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London, December 1799
Plants were so much easier to deal with than humans.
It wasn't just because they couldn't talk-- although that was a huge plus. No, the ease came from their biological simplicity; plants had no complex emotions. They couldn't say one thing and mean another. All you had to do to please them was sprinkle some water into the dirt and put them near the sun.
Those were just some of the reasons Crowley liked them.
He couldn't remember the exact date he started his garden, but the houseplants now took up about half of his small home in London. They were pretty much the only source of color, the luscious greens providing a bit of life that the otherwise drab interior desperately needed. Hell chose the place, but they had no say in how Crowley chose to decorate.
He loved running his fingertips gently along the leaves, imagining the tiny processes that took place inside them. It was almost as astonishing as the stars in the galaxy-- so many minuscule cycles, a tiny world churning away inside each and every cell. When he closed his eyes, he could almost sense their breathing.
He'd been on Earth for thousands of years, and the plants were some of the only things that remained stable. The people, the architecture, fashion, language, even the quality of the air changed with each century, but there had always been trees. Maybe less and less trees nowadays, but still trees. They still continued to breathe, still carried out their cycles despite the rest of the world changing around them.
Over time, he'd begun to memorize some names. It started as a little challenge to himself, a test of his memory for when he got bored in public, but now it came as naturally as walking or driving. He'd saunter down the trail at St. James park, eyes darting back and forth behind his sunglasses, and recall the names of each plant he saw. When he had time to himself and he knew no one else was watching, he'd lean closer to inspect the intricate details in each leaf or stem. One unique twig could mean an entirely different species of flora.
He got all of his sources from a few worn-out books, the ink on the corners of the pages now faded from the oil on his thumbs. He'd learned everything those books had to offer, and he'd begun to grow bored.
The invitation arrived at the perfect time.
The envelope contained two pieces of paper, one clearly being a mass-produced copy.
To whom it may concern,
It is a pleasure to finally invite you to the grand opening of my bookshop on the first of the year 1800. A.Z. Fell and Co. is the place to be for all types of literature and education. Located on 105 Whickber Street in Soho. Open from ten o'clock to seventeen o'clock in the winters.
The other sheet was a personal letter.
Crowley,
Isn't it marvelously exciting? I can hardly contain myself! You know how long I've wished to open this shop, and the dream is finally a reality. The dawn of the new year will be a beautiful time to open my doors.
Of course, this bookshop is on land owned and operated by a holy entity, which means it is considered an embassy of Heaven; however, as a Principality, I have been allowed to establish it as an independent Heavenly embassy. I and I alone am in charge of which entities are allowed to enter, Heavenly or otherwise.
That being said, I would of course never allow a demon to enter such a holy place. This invitation only serves so you know which spot to avoid at all costs on the day of the new year from the hours of ten in the morning to five in the evening. Only the finest ambassadors of Heaven will be allowed to peruse the shop at such a time.
If you were to arrive at the shop at an off hour, such as, say, seven o'clock in the evening, you would be even less welcome, since there will be no leaders of Heaven to help protect me from your demonic wrath. Therefore, do not come at this time!
Any entities from Hell are not welcome inside this bookshop, even if you currently reside on Earth. By no means should you consider this invitation as an unofficial approval to cross the threshold. If you were to twist the words of this invitation and think to yourself, "ah, A.J. Crowley is welcome inside the bookshop," you would be wrong!
No discounts are provided to enemies. Only friends.
Yours!
A.Z. Fell
Crowley read the entire thing with a smirk, which quickly faded as a strange flutter erupted in his stomach. It was the same type of feeling that struck him before he descended into Hell to report to his superiors, but this one was...much more pleasant. More on the side of excitement than nervousness.
He wasn't far from the printed address; part of him wanted to go over there now, but it wasn't feasible. Aziraphale might not even be there, or some of those asshole archangels might be helping him prepare the space. Crowley couldn't risk jeopardizing their scheduled meeting.
Was that what this was? Did Aziraphale want him to come over when the shop was closed, or was Crowley actually meant to take the message at face value and avoid the place? This wasn't the first time Aziraphale had written a letter like this, with one message clearly hidden behind another, but he couldn't help but wonder. What if Crowley was wrong this one time?
