Happy Holidays, lemonfruitpie!
Title: A Missing Account from The Book of Tobit
Recipient: lemonfruitpie
Author: foxxfire5
Characters/Pairing:Rating: T (for language usage, some violence, and avian fecal matter)
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale in ancient Assyria before the Agreement but not before they were so very....them.
Author's Notes: One does not have to know anything about The Book of Tobit in order to understand this story. I do hope you like it, lemonfruitpie. :)
Mere friends will agree with you, but real friends will argue.-Assyrian Proverb
In a tavern in Assyria the original odd couple was engaged in a conversation. This had happened largely because they were drinking in the same establishment and at the same table. They hadn’t planned the meeting, as such, but if one or the other of them had happened to mention they were going to be there, well, that was hearsay. Neither of them had actually premeditated anything. Technically they were Enemies but they were automatically associated with one another in job semblance if nothing else.
“I Blessed a young human today,” the fussier one of the two said, glancing distastefully at the drink he’d been served before miracling it into wine. He had soft edges and clean fingernails and was clad in a dowdy beige tunic with a large fabric belt that had a red and yellow checked pattern1 and a conical felt fez. His garments were obviously comfortable, if by comfortable one meant ‘well-worn’. Nothing in particular revealed that he was an angel, unless one counted his over-polite attitude.
The second man-shaped being-a demon locally called Khrowlee son of Anokeen and otherwise known just as Crowley-made a noise that vaguely indicated acknowledgment. In keeping with the local fashion he wore a fine linen tunic and fringed shawls wrapped around his waist and torso that were held in place with a wide cloth belt and a thinner leather belt that held a dagger. The shawls were beautifully patterned with concentric circles of blue and black. In short, everything about his garb and even his long, carefully combed and waved dark hair said wealth, status, and in vogue unlike his cohort.
The demon peered into his jug, his eyes hidden in a carefully constructed shadow caused by the turban wrapped low on his forehead. “What is this supposed to be, other then mazītu2? It smells like horse piss.”
Crowley narrowed his obscured eyes at the drink, which made the fortunate choice to turn into a high grade wine as well.
“I think it might be,” the angel Aziraphale replied dryly. Not to be outdone by the demon, he too had a human style name that he usually remembered to answer to, so long as he wasn’t reading. It was Azarifel son of Azarias3. “Or, at the least, it contains quite a bit of equine secretions and other unsavory ingredients.” He sniffed. “It most certainly is not the fermented date beverage advertised.”
“You were saying?”
“In return for you warning me about that high-ranking demon fellow, I’d like to warn you not to go near that boy I Blessed or his family. His name is Tobias and he’s the son of Tobit and Anna of the tribe of…of… Oh, I believe it’s the Naphtali; there are so many of them… Anyway, the family’s living here in Nineveh. I shouldn’t go near them if I were you, seeing as they’re divinely protected and under Observation.”
Crowley nodded. “For the record, I didn’t warn you about anything. I mentioned it in passing, that’s all. Still, since you warned me about Blessed Boy-”
“His name is Tobias.”
“-I might as well add that ‘high-ranking demon fellow’ is still hanging around, so keep your wits about you.”
It was Aziraphale’s turn to nod. “Thank you again for your help.”
“I don’t help, angel; I bargain. Trade. Make deals.”
“Of course, dear.”
Crowley made a face at the endearment. They fell into silence, both drinking their self-provided drinks, but it wasn’t an uneasy silence.
Many, many drinks and, in fact, jugs later, the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley were leaving the tavern. The two beings were walking close together, nearly, but not quite, leaning against each other in an effort to keep upright.
“…I still say the inci-inc-event with the bull-jumper in Knossos was a bit much.”
Crowley smirked. “He had it comin’.”
“Impalement’s never the righ’ solution to an argument.”
“Accordin’ to you. I enjoyed it. ‘Sides, nobody died.”
“If I hadn’t stepped in, they would’ve.”
Crowley shrugged, offsetting his balance and sending him teetering into his companion’s side. “’m evil.”
The angel grabbed the demon and helped him straighten. Aziraphale grinned lopsidedly.
