Chapter Text
“You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.”
- A. A. Milne
Autumn had come as suddenly as Crowley had lost his flat. One moment you’re warm and content and enjoying life, the next you’re standing outside in a puddle and wondering why it’s so bloody cold and why your feet are wet.
That had been a week ago.
Now the city was covered with a blanket of grey storm clouds, bathing everything in a dull light, with occasional even duller phases due to a drizzling rain. The temperatures had dropped by almost 20 degrees and the coldness crept into every crack it could find. It also didn’t stop at a well-kept 1933 Bentley. Which was unfortunately Crowley’s dwelling at the moment.
In a nutshell: The day was chill and clammy, and certainly not fit for an ectothermic snake. Not that Crowley was a snake. Not currently, anyway. He could be, if he wanted to. But as said, the weather was not convenient for reptiles. It wasn’t even suitable for Demons, who were living in their car in October. His turtle-neck pullover wasn’t helping either. It was one of those days he just couldn’t get warm.
And on top of that, he was bored. So utterly bored.
Things had changed after that thing with the Apocalypse. Mainly, he was off the hook with Hell. Well, not really completely of the hook. He still tried to stay informed about things. And he was talking to Shax occasionally. And he was also sure they were keeping track of him. At least to some amount. Ducks still had ears, after all.
But he didn’t have to fulfil his hellish duties any more. (He still likes to cause some sort of turmoil, but that was just his little hobby.) He was just an occult being, living his life as he pleased.
What wasn’t very pleasing, was sitting in his cold car, because Hell had confiscated his flat, and having nowhere to be and nothing to do.
Being cold and bored was a terrible combo.
But he knew a place that was always warm and welcoming. (Unless you wanted to purchase a book.) And maybe Aziraphale needed some company.
*
He parked the Bentley on the opposite side of the street and looked through the drizzling rain at A.Z. Fell and Co. – Antiquarian and Unusual Books est. 1800.
The windows were illuminated by warm, golden light. The chair at the desk was empty, but he could make out some customers lazily browsing the shelves. There seemed to be more visitors on days like this, as if the bookshop was a lighthouse in all this grey coldness, attracting more people in search of warmth. Not that Crowley could argue against that.
Aziraphale was probably hiding somewhere, to read undisturbed. Or to not be available if someone gets the idea to buy one of his books.
Crowley got out of the car and hurried across the street to escape the humidity. He pushed the door open and one jingle of the bell later, he was surrounded by warmth and cosiness. He immediately felt less irritated.
There were maybe a handful of people in the shop, sitting around reading or lazily browsing the shelves. But no acute signs of someone trying to buy something. It had more vibes of a library, just people being people, engrossing themselves in books and stories while the rainy autumn day outside went on without them.
He stepped up to the little cash register and looked around. The armchair was empty as suspected, no sign of Aziraphale either.
He could look for him. Ask if he wanted to go for lunch. Or something. Crowley looked back at the front door and the rain that pattered against it. Get back out into the cold and wetness. The shop was indeed comfortably warm. And Aziraphale seemed to be busy anyway. Hiding somewhere with his book. He could wait for him here. Whenever he’s ready. To go for lunch. Or something. Maybe the rain will have stopped by then.
Yes. That’s a good plan.
Crowley turned back towards the counter.
Then he allowed himself to do something he hadn’t done in a long time: he placed his sunglasses on the counter and shifted into his snake form, slithered across the floor, around the shelves and finally up onto the sofa. Miraculously unnoticed by the customers.
The Angel would show up sooner or later. At least to shoo the people out and close the shop. And shoo him out as well, he guessed. But until then he could soak in the warmth and have a nap. He slipped under a blanked pile and curled into himself. He hadn’t slept in a long time. Cars weren’t really that comfortable. But Aziraphale’s sofa was. And the bookshop had always been secure and homelike. Not that he would ever admit that.
Enclosed by softness and warmth and the distinctive smell of a certain Angel, he drifted off to sleep.
***
It had become autumn. Finally. Aziraphale had enough of heat waves and sweat and his favourite restaurants being closed due to holiday time. He was ready for soft jumpers and hot soup and gloomy weather that makes you want to stay inside, cuddle up with a book and drink cocoa.
And today was perfect for this.
The temperatures outside had dropped to chill 12 degrees, it was grey and dull and rainy and because of his heavenly unemployment he had all the time to stay inside and read, without any guilty conscience.
