Chapter Text
Soho, London. Crowleys apartment
Crowley was not having a good day at all, but Crowley was used to that, considering the shitshow that was a few months ago. So now, instead of doing the healthy thing like talking to somebody or forming a heist, to go get Aziraphale back.
He was just in his apartment, which he luckily got back from Shax after she became a grand duke of hell after Beelzebub left with Gabriel and what he was doing in said apartment. Drinking himself to metaphorical death by alcohol poisoning, and because of the apartment, he could even do it uninterrupted. If he were still living in his bently, someone would have already called 999 by now and reported a dead body.
He was on his ninth? Tenth? He didn’t really care what number he was on as long as there was more of it, he could be on his hundredth, and he wouldn't care. He was still thinking about what number he was actually on because then he would be able to figure out how much he had left when he heard someone cough as a way to get his attention.
He thought for a hopeful second that maybe it was Aziraphale, and he had come back, and they could live happily ever after. But then the blob of a person walked into his vision, and he immediately recognized her.
“Shax, to what do I owe this pleaser?” He slurred, and in reality, it sounded like this: ”Shaxxxx, tooo wvta do I oweee ths pweser?.” Luckily for Crowley, Shax was used to deciphering unintelligible demons, so she understood what he was trying to say.
“Well, traitor, I have something that you would want,” she tried to make eye contact. “It's about a certain angel. I think you know who,” she told him. Crowley was not in the mood for whatever Shax watered. But if he ignored her, she would never leave, so he humored her. "And what *hic* is that? *hic*” Crowley asked, still slurring and now hiccuping.
“Well, I can’t tell you it now. There is one condition. I forgot to mention that if you want to know, you have to do something for us. ” Shax explained, standing between Crowly and the exit so he couldn’t leave easily without Shax stopping him, even if he was sober.
Crowley blinked, trying to figure out if he had heard her right. Maybe he was drunker than he thought, and he was hallucinating this entire conversation. That would make more sense than whatever Shax was on about. After he was pretty sure he heard her correctly, he responded, “Shax, why in the infinite cosmos *hic* did you think that I would *hic* help you or Hell again?"
“Because we have information on Aziraphale. Was that not clear when I said, Angel?” Shax asked, confused. At this point, she was just white noise to him, but he nodded like he was listening. “So what do you say?” Her blue eyes bore into his skull, like she was trying to read his mind or trying to tempt it to do what she wanted.
A few minutes passed like he was really thinking it through, but actually, he was still trying to calculate how many bottles he had drank today and how many he still had left. After his many months of drinking, he assumed a lot because he didn’t really have a body. He could just expel liquids out and back into whatever they came from, which for him meant infinite alcohol unless he forgot to expel it, and then he couldn't get it back, so that's what he was trying to figure out when Shax spoke again. ”So?” she prompted, which caused him to remember that someone was there and that she had just asked him a question.
"No, my answer is no.” Crowley didn't remember what he just said no to. He was also way too drunk to make decisions right now, anyway. "Also, Shax, *hic*, when did you get here?” he asked. He would have cleaned up a bit if he had known he was going to have company.
“Is that sarcasm? You know I can’t tell?” She asked, squinting her eyes as she tried to interpret if he was joking.
He shook his head no. “I'm very *hic* drunk right now. If you didn’t *hic* know, so I don’t know *hic* what you are talking about,” he told her, still hiccuping. Apparently, that was the wrong answer, as Shax then started yelling, "I am not on babysitting duty for a lethargic alcoholic demon! You are to sober up and answer me!” Shax decided then and there that she was going to discorporate him, and nobody could stop her. She would probably force some lower-ranking demon like Furfur to do all the paperwork.
Crowley just blinked in response, which made her angrier. “You know what I can’t do this today. I will come back tomorrow when you have hopefully sobered up by then,” she growled. “Satan, give me strength,” she mumbled to herself as she disappeared. Crowley didn't know why, but that interaction was so funny that he started to laugh. This had made Crowley's day, messing with Shax, sober or not, was always fun. Even if he didn’t know what he did this time, it was funny nonetheless.
Heaven, same day
Aziraphale was having a pretty good day, all things considered. He just started to really get into the rhythm of being the new supreme Archangel. It was a nice routine of meetings, more meetings, talking about the second coming, talking about the second coming in meetings, and paperwork a lot of paperwork.
Aziraphale didn’t mind the paperwork, it was a nice distraction from everything that happened, and it was also the perfect time to think up ways to stop the second coming.