“What y’ are is,” he began, squinting at Crowley as though his vision was impaired by his inebriation. “What y’are is drunk,” he said, in the tone of voice that said he believed this to be a statement of some importance.
“Ssso’re you,” Crowley said, slipping into a hiss. “Up for ‘nother round at my place?”
Aziraphale attempted, for appearances sake, to look scandalized by this invitation, but merely looked pleased, and slightly sick, instead. “S’ppose I ought to join you, to keep you from trouble.”
Crowley laughed at that, and they tottered forward, heading toward a shadowy shape sitting against a wall ahead. The demon, even inebriated, kept an eye on the figure as they approached and then relaxed; it was a blinded beggar that also lacked, one could guess by the bandaging, a nose.
The man didn’t even have to ask; Aziraphale was already taking several shekels from the pouch he wore at his cloth waistband. He handed them to the beggar.
“C’mon, angel, let’sss get out of here,” Crowley said, grabbing his arm and dragging him forward. “This area isn’t safe. ‘Specially when you go ‘round flashing silver.”
“I can’t help it, Crowley,” the angel replied, stumbling slightly. “I feel for ‘im an’ others like him. I’ve tried to guide them,” he said, meaning humanity, “but they do things like that. Horrid things. T’other people.”
“An eye for an eye is technic’lly fair, you know.”
“Yes, but there’s lopping someone’s hand off for striking someone, too, and that isn’t. Not t’ mention cutting off noses at any whipstitch.”
“Extremisssts, humans.”
“Yess-er, quite right.”
They were interrupted by two humans who stepped out of the shadows with, in Crowley’s opinion, an amateur attempt at looming over them.
“‘Lo,” Aziraphale said, genially enough, but with a trace of wariness. Just because he was an angel didn’t mean he had to be a fool, after all.
The shorter of the men drew a knife that was already stained with blood. “Give us your silver.”
“Pardon-?” Aziraphale began at the same time Crowley asked, “Or what?”
The one with the knife pressed it into the angel’s stomach hard enough to lightly dent in clothing and flesh. “Your shekels or I gut him4.”
Aziraphale blinked.
“Don’t you touch him,” the demon hissed. If he’d had hackles, they would have been raised.
“Or what?” the shorter mugger asked mockingly.
“Want me to see to him?” the partner inquired, looking at Crowley.
“No. He moves and this one’s insides go in the dirt.” The first man pressed the knife into Aziraphale’s stomach harder, so that a tiny spot of blood appeared on his tunic.
“Oh my,” the angel breathed as he sobered up.
“I tol’ you-” Crowley growled.
“Don’t move!” the lead assailant snapped at Aziraphale, who had shifted, perhaps to get away from the knife, perhaps to perform a miracle. As the man yelled, the knife dug in a little deeper. The red speckle of blood turned into a medium sized spot.
“-to keep your damned hands off of him!” Crowley was looming over the humans impressively, effectively dwarfing their own efforts, and he would have done something horrific, no doubt, if the subject of discussion hadn’t let out a polite cough.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured with an odd look on his face. “Sober up, please.”
A blink and then the demon paused. He refused to look embarrassed. “Look, Aziraphale, these are new sandals and I’d hate to have you bleed all over them, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just set these guys on fire.”
The muggers stared. The short one asked, “Do you not see the blade I’m wielding?”
“Thoughtful of you to offer, but I think,” Aziraphale concentrated, and the knife turned into a loaf of bread, “that will suffice.”
“They’ll burn anyway, eventually.”
“Perhaps. Please expose your eyes and frighten them away, now; there’s a dear.”
Crowley pushed back his turban and complied. “Fuck off.”
The muggers obligingly ran away in terror.
“Do try and repent,” Aziraphale called after them.
“You’re still bleeding.”
“Ah.” With a wave he healed himself, though he left the spot.
“You could get rid of that.”
“Some of us aren’t frivolous with our miracling.”
“You turned a knife into a loaf of bread.”
“I was saving myself from an inconvenient discorporation!”
“Look…I can hardly stand to be in the same vicinity as your regular clothes, let alone ones with blood on them. My place isn’t that far and I’ve got spare tunics. It’ll be the nicest one you’ve ever worn. Plus I still have alcohol.” Crowley’s tone was grudging, as if Aziraphale had forced the information out of him.