Well, if it hadn’t been for the customers that thought so, too. Somehow, gloomy autumn days motivated people to seek shelter in bookshops and rediscover their love for reading. Which was an occurrence that Aziraphale fully supported... if it didn’t take place in his bookshop.
He sat at his desk, nestled with this autumn reread and hot beverage choice of the day – Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë and a cup of Earl Grey with a dollop of milk – as the first two customers came in. And it didn’t stop there. There was a constant stream of people that came in during the morning. And with them a background noise of shuffled steps and rustled paper and now and then the jingle of the bell. Which made it really difficult for him to fully immerse himself into the roughness of the windswept Yorkshire moors.
About noon, he gave up. He took his book and went upstairs. Away from the disquietness. On to his second favourite reading place: his bed.
He got under the duvet, popped himself up with some pillows and wiggled into the softness of the mattress. Sighing deeply, he opened his book again and resumed reading.
*
The whole day had been gloomy and grey, but around 6 o’clock, dusk and with it the darkness really started to settle in. So Aziraphale left his eiderdown cocoon, took his book and empty cup and went downstairs to close up for the day.
He ushered the last customers out, closed the door behind them and drew down the blinds. It was still raining outside, even more so than before. With the temperatures dropping as night crept in and the wind picking up, he really was glad he got to stay inside.
Humming to himself, he started to tidy up a bit, getting the shop back to tip-top condition (at least in his opinion), before he could get back to his evening read. He put back some books, flattened a wrinkled carpet and adjusted a chair. As he lifted the pile of blankets on the sofa to fold them up, a black snake, sleeping soundly, surfaced.
“Oh.” The Angel said.
He hadn’t noticed he had a visitor.
Blanket in hand, he stared at the black reptile, peacefully coiled in itself and dead to the world. Had he forgotten they were supposed to meet today? Normally, Crowley had a reason to visit. So why hadn’t he made himself noticeable? Should he wake him up?
Rain was pattering at the windows and the grandfather clock in the corner ticked on, as Aziraphale kept thinking. Maybe he had waited for him to show up but got tired and fell asleep? Not that occult beings technically needed sleep.
Of course, he knew Crowley slept. That he enjoyed sleeping. After 6000 or so years, you get to know someone quite well, even if you’re supposed to be his enemy. But he rarely slept when Aziraphale was around. A little nap at the most. But no real night sleep that requires pyjamas, a blanket and a soft bed. And he certainly didn’t sleep in his snake form. He can’t even remember the last time he had chosen this corporation. Must have been before humans started to lock snakes up in terrariums with branches and heat lamps and water bowls.
He watched the black coil, snoring adorable. He looked so peaceful.
And a sofa wasn’t a bed. And a snake didn’t need pyjamas. And maybe he would wake up soon and not sleep through the night.
So he put the blankets back on top of him, gently taking him in, but leaving a little gap for his snout. Fresh air was important for a healthy sleep.
Smiling, the Angel settled down in his armchair, opened up his book and continued reading.
The evening transformed into night, the stormy autumn weather persisted and so did the state in the bookshop. An Angel reading his book, illuminated by golden light, hot cocoa to his right and a black snake snoring to his left. The only sounds came from the ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional turning of a page.
In the small hours, just after dawn has broken, the blanket pile on the sofa started to move. It began to grow and slowly a human-shaped Crowley emerged from it. His hair was tousled, there was some dried spit on his chin and he somehow got tangled in the blanket. Sleepily, he blinked at his surroundings, seemingly trying to fully wake up. He looked adorable.
“Did you have a good sleep?” Aziraphale had closed his book and brought his full attention to his companion.
The Demon’s eyes widened, fully blown yellow as he seemed to realise he napped away the night on the sofa. “I… did I… ngk.” He seemed a bit frantic. He sprung up, got tangled, lost his footing and bumped onto the floor. “Are you alright, my dear?” Crowley freed himself from the blanket-prison and got on his feet again, cheeks a lovely rose. “Y... yeah… All good… perfect… actually. Bye.” He stormed to the door, grabbing his sunglasses on the way, yanked it open and fled out into the fresh October morning.
Aziraphale couldn’t do more than stare at this odd behaviour. He shook his head and went back to his book, eyebrows raised. Whatever got into him, he would be back by the afternoon. Then he resumed reading.
***
Aziraphale was not going to see him for a week.