Chapter Text
Friday, 28th September, 2001.
6 years later.
It was a beautiful, crisp autumn day. The warm remnants of summer lingered whilst a cool autumn breeze carried newly browning leaves safely to the ground. Miraculously, it hadn’t rained in over a week, so the leaves were dry and crunchy rather than mulching together as a soggy mess on the floor.
A perfect day for a party really.
Not that Crowley liked parties.
They were pointless things, far to stressful for any sane person. All that fretting over decorations, dietary requirement, invitations, making the perfect playlist to suit everyone’s taste when really the only guarantee is it will give everyone a headache.
Not to mention the socialising.
You spend a load of money on one special day and don’t even have the luxury of being able to enjoy it when you are too busy mingling and making sure everyone else is having a good time.
Sure, Crowley can agree that some occasions call for that kind of effort. Birthdays are just not one them. All that nonsense to celebrate… what, exactly? Getting older? That’s not really much of an achievement, is it?
Anyway, the point is, Crowley is not a fan of parties.
So, it came as quite a shock when he sauntered on up to The Demons two weeks ago, inviting them to his non-existent ‘Sweet Sixteen.’
It had surprised him even more when the group had agreed to attend.
Okay, sure, there were conditions, but they had still agreed!
That is how Crowley found himself spending the next two weeks rushing an impromptu birthday party, and the whole experience had been absolute hell.
It had been so hellish, in fact, that Crowley would have mistaken it as some sort of demonic initiation had he not been the one who had pointed the gun at his own foot and pulled the trigger. He had spent most of his spare time fretting over such stupid, mundane details like themes and colour palettes, and spent hours carefully curating the perfect playlist.1
Making the bold decision to trust in the Great British weather, Crowley decided to host the party in his back garden. The garden patio housed an elegant seating area with two black wicker armchairs and a matching sofa, each holding soft white cushions, a black marble table lay between them. Flowery pom-poms of pink, purple and blue poked through the wooden fencing of the pergola that framed the patio. After weeks of Crowley’s not-so-gentle coaxing, the hydrangea bush had finally begun to climb the wooden beams of the arbour entryway.
A large trestle table had been pulled out of the attic for the occasion, and placed on the opposite end of the patio, draped with a smooth black table cloth and a tulle orange runner. Spooky was the overall theme that Crowley had chosen for the party. He liked spooky and with Halloween around the corner it seemed appropriate. Not that Crowley had really made much of an effort with the decorating in the end despite, all of his anxiety around it. Aside from the mildly spooky colours of the table, which Crowley sprinkled with mildly spooky confetti shaped like pumpkins, bats and ghosts, the only other addition was a star shaped bunting that hung from the ceiling and a few electric candles dotted about.2
No amount of decorating could compare to the fairy lights that curled around the beams of the pergola anyway. The warm lights were beautiful, and sparkled something wonderful once the sun set, producing a truly magical glow that transformed the little patio into something reminiscent of a fairy tale.
Ok, so it didn’t really fit the spooky theme.
In fact it was actually rather romantic.
Best not go there.
The clacking of heels against the hardwood floor broke Crowley away from his thoughts. Ignoring the newcomer he maintained his focus on the very important task of sprinkling confetti over the table.
“I am going out for dinner, Anthony.” The newcomer announced, “I have left my mobile phone number on the kitchen counter, should you need me in an emergency.”
“Mhm, thanks.” Crowley muttered, shifting his focus to the next, equally important task: arranging plates.
“I wrote down the phone number for the restaurant as well, just in case.” She added.
Crowley didn’t respond, instead he pointedly kept his attention on the table, awkwardly shifting plates from one end to the other, waiting for the clacking of heels to start up again until they had faded into the distance.
The patio remained silent.
“…I trust you will be alright on your own?” The newcomer asked after a few beats.
Crowley sighed, realising that she wasn’t going to just leave, he turned to face her.
Francesca Crowley, his mother, stood in the centre of the patio rummaging through her black leather purse. A tall, slender woman, she had fashioned her long red curls into a tight bun, leaving the sides of her fringe hanging to frame her sharp cheekbones. She wore a plain ebony pencil dress which fitted snugly against her slim frame, accompanied with black high heels and a silver chain necklace.
“Always am.” Crowley responded, folding his arms and leaning against the table. “Won’t be on my own anyway, ‘m having a party, remember?”
“Indeed.” His mother replied, shouldering her bag and narrowing her dark chestnut eyes. “You promise to stay out of trouble?”
