The Bad Shepherd

by fenrislorsrai

Summary:

It should be a simple job. Hunt down one sheep-stealing wolf and get back in his lord’s good graces. It is extremely inconvenient the animal talks and has good arguments for why those are his sheep, thank you very much.

That he can turn into a man is every more inconvenient. Aziraphale isn’t sure what worse, the wolf with that voice or the man with no clothes.

(the wolf has Radio Crowley's voice which is extremely unfair to Aziraphale)

Notes:

Do I need more WIPS? no. absolutely not. This has been one of two WIPs I've been using to fill in prompts for the All That Slithers weekly prompts. Chapter 1 contains "Off to Confront the Beast" (which is how this got started) and "What's that under the bed?" prompts.

Then I glue them all together with more bickerflirting.

Chapter 1

---

Aziraphale heard a child screaming. He jumped up from where he’d been examining some baffling tracks in the muddy ground. He came over a low rise and nearly slid down the other side in the steady rain. He dipped the point of the hunting spear to catch himself before he slid ass first down the sudden slope.

The screaming was clearer and he could now identify it clearly as a lamb. He was getting very, very tired of sheep.

Sheep were what brought him out in the mud and the rain and spring cold that ate into his bones. He was to kill the wolf that was stealing his lord’s sheep. The local hunters had failed, no matter the rewards or punishments offered. Aziaphale had been sent out as similar punishment. Don’t return without the beast’s body..

He was cold, he was wet, and he had yet to see a wolf.

The lamb continued crying and he sighed. He was supposed to be saving sheep so he’d go save this from whatever was distressing it.

He picked his way across the tussocks of slick grass, trying to home in on the sound. He found himself at the edge of a soggy pit. Yet another wolf trap that seemed to do nothing but catch lambs unsteady on their feet.

The lamb looked up at him from the puddle at the bottom and BAWLED.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

He stuck the spear into the edge of the pit and yanked on it to make sure it would stay put before lowering himself down. He didn’t see any sharpened stakes visible in this one, but that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty just below the surface of the water.

He unbuttoned his heavy outer coat and tucked the lamb inside. It was wet and muddy, but so was he. He rebuttoned it so just its nose was sticking out. It had gone quiet now that it was pressed against his warm body. He turned to pull himself back up and found someone looking down at him.

The first thing he noticed was the man was inexplicably dry. The second thing he realized was he was stark naked. He looked down at the lamb. Maybe if he just looked up slowly…

The man was now laying down and had his hand extended down into the pit.

“Least I can do since you have my lamb.”

“Your lamb?”

“My lamb.”

Aziraphale cautiously looked up at the man’s face. His eyes were very yellow and his teeth were very sharp. His dark hair was dry with just a few raindrops clinging to it.

“And what are you going to do with it?”

“Take it back to the rest of the flock.”

“I didn’t see any other sheep nearby.”

“Don’t like them up here. Some idiots keep digging pits. Haven’t filled this one in all the way in yet.”

“Why not? And how did you lose this lamb, if it even is yours?”

“Well it’s not yours! What would you even do with it?” Aziraphale made a noncommittal noise at the question before the man continued. “Had a ewe with a lamb twisted about inside and had to straighten it out. Messy business. Took most of the afternoon. Went to round them all up and I’m short a lamb. Now here you are with my lamb. In the bottom of a very soggy pit.”

“I might suspect you were up to no good-” The man tapped a hand on the spear “-but I will give you the benefit of the doubt this time. Come on now, up and out before you get any wetter.”

Aziraphale stared at the man’s calloused hand. The worst he could do was drop him back in. Probably.

He took it and was hauled out with a great deal of huffing and puffing. The other man was clearly strong, but it was still an awkward angle. Aziraphale braced himself against the spear and scrambled for purchase against the wet sides. One more grunt and he was up and out and the other man was springing to his feet.

And he was still very naked and very close to him. The other man stooped and was making fussy noises at Aziraphale’s chest and patting the lamb in his coat.

“There we are, my little wanderer. Your mother didn’t even notice you were gone but she’s got two other lambs, so perhaps I’ll give you to the ewe that had the stillborn lamb.” There was a noise and Aziraphale realized he’d given the lamb a kiss on the head. Aziraphale felt suddenly warm and not simply because he had a fabulous view of the dimples above this naked lunatic’s backside. He dragged his eyes upward so he could look off into the distance.

The other man stepped away and Aziraphale was torn between keeping him in sight and avoiding taking a better look. There was a grunt behind him and then his spear was being pressed into his hands.

“Probably shouldn’t give that back to you. But it is yours. You could have just left the lamb as bait and waited for your wolf. Come on then, I’ll take you somewhere dry.” The other man turned his back on him and headed off like he expected to be followed. Aziraphale looked down at the ground, so he could keep his footing and just watch the man’s calves. There was mud on them.

“That probably would have been wiser. Aren’t you worried about your flock with you away?”

“There's only the one wolf anymore, your kind has seen to that.”

“My kind? What do you take me for?”

“Someone tasked with a bad job by a worse master. Thinks he has some right to my sheep! They’re mine!”

“It is his land. Everyone owes him taxes.”

“Wolves do not pay taxes!”

“Wolves may not pay taxes but you’re…” Aziraphale had a sudden sinking feeling.

“Smart man. Care for a spot of dinner?”

“I’m not accepting food from you!”

“Very smart man. I like you already.”

---

It wasn’t a long walk to where his sheep were, but it was an awkward one as Aziraphale was trying not to stare at the man’s ass. Looking upward to keep his shoulders and loosely braided hair in view meant he couldn’t watch his footing. After the third time sliding, he decided to watch the man’s feet and try to forget he was naked. Seeing him walking barefoot now, the tracks he’d originally followed up here made sense. They hadn’t been washed out animal tracks at all, they’d been something that could shift between forms.

They came over another roll in terrain and were suddenly surrounded by sheep and nearly as many lambs. The man waded into the flock, running hands over the lot. Partially hidden behind them, Aziraphale felt a little more comfortable to look up, but the sheep weren’t THAT tall and he went back to looking at the ground. There was an aggravated bleet from a sheep he bumped into..

“Come on then.” Aziraphale stayed put. “The sheep and you, man.”

“My name is A… none of your business. Man will do.”

There was a snort from the other man. “Smarter than some. I can only do so much with just a name… but how much? There’s the real question.”

“More than is safe, I’m sure. What should I call you, just wolf?”

“I’m a great many things when I feel like it. But that’s what you’re hunting, so it will do.”

Aziraphale glanced up enough to get his bearings and see the wolf had his hand on a sheep and was leading it by the ear. He couldn’t hear what he was saying exactly but it had that sort of soft, nonsense cadence that was used on animals and babies.

The flock avoided Aziraphale as a stranger but did roughly trail after the wolf and his sheep, keeping them in sight. They went over a low roll of ground and the wolf vanished on him.

Aziraphale made a surprised noise and nervously hefted his spear. He probably wasn’t about to be attacked, but he may have just been trying to lull him into complacency.

A head popped out of the ground. “Come down this way, follow the stones so you don’t slide.”

He picked his way along a half seen path that he never would have recognized as such without the guidance and found the wolf standing by a shallow cave tucked into the hill with a woven willow door over the opening. The sheep had vanished.

“Here we go, give me my lamb and here’s a waterskin for you to go get water from the spring.”

Aziraphale blinked at him for a moment and then started unbuttoning his coat.

“Am I doing chores for you now?”

“You’ll want clean water and you won’t take it from me, so you’ll have to go get your own.”

“I have my own waterskin.”

“Good fill yours to drink, this one to wash with then.”

Azirphale looked at the man’s face, trying to figure out the trick here but he seemed to be focused mostly on the lamb. He took it away from Aziraphale and pressed the strap for the waterskin into his freezing hands.

“Sight on the tallest tree that way and it's about a song length away.”

“A song?”

“You must know at least one. Just hum if you’re shy. If you sang more than two, you’ve gone too far, come back.”
“And how will I get back then?”

“You’ve got a spear, mark as you go.”

That was sensible enough that he probably wasn’t being sent off to go freeze in the damp. Though honestly he might be better off finding his way back to where he’d started from…. He really should have marked that coming in…

He had the sinking feeling he might already be lost. He couldn’t see anything familiar.

“Get on, sooner you have water sooner you can get clean and dry.” The wolf did not appear to be the least perturbed by the weather.

“I suppose so.” He did as instructed and saw the distant tree that stuck out far above the smaller ones, as the wolf had stood above his sheep. He felt foolish singing as he went, so recited the mnemonic for how to make steel. It was used in prayer to one of the new gods, but he knew it wouldn’t be answered directly. The point of the new gods was that they were distant and intangible and stayed out of your life. Prayers were thus meant to help you figure out how to deal with things without magical intervention. Steel had driven out all the Old Gods and their servants. Or so he’d been told. At least the wolf had seemed friendly to neutral so far.

He brought the butt of his spear down firmly as he reached the end of each line so he’d have a trail back. He finished his prayer and started another. About halfway through he saw a white gash in the hillside that water gushed out of. It ran for a few hundred feet before vanishing back into a hole. It looked surprisingly deep for such a narrow stream. He filled both waterskins and washed off his face and hands in the spring. It was freezing cold but he’d at least warmed up some in the walk. He dearly missed the lamb already.

He looked arounds as he came back, hoping to find a familiar landmark, but saw nothing. Some drifting smoke in the distance said he wasn’t that far from other humans, but he had no idea how many slopes he had to walk up and down to get there. When he returned, the wolf was wrestling another sheep through the door, a lamb tucked under his arm. The rest of the flock was now loosely grazing around the area.

“In you get. You too, man.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“You can go off in the cold as the sun sets, but I don’t recommend it. Do you know how to get back to the village?”

“I should.” He was not confident about that. It had seemed an earnest question so maybe he hadn’t been purposely led astray.

“Can you make it before dark though?”

“Less likely. I’m strong and can be fast when needed.”

“I’m sure you can. I’d prefer you not die though, so come get dry and warm. I’ll lead you back to the path in the morning if the weather is fair enough. Otherwise you should wait.”

“That sounds like some kind of deal.”

“A bit. You retrieved my lamb, I owe you something. I am careful of promising too much as then you’re in my debt and I don’t think you'd care for that.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“You’ve fetched your own water and I assume you’re carrying some food.”

Aziraphale nodded tightly.

“Stay over and get warm and dry and when the weather is cooperative enough so you can get back to the village before it gets dark again, I’ll take you to the path.”

“And what do I owe for the warm and dry?”

“Nothing, I’m not a monster. Besides, if a hunter dies out here your lord will take it as a reason to send more men as now I’m a mankiller. Which I’m not. I’ll fight if cornered, but I’d really prefer not to.”

“You don’t seem like much of a wolf then. Your sheep look rather well cared for.”

He puffed up a little at the praise. “S’my job. Keep them for my… well… I suppose for me now.” There was a brief flash of some deep pain across his face and then he was back to gesturing at the little door. “Come in out of the rain. I don’t bite unless you ask nicely.”

“Good lord.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the bravado and managed to keep his eyes on the naked man’s face. He had lovely cheek bones. Aziraphale scooted in the door so he didn’t have to look at them.

It was close and warm in the little cave and smelled strongly of something wild and strange he didn’t recognize, but would have said was an animal. There were several sheep inside who bawled at him, not enjoying his company. There was a tiny flickering oil lamp that smelled of animal tallow in an alcove with a large, shiny mica flake behind it to reflect back the light. The walls were mostly white chalk with some pegs driven into them. There was a large pile of blankets that appeared to be suspended in the air somehow.

The naked man crowded up behind him as he shut the door and it grew a lot darker and closer. He was very warm behind him.

“Strip and wash off the rest of the mud, then into bed with you.”

Aziraphale had not thought this through. He had a rather sinking feeling.

“And where are you?”

“In the bed. Unless you intend to lay under it with the sheep.”

“That might be safer.”

“I am a perfect gentleman. I will keep my hands to myself.”

The warmth behind him vanished and there was a flash of movement in his peripheral vision. Then there was a dark furred wolf on the pile of blankets, which swayed as he landed. He was perfectly dry and his fur looked clean and well cared for. It made Aziraphale acutely aware of just how cold, damp, and dirty he was.

The wolf tucked its nose under the edge of one of the blankets and then turned around to neatly wrap itself up before flopping down. He could faintly see its yellow eyes under the edge of the blanket.

Aziraphale sighed and stripped off. He hung each of the layers up on one of the empty pegs in the wall, so they’d hopefully dry by morning. There was a shirt hung up and a great length of soft fabric hung up already. Either the wolf lived with someone or did occasionally deign to wear clothes. He scrubbed off the mud that had sunk through his boots and leggings, but by the time he was clean he was shivering hard enough for his teeth to chatter.

He looked longingly at the bed and then as the much safer looking sheep beneath it.

“Mind the bed, it’ll move when you get in.” The wolf’s voice was deeper and more melodious than the man’s had been. It made Aziraphale shiver in a different way.

“You could have said something earlier.” He could hear how weak and reedy his voice sounded. He probably wouldn’t have made it back safely.

“I was enjoying the view. I don’t usually get to see humans without clothes.”

“I should think you’d have no trouble luring them back here.” He shivered and rubbed his arms briskly over himself. At least he was dry now. He looked at the pile of blankets. They looked like very fine, well-aged wool grown soft with wear. He wanted nothing more than to climb in there, but the sheep were definitely the safer option

There was a snort and the wolf flung his head about to flip the blanket off him.

“And what do you think I’d do with them, eat them?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

There was a dramatic snort and the wolf stood up, the bed swaying under him. He had to crouch slightly to keep his ears from brushing the ceiling. He was enormous and all legs. He hopped down off the bed and settled between the sheep.

“There, all warm. No need to thank me.”

Aziraphale stared at the now unoccupied and prewarmed bed and felt ashamed and guilty. He'd been extremely rude and thought the worst of his host.

“It seems rude to kick you out of your own bed.”

“I said I would not lay a hand on you. I am true to my words. Now stop shivering like an idiot and get up with the blankets.”

Aziraphale eyed the whole contraption carefully and the wolf lying beneath the bed. Either he was going to freeze or get eaten and one was a lot slower and more unpleasant. He tried to climb in the bed and nearly fell on top of the wolf.

“Just go for it, roll in like you’re going to wrap yourself in a blanket.” It was hard to tell the wolf’s tone, but he sounded amused.

That seemed awfully ambitious, but the wolf had gotten in and out of it without problem earlier so… less thinking and more doing. He grabbed the edge of the blanket the wolf had warmed and rolled into the bed.

It was very warm and cozy though it definitely had a certain animal aroma to it. He tried to tuck the other blankets around him, but not very successfully as his hands were shaky. He felt like he was going to fall off the bed at any moment.

“How do you sleep on this?”

“Comfortably.” The voice was right next to his head and he turned his head to find the wolf’s muzzle right next to his face. He squeaked.

The wolf showed off entirely too many teeth and sneezed, thankfully not on him. There was a lazy sweep of the tail back and forth. He suspected he was being laughed at.

It was all quite ridiculous and he found himself giggling. He was supposed to be catching this wolf and instead he was tucked into his bed. It suddenly wasn’t funny at all.

“I’m supposed to kill you.” Aziraphale turned his face away, ashamed. He should have handed him the lamb and left as soon as he realized what he was.

“Well, you can try in the morning. Not very sporting tonight. You’re still shivering. Probably as weak as one of my lambs right now.” The wolf sounded genuinely concerned. The nose was pushed closer to him to sniff at his shoulder. The wolf’s breath was very warm.

“How on earth could you run around with bare skin?”
“I always have fur, sometimes it’s just on the inside.”

“Sounds lovely right now.”

“In that case…”

The bed swayed and he abruptly had a sharp pain in his chest. Aziraphale yelped but it came out as more a breathless huff as he had a wolf standing on him.

“Sorry, sorry.”

The pain let up as the wolf moved. The bed swayed and he was sure they were going to end up on the floor as the wolf flopped down atop him and the blankets. He drew in a shaky breath to yell but the wolf had now settled with his head on his shoulder. He really was very warm and heavy. He was an excellent blanket. Aziraphale shoved his other arm deeper under the blanket so he didn’t touch the wolf. He still had hands and he needed to keep them to himself.

“Better?”

Aziraphale was still shivering but less frequently. He yawned broadly enough to feel like something popped in his jaw. The wolf also yawned and that was entirely too many teeth very close to his face, but he was now too warm and tired to be that concerned.

“I think I’m rather in your debt.”

“Oops.” The wolf did not look at all repentant, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

---

---

Aziraphale didn’t notice the wolf leaving, only the sway of the bed when he returned with all his warmth. He knew he said something to the wolf upon his return each time, but had no memory of what when he finally woke fully. The wolf was gone. He could see a faint bit of light around the door, indicating the sun was up. The tallow light was still burning, proving some vague light and heat. The sheep provided still more, but it was still cold in the room. His clothes were hopefully dry, but probably still freezing. He was loath to move.

He really should get up though. Flee while he could. The longer he stayed, the more likely he was to get into deeper and deeper debt to the beast.

He looked at the spear leaning against the wall. He didn’t fancy fighting the beast either, no matter what his actual task was supposed to be. Metal should do something against one of the Old Ones, but it would be no easy fight. Also he felt sick to his stomach contemplating using it. He’d trained and drilled with it and even used it in battle, but his hands trembled at the thought of using it on a human.

Well, not a human, but still something that would bleed and scream distressingly like one. He had enough sleepless nights as is. Though he’d slept just fine crushed under the weight of a beast. Something to think about later on some other sleepless night if he made it out of here.

He shouldn’t have stayed. But also there was that nagging sense that he might not have made it back. He genuinely wasn’t sure how far he was from any of the villages. The path wound over and around the rolling terrain and made it hard to judge actual distance. He could cut across the open grass and scrub in daylight by finding a high point to sight on. But at night, the open, rolling terrain was actually worse than forest as there was nothing to orient yourself by except the stars and that required knowing where you were to start with. He might well not even be in human lands anymore. He might be permanently lost. That was how it went in old stories.

A sheep bleated under him and that seemed entirely too real for him to have been stolen off elsewhere. It would probably smell less like sheep in the faerie lands.

There was soft scraping and crackling noise as the door was nudged open. He saw the wolf’s nose peek around the edge of the door. He seemed to be trying to come in quietly. He squeezed in and pushed a shoulder against the wicker to close it again before coming towards the bed.

“I’m awake, no need to rejoin me.”

There was a little huff noise and then the wolf was on the bed anway. Aziaphale yelped.

“No reason for you to be cold while we talk. Stay abed until you either need to piss or are ready to go. Warmer that way.”

The wolf flopped down on him again. Aziraphale wheezed as he breath was knocked out of him.

“How did you come and go so carefully earlier and now you’re flopping on me?” Aziraphale was thankful the wolf had managed to miss stepping on his bladder, but not through lack of trying.

“Well you’re awake now, so I’m not going to wake you, am I?” The wolf had settled with his head on his shoulder again. He was quite warm.

“So you were trying not to wake me before?”

“Do you no good and you’re of no help to me. Unless you know something about sheep.”

“Not much of the live animal, I’m afraid. If you want to know the value of the products or the tithe you should be paying, that I can tell you.”

“I’ll pay none. And you’re no help lambing then, so sleep for you. I have several more lambs than I did yesterday and they’ll be fine for as long as it takes to get you back to the path if you wish to go.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, if I keep you I need to take care of you and humans are considerably more difficult to care for than sheep.”

“I am capable of caring for myself.”

“I’m sure you are in human lands, but this is not a place for men. Barely a place for a sheep, but the water here is good and I can see and smell other predators from a distance. It’s a good spot for lambing. I’ll go to better pasture soon enough and you can say the wolf is gone.”

“Yes, but you clearly aren’t. You’re right here.” He was very warm and solid. There was no mistaking him for a man like this. Of course, regular wolves didn’t talk either…

“A technicality. You said you were to get rid of the wolf that’s stealing sheep. These are mine. I raised all of them from lambs. I’ll raise this year’s lambs as well. Your lord has no claim on them.”

“You are on his land.”

“Is it though? I’ve never seen, smelled, or heard him, so he might not exist. If he wants me to believe it’s his land, he needs to pee on it.”

“That seems like a ridiculous way to determine ownership.”

“What need has a man of a territory larger than he can walk across in a day to pee on?”

Aziraphale wanted to argue that point, but really, what did his lord do with his tithes other than hire men to go secure more land and demand tithes from those already on it? That was a bad line of thought though. He had a duty to perform, even though it seemed increasingly difficult and distasteful.

“I can’t just tell him you’re gone. Others have tried that already and now he wants your body as proof.”

“Well that’s mine too, so he can’t have it. I’m not sharing.” There was a rumble to his voice as it trailed into a growl. Aziraphale held his breath as his heart raced. The wolf blinked and then shoved his nose against him. His voice had softened, sounding almost apologetic as if he’d realized he’d terrified the man pinned under him. “Unless I feel like it. I have more than enough warmth to share and you have plenty to give back. We’re even.”

“Perhaps he’ll accept some other wolf.”

“What other wolves? Killed all those too.”

“Not personally. Just…” Aziraphale’s voice had grown very soft. So had he.

“Just what?”

“Just men.”

“For your lord as well?” Aziraphale made a noncommittal noise at that. “Seems much more bloodthirsty than I am. I bet he doesn’t even want to eat me!”

“Ewwww.”

“Very understandable motive for wanting to kill something though, to eat it. Why’s he want me dead other than being me?” There was a pause as the wolf stood up, though he was mindful of his feet. “I suppose that’s enough these days. Let’s get you back to the other humans. I’ll be outside.”

Then he was gone before Aziraphale could get himself out of the unsteady bed. He was still unsettled as he dressed. His clothes were dry and a bit stiff, but he could deal with that on the walk out. He ate the little bit of food he was carrying and drank some of the water he’d fetched last night. Though that made him aware he needed to go outside.

The wolf was standing a little way away, looking towards the sky. In sunlight, Aziraphale could see his coat wasn’t a true black. The tips of his fur were black. But where the sun caught it, the fur was a deep, rusty brown the color of dark clay filled soil. He had a few little white hairs scattered over his face that made him look like a real animal rather than an otherworldly, pitch black beast.

“Ah… excuse me, about earlier…”

“I will still take you back, do not fear.”

“No, about the territory marking…”

The wolf let out a sharp little bark. “So polite! Come this way, there’s a rock I won’t mind you claiming for you.”

“Good lord.”

“Nope, none for him! That’s your rock now!” The wolf pranced off. Pranced.

Aziraphale was increasingly unsure he’d be able to do his duty.

Chapter 2: Scritches

Summary:

Despite his best attempts to hunt a wolf, Aziraphale has zero luck finding his target. Until his target turns up when least expected and is somehow even more annoying.

You also get art at the end of this chapter. behold: Dork Wolf
(reminder: radio Omens, so alternate colors here!)

Notes:

the prompt used in this chapter was "grooming Rituals"

Additional warnings on this chapter:

• Some sheep are chased and panicked by some loose dogs
• a dog is killed off-screen and Aziraphale finds the remains

---

Time passed and it became clear that the wolf was right. There were no more wolves, save the kind that were hairy on the inside. There would be no bringing back a dead animal to show his lord and get back in his good graces. He would need to kill the wolf that walked on two legs.

That decided, the wolf was maddeningly elusive. A whole flock of sheep should be easy to find. Well, the sheep were easy to find. He just kept finding other people’s sheep and staking them out. No sign of the wolf. He ran off several eagles and foxes that made tries at wobbly spring lambs, but they were easily deterred once they realized a bigger predator was in the area.

He drove off a pair of loose dogs that worried one man’s sheep so they panicked and tried to climb over each other to get away. The shepherd’s dog had barreled into the two bigger dogs with a righteous fury that made them give up the chase. Aziraphale ignored the trembling in his hands afterward. Sheep sounded distressingly human when attacked.

A week later, he found one of the roaming dogs mostly eaten. The wolf had not confined himself to merely driving them off to bedevil someone else’s flock.

No one complained of the wolf. No one even spoke of the wolf. He was starting to think he’d imagined the whole thing while spending a night shivering in the cold. Get cold enough, that could happen. He was lucky to be alive.

With spring lambs steady on their feet and no more days of snow in the wind, it was time for shearing. Aziraphale wanted little to do with this, but it seemed to be a task everyone in the area was expected to help with in some way. He was nearly useless with animals, so was given the task of opening and closing gates as more experienced people moved the sheep to the shearing station.

The shearing itself was done by a few experienced hands and their apprentices learning the skill. But many more people gathered together to trade animals and early vegetables, make plans for what to do in the coming season, and show off their beasts to each other. How the farmers kept straight whose was whose he had no idea. They all looked similar to him and even more confusingly different freshly clipped. There was some system to how they were brought through to the shearers to keep them straight, but he couldn’t make sense of it and nobody thought he needed an explanation. Afterall, he would only be here long enough to kill a wolf that might not exist.

There was a constant background barking from dogs as they herded sheep. Some of it was also people trading puppies to try and breed better sheepdogs. What each family considered “better” seemed to vary wildly. Despite the number of people around, Aziraphale felt very alone. Their lives were so very different than his own.

Toward the end of the day when he was finally getting rhythm of the task he saw an all too familiar shape loping along behind yet another flock of sheep going through the gate he was holding open. The wolf looked thin and his fur was all patchy. His tongue hung out and he looked tired. Though apparently not so tired as to be unable to chase after one of his sheep that tried to bolt back out. He took off and shouldered the sheep back in the right direction. He was both shepherd and sheepdog for his flock.

He snapped at Aziraphale as he went through the gate with his last sheep.

“Close it, hunter! You’re the one with hands!”

Aziraphale stopped staring and pulled the heavy gate closed after the wolf’s flock, putting the wolf firmly inside with the sheep. They seemed unconcerned by this, but why should they be?

“What are you doing here?”

“Come to have my sheep sheared, like everyone else.” The wolf looked at his sheep now penned up, waiting to be let into the maze of fences that let them split up the flock for shearing.

“But you’re…” Everyone else seemed to be getting on with their business like this was just normal. Maybe this was normal and Aziraphale was the one confused about how this worked. At least he was sure now he hadn’t hallucinated the whole encounter.

Weeks of being unable to find the wolf and he’d turned up when Aziraphale was unarmed, sweaty, thirsty, and sure that attempting to rid the locals of the wolf would get him chased out of town. He was the stranger and the wolf was the one who belonged here.

And what would he do, go back to his lord and tell him he’d failed to catch one wolf that wasn’t a wolf at all? It would sound like an excuse. He’d made so many of those of late, it’s how he had ended up with this thankless task.

The wolf was watching him, apparently waiting for him to finish his thought, tongue hanging out like he really was just a beast.

“You look like shit.” Aziraphale squinched his eyes shut. That hadn’t come out wrong. That had just come out, period.

The wolf snorted at him. “Such tact! Concerned for my welfare now, hunter?”

“You’ve gotten very thin. I’m merely concerned about what you might do if hungry enough.” Though he had just as many sheep and even more lambs than when he’d seen him last, so what did he eat? His memory went back to the dead dog. None of the dogs here seemed concerned though.

“I think you underestimated how much of me was fur.” The wolf rubbed against the fence post with a grimace showing off far too many teeth, but the tail was wagging lazily. He rocked back and forth against the post and finally made a dramatic sigh before shaking off. A cloud of hair drifted off him and onto Aziraphale. Aziraphale sneezed and then spat as he got a mouthful of hair.

“You’re a menace. Can’t you put that on the inside?”

“Not how that works unfortunately. My sheep have an easier time. Come the shearing fair and they’re all trimmed up and ready for the warmth. Me…” He shook off again and there was more drifting fur. “At least the winter coat doesn’t itch coming in.”
“Oh you poor dear.” Aziraphale tried to get more hair off him, but he was sweaty and it stuck to him. The wolf looked totally unrepentant.

“I’m wounded, I’m over here suffering and you’re being sarcastic at me!”

“Oh good, you could tell.” He huffed at the wolf but that only seemed to delight him if the expression on his face was any indication. It was a little hard to tell as Aziraphale didn’t really know what a real wolf looked like and he wasn’t even entirely a wolf. There was some bit of the man in him even when he wasn’t speaking, a little bit of a crinkle to the lips or the way he sought out eye contact without it being hostile.

There was a shout from the shearing shed and the wolf turned his attention there.

“Go get yourself water, man. You smell off. I’m starting to think you don’t know how to take care of yourself.”
“Oh, and you do?”

“As soon as my sheep are in, I am getting water and lying down. I am hot.”

“You’re also a lot hairier than me.”

“I’ve seen you naked. It’s not that much.” He loped off and now Aziraphale was very sure he was being grinned at.

He was right though, he was hot and parched. No one else was coming down the lane so he clambered over the low stone wall to go to the well for water. He drew up water for himself and then poured the rest into the trough for the sheared animals in the field that were waiting to be driven back home. He ended up having to pour several more buckets out as the sheep came over and he found himself surrounded.

He spotted a pair of ears over the wall and a lolling tongue.

“Is this funny to you?”

“I could come rescue you.”

“I do not need rescuing from sheep.” They were intent on the water and he couldn’t easily shove his way out. Maybe he did need rescuing.

The wolf hopped up on the stone wall to look at the sheep. The belled one took one look at the unfamiliar wolf, bawled, and headed toward the far corner by the gate. The rest of the flock followed. The wolf looked smug.

“Pull me up a clean bucket, would you?”

“You can do it yourself.”

The wolf hopped down and came over to sniff at the water in the trough the sheep had drunk from.

Aziraphale could see one of the other people now, coming in to take their flock out. They looked at the wolf and grabbed at this dog, hurrying it into focusing on the sheep rather than the wolf that dwarfed it.

There was a splash and the watering trough now had a wolf standing in it.

Aziraphale backed up. “I can see you thinking about it.”

“About what?” That deep, melodious voice definitely sounded like he was up to no good.

“Getting soaking wet and shaking off on me.”

“I’m so hot.”

“You horrid thing, I’ll get you fresh water then.”

He grinned at Aziraphale and splashed his feet in the water. Not like he was going to jump, simply splashing the water between his huge paws like it was fun.

Aziraphale drew up a bucket of water and tentatively offered it to the wolf. He stood there and drank the whole bucket like he just expected Aziraphale would hold it for him.

“Did you drink your fill?” The wolf was so much closer to him this way, standing in the water trough and he could see something in his golden eyes. There was no teasing there, it was a genuine question.

“No. I felt queasy after a few gulps so I knew I should wait before having more.” He hadn’t quite meant to be that honest, but something about the wolf was terribly disarming. He looked away from him. “ I’ll have more if you’re done.”

“I’m done.” The wolf turned away and hopped out of the trough with only a slight splash. None of it landed on Aziraphale. The wolf made the most dramatic sigh and flopped over in the shade from the wall, where he could watch the other humans taking their sheep home.

Aziraphale poured off the dregs into the trough and drew another bucket up and dumped that in as well before getting one to drink himself. He took a few sips and poured that one out as well. The wolf’s sheep would want water just as much as the beast himself had. He filled it to the brim, taking a few sips from each to pace himself. He still felt a little light headed.

“You should go eat, man. Your work is done. There will be no more flocks after mine.”

“How do you know that?”

“You think I just showed up unannounced? Perhaps the first few times when I didn’t know how to go about it, but we have an understanding. I always go last so they may refuse me, if they wish. But they don’t.”

“And what would you do to them if they refused?”

“I am a wolf. What do you think?”

“You’re no more a wolf than you are a duck.”

He sat up at that so he could look back over at Aziraphale. “I was. Once. You’re right to be wary. Perhaps I would make the men dance for my amusement. Or crawl to me and lick my feet.” His voice had gotten rough at that. He looked away from Aziraphale before continuing. “Or make them something more or less than they once were. No telling what wicked things I might do if they did not shear my sheep.”

“And what are you going to do with all that wool?”

“Same as always.” He flopped back down, watching as the first of his sheep came out into the field, neatly trimmed. They lifted up their heads as if searching for something and they headed towards him. He was about to get boxed in again by sheep that had no fear of their wolf.

“I should think the locals would be glad to be rid of your threats. Though they don’t seem to have had much luck.” Aziraphale edged towards the wolf and the wall. Perhaps he’d just climb back over…

“I’m not an idiot, man. I am sure you have asked after what they have tried.”

“There’s the funny part, that they seem remarkably bad at getting rid of you and all the previous hunters that came back empty handed failed to mention you were anything but a wolf. Most never seem to have seen you at all and yet here you are, chatting away.”

“I should bite you.”

“You won’t though. Is it because I drew water for you? Do you owe me?”

The wolf was quiet for a moment before heaving himself to his feet. He seemed to be made entirely of legs. He ambled towards Aziraphale. His limbs were loose and there was no sense of menace. It could all be a lie. He circled around Aziraphale and he resisted the urge to turn in a circle to keep the wolf in view. He’d had plenty of opportunities to bite him long before now.

The wolf leaned heavily against his leg, warm and solid and very real.

“You drew water for my sheep.” He could feel the wolf’s voice through his leg.

“They can’t ask me to. Would you have asked me to?”

“I’d have figured something out. There’s other men around.”

“But you would have had to ask.”

There was a vague grumble from the wolf as he rubbed a shoulder against Aziraphale’s leg. It would have easily knocked over a smaller man. Aziraphale shifted his feet to brace himself.

“If you want something else, you do have to use your words.”

There was another vague grumble from the wolf as he leaned more heavily against Aziraphale.

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You’ve got hands.” The wolf grumbled at him.

“So do you, I’ve seen them.”

“Sometimes I am just a wolf. It’s inconvenient. I’ve gotten used to having them.”

“Do you need me to let your flock out to go home?”

“You were the one tasked with opening and closing gates.”

“I suppose I am. And having the wolf even closer to the village seems rather counter to what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“You’re doing a terrific job at catching me.” The wolf sounded deeply amused. This was apparently a delightful game for him, to end up touching the hunter sent after him.

“You’re more than capable of jumping the wall and all I have today is a belt knife. I think I’d lose a wrestling match. If I grabbed you, all I’d end up with is hair.” Aziraphale looked at the wolf’s patchy coat and did exactly that, raking his fingers through the fur so it pulled free.

“If you get enough, perhaps you can convince your master you did catch me?” The wolf had leaned into his touch, tail curled around behind the back of Aziraphale’s thigh. He was going to end up covered in fur regardless. And the wolf had been so soft.

Aziraphale dug his hands into his ruff and raked his fingers through the fur. The wolf wiggled.

“Not concerned I’ll get enough fur to do some sort of sorcery on you?”

“No. The magic went away when my lord did. There’s nothing greater than me left.”

Aziraphale’s hand stilled as a terrible thought crept into his mind. His lord had known it was never a wolf at all and had wanted his body regardless.

The wolf bumped his nose against his hand. Aziraphale went back to scratching at him, great chunks of fur blowing away in the breeze. He watched it lose its color as it floated away.

He had not reported in on his first encounter since he’d looked a fool. He wasn’t going to report this one either. How many reports could he make about being unable to find the wolf before someone else was sent?

Art by Lark!

Chapter 3: The wolf's son

Summary:

Aziraphale finally gets to see the wolf in his human form, with clothes on! He is Shooketh. Even more so when he find out he's here for his son's marriage!

Some insights into Aziraphale's background and Crowley's as well, mainly that someone let him raise a child???

Notes:

additional chapter warnings:

• Some ritual cutting as part of a ceremony, with some blood
• Implied child theft
• Implied past violence
• Reference to death in childbirth and miscarriage

I Crowleyed myself on this chapter because no one is using name in front of the fae and Aziraphale's still a stranger so still doesn't know most people's names. He can't even refer to people by name in his own head! Good job, me, making this difficult.

---

Aziraphale had found plenty around the village to keep him occupied. A strong man was welcome at the table after a day of hard work. He’d fixed an endless number of fences, built two scarecrows, hauled stones out of several fields, and done absolutely nothing about the wolf he was supposed to be getting rid of.

Everyone in the area seemed quite familiar with the fact the wolf was no wolf at all but were equally reluctant to speak about him. Aziraphale eventually realized they talked about the wolf quite a bit using a half dozen different nicknames. They just didn’t want to talk about the wolf with him.

Still, he’d been sent to do something. The wolf was right, if he vanished someone else would be sent. He was far from the first. He’d just stayed the longest and hadn’t been run off so far. He sent out letters on his supposed progress whenever anyone was going to market in the more distant city. He’d heard nothing back. And so there was no urgency to do anything yet.

Today it looked like the town was trying to transform the central square for a market of its own. He’d helped clean up the area yesterday and lay down cut grass over the muddy patches When benches started being dragged outside, it became clear something else was afoot, though no one had seen fit to tell him what. In fact, several attempts had been made to shoo him off. He’d just completed tasks with ruthless efficiency and turned back up, only to have someone else have an urgent nonsense task at a distant homestead.

There was a tap on his shoulder and he was ready to tell whoever this was he was not going to be sent off on another made up errand. No one was there and he turned back to watching the central square to find someone all too close on his other side.

“Hullo, Hunter! Still here?”

The voice was familiar but he never would have recognized the wolf now that he had clothes on. He’d pulled his hair back and plaited flowers into the loose braid. The shirt was clean but unremarkable. He’d taken a great length of dark, fine wool fabric and folded it into a kilt. The end was pulled up over his shoulder and pinned with a sharp piece of bone. The belt similarly lacked a metal buckle, being tied instead. He still had no shoes. He was absolutely devastatingly handsome and Aziraphale gaped at him for a moment.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see my boy!” The wolf’s broad grin and slight bounce up and down in delight seemed utterly genuine.

“Your… boy?”

“Well, probably objects to that now, he's as tall as me and he’s getting married! Supposed to meet the lady. I was told “not to be weird” and to “wear clothes”. I know “do not be weird” includes clothes, cheeky boy.” He sounded absolutely fond and was rocking slightly back and forth on his feet, apparently too excited to stay still.
“You have a son with…someone?”

“Of course not. He's mine.”
“Did you steal him?”

“No! As if I’d steal people’s children. Found him the day the menhir broke. All lost and confused. Still a boy but old enough to run off on his own. Nothing made sense to him. Scared of everything, like it was all new to him.” The mirth drained out of his voice.

“Someone else stole that child.” There was a distinct growl there and an Aziraphale was aware how sharp the wolf’s teeth were even as a man. The flash of anger was brief but enough to make Aziraphale step away from him. The wolf had a poor grasp of personal space.

The wolf seemed to realize he’s spooked him and took another step back before continuing.

“He got brave with time and went further and further by himself and learned about the world. Learned to deal with people. He’d come back when it got to be too much and it was simpler to go live with a wolf and his sheep. But eventually went out into the world since everyone here would always know him as my boy. But he’s met a lady and wants my blessing for the marriage! Such a good boy.”

“Have you met this woman?” She must be strange to want to marry someone literally raised by wolves. Or at least one particular wolf.

“Nope, but my boy asked for my blessing so of course I will give it to him. If I give his lady one too, welllllllll, that depends on how we get on.” He grinned with too many sharp teeth but the bounce to him seemed to indicate her odds of receiving one were high.

“Are you conducting the ceremony then?”

“Of course not. Ceremonies are for men. There’s a priest for that.”

“Is she aware you’re coming?” Aziraphale had presented himself to the priest on arrival to pass the necessary tests to prove he was human.

“I think everyone is. That's what all this is for.” The wolf gestured at the square at the preparations being made.

“This is the first I’d actually heard of it. Everyone seems to have been trying to send me off on urgent errands far from here.”

“Clever you, knowing something was up though. Going to chase me out of town?” There was a sharp look to the wolf’s face now, like he’d be willing to fight Aziraphale over it.

“I don’t see any wolf.”

“Smart man, clever man. I’ll make sure people stop chasing you off then. There’s gonna be biscuits.” It was said with such enthusiasm Aziraphale had to laugh at that.

“Oi! Biscuits are exciting! I hardly ever get sweets. And there will be alcohol.” His voice had dropped at that, sounding almost like when he was a wolf. It sent a little shiver up Aziraphale’s spine.

“Can you even get drunk? Wait… should you? You’re… not a wolf. However…”

“Concerned for my health now? I can and I should, because it is a celebration and it would be rude not to drink to my boy’s good fortune.”

“One which you shall be seeing to.”

“He asked for my blessing and he’ll get it. A good one. They always come with a price, all magic does, but one he’ll be willing to pay. He wouldn’t have asked for a blessing otherwise. A smart boy, but more important, a wise boy.”

Aziraphale still felt uneasy about the whole thing. There was no wolf today but it just reminded him he wasn’t really a wolf at all. He was something much more dangerous.

“Come on then, I can see you thinking hard. You’ll keep an eye on me and I’ll keep an eye on you and neither of us can get into trouble but we can get into a lot of fun.”

“I am rather concerned by what you consider fun.”

“Come and see then.” The wolf strode off towards the central gathering with Aziraphale trailing behind.

The wolf’s idea of fun was apparently just getting underfoot in the preparations and asking questions about everything. The people seemed initially concerned about him and Aziraphale’s presence and then seemed to eventually settle into somewhat stilted conversation. The wolf was quite charming and the questions seemed quite genuine. Why are you cutting the food like that? How does that knot work? What kind of mushrooms are in this? Did you make this basket?

There was some excited noises midmorning as people arrived from more distant homesteads. Every time there was an excited voice the wolf popped up and had an intense look on face, neck stretched up and head tilted, scenting the wind as much as using his eyes.

Finally he apparently caught the right scent and there was an excited yelp and he bolted off towards the road.

Aziraphale followed at a slower pace as it was easy to tell where he’d gone from the sound of startled people getting out of his way.

When Aziraphale got there, it was obvious enough who the wolf’s “boy” was and there was actually was a bit of resemblance, at least in behavior. They had arms flung around each other and were both speaking over the top of each other in an incomprehensible jumble of sound. It took a moment for Aziraphale to realize that the reason it was so incomprehensible was because it was an entirely different language. Or not, he could catch pieces here and there. It was just old, as if he’d wandered into a scene from a book using the Old Tongue. He’d heard it read aloud a few times, but never spoken fluently.

The boy, or rather young man’s, attire made it clear he was not from some distant past. It was a relatively fashionable cut that would have looked understated in the city, but here made for perfect fancy attire for a wedding. He had a pair of spectacles on, which were of great interest to the wolf. Aziraphale had seen spectacles and occasionally used them for small, old, faded texts but they were rare to see just being worn by people. The woman with him also had a pair on, which probably indicated where he had come by them.

She was well dressed, with quite a bit of embroidery across the bust and up the high collar of her dress. It was an odd cut Aziraphale hadn’t seen before and he suspected was probably fashionable. She was pretty enough as he looked at her, but something just seemed a little odd the longer he looked. All the parts were pretty, but the overall effect was slightly disconcerting.

The shift to talking about the spectacles had necessitated a switch to more modern language and the wolf was now excitedly looking at them while the young man held them for him. The wolf’s hands were clasped behind his back and Aziraphale was unsure if it was because he was afraid of touching them and breaking them or because of the metal in them. Iron and steel worked on the Old Ones, but such thin bits of metal hardly seemed like they could hurt him, and yet…

“Hullo again, hunter! This is my boy! Look how tall he’s gotten! And broad! And handsome! He got none of that from me!”
“Father…” It was said with such universal embarrassment that Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile.

“You seem to have done well for yourself.” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah.” Th young man glanced over at the woman with him and smiled like there was only one thing that mattered. The answering smile boded well.

“This is the hunter that’s supposed to kill me.” The wolf said without rancor, like it was a big joke. The woman’s brows furrowed like she wasn’t sure who the joke was directed at.

“I am supposed to catch a wolf,” Aziraphale said “but obviously there are none of those around here today.”

The young man looked between them with concern. “What happened to the last one?”

“Last… six?” The wolf looked deep in thought as he tapped his fingers, counting. Yes, six since you’ve been gone. Hasn’t gone well for them.”

Aziraphale felt a bit of unease there. He’d heard of only two who had come back and then been sent off on some other task in greater disgrace as they were incapable of catching one wolf. He now understood some of why, but they’d never mentioned the man. Surely some of them had realized?

“Oh, do not make that face at me, hunter. Nobody likes being sent out to slog through the mud after a ghost. If things were more unpleasant than usual, well. They usually stay the summer and leave in the winter. The poor sod who got the job in winter rarely makes it to spring. Better to go face their lord’s ire than freeze.”

Aziraphale felt himself coloring at that. He had been the unlucky winter sod that got the job after the last one had come back to beg for forgiveness. It was held out as punishment for lack of performance… which Aziraphale had avoided this long only by dint of someone else having been saddled with it at the time. He’d had many boring postings since he’d last been in battle and would take as many more to avoid another fight with the screaming and the blood and the mud and the screaming. So much screaming… Maybe he’d make it through another winter if the local people and the wolf were agreeable.

Aziraphale realized everyone was staring at him. “Sorry, sorry, what were you saying?”

The woman answered. “He was saying he’d have introduced you some other way, but didn’t know your name, for obvious reasons. This will make today interesting with no one using even their public names.”

“Absolutely none! Never intend to learn anyone’s name. Better for everyone that way.” The wolf sounded bright and cheerful but the smile was a bit too big and bright. “Come on then, let’s get you settled and something to eat. The priest should be here at the sun's zenith to do the actual ceremony.”

“Good, I want to double check one thing with her.” said the bride-to-be. “I want to make sure she got my last piece of correspondence and everything is ready.”

“Come on then, people will want to say hello to my son before the ceremony.” They headed back to where festivities were set up. There was quite a bit of excited yelling over the boy, now man’s, return. There was a seemingly endless number of people that wanted to speak to him and his intended to tell some story about when he was younger. Most of them seemed well intentioned but he was turning an increasingly bright shade of red over them. They were funny now but many had likely been mortifying at the time. He’d clearly struggled to fit in and often tucked tail and fled from social situations when younger. That he’d willingly returned to face this well meaning gauntlet, he really had gotten brave with time.

The wolf circled round the couple, occasionally around Aziraphale as well. He seemed to be making sure only a few people could engage his son at a time. His presence alone was enough deterrent to keep some people away and he sometimes struck off to “go check on something’ where all he did was get out of the way. He was checking on nothing. He just was removing himself so people that wanted to speak to his son but wouldn’t do so in front of the wolf could do so. Once Aziraphale realized that was what he was doing, he volunteered to come with him.

