Chapter Text
Perhaps their first meeting is not on the best of terms—blood and guts splattering across every adjacent surface doesn't exactly set a good precedent—although Aziraphale can't help but flood with relief when he finally lays eyes upon the man he's been searching for all these months.
And a man, he most definitely is. The angel had had his suspicions before, but looking at him now, it's painfully obvious that whispered tales of a demon haunting the high seas with a head made of smoke and glowing red eyes had been just that, tales. Stories. Myths. In fact, the man standing in front of him right now flows so richly with human energy it threatens to overwhelm Aziraphale. Swallow him whole.
The only accurate part of this man's description is his name. Blackbeard. Although, perhaps he 'ought to be named salt and peppered beard instead, as there seemed to be more grey hairs in his beard than black. His eyes are an inky black instead of a bright red and they're, strangely, quite... Kind.
But before Aziraphale can introduce himself to the most feared pirate that's ever lived, he's suddenly hit in the back of the head. Blunt force making the world around him fuzzy before everything fades to black.
That's the tricky thing about human-shaped corporations, they tend to act a bit too human. Especially in situations like these, where it would be very helpful if they didn't.
When Aziraphale comes to, fluttering pale eyelashes over full cheeks, he realizes his arms and legs are securely tied together with braided rope and he's kneeling in an uncomfortable position on the main deck. Thank God for the protection miracle he had placed on himself before the ship he was traversing on was attacked. One that'd make anyone who wished harm upon him to suddenly be filled with the staggering desire to drop their weapons and sprint the other way.1
No matter, this whole hostage situation doesn't really throw a wrench in his plan. He had wanted to board Blackbeard's ship anyway. And now, here he is.
"Um," An unsure voice mumbles to his side, Aziraphale turns his head as far as he can and sees quite a large fellow looking down at him. He's got a long white beard and a bald head, clad in black leather and silver studs. Just as the angel'd expect from a member of Blackbeard's crew "Izzy, he's awake."
"Al—fuckin—ready? He's barely been out for half an hour." A husky voice replies, sounding further away. The man Aziraphale can see only nods in response and then very heavy footsteps thud his way. "Alright now, you posh piece of shit," The man looks nothing like his voice might've suggested. His face scrunched up into a very permanent looking frown. "You're gonna tell us what an elegant fucker like you was doing on a ship like that. And why none of us can fucking kill you."
So this must be Izzy Hands. Blackbeard’s right-hand man.
Aziraphale has half the mind to scold him for harbouring such a dirty mouth. The other half of his mind can see through this little man easily. He's frustrated, that much is obvious. He had probably ordered the angel to be shot or stabbed without a second thought, and when all of his crew had refused, he had tried to do it himself and been paralyzed with the overwhelming need to not. And the only reason he's asking why someone as elegant as Aziraphale was on a ship like that is because he wants to know if the angel would be worth any money, if he's important enough to have people pay for him back.
Aziraphale has two options. Tell the truth—that he's looking for Blackbeard to complete a very specific assignment from Heaven—and most likely get hit over the head again. Or, tell a lie, maybe go with the whole being valuable and worth some money story, see where that gets him.
So, he puts on his best 'frightened gentleman who only wanted to take a little trip across the sea and got caught up with the wrong guys; my father will have your head if you hurt me!' act and hopes it gets him what he needs.
"Angel."
It gets him, much to Aziraphale's surprise, his very own room and bed. Sure, it's a cramped and damp space, but it's better than being tied to a random post and left to struggle through the harsh weather. He had successfully spun a lie about where his family was and not so subtly mentioned how rich they were and Izzy's eyes had practically lit up with the prospect of ransoming him home.
It also gets him, although he'd never admit it, a very worried demon showing up in said cramped room, wondering what the Heaven is going on. What Aziraphale is doing here, on an actual pirate ship.
"Crowley," And Aziraphale ignores the way his not-human heartbeat picks up at the sight of the demon (stupid corporation) and instead focuses on what he's wearing. He's certainly dressed for the occasion, sporting a black dress shirt under a leather waist jacket, sinched at the waist with gold and silver accessories. Leather hugs his well shaped legs, his boots matching his all dark look, red hair tied into a half up half down sort of style, with the undone strands gracefully brushing past his shoulders, and, of course, no outfit would be complete without those signature shades perched high on his nose.
"What on earth are you doing out here?" And Crowley can't make heads or tails out of the situation. He had felt that tingly2 urge he always does whenever the angel's in any sort of trouble, but he certainly doesn't look in trouble right now. He also doesn't look like he's impersonating a pirate at all, wearing a fancy, slightly out of style, outfit in all neutrals apart from the deep red pop of his suit jacket. His blonde, fluffy curls the same as they've always been for several centuries. Crowley's slightly amused, and that much shows in his voice, but mostly he's just confused.
