Chapter Text
A demon was speeding down the road. Pedestrians ran for safety while drivers found themselves suddenly in another lane. Some weren’t even on the same street as they were a second ago. This was a common occurrence in London, though they would never remember why.
Unexpected blustery winds knocked down outdoor furniture, and outdoor eating quickly became a hazard. Customers complained of having wine spilled on their pristine white shirts or freshly pressed slacks. Somebody's umbrella was whipped out of their hand and whacked their companion. Phone lines went down and abruptly ended several important business calls.
It was quite the inconvenience, just the sort of minor frustrations and demonic mischief that Crowley would take pleasure in on a normal day.
As it was, not even the chaos and driving his Bentley at a leisurely 100 miles per hour through the streets of London was enough to quiet his mind.
He thought about returning to his flat, seeing as Shax wouldn’t be needing it anymore. He yanked the wheel to the right, cursing stoplights and anything that got in his way. Several of the bigger trees in the area were blown down, though none dared to fall before Crowley passed them.
A light went red, and for the first time since getting the Bentley, Crowley stopped. An older lady with a child and dog crossed the street.
Across the street was a sushi restaurant, which Aziraphale used to use as an excuse to drop by the flat. The restaurant was founded in the early 80s when the owner and head chef unexpectedly came into a large amount of money, which was miraculously just enough for the downpayment on the property that just went on sale. The shop had some financial troubles a while back, but Crowley liked the sake, so they found that business picked up again.
Crowley shook his head and resumed his course to the flat, but when the Bentley drew near the turning point for the familiar building, it dropped to a conservative 70 miles per hour. He switched lanes and headed for the M25, the speed dial climbing back to 100.
He passed the shop where he had bought chocolates for the bookshop's opening, the seminary where the angel had caught him pickpocketing priests for sport, and an escape room that used to be a pub with rather good mead and seafood perfect for a little temptation.
“Right, well, that’s over now,” he muttered, taking a shaky breath. “It’s not like I haven’t been here before.”
He stopped the car when he reached the edge of London, parking on the side of the road. He didn’t get out; he could see the city well enough from his rearview mirror.
He watched as massive dark clouds crowded towards the city, with no one to shield it from the oncoming storm.
The Bentley idled, filling the cabin with its soothing rumble.
As Crowley sat there, watching the beginning of what would become a record-breaking rainstorm that the humans would remember, he took off his glasses and tossed them on the passenger seat.
London was where Crowley learned what it meant to have a home, and London was where he thought he’d been building a life for more than just himself. Now, looking at his rearview mirror, he could only see a tomb and the rotting remains of what was once a precious, peaceful existence
“Goddammit, angel,” said Crowley, taking the car out of park. “We could’ve been so much more.”
Crowley drove. He didn’t stop for dirt or sand or sea. He drove until he couldn’t see anything left around him to remind him of Aziraphale. It was quite the challenge because the first night of driving, Crowley realized he was running from the stars themselves, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to run. Well, maybe he was already damned, but he’d be damned again.
And he found a land which neither Heaven nor Hell, angel nor demon, God nor Satan had touched. This was his promised land, and according to the decaying highway sign, it was called Coalsburrow, Kentucky. The mining industry in the town had left a constant cloud of dust in the air, and on the clearest night of the year, you can’t see the brightest star. Crowley smiled sourly at the oil-slicked sky, not minding all the stupid buggers driving on the wrong side of the road and swerving around him. Planet Earth, he'd been there since the beginning and it still surprised him.
The slouching brick buildings of Coalsburrow were constructed as somewhat of an afterthought. James Burrow Benson Hawthorne sank a coal mine a twenty-minute walk from the center of town. Of course, a coal mine needs people to work it, and people to feed the people who work it, and a place for them to sleep, and sing, and die, and drink enough to forget the choking noises coming from the belly of the earth.
The Iron Horse Ale house stood proudly at the center of town as its most esteemed building. People with deeply lined faces mingled around it, smoking cigarettes and clearing their throats loudly. A tall froggy woman suddenly couldn't remember if she left the stove on at home, and she hurried to her motorcycle to leave just as a demon reached the center of town.
The force of the Bentley making its first stop in days dislodged a small yellow sweet from under the driver seat, which rolled forward with great force, landing squarely between Crowley's feet. He crushed it with his heel as he stepped out.
*******
Muriel was determined to be the best at looking after the bookshop. However, they didn’t have the faintest idea of what they were supposed to do. Look after a bookshop, yes, but how did one do that, exactly?