What were they going to do inside the shop? Chat, catch up? They hadn't seen each other since Paris, so there would be plenty to talk about. There was always plenty to talk about. There was always one more thing to say, one more tangent that could keep him around the angel for a little while longer, one more joke that could make him smile...
Crowley blinked. Was it the type of event that warranted a gift? It couldn't hurt. Maybe a bottle of wine for them to share?
His breathing had picked up, and he had to force himself to stop thinking. It was just a meeting with Aziraphale. Nothing that important. Nothing worth worrying about.
Just a bookshop. Just a meeting. Nothing more.
Crowley marked the date on his calendar and went to bed.
~~~
Whickber Street, 1 January, 1800
Typically, Crowley liked to be fashionably late. If an event was worth attending, then those in charge could handle themselves if he was running a few minutes behind. He never wanted to seem too eager.
That wasn't the case when it came to Aziraphale. He always arrived at the proper time to meet the angel-- it didn't mean much, however, when the angel was always early. Even when Crowley was on time, he still appeared to be late.
He decided to take a page from Aziraphale's book this time, arriving shortly before seven o'clock. Standing outside the bookshop now, it looked completely empty apart from one lone lamp in the side window shining through a gap in the dark curtains. He didn't feel the dread in his heart that came when Gabriel or the other archangels touched down on Earth-- that feeling had arrived this morning and departed a few hours ago. It was safe to assume they were gone.
He'd bought a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. He clutched the wine by the neck, swallowing. The shop looked very nice from the outside; it was the perfect place for Aziraphale to make himself comfortable. It would probably be his home base from now on. At least Crowley could know where to always find him now.
He waited for the second hand on his watch to tick to the top before approaching the front door and knocking. In the span of one final deep breath, the entrance opened, and Aziraphale stood before him.
"Crowley!"
The look on his face was brilliant-- so much so that Crowley wished he could have captured it in his memory forever. His eyes lit up, and in his excitement he immediately stepped back and spread his arms to show off the new space.
"I've had people in and out all day, but you're the only one I was looking forward to seeing," Aziraphale said. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Crowley glanced down at the threshold, hesitating for a split second before stepping forward. Aziraphale hadn't given an explicit invitation; if he tried to cross into a Heavenly embassy, it could mean bad news for him. They both knew that. It was meant to be a space free from demons, free from the enemy.
He braced himself and stepped forward...
And he walked right inside.
Aziraphale watched him enter, his expression shifting. The brightness dimmed as his brows drew together.
"You look surprised," he said. "Was the message in my letter not clear enough? Oh, I hope I didn't offend you on accident." He brought a hand to his mouth, and Crowley shook his head.
"No, no," he replied, smiling softly. "Your message was very clear, angel, don't worry. I guess...it's just strange, to be able to waltz right into an embassy like this."
"An independent embassy. Big difference. I think you and I could both use a break every now and again."
The thought sent another strange flutter through Crowley's abdomen, and he nodded in contentment as Aziraphale closed the door behind them. He was right; the place was gorgeous. The interior was bathed in a golden light that highlighted the deep brown wood of the shelves. Ornately-patterned chairs and rugs were scattered about, and towards the back the ceiling opened up to reveal a spiral staircase and a second floor adorned with yellow pillars. The air smelled of old books and tea.
"You've really done up the place," he said. "I like it."
"Really?" Aziraphale brightened. "I'm very happy with how it turned out. I'm glad you are, too."
"I, er, brought a little housewarming gift." Crowley held up the wine sheepishly. "I hope it's enough."
"It's perfect. Ah, and I can't handle myself around chocolate. How'd you know?"
"Y'know, I just..." He shrugged. "Just figured."
The truth was that he'd seen Aziraphale absolutely demolish some pain au chocolat in Paris a few years back, but he wasn't going to give away that little secret.
Aziraphale took the items from him, migrating over to a china cabinet. "I'll pour us some?"
"Sounds great to me." Crowley stuck his now empty hands in his pockets, gazing around the new space. "So, did you sell a lot of books on your opening day?"
Aziraphale paused, confusion twisting his features. "Oh, no. I'm not going to sell any of them. They're my collection."
Crowley's mouth hung slightly open as he watched Aziraphale retrieve two wine glasses from the cabinet. "Uh, well. I just figured...it's in the name. A shop, you know. For books."
