat’s name, is truly fascinating.
That’s also why the demon can’t help but squint with awkwardness upon seeing the tall figure trying to struggle out of the back seat of the Beetle.
Yes, his precious Oscar was the state-of-the-art automobile when Aziraphale bought it all those decades ago, but at the time the designers didn’t really bother with modern-time notions such as, you know, commodity.
“I’m sorry about your trouble,” he says while holding the door for the familiar, hoping that this particular experience isn’t going to the first impression pile, “I’m afraid that my car wasn’t made for someone so...”
Dashing, invigorating, suave, looking like a Casanova, the thesaurus that Aziraphale’s brain is tries to contribute.
“...leggy.”
“Why, you’ve noticed.”
Infuriating.
Crowley just smirks and leads the way towards the Young family’s back yard as instructed. He doesn’t fail to swagger to show off his handsome figure and...
“My dear fellow,” the comment escapes the demon’s mouth, “I didn’t know you familiars...” had a tail, he meant to say.
Crowley turns around looking like, well, a cat that has caught himself a nice plump bird.
“... could take a human form in the first place,” Aziraphale finishes, very grateful for his presence of mind.
But the familiar’s tone reveals he’s not fooled by Aziraphale’s skilful landing one bit. “Yeah. We can be loads of things. Human-shaped familiars to demons is just on the top of the list, really.”
Thankfully, a voice coming from the back yard makes the demon urge the silly creature to hide behind a large topiary. The familiar, of course, looks more than happy to be pressed against the branches.
“Look.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes towards the back porch at the other side of the lawn. “There they are.”
And there sits Adam, the birthday boy, looking very absorbed in a game of fetch with his dog.
His still very dead, but rather animated, dog. The scene is not as gruesome as one would imagine, as, luckily, the little white and brown animal seems to have passed away very recently, so it just looks dirtied by the time spent covered in soil and nothing else.
The familiar finally tears his admiring eyes off his companion and squints towards the huge house. “I see just a kid playing. What about him?”
“Oh, yes. I forgot. My apologies.” Aziraphale clears his throat and snaps his fingers, lifting the mirage off the redhead’s yellow eyes.
“Oh!” For once, something other than Aziraphale attracts Crowley’s full attention. “There’s the mutt now. Why did you say you’d hidden him again?”
“Well, uhm,” Aziraphale starts fiddling with the ring on his little finger and continues the story he started during their ride over, “raising an animal from the dead is not something that the Upstairs would look upon with kindness. But, when I saw just how happy the little boy was when seeing the dog, I knew I couldn’t just neutralise the creature all over again. I panicked so much that I pulled the concealing miracle of such a magnitude that it even triggered an alarm in Hell.”
Crowley lets out a little admiring whistle, still eyeing the yelping Jack Russell. “Impressive.”
“Thank you. Anyway, I’m not sure how long the miracle will last. I didn’t even know I could accomplish such a level of magic. But even if it lasts forever, I can’t just leave the situation as it is. It’s... It’s unnatural.”
Crowley nods and gives his company a sideways look.
“So you need me to send the mutt back to doggy heaven?”
Even this moderately benign way to put it makes Aziraphale cringe with guilt. “I thought you could reverse the miracle that brought it back to life, yes,” he hopefully offers a less painful version of the request.
Crowley tosses his hair back in an elegant move, revealing the fact that the tip of his ear is a bit pointy. “You’re lucky I really like your... gig.”
With this remark, the very self-satisfied familiar simply walks around the topiary, lets himself in through a little gate and starts approaching the duo.
Too mortified about what he is about to witness, Aziraphale covers his face with his hands. The world becomes just a swirl of trepidation and the sound of the game of the unsuspecting friends.
But a piercing yowl makes the demon practically leap in the air.
Crowley is dashing his way so fast one would think his feet are barely touching the ground. But the biggest shock is that this time it’s not only his tail that is furry and ginger – he’s in his full cat form and using it.
The dog stops his chase some twenty feet before the topiary, but Crowley covers the distance in a blink of an eye and flies right up Aziraphale’s front and onto his shoulder, sending the demon into an unseemly squirm.
“Aow, mind the claws, mind the claws.”
Crowley, the cat with all his hair standing on end, is holding onto his employer’s shoulders and peeking from behind the blonde head with shocked eyes.
“What was that?! What the Hell was that?” he spits and hisses towards the very satisfied pooch that is returning to its owner with its short tail up high.
“What has happened out there?” Aziraphale asks with his elbows in the air, trying to balance the lean but jittery cat on his shoulders.