The wolf snorted at him “What possible help can you be, didn’t even know it was a wedding.”

“I am just making sure I’m not a hindrance. I’m too close to your boy. Surely he has someone close enough to him who wants to call him by name.” Aziraphale himself still only knew a few people’s public names and none had shared their private name with him.

The wolf narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re too clever by half. Come on, I do want to make sure the priest is here. She arranged things… but that doesn’t mean the priest’s not going to change her mind when it actually comes time for it. I can do this for my boy. That he wanted to even have it here… I wouldn’t have blamed him if he told most of the truth and said he’d been orphaned as a child.” The wolf looked back at his son with such soft eyes, Aziraphale couldn’t believe for a moment that the priest would refuse at this point.

Fortunately the priest was here and getting set up. The blades were all laid out. Most people managed to avoid getting a scar from the wedding rites, but if there was any question about it, sometimes the priest’s hand might slip a little. People had to be truly committed to continue then when there was such an ill omen and a convenient out.

The wolf looked strangely relieved by the array of metal. Aziraphale was familiar enough with the tools to see there had been some modifications. He had considered becoming a priest when he was doing his training to becoming a soldier. That was the main thing the church did, afterall, trained people just in case the Old Ones ever returned. How to recognize them, how to fight them, how to drive them back to the rings and barrows they used to creep into the land. Priests had the most difficult job as they were effectively the first line of defense against a new incursion and might have to fight one of the Old Ones single handed.

Aziraphale had been skilled enough he’d been pushed towards that route, but he’d balked at giving up his entire name so he could never have it used against him. He couldn’t imagine never having a name of his own again, to always be a role rather than a person. Now here he was in much the same state with no one to trust enough to give his whole name to and no role to fall back on either.

Aziraphale waited patiently to the side, so no one tried to waylay him for another errand. The wolf was still waving people off over that, so not everyone had caught on. He was not exactly eavesdropping but not so far away he couldn’t get the tenor of the conversation. It seemed tense but respectful with the wolf looking at the modifications and picking up the altered tools. The priest had brought out the wooden training blades along with the ritual ones. It made sense in a way, these were meant to make sure none of the wedding party had been replaced by secret Old Ones looking to steal away people or just cause chaos. There was no need to detect the wolf when he was right there and not hiding it. He probably wasn’t planning on causing chaos either, not if he’d braided flowers into his hair.

When the wolf seemed satisfied, Aziraphale waved at the priest to indicate he would present himself again. That he’d originally come with a spear had made it unlikely he was one of the Old Ones, but still, checking in was traditional and alleviated some suspicion of strangers. He had no one to vouch for him but the wolf right now and wasn’t that an awkward situation.

She called him up and offered him a blade to grip. This was one of the first things the church ever taught you, how to hold a blade tight enough to prove your identity but not so tight as to wound yourself.

“I’ll cause no trouble unless he does.” Aziraphale tilted his head at the wolf.

“I’ll bite you if you cause trouble.” The wolf sounded at least somewhat serious about the threat.
“With those teeth, father of the one to be married? You’ll do nothing but bruise me.”

The wolf just stared at him for a moment, his expression gone soft and confused. He shook his head, quick and sharp like a dog shaking off water. “Right. Just a man today. I’m exactly as you see me.” He gestured at himself, all long limbs and spotlessly clean clothes.

“Good.” The priest said. She gestured between the two of them with the blade. “I will tolerate trouble due to happenstance or ignorance of tradition, but not malicious intent.”

Aziraphale dipped his head and closed his eyes. “I would swear an oath to it, but…”

The wolf snorted. “An oath requires names. We shall just have to do without ritual in that regard.”

“You” The priest pointed at the wolf, though she had put away the blade “I will assume ignorance rather than malicious intent up to a point. You have a track record of caring for your son to vouch for your intent.”

“I will do my best to follow directions.” The wolf bowed his head, face serious.

“You.” She fixed her gaze on Aziraphale with all the weight of someone used to being obeyed. “If things do not proceed exactly according to regular ritual, which of us is the priest for this place and will bear the brunt of a mistake?” Her eyes darted over to the wolf briefly. There was no doubt she’d known of his presence for a long time yet had said nothing about him when Aziraphale had originally come hunting for a wolf. And likely had not to any of the hunters who’d failed before him.

“You are the priest for this place. I will stay out of the way and not question your methods.”

---

Aziraphale did not get a good spot to watch the wedding from even though he was terribly curious how it was going to play out. So many of the church’s rituals were aimed at exposing possible Old Ones among them. The fear that they could return at any time, replace anyone, anywhere, was woven into society.

He’d never seen one exposed and yet, here the wolf was, exposed as he could be. Everyone knew what he was and yet he was still standing by the couple as if he was supposed to be there. Aziraphale watched the wolf as he shifted from foot to foot. The excited bounce had left him and this was the nervous shifting of someone who might need to run.

The priest took up the first blade and held it to the wolf’s son’s arm. She held it flat against the back of his forearm while she held his arm. He looked nervous but that seemed to be his general state of being. He didn’t initially react to the cut. The knife was sharp and the priest was fast. His face registered it only as she was making the cut on his other arm. He held up his arms over his head and flexed his hands so a few drops of blood oozed out. It was very symmetrical and would take the ash for a permanent mark well.

The priest switched blades and the same was done with the bride though she didn’t even flinch. When she held her arms up Aziraphale could see numerous smaller scars that had healed naturally and he reassessed her station. She had dressed down for the ceremony but that number of healed nicks spoke of someone of high enough rank to need to have her identity verified frequently. And yet she had chosen the wolf’s son when she had likely had the choice of many different men of wealth and power.

“You are both human. Anyone who doubts, come and see now.” None of the villagers moved. They were all too busy looking at the wolf. After a suitable pause, the priest continued. She gestured for the couple to put their arms down.

“Where is this man’s mother and father so I may test them?” The priest said as she picked up another knife.

“I don’t know my mother and I have only the one who raised me to see me off. This is my father.” The wolf’s son gestured at the wolf, who bit at his lip and looked as if he might cry.

The priest gestured at the wolf to step forward and give her his hand. Aziraphale could not catch what she said to him, but the wolf nodded tightly at her. She pressed the flat of the blade to his arm and he immediately flinched though did not draw away. There was a high whine as she held it against him. When she drew it away, there was a red patch on his arm as if he’d been scalded.

“Your father cannot bear the touch of metal.” She said as she looked over at the son.

The boy looked over at the wolf. “He has never been able to. This is my father.”

The priest looked at the bride. “Is this true?”

“This is my husband-to-be’s father.” She reached out and took her soon to be husband’s hand.

The priest nodded as if this wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that the marriage rites were supposed to prevent. She should be plunging that knife right through the wolf’s heart. That was her job. Find the Old Ones and kill them or drive them back through the gates they’d fled through long ago.

“Is there anyone who disagrees that this is this man’s father?”

There was a slight shuffling in the crowd. They knew this should be ending in violence but then they’d all be expected to join in the hunt. The priest seemed to be staring straight at Aziraphale and he shook his head firmly. There was no wolf.

Someone toward the back of the crowd yelled “Ger’on w’it so we kin eat!” and there was a nervous laugh from the rest of the crowd. The priest pointed a knife in the direction of the yeller and shook it, which got a few more laughs.

“Very well. We will proceed with some modification in light of your father’s… health.” She had never let go of the wolf’s arm. She put aside the metal blade and picked up one of the wood ones. Normally they were blunt so they left a nasty bruise if you were slow in training, but this one had been freshly sanded to have a real edge.

She drew it across the wolf’s arm in a new spot and he scrunched his face up. It was a messier cut than either of the others had received. She pulled his arm up and his blood dripped onto the dais.

“He bleeds too.” The priest looked out at the crowd and Aziraphale wanted to crawl under his bench from how hard her expression was. “Remember that. They bleed.”

---

The rest of the ceremony proceeded with a few further modifications. The priest was the matter of fact sort and did not dally with a long benediction. She called on the new gods to make their displeasure known if all was not as it seemed. The nice thing about the new gods was they were distant and unseen and spoke only through omens. The Old Gods had been very clear in their displeasure and would have struck someone down with their own hands.

Getting no answer she proceeded to the more raucous part of the ceremony where the price was announced. Everything had been worked out ahead of time between the families. The wolf’s son would be leaving them and taking a lifetime of labor, knowledge and potential children from here. Such marriages were always more costly than ones to someone who was staying. Then the price would be given to the new couple rather than the village as a whole.

It was a surprisingly high price for someone without apparent wealth and station, though considering his father, it was perhaps to be understood. You wouldn’t want to anger him. Still the crowd did their part to encourage a higher payment, as was traditional.
“He can read!”

“He’s got all his teeth and some extra to boot!”

“He’s a handsome fellow!”

“He can pick up a whole sheep onto his shoulders!”

“He makes lovely baskets!”

“He can make glue that you’ll never get off!”

Everyone yelled out something to both encourage a higher price and make sure the other family knew what they were getting, even though only the bride was in attendance. It was unusual she’d come alone, but not unheard of considering the distance traveled. The bride made a hand motion encouraging the yelling as her husband-to-be turned bright red as some of the final yells included rather explicit notes on his general health and… vigor.

The yells eventually petered out and the attention turned to the wolf as he had the right of refusal here. It was rare that things went that way unless there had been some major incident between the families on the day of the wedding.

“I have no need for any more than the happiness of my son. You may have my blessing. “ His face grew serious. “You asked for my blessing, my real one. Do you understand what you’ve asked for?”

Everyone got very quiet. Usually there'd be an appeal to the new gods to bless this union, but again, there would be no telling if a blessing had been given until long after today. The old stories warned of asking the Old Ones for their blessings. They always came with a price.

“I understand what I asked of you, Father.”

The wolf blinked at him slightly, face getting all soft before he went back to focusing. He held out his hands for his son to put his arms in them. He wrapped his hands over the wedding marks.

“You are my son and you have found happiness with someone, even if it is far from me. I hope you continue to find happiness together. I give you this blessing. Until your child first cries, it will leave this world before it can kill or do lasting harm to its mother.”

There was a gasp from the crowd and some louder muttering. Someone stood up only to be yanked back down by their companion. There was a buzz of conversation while the crowd tried to figure out how that was a blessing. Aziraphale focused on the wolf’s son who looked to be swaying on his feet. The wolf himself looked pale. The woman was looking at them both intently, a furrow between her brows as if she was seeing something no one else saw..

The priest picked up one of her blades and pointed it at the crowd. “A blessing was asked for and given.”

The son steadied and pulled his arms away from his father. There was blood smeared on them and rivulets running down the outside. That seemed like far too much blood.

The priest put down the knife and handed the bandaging supplies to the wolf. She used a rag to wipe clear his arms so she could find where to rub the ritual ash into his arm so he’d have a permanent dark mark indicating he’d married. The wolf knelt on the little dias while he bandaged his son’s arm. This was almost normal. Occasionally a cut went too deep during the ceremony and there would be a pause like this while the wound was tended to. But the cut had only bled a few drops when it was first made. This blood marked something the wolf had done.

The crowd was restless and there was more distinct talking now. There was an unease but no one was rising to start a fight yet. Azirphale looked at them and saw a lot of red faced men that had likely been ready to start something currently had their head bent to listen to what their wife was saying. There were slow nods from most.

When Azirphale looked back, the wolf was working on the other arm. His son had his bandaged arm resting on his father’s shoulder. Aziraphale couldn’t catch what either was saying, but the son’s hand was curled around the back of the wolf’s head and he could see his fingers twitch, softly patting his father. He’d asked for a blessing and gotten one.

Finally done, the priest gestured to get everyone back in place. The look she gave the wolf indicated she was ready this time. The wolf said something to the bride and she briefly touched his shoulder before he stood up. There was blood on the dias where the wolf had knelt and a bright line of red running down to his elbow. It had cost the wolf something as well.

The wolf took the bride's arms. He looked nervous, she looked determined. “The burden is always as great as the blessing. I do not know you well enough to know what burden you can shoulder, so it is only a small blessing. Do you wish to have it?”

She took long enough to answer that it was clear she was giving it proper thought. “I will accept a blessing from my husband’s father.”

The wolf sniffed and made some kind of inaudible noise at her before proceeding. “You chose my son with all that entails. He is my son though he’s not a wolf, even if he occasionally howls like one. You are also not a wolf, but I can give you some small experience of that. I give you this blessing. Hold a piece of metal to your wedding mark and as long as your eyes are closed, you shall be able to smell and taste how much of each kind of metal is in it.”

He released her arms and she seemed steady on her feet. The wolf less so. She reached out to take his hand pulling him to sit by his son. The priest stepped over to add the ash to the bride’s marks, which was complicated by her kneeling to take the wolf’s arm and wipe it clean before starting to bandage it. He shook his head at her but his son leaned in and bumped his shoulder against him. The wolf stilled and looked totally bewildered while he was cared for.

The priest finally got to finish marking the new bride and then pulled them both around to the front to raise their arms up. The groom’s bandages were free of blood, but hid his wedding mark. The bride’s mark had been wiped clean of any remaining blood and showed the black ash clearly.

“Let all acknowledge these two have bound themselves to each other. Let the celebration commence to see this young man off properly.”

There was a clamor of yells and whistles and thigh slapping as the newlyweds stepped down into the crowd. But Aziraphale had eyes only for the wolf, who sat behind them staring at the bandage on his arm as if he’d lost something more than blood.

Notes:

I basically fill out the outline on this as hits the weekly prompts from the All That Slithers discord. This chapter contained "transformation central" , "A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing", and "Utterly Enchanting".

The wolf's blessing for his son is specifically that his wife can't die or be permanently maimed due to childbirth or pregnancy complications. The downside is that depending on how things go, this may mean they have many miscarriages and no children.

Next chapter: actually, more of the wedding. Aziraphale has to deal with Crowley's not just a wolf, he's also a DILF. That's just unfair. Crowley gets soup.

Chapter 4: A delicate dance

Summary:

the wedding continues! Aziraphale gets some information on the wolf's son and the wolf himself.

Notes:

Additional warnings for this chapter.

• Reference to the Old Ones kidnapping people
• General indication that the wolf's son has escaped the Old Ones, but voluntarily lived with the wolf as humans were scarier
• Reference to the Old Ones potentially impersonating people's spouse
• Crowley appears to dissociate during the dance

Ritual portion largely concluded, the wedding moved on to the celebratory portion. There would feasting, musics, and a general send off to make sure the one leaving remembered them fondly. Often this sort of marriage meant the one leaving never returned, especially if it was far off, but making sure they wanted to was an important component. It made sure they knew there was somewhere to return to if things went wrong. And if things went right, it sometimes meant the next generation came to visit or apprentice here based on those old stories. The most important thing that could be traded between communities was knowledge, and that came by way of the humans that moved between them.

The Old Ones had forced their communities into isolated paranoia about outsiders and made them suspicious of travel. A too friendly “fellow traveler” often meant you never reached your destination. But you couldn’t be too paranoid or you would fail just as surely. Failure to render aide to another traveler might be what meant they never reached their destination.

These were the bonds that held society together. Aziraphale’s bond to his own home village had long since dissolved, replaced with loyalty to a master who’d sent him away. He felt terribly lonely in a crowd of people that wanted to keep one of their own but also wished him every happiness.

The couple was swept off to a place of honor where they were easy to see and find. They were hardly getting to eat from having to talk to wellwishers. The wolf shoved some bread and cheese at his son and then gingerly touched the woman’s wrist as if afraid to do so. He had her full attention for a few seconds before he looked away. He shoved a piece of cheese at her, saying something Aziraphale didn’t catch. She stared at it before putting a hand on the wolf’s shoulder and very deliberately eating the cheese. She pointed back at the serving area and the wolf bounced up, clearly on a mission now.

Being the father of the groom meant the wolf could cut the line, but he was polite about it. There was a great deal of pointing back at his son and new wife before he was sent off with the requested food. He went back and forth as Aziraphale stood waiting his turn. He was at the very end of the line as he was an outsider with no particular ties to the wedding party. There was enough for everyone, so he would wait.

It was quite the spread of food, though he’d missed out on some dishes that were already gone. There was more roast mutton available than Aziraphale had seen since leaving his lord’s keep. He’d had sausage and meat bits in stew since arriving in the spring, but hadn’t seen a whole roast in all that time. He had his suspicions about who had supplied this much mutton.

The wolf finally seemed to have fetched everything he’d been asked for and came to stand in line behind Aziraphale.

“You’re the father, you should go ahead.”

“I’m making myself scarce for those that want to talk to him without me there.” The wolf was carefully not looking in that direction. As much as this was a celebration for his son, there was still some tension between the wolf and the humans. Everyone knew what was walking among them, but were politely ignoring it. Aziraphale looked back at the carved up pieces of roast, still on the bone. He hadn’t had bone marrow in a long, long time.

“How much of this did you supply?” Aziraphale tried to make it sound casual, but the snort from the wolf told him he’d failed.

“Oh, you are a smart one. Enough to make yourself unhappy. Yes, I provided the meat. It’s my son’s wedding! I’d have gifted him enough ewes to start his own flock, but what use has he of them in a city?” There was a hint of sadness there. His son had chosen a life away from him. He might understand why, but he could still miss him.

“These are some of last years wethers instead, so not too gamey. I fed my son all those years and he was free to go out in the world. It’s only right to feed him when he comes home because he wishes to. And I did not even scare off his wife beforehand! Look at him. He is so happy.” Whatever sadness had been there had been chased away by watching how the newlyweds looked at each other.

“In that case, good fortune to your son and his new wife.” Aziraphale said. The wolf gave him a shoulder bump and a grin.

“That’s more like it. Besides, I already told you you’re way too much trouble to keep. Half the reason the lad would come down to village was to escape my attempts at cooking. But I learned to do it for him.” He made an excited noise next to Aziraphale. “There’s nettle soup!”

“I like that as well, but with all this meat, that’s what you really want?”

“I can have meat anytime. I have no idea how to prepare nettles, so yes. I want that!” The wolf gestured excitedly at the woman currently serving, who looked very pleased by the attention.

“Your boy was always fond of it as well when he came down to stay the evening, when he was getting brave enough to spend a night away.” She looked over at him where he was speaking to one of the other locals, who was currently thumping him on the shoulder. He had a rather plastered on smile. “Might need to go save him.”

The wolf looked over at that and made a little huff noise. “I’ll be back. Save me soup!”

“Are you likely to run out?” Aziraphale said.

“Not when there’s still meat to be had. I know it rates far higher than nettle soup, but the boy did always like it which is why I made it. Soup seemed to be his favorite. I don’t think he-” She jerked her chin at the wolf “ever quite figured out how long to cook things so just boiled it ‘til it was mush.”

“If I might ask something…” Aziraphale looked over at the wolf where he was talking animatedly the the person who’s had his hand on his boy. “Everyone’s been very hospitable. If the boy was coming down to the village, why did no one take him in?”

“You can’t take back someone that doesn’t think they belong here. He was old enough to run and he went back to what wasn’t terrifying. Which was him.” She pointed at the wolf who currently sat next to his son’s side, a firm presence preventing others from getting too close. “But he did eventually give him back. Just slow enough he didn’t realize he had been.”

Aziraphale looked over at the groom and all the attention he was receiving. “He seems well liked. And relatively normal”.

“Well, mostly. Clearly still interesting enough to land that kind of lady!”

A few other people were near the end of line, but they were also more interested in meat than soup right now. There was still enough Aziraphale could certainly get something.

“Yes, quite. She seems a good match from how well she’s taking all this.”

“Have to be, to do it at all. Go on, go get other food while you can. You can always gossip later. If you’re staying.” The woman handed him a cup of soup and gave him a wink.

“I guess I am here as long as he is.” Aziraphale said as he looked over at the wolf.

---

Aziraphale was very full and just drunk enough for it to be fun. A walk would do him good, so he volunteered to go look for the errant wolf.

“I’m sure not to find him, so that should make him turn right up. Someone will eventually have to come find me.”

It got a laugh from the people nearby. He was a terrible hunter. He’d never found the wolf except when he approached him first. But the alleged hunt would let him get away from all the people and music and just breath for a little bit. It wasn’t nearly as big a crowd as he’d been used to when he was at his lord’s side, but it was still wearing on his nerves. They were not what they had been when he was leading other men. Now, he was not fit for such responsibility.

He only realized the wolf was there because of the feeling of being watched. That was a skill that had kept him alive this long, to know when he was being regarded with hostility. He turned slowly to find the wolf crouched in an inset window. The sound of the party was just barely audible, the voices all just a background hum now.

“What are you looking for, hunter?”

“Well, you, but I wasn’t expecting to find you. You’re good at avoiding me whenever you want to.”

“Easier when I have four feet and all my power about me.” Right now the wolf looked pale and a bit done in. The window was closed behind him and the deep inset was as close to a den as he was likely to find in town.

“Well come on then, you have been missed.”
“By you?” There was an edge to his voice.

“By other people. They were going to send out a few people to look for you. They can hardly call for you by name. And I certainly wasn’t going to just come out here and yell ‘wolf” til you turned up. You’re not that today, we agreed.”

“S’what I am though, clothes or not.”

“And would you come when called?”
“I am no dog.”

“You are bitchy though.”

There was a slow blink and a bark of laughter at that. “Going to lure me back with insults?”

“I did put a biscuit in my pocket too.”

“Oh, now you are being insulting!”

“Did you want the biscuit or not?”

“Yes and no.” He made a face, but it seemed a genuine expression rather than something put on. “Bit unsettled. I needed a break. It’s loud.”

“It’s a shortbread, so inoffensive.” He pulled out the biscuit to show him and could see the wolf’s nose twitch.

“Give it here.”

Aziraphale did so, cautiously, not quite sure of the wolf’s mood right now.

“You had a fair amount of alcohol. Do you drink like that usually?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Well, that would make everything seem a bit louder and more overwhelming. Possibly upset your stomach.”

The wolf made a harumphing noise at him but nibbled at the biscuit, trying to catch stray crumbs with his hand. “I can hold my liquor just fine. I just needed a break to go … do things.” He made a face as if he realized what a poor excuse it was.

“I have been having mine watered down the whole time, perhaps do the same for the rest of the night.”

“You don’t look light a lightweight.” He was watching Aziraphale carefully, but had moved so he was actually sitting on the windowsill rather than crouching.

“It’s not the alcohol, it’s the… its just a lot of people all at once. Everyone’s celebrating but I don’t really know these people or how to interact with them. Enough alcohol makes it a little easier, too much makes it much worse.”

“Yeah.” The wolf looked off towards the hills. “I didn’t want my boy to worry. I figured I’d take a break before I did something stupid or weird.”

“A wise choice.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Aziraphale put up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not. It takes experience to know when its best to just remove yourself from a situation to be able to come back at it fresh. Do you feel well enough to come back? They were getting ready for the dancing which was what triggered looking for you. I think you’re expected to join in the trick dance.”. A thought occurred to Aziraphale. “Do you know how?”

“Course I do. S’why I have feet. Can’t hardly make a wolf dance. Not the way They wanted.” There was a bitterness to his tone. “I’m a very pretty dancer.”

“I’m sure your boy would understand if you sat out.”

“He likely would. But this is for him. I just needed a break to prepare.” He hopped down from the windowsill — all long limbs and a deadly sort of grace to him. Aziraphale stepped back from him, suddenly reminded of what he was.

He’d seen him lay that blessing and felt that shift in reality of magic, real magic, but it hadn’t seemed dangerous. In the context of the wedding it had seemed right, like he actually was laying a blessing. Now, now he was reminded he was not a wolf or a man. He was one of the Old Ones that had been driven from the world with good reason. He should be too. He was not tame at all, no matter how domestic he might seem with his boy.

But not today. Let them have a day of peace. Aziraphale had had too much fighting to want to squander joy or try and take it from another..

“Go ahead without me. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I actually was a competent hunter.”

“Well you still haven’t found your wolf, have you?” He stepped entirely too close to him for Aziraphale’s liking.

“Let’s not do this.” He looked down, watching the wolf’s feet. That was always how people betrayed when they were going to attack anyway.

“Do what, hunter?”

“I’m not hunting you anymore and we both know it or I wouldn’t have found you.” He looked back at the wolf’s face and saw surprise there.

“You’re not…” The wolf crowded into him and Aziraphale had the brief thought he might be about to be kissed, which made no sense. The wolf burying his nose in his neck and inhaling was a confusing relief. His breathe was hot and his body was warm against him and Aziraphale held himself very still.

There was another long inhale before the wolf spoke. “Your pulse is loud but you’re not afraid of me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“We called a truce for the day, informal as it is, you wouldn’t want to disturb your son’s wedding. And neither do I. That’s just… cruel. Even if I was still hunting you, I would have the good manners not to involve your son.”

“Good manners!”

“Honor, would that be more acceptable?”

The wolf snorted at him, hot on his neck, but drew back.

“Fine, not honor either. If I was honorable, I should be doing everything in my power to catch you as my lord ordered, not hanging about the countryside mending fences and digging irrigation ditches for whoever will feed me.”

“That’s how they get you, you know.” The wolf’s voice was strangely soft.

“There’s just you to avoid food from.”

“No… just… people. They’re nice people. Generous people. Fed my boy when I couldn’t, not right. Fed me. Feed me still. Trade things to them for it, but they don’t have to. Not if they don’t want you to stay.”

“If they’re feeding me to get me to stay, they’re doing the same to you. They want you here. Your boy wants you. Come dance.”

“With you?”

“I think the bride is the more pressing concern, but yes, with me if you like. I don’t know any of the steps, so I’ll be quite terrible.”

“A brave and foolish man then, come on then, bring me back since you are no hunter.”

“What are you going to call me now?”

“I’ll figure something out. Perhaps just Man for now.”

“Very well then, definitely-not-a-wolf.”

The wolf grinned at him and some of his good humor seemed restored. Aziraphale really wasn’t expecting to have an arm thrown around his shoulder and yet he couldn’t say it was entirely unwelcome.

It caused a little bit of a stir when Aziraphale returned to the festivities with the wolf holding onto him. And then a laugh as the wolf loudly proclaimed “look what I caught!” before heading back to his son’s side.

There’d been music off and on during the day, but it had been individuals playing or singing. Now the musicians had gathered together and were ready to take turns to keep it going for the the evening. The tables had been moved to make space for dancing. There was still food available, but it would now be eaten standing or held in your lap. As the musicians warmed up, a few children jumped about with youthful enthusiasm rather than any sense of rhythm.

The wolf was in an intense conversation with the newlyweds as they got ready for the formal portion of the dancing. Once the traditional paired couples dance was over, they’d switch to line dancing which was a lot more forgiving on the inexperienced and uncoordinated. Aziraphale was just inexperienced. Any dance with a caller wasn’t that different from a military drill. He would just be holding hands rather than a weapon. He’d found drills increasingly difficult to do ever since, well. That was a memory for worse times and could be put off for now. All the screams here were from excited children being scooped up out of the way of the formal dance.

The wolf was paired with a local widow who had a reputation as a witch, though that may just have been due to force of personality. Witch or no, she seemed ill at ease holding the wolf’s hand. His face had gone still and he looked far away as they started the dance.

His movements were precise and beautiful but his face looked haunted. He had the look of a man who knew precisely what his body was supposed to be doing and so it did it, moving without any emotion attached to it now. He was here in body but his heart had gone somewhere safer.

This complicated dance with its repeated swaps between partners was meant to be confusing and difficult. After the first partner swap the whole point was to keep the newlyweds away from each other as their new dance partners also repeatedly swapped between absurd hats. Some of the more experienced dancers also managed to swap scarves between them, further confusing who was who. Can you recognize your new spouse and get back to them, even as everyone’s outfits are changed about? It was all in good fun now, but the purpose was still the same. It was a way to make sure they wouldn’t be led astray by someone wearing their lover's clothes. Or face.

The wolf was slighter than many of the men he swapped hats with. It should have made him look comical when it slid over his eyes. Yet his demeanor never changed and he never missed a step in the elaborate dance. All it did was hide his faintly pointed ears and yellow eyes. Aziraphale couldn’t keep his eyes off him, yet found himself holding his breath each time his face was revealed. Maybe this time there would be something in his face beside emptiness.

Another swap and the new bride was with the wolf, his face still and far away even as she missed a step and trod on his foot. He grimaced and picked her all the way up as he made a turn. She was staring at his face as he put her down. Aziraphale could see her mouth move but could hear nothing over the pipes and drums. The wolf shook his head and stumbled slightly before his head whipped off to the left. She looked slightly alarmed as he did a skillful turn and reversed back through the overall swirl of the dance as if he knew where everyone was without the need to look. It put her right into the arms of her husband when the next change was called.

There was that meeting of eyes between son and father before a cheer went up and the formal dance dissolved into a lot of vigorous backslapping and howls of laughter. No one touched the wolf as he slunk off toward the spot meant for the groom’s family. He clutched his forearms tight enough that Aziraphale could see how white his knuckles were. No one would see him shake if he just held on tight enough.

Aziraphale skirted around the edge of the celebration to where food had been moved. He was less likely to be rebuffed if he came bearing gifts. Even if he was, it gave him an excuse to sit nearby. As strange as the wolf was, he was both what held him here today and the key to figuring out his future.

He found what he was looking for and went to the wolf, who was sitting up very straight on the bench with his arms crossed. All of his usual loose-limbed ease was gone.

“Here.” He turned the tall, ceramic mug around to offer the wolf the handle.

“Thought you warned me off more alcohol.” The wolf’s face was carefully closed off as he looked through Aziraphale.

“It’s soup. No one else needs to know that.”

There was the slow blink at him as he actually focused on Aziraphale.

“Soup.”

“The nettle soup you were so keen on.”

He made a disagreeable noise but took it. Aziraphale took it as invitation enough to sit down. That warranted another grumble from the wolf, but it seemed performative.

“Gone from hunter to nursemaid?”

“Hardly. Would you trust me to look after one of your lambs?”

“No. Don’t know a damn thing about lambs.”

“Or you. I just know I would like a drink after that kind of exercise and no one brought you one.”

“Didn’t get you a drink.”

“I was just watching. Keep it in mind for later if I am lured out to dance.”

The wolf made a noncommittal noise at that but his nose twitched and he licked his lips before taking a sip from mug.

“Bad habit to get into, accepting drinks from people.” Though it was unclear who he meant.

“I gave you water before.”

“That was for my sheep.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Smug bastard.”

“I could take the soup back.”

“Nu-unh” The wolf put a hand over the top of the mug as if he hiding it somehow meant it couldn’t be taken. “Mine now.”

“Fine, fine the soup is all yours.”

There was a loud slurp from next to him and then a vague little half growl and a glare. “Heeeeeeeey. Tricky bastard.”
I thought I was smug.”

“That too.” The wolf sipped his soup and made another pleased noise. “Don’t suppose you have another biscuit?”

“I do not mind going to look for some.”

“Why?”

“I’ll get your a biscuit and then tell you.”

“Get two.”

Aziraphale returned to the table and found some of the sweet butter biscuit and took two. He handed both to the wolf, who promptly gave one back.

“Idiot. One’s for you.”

“I didn’t want to presume.”

“Why do you keep seeking me out if you’re not hunting me?”

“Why did you keep me by your side to meet your son?”

“I asked you first.”

“I fetched you a biscuit because you said earlier you liked them.”

“Ah, bribery. A simple enough thing. What do you want now that you know I can give it?” The wolf’s eyes had narrowed and he sat up straighter. His teeth looked sharper somehow.

“I’m not hunting you. You know that, somehow. I… stopped awhile ago.”

“You’ve been here much longer than the rest.” The wolf’s voice had softened, some of that curiosity creeping back in.

“I hadn’t realized it had been so many. That my lord… I don’t think he is anymore.” It was the truth he’d actually been hunting all this time. He had become displeasing to his lord. He’d been wounded and broken and thrown away on a quest for power the lord himself was unwilling to risk himself.

“I won’t take you.”

“I wasn’t offering!”

The wolf chuckled but it was a mirthless thing. “People have, you know.”

“Well, yes. You have a certain appeal.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Aziraphale eyed the wolf sidelong. He was handsome but also dangerous. But there was also a safety in having been already denied.

“You are quite warm in bed.”

The wolf blinked at him and then barked out a laugh, a genuine one this time.

“Oh so you prefer the wolf over the man?”

“What wolf? I see only the father of the groom today.”

“Mmm. And tomorrow?”

‘That’s up to you. You’re not a lord and certainly not mine, but you do have a say in how long I’m here.”

“I’m not going to let you catch me.”

“I know. I wouldn’t give you to him either. He needs no more than what he already has. I need… I need … I don’t actually know. Time I think. Perhaps I’ll leave with the winter and you’ll have peace.”

“And if you don’t leave then?”

“I don’t know. It seems far off now.”

“And will you just lie to your lord meantime and say you have not seen a wolf?”

“I’ll say I haven’t caught a wolf. That's different.”

The wolf snorted at that, but sat and ate his biscuit while watching the line dancing.

“You said you’d dance with me. Did you want to?”

“You are a beautiful dancer, but you’re not you. I think I do prefer the wolf over that.”

The wolf turned his head to look at him, considering. “Go dance with the others then. If you mean to stay. Be with them until you’re one of them.”

Aziraphale nodded and rose to join in the festivities once more. He did not have the wolf’s blessing and would not want to ask for it. He had seen what it truly was. But his tolerance, his indifference, that was all he needed right now.

Notes:

This chapter contained the prompts for "A Feast for All" and "Dance Magic Dance" from Slithers weekly prompts and then was glued to together with more bickering! Next chapter will start off with the prompt "Taming the Beast". oh ho ho ho.

Chapter 5: Flocks

Summary:

Aziraphale is very confused by the wolf's behavior, which seems neither very wolflike nor much like he's been told the Old Ones are like. The wolf drags a dead sheep and a live lamb back to the proper owner.

Also go back and look at chapter two, there's now art of the big furry idiot.

Notes:

Additional content warnings:

• a dead sheep is the driving plot for this chapter so there will be blood and animal butchering
• Reference to rooks attacking a lamb
• Aziraphale talks obliquely about PTSD

Having admitted to both himself and the wolf that he was no longer hunting him, the wolf was now extremely easy to find. Hard to miss a great black beast ambling across the hills. And yet he had again and again. It was a reminder he was not a mere beast, but something old and powerful.

The problem was he couldn’t outright say he’d given up the hunt. He had been given a task by his lord and failure to complete it meant he had nowhere to return to but also had nowhere to go to either. Leaving the employ of a lord was not always an easy thing. Aziraphale had been less and less in his good graces since his injury. His leg had healed but everything else had fallen apart.

It was amazing what you could push through when there was no choice. But when you were finally forced to rest, all those things you’d put off caught up to you. Aziraphale could recognize it in himself even while trying to deny it. He’d sent many younger men home when they started showing all the signs of their nerves going. He couldn’t even complete a proper drill anymore without needing time to recover from the sounds of it and the feel of a blow striking flesh. The called dance at the wedding had been difficult, but he’d wanted to push through. It was close enough to a combat drill he could feel the tension, but different enough he could participate without it leaving him shaking.

Perhaps with enough time and similar practice he might be able to return to his lord’s employ. But that required him to hunt the wolf, a task he was ill suited for and had no desire to do. Not when it meant killing him and bringing the body to his lord. He had seen what the wolf could do. That was the sort of power no lord with a garrison of soldiers at his command should have.

But that left him at a loss for what he should do. He should formally leave his lord’s employ. But then he would send another hunter. And Aziraphale really, really did not know what to do about that as it would almost certainly be someone he knew, in a similar predicament as himself.

Or not so similar. None of the previous people who had come had said anything about the wolf being anything but a rare beast. But the wolf himself had said there were no wolves left and that might be true as well. Aziraphale had heard stories of wolves but never seen one, but they were something that still existed, or so he’d thought. But they might truly be as scarce as the Old Ones.

He wondered how many other rare beasts had met a similar fate.

Right now Aziraphale had far too much time to think. That was often when the wolf found him, lost in thought as he labored at some new task. He was strong, he was willing, but his skills had all gone towards destruction. He wasn’t sure he had anything to actually contribute here or anywhere, but the people were willing to give him somewhere to sleep and something to eat so long as he was useful. So he would keep trying to find something he was good at.

As he was slowly passed around from task to task and household to household he learned more about the wolf’s habits. He almost always avoided fellow shepherds so as to avoid spooking their flocks. The wolf rarely approached large groups, though he might be seen by them. He was more likely to approach adults working or traveling alone, though, again, he was more often seen than actually spoken to. If he approached anyone, he made sure they saw him coming.

He more often interacted with children or teenagers than adults. Many of the older people in town seemed to have a story of having interacted with the wolf as a child only to have their parents react in horror and make sure they never spoke to him again. Never let your guard down. Don’t forget the old ways. He is why we have them.

But there was an uneasiness there as well. The oldest people remembered the songs and skills that kept them safe. Never let your guard down, the wolf stalks those who are alone and could be taken. And yet, no one had been in how many generations now? And then there was the wolf’s son who he had very much given back. But still…

The more he heard the more Aziraphale suspected the wolf was just very lonely. But he was too wild and alien to ever actually be part of the human world. Why he hadn’t gone with all the other Old Ones, no one knew. He’d given many different answers over the years. It was equally likely all of them were true as none of them were true.

Today Aziraphale was mending another stone wall. It was a simple enough task to find stones in the field, dig them loose, and move them to the edge of the field. It was tedious, but well within his abilities. He’d seen the wolf aways off, moving with purpose across the fields and he expected he would be here to pester him shortly. It seemed to bring the wolf joy to talk to him and he couldn’t say he disliked it. He hadn’t expected to hear a furious chorus of snarls, cawing noises, and a lamb screaming as a flock of rooks took off nearby.

He dropped the stone he was carrying as he realized the wolf had clearly killed a sheep just out of his line of sight. He’d grown so used to talking to him he’d forgotten he was still a beast.

The barking ceased and was replaced with cursing. The lamb was still screaming. Aziraphale ran towards the commotion, despite it being a foolish thing to do. He caught sight of the wolf over the edge of the wall, a bawling lamb struggling in his human arms.

“You!” Aziraphale pulled his belt knife as if he was going into battle again.

“Eh?” The wolf looked surprised. His eyes darted towards the steel knife. “Here you take it!”

“Take what!?!”

“The lamb!”

“I’m not stealing a sheep!”

“TAKE THE LAMB!” The wolf was shoving it over the wall at him and he grabbed at it rather than letting it fall. He dropped the knife instead. The lamb thrashed and bawled and he foolishly looked at it rather than the wolf. When he looked up, he’d vanished behind the wall again. The lamb struggled in his arms, clearly wanting to get further away.

Aziraphale retreated. The lamb calmed enough so it was panting in his arms rather than screaming. It seemed exhausted. It had just escaped a wolf. Maybe he had too as the wolf had vanished. He was probably still nearby.

The rooks circled about and some of them landed on the wall, bouncing closer to where the wolf had vanished. There was a growl and he saw a bloody muzzle snap over the edge of the wall. The rooks scattered again.

He froze as he became very aware of the sound of flesh tearing. He should drop the lamb and run. He should definitely run. His knife lay next to the wall, far out of reach. He stood there paralyzed, his hands trembling. He squeezed the lamb tight and it bawled in his arms. He backed away quickly. He shouldn’t turn his back on the wolf.

The wolf stood up next to the wall, back in human form, all signs of blood gone. His dark hair was loose and blowing in the breeze. He rested his arms on top of the wall.

“I didn’t kill it.”

“You ate it.”

“Disemboweled it to see what killed it. Stomach’s sour, smells terrible. Meat’s half blue, blood smells wrong. It ate something that poisoned it. Rooks were at it a bit and would have had the lamb soon enough. Check the eyes.”

Aziraphale reluctantly looked at the lamb, which had a few little bloody marks on its face. The eyes were yellow and the pupils looked strange. He had no idea what its eyes were supposed to look like.

“What… what am I looking for?”

“Does it have eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Might live then.” The wolf said. “Bit sudden on the weaning, but might make it. Better odds with you carrying it than me.”

“Me?”

“You don’t smell like a predator. Had enough of a shock today.” The wolf’s voice had grown very soft and Aziraphale suspected he might not be talking about the lamb. ”I’ll carry the dead one.”

“Carry it where?”

“To the bracken-creeper’s cottage. Need to tell him to move his flock ‘til the field is searched. Meat’s his too.”

“That you just… ate part of.”

“Meat’s too dear to let it go to waste. We’ll see if he agrees on why it died. He might give me all the meat, but he’ll at least want the hide. And if he thinks it was a disease instead, can’t leave it in the field where the other sheep will come in contact with it.”

“I… I don’t know who the bracken-creeper is.”

“Short angry fellow with the long coat. Voice sounds like he’s speaking with two tongues; it's so garbled.”

“Shad-”

“DON’T”

“SHIT.”

“Don’t be calling him that, either.”

It shouldn’t be funny, but it seemed terribly funny at the moment and Aziraphale sat down as he burst into laughter. He would deny that there were any sobs mixed in. The lamb tried to scramble away, but he managed to hang onto it as he pressed his face into the wool.

The wolf stayed well away from them both while he heaved the dead sheep over the stone wall. He crouched downwind, waiting, blood smeared across his bare chest. Eventually the weight of his gaze got Aziraphale to pull himself together.

He took his belt off and looped it around the neck of the lamb so he could lead it instead. The wolf heaved the carcass over his shoulders and pointed towards the correct path. He stayed well away from Aziraphale, though he could still feel the weight of that gaze on him. Aziraphale looked back repeatedly to make sure he was still there. He paused occasionally when it looked like the wolf was having trouble keeping pace.

“You’re getting too comfortable with me.” The wolf said at one of the pauses, hair now damp and the blood on his chest broken up by rivulets of sweat. “I’m still a wolf.”

“A tame one.”

There was a growl from the wolf, though it wasn’t nearly as impressive coming from a human throat. “I’m not a dog.”

“No, no you’re not. But you’re not just a wolf either.”

“I can’t be a man. I can’t live with men.” There was a deep sadness to the wolf’s voice.

“You lived with your son.”

“I scared the shit out of you and now you’re arguing with me about how I’m… I don’t even know! I’m not safe!”

“You do live with men. A wolf would just have eaten both sheep and here you are taking it to the owner. Wolves don’t pay taxes, but you know what belongs to someone else.”

“Walk faster so you can’t talk anymore!”

The wolf was mostly quiet behind him, just calling out directions to keep him on track. Everytime he spoke, Aziraphale could hear how breathless he was. He slowed again to let him catch up. The lamb was not pleased with this and bleated at him and tugged at the belt.

The wolf stayed away, standing there holding his burden.

“What if I go ahead and come back and help you?” Aziraphale asked.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not much help if I have to come find you.”

“Well, we’ll just sit then.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sitting.” Aziraphale sat as the wolf made a frustrated noise at him.

“Stubborn!”

“Yes, you are. Take a rest. I have water if you’ll take it.”

The wolf put down the sheep and made some disagreeable noises about it, but stuck his hand out. Aziraphale secured the lamb with a stone and came over and sat down to share his waterskin with the wolf. The wolf drank eagerly before shoving it back at him.

“I’m not a dog. I don’t like being told to sit. Or treated like that. I’m not tame. I’m not broken.” The way he said it made it sound like he was trying to convince himself.

“I will keep it in mind.” Aziraphale said. “But you’re not like what I’ve been told wolves are like. You’ve got hands for one.”

“Be simpler if I was. I’m not all a wolf and I hate it.”

“You couldn’t very well carry this if you were a wolf. Drag, perhaps, carry, no.”

“I wouldn’t think to do so!” The wolf waved his hands around, clearly agitated. “Things were simpler. Find dead sheep, eat dead sheep. No thinking about things, no thinking about what to do. No worrying about my sheep. I wouldn’t have sheep to worry about.”

“Do you like being a shepherd though?”

“They’re my sheep!”

“That’s not an answer.”

He got growled at as the wolf held out his hand. Aziraphale passed the water back.

“They’re mine! I’m… sad?” The wolf seemed uncertain if he had the right word. “- when they die. It feels bad. I don’t like it. I kill and eat them, the wethers and some of the ram lambs, but I eat them because I need to eat. But it feels bad when they die because I didn’t take care of them right. They were mine to take care of and I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you like what you do. And look after other people’s sheep too.”

The wolf made another disagreeable noise. “Bracken-creeper is old. He can’t keep many well anymore. It’s a big loss. He needs the warning and the meat.”

“Do you owe him something specific?”

“No.”

“Then why do it?”

“Disease doesn’t stay put. Poisonous plants go to seed. I am looking out for my sheep.” The wolf sounded as if he was trying to convince himself of it.

“It’s very kind of you to look after them.” Aziraphale left it vague as to whether he meant the people or the sheep.

“I’m not tame, I’m not safe, just because they know me. Bad habit to get into. They could come back. They could. It’s why there’s still all the old songs warning about them. About… about me. But they left me.” There was a distinct snarl to his voice. There was a deep seated anger there but his face said it was an anger rooted in pain

“You didn’t stay by choice?”

“Yes, no, I don’t know! I am just a wolf! How can I know? They weren’t going to take my sheep with them, and I just… they’re my sheep! It was lambing season! What if they needed me? They’d come back before. I stayed. I’m not a dog, I don’t come when called… but I do what I’m told.” The wolf’s voice got very soft then. “Or else.”

“I understand.” Aziraphale kept his voice carefully neutral. He did understand and it pained him.

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m a soldier… was a soldier.” It hurt Aziraphale to use the past tense, but it was true. Was. “You do what you’re told. Or else. Right up until you can’t anymore because you’re… I don’t even know. I can’t stand the sound of screaming anymore. Or yelling. I’d seen other men before that couldn’t…. And I didn’t understand they couldn’t obey anymore. They wanted to, it’s what they’d done all their lives and just suddenly couldn’t. Suddenly you just can’t anymore and you fail and fail and fall and fall down the ranks until well, you get the task everyone has failed at and you will too. I don’t have it in me to kill anymore.”

“You’ll eat meat though. Seen you.” The wolf said softly.
“I can’t kill it myself. Never could. I suppose it says something cruel about me that I could kill humans but a sheep sends me reeling.”