“I suppose,” the angel said with a smile, “that I ought to do as I said earlier and come along to keep you out of trouble.”
“Keep me out of trouble? You’re the one who had the knife at his stomach.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Rarely.”
“Oh hush.”
They continued walking, maintaining a companionable silence broken only by Aziraphale occasionally looking down at the blood stain and muttering something about the cost of good wool5. The pair had nearly reached the end of the shady district in Nineveh when they stumbled across a man passed out in a courtyard. Aziraphale literally almost fell over the human.
“It’s probably a trap,” Crowley said warily, glancing around as if he would, in fact, have to incinerate some muggers before the night was over.
“No. That’s- It can’t be.” Aziraphale bent down to take a closer look at the snoring man. “Oh goodness. It is.”
“Come to the point already, angel.”
“This is Tobit,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley looked at him blankly. “The righteous Israelite I told you about-the one who fathered the boy I just Blessed. Whatever could he be doing here?”
“Sleeping,” Crowley said, unhelpfully.
“He must have been out burying some poor soul again,” the angel estimated. “You see, Tobias was Blessed because his father attracted Official Notice for providing proper burials for executed and wrongfully slain men of faith.”
“There’re a lot of other things he could have been doing, especially in this area. Besides, the man reeks of alcohol.”
“Digging a grave makes a fellow thirsty, I imagine,” Aziraphale said dubiously.
“So do the brothels, which are close by.”
“Oh nonsense. Tobit is married-”
“That makes it even more likely that he-”
“And he doesn’t smell of perfume or incense.”
“Just lots of alcohol,” the demon replied before he considered his counterpart’s words. Then he goggled. “How the-how would you know what a brothel smells like?”
“I minister to everyone, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied primly.
“Right.” The demon snorted.
I”t’s the reason Sennacherib exiled him in the first place.”
“For whoring?”
“For burying executed Israelites. You know-”
“I don’t,” Crowley said, in the tone of one who’d rather not hear the rest, thanks.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and the demon sighed and fell silent. “I was merely going to point out that it seems a bit bold. The ruler who exiled him only just died, his family is just now settled back into the city, and already he goes out and starts burying people again.”
“Fascinating. Maybe he likes dead people. Let’s go, shall we?”
“Let me bless this area.” The angel glanced at his companion sideways. “Don’t worry, it shan’t bother you, merely those who would do harm to Tobit.”
Aziraphale walked into the first corner of the courtyard, apparently going to bless each one. Rolling his eyes, Crowley crossed his arms and waited. A small, sand-colored bird with a brown tail hopped up to him and cocked its head.
“Go away,” he said as it took little hops around him, ruffling its feathers. The demon didn’t know, or care, that he was standing near the desert lark’s nest.
“Choo-wee!” It replied6
“Bugger off, bird.”
“Choo-wee-chacha-wooee!” The lark went into full blown protective mode, and flew at Crowley’s face, chirping loudly.
“Finished,” Aziraphale said.
The bird did not let up its attack. For the second time in an hour, Crowley pushed up his linen headdress and hissed with his Serpent eyes fully visible.
The desert lark let out the avian equivalent of a screech and winged away as quickly as it could. Unfortunately, at the exact moment the bird let loose quite a bit of droppings in fear, it happened to be right over the sleeping human’s head.
Tobit awakened instantly, sitting up with hands clasped to his face screaming, “My eyes! My eyes!”
“Crow-” Aziraphale began, but stopped when Crowley spread his wings. “What are you-?”
“I’m leaving. If this guy’s under Observation, I can’t afford being mixed up in this-and neither can you.”
“But I-”
“Your duty was to Bless his son; that’s finished, so some other angel will take care of him.”
“But what if he’s seriously wounded?”
“It’s burning, it’s buuurning,” Tobit cried, seemingly oblivious to the divine and infernal beings.
“That’s it,” Aziraphale began. “I’m going to-“
“He’s exaggerating,” Crowley said, taking to the air and pulling Aziraphale with him, leaving the Principality the choice of being dragged by Crowley or opening his own wings. “Humans always do.”
