Chapter Text
Soho, Bookshop, 2020
Crowley looked around him defiantly. It was dark. All right. So it was night. That was good, right? Had to mean they were safe.
“Aziraphale?”
The angel carefully settled the Sumerian box on his desk before turning to look at his friend. “Yes, dear?”
“Are you sure we’re out of it?”
“Absolutely. It is over, Crowley. How did it go on your end?”
The demon nodded. “Good. Good. Didn’t talk a lot. Didn’t talk at all, actually...”
“Is something the matter?” asked Aziraphale, frowning.
“Well… I don’t know! I’m almost sure we were supposed to talk during the rain, but I don’t remember exactly, so I ended up not talking at all. I hope I didn’t mess this up...”
Aziraphale smiled, his eyes sparkling.
“You do not remember our first conversation?”
This was not a good time to smile, in Crowley’s opinion. Not before they were sure everything was back to normal.
“Of course, I remember. Lead balloon, giving the sword, first offence and all… no, that’s after. The hours under the rain. I remember it was nice and I felt good, but not really what we talked about.”
“Oh, we did not. Not until the rain stopped and I told you I had to go to close the breach in the wall.”
Crowley blinked.
“Wait. I’m sure we talked. Don’t remember about what, but I’m sure we did.”
Aziraphale managed to look both happy and embarrassed at the same time. Crowley squinted his eyes.
“What did you do, angel?”
“Well, I couldn’t send Crawly back with a gap of several hours in his memories, right? I had to replace them with something.”
Crowley blinked again.
“What? Replace what?”
The angel tilted his head.
“You stayed in Eden for hours. I erased Crawly’s memories of his time here. I could not let him get back to Eden with no idea of what had happen to him.”
Oh. Yeah, one second he would have been sheltered by an angelic wing, and the next the sun would have set, the rain stopped and the angel been nowhere to be seen. No. That would have been a bad idea.
“I… didn’t think about that,” murmured the demon slowly.
Aziraphale hummed understandingly.
“I guess the idea of getting stuck 6000 years in the past was not really helping you to focus on those kinds of details.”
“So you mean that if I don’t remember what we talked about during the rain… It’s because it’s a fake memory you made up? And it’s always been there in my head, because that time travel thingy is part of my history since… Eden?”
Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, that is exactly that. But I can take it back now if you want, and give you Crawly’s memories instead. I didn’t destroy them, just buried them in his… well, your subconscious.”
Crowley stepped back with an offended gasp.
“Absolutely not! This is way too much fun! I had these fake memories before I activated that stupid box! That’s not Back to the Future! That’s Terminator!”
“I… beg your pardon?”
“Oh, angel, we have so many movies to watch… just remember I’m Sarah Connor. You’ll understand tonight.”
“Tonight? What is happening tonight?”
Crowley chuckled.
“I will not let you get out of the shop before you’ve seen Back to the Future AND Terminator. And I’m talking trilogies here. You’ll love it.”
The angel sat heavily at his desk with a loud sigh.
“Crowley… every time you say the word “trilogy”, my heart skips a beat. And not in a good way.”
“Oh come oooooon! You love my movies nights, angel!”
“I do not! That Colorado series was ridiculous!"
“For the love of… it’s Indiana, Aziraphale!”
“Colorado or Indiana, it was highly inaccurate. And where is Marion? Why did they break up? They were so adorable together!"
Crowley, who had loved Marion and had been highly disappointed by her absence in the sequels but wouldn’t admit it even under duress, snarled.
“That’s not the point, stupid. It’s an adventure story. Nobody cares about romance.”
“So, I assume there is no romance in your Future and Terminator movies either?”
Aziraphale braced himself. His friend had just lived a very stressful experience. He could endure a night of explosions and Deus ex machina to help him feel better.
The demon gasped in outrage.
“No romance? No romance in Back to the Future? Oh, angel, you have no idea! It’s the main story! You’ll love it!”
“If you say so, dear boy...”
A rush of angelic energy made both of their skin tingle, and for a second Crowley tensed, ready to fight.
“What have you two done this time?” exclaimed Raphael, appearing near the desk.
“Good day to you too,” answered Aziraphale coldly, getting on his feet.
“Metatron just told me to come here and retrieve the artifact before one of you makes another stupid mistake with it. What happened?” snapped the Archangel, clearly irate.
Well, thought Crowley, taking in Aziraphale’s hands, closed into fists at his sides, she was not the only one to be in a mood, and Archangel or not he was betting his money on his angel.
“I beg your pardon?” exclaimed the Principality, his eyes shining unnaturally. “A stupid mistake? Is that how Metatron described it? This thing could have killed us, Raphael! Crowley could have gotten stuck in the past! Do you have any idea of how dangerous it was to ask us to retrieve that thing without warning?”
“I told you to be careful around it!” yelled Raphael.
Bad move, thought Crowley with delight. Yelling at an angry Aziraphale was never the smart thing to do. Didn’t he know that.
“Oh, then everything is fine! You told us to be careful! How can I complain, then? Of course it was absolutely the same as telling us that this object could send our spirits millennium into the past.”