“Would it be easier to kill me when I looked like a man or like a wolf?” The wolf sounded genuinely curious. There was no anger there, which made it so much worse.

“Now… I couldn’t do either. My hands…” Aziraphale balled up his hands to keep them from trembling. “I might be able to fight back if pressed, if it really was me or the other person but I can’t… I can’t initiate. It’s all… it all happens again. The same battle over and over and it won’t end. There’s never an end to it. It comes back. Screaming takes me back there. And I can’t… I don’t know what I’m for anymore. Trained to fight and I can’t do that. Couldn’t even hunt.”

“They keep feeding you though. The people here.”

“Well they don’t want their wolf gone either, so they don’t want me hunting.”

“They do want you fixing walls. Do you like it?”

“I feel… useful.” Aziraphale stared at his hands. “I don’t know how many walls I can fix. Eventually they’ll run out of things for me to do. Everyone has a purpose.”

“Bracken-creeper can barely mind his own sheep and we’re still taking him his lamb and the meat.”

“I’m not an invalid!” Aziraphale balled up his fists and then let them loosen. It’s not as if he would use them.

“You’ve seen Bracken-creeper. He’s not either but he can’t do what he was when he was young. Sneaky thing creeping about.” The wolf smiled, showing off too many teeth for a human. “His sheep used to end up with mine all the time. Couldn’t figure out how the sheep kept getting in. Took me too long to figure out it only happened in the breeding season. Clever bastard used to pick up his own sheep and heave them over the wall to make sure it would run with my fine ram. Clever of him. His rams were good for meat and not much else. We never spoke of it directly but eventually we both knew.”

“And you didn’t do anything about it? Isn’t that your sheep then?”

“Bah. I have enough sheep to keep me fed and take care of. I can only look after so many and I can only eat so many. Better someone else have them. Their fortune and their responsibility to them.”

“That sounds like you actually care for the people as well.”

“I’m sad when they die. I don’t like it when they’re hurt.” The wolf scratched at his face with one nail, as if using the sensation to focus. “I feel about them like I feel about my sheep, except I don’t eat them.”

“They just feed you.”

“They owe me for the wool in the spring. I owe them for sheering my sheep. But they can take the wool and make it into something better than I can. I can’t spin and weave all that. I have not the time or skill. Use it to get things they can’t grow here. Pay taxes to some far off lord that does none of the work and yet somehow thinks he is owed for not killing them.”

“It’s not like that!”

The wolf eyed him. “What are taxes but tribute under another name? Pay or something will happen. You’ll be taken away. Bad things will happen.”

“Oh.”

“Just remade the same system with someone else on top. Drove us off but kept the fear. You always have to be vigilant.” The wolf stared off towards the west. “They could come back. Angrier. More determined. There’s a reason to fear. But there were reasons to fear you.”

“Me?”

“Humans. But enough of that. Let’s get Bracken-Creeper his lamb. He can ill afford to lose it and I shan’t have him turn to poaching meat in the winter. It’s bad for his lungs, the cold.”

The wolf hoisted the carcass back on his shoulders and set off leaving Aziraphale deeply unsettled.

---

Aziraphale had no idea how the woman knew they were coming, but she seemed to have been waiting. Aziraphale only knew her by Sha- bracken-creeper’s descriptions of her. People in town spoke of her by location, rather than occupation.

“Oi, Rain-caller, where’s the man at? One of his flock dropped dead.” The wolf jiggled his shoulders to indicate the sheep he was carrying.

“Out gathering up the rest.” She gestured up at the nearby pasture. “Something spooked them last night and they went scattering.” She turned a keen eye to Aziraphale and made a wry face at him. “Come on then, give me the lamb. It’s clear you’ve had enough of that.”

Aziraphale smiled awkwardly. “I’m afraid all my experience with sheep has been since I came here to… ah…”

“How’s that going?” She looked between the two of them.

“No luck finding that wolf, I’m afraid.”

“Really.” The woman said, with quite the tone and an eyebrow wiggle at the wolf, as if asking him something.

“I am tired of being sweaty, so you’re going to find a wolf very shortly.” The wolf said. “Where should I put this?”

She made a face. “Downwind from the one I’ve got tethered by the house.” She pointed at where there was a sheep and lamb just beyond the edge of the house garden. She carried over the other lamb and set it down by the other sheep, which eyed it with deep suspicion. The lamb bawled and tried to get closer, but a stomp sent it away again.

“Stressed enough as is, we’ll see how that goes.” She gave the ewe a pat to calm it down. “Have this one by the house for milk while we can, best producer, so maybe we can wean it a bit slower.”

The wolf made a wide swing around the sheep which were eyeing him and laid the dead sheep down in a patch that was grazed nearly bare. He flopped down a few feet away, somehow turning into a wolf mid-collapse. He panted heavily and then abruptly was back to a man again, blood and sweat having vanished.

“I’m too hot for fur.”

“Or clothes,” the woman said.

“Nothing everyone here hasn’t seen before.” The wolf said it mildly enough, but the woman clucked her tongue at him as if more had been said.

Aziraphale had a considerably better view than normal with the wolf flopped on the ground, arm thrown over his face to shade his eyes. He got used to the nudity after a little while, but the quick switch to a wolf and back again had reminded him of the fact the wolf was naked. With how warm Aziraphale had gotten from the walk, he had the brief stab of jealousy that he couldn’t just strip down to cool off. He averted his eyes. The wolf didn’t pant as a human, but he’d still had a long walk with a heavy burden, so his breathing was a lot faster than usual.

“Does he do this often?” Aziraphale said towards the woman.

“Laying in the yard like a dramatic teenager? That’s new.” She looked deeply amused by the whole thing and totally unperturbed by the naked man in the grass.

The wolf moved his arm to glare at them, but squinting in the sun rather cut into the effectiveness. “That sheep was heavy, I’m resting.”

“I’d have traded off with him, but well, the lamb didn’t enjoy his company.”

“Smart lamb. Let’s have a look at this dead ewe.”

“Do you want to wait for your, er…” Aziraphale was not entirely sure of her relationship status. She had a wedding mark, but Bracken-creeper himself was unmarked. Aziraphale couldn’t exactly throw stones over being unmarked. He’d never had anyone to settle down at a homestead with and share in fortunes. He had a bond mark towards his lord from when he’d been branded for him to demonstrate that he was not one of… what was lying on the grass a few feet away.

“Let me see how far off he is, but better not to let the meat get any worse.” She stuck both fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply, a few long notes with a pause and then stood and listened. There was some kind of answering reply and she whistled a few more notes. This went back and forth a few times before Aziraphale realized she was having some kind of conversation at a distance far beyond what could be shouted. He’d never heard anything like this that was so detailed, as he’d spent so much time in towns where background noise would make this impossible. And when he’d been out in the country, he’d been trying to move as discreetly as possible with his men. He was quite familiar with all the silent hand signals soldiers used to orient themselves while moving into position.

“He’s got most of them rounded up now.” The woman turned back to look at the dead sheep. “This is one less he needs to find. We’ll go ahead without him.”

The wolf and the woman got to prodding at the sheep and Aziraphale needed to turn away. Listening to them talk was almost tolerable, so long as he didn’t have to see them. She was apparently quite familiar with many things that could fell a sheep. From the sheer number of possibilities, it’s a wonder sheep lived at all.

Aziraphale stared at the orphaned lamb as it tried to get closer to the tethered ewe. It was not going well. It had better luck getting acquainted with the other lamb and the two were soon grazing together. Perhaps it would survive the ordeal after all.

The wolf had gotten up sometime during this poking and prodding of the corpse to get his hands into the sheep. There was a wet tearing noise and Aziraphale desperately wanted to look and also didn’t want to know. It sounded like the wolf’s human voice still, so he’d probably just ripped the body apart with his human hands rather than his teeth. And he’d walked all the distance with a sheep over his shoulders. He might look like a man, but he very much wasn’t.

“Are you any use with a knife?” the woman asked and it took Aziraphale a moment to realize he was being addressed

“Yes… but not any good with blood anymore, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale could hear how reedy his voice had gotten.

“Ah.” She said it like it had suddenly answered a whole host of questions.

“Send him off ‘til we’re done,” the wolf said. “I’m not afraid of your knife.”

There was a bark of laughter from behind Aziraphale. “Oh, think I can’t stick you if I tried?”

The wolf huffed. “Think you’ve the steadiest hand of us all. You won’t nick me unintentionally. And what does intentionally cutting me get you? One less set of hands for this.”

It didn’t sound like an intentional jab, but it still stung. Aziraphale should be able to do this. It was just a dead animal. He’d eaten mutton plenty of times. But the whole animal with all the skin still on and blood oozing out as they cut…

“I’m sure you must have a task I can do.” Aziraphale said. “Away from this.” He didn’t look. He didn’t want to see.

“You can go draw water from the well, we’ll need plenty for after.”

He got directions to where the well was and where to find an enormous covered basket attached to a pack frame. The pattern reminded him of the weave used on the wolf’s door though that had used some kind of twigs rather than grass. He eyed it dubiously as to whether it would hold water at all, but when he opened it to fill it, found it had a large skin inside as a liner. He’d never seen the like. He’d seen plenty of small waterskins covered in hide and wooden buckets and barrels for hauling water and many metal pails, but this was new. Or perhaps very old. He looked off across the rolling grassland. There were a few more distant trees but wood was hard to come by. What little wood they had probably went to making charcoal for steel.

How far away had the woman’s steel knife come from? He hadn’t seen it, but it might have been the one she’d been given when she was old enough to start training to fight. The church supplied that, even to the most distant areas along with the panels for the church. As a soldier he’d been constantly surrounded by metal blades, spearheads, and arrowheads. Here though… Perhaps this had been why the wolf had been able to stay. By the time the church had brought steel, there’d been no reason to drive the last of the Old Ones away.

The wolf said he had no need for the wool on his sheep and needed men to shear them properly. But the things that the local men needed to trade for, that could be bought with the wolf’s wool. Aziraphale wasn’t sure exactly what the wolf got back other than food and some finished cloth. He had no real need for clothes or blankets, but he liked them. Someone had made the wolf’s hammock, or at least the fabric in it. Someone had woven the door on the wolf’s den, perhaps the woman Aziraphale was now hauling water for.

It was all interconnected in ways he didn’t understand. His lord demanded taxes from the people here, almost all in wool. The wolf really had paid his taxes many times over already and probably the taxes of everyone here, all just for people to leave him alone. That seemed somehow unfair, but if the wolf was content with that arrangement, best not to meddle. He was the outsider here, not the wolf, and that was a terrible realization.

Aziraphale took long enough coming back that the wolf came looking for him, fortunately on four legs.

“Did you fill it too full to pick it up?” The wolf asked.

“No, I just… my mind went places and left my body here alone.”

“Well, bring it back along with the water. We decided I will get the meat and they’ll take the hide and bones. She needs water for soup.”

“You seem to have gotten the better end of the deal.” Aziraphale hoisted the basket up to carry back. It wasn’t a long walk at all, but still, it was warm out.

“If it died from what we think it ate, it will do me no harm but might hurt you. The meat would be full of it. The bone won’t have had time to absorb it. So you’ll get the marrow if you stay with them and then soup!” The wolf seemed entirely too enthusiastic about soup. Considering that he did not cook, or his cooking was generally awful, soup must be a bit of a novelty.

“Are you immune to poison then?”

“Ha, enough poison might kill me. Or make me miserable. But no, I’m just a wolf and you’re not. You can eat many things that would kill other animals but some things that are bad for you do me no harm.”

“You’re sure?” Aziraphale shouldn’t care at all, but he still found himself worried.

“I let her tell me what plant she thought the sheep had eaten based on what I saw and smelled without suggesting one. She came up with the same plant I did. So we agreed it would do me no harm, but we do need to search the pasture for more. And you-” the wolf dropped his voice a bit, as if they might be overheard “something spooked their sheep and it was not me. If it’s a human, you’re a good guard, yes?”

“I don’t know if I can do anything.” Aziraphale truly didn’t. All those years of training were now rendered moot.

“You are here and that’s the main thing. They’re both old. They forget where things are, lose things, who believes them when they say they aren’t misplaced but stolen? You understand?”

“Yes, I get the idea. I should return to where I was staying to let them know I’ll be here. I just came back to fetch my things. And my spear.”

“Yes, good. Humans talk and they talk most about you.”

“Me?”

The wolf snorted. “Yes, you. Not your lord, you. You know bracken-creeper’s name, so that says something. Not sure if it's a good something…”

“He comes to the trainband.” Aziraphale said. “He’s not that good with weapons, but he’s a remarkable wrestler. It is instructive for some of the more hotheaded youth. He’s thrown me plenty of times.”

“Comes from all those sheep he’s knocked over. He’s a good shearer too. Your sheep always come back with the right number of nipples.”

“Is that a problem!?!” Aziraphale’s face must have been a sight as the wolf had a good laugh at it.

“There’s a lot more bad shearers than good ones, but even the bad ones don’t usually do more than a nick or two. Sheep prefer to run, but they can fight when they need to. Remember they weigh as much as you.” The wolf eyed him for a moment. “Well, maybe not as much as you. Haven’t picked you up to know, but you’re taller than bracken-creeper.”

They came back to the little house and Aziraphale’s mind caught up with the conversation finally.

“How do you know how much he weighs? Have you picked him up?”

The wolf put his ears back and he showed off his teeth but it didn’t seem hostile from how he held his body. “Eh… I’m not in the habit of having people stay over. But I’m not going to just leave someone up there when they’re hurt. Then people start thinking maybe I did something to them. No, best to get them back down to town.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips at the wolf, thinking. The wolf slowly wagged his tail. He might not be a dog, but he knew what dogs looked like.

“Mhhm, I see. Can’t let people think the beast is too dangerous. Doesn’t that cause… problems?”

“Would it cause you a problem if Bracken-creeper had brought you down the hill?”

“No… but I don’t think he’d have been so ready to share his home either.”

“All you needed was to be warm. I can do that. It’s not unique to me. Anyone could have. It was just me.”

‘Yes… anyone could have.” Aziraphale looked at the wolf and had questions, the sort that had kept him from joining the priesthood.

Notes:

This chapter contained the prompts for "Taming the Beast" and "Fairest of them All"

Good news: a bunch of the prompts actually lined up so its mostly just need to edit next few chapters for posting so there won't be a six month gap again. (hopefully)

Next chapter: so much world building. WHUPS.

Chapter 6: The New Gods

Summary:

Aziraphale goes to church.

There is not dialogue in this chapter. Aziraphale is just having a big long think here.

Notes:

Contains two prompts in this chapter: Monsters in Disguise and Child of Two Worlds.

The wolf was clearly not just a wolf, not that Aziraphale had another one to compare him against. But he wasn’t a dog either in behavior or demeanor. The man was always there behind his eyes, even when there was no trace of the human form.

Even if his eyes had been a normal human color, the wolf still wasn’t really human either. He looked like one but even when he was clothed, but he never seemed at home in a human body. He sat in strange positions, he had no concept of personal space, and sneezed with his whole body. Not to mention the running around naked most of the time.

Words were the only thing that seemed to come naturally to him that way, perhaps because he could also speak as a wolf. Though if Aziraphale watched his mouth move as a wolf it just made him feel strange. He’d grown used to the voice coming out of the wolf but he didn’t have the right kind of lips to make some of those sounds. And yet he did anyway, despite the mismatch between his physical body and what he could do with it.

These things should mark him well and truly as one of the Old Ones, the great monsters that had made the world the way it was. They were gone and yet everyone’s lives were still structured around the terror they had brought. No one was left alive who’d ever fought one… despite the wolf’s presence as he’d clearly never come to blows with anyone here.

The priest should have put a spear through him long ago and yet he’d seen the wolf speak with her on several occasions. Neither seemed fearful of the other. Respectful, yes, but not fearful. They looked at each other and saw their doom and said ‘no, thank you’

The priest should have called for reinforcements long ago. So should any number of previous ones. They were trained to fight off the Old Ones and yet… the wolf was still here.

What did they see when they looked at the wolf?

Aziraphale tried to look at him as the priest would. The wolf was one of the Old Gods. He’d seen him lay a blessing on his son. But it had taken something out of him. He shifted between forms seemingly at whim. Except for when he was shedding and he claimed he was just a wolf.

Aziraphale had no other wolves to compare him against. Those too had been driven out. The Old Gods could shift and disguise themselves as humans, perhaps they’d also disguised themselves as wolves. Perhaps humans had killed all the wolves to make sure the Old Gods were gone as well.

All but one wolf or god or both.

What did the priest see when she looked at the wolf?

Perhaps she saw neither of those when they looked at him. Or perhaps she looked into his eyes and saw one of the New Gods. That was their power. Where the Old Ones had once replaced people and walked among them to cause havoc, the New Gods were made manifest in one’s deeds. You were made one of them briefly by your deeds, united with but not changed, in the eyes of someone else. You might not even know it.

Nevermind what the priest saw, what did Aziraphale see when he looked at the wolf? He knew what he should see and yet… perhaps he should stop trying to see and he should try to feel.

---

---

The point of the New Gods was that they were both very human and very distant at the same time. They were everywhere and nowhere. They were everyone and no one at once. They lived in the bonds between humans. They could speak through representatives, but you might not know you yourself were one. You prayed to the New Gods but your answer would come from human sources. You yourself might be the answer to someone else’s prayer, if only they could recognize it.

Prayer thus was less about asking a specific entity to intercede, as you would with the Old Gods, and simply as a means to state what it was you needed. Whether you actually asked for that help aloud or just believed it would come if you sought it out was entirely up to you.

Aziraphale had always struggled with the articulation part. A priest was supposed to be able to divorce themself from that need. To be everything to everyone and want for nothing themself. And even if he could not say what it was he wanted, he had still needed.

He had been unable to give up his name. He’d managed to shorten it, be less him and feel as if that was now him, but he couldn’t give up all of his outside name, the first step of becoming a priest. To have no remaining ties to others, to be a blank slate ready to be the conduit for the New Gods. He’d never even started the process of giving up his private name. It had been too dear to him. He’d failed.

He’s become a soldier instead. It was what most failed priests did. He might not be able to anticipate others needs, but he could provide aid, either when asked directly or when ordered to. That was what he did as a soldier. He provided safety, stability, and peace. That was what he’d thought. Now he was failing at that too.

But he’d gotten far enough with training that he knew what all the New Gods were meant to represent and evoke. He had understood in theory, but had not been able to give up enough of himself to be each of them in turn. His body was strong, but his heart was too soft to be so exposed.

Which brought him here today. All the New Gods were someone you might be to another. Many people also took them as something you might aspire to be. That wasn’t the message a priest was supposed to promote, but it was often the one that people gravitated too, especially when younger. It gave them a clear goal to pursue, to try and embody what one of the New Gods represented.

Aziraphale had taken his own private name from an encounter with the Traveler. The man had given him his private name, easily, freely, with such confidence as if there was nothing to fear in the entire world when Aziraphale was lost and alone. And just as quickly had vanished when he’d returned him to his trainband. It wasn’t as if Aziraphale could ask after the man who had vanished, giving out his private name to see if anyone knew him. Especially not when it had rung in his heart as his name now.

It had marked him for service as one of the Traveler’s most important tasks was delivery of panels to new churches. But he had been unable to give up his name that had been gifted him. So he understood the allure of identifying with one of the Gods, with feeling that you had a personal connection.

Most soldiers identified with the Maker. Steel was what kept them safe, therefore the Maker must be the most important of the New Gods. The Maker was strong and kept everyone safe from the Old Gods, driving them from this world. No matter what priests said, there must be a hierarchy. Perhaps that was why they’d failed to become priests.

Other Gods were also most commonly followed by certain types of people. Understandably, here where everyone’s livelihood depended on sheep, The Rider’s panel was the most well polished. But even with the Rider’s ability to tame the natural world, the people here had let the wolf remain.

Even within small communities like this, there was always someone who identified with each of the New Gods. Except one. No one wished to be the embodiment of the Wounded.

There was even disagreement on if The Wounded even belonged amongst the New Gods. Because of that, many priests emphasized that The Wounded was the most important of all the New Gods. No matter how often that lesson was repeated, the priest was often the only one in a small village who would venerate The Wounded.

Aziraphale took up some of the wool set before the great steel panel of The Wounded. Other places he’d been had used clothes dipped in oil or waxes to let supplicants pray by polishing the surface of the great steel panels. There was something to be said for just clean, soft wool. It was slightly greasy in his hand. It softened the feel of the panel under his fingers, but he could still feel it clearly, tracing over the image. They were meant to be touched and interacted with as so often people lost some of their sight to injury or age. Tracing their hands over the Gods gave them that connection even if they could no longer see them.

He still could, but it was part of the process, to clean and oil some portion of the image, keeping the great steel panels in good condition. The New Gods could only be touched and loved so long as the Old Ones were kept at bay. Should the Old Ones ever return, the priest could quickly break the panels along the score lines in the back and hammer them into blades. The church was thus a place of contemplation and an armory in waiting. But having so many weapons to hand all the time though… that had just as nearly destroyed society in the years immediately after the Old Ones had left this paranoid, wounded world.

That was why The Wounded’s panel stood apart from the other New Gods. What had left them blinded and with such obvious injury? The Old Ones themselves as they left this world? Other humans who had looked upon their injuries and seen only weakness and a drag upon a struggling society?

Some even took the Wounded as being one of the Old Ones themself. The symbols of all the other gods surrounding them, thus showing how they had obtained their power. They had all been present at The Wounded’s death. In that view, The Wounded was not part of the New Gods at all, simply a way of showing that the Old Ones could be defeated by humanity as a whole.

Aziraphale suspected his own lord likely held to that view. Thus sending him after the wolf who was no wolf was a means of achieving greater power still. Perhaps he meant to share it with his men. Perhaps he just meant to sacrifice them all to the wolf, letting them whittle away at him until he could make the killing blow himself.

Azirphhale did not intend to bring any further harm to the wolf. If he looked in his heart of hearts, he might even be willing to take up arms against his own lord for the wolf. He had almost become a priest. He knew what The Wounded meant. They were what held all the New Gods together to make them form a society. Care was what built society.

He ran his hands over The Wounded’s bandaged face, feeling where others had run a hand over their cheek. They could be any of the New Gods beneath the bandages. It could be the person touching the panel. It could be Aziraphale himself. It could be the wolf, when he let himself be a man.

To care for The Wounded was to care for oneself and to care for society as a whole. It was a painful thing to do, to lay his hands on the twisted body and feel himself there. He ran his hand across the partially healed wound on their ribs. It was clearly a spear wound. He’d treated, and inflicted, enough of them over the years to recognize it. Something only other men could inflict. There was another long cut along The Wounded’s arm, but healed over and scarred. It was smooth under his fingers where people had touched it.

Aziraphale laid his hand on his own leg. It didn’t hurt as he ran his hand along the scar there. It hurt where no one could see it. But it was growing better as he grew apart from his old life. He stared at the spear wound on the panel.

No, he would not be going back to his lord. He had no lord at all.

Notes:

next chapter: you can stay at mine

Chapter 7: You can stay at mine

Summary:

Aziraphale really shouldn't trust an offer of help from the wolf that has no clear cost. This has to be a transaction. Like all his relationships.

Sometimes an offer of a bed is just as it seems.

“You look like shit.”

Aziraphale just stared at the wolf before his brain nudged him that he should come up with some sort of witty reply. But then the wolf was shoving his nose into his belly and snuffling and Aziraphale yawped in indignation instead.

“You don’t smell sick.”

“I’m just tired.” He was exhausted. He was barely sleeping and it was catching up with him. Nobody really was sleeping well at the home he was staying at so it seemed cruel to complain. Newborns cried. Twins even more so. Everyone was tired. But only Aziraphale sat bolt upright with his heart thundering in his ears and his leg on fire.

“Work less, sleep more.”

“Fine for you to say, you can sleep anywhere. And that family needs the help.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be the one to give it. Or that you need to give until you can’t anymore.”

“It’s just ‘til her husband comes back from the market town. Not too many more days to go. And I’ve…” Aziraphale had nowhere else to go. He’d passed around the village from household to household doing odd jobs but everyone seemed to have a place. He was a ghost filling in for someone missing, eating their food, laying in their bed, doing their work. He’d severed his old ties before finding new ones. He was a fool.

“You’ve what?” The wolf prodded. His voice was gentle, a reminder of where they were in the conversation, not a demand for an answer.

“I said I would.” Aziraphale was unsure if the wolf could understand his feelings of displacement. Or possibly was afraid he’d understand it all too well. He couldn’t just pour his heart out to what might be his closest friend here. The one he could never give a name to. He sighed. “We agreed on lodging and food for me in exchange for tasks to do.”

“What tasks?” the wolf asked. “They must be very tiring.”

“Mostly it’s fetching water. The older children can help me, but they can’t actually fetch that much. They’re small. And then coming up here to collect sheep dung to burn. That’s enough to earn my keep.”

“Could move my flock lower, make it a bit easier for that last part.”

“It’s not the walking that’s the problem.”

“You’re favoring your leg.”

”I am not.”

The wolf leaned against his leg and Aziraphale bit down on a yelp. His leg didn’t hurt. He knew it didn’t hurt. It was just the memory of pain made worse by sleepless nights.

“You are. You need to rest.” The wolf moved away from touching him directly, but stayed close.

“Don’t you think I’m trying? I just can’t sleep! I’ll lay down and then its all…all!” Aziraphale bunched up his fists, trying to hold it all in.

The wolf made an odd noise he couldn’t interpret. “They’ve a new baby, yeah?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Hard to listen to something cry you can’t do a thing about. You want to, but you’re not the one that can help.” The wolf sounded as if he had experience there. Perhaps he had with his son. “You could come stay at mine in the evening. I’ve got a den nearby. Not far from the water. Just carry water down to them in the morning then and get your breakfast, instead of walking up and back. More efficient really.”

“Are you…?” Are you what? What did he think the wolf wanted? There was a cost there somewhere. The wolf was always careful of that. “What do you want for that?”

“I come down closer to the village for the winter. You can just chase all the creatures out of my den a month or two early. Be a big scary man. There’s no hearth, you’ll have to sleep cold. Not too much of a problem yet. No bed either, though I suppose I could let you borrow the hammock.”

“And would you be in it?”

“I’ve another den, closer to my sheep. Have more trouble with things at them at night usually.”

Aziraphale shouldn’t be disappointed by that. He really shouldn’t. And yet…

“Ah, well then.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his hands before continuing. “Don’t you need your hammock?”

“Mostly that’s for the cold months. Keep me up off the damp. I am a wolf. I don’t need a hammock.”

“You like it though.”

“Going to refuse then?”

“Not what I said. You like it. Do you ever sleep in at as a man?”

“Sometimes.” The wolf’s ears flicked and he looked away.

“I’m not stealing your bed then.”

“So you’ll borrow the den but not the bed?”

“I didn’t say that either. I think you’re more than capable of scaring rodents out of your den on your own. Probably eat them as well. So I’m depriving you of a snack too.”

“So you’ll just refuse any help then?”

“Why are you offering?”

The wolf seemed confused by it though it was hard to read his face. There was a certain way his ears twitched though that indicated he was unsure. Between one heart beat and the next the wolf was gone and the man was there. The wolf had been close but comfortable, the man was far too close and Aziraphale stepped back. It was ridiculous to fear the man more than the beast, but the man made his heart race.

The wolf looked confused but apparently not by Aziraphale as he wasn’t exactly looking at him. He was almost looking through him. His ears no longer moved as a human, but his whole head did as if he was listening to some internal voice.

“You are tired.”

“Yes, we covered that.”

“Let me talk.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips at him, feeling that edge of irritation there but the wolf’s expression showed no irritation of his own. There was a certain sadness there and it got Aziraphale to rein in his snappishness.

“Continue then.”

“I don’t like it when my sheep feel bad. It makes me feel bad. Sad? Not a good feeling, it’s a feeling I don’t like and want it to stop. I can’t talk to sheep. I can just do things for them. They’re mine. You’re not mine. I can’t just do things for you. But I don’t like it when you feel bad either. Wouldn’t you be less tired if you slept at mine? How is that a bad thing? You stayed with me before. You shared a bed with me. Why is this suddenly different?”

Aziraphale stared at him. Why was it different now? He wasn’t even sharing a bed with the wolf this time. But he wanted to. That was what was different. And the wolf might feel the same. He clearly felt something even if he was struggling to articulate what it was.

“How much further away from the water is your current den?”

“No farther than you walk already to come see me.”

And he had. He had been coming to see the wolf. Not every day. Sometimes tasks kept him busy. But now when he was tired and rattled, he’d walked much farther than he’d needed to fetch fuel each day.

“I don’t like sleeping cold. And I don’t want to steal your bed. I don’t mind walking further if the bed’s warm.” He stepped back closer towards the wolf, who stayed where he was.

“I’m very warm.”

“I’m familiar with that.”

“So you’ll come stay at my current den and go fetch them water in the morning to get your breakfast?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Isn’t that what I asked?”

“Not exactly. I’ll stay tonight and we’ll see how I feel in the morning. I need to tell the family though. They’d worry.”

“Won’t get dinner either.”

“Come down and fetch me after, I don’t know the way in the dark.”

“You’ll be so tired by the end of the walk, I’m sure you’ll sleep well.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure about that, but he was tired of living someone else’s life.

---

---

The wolf was waiting just beyond the edge of the homestead, carefully where the sheep wouldn’t smell him and raise a fuss. Aziraphale could see him as a darker shape standing in the path in the evening gloom. They were in the lee of the hill so the sky was still bright above the crest of the hill. Once it got just a little lower it would very suddenly plunge them into darkness.

The wolf rarely came this close to people’s farms unless he had specific business with them. Though at night he might get this close and they’d never know. Aziraphale had seen footprints closer down when he’d first come here and assumed the wolf had been stalking the sheep. That he was avoiding the sheep and looking at the people… well that now seemed far more likely. He wouldn’t stray too far from his sheep when they were all small and wobbly but this late in the season, the sheep could take care of themselves for the most part.

It’s not as if there was more than one wolf to worry about.

“What did you tell them?” the wolf asked.

“That I had a task to complete and I’d be back in the morning with water.” He hefted the pole and the covered buckets on it. These were split wood with a tight fitting lid that tied down, so could be filled to the brim without the water slopping out as he walked.

“What’s the task?”

“Sleeping.”

The wolf barked at him and came closer until he was walking close enough for his fur to brush Aziraphale’s leg

“I’ll try not to rouse you before dawn, but I may get up if I hear anything after my sheep. You mostly slept through it last time.”

“I was exhausted.”

“You are now. Everyone in that house is. I’d…” the wolf shook his fur off. He dropped his voice, as if someone might be listening even now. “I don’t want to scare them. They have babies. And little children.”

“A wolf would be a bit alarming.” Aziraphale said, keeping his voice equally low. Best they not realize his task involved someone else.

“It’s not the wolf they’re afraid of.” There was a growl to the wolf’s voice though it seemed undirected.

“And what would you do if they weren’t?”

“They should be!” The wolf’s huffed and dropped his voice so low it was almost inaudible. “They should stay afraid. I’m not my master but… I could be. I could steal their children.”

“You could and you won’t.”

“You don’t know me.” The wolf snapped his teeth by Aziraphale’s hand, but it was all show.

“You let your boy go. You were proud he had found someone to love him.” Aziraphale said. “Any child you stole would be in your safe keeping only long enough to give back.”

There was a grumble next to him. “I could steal you.”

“Stealing implies I am an unwilling participant.”

There were a few more grumbles from the wolf but he wasn’t arguing. Perhaps he was getting what he wanted. Perhaps they both were.

He nudged his head against Aziraphale’s hand. “I don’t want you to stumble in the dark if you’re tired. Which side should I walk on?” There was a tentative lick of Aziraphale fingers, soft and warm and worried.

“The left. But I am fine. My leg was healed long before I came hunting you.”

The wolf dropped back to switch sides. As he caught up, he shoved his head under Aziraphale's hand so he was almost forced to grab at his ruff.

“Then why do you act like it hurts?”

“It does not hurt. It… I’m just so tired I remember when it did hurt. It’s not the same as it hurting.”

“It’s worse.” The wolf sounded as if he spoke from experience. There was a deep well of sadness there. Aziraphale couldn’t disagree with him. Physical pain was something he had known and fought through many times. It was what kept him alive as a soldier. He’d been back on his feet soon after the injury, using a crutch. He’d been up and about to keep in shape! Nevermind he’d torn free stitches more than once and gotten a sound talking to for it. But he couldn’t just lay in bed with his thoughts and pain. What good was he to anyone that way? And other people were hurt worse. They needed to see he was alright so they knew they would be. And if they were, maybe he could be.

It hadn’t worked. He was better but the jagged memories of it crept up on him when he was exhausted and couldn’t fight them off, as if they sensed weakness.

Aziraphale glanced at the wolf beside him. He could just see his pale hand against his fur and feel the warmth of him on his palm. He was just as formless and indistinct as the memories that came to torment him in the night, turning a baby’s cry of hunger into Aziraphale’s own wounded screams.

Aziraphale shuddered and pushed his hand deep into the wolf’s ruff, feeling the soft undercoat beneath the longer guard hairs. He felt so warm and solid.

Aziraphale’s leg hurt.

“I think I want a break. The hill is steep.”

“Come this way, you can sit on the wall.” The wolf walked slowly, guiding him in the darkness towards the looming stone wall. It was too tall to sit on, but he leaned against it, letting his breathing steady. There was nothing to worry about. There were just the noises of early fall night. The insects calling and the whippoorwills swooping after them, a rustle of wind through tall grass, the far off sound of the bell on someone else’s sheep, and the soft panting of the wolf beside him.

He was petting him. Aziraphale didn’t care. Well he did, but in an entirely different way than he should. For all he’d joked he was being stolen, he had willingly walked away from other humans with what he had been trained to kill. But he’d also been trained to kill humans, and that was almost worse.

“Is it much farther?” Aziraphale asked before his thoughts stole his strength again.

“No. It just seems far because it’s uphill.”

“Inconvenient.”

“It’ll be an easy trip down in the morning with the water though. I’ll fetch water tonight for you. To drink. If you’ll take it?”

“Only if you drink it with me.”

“Be silly to fetch water and not have any.”

“Yes, well.” It still meant something to share it though. Even if it was just water. It meant more than the den or the bed or even the wolf’s body. That was the real danger. Aziraphale had offered the wolf water several times but he’d never accepted it in return. The food he’d eaten with the wolf had all been made by other humans.

“Let’s go if it’s not that far. Then I can lay down.”

“You can.” The wolf pressed close to him, a bit of tension in his body. “I cleaned the den. I know it gets a bit sheepy smelling. And me smelling. So, fresh grass on the floor. No sheep. Just me. That should be warm enough, I hope. With the blanket. I didn’t wash those.”

“You were plenty warm last time.”

“I’ll try not to wake you if I get up to check on the sheep.”

“Do wake me when it’s light.”

“You need the rest.”

“I need to do what I promised as well. It’s important to me. As much as the rest.”

The wolf huffed. “Stubborn”

“Yes.”

The wolf huffed some more next to him, but stayed close to guide him to the turn off the path and into the fields. Aziraphale had no idea how many dens the wolf had. He clearly moved around as he’d mentioned several different ones, but this was only the second time visiting one. He certainly wouldn’t have found it on his own in the dark, even now that his eyes had adjusted. This one had the door sloped into the hill so it had to be lifted up rather than out.

The wolf shifted to his human form to do it and his skin looked unearthly and pale in the moonlight. He almost seemed to glow. He crowded close to Aziraphale as he came into the den, taking his hand and guiding him to the hammock. Aziraphale could see nothing now.

It did still smell a bit of sheep and that wild animal smell of a den, but there was also the smell of dried grass and he could hear the rustle of it on the ground as they walked in.

“I’ll be back by the time you’re undressed.”

There was a soft rustle and a dimming of the faint square of moonlight. Aziraphale stripped and groped in the dark until he found some hooks on the wall. He felt a large piece of fabric hung there. The wolf likely made similar dens each time, so he made a guess as to where he should find a peg driven into the chalk. He hung his clothes next to the wolf’s. He rolled himself into the bed and under the blankets, shivering after being exposed to the night air.

There was a woody creak and it somehow got even darker. The bed swayed and the wolf rested a hand on his.

“Sit up and have some water or your mouth will taste terrible in the morning.”

Aziraphale sat up, fumbling to take the water skin from the wolf’s hand. A few sips revealed he had worked up a thirst on the walk, but it made him shiver more from how cold it was. The spring must be very close by.

“You too.”

“Yes, you said.” The wolf took it back and he could hear him swallow even if he could see nothing. The bed moved again as the wolf leaned across him. “It’s above and to your right, for the morning.”

Then the bed shifted and creaked as the wolf was abruptly a wolf once more. Aziraphale grunted at having the weight of him across his legs. They squirmed together to find an agreeable position which ended up with the wolf resting his head and paws on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He was breathing next to his ear, but not directly in it, thankfully.

Aziraphale wrapped his arm around the wolf so he could get his hands deep into his fur. He was so warm and solid. He was shut up in the hillside with the wolf and it was blissfully quiet other than the occasional soft thump of the wolf’s tail on the bed as Aziraphale found a particularly good spot to scratch.

Aziraphale dreamed of nothing.

Notes:

This included the prompt "Tails of Joy, Tails of Woe" from slithers.

Next up "the dreams of gods and monsters".

Chapter 8: Night cries

Summary:

the wolf talks in his sleep, reliving some past terror.

Notes:

No specific additional warnings, but that PTSD tag is relevant here.

---

Aziraphale was a soldier. Emphasis on was. Nowhere was that more obvious than when he was in the wolf’s bed. Part of his soldier’s training had been learning to sleep anywhere and everywhere because rest was what kept you alive. But too deep a sleep could also get you killed. So he had been trained to take short naps whenever possible, and sleep at night was to be done in shifts. When you woke, you rose, checked to see if someone else needed to be relieved more than you needed sleep, and often traded places with them.

A soldier’s life was one of regimented watchfulness broken up by periods of violence and bone deep weariness. The watchfulness had turned into his own enemy, rousing him too soon from sleep again and again as normal sounds made him become hypervigilant. The weariness had become a familiar companion. He had trouble resting near other humans, whose noises too often sent him bolting up from sleep, sure of some imminent need to fight for his life against a foe that never came.

Except he did come to meet him now. The wolf came down to meet him when he was done for the day after he’d earned his supper. He would have had lodging as well, but he knew quieter accommodations were available.

A life spent in close quarters with so many others like him and now he slept best crushed under the weight of the foe he’d spent his life training to fight. He was safe. How could he not be when the wolf lay sleeping atop him?

One man could not defeat one of the Old Ones. That was the whole point of training. Work together. Move as one. There are so many more of us than there are of them. That was why the Old Ones had always worked so hard at sowing suspicion amidst them, they knew the power of the group.

And so Aziraphale found himself sleeping the night through. There was no need to keep watch. What could threaten the wolf? Only a group that Aziraphale himself should be a part of and didn’t think he could join anymore. The wolf never kept to any kind of schedule for night watch. He roused when something told him his sheep needed him and his senses were far keener than Aziraphale’s. So while Aziraphale might rouse from habit to see if he should take the watch, there was nothing to watch except the wolf himself.

Most nights he could not even see the wolf, shut up tight in one of his dark dens. He could tell whether he was awake by how he breathed but saw nothing of him. The weight and warmth of him let him know he was there. He often woke with his hands buried in the wolf’s fur. That was better than when it was his face pressed into the wolf’s ruff. The wolf did not seem to mind either.

As it grew colder, the wolf moved to dens more like the one he’d first seen where he could cram an ailing sheep or two in with them. More importantly, they had a tiny alcove where a lamp could be lit and left safely burning. It gave some light in the longer nights where he could see the wolf while he lay with him before they slept.

Sitting in the cold did not seem to bother the wolf, but Aziraphale would soon grow chill. Then it would be to bed as the wolf provided him with warmth and companionship. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was the best companion, but as the wolf’s only companion…. It was clear he was very lonely.

They spoke of the present, as the future was an uncertain thing with neither knowing what they wanted of the other, if anything. The past was full of things neither felt comfortable speaking of. They talked of the weather and the wolf’s sheep and where there were mushrooms coming up. The wolf stopped short of asking him to come with him to harvest them, but he went with him anyway. Some were washed and sent back to the village with Aziraphale, but a great many more were strung up and dried for later. Nothing was said of who they were for, when the wolf had no need for them, yet took the time to gather them.

Harvests were coming in and it was easy to feed a spare man, even if Aziraphale was as unskilled as a teenager at most of the harvest tasks. His labor still had some value because there were so many tasks to do. Food was plentiful so sometimes he brought a few bites for the wolf to try. The wolf seemed familiar with many human foods but did not seem to know how to make very many himself. That he often seemed to know who made a particular thing, even before Aziraphale told him, said he was not the only one who fed the wolf.

Hungry times loomed on the horizon. Aziraphale would need to find someone to lodge with more long term or leave. He would be unable to keep up this current method of walking between the wolf’s den and various cottages. It was one thing to share a bed with the wolf, but actually relying on him to feed him was something neither seemed ready for. Joke as he might about being stolen, moving in with someone meant something. That the wolf’s only experience with living with a human had been with a child who had been dependent on him gave Aziraphale pause. He did not want to be in that sort of position. He needed to be able to contribute something, to bring some balance to the …. whatever it was they were doing. He did not want to trade one bond of service for another.

There was also the matter of his lord. Former lord. He knew it, even if his lord did not. He was still sending the occasional letter where he claimed to be unable to find the marauding beast. It wasn’t entirely a lie. There was no wolf, there was no enemy, there was only this Wolf. Wolf was his Name, not what he was. He was not interchangeable with some other wolf.

Aziraphale was fairly sure the lord found him interchangeable with other soldiers. He’d only called him by Name, once, when the bond was made and Aziraphale had taken his mark. Aziraphale didn’t know his lord’s private name. It was not for him to know. That was how such bonds went.

His arm itched where it sat.

Sometimes now, Aziraphale woke not because he should keep watch, but because he could dream again. Before his nightmares had been filled with screaming and blood as he fought for his lord. Now it was filled with blood and screaming as he fought against his lord. His leg ached, his heart even more so.

He pressed Wolf to his heart and wondered how he felt about him. Wolf clearly had emotions, but he seemed unable to speak about them. Perhaps he simply had no words to describe them. He had cared for and raised a son. He must be capable of love. He had let him go and become his own man, which was more than many human parents were capable of.

Wolf seemed to sleep a dreamless sleep, but now Aziraphale was rousing often enough to see that was not entirely true. Sometimes his feet twitched a little, or his nose twitched. Aziraphale woke sometimes and found he could calm his panicked heart by burying his hands and face in Wolf’s ruff. Oftentimes Wolf stretched and resettled with a grumble, but sometimes his tail would thump again once he was clearly asleep, content to have Aziraphale’s arms around him.

But this time he woke because he heard a voice and it brought him completely awake. No one should be here. He was still, not wanting to alert the intruder that he was awake. Then he might have to decide whose side he was on, the humans of the wolf’s.

He heard the voice now by his ear, a voice familiar and unfamiliar all at once. It was Wolf speaking, but it sounded wrong somehow. The cadence was wrong and he’d never heard him speak the Old Tongue with anyone but his son. But that had been filled with joy while this was filled with a cold hostility he’d never heard from Wolf.

“You are mine. All that you think is yours is mine. Even this is mine to take away.”

Wolf whimpered by his ear and there was the loud, wet sound of him licking his lips. He squirmed against Aziraphale, trying to roll over, his claws digging into Aziraphale even through the blanket.

In the faint lamplight Wolf’s eyes were still closed and his body was too loose to truly be awake. But Aziraphale was now acutely aware that he was in bed with a beast that weighed nearly as much as he did and had very, very sharp teeth directly next to his face. Even if Wolf meant him no harm, he could hurt him accidentally with great ease.

Aziraphale stretched out his arm as Wolf spoke again in that voice so like his own and yet so different.

“Do not displease me.”

Well, no matter what he did would displease that voice, so better to live another day. He braced his arm against the wall and pushed against it with all the might he’d use for throwing a spear.

The hammock tipped and Wolf fell off. Aziraphale held onto the hammock for dear life as it swung. Wolf yelped and cowered beneath the hammock as it swung above him. He made a garble of sounds that didn’t sound quite like words followed by frantic panting. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he wanted Wolf’s attention, but he also didn’t want his presence to be a surprise. What could he possibly say to calm him?

“Your sheep are fine.” Aziraphale had no idea if they were, but that Wolf had been asleep enough to dream said they likely were.

There was a sharp intake of breath and then Wolf was shoving his nose into the hammock from underneath, poking at Aziraphale’s arse and he squeaked in alarm. The hammock offered zero protection against teeth from below.

He was snorted into several more times before Wolf got coordinated enough to try and climb back into bed…. Which just tipped Aziraphale out where he got thoroughly sniffed at and licked.

Aziraphale made a disagreeable noise at him and pushed his head away. “Enough! It’s too cold for this!”

“Oh! Right! You get cold!”

“I do get cold when we fall out of bed.”

“Is that what happened?” Wolf sounded confused.

“Is it?” He looked at Wolf, unsure if he'd say anything about what had actually happened or not.

“Yes…. falling was real.” Though Wolf seemed uncertain about that.

“I… may have pushed you.”

“Hey!”

“You have more teeth than I do. You were… talking in your sleep. You were talking in the Old Tongue.”

“Oh. Do you… do you understand that?” Wolf sounded so hesitant, unlike his usual brash self. But he’d sounded unlike himself when asleep as well.

“Enough to be concerned.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you.” Wolf pushed his snout into Aziraphale’s armpit. In theory he could snap at him. Or Aziraphale could just as easily put him in a headlock.

“I know.” He gently wrapped his arm around Wolf’s neck, digging his fingers into his fur to scratch at him. “It sounded like a bad dream. Or a memory. Where someone hurt you.”

Wolf whined and Aziraphale felt it through his chest. He patted Wolf, unsure entirely how to comfort him, or even if he could.

“You sounded different. Like you but not you.”

“I sound like Him. He thought it was funny.” Wolf’s voice shifted, closer to what he sounded like when asleep. He continued in the Old Tongue. “He has my voice! I can make him say whatever I want!”