“No idea! It was as if I... I hit some invisible wall and puff! I got turned into my basic form.”
“Well, my dear,” Aziraphale kneels so he could encourage the familiar’s basic form to unhook his claws and climb down, “let’s just say I’m glad you’re not a tiger right now.”
Crowley leaps off his perch as a cat, but the tall man dressed in black straightens his back by Aziraphale’s side. His eyes are turned towards the yard, frowning with concentration.
“Was that a part of your spell?” he asks the demon, “That I can’t reach the dog?”
“Not that I’m aware, no. The miracle was just supposed to protect the animal from being noticed. You can still see it, right?”
“Yeah, I see it alright.”
Once the cat is out of the picture, the dog doesn’t seem to mind the company of the other two immortals. When the tennis ball the kid has thrown rolls under the fence and before their feet, the little undead animal allows Crowley to pick it up and just stares at him expectantly.
The familiar tosses the little yellow orb in the air and catches it again. His tail is twitching, revealing the fact that the redhead is still a bit edgy.
“Let’s try it this way,” he murmurs almost to himself.
Aziraphale is amazed to see magic buzzing through the body before him. It looks as if Crowley’s skin has turned translucent for a few moments, allowing the feline markings from underneath to show over his cheeks and hands. The ball in his possession gets overrun by tiny orange symbols, none of them appearing benevolent to the knowledgeable onlooker.
But the moment is over and the traces of the foreboding power disappear, leaving just a long-tailed man with a tennis ball in his hand.
“Here, boy,” the familiar calls and tosses the toy the dog’s way with something akin to disgust.
Aziraphale peeks from behind the bush to see how the new solution will turn out. The little dog skips towards the sphere and takes it in its mouth. It then turns around cheerfully to take the toy to its eleven-year-old owner looking so proud as if it has just invented the game.
Like any other dog.
But halfway to the porch, the Jack Russell stops and rolls the ball with its tongue a bit, as if the thing is tickling the inside of its mouth. The demon and his familiar gape their mouths when the animal’s powerful sneeze simply blows the black magic out of the toy, like it’s nothing.
It then carries on towards the boy calling to it.
Crowley points both of his hands towards the unbelievable scene.
“Did you see that? So, Snoopy’s got magic powers now?”
“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale shakes his head, feeling around for supernatural presence but finding nothing, “I can’t detect any demonic or angelic influence either. Except for mine, that is.”
They stand like that for a bit, regarding the little human on the faraway porch rewarding his pet with tons of affection. Aziraphale’s heart squeezes at the thought that the boy will have to suffer the loss of his four legged friend yet again.
But, it’s the only way to put things back to their rightful place. The unfairness of the situation makes the soft-hearted demon let out a heavy sigh.
This attracts a concerned yellow gaze.
It also prompts the familiar into action. “You know,” he says, “I think I’ll investigate this a little bit.”
The next moment, Crowley is gone and Aziraphale has to look down to find him. A thin red fox is standing where the tall human was a moment ago.
With a little wink, Crowley lowers his snout to the ground and he’s on his way, silently sneaking into the vast back yard, using whatever he can find as a cover from the two friends.
At this point, Aziraphale is beyond worried. He nervously plays with his ring, trying with all his might to comprehend how on Earth the already complicated situation has managed to make itself even more baffling.
***
Aziraphale is sitting on the front seat, with his legs out of the car, following the little orange figure disappearing and reappearing on various spots of the backyard before him.
The demon, of course, is very grateful for the effort Crowley is putting into finding clues to the mystery at hand. The familiar is skilfully swapping his forms, doing his best to remain inconspicuous to the pair of friends. He finds the most use of the keen sense of smell the fox form provides, but readily turns into a crow when he decides that a tree could serve as a good spot for a bit of surveillance.
At one point he completely vanished from the blonde’s view. The discrete way the grass sways tells his watchful eye that the search has led the, now tiny, familiar further away from the Young family’s house.
But, try as he might, the demon can’t just gather all the little things he’s grateful for, amass them together and call them optimism.
For the umpteenth time today, Aziraphale gets startled by sudden noise coming from the car. Only this time the source of the tone is to be found in the glove department.
Aziraphale pulls his forgotten telephone out of it. The world has become quite a bustling place in the past half a century. A person can’t go about their business anymore without people expecting them to own a transportable telephonic device.
And even worse – an electronic mail box.
Good thing even the bulky Nokia Senator still works the way Aziraphale expects it to and displays the name of the caller on the receiver’s back for him.
It’s Mr. Pulsifer! Aziraphale covers his mouth with his other hand with silent dismay.