"I spent so long gathering them up, why would I want to give them away to someone who won't treasure them like I will?" He shrugged, setting the glasses and bottle down on his desk, but something made him freeze in place before he could begin to unscrew the top.
"I should, I suppose," he said, "be gifting one to my special guest. Since you came all this way."
Crowley held up his hands. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like--"
Aziraphale was already moving for the shelves, grinning. "Hush. I insist. My most special customer deserves to walk away with a little souvenir."
"I don't want to take from your collection."
"I know it will be in good hands." He spun around, clasping his hands together. "Now, what do you read? I've got a little bit of everything. Fiction, facts, history, art."
"I, uh, don't really read."
"Oh, there's got to be something. What's interesting to you these days? I made sure to pick up some pieces on the Revolution, since we were right in the thick of it. That time has flown by, hasn't it?" He idly placed a hand on Crowley's shoulder for a moment, his attention still on the shelves. "I may have some books about snakes, if you're interested. Or books with snakes in them, at least."
"Plants," Crowley blurted. The mention of animal life had fostered the idea in his head, and it felt like the most natural course of action. The few books he owned were incredibly old and worn-out, and it would be nice to have some updated info. "I like reading about plants. If you have that."
Aziraphale stopped to think for a moment, then nodded. "I actually have a good selection, now that you mention it. Come look."
He led them to one of the shelves near the back, where he ran his thumb along some of the old spines. "It helps," he said, "that you and I don't have to worry about language barriers. Apart from me and my shoddy French. Ah." He pulled out a few titles, stacking them in his arms. "The Gardener's Labyrinth is a good one, but it's much older. All the way from the 1500s. British Herbal is more recent. The Gardener's Dictionary was a popular one, I've found. Fundamenta Botanica is from the Swedish..."
Crowley blinked. There was a lot to take in here. "...Is there one you recommend?"
"Whichever one is drawing your eye."
Crowley reached for the British Herbal, since it looked the least intimidating. It was the newest of the bunch, and when he carefully flipped through the pages he saw multiple spreads of detailed illustrations and labels. He skimmed over the text, which included information about how each plant was used for medicinal or aesthetic purposes. He even recognized some names.
"This one looks interesting," he said.
"It's yours, then."
Crowley looked up. "Really, I don't want to take from your collection. Like you said, you didn't plan on parting from any of them, and--"
"Hush. I want you to have it." Aziraphale gave him a reassuring glance before turning to put the other books back where he found them. "I'm glad someone will be getting good use out of it. And maybe it'll entice you to come back for more."
"I'll come back whenever you want me to, angel. You don't have to entice me."
The words spilled out before Crowley could stop them, and they both froze in an awkward silence for a moment. Aziraphale's cheeks colored, and his lips turned up slightly.
"Good," he replied. "I could use the company. Now, do you want some wine?"
"I'll never say no to some." Crowley was glad for the divergence. "Are you allowed to partake in an embassy?"
"Independent."
Crowley smirked. "You keep specifying that. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to distance yourself from Heaven."
Aziraphale's playful expression faltered. "Certainly not. Heaven and I came to an agreement that this embassy would belong to me as a Principality, not to Heaven itself. That way they don't have to deal with the paperwork, I can still control who gets to come inside, and if anyone chooses to sin while inside, the responsibility falls on neither me nor Heaven. Meaning," he twisted open the wine bottle, "if a certain angel wishes to sully his celestial body with gross matter, it's not a very big deal."
"I see." Crowley approached the desk, setting his new book down and taking one of the wine glasses. "Sorry I misunderstood."
"I also just...wanted to make it very clear." Aziraphale glanced up at him for a moment before beginning to pour. "Since the place belongs to me. Should you need something...you know where to turn."
Crowley paused. "...Best not say it outright, but you're insinuating the threshold is..."
"The opposite of closed."
"Any time?"
"Correct. Even if I'm not here."
"That's a lot of trust to put in me, angel."
"I'm aware."
Crowley stared at him, that strange feeling still fluttering away inside of him. "Have I done something to earn it?"
Aziraphale finished pouring, holding up one of the glasses for Crowley to take. "I believe we've both proven to each other that we're different from the rest of our kind."
"Yes."
"I...I wanted us to have a place. Somewhere you can come and not worry about being watched. Safe from the prying eyes of the other demons."
