Chapter Text
Monsters, demons, creatures of the night, blood suckers - whatever demeaning sobriquet someone chose to use, the name that stuck had always been Vampire. Beings that tredded the fine line between the world of the living and that of the dead. Their exact role or purpose, a mystery and their origins even more unknown.
The Church would have you believe Vampires were spawns of the devil, mortal men and women who made dark deals for eternal life, riches, and power only to have the curse of vampirism thrust upon them. Or that they are demons, sent to walk the Earth and prey upon God-fearing folk. Some even said they were cursed, that they'd committed some heinous sin and God had seen fit to cast them out forever.
How close to truth or fiction these claims came were anyone's guess, but one myth lasted through them all.
Dracula. The lord and master of all vampires. Some say he was the first, the progenitor, others scoff at such a thing despite Dracula's legend being the oldest anyone can find.
One thing they cannot deny is the fear and awe the Lord of Vampires inspires. Few dare traverse through his domain and those foolish enough to do so are never seen again. Isn't it lucky, then that Dracula so kindly marks the boundaries of his land with the impaled remains of his foes so that foolhardy travellers may so easily avoid his ire?
The tales frightened. Of course they did. They were meant to. Tales of Evil were always meant to keep the Good in line.
The nun with her rounded features read book after book and, though she prayed often and with an increasing desperation, knowledge kept coming. The books were brought by travellers to be stored away in a place that was to be without wickedness. Housed beyond temptation's mighty reach.
Yet one of the library's keepers devoured the words with a sinful greediness. She stayed up all hours turning pages. Oh, she kept up with her duties and her attendance to services, but that didn't stop the whispers of her fellows.
It didn't stop the priest from calling her aside now and again and questioning her on her apparent distractions.
He wasn't as pleased with her as many of the others, and she didn't know why anymore than she knew of why those certain books called so much stronger than others. In a voice that was so much louder.
Until she saw the priest and one of her fellows engaged in activities they had all sworn celibacy from. She rushed back out, aghast and horrified, and had been cornered by many that night while she worried and fretted over what to do.
The church crumbled before her that night as she tossed and turned in her bed. So many lies. So much weakness amidst people who were supposed to be strong. So much wrongness in a place that was supposed to be right.
Who was to say, then, that there wasn't rightness hidden away in a place which was supposedly filled with so much wrong?
She watched as more days passed by, paid more attention, saw more of the cracks she'd always dismissed as her own overactive imagination. Money was exchanged for the sorts of worldly goods they weren't to possess. Secular books she had been told were burned for their content were merely shuffled to private rooms.
She came across one, then two, then three, and a fourth that whispered of romance. Of carnal passions. Of being held and cherished and loved above all others on this mortal plane. A fifth told of men, wound together, just as in love as the others, and it opened her world to something new. This fifth book was hidden more carefully than the others, a loose stone between her bed and the window lifted. The hiding spot held a dagger she'd been told to be rid of upon joining though the sheath was branded by her family crest, a bundle of coins, and that book. Things she had prayed over, hoping to soothe the guilt their owning caused.
Things she still prayed over, hoping God would continue to help her hide them. She knew why her punishments were often more severe than others as she had no interest in being one girl among many others who spent... special time with the priest. She wanted the storybooks.
She wanted... a different name. A different body. Things she could share with no one and nothing until someone brought in a book with empty pages. It fell to her to sort out, the cover a fine leather and the page edges gilt with gold. It was a thing of beauty and she carefully wrote on the first page,
My name is Aziraphale.
It felt good.
He felt good.
It was the only thing he wrote in the empty pages, that tomb disappearing beneath the stone floor with his other treasures. He began to ingratiate himself in the kitchens, assisting in their duties, helping while a plan formed quietly and grew and grew and grew.
Eventually a man came who whispered of the darkest borders and how to reach them. Behind a wall, garbed in the habit of a woman Aziraphale no longer believed himself to be, he listened and he made a decision.
And that night, donning clothes he had fashioned for himself with the skills the nunnery had impressed upon him since his abandonment there, Aziraphale gathered his most prized, secret things in a small satchel. He made his escape through the kitchens with bread and apples and hardy cheese pressed upon him. The dagger wasn't blessed, but he had the feeling its sharpened edges would be much more useful.
The knock echoed through dark, deserted halls. No one knocked. Not ever. And if they had, well, it had been long enough that living memory had forgotten.
Scattered candles flicked to life one by one, but the meagre light they shed wasn't nearly enough to entirely illuminate the tall, dark shadow that made its way towards what could be considered the front door. The candles dimmed as the shadow passed only to spring to life once again.
He was not used to visitors, especially ones that knocked instead of just charging in. Cautious, but intrigued and still curious even after so very long, he stayed on the upper balcony. Out of range from the thin strip of light that slashed through the dark foyer as the door opened with a wave of a clawed hand.
A small gasp filled the massive room first, then a silhouette. “Am I to assume this is an invitation?” When only silence answered the cautious question, the figure seemed to straighten his shoulders before cautiously crossing the threshold.
Even to his own ears, his heartbeat was a loud, thundering thing as he entered the massive foyer. Candles flickered from thick columns, each more opulently decorated than the last. It was a beautiful, intimidating structure of grandeur.
And yet... The chill of loneliness affected him more than any awe.
He gasped again when the door abruptly closed, looking back as he lost any connection to the sun. He had to blink rapidly to acclimate to the sudden darkness, unsure where to go now that he was there. What to say.
“You are the one who has come to me.” Darkness pooled now that the sun was shut away once more, flitting between the pillars that lined the great foyer. The human - for that was clearly what had found its way here - tried to follow with quick turns of the head. “A knock is a request for entry, is it not?”
“Quite so. Just as a, ah, an open door is an invitation. Although I wouldn't call avoiding your guest good manners.”
“I am here. Speaking to you. I wouldn't call that avoiding.”
