Chapter Text
Technically speaking, Muriel hadn’t been exactly correct either. Jesus, or Joshua as he’d much rather call himself, was not in heaven, nor hell, nor even earth. He was in the elevator.
If you’d asked Jesus his thoughts in that moment, he might’ve spoken of how the cross wasn’t a distant dream to him, but a recent memory, the time between then and now just one long celestial nap. Or perhaps he would’ve expressed hope and even excitement towards seeing his friends and family again, hoping anyone he knew might still be alive in whatever day and age he’d soon find himself. More than anything though, he was likely to be thinking about why he was here. Why now for the second coming? Unfortunately, he was the lone occupant of that elevator, and so, the single sound that rang out to break the silence was the ding of arrival. Jesus had made it to Earth. Again.
This information was, however, not broadcasted as it perhaps should’ve been, and so as the messiah stepped out onto the streets of London, no one spared him a second glance. Truly, Joshua might’ve wandered a while, taking in culture and society at random, if not for a piercing and familiar noise. Amoungst the alien honk of cars and crass smells of Berwick Street, a bell rang out. This would be the reentry of Crowley, ducking inside the bookshop with a fresh bottle in hand. Finding himself with only ringing and a flash of ratty red hair to guide his way, Jesus exited the elevator and headed towards the bookshop.
Dust coated every surface. Not in the normal way it tended to in Aziraphale’s bookshop, no, this was a layer of neglect sticking to every surface. The angel’s absence was a tangible feeling in the air, mixing with Crowley’s sorrow to foster uncomfortable feelings far stronger than any that, previously, had been purposefully placed upon the building. Despite the inherent heaviness in the room, it still seemed to Joshua to be deserted, but of course, as we already know, that wasn’t quite true.
Indeed, this bookshop still found itself home to one occupant. One demon to be precise, curled underneath the space’s only desk, serpentine and disheveled under tartan throw blankets. This though, wasn’t readily apparent at a first glance, and so as Crowley remained temporarily undisturbed, The Son of God found himself exploring.
Although there were books positively everywhere, the first thing Joshua noted, as he gingerly wandered through, was that the floor was littered with what could only be described as garbage. Wine dripped out of bottles into stains in the carpet, partially empty dishes leaned against each other precariously, and there was at least one pair of broken glasses, judging by the bent metal frames and glints of dark and sharp buried in the shag of said carpet. This did serve to unsettle Joshua, but not much can fully deter someone who has been a vessel for all human suffering. He made one last effort and spoke aloud.
“Excuse me? Is there anyone around? I’m looking for…well I don’t quite know to be honest, but-,” He was cut off, unceremoniously, with a groan.
“Whosat?” The words, slurred together as they were, emitted from what, to Joshua, seemed to be the desk itself. “If it’s another one of- hic-,” The demon interrupted himself with a sad belch before continuing, vitriol clear in his tone. “Another of ‘His Supr- his supremenessesses little-, his righteous errand boys; I don’t want any part of it!” Crowley swayed to a sitting position at that, narrowly avoiding hitting his head in the process. He started to mutter again, presumably something about lousy angels and the state of affairs. He might have continued as such if that runaway train of thought wasn’t rudely interrupted by the eyes of the two finally meeting.
Warm brown reflected itself quite well within gold. Crowley, being firstly, ‘the demon we know him to be’, and secondly, ‘exactly who he’s always been’, dealt with this impossibility promptly and as he always had. By picking up another bottle.
“Oh! You’re- I know you!” Jesus exclaimed joyfully. It’s really a rather reasonable reaction. You see, he’d started to become rather disheartened with the whole…way everything was, and a familiar face really was the pick me up he’d needed. Especially one with flaming red hair who, if he wasn’t mistaken, was a real help on his last go around. Sure he looked a little worse for wear (‘this was, of course, an under-exaggeration of epic proportions, Crowley had scarcely ever looked worse. But Jesus wouldn’t be the savior of the world if his kindness wasn’t perhaps, slightly overzealous.) but maybe, he assumed, that was just the style of the times.
“You can help me! …can you? Help me? I know I’m supposed to be spreading joy and peace amoung the people of the earth, and I was wondering if you had any…advice? On that front? It really has been quite a while since I’ve been on earth, you know that ‘well as I do…actually.” Joshua finished softly before he seemed to finally take in the state Crowley was in. His eyes sharpened with resolve, someone in need? He was back in his element.
Joshua crouched down, out of place with the surrounding clutter and yet still looking perfectly content, if not a little concerned. The two’s eyes met again, Crowley far too drunk, even despondent, to register the lack of his typical eyewear. He shivered but didn’t shy away, clutching the throw ever tighter around his lanky frame as if it could protect him as well as any armor. Joshua, seeing his lack of verbal response as an invitation to continue, did just that.
“Mr. Crawly? What is it that’s been bothering you? Or I can start with a story if you’d rather…?” He began, a bit unsure of how to go about this. The last time they’d seen each other he’d been the bright eyed boy eager to learn about the world, and while this was similar in a strange amount of ways, it was still decidedly different. Regardless, he was determined to try.