Aziraphale clears his throat, fighting to keep his smile at bay at the demons obvious concern. "Well, if you must know, I'm on an assignment. From head office." Crowley gives him a look that's plain to read even behind those dark sunglasses. "Really, Head office? Why do they care what goes down out here?" Aziraphale sighs and Crowley drops into the space beside him on the very small bed. Their shoulders press against each other and if Aziraphale decided to take a bit more space instead of folding in on himself, their thighs would, too.
"There were... Rumours."
"Rumours?"
"Yes, of a demon. Haunting the high seas, they said. They wanted me to smite him, perhaps with him gone, no longer tempting others to follow in his footsteps, piracy would lose its popularity."
"That's lunacy."
"I—I can't...not do what I'm told. So I decided to do some more research and I heard that there are many stories of a supposed demon named Blackbeard so I tracked him do—"
"Hold on, this is Blackbeard's ship?" Crowley's voice takes on that worried tone once again.
"..Yes...?"
"Wha—Angel! You do know how dangerous this guy is, right? I mean—"
"Oh, no need to worry about that. I've placed a protection charm on myself so no harm3 will come to me."
"Right." He doesn't sound convinced. "Well, he's not one of ours. So what are you going to do now?"
"Yes I know that. But I can't not have anything to report back to Heaven. So...I thought maybe I could convince Blackbeard to...do some good?"
The laugh Crowley barks out is insulting at best.
"Oh, you're being serious?" He's obviously not, the smirk playing at his lips one Aziraphale's seen time and time again. "Yes, I am!" Aziraphale would get up and create some distance between them, but there's really only space to stand up or sit down. "C'mon, angel, this is Blackbeard we're talking about. You can't actually expect to influence him toward the light."
Aziraphale exhales, indignant.
"Well, while I was being escorted to this room, I overheard some of the crew talking about how their captain, Blackbeard, is interested in meeting a Stede Bonnet."
"Okay...who is that?"
"I heard about him a little while back. Apparently, he's a gentleman from the upper crust who left his old life behind to become a pirate. And, from what I've heard, he's quite a nice fellow. Pays his crew a salary and everything."
"Is he nice, or just rich?"
"Unimportant. I thought, maybe if I could help Blackbeard meet Stede, he could convince him to become a better person and, hopefully, give up pirating all together!"
"I can spot about thirty holes in your plan already. And, before you ask, no I'm not helping."
"Crowley, come on, I need your help with this!"
"Absolutely not. Why would I want Blackbeard to stop pirating, anyway? I'm a demon, I want evil people to stay...evil."
"Y-you could, I don't know..corrupt Stede further? Come on, please! I just need you to find him and organise a place for them to meet."
"Ye—alright, if I corrupt Stede further, then how is he gonna influence Blackbeard to become a better person? Sounds a bit counterproductive to me."
Aziraphale raises his eyebrows, looking to the ceiling with an unreadable expression. "Well then... If you don't want to help me... You can leave."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"You want me to leave?"
"I—" Aziraphale looks back to Crowley, trying to make earnest eye contact even through those sunglasses. "I'm asking you to help me! But if you don't want too, then there's nothing I can do about that, is there?"
And Crowley sighs, already knowing his fate. They've had this exact conversation many times before, and the demon is not so disillusioned as to think this'll be the last.
He'd deny it to the bitter end, but there's just no way he could ever say no to Aziraphale.
"Now this guy sounds interesting!" Edward exclaims4 as he strides across the ship, an annoyed Izzy stomping behind him.
"Not interesting. Fucking otherworldly. Supernatural. Cursed. I'm telling you, this is not something we want to mess with." Edward only scoffs, looking over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow.
"Come on now, Iz. You're being superstitious."
"Yeah, and for good fucking reason. You know none of us could kill him even though the twat was knocked out and defenseless, right? Plus, I'm pretty sure I heard him talking to himself once we left him in that room. If he's not cursed then he's fucking insane."
But his warning only falls on deaf ears as Edward jumps down the stairs that lead to the cabins, practically skipping in excitement before knocking on the door that the mysterious prisoner is currently behind.
"Uh..Enter?"
He pushes the door open, smiling at the white-haired man looking up at him with uncertainly swirling in his blue gaze.
"So you're the fancy little fella, aren't ya?"
"Yes..?"
Edward can't help but smile wider. This is gonna be so fucking fun.
Aziraphale tries to keep up his scared and confused demeanor, silently smiling on the inside. All according to plan.
Let's just hope Crowley holds up his end of the deal.
Footnotes:
1. Although, he guesses, knocking him out and taking him as hostage wasn't really written on the fine print of his little charm. return to text
2. Don't say tingly, that sounds awfully weird. return to text
3. Well, no life threatening harm, but Crowley doesn't need to know about that. return to text
4. Note that Edward Teach has been really fucking bored lately. return to text