Happy Holidays, Sous-le-Saule! (2 of 3)
Title: Strange Shape
Recipient: sous-le-saule
Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, Adam Young, Mr. Young, some other people
Rating: Teen (See warnings)
Word Count: 7,076
Notes: Thanks to Steve and Thor for agreeing to read over this the day before it was due. In additions, thanks to Microsoft Word and GrammarCheck for reviewing my story and pointing out errors even though I disagreed with many of them (GrammarCheck seems to have a grudge against passive voice).
Warnings: Body horror. The prompt for this story is Crowley getting stuck in a strange shape, and I decided that I would add description of what that looks like instead of glossing over it like the book does. I don’t think it is too graphic or disturbing, but I included this to be safe.
Disclaimer: I do not own Aziraphale, Crowley, Adam Young, or Mr. Young. They belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
Summary: Crowley gets harassed by demanding Satanists and transforms into a scarier shape to scare them away. Unfortunately, he is unable to switch back, and has to go to Aziraphale for help.
It was a dark and clear night. Crowley rolled over in his pristine bed, fast asleep. One of the many activities he enjoyed on earth was sleeping, and ever since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, he’d made a habit of enjoying a good night’s rest at least once a week. In his opinion, eight hours of relaxing and not having to deal with the world were eight hours well spent.
Unfortunately, it seemed like he wouldn’t get the chance to do that tonight. Even in his unconscious state, he could feel an invisible force tugging at him. He barely had time to register what was going on before he was yanked out of bed and roughly deposited on a cold concrete floor.
He stood up, blessing under his breath as he did so, and looked around. The room was pitch black, but due to his ability to see in the dark, it wasn’t long before he could discern that he was in what looked like an abandoned storage house. Multiple robed figures huddled around him, keeping some distance away from a red line painted on the floor. One of them had a book in hand, and another was standing in front of a table with a bowl and various ingredients commonly used in spells and summoning rituals. Eventually, Crowley was able to put the pieces together in his still half asleep mind-set, and he felt his stomach drop. Oh, crap. They were those kinds of Satanists.
The hooded figure holding the book stepped forward and boomed in a deep, authoritative voice, “You are the serpent of Eden, are you not?”
Crowley tried to walk forward but was quickly intercepted by an invisible barrier. He studied the ground and realized that what he originally thought was a red line was a trap meant to keep him confined within the circle unless the sigil creator desired otherwise. Resisting the urge to groan, he said, “If I am, what difference does it make?”
“I have summoned you here, serpent,” the hooded figure continued, ignoring Crowley’s question, “So that you may do our bidding.”
Of course, that’s what they wanted. “Look,” Crowley said, trying to keep his tone level. “I don’t know if you know this, but I don’t do other people’s bidding. That’s not my job.” While talking, he tried to escape the circle with no success. “If you let me out, I’m sure I could get you in touch with someone who would be happy to help you.”
Suddenly, something burned the tops of his feet. He jumped back just in time and saw small, white crystalline grains littered on the floor. Blessed salt. Evidently, they didn’t bless it enough if the skin of his foot was still intact, but it still hurt just the same.
“You think you can fool us?” the one with the book asked more menacingly. “If we let you free, then you will just leave. No! We did not want to deal with any ordinary demon. We only wanted the best, the most cunning, the most ruthless, and since you are bound to our words, you must do as we say.”
An icy feeling rose within Crowley, one of both fear and anger. He was half tempted to tell this impertinent mortal that it had no power over him. However, he knew that humans were sometimes capable of more than they appeared to be. Although it was rare that this one was telling the truth, it was possible. Since force was not an option, he opted for talking.
“Listen,” he said as persuasively as he could manage. “I’m flattered by your kind words, but I am serious when I say that there are many other demons out there who are more skilled at this sort of business than I am. I could call them up easily, and then you would not have to deal with any of this. And even if I was lying, which I’m not, you could easily use your influence to call me back. See? It’s a win-win. So, if you all could just let me out of the circle then I can -”
He didn’t get any farther, as suddenly all the Satanists were flinging salt crystals at him. While he managed to dodge most of them, a few managed to hit him in the face and even get in his eyes. This caused him to yell in pain and stumble back against the opposite side of the invisible barrier. It could have been his imagination, but it sounded like a few of the humans were laughing.