Lips pursed. “You could come near enough for me to put a face to the voice. And perhaps a name. I am... I am Aziraphale. Originally of Eastgate.”
“Aziraphale.” It was a bit of a mouthful and almost sounded clumsy, as if this human wasn't used to saying their own name. It was also fairly unisex, as far as names went. As ambiguous as the person before him. The face and voice said feminine but the rough travel clothes certainly did not. “It is dangerous to offer one's name so readily to a stranger.”
“It can be, but I've read enough to be certain you're not one of the fae.” And while he couldn't be sure that everything he'd read was true, he was comfortable with that, and he was comfortable with being trapped among the fae were he wrong after all. He'd come so far from his old life already, what did it matter?
“Have you, now?” He stepped out of the oppressive shadows and into the low candlelight, head tilted almost entirely to one side. “Then you should know my name already.”
He didn't look how the tales said he ought. No great ghastly horns or gnarled bones. While pale, his skin wasn't translucent. His hair was a rich ginger, curling around his face where it had sprung loose from a low tied ribbon. A face with fine cheekbones, a charmingly hawkish nose, and eyes hidden in shadow. His trousers were as dark as the shadows, clinging just as closely, while his equally dark waistcoat framed a loose, billowing red shirt that seemed to be adorned with feathers. It was almost charming, the pattern, but he couldn't have said entirely so courtesy of the fangs peeking out from his top lip. They looked dangerous, deadly.
And a little bit like he was putting on a show.
Aziraphale’s chin lifted despite the trembling down his back. “Tales differ. Dracula may be your name or your title, and I don't prefer to rudely assume.”
It had been a very, very long time since a human had intrigued more than annoyed. “Title,” he clarified. “If you must call me by a name, Crowley will suffice.”
Aziraphale decided not to mention that some texts referred to him as Crawly. “Thank you, Crowley. It's clearly been some time since you last had company for you to behave and speak so rudely as all this. I'll graciously forgive it.”
Oh, that shouldn't have been as amusing as it was. Crowley felt the unfamiliar sensation of a smile pull at the corners of his lips. “You would be correct in that I do not receive many guests. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Aziraphale?”
“I... Well... In the many things I've read about you, it's said that you have- You have knowledge beyond anything mortals do. I was hoping you would, perhaps, share some of it. The more medicinal aspects, I think. I wish to help people as my, ah, prior line of work... wasn't doing nearly as much as I'd hoped.” Aziraphale averted his gaze, deciding the full truth wouldn't be remiss here. “I also would like a place where I might not be judged for... being as I am. And I thought you might have an understanding of what that might be like.”
Crowley listened intently. In his many long years, very few humans had come seeking knowledge. Many had sought his death, others glory, a few power. Some had tried to hide their true motives behind claiming to seek knowledge. “Your… prior line of work - The Church, obviously.”
Aziraphale’s lips pursed again, brow furrowing. “Is it so obvious?”
“Obvious?” Crowley sniffed and turned, motioning for Aziraphale to follow with a wave of his hand. “Perhaps only to one such as myself. You reek of holiness.”
He hesitated for a few seconds before forcing his feet to move. This Dracula - this Crowley - was being somewhat welcoming. It seemed wrong to be frightened now. “Better that than something foul, I suppose.”
“Most of my kind would categorise holy as something most foul.”
Most of his kind didn't necessarily include him, Aziraphale noted, unsure what to make of that as they wandered further into the home. It was... so strange to not be able to find a single window in the narrow hall. “Regardless, I'll take it as a compliment. Even though... Even though I've left the church and would certainly not be allowed to return.”
Crowley hummed, leading his guest through dark corridors and passed closed doors. “You must have done something quite heinous to not be welcomed back.”
Aziraphale fidgeted with the strap of his bag. “I... I left the nunnery in the middle of the night, a-and...” This was a difficult part only because of its newness and, frankly, the danger it put him in. His travels to get to this place had left him largely ostracised. He swallowed. “Men cannot be nuns.”
“No, they cannot.” Crowley glanced back, understanding the androgyny more now. While he'd never been a part of it himself, Crowley was aware of the Church's stringent adherence to keeping with the role you were born into. “I suppose they wouldn't be very happy with a man who used to be a nun.”
“No, but...” He almost said they hadn't been happy with him as a nun either, but that felt too personal yet. “I'm happier as Aziraphale than as a sister, even if no one else seems to be. And should that not be enough?”
“Far be it from me to argue against that.”
The simple reply was hardly what Aziraphale had expected from him. It was the goodness in the dark he'd been hopeful for, cementing his confidence in the decision to come. “Thank you.”
In the blink of an eye Crowley rounded on him, and backed him against one wall, face twisted and lips curled into a fanged snarl. “Do not, ever, thank me, little holy man. Do we have an understanding?”
More surprised and confused than afraid, Aziraphale stared up at him. He'd called him a man, based on Aziraphale's word alone. It was worth every bit of gratitude Aziraphale felt welling in his heart. “Possibly,” he replied, though he couldn't fathom why the aggression was there for something mundane. “If you do something worthy of gratitude, you don't wish to be thanked?”
“I have never, in all my years, performed an action worthy of such a thing.”
Aziraphale blinked twice. “And yet I could say you have twice over already. However, if you'd prefer not to be thanked, I can avoid that for you.”
It was Crowley's turn to be confused. In his mind he hadn't done a single thing out of the ordinary, had not gone out of his way for any particular kindness. “That would be best.” He turned on a heel, long legs moving quickly through the halls and up winding staircases.
The castle was practically a maze, twisting and turning in a way that had clearly been designed to confuse would-be trespassers but that Crowley seemed to have no trouble with. Further in, the candles gave way to buzzing, blueish light encased in glass that did not dim or sputter as he passed like the candles had done.
Crowley came to a stop beside a seemingly random door; there was nothing about it to distinguish it from any of the others and he didn't seem fazed by his companion's huffing from having to keep up with him. “You claim to have come here for knowledge. Is that truly what you seek?”
