Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Consciousness was too hard for Crowley to deal with lately. It had been six days since Aziraphale ascended to Heaven. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his Angel’s. “Oh, Crowley, nothing lasts forever.” He’d tried driving away from the problem, but apparently, the Bentley’s heart was just as broken as his own. He’d completely lost control of his stereo and all that would play were pathetically sad 80’s breakup songs. If he heard ‘I’ll be Watching You” one more goddamn time, he would slash his own tires.

After three hours, he’d given up. He went back to his apartment, but Shax was still there. “I don’t know what to do now. I reported to Beelzebub. What do I do now?” He couldn’t handle that right now, either. Grumbling, he went back to the car. Back to Whickbur street he went, intent on getting plastered at the Dirty Donkey until he didn’t feel the urge to make Detective Constable sneak him back into heaven and beg Aziraphale to come home. Then, he saw her.

Muriel was standing in the window of the shop, worriedly peering out of the window above the desk. He only hesitated a moment before he broached the doors of Aziraphale’s shop (THEIR shop).

“Alright, Detective Constable. What’s got you down?” Crowley asked kindly, taking the freezing cup of undrunk tea from her hand. “It’s just … I think I’ve been abandoned here?” Muriel looked as if she might cry. Crowley was startled, because of COURSE she was abandoned here. “The Metatron told me to stay and look after the shop, but … I’ve never … this is the first shop I’ve ever been in, Mr. Crowley, I don’t know how to RUN one.” Her panic rose as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

“Okay! Okay. Cherub. Listen. You’ve been given one order. To look after the bookshop.” Crowley looked to her for confirmation. “Yes.” She said. “It’s still Aziraphale’s bookshop, Muriel. Have you ever seen him SELL a book?” She thought, then shook her head. “Right! So! What you want to do is dust the books once a day. Answer the phone and let people know that Aziraphale is out of the office, and when a customer walks through the door, tell them to piss off.”

He could see Muriel’s mind working. “And this will take all 24 hours in a day?” He laughed. “Oh, no, Cherub, the rest of the time, you will be learning how to live on Earth.” She seemed uncertain and uncomfortable. “Don’t look like that – it will be fun!” He chucked her on the shoulder gently. “Try food and drink, read all the books.” He stretched his arms out. “What you have here is basically a human instruction manual.”

“And you’ll stay and make sure I don’t make any mistakes?” She looked so hopeful. He tumbled onto the sofa (HIS sofa – he used it often enough).  It smelled like dusty books and Aziraphale’s cologne. There was nowhere else he would rather be, he found. He miracled himself a bottle of Red from the cellars, opting to drink straight from the bottle. “O’course, I’ll be right here in this spot if you need me.” He winked at her and took a hefty glug of wine.

<<>> 

After the second bottle of wine, he was blissfully numb, content to watch Muriel devour book after book. He bundled himself up in the sofa blanket, just his head poking out, answering various questions the angel threw at him about Earth.

“Should I be in want of a wife, then? If I’m to fit in?”

Crowley chuckled. “Prob’ly not. Making that kind of connection with a human gets pretty tricky for us. Short life spans n’all.”

He sniffed. “Fall in love and it’s all over for you, Cherub. Don’ do it, it hurts.” He jammed his palms against his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to escape. “Yes. Best leave love to the humans.” His voice broke as he said it.

“I need a nap,” he announced, before shutting his eyes.

<<>> 

Muriel stood stock-straight at Maggie’s counter. Maggie could see the worry in the angel’s eyes, even as she smiled. “How can I help you, Muriel?” She asked kindly. “Oh! It’s just Mr. Crowley? Erm, He’s taking a nap? I’ve always thought naps were supposed to be short, you see, but he’s been asleep for days.”

Maggie sighed sadly. Poor bloke. She had plans tonight, but there was always need for extra hands.

<<>> 

“Mr. Crowley,” Crowley’s mind was blissfully blank in his slumber, and he was enjoying himself quite a bit. Except that voice. That was a bit grating. Still, the numbness was pleasing. That was, until he felt a set of eyes on him. This wasn’t the Cherub either, this was different. He tried to ignore it. Then, he felt it. A poke to his side. He growled low in his throat, hoping to scare whoever it was away. The next poke was followed by a stern, “oi!”

He opened his eyes into a glare. “I’m ssssleeping,” he hissed. It was the record shop girl. He shut his eyes pointedly and rolled over. “Get. Up.” She said sternly.

“No.”

“We have somewhere to be.”

“You’re not the boss of me, shop girl.”

“No, but you goddamn need one you sorry excuse for a man. Get your skinny arse off this sofa right now before I pray up to your angel ex-whatever and get him to do it.”

The threat worked. Crowley sat up, grabbing his glasses from his pocket and frowning up at Maggie. “When did you get mean?” he complained. “I can be mean if the situation calls for it.” He looked up at her and she looked every bit the stern mother hen. Her eyes softened and she knelt down in front of him.

“My dear, I know your heart is broken, but you need to keep pressing on. Mr. Fell is pressing on, I’m sure, and it won’t do for him to come back here and find you standing still, Crowley,” She patted his knee. “Now, budge up. The best thing for heartbreak is to keep busy, and we are going to get busy.”

Crowley, not knowing what the fuck else to do, allowed her to drag him out the door.

Chapter Text

“I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard.” The stereo of Maggie’s Nissan Teana blasted as soon as she turned the key in the ignition. “What the bloody-“ Crowley grumbled with distain. Music these days. She paused the music. “No, no. This is important too, it’s heartbreak music. Listen to it loud enough you don’t hear anything else. Including the stupid thoughts in your stupid brain.”

“I like it!” Muriel chirped from the back seat. Crowley crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to listen to the stupid song that reminded him of his stupid angel.  “Seatbelts!” Maggie commanded.

They pulled up in front of a Catholic Church. “Nope. Can’t go in there. ‘Sachurch. S’Consecrated ground.” “We’re not going to the church; we’re going to the school cafeteria. That’s alright, yeah?” Crowley shrugged. He’d find out soon enough, he guessed. “If my feet get burnt, you’re waiting on me hand and foot til they’re better,” he groused. “Fine.” Maggie said off-handedly.

The moment he’d stepped into the cafeteria (and his shoes didn’t melt), he knew the drill. It had been hard to stay away from soup kitchens after six millennia.

A stern nun greeted Maggie and she introduced herself to Crowley and Muriel as Sister Theresa. She gave Crowley an odd look but said nothing as he followed her mutely. She set the women on salad serving duty and told Crowley to follow her. “Here to cause trouble?” She asked him, a suspicious squint to her eyes. “Never,” he smiled charmingly. “You are closer to holy water than a demon is normally comfortable with, keep that in mind.” He shivered involuntarily. “I’m just here to spoon out potatoes, Sister. Scout’s honor. Also, I’m an ex-demon. Reformed. Or something.”

She looked confused. Fair enough – so was he.

The line for dinner was long. He’d had to loaves-and-fishes the food twice to keep from having to turn people away. Once all the food was gone, the volunteers were encouraged to grab plates and, in solidarity to Muriel, who looked genuinely petrified of the roast chicken and mash, he advised the fellow volunteers that he and Muriel had eaten dinner before they arrived.

Maggie introduced the two to the others as father and daughter (FATHER for fuck’s sake) and Crowley found he enjoyed the simple conversation. Some of the diners came up and chatted with the regular volunteers and Maggie dragged Muriel away to help children make butterflies out of coffee filters (Muriel was just as delighted to see the colorful water spread across the paper as the children were).

“I know what you did to the food,” Sister Theresa said as she sat down next to Crowley. “Ngk,” said Crowley, waving her away. “Is it normal for Demons to go around doing good deeds?” “It was NOT a good deed,” he snarled, standing up from the table. “Demons don’t do good deeds.”

“Dunno what else you’d call stretching thirty-five quid’s worth of food to feed one hundred people, Mr. Crowley.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “There were children in that line, Theresa. Children shouldn’t go without dinner. That’s not a good deed. That’s … common sense.” He mumbled. “Just … adhering to NHS guidelines.” 

“Whatever you need to tell the man downstairs, I’ll corroborate.” She winked at him, mercifully retreating. “You’re welcome back any time.”

He hung back and observed the cafeteria full of humans. There was a pleasant din of conversation. Tired parents encouraged their children to eat their meals. Friends chatted. Maggie and Muriel, having finished their craft, played with a group of small children. Not having anything else to do, he joined them. A little boy with blonde curls and big blue eyes immediately toddled up to him, book in hand. “Read.” He commanded handing over the book.

“Erm,” Crowley choked. Maggie giggled. “Mr. Crowley isn’t a good storyteller, Nathan,” she said. “Excuse me, I am an excellent storyteller!” He grabbed the book and began to read the story. Soon the entire group of children were gathered around Crowley, who read with great flourish and had new voices for every character.

He’d gotten through two Pete the Cat stories, one Arthur, and Dragons Love Tacos before Sister Theresa pulled him away from his audience to help with the washing up. The children groaned and Sister Theresa advised he would be back next week for an encore.

“Next week?” he hissed to the nun as she pulled him away. “Children will still need feeding next week, Mr. Crowley,” She smiled innocently, reminding him so much of Aziraphale his heart twisted. He groaned. “FINE, next week.”

The three packed into Maggie’s car after the washing up. Crowley half listened to Muriel’s barrage of questions about all the people she’d spoken to.