Ideas on how to stop it were going slow, to say the least. All of his plans had involved Crowley in some way, but with how their last interaction went. Aziraphale didn’t really think that Crowley wanted anything to do with him, so those plans had to be scrapped. And so he was back to square one.
He was finishing some paperwork when he heard someone walking up to his desk. He looked at the clock on his desk in confusion. He still had almost 30 minutes until the next meeting, and everyone usually left him alone when he was not in a meeting.
He looked to see who it was. “Oh, hello there, Michael,” he said, smiling in confusion. as they walked up. “What do you need?” Michael stopped in front of his desk, hands clasped behind their back. “I have some unfortunate news for you,” Michael said, lips pressed in a line. This caught Aziraphale's attention. “What is it?” he asked, the worry in his voice noticeable.
"I just got word from my backchannels." They looked away to not make eye contact, like if he didn't see their eyes, the backchannels wouldn’t exist. “That, the demon known as Crowley has rejoined hell. As a duke of hell,” they said it so matter of factly like this was normal and was not to be given another thought. But this was not normal, and Aziraphale knew that this couldn’t be real.
"What?” he asked, half expecting Michael to start laughing and say that it was all a prank, and of course Crowley would never do that, and he had actually come up here to tell Aziraphale that he took back all he said, and would like to be an angel again.
But that, of course, didn’t happen. Michael continued to stand there, and Crowley was, of course, not there. "I'm so sorry you had to find out this way,” Michael said with feigned sincerity. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. He couldn't believe it. It was impossible; Crowley would never, wouldn't he?
His mind was so full he didn't hear Michael walk away, but maybe if he had stopped them, asked them to explain, or followed them, he would know what actually happened.
“He bought it. It was so easy. He didn’t even ask me anything about it.” Michael chuckled as they told the person on the other end of the phone, “So, how's it going on your end?” they asked as the other person responded, “That's not good. Well, hopefully, with one of them believing it, they shouldn’t talk to each other,” Michael said, thinking out loud. “Well, you're just going to have to try harder because if the plan fails as a result of your incompetence, so help me!” they yelled into the phone. As they hung up. ‘I can already tell this is not going to go well,' they thought as they walked back to where they came from.
Aziraphale had been staring at his table ever since Michael left, replaying the conversation over and over, aging in his head: "Crowley has rejoined hell. As a duke of hell, Crowley has rejoined hell. As a duke of hell, Crowley has rejoined hell. As a duke of hell, Crowley has rejoined hell. As a duke of hell,"
He just couldn’t believe it. Rejoining hell was all he was against. He was on his own side, not anybody he had been for as long as Aziraphale could remember. But then that means Michael lied, but that can't be true. Michael was an angel, and angels didn’t lie. But then that meant that he actually did. All of this was giving Aziraphale a headache. He didn't know what to believe anymore. On the one hand, Michael was an angel, one of the good guys, and on the other hand, this was Crowley they were talking about. Would he really rejoin hell?
Aziraphale opened one of the drawers on his desk. The drawer was mostly empty. There was only a Polaroid picture in it. He picked up the picture and looked at it. It was from 1941 when he performed on the West End stage. It was of him and Crowley holding a gun and getting ready to perform the bullet catch trick, and them both being scared because they couldn’t use any of their miracles.
If he remembers correctly, the Demon FurFur took it of them in an attempt to show it to the dark console, so they both would get in trouble, and he would get a promotion. It was a nice memory regarding the circumstances. It was also the only human item in heaven, as they were banned, but he snuck it in.
He looked at the picture, just trying to imagine Crowley as a duke of hell, but he just wasn’t able to. ‘Well,’ he thought sadly as he put the picture back in the desk, ‘that is another mystery for me to figure out. But one thing at a time, I still have a lot of paperwork to do,’ and with that, he got back to work.
Soho, London. The next day. Crowleys apartment
Crowley always hated the day after drinking heavily because he would always forget to sober up and then wake up with a horrible hangover. Luckily for him, he knew the ultimate hangover cure: just keep getting drunk over and over again. If you're never sober, you can’t be hungover.
He got up from where he was passed out quickly, putting on his glasses to stop the light that was still on from making his headache worse. He looked around to see if he still had wine. He looked for a few minutes around the room before emitting defeat and sitting down in his chair. He was out of alcohol, he had drunk all of it, and he had a lot. He had started collecting it when alcohol was first invented, so he had a LOT.