Oh, dear. The human’s not calling to ask for the cheeky familiar back, is he?
The demon cranes his head to find Crowley and notices the fox tail sticking out of the grass in a spot rather far away from the house. Bits of soil are flying around it for some reason.
Sure, Aziraphale’s had the honour of knowing the said familiar for such a short time – barely the full afternoon of a single day – but that rarely used organ behind his breastbone jolts to work at the thought that Anathema has returned from her journey, realised her boyfriend’s grave mistake and has ordered him to demand the invaluable ball of mischief back.
If that is so, Aziraphale can’t evade her request. He is not a witch, well, as far as his human friend is concerned, and he doesn’t hold claim over the spirit. But, he might be able to persuade her to let him keep Crowley if he can quickly think of a reason why he, a perfectly ordinary human being, would need such a helper though.
The demon clears his throat, wills his hands to stop shaking and answers the call.
“Hello, Mr. Fell speaking, who is calling?” Aziraphale says in his best customer service voice, still rather firm about his conviction that it’s rude to show that you are already aware of the caller’s identity.
The next thing people will think that you are spying on them.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Fell. It’s Newton from the pet shop," the young merchant sounds a bit shaken, “I hope that I’m not bothering you.”
“No, not at all, dear fellow," the demon replies, fiddling with the springy cord of the device with apprehension, “How-how may I help you?”
“Actually, this is going to sound a bit odd, but I’m calling to ask you about your dog.”
Aziraphale pouts his lips, thinking. His brain is determined to find the connection between the man’s words and Crowley, but to no avail.
“My dog you say?” he offers the caller a chance for elaboration.
“Yes. You see, the dove you’ve borrowed has suddenly died on me.”
This makes the demon straighten his back in his seat. “Oh?”
“Yes. She was eating, acting normally and then she just lied down and that was it. The vet says he couldn’t find anything obviously wrong with her. So you might want to take your pet to get checked in case there’s something infectious going on.”
Aziraphale throws a suspicious glance at the back yard. The dog is still looking rather alert, running jauntily around the boy’s legs, making him trip and fall and then joining its master in a cheerful roll.
“When exactly did this happen?” he asks.
“Some two hours ago,” the man provides, “The vet says these things happen, but still, you might want to keep a close eye on your dog.”
“Indeed I will,” Aziraphale tries to stand from his seat to take a better look at his target, but gets reminded that the receiver in his hand is still attached to its hefty base. “Thank you for the heads-up. And, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
With this, the receiver gets returned to its little bed, and Aziraphale's brain goes into overdrive.
Interesting. So the miracle has lost its power over the poor bird quite some time ago. That sounds rather logical to the demon’s mind. The world wants to have its balance back, so it simply takes it.
But there’s the white little pooch bouncing around the yard. The effects of Aziraphale’s miracle still haven’t worn off in its case, and the dog wasn’t even in the epicentre of the said miracle. The dove was and she is now gone, while the dog is before Aziraphale’s eyes, barking and growling.
Chasing Crowley over the lawn.
“Eeeek,” the fox screams over an object in his mouth, running so fast his back is bending at incredible speed.
Aziraphale steps aside on time to avoid being slammed against and the little red canine flies out of the yard and into the Beetle much like a missile would.
The dog has stopped at the gate. It sends a few warning barks at Crowley hiding below Oscar’s back seat. It then turns around and happily trots back to the child.
Aziraphale is quick to check on his familiar. “Oh, my. Are you quite alright in there, dear?”
After a few confused moments, Crowley pops his head up, as if he was just messing with the demon all along. “Yea’. L’k at thish," he offers with brilliant eyes and places his find into Aziraphale’s hands.
“Found it under that oak tree. I think that’s where the dog was buried.”
Aziraphale takes a good look at the object in his hands. It’s covered with dirt, yes, but easily recognizable. The demon squeezes it for good measure and it lets out the trademark squeak.
It’s a bone-shaped doggy chew-toy, looking much like those that Aziraphale saw in Mr. Pulsifer’s shop this morning. Only this one holds that all-important resemblance to Anathema’s so-called magic items.
It is charged with someone’s emotions.
“It’s got powers or something,” Crowley, human-shaped again, provides his interpretation, “I can feel it.”
Aziraphale knocks his head back with the realisation. He’s been so foolish. Of course he hasn’t detected any supernatural entities at work – there hasn’t been any. Of course not. Because there’s a side of magic he has completely dismissed.
The human one.
The demon takes a look at the toy with new eyes and finds what’s been there all along, hiding in plain sight.
