Chapter Text
Crowley hated a lot of the things he’d done as a demon. Like, a lot . But if there was one thing that he wished he could take back out of all the hundreds of millions of things he’d done, the M25 motorway would be it. He regretted it for every second he spent stranded on it, waiting for the traffic to pick up, only to move a half inch and then stop again. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but after getting stuck on it time and again, he really wished he could just miracle it all away. Especially that time that it had turned into a ring of infernal Hellfire. That was… an experience. But anyway, he’d hoped that once the whole Armageddon thing had been taken care of, he’d never have to drive the bloody thing ever again.
Yet, here he was again, four years after Armageddon, his eyes burning as if the roads were blazing again, only he knew that wasn’t what had caused it. Unfortunately, demons couldn’t technically cry. At least, not like humans did. They could secrete blood, mucus and other fluids from their eyes in lieu of tears, but that was a hassle to clean up, and he wasn’t about to get that all over the Bentley. Especially if he still had to wait for Shax to clean out his flat before he could move back in and he’d have to sleep in here tonight. But that was a problem for later. Right now, he needed to focus.
The address was burned into his brain as if a red hot iron rod had been stuck through his ear to carve it into his brain. He’d never forget the shit that went down at that address. Nor would he forget the boy that lived there. He’d never forget the phone number, either, and he called ahead after he’d left the bookshop to tell him to gather up the rest of them, they all needed to have a talk. The boy had suggested that 4 Hogback Lane might not be the best place to have this impromptu get-together, what with his parents milling about, and thus he suggested maybe Jasmine Cottage would be a better option. Crowley would’ve agreed to anything at that point, he just needed them all to be in the same place so he could fix this awful mess that they’d somehow gotten into.
As he tried to go over the story in his head, he finally found the exit that would take him to Tadfield, and with a loud purr from her engine, he pulled the Bentley off the M25 and floored it to Jasmine Cottage.
He arrived at the place just as he arrived everywhere else; Quickly and without regard for road safety laws. He almost ran over R. P. Tyler’s little dachshund as he roared down the street, but as long as he didn’t hit Dog, he couldn’t have cared less. Or, well, he could, he didn’t really like killing anything innocent, but this was an emergency. And as such, he was glad that everyone else was already sitting around in the garden drinking tea when he finally got there, politely discussing recent trips to America and how nice it was to be retired and whatever else humans discussed when awaiting a visit from a demon.
“Mr. Crowley! How lovely to see you!” Madame Tracy called as he got out of the car, walking faster than usual as he opened the gate and walked inside the cottage, ignoring the burning feeling in his chest as he walked under the horseshoe. Hell could burn completely away for all he cared, and the burn didn’t feel like much more than a tingle compared to the feeling he’d had to endure since he last saw his angel. But he couldn’t let that feeling consume him, not now. Especially since that wasn’t his angel. Not entirely.
“Um, Mr. Crowley? Are you alright? Where’s Mr. Aziraphale?” Adam asked, following him inside with Dog hot on his heels. His eyes glowed red for a moment as he crossed the threshold. They really needed to get that horseshoe taken down.
“No, Adam, I’m not alright. And Aziraphale is… he’s indisposed at the moment. He’s the reason I asked you all to meet me here, and we haven’t got any time for silly questions!” Crowley said as he went straight to the wine shelf and helped himself to a bottle of something white and, according to the label, very, very dry.
“So, why exactly have you called us all together after all this time? I’m assuming it wasn’t to raid my wine shelf, so what’s up?” Anathema asked as she and the others all came inside and sat around the table. He was glad everyone had showed up, he was worried they might not.
“Well, Book Girl, it went like this. You remember the Archangel Gabriel and Duke of Hell, Lord Beelzebub, right?” Crowley asked, looking around at everyone in the room to make sure they all nodded.
“That was the chap in the gray suit and the funny-lookin’ person with him at the airbase, correct?” Sgt. Shadwell asked from where he stood behind Madame Tracy.