There was a piece of paper where someone had written the shop’s hours, but Muriel found it very vague. They did their best to follow the schedule, though hardly anyone came in during open hours. Perhaps that’s how it was supposed to be, and given that Muriel had no prior experience, they didn’t want to ruin what Aziraphale had established here.
In the first days of living in the bookshop, Muriel finished The Crow Road, and moved on to a book about two humans who were madly in love, but one of them was persuaded to leave the other, and they were separated for a long time, both believing that the other didn’t love them anymore. It was a book written by one Jane Austen, and Muriel quite liked it, even though they didn’t understand why anyone would make themselves so miserable.
It was coming up on a month of being at the bookshop, and Muriel read every book kept in the front. With no one to talk to, Muriel found that they enjoyed losing themselves in the lives of these humans and creatures getting to experience such grand adventures. They imagined that this is what it must be like to listen to a friend tell a story.
When they weren’t reading books, Muriel explored their new living space, finding that no matter where they went, a strong feeling pulsed through them. They’d noticed it the first time they’d approached the shop, the feeling getting impossibly stronger when they entered. They assumed it was Aziraphale himself who radiated the feeling, but now with him gone, Muriel was sure it was the building itself.
Heaven never felt this way, not that Muriel would ever admit to thinking that. It wasn’t their right to question why Heaven did or didn’t feel a certain way.
It occurred to Muriel near the end of the month that the feeling was love. Pure, devoted love clung to the building like a protective layer. They found that being responsible for looking after something this cherished was a frighteningly, overwhelming task.
This was how Muriel found themselves leaving the bookshop, and bracing against the stormy weather. They wondered how long it would continue to storm, as the weather had been rather poor ever since Aziraphale’s grumpy friend, Crowley, drove away. Perhaps they would ask Maggie about it after they got answers on how to run a bookshop.
The lights were on in the record shop, and Maggie was leaning over the counter trying unsuccessfully to reach a notebook that had fallen to the other side. Muriel picked it up and handed it to Maggie, who smiled. That's one thing Muriel liked about humans, they were always saying, "Thank you," and smiling at you. They were so easy to please, it was wonderful.
Muriel explained their problem with the bookshop to Maggie the best they could, making up clever lies a human would believe when needed.
“I'm sorry Muriel, but I don't even know how to run a record store properly. If you’re looking for advice, you’d be much better off talking to Nina, she’s never been late for rent. You’d better wait until the afternoon though, this is her busy time. Maybe Mrs. Sandwich can help you. Most of her clients don’t arrive until five at least.”
And so Muriel, filled with more questions than answers about humans, walked on down the block and took a right, just as Maggie instructed when giving directions to Mrs. Sandwich’s shop. It was an older brick building with a weathered sign hanging out front.
When Muriel went to go inside, a human was just coming out, hair ruffled and face flushed. Muriel asked them if Mrs. Sandwich was available to answer a few questions, though maybe they should have phrased their question differently if the human’s expression was anything to go by. Muriel didn’t notice the way the person frowned at their clothes before they said, “Never heard of her, and she isn’t here, love.” The human wiped a red smudge from their face before pulling out their umbrella and hurrying away.
Anyone else would be feeling discouraged at this point, but Muriel maintained their smile and walked back to the bookshop before crossing over to Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. It was extremely crowded inside, but Muriel managed to find a table. Nina was none too pleased to hear that Muriel wasn’t there for coffee.
“Tea or milk, then?”
“No, thank you. I was wondering if you could answer a few of my questions?”
Nina scowled, her eyes narrowing and her voice sharp. “Better not be about my love life, again. I haven’t got time for that, and it’s none of your business.”
“No! No, it’s about running a bookshop. How do you do it?”
“How the hell should I know? Do I look like a bookseller to you?” Nina crossed her arms and shook her head. “Look, you seem nice enough, but I haven’t got any advice for you. I run a coffee shop and I do that by selling coffee. And right now, I’ve got a bunch of customers needing their order taken, so if you won’t be ordering anything, I need to go and you need to leave.”
Muriel’s smile fell before brightening once more. “That’s it! If one runs a bookshop, they sell books. Oh, but how do you sell books if no one comes in?”
Nina hesitated before she said, “Mr. Fell always kept weird hours, but if you’re really wanting to sell books, I would suggest keeping the shop open at regular hours. And not just for ten minutes on a Friday. Try from nine in the morning till five. Probably have an easier time selling books than Mr. Fell too, without that redhead brooding about the whole place.”