Though those long legs had been a struggle to keep up with, Aziraphale was no less fascinated by the unusual lights or less curious about the doors and passageways. Why would anyone live in such a maze? So many places to get lost in or... or to hide. “Yes. I'd like to learn more.”
He seemed sincere enough and if he wasn't, well, Crowley had ways and means and enough paranoia to not let his guard down. The door handle turned under his hand and light flooded the hall as it opened.
The room beyond was brighter than the rest of the castle seemed to be, lit by an orb suspended from the high ceiling that was surrounded by metal rails. Bookshelves were scattered throughout, interspersed with desks and tables that held a variety of devices. More shelves lined an upper balcony and a massive telescope sat on a raised platform in a rounded section of the room.
“The books kept here are mostly factual or research journals and deal with the various sciences.”
“Various sciences?” Aziraphale looked to him, eyes round and wide. He was absolutely fascinated and genuinely staggered by the number of books. He didn't know what any of the devices were supposed to be and they, admittedly, didn't hold nearly as much intrigue as the texts. Who knew what they had within their bindings? “Do you have a sorting system?”
“Oh, yes. Every text is meticulously organised.” Crowley walked past him to the nearest shelf to run a clawed finger over a bronze plate set into it. “You'll notice each shelf is labelled with a range of numbers while each book spine has a specific number attached. The number ranges correlate to the subject. There's an index in here somewhere.”
“I don't suppose I could trouble you to help me find it?” Aziraphale requested, hands clasped together and smile as bright as the light overhead. “I wouldn't want to muck up your organisation.”
“Yes, yes, I will assist you,” Crowley said with a flippant wave of his hand. It wasn't like he had anything important going on anyway. “Besides, I am unsure of how much education is common for humans nowadays. You might very well be unable to understand some of the texts.”
“I do have, ah, more education than my peers. I used to be one of the keepers of the library, so I've read many, many things. Even the more forbidden texts.” Aziraphale’s cheeks turned pink. “That's how I knew about you.”
One of Crowley's eyebrows arched and he leaned a hip on the bookshelf. “I would think the church would burn all such texts with prejudice.”
“Oh, no. The official, um, policy seems to be that it's best to section such texts off for church leaders to learn from. So that they may... find the weaknesses of their perceived enemies. For me, I had to read them. In order to properly categorise them. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Crowley repeated back to him with something of a smile. “And all this reading didn't make you wary of walking right into my lair and home?”
“Well... It used to. But I've learned things about the church which seem...” Aziraphale shook his head, waving it away. “You seemed like the best option for someone with nowhere to go.”
Crowley wondered what he had learned about the church that made him seem like the better option. Not that Crowley had any good will towards the church, but it was definitely odd. “There are people - human people - and places that would take you. Though I suppose that's not nearly as exciting as a vampire.”
“It isn't about the excitement, really. It's about... I do want to learn more than what I can outside of these walls. I want to help... people like me. I'm not the only one who is like this. I can't be. And if in your texts, I can find an answer... I would be very happy to share it. And I would owe you an incredible debt.”
“I can tell you, without the shadow of doubt, that you are not the only person like yourself. This world is much wider and vaster and stranger than your church would lead you to believe. It's also not quite so easily fit into narrow boxes.”
Aziraphale’s smile wobbled. “I'm... I'm very interested in what's beyond the confines of my box, Crowley.”
Crowley's own smile grew and he motioned to the rest of the room. “Then you are in luck, for I do not restrict knowledge in my home. Guests are free to peruse to their hearts content.”
“A kindred spirit to Eve's demon, are you?”
“I've been told some particularly devout humans believe us to be one and the same.”
Aziraphale tugged at the hem of his shirt. “That... was something I read, yes, but I found it a bit too fantastic to be believable.”
Well, Crowley couldn't possibly let that stand. How dare this human decide what was too 'fantastic' to be real. He hadn't been exaggerating that this world was so much stranger than so many humans knew.
It started, surprisingly enough, with the eyes. Round pupils thinning and lengthening into a serpentine slit. Like a preliminary warning that a predator was about. “I can ssshow you fantasstic.” Sibilance slipped as Crowley's body rippled, changed, grew, and darkened until a black and red serpent of massive proportions had taken his place, coils winding their way around the shelves and under a nearby desk.
It didn't, perhaps, have the effect Crowley had been seeking when Aziraphale's gasp held more delight than fear. “Goodness, aren't you a lovely thing,” he cooed. “That is quite the ability you have.”
Crowley's large, diamond-shaped head swayed. He'd been expecting a scream, a shriek, some fear. His tongue flicked, tasting paper and wood and metal and very human scents of sweat and skin. The residual holiness was still there too but not a hint of fear. “You are not frightened?”
“I should be, I suppose. You are large enough to swallow me whole. But I think this is more wondrous than frightful.” Aziraphale smiled. “Should I apologise?”
“Er… no?” He just didn't know what to do with that. Most other humans were terrified or at least a little worried. “You are a very strange human.”
There, finally, was a flicker of fear. “I... I hope that isn't a bad thing?”
Coils became legs and a man now stood where the serpent had been. “It isn't a problem for me. Just an observation.”
It was so hard to find anyone who would say his oddities weren’t a problem. It was so hard to feel anything but judged in every way and in every moment. “Th- Er.” He pulled at his shirt again. “I’m glad it isn’t. I appreciate that you’re willing to overlook what others might call my, ah, eccentricities.”
A flick of Crowley's fingers righted the few books that had fallen to the floor during his transformations. “You are among strange company. It would be hypocritical of me to judge.”
Aziraphale wondered if it would be terrible to say that hadn’t stopped many others he knew and, ultimately, decided to say so in a less insulting way. “I’m not unaccustomed to being judged by those with their own… flaws.”
