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Crowley was in a foul mood. He had been in a foul mood for about 5 months 13 days 4 hrs and 15 minutes, but who was counting? From the moment he watched his angel leave with that pompous git Metatron he hadn’t cracked a smile. He hadn’t watered his plants, hadn’t stepped foot in a restaurant or pub, he hadn't even taken a ride in the Bentley since that day. Now his plants were all dried up and dead, except the one Muriel kept alive next to the cash register. What was the point of entering a restaurant? He only frequented establishments for the company of his angel.
The poor Bentley sat parked in the alley behind the bookshop accumulating dust and grime. What was the point? He couldn’t bear the thought of turning on the ignition to hear Queen blaring “Your My Best Friend”, so he just didn’t start it. Sometimes he’d sit and look through his glove compartment at the bits and bobs, cherished keepsakes really, when he was feeling at his worst. Things that throughout the centuries, he had collected to remind him of some of his cherished memories, most of them being presents that Aziraphale had given him.
His whole world stopped when those elevator doors closed so he had stopped too. Most weeks were spent drinking himself into oblivion, not even wanting to miracle himself sober when the room got too spinny, he preferred the pain of puking it up when his corporeal form had enough. This day was no different. He was thrusted out of his blackout stupor by the immediate need to expel all contents of his stomach. Unfortunately, he was not next to the bathroom or the waste basket so he wound up retching onto the rug in the study of the bookshop.
Shit he thought once he was done, not on his rug! He’ll be so tetchy if he sees this mess.
He slopily waved his hand to remove the mess, and the bottles strewn about the floor. The bottles instantly disappeared and the rug was now free of demon vomit, but there must not have been enough oomph because a stain was left on the rug. Crowley stared at the stain incredulously.
How fucking dare you not lift! You had better get the fuck out of MY Angel’s rug or . . .
Or what, the stain seemed to mock him, What will you do? You can’t even properly get rid of me! You wank! I’m going to stay, I don’t care who’s rug it is. Can you really say he’s YOUR Angel anymore?
Crowley stopped staring at the combative spot. He peeled himself off of the floor and staggered to the kitchen in search of water. He had just poured himself a glass, plopping himself at the small kitchenette, bringing the water to his lips when behind him Muriel in their all too chipper voice announced
“I got us sweaters!”
Crowley was so started he spilled the water all over himself!
“Bloody hell!”
“Oh No! Demon Crowley, I am so sorry! I forgot to make noises before entering again” they cheerily chastised themself. “Here let me get that” and they miracled his clothes dry and his glass full again.
Crowley was begrudgingly chugging his water when Muriel began talking to him again. He wasn’t listening to a word they were saying but when he set his now empty glass down, the angel was looking at him expectantly
“Uh , Yeah?”
Their eyes lit up. “Oh really! That’s fantastic! Here,” They snapped their fingers and a too big gaudy sweater that read “Santa’s little helper” appeared on Crowley. It was the most hideous thing he had ever graced his body, with green tree print and lines of red and white. He was just about to string an ungodly amount of curses together about this affront to fashion when Muriel informed him of something quite shameful.
“Perfect! Now I can wash the vomit out your coat”
“What in the bollocks is this?!” Crowley gaped at the hideous thing.
“It’s a Holiday sweater!” Muriel beamed, they loved talking about what new thing they learned about humans. “I have been observing the humans in the area and many of them are wearing these garments for the season. The woman at the department store informed me they ‘help you get into the spirit’. I’m not sure which spirits though, are they heavenly or demonic?” They suddenly got very worried.
This conversation was not helping his hangover.
He decided he was too wrung out to properly tease and play devil’s advocate with the angel, and what was the point anyway - this wasn’t his Angel.
“It’s the spirit of giving, it’s a good spirit. Nothing demonic about it . . . . except for the consumerism.”
“Oh thank goodness. Well I will be back!” and they scurried away
It wasn’t until the door jingled that he realized they had taken his blazer and he was still in this damned awful sweater, and it was itchy! He scrambled after that pest and through the doors of the bookshop into his own personal Hell - xmas time in full swing.