Muriel thanked Nina as they left, hurrying over to the bookshop and thinking of making a new sign that informed people about the updated hours. There were other things that needed to be done before letting in more customers. Muriel knew from books that for a place to be respectable, it must be clean and tidy.
While Muriel went about their cleaning tasks—dusting surface areas and rearranging the books in order of the ones they most enjoyed, the best ones being placed on the lowest shelves while the more disagreeable ones were on the highest shelves— they wondered how Aziraphale was doing. Being a Supreme Archangel had to be a very stressful position, always being in charge of all the angels and carrying out God’s orders. And they imagined that it must’ve been so sad for him to leave behind the shop he loved so much.
*******
Muriel was investigating the most fascinating human object which was toothbrushes. They were such odd little things, shaped like a pencil, but one end had bristles. And people shoved these things in their mouths!
Muriel tried putting it in their mouth once but found they didn’t like the sensation of dry bristles scraping against their cheeks or tongue. This was also how Muriel discovered what it meant to gag. They weren’t likely to scrape the back of their tongue with a toothbrush, again.
Despite Muriel finding that they didn’t care for the human use of them, they liked the different shapes and colors they came in. Some of them even came with soft bristles and others had bulky handles with buttons.
Utterly fascinating!
Their favorite one was currently a vibrant, sparkly pink one with a skinny handle. Muriel was using it as a bookmark. The other ones were used for craft projects.
Muriel discovered the wonder of craft books a while ago, and found that they enjoyed taking random objects, and recreating what was shown in the picture. Of course, Muriel was sure to read the instructions about proper hot glue safety and how to use a hot glue gun a good five times before moving forward.
They were in the middle of recreating the Eiffel Tower when Aziraphale’s face appeared in the center of the bookshop. His curls hung loose and dull around his face, which looked rather more pallid than before. He had a tight smile pulled across his teeth, which did little to make him seem happy.
Muriel scrambled to their feet and nervously brushed their hands down the front of their clothes, which were now more fitting for someone who owned a bookshop. Or, a better description would be that Muriel was dressed like how they imagined a bookseller would dress, which may have been modeled after what Aziraphale wore.
“Supreme Archangel Aziraphale!”
“This won’t be a long visit. I just—I did leave in a bit of a hurry,” Aziraphale said, and Muriel noticed that his eyes darted about the place, but didn’t rest long in one particular area. They wondered if he was looking for something. “Is everything going well?”
Muriel had a lot to report on the shop, but The Supreme Archangel seemed most interested in who had come into the shop exactly. Muriel had much to say on this matter, as they had spent a lot of time recently trying to figure out how to get more people to come.
“Did you know that most humans don’t want to buy a book at 2 am? Only one time has someone ever come in that late and I think he was lost. Humans seem most keen to buy things during the afternoon.”
“Yes, well, that’s good to—” Aziraphale stopped looking at Muriel’s various projects and snapped his gaze back to Muriel. “I’m sorry, did you say buy things? Have you been selling books?”
“Not yet, but I’ve been thinking about how to run a bookshop properly, and I really didn’t want to let you down, so I asked Nina about it, and I realized that I needed to change the shop’s hours to get more customers! It’s ever so lonely being here, all by myself. Oh, not that I’m complaining!” Muriel said the last part quickly, mistaking Aziraphale’s disappointed frown for something else. “I love it here! All the books and the clever things humans have made. I do enjoy learning more about them.”
“Good, that’s good, and how would you feel if I gave you one more task? It’s rather important and extremely confidential.”
Muriel felt a burst of pride at being thought of as worthy enough to do whatever this important task was. They agreed quickly, not bothering to ask for details in their excitement.
“I need you to place a daily delivery to this address at the plant nursery down the block.” A small piece of paper materialized in Muriel’s hand with an address scribbled on it. “Tell them you are placing the order on behalf of Mr. Fell, and he wishes the deliveries to continue until further notice. And put on the note…I, oh dear, he will know. Don’t bother with the note.”
Muriel had questions, lots of them, but they were worried their questions would be mistaken for a lack of competency, so Muriel stayed quiet. At least when it came to questions about why the Lord would request for there to be plants sent to a place in Mayfair. There were, however, still questions about the bookshop that they needed answers to. And who better to ask than the angel who used to take care of it?
“When I change the hours for the shop, should I tell the humans when I pass them on the street?”
“No, they shouldn’t even be—” Aziraphale appeared to be staring off somewhere Muriel couldn’t see. “Michael, I’m afraid I haven’t yet been able to—“ The floating head of Aziraphale disappeared from the center of the bookshop as fast as it had come.