"I appreciate that."
They clinked the rims together in a toast. Aziraphale's eyes remained fixed on his glass, the liquid swirling inside. His brows were drawn together with something resembling worry.
"You seem anxious," Crowley said. "I don't want my being here to upset you."
"It doesn't upset me," Aziraphale corrected rather quickly. "I promise you, that's not the case."
Crowley had known him long enough to know that wasn't a lie. "It upsets you that it doesn't upset you?"
A sheepish smile grew on Aziraphale's face. "I suppose that's the best way to put it. I...I've had to choose between betraying Heaven and betraying my..."
He trailed off, and Crowley saved him the trouble of having to figure out how to finish the sentence. "You're not betraying anyone. You're doing what feels right. Unless the Almighty Herself comes down to smite you, I don't consider anything we do against the rules."
Aziraphale's eyes darted nervously upwards for a split second. "It's hard," he said, "because I want to spend time with you. It-- it feels right to spend time with you. To have lunch with you. To send you letters and invite you here and spend time catching up. You're the only one who understands."
"And that's the part of yourself you should listen to. You shouldn't let those idiots upstairs influence you just because they don't know how to have any fun."
Aziraphale didn't mirror his smile. "I just want to do the right thing."
"Do you want me to leave, angel?"
"...That's the last thing I want."
"Then I'm going to stay. And I'm not going to think much about what the people downstairs would have to say about it."
Aziraphale took a deep breath, nodding, but it was clear there was still something on his mind. Crowley watched him, waiting, and the angel closed his eyes before speaking again.
"Tell me about your book," he said, pushing off the subject. "Are you interested in plants?"
"Oh, uh...yeah. A little. I've got a little garden in my house."
Aziraphale smiled. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."
"It's just something to keep me busy." Crowley's cheeks flushed. "And some plants can be poisonous, you know. I think that's pretty cool. Pretty demonic of me."
"Do you have any poisonous ones in your house?"
Crowley paused. "Not yet. But I will."
"Of course." Thankfully, Aziraphale's smile wasn't patronizing. Anything Crowley said, he accepted. It was a trait that Crowley greatly appreciated. "What do you have now?"
"Some bamboo palms, a rattlesnake plant. Some cane plants."
"A rattlesnake plant sounds fitting. My favorite ones are the orchids and lilies. The pink and purple ones."
"I don't have any of those. I prefer the green plants, if I had to choose."
Aziraphale took another sip of wine. His smiles weren't entirely reaching his eyes, and his friendly conversation wasn't diving far beneath the surface. Crowley had learned to recognize the signs that something was wrong, and Aziraphale was embodying all of them.
"Are you alright, angel?"
Aziraphale responded almost instantly, like the words had been building up in his throat for ages and he was desperate to spill them out. "Gabriel and Sandalphon want me to come back to Heaven."
The nervous butterflies turned into bullets, making Crowley's stomach drop with dread. "Oh. I-- because of us?"
"No. They told me I've been given a promotion. They wanted to reward me for being on Earth for nearly six thousand years, so they said I could come back to Heaven. They even gave me a medal!" He gestured vaguely to his desk, where Crowley assumed the medal was hidden in his drawer. "Why on Earth would I want a medal?"
"I'd take a medal," Crowley muttered to himself. "Would be pretty cool, a medal."
"Would you want one if it meant you had to spend the rest of your existence in Hell?"
Crowley grimaced; that certainly did change the situation. "Would they allow me to wander around freely, then? To carry out my evil deeds?"
"I think they see the opening of this shop as a good transition point for someone else to take over my position. They mentioned Michael?"
"Michael?" Crowley scoffed, horrified. "Michael's a wanker! They would never be able to stop me. And they don't know how to have a single lick of fun. They wouldn't know fun if it slapped them in their pompous face."
"I was able to convince them to give me another day, just to finalize some preparations, but...I'm not sure what to do, Crowley. I don't want to go. I like it here." Desperation colored his voice. "I wouldn't get to enjoy the bookshop at all. I wouldn't...who knows when I would see you again? And I don't think I'm cut out for Heaven. I don't fit well up there. At least down here, I can do some real good. Help humanity the way I want to."