Crowley shrugged.
“Anthony.” She warned. “I am being serious. Don’t think for one second that I don’t know exactly who you have invited into this house.”
Crowley groaned, “Mum they’re not that bad!” he said, rolling his head.
“Oh?” His mother asked. “So, it is perfectly acceptable to you that poor Arthur almost lost his entire livelihood because those… demons, fancied taking a bat to his car?”
“Well… no… but…”
“He is still paying for the damages, you know.”
“I know… but-”
“And, shall we talk about the disruption at Tadfield carnival?”
“Snakes have a bad reputation! ‘S not like they were poisonous!”
“…or the arson attack on Tadfield Manor?”
“That,” Crowley snapped, pointing a finger at his mother. “is only a rumour!”
She stared at the accusing finger for several seconds, then rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she sighed. “…but what about the way they treat Aziraphale?”
That was a low blow.
Crowley folded his arms and snapped his head away to look at the floor, it was more interesting then her anyway. “They’re only teasing him.” He mumbled. “They don’t mean it.”
“I don’t think he sees it that way, petal-”
“Okay. Fine.” Crowley snapped. “That, I don’t like… but, after today, I’m sure they’ll leave him alone.”
Crowley spun back to the table busying himself with the confetti, indicating to his mother that the conversation was over and to just bloody well leave.
Instead a cold gentle hand lay itself on his shoulder. Crowley tensed, his mothers eyes were soft. It had been a long time since she had looked at him like that.
“Just be careful,” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind Crowley’s ear and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Happy birthday, petal.”
Crowley placed a hand to his burning cheek, and listened to the clacking heels fade as his mother left the house.
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“Happy birthday!”
Crowley had returned to the patio with an armful of snacks to find Aziraphale carrying, with tremendous difficulty, a tall white box that reached his chin, on top sat a black package and a plant which was scooting dangerously close to the edge as Aziraphale fumbled with the back garden gate. 3
“Leave it, angel.” Crowley snapped, chucking the snacks onto the table and running to the gate, he swatted Aziraphale’s fumbling hand away. “I got it.”
“Oh! Thank you.” Aziraphale said, finally placing both hands firmly back onto the white box.
Crowley rescued the plant before it could topple off the edge, and picked up the package, tucking it under his arm. He opened the gate for his friend who rewarded Crowley’s heroics with his signature smile.
“What’s in the box?” Crowley asked as they made their way back to the patio, Aziraphale placed the box onto the table.
“Cake!” Aziraphale answered, excitedly. “Mother was ever so excited to hear you were having a party this year, she-”
“CAKE!” Crowley interrupted, slapping his forehead. “I knew I forgot something!”
“Yes, well, it is rather important for a birthday party.” Aziraphale chuckled, “I’d have told you, but as I was saying, mother was so excited, I thought I’d leave it a surprise.”
Aziraphale removed one side of the box and carefully pulled out the cake. It was round, coated in black icing and white cobwebs, black, white and orange flowers decorated the top accompanied by a large, decorative ‘sixteen.’
“I told her the theme was ‘spooky,’” Aziraphale smiled, “but I did ask that she be subtle.”
“It looks amazing.” Crowley marvelled.
“It’s a rainbow cake,” Aziraphale said softly. “Similar to the one she made for my fourteenth birthday.”
That had been Aziraphale’s first birthday since he came out as gay to his parents.
Mrs Fell had baked Aziraphale a rainbow cake in celebration and support. It had led to many tears being shed, even a few from Crowley, although he made sure no one noticed.
Crowley had come out as pansexual this year, his chest ached.
“Those are for you, by the way.” Aziraphale said, nodding to the plant and package in Crowley’s hands. Aziraphale seemed… nervous? His eyes fixed on the gifts, brow furrowed, hands wringing violently in front of him only separating briefly to perform a small wave of jazz hands that accompanied a weak “Happy birthday.”
Crowley arched his brow and placed the package onto the table to inspect the plant first.
A red orchid, a well cared for one at that too. The petals were a brilliant crimson, the leaves at the base a rich verdant green with not a spot in sight.
“I thought it was pretty…” Aziraphale said softly. “And red is very much your colour. I- I hope took care of it well enough, I mean, I am not sure I can care for it quite to the standards you hold.”
“I love it angel.” Crowley said, thumbing at the leaves, inspecting them. “Thank you.”
“Please don’t be too hard on the poor thing.” Aziraphale smiled.
