Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I got some colour back, she thinks so too

I laugh like me again, she laughs like you

—-

When the angel Muriel peeked out the windows of the London bookshop as she emerged from the back room, she smiled. There were people on the streets. A woman with a little dog walked past the shop’s front window. A man talking animatedly on the phone passed her in the opposite direction. The sidewalks weren’t exactly crowded, but there were people out and about. Muriel excitedly sped to the window and her smile grew when she got there. Just as she’d thought from across the room. The sun was shining and the sky was blue again, and properly clear. It had been raining for the past few days, and Muriel had quite missed the hustle and bustle of lovely-weather days. 

She also missed Crowley.

Crowley didn’t leave his flat when it rained anymore. He hadn’t for years, no matter how much she bribed and begged. She’d asked why a few years back and he’d scowled and thrown back another shot of whiskey. Muriel took that to mean it was because of Aziraphale, and she didn’t ask again.

But it wasn’t raining anymore. It was perfectly lovely and perfectly pleasant, so he had no excuse to turn her down this time.

Excitedly, Muriel flounced back towards the large desk at the back of the bookshop, covered in open books, stacks of books, notebooks, and loose sheets of paper. She’d become very fond of stories over the years, and had elected that she was going to write her own. It was taking a lot of paper. Muriel shuffled around the papers and books, searching for something. It took a minute or two, before she remembered where she’d left her mobile, and pulled open one of the side drawers of the desk. There it was! She didn’t use it much, and only really had four people in her contacts. Crowley, Nina, Maggie, and her friend Neil. He was very kind helping her with her story. She found Crowley’s phone number immediately and punched it, lifting the phone to her ear.

Ring… Ring… Ring…

The call went to voicemail, but Muriel was undeterred. She knew where Crowley lived if he didn’t pick up. On her fourth attempt, after three rings, Crowley finally picked up. He didn’t speak, but she knew he had because she heard the click.

“Crowley!” she said happily. 

“Mhgk,” Crowley said. That was Crowley for I was asleep, something better be on fire . 

“It’s not raining anymore,” Muriel said. 

“Angh,” Crowley replied. That was Crowley for why did you wake me up to tell me that?  

“Come out with me,” she said. “It’s not raining so you can’t tell me no. I want to…” Muriel trailed off, scrunching her nose up a bit. She hadn’t actually thought about what she wanted to do, just that she wanted to go out. “Go to the park,” she said finally. “Let’s go to the park and we can go for lunch after!”

Crowley sighed deeply, and Muriel heard some muffled shuffling noises from his side of the phone. “Fine,” he said. 

“Yay!” Muriel said. “Good. Be here in half an hour?” 

“Mmg,” Crowley said. That was Crowley for sure . 

“I’ll see you here,” Muriel said, and Crowley hung up without saying anything else. 

That had been a pretty lengthy conversation, Muriel thought as she hung up. Perhaps she should go and get coffee before Crowley arrived. She’d get him one, too. Muriel stuffed the phone in the pocket of her pants, humming as she headed towards the door. Stepping out of the shop, she passed by the impressively large snake plants on either side of the doorway. She patted the one on her right before stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind her. With a wave of her hand, the door locked behind her, and she merrily crossed the street towards Give Me Coffee. 

Muriel joined the line of morning patrons, watching her surroundings. She never got tired of people-watching. She never got tired of Earth, either. When she was about third in line, Nina noticed her and smiled in greeting.

Soon enough, Muriel got to the front. “Good morning!!” she said. “Can I please get one medium hot chocolate with lots of whipped cream and…” She thought for a moment about what Crowley’s voice had sounded like on the phone. “6 shots of espresso in a really big cup.”

“Crowley coming round?” Nina asked as she punched the orders in for the angel.

“Yeah,” Muriel said proudly. “I called him four times.” 