Now he was out, he could miracle some, but he had learned years ago that wine, when miracled, tasted weird, so he tried to avoid it when he could, so that's what he was going to do. Maybe he could also pop by the bookshop and see what Aziraphale was up to, and oh, he had forgotten about that. His ok mood turned sour as everything that happened came back to him. Now he really needed alcohol, he got up from where he was sitting, walked out of his apartment, and got in his Bentley.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep and let the car take over because, when he woke up, he was outside of Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death, parked in the spot he always used to. When he tried to start the car up again, it wouldn’t work. He tried over and over, but still nothing. He ended up getting out, and he immediately regretted it as the outside world was far too loud for his migraine, so he fled into Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death.
He went to a seat at the back, where the lights hit less because, even with his glasses, the lights were still too bright. With his head down, trying to block the lights, he hears someone walk over to him. "Hello, what can I get you?” Nina says, holding a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other.
“Do you have anything with alcohol in it?” Crowley asked, still looking down, "Mr. Crowley, is that you?” Nina asked, recognizing his voice. He just nodded in agreement. "MAGGIE, COME LOOK AT THIS!” she yelled to the blond woman behind the counter. Not expecting the volume, Crowley flinched and groaned as the loud noise pierced his head.
“Keep it down, would you?" he hissed at her. She just rolled her eyes in response. Maggie walked over, a question forming on her lips before she looked at Crwoley and then gasped as she recognized him.
"Mr. Crowley, what are you doing here?” Maggie asked, her confusion evident. “Drop the Mr. It makes me feel more important than I am.” Crowley started, “And to answer your question, I wanted something to drink." Crowley told the two girls who were questioning him as he finally looked up from the table, covering the lights with his hand.
"Well, then how did it go with Mr. Fell? We never heard what happened,” Maggie said, changing the subject. “Is that why you were gone for so long? You were on your honeymoon or something,” Nina joked, with Maggie smiling happily, awaiting the answer.
The comment made Crowley's heart pang with heartbreak. He could feel his eyes sting from the water that was appearing, so he did the mature thing and got up and walked out of the shop without saying a word. Maggie and Nina looked at each other in confusion. What did they say wrong?
Crowley went into his Bentley to leave, but the blasted thing would still not start, so he hit it in frustration. He took his glasses off to wipe away the water that had accumulated in them. “You really ought to control your angry Crowley, they just asked you a question.” Shax appeared in the passenger seat, looking the same as she had the other day. “What do you want, Shax?” he snapped at her, whipping his head to the left side to look at her. "Well, I said that I was going to come back when you had sobered up, didn't I?" She smiled as Crowley frowned. He couldn’t remember her saying that. He was unsure if she was even telling the truth.
“But that doesn’t matter, all that matters is what your answer is,” Shax said, getting straight to the point. “Answer? To what?” He asked, squinting his eyes, trying to remember if she had asked him something. Shax took a deep breath. That's what humans did. They counted to ten before they did something stupid. Once she had mostly calmed down, she continued, albeit with gritted teeth.
“Yesterday I told you that I have some information about someone in the up ." She said, looking around. When she said the word up like an angel would appear and discorporate her for only mentioning it, "But,” she continued, “only if you do something for us ." Crowley couldn’t help laughing. “You want me to help you?” He could barely finish the sentence without wheezing in the middle of it. “Thank you, Shax, I needed that today," he said, calming down a bit. “But seriously, what do you want?" Crowley asked, smiling like an idiot.
“I'm being serious, Crowley. I can give you information about Azir-” “Whatever you are going to say, save it. I don't care what he is doing anymore,” Crowley said, cutting Shax off his previous good mood lessening. “I'm also very busy, so even if I wanted to and I don't, I couldn't help." Shax was not stupid. He was lying, so she tried to catch him in it. “Busy with what exactly?" Crowley tensed; he didn’t expect her to ask more questions. He needed to think of something, and fast he looked around his car for ideas when his eyes landed on the bookshop and he knew what to say.
"Well, I'm helping the Angel Muriel with the bookshop, of course,” he told her, smiling and letting his sharp snake teeth and split tongue show. “Running a bookshop is a very hard job. “Fine,” she said, “then you won't mind if I come back in a few days just to see if you are still busy." And with that, she disappeared. With a grin just like the Cheshire Cat
It was only after she left that Crowley realized what he had just said. “FUCKKKK!” he yelled, hitting his head on the steering wheel as what he had just told her sank in. 'Well,' he thought, ‘this is going to be interesting.’ He took a moment to decide if he should just call Shax back and tell her he changed his mind and that, yes, he was lying, but then he immediately scolded himself for ever thinking that and, with a grumble, got out of his car and went to the bookshop.