There were lights strung on every pole,awning, and window. There was music blaring from every shop orifice. There were people snuggled up together walking along the streets and in cafes, and worst of all, there was snow lining the sidewalk and streets! It was over stimulating, overly joyful, and COLD! Blah, Crowley HATED the cold! (it was a whole snake thing) He cursed to himself and ran back inside, that was until he quite literally ran into the shop door. It usually opened for him, but not this time. He went for the door knob, jiggled the handle, but damnitall it was locked! He flung his demonic will at the blasted door . . nothing happened. He tried another miracle more spiteful than the last, but to no avail. He was really going to smite this stupid door! He looked up at the building, it was like it was taunting him!
You left! Now your demon filth won’t be able to come back in here and desecrate this holy structure - AND you puked on my rug! It practically frowned at Crowley.
The demon kicked at the door and stubbed his toe and started to scream a string of profanities when a familiar voice called his name behind him. He wheeled around to find Nina, giving him a sardonic and amused look.
“Mister Crowley, locked yourself out did you? Why don’t you come in and get warm” She ticked her head over to her coffee shop. No hand outstretched to pull him there, they both were not the kind to go touching people all willy nilly, just a look of knowing how ridiculous he must look out here screaming at a door. The demon gave one last incredulous look at the shop and followed Nina.
The deep aroma of coffee hit Crowley’s nose in a pleasant way that helped to wake him up. The six shots of espresso Nina deposited in front of him woke him up the rest of the way, like a swift punch to the face, not pleasant but effective.
“You look like shite” Nina said, sitting down with him.
He gave her a look that used to send men running for their lives
“Didn’t place you for the festive type” raising her eyebrows at the most horrid piece of clothing he had ever let stay on his body.
“Yeah well I wasn’t ready planning to leave the shop”
“You haven’t stepped foot outside in months and here I find you, screaming like banshee in that monstrosity, looking like you’ve gone completely mad!”
Crowley just stared at the empty espresso mug
“You know I can smell you from here, I know you’ve been drinking. Now I’m not one to judge anyone’s vices but we are concerned for you here.”
“We?”
“Maggie, myself, Muriel, Ms. Sandwich, everyone you helped on the block. Look, I know it's been hard for you. It’s devastating to put yourself out there and get your heartbroken. But you can’t just keep drinking yourself stupid every night!”
“And why not?”
“Well, it’s not good for you! It’ll waste you away”
“I can’t die from alcohol poisoning, I can’t pickle my liver, I’m a fucking demon - I’ve lived for thousands of years! And if I want to spend another thousand in a blackout stupor then what of it? Who cares? No one!”
“I care! We care!” Nina said, stretching her arms to the shops lining the street.
“I don’t know why you humans care so much, go live your lives, be happy in the fleeting time you have. I’ll still be here when you are all gone so why does it matter? Why do I matter so much to you?!”
“Because! Because, you're like part of the family” He gave her the biggest eye roll of his life. “I know it sounds rubbish but it isn’t. Most of us shop keepers on the street don’t have much family. Many of us were kicked out or ostracized for our beliefs or our way of life. It isn’t a coincidence Mr Fell’s bookshop is on this corner. We take care of each other here. He was a big part of that. You have been too! You’d see that if you’d get your head out of your arse for a moment.”
Crowley frowned deeply, what in the name of someone was she talking about?
“Is this just about the demons and the Gabriel thing, cause if so that was hardly . .”
“It’s so much more than that you git! What about the leases? Mr. Fell went and ‘talked’ to the landlords every time our buildings were bought by someone else and made sure no one was kicked out or rent was raised too high. Now who accompanied him to those meetings on our behalf - YOU!”
“Just tagging along really, Angel needed a ride.”
“Hogwash, Mr. Fell does very well at persuasion but we both know who is right behind him if there’s any strongarming needed” Nina gave Crowley a look of ‘don’t play stupid’. “And that’s not all. What about when the music shop got vandalized or when Mr. Brown’s window shattered. Mr. Fell helped put everything to right but we also know the hateful people behind those acts were all found and brought to justice in a most peculiar way”
“You don’t say” Crowley was staring out into space
“Each time the perpetrators turned themselves in! Each of them saying some ludicrous babble about how they saw the endless fires of hell that awaited them if they didn’t confess, serve their time and never step foot in Soho again!”
Crowley turned to look at her then. And deep in him he felt just the tiniest bit warm. He almost cracked a smile thinking of how much he and Aziraphale laughed when his angel herd through the grape vine about the vandal’s confession.