Muriel paid, exact change in her pocket, and stepped to the side to wait for their drinks. When Nina returned a bit later, she smiled at Muriel again, handing over the two cups. “Thank you!” Muriel said cheerily before making her way out of the shop. A young woman with brightly colored hair held the door open and Muriel beamed at her, too. “Thank you,” she said again, and then, “Bless you.” 

She liked using her miracles like that. Little things to make people’s lives better. The young woman would find a ten pound note on her walk to work, her coffee would stay warm until she was finished, and her bus home would be exactly on time. When Muriel stepped out onto the sidewalk and waited for her turn to cross the street, she spotted the Bentley at the end of the road, driving towards the bookshop. “Crowley!” she shouted, before she realized there was no way he could hear her. But he did happen to look up as he pulled up and stopped in front of the bookshop.

Muriel very carefully looked both ways before crossing the street and popping up next to the front passenger’s window. “I got you coffee!” Muriel said, holding up his cup. Crowley rolled the window down.

“You know there’s no food in the car,” he said, peering at her over his glasses. 

“It’s not food, it’s coffee,” Muriel said. “Coffee’s not food.”

Crowley sighed and rolled up the window before snapping his fingers so the door opened for Muriel. She slid into the car, handing Crowley his coffee before using her now free hand to pull the door shut. By the time she was settled and her seatbelt fastened, Crowley was lowering an empty cup from his lips. “Thanks, kid,” he said. 

“Course,” Muriel said. “Now, ducks? I bet they’ve missed us.”

Crowley rolled his eyes a bit but privately smiled as the Bentley pulled back out onto the road. 

The park was pleasantly empty when they arrived, the ducks floating about in the pond. Except there was one bird in their midst that wasn’t a duck but a large white swan. The creature had appeared a few weeks ago and had been hanging around since then. “Crowley Jr!” Muriel said happily. “Did you bring the peas?”

“What?” Crowley said, but he was holding up a bag that Muriel took. She reached in for a handful, approaching the pond before scattering them in the direction of the birds. A few of the ducks noticed her and waddled over, eagerly scooping peas out of the grass. She tossed a few more into the lake, and the swan gracefully drifted forward for their share. 

“I named the swan Crowley Jr,” Muriel explained. “The first day I saw him, he bit a man’s hand who got really close to the pond with a bunch of bread and the man fell in.” 

Crowley let out a short, barking laugh, and smiled privately. “Fitting, I suppose,” he said. 

Muriel took another handful of peas before passing the bag behind her to Crowley, who accepted it and scattered a handful of peas himself. Muriel plopped down on the grass, happily watching the ducks waddle around and quack at each other. Crowley sat down next to her and set the bag down between them. They tossed peas for their waterfowl friends for a few minutes in comfortable silence. Muriel shifted her eyes to the sky, watching as fluffy white clouds sluggishly moved above them. 

“Hey, Crowley?” she said. “Can I ask you something?” 

Crowley peeled off his leather jacket, folding it and placing it behind him before laying out on the grass using it as a pillow. “Sure,” he said.

Muriel sprawled out next to him, thinking for a few more moments. “Do you ever think about what it was like up there?”

Crowley was quiet for so long that Muriel wondered if she’d overstepped, and she was about to open her mouth to apologize when he finally spoke.

“Sometimes,” he said. “More now than I used to.”

Muriel hummed, watching as a cloud shaped like a rabbit drifted through her line of sight. “What did you do?” she asked. 

“Creative team,” Crowley said. “I worked on the stars.”

“Wow,” Muriel said softly, reverently. “I always wished I could’ve done that. But by the time I came around, all the creating was done.” Perhaps that was why she wanted so badly to write her own story. To feel like she’d created something in a world where it felt like everything had already been made.

“Huh,” Crowley said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Muriel said. “I didn’t get made until after the War. Unless She’s gone and started making more of us, I’m the last one.” She shrugged slightly at that. Muriel had always why she’d been made at all, a few hundred years after the rest of the Heavenly Host, and by herself on top of that. The rest of the angels had been made one after the other, but clustered together in their ranks. There was the Metatron first, then the archangels, before carrying down the rest of the ranks. And then centuries, maybe even a thousand years, after the 36th rank, there came Muriel. Just Muriel. So Muriel wondered, but she didn’t question. No one questioned the Almighty.