Crowley took a long sip of his wine, thoughts racing. "Okay. You don't want to be up there. I don't want you to be up there. It would be so horribly boring without you here, angel." He nudged Aziraphale playfully. "Since we're on the same page, we have to do something about it, right? Otherwise you wouldn't have told me in the first place."
"But I can't tell them any of that. It would ruin my reputation if they knew we were...I don't know. I just know the moment I get up there, they'll realize I'm not cut out for the job, and they'll be ripping that medal away from me and demoting me to something even worse. I'll go from a Principality to thirty-seventh class."
"Well, then, we need to stop that possibility before it happens. They're dragging you back up there because you've done such a good job," Crowley said, "so we need to show them just how great of a job you do. Such a great job, in fact, that they would be complete fools to replace you. Right?"
Aziraphale considered this. "Neither of us would get into any trouble that way."
"Exactly!" Crowley grinned. "Is that what you want to do? You want to stay here?"
"I...I really want to stay here," Aziraphale admitted. "I don't want to go back up there."
"Perfect." A plan began to brew in Crowley's mind. "Now, I need you to show me around the neighborhood a little bit. I have an idea."
~~~
For the second day in a row, Crowley was having to deal with what he called his "tight-arse alarm." It was similar to Aziraphale's radar for sensing love, although Crowley's was more of a warning to get the hell out of the area when archangels touched down nearby. It was a mixture of dreadful acid reflux and the burning at the back of one's nose when a particularly foul scent wafted in.
It didn't help that the sensation grew more unpleasant the closer he was to the perpetrators. Aziraphale was the only one who didn't cause it-- Crowley figured it was because he wasn't an archangel, but it also occurred when other lesser angels arrived on Earth. His latest theory was that simply existing in Heaven most of the time gave angels a horribly foul aura, an air of pompousness and narcissism that seeped into their clothes and was detectable to any demon from even miles away. Aziraphale, living on Earth, hadn't fallen victim to this.
Gabriel and Sandalphon certainly had. They were the worst offenders. Crowley had to force himself to stay hidden near the bookshop despite how much he wanted to run away. He kept to the confines of the dark alley, watching from his place of invisibility as they stalked closer.
He hoped this would work. Aziraphale would be crushed if he had to leave Earth; all of his favorite things were here. Even worse, Crowley would be stuck with some other hard-arsed angel who didn't know how to have any fun. At least Aziraphale was willing to bend the rules. Crowley probably wouldn't be so lucky next time.
He waited until they were near the doorstep before he spoke, lightly clearing his throat and preparing himself for the performance of a lifetime.
"Are you certain that we are unobserved, oh monstrous creature from the bowels of Hell?"
The two archangels stopped walking, perking their ears as they listened. Crowley inched a little further back in the alley, panicking as he quickly realized he had no idea how to emulate a realistic demon impression. He opened up the back of his throat, lowering his tone and adding a little reverberation.
"No one is listening, oh demon Crowley."
The words shook the walls of the alley a little, and he winced. He'd have to tone it down if he wanted Aziraphale to keep the structural integrity of the shop.
"Curses," he said in his normal voice. "If only I could understand why my evil plans are always so brilliantly thwarted. It's as if the forces of Heaven have a champion here on Earth who thwarts me..." He waved his hands for a moment, searching nervously for the right word. "...Thwartingly."
"Why, Mister Crowley, you must not be downcast. I hear news that will bring joy to you and all the powers of Hell." He put a little excitement into the creature's tone this time. "They do say as how the angel Aziraphale, your nemesis, is being sent back to Heaven."
Crowley let out a dramatic gasp. "Can this be true? I was going to swallow holy water in my despair at once more being beaten by the angel Aziraphale. But such excellent news! Only Aziraphale knows my ways well enough to..." Ah, Satan, another word, a different word...
Whatever. Repetition was okay if he wasn't the only one talking. "Thwart them?"
"Exactly. Now let us repair to an evil drinking den, and drink to the success of evil on this Earth, thanks to Heaven's foolishness."
He let out a little demonic chuckle for good measure, which seemed to be the right thing to do. The two angels exchanged a long, thoughtful glance, shuddering to themselves, and something in their demeanor shifted. They leaned in, talking among themselves for a moment, and Crowley inched forward to listen.
"It's good," Sandalphon whispered. "Gives us a reason to keep him down here, right?"