“I would not personally say strangeness or having oddities is a flaw.” Crowley picked up a book at random, flicking through the pages at a speed that would be impossible to even skim read. “Though I am aware most humans would disagree.”
His magic was so casual, so mundane in his bland flicks and flutters. He seemed terribly bored with it, which was a shame. “They would. I wouldn't.”
Crowley glanced up at him, the book snapping shut all on its own. “Then I believe we will get along for the duration of your stay.”
“Oh, I do hope so. I would hate for us not to, and I do promise I'm most agreeable. I don't believe I've ever even had a quarrel with anyone.”
Somehow, even with the short time Aziraphale had been here, Crowley believed it. The man just seemed agreeable. Whether that was just how he was or something he'd learned would take more time to suss out. “As you like. I am fond of verbal sparring myself.”
Aziraphale’s head tilted. “A spirited discussion hardly counts as an argument, dear boy.”
“Not everyone would agree with that.”
Pale lashes fluttered. “How terrible for those persons with their emotional immaturity and struggles parsing nuance.”
Oh, he was a bit of a bastard. Perhaps not so easily bent to others whims as Crowley had originally assumed. He felt a slow smile tug at his lips. “Indeed. I look forward to hearing your opposing views.”
The smile was nice. Handsome, even. The fangs weren't quite as off-putting as they should've been, really. “Only when they are opposing, really. No need for unnecessary bickering.”
“No arguing for argument's sake?”
“That seems unpleasant, doesn't it? And it's rather difficult to get to know someone when everything is a battle.” Aziraphale sighed, looking far away. “Never being able to relax because one's shield and sword always has to be at the ready... A bit of bickering might be fun, yes, but not as a constant. Not at the expense of companionship.”
The way he said it almost made Crowley wonder if it was something he had personal experience with. “I can see how consistent conflict can make for unhappy relationships. Most of my kind thrive on conflict of any kind, so it is what I am used to.”
“There are others like you?” Aziraphale wondered, curiosity piqued once again.
One corner of Crowley's lips twitched. Curious, this one was. “Other vampires? Yes. I am definitely not the only one.”
“What, then, makes you a Dracula? If it’s a title, it surely has some sort of meaning, doesn’t it?”
“It is earned, and I did so when I killed the last holder of it and presented his head on a pike to my peers.”
It did not, for reasons Aziraphale couldn’t fathom, manage to kill his curiosity. “Gosh. Had he done something to deserve such ire?”
Crowley's head tilted, assessing him for a moment before he took a few long strides to be directly in front of Aziraphale. The book he'd been holding dropped only for it to hover in the air and slip right back into its proper place. “Perhaps you truly are a seeker of knowledge; therefore, you should know some knowledge comes at a price.”
Very few things came without cost. Particularly knowledge. So far, knowledge had cost him his home and his much simpler life. It could come to cost him his entire life if he was truly wrong about Crowley. “I do, yes.”
“Thus far you have requested I give you knowledge. 'Forbidden and beyond mortals', you asked. Knowledge of medicine. And yet, you have not stated what you would offer in exchange.”
He had very little, certainly nothing a person such as this might need or want. Aziraphale’s chin lifted regardless. “Nor have you suggested your price.”
Crowley smirked. “I think I might like you, Aziraphale of Eastgate. You were once a nun and as such would have little in the way of worldly goods. Therefore, my price is this: You will stay here and keep me company. You will not leave my castle without my expressed permission. And when you have learned all you can, you will speak to no one of where you learned it.”
Aziraphale wondered if Crowley realised just how little he was asking compared to how much he was giving. Knowledge, access to books, a home, permission to keep a dangerous association quiet - all for just a bit of company. The loneliness he’d felt when he’d first entered felt like a living, breathing thing. For Aziraphale, it was a familiar thing. For Crowley, perhaps it had been the price for his title and for the prevention of his own head being presented on a pike.
“I accept your conditions gladly.”
“Then I believe we have an arrangement.” Crowley stepped to the side, hand swinging out to motion to the room at large. “And you have full permission to everything here in the lab, the library as well if this does not prove sufficient.”
“A library,” Aziraphale cooed, tone much the same as when Crowley had transformed into a snake. “Are there places I oughtn’t go?”
“I can not think of any such places at the moment, however that does not mean that every part of the castle is entirely safe. There are plenty of doors that open directly to an upper floor drop and the like.”
“Why on earth would you make your home so dangerous?”
Crowley's mouth twisted in amusement. “A precaution against the many individuals who would wish me harm.”
Absurdly, Aziraphale nearly asked who would want to harm him. But he’d read the books and he’d heard sermons. He’d listened to people along the way and had very deliberately avoided saying anything about his plans to visit the man - or beast, as some would say - known as Dracula. But then… All those tales… If this Crowley had killed his successor and obtained his title, wasn’t it possible that not all of the things in those books could be attributed to the same being?
“I think such persons would be making a terrible mistake,” he mused quietly, more to himself than to Crowley.
“And they paid for those mistakes.”
He seemed so determined to make Aziraphale afraid of him, but the more time he spent near him, the less fearful he felt. Even with all of the posturing and the dangerous glints of fang and casual flicks of magic. “Do those sorts of people come often?”
Crowley's head tilted as he thought. “Not very. As you saw on the way, the most recent ones have long since rotted away.”
Aziraphale’s brows furrowed. “There are quite a few rather, ah, fresh…” Was fresh an insulting word? “Recent, ah, corpses near the entrance of your lands.”
A deep frown marred Crowley's sharp face. “They are not my doing. The last I placed should have long turned to bone by now.”
“Ah. Then I suppose someone - or multiple someones - consider your borders a... convenient place to leave persons or they're ensuring your legend stays quite terrifying indeed. The nearest villages,” and even they were miles and miles off, “tell tales of your tendency to whisk persons off in the night.” And the smell had confirmed he was going in the right direction.