“I always wondered why,” Muriel admitted. “None of the other angels seemed to like me much. The Metatron defintiely didn’t like me. But he said I was special.” She paused and smiled a bit. “Ineffable,” she continued. “And that I’d do something amazing someday.”

“He,” Crowley repeated, and Muriel’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. She hadn’t even needed to say his name, but they both knew exactly who she was talking about. She turned her head to look at her companion to judge his reaction. She could definitely backtrack. But he didn’t seem angry at all. Just a bit sad as he looked at the sky. “I didn’t know you knew him before.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember,” Muriel admitted. “It was a really long time ago. But he was nice to me. He treated me like.. a person. Well, not a person. An angel. But like I was an individual. Someone worth talking to.”

As she watched, Muriel could see Crowley smile softly. But he didn’t look her way. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s always been pretty good at making anyone feel important.”

“He used to come back a lot more when this was new,” she recalled. “I used to love hearing him talk about Earth. All of the colors. It seemed beautiful. I always wanted to go, even though everyone else acted like it was a punishment.”

“Yeah, they’re quite dense up there,” Crowley said dryly. Muriel wondered briefly if he was including Aziraphale in that. “Earth’s great. Their loss.” He paused briefly before saying, “And you’re pretty cool, too, duck.”

Muriel laughed, looking back up at the sky. The rabbit cloud was gone, but she found one that looked like a flower rather quickly. “I’m cool,” she said. 

“Very cool,” Crowley agreed. 

“Not as cool as you,” Muriel said, sitting up. “I’m hungry. Should we go for lunch now?” 

“Course, duck,” Crowley said. He sat up, too, fluffing up his hair where he’d flattened it down laying all the grass. He stood up, offering Muriel his hand. “Let’s go.”

——

“Thank you, Crowley,” Muriel said brightly, waving at Crowley from the sidewalk outside the bookshop. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Crowley said, smiling faintly as he rolled up the window and taking off down the road. Muriel turned back towards the shop, humming softly. She looked up as she went, not entirely sure why, but she was glad she did. A little nightingale with its head under its wing was perched on the light above the door. 

“Oh!” she said. “Hello, little one.”

The bird immediately woke up, singing a few notes of a song before flitting into the sky. Muriel watched it go before turning back and unlocking the door. She thought she might try to write some today. She had gotten caught up in a new series and hadn’t spent much time writing the past few days.

She wandered towards her desk and plopped down in the chair. Muriel studied the stacks of books and papers, and hummed to herself for a moment. “Perhaps the computer today,” she said out loud, to no one. Crowley had got her a laptop and taught her how to use it. She mostly used it for writing or ordering new books and sometimes videos. She was particularly fond of sending Crowley cute videos she found of little snakes wearing little hats. 

Muriel stacked up the papers on top of her computer and set them to the side before she opened the laptop and pulled up her document. She popped the knuckles of each hand before she started to type. There was one scene she wanted to go back and revise that being by the park today had inspired her to finish up.

The ducks in St. James' Park are so used to being fed bread by secret agents meeting clandestinely that they have developed their own Pavlovian reaction…

Muriel wasn’t sure how long it had been when she noticed something wrong. She had finished the scene in the park and moved to keep on with the main plot and she was a good 10 pages or so in when it occurred to her that the shop smelled. It wasn’t a bad small necessarily, but it was definitely something new. Sort of sandalwood and vanilla smell, and old paper. But the paper, she supposed, could be because she was in a bookshop. It was strange, because Muriel definitely didn’t have any scented candles burning. Crowley had drilled into her a long time ago that she was never to have an open flame in the shop. But the longer Muriel sat at her laptop, her fingers still above the keyboard, the more she sorted out what the smell actually was. Underneath the sandalwood, vanilla, and paper, she was picking up cigarette smoke and sulphur.

