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Two months after the only light in a world of darkness disappeared from his life, Crowley managed to drag himself out of a drunken stupor and to the bookshop.
He was only able to do it because the terrifying concept of the bookshop getting dusty and falling apart hit him like a car hitting a human -- hard, fast, and in a way that paralyzed him with fear. Aziraphale had been wrong about many things but it was their bookshop. Perhaps it was under the angel’s name, but it was Crowley’s in everything but name as well. The idea that he had abandoned it for two months was enough to force himself off of his sofa and to the Bentley.
“Hello, there,” he said to the Bentley as soon as he climbed in. The car roared to life beneath him like it knew it would be going further than just the pub (of course it did know and it was correct).
Crowley sped through central London in complete silence -- the Bentley had decided he needed a moment before what he was going to do, it seemed -- and simply watched as pedestrians and flats and buses and the world flew by his windows. The Bentley took itself right to its spot outside of the bookshop and threw itself into park, still seeming to purr with happiness at finally being back.
Crowley, on the other hand, felt what the humans often described as existential dread. The A.Z. FELL & CO. seemed to taunt him.
He’s not here , Crowley thought. There’s no A.Z. Fell, and there’s certainly not any company .
He took a shaky breath and forced himself out of the Bentley and towards the building, pausing for just a moment outside before pushing the doors open before he could stop himself.
The bookshop was flawless.
It looked like it was the last day Crowley was there. Every book was in the same place, the chair angled just that particular way. Did he miracle it to stay the same ?
“Oh, Mister Crowley!”
Crowley shuddered and turned, bare snake eyes narrowing and hands clenched into fists before he realized that the person smiling back wasn’t a person at all and was no threat.
“Muriel?”
Muriel gave a small giggling sound and waved. Long gone was their Inspector Constable uniform, instead replaced by patterned olive and beige tartan trousers and a beige dress shirt. Muriel looked strikingly human and very much at home in the bookshop.
“It’s so good to see you, Mister Crowley!” Muriel gushed. “It’s been a long time since you were in. Mister Aziraphale had said-”
“Don’t.” Crowley cut in. His heart ached in a way that had been unfamiliar to him for many years. “Don’t talk about him.”
“Oh. Alright.”
“Why are you here, Muriel?”
Muriel looked confused. “Because the Metatron told me to take care of the bookshop, of course.”
“He what ?”
“The Metatron said I was to take care of the bookshop while Mister- while he is doing his job up in Heaven. Isn’t it fantastic? It’s so beautiful here and the books are so interesting. It’s easy to see why you and Mister Aziraphale -- sorry! -- enjoyed it so much here.”
Crowley felt his body shake.
Muriel had been given the bookshop like it meant nothing, like it could simply be passed on to someone else and still be the same Nothing lasts forever echoed in his head and Crowley pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose to try to rid himself of the thoughts. When he opened his eyes, Muriel was across the room and on the phone.
“Muriel?” Crowely asked quickly. “Who are you calling?”
“Nina and Maggie, of course!” They answered happily. “They asked me to use the telephone if you came in- what, Nina? Oh! Alright. See you soon.”
Muriel put down the phone and beamed at Crowley. “Nina and Maggie are on their way over. Would you like some hot chocolate?’
Crowley groaned. No, no . Everything was getting to be too much for his barely-sober brain and every part of him wanted to run back to the Bentley, back to his flat with his plants that he’d grown impossibly close to (before, it had felt like they were almost scared of him…but now, they seemed to pity him -- it was a thought he didn’t want to entertain).
Instead, God herself seemed prepared to spite him as Nina and Maggie came flying through the door, out of breath. They both looked at him with a mixture of emotions on their faces.
“Oh, Mister Crowley,” Maggie said, her voice soft. “You’ve not been doing well, have you?”
Crowely recoiled. “ I’m fine . I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Right, and I’m a millionaire,” Nina countered with a scoff. “You look like you’re wasting away.”