“Enough with your lies!” the apparent leader thundered. “Your tricks might have worked on Adam and Eve, but we will not be deceived. If you continue to evade your servitude to us, then we will be forced to use more dire tactics than this salt.”
Crowley glared at the hooded figures, trying to look as menacing as possible. It worked partially; about half of them took a step back. Another large chunk of them shuffled their feet while keeping their gazes fixed on their leader. The only ones that seemed entirely unfazed were the leader and the one behind the table.
Just then, the person standing next to the leader stepped forward and jeered, “Yeah. You don’t scare us. Glare all you want, but you’re just a scrawny wimp in lame pajamas.”
The leader had turned and started scolding the other for such irresponsible behavior, but Crowley was no longer paying attention. Normally, this sort of comment would not have bothered him. After being dragged out of bed, summoned against his will and bossed around by a bunch of overzealous Satanists, assaulted with blessed salt (heh), and threatened in the span of one night, he was much less agreeable. So, they wanted someone more menacing? They would get it.
The transformation happened in less than a few seconds. When the arguing Satanists turned back to the circle, they found themselves being towered over by a much more terrifying entity than the one that they originally summoned. Crowley was around nine feet tall and almost touched the ceiling. His eyes were glowing, which made the yellow and vertically slitted pupils much more visible to the humans. Similar eyes began popping up on his face and the parts of his body that were showing. His once smooth skin was now replaced with shiny, metallic scales. The dark hair on his head had turned into a writhing mass of shadowy tendrils. Behind him, a long and pointed tail whipped around, making a loud crack when it struck the ground. Sharp claws sprung from his fingertips, and when he smiled, rows of razor-sharp teeth were exposed. As an added measure, maggots crawled all over his skin and clothes.
A loud thump indicated that the book the leader was holding had dropped to the floor. The Satanists stared in wide-eyed horror at the much more frightening looking demon that stood before them.
Crowley looked down at them, and when he spoke, it sounded like multiple voices talking at once. “So, is this a more fitting look for you?” He asked this question in a rhetorical tone.
As if on cue, they all screamed and sprinted towards the exit, not bothering to get their belongings. Since none of them wanted to be anywhere near Crowley in his new form, he was able to step out of the circle easily. He spotted a still burning candle on the table, which he used to burn the book the lead Satanist had used. Although he knew Aziraphale would get mad at this mistreatment of books, he did not want anyone else getting their hands on it and trying the ritual again.
“Good riddance,” he muttered under his breath. So much for a good night of sleep. Hopefully there was still enough time to get some more shut eye before the day started. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to change back to his usual shape, hop into bed, and sleep away this unpleasant experience. So, the first thing to do was return to human form.
...Except nothing happened. He was still three feet too tall and had way more eyes than the average human should have. No problem, he thought, ignoring the slowly emerging panic. If he focused hard enough, surely, he would be back to normal. He closed his eyes and thought as hard as he could about what he looked like before this whole summoning catastrophe.
When he opened his eyes, he was still almost touching the ceiling. For the second time, he blessed under his breath. This was why he tried to avoid shape shifting when he could. You never knew when your next transformation would be your last. Hopefully, this would be over after a few days, but even a few days looking like this seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. No, he needed to get help so he could change back as soon as possible, and there was only one person he knew he could go to.
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Aziraphale sat in the back of the bookshop, drinking cocoa and reading through the Buggre Alle This Bible for the nth time. Unlike Crowley, he didn’t see any need for sleep. After all, as the saying went, virtue was ever vigilant. Besides, he would be wasting away precious hours that could be spent with his beloved books.
The bell above the front door sounded, signaling that a customer had entered. Sighing in annoyance, Aziraphale set his book down and called over his shoulder, “We’re closed.”
He listened for the sound of the customer leaving but it did not come. He stood up, grumbling under his breath about incessant customers not understanding the purpose of opening hours. “Listen, sir, madam, or whatever you go by,” he lectured as he headed out towards the main shop area. “If you want to browse through these books you must leave and return during - Ohhh, dear!” He halted when he caught sight of who was in the store.
Standing smack in the middle of the floor was what he could only describe as a monster. He doubted that any angel would dare be caught looking like such, and concluded that it must be a demon. His heart nearly stopped at the thought. Maybe this demon had been sent to retrieve Crowley so he could be punished for Almostgeddon, or perhaps it came here to dispose of him. Either way, he guessed that it did not have good intentions.