Fretting openly, the angel reluctantly spread his wings. “I ought to at least check-“
“Come on or I’ll personally make sure the bird comes back and bites him,” the demon threw out. “You’re already in enough trouble without them connecting you to this.”
“Birds peck, they don’t bite,” Aziraphale responded. “And I’m not involved in this-you’re the one-“
“Ah, but if you heal him, they’ll know you were here, and then they’ll check into things, and they’ll sense that I was here-”
Below them, miraculously unable to hear the argument above, Tobit was frantically wiping his eyes with the bottom of his robe. He crawled over to a trough that the donkeys and horses used, splashing his face vigorously. “That’s better,” he said.
“There, ssee? No harm, no foul. Except for the fowl.”
“Shut up, Crowley. That poor man is in pain and you’re making terrible puns.”
“Demon.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” The angel hesitated. “He does seem to have recovered…”
And so Aziraphale and Crowley fled the scene. Tobit made it home on his own, though within a week his eyes were crusted shut. He eventually went blind, though in reality it is hard to say whether it was the avian fecal matter or the saliva of pack animals that brought about the infection7.
Either way, Crowley took full credit for the blinding of a Blessed man, once he realized he wouldn’t get smote for it. Aziraphale was rather unimpressed although he allowed his counterpart some posturing about his evil deed. After all, the angel knew the demon had only been incidentally responsible but Crowley didn’t need to know that he really wasn’t all that evil in the broad scheme of things…even if the desert lark would disagree.
1The first middle-eastern prototype for tartan, no doubt.
2Ancient Akkadian for ‘cheap beer’.
3 If you get the reference, the author loves you forever.
4I’m sure there was an ancient Akkadian version of this classic threat but alas it has been lost to history. Perhaps ‘show me your silver or I show you your insides’?
5Incidentally, fabric made from wool did come in a range of prices but linen was a much more expensive luxury. Hence why Aziraphale wore wool and Crowley wore linen.
6Majestic, isn’t it?
7Yes, Tobit being blinded by bird droppings was in the actual Book of Tobit.
Happy Holidays, lemonfruitpie, from your Secret Writer!
Recipient: lemonfruitpie
Author: foxxfire5
Characters/Pairing:Rating: T (for language usage, some violence, and avian fecal matter)
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale in ancient Assyria before the Agreement but not before they were so very....them.
Author's Notes: One does not have to know anything about The Book of Tobit in order to understand this story. I do hope you like it, lemonfruitpie. :)
Mere friends will agree with you, but real friends will argue.-Assyrian Proverb
In a tavern in Assyria the original odd couple was engaged in a conversation. This had happened largely because they were drinking in the same establishment and at the same table. They hadn’t planned the meeting, as such, but if one or the other of them had happened to mention they were going to be there, well, that was hearsay. Neither of them had actually premeditated anything. Technically they were Enemies but they were automatically associated with one another in job semblance if nothing else.
“I Blessed a young human today,” the fussier one of the two said, glancing distastefully at the drink he’d been served before miracling it into wine. He had soft edges and clean fingernails and was clad in a dowdy beige tunic with a large fabric belt that had a red and yellow checked pattern1 and a conical felt fez. His garments were obviously comfortable, if by comfortable one meant ‘well-worn’. Nothing in particular revealed that he was an angel, unless one counted his over-polite attitude.
The second man-shaped being-a demon locally called Khrowlee son of Anokeen and otherwise known just as Crowley-made a noise that vaguely indicated acknowledgment. In keeping with the local fashion he wore a fine linen tunic and fringed shawls wrapped around his waist and torso that were held in place with a wide cloth belt and a thinner leather belt that held a dagger. The shawls were beautifully patterned with concentric circles of blue and black. In short, everything about his garb and even his long, carefully combed and waved dark hair said wealth, status, and in vogue unlike his cohort.
The demon peered into his jug, his eyes hidden in a carefully constructed shadow caused by the turban wrapped low on his forehead. “What is this supposed to be, other then mazītu2? It smells like horse piss.”
Crowley narrowed his obscured eyes at the drink, which made the fortunate choice to turn into a high grade wine as well.
