An Ineffable History

Chapter Seven: Quedando con los ángeles

A/N: As someone who is fluent in both English and Spanish, I couldn't resist throwing in a few phrases in Spanish. I would not recommend using something like google translate for said phrases, because some words have double meanings that a literal translator cannot interpret accurately. I will provide translations at the end of the chapter. Just a bit of a teaser, the title means: Staying with the angels.

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Barcelona, Spain, 1495 CE

Spain, well, to put it plainly- Spain was a disaster. Aziraphale hadn't even been there a full day and he could already say that. 

It was beautiful, of course it was; the elaborate buildings and elegantly arranged flowers made the entire city look stunningly picturesque, like something out of a fine painting. But despite it's obvious beauty, something about the city felt off. There was a sense of fear that lingered on every street and hid behind every corner, and Aziraphale could feel it everywhere.

The strangest part was that the people were all walking about, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Aziraphale began to wonder how long they had been living with this fear that it had settled in their daily lives as a mere background feeling. 

Aziraphale wandered down the streets, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while walking in no particular direction. He did have a reason to be there: Gabriel had ordered he perform a blessing on a certain family, because apparently they were going to be important later on, but that wasn't supposed to be for a few days. So, with nothing else to do for the moment, he let himself wander.

Aziraphale loved being around the humans, he loved watching them in their everyday routines. They were always chasing something, whether it be money, happiness, love, or whatever else. They knew that they only had one chance, and they made the best of what they could with what they had, and Aziraphale admired them for that. 

Eventually, Aziraphale made it to the outskirts of the city. The sense of fear was stronger here, less of a background feeling and more all-encompassing. He could see the difference in the people here too. They were tired, many of them with bags under their eyes and wearing old dirty clothes. As he walked through, he noticed many people eyeing him suspiciously, so much for blending in. He looked down at his clothes, then looked at the people around him. He had to admit that he looked very different from the rest of them, his bright white and gold overgown a stark contrast to the muddled colors around him. Aziraphale sighed, there wasn't much he could do about it now, not with all those people around him. He resigned himself to keep walking, noticing the way more and more people were staring at him. He passed a rather full looking tavern, and had decided it would probably be best to avoid it, given how many people were outright glaring at him now, when he found himself very suddenly distracted.

"Azir'phale!" A drunken voice slurred. Aziraphale looked around, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. 

"Down 'ere Azi- Az- angel!" Aziraphale cautiously stepped over to the edge of a nearby ditch where the voice seemed to be coming from. 

Crowley sat sprawled out at the bottom, a half-empty wine bottle in one hand and surrounded by dozens more. His normally sleek and fashionable black outfit was filthy and disheveled. His long curly hair was matted with twigs and leaves, and his glasses were crooked on his face, only barely hiding his eyes.

"Crowley?"

"Hey angel, care to join me for a drink?"

"I think perhaps you've had too much already." Crowley's lips dropped to a fake pout. Aziraphale ignored it. "Crowley?" He asked, looking at the piles of wine bottles surrounding him, "How long have you been here?"