There it is. Indisputable. Unconditional. Unsurpassable.
Human love.
“I think I have solved the mystery, my dear,” he says to the familiar and turns around in the seat. Crowley follows him with curious eyes as he slowly leaves the Beetle and starts walking towards the back yard.
The dog clearly only has issues with the familiar’s animal forms, as he makes a joyful circle around the newcomer that has entered the yard and then scampers away on a bit of a sniffing spree. Aziraphale approaches the boy who’s having a bit of rest from all the running around. He’s sitting on his favourite spot on the porch.
Adam raises his head at the sight of the demon coming forth.
“Oh. Good afternoon, Mr. Great Fellini. Or Great Mr Fellini?”
Aziraphale greets him back with a fond smile. “Whatever you like best, my dear. May I have a seat?”
“Of course.”
The demon lowers himself carefully by the boy, still holding the toy in his hands.
“Sorry I wasn’t paying much attention during your act,” the birthday boy makes a guilty face, “I was... distracted, you know.”
Aziraphale throws a knowing look towards the boy’s pet sniffing about. “I can’t say I really minded,” he replies, “My act was awful anyway, I could have used less audience, really.”
The boy snorts and smiles, looking a bit surprised by the adult’s honesty. He accepts it with a nod.
Aziraphale takes this as good grounds for the serious conversation at hand.
“That’s quite a dog you’ve got there. What’s it called?”
“That’s Dog. That’s his full name.”
“Oh?” Aziraphale nods. “How fitting.”
“Yeah.” The most beautiful smile adorns Adam’s face, while he’s following his pet with dreamy eyes. “Dog’s the best. Did you know, this one time, when we had a gardener, he jumped in the air, whoosh! He stole Mr. Fell’s hat right off his head. Ha, ha, ha.”
The demon joins the laughter, the perspective he’s gained providing him with appreciation for the scene he did not have at the time. He even adds with full honesty, “That sure sounds funny.”
“Yes! He’s the best dog a boy could have.”
The little face then gradually receives a wistful look. The boy sighs and his little back bends a bit.
Aziraphale is riddled with un-demonic feelings. It must have been what his time on Earth has done to him, making him adopt all those emotions he’s witnessed while tempting humans. The angelic core might have played a role in that as well.
He carefully rests his hand on the little human’s shoulder. “You know,” he starts, placing the dirty toy in the boy’s hands, “I believe he would say something similar about you too. That you were the best boy a dog could wish for.”
Adam turns the toy in his hands with amazement, looking as if he’s seen it for the first time.
Without a spec of embarrassment, he throws himself in the magician’s embrace. Aziraphale holds him tightly, allowing the boy to cry out all the hurt he’s been through.
“I didn’t want that stupid party,” the boy sobs loudly, his voice cracking, “Dog died yesterday and I wanted to cancel the whole thing. But my parents said no. They said I needed a distraction, but I didn’t. I needed my dog!”
A strong fit of grief makes the little body shake and Aziraphale pats his back with all the gentleness in the world. “Oh, my,” he whispers, “that really sounds awful,” he adds, truly appalled.
Parents do so many things out of the wrong conviction that a child will one day see the past with adult eyes. But the things young humans experience in their youth remain forever soaked in childlike emotions.
“And when my birthday wish got true and Dog came back...” the tiny voice continues, “I was afraid that he’d think that I was having a good time without him.”
Aziraphale leans his chin over the soft hair, completely broken with the weight of the child’s interpretation of things. Of course this little soul couldn’t let go of his pet. He hasn’t received any form of closure. He hasn’t been given a chance to grieve properly either.
His love, backed with solid convictions, has efficiently postponed the time when Aziraphale’s miracle was supposed to wear off, serving as a true antidote to Crowley’s attempts to reverse the spell.
The demon lifts his head to give Adam an understanding look.
“And the Dog has had an amazing day, I think,” he tries to console the kid, “I believe he’s very happy now.”
Huge brown eyes go easily through the dark lenses to find Aziraphale’s.
“You honestly think so? You think he’s not, like, sad? Or mad at me?”
“I’m sure he’ll miss you, darling. But I think he’s quite at ease now.”
The words have a healing effect on the poor little boy. He nods and wipes his tears away with his ever dirty fingers.
In complete silence, the demon and the human watch the undead dog making a victory lap around the yard.
Once he’s ready, the boy squeezes the toy in his hands, calling for his friend to come over for one last good-bye scratching session.