“I think it might be,” the angel Aziraphale replied dryly. Not to be outdone by the demon, he too had a human style name that he usually remembered to answer to, so long as he wasn’t reading. It was Azarifel son of Azarias3. “Or, at the least, it contains quite a bit of equine secretions and other unsavory ingredients.” He sniffed. “It most certainly is not the fermented date beverage advertised.”
“You were saying?”
“In return for you warning me about that high-ranking demon fellow, I’d like to warn you not to go near that boy I Blessed or his family. His name is Tobias and he’s the son of Tobit and Anna of the tribe of…of… Oh, I believe it’s the Naphtali; there are so many of them… Anyway, the family’s living here in Nineveh. I shouldn’t go near them if I were you, seeing as they’re divinely protected and under Observation.”
Crowley nodded. “For the record, I didn’t warn you about anything. I mentioned it in passing, that’s all. Still, since you warned me about Blessed Boy-”
“His name is Tobias.”
“-I might as well add that ‘high-ranking demon fellow’ is still hanging around, so keep your wits about you.”
It was Aziraphale’s turn to nod. “Thank you again for your help.”
“I don’t help, angel; I bargain. Trade. Make deals.”
“Of course, dear.”
Crowley made a face at the endearment. They fell into silence, both drinking their self-provided drinks, but it wasn’t an uneasy silence.
Many, many drinks and, in fact, jugs later, the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley were leaving the tavern. The two beings were walking close together, nearly, but not quite, leaning against each other in an effort to keep upright.
“…I still say the inci-inc-event with the bull-jumper in Knossos was a bit much.”
Crowley smirked. “He had it comin’.”
“Impalement’s never the righ’ solution to an argument.”
“Accordin’ to you. I enjoyed it. ‘Sides, nobody died.”
“If I hadn’t stepped in, they would’ve.”
Crowley shrugged, offsetting his balance and sending him teetering into his companion’s side. “’m evil.”
The angel grabbed the demon and helped him straighten. Aziraphale grinned lopsidedly.
“What y’ are is,” he began, squinting at Crowley as though his vision was impaired by his inebriation. “What y’are is drunk,” he said, in the tone of voice that said he believed this to be a statement of some importance.
“Ssso’re you,” Crowley said, slipping into a hiss. “Up for ‘nother round at my place?”
Aziraphale attempted, for appearances sake, to look scandalized by this invitation, but merely looked pleased, and slightly sick, instead. “S’ppose I ought to join you, to keep you from trouble.”
Crowley laughed at that, and they tottered forward, heading toward a shadowy shape sitting against a wall ahead. The demon, even inebriated, kept an eye on the figure as they approached and then relaxed; it was a blinded beggar that also lacked, one could guess by the bandaging, a nose.
The man didn’t even have to ask; Aziraphale was already taking several shekels from the pouch he wore at his cloth waistband. He handed them to the beggar.
“C’mon, angel, let’sss get out of here,” Crowley said, grabbing his arm and dragging him forward. “This area isn’t safe. ‘Specially when you go ‘round flashing silver.”
“I can’t help it, Crowley,” the angel replied, stumbling slightly. “I feel for ‘im an’ others like him. I’ve tried to guide them,” he said, meaning humanity, “but they do things like that. Horrid things. T’other people.”
“An eye for an eye is technic’lly fair, you know.”
“Yes, but there’s lopping someone’s hand off for striking someone, too, and that isn’t. Not t’ mention cutting off noses at any whipstitch.”
“Extremisssts, humans.”
“Yess-er, quite right.”
They were interrupted by two humans who stepped out of the shadows with, in Crowley’s opinion, an amateur attempt at looming over them.
“‘Lo,” Aziraphale said, genially enough, but with a trace of wariness. Just because he was an angel didn’t mean he had to be a fool, after all.
The shorter of the men drew a knife that was already stained with blood. “Give us your silver.”
“Pardon-?” Aziraphale began at the same time Crowley asked, “Or what?”
The one with the knife pressed it into the angel’s stomach hard enough to lightly dent in clothing and flesh. “Your shekels or I gut him4.”
Aziraphale blinked.
“Don’t you touch him,” the demon hissed. If he’d had hackles, they would have been raised.