“I wasn’t sure it was you that did that till the night of the ball, but we all have put the pieces together now. There’s been hundreds of instances like that! Little things that most wouldn’t think much of really, but now we know it’s like a big jigsaw all put together. Mr Fell was always there to help, to heal, to make us laugh and give us a soft shoulder,”
Crowley nearly broke at that. He missed that soft shoulder, he ached for it.
“But you were also there too. When all we needed was a good bitch sesh, or to help us come up with the best petty revenge, or even to put certain people in their place. You’ve been here for the Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association when certain customers got too techy. When we were vexed about a problem like the plumbing and somehow it magically got fixed once you rolled up your sleeves and got to it! It’s always been you at those times. Not just Mr. Fell but also you Mr. Crowley. We see you too! I know you don’t like thank yous, not big into gratitude myself, but nonetheless we are grateful you are here. Even more now that Mr. Fell isn’t! I’m sure he does need you somehow, but we need you too! You belong here, with us! That bookshop says A.Z. Fell and Co but we’ve never thought about it as just Mr. Fell's, it's been yours too.”
And with that, Crowley’s heart did break. It busted wide open. A single tear escaped down his cheek. He was genuinely struck by Nina’s words. It was something that he was harboring deep inside himself that really he wasn’t aware of until that moment; he had felt that he had not just lost Aziraphale but also lost his place of belonging. Crowley had felt that his place was beside Aziraphale (still did) and that without that place he was lost and abandoned. His only real friend. The only being he truly cared about. Now seeing, that wasn’t entirely true. His clever fucking angel had played the long game and had basically tricked him into caring for others too. These humans that occupied this part of Soho, this corner, were also his - friends? This spot that he had thought of as Aziraphale’s bookshop . . . had also been his? So he had not been abandoned entirely. He had not been cast aside again, he did belong somewhere. He was not naive to the fact that his angel must have constructed this. His chiding to ‘go see why I can’t have my bath.’ or ‘I hope those hooligans will be brought to justice swiftly’. That angel had wove his little web of goodness to trap him into some sort of fucking found family! He had set him up with a safety net unbeknownst to him. That scheming angel bastard!
At that thought, Crowley didn’t laugh so much as release some air he had been holding in for sometime. A small crack in Crowley's mouth formed and raised up, just the slightest, into a small grin. Not barely noticeable to anyone just walking by but to Nina, she could tell, it was like the first peak of sun after a long hard winter. “Alright then, I’ve said my piece. Now off with you, go take a shower you smelly old demon!” She left with a twinkle in her eye.
Crowley pealed himself from the chair, slinked back to the front doors of the bookshop, and turned the knob. It opened for him with a change in the air like Welcome back, please don’t track your muddy shoes in. He slowly took in the front room, nodded approvingly at the remaining living register plant, and walked slowly up the stair and to the washroom.
He striped off the hideous sweater, his tight black jeans, and his boots. The demon started the shower, willed for it to be as hot as magma and got in. Ahhhhhhh, he thought, his limbs feeling warmer than they had felt all damned season.
After toweling off he looked up and saw himself in the mirror - he really did look like shite. Too gaunt, bags under his eye bags. His eyes looked permanently bloodshot. He grimaced. How far ye have fallen, he thought. What a bloody mess, Angel won’t like to look at this mess. So he fumbled in the cabinet for some eye drops and hair gel. After a little primping he looked slightly less of a mess, and at least he was clean.
Now on to the rest of the place. He went to the room he still wouldn’t claim was his so much as the room he had occupied for the past months. Though Crowley had miracles the bottles away on many occasions, the place still had a drunken bar smell to it. He opened the window though he hated the draft and then noticed the stain from earlier. He tried miracleing it away again, but the thing still wouldn’t budge.
Crowley sighed, “yep” to himself and no one in particular. He stalked down the hall. In the downstairs broom closet he found what he was looking for and after a stop to the kitchen took it up stairs and back to his room. Bending down he took a scrub brush out of some hot soapy water and began to scrub the confounding stain he had made out of the rug.
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t stopping time, or creating constellations. It wasn’t setting the bookshop a blaze with him inside nor was it rescuing his angel from heaven. He wasn’t fixed, or forgiven. But in Aziraphale’s own way, he was being cared for. He knew, even before his life had stopped, his angel had cared for him, enough to ensure he was cared for in case of his absence.
Even though he still had a hollowed heart that was angel-shaped he did have a place . . . to belong.
It was a start