"Will this look suspicious, though? So soon before he's supposed to join us?" Gabriel asked.
"It makes sense. That little serpent is nothing but trouble. If Aziraphale is the only one crazy enough to deal with him, let him stay down here."
"...He didn't seem too grateful for the opportunity, anyway. He's gotten too accustomed to life down here."
"Exactly. We probably wouldn't want that trouble back home anyway."
"Settled, then?"
"Settled."
Crowley stared, bewildered, as the two approached the doorway. He couldn't fathom how little appreciation they held for Aziraphale; of course, he'd seen firsthand how little respect they had for him, but it was still so foreign to him. He was a good, hard-working angel, more so than any of those clowns up there. He would make Heaven a much better place, and the place didn't deserve someone as good as him.
He didn't plan on telling Aziraphale what he'd heard. It wouldn't do any good. Imagining Aziraphale's potential expression when he delivered the news was enough of a deterrent.
He held his breath and withdrew into himself as Gabriel knocked on the front door.
"See," Sandalphon muttered to Gabriel, "it just stinks of evil over here. For all we know, the scent has rubbed off on Aziraphale after being down here for so long."
Wrong, Crowley wanted to shout. Aziraphale smells quite nice, actually. And even if evil did have a scent, it would smell great. Like leather and cologne.
His thoughts were interrupted by Aziraphale opening the door. Crowley told him to wear the medal; it would seem less suspicious that way. Like he was more eager.
"Ah, welcome back, you two!" His voice was slightly nervous. "So, I suppose...we're about ready to go?"
The two angels gave fake grins. "Yes!" Gabriel said. "Well. Actually. We've gotten some conflicting news from the big boss. Something much more important pertaining to your position down here."
"I see," Aziraphale said. "So I'm...not going anywhere?"
Don't sound so hopeful, angel.
"Change of plans," Gabriel replied. "We need you here. In your bookshop. Battling evil."
Sandalphon leaned forward and gave Aziraphale a friendly punch in the upper arm. Aziraphale flinched. "Carry on battling."
"Keep the medal." Gabriel nodded, giving a little wave before turning his back.
"I--" Before Aziraphale could even interject, the angels had disappeared into thin air. They were lucky the street was empty of potential witnesses. "Oh. Alright."
The two stood silently where they were for a moment, Crowley in the shadows and Aziraphale in the light, rubbing his arm where Sandalphon had hit him. Aziraphale was the first to speak.
"Well."
Crowley took that as a sign to emerge. "That was easy enough, wasn't it?" he commented.
"A little too easy." Aziraphale pressed his lips together. "I think most of us agree I'm not meant to be up there. Might be the only thing you three ever agree on."
"You and I are different, though. We agree on a lot of things."
"That we do." He nodded, then turned on his heel to walk back inside. "Would you like chocolate? I'm dying for some chocolate."
Crowley opened his mouth to decline, but he figured he might as well humor his friend. He was willing to break his usual routine to share a moment with Aziraphale. "Sure. But I won't take too much of your gift."
"I want us to share. Just like the wine." Aziraphale glanced at him over his shoulder. "That's what friends do."
Crowley blinked behind his sunglasses, swallowing hard as he turned to close the bookshop door behind them. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "Of course."
As Crowley pulled the door closed, Aziraphale's footsteps rang closer on the entrance stairs. Before he could fully turn to see what was going on, Aziraphale was putting his arms around him, pulling him into an embrace.
"Thank you for your help, Crowley," he said softly. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
The words held a couple of meanings. Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to speak out against the angels on his own, and he also wouldn't have been able to handle being in Heaven on his own. He wasn't cut out for it. That sounded like an insult, but Crowley considered it the highest compliment. Anyone who was cut out for Heaven wasn't anyone he wanted to be around.
"Don't worry about it," Crowley said, patting him awkwardly on the back. If he paid closer to what his mind really wanted, if he gave in and really leaned into the hug, he would probably never be able to let go. He didn't know if either of them were ready to handle that yet.
Thankfully for him, or perhaps sadly, Aziraphale let go and continued his path back into the bookshop.
Before Crowley followed, he leaned back and twisted the lock on the door. It was a silly gesture, but it made him feel safer.
Something told him he'd always feel safe here. Aziraphale had made sure of that. And Crowley couldn't appreciate him enough for that.