Sulphur.

Muriel’s eyes widened slightly. The only reason she would smelling that was if there was a demon around. And the only demon that should be around was Crowley, and if Crowley had come back, he would’ve called her or texted her or something. Besides, Crowley didn’t really smell like that. The sulphury smell was covered up by leather polish and petrichor and fresh potting soil. 

Muriel shut her laptop, resolving to peek around the stacks of books to see if she could get a look at the not-quite-intruder without them seeing her. She was greeted by the back of the figure, leaning against one of the front windows of the shop. Whoever it was wore a clean, dark suit that seemed neatly pressed. Their hair was a stark contrast to the put-together appearance of the suit, all wild salt and pepper curls. While she watched, she could see the figure lower a cigarette from their obscured face with gloves hands, the tip glowing, and after a few seconds, she could see a small cloud of the smoke that curled into the air and disappeared. 

The angel ducked back behind the stacks of books, trying to decide what to do. The demon didn’t seem very threatening, and he hadn’t even attempted to enter the shop. But Muriel still didn’t like the idea of a demon lurking around. They weren’t all nice like Crowley, she knew. And even if the demon couldn’t technically get in, she didn’t want them standing there long enough that they figured out a way to breach the wards. They didn’t seem to know Muriel was inside, which was good. But what to do ? 

After a few minutes of deliberation, Muriel decided she would do the one thing she always did when she didn’t know what to do about a situation - ask Crowley. Muriel shuffled papers and books around again until she found where she’d left her mobile and sat down leaning against her desk where the demon outside couldn’t see her, dialing Crowley’s number again.

This time, he answered the first try after a few rings, the muffled sounds of a TV playing in the background. “ You bored already? ” he asked.

“Not exactly,” Muriel said. “There’s a demon outside the shop.” Crowley’s voice went quiet for a few moments, and Muriel could hear the sound of the TV playing stop.

“ Sorry? ” he asked.

“There’s a demon outside the shop,” Muriel repeated. “I was wondering if, uh- you knew if anyone was supposed to be around. And also- what I should do about them.”

“ Mghk ,” Crowley said. “ I’m coming back over. I haven’t heard anything and they usually tell me when someone’s going to be on Earth. What are they doing? ”

“Well,” Muriel said. “Nothing terribly threatening? They’re just sort of standing out front smoking.”

“ Huh ,” Crowley said. “ They’re not trying to get in? ”

“Nope,” Muriel said, popping the p a bit. “Just sort of standing there.”

“ What do they look like? ”

“They’ve got a nice black suit,” Muriel recalled. “Leather gloves. Crazy gray hair.”

“ Hm ,” Crowley said again. “ Most demons don’t dress nice. Do you notice anything else? ” 

“Let me look,” Muriel said.

She shifted into a kneeling position, peeking around the desk towards the front windows to get another look at the demon again. They hadn’t moved since the last time Muriel had caught a glance, but she tried to find any new defining characteristics.

Then suddenly, as if feeling Muriel watching, the demon turned around slightly. Muriel’s heart leapt into her throat, but before she could duck back behind the desk, she saw the demon’s face. Still holding the cigarette between two fingers, they smiled at her, waving slightly. While that was off-putting and strange in and of itself, what was most startling was that Muriel knew that demon. She hadn’t seen that face in years, but she would know it anywhere. She had taken over the bookshop from him, after all. Because the demon in front of the bookshop was Aziraphale.

Muriel hadn’t realized she’d dropped the phone in surprise but snatched it up before ducking behind the desk again. Crowley’s voice seemed increasingly worried. “ Muriel ,” he said sharply. “ Muriel, are you okay? Did they see you? What’s going on? ”

“Um,” Muriel said. “He did see me, but-“ She stopped, swallowing hard. “We have a problem and I think you should drive faster.”

