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A ‘cupperty’, as Muriel discovered, was actually quite nice, especially when warm. They were on their fourth on this particular morning, because it was simply easier to deal with things with some tea in hand. An important note, as they were not quite sure how to deal with Crowley. He was - or used to be - cheerful(?). Maybe. Muriel wasn’t too good with reading human emotions, let alone supernatural ones. But he’d certainly smiled a lot, especially around Aziraphale. He never smiled now, except once or twice to cheer Muriel up. They could still see glassy tears in his eyes.
“You have to get up.” They set their tea aside to tug on his sleeve. “You can’t lay down forever.”
An “mmf” was all they got in protest from the demon lying face-down on the bookshop floor. It was a habit of his to do so, increasingly often. Muriel was quite sure it had to do with Aziraphale leaving, though they weren’t sure why his promotion was so upsetting.
“Excuse me,” they tried putting on a little more of an authoritative tone, “laying down like this won’t do you any good.”
“‘M not good. Don’t need to be good.”
Muriel huffed. “Well I am good!” Indeed, they were an angel, a lesser angel albeit, but an angel nonetheless.
Humourlessly, Crowley said, “Good for you.”
“No, you don’t understand. I have to help you, let me help you!” Miffed and determined, Muriel resumed tugging on Crowley’s sleeve, which achieved nothing but raising his arm into the air for a short moment before they gave up and his arm fell to the ground. He remained on the floor, as he had been, day in and day out, for months now. They were really worried for him, and nothing seemed to be working. Despite knowing virtually nothing about Crowley other than what he’d divulged when in a drunken state (that first week after Aziraphale left was a mess), Muriel knew just how miserable he was, but nothing they did seemed to get him out of this rut. They feared it was hopeless, which was terrible, because they’d really come to care for this demon (which, upon reflection, was not a great thing for an angel to do, though Aziraphale was close with Crowley, so Muriel figured it couldn’t be all that bad) and maybe, just maybe, they could know what it was like for those kids walking outside the bookshop holding the hands of their parents and grinning like Heaven just gave them a shining halo. Muriel never had a parent. Gabriel was too professional, Michael too distant, Uriel too intimidating. Angels weren’t supposed to be parents, Muriel figured. But Aziraphale was so kind. Demons certainly weren’t parent-like, but Crowley was reassuring and supporting in a way Heaven could only dream of. And now Muriel was stuck without anyone: Aziraphale was locked away in Heaven and Crowley was inconsolable.
“Please get up!”
Planting their feet firmly on the ground, they pulled Crowley across the floor (or attempted to) with all their might. What this would achieve, they had no idea, but at least it got Crowley moving (and they could have sworn they saw a little smile escape before it was quashed into misery once more).
“Leave me alone, alright?” Crowley pulled his arm from Muriel’s grip and pushed himself upright, only to collapse into a chair.
“Anthony, please-”
“Stop, wait.” He frowned, looking perhaps a little confused. Was it confusion that made someone’s brows knit together and eyes narrow in thought? Muriel was fairly sure they got that expression right.
“I haven’t used that name in eighty years,” Crowley said.
“I know!” Muriel was quite cheered up now that they didn’t have a demon moping on Aziraphale’s carpet. “I think it suits you, though. Look, I read it in here.” They handed Crowley the book in which Aziraphale wrote about all sorts of encounters with him over the centuries. Muriel was delighted to find that they had gotten a mention too, once or twice. The book was open to a page dated ‘1914’, where Aziraphale had noted an ‘Anthony J’. Crowley studied the diary for a moment.
“He wrote about me?”
“All the time! He likes you a lot, you know.”
Crowley frowned. “This is Aziraphale’s diary.” He closed the book. “You shouldn’t read something so personal.”
“I didn’t really know it was a diary…” Muriel managed a nervous laugh. “Not until I properly read it, anyway.”
Crowley didn’t reply, for a moment. “I’m going to keep this. Maybe read it. Even though I shoudn’t.”
Muriel nodded, glad Crowley had something to do besides wallow in sadness. “Books are quite interesting! I’ve been reading.” They gestured to Aziraphale’s desk, where they often sat to read. Five or so books were stacked up, a bookmark in each.
“Don’t touch the first editions,” Crowley chided. “Aziraphale likes those. And don’t sell any, either.”
They fell into period of silence for a while. Muriel made Crowley a cup of tea. Crowley informed them he didn’t drink tea. He drank it anyway. Muriel dusted the shelves and took one or two more books to put on the desk to read later.
Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.
— — —
“What’re you reading?”
“Pride and Prejudice.” Muriel showed Crowley the cover. “It’s very good! I’m learning a lot about humans from it, actually!”
Pride and Prejudice. They must’ve found it on Aziraphale’s desk. There was still a yellow ribbon peeking out the bottom, where he’d never finished reading it to Crowley. They’d never gotten to the ending, despite Aziraphale’s insistence that it was the most romantic thing he’d ever read. Although books weren’t his thing, he’d liked hearing Aziraphale’s voice narrating the story to him, with his slightly-altered voices for each character and whispered ‘oh dear’ at a turn of the plot. Crowley pushed it from it mind, not quite able to accept that he’d never finish it now.
“Really? Like what?” Humouring them, Crowley propped himself up on the back of the armchair to lean over their shoulder. In turn, they adjusted their sitting position (from curled up on the cushion to sitting upright) so he could see the page they were on.
“Lots of things!” Muriel flipped back a dozen or so pages. “Look, Mr Darcy just proposed to Elizabeth—that’s a thing humans do when they really love someone—but she said no because he was really rude. Humans are pretty picky about rudeness, and I think that’s a good thing.”
“Rudeness during a proposal? How scandalous.”
“But he was only rude because he really likes her but he doesn’t know how to say it because he’s really bad at social situations. I think he’s just misunderstood, but Elizabeth doesn’t know that because all she can see is him being rude. But really, he means well, even if his proposal wasn’t one she was happy with.” Muriel thought for a moment. “Humans aren’t too great at noticing what the other person means.”
“Neither are we, really.” Crowley fell into the chair opposite Muriel, looking as if he would appreciate a snooze for a couple centuries, despite not needing sleep at all. It was certainly fatigue, or something similar, which curled the corners of his mouth into an everlasting frown.
Muriel thought about that for a moment. “Humans can speak to each other with their faces, like a second language-” they tried to raise an eyebrow, as if to demonstrate their point, but failed terribly and ended up with an oddly scrunched expression, “-and it’s like… it’s like every human just knows it!”
“You learnt all this from one book?”
“Yes! I think it might be my favourite. So far, I mean.”
Crowley couldn’t help a smile. “Read me the last chapter, would you, Muriel?”