“Or what?” the shorter mugger asked mockingly.
“Want me to see to him?” the partner inquired, looking at Crowley.
“No. He moves and this one’s insides go in the dirt.” The first man pressed the knife into Aziraphale’s stomach harder, so that a tiny spot of blood appeared on his tunic.
“Oh my,” the angel breathed as he sobered up.
“I tol’ you-” Crowley growled.
“Don’t move!” the lead assailant snapped at Aziraphale, who had shifted, perhaps to get away from the knife, perhaps to perform a miracle. As the man yelled, the knife dug in a little deeper. The red speckle of blood turned into a medium sized spot.
“-to keep your damned hands off of him!” Crowley was looming over the humans impressively, effectively dwarfing their own efforts, and he would have done something horrific, no doubt, if the subject of discussion hadn’t let out a polite cough.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured with an odd look on his face. “Sober up, please.”
A blink and then the demon paused. He refused to look embarrassed. “Look, Aziraphale, these are new sandals and I’d hate to have you bleed all over them, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just set these guys on fire.”
The muggers stared. The short one asked, “Do you not see the blade I’m wielding?”
“Thoughtful of you to offer, but I think,” Aziraphale concentrated, and the knife turned into a loaf of bread, “that will suffice.”
“They’ll burn anyway, eventually.”
“Perhaps. Please expose your eyes and frighten them away, now; there’s a dear.”
Crowley pushed back his turban and complied. “Fuck off.”
The muggers obligingly ran away in terror.
“Do try and repent,” Aziraphale called after them.
“You’re still bleeding.”
“Ah.” With a wave he healed himself, though he left the spot.
“You could get rid of that.”
“Some of us aren’t frivolous with our miracling.”
“You turned a knife into a loaf of bread.”
“I was saving myself from an inconvenient discorporation!”
“Look…I can hardly stand to be in the same vicinity as your regular clothes, let alone ones with blood on them. My place isn’t that far and I’ve got spare tunics. It’ll be the nicest one you’ve ever worn. Plus I still have alcohol.” Crowley’s tone was grudging, as if Aziraphale had forced the information out of him.
“I suppose,” the angel said with a smile, “that I ought to do as I said earlier and come along to keep you out of trouble.”
“Keep me out of trouble? You’re the one who had the knife at his stomach.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Rarely.”
“Oh hush.”
They continued walking, maintaining a companionable silence broken only by Aziraphale occasionally looking down at the blood stain and muttering something about the cost of good wool5. The pair had nearly reached the end of the shady district in Nineveh when they stumbled across a man passed out in a courtyard. Aziraphale literally almost fell over the human.
“It’s probably a trap,” Crowley said warily, glancing around as if he would, in fact, have to incinerate some muggers before the night was over.
“No. That’s- It can’t be.” Aziraphale bent down to take a closer look at the snoring man. “Oh goodness. It is.”
“Come to the point already, angel.”
“This is Tobit,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley looked at him blankly. “The righteous Israelite I told you about-the one who fathered the boy I just Blessed. Whatever could he be doing here?”
“Sleeping,” Crowley said, unhelpfully.
“He must have been out burying some poor soul again,” the angel estimated. “You see, Tobias was Blessed because his father attracted Official Notice for providing proper burials for executed and wrongfully slain men of faith.”
“There’re a lot of other things he could have been doing, especially in this area. Besides, the man reeks of alcohol.”
“Digging a grave makes a fellow thirsty, I imagine,” Aziraphale said dubiously.
“So do the brothels, which are close by.”
“Oh nonsense. Tobit is married-”
“That makes it even more likely that he-”
“And he doesn’t smell of perfume or incense.”
“Just lots of alcohol,” the demon replied before he considered his counterpart’s words. Then he goggled. “How the-how would you know what a brothel smells like?”
“I minister to everyone, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied primly.
“Right.” The demon snorted.
I”t’s the reason Sennacherib exiled him in the first place.”
“For whoring?”
“For burying executed Israelites. You know-”
“I don’t,” Crowley said, in the tone of one who’d rather not hear the rest, thanks.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and the demon sighed and fell silent. “I was merely going to point out that it seems a bit bold. The ruler who exiled him only just died, his family is just now settled back into the city, and already he goes out and starts burying people again.”