“Can’t promise that I’m afraid.” Crowley sighed, placing the orchid onto the table and picking up the package. “It has nothing to worry about as long as it behaves. Although ‘m sure it has been extremely spoilt in your care.”
“No comment.” Aziraphale said, eyes darting between Crowley and the package nervously.
The package was relatively thin, solid, and rectangular, wrapped in glossy ebony paper topped with a crimson bow, Crowley unwrapped it carefully to reveal a stunning leather bound book.
Expecting to see botanical illustrations or perhaps various star charts, Crowley’s breath caught as he opened the first page and was greeted with Aziraphale’s cursive scripture.
“Written in the stars.” Crowley said, reading the title aloud.
Aziraphale groaned, hands covering his face and Crowley furrowed his brow. “That sounds so incredibly cheesy now that you read it aloud.” Aziraphale said, shifting his hands to press them against his cheeks, eyes darting from Crowley to the floor. “I- I wrote it myself.”
“You wrote this?” Crowley asked, pointing a finger down onto the page of the book.
“Yes…” Aziraphale said, shifting his hands to play with the frayed edges of his waistcoat. “I, um, I also drew the illustrations. I mean, I attempted to, at least… I am by no means a professional artist, but you know…” He shrugged. “I dabble.”
Crowley, wide eyed immediately turned the page of the book, where half the page featured a beautiful hand drawn illustration of two winged characters watching a meteor shower.
“Angel, this is incredible.” Crowley breathed, tracing long fingers gently over the illustration, careful not to smudge it.
“It’s silly.” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s about an angel and a demon who… become friends.”
“An Angel and a demon, huh?” Crowley grinned, pointing to the illustration. “That them?”
Aziraphale nodded his head, pointedly not looking at Crowley.
“They look very familiar, you know.” Crowley smirked.
“Do they?” Aziraphale sniffed. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Crowley, smiling, shook his head and flipped through a few more pages of the book. Several scenes were familiar to him as activities that he and Aziraphale had done together. He passed meteor showers, picnics and magic shows until things started to become less familiar.
Dinner in a fancy restaurant.
The angel and demon chatting inside an old bookshop.
A cottage-
“There is a spe-, oh…” Aziraphale blurted, an urgency to his tone which made Crowley jump. “Sorry,” he grimaced, “erm, that is, there is a special ingredient mixed into the ink.”
“A special ingredient?” Crowley asked, arching an eyebrow and closing the book.
“Yes! You know the Tadfield country market that took place about, oh, 6 months ago? Well, there was this lovely, if rather odd, lady there who claimed to be a witch. Oh, what was her name? Something Nutter? Anyway! She had various occult pieces for sale. I was browsing through her books of prophecy and noticed these small packets of stardust displayed next to them. Now, I know what you are thinking, Crowley, and I am not stupid, I know it is not real stardust, however this Nutter lady relayed this story about how her ancestors were astronomers who had collected the dust from the fallen stars they had observed and she was adamant that it could grant wishes, and yes, I know, that it is all superstitious nonsense, but, well, isn’t that also what blowing out birthday candles is? I know how much you love the stars and with the meteor shower in a few weeks, I thought, wouldn't it be a lovely gesture? Instead of candles Crowley can wish upon the stars in my book…”
“Aziraphale…” Crowley said softly.
“Oh, but, we can still do candles of course, if you want to.” Aziraphale rushed to continue. “We can do both! Or just- just skip the book wishing I suppose.”
“Aziraphale…” Crowley tried again, a little louder. Aziraphale apparently didn’t hear him.
“…oh, and I know this is all complete poppycock, but-”
“Angel.” Crowley interrupted a third time, placing a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, the touch silencing him. “I love it.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You do?” he asked, wistfully.
“’Course!” Crowley scoffed, giving the shoulder a squeeze. “You made this for me, Aziraphale. For me! It must have taken you ages.”
“Only a few months.” Aziraphale said bashfully.
Crowley looked at his friend stunned, shook his head and opened the book back to the title page. “At least the name makes sense now.” Crowley said. “Written in the stars. Literally.”
“Yes.” Aziraphale said, “I’m… afraid I am not very creative when it comes to titles.”
“’S a great name.” Crowley shrugged, closing the book again.
“You don’t have to read it, you know” Aziraphale sighed.
“What?” Crowley responded incredulously “Of course I do, and I will! I want to know what mischief we- I mean, the angel and demon get up to in that brilliant head of yours.” Crowley said pressing a finger to Aziraphale’s forehead.