And then Aziraphale abruptly had the man rather than the wolf, a tangle of limbs and emotions. “I sound like him. It is his voice. He could. He could still. If he came back. If I’m not good. If I don’t…” and his voice was too broken up with sobs for Aziraphale to make any more sense of the words.

“You don’t sound like him. You sound like you. I knew the voice sounded different, even in your sleep. Your voice is yours. That was just a bad dream. They’re not true.” Aziraphale had to believe that right now, to make Wolf believe that. The Old Ones were gone. The wounds weren’t. Wolf still felt them directly, but the whole world was built around those long ago wounds, passed from generation to generation.

“Why’m I crying?” it was murmured into Aziraphale’s wet shoulder.

“Because crying feels good when you feel bad.”

“I’m not hurt!” How rough Wolf’s voice sounded put a lie to that.

“You were. Someone hurt you. That feeling stays after the scab falls off. My leg healed but my mind still hurts sometimes.” Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how to comfort Wolf, so went with stroking his hair as if he was still a wolf. That seemed familiar enough to get him to switch from active crying to more deep gasps broken up with shorter little whines. It didn’t sound entirely human, but he wasn’t.

“S’why humans cry? Does it heal?”

Aziraphale wanted to tell him, yes, but it would be a lie. Aziraphale had cried many times over injuries but no amount of crying had fixed what was wrong with him now. Perhaps it diminished in the time, but it was still there.

“It helps make the feeling smaller. Time heals. Care heals. Sometimes there’s more crying. Did your son cry much?”

“Yes. But not if he knew anyone was watching. He’d get all…” Wolf tensed against him and Aziraphale could feel him making some kind of face against his shoulder. “... his breathing was bad and he smelled frightened if I got closer. I would go where I could smell him but he couldn’t see me. I’d come back if he called out for me, but he didn’t do that for a long time. I did not know what to do for him.”

“He came home to you when you let him go.” Aziraphale said. “It might not have been the human thing, but it may have been what he needed. To know…” There was no polite way to phrase this. “- that you weren’t going to hurt him.”

“Why would I… oh.”

“He wasn’t your son. Yet. But you were familiar. Frightening, but familiar. Sometimes that is what soldiers need when they have come back from fighting. They need time to be where things are familiar, even if they also give them bad memories. So long as they are safe and cared for, the memories can be dealt with. Other soldiers know what they’re dealing with. It’s safe. If they get sent back to fight too soon or even sent home too fast without that time to make the change to new circumstances, it hurts too much.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Wolf asked so softly that Aziraphale could pretend he hadn't heard if he wanted. It was easier to be brave for someone else. He could answer this for them both.

“I don’t know. Sometimes you just get hurt too many times the same way that it just breaks open the old scar. And all the things you did before don’t fix it. You did everything right and still…” Aziraphale could feel himself tearing up. “Let’s get back in bed. It’s cold on the floor.”

“I can keep you warm. You like that.”

“And I can pet you. You like that.”

“I do.” Wolf awkwardly untangled himself from around Aziraphale. Then there was the brush of fur against him in the darkness. He got nudged with Wolf’s nose and then got his face gently licked.

Aziraphale spluttered at him but didn’t push him away.

“You menace.”

“I can get clean by changing, you can’t.” Wolf’s voice had dropped back to its more familiar register.

“Oh, so you’re going to get wolf slobber on me too.” Now he pushed Wolf’s face away, but without any real force.

“It’s clean slobber.” Aziraphale got licked again.

“It is still slobber.” Aziraphale climbed into bed again with Wolf settling on top of him after a minute. He wrapped his arms around him and shoved his head around so there would be no more face licks. He rubbed his face on Wolf’s furry ruff, drying it.

Aziraphale had an enormous number of questions he wanted to ask Wolf but knew he’d open himself up to the same. The tightness in his throat and the burning in his eyes said he wasn’t ready for that. He could be as patient as Wolf was. He could let Wolf decide when he wanted to speak more of his past. By then he might be ready to confront his.

Notes:

included the prompt for "the dreams of gods and monsters"

Next up "names have power" oh whatever could that mean in this set up. I'm sure it's fine.

Chapter 9: nameless

Summary:

Aziraphale is adrift. who is he without a role? the one role he might want now is why he definitely can't have.

Unless...

Notes:

Contains the prompts "Names Hold Power" and "Live Bait"

---

The problem with Aziraphale’s current position, or lack thereof, was it made addressing him as anything other than “you” in public difficult. Most people were addressed by their role. You knew your place and thus responded when called. It kept society functioning even when there might be imposters among you as those imposters would have to continue doing their job to not be immediately exposed.

When he first came, he had been called the lord’s man. The lord was far more removed from people here than the Old Ones. Or Old One, who they were all quite familiar with.

What did a Lord’s Man do?

Hunt the wolf, so then he was called Hunter.

Until he wasn’t. It had taken longer for other people to realize he wasn’t filling that role either. The weapon he carried was for killing men, not any of the beasts, save one, that the local people concerned themselves with. He never brought back a hare or partridge. He’d been a soldier sent to do a hunter’s job and they were not the same.

He’d been a soldier most of his adult life. There was no need for one here. If there was fighting, it would be done together against an outside force, not each other.

He went to church at the dark of the moon to drill with the trainband. The church always had first call upon fighting men in the region, no matter who they were pledged to. Their skills belonged to the church that day, to make sure they knew each other.

It made resuming hostilities difficult when there was that monthly pause to be reminded that they needed to be focused on outside threats. Aziraphale had grown hard over the years but with age had brought clarity that he was one of the outside threats to the local people he drilled with once a month. He could not stay with them. He would go where his lord sent him, to remind others of the lord’s existence.

Having been sent away by his own lord highlighted why he’d become a soldier rather than pledging to the church. The lack of a name, or a role, to remind him of who and what he was, had left him adrift. He needed that connection and structure to help hold himself together. He could not give up his Name entirely to be immune to the Old Ones while also providing structure to everyone else as the church had asked. He could not be a vessel for nothing and everything at once.

Aziraphale neither liked nor disliked the priest here, as was expected and appropriate. He respected her and obeyed. He was one of the few adults that regularly came to drills, other than Shadwell, one of the first people he learned the public name of. Everyone else had lives that would not wait. There were other members of the trainband to take up arms while they dealt with a new baby or harvest or healed after a tumble. That was the purpose of the trainband. Those that had the time and ability trained. Those that had neither, relied on the rest.

Which meant Aziraphale was largely surrounded with teenagers, who were always granted the time to find out if they had the ability. The first time he had come, the priest had taken him out of the drills so he sparred with no one. He was unsure if it was because she knew he couldn’t possibly hit any of these youngsters or because she knew what would happen if he was forced into it, as had happened with his own company.

Every month she pulled him and one or two youngster aside to have him show them how to hurl a spear straight and true. Projectiles weren’t something you wanted to do with a big group of overeager teenagers. Spear drills meant there was no hitting and they were allowed to move far enough away to minimize the yelling. The sound rattled Aziraphale’s nerves. Often the youth he was sent off with was similarly sensitive, it just hadn’t become a permanent state yet. And hopefully never would. It was an important lesson that not everyone would ultimately serve and perhaps there was an end to service. Either way he was both humbled and grateful that he was allowed to continue to serve in some other way.

This meant most of the youth in town referred to him as part of the trainband, even though it was a lie. The priest only had the right to call him up to fight the Old Ones and he was very sure he could not take up arms against someone he was sharing a bed with. Whether he could take up arms against other outsiders… that required him to stop feeling like one himself.

Some of the adults who came to practice referred to him as part of the trainband while they were there, but the rest of the month he was now called Wanderer. It hurt to be called that, but he still had no role here. Those few he knew well enough to have offered his public name to seemed to realize Wanderer didn’t quite fit him. He was unsure which of them had started calling him the Bird of Passage, but it did not chafe the same way Wanderer did. It was still new and unfamiliar but became less so day by day. He had fixed habits and a place he now returned to again and again, even if it was out in the wilds away from the village.

But all these names for roles worked best in person. They were ways to obscure someone’s name as if they were interchangeable with someone else. It narrowed down who was being spoken of, but it still might not be enough. And so away from that person, they were often called something that let the speakers know who they were referring to while eavesdroppers would not.

For all that this system was meant to protect against the Old Ones, children were the most frequent eavesdroppers. They could not be trusted not to repeat overheard names. There was a ceremony for when they first learned the Name of someone close to them and could be trusted to keep it secret.

He was supposed to be coming to help carry thatch for the roof. The child could have called him any number of things that made clear who had arrived.

“MAM! The wolf’s man is here!”

Oh.

---

It was all well and good that the locals apparently thought of them as a set but Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Wolf thought so. Or if he wanted him to.

Yes, he spent more evenings than not in one of the wolf’s dens, sharing a bed with him but they were just friends. Friends that didn’t even know each other’s names, of either sort. Well, he thought of Wolf as Wolf rather than ‘the wolf’, but that was as far as it could ever go.

Surely.

He wanted to give Wolf something to call him. He wanted to give him his public name. Sometimes in the middle of the night, when he woke with his face buried in Wolf’s fur, he wanted to whisper his Name in his ear. He was an idiot. The biggest idiot. He needed to put aside that thought and get out of here. Go somewhere, anywhere else.

But contemplating going anywhere else left him in a foul enough mood that Wolf was bumping his nose into him to sniff at him in search of what ailed him

“Leave me be. I’m brooding.”

“Like a duck?” Wolf attempted to shove his nose underneath him, which made Aziraphale squawk indignantly.

“Not like a duck, you nuisance. I’d need a nest for that.”

“Like a dove! Just a twig on a rock will work for them!”

“Not like a bird at all.”

“That’s what they call you now, Bird of Passage.”

“Other things too.” He tried to get back to proper brooding over that but Wolf was back a moment later to poke him in the back with something sharp. He yelped.

Wolf skittered backwards and then dropped a rather wet stick on his feet. “I brought you a stick! For your not-nest! For not-brooding!”

Aziraphale pressed his hands over his face and tried to be mad or sad or any of the appropriate things he should probably feel about the wolf he was living with. The wolf he definitely shouldn’t be living with.

He picked it up and gave Wolf a smile with too many teeth. “You brought me a stick? Should I throw it for my lovely puppy-” Wolf was eyeing him “-wuppy.”

The wolf sat down. “Wuppy? What’s a wuppy?”

“Well… you. Rhyming names like that are….” The sort of thing you might do to obscure a lover's name. If you had one for him. And wasn’t that the rub? “You’ve really never heard that?”

“Well, nobody else calls me puppy. I’m not a puppy. I’m not even a dog.”

“No, you’re not.” Aziraphale looked at the stick in his hand. He’d meant it as a taunt, but what did he actually want from the wolf? What did Wolf want from him? “Did you want me to throw it anyway?”

“I’m not a dog.” But his tail flicked behind him and there was an intensity to his gaze.

“No. But that doesn’t mean I can’t play with you. If wolves play. Do they do that with their-” What was he to the wolf? “Bedwarmer?”

“Bedwarmer!” Wolf snorted but got up, all loose limbs now. “I keep you warm! Not the other way around.”

“Well I could, if you slept in human form.Then you could be under the blanket instead of on top.”

“I’m still hairy on the inside. I don’t need warming. I’m not a man just because I look like one.”

“No, and you’re not a dog either. Or a wolf. You’re your own thing.”

“There’s just me.” Wolf turned away and looked off into the distance somewhere. There was a tenseness to his tail and ears now. When had he gotten so good at reading the expressions of someone who rarely had a human face?

“Now who’s brooding?”

Wolf gave him an ineffective glare at that and snapped his teeth.

“You don’t need warming.” Aziraphale said. “But you have a blanket anyway. And a bed. And a den. With a door big enough for a man.”

“It’s for the sheep.”

“The bed is for the sheep.”

“The door is for the sheep, the bed is for me!”

“And so is the blanket.”

“What is your point?”

“My point is…” Aziraphale took a breath trying to phrase this appropriately. He gave up and went for blunt. The wolf wasn’t a man and hinting would get him nowhere. “Come to bed as a man and share it with me.”

“How is that different from when I share it with you now? It is my bed.”

“I can’t be a wolf.”

Wolf stared at him. “No. You can’t.”

“I don’t want you to be a man either. I know you’re not. I’m not asking you to be one. I’m asking you to come to bed and-” What exactly? Aziraphale flushed at the possibilities. “Just try it. You tried a bed and liked it. You like the blanket. You like laying on top of me.”

“I like being-” Wolf paused and swished his tail about, then lowered his voice “-I like being petted.”

“You think I won’t pet you then?”

“All my fur is on the inside! Why would you pet me?” He sounded so sulky and Aziraphale snorted at him. Apparently having his hair stroked as a man hadn’t registered as petting, though perhaps he’d been too upset for it to be pleasurable rather than soothing. Aziraphale wanted to bring him pleasure and receive it as well.

“My dear,” Aziraphale let a little heat creep into his voice. He might as well be bold at this point! “If you have hands, you can pet me.”

The wolf stared at him for a moment and then abruptly he had the naked man striding towards him and tugging at his coat to pull them nose to nose.

“Tell me more about that right now.”

“Well…”

Notes:

sorry folks, no sex in the next chapter. But they do explore each other's bodies... oh ho ho ho.

Chapter 10: Petting names

Summary:

mutual petting ensues! also some licking. so much physical intimacy and no sex. Aziraphale's gonna combust.

Aziraphale was unsure if this had been the best idea he’d ever had or the worst. Wolf climbed into bed and wrapped his long limbs around Aziraphale, resting his head on his shoulder. It was very much like when he came to bed as a wolf. He stroked his hands through Aziraphale’s chest hair, literally petting him.

“Yours feels different than mine. It’s all curly. But not like a sheep is or you’d be warmer.”

“Yes, well, I’m quite warm now that you’re here.” Aziraphale was going to combust.

“Told you I’m the bedwarmer!” Wolf’s hands felt very, very warm on Aziraphale. But there didn't seem to be much intent behind them besides genuinely stroking him. Aziraphale could relax a little and enjoy it, though he was very aware this could turn to something much more intimate easily. Wolf paused after a little bit.

He turned his head to look at Aziraphale. “Don’t I get any?”

“Yes, right, sorry, distracted. Very good petting. Tip top.” But with Wolf snuggled up against him as a man, what was he supposed to pet now? His hair? His face? His chest? The little dimples over his backside? This had been much simpler when he was a canine.

Aziraphale wiggled his arm where it was trapped against him by Wolf’s body. “Pick yourself up a bit so I can get my arm under you.”

“This is easier when I’m a wolf. But you don’t like it when I lick you then.” There was a chuckle and then Wolf licked his jaw. Aziraphale yelped and Wolf laughed.

“No licking!”

“Afraid I’ll eat you?” Wolf stuck his tongue out at him.

“No, I’m just wet now. Gross.”

“You also feel weird this way. Rough.” Wolf looked as if he might lick him again and Aziraphale glared. He opted for a hand on Aziraphale’s jaw instead.

“Your skin is all prickly.”

“I haven’t shaved for two days.” He usually only shaved when he was spending the day with humans now. Wolf was a bit too nosy to trust him not to interrupt him. Plus he felt odd bringing out the metal knife around him.

Wolf ran fingers over his jaw and face, mapping out the edges of the stubble.

“Why do humans shave? Most men here don’t. You do.”

“I was a soldier. You kept your hair short so people couldn’t grab it.” It also made it easier to get the blood out, but he didn’t really want to think of that right now.

Wolf apparently sensed something though. He shifted his hand to go behind Aziraphale’s ear, running his thumb roughly through the hair there.

“What are you doing?”

“You made a face like you were upset.” Wolf shifted his hand again, curling his fingers along behind Aziraphale’s ear.

“So you… I don’t have ears like yours, you realize.”

Wolf huffed and withdrew his hand.

“I know.” Wolf sounded a bit sulky and Aziraphale wanted to laugh, but he’d been trying to do something for him, so he stifled it.

“You can pet my hair on my head, that’s not prickly.”

Wolf did so, tugging at it slightly. “Humans have so many different hair shapes. Do they feel different?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by hair shapes.”

“It makes shapes on your head. Everyone is different. It falls in different shapes. And there’s a line.” Wolf ran his fingers along where Aziraphale’s hair parted. He shivered a little and Wolf drew his hand away sharply. “I didn’t mean it.”

“No, you did nothing wrong.” Aziraphale said. “It just felt strange. Like when I found that spot on you that made your leg spin.”

Wolf huffed dramatically. “You laughed. Making my body all weird and wiggly and you laughed!”

“You could have pulled away of you didn’t like it. Or you could lean in for more scratching. And which did you do?”

“More petting.” Wolf wiggled and Aziraphale’s eyes crossed. Oh that was dangerous. He’d shared many beds with fellow soldiers over the years, not all of whom found him to their personal taste. So until Wolf showed some indication Aziraphale was to his taste he could keep it together. Wolf was not physically shy. It would be obvious if he was doing anything more than exploring. Which is what he was doing…

Aziraphale kept his hands firmly above the line of Wolf’s ribs. Hair, shoulders, arms, those were safe things. Ignore the dimples above his ass. Maybe just a little exploration? Wolf scratched his fingers through Aziraphale’s chest hair and Aziraphale crossed exploring off his options list. This had been a terrible idea.

“You didn’t like that.” Wolf sounded slightly pouty.

He had liked it and that was a bit of a problem right now. “My skin is a bit more sensitive than yours. I don’t run around naked.”

“Oh, that makes sense! All your skin that’s under clothes, I should treat it like my ears.” Wolf patted Aziraphale gently. “Treat it like it’s soft. It’s fuzzy too!” He ran a hand over Aziraphale’s belly and that made Aziraphale giggle nervously.

Wolf paused, laying his hand flat. “Do you like that? Sometimes my son liked being tickled. But not always. I needed hands for that. It took awhile to figure out. I’m not ticklish as a wolf. So I didn’t understand how it worked. I had to learn. But doing that to someone… that was fun.” Wolf smiled lopsidedly, showing off too many teeth for a human but it was recognizable as a smile. “That’s a human thing though. Are we doing human things together?”

Aziraphale blinked at Wolf, trying to make sense of that. Being compared to his son… that was clear Wolf had no interest in him physically then. His behavior had sometimes seemed flirty, but with that description, some of it now made more sense. There was something endearing about the image of Wolf learning about humans through playing with his son.

“What kind of games did you play with your son?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not much to start. He’d throw things when he was angry or scared and I’d bring back the things he’d need. Then he figured out I’d bring them back.” Wolf poked him in the chest. “I am not a dog. Don’t get ideas.”

Aziraphale chuckled at Wolf’s expression. “Oh no, no throwing things for you.” Nevermind that was what had gotten him here now.

“Only sometimes.” Wolf sniffed. He gazed off towards the wall, face scrunched, clearly trying to think. He seemed to have little practice with schooling his face. “My son liked being chased sometimes too. He’d put his arms out and pretend his was a bird. He’d say he was an eagle and was going to snatch away my lambs and I’d chase him. But he’d jump on the walls and say he was in the sky now so I couldn’t get him. Sometimes he’d say he was a raven and he’d come pull my tail, like a real one. And I’d have to pretend I didn’t know he was going to do it while he snuck up on me!”

“That’s how I learned you could tickle humans. He wasn’t a little boy when I got him, but he wasn’t a teenager either. So I couldn’t play with him like a wolf. I couldn’t bite at him. And I was much bigger than him so I could knock him over. So he’d pull my tail and then I’d turn into a human and chase him. We were closer to the same size but if I caught him, I could pick him up. And then he would attack me with fingers and I’d fall over.”

“That sounds like you’re more ticklish than he is.”

“Maybe. I only have you to compare to. And I only touched you a little. I don’t know if anything about me is really like a human, even looking like one. I don’t get cold like you. That’s different. I look like a man but I don’t get hair like you.” Wolf ran a more careful finger along Aziraphale’s jaw, just barely brushing along the prickle of beard growing in. “Bracken-creeper had to teach my boy to shave. “

“You said he was a good sheep shearer. Trusted him to make sure your boy came back with two ears?”

“Trusted him to take him to the trainband. Once he was old enough to shave he was old enough to train to… “ Wolf made a distressed noise. “I know it’s important. I know more than anyone. I remember. You all know stories. I remember. I’d wanted to give him back to the humans. That was what he needed. But by then he was my son.”

Aziraphale made a low soothing noise at him, stroking his hand along Wolf’s back. “And he came back to you. Came back to be married. Your son loves you, even if he can’t stay with you and be who he needs to be.”

“I know. I still miss him. He needed to be someone other than the wolf’s son. He couldn’t be that forever. But I miss being his father. I miss people calling me that. I was someone to them. Now I am just ‘the wolf’ again.” Wolf’s face was squinched up as he tried to sort through his emotions. “I liked being a person. I’m not. Not without my son. But I couldn’t keep him and let him be a person too. He is one. He’s human. I’m not.”

“No, you’re not, but you are still his father. Even if he’s not here, that’s who you are to him. He needed time to figure out what it means to be himself. He’s not a child anymore. You seem to understand that, better than many human parents. It’s one of the common rifts in families, that a parent always sees a child as lesser, weaker, less experienced than themselves, no matter the subject. Sometimes that means they try to always be in charge. Sometimes it means they always try and take care of their child, even when they don’t need or want help. And are then angry when the child is not grateful.”

Wolf had shifted to look at Aziraphale’s face as he spoke, watching his expression. “Is that how things were with your parents?” Wolf sounded genuinely curious and as if he didn’t realize how personal a question it was. Aziraphale tried to remember if he’d ever said anything about his parents at all. Or where he’d grown up. Or really anything about before he’d become a soldier.

“They had difficulty with seeing me as I was, not how they wanted me to be. They had other children they got along better with. Their personalities were more… compatible.” There was no need to speak ill of siblings Wolf would never meet, if they were even still alive. If his parents even were. He had a pang of guilt at not knowing. He should know, shouldn’t he? But once you left a place, keeping up communication was often so difficult. You had to be guarded with your messages and how they were addressed. You couldn’t disclose relatives’ public names to make sure the message went to the right person. The longer you were gone, the more things drifted until at some point the message was no longer delivered because your description was no longer accurate. They were no longer the person you remembered. You couldn’t reestablish that link unless you went and reforged that relationship in person.

Aziraphale hadn’t.

Wolf was stroking his hair and watching his face. He looked almost human in the dim light of the tallow lamp. It hid the color of his eyes. His expressions were almost human. Aziraphale had laid with many soldiers at night, talking, and there had been the same closeness. He’d exchanged names with some. They’d looked at him like this with their bodies pressed together. Some he’d also had as lovers, but not all. He wanted that again. To know someone that intimately. To feel safe with them pressed to his back in bed or in battle.

He couldn’t have that with Wolf.

And yet… here he was night after night, with Wolf pressed against him as the surest defense against his own demons.

He could, but he shouldn’t.

“My parents were… good, I suppose. I’ve heard of worse. I didn’t unduly want for things. I had clothes, I had food, I had the things you’re supposed to give children. But I just… I wasn’t like them somehow. They were sure of things, steady, solid folks. And I wasn’t like them. I look so much like my father, just without a beard. But I’m not him. I was an odd child. A little queer. Maybe I would have been happier doing something else, but I grew into a solid body and had been trained to be obedient. I had an… experience… that pushed me towards the church. Those were all things they liked but I was just as bad at that. I couldn’t even do the most basic requirement.”

“Isn’t that serving in the trainband?” Wolf mostly just seemed confused. Which made sense. It’s not as if he had gone through the training. Wolf was what they trained against.

“Yes, for most people. Go to the trainband when available. Teenagers get a lot more specific training on how to use weapons, how to work together, resolving conflict, the meaning of the New Gods, and so on. Did your son tell you any of that?”

“Some, I don’t think he was supposed to.” Wolf’s expression grew softer. “He liked learning things and wanted to tell me about it. I liked hearing most of it.” Wolf’s voice got a little rough. “Some of the things though, those were hard to hear. He repeated them without meaning any harm. Still hurt.”

“I am sure I have said things that hurt you that way. You don’t have to take them though. I’m old enough to learn I was wrong. That everyone was wrong.” Aziraphale laughed bitterly. “Probably why I failed at becoming a priest. Obedient in all the wrong ways. Stubborn. Argumentative. Too... me. I excelled at the physical and failed the most basic emotional task. I couldn’t give up my public name. Not all of it at least. If I’d been able to give up my public name and then my private Name, truly do it, the magic of the Old Ones would have no hold on me. Instead I am here, with you.”

Wolf’s face twitched as several emotions seemed to roll over him at once. He drew his hands away from Aziraphale. “I didn’t do anything?” He seemed unsure.

“Nothing magical. Just were… “ he reached out and cupped Wolf’s face. “Come here and put your arms back around me.”

“Do you like me better this way?” Wolf sounded small and fragile, but he wrapped himself back around Aziraphale, pressing as much of himself as possible against his bare skin.

“I like you different this way. Your skin feels different. I like petting you both ways but this way…” Aziraphale ran his hand down Wolf’s back and let his thumb rest in that little dimple above his backside. Wolf shivered slightly beneath his hand. “I feel your skin, not your fur. I know you’re still hairy on the inside.”

“I’m still a wolf.” Wolf sounded very uncertain of that, so Aziraphale moved his hand higher.

“You are. Do you like me better his way?”

“I like you different? Hands are different. They feel different.” Wolf squirmed against him and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. “You smell different like this. Faint. I can smell you, but its not as strong. Less complicated. It’s the opposite of the feelings. Those are more complicated with this shape. Just more. Many on top of each other. Thoughts too. I’m not just a wolf even when I am a wolf, but things are different.”

“I know how I feel as a wolf. My body is familiar. My senses are familiar. My emotions are familiar. They’re not like this. Different. Familiar, but different. You’re not a wolf. I don’t know how to tell you about how things feel. Humans have so few ways to describe smell. And that’s how things feel. Like smells. So I can’t tell you about either.”

“Humans don’t smell as well as you,” Aziraphale said. “But we remember smells very well even if we can’t describe them well. That’s what I was named after, a plant my mother loved the smell of and couldn’t eat all during her pregnancy.”

“You shouldn’t tell me that. What if I guess your name?” Wolf sounded concerned but also a bit sad. How many times had he been responsible and warned people about how close they were getting only to have them pull back?

“That’s not my name anymore. The one that your parents gave you is supposed to become your public name, the one you can give away to others before you truly trust them with your real name. So shortening Angelica wasn’t that hard initially. But giving it all up… I couldn’t stop being Angel.”

“You… you why would you tell me your name?!?” Wolf sounded desperately confused.

“Because I want you to call me by name.”

“I… I don’t have any public name to give you. Just… just the name that hurt me.”

“I didn’t ask for your name. I want you to call me by mine.”

“Angel?”

Aziraphale smiled and it felt good. It felt normal. Maybe he had handed his name over to someone he shouldn’t, but that was the risk with everyone he had ever given it to. They might not reciprocate his feelings. They might betray his trust entirely.

“Angel. That’s your name.” Wolf touched Aziraphale face gently. “Angel. Angel. Angel. That’s you!”

“It is. Not all of me. But part of me. I like the way you say it.”

“I will say it to you every night you stay, Angel.” Wolf’s eyebrows drew together as he was thinking very hard. “Is it… is that just for humans? Can I still call you that as a wolf?”

“You are a wolf, so yes.” He pulled at Wolf’s hands to get his attention. He considered kissing his knuckles, but that probably would just confuse him even more. “To me you are Wolf. Not the wolf. Or a wolf. Does that sound different to you? To be called Wolf?”

“Oh. You do say it different. Is that my name? Can I give that to you?”

“Only if you want me to call you that.”

“I do want that. I’m Wolf. That’s me! And you’re Angel!” Wolf’s smile was crooked, but very genuine. So was Aziraphale’s.

Notes:

Trying to figure out how to get angel in there when there are no angels took a bit of wiggling. Angelica the plant is technically named after angels, but we're going in circles. It's edible as a vegetable, but rarely cultivated in the West in the modern era. If you've encountered it at all, it was most likely as a flavoring agent in gin, Chartreuse, or Vermouth.

Next time: Aziraphale needs to talk to the priest.

Chapter 11: Traitor

Summary:

Aziraphale talks to the priest about what he's done and how he can't keep doing other things.

it might be.... ok? Aziraphale has a lot of questions to think through.

Aziraphale felt guilty next time he went to the trainband, for a multitude of reasons. He’d given his name to Wolf, which he very much should not have done. Accidentally revealing a name to one of the Old Ones through trickery or deception or even carelessness was a feature of a lot of stories. But he’d given it to him. He’d known what he was doing and done it anyway.

And he knew what he was doing here as well and was also doing it anyway.

Now he was here showing teenagers how to hurl a spear to kill Wolf, or at least those like him. That was the purpose of the trainband, to make sure everyone was ready to take up arms against the Old Ones when they returned.

That Wolf seemed equally worried by that prospect… whose side would Wolf fight on? There’d always been humans that sided with the Old Ones against other humans for the promise of some type of reward or out of terror about what could be done to them if they didn’t obey. They were generally treated with scorn in stories, even those who acted from fear, trying to protect those close to them. Teenagers doing their time with the trainband always felt they could be braver and more courageous than the people of old, or at least liked to say so. Perhaps they could be, not having grown up with that terror pressing down onto their every waking moment.

Aziraphale had felt like that when he was young. It was easy to be brave and have a clear moral stance when it was all theoretical.

“You have to throw as if you’re trying to go through the target and bury the spear in the ground behind it. No hesitation.” Aziraphale demonstrated how to throw again, using enough force to knock over the bale of hay.

But would he, if it was Wolf?

He would. He had to believe that.

His next cast was poor and the two teens he was with razzed him over it.

“See, even I can lose focus and then it lands short.” He signaled to them to hold fire while he went and retrieved his spear and their practice ones as well. Both practice spears together weighed as much as his. He was throwing a real weapon, they were still just learning technique.

Aziraphale had the larger teen hold the position for throwing as he adjusted the angle of her arm. By the time Aziraphale was happy with it, her arm was starting to shake, but it was still a much better throw.

He focused on the smaller teen. “A strong person can compensate for bad technique with raw power, but it will only take them so far. They may hurt themself or even strike an ally accidentally. Technique is what determines if it’s a killing shot or not. If you’re throwing your weapon away, you must be assured it is worth it.”

The smaller boy nodded gravely. Most work with a spear would be done with it in hand, but the ability to hurl it could clear a path for your companions. Every spear unit needed someone that could clear the way. That had been Aziraphale, until he couldn’t. He’d also taken many of the most serious hits when he worked with a shield. He’d left that behind when he’d been given this task of killing Wolf. He had no companion to watch his flanks and no shield to guard them either. He shouldn’t have needed either against a beast.

He wasn’t sure he should even have the spear anymore. Should he show anyone else how to fight anymore? What if they looked up the hill and decided they were brave enough to take out the last Old One?

Aziraphale helped the boy position himself anyway and corrected the angle of his elbow so he would get full power behind it. Someone had taught him this long ago and now he was doing the same. This generation would prepare to fight an enemy that might never come.

Aziraphale gazed off towards where he had come from. He was the enemy that would come. He’d never fought anything but other men.

Always for good reasons.

Sometimes for good reasons.

They’d seemed like good reasons at the time.

He still believed that he had done the right thing with many of them. They had been determined to take people's land, crops, and lives.

Aziraphale suspected that he’d been seen that same way.

Would he fight against someone trying to do the same here?

He might. If he was able to. His hands had been steadier recently. His nightmares were few and far between. He knew who to credit for that. No blessing involved, even if it felt like it.

Would he fight for Wolf? Would anyone else here fight for him?

Why was that what he measured everything against, a willingness to engage in violence?

Another round of thrown spears. The teens were getting slightly better or at least needed less guidance to get close to the right technique. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“What are you thinking about when you throw?” Azraiphale asked them.

“Where my feet are,” the girl said.

“Am I supposed to think about something?” asked the boy.

“No, no, technique is good. Thinking about your foot position is good. Too much thought can get in the way of completing the action,” Aziraphale said. He cleared his mind and made a cast that buried the point completely in the target and out the other side.

“Wowwee! I want to throw like you!” from the girl.

“I think about killing when I throw. Ultimately every throw should be a death.” Aziraphale said.

The two teens stared at him and he shook his head. “Don’t mind me. You hopefully will never have to be in a battle. But you need to know how to fight.”

“Did you kill a lot of people?” the girl asked.

“Yes.” Aziraphale signaled a halt to casting and went to retrieve the spears. They looked at his spear more closely now, seeing where his hands had polished the wood and where there were little knicks along the shaft where it had collided with something. With someone.

“Were they human?” the boy asked.

“Yes. I thought it was the right thing.”

“Was it?” from the girl.

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale said.

“Shouldn’t you know that, before killing someone?” the boy asked.

“Yes. Yes, you should.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Even if it is the right thing, it still may not be something you can do. You may know that before you have to try, but you may not know that you can’t until you find your hands shaking. You may be able to fight for a while and then you can’t anymore.”

“Did he make you stop?” The girl jerked her chin up towards the hill.

“No. He didn’t make me do anything. I just… don’t become a soldier. Don’t. Train with the trainband so you know how to defend where you live, but don’t become a soldier.” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked towards the rest of the trainband.

The boy made a thoughtful face. “Everybody tells us about things we could become, but never about things we shouldn’t. I know some people are thinking about it. Being a soldier. Not me. But friends.”

“Don’t do it.” Aziraphale said. “I don’t regret those years but… I could have had a very different life. I wouldn’t have ended up here. I like it here, now. But I could have had a peaceful life, a quiet life. That was what I thought I could give others by being a soldier. I couldn’t.”

“Aren’t priests supposed to be even better fighters than soldiers?” the girl asked.

All three of them looked towards the priest, where she was taking the rest of the people through a drill to get them to lock shields together before she attacked them. She’d broken through every time this evening, one warrior against a whole group.

“Yes. I couldn’t do that either. There’s more to being a priest than fighting… but a lot of it is. She could kill me, easily.”

“Cool.” The girl still sounded admiring. Maybe she would follow the same path. Maybe she would be willing to give up her name for it. The boy watched the fight and winced slightly each time there was a clash of metal on metal.

The group finally managed to repel the priest with a firm enough charge to knock her over and surround her. That would have been the end of her in a real battle. Here she could call them off and tell them to go eat the meal prepared for them.

The call of food and companionship meant the priest and Aziraphale were left alone to finish the final cleaning and put away the equipment. Cleaning and repairing weapons and training dummies was familiar to him at least. There was a certain familiarity with the life he’d led so long and now he only lived once a moon. It was enough to be a reminder of the life he’d left and couldn’t return to. He was increasingly realizing that even if he could return, he didn’t want to.

Aziraphale chewed at his lip as he rewrapped the grip on one of the practice swords, making sure the edges were all lined up neatly. There was always some piece of practice gear he ended up sitting and patching up at the end of it all, bringing it up to the standards a professional would use.

The priest was doing the training that everyone was required to have and yet, all their tools were a bit shabby, as if they were going through the motions rather than expecting to ever have to put them to use. It made some amount of sense, but also reminded him that he was a professional killer.

Had been.

He hoped.

He’d scared that boy today. He was supposed to prepare them to fight and was telling what you lost if you did.

The priest had finished putting away all the other practice weapons and came back to fetch this one from him. He stared at her feet, unable to look at her face.

“I don’t think I’m a good influence on them. I should stop coming to the trainband.” Aziraphale forced himself to look at her face, trying to read something in her carefully blank expression. “But that’s your decision. I will abide by what you say.”

“I have the right to call you up. You have a duty to come if you can. Can you?”

“Physically. I’m not sure I’ve ever been here mentally. Not really.”

The priest gestured towards the storage area, so they'd walk together. Talking with her next to him seemed easier, somehow.

“Today you were here,” she said.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I told those kids too much. I scared one of them.”

“Fear is a useful lesson at times.” She took the practice sword from him and put it away. He felt some loss at having his hands empty.

Aziraphale shook his head some more, unsure how to articulate what was wrong. What he’d done. There was no help for him.

“Come then, you’re still owed dinner.” She gestured inside the church. Normally they would sit outside beneath the extended edge of the roof. The interiors of churches had stayed small over the years so as to preserve the sense of privacy when sitting with the New Gods. The exteriors had grown longer and longer roof overhangs to provide a space where people could stand outside and speak together. Ones in large towns often had extensive arbors surrounding them to provide enough covered space for people to meet even in bad weather. That those same arbors could be torn down and turned into spear shafts, well. Everything always had multiple uses and meanings.

This meant he would be receiving a consultation. He could refuse, he could leave and go home hungry. Go home. And that was the problem right there.

“Choose.” The priest gestured inside, giving him a moment to walk around while she retrieved the remains from the earlier meal.

He stood at the threshold, looking at the panels. Who did he need to talk to? Not the Traveler, he had spent his life with them and now might be ready to stop moving. Neither the Musician nor the Rider felt right. He stared at the Maker, hammering out a sword. He ran his thumb over his hand, looking at the callouses from weapons. They weren’t as thick as they had once been. No, not the Maker.

Aziraphale had come and sat before the Wounded many times now. He had found an answer there that had led to more questions. He laid his hand on The Wounded’s cheek. He felt something there in his heart, but no answer.

He had never felt any call to the twin figures of the Bountiful, never seeing himself with children of his own or desiring riches. He looked back to the Rider and his array of animals. Any sheep in his life would always belong to Wolf. As to Wolf himself… Aziraphale couldn’t tame him, nor would he ever share in his fortune as part of the Bountiful.

That left the Sage and the Scribe. The Sage should grant him wisdom. Surely someone had experienced the same problems he had. There must be a relevant story. But all the stories he knew involving the Old Ones ended in violence and tragedy. He desperately wanted a new story.

He looked at the Scribe’s many hands as they distributed knowledge quickly and accurately. Aziraphale had sent many false missives now. He looked at the throne of bones the Scribe sat upon. The Scribe could just as easily spread doom.

Aziraphale went to sit before the Scribe. He needed to know the words to convince his former lord there was no wolf anymore, perhaps had never been one. So long as he stayed here, lying in his missives, no one else would be sent. But he couldn’t keep that up forever. Eventually someone would be sent if his lord had known all along that there was no wolf, only one of the Old Ones. He might suspect he had been ensnared by the wolf. Or turned traitor.

He feared that might be true.

The priest returned, closing the exterior door behind her. They were both plunged into darkness. Aziraphale inhaled deeply, heart speeding up in the darkness. How long would she make him wait? He closed his eyes and reached out for the panel in front of him. His hand rested over one of the Scribe’s hands. The stylus in the Scribe’s hand felt extremely sharp against his skin, as if it might cut him.

There was the sound of steel behind him and light seeped through his eyelids. He slowly opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the lamplight as the priest moved toward him. She set the food down beside him.

“Did you wish me to write you a letter?” She sat beside him, her face obscured in the darkness. Her voice sounded totally unfamiliar. He knew it was all stagecraft. He’d practiced changing his own voice when he first thought of becoming a priest. Even knowing it was purposeful, it still worked. The priest he knew was gone; The Scribe was here.

“No. I… “ He sounded different even to himself now. “Have you received any letters for me? No. Not me. Have you received any letters for the lord’s man? Or for the hunter?”

“If I had, I would not tell you. You are neither.” All mail was delivered to the priest, who also had the duty of reading it to any who could not read either due to lack of skill or loss of sight.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “Have you received any letters that could not be delivered?”

“That I may tell you. There has been no mail for someone who is lost.”

“Oh.” Azirphale really had felt there should be some. Were all his letters going undelivered? “None at all?”

“None for who you might have been or who you are becoming.”

“I… can that happen?” Aziraphale blinked in the lamplight, trying to read The Scribe’s face but she may as well have been a steel panel herself. “Can you get a letter for someone who does not exist yet?”

“Yes. Priests often write letters to those who might replace them. They may wait years to be delivered. That’s the most common. Sometimes people write letters to children that have not been born yet. Sometimes they come from afar, from distant relatives that hope there will be someone to receive it some day. Sometimes women write them to children they haven’t had yet, as part of deciding if they wish to have any at all.”

“I’m none of those, who could I possibly become that there would be a letter waiting for me?”

“Every priest receives requests at times. Usually they are for specific people who have fallen out of contact nearby and they are looking to see if they changed villages. However, sometimes people write, wishing for something. It is the priest’s job to determine if they are sincere. Sometimes they are simple things, asking for it to be given to someone with certain skills, like a drover or weaver. Sometimes they are fanciful things, wishing for a romantic partner that meets certain criteria. I rarely pass those on. They are meant to be sent, not to be received.”

Aziraphale stared at the panel of the Scribe for a moment. To send that kind of wish to the future, to the world at large, that required so much optimism. So much faith. He wasn’t sure he had either. But was that not what the New Gods were all about, to find what was needed in the world around them? And if you couldn’t find it here, in the every day you experienced, to have faith that someone out there would hear and respond and you merely needed to be ready to hear the answer?

Aziraphale swallowed thickly, feeling his chest grow tight. Maybe he had been responded to. Maybe he’d been speaking to the wrong person this whole time. It was a terrifying prospect. Could he just vanish? Could he purposefully become lost? Could he let himself be someone else after all this time?

“If… if there was a letter for the Lord's Man, would it just wait for the next one?”

“Will there be a next one?”

“I don’t know. If there’s no response to what I sent… but why would there be? I am expected to just keep trying until I kill the wolf. I can’t do that. I don’t think I can kill anything anymore. Not even something I would eat.”

“And if something threatened the wolf, what would you do?”

“Fight. It’s what I know how to do. Even if it hurts. Even if it might destroy me. How can I be so willing to kill for others?”

“You would die for the wolf.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I am a fool. I gave him my public name. I have traded one master for another. I know how this should end. Will end. And I did it anyway. There is no happy ending here.”

“There is no happy ending for anyone,” The Scribe said. “Because that requires an end. Is that what you want from him, an end?”

“No… I… I can’t,” Aziraphale said. “I know what he is. I can’t. I can't do this. I can’t. I can’t train people to kill him. Not and… and… I don’t even know what he wants. He’s not a man. He’s so lonely. So am I. Not when I’m with him. But the rest of the time… I do want an end. I am not who I was and I can…. I can never be that person again.”

“Good. Now you know that.”

“You can't possibly approve of this. To do…”

“The wolf?” That sounded like the priest’s regular voice.

Aziraphale spluttered at her. “Not like that!”

“If you do,” The Scribe said. “It is not my business any more than it is my business who has sex with anyone else.”

“But he’s an Old One.”

“Is he? Or is he someone’s father?”

Aziraphale started to say something and then snapped his mouth shut. He’d said much the same to Wolf, that he was still his son’s father. He’d chosen that. Maybe Wolf hadn’t understood what he’d done. A child could have only one mother. That was how lineage was traced. There was no dispute there. A child was part of the mother’s family, unless she purposely gave them up. Who the father was…. That was entirely a matter of choice. Marriage was the easiest way to formalize that, but older children could declare someone their father. Lineage didn’t matter, a father was someone who was there when a child needed them.

Aziraphale had no doubt Wolf would go to his son if asked.

“He is someone’s father,” Aziraphale said. “But he’s also an Old One. I can stop being a soldier, but he can’t stop being an Old One.”

“Can you stop being a soldier?”

Aziraphale stared at the bond mark on his arm, showing he’d pledged to his lord. It was tied to the land he held, not the man. It was not his Name, but it was so specific that it was perilously close to one. That was why those in power maintained soldiers, to have that extra defense against the Old Ones returning. They would be the first to be targeted. Of course, having a group of soldiers at your command also made it easier to stay in power or take more power from other humans.

“I don’t know how else to keep him safe! I would fight my lord for my… I don’t know what he is to me or I to him. I gave him my name. I gave him… I don’t know. I’m not sure I can give up being a soldier when my first instinct is to say I would fight my lord for him!”

“Why did you pick me then?” the Scribe asked.

“I need the words to say to my lord. My former lord. I know he is former, but I don’t know how else to speak of him. I cannot do what he wants. In any way. I’ve failed. I have such doubts about his motives, ones I cannot ask him about. I cannot just vanish. This trail has been trodden too many times by his other men. He will send another and what will I do to stop the man sent here to kill my wolf? I can’t kill him, that was me!”

“That was you. All were soldiers sent to do a job they were not ready for. They came to hunt something they’d only heard of in stories. Only you saw that there are no Old Gods left, only an Old One.”

“They’re the same thing.” Aziraphale scowled. He stared at the panel of the Scribe, looking at all the letters piled around them, each addressed to someone who could not be directly named. The Scribe could both reveal and conceal the truth with words. The future lay in the past that had been sent forward to it.

“They’re the same thing… usually?” Aziraphale felt like he was teetering on the edge of some knowledge that would leave him as changed as if he had been stolen by one of the Old Ones. Maybe he had been. But he’d gone willingly, step by step, trying to leave his old life behind. Each step had led him to more unpleasant truths about himself.

“You can’t read me the letter your predecessor left, that was for the next priest,” Aziraphale said. “But you will need to leave a letter for the next one who will have to deal with the wolf, who heard all the stories of the Old Gods and not this Old One. What will you leave to them?”

“Such careful phrasing…” But the priest smiled at him and he felt his heart lurch at her considering look. He was talking to her once more, not one of the Gods. “Eat while I consider what the one who deals with the wolf would need to hear.”

Aziraphale nodded and focused on the food. It was an odd assortment of leftovers from the earlier meal served to the trainband. The teenagers had demolished most of the meat, cheese, and fruit. That had left him and the priest with a few odds and ends to go with the remainder of the cooked parsnips, fermented cabbage, mustard greens, and the butt ends of several loaves of bread. He divided it up evenly to the best of his ability.

She shoved one of the loaves back at him. “None for me. The seeds disagree with me.” It was a brief reminder the priest was just as much an individual as he was, even if she had given up her Name.

The priest leaned forward, using her normal voice once more. “The Old Ones left. Most of the Old Gods went with them. But they left a legacy that can destroy the world once more. The Old Gods got new faces and say they will keep us safe if only we give them enough. They point at others and say that they have turned against us, when they mean against them. The further away that fear is, the better, as it may never be confronted and understood.