They pulled to the back of the building where the bookshop was and Muriel bade the two farewell, eager to get back to the book she was reading. “So what are you doing tomorrow?” Maggie stared at him intently, and he knew she wouldn’t let up until she got an answer.

What he wanted to do was go back to his apartment, down at least three bottles of wine and sleep for about eighty years, but Muriel was stranded here on Earth, and what if she needed him? What if the bloody angel came back?
Maggie’s words echoed in his head, and he knew she was right. The last thing he wanted was for Aziraphale to have moved forward and find Crowley here having stood right where he left him. The part of him that hated Aziraphale for leaving didn’t want to give the angel the satisfaction of knowing Crowley had a hard time without him. The part of him that loved Aziraphale desperately and pathetically didn’t want the angel to feel the guilt of leaving him to wallow in his self-pity.

“Well? Come up with at least one thing.” He sighed. “I’m going to come pick up Muriel and introduce her to the ducks at St. James Park.” Maggie grinned. “That’s lovely, Crowley. Now stick to it.”

Shax was still in his old apartment, so going back was no longer an option. No one was using Aziraphale’s apartment, though – he wasn’t even sure if Muriel knew it was up there – so he figured he could take it over.

Once he stepped foot inside, though, he knew it was a bad idea. The bookshop had Muriel’s essence – it had HIS essence in it. The apartment was all Aziraphale. He’d never even been inside. Crowley felt as though he was invading the angel’s privacy.

He had nowhere else to go, and he needed somewhere for his things, so he swallowed the feeling, resolving to find himself a new place tomorrow. He settled his box of plants on the small formica dining table and took to the battered tartan sofa.

It smelled like Aziraphale undiluted, all vanilla and good whisky and sweetness. Hell, he missed him so much. He slipped his glasses off, placed them on the coffee table and buried his face into the cushion. He knew tears were coming and he let them soak into the fabric, replaying the last conversation he had with the angel.

Did Aziraphale really want him to become an angel again? Crowley thought he was happy with Crowley as he was, but he supposed he was wrong. Satan, his heart felt like a brick in his chest at that thought. Especially these last 4 years since they’d gone up against heaven and hell, he felt … loved. He’d felt loved by the angel, and it was wonderful.

Aziraphale even seemed to enjoy Crowley’s demonic traits – he insisted on seeing his eyes, he cleared a spot on the windowsill for him to take naps in the sun in his snake form.  He seemed to enjoy Crowley’s evaluation of wine by serpentine smell. He chuckled openly sometimes when Crowley would play pranks on the humans.

What happened? What made him change his mind? Or …

He pressed his palm to his chest, trying to hold himself together. He pulled the quilt over himself, shrinking into the sofa with a sob.

No. The more he thought about it, the more Crowley was certain of one thing – he was definitely wrong. Aziraphale had never loved him.

Chapter Text

Crowley spent the next morning looking for a new apartment. Everything he saw was sub-par, much to the chagrin of the leasing agent he’d thrown a large sum of pounds at to show him round at short notice.

Nothing was in quite the right area, had the space he wanted, or had adequate parking for the Bentley. Don’t get him started on the old girl.

The goddamn Bentley was playing Taylor Swift. The thing was 90 years old, how did it know about fucking Taylor Swift? Crowley tried to change the song, but the only thing he accomplished was starting the song over. He sighed, thudding his head against the steering wheel. He, a demon, loved an angel. Unrequited. Wasn’t that JUST the worst thing you ever heard?

He grimaced. He was pathetic. He needed a goddamn hobby. He parked in front of the bookshop. “Oi, Cherub!” He poked his head in the door. “Hello, Mr. Crowley,” Muriel hummed, engrossed in her book. “What’re you reading now?” he asked.

“Oh, The Good Earth.”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Very human.”

She looked alarmed. “Oh, Mr. Crowley, I hope not! This man is awful.”

“Sometimes, humans are awful, Muriel,” he was going for nonchalant, cool. Instead, Muriel could see the trauma of 6,000 years of human existence etched on his preternaturally young face.

“Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggested. Muriel perked up. “Is there fresher air than bookshop air?” She asked eagerly. “The term ‘getting fresh air’ is a way of suggesting going outside,” he explained, ever-so-patiently. “Oh! Lovely,” she responded.

“Have you ever seen a duck in real life?” he asked her.

Muriel squeaked, a big smile on her face.

“What’s the news, then?” He asked as they walked. “Two humans came in, and I told them they weren’t allowed to buy books here, and they hollered at me! So I told them to ‘piss off’ like you said, and then they got a police officer involved, Mr. Crowley!” She glared at him accusingly, and he had to chuckle.

“The police officer was rather nice, though, I must say. They told me to say it kinder next time, then made the humans get out so no books sold!” She said triumphantly.

“That’s wonderful, Muriel.” He said warmly. She brightened even more at his praise.

He supplied her with a zipper bag of frozen peas and showed her how to scatter them on the ground for the eager ducks. She squealed in alarm as they crowded around her, but then relaxed once she saw they were only interested in eating the peas and not her corporation.

“Oh! Um, the little shop directly next to us, not the naughty bookshop, the – clothes cleaners? It’s vacated. Mrs. Nancy said she and Mr. Roger are moving to the Maldives to retire, and they packed up all their things yesterday. Isn’t that lovely?”

Nancy’s Dry Cleaners. Shame – they knew their way around his expensive suits. Some stains could not be miracled out – they just hung on in the corner of your vision. Human methods were better SUIT-ed. He snorted at his terrible pun.

A couple of years ago as a thank-you for getting a particularly rough stain out of his Armani suit, he’d given them a philodendron that Nancy sat in the window. He wondered how the plant was doing now. It seemed to thrive in that window. Lots of natural light.

He thought of the shop idly. The shop was a bitty thing, but the windows were enormous. The whole thing flooded with any light afforded to it in the London street. His plants would love it. He knew, too, that Nancy and her husband lived in the flat between Aziraphale’s and Maggie’s on the second floor, and it had equally large windows. His plants would love it.  

His brows furrowed in thought. He could let it, and Aziraphale would be too busy to notice. Running a business would surely keep his mind occupied and he would be close enough to keep an eye on… things. Plus, he could be out of Aziraphale’s flat as soon as a thought. It was settled then.

“Muriel, tell Mr. Fell you’ve found him the perfect tenant to take over the Dry Cleaner.”

<> 

The next few weeks flew by. Crowley had given Aziraphale a fake name for all the tenant paperwork, so according to the records, a woman named ‘Lourdes DeVille’ ran the exotic plant store next to the bookshop, Black Dahlia exotics.

He did everything by hand, using no miracles to get it done, and in the end he’d made himself a little haven he quite enjoyed. He’d lined every wall with slabs of oak for shelves and stained them dark (thanks to a certain Nazarene carpenter, he knew woodworking like the back of his hand). He’d carefully chosen every sprout and vine from nurseries across the UK, making acquaintance with all the best growers around. Every plant was strategically placed so it got just the right amount of sun or shade. The result was opening the door to a jungle, humid air and wet soil and a canopy of greens. Beneath the shelves were barrels of plant food and organic soil that customers could funnel into burlap sacks with heavy metal scoops.  

He made the base of the large oak and marble counter big enough to work upon, a cash box and sleek tablet all he needed for payment. Concrete floors led to various drains in the ground, making for easy watering and cleanup. The walls, what little you could see, were painted the darkest gray. It was the perfect cozy haven for an old-as-time serpent.

“Oh Crowley, the shop looks gorgeous!” Maggie breathed as she stepped inside. “Thank you, Shop Girl,” Crowley replied casually, but she could see him preen at the compliment.

“So what does Mr. Fell feel about you letting from him?” she asked.

“He thinks I’m Lourdes DeVille,” Crowley said sheepishly, not looking up from examining the plant on his worktop. “I used a pseudonym … I’d like for the landlord to know as little of my business as possible.” Maggie rolled her eyes.

“Then why did you choose to open a shop right next to his, hmm? He still owns it, he’s bound to come back.” 

Maggie was slowly learning to read Crowley, and she could see the anguish spread across his face. Dying to change the subject and not move the demon to tears, she moved on. “Well, This shop is absolutely gorgeous. So very ‘you.’” She grinned.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. He looked around and plucked a small sprout off a shelf. “On the house. Peace Lily. Always make sure that the soil is moist but not wet. Spritz the leaves daily. Put these drops in weekly. And bring her to me if she gives you any trouble,” He handed her the sprout (who took his hint and would be on her best behavior) and a vial of plant food drops. “Oh, Mr. Crowley, it’s absolutely lovely.” She gave him a hug and he stiffened. “I don’t hug.” She giggled. “You’re friends with me, Crowley. I hug, you hug.” She released him and looked at the plant with a love that reminded him of his angel.  “I’ll take the greatest care of her. Oh! I have a gift for you too!” She handed him a wrapped parcel.

What he thought would be a record was actually a Queen wall calendar. He smirked. “Thank you, it’s perfect.” “Wonderful, I thought you’d like it! Now, fill it up,” She ordered.

He found November and tacked the calendar up on the wall between the back room and the shop floor.

“So, how are you doing keeping busy?” Maggie asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs next to the counter.

“This week? I’m moving into the flat next to yours.” Maggie’s eyes flew up in surprise. “Oh! You’re taking over the flat lease too?” He nodded. “Not only is my current one is literally owned by hell, but I’d have to have a roommate and I’d rather … I’d just rather not.” “D’you need help moving?” She asked (hoping he’d say no). He rolled his eyes. “The demon in me wants to say yes just for a wee bit of torture.” She laughed out loud.