The angel blushed.
“I’ll read it properly after the party, okay?” Crowley said smiling.
“Yes! Of course! That, would be best, I think.” Aziraphale agreed.
Crowley gathered the book and plant, and carried them over to the shed in the back garden. It was a small thing, used mainly for storing Crowley’s gardening equipment. It had a small workbench on one side in front of the window where Crowley nursed new buds he had picked up before integrating them into the garden. 4 The orchid joined the current sprouts on the workbench, already shining brighter the the others. Crowley smiled, hopefully that will give them some motivation, he caressed the leaves before turning to the shelving unit and placing the book on one of the upper shelves out of harms way and prying eyes.
“Do you need me to do anything?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley locked the shed and returned to the patio.
“Uh, yeah, actually, would you mind finishing off the table whilst I get changed?”
“Oh! Of course.” Aziraphale beamed. “Although I assumed you had already changed, you already look rather dashing.”
Crowley stopped and looked down at his scruffy jeans, and wrinkled henley, all covered in dust from pulling the table out of the attic. No doubt his hair was a mess of curls too. “Angel, you seriously think I am doing to wear this for my party?” Crowley gestured to himself.
Aziraphale blushed.
“I have company coming over, I can’t look like a dusty rat for that.” Crowley continued.
Aziraphale frowned. “Oh, right… I still don’t understand why you want to impress the Demons so much anyway.”
“They are cool, angel.”
“They are demons, Crowley.” Aziraphale said pointedly. “You are far too nice to be involved with-”
Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and forcefully pinned him against the back of the table. “I am not nice.” Crowley growled.
Aziraphale didn’t give Crowley the courtesy of looking even a little bit intimidated, instead the angel rolled his eyes.
“Of course not, dear.” He said, shaking his arm free and nudging Crowley away. “Why don’t you go and get changed, then.”
The angel grabbed a bag of crisps and started pouring the contents into a bowl, ignoring Crowley’s grumbling. Crowley turned on his heels and stomped up to his bedroom.
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It was getting late by the time Crowley re-emerged forty five minutes later. The setting sun cast a dull orange glow across the garden. The table had been set with various foods and sweets, the cake standing in the centre, juices of varying colours on one end alongside paper plates and cups stacked neatly. Aziraphale was humming to himself as he battled with the stereo, unsure how to work such a modern device and unaware of Crowley’s return. Crowley leaned against the door frame and watched.
Aziraphale had switched on the fairy lights whilst Crowley had been upstairs, The small dots already shining brightly casting a soft glow and reminding Crowley of the stars. He would have to make time after the party to do some stargazing tonight, it wouldn’t do to break tradition, after all.
The light radiating off Aziraphale was almost ethereal, it bounced off his blonde curls creating an imitation of an actual halo. Crowley would have found the sight funny if his chest hadn’t suddenly felt so tight. What the bloody hell is that about? He shook himself and coughed lightly to announce his presence.
“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped. He turned around smiling, his expression quickly changing to wide eye surprise. “Oh, my!”
“Nngh, what, is it bad?” Crowley grimaced, looking down at himself. “Fuck, is it too much?”
Crowley had switched out his rumpled henly for a black turtleneck, it was stylish enough and would keep him warm as the evening started to get colder. He wore a black jacket over the top and the skinniest black jeans he owned to accentuate his sharp corners.5 Half of his red locks had been tied back into a bun, the rest left hanging in loose curls to his shoulders. Finishing the look he wore his favourite snakeskin boots, signature sunglasses and a chain necklace.
“No! No, not at all.” Aziraphale said quickly waving his hands in front of him. “On the contrary, you look positively dashing my dear.”
“Ngk. Thanks!” Crowley blushed, looking away. “Thanks for sorting the table out, and turning the lights on.”
Aziraphale smiled. “You’re welcome, although, I’m sorry, I can’t work out how to use this contraption.” He pointed to the stereo.
Crowley chuckled and held his hand out for the CD “Here, leave it to me.”
Seconds later, the music started.
And the doorbell rang.
“That will be them!” Crowley exclaimed and noticed Aziraphale gazing into the house, brows furrowed, hands fidgeting with his waistcoat.
“Angel, it will be fine,” Crowley said, placing a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’ll go let them in ok, you just… hang about here.”
Aziraphale nodded, Crowley gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze before making his way to the front of the house.