“That is the true threat of the last Old One, to see that the shadow he casts is much more terrifying than the reality. Without the might of others to hold the system together and transform him into a God, he is just an individual. A strange and lonely individual set outside our own systems, but he is himself.”

She paused to look at Aziraphale’s face and then gentled her voice. “Are you yourself?”

“I don’t know if I ever have been.”

“That is not the sort of thing to contemplate on an empty stomach. Let’s go outside and sit by the fire. It is not an answer you will find in here.”

Aziraphale had a brief stab of fear. “Can I come back though? Will you let me?”

“Yes. If you find solace in here, then it is open to you. If you find nothing but pain, seek your comforts elsewhere, no matter who gives them to you.”

Aziraphale rose and gathered up the rest of the meal. “And the trainband, what should I do?”

“Come, but I will give you a special task that I think may be more in line with your heart. Make sure either Shadwell or Tracy comes next time to spar with you. Preferably both. Everyone can contribute something and everyone can be provided for. It will be educational for everyone.”

“I sense I am going to end up face down in the dirt a lot,” Aziraphale said.

“Yes. You know how to fall safely and stay down,” the priest said. “You have never fought from a place of anger or pride. To see that is a lesson in itself. Even if you do not entirely know yourself right now, some things about you have been and always will be true. You just need to decide if they are things you can live for rather than die for.”

Notes:

This chapter contained the prompt: "Don't shoot the messenger"
next chapter: they might both get A Clue at the same time. Aziraphale moves in. Wolf makes his move.

Chapter 12: Together

Summary:

They have dinner. Together.

Notes:

hrrrrrrrrgh. Get your Covid booster updated if you did not get one in fall. Even with a booster, I was still out sick for two weeks and felt like my brain was a cup of tea someone reheated a dozen times after that. Good news, I am now fine. This was my first time with Covid and I hope the last last. Zero stars, do not recommend. Get your shots.

---

If he was going to be foolish, he might as well commit to it.

“Would you do something for me tonight?” Aziraphale asked.

“Dunno, what did you want?” Wolf said from next to him. He didn’t need to walk with him when he left in the morning, but he usually got him to one of the better marked paths. He could find them now on his own, but it had become a habit in the time he needed the guidance.

“It gets dark so much earlier now, walking back and forth every day, well, it would be much easier if, could you…” Aziraphale took a deep breath. He could be brave. Or an idiot. “Would you cook dinner for me tonight?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I can feed you, I can’t cook for you.” Wolf seemed torn between shying away and pressing into Aziraphale’s leg. “Is that enough?”

“You tell me. Is it enough that it’s something you gave me?”

“All I have from the other lands is myself. The sheep are all so many generations removed there’s nothing magic in them anymore.” Wolf’s voice grew soft. “All I can give you is what you could get from any man.”

“But I didn’t ask any man, I asked you.” Aziraphale bumped his hip into Wolf, chasing that contact. “I want to share a meal with you, even though you’ve told me of how bad your cooking is. Perhaps I will cook for you instead.”

“Can’t. There’s no hearth at this den and no stones close enough to make a decent fire pit,” Wolf said as he leaned into Aziraphale's leg. “I was going to move dens when the moon is full, after the sheep get the last of the grass in the high hills, but we could move sooner, somewhere we can cook. Both of us?”

“Both of us. Don’t move early. You know better what your sheep need. You shall just have to make sure I stay warm until then.”

“I’m a good bed warmer!” Wolf wiggled next to him and Aziraphale couldn’t resist scratching his ears. “Winter den is warmer, too. Maybe then sometimes in the day, maybe, you could stay? And not leave?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

---

---

Wolf was crouched in human form and dressed when he arrived back at the den in the dark, which gave Aziraphale pause. His hair had a fancier braid in it that usual, with no little frizzy bits escaping yet. He’d also lit a second lamp and put it by the first, making it brighter and warmer inside. There were no sheep.

Wolf popped to his feet and then seemed to have no idea what to do with himself. There was a small parcel wrapped in leaves on the ground along with a small partially unrolled cloth with a stone knife on it. Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, equally baffled. Wolf looked away first.

“Food. I got you food.” Wolf’s voice got very soft. “I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Oh. Well. Um, where do you want me?”

“There’s no table. Or chairs. So the floor. I cleaned!” Wolf had indeed cleaned, as all the old dried grass had been thrown out of the den and there were fresh stalks on the ground. And zero sheep leavings.

Aziraphale hung up his cloak and put his boots by the door. Wolf had added a peg to the wall for him to do so. Aziraphale settled into a comfortable squat by the piece of fabric. Wolf crouched across from him, though he seemed far from comfortable. He focused on unrolling the cloth to reveal some tiny mottled red and yellow apples, a mass of bright green cress, and flattened orange mushrooms. Wolf fumbled with the wrapped parcel, revealing a chunk of off-white cheese

“Meant to make it look nicer but I got dressed first and then you were here and-” Wolf stopped talking as Aziraphale laid a hand on his knee.

“It is enough that you were willing to share with me. Was I meant to eat them in any specific order?”

Wolf made a face at him like he was thinking very hard. “The mushrooms and the stune won’t keep. We should eat all those.”

“Stune?” Aziraphale pointed at the cress and Wolf nodded. “Not the name I know it under but I’ve harvested it before.”

Aziraphale looked at the cold dinner and felt a sudden familiarity. He’d had so many meals like this as a soldier, crouched together with his men. They carried food with them, but they always had to supplement with what they foraged along the way.

If he was eating a cold meal like this, it usually meant they were about to engage with another force. This wasn’t exactly what he’d eaten the night before he’d been injured, but it was of the same style.

But there was no danger here. It was familiar enough to be a comfort without being a reminder. He felt no pain in his leg. This was the sort of thing he missed and couldn’t have said until now that was what he missed. He took a shuddering breath and looked at Wolf’s worried face.

“It’s perfect. Will you cut me cheese?”

Wolf nodded tightly and focused on using the stone knife to cut a thin curl of cheese off. There was no haft on the knife, but Wolf handled it with skill. Aziraphale was sure he would cut himself with it if he tried to use it.

“Did you make that?”

“Yep,” Wolf said, then wrinkled up his nose. “Wait. The cheese or the knife?”

“Both actually. Though I think I’m more surprised by the cheese, when you’ve said you can barely cook.”

“Well everybody with sheep makes cheese.” Wolf shrugged, as if it was nothing.

“I would have no idea where to start with making cheese.”

“Start with milking a sheep.”

“You’ve seen how I am with your sheep.”

“Guess I will do all the sheep milking then.” Wolf seemed to have loosened up some now that they were back to more familiar bantering.

Aziraphale meanwhile had tried one of the mushrooms, which had an almost gelatinous texture, but tasted pleasant and earthy. He took a curl of cheese from Wolf. It was salty and a bit sour but very savory. This would go well with the cress.

“It’s very nice cheese. I’m not sure how I missed you making it.”

Wolf huffed a little. “If I’d kept you that first time you would have. That’s part of why I’m there. The grass is good, plenty of water, and I have a cache dug into the hillside I store cheese in for later.”

“So you eat your own cheese?”

“Course, why would I make cheese if I wasn’t going to eat it?”

Aziraphale pointed at the increasing pile of cheese curls that Wolf had not eaten a one of. He huffed and then stuffed one in his mouth.

“There, see, eat my own cheese. Less suspicious now?”

“It wasn’t suspicion, it was that I want you to eat with me, not just give me food.”

“Oh. Yeah. I have mushrooms stored for later too. These ones don’t dry well.” Wolf stuffed a piece of mushroom in his mouth, looking pink around the ears.

“Yes, I helped you harvest those. Is there a cache of some sort near all your dens?”

“Usually. Put more in there when I had the boy. I store too much now. Got used to how hungry he was. He grew so fast!” Wolf ducked his head. “Sometimes I give things to the priest. Nobody else will take food from me normally. They’ll give me food but-” He shifted from foot to foot. “I know why. S’not true. But I know why. Doesn’t matter what I say.”

“I believe you.” Aziraphale very purposefully ate another piece of cheese. “Everyone took the sheep you contributed to the feast.”

“Because those were my son’s. I gave them to him to share. S’different.” Wolf shrugged, a full body movement. “Won’t take apples from me even though I pick them from the same place they do, but it could be somewhere else. Wouldn’t even take cheese from my son though. Definitely not the cheese. That’s something I made, so not safe. Fine for him to eat, but not them. Do you like the cheese?”

“It’s very rich.” Aziraphale wrapped a sliver up in a twist of cress and bit into it. The pungent taste went with the cheese. Wolf watched his face like he was doing something wonderful. Maybe he was.

Wolf split one of the small apples in half. His brows furrowed and he stuck his tongue out slightly. He put a piece of cheese on top of the tiny apple and handed it to Aziraphale.

“It’s not really cooking… but you’ll eat it?”

“I will. With you.” Aziraphale watched Wolf fumble with the other half of the apple, trying to get the cheese to stay on top and knocking it off repeatedly. He finally got it assembled and looked back at Aziraphale, who waited patiently.

“There.” Aziraphale took a bite and Wolf did as well. The apple was small and mostly sour with a hint of sweetness at the back. The saltiness of the cheese cut some of the acidity.

“Oh, that’s better than alone.” Wolf blinked at the food in surprise. “I didn’t know if it would work.”

“It is better than alone.” Aziraphale took another bite as Wolf colored again. The nervousness, the blushing, all pointed at Wolf clearly felt something for him. He’d even gotten dressed.

The advantage of experience was that Aziraphale could move slowly, deliberately. For all Wolf’s age, so much of this seemed new to him. Aziraphale could match his pace, let him figure out what he wanted. Though perhaps a little nudge could be clarifying.

“Which of these is your favorite?”

“The cheese.” No hesitation.

“And after that?”

Wolf seemed to have to think longer about that. “I think the apples? I get different mushrooms almost year round, but apples only for part of it. I like these mushrooms, but they’re not my favorite.”

“Would you like me to go with you to pick apples? Fill up one of your caches so we can have apples in the dark of winter. If they’re somewhere I can go.”

“I leave the ones closer to the village for other people. So it’ll be a walk.” Wolf scowled a bit and hunched his shoulders. “I’m a wolf, I don’t need apples.”

“You can want things without needing them.” Aziraphale carefully rested a hand on Wolf’s knee. “You like having a hammock. And blankets. You light a lamp at night.”

“The lamp is for you.”

“You owned it before I ever came.”

“Stays warmer in here.”

“Are you cold now?” Aziraphale stroked a finger along Wolf’s knee and watched his face color.

“Nope. Plenty warm. Got clothes on!” He pointed at the shirt and kilt.

“I see.” Aziraphale withdrew his hand and Wolf’s face fell. He ate some more of the cress and cheese while Wolf stared at him intently. There was no challenge there, just an intense focus he was unable to hide. Aziraphale picked up one of the cheese curls and held it in front of Wolf’s face. His eyes crossed as he tried to focus on the item and Aziraphale snorted softly.

“Take it, you silly thing. You keep forgetting to eat. Are you not hungry?”

Wolf blinked at him for a moment before taking the cheese from his fingers. He awkwardly dragged his lips over Aziraphale’s fingers, trying to avoid dropping pieces. Aziraphale licked his lips as he watched.

“M’hungry.” Wolf drew back, pressing fingers over his lips to wipe away the wetness there.

“I don’t really understand what you feel,” Aziraphale said. “You said having your fur on the inside keeps you warm and yet here you are dressed.”

“I get cold.” Wolf stared at the ground. “Not like you. My fur is always on the inside. Mostly I am human shaped when I need hands. So when I’m working. Stay warm then. Seen you take off your shirt when it’s hot. Because you get hot. Don’t have any fur though. Just hair.”

Wolf picked up some of the mushrooms and nibbled at them mostly so he had something to focus on other than Aziraphale. This was not one of the safe topics they usually discussed. This was about Wolf himself.

“I get cold if I sit or lay down like this. Then I need clothes so I don’t get too cold. Ground steals my warmth. Bed keeps me warmer. So does the blanket.” Wolf’s eyes darted up to Aziraphale’s face. “You make me warm.”

“Oh good. You do quite a good job keeping me warm too, whatever shape you’re in.”

“But which one do you like better?” Wolf watched his face intently.

“You’re easier to sleep with this way. But I do very much like petting you the other way.”

“You pet me like this too. Undo my braid. Run your fingers through my hair ‘til there’s no tangles.” Wolf looked away again, color rising in his face.

“Should I not do that?” Aziraphale asked. “Does it mean something? Do your braids mean anything specific?”

“What kind of question is that? What’s hair mean?” Wolf seemed more confused than anything, like it was a new concept. But he had probably never interacted with humans from any other village, so it might well be new information.

“Well, some villages have specific hairstyles to indicate people are part of the village,“ Aziraphale said. “Cities it might show off whether people are married or not, if they’re affiliated with a specific trade, or other social details.”

“Is that why your hair is short?” Wolf asked. “Does it mean you’re a soldier?”

“No, the weapons and marks from my…former… lord made that clear.” They both knew it was former, but it still felt strange saying it aloud. “Easier to keep clean if I keep my hair short and I shave. Water was sometimes scarce to come by and it was more important to drink than wash.”

“I always den near water. You can wash it as much as you want. There’s soapweed near some of the dens. Know how to use it, just don’t use it on myself.” Wolf sniffed. “Smells weird on me. But I can wash!”

“You don’t seem to need to,” Aziraphale said. “You change forms and you’re clean again. I am a bit jealous on days when I’ve gotten truly filthy and I’m stuck scrubbing dirt out from under my nails.”

“But you can wear clothes. I can’t wear the shirt if I think I’ll be changing forms. Then I don’t have a shirt anymore, it just vanishes. The kilt I can keep, I guess it’s loose enough so I just get tangled in it instead. So I can get clean, but not while wearing clothes. And my hair gets loose if I had it tied instead of braided.” Wolf huffed and Aziraphale had to stifle a laugh.

“A trade off then. All magic comes with a price. And apparently the price for shapeshifting is nudity.”

“Other things too,” Wolf’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I’m never really a man. I’m not like you. I look like you, but I’m not.”

“I know. Sometimes I forget for a bit. Does that bother you?”

“You shouldn’t forget. Because I’m not. I’m really just a wolf.”

“My Wolf.” Aziraphale laid a hand on Wolf’s knee. Wolf stared at the hand, looking troubled.

Aziraphale gave him a pat and then withdrew the hand. Wolf’s frown deepened

“You named me. Am I yours?”

“Only if that is your name. Does it feel the same to you as calling me Angel? Or does it feel like calling me Bird of Passage?”

“I don’t call you that. Other people call you that. Do you like it?”

“It’s grown on me. If you spoke with others, that would be what to call me. Unless you’re calling me my man.” Aziraphale snorted. “I don’t think anyone would be confused about who you meant. Is the ‘my’ what bothered you, to be someone’s?”
“I don’t know. I was someone’s…” Wolf’s face grew tight. “They named me. Really named me. To hurt me. To make me obey. And then they were gone. I thought they would be back. Everyone did. I was no one’s. For so long. There were no wolves left. I could not be a man. I can only be myself. Until I became my boy’s father. He was mine and I was his. I don’t know what it would be to be yours. Or how.”

“What would it take for me to be yours? And do you want that?”

“I can’t do that. Not to you.” Wolf shook his head fiercely.

“I do not want to be your son. I do not want you as my master nor I yours. You will have to tell me what you want me to be.”

“I want you to stay. That’s all I know,” Wolf said. “I have food, I have good water, I have a warm den, I have so many sheep. Is that enough?”

“I do not want a new lord I owe things to.” Wolf’s face fell at Aziraphale’s words.. “Ask me for something. You have so much. What can I give you?”

“You. That’s what I want. I want you to stay.” Wolf’s face was tight as he was clearly struggling with words. “I want… I don’t want you to… I don’t know how to ask! You leave your spear, your clothes, your things, in the village so they know you're coming back. I want you to put your spear in my den. I want to be what you come back to.”

“I don’t know if I can ever use the spear again,” Aziraphale said. “I spoke with the priest. I wasd considering giving it away. Give it to someone who can use it. I suppose I can give it to you, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know how to use it. I just know what it means, to have it here,” Wolf seemed certain of that. “It’s yours. No one can mistake it for someone else’s possessions. That is yours. Even if you never use it again, it belongs to you.”

“I will bring my things tomorrow then. Now though, let me give you one more thing.”

“I didn’t ask for anything else?” Wolf seemed confused.

“Let me give you my warmth.”

Wolf snorted at that but moved to tuck away the remains of the meal. There would be cheese and apples in the morning. Aziraphale stripped off his clothes and then helped Wolf hang up his own. He blew out one of the lamps and moved the small pot over it to spread the heat rather than light. He still shivered in the cold. Wolf chuckled at him.

“What was that about keeping me warm?”

“We’ll just have to keep each other warm.” Aziraphale rolled into bed with him and wrapped arms firmly around Wolf. He wiggled and it made Aziraphale’s eyes cross. He shifted to not have Wolf over his groin. He had too much to think about to deal with explaining that.

“Do you want me to undo your hair, or leave it be? You clearly put extra effort into it.”

“Do you like it?” Wolf’s voice was soft by his ear.

“I do. That’s why I don’t want to undo unless that was your intention.”

“It was. I can feel you get relaxed and sleepy while you do it. Fancier braid for longer nights.” Wolf tucked his nose into crook of Aziraphale’s neck. His neck felt a little damp as if Wolf had either kissed him or licked his neck and he was unsure of which. Probably licked… but he could hope for kissed.

Notes:

next time: KISSING.

Chapter 13: Kisses

Summary:

But does he like like me????

HE DO.

Notes:

contained the prompts "celebrations of love" and "we hate that which we fear"

sorry for long delay on posting, I was building a miniature golf hole for a charity event. so much paper mache. so much.

---

“I like you very much.”

“I was getting that impression from your attempts to herd me.”

Wolf lunged at his heels, which would be terrifying if he didn’t know him.

“I’ll not be herded, you pest.”

“Oh, you like it! Calling me pest!” The wolf pranced around him and Aziraphale was hard pressed to not laugh at his antics.

“Vile, horrible beast!”

“Going to give me all the names today!” He pranced closer and leaned against Aziraphale’s leg as he walked.

“You’re very distracting, but don’t think I don’t see you still trying to herd me, bane of my existence. Two can play at that.” He gave Wolf a solid shove with his hip that sent him half over so he had to splay out his paws to right himself.

“I shall eat up all these terrible names you call me! Just like the sheep I have stolen!” He bounced to his feet and snapped at the air.

“I know they gave you those sheep to look after. And you gave them back later, well, and with a lamb come spring.”

“Lies! I am a scourge upon this land!” He pounced forward and snapped at a seed pod, sending bits of white fluff floating in the breeze.

“Alright then, blight upon the hills, I shall have to chase you far from here then!” Aziraphale lunged at the wolf who bounded off, nearly falling over with how hard he was wiggling.

He chased him at a trot with a few little bursts of running and yelling when Wolf looked like he was going to come zooming back around behind him. He even flung a cloud of dirt at him at one point.

“No fair! You have hands!”

“You could too!”

“Then I can’t run as fast!”

He’d seen Wolf run as a human and it was less running and more failing to fall down, at speed. He’d once seen him deal with actually falling down a slope by turning back into a wolf. It had only sort of helped.

Wolf paused at the top of the rise and waited for him. Aziraphale slowed to a walk just to watch him spin in place.

“What did you want to show me?”

Wolf blinked up at him, tongue hanging out. “Maybe better the other way.”

There was that brief shift in reality and the man was standing there now. It never ceased to surprise him. It seemed like there should be some point of transition where he was in between the two, but Aziraphale had yet to see it. The man and the wolf never met in the middle.

“Come on then.” Aziraphale had a lovely view of his backside as he walked along the top of the ridge before finding a stone cairn and turning down a path that was on the verge of vanishing into tall, dry grass and scrubby bushes.

“Left this place when my boy did, let all the plants grow back. I kept sheep here too long, it scarred the ground. But it should be safe now, to stay the winter.”

And there was another one of the wolf’s boltholes, though it had a brand new woven door on it as if it was just built, not abandoned. It had a tall, thin window of overlapped pieces of translucent white horn, the first he’d seen at the wolf’s den.

Wolf opened the door for him and gestured inside. Like all his dens, Aziraphale had to stoop to go in, but this one was comfortable to stand up in. It was easily three times the size of any of his other ones, which were only suitable for a few sheep. He could have put a dozen in here. It also had a stone hearth, which had a light shining into it from above, presumably from a chimney hole. The walls were similarly dug out of the chalk but this had a crossbeam across the ceiling to stabilize it. He’d seen only scraps of finished wood or board in Wolf’s other homes. The beam must have cost him dearly in trade.

“I lived here with my boy after I found him. Everything was new and strange. I was the only familiar thing. The humans helped me make this place big enough to live with him. It was close enough he could go back and forth to the village but then come home to me. To me. I was home. But he’s human. And he eventually got brave and strong enough to go be with humans. It’s what I wanted for him.” There was a sadness there as Wolf looked around the space. The filtered light from the horn window gave the space a strange dreamlike quality, as if he was looking at Wolf’s memory of the place rather than the present.

“I’ve only met him the once, but he seemed a very nice young man.”

“He is,” Wolf said. “He turned out an odd man, but a man. He can be that. He did a lot to make me more like a man, but I’ll never actually be one. I can just sometimes coexist with them.”

“You’ve been doing a good job at that.”

“Been getting along with you, mostly,” Wolf said. “Doing real well at that. I think.”

“You have. You seem to like me more than the others, though I can’t say why.”

“You’ll play with me,” Wolf said, voice soft. “Fight with me too. But you do not use your weapons on me. It is all for fun.”

“Some wolf hunter I am.”

“Just caught me a different way. Do you like it when I do that? When I fight without fighting? When I bite without biting?”

“You are very amusing,” Aziraphale said. “And I will admit to a certain fondness for you, you horrible beast.”

“But do you like the man?”

“I like you both ways.”

“But do you like me?”

“I am not quite sure what you’re getting at.” Aziraphale’s heart caught a little in his throat. How many conversations with other men had started this way? It was probably a coincidence. Still, he could hope Wolf liked him the same way he did.

“I like you more than other men,” Wolf said. “Different than other men. Enough to want to be less a beast and more a man.”

“And what would the man do?”

“I don’t know. I’m not one. I want you like a wolf does, but you’re a man.” There was a frustrated note to Wolf’s voice.

“Then tell me what does the wolf want?”

“I want to roll on you so you smell like me and I smell like you. I want to pull your hair like you pull my fur. I want to bite your face, but softly. Bite without biting.” He had gotten very close to Aziraphale, chest pressed against his own. He could feel the warmth of his body through his clothes.

“Ah. I see.” Aziraphale licked his lips and was very aware of how naked Wolf was. He’d grown used to it with time, but now, he could clearly feel how his own clothes were all that separated them. He wished there was nothing there so he could feel that skin against his own right now.

“I know that’s not how humans do it.” Wolf was staring at his face intently, trying to read his expression and failing as he started to pull away.

“No, wait.” Aziraphale put a hand on Wolf’s waist and he stayed. “I think you’ve just got the wrong words. I think I understand what you want. Would you like me to bite you without biting?”

“Yes.” The fierecess of the response gave Aziraphale confidence he’d guessed right.

Aziraphale laid his hand against Wolf’s face while watching his eyes. Wolf pushed his face into the palm of his hand so Aziraphale took that as indication to continue. Aziraphale slid his other hand from Wolf’s ribs to the small of his back. He was very warm and he could feel every muscle beneath his skin. He stroked a thumb in the dimple in his back. Wolf whined but crowded into him.

Aziraphale slid his hand from his jaw to cradle the back of his head. He circled his fingers through the hair there to wrap it around his fingers before tugging at it gently as it slid off his fingers. He tucked his head in against Wolf’s shoulder so he could bring his lips to the corner of his jaw. He kissed along Wolf’s jaw ‘til he got to his ear. He took the earlobe in between his lips and pulled gently on it before releasing

“Was that what you wanted?” Aziraphale whispered into Wolf’s ear and felt him shudder against him.

“What have you done to me?” It was said with a hunger to it.

“Kissed you.”

“I want to do that to you.”

“Then do it.”

Wolf attempted to copy him, but it was rough and fumbling and a little bit painful. Aziraphale made an encouraging noise, but winced at a too-rough bite on his jaw.

“You’re bleeding!” Wolf pushed away from him, pupils gone very small.

“It was an accident.” Aziraphale wiped his hand over it and came away with a thin smear of blood. “I’ve cut myself worse shaving.”

“You didn’t bite me like that.”

“I have, perhaps, a bit more experience with kissing. I’ve seen you kiss a lamb on the head.” Aziraphale turned his head so the bite was towards Wolf. “Like that.”

“I don’t like you like a sheep though.”

“No, but I am trusting you to kiss me softly where you just bit me.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“That’s for me to decide. But if you do not want to kiss me, that is for you to decide.”

Wolf stepped back closer and managed to give him a soft kiss on the same spot. Aziraphale made an encouraging noise. Wolf still kept some distance between them, as if he was afraid of what he might do.

“There. Like that.”

“But I want to… to… I want your hair to look messy and for you to smell like you do when you wake up with me and you have that smile on your face before you jump out of bed and say you have to piss right now.”

Aziraphale colored at that. Waking up warm, refreshed and with a very naked man cuddling him had indeed made him feel like a teenager again. He just hadn’t received any signal that Wolf had welcomed that sort of attention. Perhaps they’d been equally frustrated.

“Do you understand what you’re asking for?”

“No! Yes! I want you to stay the winter! I want you to touch my skin! I want to talk to you! I want you to share a bed with me because you like touching me, not just because it’s cold! I want you to make me bread! I want-” Wolf had balled his fists up as he spoke. Abruptly all the fight seemed to go out of him and his voice grew soft. “I want things that men have but I don’t want to be a man. I’m not. I can’t be. Not all the time. I can’t change that much.”

“I didn’t ask you to. Come here.” Aziraphale held his arms out and crooked his fingers at Wolf. He shuffled closer and Aziraphale pulled him into an embrace. He kissed him softly on the forehead and stroked a hand down his back.

“I’ll kiss you like one of your lambs now, soft and gentle. But remember I did it the other way too. Later, later we will come back to that. I want to stay the winter with you. I think… maybe the next winter too, but let’s get through one first. There’s a hearth here, so I can cook. Why bread specifically?”

“I don’t know how to make bread,” Wolf mumbled into his shoulder. “I always have to get it from humans. Boy used to bring it home, because he wasn’t good at making it. I tried making it from his directions, but it was even worse.”

“I can make bread, but it will probably be different than what you’re used to. I will trade for what I need when I am down in the village and make you some soon. That is one thing solved.”

“And the rest? Am I enough of a man to do those?”

“You don’t have to be a man for those.”

“I do though. I feel… different.” Wolf shifted so he could look at Azirapahle’s face again. “I never felt about humans like this. It’s because I am being a man so much. I don’t feel like this like a wolf.”

“You talk to me a great deal as a wolf,“ Aziraphale said. “And I think still want me to stay the winter and make you bread when you’re a wolf.”

“Yes, but I don’t feel the other things when I’m a wolf. Yes, I like being petted but it’s different when you pet me as a man. It feels like… it feels like it’s spring and I should wrestle you and lick you and bite your face. But it feels different than when I was just a wolf. It’s been so long I don’t even know if I remember it right. I’m not sure you understand what I’m saying.”

“I’m not sure. You want something from me physically, yes?” Wolf nodded vigorously. “But you can’t quite describe what you want other than kisses and to have me smell different.”

“I like how you smell,” Wolf said. He pressed his nose into Aziraphale’s shoulder and inhaled. “I just like how you smell in the morning now different from just liking how you smell. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Normally with humans we might be a bit more roundabout when discussing something like this, but it requires both parties to understand the basics of what is being discussed. Which I don’t think you do. So I am going to be very direct. Do you understand how sex works?”

“Yeah. Sort of. I understand how sheep work. Physically.“ Wolf made a hand gesture indicating he did understand the basics. “That’s not the problem. Humans… you can’t smell when someone’s in season, so I don’t understand how you know now is the time? And we’re both male so we can’t breed with each other anyway, but sometimes you smell really good and it makes my body feel weird, but in a good way. Or sometimes your hair looks good to touch. But I don’t understand why I feel that way. I know how my body works and it’s not like this.”

“This is… rather a lot. Do you not consider this-” Aziraphale gestured at Wolf. “to be you?”

Wolf made a frustrated huff. “It’s mine. I’ve had it a long time. But I am a wolf. I keep telling you that and I don’t think you understand what I’m telling you.”

“No, clearly I am not. I need to think about what you just told me about how you feel. Physically. I think you do too.”

“I don’t want to think about kissing, I just want to do it!”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I understand that. But if we are going to do anything more I think we need to go fetch your hammock and blankets and light a fire in the hearth so you can touch other parts of me without me shivering.”

Wolf let out an aggrieved noise. “You’re right. And we need to fetch my sheep.”

“I would prefer not to have sheep sniffing me while you’re trying to kiss me.”

“The sheep are staying outside! That is why there is a hearth!”

“Good.” Aziraphale disentangled himself from Wolf and went to look at it. It was little more than an indoor fire pit with a vent hole, which suited him just fine. He’d done far more cooking over campfires than he’d ever done in a house. There was a polished stone slab in the middle that would hold heat for him to cook on directly. He looked up at the light and realized the rain cap must have wandered off. Wolf might not even realize it was supposed to be there.

“Show me where this comes out. I think I can cook you some kind of dinner tonight, if you would like. No bread unless you have flour stashed somewhere nearby.”

Wolf shook his head “No, the cache here is empty since I was not living here. We’ll pack up what was by the old den to move it, it should take…” he paused. “Well, I guess it’ll take half as long to move since you can carry things too.”

“I am glad to be of use. I can carry a great deal more than what I arrived with.”

---

---

It still took most of the day to do. The main part was packing up what food was in the cache. Aziraphale was surprised when Wolf moved a few bits from the main cache to the den.

“Won’t that just get lost to rodents?”

Wolf shrugged. “Perhaps. But if you’re up here and a storm comes up, better there is a cold meal here to sustain you.”

That the little stone lamp and its bit of tallow was left carefully capped along with stones to strike a spark with spoke more to this being a habit than something specifically for Aziraphale himself. He’d never entered one of Wolf’s dens when he wasn’t in residence, but now had the suspicion there would always be enough for a meal and a small light. It still would be a miserable, cold stay, but enough to keep someone from dying.

All the blankets went with them. Those were too dear to leave behind. They got laid out on the grass nearby to air out in the late autumn sun while they packed up the rest. As sparse as Wolf’s den seemed, there were still a surprising number of things to pack once they were removed from the niches and pegs in the wall. Aziraphale’s own meager belongs had never really found homes in the den, so were still in his own rucksack. There was just enough space in it to add a few of the smaller, heavier items.

The spear was by far the largest item, but it got to do double duty for once, getting loaded down with baskets that Aziraphale could throw over his shoulder and carry. He’d honestly carried more weight when a soldier. Wolf seemed impressed, if mildly concerned.

“You’re sure it's not too much?” Wolf rested his hand on Aziraphale’s chest as if checking to see if this was straining his muscles. From how his pupils were dilated and mouth slightly open, Wolf liked what he was seeing. Aziraphale could work with that

“I can adjust the balance better than your sheep can.” Aziraphale rolled the spear off his shoulder and behind his neck to swap shoulders while Wolf stared intently. “Give me the remaining odd shaped items and we can get going.”

The sheep got some of the bulkier items strapped on to them, including the blankets. There was something comical at seeing a sheep burdened with a wool blanket. Two of the tallest wethers got to carry the baskets of dried mushrooms. Wolf looped a tether around their necks and the rest of the flock then followed them.

Wolf had gotten dressed at the end of the packing process as it was the easiest way to transport his clothes. Aziraphale had been enjoying sneaking looks at him as he packed, now that he knew he might be able to do something about it. Wolf had not caught him at it, but he’d caught Wolf watching him hoist the baskets. He’d been tempted to take off his shirt, but that seemed unfair to do to him when he was still figuring out what he wanted, other than Aziraphale. They’d be at the winter den soon enough where he could lay Wolf down in front of the fire and run his thumbs along the dimples above his arse and hear him whine…

Well, perhaps he was getting a little ahead of himself. They were likely going to be too tired for any of that tonight as they still had to get the den set up. Aziraphale could still enjoy the view as Wolf led the way.

Between the exertion and the noisy sheep, they couldn’t really talk on the way back. It left Aziraphale time to contemplate things besides Wolf’s backside.

Wolf was clearly eager for some type of physical interaction but seemed woefully inexperienced with his own body, despite his age. Of course if he spent most of his time as a wolf, that made more sense. But that wasn’t what he had been trying to tell him. He consistently referred to himself as a wolf and never as one of the Old Ones. Aziraphale wasn’t actually sure what the Old Ones had called themselves. It wasn’t something included in the stories and songs Aziraphale knew. They were the Old Gods because they were gone and had humans worship them as such. But they must have called themselves something else, so as not to call each other by name.

Yet, Wolf said he’d been named. Not had his name found out, but been given one. Said that he’d belonged to someone. He said it in a way different than Aziraphale referred to his former lord. He had not pledged to that master, he had been given. Or taken.

He was a wolf. He was firm on that. No matter what his form now, he was a wolf. That he remembered being a wolf.

Aziraphale had a sinking feeling in his gut that he and everyone else had missed a truth laid out before them, over and over. No one had believed Wolf when he said he was just a wolf, not when he spoke, or changed shape, or called up the magic that had left this world with the Old Ones. Why would you believe someone that spoke in someone else’s voice and pretended to be something else? Why would you ever think he would tell you the truth so plainly, so painfully? Wolf was more than what he said he was. Wolf knew it, but it was something that had been done to him and to say he was no longer a wolf…. Aziraphale understood that pain. It was what had kept him from becoming a priest. It was what had brought him here. He could not give up who he was. No matter what was done to him, Wolf could not give up being a wolf.

But it was all speculation. Some stories hinted at that, particularly those around the Wounded’s place among the New Gods. But that was not a truth to be laid out plainly where anyone could see it and act upon it. And if he was wrong…

By the time they got to the den, he’d worked himself into a bit of a funk. Wolf turned at the rise to check on him and immediately looked concerned.

“You should have asked for a halt if you were starting to hurt!” Wolf gestured at Aziraphale’s burden. “Put it down and we can make multiple short trips to finish.”

Aziraphale smoothed out his face and simply shifted the spear to the other shoulder.

“It is not my body that hurts, it is my thoughts.”

“You changed your mind.” Wolf sounded so resigned, as if he had expected this. “You do not want to stay.”

“No.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I will stay. I decided that before today. I just have a question. You speak the Old Tongue. I know enough to speak it badly, but not to understand it. And I have a question about it.” He opened his eyes so he could look Wolf in the face, making sure he understood what he was asking.

“I’m not asking for your name. I know you can’t give me that. Shouldn’t. That’s not what this question is about.” Wolf nodded seriously, accepting the statement as true. Aziraphale continued. “What did the Old Ones call themselves, as a group?”

Wolf took a moment before he responded in the Old Tongue. He spoke very slowly and deliberately, less than as if he was thinking and more because he knew Aziraphale might not understand the words and he very much needed to.

“They called themselves Us. Or people.” Wolf gestured at Aziraphale. “You were not people.”

“What did they call wolves?”

“Wolves.” It was an unfamiliar word, but not the same word Wolf had used for people.

“You’re people.” Aziraphale purposefully used the modern word. “You’re not human. But you are people. And you are a wolf. You will have to tell me what that means. To be a wolf. I’ve never been one. But it’s important to you, that you are.”

Wolf nodded. “It feels good. You call me Wolf. And it is different from being a wolf.” He tapped a hand on his chest. “Even like this, now, I am a wolf. I am different than I was, but it’s still true. That is why I am Wolf. I am what I was and something different at the same time.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Maybe you will eventually find another name that suits what you are now. There is no rush. I do have one practical question about you, now.” He gestured along the path so Wolf would resume walking. He got close enough so he could look at his face rather than backside.

“Maybe I have an answer. I already have a lot of questions right now I am trying to answer.” Wolf huffed slightly. “Have to figure out feelings.”

“Nothing so difficult as that,” Aziraphale said. “If I’m going to cook for you on this hearth, well, my pot is metal. Will that hurt you if I cook in it?”

“No, but I would prefer you didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Then I can’t lick the pot at the end.” Wolf looked almost as if he was pouting over the thought.

Aziraphale laughed at that. “You’ll have to give me yours to use then. I suppose this means less scrubbing afterward.”

“I’m good at getting off the burnt bits!” Wolf wiggled a bit at the prospect.

“Show me where the water is and I’ll work on getting the fire going and a meal cooked while you set up the rest of the den. Ask me to help if you need more hands, but I think mostly I’ll be in your way. You’ve done this many times before.”

It was an efficient division of labor, but it once more meant they didn’t have a lot of time to talk. Each time Aziraphale returned from a trip to gather water, fuel, or some additional foraged ingredients for the pot, Wolf had gotten a bit more of the den assembled. Small items were put away, the window acquired a curtain to keep the heat in at night, and the hammock was hung up. On the last round of getting fuel, the most time consuming of the tasks, Wolf was carefully pounding some additional pegs into the wall with a rock.

It was a bit noisy and Aziraphale focused on cooking. Wolf had a few clay vessels for cooking. Aziraphale wasn’t as familiar with those as they were too fragile for him to rely on when he’d been a soldier. He’d used them occasionally in barracks, but it was still an adjustment in technique.

The hammering finally stopped and then Wolf was sticking his canine nose in Aziraphale's face.

“Gah! You nuisance! Are you done?”

“Are you? What're we eating?” Wolf turned his head towards the hearth and Aziraphale shoved his muzzle away.

“You know how a fire works, don’t singe your whiskers in curiosity.”

“I would never!” Wolf huffed, but backed up. “Only done it a few times.”

“Mmmhmmm. Are you going to eat like that?”

“Maybe?” Wolf sounded uncertain. “Can I?”

“I made soup so you could do either. It is up to you.”

“You like me better as a man,” Wolf said.

“I like you differently.”

“You won’t kiss me like this.”

“Not the way I did earlier, no. I only find men appealing that way. “ Aziraphale looked over at him, to make sure Wolf actually understood him. “I would not kiss a woman that way either.”

“How come? They’re human.”

“Yes, but I don’t like women like that. Humans have preferences in what they find attractive. You, when you have hands, suit my tastes. If you looked much the same but were female, you would not.”

Wolf made a little huff noise and flopped down, resting his head on Aziraphale’s foot. “But I’m not attractive now?”

“Your fur is very pretty, especially now that you have your winter coat again. You’re so fluffy. I quite enjoy how you feel. But I want to put my hands on you and pet you, scratch you, but I’m not trying to…” Aziraphale took a breath. He would have to be extremely blunt in a way he wouldn’t with a human. “I don’t find you sexually appealing this way. I am… I am quite fond of you. I was prepared to stay even if my physical feelings were not reciprocated.”

“I think they are?” Wolf sounded uncertain. “They’re new. Different. And I don’t understand what you feel so can’t say if they’re the same. You’re you. I’m me. I want you to stay here. Be with me. I think that is the same. You are making me soup!”

“Ah, I see your priorities.”

“I would like more kisses later. But not like the kisses for a lamb.” Wolf looked up at him and it was totally unfair what he could do with his eyes while a canine. “But can I have a lamb kiss now? To see how it feels when I am a wolf?”

“Alright, sit up so I can reach.” Wolf got back to his feet which put his head slightly above Aziraphale’s, where he was crouched by the fire. Wolf looked even larger than normal from this angle. Aziraphale turned away from the fire and switched to kneeling to minimize the height difference. Wolf bowed his head so Aziraphale could reach his forehead.

He gave him a few little scratches between the ears as Wolf tilted his head and made a pleased noise. He held Wolf's jaw gently and kissed him between the eyes. It was soft and affectionate and nothing more. He smoothed his thumb over the spot where he’d ruffled his fur.

“I liked that,” Wolf said. “It feels good. But I like it differently than the one I got before. And very different from the one I got when I was a man. Humans have so many feelings. You must have words for the difference between all these likes. Tell me?” Wolf gently nuzzled into Aziraphale hands. He gave him the barest lick and Aziraphale could feel affection bloom in his chest. He might not find Wolf sexually attractive this way, but he certainly loved him in any form.

Explaining the difference was challenging enough with humans since there were so many types of love. He’d have to start simple for Wolf to understand. Hopefully it would make it easier for Aziraphale to say it to him.

“Here, I will pet you more and then ask you something.” Aziraphale shifted to get his hands on Wolf’s neck. He dug his fingers into his fur, being a bit rough. He moved his hands quickly, making sure to give him a good scratch. Wolf twisted his neck to try and guide his hands to a particularly good spot. Wolf’s paws tapped about indicating he was excited by the sensation. He couldn’t contain the wiggles.

Aziraphale slowed his hands and smoothed Wolf’s fur back in the right direction. He leaned forward to wrap his arms all the way around Wolf’s neck and press his face into the side of his neck. No kiss, just pressure. He’d held him many times like this lying down at night.

“Those physically feel different. You like both of them. They make you feel different things emotionally too. Can you describe the difference?”

“Scratching is exciting. My body is full of feelings! I want to move. It is…. different than how I feel about you when I am man shaped, but it's closer.” Wolf sounded thoughtful. “Want to do things. They’re different things, but I want to do things. Maybe wrestle?”

“Perhaps later. And how does being held feel?”

“I want to hold you back, but I don’t have arms.”

“You could.”

Wolf made a surprised little woof and then was tangled around Aziraphale trying to do just that. It was terribly awkward, but clearly very heartfelt so Aziraphale laughed. Wolf managed to sort out his limbs and get his arms around Aziraphale and rest his chin on his shoulder.

“This feels different physically,” Wolf said. “But I think the emotion is the same?”

“Affectionate is what I would call this.”

“Affectionate. I feel that both ways.” Wolf stroked his hand along Aziraphale’s back. He was a little too rough initially but softened his hands when Aziraphale straightened his back to pull away slightly. Wolf often misjudged the firmness of an initial touch, especially when Aziraphale had clothes on. He tended to be gentler when they were both naked, which was probably due to practice. This was all rather new to him.

“I felt that about my boy too. It’s familiar, but different. It’s like apples from a different tree. They taste different, but they are both apples.”

“I get your meaning. And with others?”

Wolf made a few little grumbles like he was going to deny that before finally softly going “Yeah.”

Aziraphale stroked his back, soft and soothing, and Wolf melted under the touch. “But they didn’t return it.”

“Not usually. Sometimes children will play with me until they learn better. Sometimes old people will too. What do they have to lose then?” Wolf whined softly. “But they’ll almost never touch me. I’m familiar but I’m not safe. Close enough to speak but not to touch. They’ll feed me sometimes. But they usually won’t let me give them things. I know why. It was easier with my boy here. But he needed to be free to be himself.”

“You were a very good father to him, to let him do that. Maybe some of it is because you are a wolf. You knew he could never be that, so didn’t try to make him.”

“Did your parents do that?” Wolf’s voice was curious.

“Not exactly. They wanted me to stay in our village. Be safe. Normal things for parents. I wanted to go. I didn’t feel like I belonged there. Becoming a priest would guarantee I left. But I think I wanted to go more than I wanted to actually be something, be somewhere. Probably why I failed in that in the end. Being a soldier, well, it kept me moving all the time. I was physically active. And I got to hear so many stories. See so many people.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped and he pulled Wolf tight. “Fight them. I’m not sure I grew up to be a good person.”

“Are you grown up though?” Wolf returned the squeeze, but gentler. “I’m still learning things and I’m older than you. So you can learn new things too.”

“Hard to argue with that. I’m not sure I’m ready to stop moving but… I think I might be ready to return to the same place again. Same person.”

“You have been. I put up more pegs so you can hang your things.” Wolf untangled his arm and pointed towards the corner. There was a set of pegs, one on each side of the corner, with a bit of twine between them. “They’re in tight enough to keep your spear from falling over, but not so tight you can’t yank them out if you need it fast. I hope you never do. But it is somewhere safe for both of us.”

Aziraphale turned his head to kiss Wolf gently on the cheek. “You’re very dear. I’m glad you found me and I didn’t catch you.”

Wolf rubbed his cheek against Aziraphale’s neck.”I knew what you smelled like before I saw you. Could have kept out of sight forever. Was doing a good job avoiding you until you saved my lamb.”

“I’m not sure I did much to actually save it. You did a lot more to keep me safe that night than I did for that lamb.”

Wolf snorted and gave him a little bite on the neck. It wasn’t as rough as when he’d tried kissing earlier, but it also didn’t seem designed to be arousing either. It did get him to give Wolf all his attention.

“You were willing to help a lamb that wasn’t yours with no expectation of reward. I like that. Now stop tallying up the value of what is owed to who. I want to give you kisses and pets and cheese without you counting how many you owe me back. Let me be affectionate.”

“Do I get to be affectionate back?”

“Please.” Wolf wiggled a little against him like he could press himself even closer if he just found the right position.

“Yes. But this would be easier with us lying down. Get the blanket and we can lay by the fire while dinner cooks. And you can undress me so you can touch more of my skin.”

Wolf broke into a big grin and let go to scramble up and fetch the blanket. Aziraphale gave up on trying to get up from kneeling and just sat instead, sprawling legs in front of him. For all that Wolf had been pressed against him and actively squirming, it hadn’t been arousing. He’d been too focused on the emotions.

Even watching Wolf’s backside while he folded the blankets wasn’t that stimulating. When your partner spent most of his time naked, it wasn’t as visually arousing as it would be with someone who was clothed the majority of the time. Still, he did look lovely in the firelight, all sharp angles and lean muscle. His braid had loosened with all the walking he’d done today, becoming a frizzy mass that reminded him of Wolf’s tail.

Wolf came back and gave him a curious look as he spread the blankets on the floor. He leaned in to look at Aziraphale’s face.

“This looks like affectionate, but a little different.”

“Fond. I am quite fond of you. Hmmm, consider it the passive form. Neither of us are actively expressing that affection but I still feel it.”