“ What happened? ” Crowley demanded, and Muriel knew he’d just sped up. She could hear the engine roaring. “ Are you okay? Muriel , are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Muriel said. “I don’t think he’s going to hurt me.”

“ You can’t know that ,” Crowley said. “ Muriel, they’re not like me. ”

“No, I do know,” Muriel said. “Because it’s Aziraphale.”

Muriel heard silence from the other end of the line, save for the engine of the Bentley. It went on for so long that Muriel eventually prompted him. “Crowley?”

“ I‘m sorry, ” Crowley said flatly. “ I don’t think I heard you correctly. ” 

“Aziraphale,” Muriel repeated. “The demon is Aziraphale.”

Crowley was quiet for another stretch of time and Muriel did not interrupt this time. “ I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t talk to him .” And then he hung up and Muriel was left in silence again.

Her first thought after was tea. She needed to make tea. Tea fixed everything in England. Muriel would go and make tea. 

Chapter Text

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

—-

Aziraphale was quite happy to be back in London. He’d missed it deeply. It had been his home for nearly 200 years, and he’d grown accustomed to the sights and sounds and charms of the city as it grew and developed around him. But as lovely as it was to be back on the streets he had come to know like the back of his hand, it was bittersweet because he knew in his heart it was the last time he’d ever see them.

He couldn’t, however, bring himself to indulge in a proper farewell tour. He was here for a reason and he ought to get started. Every moment he spent dallying would delay the inevitable, but it would also delay seeing Crowley. And that, after all this time, Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to do. He had to see him. It was possible Crowley wouldn’t want anything to do with Aziraphale at all, and if that was the case, Aziraphale would understand. But he had to try. He had to warn him. He had to see him.

Aziraphale did allow himself one Earthly indulgence when he arrived from Heaven, even though indulgence didn’t have the same sort of appeal anymore. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Aziraphale found the nearest corner store.

The establishment seemed relatively well trafficked, and there were a handful of people waiting in line when Aziraphale pushed the door open, a bell tinkling merrily above him. He took his place in line behind the last patron, waiting patiently until he reached the front. “Just a pack of cigarettes, please,” he said politely, smiling warmly at the cashier. “Dealer’s choice.”

The man turned, pulled a pack down from behind him, and dropped it on the counter, reading out Aziraphale’s total in a northern accent. Aziraphale paid - miraculously, he had exact change in his pocket - and turned to leave, already working to open the carton. “Wanna light, mate?”

“That would be very kind,” Aziraphale said. He tucked the carton in his pocket after he finished one out, holding it towards the cashier, who picked up a lighter on top of the register and flipped it on. When the tip of the cigarette had started glowing on its own, the cashier put down the lighter. “Thank you,” Aziraphale said, offering the man another smile.

“Yeah,” the man said. “Seems like you’re havin’ a rough day.”

“Not yet,” Aziraphale said. “But it will be. I’m going to die this afternoon.” Aziraphale smiled once more at the man, putting the cigarette between his ups as he headed for the door. 

Aziraphale crossed to the side of the building- he might smoke but he was going to be polite about it, tucked nicely in an alley, and let himself pull in a nice, big lungful of the smoke before blowing it out into the air. He didn’t like the taste of nicotine, but it was the only thing he could taste nowadays, so he availed himself of the habit whenever he was allowed on Earth. It was some sort of poetic punishment, Aziraphale thought, that falling had robbed him of his taste and all he had now was the thick, bitter taste of nicotine. He didn’t have to do it, but after thousands of years of countless flavors he could’ve never imagined, he had to have something. The nothingness on his tongue was suffocating. 