“Crowley…s’ Crowley now.” Crowley croaked out, voice rough with disuse or sorrow, though to Jesus it was unclear which.
“‘Crowley…,” Joshua murmured, testing it out just as much as he was committing it to memory. The demon flinched at his words, and Joshua, incorrectly but fairly assuming it was his fault, quickly spoke up again. “I don’t mean any offense, it suits you I think!” He smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. “You’ve changed.”
Crowley ripped his gaze away sharply and Joshua frowned, confused. “Changed.” The demon spat the word into the space between them. “I’m the one who’s- who’s changed, isn’t that just ir- orionic- ir-,” Crowley struggled on the word, which, in and of itself is ironic, for far longer than he’d in his right mind admit, before simply substituting a simpler and cruder alternative.
Jesus raised his arms in a surrendering gesture, meant likely to placate, but Crowley, not fancying another lecture about how vulgar language shouldn’t be an avenue to repress true emotion, pushed forward. “M’ still here!” He swung his arm out wildly, a gestation that Jesus barely managed to duck around. “In his book…place, just- just waiting round and letting any old mortals take pity on me, for Satan’s sake! Lookit-,” He points at one of the tallest dish stacks, shoved against what used to be a pristinely loved section of 1st addition mysteries. “-don’t even need to eat, I’mma demon.” His voice dipped and flowed with sarcasm, only slightly undermined by his pouting lip. “Sentimental, s’ what it is. Stupid sentimental…” He trailed off, slumping backwards into a sprawl, staring at the ceiling as if it could give him any sort of worthwhile closure.
Jesus also stared off blankly, his mind split between trying to keep up with everything Crowley had said and deciding if any parable could be a help here. Eventually however, he found himself also looking up towards the plaster of the bookshop’s ceiling, hands left to fidget with the carpet beneath them both. Several strangely calm moments passed before either attempted to speak again.
In the end it was Joshua who broke the silence, tentative as he began. “So, a while ago, a long while ago I suppose, we were sailing. Well technically, my friends were. I was, in all honesty, fully and completely asleep.” He chuckled to himself before continuing. He didn’t look towards Crowley, rightfully caught up as he was in the thrill of storytelling. Truthfully though, he didn’t make it halfway to the fun walking on water bit before Crowley interrupted.
“You should go.” He sounded slightly clearer than he had before, but colder too, the wanton emotions that were previously on full display gone, locked within eyes covered by familiar glasses. Jesus wanted to question when he’d even found time to put those on, but Crowley continued before he could get another word out. “You’re trying to help, got that. S’ not that simple though, not something you can really fix with plat- pladi- words.” He cut himself off, frustrated, but then, so quiet Joshua had to strain to hear,
“Believe me, I tried.”
Crowley stood quickly thereafter, limbs still askew and more than a little frantic, making it look as though he’d been lifted by invisible strings. “Someone else’ll be more help than me.” He demanded, more to himself than anything else, a soothing technique that didn’t work so well with no fussy angel present to argue the other side. He stumbled around, scanning the books intently as he spoke. “I mean, there’s always Gabriel and Beelzebub, the insufferable two of them, but Alpha Centauri? No I- no.” Joshua, at this point, had started to unceremoniously drift away, but tuned back in as Crowley said: “-and does Adam even still qualify as one of us? Did he ever? Antichrist and all, it’s a lousy birthright so I see why the kid would blow it off, and in the end that was to our favor so I can’t say much. Tadfield was…mushy, but Hell’s worse. Very worse.”
To my (all-knowingly extensive) knowledge, Crowley threw out at least a half dozen more options and found at least two more bottles in that same process. By the time he’d finally realized he was alone once more, sleep had seemed much more inviting than mulling over the mess he’d just exacerbated.
Two places to start, that seemed to Joshua to be enough. It wasn’t as if he’d been trying to give up on Crowley by any means, but it’s awfully hard to get through to an inebriated man who won’t stop interrupting, an unfortunate experience that Joshua found held up just the same in modern times as it had used to. So, The Messiah, Savior of the World and Son of God, found himself alone in SoHo for the second time in one day. This time though, he had a direction to go, if he could figure out how to get there.
Any self respecting human will tell you that hailing a taxi is a dreadfully dull and repetitive task, and perhaps even more so if you’re new to city life and don’t know proper protocol. Jesus was new to this current Earth entirely. In the interest of moving this tale along I won’t go into the details, but if asked, at least three separate humans would cite helping this kind curly haired young man as being one of the best experiences in their life. Suffice it to say, as Jesus slipped into the cab, his fare was guaranteed taken care of.
“Hello! Alpha Centauri please!” Settling into his seat, Joshua looked out with wonder as the city started to move outside his window.
“Is that a bar or something mate? Ain’t never heard of it if so, Tadfield’s lovely this time of year though, weather couldn’t be better out there.” Joshua smiled, a little bewildered by this sudden plan change, but, not wanting to overly question the man or upset him, he just nodded.
“Tadfield it is then.”