“Fond. You really do have lots more words for like. How many other ways do you like me?”

“Hmm, quite a few. Lay down and we’ll see if affectionate turns into anything else before soup is ready.”

Wolf flopped over, propping himself up on one arm. He was watching Aziraphale attentively and he had to laugh. He sprawled next to Wolf.

“You’re so cute when you do that.” Aziraphale leaned in and touched Wolf’s face, drawing them close enough to press foreheads together. Wolf shifted his head to press their noses together. Aziraphale got only a split second warning as Wolf’s eyebrows shifted. Then he got his nose licked.

“Gah! You menace!”

Wolf laughed and tugged at Aziraphale's shirt. “Do I still get to take this off?”

“Yes, it will keep your hands busy and out of mischief.”

“Thought I was getting into the mischief by taking it off.” Wolf worked at getting a button undone.

“Not if I distract you.” Aziraphale pulled Wolf closer and kissed his neck. Then blew a raspberry on it.

Wolf yowped in surprise but then was too busy laughing at it to make any progress on Aziraphale’s shirt. He kept Wolf distracted with playful little kisses that left him flushed and laughing. They took a break when Wolf was getting a bit too breathless.

Aziraphale switched to undoing Wolf’s braid and finger combing the tangles out of his hair. Wolf managed to get Aziraphale’s shirt undone and shoved off him. He didn’t seem quite sure what to do at that point so mostly just pressed his face into Aziraphale’s chest. There were a few kisses thrown in there as well, but he mostly seemed to want to just press his face against Aziraphale’s chest hair and breathe in the scent of him.

Which was fine for a little bit before Aziraphale noticed the fire had burnt down enough that stew should be done. He pulled his shirt back on and Wolf made sad eyes at him.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“Not at all. But the soup is almost ready. Stay put and I’ll serve you.”

Wolf did as asked, though he was watching him closely. Aziraphale poured off some of the soup into bowls and then tossed chopped herbs on top.

“I thought this was supposed to go in the soup? As seasoning?”

“No, you throw this kind on top at the end. If you heat it up for any length of time it loses all the flavor. Which is fine if you wanted just mild greens to eat.”

“Oh that’s why it never tasted like anything no matter how much I put in!”

Wolf sniffed at the soup like he was trying to figure out what was in it before eating it. He’d been busy setting things up so might not know.

“It’s all out of your stockpile except for the greens.” Aziraphale took a spoonful. The dried mushrooms had plumped back up in the pot and soaked up all the liquid from the herbs he’d chopped to make broth. The turnips and carrots he’d cut into long strips so they’d cook through evenly without boiling the soup. Wolf must have traded for them since he’d seen no sign of him growing them. It had been a pleasant surprise.

He’d added some of the cheese as well, to produce something quite thick. The layer of herbs on top added a bit of bite to it that kept it from being a single flavor note. Some bread would have made this even better, but not a bad attempt for having so little fuel to make a fire with.

Wolf meanwhile had taken one bite and was now eagerly devouring the whole bowl. He was soon chasing the last bit of carrot around with the spoon while Aziraphale was only halfway through his own.

“There is more soup,” Aziraphale said.

“I said I wanted you to make me bread,” Wolf said. “I changed my mind. I want you to make soup again.”

“If I can get the ingredients for bread,” Aziraphale said. “We could have bread with the soup.”

Wolf's eyes got very wide as if he was suddenly contemplating a world of exciting possibilities.

“How many things do you know how to cook?”

“Quite a lot. There just was nowhere to cook at the other dens.”

“I’m going to build a fire pit at all of them, even if I have to carry the rocks from far, far away. It’s worth it.”

“I’m glad you like it. Here, give me your bowl.” He poured out another portion for Wolf and put another layer of chopped herbs on top. Wolf ate the second bowl much slower. Aziraphale got himself more as well and moved it away from the heat to prevent the remainder in the pot from scorching.

“If we don’t finish this all off tonight, you can lick the pot in the morning.”

“Why not now?”

“Because it’s hot. No burning yourself with eagerness.”

Wolf huffed at him. “Would not”

Aziraphale gave him A Look.

Wolf pointed at him and jiggled his hand excitedly. “You’re looking all fond again! But also annoyed!”

“Yes.” Aziraphale sighed in an over exaggerated fashion. “You are a nuisance, but you are my nuisance. Need to keep you from singeing yourself in your excitement over soup. The things I put up with. I suppose finding annoying things charming is how you know it’s love.”

“I don’t think you’re annoying at all. You’re stubborn, but I like that. I know humans often say that being stubborn is a bad thing, but I think it’s good. Persistent. Good hunter. Caught me eventually. But just for you, not because you were told to. Because I was what you wanted. Not a wolf. Your Wolf.”

Aziraphale bit at his lip and sniffed, feeling a tightness in his chest and wetness in his eyes. “Yes. You are. I’m glad you let me catch you. Because you did have to let me.”

“I think I love you too,” Wolf said. “I don’t know if that's the right word exactly. But it’s more than affectionate, or fond, or just liking you. Having you nearby feels like having a whole pack with me. And that’s true whether I have hands or paws.”

“That… that sounds very nice.”

Wolf scooted closer. “It is. Confusing sometimes.” He tapped his chest. “Go in different directions all at once, but they’re still part of the same thing. Is that why you’re crying? Does it feel like that?”

Aziraphale nodded and pressed his lips together, no longer trying to hold back tears. “It’s so much sometimes, to realize you’re happy. Really happy. I am.”

“Can I give you kisses? Lamb kisses. Otherwise we’ll both be confused.”

Aziraphale laughed a little weakly but held out his arms. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Wolf clambered into his lap and wrapped himself around Aziraphale. He pressed soft kisses to his face and eyes. He made little nonsense noises at him, all soft vowels and hums. Wolf rubbed a thumb along his cheek to try and dry it.

“I’d lick you, but you’d call me a nuisance again.”

“You are my nuisance. The licks are part of the charm. Even if I complain.” He squeezed Wolf tight. “Give me something to complain about.”

Wolf was very gentle with the licks and they worked well to chase away the tears with laughter. Aziraphale felt wrung out but in a good way. Getting up seemed like it would be far too much effort, but they’d both be cold on the floor soon with the fire down to ashes.

“Come to bed, however you like. I just want to hold you and sleep.”

Wolf untangled himself and helped Aziraphale up so he could get the blankets back on the hammock. Aziraphale put bowls aside and made a quick trip outside to relieve himself. Wolf had said he liked how he smelled in the morning, so he’d like to be able to have a lie in and explore that.

Wolf slipped out to check on his sheep while Aziraphale got undressed and into bed. He was gone just long enough for Aziraphale’s tired brain to start coming up with questions. What if? What if? What if?

The door creaked and he could see Wolf silhouetted in the moonlight briefly, his eyes and teeth glittering in the darkness. His fur looked pitch black in the moonlight, like something out of a nightmare. He was everything he’d been told to fear and Aziraphale wanted nothing more than for him to climb into bed with him. Then the door was closed and it was truly dark inside. He could hear Wolf’s breathing coming closer.

Then he was slithering into bed, bare skin warm against Aziraphale’s own. He flopped down and wiggled until Aziraphale wrapped arms around him. He pressed a kiss to Wolf’s cheek and then gave him a little lick as well.

Wolf made a confused noise at that but returned the favor. “Now licks are good?”

“No licks, just wolf kisses.” He gave him another lick on the nose which made him laugh.

“Wolf kisses, lamb kisses, man kisses, how many are there?”

“I will have to keep giving you more ‘til you’ve had them all.”

Notes:

They'll hit that rating eventually. But first they had to have soup.

Chapter 14: Body language

Summary:

They work on living together. The loving part... doing great on that! the fucking... work in progress.

They discover mutual complaining as a love language.

---

Wolf had always been very physical with Aziraphale. He’d pressed close to him and shared his warmth that first night together. He’d leaned against him when he was shedding as well. Having seen him interact with a few of the locals since then, he seemed confident he could get very close to some of them…. So long as he was on four feet. Other than the day of the wedding, Aziraphale had not seen him touch anyone while human shaped nor be touched by anyone.

He had some experience with being touched, but in an entirely different context. Wolf had played with his son when he was younger so play fighting was familiar. His son had also practiced some of his basket weaving techniques on Wolf’s hair. Aziraphale was still terrible at most of them, but fortunately Wolf liked having his hair combed out. Wolf also enjoyed being hugged. Those were familiar sensations to him. Most other things were new to him.

He very much liked being kissed, though it turned out he had a great many ticklish spots. His face was sensitive but not ticklish. His neck was mostly safe. Aziraphale could kiss along his neck and shoulder, pulling at his skin with his lips and elicit all kinds of little whimpers and moans.

His ribs were a bit more mixed. If Aziraphale started with his neck and went down, they were fairly safe. If he tried to start lower Wolf snorted and giggled and squirmed until he finally pushed Aziraphale away. On one occasion, he’d turned back into a wolf, leaving Aziraphale trying to spit out fur.

Wolf’s nipples were off limits for kissing, which seemed entirely unfair. They were the perfect size for it. Something as light as kissing resulted in him squealing in a very undignified manner before rolling away. Solid pressure however…

Aziraphale could press his whole hand over his pectoral and dig his nails in and have Wolf whimpering while simultaneously pushing himself into his hand. Wolf didn’t entirely understand the sensation, but clearly wanted more of it.

Aziraphale wanted to be slow and cautious with his touches because this was Wolf’s first time experiencing them. But he seemed to respond so much better to a heavier hand. Gentle petting was pleasant and they both liked it, but what got Wolf begging for more was pressing him into the floor and dragging his teeth over his hip bones.

But still, he kept hitting a point where it was all too overwhelming and confusing for Wolf so they would stop. It almost always happened around when Wolf started showing signs of an erection. He fortunately just seemed confused and overwhelmed by it rather than upset. He’d come back for more foreplay in a bit. In this, Aziraphale could be a patient hunter. Wolf wanted to be caught, that was clear.

Wolf’s attempts to reciprocate were fumbling and earnest, but he clearly had little idea what Aziraphale might like or respond to. He was a very enthusiastic kisser with a tendency towards biting. Aziraphale had hemmed and hawed over covering up the obvious ones on his neck when he went down the hill to get a day’s work, but he was a bit of a bastard. If they were calling him the Wolf’s Man, they already thought as much was going on.

Mostly people goggled a bit and said nothing. Children were more likely to ask. He could stick to an age appropriate explanation that he’d played too rough with a friend. No, it didn’t hurt. He still accepted a bandage from a little boy that was very concerned about his well-being. Sitting and letting a cloth be tied around his neck kept the boy out of his mother’s way while midday meal was being made, so it worked out.

The trainband gave him a bit more trouble as it was full of teenagers who were conducting all their own experiments in pleasure. Most adults his age had settled down with someone by now, or at least knew how to be discreet, so the teens felt emboldened to comment. In a way, he was more like them than the married folk nearby. The adults mostly kept it to the occasional raised eyebrow.

Tracy, however, had taken a look at the marks on him, tsked softly and said “this is what you get for bedding someone who still has all his teeth.” He’d choked on his water, prompting Shadwell to thump him enthusiastically on the back.

The priest had said nothing directly, merely asked if he was still up for the wrestling demonstration or if he was too tender to proceed. He had a few other marks that weren’t visible, but a few love marks were nothing compared to the sort of injuries and strains he’d fought with before. He still took her up on a pot of ointment to take home with him. He could push through any discomfort, but knew well enough he needed to take care of himself before it became pain.

Which left Wolf with a new and unfamiliar task of rubbing down Aziraphale’s back.

“This stuff stinks.” Wolf made a face.

“Don’t like mint?”

“It’s just a strong smell, even as a human. I’m not used to this. How much do I put on?”

“First I want you to find the sore spot on my shoulder. Be firm, roll and squeeze the muscle like…” Aziraphale paused trying to think of an analogy that Wolf would have experience with and realized he was lacking anything for a good comparison. “Perhaps I shall do you first so you know how to do it.”

“But you’re the one that’s sore?”

“I am aware. Do you even get sore, or does that heal between you shifting forms?”

“I get tired and I can get hurt. So I guess I could get sore?” Wolf seemed genuinely unsure.

“Face down then. I have rather a lot of experience with this.” Wolf obliged but was tense under Aziraphale’s hands. He worked on stroking him firmly as Wolf made a variety of noises under him ranging from guttural pleased noises to sharper inhales indicating he’d found a painful spot.

“This is different from petting.” Wolf tried to twist his head around to look at Aziraphale. He turned Wolf’s head back into position so he could do his neck.

“Think of it like petting that heals. You just don’t have any fur to cushion any of the pressure now. Right now I’m just stroking along your muscles in the way I want you to do to me. Do you think you can repeat this?”

Wolf made some inarticulate noises and Aziraphale snorted softly. Then gave him a pat on the shoulder

“I will do this more later but right now, pay attention so you can do this to my shoulders.”

“Right. To you.” Wolf at least seemed more alert this time as he pushed himself back up.

Aziraphale opted for sitting up with Wolf behind him so he could more easily reach over his own shoulder to indicate where he wanted ointment rubbed in.

“How much do I use? The whole jar?”

“Not quite that much. Two fingers worth.”

Wolf stuck his fingers over Aziraphale’s shoulder for inspection and he nodded. A bit much, but that just meant more time getting rubbed down, so no loss there

He reached over his shoulder and tapped a spot. “Just below where my fingers reach. And the same spot on the other side of my spine. If I make a noise, you’ve likely found the spot. Once you’re done you’ll want to wash your hands or they’ll feel cold and tingly.”

“Won’t your back feel that way?”

“That is the point of it. It will dull the ache from where I got thrown. The rub down will make the muscles heal faster.”

“Are you actually hurt?” Wolf was very tentative with applying ointment.

“No, I just used my muscles in a way I don’t normally. They will be less sore next time as I get better at the technique and get stronger. Once they stop being sore I’ll practice to build up stamina. It will be better next time I go to the trainband.”

“What kind of fighting are you training in?” Wolf’s voice grew quiet and his hands stilled. “Who are you going to fight?”

Aziraphale inhaled slowly, making sure his voice was even and calm. “No one. I really can’t do that. I’m just wrestling. Other than wrestling the teens and Bracken-Creeper, well, it will mostly just make me better at wrangling sheep. I suspect that’s what Bracken-Creeper uses it for.”

Aziraphale lightened his tone, letting a teasing note creep in. “Perhaps I’ll wrestle you. Though I think you have an advantage on getting out of holds since you can shapeshift. Leave me holding onto nothing but fur.”

“What if I don’t want you to let go?” Wolf’s voice was very soft.

“You can always yield. Let me press you into the ground. Do you like that?”

“I don’t know. I feel… weird.” He huffed softly and went back to rubbing Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Hot and like my skin is too tight. My muscles feel… twitchy? Like I’m going to fall down while I’m sitting. Holding me like that…. I feel safer. You wouldn’t let me fall over.”

“That sounds fairly normal for being aroused. You’re a bit vulnerable then, everything feels more sensitive. Sometimes things can be uncomfortable because of that. But they shouldn’t be genuinely painful. Do you know the difference between discomfort and pain?”
“I think so?” Wolf sounded terribly tentative.

“Mmm. It can be difficult for people to tell. That was something I always had to do with trainees. For fighting. I generally did not have sex with anyone under my command unless they initiated.”

“Still not sure how to do that either.” Wolf made a frustrated noise. “Or what the end is like. Just want… things.”

“We’ll get there. I get the impression that you are spending a lot more time being human shaped than you have previously.”

“Mostly did human shaped when I needed hands.”

“So it's all new. A bit uncomfortable. But I hope it is not painful.”

“I’m the one that keeps biting you too hard.”

“If it was genuinely too hard I wouldn’t let you bite me. Sometimes pain can be pleasure.”

“Now you’re not making any sense.”

“It is unfamiliar, that’s all. Your whole body still is to some extent. Sometimes I’m convinced you don’t know where your feet are.”

“End of my legs. Right where I left them.”

“You can climb in and out of bed as a wolf without waking me, yet manage to kick me constantly as a human.”

“Do you have a point?” Wolf sounded distinctly tetchy.

“I do, actually. A great deal of my training is on actually inhabiting my body. I know exactly where it is and what I can do with it. A lot of the work done with the trainband, yes, it is technically for fighting purposes. But it also gives teenagers a solid grounding on the limits and capabilities of their body.It will help prevent injuries, no matter what they do as an adult. If they go on for additional combat training, a lot of that focuses on being aware of where your body is at all times and what condition it is in. If you go on to be a soldier, you can learn to push past what your body tells you not to do because you understand the consequences. It is training in moving with confidence and precision. I can safely spar with teenagers because I can strike them without significantly hurting them. It will hurt, but the hurt is temporary. That’s part of the lesson. But I won’t do long term damage. I know exactly where my body is. You don’t.”

“I do too. I use my hands all the time. I’m teaching YOU to make baskets!”

“And you stand on your feet and that’s the extent of what you do with them. You don’t really know where they are.”

“They’re right there though!” Aziraphale could see Wolf gesturing vaguely at himself in his peripheral vision.

“If you were going to jump over a fence, could you do it as a human or would you have to change back to four feet?”

“I could get over the fence.” Wolf huffed. “Get over it just fine.”

“How do you get over a fence as a human?”

“Climb it.”

“Can you vault it?”

“I’d just be me! Be a wolf! No reason to do it the other way!”

“But can you?”

“I can get over a fence!”

“That’s not what the point is. It’s that you’re disconnected from this body and it’s why you’re having trouble taking all the pleasure from it that you could.”

“So I should go jump fences to be able to have sex?” Wolf flopped over behind him dramatically. But at least he was still in a human shape.

“No.” Aziraphale turned to look at him and saw him sprawled over on the floor, arm thrown dramatically across his face. He snorted at Wolf’s antics.

“What you ARE going to do is change shapes so you’re not covered in ointment any more. Last thing I need is you complaining that your hands are tingly and feel weird.”

“They are. And they smell minty.” Wolf continued to lay on the floor, complaining.

Aziraphale gave his thigh a swat. “Shift and then shift back to get clean. Then I am going to do things to your body that will make you forget all about this argument.”

Wolf flickered between forms. His tail wagged just enough to betray his eagerness before he was back in human form.

“What kind of things?”

“Lie back and put your feet in my lap.”

“I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how sex works.”

“I am, and I think you’ll rather enjoy this.”

Wolf seemed unsettled, but did as asked. He squirmed a bit before managing to get a folded blanket under his head so he could watch what Aziraphale was going to do.

Aziraphale had learned his lesson from how ticklish Wolf’s ribs were and got a firm hold of his foot. He had quite thick calluses from running about barefoot, but this was less about the skin and more about the underlying muscle and tendon. Aziraphale initially just squeezed his foot while Wolf furrowed his brows at him, looking deeply confused. But he didn’t look like anything actually pained him so Aziraphale moved onto more focused pressure as he rolled his thumbs along the muscles in Wolf’s foot.

The sharp inhale and huff of breath out indicated he might have misjudged that. Wolf had not pulled away, though.

“Did that hurt?”

“Feels weird. You’re touching my foot, but I feel it up my leg.”

“But did it hurt?”

“I… don’t know.” Wolf seemed more confused than anything.

“I’ll be gentler.” Aziraphale rubbed a circle on the bottom of Wolf’s foot, feeling something shift slightly. Wolf inhaled again, but it wasn’t the sharp sound of before. Aziraphale applied gentle pressure, working out where there was something a bit out of alignment. “There’s lines along your body where pain will travel from one place to another. If you trace along them, sometimes you’ll find the spot someone says hurts is not where the injury actually is until you apply pressure.”

“You’re checking me for injuries?”

“No, but feet are sensitive and you have a lot of tension in them or walk on them funny-”

“I’m doing my best!”

Aziraphale patted Wolf’s ankle in a mollifying gesture. “You certainly do better on two than I would on four. But that doesn’t mean your feet don’t take a beating from normal use. The two things most likely to get sore on humans are their back or their feet. You react quite well to your back being touched and to being petted, but I’ve never done your feet. And I’ve never really focused on giving you a rub down to relieve pain or soreness.”

“What’s the difference between that and petting? Or hugging? Is that why you were squashing my foot? Can you hug feet?”

“I… Well, I guess it is a bit like hugging. I was just figuring out how much of your feet you actually felt. And what they feel like to me.”

“Are they nice feet?” Wolf sounded genuinely concerned.

“They are perfectly nice feet…. When they’re not kicking me in the shin in the middle of the night.”

Wolf stuck his tongue out at him. “You think it’s cute when my feet twitch when I’m dreaming. You said so!”

“It’s more charming when they aren’t touching me.”

“You chose to touch them now!”

“I did.” Aziraphale picked up Wolf’s leg and bent over so he could kiss Wolf’s ankle. “They’re nice feet, because they’re attached to you. And I quite like you.”

Wolf flushed at that and seemed flummoxed on what he was supposed to do now. “I like you a lot. And the way you touch me. And the way you smell. When you aren’t all minty from ointment.”

“It will wear off in a bit.” Aziraphale lowered Wolf’s foot back into his lap. “Though I think I shall have to wear a shirt to bed or the blankets will also smell minty for days.”

“Nooooo.” Wolf dramatically flopped an arm over his face. “Now I can’t nibble on your neck and shoulder in the morning because you will taste gross. You usually taste so good.”

“A terrible sacrifice. Clearly I shall have to cuddle behind you for once, so your nose isn’t stuck in my gross, stinky shoulder. Perhaps I shall do the biting then.”

Wolf’s breath hitched at that. Aziraphale hadn’t resumed rubbing his feet, so it was clearly at the suggestion of biting.

“You did ask for biting without biting…. Have I not been biting you enough?”

“I like the kissing! I do… but the time you held me down and bit my hips….” Wolf took in a shaky breath. “It felt… it FELT.”

“I understand.”

Wolf huffed at him and looked like he might sulk. Aziraphale dug a thumb into Wolf’s foot and he gasped, but pushed his foot into Aziraphale’s hand.

“Like that.” Aziraphale said. “Where you feel some sensation other than where you’re being touched. You like it, but it’s new, strange, a little overwhelming.”

Wolf nodded vigorously and pushed his foot into Aziraphale's hand again.

“Like it. But… scary.” Wolf bit at his lip. “It’s like…. I don’t have words.” He huffed a little.

“You can take as long as you like. Shall I continue?” Aziraphale squeezed Wolf’s foot gently. Wolf nodded and lay back, staring at the ceiling.

Aziraphale lightened his touch. He kept it firm to avoid being ticklish, but didn’t dig into Wolf’s foot chasing tension. He was nothing but tension right now and he could just work along the whole foot, slowly but steadily. Wolf slowly relaxed under his hands, letting out occasional little soft sighs. He’d closed his eyes and seemed like he might be drifting off to sleep.

“I’m going to switch feet. Unless this one has any spots that still feel bad?”

“I don’t know. But the other one…. Now that one just feels like I’ve been running all day. Maybe I do get sore?”

“Mmmm. I’ll come back to this one at the end. But this is good.” Aziraphale took Wolf’s other foot and twisted it slowly back and forth to loosen it. He pressed at it with butt of his palms to flatten the whole foot out. Wolf hissed slightly. Aziraphale paused.

“No, go on. Good, but I can feel it in my calf too.” Wolf settled back down, flinging his arm over his eyes. “It’s like that. When you touch me. It makes my body feel… new. It’s confusing.” Wolf sniffed slightly. “I think… upsetting? I’m not mad at you. It feels good! But it reminds me of having this body new. When I got this body. But it’s less unfamiliar every time. My body feels good. It’s my body. I am a wolf. I am also this. I am more. Do you understand?”

“I do. Like when my leg hurts because I remember my leg hurting.” Wolf nodded at that, so Aziraphale continued. “You remember your body being strange and… unwanted?”

Wolf sniffed heavily and took a ragged breath. “At first. It was… it was a long time ago. He would make me like this and then take it away. Made me sound like him. Look like him. Until I didn’t any more. I look like… I look like me. Could be me, when I wanted. And it couldn’t be taken away, not forever. He could change my shape, make me silent, but I didn’t have to stay that way. If I wanted to talk… if I wanted hands… I could have them. I just had to… to… understand that’s what I wanted. Until it didn’t hurt any more because it was what I wanted.”

Aziraphale tried to make sense of that. Wolf was clearly telling him something important and personal, but was struggling both with the words and the telling. He didn’t really understand what he was being told, but it was important to Wolf to tell him. Understanding would come with time.

“Do you like this body? The one I’m touching right now.”

“It’s mine. It’s me. I didn’t ask for it. I wouldn’t have known how to ask for it. But it’s mine now.” Wolf sighed, a long exhale that sounded much more like a noise that would come out of his canine self. “But… I also like your body. I don’t want to be you. But I want to touch you. Smell you. Lick you. But it makes my body feel strange. Like me, but different. You touch me and I feel things in different places. It makes my heart race. I can hear it in my ears. In how my voice sounds different than the me I know. It’s… it’s frightening. I want it and it scares me. What if I forget what is me?”

“Oh, my Wolf…” Aziraphale put every ounce of care into his voice that he could. “You might for a little bit, but it will come back to you in the same way that you remember who you are when you wake.”

“This doesn’t feel like sleeping,” Wolf said. “It feels like I’m going to do something. Be something different. It’s so… much.”

“It is. It is a lot to adjust to, which is why I have been so slow. Even if you were entirely human, it would still require adjustment. Having sexual feelings and thoughts is confusing when they first start happening. Acting on them even more so because you have so little experience. Hearing about sex or even watching someone else is entirely different from actually experiencing the feelings yourself.”

“How do humans manage? If this could happen at any time?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Some people better than others. I would be in just as much distress as you if I was a younger man. You say you like how I smell in the morning. Sometimes that’s because you’ve spent half the night cuddled up against my backside and rubbing my skin and I wake up rather aroused. If I was still a teenager, I would probably have a full erection. As is… I am thankful for age and experience so that doesn’t happen.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Waking up with an erection? Sometimes, yes, actually.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to…”

“My dear, you aren’t hurting me. That skin just gets much more sensitive when aroused so the blanket then feels too rough. The cold air when I get up feels so much more intense. But intensity is not inherently a bad thing. I know where it crosses from pleasure to pain. And I’m worried you don’t. So as you approach what might be pleasure or might be pain, you pull back before you find out. Which is smart to avoid pain when you’re uncertain. I’m willing to walk you up to the line as many times as necessary before you decide to cross it.”

“What if it’s never?” Wolf’s voice was soft and ragged with worry. “What if it’s a thing I can’t do? I’m not a man. I’m a wolf. Is that enough?”

“It is enough. I had decided to stay with you before you expressed any physical desire. You wanted me as… I’m not sure exactly. But you wanted to spend time with me and touch me. You said it feels like you have a whole pack with you when we are together. Is that what you wanted? A pack?”

“Yes, some. You’re not a wolf. You can’t be a wolf. I can’t be just a wolf either. I feel like some part of me was taken away and I am…. This.” Wolf looked at his hands, flexing them. “It’s not just the physical. It’s… you, humans, have names in a way wolves don’t. I howl and it is my name. This is me, I am here. Your pack howls with you and that is also your name. We are here, we are us. But you don’t call another wolf specifically by name, you call out for who is there and they tell you. I am here, I am me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you howl.”

Wolf shook his head. “No one answered. It made me sad. I stopped for a long time. I didn’t start again until someone would answer. I howled for my boy, when he was late coming home. And I howled some when he left, in case he came back, so he would know where I was. And what did that get me… wolf hunters. So I stopped. It’s not safe. It never was. Got me where I am today.” Wolf’s expression was terribly sad.

“Oh Wolf…” Aziraphale couldn’t reach anything other than Wolf's legs with his feet in his lap, so he ended up squeezing his shins. It was awkward, but Wolf seemed to appreciate the pressure.

“I like when you call me that. I feel like I’m still me.”

“Is there anything that would make you feel more like a wolf? Or like I am part of your pack, even if I’m not a wolf?”

“You’re a terrible wolf. You’re a worse hunter. You’ve caught nothing but me.” Wolf gave him a wan smile, but there was a genuine affection behind it.

“I am a terrible hunter, but I do keep you well fed.”

Wolf sighed and his face softened. “You made me bread. And soup. Bread WITH soup. You made carrots taste sweet. I don’t understand how.”

“Cook them the right way. That’s some of what I’m doing now.” Aziraphale ran a hand along Wolf’s calf. “You’re the carrot. Or perhaps the bread. If I do things in the wrong order, they are too overwhelming for you, too unpleasant. If I’m slow and patient and try things out, eventually I will figure out how to get you bread.” He smiled softly at Wolf’s slightly baffled expression. Eventually he’d understand innuendo as well. Then Aziraphale would get to spend his time groaning at terrible jokes and possibly other things.

“You make me bread” Wolf said. “Actual bread and it makes me feel good. It smells good in here. Not the same way you smell good to me, and not the same way you smell good to me in the morning when you have an erection? Is that why you smell good?”

“Probably,” Aziraphale said. “But continue your original thought.”

“I feel good. It makes me want to be affectionate. That is why I want to hold you when you make me food. I want you to know I am happy. I want you to be happy because of things I did too. I think you are?”

Aziraphale nodded. “You’ve given me… things I didn’t know I needed or wanted ‘til they were offered. That’s why I keep offering you different physical experiences, to see if you like them. You can’t ask for things you don’t know are an option.”

“Oh.” Wolf blinked at him as if something suddenly made sense. “What did I offer you?”

“You, you silly thing.” He patted Wolf’s leg. “I like this body but I do also like your fur and when you squash me flat in bed.” He sighed dramatically. “And sometimes I even like it when you slobber on me. I do love you as a wolf. As you. And I want you to get as much pleasure from that as possible.”

Wolf looked very serious for a moment, like he was thinking quite hard. “Can you do something for me then? Can you do what you were doing before, but as a wolf? So I can feel how they’re different? But the same?”

“Of course. But get out of my lap before you shift or I think I’m going to get squashed in the not fun way.”

Wolf rolled off his lap and onto his belly. Then he was covered in fur. “I’m not that heavy.”

“No, but it's distributed differently.”

Wolf turned around and flopped into Aziraphale’s lap, putting his head in his lap, paws dangling off his thigh.

“I need your back feet if we’re going to have me do the same.”

Wolf rolled his eyes up to look at him. “I know. But can I have my ears scratched first?”

“Needy thing.” Aziraphale obliged, feeling Wolf relax under his hands. He kept that up until Wolf seemed like he might be about to doze off. “On your back now so I can reach your feet.”

Wolf huffed but rolled off gracelessly. He stretched out both sets of legs and arched his back. Getting settled on his back involved a lot of waving paws around to right himself. He looked a bit awkward, but he often did with his limbs going every which way. Aziraphale watched this with a great deal of fondness but was glad he’d made him get out of his lap first. Otherwise he definitely would have gotten a paw in the eye.

Eventually he settled with his forepaws folded over his chest and his back legs sprawled awkwardly.

“You, my dear, are unfairly adorable. Now try not to kick me with one of these.” He took one of Wolf’s back paws in his hands. It was as big as his own hand. He carefully pressed on it, unsure of what else to do. It made Wolf’s claws appear to extend as he flexed his toes. He ran his fingers over the pads feeling how rough they were. He stroked the fur between the pads and Wolf twitched his foot out of his hand.

“Ticklish?”

“I don’t laugh like this but it feels similar. Too much.”

Aziraphale was more careful of the direction he stroked the fur this time and Wolf didn’t twitch away. He wasn’t sure he was accomplishing anything since Wolf’s anatomy was so different. But from the occasional swish of his tail and the way Wolf was watching him, he was enjoying the contact. He switched to the other foot, flexing it back and forth with a bit more confidence.

“Did you want something more specific?”

“It feels different but some of it is the same.” Wolf’s ears were perked forward as he watched Aziraphale. “I have toes. They… aren’t the same as when I’m human shaped. There’s a different number. Maybe that’s why feet feel weird? There’s more toes than I know what to do with?”

Aziraphale chuckled at him. “Is that why you’re having so much trouble with human feet?”

“Maybe. I know it’s different but never put much thought into the details. Is this what you meant about jumping over fences?”

“A bit. When you jump a fence as a wolf, you are present in your body. You know how long your legs are and how to position your feet to land without falling. You know what to do with your tail to right yourself. If you were jumping over things all the time, you’d get better at it as well and be confident in going over things you couldn’t previously. Like I am currently working on wrestling with Bracken-creeper. I know the basics, but I can get much better once I have a better understanding of how to move my body.”

Wolf made a considering noise. “I suppose that’s what humans are really good at. Passing on information to each other. You never really deal with one human, it’s all the humans that passed on knowledge.”

Aziraphale nodded. “That’s the whole purpose of the trainband. Yes, it’s mostly physical skills but some of it is just…. Possibility. That’s why the teenagers get to go around and work with so many people, to learn what all of them do and if they have any aptitude or passion for any of them.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Learning again?”

“I… I suppose I am. Though some of it is learning I’m rubbish with sheep.”

“That’s because of how you move. Sheep aren’t dumb. They know when they’re being stalked.”

“I am not stalking your sheep.”

“You are when you try to catch one. And they know it. But it’s fine, I can just let you stalk my sheep and drive them right into me so I can catch them.”

Aziraphale huffed, but he’d driven many people into ambushes before. At least he had one skill that translated to this new life. “So long as it is useful to you.”

“You don’t have to be useful.” Wolf’s voice was gentle but earnest. “You’ll figure out what you like. You keep making baskets… and then feeding them to the sheep.”

“They’re not very good baskets. Seems a waste of grass.” But he kept trying because he understood that he WAS learning. All the ones he’d seen were finished ones made by people teaching him. He hadn’t seen what their first ones looked like. “But I suppose they’re getting better.”

“They are. But I think you like braiding my hair better.”

Aziraphale colored a little. “I do. It feels nice. It won’t hold its shape like the grass will. Well… sometimes like the grass will. I don’t think I’ve got that right either.”

“It’s getting there. There’s lots of time and lots of grass.”

“There is.” Aziraphale pressed his thumb into the middle of Wolf’s foot, watching his toes flex. Wolf watched his face, pliant and trusting in his hands. “For both of us. We will learn at our own pace. Just, easier with a teacher.”

“Never really had that. Not, directly. Either you figured it out by watching or by being punished for not doing it right. So I just kept trying until something finally worked.”

“How did wolves do it?”

Wolf’s tail twitched and he wiggled slightly. Aziraphale grabbed his hock to keep him from falling over awkwardly, but not so hard he couldn’t pull free if he wished.

“Watching. You’d see someone else do it so you knew you could. But they didn’t tell you how. You knew the other wolf jumped over the log so you must be able to. Sometimes you’d get warned not to do something with a snarl or being shoved, but it wasn’t trying to get you to do something. It was all very simple.”

“How did you end up learning to make cheese and baskets then? Was that all being yelled at?”

“Some of it. My master had other people. They made me help them with cheese because I had nothing else to do with all my sheep penned up for milking. I don’t always understand why things worked, just if you didn’t do them this way, it didn’t work. I haven’t experimented much with the cheese because I need that. The baskets-” Wolf pulled his foot away and rolled out of Aziraphale’s lap. He stood up and shook off before shifting to human form.

“It was very slow. It’s easier to remember this way.” He crouched down and moved his hands around, slowly and deliberately as if he was physically assembling the memory. “I didn’t learn from them. Baskets were too hard. I was just a-.” Wolf said a totally unfamiliar word in the Old Tongue but from mere tone Aziraphale could figure out it wasn’t a nice one. “-worse than them. They were human. They had each other.”

“I could follow how they tied my sheep up to work with them. I knew how to tie some knots. I watched them make more rope. You make rope by winding it. You make the coils for the baskets the same way. You tie more knots to make the coils hold together. I didn’t know I would need that information later, so I didn’t pay that much attention.

“Things were happening, away from here. My master came less and less. When he did come, he was harsher, angrier. He wanted more and more, as much as could be made. The humans that served him directly, that he treated better, were different. Some of them he’d given magic to as well, but it was still a thing he could take away from them. As things got tenser, they played more games with the humans, being nicer to some and crueler to others. They made them fight each other.” Wolf’s voice grew rough and his hands stilled. “Sometimes they fought me too. The servants were nicer to me, fed me. Made sure people saw me being fed. It made them angry when they were hungry. But I wasn’t one of the servants either. I was even more a wolf than I am now.”

“I don’t miss that.” He looked over at Aziraphale. “I am different now, but not in a bad way. I wasn’t bad then either. Everyone was just angry at everyone. I wasn’t a god, but I was more like them than I was the humans.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. He didn’t quite understand what this had to do with his question, but could let Wolf get there at his own pace. “And then what?”

“We had withdrawn back through the gate a few times before only to come back. This time, the servants killed some people who didn’t obey fast enough. That was different, scary. They wanted me to leave my sheep. They talked about killing my sheep if I wouldn’t go. But they weren’t my master and so I drove my sheep away up in the hills. I wasn’t a good liar, but I knew what lying was. I could say I took them there for lambing and that the servants weren’t my master, so I took my sheep to keep them safe. That’s what my master told me to do. That was what he commanded me to do. And I did. They’re my sheep. I couldn’t just leave them.”

“None of them come back. They’d always come back within a few moon cycles before. It was just me, sheep, and strange humans that slipped through the gate one at a time. They were so hungry they’d steal food from me. It was easier if I chased them away to where I’d killed a sheep recently. I knew how many sheep my master was supposed to have. With the lambs, I had enough to kill some so people didn’t starve. So I didn’t starve.”

“I did all the things I was supposed to. Very badly. They’d always come back before. I was frightened. I milked the sheep and made cheese. I could eat it but it wasn’t very good. I took apart some of the baskets that were falling apart to see how they went together. I made baskets until I got ones that worked. I tried to shear my sheep but couldn’t. Not well enough. I couldn’t do it right. I could trim just enough to keep it from getting too thick, but not the way you’re supposed to. I could keep my sheep safe from predators, but couldn’t take care of them correctly. So I drove them away from the menhir until I found humans with sheep.They took my sheep and sheared them. I took them back when I had hands again and could untie knots and open gates. I know what they smell like, each one.”

“I didn’t talk to the humans for a long time. Just drove my sheep to them and then stole them back. I didn’t talk to anyone. I remembered the words but not what they sounded like when I said them. Sometimes I did things with my hands, but I was mostly a wolf, more than I had been in so long. I howled for other wolves but no one answered. Eventually I got so lonely I started talking to the humans. I sounded different. I finally sounded like me finally. Not Him. Like me.”

“Eventually enough time passed and my hair got long from being a man sometimes. My master used to have my hair shaved off when the sheep were sheared. To make sure I stayed clean.” Wolf scowled. “I stayed clean on my own. It did sometimes get tangled, but I learned how to brush that out. Eventually it got so long I started braiding it to keep it out of my face when I needed hands.”

“Have you let it grow all this time?” Aziraphale asked. He was a bit surprised it grew at all considering Wolf didn’t seem to age. Though maybe he’d got that wrong as well.

Wolf shook his head. “No, it's been longer. I cut it sometimes now when it gets bothersome.” He pulled his braid around to look at the ends. “It’s grown much more this year than it has since my son left. It grew a lot when I had him. I spent so much time with him. Now I spend time with you. As a man.”

Wolf looked back over at Aziraphale. “Maybe my hair does mean something. To me. It reminds me He is gone.”

“Then I hope you can keep your hair as long as you wish. And I’m honored you let me touch it.”

Wolf shuffled closer and then plopped himself into Aziraphale’s lap, legs bracketing his waist. “I like when you do that.”

Aziraphale shifted to wrap his hands around Wolf’s back. He took the end of the braid and tugged gently. “My dear Wolf has a tail in every form, as suits him.”

Wolf huffed at him. “And you’ll pull it in both.”

“Only when you see me coming and let me. Because then it is a game.” He gave Wolf’s braid another tug before sliding a hand lower to give his butt a tweak.

Wolf mock yelped and surged forward. It overbalanced Aziraphale and he fell backwards with Wolf on top of him. He grunted at the twinge in his back at that, even having been slathered in ointment. Wolf’s face looked stricken.

“That’s my fault. Should have known better. Let me put my shirt on so we can get in bed. Unless you changed your mind and decided I taste good minty.”

“Nope! Gross.” Wolf made a face at him and offered him a hand up.

“If it’s that vile, I can sleep on the floor.” He pulled his shirt back on and went to grab his cloak and boots so he could go outside briefly. Wolf accompanied him, though he didn’t bother shifting form or putting on clothes.

“Nope, I can complain and still do things.” Wolf wrinkled his nose as they walked away from the den. “That seems to be how humans work? You complain out loud but your body says it's still a game. I am going to bed with you because I want you warm and happy, but I am going to complain about your scent. Because I love you.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced over at him, but couldn’t read Wolf’s expression in the moonlight. He wasn’t sure he needed to. Wolf couldn’t get much clearer with his feelings. “Yes, it is how it works for some people. We’re not actually fighting.”

Wolf sidled up to him and leaned against him. “I would shove you to play with you, but that would hurt. That’s what I’m thinking about.”

Aziraphale turned his head to kiss Wolf on the cheek. “You are really quite sweet. However… could I perhaps have some privacy? That is why I came out here.”

“No. You want me to practice having a body and you want me to be a wolf too.”

“And…?”

“Show me how to pee on your rock as a human. Then we both marked the territory.”

“You are THE WORST.” Aziraphale groaned at him, but with great fondness. “I brought this on myself. At least you don’t have clothes to deal with…

Notes:

this contained the prompt "the laughing devil"

I THINK this is now the final chapter count. We're close. One big plot point and fall out. 18 chapters. Be sure to mock me in chapter 19 for my inability to count.

Chapter 15: The Wounded

Summary:

The time has come to give it all away.

Notes:

... things happened. oh boy did IRL things happen. stop that. I gotta finish this fic.

Some specialized words crop up in this chapter:

A menhir is an upright standing stone. Many stand alone, but they can also be found in groups. The uprights in Stonehenge are an example.

Coppicing is a tree cutting technique used to produce lots of new growth on old roots. It was important for producing charcoal for kilns and metalsmithing

---

As the days grew so short it wasn’t worth Aziraphale making the trek down to the village, Wolf grew restless. Even with Aziraphale spending so much time here, Wolf wanted to be even closer. Aziraphale could feel a tension in his body when he lay down behind him like a furry bolster. He’d allow himself to be pet for a while and then would go out to watch his flock as if he expected something. If Aziraphale followed him outside, he always seemed to be watching in the same direction.

“What are you watching for?”

“Who.”

That seemed all the answer Aziraphale would get for now as Wolf wanted to hustle him back inside only to repeat the performance all over again.

Aziraphale packed up Wolf’s travel basket on one of the occasions he’d gone outside. He followed him out to find him still watching in the same direction.

“Enough fretting, let’s go see who you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid!”

“Worried about, then.”

“Me,“ Wolf said, low enough to be difficult to hear. But he wouldn't have spoken if he hadn’t wanted to be heard.

“And who can threaten you? You’ve outwitted every hunter sent after you.”

“What about you? Did I trick you?” There was an odd tone, half aggrieved and half fearful.

“Charmed me, but without any ill intent. I do believe I’m the one that’s seduced you.”

“Seduced me?” Wolf asked.

“I think you’ve gotten rather fond of kisses and … other things.” Aziraphale had managed to drain some of the tension from Wolf in the last few days via orgasm. Pressing him into the floor and fucking him he lost all sense of words only bought them time before Wolf’s restless energy drove him from the bed again.

Wolf shook a few snowflakes off his fur. “S’not fair. How am I to resist that?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Let’s go inside then, I can’t worry then.” He shifted back to human form, eager to be pressed into the blankets.

“Ah,” Aziraphale held up a hand at him “and will you stop worrying or just be back out here an hour later?”

There were some grumbles. “Yes.”

“You’re a terrible liar, especially to yourself.”

“Oi!”

“Put your fur back on and let us go hunting for what you fear.” Aziraphale could see Wolf’s eyes narrow and the stubborn set to his jaw. “We will go hunting. I’ll bring my spear.”

“Will you use it?”

“For you… yes.” He hoped he wasn’t lying.

---

Now that he’d committed to the hunt, Wolf was quite direct. They went due west as the sun was to their back for most of the walk. It was in front of them by the time Aziraphale figured out where they were going. He’d known of the place’s existence for quite some time but this was his first time seeing it.

The menhir was visible from far off. Even broken, it was still far taller than Aziraphale himself. The concentric earthworks that had once surrounded it had softened since the Old Ones left. Now they looked like ripples in the earth, as if the menhir had been dropped from the sky.

It would have been considerably more foreboding if there wasn’t an eagle’s nest wedged into the broken top of it. It made the shadow look like a giant with an unruly mop of hair.

The fallen top of the menhir had left a scar in the ground. The raw edges of the disturbed earth were still visible. The grass hadn’t reclaimed it, and the wind and rain had eaten away at the exposed soil.

Wolf stopped outside the outermost ring. “Stay here.”

“Like hell I will.”

Wolf snapped his teeth. “Would you listen? It’s dangerous for you.”

“And I’ll be dangerous to anything here.” Aziraphale hefted his spear as Wolf eyed the long, steel blade.

Wolf snorted and swung his head back and forth. “Men!”

Aziraphale softened his voice. “You said the danger was to you. I’m not letting you go by yourself.”

Wolf huffed, breath steaming in the cold and then leaned against him. Aziraphale could feel the tremble in him and he buried his hands in his ruff. They stayed that way for a little while, as Aziraphale warmed his hands in his fur, kneading some of the tension out of him. Eventually, the rest of him started getting cold. There was nowhere to hide from the wind here.

Aziraphale turned slowly and looked about. There was nowhere to hide, period. Nothing larger than a hare could hide in the grass. The only cover for something larger was the menhir itself.

Of course, that was the problem. There might be nothing to see until it was too late. Once these had been gates to faerie. The Old Ones had slammed them shut when they left but that didn’t mean they could never be opened again. He looked at the broken piece on the ground, taller than a man. The wolf’s son had come through the gate when the menhir broke, but had the crack allowed him through or slammed the gate shut behind him forever?

“What are we looking for? Or smelling for?”

“Listening. “ Wolf did not elaborate and they stood there, hearing nothing but each other’s breathing and the grass shuddering in the wind. Aziraphale shivered. Wolf pressed close against his leg before slowly creeping forward.