He allowed himself the time to stand there and finish off two of his cigarettes, cleaning up after himself with a wave of his hand, before he angled his feet towards SoHo and started off. He didn’t even know if Crowley was going to be there at all, but it was the best place he knew to start. He imagined it would be off-putting for Crowley if Aziraphale showed up at his flat. So he’d wait at the bookshop. He expected to find Muriel there, at least. It would be nice to see her again, too. It had been a long time. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long it took him to walk all the way to the bookshop, lost in his own mind, but eventually he found himself standing on the familiar corner. He remembered the day he first purchased the shop, the day it opened properly. Crowley had brought him chocolates and yellow tulips. Seeing the shop again summoned a lot of complicated emotions bubbling together in his stomach. There were so many happy memories there, but one major terrible one, too. 

He peeked at the door, seeing the very closed sign hung proudly. Aziraphale had figured as much. When he looked up from the sign into the front window, he caught sight of his reflection.

While he had managed to get cigarettes easily the last time he’d been sent to Earth, but his orders had him running around Jerusalem for days on end. He didn’t have time to look at himself. He’d had the opportunity on several past Earthly missions, but he had never taken it. He was too afraid to take it. Aziraphale didn’t want to know how he was different. But looking in the bookshop window, he couldn’t run away from it. He couldn’t run away from himself.

His hair was longer, a mess of wild salt and pepper curls. He knew it was longer, at least. He could feel it on the back of his neck. He knew about the beard, too. It was scratchy and gray, the same color as hair. Aziraphale had prided himself over the years on keeping his appearance neat and composed. His hair never grew, and his white-blonde curls were always in the perfect arrangement. His current appearance was nowhere close to that perfectly neat, curated style. Azirapahle hadn’t aged in over 6000 years, but the last decade seemed to have done him in. There were lines on his face in places there had never been. His silvery gray eyes were accented by crow’s feet. The only things he didn’t have were laugh lines. 

Aziraphale was older, and he was tired, and he missed Crowley. He was also, and perhaps most troublingly, ready to die.

He turned from the window to lean against the brick exterior of the shop and pulled another cigarette out of the pack in his pocket. Putting it between his lips, Aziraphale flicked his fingers like he was striking the flint wheel of an imaginary lighter. The end of his cigarette sparked and caught fire and Aziraphale stuck his left hand in his suit jacket pocket.

The suit was the only thing put together about Aziraphale anymore and he hated it. He never wore black. He preferred tans and yellows, nice lighter, soft colors. But he was in black. Black jacket, black slacks, black tie, black leather gloves, black shoes, black socks. The only color in his outfit was the crisp white shirt under his jacket and tucked neatly into his pants. The person - demon - that Aziraphale had seen reflected in the window of the bookshop, wearing that black suit, was not Aziraphale. He didn’t even know who it was, but it certainly wasn’t Aziraphale.

Despite the fact he’d Fallen, Aziraphale hadn’t got a new name like most demons. He supposed he could’ve picked one if he’d wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t like there was anyone who was going to call him by a new name. There was hardly anyone left to even call him Aziraphale anymore, aside from the Metatron. Besides, he’d had his name for thousands of years. He was rather attached to it at this point, so Aziraphale he’d continue to be, for whatever time he had left. And maybe if he was lucky, he’d get to hear Crowley say it again at least one more time. But for now, all he could do was wait and work his way through the rest of the carton of cigarettes. 

He had debated just showing up to Crowley’s Mayfair flat and knocking on the door, but he’d decided that would’ve been rather rude to invade his space like that. But he was sure that if he staked out at the bookshop, Crowley would turn up soon enough, and there at least he’d have the opportunity to tell Aziraphale to fuck off. Aziraphale wasn’t forcing himself on him here. And, if he was being honest, it was nice to see the bookshop again, and maybe he’d get to speak to Muriel. He hadn’t seen either Crowley or Muriel come in or out since he’d been standing there, but it hadn’t been too long. He figured they’d turn up eventually. Aziraphale didn’t have all the time in the world, but he had enough time to wait.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long it had been, but he had gone through two more cigarettes and was starting on a third when he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. There was someone in the bookshop watching him. It must be Muriel. He hoped he hadn’t scared her, standing outside the shop so long, but he couldn’t exactly go in anymore. The wards Crowley had put up for him when the shop opened were very particular. Aziraphale had to invite a demon in from inside the bookshop. But he couldn’t even get in the place to let himself in.