Crowley supposed he should be offended that the humans were doing his job for him but couldn't bring himself to be so. It meant less work for him, after all. “Well, far be it from me to dissuade human imagination. So long as it doesn't encourage trespassers.”
Aziraphale decided not to say how close some of the bodies had been. “Yes, well, it's still murder you're being blamed for. Deaths others aren't receiving just punishment because people would rather believe in the monstrous nature of vampires than that nature in themselves or their fellows.”
Crowley shrugged. “What humans do to one another is none of my concern.”
But by affecting his lands and legacy, weren't they making their actions his concern? “As you like, my dear. Um. Will I have a room of my own, by chance? To sleep and perhaps even to wash.”
“Ah, yes.” Crowley snapped his fingers and, in an instant, a shadow from under a desk darkened and grew and became a vaguely humanoid shape with what looked like odd cones on its head. “Eric, you and your brothers go prepare a room for my guest. One near the library will do.”
The shadow seemed to nod, the voice that came from it far-off and fading. “Yes, master Dracula,” it said sinking back into the shadows from whence it came.
“Gosh.” Fresh questions bubbled up, but he knew he needed to stop asking so many. He didn't want to be an irritant or a bore. “Eric?” was all he asked.
“A group of shadows with a mind of his… their? Own. I'm not entirely sure how many there are or if it is just many copies of the same being that all go by the name 'Eric'.”
“That's quite the choice. I do...” Thank you. “Shall we search for that index, then?”
“Yes, probably.” Crowley glanced around where they were standing. “It should be around here somewhere… not that I've had personal need of it for some time.”
“I promise to learn it soon. As keeper of the library, I got quite used to having a system.” Even if that system had only been immediately identifiable by him and him alone.
“The main library here isn't as organised… it is not a room I have need of often.”
“But this room is?” Aziraphale yearned to begin pulling books off shelves to study, but made himself behave. He didn't quite know what the index would look like, but he at least felt comfortable enough to set his bag on one of the chairs in the room and begin searching.
“This is where I do research,” Crowley explained, making his slow way between a pair of shelves. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the index but couldn't imagine it would be very far from the main entrance. “Most of the subjects here are ones I had a personal interest in. Human and animal biology, astronomy, chemistry, physics. Though recently my interests have taken a more botanical bent.”
“Botanical,” Aziraphale echoed. “Plants?”
“Yes. There's a greenhouse on one of the upper levels.”
Aziraphale hummed. “Do you... need help with them? Considering that plants need the sun to thrive.” His lips pursed as he trailed after him. “Though I'm aware you can take care of them at night. And I am just assuming the rumours of you being unable to survive sunlight is true.”
Crowley glanced at him with a slight smirk. “I would not mind someone checking in and doing watering during the day.”
“Oh! I would be delighted, then, to offer my assistance.”
He was just so eager to please, it was almost cute. “I will show you the main library and the greenhouse, then.”
“Thank you. I do want to be as useful as I can be to you.” Aziraphale smiled, unphased by his consistent smirk. “I'd prefer earning my keep over taking advantage.”
Crowley chose not to acknowledge the gratitude. “Unnecessary. We already have our arrangement.”
“Oh, pish-posh. I'm not going to be entirely useless whilst staying here. I'd be dreadfully bored.”
“As you wish. Far be it from me to stop you from entertaining yourself.”
“And you, I hope. I'd like it if... If we could both enjoy our time together.”
Crowley glanced at him, noting the way Aziraphale twisted his fingers in his own grasp. Nervous, uncertain, but not afraid. Somehow this human seemed to not have a lick of fear despite being in the presence of a predator. Either his self preservation was absolutely abysmal or… or this really was a last resort. Crowley felt himself soften despite his usual prickly exterior. “Just be yourself, Aziraphale, and time will tell.”
He'd never been told that before. Being himself felt wicked because he'd always been criticised for doing the things which felt right. Too much reading was sloth, after all. There had to be a perfect balance to things, supposedly, and Aziraphale had never managed to strike it.
Amidst people who were sinning in a variety of other ways anyway, so why did their opinions still enter Aziraphale's mind? Why did they make him second guess everything?
Smile weak, Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, of course. Yes. I'm sorry. All this chatter must be awfully distracting from our goal.”
“For you, perhaps,” Crowley murmured, gaze catching on something that didn't look quite right. Nestled between two larger tomes as a slip of a booklet, pages bound simply in twine. He offered to Aziraphale, not missing the way his eyes seemed to light up. “Here, knew it wasn't very far.”
Aziraphale held it like it was made of glass, smile illuminating just as brightly as his eyes. “Eagle eyed, aren't you? I never would've seen such a thing.”
“I know my home. Nothing out of the ordinary here escapes me.”
“I see I mustn't leave anything lying about then.” Aziraphale opened the simple little booklet, fascinated as he began skimming through it. “It's so orderly,” he murmured, carefully rubbing one of the pages between his fingers. The text didn't look like handwriting as Aziraphale was used to, each letter so uniformly spaced. It must've taken many weeks to do a few of these pages, especially with such thin paper. And how, he wondered, had he managed to write on both sides of the page without the ink bleeding through? “Gosh.”
“Is it really so impressive? Most of the books here, exception made for the most delicate, are like this. The originals are kept where they will be handled the least.”
“The originals? All of these books in here are copies?”
Crowley tapped his chin in thought. “The vast majority, yes. Paper and leather age so very quickly after all, even more so when handled. Better to use a copy than risk ruining something more unique.”
Aziraphale nodded, but looked around the room with fresh fascination. “Goodness. How long it must have taken to make your letters so even and smooth like this in so many texts.”
“Er…” Crowley's head tilted. “You don't actually think I wrote all of this by hand, do you?”
Cheeks flushed a vibrant pink. “I'm sorry. I do know about wooden block printing. I-I'm just not terribly used to it. Most everything we receive and copy is still done by hand.”