Aziraphale watches with a lump in his throat the way the dog offers his belly and licks the loving hands of his best friend. He thinks that the eleven-year-old has grown older right before his eyes when he says:
“I’ll miss him too.”
***
He senses the moment peace settles over the area. It’s so weird. Crowley wasn’t even aware that there was any sort of unease in the air, but there it is.
The relief, disturbed only by Crowley’s own astonishment.
And that angel of a demon walking towards the Beetle with his measured steps.
He’s done it. He’s reversed the miracle. It’s written all over his aristocratic face, just like those silly moustaches above his kissable lips are.
The blonde sends him a fatigued smile which Crowley meets with utter dismay. Yes, he’s done it all on his own – without any help from Crowley.
Crowley – who he summoned for the sole purpose of reversing the miracle.
Cold dread sends a wave of sweat under his clothes. This was one job that Crowley has actually wanted to keep. I mean, the job description was beyond perfect – doing mischief on someone’s behalf? Actually doing the one thing he’s really good at and never being blamed for it?
Not to mention that he was supposed to work for this shockingly authentic creature who would even be grateful for the bad job well done.
You see, Crowley knew that Aziraphale could have done it himself all along – he saw it right away. It was just the matter of guiding the demon’s temptation energy to drive from his demonic self and not from that brilliantly pure piece of universe that is sitting there inside of him, humming with silent energy like an undiscovered flower species. The said dimension was called forth to help the demon solve the dog toy puzzle by providing him with a suitable set of eyeglasses to see the matter through.
Crowley was hoping that he would be the one to teach him that trick, to get the chance to see revelation spreading all over that expressive face. In short, to be the guide the demon was hoping for.
To be someone’s proper familiar, for once.
And all Crowley can do now is to confine the hope back where it belongs – crammed inside a tiny cell inside his chest, so he could at least return a smile to the pretty demon before him.
“You’ve done it,” he says, trying to sound more elated about it than he really is.
“Yes.” The neon-blue eyes look reluctant to believe it themselves. “Things are back to normal, I believe.”
“I knew you could do it," the familiar opts for a bit of honesty.
“You did?” Aziraphale looks shocked by the news. “But, I could never have figured things out without you.”
Crowley decides not to decline all the credit. He may be the less deserving party of the investigation, but he’s not a fool. He stuffs his hand into his pocket and shrugs one shoulder, hoping to at least look elegant in his defeat.
“Meh. I did very little. It was mostly you,” he offers and opens the door of the car for the demon. Aziraphale looks so charmed about the gesture that it solidifies Crowley’s decision to remain as gallant towards his company as possible, even if this car ride is about to take them back to that smelly pet shop place where the unnecessary familiar came from.
But, without a warning (which is the way these things usually happen), his vision gets covered by the round face, and his back slams against the Beetle, sending the old-timer into an indignant honk. Crowley has just enough time to take a bit of air when his mouth gets sealed with the softest lips that have ever touched his.
And it’s out of this world. It’s exquisite.
Nothing like Crowley right now, who’s completely dazed, so much so he must be melting down the side of the car, very grateful that the angel’s embrace is strong enough to keep him upright.
But the bastard releases him way too soon and even makes a dainty little step back to put his silly magician’s outfit to rights, as if Crowley' s the one who disheveled him.
“What was that for?” Crowley isn’t complaining. “I’m not complaining.” He’s just asking, really. “Just asking, really.”
“That,” the cheeky demon adjusts his bowtie, “was a bit of a down payment,” he adds in the most snobbish voice the familiar has ever been subjected to, “for that lunch you’re taking me to.”
Crowley’s grateful for his catlike reflexes, as he’s back in his game with a suave toss of hair.
“Yeah, sure, hop in," he offers the demon the driver’s seat in his own car, closes the door with care and runs to the other side, trying not to skip steps while at it.
It seems he hasn’t run out of luck, after all. Little is to say that he couldn’t have foreseen the turn of the events, but if Crowley can get one more kiss out of the date, he would call that a raging success and bite and scratch a bit less when he gets dragged back towards the store of his origin.
“Why are you back in there, my dear?” the driver muses looking at the way Crowley slides into the back seat, “You won’t be knocking your knees against things if you take the front seat.”
“I like it in here," Crowley replies, “It’s snug and warm. Unless I get to sit in your lap for the ride, that is?” he can’t resist trying his chances.
The look he receives from the mirror is trying to look stern, but it fails to hide that the demon is terribly amused.
“Hmm. You like getting into small spaces? Have you ever considered being a magician’s assistant?”
And just like that, Crowley finds a job too.
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed the little story.
Love you, take care!