The former angel shifted slightly, turning to look through the window he was standing next to. When he did, he was greeted by Muriel. She was looking at him from the floor, peeking around the large, heavy wooden desk Aziraphale had picked for the place a long time ago. And she looked just the same as the last time he’d seen her. At least one thing hadn’t changed. He smiled at that, at Muriel, and waved slightly. He saw her eyes widen in surprise and what appeared to be a mobile phone tumble out of her hand. She snapped it up and ducked behind the desk, gone again.

Aziraphale shifted again, turning back to face the street, and brought the cigarette to his lips. He supposed it would only be a matter of minutes before Crowley appeared. Despite how long he’d been waiting for this, dreaming about this, hoping for this, Aziraphale realized his hand was shaking as he took another drag of the cigarette.

He was right. Within minutes, before Aziraphale had a chance to finish his cigarette - likely the last one he’d ever have, if things went the way he’d planned - a familiar black car pulled up to the curb in front of the bookshop, stopping in front of Aziraphale. The driver’s side door popped open and then there was Crowley.

Aziraphale had been waiting for this moment since the elevator doors opened in Heaven and he realized he had made an awful mistake. He’d been preparing himself for this for years. He knew what Crowley looked like, but the demon still took his breath away when he stepped out of the car.

Crowley’s hair was longer than it was the last time Aziraphale had seen him. It was pulled up into a small, messy bun at the back of his head with pieces falling out and Aziraphale could see one curling beside his ear. He was wearing black skinny jeans with a maroon red button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a black waistcoat, with his matching maroon high tops. But his sunglasses were the same. Always the same, even if Crowley looked so sad beneath them now.

He sized Aziraphale up from underneath the sunglasses, still holding the open door of the Bentley, like he was debating whether or not he was going to get back in the car and leave. Aziraphale held his tongue, not wanting to speak first and run Crowley off by saying something stupid. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

Finally, after what felt like years of silence, Crowley spoke. “Since when have you smoked?” he said. 

Aziraphale glanced down at the cigarette he held between two fingers. He’d almost forgotten he had that. “They’re the only thing I can taste anymore,” he said. He studied the cigarette for a few moments before below tilted his head slightly to the side and it disappeared into thin air. He didn’t have the taste for it anymore. Crowley was here now, and Crowley was far more important than his habit. 

Crowley was staring at him, unblinking, and he didn’t speak for what felt like another eternity. Aziraphale didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to talk to himself, either. “What are you doing here, Aziraphale?” Crowley said quietly. 

Aziraphale, he thought. Not angel. Aziraphale. But he supposed angel didn’t make that much sense anymore. He’d fallen. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath before smiling sadly at Crowley. “I’ve been sent to start the Apocalypse,” he said. “And that starts with killing you.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Crowley laughed out loud, just one sudden, sharp sound. “You’re here to kill me, angel?” he said, and something inside of Aziraphale buzzed and fluttered again. He’d just got done thinking that he was never going to hear Crowley call him that again. Angel. 

“Those are my orders,” he said. “However, I can assure you that I do not intend to follow through.”

And then Crowley laughed , and although it wasn’t really a happy laugh, he was still laughing. He was right in front of Aziraphale and he was laughing. Crowley took a step forward, shutting the door of the Bentley behind him. And then he was walking right past Aziraphale, towards the door of the shop. He paused, opened it, stepped inside, and then looked back towards Aziraphale. “You coming, angel?” he said. 

“I can’t,” Aziraphale said. “The wards.” But oh, how he wanted to. 

“S’alright,” Crowley said. “I changed them. Come on.” And then his back was to Aziraphale and he was entering the shop like he had so many times, like nothing at all had changed.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and followed Crowley inside. He suddenly very much wanted another cigarette, but he knew Crowley’s rules and he had no doubt they were still in place.

No fire in the bookshop.