Chapter Text
"How old are you?" Crowley looked over at her brother in confusion. They were loading the black cases that housed the band’s gear into the back of an old three-row family van. Tonight was her first gig, and her hands shook with nerves.
"Um, sixteen?" She ventured an answer. Had her brother really forgotten her age?
"Nope. You wanna know why?" Crowley narrowed her eyes, then gave a noncommittal shrug. Luci was up to something, but she wasn't sure what it was yet.
"Well." Luci hefted a guitar case onto an empty spot of carpet behind the van’s second row of seats. The third row had been removed months ago, when the band had started using it for transport. Once it was settled, his left hand dipped behind him and dug a folded leather wallet out of a back pocket. "If you're sixteen, what would that make me?"
"Nineteen. I guess." Crowley knew exactly how old her brother was. She’d been celebrating his birthday her whole life, hadn’t she? Luci handed the wallet over. Crowley took it and, with what felt like a sickening shock of electricity in her gut, realized that it was their dad’s. When had her brother switched to carrying this? How had he even gotten a hold of it? Her thoughts spun as she stared down at the palm-sized object.
“Wrong again. What does my license say?” Crowley flipped the wallet open. There was Luci’s driver’s license framed inside the clear plastic window that took up the left half of the interior. The little photo of her brother looked back up at her from where her dad’s image had been for as long as she could remember. It was hard to make out the numbers in the fading evening light, but she could just read his birthday.
“Twenty one?” Crowley looked back. “Where’d you get this?” Grinning, Luci reached out and took the wallet from her.
“Don’t you worry about that.” He slipped a fingertip behind his license and pulled up. Two more little plastic cards slid out from beneath it. He pushed one back, but not before Crowley caught sight of her father’s face. Luci handed the other to her. “This one’s yours. If anyone asks you for ID at the bar, show them this.” Someone had taken one of her most recent school photos and replaced the background with the same blue that Luci and her dad’s license featured.
Crowley remembered that picture day. She’d hated the white polo shirt her mother had insisted she wear. It had made her look like a prep, and had felt like some sort of weird costume. But her mom had found it at a yard sale, and had beamed with pride when she showed Crowley the little gator logo on the front. “Can you imagine? A Lacoste for two bucks! All it needs is to have this little bit on the hem sewn back up, and you’ll look just like one of those boys over at Trinity Heart.” Crowley winced at the memory of being compared to the guys who attended the nearby private school, and then immediately felt guilty.
“You can’t buy a beer with it, but at least the owner won’t make you wait in the back room when you’re not on stage.” Luci’s voice brought her back to the present. Her eyes focused on the neatly printed letters and numbers displaying her information. She skimmed past the single letter M, and found her birth date. It was two years before her actual one. According to this, she was eighteen: not old enough to drink, but old enough to be in a bar without getting hassled for it.
“You gonna drive us to the gig now that you’re all legal? I mean, sort of.” Crowley jumped at the question coming from inside the van. She’d been so focused on the license that she hadn’t noticed when Eric had climbed in the side door and settled into the bench-style middle seat. His brother leaned in through the open sliding door and handed him what looked like a fishing tackle box. He gave Eric a look that clearly communicated his opinion about his brother’s lack of any sort of sense.
“Hell no, he’s not driving my van -”
“Our van,” Eric interrupted. When Crowley had first met the two band members, she hadn’t been able to tell the identical twins apart. The fact that their mother had named them Eric and Erick hadn’t helped, either. But after a few months of them hanging around the house for practice, she now knew the individual mannerisms or tones of voice that distinguished one from the other.
“Our van,” Erick rolled his eyes at his brother. They were painted with bold, black liner. Thin triangles of the makeup radiated down from the bottom lid, almost like spiky lashes. It was a dramatic look, and one that he shared with his twin. They’d also both shaped their hair into two short points on top, mimicking devil horns. “Especially not all the way to New Orleans.” He said the city name in three syllables: new-OAR-lens. “And we’re never gonna get there if we don’t leave.” He walked around the vehicle and hopped up into the driver’s seat. Luci made a face at the impatient guitarist’s back, then closed the van’s back doors. He joined Erick in the front. This left Crowley to share the middle bench with Eric.
Crowley slipped the fake ID into the pocket of her black jeans. It nestled next to her tube of lip balm and the bit of cash Luci had given her for the night. She’d have to get a wallet for herself soon. As she slid the side van door closed, she thought about the little clutch purse her mother used to carry on special occasions.
Erick started the engine and pulled away from Luci and Crowley’s house. He and Luci argued about the best way to get to the main highway as the van threaded its way through small residential streets. Eventually, they were on the long bridge that stretched across a huge lake. Pools of light rose and fell as they passed under the streetlights that lined the causeway. The van gently rocked as the wheels drove a cluh-clunk-cluh-clunk rhythm over the connected sections of concrete road. It might have lulled Crowley to sleep if it hadn’t been for the Metallica blaring from the front speakers. Hetfield growled a song about shifting his shape*, and Crowley nodded along as she stared out the window into the outstretched darkness.
Without really deciding to, Crowley let her thoughts drift to yesterday in the garden: the way Aziraphale had said her name when he saw her, the confession to giving Evie his report, the stumbling apology. How he looked when he took that bite from her apple. She felt her cheeks grow warm. The butterflies she’d felt at that moment were making a return appearance. This is ridiculous. I can’t be crushing on Aziraphale, Crowley told herself. A memory of the lunchroom dream surfaced, and she saw Aziraphale alight with that radiant smile. Can I?
“So, Dante usually paints red streaks on his face before a performance. Like, dripping from his eyes or mouth.” Eric’s voice was just loud enough for Crowley to hear above the music. Startled, she turned away from the window to face him.
“Yeah?”