Crowley looked down at himself in confusion. Sure, his clothes were a little looser but that was just his corporation -- it got like that sometimes, especially after a long nap. His clothes were unwrinkled, though, and he felt just as he always had. Physically, at least.
“Not just your body, Crowley.” Nina continued. “Go sit in your chair. We’re all going to have a talk.”
“I don’t want to talk .” Crowley growled. I don’t even want to be here anymore .
“I don’t recall asking, Crowley.” Nina replied, crossing her arms.
“Nina-”
“-no, Maggie. We’re his friends and we’re going to help him.”
“I don’t have friends .” Crowley couldn’t help but argue. “I don’t have anyone.”
There was a beat of silence. Crowley ached.
“I don’t have anyone .” He repeated, absolutely hating the way his voice seemed to break.
“Alright.” Maggie said. She moved forward and went to grab Crowley’s arm to guide him but stopped when Crowley pulled himself further away. “Let’s go sit, alright?
Crowley sneered but let himself saunter over to his chair, sprawling across it as he always does. Did . He watched as Maggie and Nina settled into the sofa across from him -- no space between them, a happy development that he noticed -- and Muriel pulled up a chair to join them.
“So…” Maggie began.
“So?” Crowley taunted.
“ So , how have you been?’
“Just peachy, obviously.” Crowley retorted. A harsh glare from Nina scolded him just enough that he sighed, “Drinking, obviously. Spend more days drunk than not.”
“Mister Crowley, alcohol is not good for you.” Muriel said with a frown.
“Yes, well, I’m quite good at choosing things that aren’t good for me.”
Maggie let out a pitiful sound that Crowley took a moment to realize was angled at him.
“You two really did break up, then?” Maggie asked.
“We didn’t- we never-”
“Please.” Maggie cut in. “You know what I meant.”
Crowley looked away from them, yellow eyes staring at the ceiling. He swallowed around a lump in his throat that felt suffocating and nauseating all at once. His gaze watered just enough that he had to clear this throat to keep it and his eyes from feeling itchy.
“Crowley?” Nina prompted.
“He, uh, left me. He got a fancy new promotion, up in Heaven, and decided to take it.” It was the first time that Crowley had managed to say those words -- he left me -- and it hurt just as much as he’d expected it to.
“That doesn’t sound like Mister Fell,” Maggie countered.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so either. Alas , it’s the truth.” Crowley responded.
“Mister Crowley, that really just-”
“He looked me in the eyes and told me I wasn’t good enough.” Crowley snapped, gaze rerouting from the ceiling to the three people staring at him with distraught expressions.
“ Aziraphale ,” Crowley said, forcing the name from his mouth, “asked for me to rejoin Heaven, to become an angel again. He told me I was a part of the bad guys and told me I -- we -- couldn’t last forever.”
“I doubt he meant that the way it sounds, Crowley,” Nina said. Her voice had become softer and Crowley hated it with a passion; if even Nina was talking to him like he was broken, there truly was no hope for normalcy again.
“I kissed him.” Crowley continued. “And he forgave me. I tried to give him-” Crowley paused to let out a wet chuckle, one that brought those tears back to his eyes, “- everything , and he forgave me for it.”
“Mister Aziraphale loves you.” Muriel’s voice was pleading.
“Aziraphale loves what I could be, not me.”
“You know that’s not true.” Nina responded.
Crowley forced himself to sit up properly. He felt his eyes stare at the humans just intensely enough that they seemed to squirm under his gaze. Good. Fear me, hate me. It’s what you should do .
“Before I became a demon, I was an angel.” Crowley’s voice was level and borderline emotionless, a tone he hadn’t had in thousands of years. “I met him for the first time when I was an angel and that is the version of me that he cares for. Aziraphale cares for the side of me that I used to be and who — through divine intervention or some other shit like that — I could be. But I’m not, and I don’t want to be that angel again. I’m a demon whether he likes it or not, and it’s clear that he doesn’t.”
