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Crowley slithered through the vents of the book shop looking down from the cracks at his angel humming to himself as he sorted through a large shipment of books. Occasionally he would pause and open the newly printed book, frowning. Then after scanning thoroughly through the pages, he would decide whether they went into the pile that was safe from ever being purchased or if it was worth parting with.
A strange warmth settled inside the demon watching his angel hug a tome close to him, a content smile on his face as he mumbled to himself ‘for later’ stacking it atop another equally large pile that would be transferred to the upstairs loft.
His system was simple once you understood him, front books were newer prints and second additions he was willing to part with but being the bastard he was, he had to deem you worthy enough to take his precious books.
The books stuffing the middle shelves to the brim were books he always allowed scholars and students read in shop, he quite enjoyed regaling those select few with tidbits and fantastical stories about the authors and his own viewing of the books and how he would often heavily debate the themes he found over wine with the authors.
The farther towards the back you became, the less inclined he was to allow you to even touch these books. They were his delicate additions that required repairs and he had been working on repairing since 1880.
His signed first additions, misprints and any book that touched that vast heart of his in the right way, were always stored on the second floor, while many could view his favored books entering the store, they weren’t permitted access. There were thick red velvet ropes stretching across the staircase entrance and a handwritten ‘Do Not Climb over Rope, please’ taped with care in the center.
The most delicate scrolls dating back to the early centuries of man were safely stored in a safe in his office, adjusted to just the right temperature to keep preserved for thousands of more years. Documents, both personal and historical were stored there. Once in a blue moon a scholar may persuade the angel to let them peak at these items, but they were never permitted to touch. A step too close to the precious scribes and scrolls would be an instant ban from the book shop.
The great library may have been gone but Crowley believed it had found new life in the form of Aziraphale. Each scrap of paper that passed through the door was treated as priceless and worthy of restoration and preservation. Squinting hard enough, Crowley felt a tad disgusted to find what looked like garbage stacked with care under the register desk. Old receipts and damaged news papers he would restore and then crate in his poor basement overflowing with heavy crates. Crowley really needed to have a word with the angel about what needed to be saved for historical reasons. He really didn’t know why future scholars would need to read the local gossip paper or why he needed to have record of every book he bought or sold. There was nesting and there was hoarding if you asked Crowley and Aziraphale was leaning dangerously close to hoarding and he needed an intervention before he found a reason to preserve candy wrappers.
Mr. Fell was known to buy books, many desperate faces over the years had treated his shop as a bit of a pawn store. There were shelves dedicated to personal items that were never collected again, family albums and journals and favorite bedtime stories from no ones the angel generously paid for these loved items. They were crammed along the walls in overflowing shelves waiting for owners that would never come back but Aziraphale had never tossed them out.
Slithering along, Crowley caught site of an old brown hat and a well-loved scarf that had been hanging on the angel’s coat rack since ’84 but he had yet to thrown out despite never intending to wear it. Did Crowley think he was leaning towards hoarding? He took it back, the angel never discarded anything, he was a true-blue hoarder and Crowley feared the day they moved in together. Crowley liked perfection and demanded a sense of style to his home. Aziraphale liked delicately stashing anything he could get his hands on and presenting it for everyone to see but never touch.
Crowley wanted to live in a fashion magazine to be envied by all, Aziraphale wanted to live in a museum to share with man as long as they respected his boundaries.
He hissed lowly, the closest he could get to a snicker in this form, seeing Aziraphale step around a shelf and stand perfectly under the large E crafted by Aziraphale himself on the boarder of the second floor. The compass to guide all through the chaos of knowledge; the guardian of the Eastern Gate guarding the East wing of shelves from any beast wishing to partake in his forbidden artifacts.
Crowley thought of emerging from his hiding hole and giving the angel a scare when he heard the doorbell tinkle.
“FELL!”
Crowley instinctively hissed at the large burly man marching into the shop and screaming like that. The man was staggering about, lumbering his way into the shop, knocking down stacks his angel had just gotten done sorting.
“FELL!”