“You wanna do something like that?” He patted the tackle box on the seat between them. “I’ve got plenty of stuff in here for it.”
“I don’t know. Luci doesn’t like it when I …” Crowley gestured to her face, then stopped. Had she just said too much? Would Eric guess that she’d tried makeup before? The young man’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise, but there was no judgment in the look. He gave a half-shrug. “Suit yourself. It’s here if you change your mind.” He looked away, returning to staring out the window on his side of the van.
“Do you have any scissors in there?” Eric turned back, a question on his face. “To cut the sleeves off my shirt.” Crowley was wearing one of Luci’s old faded band shirts that she’d swiped from his closet. He hadn’t made a fuss about it, so she’d just kept it. The cracked screenprint showed a black and red snake curling around a yellowed skull. Its mouth was open, and its fangs dripped venom. Eric nodded his understanding and popped open the box’s latch and flipped back the lid. He lifted the top tray, a little mechanism holding it up and away from the main container beneath.
Crowley tried not to stare as Eric rooted around. Other than in a store, she’d never really seen this much makeup all together in one place. Her mother hadn’t worn much, just some mascara and lipstick. But, Eric’s collection overflowed with little jars of liquid the same brown shade as his skin, sticks of eye liner, tubes of lipstick, flat trays with colorful squares of eye shadow. There were sandwich bags with cotton swabs and tissues. Was that a bottle of nail polish? The realization that Eric openly carried all this around with him made her head swim. Crowley wondered if there was any way she could ask Eric to show her how to use some of it without her brother finding out. She hoped her face looked neutral when he finally found what he was looking for.
Eric pulled out a small pair of sheers tucked into a protective sheath of black leather. He handed them over and Crowley started on her left sleeve. The scissors were sharp, and they easily parted the worn cotton fabric. She had to be careful to not let the motion of the van cause her to nick herself with the tips. Crowley got one sleeve off, then tried the other. Unfortunately, her left hand couldn’t figure out how to make the scissors work. She looked up at Eric, unsure what to do. He wasn’t paying attention, instead examining his eye makeup in a little circular mirror.
“Um…” His eyes shifted to her, and he set the mirror down onto the box’s tray.
“Here, lemme help you with that.” Crowley watched as the scissors circled up and over, and down the back of the sleeve seam. “Lift your arm?” Crowley did, then froze. She’d forgotten that she’d shaved her armpits a couple of days ago. She’d started the habit this winter, trying it out when long sleeves and jackets would hide her attempts. If Eric noticed the short hair and irritated razor burn, he didn’t show it. He simply finished the job, handed Crowley the detached sleeve, and stowed the scissors back in their case.
“Last chance for greasepaint. We’ll be there soon.” His words were casual, no pressure in the invitation. “I could do a quick snake, like a tattoo. To match your shirt?” Crowley felt her heart beat faster. She tried to mimic his cool tone with her answer.
“Yeah, that’d be alright.”
“Mm-hm, I thought it might.” Crowley didn’t have time to ask what he meant by that. Eric had picked out a black pencil and gestured for Crowley to look straight ahead. Out of the corner of her eye, Crowley could just barely see the look of concentration on his face as he sketched a shape onto her temple. Soon, he switched to a red pencil and Crowley could feel him adding details to the snake. When he was done, he handed the mirror to her. She couldn’t help the smile when she saw the twisty little figure.
“You know, if you use unscented deodorant, it helps with the bumps.” Eric spoke quietly, but Crowley’s eyes still flicked up to Luci to make sure he hadn’t heard. Cold air and the sound of the road leaked in when Luci rolled the passenger window down a couple of inches. He popped open the glove compartment, and lit one of the cigarettes from the pack he found there. The smoke half escaped and half blew back into her face. Crowley made a mental note to remember where the cigs were stashed, then handed the mirror back to Eric.
“Thanks.”
“No prob.”
Crowley sat behind Dante’s drums, squinting into the stage lights. The word “stage” may have been a stretch for the slightly elevated patch of black plywood tucked into the corner of the tiny bar. But, despite being little more than an actual hole in the wall, the place was packed. Even with the door open to the street, the heat of the crowd kept the single room warm. The place smelled like beer and smoke, and the brick walls featured poorly repaired cracks.
Eric and Erick flanked the drum kit, wielding an electric bass and guitar respectively. Luci was front and center, his body hiding the microphone from Crowley’s sight. He’d ditched his shirt in the van, and his long hair spilled down his bare back. The lights made the blonde curls glow a rich gold. In his jet black jeans and boots, he looked like the fallen angel that shared his name.
Crowley watched as he removed the mic from the pole, then set the stand aside. His shoulders rose as he took a breath, then he pointed out over the crowd.
“Hey, losers! You ready to bang your heads?” His voice rang out loud from the amps, the snarl in it catching people’s attention. Insulting the audience shouldn’t have worked, but it did. A cheer rose up, sending chills of anticipation down Crowley’s spine. A guy near the stage pumped a fist in the air, the pinkie and index finger raised in the devil’s salute. Luci continued, raising his voice over the noise. “I’m Lucifer Crowley, we're For Satan’s Sake, and we’re about to blow your puny little minds!”
That was Crowley’s cue. She raised her sticks, and brought them down hard. The opening to Motorbreath** was fast, and all drums. Crowley had thought she’d be scared, but she reveled in it. For five glorious seconds, the entire building rocked out to nothing but her. In front, Luci jumped straight up into the air. When he landed, he bent forward, flinging all those golden curls in a circle. Soon, Eric and Erick joined in, and Luci straightened up to spit out the opening lyrics.
“ Living and dying… ”
(NSFW words in the audio of both of these videos.)
*Of Wolf and Man
**Motorbreath is from an earlier Metallica album.