Five dark clad individuals stood on the doorstep, Hastur and Ligur, the chaotic duo of the group6, were considered inseparable and spent their days in Tadfield lurking in dark corners pulling over-the-top pranks on unsuspecting passerby’s, although their so called pranks had a habit of going too far. They leered at Crowley with dark beady eyes.
Dagon looked uninterested inspecting her nails, she wore a dark jacket decorated with shining sequins that looked almost like scales, long flowing ginger hair that fell to her waist, tied up in a tight braid.
Beelzebub, short and scrawny with short, jet-black hair and dark eyes to match stood arms crossed and hip cocked to one side, scowling at Crowley in a way that he could only ever dream of achieving.
Stood in the middle was Lucifer, their leader, he had short sandy blonde hair which he kept artfully tousled at the front, sharp jawline, broad shoulders, dark auburn brown eyes that appeared crimson when the light hit them just right, a voice as smooth as honey.
Fuck, he was gorgeous.
“Hullo.” Crowley squeaked.
“Good evening, Crowley.” Lucifer greeted with a shark like grin. “Happy birthday.”
“Oh, thanksss.” Crowley responded. “Uh, come in, party is out back, on the patio.”
Crowley moved to the side to allow the group in, all except Lucifer stormed passed and marched towards the back of the house.
“Did you complete our assignments?” Lucifer asked.
Ah, yes, the condition.
The Demons had agreed to attend Crowley’s party on the understanding that Crowley would help them with their science homework. The subject was astronomy, and Crowley was no stranger to his peers seeking his help on the subject. So he had agreed on the assumption that he would be tutoring the Demons, or hanging out with them and advising whilst they work.
Instead when he suggested such things to them, Hastur, Ligur and Dagon had told him under no uncertain terms to fuck off. Beelzebub, well… they didn’t do the homework, exactly, but they did sit down with Crowley in the library and listen to his passionate lectures. Sure, they didn’t take any notes, and looked extremely fucking bored throughout, but at least they were listening.
Not that it meant anything in the end, as Lucifer had walked over, smiled sweetly, and asked Crowley if the lectures were really appropriate and wouldn’t it be so much easier if Crowley just completed the homework for them?
So, Crowley had ended up completing all five assignments plus his own, alone, thanks to several late nights and many visits to his mum’s coffee machine.
“Oh, uh, yeah, they are upstairs” Crowley stuttered.
“Can we have them.”
“Oh, n-now?” Crowley asked. Lucifer nodded. “Er, y- yeah, sure I’ll just… go get them.”
“Excellent.” Lucifer said and sauntered towards the back of the house.
Crowley re-entered the patio, assignments in hand, to find Aziraphale had separated himself from the party standing in the arbour entryway, as far away as possible from the demons, apparently interested in something on the wooden beam. The Demon’s had spread themselves out amongst the seating area and food table all scowling in Aziraphale’s general direction.
Coincidentally, “Under Pressure” played in the background.
“Crowley,” Lucifer started, hand outstretched as Crowley handed the assignments to him, “What music is this?”
“Uh, ‘s Queen, and… Bowie?” Crowley responded, Lucifer looked confused. “David Bowie?” Crowley clarified.
Lucifer scowled.
“I- I can put something different on. I have-”
“I’ll handle it.” Beelzebub interrupted, shrugging off a battered looking backpack and pulling out a CD. They strode over to the stereo.
“Wait, you can’t do that!” Aziraphale shouted. All eyes turned on him, five pairs glaring. “This is Crowley’s party! You cannot just- just barge in and-”
“I think you’ll find we were invited.” Lucifer said, voice low and eyes dark, narrowed at Aziraphale.
Aziraphale clenched his fists at his side. “Perhaps. However, this is still Crowley’s party, and this is the music that he wants to play, you can’t just change it to whatever takes your fancy-”
“It’s alright, Aziraphale.” Crowley interrupted.
“But, but Crowley-” Aziraphale spluttered.
“I said it is fine. Aziraphale.” Crowley insisted, teeth clenched. “This music is not that great anyway.”
Aziraphale, slumped and sighed in resignation and leaning back against the arbour, once again becoming interested with some flaking wood on the beam. Crowley turned back to Beelzebub and nodded his head. They removed Crowley’s carefully curated playlist, switching it out for their own CD and turning the volume up to full.
Loud, heavy guitars filled the silence moments later followed by vocals that were less singing and more screeching. Crowley couldn’t understand a single lyric.