“Crowley, I don’t think that’s true.” Maggie argued.
“And I know it is.” He responded. “I confessed to him while knowing I was going to be rejected. Again . For thousands of years, I’ve been following him, taking care of him, helping him, loving him, and now I’m alone again. I’ve been on my side — and then it became our side; and now it’s my side again.”
“What are you going to do? If you’ve been revolving around Aziraphale, what are you going to do now that he’s up there and you’re down here?” Nina asked.
Crowley shrugged and laid back into the chair again. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Maybe take a long nap, one a couple centuries long if I’m lucky. Maybe take a nice bath with some holy water.”
“Mister Crowley!” Muriel gasped. “That would kill you!”
“That would be the point, you daft angel,” Crowley growled in response.
“Hey!” Nina snapped. “Don’t yell at Muriel. I don’t care if you’re a demon; you’re not going to be a dick.”
Crowley sneered and then closed his eyes, deeply breathing as he tried not to think about the conversation they’re having.
“Mister Fell?” Maggie said, making Crowley snap his eyes open again and looking at her in panic.
Maggie had her eyes closed and hands clasped in front of her. Praying , Crowley’s mind supplied.
“Mister Fell?” Maggie repeated. “I’m sure you’re very busy now but we need you in the bookshop. Your Crowley is in rough shape. He needs you, Mister Fell. Quickly. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I certainly pray you can.”
Ultimately, absolutely nothing happened. Crowley felt his skin prickle with satisfaction at being correct in his guess that nothing would happen and felt his chest ache with how badly he had hoped something would.
“He left me, I told you.” Crowley whispered. Maggie, Nina, and Muriel all looked at him with stricken looks. Crowley cleared his throat and swung himself to his feet.
“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together and swinging his body around as he started walking to the door. “I should be off, then.”
“Mister Crowley, will you come back tomorrow?” Muriel asked. “Please? The bookshop misses you.”
Crowley couldn’t help but smile. It was at least partially his bookshop, right? “Yeah, alright. Tomorrow.”
He turned on his heel and left the bookshop, getting in the Bentley and sending it cascading down the road. Crowley felt the waves of discomfort running through his body because of that conversation. Nina and Maggie ( two of Aziraphale’s favorite humans, if they were being honest) had practically begged for the angel’s help and had been left without an answer.
Part of him wanted to storm Heaven just to know that Aziraphale was alright, that he was safe and simply doing his heavenly duties as he was supposed to. His entire body was tense with the idea that the angel might not be safe, that something could have happened to him and he needs Crowley’s help.
The other part of him wanted to lie down under a comfortable blanket and just take a nap for a couple decades. Muriel really won’t miss me if I don’t come back tomorrow, right? Tomorrow, fifty years -- they’re pretty much the same thing to us. Oh, the other two, though. Fifty years…might miss one of them. Alright, just ten years then. Ten years might make it hurt less.
The Bentley skidded to a stop in front of his flat.
“Thank you, you gorgeous car,” Crowley said. “I’m going to sleep now. I won’t forget about you, I promise.”
The Bentley’s engine hummed as it clicked off like it was in agreement.
Crowely left his car and trekked up to his flat. He yawned as he pushed open his door, already ready to take that long nap he so desperately wanted.
His eyes flew open, wide awake.
“Oh.” Aziraphale said. “Hi.”
Crowley stared for a long moment, eyes scanning the angel from top to bottom. Real , he deduced. Not just my mind playing tricks on me again .
“Crowley?”
“What do you want, Aziraphale?” Crowley responded with a sigh, yanking his gaze away as he shuffled into the room. He went straight to his dining table and put on his sunglasses, suddenly paying attention to his plants.
“I- well, I heard Nina and Maggie and was mildly concerned about you. I thought I’d pop by,” Aziraphale said, hands fluttering around nervously as he explained himself.
Crowley grimaced. “Mildly concerned?”
“Well, severely concerned, if we were to talk in terms of moderation. You aren’t well, Crowley.”