“Nah. The things I want to keep I can just snap over. Could I tempt you into going to IKEA with me though?” He grinned, a wicked thing. She groaned. “IKEA, really Crowley? Don’t you have millennia worth of riches?”

“Haven’t you ever seen the light leave someone’s eyes following those little lit-up arrows on the floor?” He cackled and she rolled her eyes. “Mr. Crowley, there is very little I like to do more than spend other people’s money, and we are going to that posh furniture shop two blocks down and getting you the nicest, most comfortable sofa that we can find for your ridiculous, drunk naps.” She grabbed his arm. “Make your apartment somewhere you love being. Treat yourself to nice things,” she admonished softly.

“How are things going with you and the coffee lady?” Crowley asked as he and Maggie trekked to the furniture store. “Well, I suppose,” Maggie shrugged. “I’m in no rush, you know, so we’re getting to know each other.”

“I thought you loved her?”

“I am definitely falling,” she said shyly, looking around as if Nina was somehow within hearing distance.

“So, is she going to be part of our little food serving team then?” he asked.

“Oh, no. She works Friday nights.”

“Doesn’t she work every night?”

“No, she takes Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday off.”

“Memorized her schedule, have we?” Crowley teased.

Maggie blushed. “Hard to plan get-togethers when I don’t know her schedule.”

“Of course, Maggie. Of course.” Crowley held the furniture shop door open for her.

He picked out a dark green velvet sectional (that would fit in his space because he expected it to). Maggie had insisted that he get one that was big enough for two people to have a cuddle (‘Demons don’t cuddle,’ he snarled. She raised a brow gracefully. ‘But angels might.’).

The flat above the shop was old and smelled of cigarettes, which Crowley and Aziraphale had a hell of a time giving up in the 80’s, and as such he banished the smell (and the nicotine that yellowed the walls) immediately. He tore up the carpet and polished the concrete so it felt cool and modern. It was much smaller than his old apartment, just a bedroom and bathroom attached to an open space that was to be his kitchen, dining and living room, and then a small study branching out from there.

He miracled the walls slate gray and the countertops black marble, replacing the old cabinets with sleek black shelving and bought the newest, sleekest appliances on the market. He spent a day moving around his artwork and placing all his furniture just so. Once he’d gotten it just right, he invited Maggie (who brought Nina, as it was a Thursday) and Muriel over for takeaway and a movie. Nina and Maggie gawked at the art and artifacts, asking him lifetimes of questions that he fielded happily. For the first time in a long time, Crowley was proud of his home. He had friends he could invite over.

Once they left, he washed the glasses and dishes by hand, flipping on the Golden Girls and feeling a semblance of happiness. When was the last time he’d been happy without it being connected to the angel? He struggled with the thought. He was a demon, he wasn’t allowed to be happy, at least Before.

He huffed. Fuck that – he was allowed to be happy now. If fucking Beelzebub got to run away and have a happily-ever-after with Jimbriel the wanker, he was allowed to be happy. He was allowed to have friends he genuinely liked. He was allowed to use his power for good if he so chose. He was allowed to have a home full of things that made him feel happy and safe.

He looked around at the lifetime of memories in his home – the rugs he’d commissioned in Persia in 1810, the Mona Lisa given to him by a drunken, morose DaVinci. The rich, dark wooden salad bowl from Morocco. His Eagle lectern from the church in 1941 and the throne in his office. It felt like home. The only thing missing was Aziraphale.

His eyes caught on the polaroid of he and the angel held by a magnet on his refrigerator, trying to breathe away the hole the angel left in his heart. He was going to find out who he was without Aziraphale. He was moving forward. He had to.

<<>> 

It was five in the morning. Crowley couldn’t sleep and it was still dark out. He peered out the window and observed the silent street moodily. There was no one out there except… He squinted. Nina? The woman was dressed all in black and had a duffel bag slung against her waist. He watched curiously as she looked around her, walked up to a green service door that he’d never noticed, and slipped in. What the hell was going on?

He then noticed two other women, dressed all in black, nod to each other, walk up to the door and slip in. What, was Nina in some odd,  women-only, early-rising cult? He grinned, demon senses exciting at the idea of mischief to be had. Who didn’t love a good cult?

Crowley magicked himself to his female form. The all-black thing was par for the course. Maggie seemed to be dressed casually in a zip vest and leggings, so she put on a zip vest and leggings and scampered across the way.

The green door opened to a set of narrow stairs. She could hear soothing music and smelled incense burning. Oh ho, it was DEFINITELY a cult. Did she need to tell Maggie that Nina was in a cult? She pondered that as she traversed the stairs slowly. When she hit the last step, she was greeted with six sets of eyes on her. Attached to six bodies on various colors of yoga mat. Damn. It was just yoga. She pouted.

“Oh, hello! Welcome! I wasn’t aware someone new was coming!” A middle-aged bald man with a chin strap and gauged ears hopped up to greet her. “I’m Charles, and you are?” “Crowley?” Nina acknowledged before she had a chance to introduce herself. She gave Nina a grimace-smile, toying with a curl. “There are mats in the corner, and your shoes can go against that back wall.” Charles retreated back to his mat, and, attention still on her, Crowley decided why not, she was awake and here and Nina would tease her if she left. She pulled off her combat boots and placed them against the wall.

She rolled out her mat next to Nina and gave her a wide smile. “So, it is Crowley, still yeah?” She nodded. “Crowley can be anyone, yeah? Anthony, Annie.” Crowley rolled her curls up into a bun on top of her head, securing it with a piece of nylon. “Well Annie, your noodly little body was made for yoga, I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

She did not do just fine. By the end of the class, Crowley’s corporation was sweaty, and her muscles burned where he forgot he had muscles. He could miracle away the discomfort, but the pain had a grounding effect on her that she appreciated. “That was awful, when’s the next one?” She asked Nina. Nina rolled her eyes. “I go Tuesday and Thursday, but Charles holds class every morning,” she explained.

“Excellent. Wretched,” Crowley mumbled, and, because she knew it would annoy her, added, “You have a jolly yoga buddy now!” Nina groaned dramatically. “It’s too bloody early for this.”

<<>> 

Fridays were Crowley’s favorite days. He started off with Charles absolutely killing his corporation in the morning, then got coffee at Nina’s and opened up his shop. He had regulars that knew most of his shipments arrived on Fridays, so while he stocked, his customers flowed through in a steady stream, chatting about soil and weather patterns and greenhouses.

Before he knew it, it was time to head to the school and serve dinner. He made sure that nobody was left with an empty belly and played with the children and read books. He’d found a set of finger puppets to go along with the books and the children would giggle and ooh and aah at his myriad of voices.

Little Nathan with the blonde curls took a particular shine to Crowley, and after story time, he’d crawled into Crowley’s lap and laid his head down on his shoulder. “Well, wee lad, it’s bed time, eh?” he mumbled gently, mussing his curls. Crowley took Nathan to Susan, the boy’s mummy, and found the young woman hunched over a textbook.

“What are you studying?” Crowley asked, rocking Nathan from side to side, like he would do with Warlock. “Holy Roman Empire,” she mumbled.

“Ah, yes, what a time it was.”

Susan chuckled. “You speak as though you were there, Mr. Crowley.”

“Ah, I was, though. Just me and good old Charlemagne.” He raised his eyebrows at her as she giggled again.

“I don’t know why I’m even studying, to be honest. I have to drop this class.” She slammed the book shut.

“Why’s that?” Crowley asked curiously. Lack of funds could be solved with a little miracle, after all.

“It’s on Tuesday nights and my mum usually watches Nathan, but she’s had to take on extra shifts because the rent’s gone up, and of course Tuesday is the extra shift.” The girl sighed, reaching up to give Nathan’s back a gentle rub. He curled deeper into Crowley with a sweet snuffle.

“I can watch him,” Crowley offered before he realized what he was saying. “Oh, Mr. Crowley, I couldn’t ask you to do that, I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Darlin, can I be honest with you?” Susan nodded. “The reason Maggie dragged me here to volunteer is because my heart’s been broken and I’d been going mad.”

“Oh, Mr. Crowley, who would possibly break your heart? You’re wonderful.”

“I’m not,” he dismissed with a growl. “But anyway, I’ve been sad, lonely and miserable, and it’s a lot easier to carry on when you’re busy, isn’t it?” She hummed in agreement, but still looked hesitant.

“Plus, I was a nanny for a time, I have references!”

She chuckled. “You are a mystery wrapped in an enigma, Mr. Crowley.”

“Quite right.”

Crowley came home exhausted, crawled into his bed, and for the first time in a very long time, fell into a deep, contented sleep.  

Chapter Text

Sunday mornings were market days on Whickber street, and Crowley liked to filter temptation into the air to make all the health nuts sell out the doughnut vendor. He dragged Muriel out of the bookshop for the occasion, and she caught him up on the attempted customers of the days since she’d seen him. “There was a lovely woman who wanted so badly to buy Mr. Fell’s copy of The Importance of Being Earnest, and she tried to touch it and it zapped her with electricity. Truly zapped her right off her feet and she fell on her bum, poor thing. She was ever so confused.” Crowley had to cackle at that one. Aziraphale and his Oscar Wilde – of course he had a safeguard.