The lumbering ox bellowed again slamming his ragged boot into one of the angel’s books. Aziraphale appeared from around the corner before Crowley had a chance to put distance between the two.
“Please,” Aziraphale began bringing his hands forward, an invisible wall firmly telling the man to keep distance, “There is no need to shout my good man. I am not deaf.”
“Ya might as bloody well be!” the man spat ignoring Aziraphale’s boundaries entirely and grabbing fistfuls of the angel’s jacket and slamming him against a bookshelf. Aziraphale winced, Crowley saw red, Aziraphale was often sensitive to touch. The closer someone was, the more overwhelming their emotions were for him. He once told Crowley how even positive emotions could become too much very quickly, he despised when even the kindest humans hugged him without permission and shot their pure ecstasy too quickly into him instead of allowing him to naturally adjust to it.
“I fucking told ya not ta give my fucking son money for his garbage!” he slammed Aziraphale harder into the side of the shelf making it wobble and groan, “And ya fucking did anyway and now he’s god damn gone!”
“It was not garbage,” Aziraphale spat at the man attempting to loosen the hold but the man doubled down, slamming him hard against the shelf once more, “It was your daughter’s favorite book. It was given to her by her best friend who died. You have no right calling it—”
“My son were normal till he started hanging around you, you southern pansy! You and your fucking books!”
For emphasis the man kicked over another stack making Aziraphale give out a cry of pain for his precious books. He didn’t seem too bothered by the man now tightening his hands around his neck and screaming nonsense at him about his child running away because of the angel and not his appalling behavior. There was a deep-rooted sadness at the man abusing his books and making them fall from the shelf he was trapped against.
Crowley didn’t waste anymore time dragging the man forcefully away from his angel, kicking him to the curb and giving him a swift kick in the rear for good measure. He gripped his fist as the man tossed a casual homophobic slur towards him and accused him of doing something crude with children when he glanced back to see Aziraphale leaning against the door way, shaking his head.
“Let the neighbors call the police, dearest, it is not our duty any longer to interfere in pitiful lives such as his.”
Crowley, never one to follow directions to a T gave the man a swift kick in the ribs as he tried to rise from the ground, sending him toppling over once more into the gutter like the garbage he was. He spat on him for good measure to Aziraphale’s mounting displeasure before turning away. He noticed his angel’s thick bruising around his neck and ran gentle fingers across them fading them and the pain instantly.
He snarled towards the man getting off the ground, yelling more abuse towards them and with a snap, the shop was closed and locked down for the day.
He kept his mouth shut until Aziraphale began picking up the books knocked around the shop and finally couldn’t take it anymore.
“Why were you letting that man treat you so?” he demanded.
“I let them get it out of their system first,” Aziraphale stated firmly, “I only resort to violence if needed.”
“Out of their system?” Crowley spat towards the books scattered on the ground, in an instant they were back in place knowing better then to provoke the demon.
“What you let them hurt you awhile first and then once you are all nice and bruised,” he swept his hands angrily towards Aziraphale’s jacket where the man had grabbed him, “Then you just let them leave?”
“I would rather him take his aggression on me then his poor wife who won’t leave or his daughter who finally found the courage to,” Aziraphale said with a shake of his head, “It is not my place to punish Crowley. Even if I am not with Heaven any longer, it is not my job to make certain every mortal is punished for their deeds. And that’s what it would be if I step in and stop them from just getting it out. I could kill them in a fight and a miracle was not needed here, I never know when Heaven will permanently cut off my supply of those and would rather not waste them on people like him.”
“Let me guess,” Crowley grumbled flopping down on fainting chair behind the register, “It’s ineffable?”
Aziraphale said nothing positioning himself across Crowley’s chest and allowing the demon to snake his arms tightly around him, protectively holding him.
“Everything is part of her plan Crowley and I would rather not intervene unless I must.”
Crowley swallowed his insult towards Her and Heaven and just let his anger wash away holding his angel. If Aziraphale wasn’t going to protect himself at least he always had a demon watching over him.
Aziraphale’s safety and happiness were a nonnegotiable deal for Crowley, if her ineffable plan didn’t include them, well he was fine being damned.