Crowley .
Just his name was enough for Crowley to become a madman again. He was ready to beg on his knees for Aziraphale to just stay , to give them another chance, to let Crowley prove that he could be enough. He forced himself to keep checking on his plants instead of sinking to the ground and pleading.
“I’m fine.” Crowley said instead.
“You’re not fine! Crowley, please. Talk to me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because you’re supposed to talk to the people who love you, Crowley! I can help you.”
Crowley felt his entire body still. Slowly, very slowly, he turned to Aziraphale. “What did you say?”
“I can help you,” Aziraphale repeated, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Because you’re supposed to talk to the people who love you, Crowley.
The people who love you.
“You said-” Crowley swallowed, suddenly being hit with a sense of deja vu to the last time he couldn’t get his words out around the angel. “The people who love me?”
“Oh, that part. Well, yes. Nina, Maggie, Muriel, me. You should talk to us, silly demon -- we can help you.”
Crowley reeled backwards, catching himself against the wall. In a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “You love me?”
Aziraphale looked back with wide eyes. He let out a scoff that could only be one of pure surprise. “Of course I do, Crowley, you know that!”
Oh , Crowley thought. “No, I didn’t know that.”
Aziraphale gave a nervous chuckle. An uncomfortable smile was on his face. “You’re trying to trick me. Are you trying to trick me?”
“Tell me, Aziraphale, why would I be tricking you?” Crowley sounded gutted as he said, “I have begged you to run away with me so many times and you have rejected me, each and every time. How could I possibly think you l-”
Crowley’s jaw snapped shut as he clenched his teeth. Lashing out at Aziraphale was the last thing he wanted to do, despite his frustrations.
Aziraphale looked like a wounded animal. “Crowley, you can’t be serious. I- I thought you knew. It’s why I went- I thought you knew how much I love you and that that could be enough while I was in Heaven.”
Crowley let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk . He felt like he couldn’t breathe; for the last six thousand years, he’d resigned himself to the fact that he was alone in this feeling. He’d hoped, obviously, but had accepted the fact that this was one of those things where he really was on his own side. Aziraphale disrupted that normalcy in a single sentence, in the most casual way possible.
“Crowley.”
Crowley looked down from where he’d been mindlessly staring to see Aziraphale much closer than he had been previously. He felt his mouth go dry.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated, completely and utterly serious. It’s a good look on him .
“Yes?”
“I know we parted on poor terms, but it was a great comfort to me to know that you at least knew how much I adore you and you to me. Did I leave you without that comfort?”
“Well, yeah.” Crowley answered. His corporation seemed to be malfunctioning again -- his heart was beating far quicker than it usually did.
“ Crowley .”
“Angel,” Crowley said, a small spark of something in his chest happening as Aziraphale took in a sharp breath, “you told me to my face that I wasn’t enough for you and then left me. I waited by the Bentley -- our car, according to you -- and you saw me and still walked away. How could I think you adore me?”
“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale said quickly and no, no, no, that’s not good. Aziraphale being near tears never was Crowley’s point of strength and he very much wanted to be strong for this conversation.
“Angel-”
“No, Crowley, I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel like you’re not enough -- Crowley, you’re everything .”
“You want me to be an angel.”
“Because then I can keep you safe!” Aziraphale cried. “If you were an angel, I can order the others to leave you alone, to not touch you, to keep you safe. It was selfish of me to ask that of you, I realize that now, but all I wanted was to keep you safe. In Heaven, I can take care of you and make sure nothing happens to you. Here-” his words were cut off by almost-sobs “-I can’t protect you as well.”
Crowley felt his chest ache . Every part of him felt like it had been beaten and battered and this -- Aziraphale -- was the only cure.
“I can protect myself, angel.” He tried to say.
“Not from the Metatron!”
Aziraphale flung a hand up to cover his mouth and there , there were those tears beginning to fall. Everything in him wanted to push off the wall and comfort the angel, but he forced himself to conquer the problem first.