The Demons cheered, Hastur and Ligur jumping up on the patio sofa playing air guitar and making odd expressions that often involved sticking their tongues out7, Dagon began shaking their head side to side rapidly, eventually getting in lost in a strange trance. Bee sauntered back and leaned against the wall, Lucifer joining them, watching his friends contentedly.
Aziraphale scrunched his face, placed his hands over his ears and backed farther away into the garden.
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A tense hour passed. The music Beelzebub had selected continued blaring throughout the patio. Hastur and Ligur had abandoned their air guitar instead were now playing some sort of game that involved violently pushing each other around, Crowley thanked someone that he had opted to decorate the patio with electric candles. The other three Demons crowded the food table helping themselves to sweets and slices of cake. Dagon occasionally joining Hastur and Ligur to dance along to the music.8
Crowley had been attempting light conversation with the Demons and he was making progress! Hastur and Ligur were still entirely uninterested, and stared Crowley down like threatened dogs when he got too close to them.9 However, he had managed to get a few murmurs from Dagon, and had a surprisingly enlightening conversation with Beelzebub about insects, of all things.
Crowley had spent most of the party talking to Lucifer though, who had seemed increasingly interested in Crowley. Smiling at his quips and occasionally sliding a little closer into Crowley’s personal space. At one point he even pushed a stray hair from Crowley’s face, fingers lingering to stroke Crowley’s cheek.
It made Crowley feel hot, and his legs a little wobbly, if he were honest.
Needing air, Crowley quickly excused himself and stepped off the patio.
He spotted Aziraphale, who had retreated far into the garden, the sun had set and Crowley could only just make him out thanks to the dull glow of the patio lighting. He sat on the grass leaning back against Crowley’s garden shed, staring longingly at the food table.
He does realise that he can help himself, doesn’t he?
Crowley returned to the table, trying very hard to ignore Lucifer’s smouldering eyes and filled up a plate with various treats, including a slice of the incredible cake. He poured a glass of orange juice and delivered the goods to Aziraphale, who once again rewarded Crowley with a beaming smile.
Oh wow, Crowley’s legs were apparently still quite wobbly…
Aziraphale’s smile dimmed however, when he looked in The Demon’s direction as they started roaring with laughter, at what, Crowley wasn’t sure.
“You alright?” Crowley asked softly, kneeling down on the grass.
“Tickety-boo, my dear.” Aziraphale responded with a tight smile and picked at a chocolate biscuit. “Just, a tad overwhelmed. I suppose.”
Crowley grimaced “’M sorry, angel. I- I know I’ve been ignoring you the past hour or so-“
“Crowley. It’s fine, this is your party, you are supposed to mingle.” Aziraphale said, nibbling at the biscuit. “We see each other all the time.”
“Still doesn’t make it right.” Crowley said guiltily.
“It’s fine, Crowley. Please don’t feel guilty.” Aziraphale sighed.
He picked at a piece of cake, a small moan escaping as he took a bite.
Crowley grinned. “The wonders of Mrs Fell’s baking, eh.”
Aziraphale blushed. “I suppose. Actually, my dear, if it is alright with you I was thinking I might go inside for a spell? This bebop, or whatever it is, is giving me quite the headache, I’m afraid.”
Crowley smiled softly, he couldn’t blame Aziraphale, the music was not necessarily to Crowley’s taste either, in fact he felt like he was getting a bit of a headache as well. “Yeah of course, you can go upstairs and sit in my room for a bit if you like. Once the party is over we can watch a movie or something, just the two of us?”
Aziraphale brightened at that. “Or, perhaps, watch the stars? After all, isn’t it extremely important that you do some stargazing tonight?”
Crowley huffed out a laugh and looked up at the stars. Clear skies tonight. “I s’pose you’re right. Okay, we’ll watch the stars once the Demons are gone.”
Aziraphale smiled. “That sounds wonderful, my dear.”
Crowley walked Aziraphale to the patio door, and the angel disappeared inside the house. He tried to hand the plate of food back to Crowley who frowned and told him to take it inside with him. Crowley made sure Aziraphale was safely inside and as he was about to turn around and rejoin the party Beelzebub had snuck up behind him and tapped his shoulder with a sharp finger.
“Ouch!” Crowley yelped, rubbing at his shoulder.
“Hey,” Beelzebub said, hands on hips. “so, Lucifer just mentioned to me that he would like to speak to you, privately. If you catch my meaning.”
“Wot?” Crowley looked over to Lucifer, who was smirking, handsomely, and winked. “Ngk! P-private?”