The angel’s voice was dripping so much sarcasm that even Gabriel would have recognised it. It wasn’t only his eyes but his entire corporation that was shining, now, and Crowley thought distractingly that he hadn’t seen him in such a state in a long time. Maybe he should step in before books started to get damaged.
“I wasn’t allowed to tell you more!”
Raphael’s voice echoed into the suddenly very quiet bookshop. Crowley saw his friend freeze on the spot, eyes wide opened.
“Who? Who told you to shut up?” snapped the demon.
“Was it Metatron again?” asked the angel with contempt. Aziraphale wasn’t Metatron biggest fan since Armageddon.
“No. Not Metatron.” answered the Archangel in a whisper.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” growled Crowley, anger building in his chest.
But already Aziraphale was deflating, eyes closed, trying to dissolve his fighting mood into ether.
“Oh. I see,” he said in a small voice.
This was unacceptable. Crowley hated it, hated to see his friend force himself to go back to the obedient, unassuming sad angel who didn’t ask questions just because God decreed he wasn’t on the need to know list. Something (his sanity and survival instinct, probably) snapped in the demon’s mind.
“Well, fuck you, Raphael! And fuck Her too!”
“Crowley!” gasped Aziraphale.
“Take your stupid little treasure and go back to Heaven, and you can tell God to shove it...”
“Crowley!” yelled Aziraphale in a voice the demon had never heard before.
His mouth snapped shut, but he was still glaring daggers at the Archangel.
“Go away, now, Raphael,” asked the angel coldly.
She hesitated for a second, but sighed and took the box in her arms, still wrapped up in the angel’s overcoat.
“I am sorry, truly” she admitted with a sad smile. “Take care of yourself, Aziraphale.”
And she disappeared.
“Oh, Crowley,” breathed the angel in a broken voice.
“I’m not sorry, angel. Don’t ask me to apologise, cause I won’t!”
“Apologise? Oh, my dear, why should you? I am the one who should ask your pardon.”
“Whot?” was the only reply Crowley could provide.
“I let my anger get the better part of me, and didn’t think of your feelings. My dear, this was really dangerous of you to say that. Please, never do this again.”
Crowley shrugged noncommittally. He had trouble dealing with Aziraphale when he looked so concerned. But no way in Heaven he was going to promise that kind of thing. The angel seemed to sense it, because his anguished expression morphed into that damned kicked-puppy-eyed one.
“Please, Crowley? I do not think I could bear to see you smote for blasphemy. And one sword is not enough to destroy Heaven single-handedly.”
Flames! He was such a sucker for those eyes.
“All right, all right! Just shut up, stupid.”
The angel’s face lit up like a beacon. The bastard.
“Oh, thank you, my dear!”
“Yeah, right, enough of that. What are we doing now? You kind of kicked Raphael out. Not a really smart move, in my opinion, making an enemy of the only Archangel that wasn’t already hating you.”
“I am sure she will see her error and ask for forgiveness.” answered Aziraphale with a serene smile.
“She won’t ask for forgiveness for obeying God, angel. You can’t ask that of her.”
“Well, I guess the Almighty will have to do it, then.” declared the angel with a pout, starting to gather the books he’d scattered around the place earlier in the day in his research.
“You’re… what? Wait, Aziraphale… did you just say you wanted God to apologise to us?”
“Of course not! That would be highly improper. Metatron should do it. He is Her spokesman after all.”
Crowley suddenly brightened up. Oh. OK, that he understood. This had nothing to do with God.
“You’re still angry at him for intercepting your call on Armageddon, right?”
The angel made a face, full of righteous indignation, and sent what was almost a glare at the ceiling.
“He was very rude about it. And he said that touching that box was a stupid mistake when it was perfectly normal, demonic curiosity.” he answered as he started putting the books back on their respective shelves. “If Heaven wants me to lend them a hand when needed in the future, then Metatron should apologise to you first. He put you into danger.”
Crowley smiled, touched to see his friend so pissed off in his behalf.
“Do you intend to help me with these, or to just watch me doing it, Crowley?”
“Watching is fine. Wouldn’t want to disturb your organisation. I know how important it is to you that each book is in the right place,” declared the demon virtuously.
Aziraphale shot his friend a fond smile and shook his head before getting back to work.
“You fiend.”
“That I am.”
Crowley smirked and aimed for the back room, thinking of ordering take out. Maybe Indian. The angel loved a good massala.
He disappeared through the door for about a minute, then came back with a strange, dazed expression on his face and sat on the desk. Aziraphale was still sorting out his books, humming an old melody.
Crowley drummed his fingers on the desk.
“Angel?”
“Yes, dear?”
“There’s Metatron in the back room.
The angel froze.
“He apologised to me,” added the demon. “Wants to talk to you too. Doesn’t look very happy, to be honest.”
Slowly, Aziraphale put his stack of books down, smoothed down his jacket and arranged his already perfect bow-tie, raised his chin and squared his shoulders.
“Well, it is about time,” he declared like the situation was perfectly normal.
Crowley followed him with awe.
The angel was wrong, he thought.
He could definitely take down Heaven single-handedly if he ever put his mind to it.