In a flash, he had his book pointed out threateningly. “Stay back, hell spawn!” he warned. “If I need to resort to smiting, I shall not hesitate to do so.”
To his surprise, it replied in a deadpan way, “Oh, please, angel. I know you. You wouldn’t use that book for a weapon any more than you would use it for firewood.”
When the demon talked, it sounded like multiple people speaking simultaneously. Still, there was one thread that was unmistakable. Aziraphale set his book aside and stepped forward cautiously. “Crowley?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yep, it’s me,” Crowley said, holding up a sharply clawed hand. He had to duck down slightly to not bump his head against the ceiling.
Aziraphale slowly walked forward until he was only a foot away. He gazed up at Crowley’s more fear inducing yet still recognizable visage and asked, “Well, then. Care to explain the new look?”
Crowley gave a precise recount of exactly what happened: getting summoned by the Satanists, them bossing him around and flinging blessed salt, the one impertinent member that called him a scrawny wimp, him transforming into a more frightening form to scare them off, and finally how he was incapable of turning back.
Once he finished, Aziraphale chided, “Dear, you should be more careful when doing this sort of thing.”
Crowley rolled his eyes at the angel’s nagging, which looked rather dizzying due to how many he now had. “I know that now,” he said with irritation. He then muttered to himself about stupid Satanists and their insufferable summoning spells.
Aziraphale paid no mind to his ranting and instead asked, “Well, is there any other methods that you can use to transform back?”
“If I could think of any, I would have done them by now.” Even with the more demonic sounding voice, he still had his usual snark. “If I had more time, I’m sure I could come up with some, but I’ll need a place to hide. The last thing I need is someone seeing me like this.”
“Well, you could stay in the back-room over there,” Aziraphale offered. “Not many customers wander that far, so the only one who goes there is me. Plus, there are no windows, which will lower the chances of anyone snooping.”
“That will work,” Crowley said with a nod. He then seemed to realize something and face palmed. “Great, now I won’t be able to drive the Bentley or go to the Ritz. Looks like I’ll have nothing to look forward to but boredom.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Aziraphale reassured, trying to keep his demeanor light. “It will only be a few days. Besides, I can get you some wine and some books to read.” He made a slight face and added, “Just try not to get too close to the shelves while you’re back there. I don’t want any of the maggots eating away at my first editions.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Crowley said, heading towards the room Aziraphale had been in earlier. Once again, he had to duck to get through the door. When Aziraphale was sure that he was gone, he let the worry he’d been feeling show on his face. Hopefully they would find a solution sooner than later.
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For the next few days, Aziraphale took extra care to make sure that any people who entered the shop stayed as far away from the back-room entrance as possible. Luckily, not many people showed up, and even fewer lingered around for more than a few minutes. His previous customer deterring tactics like erratic hours and glowering looks increased tenfold, and they worked like a charm. Every once in awhile, he went back to check on Crowley, but he otherwise left him alone.
Unfortunately, one customer - a jubilant young man in his twenties - was not picking up on any of the cues and insisted on searching through all the books Aziraphale had. After unsuccessfully using every method short of physical violence to get him to leave, Aziraphale sighed in resignation and sat at the front desk, secretly praying that the man would not find a book he wanted to buy.
His reading was interrupted by a piercing shriek, and the would-be customer sprinted out the front door and tore down the street as though all of Hell’s forces were on his heels. He stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before he got up and walked into the backroom.
Crowley was sitting on the carpeted floor, staring boredly at a now empty wine bottle. When he heard Aziraphale clear his throat, he glanced up. “What?”
“‘What?’” Aziraphale repeated incredulously. “You just scared that young man half to death.”
“All I did was say hi,” Crowley defended, which was technically true. “Besides, he was the one who opened the door, not me.”
Although Aziraphale was skeptical of this, he decided not to press the matter further. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was grateful that Crowley was successful at scaring the nosey man away. “Are you any closer to finding a solution?” he asked, sounding slightly hopeful.
“Nope,” Crowley said. “Still nothing.”
Aziraphale sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Of course not. He stepped back out front, making sure to shut the door firmly behind him, and returned to his book.