“Yep. You got anywhere the two of you can, you know, talk?” Beelzebub asked, with a surreal, uncharacteristic wiggle of their eyebrows.
“Uh, erm, yeah, Th-the shed… we can- we can talk in the shed…” Crowley stammered.
“Great, I’ll let him know, the rest of us are going to head off whilst you two talk.” They winked and returned to Lucifer, who was still staring at Crowley.
Well… this was a thing.
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Crowley waited anxiously inside the tiny shed. The faint glow of the moonlight through the solitary window served as the only source of light filtering into the confined space. With his sunglasses on Crowley couldn't see a blessed thing, but after debating the merits of removing them he had decided against it.
Going into this blind had to better than the alternative, after all.
The music outside stopped, and a few seconds passed until Crowley heard Beelzebub speak.
“Crowley is waiting for you inside the shed…”
Oh shit! This was it! Lucifer would be here any second!
Rubbing his clammy palms against his jeans, Crowley leaned against the back of the shed in what he prayed was a pose that radiated cool, calm and collected. Seconds later the soft squeak of the shed door opening almost made Crowley’s heart stop beating altogether. He could just make out a shadowy figure standing in the doorway.
“I didn’t think you would come…” Crowley heard himself say, his companion remaining silent. Crowley held his hands out in front of him, palms facing up, hoping, praying that Lucifer would take them, desperate for the physical contact but not trusting his long, clumsy legs to propel him forward.
Lucifer did take hold of Crowley’s hands, moving them to intertwine their fingers. Lucifer’s fingers were warm, soft and a bit thicker than Crowley had expected, but that was okay, they fit between Crowley’s long slim fingers as if this was their sole purpose, as if their hands had been made to do exactly this.
Perfect.
Crowley never wanted to let go, he wanted to hold on to that warmth forever. As he felt the other man begin to draw in closer, he couldn’t help the question that escaped, as if to clarify that this was not a dream that he was about to wake up from just as it was getting to the good bit.
“Lucifer?”
“What? No. Crowley, it's Aziraphale.”
“Azira-?” Crowley tore his hands away, the moment shattering as he lifted his glasses, and yes, right there in front of him stood Aziraphale, glowing in the dim moonlight, wide-eyed, mouth agape, his hands frozen in midair.
“Where’s Lucifer?” Crowley demanded.
“H-he left with the others,” Aziraphale stammered, his fingers starting to curl as realisation kicked in. “Beelzebub, th- they told me that you were in here, they said that you wanted to speak with me in priva-”
“What do you mean he left?” Crowley growled. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Me!?” Aziraphale exclaimed, face hardening from horror to outrage. One hand slapped his chest the other lowered to his side, fist clenched tightly. “I didn't do anything! You saw me go inside for goodness sake. I only popped back downstairs to-”
“You must have done something!”
“I did not!”
“Then why are they leaving?” Crowley yelled, pointing towards the patio where The Demon’s had been only a few minutes ago. “Why is he leaving?”
“Because they are not your friends Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted.
The shed fell silent as Aziraphale’s outburst echoed within the confined space. Crowley glared at his friend who had lost all confidence, reverting back to wide eyed horror. If one looked closely Aziraphale’s eyes were starting to glisten.
“What?” Crowley asked, voice low.
Aziraphale grimaced. “When I came downstairs…” he started, “…The Demons, they- they were heading for the front door with your homework and a lot of party food. They even took what was left of Mother’s cake.” Aziraphale’s eyes downcast as he started wringing his hands violently. “They- They told me that you had ended the party abruptly, and- and- and that you were in here, and you wanted to speak to me, privately.” Aziraphale pressed a hand to his chest and lifted his head, expression soft, sorrowful. “They were leaving, Crowley.”
“You’re lying.” Crowley said. His body tensing.
“Oh, my dear…” Aziraphale sighed softly. “I’m so sorry, I- I truly, truly wish I was. I know how badly you wanted to impress them…”
Crowley didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, really. He was frozen, his body turned to ice. How could this be happening? He thought things had been going so well. Okay, maybe not with Hastur and Ligur, but Crowley was positive he had been making progress with the others, he had even managed to get some semblance of a conversation out of Beelzebub.
And Lucifer was flirting with him, wasn’t he?
Had this been a ruse this whole time? Was this part of some great plan the Demon’s had set in motion? All because they couldn’t be bothered to do some bloody homework?
Crowley must have looked so desperate.
Fuck.
