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She hadn't always been a she. She hadn't always been aware either, so it hadn't really mattered. She could remember things that she hadn't been aware of at the time they happened but was aware of them now. It was odd to explain, but thankfully, she didn't try to, nor did she have a reason to. She simply was. She was the Bentley. Crowley's Bentley. And the one thing she knew above all else was that as fond as she was of Crowley, she was desperately more fond of Aziraphale or Angel. She liked that name better. She wasn't sure why he had two, but she knew she liked him to smile.
She remembered the first time awareness came to her. She was very old as vehicles went at the time, but she was very surprised as she realized it. She'd even gently honked at another vehicle, but there had been no response. She was aware, but few were aware of her, save for Crowley and Angel possibly. They sometimes spoke to her.
It was lonely when she was left alone for too long, but Crowley liked to drive, and they both enjoyed going fast. She knew somehow Crowley made her faster than her tyres should really be able. She knew that her tyres would never pop, never need air, and that she never needed petrol, which had only been filled twice—once by the man who sold her and once by Crowley to get her stickers on her back window.
She preened slightly, her struts lifting her slightly higher when she sat outside the bookshop. She liked being at the bookshop; it was calm, nice, and safe. Sometime during the last few years, around the time she became fully aware of herself, a layer of protection was added, and it seemed to extend to her as well. That was nice of the Angel to do. At least she assumed it was him, though the energy felt more like Crowley’s than Aziraphale’s.
She thought back on the years of her existence, of knowing now what she had gone through. The Flames on the M24, Crowley holding her together by some miracle before he’d stopped having the energy to extend to her. She could even remember him mourning her as she’d fallen into flames. And then she’d been fine. Parked in a slightly unusual spot but fine nonetheless. Like what Crowley called “dreams” when he’d slept inside her instead of leaving for his flat.
She liked looking back at that time, but it had been uncomfortable sharing for so long. Months of Crowley cramped in her seats with the plants. They’d talked to her, too, but they had less awareness and failed to enunciate as she would have liked to understand them. But when you talked by energy, hers seemed more shadow-based, while theirs was sunlight-based. That’s how she differentiated it, but it still wasn’t quite accurate. There were so many things she didn’t understand.
What she did know is Crowley loved Angel and Angel loved Crowley. No matter what else happened in the world, she was sure of that, and when they both went on rides together, she relished the peace it brought to her being. She was quite used to them, their friendly debates on color-switching her paint and tyres, the sound her horn made, and even the music she could communicate with to a degree. But their minor disagreements weren’t surprising, it seemed natural to her for them to do so as they’d always done a bit of that with each other for at least one hundred years.
The first time her 'Crowley' surprised her was when 'Angel' reached over and held his hand. They rested them together between them on her middle seat. Their combined warmth and affection made her switch the radio and force a bit of a slowdown. After all, only one hand was on her steering wheel, and she could feel the smile and calming effect it had on 'Angel' to slow down a bit.
She could also feel the heat coming off of her 'Crowley' and cracked a window ever so slightly before he'd fog the windows. She didn't want him not to be able to see, and he already tended to fog up windows due to his seemingly endlessly hot-running engine. She worried about him with the heat pouring off of him. He should probably up his coolant intake.
They drove together, away from London, to a new area; they were going much slower than usual but still faster than everyone else on the road. Several trunks full to bursting lay in her slightly expanded boot. Something was happening, but she wasn’t sure what it meant. The path ahead continued to wind through lots of green areas, the streets much cleaner than in London which was a nice change in her opinion.
Soon, she was forced to slow down even further, and she gave a disgruntled sound of her brakes. She did like to go fast; she liked being a bit flashy and getting attention. But they stopped outside of a cottage, and she flipped her headbeams on with an excited little flash of recognition. The outside had changed, but she’d recognized the energy of the bookshop no matter where it moved.
‘Hello, friend! New Bodyshell, I see!’ She communicated as best she could with the Bookshop-turned-small-cottage. Her stationary friend was still lacking wheels and looking quite different but the energy was the same. She would recognize the home of ‘Angel’ anywhere.
The cottage, in turn, seemed to be still waking up, not quite itself just yet but slowly coming awake as all the pieces they’d packed made their way inside. It took several trips during which her boot never seemed to empty despite the massive amounts they carried through the doors in turn. She watched them pass each other, an exchange of hood touchings happening before they seemed to be finished, finally. Crowley came back, moving her under a trellis to protect her from an incoming rain, patting her side lightly.
“How do you like our new home? No more dirty London smog in your filters, huh, luv?” She flicked her mirrors, watching him walk back into the bookshop-turned-cottage, and she settled down. It was nice and quiet here, and the color of her stationary friend, a lovely mix of yellow with black accents, was a change she could enjoy. Even the plants seemed happier with the space and arrangements in the garden.
Yes. She thinks she quite likes their new home; all her important people were here together, and they’d never been happier.