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Where to? Asked the Bentley, silently.
Anywhere but here. Just go, Crowley replied without speaking.
The Bentley complied, steering itself through the London streets at breakneck speed, heading out of the city and into the countryside.
Crowley was reeling. In a few short minutes, his world has been turned upside down. Just when he’d finally mustered the courage to reveal to Aziraphale his real feelings for him, the angel had reversed course and had accepted a new assignment in Heaven as Gabriel’s replacement. Why in Satan’s name had the angel decided to trust Heaven yet again, after all they’d been through? Aziraphale knew that Heaven was dishonest, that it was ruthless, that it had tried to kill him (well, they thought it was him), that it had committed atrocities countless times throughout history. Since the failed apocalypse, the angel had distanced himself from his former Head Office and he and Crowley had become a team unto themselves. They’d been happily free of their vocational obligations for a while, just enjoying the Earth and each other’s company. Crowley had gotten quite used to it, reveled in it, and fervently hoped it would continue indefinitely. But as the angel said, nothing lasts forever. I should have known he’d revert to form, Crowley thought bitterly. He always has and he always will. He’s never had the backbone to stand up to Heaven. Always tries to please them, even while they are stabbing him in the back.
Not fair, said the Bentley in Crowley’s mind.
What!? Now I get an argument out of you too? I’m so done with this, Crowley thought. But he wasn’t done. Not really. Not yet.
How, pray tell, is it not fair? The angel ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped it into a bloody mess. But I’m the one who’s not being fair? Crowley scoffed.
He has stood up against Heaven, many times, in his own way. He’s even lied, opined the Bentley.
Ha! Well, that’s true enough. Aziraphale lies more than anyone I know. He won’t admit it, but he’s a consummate liar. And apparently he was lying when he said he wanted Heaven and Hell to leave us both alone. And that he needs me.
He wasn’t lying about that, and you know it, the Bentley replied.
Crowley hated when the Bentley was right. Then why the Heaven did he agree to go back and work for those toxic wankers? We could have had eternity together. Or at least however long we have left.
The Metatron got to him, the Bentley replied.
Got to him? How do you mean?
The Metatron brought him a coffee.
Yes, Crowley mentally replied, the angel is a sucker for good food and drink. So? A nice cup of coffee is enough for him to abandon his best friend, the only one who truly loves him, and run off back to Heaven to do their bidding?
You tell me, replied the Bentley.
You tell me, Crowley mocked sarcastically.
The Bentley continued to make its way out into the countryside. Crowley wasn’t paying attention to where they were going, he was too absorbed in his own thoughts. The Bentley sped past trees, fields, farms, and houses. One looked much like another. Countless stories, lives, loves taking place all along the way, all for nothing. All die in the end. Nothing lasts forever.
A coffee. Aziraphale had said that the Metatron had brought him a coffee. That maybe he’d misjudged the Metatron. That maybe he could do some good, could make a difference as Gabriel’s replacement in Heaven. He took the assignment without even knowing specifically what Heaven wanted him to do. Crowley guessed that it wouldn’t be good, whatever it was.
And that look the Metatron had given him right before he departed the bookshop for a “chin wag” with Aziraphale. At the time, Crowley thought it was mere professional animosity, the kind all angels had towards demons. But maybe it was something more. That look was infused not only with hatred but with smug superiority, and possessiveness. Possessiveness of his own beautiful angel who Crowley loved with all his heart. How dare he? Crowley seethed inwardly.
The Bentley came to a stop. Crowley looked around, confused for a moment as to where he was. Looking out the window, he realized they were near the village of Tadfield. This was the very spot where Aziraphale had told Crowley he sensed the feeling of love in the area, a feeling he later attributed to Adam’s love of his town and its people. But Crowley had thought then, and still thought, that perhaps the angel had also sensed Crowley’s own feelings of love for the angel, despite his best efforts to hide them.
I was a fool for letting him go off for a chat with the Metatron, Crowley admitted to the Bentley.
Yes, you were, the Bentley helpfully replied.
Right again. Crowley growled internally. But the coffee. What was the significance of the coffee? Crowley had never seen any celestial being apart from Aziraphale ever offer anyone food or drink. Least of all to an angel. Was the Metatron just trying to be nice? Unlikely, Crowley thought. Niceness, the genuine kind, wasn’t something Heaven had ever bothered much with.
Aziraphale was better than this. Crowley knew he was. What would make him change his mind so quickly?
The coffee.
Suddenly it hit him. It was the coffee. The Metatron had done something to it. Drugged it, messed with it, meddled with it, miracled it into something different. Something terrible. Something that would lead the angel down an awful and dangerous path, away from Crowley and towards Doomsday. Towards cruelty and death and destruction.
You were right, you were right, I was wrong and you were right. Make a U turn, instructed Crowley.
The Bentley complied.