“Mr. Fell said to give you these, they’re the spare keys to the apartment upstairs. Rather, they’re for ‘Ms. Deville’,” For someone so new to humankind, Muriel sure had an impressive eyeroll. “Oh! Mr. Crowley, Muriel, hullo,” Maggie greeted them warmly. Crowley grunted in response and Muriel grinned and waved back.

“Hi, Maggie! How is the record shop?”

 “Great, thank you, Sweetheart.” Maggie had taken it upon herself to supply Muriel with records she thought she would like. Muriel had open rein on the shop, and she used it with fervor. Muriel was partial to 60’s-2000’s pop, which was Maggie’s favorite too.

One day, Maggie had entered the bookshop to Muriel intensely focused on the words of Tupac Shakur. “He recites the most incredible poetry,” Muriel explained, bobbing her ankle to the beat. “It’s quite enthralling.” She smiled brightly at Maggie. “Human music is just amazing!”

Crowley bought Muriel a jug of fresh squeezed orange juice. Muriel wasn’t to the point of consuming food, but he finally convinced her to try a ‘cuppertea’ and found she really enjoyed it, and ever since, liquids were easy to get her to try. “Oh wow! This is incredible!” She exclaimed after a tiny sip of the juice. “I feel energized somehow!” The juice vendor gave them a strange look and Maggie hid her smile behind her hand. “Oh look, puppies,” Maggie cooed, coming upon the local humane society booth.

Muriel was immediately enchanted by the little creatures and Crowley was content to watch as the two women cooed ridiculously at them. A little black and gray scruffy dog sat away from the others. Crowley observed him a moment. He was a teeny thing, but he looked so solemn. He looked sad. The volunteer running the booth took notice of Crowley staring at the little pup. “Oh, yes, that’s Freddie.” She gave Crowley a sad smile. “He’s the last of the litter, even his mummy got adopted. He hasn’t been the same since his sister was adopted out a month ago.” She clucked her tongue. “We were hoping that the fresh air would do him nicely. No one wants to adopt a depressed puppy.”

Crowley looked at the puppy, whose head was resting on his paws. His big dark eyes watched the crowd impassively. The puppy looked how Crowley felt – bleak, underwhelmed … lonely. He reached in and grabbed the dog gently around his round belly, bringing him up to his face. The little thing eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, you little monster, no need to be so blue,” He told the dog sternly. Freddie squirmed a bit and Crowley shifted so he was cradling him in his arms. “Atta boy, now see?” He swept his hand over the wiry fur on the pup’s back. Freddie looked up at him suspiciously. Crowley was beginning to like the little thing, he realized in horror. Only one way to stop it. He lowered his sunglasses, letting the puppy see his horrific yellow snake eyes. Instead of recoiling, which was the usual response he got from animals, the puppy yipped at him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “Oh? Not afraid of snakes, are you?” Freddie yipped again and to Crowley’s utmost surprise, licked the tip of his nose.

Fuck. Crowley was getting a dog.

“Oh, Crowley, I think he likes you,” Maggie grinned. Freddie’s little tail smacked his arm rhythmically. “Meet Freddie. He likes … plants, and The Velvet Underground and … and a good, aged whisky.”

“Please don’t give puppies liquor,” the volunteer deadpanned. “Why not?” Muriel asked innocently, and Maggie shuffled her away before the volunteer could process her question.

Crowley had mountains of paperwork to fill out, then he, Freddie and the women hit up the pet shop, which Crowley left with arms of bags and advice on feeding and training his new roommate, who was peering around curiously in Muriel’s arms.

“This is going to be one spoilt dog, Crowley. I mean, you got him the most expensive dog food they had.”   “For the time being, yeah. Mostly, I’m going to make it for him myself. If I’m going to take care of him, I’m going to make sure he’s as healthy as can be.” Maggie smiled at him. As grumpy as pretended to be, he really was just a big sweetie beneath it all. Not that she would ever tell him that. The only one with the balls to goad the demon was Aziraphale.

<> 

Freddie was curled up and snoozing on Crowley’s lap as he zoned out in front of an episode of Golden Girls. The past week since he’d gotten the dog have been full of orders, customers, researching and making and freezing customized dog food and getting Freddie his shots and training him to walk on a leash and not piddle every new place he went. His ancient mind had barely any time to think about his shattered heart and the angel who broke it.