“The Metatron? Is he moving against Hell? Should I warn Shax-”
“No. No, you silly demon, he’s just moving against you.” Aziraphale angrily wiped away his tears. “If I didn’t go back to Heaven, he was going to wipe you from the Book of Life. I had- I had to go, to protect you.”
Aziraphale had, effectively, taken his heart out and crushed it without even physically touching him.
“ What ?” Crowley growled. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
Aziraphale huffed and looked around, panicked. Another tear slipped down his cheek. “Why would I tell you, Crowley? So you can challenge the Metatron? That’s why he wanted to wipe you from the Book in the first place -- you’re uncontrollable, Crowley, and both Heaven and Hell fear you for it.”
“And you?” Crowley asked. “Do you fear me for it?”
Aziraphale let out a deep sigh and suddenly his eyes were completely fixed on Crowley’s, behind the sunglasses, behind the layers of facades and masks; behind it all, he was looking at Crowley .
“No,” Aziraphale said, “I love you for it.”
In just those six words, Aziraphale had miracled his heart back together and put it safely back in his chest.
Aziraphale stepped closer, almost on the edge of invading Crowley’s space. He didn’t mind it.
“Your glasses?” Aziraphale prompted.
Crowley lifted his hand (forcing it to steady, to not shake) and removed them, tossing them towards his table without caring if they actually landed there or not.
“You are enough as a demon, Crowley. You don’t have to hide your eyes from me.”
“I wasn’t sure. ‘Thought you hate them, most of the time.”
Aziraphale gave a weak smile. “Crowley, dear -- why did I make your car yellow? Why was it so pretty?”
Crowley was suddenly aware of the fact that there were three ways in which he could die. First, by holy water. Second, by being wiped from the Book of Life. Third, by his angel calling him dear and telling him his eyes are pretty.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Now,” Aziraphale continued, stepping closer. “I would like to kiss you again.”
“Are you going to forgive me afterwards?” Crowley couldn’t help but ask.
“That depends -- are you planning on trying to tempt me again?”
“No.” Crowley said, gaze already fixed on the angel’s mouth. “I wasn’t trying to tempt you then, either. Just desperate for you to know how I feel.”
Aziraphale made a hurt noise before he bridged the gap and pressed his lips to the demon’s, his hands coming up to hold Crowley’s face. Crowley leaned into it, his own hands staying far away from the lapels of the angel’s coat and instead finding their spot at his waist. They simply stayed there for a while -- lips against lips, breath against breath, corporation against corporation.
Crowley was not a fan of Heaven and didn’t seek his own like Gabriel had with Beelzebub. But, if he were to remove a single letter, he could say that Aziraphale was his haven , a place of refuge where he could be safe and relax and simply be Crowley, no strings attached.
Crowley was the one to end it, to pull back as his corporation gasped for air.
“We need to talk.” Crowley said, his voice just on that verge of wrecked that humans tended to find so very attractive. “About so many things.”
“Crowley, I don’t have much time here.”
“Nina orders it.” Crowley hurried to say. “Angel, we have to talk about it -- Metatron, Muriel, us.”
“Muriel?”
“She’s running your bookshop, angel. How am I supposed to go there to relax when someone’s talking to me?” Crowley was well aware that he sounded whiny.
Aziraphale found it amusing. “Don’t be silly. You can still relax there, just ask Muriel to find a book they haven’t read yet.”
There was a long moment of comfortable silence.
“I’ll be waiting for you. At the bookshop.” Crowley’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he forced the words out. “However long it takes.”
“You shouldn’t promise me that, Crowley,” Aziraphale countered. “Nothing lasts-”
“Don’t. We last forever, Aziraphale, alright? We are going to. So we’re going to talk through it all and figure out what we’re going to do about the Metatron and you being all supreme archangel-y and me being stuck here and then we’re going to last forever. Alright?”
Aziraphale beamed. “Yes, alright.”