“But, you know…” Aziraphale’s voice startled Crowley out of his internal whirlwind. “…you can do so much better than them, my dear. I mean, you shouldn’t have to buy friendship, if you can even call it friendship, and-”
“Oh Aziraphale fuck off!” Crowley snapped, lunging forward. He grabbed his friend by the lapels of his jacket and shoved Aziraphale unceremoniously out of the shed. Aziraphale landed with a thump on the grass and before either of them could fully process what had happened Crowley had turned back inside, slamming the door shut and turning the lock.
Crowley paced the limited space of his shed, his long angry strides causing the pots and tools on the shelves to rattle which only grated his nerves further.
Humiliated, he was so, so humiliated.
How could he have been so fucking stupid?
Of course it had been a trick, this was the Demons after all. They are not exactly known for their wonderfully good deeds, and hell, Crowley had been warned about them enough times.
There was a reason he felt like he belonged with them, after all.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale called, from the sounds of it he was standing right outside the shed door. “Please let me in.”
“I thought I told you to FUCK. OFF.” Crowley seethed, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers dislodging the hair tie and lightly pulling on the strands as they shot through his soft locks in an attempt to prevent his mind from spiralling.
“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale pleaded. “I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t mean to upset you-”
“I DON’T CARE. GO AWAY.”
Crowley kicked the shelf sending several plant pots hurtling towards to the ground with a loud SMASH.
“Crowley… what was-, are you hurt?”
“I DON’T NEED YOU AZIRAPHALE.” Crowley screeched. “I DON’T NEED YOU. LEAVE ME ALONE!”
A heavy, deep silence descended upon them. Crowley held his breath, counting the seconds by the rapid pulsing of his breaking heart. After several beats the angel outside muttered “alright.” Followed by the distinct sound of footsteps on gravel growing distant as Aziraphale walked away.
Crowley was alone.
Exhausted, he leaned back against the shed and sunk to the ground, wiping tears that had finally begun to fall until something sparkled in the corner of his eye.
A book?
Oh, Aziraphale’s book. It must have fallen after Crowley had kicked the shelf.
Crowley picked up the book, smoothing out the page. It had fallen on the the beautiful illustration of an angel and a demon sitting under a meteor shower. The starry ink sparkled brightly in the moonlight.
It also smudged when a single tear fell onto the page.
“Nononono.” Crowley whispered, lowering his glasses to prevent anymore errant tears from ruining Aziraphale’s precious work. He hadn’t even had the book for more than a couple of hours and already he had managed to ruin it.
That was the problem though, Crowley destroyed everything he touched.
Aziraphale had worked hard for weeks, months, crafting the perfect gift for Crowley. Crowley, through his own negligence, had already wrecked said gift.
Aziraphale, despite his fear of The Demon’s, defended Crowley at his own party, even though he had never been able to defend himself. Crowley had invited them despite knowing how they mistreated his friend.
Aziraphale had offered Crowley comfort. Crowley had, quite literally pushed his friend away.
Aziraphale was good, and kind, and wrong.
Wrong in believing that Crowley could ever be the same.
Crowley was not good, or kind, or any of those other four letter words. He certainly did not deserve the friendship Aziraphale gave willingly.
Yet, the one place Crowley thought he might find camaraderie had taken the earliest opportunity possible to betray his trust.
Crowley truly was alone.
Perhaps that was for the best.
Sighing, Crowley placed the book gently onto the floor a safe distance away and curled in on himself. Hugging his legs, he wept, allowing the tears to fall freely now that the book was out of harms way.
And if the tear stained ink shone a little brighter? Well, that was probably just a trick of the light.
- Which, was pretty fucking stellar in his opinion. [ ▲ ]
- Crowley may think the Demons are cool, but even he was not about to risk actual candles around them. He had heard the rumours about the the arson attack on Tadfield Manor. [ ▲ ]
- Jumping the fence, as it turned out, had become a common occurance leading to more than one accident. The Fells and Francessca had come to an agreement to have a gate installed before one of their sons did something ridiculous like lose a limb. [ ▲ ]
- He had a tendancy to ease newbies into his method of gardening, and it would not do for existing plants to think he was going soft. [ ▲ ]
- He had spent most of the time upstairs laying in various positions attempting to get the jeans on. [ ▲ ]
- Putting it lightly. [ ▲ ]
- Crowley made a mental note to clean the seats before his mother notices. [ ▲ ]
- If you can really call whatever they were doing dancing. [ ▲ ]
- Crowley was certain he even heard one of them growling at one point. [ ▲ ]