“What for?” Aziraphale kept his voice low.

“My Name. They… they gave me one. To… to make me listen. But it’s not a name. Not like yours. I’m not a person.”

“You’re very much a person.”

“Human then. Humans have names they can give each other. A name they can say, ‘this is me’. I have a name that can make me obey, let me be treated as a thing. My name is spoken and all it brings is pain. What kind of name is that?”

“Not one you should ever tell me,” Aziraphale said.

“But that’s what humans do, they have names they can give each other. They have a name they can give to someone. I have nothing but what They gave me, what They made me. I hate them!” And then very softly. “I miss them. How can I miss the ones that hurt me?”

“They made you. It’s what you knew. It’s… actually very human. Not everyone had good parents. Or a good village. Sometimes you don’t realize how bad it was until you leave. Then everything is new and unfamiliar and it's almost easier to have the safety of pain.” Aziraphale did not like how familiar that feeling was to him. He had lived too many years in service to safety.

They crept along the ground as the sun sank lower and the menhir’s shadow grew longer and longer, reaching out toward them. Aziraphale could see where it had even stunted the grass growth at the base, throwing such a huge section into shade every day. Aziraphale considered signaling to Wolf that they should circle around the menhir on opposite sides as he would have done as a soldier. But Wolf had pressed closer to him as they got closer and crouched lower and lower so he was practically crawling. Aziraphale was not leaving him alone, even for a moment.

“Why are you suddenly worried?” Aziraphale kept his voice low. If something was here, it wouldn’t really matter. It would have seen them approach across the open grass. But he had to treat Wolf’s fear as real, regardless.

“I thought the gate would never open again. It had been so long. And then my boy came. I knew. I knew something was here. I thought…” Wolf whined and pressed against Aziraphale’s leg, blocking him from going further forward. “But it wasn’t my master. Just a boy, lost in a world he barely remembered. He told me his Name. The idiot. He’d just come from there and he told me his Name so he’d be mine. A wolf was better than where he’d been.”

“You were. You are. He wasn’t wrong. You are the father he needed.” Aziraphale patted him on the ruff, feeling the tension in Wolf’s body.

“Every turn of the season, I can feel… something.” Wolf stared toward the menhir, only a few paces away now. “But I don’t answer. I thought with him grown and gone the worry would go… and it did for a time. And now… what if the gates open again? Would I answer? I don’t belong here. I’m not like you.”

“No, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you belong there either. You do not belong to anyone but yourself.”

Wolf whined softly and looked up at him. “No one?”

“You do not belong to me. You choose to be with me. And I with you. I am willing to fight for you.” Aziraphale hefted the spear in his hand. “But I am also willing to go home with you. To make a home. And that means making sure the gate is closed forever so you don’t have to live in fear anymore.”

“How are you so unafraid?”

“Because someone once gave me their Name as if there was nothing to be afraid of. It’s time I finally believed it. For both of us. You can wait here or you can come with me, it is your choice.”

“You are my pack. I go with you.” Wolf moved so that Aziraphale could take the lead now. He kept his shoulder pressed against Aziraphale’s hip. Wolf wasn’t quite the shield he’d been used to in battle, but it was close enough that if it did come to a fight, Aziraphale was confident he could avoid striking Wolf accidentally.

“Whatever happens, stay as close to me as you are now.” Aziraphale slowly moved forward to come around the menhir. He hoped he was ready for whatever might be there.

---

He was not.

---

He expected something big, dramatic, worthy of all the tales that haunted men’s dreams. There was grass. There was sky. Nothing looked different at all. But… the wind was gone. It had cut through them so keenly before, stealing their heat and now it was abruptly gone as if they had stepped into the lee of some great unseen presence.

Wolf’s nervous panting seemed extremely loud now that the constant wind was gone. It was clearly sheer nerves as the cold was still there, even if the wind wasn’t.

Aziraphale slowly turned around, keeping his leg firmly against Wolf. It was a slow dance he’d perfected over many years of training to keep his companion pressed against his side. Even though Wolf knew none of the drills, Aziraphale knew just how to get him to shift away so that Aziraphale could immediately follow. Aziraphale could always feel the brush of fur against his hip and Wolf must surely feel the heat of Aziraphale against him.

He turned slowly to put the sun behind them once more, casting a long shadow across the still grass. There was no scar in the soil. Here the menhir still stood unbroken. He looked up the length of it where it was marked with unfamiliar symbols. He had heard the Old Ones had no written language. That was clearly yet another lie, or at best, an omission.

“Do you know what it says?” Aziraphale asked.

Wolf blinked up at it. “Some of it.” He sat so he could more easily tilt his head up.

“Were these markings here the last time you were here?”

“Yes, but I didn’t pay much attention. I had sheep to herd.” Wolf’s whole head moved as he tried to read. “They’re dates and stars, but they’re all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale said, but kept swiveling his head to watch for anything approaching. There was a sameness to everything around them, the grass an endless plain that vanished into the distance. Aziraphale felt uneasy. The shadows seemed too soft around the edges for how late in the day it was. It should be the golden hour where everything seemed beautiful, but there was a strange leadenness to the light.

“Dates are based on the moon. They go in order. They each have a name. The stars, well, they’re different names than you call them, but they’re still the same. But they are in the wrong moon.”

“By how much?”

“What do you mean by how much?”

Aziraphale considered for a moment on how to phrase the question. “What stars should be visible in this moon according to that calendar and where is it instead?”

Wolf huffed but focused.”The cart should be in the seventh moon? Wait, maybe fourth? No, third. There’s multiple sets. I don’t think I can read this.”

Aziraphale glanced up at the vast array of marks, in parallel lines. It was probably columns of some sort. He wasn’t even sure of that though. A thought occurred to him as he stared at them.

“What moon is it now, today?”

“For you?”

“Yes… for me.”

“Seventh.”

“What moon is it here, in the Old Tongue? Is it seventh?”

Wolf sounded utterly confused by the question. “No. They’re in color progression. It’s… I’m not sure what the word is. Old blood?”

Aziraphale spared a glance at Wolf because he had no idea what he was referring to. Colors had an order? But instinct kicked in and he realized he should be watching for anyone else. No one should be able to sneak up on them in this place, but still. They were in enemy territory. There was no doubt in his mind now that they were Wolf’s enemies just as much as his.

Wolf’s panting had slowed while he was distracted by trying to read the menhir. He was thinking too hard to let abstract worries take up any mental space.

Aziraphale put a hand on Wolf. “Stay where you are.”

He turned so he could press his back against the side of Wolf’s head so he could check the rest of the area. He shaded his eyes to look towards where the sun was setting. There was a haze around it like it was out of focus. There were no obvious clouds in the way, nor did it appear to be foggy. Just at some point the world ceased to have any definition.

“Does this place look different than when you were last here?”

“No sheep.”

“Aside from the lack of sheep and people, does it look different? Sound different? Smell different?”

Wolf stood and Aziraphale felt him shift against the top of his thighs as he looked back and forth. He kept in firm contact. Aziraphale could feel it when he started to tremble. He reached back and grabbed Wolf’s ruff and tugged at him firmly.

“I’m here.”

“I don’t know if it’s different. It was never… it wasn’t real. The sounds. Are there sounds?” Wolf asked.

“There is me and there is you. That is all I hear. The wind is gone.”

“They’re not real. They never were.” Wolf sounded so terribly despondent.

“Let’s go home. That’s real.”

“That doesn’t solve anything. This will always be here. If we just stayed and figured this out…”

“If we stay, we may not be able to leave. Do you want to stay?”

“No, there’s nothing here but fear. And it will always be here. Waiting.”

“Not if we close the gate.”

“How?”

“Let’s make sure we can get out first.”

Wolf pressed against Aziraphale’s leg, half crouched as he slunk along, as if he was doing something wrong. His ears twitched as if he heard something and his head swiveled towards nothing that Aziraphale could detect.

Aziraphale saw only the sun setting on an empty landscape that grew ever more indistinct. A fog rolled across the ground with a sound that shouldn’t exist, a white shushing noise filled with pops and snaps. There were vague things out in the gloaming that might be… nothing. They were nothing, only vague fears that once named would have power once more. There was nothing he wanted here.

Aziraphale looked up at the menhir one last time and the inscriptions. If he could remember them, decipher them, perhaps it would give some insight into how the Old Ones had come and gone and let them strike back at… there were definitely things in the mist now and Wolf cowered. Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment so his mind would stop trying to pick shapes out of the fog. He would take nothing from here but Wolf and allow nothing to follow them back.

He opened his eyes and the fog was fog again. It still billowed towards them even though there was no wind to speak of.

“Come on.” Aziraphale followed his own shadow out as it stretched ever longer as the sun touched the horizon. The wind chilled his nose but didn’t touch his neck. He turned his head and had a confusing vision of the broken menhir and the intact menhir existing as one.

“Go.”

Wolf looked up at him, ears pinned back. “You’re my pack. I won’t.”

Aziraphale dropped a hand to Wolf’s head, stroking along his ears. “Walk to the end of my shadow and I will follow. I just need space to maneuver.” He hefted the spear.

Wolf crept a few feet away, looking like he desperately wanted to bolt. Though whether away from here or back to Aziraphale was unclear.

Aziraphale adjusted the balance of his spear. This he could do. There was no blood. No screaming. There was no foe to fight anymore. Only the past. The Wolf’s boy had shown him the way and all he had to do was be brave. One step and he put his full force into the throw. Only throw away your weapon if death is assured. His spear flickered out of existence and there was a tremendous noise that abruptly cut off as he hurried to Wolf. He could feel a tremor in the ground from that sound in the other world.

“Run!”

Wolf could run much faster than he could, but he refused to go faster than a lope as Aziraphale sprinted towards home, shadow leading the way. He didn’t slow until they were past the outer ring of the earthworks. He finally turned towards where the broken menhir stood.

It was listing and the grass around it rattled and shook. It lurched sideways and toppled over. There was a flurry of cracks and pops followed by a dull thud. Even though he felt the impact through his feet, it still seemed like it should have been louder.

The sun fell beneath the horizon and they had only the glow of reflected light from the clouds. The patchy snow on the ground reflected some light as well, standing out more in the gloom now that the sun was down. Everything grew softer and indistinct, but in a familiar way. No figures came after them. The wind pulled at him and carried away the mist of his breath. Wolf panted loudly next to him.

“Do you hear anything?” Aziraphale held his breath, to let Wolf focus.

“Nothing. There’s nothing.” Wolf crept away from him to better scent the wind. “Just dirt. Crushed grass. Bird shit.”

“Bird shit?” Aziraphale looked over at Wolf, though he was just a shadow in the gloom.

“The nest was crushed. Baby birds shit a lot. That is why they keep making the nest bigger. Cover up the old stuff.”

Aziraphale wheezed out a laugh. It was absolutely absurd. The last remnant of the Old God’s works gone down in literal shit. No one would believe it. There should be some more satisfying conclusion there. Some decisive end to generations of terror. But it wasn’t really an end, just one step along the way. He knew they would be coming back here at least one more time to make sure it had stayed closed. That it was truly gone. Maybe they would come back on every solstice and equinox for years. As long as it took for Wolf to stop listening for his old name.

“Let’s make sure the gate is closed.”

“And what will we do if its not? If there’s… something there. You threw away your spear.”

“Not away… at.” Aziraphale drew his knife. But it did feel like away. He’d thought about passing on the weapon to someone who could use it better, but this, he had spent his whole life training to throw like that. To clear a path for the rest of his unit to run after it and rain violence down upon their foe. And now, he’d used it to close that same path. That part of his life was gone with it. He was free.

“Come and see,” Aziraphale said as he walked back towards the fallen stone. Wolf stayed pressed to his leg, but was no longer trembling.

The stone had plowed a similar trench into the ground as its broken top had. There were sticks all around it, with a greater mass towards one end. The eagles would have to find somewhere new to nest next year, or start a new nest atop the remains of the stone, even though it was now only a few feet off the ground. It was still the highest point in the area despite that.

It had disturbed the earth all around the base, ripping up the surrounding grass and exposing the roots to the air. There were a lot of smaller stones packed in around the base in the hole, which were still sliding loose and clattering into the new hole. There was a clear line halfway down the stone. The top was weathered and covered with lichen from being above ground and the rest dark from being buried in the earth.

The whole place stunk. There was the acrid stink of the crushed nest and the guana. The smell of torn up earth and crushed vegetation was more familiar. Beneath it was a rawer, fouler smell as if some rotten bone had been turned up in the spring plowing.

He rested his hand on Wolf as they walked around the stone, skirting wide around the edge of the new hole. The edges were still slowly collapsing in showers of dirt and gravel. The wind never left them, but the last of the light did. It was just a stone now. There was no more gate.

Wolf sat down as they finished their circuit and found nothing. The tension seemed to have gone out of his body, replaced by some bone deep weariness. Aziraphale knelt and wrapped his arms around Wolf, burying his chilled hands in his fur. He felt very warm and solid and real.

“You seem troubled. Isn’t this what you wanted? To be free?”

“Did I? I don’t know.” Wolf rested his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder, voice a whisper. “I wanted some end to this, something. Anything. But none of it was real. Only old fear. Nothing real. Nothing… nothing to confront… what do I do with nothing?”

Wolf made a frustrated growl and snapped his teeth, though not at Aziraphale. He leaned into him. “They were just gone! There’s nothing! Nothing to go back to! They sent me here and there was nothing! Every wolf is long gone! Nothing of my world! Nothing of my life! Nothing! They made me this and then they left. There’s nothing there! Nothing at all! How can nothing hurt so badly?”

“I wish I knew. Losing something you didn’t want shouldn’t hurt and yet… do you really feel there’s nothing here for you?” Aziraphale tried to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“No, yes. I don’t know.” Wolf sounded desperately confused by his own feelings. “You’re here. But you’re just one person. I don’t belong here. I always thought someday they would return… They’d call me back and this time I’d go. Now…”

“We all think they’ll be back someday. Everything about our lives is structured around that fear they’ll return. We don’t even know each other’s names because of them.”

“Would you like to?” Wolf said it so softly, Aziraphale wouldn't have heard him if he hadn’t felt the sound through his chest.

“I don’t want power over you. I just want to love you.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No. It’s not.” Aziraphale leaned back so Wolf had to take his head off his shoulder. He could see his face and ears once more. His ears were back and his lips were pulled tight as if he felt some physical pain. Perhaps the gate closing had actually severed some connection to the faerie lands. Or maybe he simply hurt in the same way Aziraphale’s leg had when he first came hunting for a wolf.

“Is that what you want, power over me?” Aziraphale asked. He kept his voice gentle, without any accusation there. It seemed more likely Wolf simply didn’t have the right words to express himself than that he’d misjudged him after months together.

“I want...” Wolf looked away, ears pinned back and body slumped as if he would collapse in on himself. “Is it bad to…? I’m a wolf. I am. I feel… I feel more like the man sometimes when I am a wolf now. But I’m not. Everything is… distant. The man feels like so much. But I want… I want to do those things. And even… even with the gate closed… I’m not a man. I cannot be a wolf either. You are not my pack. Because you are not a wolf and… and neither am I. Neither am I.”

Wolf had slowly slumped as he talked, eventually pulling himself out of Aziraphale’s arms. He made a low, hoarse noise that sounded almost like a moan. The inhale was a more obviously canine whine.

“Wolf…” Aziraphale rested a hand on his ruff. “Be the man briefly. For me.”

Wolf blinked up at him and then shifted so he was sprawled awkwardly on the ground. He took a sharp breath as he pushed himself up to a sitting position and his expression was so much easier to read now. Aziraphale flung his arms around him and that was all it took for Wolf to start sobbing. He pressed his face into Aziraphale’s chest, and dug his fingers into his back, gripping Aziraphale’s cloak as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Wolf cried with all the force of years of pent up fear and anger and sorrow and a dozen different emotions he probably couldn’t put a name to. It was the ugly sort of sobbing that involved his whole body and would leave him as exhausted as if he’d run up a mountain.

Aziraphale sat on the freezing ground and pulled Wolf into his lap. He spoke the sort of soothing nonsense words that Wolf had never heard in all his long life because he’d never been held and comforted like this before. Aziraphale had held him while he cried once before, but he’d still been present and aware of himself for that. Now, Wolf just let the emotions take him and trust he would be hurt no more. Finally there was nothing to fear.

Wolf eventually started shivering, which made Aziraphale aware he was doing so as well. Wolf’s sobs turned to coughs as his body tried to purge itself even further. Aziraphale shifted him off his lap and Wolf yelped as his hands went into a patch of snow.

“Turn back, if you can.”

Wolf shifted to four feet and staggered as if he was drunk. He swayed on his feet like he might collapse back onto Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale got to his feet with several horrid noises of his own and shrugged out of the carrying basket he’d brought. He found the water skin in there and took a swig before holding it carefully for Wolf to drink from.

“Do you feel better?”

“No. I feel bad.” Wolf licked his teeth slowly and made an almost human noise of disgust. “...maybe. It’s a different bad. But smaller. I feel physically bad.”

“But that’s more familiar?”

“Yes. That’s easier. I feel more like a wolf.” His voice grew softer. “Like myself.”

“Do you feel up to walking home?”

“I don’t want to stay here. ‘M tired. I did nothing and I’m so tired.”

“You fought yourself. That is to be expected.”

Wolf snorted but didn’t seem to have the energy to argue any further. Aziraphale started walking, though at a slower pace than they had come here. It was dark now and the moon was not up yet. If it weren’t for the scattered snow reflecting the starlight, it would be too dark to proceed. After all this, twisting his ankle in a rabbit hole would be a ridiculous end to this quest.

Wolf lagged behind him, which was not very helpful for finding his way in the dark. Aziraphale could make sure they walked away from the menhir until it was lost in the darkness. Wolf kept pausing to look back towards the fallen menhir even though it was long out of sight. Whatever had been there was gone, but not silent. Aziraphale was all too familiar with how loud the dead could be when there was nothing to drown out the whispers of the past.

Aziraphale paused. “Come here, my hands are cold.”

Wolf obliged and Aziraphale buried his hands in his ruff

“Wouldn’t you be warmer if we kept walking?” Wolf said.

“Perhaps, but clearly we’re walking too fast if you can’t keep up.”

“I’m exhausted. But you can’t stay out in this cold. I can’t lose you now.” Wolf whined anxiously.

“I planned ahead. We can rest for a bit. Lay down. You get to be my pillow.”

Wolf made only the faintest of grumbles before curling into a very large ball. He was more than capable of withstanding the cold, it just wasn’t what he preferred to do. Aziraphale took the carrying basket off and unfolded his blanket from when he was still a soldier. It was the only blanket small enough to fit in the basket. He wrapped it around himself and then awkwardly draped himself over Wolf, who let out a long sigh. There was no way he could actually sleep on Wolf, but they could both doze for a bit. Wolf would be sufficient insulation against the frozen ground. WIth the hood of his cloak pulled up and most of him tucked under a blanket it was survivable, but unpleasant. He kept his face and hands buried in Wolf’s fur and just conceded his feet would be cold. Wolf wasn’t big enough to shield all of him.

Aziraphale let his mind wander enough to rest without actually sleeping. He could be vigilant to changes in the environment without actually having to focus on anything. The wind shook the grass stalks in fits and starts that were too unpredictable to cover anyone walking. In the darkness anyone trailing them would have trouble spotting them as anything but a dark mass. That they were still made it more likely they would be passed by as jsut a roll in the terrain. The wind blew across their route home, so anything that trailed by scent would not have much to follow.

Wolf somehow managed to sleep. Aziraphale hoped he had done the right thing and Wolf’s exhaustion was emotional, not some consequence of being separated from faerie. Be ironic if after all this time, this was what killed him. Aziraphale shivered at the thought and at the cold. Unfortunately he could not let Wolf sleep any longer, not and be assured he himself could continue walking.

He dug his fingers into Wolf’s fur, coaxing him to wakefulness with scritches. Wolf made a disagreeable noise and a sleepy “why’s so cold?”

“We’re still out. Do you remember?”

“Oh.” Wolf’s ears twitched and he shifted under Aziraphale. “You’re heavy.” Followed by a more concerned, “You must be frozen.”

“That is why I’m waking you. We do need to move. I hope you rested enough. I packed food too if that would help.”

“Water, just want water.”

Aziraphale slid off him awkwardly to kneel on the frozen ground. He shivered at the contact but stayed in the position while he dug the water and food out of the basket. He took a drink himself before offering to hold the waterskin for Wolf again.

Wolf grunted and then was in human form, crouched on the ground. “Give here. Can’t be wasting it”

Aziraphale pushed himself to his feet while Wolf drank like he was parched.

“Here.” Aziraphale offered him a piece of bannock.

Wolf snorted at him. “Know the way to tempt me.” But he took it and scarfed down the bread like he was starving before taking another swig of water. He pushed the water skin back at Aziraphale before switching back to a canine form.

“Thanks.” His voice was soft. “Eat something too.”

“I will while we’re moving. If you could guide us home, I’ll make soup.”

Wolf snorted again, but then stretched his neck out, head high and obviously sniffing. Aziraphale could see him now that he’d had his eyes closed for so long and then moon had risen. Wolf was mostly a dark silhouette with a bit of shine to his eyes to indicate which way he was looking.

Wolf locked onto something and set off at a steadier pace. It was still slower than their trip out, but he was moving with purpose again. Aziraphale was glad to be in motion so as to warm up. He ate some of the bread and drank as well. After walking for a bit he was warm enough he could unwrap the blanket from around him and just drape it around shoulders instead.

Aziraphale wanted to give Wolf time to understand his feelings but also the quiet was getting to him. Normally there would be a lot more teasing as they went.

“Do you feel better?” Aziraphale asked

“I feel less tired,” Wolf said. “Everything… I feel… I don’t feel like a wolf right now. It hurts. I haven’t been for so long but… I’m really not now. That's what I heard. Howling. Maybe I could have gone. Maybe there were other wolves there. But they would have been like me, wolves in name only. They weren’t real. And I feel like neither am I.”

“My dearest, I am so sorry. Do you still want me to call you Wolf?”

“Yes, that’s me. I’m not… you didn’t want my Name.” Wolf sounded deeply hurt.

“Is that you?”
“I… I left on my feet this time. Not.. you don’t want me cowering and terrified.” Wolf had grown tense again, sinking down into a half crouch, tail tucked inward. It made Aziraphale’s heart ache looking at him and yet he could feel a thread of anger beneath it. He might have thrown away his spear, but he still had his body and years of training. The desire to solve this with violence was still there, even if he knew that would accomplish nothing. He would not be here with Wolf, today, if not for what had happened long ago. Their lives had brought them to this point where they could try and accept the past was unchangeable but the future was.

“I want you as you. As much as you can tell me. You told me that your name, as a wolf, is in the here and now and in your howl.” Aziraphale softened his voice. “And also told me why you can howl no more.”

“You are the best thing to have come to me from howling,” Wolf said, “but you’ve thrown away your spear. What would we do about a hunter?”

“That is something to consider if it happens. Right now… if you can’t howl with me, can you sing with me?”

Wolf paused and turned so he could look at Aziraphale in the darkness. He stood a little taller and the stiffness seemed to be leaving his posture.

“Sing with you?”

“You talk with me all the time. You should be able to sing with me. Unfortunately most of what I know best are combat drills.” Aziraphale smiled wryly. “Perhaps not the best choice. Perhaps I can think of something else to let you sing with me. I’m not your wolf pack, but I am your companion here and now.”

“I’ve never tried singing like a human,” Wolf said, curiously. “I’ve heard humans sing. Heard you sometimes. I know the words. Perhaps…the one you sang that first time you stayed with me? About making steel.”

“That…” there seemed something faintly wrong to that, a song about making what could kill the Old Ones so surely. But maybe this time it could heal. Steel didn’t have to be a sword. It could be a soup pot, or a horse shoe, or an image of the gods. “As you wish. You can join in when I get to the chorus.”

Aziraphale slowed slightly to one he knew he could keep up even while singing. What songs each church required you to learn varied by region, but this was one that everyone would learn. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he actually could make steel himself, even having memorized it, but the point was if everyone knew it, even if a part was lost or forgotten, the basics were known and they could all try and recreate it. They would never have that knowledge wiped away. And in that there was another lesson. They took these precautions because things had been lost when the Old Gods came and they didn’t even know what anymore.

Wolf was quiet through the first part but then attempted to join him on the chorus. It was halting and strange and discordant as Wolf seemed unable to find and hold a pitch, sliding off in a warbling tone on any note he tried to hold. He missed more than half the words. It was painfully bad, but Aziraphale had sung with children enough times during training to know the only way to improve was to try.

The second round was marginally better in that Wolf missed fewer words, though he had slowed his pace to drop back next to Aziraphale. He put his hand on Wolf’s ruff as they continued. He could feel his singing on the next chorus and how he struggled with it. He might be able to speak as a wolf, but this, this was something new and unfamiliar at war with the old and familiar.

“Steel lives in the forest
Wood for the ax,
wood for the mine,
wood for the kiln.
Count and count again.
Each log for the kiln,
you must plant three.
Steel lives in the forest.”

There was a certain irony to be singing this with one of the Old Ones in rolling fields. There were only small patches of forest nearby used for foraging nuts and fruit from, all carefully coppiced to have enough wood for tool handles. Trees would only be cut for building when absolutely necessary. The sheer amount of charcoal needed for steel to fight a war would wipe out a generation’s future. It was why the warning was in the chorus and the directions for manufacture in individual verses.

By the time they got through all the verses Wolf seemed to have found a little of his own voice, even though it sounded different from both his speaking voices. Aziraphale was curious what he would sound like singing in human form. Perhaps he’d find a fourth voice. That was a question for another time though as Wolf’s breathing seemed labored, even as his body had grown soft and relaxed under Aziraphale’s hand.

“Do you feel more yourself?” Aziraphale asked.

“Some?” Wolf said. “I don’t know. I still don’t feel like a wolf. But perhaps I am Wolf and that will have to be enough.”

“I hope it is. Do you want to try this again sometime?”

“Yes. Not while walking. That was hard!”

Aziraphale chuckled and ran his fingers through Wolf’s fur. “It has been a trying day. Hopefully we get home before the sun rises.”

“How can you just keep going and going?” Wolf sounded tired again. “I don’t think you actually slept when I did.”

“A soldier who cannot walk is a dead one. Thus walking even when exhausted is the most core piece of training for one,” Aziraphale said. “I cannot leave behind everything I was. Just try to find peace with it. I am weary in body and mind, but I am not walking towards death anymore. I am going to where a warm bed and a real meal await. I can walk as long as it takes. I’ll even carry you if necessary.”

“You would not.”

“If necessary, yes. But a nap would be more effective. Do you need a break?”

“No.”

“Wolf.”

“I don’t! I can smell sheep on the wind. We are almost there. Then sleep.”

It almost made Aziraphale want to pick up the pace, knowing there was an end soon. But that would just tire him faster. He had no idea how far off Wolf could scent things. He would keep going as long as it must, no matter how weary and footsore.

And it really was mostly his feet. His leg didn’t pain him, no matter all the strain he’d put on it today. He was as whole as he might ever be.

He looked at Wolf beside him, who had come through the day wounded in ways Aziraphale didn’t know how to fix. He could try though. He could pass on a gift given to him when he most needed it.

“A long time ago, when I had only the name my parents gave me, I got separated from the trainband while we were rounding up pigs for slaughter. I have never been much use with animals.”

“Just me,” Wolf said.

“I can talk to you. And well, I’m not afraid of you. Which is a part of all this.” Aziraphale took a steadying breath. He’d come a long, long way since then. “I was a very fearful child. And that day, I got lost. One minute I could hear the other teens and then… I was alone. I ran along the path to catch up, but must have taken a wrong turn because I didn’t find them. But I was also an obedient child and had been told if I got lost, I was to find shelter and stay put until found. Don’t wander. That’s how you end up dead or stolen.”

“So I found a tree to shelter under by the path and waited. And waited. And started to question if I even was on a path at all and if anyone would ever find me.”

“Weren’t they looking?” Wolf asked.
“Not yet. While it felt extremely long to me, everyone was very busy so hadn’t noticed I was missing yet. But it started to get dark and I was getting cold. I finally heard someone coming, but I didn’t recognize this man at all. He seemed equally surprised to see me huddled by the side of the road.

He said, “Oh you’re not supposed to be out here alone, come with me”.

“I had never seen anyone dressed quite like this and his accent sounded very strange to me. I so wanted to go with him, but I was also supposed to stay put so I would go back to MY village. I had heard plenty of tales of stolen children, though always as something that happened several villages away. I don’t think I actually said anything to the man, just shook my head at him and mumbled the sort of thing you were supposed to say to adults to be polite. I was more scared of going with a stranger than I was of being alone.

“He seemed to catch on to that, so held out his hand and said “Take my hand and my Name.” And just like that, he told me his Name, as if there was nothing in the world to be afraid of and never had been.” Aziraphale was still surprised by it, all these years later. “And in that moment I knew I was with the Traveller. I took his hand and walked with him until I could hear other people up ahead. He told me to run ahead, because it sounded like they were looking for me.

“They were. But the man hadn’t followed me. I guess when he saw me meet up with other people, he knew I was safe and then continued on his way. Nobody else saw him or recognized my physical description of him. And I couldn’t just give away his Name and ask, does anyone know him?

“So you met a god,” Wolf said. “A new one.”

“Yes, and it changed the trajectory of my life. It was taken as an omen that I was destined for the priesthood. Though that obviously did not work out. A priest is supposed to be all the gods at once, and none of them. To have no name at all, so they can be whatever god is needed in the moment. To be a conduit for that. I had been touched by the divine. I had encountered the Traveller and he should have led me to the other gods. But I could never give up all of my birth name. And I couldn’t give up the one he gave me. Perhaps I took that too literally, take my Name. But I wanted to be him, to BE Anthony, to be unafraid to give that Name away to anyone that needed it. And I give it to you now. I’ve held onto it too long. I think it was always meant to be a gift.”

“That’s your Name? Anthony?” Wolf said. And Aziraphale wished he could give him the simple answer right now, but knew in his heart it wasn't true.

“Yes and no. I think it is like your howl. Maybe it always was and that’s why I struggled so much. It is meant to be gifted to others in the here and now, but it is not all of me. I think we are facing much the same problem right now, of being who we were but also having to go meet our future self along the road. Or perhaps I am just very, very tired.”

Wolf paused and Aziraphale almost walked into him. Then he was looking at the man, eyes averted and holding out his hand.

“Anthony… take me home.”

Aziraphale took Wolf’s hand and let him fall into step beside him. “All the way. No vanishing mysteriously. I’m just a man.”

“My man though?” Wolf said. “My Anthony?”

“And you’re my Wolf.”

They held hands all the way home and didn’t let go even when they fell into bed together.

Notes:

contained the prompts of Never Stand in a fairy RIng, Sidhe Did It, and Forbidden Knowledge from All That Slithers servers weekly prompts. and a lot of word glue in between.

I think the chapter count is still correct. Hopefully no more Things Happen for awhile and I can finish this tale!

also congratulations readers, you know Aziraphale's name when he doesn't! (he'll figure it out)

Chapter 16: Coupling

Summary:

Finally, some damn sex!

There's some character development too, but there's also dick jokes. Also the character development may involve dick jokes.

Wolf seemed uncertain in his happiness. He was more introspective than usual, as if having lifted this fear from him had left space for other thoughts to creep in. Some were clearly welcome ones that brought joy. Others were clearly dark things that haunted him and left his face grim. He often seemed to deal with those by shifting back to being a wolf, sometimes in the middle of the conversation. Aziraphale noticed, but did not comment on it. Sometimes you simply needed space to think your own thoughts, uninterrupted, before sharing with someone else.

As much as they enjoyed their time together, they still needed time apart to be their own person. And to figure out who that even was anymore.

Aziraphale still went down to the village, just less often so as to avoid traveling in the dark and the cold. There was less unskilled work for him to do this time of year. Winter was a time for indoor tasks, a time to make and mend. Sometimes the work was physical. Sometimes it was directed inward.

He made a great many terrible baskets before finally managing a crooked one that held water. He’d finally gotten it tight enough not to leak, but not hold the proper shape. He tried to avoid comparing it to Wolf’s baskets. He was still learning while Wolf had mastered the technique.

However, Wolf himself seemed dissatisfied with his own work and spent time staring at it, frowning. He picked it apart and restarted one multiple times before showing it to Aziraphale.

“What do you think of the pattern?”

The overall shape and technique looked familiar, but the pattern seemed jagged, not the neat, tight knots Wolf’s baskets usually had.

“What does it do?”

Wolf made an inarticulate noise and jiggled his shoulders round. “You don’t like it.”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Everything I do with a basket is because I’m trying to make a basket that is a basket. I can only copy the techniques you’ve taught me because I don’t actually understand them yet. What are you doing?”

Wolf stared at the basket like he was going to pull it apart again or shift shapes to get rid of his hands and complicated feeling. Aziraphale went back to struggling with his own lopsided work to let Wolf decide which it would be. Eventually the man flopped backwards, holding the basket overhead while he turned it in his hands.

“I learned how to make them by copying. I don’t want to be a copy anymore. I want to be me.”

Aziraphale gave him back his full attention, resting a hand on Wolf’s thigh to give him that grounding contact.

“Wolves don’t make baskets. Old Ones make baskets. Wolf makes baskets. Wolf is not a wolf at all. Just an imitation of a memory.”

“So is the basket then. How much does it really look like the baskets they made and how much does it look like your copy of a memory?”

“That’s not helping, “ Wolf huffed. He shifted under Aziraphale’s hand, fur spreading across him. There was a prickling sharpness to him, like stroking fabric as a thunderstorm rolled in. The feel of magic was growing familiar to Aziraphale, even if it wasn’t entirely pleasant. He wondered what it felt like to Wolf.

“Mmm.” Aziraphale said and scratched his nails deep into Wolf’s fur. His winter undercoat was so thick he couldn’t get to the skin. But it also meant he could be quite rough with his affections. The magic had faded and Aziraphale vigorously rubbed Wolf’s fur back and forth, free of any further tingles.

“Wolves don’t get belly rubs,” Wolf said. Aziraphale stopped and got the most aggrieved noise from Wolf. “That didn’t mean stop.”

“Ah, so theoretical wolves who I have never met do not get belly rubs. Just this one.”

“Dogs get them.” Wolf said and twisted like he might roll away.

“You’re not a dog,” Aziraphale said, getting both hands back on Wolf. “You feel different. You act differently. You move differently. I could never mistake you for a dog, even if you didn’t talk.”

Wolf started to say something, but Aziraphale cut him off by flopping over to press his face into Wolf’s belly. “You’re much fluffier than a dog.”

Wolf made offended noises at him, but they were fond ones. “How am I to be…. I don’t even know the right words. The right emotions. I can’t do any of those things while you are distracting me.”

“Is it a good distraction?”
“Sometimes.” Aziraphale sat up and Wolf wiggled closer. “Continue distracting me.”

Aziraphale got back to scratching Wolf and slowly rolling him back and forth. It seemed to be just enough distraction to keep Wolf talking without being so overstimulating all he did was wiggle.

“Sometimes I need to think about the feelings I can’t name even though they feel like….” Wolf trailed off. He was silent for a bit while Aziraphale stroked his fur. “It’s less overwhelming this way. To think of it as a memory of a feeling rather than feel it directly. It’s like…” Wolf huffed, ears forward and eyes focused on some distant point outside the den. “My fur feels like it can’t keep the wind from me and everything smells like an empty den full of mouse piss and rotten apples. Something stalks me without ever being where I can see it, or hear it, or scent it, but I can feel its presence.”

“You may not be able to name them, but you can certainly describe them. I would call that feeling anxious.” Aziraphale chuckled bitterly, no humor there. “That one has been a shadow that has followed me my whole life.” He smoothed his hand along Wolf’s chest and belly, petting him gently. “It waxes and wanes but has grown consistently smaller as I grew older. Experience strips away some of its tools. It thrives on uncertainty.”

“So many things are uncertain right now.” Wolf said. “I knew I would go with them some day. I didn’t want to. But it would happen. I’m not… helpless. But…” Wolf trembled under Aziraphale’s hand and he dug his hands into fur until Wolf stopped shaking.

“You’re not helpless. You could see the odds were not in your favor. There is only one of you.”

“Just me. And… I live here. But I don’t live with people. If They returned…. I am not stupid. I know the stories. I am one of Them. Never to be trusted. I am too different to do anything but ever side with them. All this time, here, with everything I have done…” There was a spark of anger in Wolf’s voice now. “It wouldn’t matter. I am what I was made.”

What could he even say to that, when he had treated Wolf as an enemy for so long? He could eke out a living here on the land that up ‘til recently, no lord had demanded anything of except wool. Eventually, someday either Aziraphale’s former lord would send someone else looking or someone else would hear rumors of power to be had here by removing the last of the Old Ones.

Aziraphale flopped down beside Wolf once more, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him. He could not protect him from the whole world and to even try to do so would likely just convince people Wolf had somehow corrupted or controlled him in the way Wolf himself had been.

Wolf felt real and solid and warm against him. He could hear his heartbeat. He was not some unknowable creature of stories. He was a person in his own right, just kept separate from others by a fear passed down from generation to generation. Aziraphale propped his chin on Wolf and stared at the wall as if he could look off into the future and find some answer there.

Mostly he ended up staring at the basket Wolf had put aside.

Wolf’s master may have made him a certain way but Wolf neither looked nor sounded like what was intended anymore. He certainly wasn’t supposed to be making baskets.

“Wolf… does what you were doing to the basket change anything about how it works?”

“It’s for making cheese. It would still be for making cheese. It would just look different. Like it’s mine.”

Aziraphale let go of him and propped himself up on one arm so he could retrieve the basket with his other hand. He looked at the pattern with fresh eyes. Knowing now it was entirely a decorative choice rather than a functional one, he saw it for what it was. It was self-expression.

“You asked me what I thought of the pattern, but I didn’t understand the question. I think you should keep working on it until you are happy with it. Until you feel like it looks the way you want. It’s for you.”

“Of course it is, I’m going to use it to make cheese in the spring.”

“Not what I meant. It’s for you like you are Wolf. It’s not your name, but it tells you who you are, to make a thing and to decide you also want it to be beautiful.”

“Is it though?” Wolf asked.

“It’s your basket. That’s for you to decide. You can ask me if I like it, but you’re ultimately the one who decides if it looks like you made it.”

“I don’t know why it matters now.” Wolf shifted back to human form so he could take the basket from Aziraphale. “But it does. I am not a wolf. I am not who I was made. But I learned to make these while I was that person. But I can’t just stop. Not with you here.” Wolf made a sharp gesture with his hand to cut off any protest or question by Aziraphale. “I am yours to care for. You are mine to care for. We’ll run out of cheese before spring, so I need to make baskets so next winter, we don’t run out. You’ll help me with it.” Wolf said it with such confidence. There was no doubt in his voice that Aziraphale would. “But all of this, the sheep, the baskets, the cheese, all of these are things I would not do if I was just a wolf. Most of the time they’re just there. But sometimes… They remind me I was made. And then I want my baskets to be different. I want them to be mine.”

“They are different from most baskets I have seen here,” Aziraphale said. “Though I have seen enough baskets with this pattern at other people’s homes… either you give away a lot of baskets or people imitate the pattern. Or perhaps both.”

Wolf huffed and looked at the basket again with a more critical eye. “Probably ones my boy made then. He learned from me, so they look similar. I suppose yours will look like mine.”

“Eventually. I’m still working on them looking like a basket.”

“Well, we can use the crooked one as a dipper, don’t take it apart.”

“You’re being kind.”

“Am not.” Wolf pointed at Aziraphale’s lopsided basket. “It sort of has a spout from it being crooked. We do need some like that, it just wasn’t what I was trying to get you to make today. We can keep this one so you can look at it for the next one and compare, see where you got the tension wrong.”

Wolf looked back at the basket he had been working on. “I think I’ll finish this one with this pattern as it is now. It’s not… it’s not quite what I want. But finishing it lets me think about what I do want. I still want a basket. I cannot undo everything that made me. I wouldn’t want to. I’m me. This is me. I have hands and complicated feelings about that sometimes.”

He put aside the basket and put his hand on Aziraphale’s leg. “You make me feel good in this body. Enough to deal with the complicated parts so this can feel familiar. But not…” Wolf’s brows furrowed as he was clearly struggling with articulating a thought. “I don’t have to be this. You would stay with me even if I was a wolf all the time. I can be both. Some things you will only do with me this way. But it is the same when I am a wolf.” Wolf leaned in to him, as if he was about to say something very serious, but his smile betrayed him. “You only pull my tongue when I am a wolf. And then complain it’s wet!”

Aziraphale snorted at that. “That is because you try to lick me. And putting my hand in your mouth to hold your jaw makes you make silly noises instead.”

“And then I lick you anyway!”

“You do, you menace.” Aziraphale turned his head so he could give Wolf a soft kiss on cheek, to make it clear he was teasing.

This just resulted in Wolf climbing into his lap and draping arms around his shoulders. “I like the things we do with this shape too.”

“I noticed. Is this a request to be distracted?”

“Some.” Wolf ran a hand along Aziraphale’s jaw and made eye contact. “I… is that alright? To be distracted like that? I feel… complicated. Less like a want and more like a need. But I don’t want you to think that I think that…”

“Shhhh.” Aziraphale turned his head into Wolf’s hand so he could kiss his palm. “You are doing so well.” Some bit of tension went out of Wolf at that and he rocked forward in Aziraphale’s lap. “I am happy to take care of you. What would make you feel good right now?”

“Hug?” Wolf’s voice was soft and almost embarrassed.

Aziraphale pulled Wolf tight against him and he melted into Aziraphale’s embrace. He tucked his nose into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and sighed. Aziraphale ignored the small lick. Wolf didn’t always seem able to tell the difference between a kiss and a lick, but the affection was clear either way.

He kept his arms relatively high so as to not start anything prematurely. Wolf was plenty distracting just sitting in his lap doing nothing. Well, wiggling a bit. He let his hands wander a lower, rubbing along Wolf’s back. That was apparently the right choice from Wolf’s response.

“I want to smell like you,” Wolf said. He nipped at Aziraphale’s neck. He avoided the bite mark from a few days ago. Aziraphale had quite the collection right now and was eager to add more.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Not to pick. Just…” Wolf gripped him tight and pressed himself into Aziraphale’s belly. “Your weight on me. Hold me down. Be in me. Make me feel me. All me.”

Aziraphale chuckled and shifted so he could get to his knees. Wolf slid off his lap with a slight whine, but kept his arms around him. “I’m still dressed. Help me fix that.”

Wolf was really more hindrance than help at that, but it was the thought that counted. Wolf could get his trousers undone now that he’d traded away his old belt buckle. It had proved a bit of a problem on more than one occasion as Wolf had been unwilling to touch the metal. The thicker horn one he had now was a little trickier to get undone due to the additional leather strap involved, but well worth it to let Wolf show his eagerness by wrapping his hands around the belt and pulling him over on to him.

Wolf wiggled under him and shoved his hands in the top of Aziraphale’s trousers, shoving them down. With Aziraphale straddling him, he couldn’t get them very far, but it was enough for him to get his fingers on Aziraphale’s ass and squeeze. Aziraphale saw the mischief in his eyes, right before he got pinched.

“Menace.” Aziraphale said as he rolled off Wolf, who made the pitiful noise at him. “Needy thing” Aziraphale pressed his shoulders to the blanket and lifted his hips so he could shove his trousers past his knees. He settled back down and finished pulling them off him entirely. He rolled back over to bracket Wolf once more.

“Yes,” Wolf said, expression a little hurt and uncertain. “I said I was. And you said that was alright…”

Aziraphale dropped his weight onto Wolf and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “I did not mean to tease you to hurt you.”

Wolf squirmed beneath him. “You are forgiven. But gentle with words, rough with body. I want to feel.”

“That I can do.” Aziraphale pushed himself off so he could unbutton his shirt enough to be able to pull it off. While he was pulling it over his head Wolf rested his hands on his thighs, stroking along the sides.

“This would be easier if you were naked in the den,” Wolf said.

“It is too cold for me to lounge about with no clothes like you. Fortunately you shall be keeping me warm now.” Aziraphale tossed the shirt in the general direction of the hammock.

“If it wasn’t cold, would you?”

“I’m not pausing to build up the fire, unless you changed your mind.”

“No,” Wolf said, though his face had grown more serious as a thought occurred to him. “But when it’s warm again, and you don’t have to find fuel, would you?”

“Would you like me to?”

Wolf wiggled under him and colored a bit. “Yes, but… you will be here. In the summer. With me.”

“My dear, if it is warm enough, we will take a blanket outside and I will fuck you in the meadow so we can both smell of grass and flowers and each other.”

“OH.” Wolf pulled at his thighs. “I would like that. But I also don’t want to wait.”

Aziraphale chuckled and lowered himself once more so he could press rough kisses along Wolf’s shoulder and neck. He didn’t put his full weight on Wolf just yet. He’d pin him down momentarily, but for now Wolf could wiggle about under him with sheer excitement. It was rather endearing that eagerness made some of his less human behaviors spill through.

In moments like this he was reminded that while Wolf looked human, he wasn’t. He looked the part of a man, full grown and in his prime. There was none of the softness of youth to his face. He was all wiry strength. There was some wear to him but no sign of true age. His face was unmarked by lines but there were small scars on his legs that showed he’d lived. But what could have left such inconsequential scars? He had a few on his arms from where he’d been cut with steel at some point, the one from his son’s wedding the freshest of the lot. It made him almost seem human.

But he very much wasn’t.

Aziraphale went lower with his kisses as Wolf wiggled and arched into his mouth, eager for the feel of teeth on his skin.

There were plenty of cautionary tales of those who took one of the Old Ones to bed, thinking them someone else entirely. That was the whole point, that they could be anyone, be among your nearest and dearest and not be caught out unless you were ever vigilant. There were so many tales of taking your lover to bed and finding only when you kissed them or licked the sweat off their neck that they tasted somehow wrong.