“You have nothing to apologise for, Aziraphale.” And somehow the colouring of his face made him seem almost… cute. “I did away with the wooden blocks some time ago; my press uses metal and does not require the letters to be changed.”
Aziraphale blinked at him, colour still clinging to his face. “Really?”
“Oh, yes.” Crowley leaned down a little, watching Aziraphale's eyes widen a smidge. “Would you like to see?”
“If it isn't too much trouble, I'd like that. In return, I'll be happy to repair any damaged books you own. I'm very good at it.”
“If it was trouble, I wouldn't offer, but I definitely don't mind a few books being repaired. I'm sure there are some that could use it.”
Nodding eagerly, Aziraphale closed the index. “Then lead the way, please. I would love to see how you create your copies.”
Crowley slipped the index from Aziraphale's fingers as he led him back towards the door. “We'll leave this here, so it doesn't get lost again, hm? Besides, you won't need it where we're going.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I don't suppose you have a map of the castle, by chance? Everything looks so... uniform. But the lights are fascinating. Like glass candles, but such a pretty blue.”
“There is no map, no.” He set the index on a table near the door, leading Aziraphale back into the dark halls. “However, since you are my guest, if you ever find yourself uncertain of how to reach a destination you can always call upon Eric and he will guide you should I not be available.”
“Do I just call their- his- his name?”
“Yes, just call his name and as long as there is a shadow he will come to you. Eric knows every corner of the castle.”
“Has he always been here?” Have you?
“Always? No.” Crowley shook his head. It was almost refreshing to speak to someone who knew nothing of the supernatural and yet didn't seem terrified of it. “I acquired Eric… some time ago. Shadows like him are usually created when someone dies but has no one to mourn them. If left unattended they can become quite vicious, so I brought him here.”
He was good. Aziraphale blinked at him as they walked, fascinated by this realisation. He was so good, and he would probably be incredibly incensed if Aziraphale told him so. He reached out and gave his arm a gentle pat instead. “I've heard of spirits before, but not quite like that.”
It had been so long since anyone had touched him, especially in a friendly sort of way, that he couldn't remember the last time it had happened. Crowley glanced at him, not entirely sure why Aziraphale was looking at him like he'd just hung the moon. “I- Er- I'm not surprised. If I recall correctly the Church would likely classify Eric as a demon in need of exorcising.”
Perhaps he had heard of such spirits before. Aziraphale sighed quietly. “Perhaps so... But he's only a lonely person. That shouldn't earn punishment.”
“That's all most spirits are: lonely people lashing out at anyone and anything.”
Aziraphale didn't see why being helped to pass on would be a bad outcome, but he did know perceived demons were treated very differently from simpler hauntings when it came to the church. “Well... It can be easier to lash out, I think, than to be kind.”
“Don't I know it,” Crowley muttered under his breath. “Most undead are more inclined to volatile emotions than calm ones.”
“Do you count as being undead? I've never been quite sure.” Though as soon as the words left his mouth, he was gasping. “Oh, no, that's terribly rude. Nevermind.”
Crowley barked out a surprised laugh. “Well I'm certainly not alive.”
“By what standards?”
“By the most common, of course.” Crowley stopped in the hall and, with only slight hesitation, grabbed Aziraphale's hand and held his thumb to his wrist. His skin was so warm, hot even, compared to his own. “I believe a heartbeat is the most universally accepted sign of life.”
There wasn't one from what Aziraphale could feel. Though he did have to take his thumb away and lay two fingers over his wrist to make sure. “Since I have one, I shouldn't use my thumb. I only feel my own heart there.”
“Ah, yes, it has been some time since I needed to know how to feel for such a thing.”
“I'm sure you know far more about plants and stars and technology than human health, and that's perfectly alright.” Aziraphale looked up with a smile, still holding his wrist. “If I needed to know how to heal a cow, I'd be lost.”
“I did study human anatomy for a few decades. There is plenty of research on the topic back in the lab.”
“Alright, but it's understandable that you've forgotten a bit of it. Or briefly forgot.” Aziraphale gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. “In any case, I think you're alive. Even without a heartbeat.”
Aziraphale was still touching him, the longest prolonged skin-to-skin contact that he'd actually initiated himself in centuries. And he was warm. A living breathing warmth that felt better than it had any right to. “You do not need to comfort me, Aziraphale. My undeath is simply a fact.”
“The un asserts that you are not, in fact, dead. It isn't a comfort. It's 'simply a fact.'”
“You are something of a bastard,” Crowley said with a grin that showed off his fangs. “Normally I would punish such blatant lip.”
And normally Aziraphale would be exceptionally offended at being called a bastard. “Yet I think you're enjoying mine too much.”
“I am, yes.” He glanced down at where Aziraphale was still holding his wrist. “It is… refreshing from someone who does not consider me their enemy.”
“Oh, no. I don't consider you an enemy. I was... I was ready to defend myself if you proved to be mine, but I don't tend to go into interactions expecting the worst.” Though he didn't miss the glance, realising he was holding on far too long. Crowley's skin was released with a small, apologetic smile. “I'm much happier with this arrangement.”
Crowley almost demanded that he put his hand back right this instant. It had been such a long time since he'd felt just how cold everything was or, rather, since he'd noticed it. “Yes, planned on defending yourself with the dagger hidden under your cloak.”
“Goodness. How did you know where it was?”
“I've had hunters at my door who hid their weapons better than you, Aziraphale.”
“Well I’m not a hunter of any sort, so I wouldn’t expect to be on par with them.”
“No, and you also wouldn't know it makes a very distinctive shape when you walk.” Crowley smiled when Aziraphale immediately looked down.
Aziraphale hummed, casually removing the sheathed blade and handing it off to Crowley as if it was as harmless as a book just to see the difference. “I suppose that is rather noticeable.”