Chapter Text

Before he knew it, he’d had Freddie for a month, the new year was a few days in, and the time was passing insistently. Crowley let the current of his new life pull him along. When the absence of Aziraphale hurt a bit too much, he focused on where he was headed next. Couldn’t skip a night of rest – he had yoga in the morning. Couldn’t sleep away a century, he was expecting a shipment of spider plants in three days. Susan had class on Tuesday. He would miss Nathan’s birthday party, which he was invited to by the birthday boy himself. It was still months away, but it was apparently going to be the event of the year.
His heart was still shattered, though. He would take sitting across from his angel on the sofa in the bookshop getting smashed any day, hands down. However, it had been decades since he’d carved a place for himself in the world of the humans, and he found he quite liked it.
He picked up Freddie, letting the dog lick his face as he held him and scratched his little round tummy. It had taken Crowley six centuries to find out he was a dog person. Puppy breath was terribly healing. Fred nipped his nose. “No biting, you little hellion,” Crowley growled with no real ire. He placed the puppy on the floor, and he trotted off.
He hummed to Pink Floyd as he mixed soil in a large bucket at his worktop. His hair, which he’d decided to grow out, was pulled back with a comb headband. Freddie chomped merrily on his bully stick in his plush bed next to the counter, one ear flopped over and one pointing straight up. The door chimed and he grunted at the customer, not taking his eyes off his soil as he worked it to just the right consistency. His muscles strained as he mixed, and he huffed a breath out.
“Jussa moment,” he muttered.
“You look well,” the angel said softly. He dropped his watering can. “What are you doing here?” Crowley asked, stunned. “I … I came to check on my new tenant. Ms. ‘DeVille,’ I assume?” Aziraphale raised his brows knowingly. “As long as I pay my rent on time, what does it matter to you, Aziraphale?” Crowley sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Aziraphale looked crushed and Crowley immediately looked away. “Quite right. Well, I … wanted to check in, and I’ve done that, so I’ll …”
Freddie ran up to Aziraphale and chomped on the tip of his shiny shoe. “Ah, oh!” He picked up his foot on instinct, but the little black dog held on, growling in a way that may be intimidating in a year’s time. Maybe. “Hello there. Who’s this then?” Freddie barked angrily as Aziraphale bent down, removed him from his shoe and held him out, the dog flailing its legs wildly.
“That’s my dog, Freddie, and oh ho! He doesn’t like you!” Crowley laughed heartily. Bless his little pal. “Come on Fred,” he grabbed him from Aziraphale and the pup calmed down immediately. “Oh, of course he likes me! All animals like me,” Aziraphale protested, wounded. He attempted to reach toward the puppy again and Freddie bore his little milk teeth with a fierce growl.
“Aw, Pal-O, it’s alright, I’ll protect you from the mean old angel,” Crowley said, scratching his head. “He was just leaving anyway,” Crowley said to Freddie (but to Aziraphale). “I … of course, yes. I’ll be going then.” “He is quite good at leaving,” Crowley cooed to the dog, just as Aziraphale was opening the door. The angel stopped for a moment, sighed sadly, and exited. Crowley exhaled shakily into the puppy’s wiry fur. “You won‘t hate him forever, Fred.”
<<>>
The bitch is back, Crowley texted.
Two minutes later, Maggie was there. “Oh, Sweetheart, are you alright?” she cooed at the demon. He snarled. “Just peachy.” He replied. “D’you want to talk about it?” she asked, a tentative hand on his shoulder. The touch broke something in him and he exhaled a sob.
Maggie walked over and locked the door to the shop and flipped the sign to Closed. She rubbed Crowley’s back gently. “S’alright, love. We knew he’d have to come back eventually.” “It’s not the coming back that’s the problem, Maggie, it’s the leaving. Why didn’t he just stay in heaven? How many times is he going to leave me like this?” Crowley rubbed at his eyes, suddenly exhausted.
“It was stupid to have a shop right next to his. To get settled right here. I thought it would be better to see his comings and goings but Satan below. It’s going to hurt, isn’t it? This hurt.”
He was beginning to hyperventilate. “It’s easy for you to clean up messes, yeah?” Maggie asked.
Crowley gave her an incredulous look, and before she got a verbal reply, she put Freddie in his play area and went to the back room, coming out with a crate full of terra cotta pots.
She handed one to Crowley. “Throw it down,” she commanded. “I’m not …” “THROW. The POT.”
He did. It shattered. The impact seemed to help him breathe a little bit. “Another one,” Maggie ordered.
He took one without argument and threw it at the ground with a little more force. A thrill shot up the demon’s spine. He cleared the wall Black Dahlia shared with the bookshop and took another pot. With a grunt he threw it at the wall, chipping the plaster as he did. “That’s it, love, keep going until it doesn’t’ hurt to breathe,” Maggie said gently.
He threw the next one with a roar, a tear slipping down his cheek. The pot shattered satisfactorily. He stomped on a shard that collided with his foot. He threw pot after pot, on the floor and at the wall, until the crate was empty and his shop wall was littered with pieces of clay and wall and dust. “Better now, Demon?” Maggie asked, the word Demon coming out as a term of endearment.
Crowley huffed. The huff turned into a stunned laugh, which quickly turned into a fit of laughter, echoing in the small space. Maggie joined him, giggling too. “I’m afraid I’ve made quite a mess.” “Good thing cleaning isn’t an issue, eh?” She said, making him laugh again.
Aziraphale heard the impact of the first blow and bustled over to the Black Dahlia in alarm. With every pot that shattered, so did Aziraphale’s long-ignored heart. He stood outside the window for a moment before feeling like a voyeur and heading over to Nina’s for a cup of tea.
“Mr. Fell!” Nina was stunned, and the tone of her greeting was not entirely kind. “Hello, Nina, Dear.”
Nina looked like she was going to say something unkind, but the look on his face must have changed her mind. “It’s not easy coming back, I take it?” she asked, her tone softening a bit. “I may have made a mistake I can’t make right,” Aziraphale explained, glancing over at the plant shop. “You very well may have, Mr. Fell.” She prepared his tea and handed him the steaming cup. “He’s a lovely man, Mr. Fell. Worst demon I’ve ever met,” she said with uncommon sincerity. His heart twisted. “I know,” he choked. He took his tea out the door, avoiding looking where he desperately wanted. Finally, his tea was finished and, against his better judgement, he went to peak through the window once more.
Crowley was laughing, holding his stomach. Tears streaked his reddened cheeks and his dimples were on full display. The setting sun made his lovely eyes glimmer. Oh, Lord, how Aziraphale loved him.
<<>>
Aziraphale hadn’t gone back to heaven. He and Muriel strolled the Sunday market. They would have looked casual, Muriel chattering away and Aziraphale listening attentively, but Crowley watched as he toyed with the ring on his pinky. He was nervous.
Maggie took her place loyally with Crowley and Freddie and walked the opposite direction of the angels. “So. Aziraphale is still here.” “Very observant, you.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Have you talked to him any more?” “No. I think my vicious attack dog scared him away.” Maggie giggled.
“Crowley!” Muriel greeted merrily. “And hello, little Freddie,” she bent down and scratched the pup’s ears. He licked her cheek in greeting and she smiled radiantly.
“So it’s not just angels in general,” Aziraphale murmured to himself. “Mr. Fell, hello,” Maggie said warmly. “Hello, Maggie dear, how have you been?” He accepted a hug, patting her on the back. “Been well, thank you. And how are you? How’s the new position?”
“Not mine any longer, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale admitted, chancing a glance at Crowley as he spoke. “I’m sorry to hear it,” Maggie replied, also glancing at Crowley. “Damn shame,” Crowley deadpanned. “Look Fred, there is your friend from the adoption center. Let’s go tell her all about your love of fine whiskey.” He scooped up the dog and left before the conversation could continue. In the spirit of giving himself what he needed, he needed to not have that conversation just yet.
Freddie barked happily at the other dogs in the pen as Crowley and the adoption volunteer chatted. “He looks wonderful, Mr. Crowley,” she said warmly, giggling at his alcohol joke. He smelled a vague bit of attraction wafting off her toward him, so he embraced it as a good distraction and flirted idly back, just because he could. He could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on him as he leaned on her table and smiled up at her.
He gently turned down an offer of drinks and took his leave back to the shop. He was enjoying running the shop so much that he hadn’t allowed himself to consider how difficult it would be if Aziraphale returned. What was he doing back anyway? In one piece? Thank God herself, he was in one piece. He sighed, turning his music up loud. Heartbreak was such a confusing thing.
Aziraphale could just see Crowley through the window of the shop, his head bobbing to music. He looked so lovely, his hair pulled back from his face and his glasses off, spritzing the plants. He watched as Crowley bent down and re-emerged with the blasted little dog, cradling him in his arm and scratching his belly. It was hard to reconcile the man in the window with HIS Crowley.
But then, HIS Crowley hadn’t had any real direction since hell had stopped bothering him, but to follow Aziraphale, had he? Crowley said they were on ‘our side’ and had stood by Aziraphale’s side happily. Aziraphale never stopped to consider how very lucky he was. The angel swallowed at the lump in his throat.
He wanted to know this Crowley, the one who was now watching delightedly as his dog pounced on a bit of twine on the shop counter. He wanted to kiss the dimples that emerged on either side of his smile. He wanted the smile to be for him.
He walked determinedly into the shop. “Crowley.” Freddie turned to the angel and growled, baring his little fangs. “Oi, now I won’t be having that, Fred. Come here A-Aziraphale.” Aziraphale’s heart stuttered. He knew Crowley stopped himself from calling him Angel and damn, did it hurt. Aziraphale approached the counter. “Now, reach your hand slowly toward him, curling in your fingers. Let him smell you.” Aziraphale did as he was told. “There, Freddie, see? He’s just a silly old angel,” Crowley cooed. He handed Aziraphale a piece of chicken. “Give him this.” Aziraphale handed Freddie the piece of chicken, which he grabbed and turned away from the two beings, gobbling it up.
He was ignoring them now, munching on his chew toy. “Well, I think that’s an improvement,” Crowley said, shrugging. “What do you need, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. “I … I don’t need anything, I just wanted to talk to you.” Crowley winced. “Is the world going to end if we don’t just now?”
“I – Not that I’m aware.” Aziraphale shifted from foot to foot, forcing down the words that threatened to spill from his mouth. “Well then, I’m afraid I’m terribly busy, Mr. Fell.” He nodded his head toward the exit. “Oh,” Aziraphale said, stunned at the dismissal. “Well, I – I…” But Crowley wasn’t listening anymore. He had headphones on his ears, deliberately not looking at the angel, and a spray bottle and rag in hand.
Aziraphale sighed and took his leave, his heart thundering in his chest.

Chapter Text

By late Sunday afternoon, Crowley had scrubbed every shop shelf, mopped the floors until they were sparkling, gone to his apartment, done a load of wash, scrubbed and hoovered every surface up there, and made Freddie’s and his meals for the week (eating was a very important part of a routine, Maggie said).

He had thrown on a pair of gray sweat pants and a long-sleeved Henley in an attempt to have a chill, homey day but it was more pacing, Freddie following his feet happily. Determinedly, he placed the puppy in his crate with a chew stick and went downstairs and next store.

The doors to the bookshop swung open, and even though Crowley knew he would be there, it was still a shock to see Aziraphale at his desk, reading glasses and cozy formal cardigan on. “D’you still want to talk?”

“Well, I – I,” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. Crowley sighed. “Would this be a better conversation to have over tea?” He asked. Aziraphale nodded gratefully.

Crowley shuffled to the back room and put the kettle on, using the time to gather his thoughts.

Once Aziraphale held a steaming cup in his hands, his nerves were a bit calmer. “I’m not Supreme Archangel anymore,” he said. “I’ve gathered that much,” Crowley arched an eyebrow at him. “They wanted me to arrange the second coming,” Aziraphale said nervously. Crowley’s heart began to beat faster. He wasn’t ready – not yet. “Well? Did you?” “The child is here on Earth.” He said evasively.

“That’s not what I asked,” Crowley said. “And that’s the answer I gave you,” Aziraphale replied, sipping at his drink.

Crowley blinked. He wasn’t in the mood for this shit. “Ookay. Well. This has been a nice chat, but I don’t like to leave Freddie alone for too long.” Crowley began to rise from his chair. “Wait!” Aziraphale grabbed the bottom of his shirt. “Please. Wait.” Crowley sat back down. “I don’t like the way we left things. I … I want to talk. Please, you’re my … my best friend.”

“I don’t know what there is to talk about, Aziraphale. I poured my heart out to you and then you left.” The words sounded so hollow. “I’m not going to tell you I’m alright or that it’s alright that you left, but I’ve been … marching forward. Life keeps going on.” He paused to take a sip of his tea. “I am your best friend, and you are mine, and we have 6 millenia-worth of history to- together.” Crowley would not cry, he just would not.

“And we obviously do not hold our relationship to the same value, and we will reconcile that, because we always do, but right now.” He took another sip, swallowing with it the lump in his throat. “Right now, I am working out who I am without hell, and who I am when I’m not following you around like a lovesick hellhound.” Aziraphale’s brows jumped up at the word Love.

“We’re neighbors, and – and Muriel is my friend, and so I will see you around, okay?” he said gently. This time, when Aziraphale grabbed for his hem again, Crowley shifted out of the way, scrambling for the safety of his shop. He waited until his door was shut and locked safely behind him to place his head against the cool concrete countertop and cry.

<<>>

Nina was surprised to see Aziraphale the following morning. “What does Crowley usually order these days?” He asked casually. “Ah, you do have some making up to do Mr. Fell.” Aziraphale’s face fell and Nina felt only a bit guilty. He did leave, after all, and that was pretty shit if you asked her. “His regular three shots of espresso with a little cream and a scoop of dark chocolate powder.”  “Then that, and a tea for myself, please.” “If you really want to make him happy, though, you bring a pup cup.” “A … a What?” “A Pup cup. It’s a cup of whipped cream with a little doggie bone in.” She handed him the drinks and the little cup of cream. “It’s for Freddie.” Aziraphale nodded. Oh. The dog.

He grabbed the drinks, heading to the Black Dahlia. “Good morning, Crowley. Good morning, Freddie.” Crowley was very obviously surprised. Aziraphale placed the drinks on the counter. “Here you go, little sir,” He placed the pup cup on the ground and Freddie lunged for it. “Wait!” Crowley started, but before he could say why, the dog went absolutely feral over the cup and whipped cream went spraying all over the floor.