“Fascinating. Maybe he likes dead people. Let’s go, shall we?”
“Let me bless this area.” The angel glanced at his companion sideways. “Don’t worry, it shan’t bother you, merely those who would do harm to Tobit.”
Aziraphale walked into the first corner of the courtyard, apparently going to bless each one. Rolling his eyes, Crowley crossed his arms and waited. A small, sand-colored bird with a brown tail hopped up to him and cocked its head.
“Go away,” he said as it took little hops around him, ruffling its feathers. The demon didn’t know, or care, that he was standing near the desert lark’s nest.
“Choo-wee!” It replied6
“Bugger off, bird.”
“Choo-wee-chacha-wooee!” The lark went into full blown protective mode, and flew at Crowley’s face, chirping loudly.
“Finished,” Aziraphale said.
The bird did not let up its attack. For the second time in an hour, Crowley pushed up his linen headdress and hissed with his Serpent eyes fully visible.
The desert lark let out the avian equivalent of a screech and winged away as quickly as it could. Unfortunately, at the exact moment the bird let loose quite a bit of droppings in fear, it happened to be right over the sleeping human’s head.
Tobit awakened instantly, sitting up with hands clasped to his face screaming, “My eyes! My eyes!”
“Crow-” Aziraphale began, but stopped when Crowley spread his wings. “What are you-?”
“I’m leaving. If this guy’s under Observation, I can’t afford being mixed up in this-and neither can you.”
“But I-”
“Your duty was to Bless his son; that’s finished, so some other angel will take care of him.”
“But what if he’s seriously wounded?”
“It’s burning, it’s buuurning,” Tobit cried, seemingly oblivious to the divine and infernal beings.
“That’s it,” Aziraphale began. “I’m going to-“
“He’s exaggerating,” Crowley said, taking to the air and pulling Aziraphale with him, leaving the Principality the choice of being dragged by Crowley or opening his own wings. “Humans always do.”
Fretting openly, the angel reluctantly spread his wings. “I ought to at least check-“
“Come on or I’ll personally make sure the bird comes back and bites him,” the demon threw out. “You’re already in enough trouble without them connecting you to this.”
“Birds peck, they don’t bite,” Aziraphale responded. “And I’m not involved in this-you’re the one-“
“Ah, but if you heal him, they’ll know you were here, and then they’ll check into things, and they’ll sense that I was here-”
Below them, miraculously unable to hear the argument above, Tobit was frantically wiping his eyes with the bottom of his robe. He crawled over to a trough that the donkeys and horses used, splashing his face vigorously. “That’s better,” he said.
“There, ssee? No harm, no foul. Except for the fowl.”
“Shut up, Crowley. That poor man is in pain and you’re making terrible puns.”
“Demon.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” The angel hesitated. “He does seem to have recovered…”
And so Aziraphale and Crowley fled the scene. Tobit made it home on his own, though within a week his eyes were crusted shut. He eventually went blind, though in reality it is hard to say whether it was the avian fecal matter or the saliva of pack animals that brought about the infection7.
Either way, Crowley took full credit for the blinding of a Blessed man, once he realized he wouldn’t get smote for it. Aziraphale was rather unimpressed although he allowed his counterpart some posturing about his evil deed. After all, the angel knew the demon had only been incidentally responsible but Crowley didn’t need to know that he really wasn’t all that evil in the broad scheme of things…even if the desert lark would disagree.
1The first middle-eastern prototype for tartan, no doubt.
2Ancient Akkadian for ‘cheap beer’.
3 If you get the reference, the author loves you forever.
4I’m sure there was an ancient Akkadian version of this classic threat but alas it has been lost to history. Perhaps ‘show me your silver or I show you your insides’?
5Incidentally, fabric made from wool did come in a range of prices but linen was a much more expensive luxury. Hence why Aziraphale wore wool and Crowley wore linen.
6Majestic, isn’t it?
7Yes, Tobit being blinded by bird droppings was in the actual Book of Tobit.
Happy Holidays, lemonfruitpie, from your Secret Writer!