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Soon, it was nightfall, and Aziraphale closed up shop. After locking the door so no intruders could get in, he grabbed two bottles of wine from behind his desk that he had bought earlier and headed to the back-room.
Just as he expected, Crowley was still not back in his human form. Right now, he paced around the length of the room while making sure to keep a few feet of distance between himself and the shelves. Occasionally, he would hit his head on the ceiling, where he would curse and rub his head.
When he heard the door open, he glanced over and raised his eyebrows at the bottles. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, noting that these wines were of a particularly fancy brand.
“I just thought it would be a nice change of pace.” Aziraphale shut the door behind himself and grabbed two glasses from the kitchen cupboard. He handed one to Crowley and sat down on a nearby chair. Crowley opted to sit on the floor, making him almost eye level with Aziraphale. He held out his glass, and Aziraphale filled it with wine before pouring some for himself.
After taking a long sip, Aziraphale asked, “Has this sort of thing ever happened to you before?”
Crowley brushed a hand through the tangled mass of darkness that was now his hair and stated, “No, this is completely new to me. The reason that I avoided shapeshifting as much as I could was because I was afraid of something like this happening. Figures that the one time I let my guard down is the one time things go wrong.”
Aziraphale nodded politely and drained half of his wine glass. “Rather unfortunate, I should say. Any chance that you could get a new body?”
“I’d really prefer not to,” Crowley said, waving this idea off. “If I did, I would have to deal with paperwork and explaining what happened to the old one. Besides, I doubt they would see this as a valid reason for needing a new body. Bloody bureaucrats.”
Because of the situation, Aziraphale elected to not comment on Crowley’s language. He attempted to take on an optimistic tone. “Well, I doubt it will be necessary anyways. We can find a solution.”
Crowley did not answer, and the two sat there in silence, drinking the wine and only making the occasional comment. Even though it wasn’t said out loud, both knew there was an underlying worry that this could be irreversible.
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It started out as an uneventful day. No customers appeared, and the street outside was relatively empty. Aziraphale took this as the perfect opportunity to shop for new books. He booted up his old computer and waited for the internet to open. In the meantime, he scanned through a list on his desk of books that he wanted to get his hands on.
“Hm, ‘t’s a lot smaller than I expected it t’be,” a childish voice said.
Even without looking up, Aziraphale knew who it was and felt his blood run cold. That was a voice that he hadn’t heard since Armageddon’t, and he’d secretly hoped he wouldn’t hear it again. Not that Adam was a bad person. After all, he did choose to not go through with the end of the world. However, he still possessed the power to reverse that decision, and Aziraphale prayed that he would not choose to do so.
Hoping that his fear was not clear, Aziraphale smiled and said politely, “Hello, Adam. Lovely to see you. What brings you here?”
Adam still looked the same as he did on that fateful night. His grubby outfit, curly, blonde hair, and mischievous smile all remained unchanged. The only difference was his eyes, which revealed that he’d had experiences beyond his years.
With his piercing gaze fixed on Aziraphale, he said, “My parents are doin’ some shopping down the street. Figured I’d sneak away ‘norder to visit. It’s been a while.”
“Ah, yes, it has been, hasn’t it?” Aziraphale said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘Well, it’s been nice talking to you, but you should really get back to your parents. They must be worried sick by now.”
Adam narrowed his eyes, and Aziraphale barely managed to refrain from flinching. “You’re hiding somethin’. I can tell. The whole time, you’ve been fidgeting with that wad of paper.”
Aziraphale looked down and saw the crumpled list in his hand. He tossed it absentmindedly over his shoulder and stuttered out, “Now, I assure you Adam, I have nothing to hide. Crowley and I are getting along splendidly well.”
“Yeah, speakin’ of which, where is he anyway? He’s always hangin’ around with you. Why’d he suddenly run off?”
He spoke with a neutral tone, but he might as well have been interrogating Aziraphale, whose mask of calm contentment had long since disappeared. Beads of sweat stood out on the angel’s hairline.
This reaction alone spoke volumes about the situation, and Adam said with a tinge of accusation, “Let me guess, whatev’r you’re so tense about has somethin’ to do with your friend, and you know exactly where he is.”
For the briefest moment, Aziraphale’s eyes flitted to the back door. It was still too long. Adam spotted this and whipped around. A second later, he was striding across the room.