“Oh!” Aziraphale squeaked in surprise. “Freddie!” Crowley growled. The dog looked up at him – or tried to, the cup having stuck to his face. The pup turned in a confused circle, then switched directions, all the while trying to simultaneously shake the cup off and lick up the cream.

Crowley pursed his lips, trying his best not to laugh. Aziraphale was standing stock-still, equally amused, confused, and mortified. Crowley grabbed the struggling puppy, pulled the cup of his face, and could no longer contain his laughter at the sheer amount of mess the dog had managed to make. Whipped cream stuck to his whiskers, his eyelashes, and clumped all over his little face. He licked determinedly at his nose to get more still, his little tail wagging in triumph.

“That was a lovely treat, wasn’t it you little scoundrel?” He said gleefully. Aziraphale was just relieved that Crowley didn’t seem angry when he was handed the puppy, wiggling and licking his face. “You’ve made a friend, which is lovely and all, but now he needs a bath. Crowley pointed to the sink in the worktop. “Can’t we just … miracle him clean?” “No, no miracles on the dog!” Crowley said firmly. Aziraphale made his way reluctantly to the sink and when the angel wasn’t looking, Crowley miracled away the mess of whipped cream on the floor.  

 “Just a rinse will do, make sure the water is comfortable for him.” Crowley busied himself getting a towel for the dog from the back room and left Aziraphale with the squirmy dog in the sink. He listened as the panicked angel tried to bargain with his dog. “Alright, you. We’re going to make this eas- now, you just have to stay st- I can’t use my miracles which means you just have to stay still for a SECOND. Oh BROTHER! CROWLEY!” Crowley came out of his hiding spot to see Aziraphale trying to grab the wriggly thing from the counter and wrangle him back in the sink. Crowley chuckled, holding the dog down with one hand and splashing him with water in the other.

“S’not so hard once you get used to it, Angel, see?” He turned off the water, and he knew what was coming next, so he moved out of the way so Aziraphale could get the worst of it. Freddie shook with all his might, spraying Aziraphale with dog-scented water. “Oh! Oh, Crowley you did that on purpose!” Aziraphale whined.  Crowley laughed openly now, and the angel just couldn’t be angry at that wide smile.  Crowley grabbed Freddie with the towel, giving him a quick rub down with it before setting him in his pen to dry.

“Is life with a puppy always this eventful?” Aziraphale asked, patting beads of water off his waistcoat. “Oh, yes!” Crowley growled, still grinning widely. “He’s just a little bundle of wonderful mischief.” His eyes sparkled a bit, and then he seemed to remember himself. “Ah, thank you for the coffee. And the,” -he motioned at Freddie. “Morning entertainment.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment. “I’d like to know you,” Aziraphale tried. “When – while - you figure out ‘who you are’, I’d … I’d like to know you. In whatever capacity you’ll have me.”

Crowley nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind, Aziraphale.”

<<>> 

Sister Theresa was frantic. “Please, my car won’t start and I’m on the M-25 and there won’t be a tow truck here for hours, they said.” “Alright, hey. I’ve got you, alright? I can be there in … twenty minutes.” Crowley hung up, picked up Freddie and ran next door. “Cherub!” He shouted into the bookshop. “Oh, do you mean Muriel?” Aziraphale was at his desk, his little round gold rimmed glasses perched on his nose. “Yeah, where is she?” He asked. “She and Nina are out grabbing lunch, is everything okay?” Aziraphale looked concerned.

“Shit, yeah, no, I just have to help out a … a friend and Fred gets a bit carsick and Muriel usually watches him.”

“Oh, well. I guess… I could watch him.”

“Are you sure, Aziraphale? He can be a little bit of a handful sometimes.”

“Crowley, it’s just a puppy, of course I can handle him. Is your friend alright?”

“Yes,” Crowley offered no more information and shoved the puppy into Aziraphale’s arms. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. He eats at 11, his food is in the fridge in the back room of the shop, blue top.”

<> 

Aziraphale stared at the puppy. “I’m assuming Muriel usually watches you next door…” The puppy stared right back, his big dark eyes innocent, if a little suspicious. Aziraphale put Freddie in the crook of his arm and grabbed the book he was reading, heading to the shop next door. He flipped the sign to closed and glanced around. The shop was so very Crowley. The plants were well taken care of and … disciplined was the word.

Aziraphale’s heart clenched. He missed Crowley ever so much. The pup squirmed in his arm and he put him in his little pen. Aziraphale could tell Crowley loved the dog very much. The pen had various toys, including a stuffed cartoon devil, complete with pitchfork, a wine bottle that was currently bigger than Freddie himself, and a little black stuffed goat, which was the puppy’s toy of choice, it seemed. He trotted over to it and picked it up with his mouth, bringing it over to show Aziraphale. “Oh, is that your goat? What a lovely toy!” The dog stared at him, picked it up in his mouth and dropped it again. “Oh, am I supposed to…” He picked up the toy and tossed it across the pen. Fred skittered after it, tail wagging and he chewed on it happily but didn’t bring it back. “Alright then.”

Aziraphale sat at the counter, magicking the tea he’d just brewed from next door. Just as he’d opened up his book, he heard a whine from the pen. He ignored it. The pup whined again. He sighed and looked over. Freddie was staring up at him, toy in mouth. “Oh, NOW you’re ready for me to throw it again.” Freddie put the toy down, tail wagging. Aziraphale groaned but got up off the stool. He threw the goat again and the dog was silent once again, having caught his prey.

After the third time fetching for the dog, he miracled his chair over and sat next to the pen, indulging Freddie whenever he whined for attention. Finally the dog grew tired, and the next time Freddie whined, the goat was where he left it. The pup stretched up to Aziraphale. “Oh, do you want a cuddle now? I can do a cuddle.” Aziraphale picked him up, sitting him on his lap. Freddie curled up, made himself right at home on Aziraphale’s thighs, and put his head down to sleep. Aziraphale was reminded of a certain black serpent, curled up in the patch of sun beneath the shop window.

< >

When Crowley walked into his store, his heart wrenched painfully. The two beings he treasured most in the world were … cuddling. Aziraphale had Freddie curled up on his lap, and one hand was gently petting the pup’s head while the other held a well-worn book. He couldn’t breathe as he contemplated the cruelty of the situation, a pantomime of everything he ever wanted right in front of him and yet a million miles away.

Sister Theresa barreled in behind him. “You and your sodding driving. I’m an old woman, Mr. Crowley, surely you can slow down for an old woman!” He turned to her and plastered on a smile, but she had obviously caught his despair before he could tuck it away.

“Erm, I am significantly older than you, Theresa, you can’t use age as an excuse,” he tried to tease. Luckily for him, the nun was observant. “Oh, hello there, you must be Aziraphale,” She smiled at the blonde man. He peered up through his little gold-rimmed glasses and smiled winningly at them both. “You must be Crowley’s friend,” Crowley was friends with a … nun? “– I apologize, I haven’t gotten your name, Sister…” Aziraphale puzzled.

“Theresa,” she replied, stepping forward to shake his hand. She could feel the holiness leaching off him, and … Oh, dear, no wonder Crowley was so taken – the man’s eyes softened as he met Crowley’s and Theresa had never seen a look so full of love. She blushed, feeling as though she’d intruded.

“Well, hello, you little hellion.” She picked up Freddie, who had woken up and was squirming on Aziraphale’s lap. “Let’s go for a little walk.” She pecked a kiss onto Fred’s nose, clipped on his leash (red leather, matching his custom-made collar) from beside the front door and Freddie happily trotted along next to her.

“Thank you for watching him. He’s fine on his own a few minutes, but as you can see, he’s quite needy.” “You’re quite a doting Dog-father,” Aziraphale said, slightly teasing. “I am, yes. He kind of got all my attention and affection for a while, and he grew accustomed quite quickly.” The two stared at each other for a moment before Crowley clapped his hands, successfully breaking through the cloud of love in the shop. “So, it’s only 10:45, so I’m assuming he hasn’t had his meal yet.”

“No, I haven’t set foot in the back room,” Aziraphale confirmed.

“Lovely, ok. Well, I should be getting back to business,” Crowley said as he switched on his neon ‘open’ sign.

“Right, yes, I’ll just … get back to my books.” Aziraphale’s chair was out of Crowley’s area with a hand wave and the angel smiled at Crowley. “So, friends with a nun, eh?” Crowley chuckled fondly. “Yeah, Theresa’s pretty great.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Well … you know, we do a … thing, Fridays.” Aziraphale’s brows quirked up. “You do a thing with a nun on Fridays?” “Well, yeah, me and Maggie and the Cherub, we just … you know … hang about.” Aziraphale waited for further explanation, but a customer walked in, saving Crowley from having to give one. “Malcolm!” Crowley greeted, overly bright. “Hey, Crowley,” The customer greeted, looking at him strangely. “My spider plant is looking a little worse for wear, was wondering what I can do.”

Aziraphale exited the shop with a little smile and a wave and Crowley let out the breath he’d been holding, turning his full attention back to Malcolm.

<> 

Theresa watched curiously as the angel of Whickbur street fiddled with his hands on the way back to the shop. She scooped up Freddie and made her way over, pushing through the doors before Aziraphale had the chance to lock them.