It was a very short dagger, sheathed in cracked leather. Crowley pulled it out just far enough to see the blade and confirm there wasn't some enchantment hiding a holy blessing. “For someone who knew what to look for, yes.”
“I’ve been very lucky in that I haven’t had need for it through my travels.” Aziraphale smiled up at him, not even cognizant of the fact that he’d given his only weapon over to someone who could very easily kill him should he feel so inclined. It didn’t occur to him that Crowley might harm him, even though Aziraphale was ripe with just the sort of sustenance the predator required to survive. “The biggest casualty was a poor rabbit I needed for dinner.”
“Good use for a knife, securing a meal.”
Particularly when no one in the nearest village was willing to help a perceived woman in a man’s clothes. “Quite. There were a few places that were more… difficult to traverse than others.”
One of Crowley's eyebrows lifted as he resheathed the dagger. “How far exactly did you come?”
“Quite a ways, I should think. It’s taken several weeks, and occasionally someone will be kind enough to allow me to share a carriage.”
Several weeks? So far just to come here on the off chance the creature that resided within wouldn't kill him on the spot? He could have. He very easily could have made a meal of Aziraphale, no dagger required. He was just human. It would be so simple.
Crowley handed the dagger back hilt first. “That was a very risky journey you made.”
“Leaving was risky in itself, as were the preparations, but…” Aziraphale took the weapon back, neatly tucking it away again. “I wasn’t happy, and I was… ashamed of my fellows. Being away from them and taking a chance at being happy seemed worth a bit of risk.”
“I think I can understand that. Sometimes one must seek their own happiness, even at great danger to themselves.”
“I can't say I regret it,” he said, that smile still curving his lips as he and Crowley resumed their walk. “Not everyone I've met has been kind, but it was a pleasure when they were. I wouldn't have made it far at all without those spots of goodness along the way.”
Crowley hummed. “I have not had the privilege of experiencing human goodwill very often.”
Nor had Aziraphale. “Most advance weapons first with you, I imagine.”
A corner of Crowley's mouth twitched upwards. “Generally speaking, yes. Though I cannot blame them. Most humans are not used to being something's preferred food source.”
“Oh, yes.” That brought on another slew of questions, Aziraphale’s fascination boundless in the face of Crowley’s openness. It was nice having someone actually answering his questions and not shaking him for having them at all. “How... Well. If you haven't killed anyone in so long, does that mean you don't have to, um, eat very often?”
It was probably the most tactful way anyone had asked him about his feeding habits. “Not as often as humans seem to need. However, feeding from a human does not necessarily mean a death will occur. It is entirely possible to take what I need without killing the victim.”
Considering that humans needed to eat daily, that didn't fully answer the question. It was fascinating, though, that he didn't have to kill everyone he fed from. None of the books said that. Most tended to expressly claim the opposite, in fact. That they drained animals and humans of blood, leaving the corpses strewn about without regard for how they might be found or by whom. “Jolly good. That's far better than one might expect. Will I need to fetch my own food?”
Despite having just mentioned it, Crowley frowned, brow furrowed as he realised that Aziraphale would need human food if he were to stay here. He was certain the castle had a kitchen and all of the things that went along with that - a leftover from times long past. “It… would seem I overlooked feeding you.”
“That's alright. You did say I could leave with permission. If you'd allow it - or if you'd like to go with me once the sun has set - we can visit the nearest village. I do have a bit of coin left for something from the market.”
“I suppose that would be agreeable.” He couldn't imagine letting Aziraphale go all the way to the village on his own, not if there really were humans impaling their kills near his territory. “Do not worry over using your own money. I have more than enough coin to cover anything you might need.”
“That wasn't part of the arrangement.”
“Does it have to be?”
“You seem to have that objection each time I offer something,” Aziraphale pointed out. “It seemed fair.”
Crowley's lips pressed together as he could not fault that logic. “Very well. However I will insist on accompanying you, to ensure you are able to purchase enough. I can't very well expect you to live here with no food.”
Aziraphale almost said thank you, but nodded instead. “That would be lovely.”
It was good that he'd agreed because Crowley had been ready to press the issue had Aziraphale declined. “Good. I am glad we are in agreement.”
The double doors he stopped beside were large and imposing, the frame decorated with vines carved from the very wood itself. Crowley watched with great interest at the way Aziraphale's stared. “This leads to the main library, the printing press is in a room beyond it.”
“Gosh,” Aziraphale murmured, carefully reaching out to trace a vined pattern. “The entry alone is beautiful.”
“It's just a door, Aziraphale.”
“A very nice one. I've lived in the nunnery since I was a child, Crowley, and believe me when I say there are no such doors as this. Decoration is... It's seen as wasteful.”
“Well that's just ridiculous.” Crowley placed a hand over a particularly large leaf. “Art and decoration are one of things that make existence worth it. How dull the world would be without paintings, sculptures, or tapestries.”
“Very much,” Aziraphale agreed. “As dull as it would be without a good book.”
“Then you are in luck because my home is full of all of those things.” Crowley opened one of the doors and motioned for Aziraphale enter. “The library awaits you.”
Aziraphale stepped inside, eyes rounding at the sheer volume of books piled onto nearly every imaginable surface in the room. Not nearly as well organised, it seemed, as the research room had been. But Aziraphale didn't mind that as much as he probably ought. It didn't offend any librarian sensibilities so much as it made him itch to go through each shelf and explore. He wanted to read everything. He didn't think he'd live long enough to make it through half of what lived in this room.
Still, Aziraphale took one off of a table and opened it to somewhere in the middle, audibly cooing when he realised it was a storybook. It was also, unlike the index booklet, handwritten. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a smile brighter than the lights which had flickered to life as soon as he'd crossed the threshold. “What a wonderful room. I think I could stay in here alone for a year and be happy.”
There was a lit candle on the table behind him, the way the flickering flame lit up the curled edges of his hair and the dazzling smile almost made him look… a bit like an angel. One of the ones that were often depicted in paintings and stained glass. “I thought you might say something like that.”