But there was nothing wrong with Wolf. He tasted of himself. He was not an imitation of someone else. Aziraphale kissed him with full knowledge of what he was. Sucked marks onto his flesh that no one else would ever see as they faded a bit each time Wolf shifted, the magic in him healing part of that with each change. He was close enough to human that Aziraphale could bring him pleasure like one and that was all that mattered right now.

Aziraphale pushed himself up so he could admire the string of bites he’d left along Wolf’s tender belly. Wolf could easily roll away if it was too much, and had done so many times in the past, but now found that a bit of pain could bring pleasure. Wolf had twitched and whimpered with each one, even as he’d grown harder and harder. Aziraphale ran a hand over Wolf’s heaving chest, feeling that tension there. He went lower, brushing his hand against the tip of Wolf’s erect cock in between him. Wolf pushed up against his hand, unable to get any real leverage.

“In or will you be unable to last?”

Wolf dug his fingers into Aziraphale’s thighs.

“Both.”

Aziraphale chuckled and slid his hand in between them so he could press the back of his nail against Wolf’s hole. He straightened his finger to press deeper into Wolf, meeting little resistance. Only drawing back met resistance as Wolf tightened around his fingers as if trying to keep him inside. He drew halfway out so he could stroke his knuckle across Wolf’s perineum. Wolf thrust against him, squashing Aziraphale’s fingers awkwardly.

“Patience,” he said and shifted to pin Wolf’s legs down with his thighs.

“Want you. Please.”

“One more finger, then my cock.” Aziraphale said. When he was a soldier, some of the men had considered the attention he paid to his nails odd. Why did he spend so much time trimming them short and buffing them ‘til they were smooth and faintly shiny? Ones he had bedded knew, and now so did Wolf, as he slid second finger in easily. He could feel a faint catch as one of his calluses created a bit of friction but Wolf pushed into his hand, taking the full length of his finger inside.

Aziraphale rotated his wrist slowly to get a little more stretch before crooking his fingers. Wolf gasped and arched his back under him. He pulled his fingers free and quickly slid his cock in. It was awfully tight and he wouldn’t have done it with previous lovers, but Wolf sighed under him and relaxed. Being filled to bursting seemed to be Wolf’s preference, who currently looked more contented than aroused now. The cock pressed into Aziraphale’s belly said he was still interested. He’d get more active again in a few moments, but for now just seemed to be drifting in a blissful haze.

As much as Aziraphale enjoyed introducing Wolf to new options, he was glad they had found something Wolf has a clear preference for. Wolf was gaining slow confidence in his physical desires. His suggestions still had a hint of shyness to them, but it seemed mostly because he was uncertain if some of his desires were physically possible. Fortunately Aziraphale was strong and reasonably flexible, so Wolf hadn’t suggested anything impossible yet. What he had not suggested was penetration. He was eager to receive and Aziraphale was happy to oblige.

Wolf hadn’t suggested any type of oral sex either, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure he knew that was even an option. Aziraphale was a little reluctant to suggest it with how much Wolf enjoyed being bitten and how often he bit Aziraphale. He would forgive him for a too eager bite, but it would still hurt too much to push through the pain. He’d rather keep to safer options until Wolf suggested it himself or Aziraphale was sure it wouldn’t shake both their confidence. Perhaps he’d save that as a special treat for when they had that roll in the spring grass.

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Wolf’s shoulder and got a pleased noise. Wolf shifted under him, rubbing his cock against Aziraphale’s belly.

“Did you enjoy your nap?” Aziaphale kept his tone teasing.

“I don’t think I could actually fall asleep like this… but maybe some time? Try? When I’m restless and exhausted? I can’t pace if you have your cock in me.”

Aziraphale chuckled and pressed a kiss to Wolf’s collarbone before dragging his teeth across it. Wolf made a most gratifying noise. “Be glad I am not a young man, or I would have come and gone soft by now. This takes patience and experience to do.”

“I am glad. I don’t know how humans do it when neither has experience. There’s plenty of humans, so I guess they figure it out, but what they like…” Wolf sucked in a deep breath “I am glad for all your experience. I hope past lovers appreciated it. You can move again.”

“Thank goodness. My patience is not endless.” Aziraphale pushed himself up on forearms and then rolled his hips into Wolf, now relaxed enough that he could slide in and out comfortably. Wolf’s hands roamed over his sides, almost ticklish, but his hands were calloused enough to be more arousing. Aziraphale liked a man whose hands told a tale of hard work.

Aziraphale looked down at him, seeing the flush spreading down Wolf’s neck and to the top of his chest as he grew close to orgasm. He loved the sight of him totally undone by pleasure. He’d trusted Aziraphale to take him up to the terrifying edge of new, unknown sensations and carry him over into even greater ones. Aziraphale loved the physical sensation as well, but the trust there made his heart feel full.

Wolf cried out under him and came, warm and wet against Aziraphale’s belly. His voice was deeper and rougher here, unlike either voice he usually spoke in. A secret voice only a lover would ever hear. Aziraphale had no idea if he sounded similarly different as he came, spilling into Wolf.

He pulled out and settled next to Wolf on the blanket, taking the side closer to the fire. He would need to throw more fuel in it shortly, but exertion and afterglow would keep him warm enough for the moment. Wolf rolled over to drape himself across Aziraphale’s sticky chest, like a blanket made of elbows and knees. He loved him anyway. He drowsed for a few minutes, enjoying the closeness before the feel of fluids drying on him made him poke Wolf in the hip.

“Clean me up, please.”

Wolf grumbled slightly before retrieving a warm rag from next to the fire. They left the larger water vessel by the fire as well. While it wasn’t actually warm, it was above the temperature of the room as it had been there all day, soaking up some of the heat. It would help keep the den warm once they banked the fire for the night. Right now it was just warm enough to keep Aziraphale from shivering as Wolf wiped him down.

The rags had travelled with him as part of his soldier's kit, the remains of the trousers he’d lost when he’d been wounded. They had been too mangled and stained to mend, so had joined the rag store. He’d assumed he would go back to fighting and they’d be used as bandages some day, not used to wipe the spend of humanity’s enemies off his belly.

He far preferred this.

Wolf, unusually, chose to clean himself off as well rather than relying on shapeshifting. The rags got dumped in a small basket to soak and be wrung out away from the den. Wolf had specific spots he liked to tip it out, saying it made him happy to mark territory as Aziraphale’s. He’d have to take Wolf’s word for it that he could smell it, because Aziraphale, thankfully, couldn’t.

He could tell the difference in smell now between the den they were living in vs one of the cold empty ones out of service for the winter. There was, of course, the difference of keeping a fire going, cooking, and the straw covering the floor, plus the baskets they were working on. So far they had not had to bring any sheep inside to tend to them, but once they moved to the high downs for spring, they would be sharing with shivering lambs once more.

So the animal smell here was from them both as it did not smell entirely canine. There was that as a base, but also the rawer, muskier smell of human occupation. He didn’t usually notice it when he had simply spent the afternoon outside getting water or fuel, but when he’d gone down to the village and spent the day in someone else’s winter home packed full of people and cooking, then he could recognize it in the den here.

Wolf dragged the blanket from the hammock to bring it over and flop back down on the floor with him. They probably should air it out on a dry day. Wolf flopped down next to him and ran hands along behind his ear. Aziraphale smiled at being petted.

“You look far away.” Wolf said.

“My mind wandered but I am home.”

“Oh,” Wolf blinked at him. “Really?”

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Wolf’s waist to pull him on top of him. “I was laying here thinking about how the den smells like the both of us now. You make me think about things in a different way. I am not usually so aware of smells I am used to. Ones that are out of place, yes. But ones that belong…” He buried his nose in Wolf’s neck and inhaled. “I belong here. You smell like me and so does the den. And I don’t mean just the sex, though that is part of it.”

Wolf ran a hand along Aziraphale’s chest. “I like how you smell afterward. Even if I can’t smell it as well like this. I feel different about it this way.”

Aziraphale’s face grew a bit serious. “Do you feel some way about it as a wolf?”

“Of course. I still have feelings. They’re just… different. I don’t want to have sex with you like that. I love you. You’re still mine and I am yours, but I look at you and smell you and…” Wolf huffed. “I don’t want to DO anything to you. I want other things, but not that. But I like that we had sex previously. I just don’t want any then. But sometimes I shift forms and then suddenly, yes, I want you. Like realizing you were not angry, you were hungry.”

“Is that why you’re always biting me?” Aziraphale kept his tone light and teasing. “Got to find out exactly what you want to do with your mouth by putting it on me?”

“Yeah.” Wolf kissed him a bit sloppily on the neck. “Don’t have hands as a wolf. Gotta put you in my mouth and roll you around. Then I can figure out what to do with my hands.”

Aziraphale chuckled as Wolf pressed a string of kisses along his shoulder. He turned his head to kiss Wolf on the forehead. “That suddenly makes a great deal of sense. Of course. I am going to have to introduce you to more things you can do with your mouth then. But gentle.You’ve picked up and brought me a mushroom with your teeth many times. Gentle, like that.”

“Mmm, yeah, I could do that. Not before I was too…” Wolf’s brows furrowed. “Not in my body. My feelings and thoughts were too much and I did not feel like I was here. What was in my head was real, not the world. Not me or you. I wanted to be here. To be real.”

“Are you now?” Aziraphale said.

“Complicated. I feel better.. You do a very good job of fucking me.” Wolf settled down next to him and snuggled up against him, apparently wanting comfort. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him.

“I…I was made like this. It’s difficult sometimes. I was made to be something specific. Someone specific. I don’t look like them anymore. Or sound like them. I’m different. I don’t have to be that person, but I don’t hate being them either, because now that is me.” Wolf let out a huff. “Feelings are hard and sometimes I just want to physically feel things instead.”

“You can just ask for a belly rub or to have your ears scratched. Or a massage.”

“I wanted a hug AND sex. I know they don’t have to go together, but I wanted both. And you gave me a belly rub too. Feels good. It’s different to have someone else touch you, than you touch you. You can’t tickle yourself, and it's like that with touching. You know it's you so it’s not outside you to make you be in you. I have no idea if that made sense.”

“I think I get the general idea. Is that why you like being so full?”

“Maybe? It makes me stop being in my head or my feelings or anywhere except in my body. I have never been aware of my body like that before and with you,there’s no room for anything but pleasure. It’s… it’s nice.” Wolf buried his face in Aziraphale's neck like he was embarrassed. “I wish I could say something smarter about it than it’s nice.”

“My dear, it’s not exactly how a human would express it, but to know I have brought you such pleasure is very… nice.” Aziraphale huffed. “Alright, I see your point. Nice does seem inadequate to express the actual emotional impact of being told that. Or trying to express it in the first place. We will get better at it And I do mean we. I have just as much work to do on learning how to express myself so you understand. I am just starting to understand smells, but it's probably just the false understanding of knowing enough to feel like I know without knowing what I don’t know yet.”

Wolf uncurled so he could blink at him. “You’re going to have to repeat that for me.”

“When you first start to understand a new concept or skill and you get that burst of confidence that you really get it now. But then you learn more and realise you only understood a tiny part. I’ve had that happen enough times I know there will be more coming. And I am excited for that, even as I know my attempts to relate things to smells are clumsy and possibly annoying.”

Wolf’s face grew serious. “You call me nuisance with such fondness. Am I not being fond enough when you are trying so hard? I like being annoyed. And poked. And pestered. And asked six variations on the same question while you try to understand. You are a pain in the ass.” Wolf grinned and his voice shifted towards mischief as he wiggled his eyebrows at Aziraphale. “And I like it so much that you are, in fact, a pleasure in my ass!”

Aziraphale wheezed out a laugh at that and Wolf joined him, even as he wiggled next to him, unable to contain his mirth to mere sounds.

“Save me,” Aziraphale wheezed, laughing. “You’ve learned innuendo. I’m doomed.”

“I learned it from you. You have only yourself to blame.”

Notes:

This contained part of the prompt "You shall not pass"

But mostly this section of the draft was labelled "they fuck about it"

Is the chapter count accurate.... maaaaaaaybe? I was going to put more plot in this one, but FINALLY they just wanted to fuck sooooo, good job.

Chapter 17: The Horsemen

Summary:

The past catches up them all and hurtles towards a new future.

Aziraphale had grown accustomed to teenagers running up to him as he made his way down the slope to town. Usually it was one or two, drawing him off to a household who would feed him for the day to have him at their disposal. Four at once and with such grave faces…

“What is going on?” He could hear the harshness in his tone, the bit of command there as he fell into old patterns.

The teens halted further away from him, quickly looking between each other, deciding who would speak what was clearly bad news.

Aziraphale gestured at the curly-haired blond that usually led the pack. “Tell me.”

“There’s priests at the temple. Several. Ours made a face at us and gestured up the hill before she went inside. We came to find you. Are we going to have to fight?” The teens shifted about uneasily. Seeing multiple priests outside of a village generally meant some kind of conflict was brewing.

Or, having started the training to become a priest, Aziraphale knew the other reason. A council had been assembled to judge the local priest. Such things happened when they were considered to have abused their power or had a serious lapse in judgement that could endanger others. Like letting an Old One live.

Aziraphale headed towards the temple, stride purposeful but not too fast. It was the sort of stride that ate up ground without you arriving out of breath when you engaged the enemy. The teens had to alternate between walking and jogging to keep pace.

“How many?”

“Three.”

“I don’t recognize any of them,” the tallest said. He’d travelled with his family to market in several nearby towns, so that eliminated the closest neighbors. This was not a social call.

“They have horses.” The girl said. “Fancy horses. For riding.” The few horses in the village were entirely for draft purposes, so not exactly the smoothest ride. Though, Aziraphale had seen her riding the miller’s horse on more than one occasion. Aziraphale hadn’t ridden in more than a year as no one could command him onto the back of a horse anymore. He’d never found one he’d trust to ride into combat, or one that trusted him to take it there. The feeling had been mutual.

That the priests were from far enough away to ride would make sense for a tribunal. Then they would have none of their own wards involved in the situation, so their judgment would not be compromised. Or at least that was how it was supposed to work.

Aziraphale considered what to tell the teens to allay their worry. He decided all he could do was keep his own worries to himself. They would come up with their own fears regardless.

“Whether they are staying or just passing through, they will need feeding. Do not summon the trainband until you are told to, but go gather water, fuel, food, and someone to cook as if it was the day of summons.”

The teens looked at him suspiciously.

“I will find out what is going on. Or be sent away having been told it’s priests business. But I have a better chance of finding out information than you do. I shall inquire as to whether their horses need to be sheltered somewhere.” He gave the girl a look. “Go get hay and some grain from the miller. They will want that no matter what is going on.”

Now that they were within sight of the church, he could see the three horses were still saddled, and tied with a quick release under the shelter of the church roof eaves. Perhaps they were just passing through. But he also knew the protocol for if they were intending to remove a priest. Send one more priest than you intended to fight and leave another outside in case it all went wrong. That ensured if the priest managed to take out the ones sent to apprehend them, there would still be a messenger to witness it all and flee to spread the word.

Three was too many. That should mean they were travelling. Not here for judgement. There was only one priest and no candidates. Still. Aziraphale shooed the teens off and looked after them as any adult would do. He kept his head still and moved only his eyes to search. There were only so many places that someone could try to conceal a horse while still being able to see the church. He hoped he saw nothing. And he didn’t. Nothing direct. But off by where a group of apple saplings were walled off from the sheep, a shadow flickered. Something he couldn’t see directly moved intermittently behind the wall. It could be a sheep or a dog or child. But… it was where he would have hidden his own scouts if he needed to make a rapid get away.

Aziraphale nodded as if he was satisfied with the teens’ progress towards the miller’s home before turning towards the church. He now knew why there were three. He was no priest, but he would have been in their calculations. One more than they would need to fight.

He made sure to tread heavily coming up the wooden stairs. It was easy to be noisy as he had his eyes closed to force his sight to adjust before he went inside. It would give everyone time to compose themselves rather than react. He coughed for good measure, letting the sound carry some of the tension away from his body. As much as he wanted to run up the hill and warn Wolf, he had to trust he could take care of himself. Others had come hunting him before Aziraphale, before his lord had sent any men. Wolf had survived here since the Old Gods had left, generations ago. No one lived who remembered the time of the Old Gods anymore, but every bit of life was built around their absence and making sure they stayed gone. They were the hollow heart that shaped the world.

Aziraphale pulled the door open, keeping it between him and the occupants for as long as possible so he was not silhouetted in the door. He stepped around, eyes adjusted just enough so he could see badly. They had taken a tallow lamp inside with them, but it was nothing against the sun outside. At least they were all as blind as he was.

“Ah, yes, I was coming to see about your horses.” Aziraphale made it sound neutral. A fiction they could accept if they wished.

“Anthony,” his priest said. There was the sound of sharp inhales and he saw one stand straighter. It was shocking behavior to name him in front of strangers. “Come inside.”

He made a placating gesture with his hand, letting them see it was empty. “Of course. Would you like the door ajar? The lamps can be a bit smokey.”

“No,” one of the other priests said. He was barely visible in the gloom, with his dark clothing in a style from a region Aziraphale didn’t recognize. He was tall and so gaunt looking that had he been anything other than a priest, Aziraphale would have said he was not long for this world.

The second priest was easy to spot as they were in pale colored clothes. The stains evident on them indicated how far they must have traveled from. Their skin was also pale and their eyes a slightly unnerving color in the dark. Their faces looked almost skull-like in the dim lighting, until Aziraphale realized it was all a facade. They were genuinely pale, but the near bone whiteness was a tincture to prevent sunburn and the darkness around their eyes was charcoal to make it easier to see in bright sun. Aziraphale himself had used similar things for just that purpose, just applied them less theatrically.

“Anthony.” It was said with mockery. It would have cut him to the core a year ago to hear that out of the all-too-familiar face of the third priest. Priests were supposed to be impartial but that was never truly the case. This priest was the one who served at the town of his former lord. Her red hair was unmistakable and she wore a cloak pin with the sigil of his former lord. Of course this would be who was leading the inquisition. She knew him, or at least used to. He had never trusted her with that name and now he was certain in his choice.

He closed the door and stepped away from it. What was said would not be for eavesdroppers, no matter how carefully they crept up the stairs.

The pale priest looked between the two women in the room, both having so casually dropped his name without him reacting. “Is that your name?”

“It is mine to give away as I wish. And I have. I am no longer afraid of it.” It no longer rang in his heart as a true name with power in it. But it had a new power in being able to give it away as often as he wished. He still answered to Angel because that was him as well. He was too many things to too many people to be confined to a single name anymore. He was the Bird of Passage. He was Angel. He was Anthony. And he was becoming someone he didn’t know yet, but could feel himself rushing towards with each word.

“Is that why you give it away so freely, so you can be called back from the Old God?” the dark clad priest asked. “Do you think if it is in everyone’s mouth it will be enough to keep him from hollowing you out from within?” He practically spit out certain words, as if they disgusted him to even say.

Well, that answered that question of why they were here. Aziraphale was uncertain if his former lord had grown impatient with his failure or had decided his missives were lies. He had told his lord many true things and omitted a great deal more.

“No. I am simply tired of repeating the past,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve spent the best part of my life waging war. I have fought other men, killed other men, because all of us; you, me, everyone, have spent our lives preparing to fight a war we lost.” Aziraphale held up a hand as one of the priests started to object.

“We lost! We got rid of the Old Ones, physically, but the Old Gods never really left. They shape our whole world with what they taught us. Fear. That our neighbors may actually be strangers. That our lovers mean only to tear our hearts out. That our children are not ours at all. They taught us to be small and scared and alone.”

“Fear has a use. It teaches us to keep away from what can destroy us,” the dark clad priest said. “Losing your fear has landed you in thrall to an Old God. Were you so hungry for companionship, that you forgot every lesson you learned? Everything about them is a lie.”

“Who I am sleeping with is actually none of your business,” Aziraphale said. “But I seduced him, not the other way around.”

“That’s worse, to think you have control over the situation,” the red-headed priest said. “Control over a God.”

“He is correct, it IS none of your business,” the local priest said, rubbing her fingers along her brow as if she was getting a headache. “They aren’t married so there is no basis for a property dispute. And there will be no offspring, so no dispute of parentage. Besides, if THAT is what you’re worried about, the Old One already has a son who has named him as father at his own marriage.”

The three visiting priests erupted into chaos, talking over each other and shooting off questions at each other and the village priest. They were not getting any answers because they were busy asking more questions of each other, most importantly how could this happen?

Aziraphale eyed her and kept his voice low. “That was not very nice to involve his son.”

“Well, they’re not asking about your sex life now, are they?” she said back, sounding entirely unrepentant. She raised her voice. “The boy was an orphan who was old enough to choose who he lived with. And he chose the Old One. Fully knowing what he was.”

“A child cannot truly understand that,” the pale priest said. “Innocence is not the same as wisdom.”

“No, but a child understands when they have been hurt,” the village priest said. “And are still brave enough to ask for help and believe it will be given without cost. And was right. He was given every bit of care the Old One knew how to give. And he let him go. He is a good father.”

“He should never have been alive for that to happen!” the red headed priest said. “This is your fault. To have let one live so long. Why didn’t you call for help in destroying him?”

“Because the one I replaced let me decide what should be done,” the village priest said. “And the people here trusted me to care for everyone here… including him.”

“They had better choices and they picked you,” the red head hissed, rage barely held back. “The last priest was weak, maybe even in thrall to the Old God if he never called for help either. How long have they had to muster forces, corrupt people, turn a whole village against their neighbors?”

The village priest shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “The Old One was here before he was. You would have known that, if you had talked to them.”

Aziraphale looked between the two women and the hostility between the two was obvious. The other two priests had drawn back slightly to not get between the two as if they could sense that things were about to turn violent.

“You answered the call,” Aziraphale said, looking over at the redhead. “When the old priest retired. You came and served with the trainband for that month of trial and they rejected you.”

“Had I known he was here, I would have killed him then and none of this would be happening now!” Her hand moved as if to draw her sword, but it was such tight quarters that Aziraphale could step close and foul her draw. Priests were used to training the young and inexperienced, not fighting someone as skilled as they were. It gave him a precious few seconds of surprise. Still Aziraphale knew if the fight actually started, they all lost.

“The gate is closed. His son broke it. I ripped the foundation out so it can never be repaired. And he chose to stay. Here. He chose us. He is Old, but he is no Old God. Or does all this mean nothing?” He let her arm go as he gestured at the panels of the New Gods, their faces gazing down on them. In the flickering lamp light their expressions seemed to change constantly, as if waiting to pass judgment.

“Let us pray,” the village priest said. She held her empty hands in front of her and cast her gaze towards the Sage. She stood with her hands up and eyes locked with the face of a god who could be anyone here. Or no one.

There was uncomfortable shuffling by the other three priests. They could escalate this into a blood bath. Even if they lived, they would be wounded and then left with the task of dealing with the Old One. Aziraphale could see doubt flicker across the pale one’s face as they grabbed at the redhead’s arm. In the flicker of the light, the makeup was more clearly a mask to cover up how young they were. Had they just recently replaced a retiring priest only to be drawn into this drama?

“Let us pray,” the dark clad one repeated, voice sharp and clearly displeased with the situation. He turned towards the Rider, running his long fingers over the throat of the bullock the Rider sat upon. His anger was still obvious from the tightness in his shoulders, but he had turned away for now.

The redhead jerked her arm out of the other’s grasp and turned to the Maker. She ran her hands along the sword in his hands as if she could snatch it straight from the god’s hand. For now her hands were not on her own sword. But how long could war really be put off? Every panel here hid swords behind it, ready for that call. And yet, they were behind them, as humanity had pulled back from the brink of destruction so many generations ago. She pressed her head to the Maker’s face and Aziraphale was unsure if she sought wisdom or power from them.

The pale one looked at him rather than any of the panels. Too much of the white of their eyes showed, made all the brighter from the charcoal applied to the lids. He had seen that look in men who doubted whether a battle was worth it. They would go only so far before melting away into the shadows to fight a battle with stolen supplies, spooked horses, and poisoned water instead of swords. This one might be willing to take a subtler path only to take them from behind later.

They moved to stand before the Musician. They did not touch the panel directly. They took one of the bits of wool before it and drew it over the Musician’s hand. For all the instruments arrayed around them, the Musician was always shown simply clapping and singing. No matter if there was nothing left of the works of men, they could still use themselves to bring music back to the world.

Aziraphale contemplated whose face he should choose. He glanced at the Wounded, who had brought them all here. He had spent so much of his recent time with and as the Wounded. He was not done healing and might never be, but he had made his peace with it. He looked at the other gods' symbols all arrayed around the tortured form. Had they come to usher the Wounded out of the world or into it? He no longer knew. No, he had worn that face too long.

He looked to the Traveler, who had set him on the long road to here. He had given him a name to aspire to. He knew now, he had always been meant to give it away. He’d just been frightened for so long. Everyone had been, for generation upon generation. Now, each time he heard someone call him Anthony, more fear left his heart. At long last, he had found the bravery to stop running. No, he could not be the Traveller today.

That left only two choices. He had turned to the Scribe when he knew he must try to keep his old lord from this place. But like the Traveller, he had passed through that role. The Scribe had bought him time and also brought doom here as those missives had brought the priests here today. What they spoke of today must stay here, not pass on to the wider world.

That left only the Bountiful, the one he was sure he would never be, with its twin figures sharing their good fortune. Every bit of the panel was covered with details, such a riot of abundance that it was difficult to take it all in. Of all the gods, they were the only ones with genders, but even that was still blurred. The woman was clearly pregnant, but the man held an infant to his full breast to nurse, even while having an obvious erection. Even with the abundance of children, food, and household goods around them, both were depicted nude. The children wore clothing slightly too big for them, handed down from older siblings or their own naked parents.

Aziraphale stepped closer and ran his hands over the panel, feeling where other hands had rubbed places smooth. He could see where hands had lingered over food, over the firewood stacked in the corner, over the bolt of cloth, everyone had needed something at some point. All this abundance and so much of it shown bundled up to be given away.

The Bountiful so overflowed with fortune they were ready to give it away again and again, knowing it would return to them when asked for. Their fortune was in each other and the community as a whole. The Bountiful could not exist without any of the other gods, even the Wounded. Aziraphale ran his hand over the man’s full breast. It was something he’d always taken as metaphorical, like the Scribe’s many hands. Yet, he had seen impossible magic still in this world… all magic had a cost and clearly it had been worth it.

Aziraphale turned his attention back to the others, who had schooled their faces in the time they had taken to pray. Each would speak as the god they had selected. He might not be a priest, but for now, he might provide the face needed for a quorum. No permanent doctrine could be written without one to speak for each of the gods, but five, five was enough to make a decision about one person. He just had to convince them Wolf was a person. He could not think of it as three against two or he would never convince anyone. He had to be willing to give up everything and trust it would all come back to him when needed.

Aziraphale looked to the Sage, who had initiated the whole process by asking them to pray. She looked much the same as she always did, but that was to be expected. Priest after priest had passed on their wisdom here to leave the Old One to his own choices. The Sage had kept the peace all these years and honored the long ago choice that the people that founded this village had made. Wolf could stay, but was not one of them. Perhaps some of the people who founded the village had been fed by him long ago, in those days when the Old Gods had fled but the ones left behind bore too many wounds to step back into the fight. Aziraphale could empathize with having reached the limit of their endurance. The only real change in the Sage’s attitude was that she had sat down. To sit in the face of potential violence was a bold move, but one aimed at disarmament.

The Rider had drawn himself to his full height so he loomed even taller. Aziraphale didn’t move his head but let his eyes dart to the Rider’s feet, seeing him up on his toes. He could recognize theatrics but could also be wary that the Rider was ready to move quickly and decisively. The Rider might be unwilling to draw a sword right now, but Aziraphale could see the way he held his hands. The move that flipped and pinned a sheep could just as surely be used on a man. The Rider would move quickly once his decision was made.

The Musician was restless and swayed back and forth as if listening to something no one else heard. The Sage might pass on wisdom and skills, but the Musician dealt with current events. They would draw out whatever arguments were repeated and shape them into a narrative. It was a great power to choose, but the Musician could be swayed by the audience or drawn into a chorus. They saw a future and wanted to participate in it. Perhaps Aziraphale could get them to echo his own arguments.

The Maker had drawn her sword, but that was to be expected. Even though they had all just touched the steel panels, they had done it while turned away. There could be no room for doubt. She twirled the sword around and pointed first to her own companions to wrap their hands around the blade and press until there was a line visible when they raised their hand. No blood, just an impression in the flesh to show they had not flinched from the touch.

She twirled the sword and looked almost as if she would start the argument anew. She brought the blade to the Sage’s face and pressed the flat against her cheek hard enough to force her to turn her head or topple over. The Sage snorted slightly at the dramatics, but was otherwise unmoved.

The Maker turned to Aziraphale, her face hard and still, with a hint of scorn to it. She looked at his thigh rather than his face and moved to touch him there.

“No,” Aziraphale said. The Maker drew back, looking as if she had won already. “Through fabric will tell you nothing.” Aziraphale unlaced the ties on his shirt and drew it over his head. “Press it over my heart and know I am who I say I am.”

The Maker pressed the tip of her sword to his chest, hard enough to dimple the skin, but not so hard as to draw blood. Yet. All of this could escalate into violence with a single wrong word. He kept his face still, watching her shoulders for the slightest twitch indicating she was going to thrust it into him. Instead he could see her eyes flick over his bare skin, taking in all the small scars on him. There were, of course, all the ones from having had his arms cut to prove his identity. Those were short, narrow, and even, as they were done with precision. Her gaze was on the ones that were oddly shaped, puckered, or discolored, indicating he’d taken them in combat and lived.

He had to focus on that now. He’d lived. The wound in his thigh had ended one life and started another, but he was alive. It had set him on the path to be transformed and stand here now as the Bountiful. He would speak for two and a future in which he had no need for a sword.

“And who are you then? Do you even know?” the Maker asked.

“I am one who gives back two-fold what was given,” Aziraphale kept his gaze and voice steady.

“Then where is the other part of you?” The Maker asked, turning the tip of the sword slightly. Aziraphale held steady, unflinching.

“I am myself complete and do not need another to finish me.” As much as he might love Wolf, would grieve his loss if he was struck down after all this time, he was not incomplete without him. They were still two separate people, made greater in each other's presence.

“Then why choose this face? Do you accept your fate is that of the Other’s?” The Maker leaned into the sword and it hurt. She didn’t have enough force behind it to do anything except make a bright line of pain across his chest. He would just have to endure it just like he had always… Aziraphale stepped back. What he had always done had brought him here, today, to do something different. It wasn’t weakness to change course.

“I do not accept that he is Other.”

“He is a god,” the Rider said, circling round to come stand by the Maker. “He cannot be made tame.”

“He is as much a god as any of you are,” Aziraphale said. He had a thought there, but could not pursue it with the Maker and Rider united in fear. “Does that make you Other than anyone else here?”

The Maker’s lip twitched before she got control of her expression. “Do not claim to understand that which you do not.”

“Do you speak of yourself?” The Sage said. The Maker whirled on her and the mask slipped again. Her all-too-human anger was obviously her own rather than the role she was playing here.

“You don’t know what you don’t know,” the Musician said as they swayed slightly, eyes unfocused. “We did not know, truly know, the Old God was here until we came here. We did not know he had a son until the Sage told us. We did not know the gate was destroyed ‘til the Bountiful told us. You must have gone through it to know it was a gate and not just a stone. Tell us now, what did you bring back with you?”

“Nothing I did not take with me to start.” Aziraphale said. “There was nothing beyond the gate except the past. And that is what I left there as well. I threw away my spear to close the gate. Drove steel into the crack between the worlds to make sure it stayed closed.”

“How do we know anything you tell us is true?” the Rider asked. “What did your master tell you to say?”

“I have no master,” Aziraphale said. He caught the Maker’s eyes flicking towards the bond mark on his arm. The breaking of such bonds was supposed to be mutual. Who had deserted whom was an argument for another time. “I speak for one absent only because he trusts me to do so, not because he commands me. He… understands that the Old Gods never asked, never trusted, only commanded. It is no way to live.”

“It is madness to trust an Old God,” the Musician said. “At first it seems reasonable and then bit by bit, it becomes intolerable. But then there is no way to escape because they have infiltrated everything. Their eyes and ears are everywhere.”

“And yet they are gone.” Aziraphale said. “We fought them and won.”

“You just claimed we lost,” the Maker sneered. “Which one is it? Did we win or did we lose?”

“Both. It is both.” Aziraphale said. He glanced over at the Sage, who was watching this argument as if it had all been said before. Perhaps it had. Had there been a similar argument each generation between the priest here and those sent to deal with the problem, only to have no solution found?

“Both, of course it is both to someone with two bodies!” The Maker stepped closer, though did not bring her sword into position. “We won. Now it is just a matter of cleaning up.”

“That’s just it, we never really did,“ Aziraphale said. “All of this was built on the ruins of the old world. It was a field dressing over a bleeding wound. I understand the need to just keep living. It is all we could do for so long. All our energy went to surviving and preparing for a war that hasn’t come. May never come. And the more we prepare for that war, the more likely it is to come. That is why there is no armory here. We must choose to destroy what was made-” Aziraphale gestured around at all the panels in the church, with their hidden cache of blades behind them “-if we would go back to constant vigilance. You,” He locked eyes with the Maker “were the one who reminded us they are tools and we must choose what we do with them.”

The Maker took a deep breath through her nose, teeth gritted and clearly angry at being reminded of her role here. She was the Maker. Her role was to make all the tools society needed, not just swords and spears. Pots and plows were as crucial as the weapons of war.

“Cleaning up should include removal of the Old Gods. There is just the one,” she said.

“And has been since the rest left,” the Sage said. She’d been so quiet they’d all almost forgotten she was there. “But what is an Old God without the tools that make him one?”

“Magic, they all had magic in their hands, their voice, their bodies,” the Musician said “they can not lose their tools unless they lose their life.”

“Magic was a tool, but not the one I speak of,” the Sage said, looking at the Musician. “You as much as anyone know you cannot lose your power while you still live. You can sing, you can play, and even when you are silent, you may still hear music in your head. Yes, the Old One has his magic, but it is not what let the Old Gods rule. It was all the things put together. We could not have won with just steel anymore than they could win with just magic. It took all of us together to make steel. The miner, the woodcutter, the charcoal burner, the carter, the one who brought the formula to each village so the first steel sword could be struck. It was not one great glorious battle where the world ended and a new one began.”

“Yes, all the gods were needed to drive them out, not just the Maker, I know,” the Maker said, sounding aggrieved. “But what is your point?”

“My point is that he has none of those,” the Sage said. “He has his magic and his age to rely on. As we all have our own skills honed with time. There is nothing behind him to make him a God. He is just as he is.”

“Are you saying there is no difference between magic and skill?” The Rider asked. He seemed genuinely curious rather than setting it up as some kind of trap.

“We each have our own skills,” Aziraphale said. “That is why there are multiple gods. We are different in our own ways and yet all have value. You,” he looked directly at the Rider “have trained how many people in your years? Put them through their paces, judging them, guiding them, and determining what things they have an aptitude for. Yes, mostly teenagers, but every adult who trains with you receives the guidance and training they need as well. But even as you train them, you know they are different, and are capable of different things. A horse and a bullock can be yoked together if the Rider is skilled enough, but that is because he recognizes they have differences in what they are and can teach them to pull together.”

“Magic is not a skill, it is something you just do,” the Maker said. She sounded uncertain, though. If you didn’t watch someone make something, it often was impossible to understand all the skills involved. It just… happened.

“It is some of both,” the Sage said. “I have seen the Old One make a gift of his magic to others. But it costs him to do so, just as it costs any of us time or effort to do any task. We take the teenagers trusted to us to see all the things everyone in our care can do, so they can appreciate that it takes effort and skill to make a basket, or move a whole flock of sheep, or know which mushrooms are safe to eat. Magic is something the Old One can do better than anyone else still alive, but it is not something that has entirely left the world. How many things have you seen that you do not know how they were done and the person who does them cannot explain either? Are they skills or are they magic?”

“Would you ask the Old God to show you how his magic works? To use it on you? To give you some gift?” The Rider asked. His face had gone hard and suspicious again.

“We ask each other for knowledge every day, we try to make sure the most important pieces are passed on to everyone,” the Musician said. “But some songs are still only for priests as the danger is too great. It must be passed on, but is not for those who would use it foolishly.”

“You,” the Maker pointed at the Sage. “If the Old God has given away his magic, why not kill him then? As should have happened years ago.”

The Sage shrugged nonchalantly and Aziraphale could see the Maker’s nostrils flare in irritation at how casually she was treating all this.

“He was asked for it and he gave it. It costs him, but it does not kill him. The ones who asked did so knowing it came with a cost to learn something without putting the time into the learning.”

“What gifts did the Old God give and what price did he ask?” the Musician asked.

“He gave two gifts in the last year, that I know of,” the Sage replied. “Everyone here witnessed them. You would have to ask them all what gift he gave and what the price was.”

“Did you see this?” The Musician focused on Aziraphale. “Was the gift to you?” The smile said they had caught him now.

“Not to me,” Aziraphale said. “To his son and his son’s wife. A greater gift to his son, a small one to his wife as he said he did not know how great a cost she could bear.”

He had all their attention now. He chose his wording carefully. “To his son, he gave him a gift to ward off great sorrow or disabling injury to a loved one, but at the cost of a smaller sorrow in the present. To the wife, he gave a gift of a sensory experience, but at the cost of temporarily muting her own.”

“Speak plainly, what was the gift?” The Rider grated out, irritation plain in his tone.

“The Sage told us,” the Musician interjected. “Each person we ask will tell us something different. It is the way of magic, to be perceived so differently by everyone involved. We will have to ask more people who saw it to get a sense of what was truly given.”

“It doesn’t matter what was given,” The Maker said “The Old One is not supposed to be here to give him anything!.”

“He also gave his son the knowledge of how to make baskets and cheese,” Aziraphale said. “He just did that the slow way. Should he not have done that either?”

“No! His son should have been raised by humans!”

“Well, he wasn’t, so there’s nothing to be done for that now,” the Sage said.

“You!” The Maker rounded on the Sage again. “Just let this happen!”

“His son would not stay in the village. He was clever enough to escape the Old Gods, he was clever enough to get out of any house he did not wish to stay in. He preferred the Old One’s home in the hills over one full of humans. Eventually the Old One persuaded him to come to the trainband and become a man. It was easy for no one.”

The Rider scowled, nostrils flared as if he’d scented something personally unpleasant. “It is what is asked of everyone. To let their children grow up. It is our duty to guide them. And what did you train his son in?”

“All the things that any of them here learned. But he was restless and knew that while all these things were worth someone doing, they were not for him. He could not be as the Old One. He left to find where he belonged. He returned to get married and has written occasionally since.”

“And left with a gift of magic, to do… whatever!” the Maker threw up her hands.

“Yes, that’s generally how people go to seek their fortune,” the Sage said, as if explaining to a child

“Just out there in the world,” the Maker continued. “With magic.”

“I have heard nothing of it,” the Musician said. “If he does something of note with it, then we will be called there. Yet, we are here instead and knew nothing of the son.”

“We should go find him and deal with this!” the Maker cried.

“And do what, kill him?’ The Rider scowled at her. “Judgement falls to the priest there, whoever that may be. If it is even necessary. We have a judgement to make here. The son is irrelevant.”

“He’s not, though,” Aziraphale said. He could feel the Sage glaring at him. “He raised his son as best he could. Gave him whatever training he could himself. Gave him up to the trainband as he should. Gave him a gift when asked. He has been asked over and over again and he has responded… but only to one person who truly understood what he was asking for. Who has walked away stronger for it. He lived. He became his own person. That is what the Old One wanted most for him, even as he misses him. He is a good father.” Aziraphale took a deep breath to steady himself. “Not everyone has that. It is why priests exist, to put people on unequal, but equitable, footing. It is time the Old One gave what is asked of everyone. He should come to the trainband.”

It was an absolutely laughable suggestion. Preposterous. But no one was laughing and everyone was yelling.They were talking over each other. The Old One couldn’t even hold a sword, let alone use it! He was what they trained to fight against!

The Musician finally brought the arguing to a halt by slapping their hand on the floor every time someone started talking again, to just drown them out with sheer noise. They crouched on the floor and glared up at Aziraphale. They punctuated each word with a clap of hands in between to focus them all on each word.

“What? Would? That? Do? Explain!”

“It is what is asked of every person of age,” Aziraphale said. “Come one day a month. If you cannot, give something to support the training of all the teens currently there. To give something, to be part of the community. And even as we pick up weapons to train together, we put down our weapons that we had turned against each other. One day on which we may not wage war on each other. We must make peace. Let him make the offering to us, to all of us. Let him wage peace.”

“We cannot make peace with the Old Gods,” The Maker growled. She twitched the tip of her sword back and forth next to her, like the tail of an agitated cat.

“No, but if we always treat him as an Old God with a single Name, so he will remain,” Aziraphale said. “Right now he has no duties to us, as people, nor to us, as the New Gods. Each of us could be any of the gods, had we chosen differently today. Today, I am the Bountiful and to call me that, truly, to believe it, you must let him have that name as well. Let him have the same duties as anyone else, the same chance as anyone else, to be each God in turn.”

“He is far too old to be treated as a child,” The Rider said. His voice was firm, but his eyes were fixed off somewhere in the distance as his thoughts were carrying him new places.

“He is not a child, but he is…” Aziraphale took a breath. He could not speak for Wolf, only for himself. “I came to the trainband as a stranger, to make peace, even if for only one day. You, each of you, if you came to stay in a new place, you would go to the trainband so you might become familiar with the local people and familiar to them. As much as it is training for war, it is what keeps us from turning upon our neighbors for they are no longer strangers. They are us and we are them.”

“But will he come if called?” The Sage asked. And that really was the key. For all the talk of change, it had to be something Wolf wanted. Aziraphale could not be a new master for him, could not force him into a name as the Old Gods had. He’d given him a new name, but one he accepted and responded to. He had to take the burden of it willingly.

“Has he even been asked?” The Musician directed the question to the Sage, as she would know the history of this place.

“Not that I know of,” she replied “I did not tell him to bring his son, but he did anyway. He understands what it means.” And then softer, “He understands what it means not to be asked. That he has nothing to contribute.”

“You cannot be considering this!” The Maker brought her sword up and Aziraphale stepped away, rather than be struck. It had clearly been a more reflexive move than planned, as she did not press the attack. She turned her attention to the others, sword tip shaking as she pointed at them. “To invite him in, to make peace, that is how we all lose. There can be no forgiveness. We cannot forget. There is no such thing as being one of the good ones. They were all part of it.”

“And we have all killed,” the Rider said, eyes now focused on the Maker. “And we have all had to mediate disputes between people who would rather be dead than admit they were wrong. Sometimes that is how new settlements are founded, because separation is the only way to end the fighting. But even then, they still honor that monthly peace in hopes distance and time will do what words could not. No one lives who remembers what was done, other than him. And what has he done in that time?”

“Raised sheep and a son,” the Sage said. “He gave back a child who was stolen by someone else. We must not forget that threats are still out there, his son is evidence of that, but he is not the same as he was when the Old Gods were driven from the world. Nor are any of us. Their world is gone.”

“Let him come then,” the Rider said. “I will stay to watch. He is a threat no greater than any of us. The humans who helped the Old Gods had some measure of their power, and were invested in their return, they are all long dead. Those were the ones who wished to raise a new empire. He has raised nothing but sheep.”

“Of course you consider sheep the deciding factor,” the Maker scowled at the Rider, who shrugged at her, unimpressed with the sword in his face

“They are my domain. As is the teaching of others. He has honored both, and thus if he wishes the name, it is his to claim. Just as anyone else can.” The Rider locked eyes with the Maker. “Just as I could be you.”

The Maker’s nostrils flared and she clenched her jaw before wheeling on the Musician. “And you? Would you let him have your face? Your name?”

“I will stay to watch and determine how the story ends,” the Musician glanced at the Maker’s unsheathed sword. “Perhaps it shall be in death long-delayed. Perhaps we shall all unite to vanquish the very last of them. Again.”

“I know where you stand,” the Maker scowled at Aziraphale. “And you!” She looked at the Sage. “All this time and nothing, just putting it off! You’re a disgrace!”

“I will speak personally now, as apparently you can only make things personal,” the local priest said, her demeanor and tone shifting back to her usual. The Sage was gone. “Every village picks their priests based on their own history and needs. This one chose to wait. To see if peace would break out if everyone refused to seek vengeance. If time would heal. Yes, I did nothing to antagonize or seek vengeance on an Old One who had never done me or any one here any wrong beyond that which neighbors do to each other every day. Perhaps sometimes he took a few too many apples from shared trees, or failed to properly latch a gate between fields, or said something that hurt someone’s feelings. But there is no malice there. He brings back stray sheep that have wandered, digs up poisonous weeds when he finds them, and planted three by three chestnuts when he asked to have a tree cut for a roofbeam. He is neither good nor bad, only himself.”

This did nothing other than send the Maker away as well, leaving only the red heard priest behind, scowl and anger all her own. “I will not stay for this. Someone needs to be ready to clean up this, this, MESS!” She twitched the sword once more but as her gaze swept over the others, saw that she was no longer among equals. She whirled and stormed out, leaping off the top step directly to the ground, hair streaming behind her.

The pale priests looked between Aziraphale and the local priest. “Is she always like this?”

“Not really,” Aziraphale said. He had never seen her quite this undone. But then she wasn’t used to resistance. It was all a bit shocking so he could grant her some grace, even if she had never given him any.

“A bit,” said the village priest. “Better than it could have been. She hasn’t lit anything on fire.” There was the sound of hoofbeats outside. “Yet.”
“We’ll need lodging until the trainband meets,” the dark clad priest said, weariness in his tone. He fixed his eyes on Aziraphale. “We shall see then what the Old One does. Judgment is delayed until he may speak for himself, but know you have tied your fate to his.”

“I understand.” Aziraphale finally did. It left his leg aching with the weight of the past rushing towards them all.

Notes:

I continue to be unable to make an accurate chapter count. Is it two chapters or three? is it a target forever moving away from me? We get to the end when we get there
This contained the prompt "the monster among us"

Notes:

Radio Crowley is the DORKIEST version of Crowley, even if he does get the sexy voice. Fae Crowley is very much dorky wolf dad.