“Aziraphale, I’ve heard a lot about you.” “Sister Theresa, so nice of you to pop in.” Theresa watched with amusement as Aziraphale got out of his comfortable chair and wiped invisible wrinkles from his trousers primly. “How are things going with you and our mutual friend over there?” she asked, and Aziraphale bit his lip. “Oh, you know, just fine indeed. We’ve been good friends for a very long time, that’s not going to stop now.” The angel smiled rather unconvincingly.

“You know, when I first met him, he was pretty heartbroken.” She watched his face carefully for a reaction and was rewarded with a wave of intense sadness. “He’s under the impression you don’t love him, but it seems it’s just the opposite.” The nun gave Freddie a scratch on the head as she watched a plethora of expressions flit across Aziraphale’s face.

“He thinks that I don’t – I did this all for him!” He exploded. “He could have come with me, did he tell you that? We could have been angels together and he said NO, he left me to do all the hard work by myself.” Aziraphale huffed, his face turning red. “I told him I needed him and he walked out that door.”

Theresa nodded gently. “May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Did you fall in love with the angel Crowley or the demon Crowley?”

“Why, the demon of course!”

“Then why would you want the Angel back? He wouldn’t be the same.”

Aziraphale stopped. Of course he would be – they wouldn’t change him, he would still be Crowley …. Wouldn’t he? They would never … but they would. They wouldn’t allow his mischief making, question asking demon to be right-hand man to the Supreme Archangel. Oh, what was Aziraphale thinking?

“He wouldn’t be the same,” Aziraphale murmured in agreement. “And what do you think Crowley felt when you asked him to become an angel again?”

He gaped at her like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing.

Theresa made a show of looking at her watch. “Would you look at the time? I think this little guy is ready for lunch. Have a lovely rest of your day, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale barely noticed Sister Theresa leave, his mind still reeling from their conversation.

Crowley thought he wanted to erase the demon Crowley and replace him with the angel he once was. Why, that was unacceptable.

He burst through the door of Black Dahlia like a man on fire. “Crowley!” Crowley looked up at him, along with Sister Theresa, Malcolm and Freddie.

“Sorry, Aziraphale, I’ll be with you in just a minute. Feel free to sit.”

Aziraphale sat, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently. “Stop that,” Crowley snapped. “Oh, erm, sorry dear boy, I’m just anxious.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley cashed out Malcolm and said goodbye to Sister Theresa and he was just about to speak when two more customers marched in. “Crowley I –“ “Sorry, Aziraphale, now’s not a good time.” Crowley scooped half his hair up and clipped it away from his face.

“Hello, there, welcome to Black Dahlia, how may I help you?” The ladies chattered away at him, checking out the different plants on display and asking in-depth questions. Aziraphale got more and more impatient. The ladies both purchased a plant and meandered out happily, and Aziraphale finally thought he had his chance when the telephone rang. “Crowley reached into his apron to grab the receiver and answer, holding up a finger in Aziraphale’s direction. “Hello, Roger, how it’s going, Mate?” Aziraphale followed as Crowley carried on his conversation, heading to the back room to grab Freddie’s lunch from the refrigerator.

He hung up the phone finally, ignoring Aziraphale as he brought the food to the dog. “Good boy, eat up, alright?” He continued giving Freddie love when Aziraphale snapped and shouted, “CROWLEY!”

“What, Aziraphale?” Crowley snapped. “What was so important it couldn’t wait?”

“I love you,” Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes so the demon would know he meant it. The angel didn’t know what he was expecting exactly. Maybe for the demon to flip his sign to Closed and invite him to a long lunch at the Ritz. Maybe another kiss. Maybe an I Love You Too. Not a laugh. Crowley’s eyes looked impossibly sad as he said, “No, Angel, you’ve got it wrong,” and he huffed out a laugh.

Crowley busied himself with wiping off his counter with a damp rag. “You might see the potential of someone to love in me, Aziraphale, and I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not ever going to be an angel with you.” Crowley refused to look up, even as Aziraphale tried his best to will him to do so.

“I’m not going to follow you around like a puppy waiting for commands.” The demon worked at scrubbing at an especially stubborn piece of dirt. “And I’m not interested in being on Team Heaven in whatever war they’re cooking up.” He threw the dirty cloth in the sink and turned to face Aziraphale.

“I can’t be what you want, Angel. I’m so sorry.” Crowley’s voice broke right along with Aziraphale’s heart. He cautiously approached Crowley’s side of the counter and placed his hand over Crowley’s on the worktop. 

“I want YOU, you idiot, I don’t want to change you. I don’t want anything else.”  He cupped Crowley’s jaw gently. “You have every reason not to trust me, Dearest, I know that. But let me prove it to you.”

The bell over the door jingled and Aziraphale took a step away. He avoided eye contact with the new customer as he exited the store once more, leaving Crowley to gawk at his back.

Chapter Text

At some point in past few decades, Aziraphale made peace with the fact that he was in love with Crowley, and he’d resolved to love him in whatever capacity he could without either side getting suspicious.

The past years since the apocalypse, however, he’d found joy in loving Crowley in a much more overt way.

He made sure to keep crates of Crowley’s favorite wines. He pulled the couch from his upstairs apartment downstairs so Crowley could stretch his spindly limbs out for a midday nap instead of scrunching himself in one of the shop chairs, and stocked it with a warm quilt and cozy pillow.

He suggested restaurants that had an offering of warm stews and spicy, fragrant foods that Crowley favored. When he noticed Crowley frequently losing his glasses, he’d moved his handsome antique horse statuette to the spot where Crowley’s glasses tended to be set down.

Mostly, though, he’d noticed him. He’d watched and paid attention, simply because he could. He’d even drawn him a few times, when the demon was asleep on the sofa, curled up as a snake in the window, or just when Aziraphale thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Getting to know Crowley was a pleasure. He loved watching him cause mischief – leaving a ten-pound note stuck to the pavement and watching greedy humans’ days get ruined because it simply would NOT be torn from the ground, then letting it loose for someone who truly needed it. He loved sniping with him over plays he’d chosen because he knew the demon would like them (they went to quite a few ‘funny ones’ in recent years).

He loved that Crowley was getting more comfortable being openly liked by Aziraphale.  He could praise Crowley for a restaurant well-picked and Crowley would no longer sneer at him but give him a small smirk and a nod of the head. Crowley seemed perfectly content to being called some form of Dear. He knew his presence was not just accepted but welcomed in the bookshop. And it was so incredibly welcome.

Leaving Crowley had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, even if he believed in his reasons. In fact, after his first horrific meeting with the other archangels (“Did you forget that this one is an idiot, Metatron?” “There is no way we could work with him.” “He’s gone too native”), he was hell-bent on going home to his shop. To his Crowley.

“I’m afraid I’m not meant to lead, Sir,” He’d said to the Metatron, he said resolutely. He rushed to the elevator, fumbling with the buttons. “The elevator is down for maintenance, I’m afraid,” Metatron had said, a curious glint in his eye. “You’re needed here, Aziraphale. They are required to listen to you, remember that. It’s all part of the plan.”

So Aziraphale commanded. He tasked the scriveners with finding the perfect place for the Second Coming to be born. He gave Michael and Uriel mountains of paperwork to keep them busy and kept Sandalphon as far away as possible. Then he himself sat at his desk in thought, trying to figure out how to get himself back down to Earth, back down to Crowley as soon as he could.

He didn’t have to figure out how to get back to Earth, however. The Almighty did it for him. “Aziraphale.” He had been having a perfectly nice daydream about the Italian delicatessen on Wardour street. His eyes grew wide. “Lord?”

“Aziraphale, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“But I’m the Supreme Archangel, Lord. W-Where else would I be?”

“You are not meant to be the Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale. You are meant to be the protector of Earth. You and your demon Crowley,” She said insistently.

He would never get used to it, the way She spoke of things as though she already knew every feeling, every subtext, everything that is or was. She did, of course, but it was still a hard concept to grasp. Aziraphale blinked, hoping that the gesture would unpack all the Lord had said. “M-My demon?”

“I will restructure things here, Aziraphale. You’re needed elsewhere, dear angel.” Aziraphale blinked again and he was back on Whickber street, the doors to his shop an arm’s length in front of him.

Muriel popped them open, pulling him inside hastily. “I’ve just heard about a – a restructuring?” She harshly whispered to Aziraphale. “Are you in trouble, sir?” Aziraphale, still flustered from his direct communication with God, muttered “Nuh-uh,” dumbly. Muriel held a piece of parchment and began to read.

“To whom it may concern,

Enoch, previously known as ‘The Metatron,’ has stepped down as the voice of God. The angel Yadiel is henceforth the voice of God. Archangel Raphael has taken over the responsibility of Supreme Archangel. Unless given direct orders from either Yadiel or Raphael, you are intended to stay your current post.

I have spoken.”

The paper fell to dust from Muriel’s hands. “It doesn’t say anything about you, sir.” “Aziraphale is fine, Muriel.” He sat primly on the edge of his chair, his hands on his knees. “The almighty said…” He blinked a few times, feeling as if he were dreaming. “The almighty said my place is here, w-with Crowley.” “She spoke to you? Really? Oh how lovely, it’s been ever-so long. I always felt that your place was here with Mr. Crowley.” They smiled sunnily. “How long have I been gone?” Aziraphale asked.

Muriel shuffled over to the flip calendar on his desk. “Seven months and three days.” She advised. “And how are things?” “You mean how is Crowley, don’t you?” the angel smiled at him slyly. “Go on next door, see for yourself.”

And there he had been, his demon, in the lovely jungle that was the Black Dahlia, looking rested and relaxed.