“Already predictable, am I?”
“I wouldn't say 'predictable'. But you do seem to like books very much.”
“I do. One can learn so much from them, even the storybooks like this one.” Aziraphale stroked the cover with a fondness usually reserved for a pet. Or a lover. “I have a beautiful empty one someone brought to the convent. I've written a little bit about my journey in it, actually, and it's a very nice thing to have. It's kept me company.”
Crowley watched his fingers with some strange mix of annoyance and intrigue. “Keeping a journal is usually a good idea when on a long trek. Especially on one alone.”
“Mmhm. So I've learned.” With some reluctance, Aziraphale set the book back where he'd found it. “It's where I wrote my name for the first time.”
“A good place to start.” Crowley stepped up to a nearby full table, fingers lingering in the thin layer of dust. “Am I correct in assuming you haven't been 'Aziraphale' for very long?”
“I... I've been Aziraphale in my head longer than I have been aloud.” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. “B-but... But I don't think I'd like to tell you my former name. If that's alright? I don't want anyone to call me it anymore.”
“I have no problem with that. I hadn't planned on asking for it.”
“Oh... Th- ah.” Aziraphale ducked his head. “It's been very nice, you see, not hearing it. I've only been addressed as Aziraphale since leaving, and I never want to be anyone else.”
Crowley gave a slow nod. “As far as I am concerned, you are who you say you are. I have no need for who you are not.” And after a short moment of thought, he decided sharing a little more wouldn't hurt. “It is not uncommon for vampires to decide they are not the person they were born or turned as. Names can change like the leaves.”
“That... That does make me feel much better,” Aziraphale murmured. “Changing names seems to be such an issue for many people. An offence, somehow, even though it has nothing to do with them.”
“Change can be an issue for my kind as well. We can get very… possessive of territory, material objects, other people and not like it when they inevitably change over time.”
“That must be terribly frustrating to live so long and see so much change, then.” Aziraphale walked closer, reaching out to lay a hand on Crowley's arm. “Are you the possessive sort as well?”
Crowley opened his mouth to say absolutely not… only to close it again with a click and a scowl. Aziraphale's hand was so warm, he could almost feel the heat through the fabric of his shirt. He found he was beginning to covet that warmth, resenting any thought of not having it. “I… can be. In some ways. I find I do not mind change so much but do jealously guard what is mine.”
Aziraphale let a giggle loose. “I'll have to be very mindful of your things, then. I was already planning to, naturally, but I would hate to be on the wrong side of your jealousy.”
“I'm sure you'll do just fine,” Crowley murmured, not at all already categorising Aziraphale as his. It was much too soon for that.
“I do hope so. You'll tell me if I do anything wrong, won't you? So I can be better for you.” So he wouldn't start regretting this arrangement of theirs.
“Of course. I'm not of a mind to allow indiscretions go unchallenged.”
“Kindly remember that I'm a touch more breakable than you when you do, please.”
Crowley lifted an eyebrow. “You've given me no reason to go quite that far.”
Aziraphale decided he'd said enough terrible things related to the church that day. He didn't need Crowley to pity him, if the man (the creature? the person?) was capable of that. Many among the traditionally living weren't, Aziraphale had learned, so who was he to know or expect the emotional range of someone he'd only just met? “I'll... try to continue to not. Could I see your metal blocks now?”
“Yes, let's.” Crowley led him further in to the library, between tall shelves that rose high enough that even Crowley with his height would have trouble reaching the top shelf. The room was quiet, almost eerily so, except for the soft sounds of their shoes on the hard wood. They twisted and turned and almost seemed to go in a complete circle before they reached the great machine that dominated the back end.
A long table, with a scattering of blank or partially filled pages, fed into the machine which seemed to house a variety of screws and presses. Crowley leaned against a nearby shelf and couldn't help his smirk at the way Aziraphale gasped and walked right up to it, his hands held so very tightly behind his back as if he were afraid they'd reach out and touch all on their own. “I haven't used it in some time, but this can produce close to three thousand pages a day if I keep an eye on it and refill the ink and paper regularly.”
“Thousands of pages in a single day?” Aziraphale looked back at him, fascinated and quietly stunned. “Really?”
“Mmhmm. Granted that's only if you're making exact copies.” He approached and unscrewed one of the metal plates. “It can print two pages at once, but you have to change the letters for each new one. Still faster than by hand, though.”
“Gosh.” Aziraphale stepped closer to peer at the neat little plates and the neat little letters, so much stronger and easier to work with than wood. “And your magic makes it go even faster, doesn't it?”
“Well, yes. It could.” Crowley turned the metal piece over in his hand. “I would need to be careful with that, however. Even with magic, things can break.”
He nodded. “I understand. It's still incredible. Tha- Ah. I appreciate your sharing this with me, Crowley. I've never seen anything quite like it before. It does make me curious over any other wonders you have hidden here.”
“Perhaps I will show them to you.” He put the piece back in its proper place, very aware of Aziraphale's eyes watching him. “If you'd like I could continue your tour of the castle or show you your room. Eric should be finished with it by now.”
Aziraphale bit his lip, fingers lacing and unlacing as he considered his options. It was difficult to decide which was the proper answer when so many rules had changed for him. “My room, I think. I'd like a chance to wash, if I may, and perhaps I could tour at a later time?”
“As you wish. The castle will continue to be here.”
“And you?”
Crowley smiled a little at him, softer than one might expect a creature like him capable. “I will also be here, Aziraphale. Perhaps not in this room but Eric can lead you to me should you require it.”
“That's lovely to hear. He'll provide me a bit of water and rags to wash with, I hope?”
His smile tipped towards amused. “Eric can retrieve anything you may require or desire so long as it is an item within the castle walls.”
“Lovely. I'll endeavour to not be too much of a pest for him.” Or to Crowley, he promised himself.