“That would be them. Now, apparently, the two of them started meeting up after Armageddon didn’t happen, and they formed a sort of partnership with each other, just like Aziraphale and I 6,000 years ago. Problem is, because of that, Gabriel decided that he wasn’t on board with a whole Armageddon part 2 thing, so he refused, and he came down from Heaven to the bookshop as an amnesiac looking for help. Aziraphale, damn his stupid little heart, helped him, and roped me into it, and then after a huge miracle that we performed had us meddling in some human’s love lives, some demons trying to attack us, and me risking my neck by breaking into Heaven to figure all this out, Heaven decided they wanted Aziraphale to come back and replace Gabriel since he went off with Beelzebub. They sent the Metatron, who is basically the next step down from God herself, and he and Aziraphale went off to talk alone while I stayed behind to clean up the bookshop. Then, after a visit from those two humans we meddled with, Aziraphale told me about all this and I did something stupid, but that’s besides the point. In doing the stupid thing, I realized that Aziraphale was not himself anymore. He looked and talked the same, but something was wrong. And then he went away, back up to Heaven, and I called Adam as soon as I could to arrange this meeting. They did something to my best friend, and I need your help getting him back. All of your help,” Crowley explained.
As he finished talking, he was met with nothing but owlish looks, all except for one of Adam’s little friends, the girl. She just looked unimpressed.
“So, what you’re saying is this… Metatron fellow, he brainwashed Mr. Aziraphale?” Newton asked, looking between Crowley and Anathema.
“Yes, that’s the only explanation. There is no way he’d have just gone off like that so easily. Not after all we’ve been through. That’s the only thing that makes sense,” Crowley said, taking another long drink from the bottle of wine.
“Um, actually, isn’t it possible that Mr. Aziraphale just went off for a little while and was going to come back?” Another of Adam’s friends asked, the one with the glasses.
“No, he’s right, Wensley. I can feel something happening right now, a shift of some sort. I haven’t felt it this strong in years. Not since… before the incident in the woods,” Adam said, swallowing as he stood from his chair. Dog whined at his feet. “He’s right, something is wrong. I think we should help him find Mr. Aziraphale, if we can.”
“I did that great Southern pansy wrong once before,” Shadwell added, “And if it weren’t for him, Jezebel and I would never have worked out. Aye, I’ll help you.”
“As will I,” Tracy said, nodding with determination.
“But, we’re all humans! Except for Adam, how do we even know if we can help?” Anathema asked. “Jeez, and this time we don’t even have any help from Agnes.”
“Well…” Newt muttered, drawing everyone else’s attention.
“What?” Anathema asked.
“You remember when she sent us that package with more prophecies and we burned it?” Newt asked.
“Yes,” Anathema replied, looking at him from over the tops of her round glasses.
“Well, the next day, while you were out, another package came. The same book was inside, only this time it was addressed to me. The note that time said that she knew you’d burn the first one, so she sent this one to me for safekeeping. She said to keep it hidden until I needed it, and I’d know when the time was right. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you,” Newt said, biting his lip as Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Yes, you should’ve, but I’m kind of glad you didn’t. It might save our asses yet again,” Anathema smiled, and Crowley could feel his patience dwindling.
“Good, great, absolutely tickety-boo, we’ve got more help from a 400 year old dead witch. Now, can we please focus on the task at hand, here? They could be shoving him into a plume of Hellfire or erasing his name from the Book of Life as we speak, so how about you go and grab that book and we all get a move on?” Crowley nearly growled, tapping his foot.
“And how are we all going to get back to Soho?” The last of Adam’s friends asked, the messy one.
“If he can miracle a bike rack on the back of my car, I can miracle some more seats into it. Now come on! If we manage to save Aziraphale and the angel left in charge of the bookshop has sold any of his books by the time we get him back there, everyone involved will have to face divine punishment. He already gave away two books this week, and if he loses one more, he might actually fall for the things he’d do to us, so let’s get going,” Crowley said, downing the rest of the wine, turning on his heel, and leading the lot of them back outside.
As soon as he saw his car, he snapped his fingers, and it expanded to have more seats, meaning that everyone was able to fit inside of it. Crowley slid in behind the wheel, adjusted his sunglasses, and once the doors were shut, he took off towards London.