At this point, Aziraphale no longer bothered concealing his panic. “Now, Adam, I discourage you from doing such a hasty action.”
But it was too late. Adam had thrown the door open and was face to face with a still transformed Crowley. Both of their eyes widened in recognition of each other. When Crowley stood up, Adam had to step back a few paces due to the large height gap, and even then, he still needed to crane his head upwards.
A heavy silence filled the air. Aziraphale watched the two stare at each other in shock and wondered who would be the first to act.
The silence was broken by Crowley, who said uneasily, “Uh, hey Adam. I didn’t expect to see you here.” His attempt at sounding casual was ruined by the obvious dissonance in his voice.
For a moment, Adam just stood there, having been stunned speechless. Slowly, a grin spread across his face, and he exclaimed, “Cor! I never seen you lookin’ like that b’fore.”
This sudden burst of excitement was evidently a surprise to both of them, as they were expecting something more akin to fear. Then again, this was the antichrist they were talking to. Crowley ended up being the one to answer with, “Yeah, probably because I try to avoid shapeshifting when possible.”
Adam frowned at this, as if the thought of not wanting to change forms was incomprehensible. “Why not? That seems like a really cool power to have. It could cert’nly come in handy.”
Crowley seemed reluctant to answer. After being stared down - or perhaps stared up would be more accurate - by Adam, he resigned and said, “Very well, I’ll tell you. Last week, I was summoned by a cult of Satanists. They were arrogant, pushy, and kept flinging their blessed blessed salt everywhere.” He knew this was an exaggeration, but he didn’t care. “Anyways, I got tired of it and changed into this form to scare them away, and now here I am.” The last phrase was accompanied by a “tada” pose that, despite being nonverbal, managed to convey sarcasm.
Through all of this, Adam listened with a thoughtful look on his face. Only after he was sure that Crowley was finished did he finally say, “I don’t get it. If you don’t want t’look like this anymore, why don’tchu just change back?”
Hearing this, Crowley merely scoffed, “If it were that easy, I would have done it by now.” He exhaled and said, “Anyways, the reason I don’t like shapeshifting is because I’m worried that one day I’ll forget how to change back, and now it’s happened.”
This didn’t seem to satisfy Adam. “I find that hard to believe. How can you forget how to change back? It would be like forgetting who you are.”
At first, Crowley didn’t say anything, only blinking in confusion. Then he said, “Explain your reasoning.”
Adam put a finger to his chin. “Well, the form that you take is meant to be a reflection of who you are, right? So as long as you remember who you are, you should be able to remember how to turn back into your typical form.” He explained all of this with confidence, as though there was no doubt that he was incorrect.
The conversation was cut short, however, when the bell above the front door rang. A middle-aged man walked in, spotted Adam, and pointed at him accusingly. “Hey! You aren’t allowed to just wander off whenever you feel like it,” he snapped. “Get over here. Your mother’s been worried sick.”
Both Aziraphale and Crowley were frozen in place, but Adam said nonchalantly, “Hold on. I’ll be out there shortly.”
The man, who was evidently Mr. Young, warned, “You better be,” before promptly exiting the bookshop.
All that could be heard was the ringing of the bell above the door.
Once Aziraphale got over his shock, he asked, “What…? How did he not see…?”
Even though the question was not finished, Adam understood what he was trying to communicate. “Oh, that? That was easy. I didn’t want him t’see anythin’, so he didn’t see anythin’.”
“Now that is a useful skill,” Crowley said. He gestured to himself, “Uh, any chance you could help me with this?”
Adam shook his head. “Nope, sorry. I promised I wouldn’t mess around with powers anymore. Concealin’ you was one thing, but doing somethin’ like that would be pushin’ it. Besides, if I don’t leave soon, then I’ll get grounded again.” He hurried over to the entrance and opened the door. Before stepping out, he waved and said, “Later.”
The door closed with a slam, and Aziraphale and Crowley were alone again. A ping came from Aziraphale’s computer, signaling that it had finally connected to the internet. Neither of them paid notice to it, too wrapped up in reflecting on what just happened. The duo made eye contact for a moment and seemed to reach a silent agreement.
Anyone walking around outside would have been surprised to see the small bookshop sign suddenly switch from “Open” to “Close” even though it was still early afternoon. By lucky chance, however, the street was vacant of all except for a select few.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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