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Aziraphale had the bookshop open for around two hours now, and so far it had been an uneventful Tuesday. Just the way he liked it.
No one had attempted to buy anything yet though, so he counted it as a good day, and Crowley would be by later for lunch as well, which bumped the day up from good to great.
That is, until a customer came in to browse the shelves.
The man prowled around the store— picking up books, setting them back down, picking up others, and taking both in the end. The cycle repeated itself until the man had a growing stack of books. He must have come in with serious money if he was confident enough to pick up that many books, especially with the reputation this shop had among the book circles in London.
Aziraphale watched as the man put a fifth book on his stack when he heard the bell above the door give a pleasant tinkle, signaling another customer’s entrance. He barely suppressed a groan at the thought of having to deal with someone else hellbent on purchasing one of his prized books.
All of that stress melted away, however, when he saw that it was Crowley.
The demon pretended to browse the shelves for a moment, taking notice of the customer. Aziraphale gave him a pleading look, looking from him to the customer and back to him again. In turn, Crowley gave him a jaunty little wave before ultimately making his way over to a sun-soaked armchair in the main room. A newspaper unfolded from thin air, Infernal Times written in blocky letters on the front page, and the demon took a seat.
So much for getting help with this. It would seem that Aziraphale needed to deal with this one his own then. Fine.
“We’ll be closing in five minutes for lunch, sir.”
“I’m almost done here. Could you point me in the direction of the Wilde’s?”
“I’m afraid not,” Aziraphale replied with a snap of angelic fingers that swiftly moved his entire collection of Oscar Wilde books to the safety of the back room. “The ones I had were sold last week.”
This bloody man was relentless. None of Aziraphale’s tried and true tactics were working, the customer had a solution to everything. The till doesn’t take credit? No problem, he’s got cash. There’s not enough in the till for change? Don’t worry, he’s got exact change. One of the pound notes were fake? That’s a shame, but he’s got another one.
And to make matters worse, Crowley just sat there and enjoyed the show instead of offering his assistance, shit-eating grin on his face and all.
Though money wasn’t really important to celestial and occult beings, Aziraphale was seriously considering sticking Crowley with the lunch bill over this.
Aziraphale was just about to give in and sell the man a few of the books, at a truly outrageous price in one last attempt to dissuade him, when he noticed that Crowley was no longer sitting in the armchair. He was no where to be seen, actually, but the bell hadn’t rung, so he must have still been here.
The next thing he knew, the man across the counter screamed followed by a loud hissing sound.
Crowley.
“Ah, I see you’ve met my bookshop serpent.” Aziraphale said, rounding the corner and scooping up his demon in snake form. The snake curled around his neck snugly, almost smug at the turn of events if a snake could look smug. “He’s quite lovely isn’t he? And he keeps those dreadful mice away from the books too.”
“D-don’t bookshops normally have c-cats?” The man said, eyeing the snake nervously. It was almost as if the snake was looking straight at him, sizing him up. He unconsciously started backing away from the counter.
“I suppose some do.” Aziraphale scratched Crowley’s chin, causing the snake to purr. Could snakes purr? This one did, apparently. “Would you like to touch him?”
“N-no! Um, no, that’s fine, thank you. I’ll, uh, I’ll just be on my way then.” The man fled the shop, thankfully forgetting about the books.
The door had barely closed behind the man when Aziraphale found himself with an armful of human shaped demon instead of a demonic snake.
“Thank you, my dear. That was wonderful.”
“Don’t mention it, angel. What were you feeling for lunch?”
“What would you say to that French bistro by your flat?”
“Ssssounds perfect.”