 <<>>

Crowley was shaking. He was fucking nervous. He had Chardonnay chilling in the fridge and a fragrant chicken piccata finishing on the stove. He realized he was spin drying his greens so fervently the plastic had begun to melt. “Shit,” he sighed, taking out the greens to make sure they didn’t taste of his now broken appliance. He miracled the blasted thing away was a hand wave.

The lights in the room were turned up higher than he was comfortable with. He didn’t want this to feel like a date. It was not a date. It was a meeting. He rubbed at his temple. He should have just taken the angel to a restaurant. He felt so damn vulnerable. He slipped his glasses on his face, feeling slightly more comfortable. He hated wearing glasses in the house, but Satan, the light was grating his nerves.

Freddie looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. He squinted at the pup. “What did you do, you little hellion?” He growled. Freddie trotted away and Crowley followed. “Ah! Freddie!” He groaned, covering his face. The dog had pulled a pillow from the sofa to shreds, feathers everywhere. Fred barked and spun around proudly, wagging his tail. “Thanks for this Mate, good timing,” Crowley grumbled. His swished his hand, which got rid of most of the mess, but there were still feathers stuck into the fabric of the upholstery.

By the time Aziraphale rang the bell at precisely 6 pm, Crowley was still picking at feathers, grumbling. Freddie watched on proudly from puppy jail.

Crowley threw open the door. “Hi, Aziraphale, come on in.” 

<<>>

Aziraphale could smell dinner from the hallway and his angelic little tummy rumbled. His nerves were shot, but there was nothing to do but knock on the door. When Crowley opened the door, Aziraphale was stunned. His glasses were nowhere in sight, his cheeks were slightly pink-tinged, his hair was slightly mussed and he had a piece of something white – a feather? Whose feather was in Crowley’s hair?

“Hi Aziraphale, come on in.” He offered no explanation. Aziraphale looked around for company, but there was no one, just Freddie who yipped a hello. Aziraphale shrugged off his coat, trying to shrug off his confusion with it. It didn’t work but he was quickly distracted.

Crowley’s home was so achingly Crowley. It was tidy and modern, but art covered the walls symmetrically, adding rich color and interest in every glance. Plants were interspersed tastefully, not as many as in the shop, but enough to compliment the space. It was not cluttered, not in the least, but there were signs of life that his last flat had not had. It was complexly beautiful, complete with layers of texture and comfort. It was like gazing into Crowley’s soul and it was gorgeous.

“I- your home is lovely.” Aziraphale breathed, trying to play it cool. “Thank you. Oh! Mind the feathers, Freddie decided to hunt down and kill my throw pillow.”

Aziraphale chuckled, at the explanation, leaning into the dog’s enclosure and giving the puppy a scratch behind the ears.  “It smells absolutely lovely in here, Dear,” he complimented.

Crowley busied himself in the kitchen. “Chicken piccata, mashed potatoes and a salad. Nothing too fancy.”

“That sounds divine!” Aziraphale smiled at him. Crowley mirrored his smile, then began shifting uncomfortably.

Aziraphale watched as he found his glasses on a side table and slid them up his nose and did his best not to be disappointed. His eyes were so very pretty. “Have a seat, dinner will be ready in a tick.” He took a seat at a simply set table and contented himself on observing Crowley serve. He methodically plated two servings from various pots on the stove, sliced a few pieces from a boule of crusty brown bread and pulled a bottle of wine from the cupboard. “Here, Crowley, I can take care of the wine, if you’d like to set everything on the table.”

Aziraphale got up and Crowley handed him the corkscrew, bustling away to set the plates and bread and salad on the table. He pulled two glasses from a cabinet. Aziraphale made quick work of the cork and poured out two glasses, then followed Crowley to the dinner table and took his spot.

“This is absolutely gorgeous, Crowley,” Aziraphale said fondly. “S’nothing,” Crowley growled, waving away the compliment. It wasn’t nothing, it was incredible, and Aziraphale expressed his pleasure generously.

Crowley ate in small, precise bites and sipped at his wine mechanically. Aziraphale swallowed the disappointment he felt when he realized what was missing – Crowley usually enjoyed watching Aziraphale eat, but now, he just seemed uncomfortable.

Upon this realization, Aziraphale finished up his meal and wine quickly and dabbed at his mouth. “I suppose we should talk.” 

“Right,” Crowley agreed, refilling their glasses. “So you’ve lost your job?” He asked, taking a pointed sip from his glass.

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, I… Well,  no, I …” Aziraphale huffed. “The Almighty told me I needed to come back.”

“I figured you wouldn’t have just come back on your own,” Crowley mused, staring at the ruby liquid in his glass. Aziraphale winced. His heart cracked, just a bit.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to, My dear –“

“It’s Crowley, I’m not your dear.” Crowley was still not looking at him. “O-Of course. Crowley. Um.” Aziraphale felt tears begin to prick his eyes and he commanded them away. He was not going to cry.

“Anyhow, she said that I wasn’t supposed to be supreme archangel, that my place was here on Earth with you,” He let the words all out in a rush before Crowley could interrupt again.

The room was silent. The only noise was Freddie trying to bite the nose off his toy hedgehog.

“I see.” Crowley said. He was the picture of nonchalance – leaning back casually in his chair, arm across his chest while the opposite hand held his wine glass, one leg crossed over the other.

“That’s all you’ve got to say about it?” Aziraphale asked snippily.

Crowley swirled his glass thoughtfully. “You’re back here because God told you to come back.”

“Well… yes, but…” Crowley’s phone began to ring. Aziraphale had expected him to look at it, silence it, and return to the conversation. He was not expecting the demon to answer it. “Hey, Suze.” The demon held a finger out to Aziraphale and left the room.

Crowley had never just left like that in the middle of the conversation. Aziraphale’s ears began to ring.  He was irritated, that was quite rude… but more than anything he was … sad. He missed Crowley like one would miss a limb, and he was so looking forward to spending time with him, but apparently, Crowley didn’t feel the same.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Well then,” he said to the empty room. He walked out the door.

It wasn’t until he got home, got into his pajamas, poured himself a cup of tea, got in bed with a copy of Moby Dick, and opened it up to the book-marked spot that he let his tears fall.

<<>> 

Shit that was rude. Crowley felt awful. He’d tried to convince himself that he was a demon, rude should be expected, but he knew better. He’d tried to convince himself that Aziraphale deserved it, the rudeness, but even that was untrue, he knew.

It was just that when Aziraphale told him that the reason he was back was because God made him come back, it hurt. Crowley knew he wasn’t worth enough to Aziraphale for the angel to come back to Earth to be with him, but the confirmation still hurt.

He sighed. He should apologize. He slipped on his house shoes, walked to Aziraphale’s house door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again with no avail.

The angel wouldn’t have gone far – the conversation with Susan was short and inconsequential. She just wanted to make sure he was still up for watching Nathan and of course he was. Crowley walked around the building to the bookshop door. He snapped to open it but the door remained firmly shut. He huffed. Where could Aziraphale be?

He reached out with his mind. He and Aziraphale had something like a tether – that’s how Crowley knew he was in danger all those times – they could sense each other, even when there were hundreds of miles between them. Since Aziraphale had gone up to heaven, Crowley had … not severed the bond, but loosened it so it wasn’t as obvious. Now he reached out.

The angel was in bed, and now he looked, he could see the faintly illuminated window above the shop. He was also absolutely broken hearted. Crowley sank down to sit on the stoop of the shop, head in his hands. Fuck.

<<>> 

Crowley tried to reach out to Aziraphale, heading over when the shop was open, when he could see Muriel. However, whenever he ventured over, Aziraphale would have mysteriously gone. The angel seemed to have a fully booked calendar of his own, and every time he saw Muriel, she would have a fresh new excuse as to why the angel wasn’t around.

Crowley was out for a walk when suddenly, he saw it – a white-blonde mop of curls, strolling leisurely through the park. Aziraphale’s handsome profile was smiling up at his companion, a tall, handsome black man in a long, subtly tartan gray coat, who was smiling warmly back.

Crowley made to turn the other way, but the man spotted him first. “Anthony Crowley,” he said warmly. Crowley was confused. He didn’t think he knew the man. Then, he met his eyes. They were green and they shimmered. Ethereally. Angel, then. “Erm, Hello, do I know you?”

“You probably don’t remember me, for I knew you by another name,” The angel arched a brow. Aziraphale said nothing. “Raphael,” he said, holding out his hand. Crowley shook it firmly.

“You’re a little far from your post, Sir.” The angel Raphael was usually at the right hand of God and didn’t stray.

“Ah, yes, I’m sure Aziraphale has told you about the restructuring in Heaven going on.”

“Not as such,” Crowley snuck a glance at Aziraphale, whose eyes stayed fixedly on his shoes.

Raphael looked bothered for a moment but shook it off. “Right, well, I’m the new Supreme Archangel, that’s the most pertinent bit. So I’m just picking your Aziraphale’s brain here.” He grinned and patted Aziraphale on the back kindly.

It was strange enough for an angel of Heaven to speak cordially to him, but referring to the Angel as His Aziraphale? That was so weird. Aziraphale seemed to think so too – he looked just as confused as Crowley.

 “Right. Well, I must be getting back to my shop, Raphael. It was nice to meet you.” He leaned his head awkwardly in the direction of Whickbur street. “Aziraphale,” he said softly, with a nod.

That was a thing.