Archive of Our Own

It was a rather sunny day in Soho, even if a couple of clouds covered the sun on and off again, it didn’t stop the angel Aziraphale, the former protector of the Eastern Gate, to step anxiously from his bookshop into the light. He still discreetly looked around before taking a faithful step down to descend and strolled eagerly down the street for he had a meeting. 

On his way down, several business owners greeted him on this fine morning and he greeted them back as he made his own way. The truth of the matter was only known to the angel: Aziraphale was on his way to buy a car for himself. 

He recently found himself in a bit of a ruse, together with Crowley, they went on a day long trip outside of London to a rare book auction, first editions, letters from authors, all important bits. Aziraphale, for the good heart he had, made sure he miracled all the other buyers away while Crowley, unbeknownst to him, showed up to the same place he once stole all the rare wine from, however he was noticed... The whole ordeal was a big misunderstanding and the next minute Crowley was rushing Aziraphale back into The Bentley to drive back to London as demonly quick as possible, making Aziraphale leave his beloved recently-noticed books behind. Crowley on that trip back insisted he can lose the racing herd of police cars far back behind them. Of course, as per usual, Crowley drove in criminal speeds and took one or two corners on two wheels. 

“Crowley, you’re going to hit a pedestrian!” Aziraphale wailed while immediately putting both of his palms onto his face.

“I will nooooot… If anything, it knows the risks!!!” Crowley blubbered - right then and there the demon was treating central London like a rally course.

Once Aziraphale got out of the car, he didn’t even bother to close The Bentley’s doors, he simply soundly “cried” while almost ripping off his coat while fixing it down. Later, they still found themselves at dinner at the Ritz, but Aziraphale was visibly upset, that night he decided to walk on his own back to his bookshop.

So now we know Aziraphale's two reasons: for one, he propagated the idea of driving safely and two, he could keep more books he auctions off from random places. Auction is a big word. When Mr. Fell met with the car dealer, Aziraphale shook hands courteously with a sweet smile on his face.

“So.. what exactly are you looking for..?” The woman asked politely.

“I would like a car.” He responded, finally proud of himself he could get behind the wheel. 

“Yes..” She raised her eyelids in a monotone surprise, almost sarcastically “You came to the right place. Right this way, Mr. Fell.” She gentlemanly gestured towards the area where all the cars were in her park.

“You know I’d prefer something easy to control… With enough speed… Yellow” Aziraphale emphasized every word after a pause with a smile.

“Funny you should mention the color.. Someone sold a Mini Cooper just yesterday before I could finish my shift. It’s over here.” She led him to walk towards it, just after a couple of blue and red sedans, there it was. 

“A Mini Cooper?” Aziraphale glanced, the little yellow convertible was placed behind all those bigger cars and SUV’s, idling on the parking gravel the Mini Cooper possessed a peculiar liveliness - eager, buoyant, as though some benevolent spirit hummed quietly beneath the bonnet. The honey yellow color of the body was also decorated with white stripes on each side near its headlights, it reminded Aziraphale of his own wings and Heaven and Good Things. Yellow paint blazed under the sun with the brilliance of a saint’s illuminated manuscript, impossible to ignore amidst the dreary procession of ordinary cars. That was his automobile, he decided.

“Right, yes. A convertible too. Good engine. Would you like to give it a try?”

“No need.” He smiled infernally. “I’m taking it. Thank you.”

“Well that was quick, Mr. Fell. Are you sure-?”

“Confident.” His smile twitched to form.

“oooOookay…. I will just need you back in my office to fill out the forms and it’s yours. The price is five thousand pounds. My guys will prepare the car for you and you’ll receive the car keys.”

Aziraphale smiled once more as he followed the nice lady of automobiles back into her office, what a lovely saleswoman, he thought. 

Back at the office, Aziraphale lowered himself carefully into the leather chair opposite her desk, smoothing down the front of his teal-cream waistcoat with unnecessary precision. The saleswoman already had several papers spread before her with the efficiency of someone who enjoyed bureaucracy. She clicked her pen, and passed him a pen to make official arrangements. Click, whoosh.

‘Right then.. Full name?”

“Aziraphale.”

“..And your surname is Fell?”

“That’s right”

“Okay..”

When the bureaucracy has started, the saleswoman shifted her gaze in disbelief at some of his remarks - what a strange man sat right in front of her, she thought, when she asked what his address was, he gave the address of his bookshop, when she asked for his occupation, he replied with being a bookseller, that was normal, then the strangeness finished the whole deal of buying a car.

“Do you currently own another vehicle, Mr. Fell?”

“Oh goodness, certainly not.”

“First car?”

“Yes, that’s right, well first car of my own.”

“Have you driven before?”

“A while back, yes.” He responded heartily, “Not officially now. Once in a while I borrow my friend’s car without him knowing.”

She blinked at him.

“Right.. Well I need your initials here, your signature here that you take full responsibility for any speeding tickets, parking fines, traffic violations…..” She passed Aziraphale all the bureaucratic papers that indicated that the car was his.

“Oh I shall be doing none of that.” he responded, cutting the edge wickedly, almost offended. Crowley drove like divine punishment, but Aziraphale considered himself a perfectly reasonable future motorist. Scribble scribble, he gave out his signature to any and all pages and by the fifth document he made up a thought that this looked like a blood pact.

“... that MAY come up.” She corrected, utterly unconvinced. “.. I’ll also need a payment method in the declaration.. Will that be cash or card?”

“I have the cash right here.” Aziraphale smiled pleasantly and reached into the inside pocket of his coat. The movement was elegant, harmless, almost absent-minded, yet somehow he produced a perfectly organized bundle of notes thick enough to make the saleswoman stare.

It took a minute for the saleswoman to count all the bills, before putting it into a machine to count it for her, in that same minute Aziraphale looked over the final pages of the most important document, far more carefully than any other human would. Before finally signing the last page and declaring to the woman, she was starting to feel unease as Aziraphale scrutinized every line of the document in his hands.

“I do believe I can responsibly operate a vehicle without causing catastrophic harm!” He cheered. 

“Good. Good. Everything is now in order, Mr. Fell.” She tenderly smiled “The car is yours and will be waiting for you out front, one of our men will give you the keys to the vehicle, thank you for trusting us.” The woman stood up and reached out for his hand to shake. He did the same in return.

After the strange man purchased the vehicle, only then the saleswoman remembered to ask if the man owned a driver’s license, but right then and there she forgot to ask and it was like the deal never happened.

Aziraphale finally was outside, it was almost like the car that came itself to him. When it moved, it did not roar so much as sing. The engine purred with the gentle confidence of a choir warming before vespers, and the wind curled through the open cabin like a whispered blessing. The convertible was nicely prepared for the sunny day, the roof folded neatly away, leaving the car open to the heavens as though it had been built not for roads, but for wandering cherubs with nowhere urgent to be. The keys were handed to its new heavenly owner. Aziraphale gently went around to the right side of the car to sit behind the steering wheel and as he breathed once with his hands on the wheels, he silently accidentally breathed life into it too: that was his car.

The Mini Cooper tuned the radio to play Angeleyes by ABBA and Aziraphale was back on his way to his bookshop. On both of their ways, a cheerful angel enjoyed becoming a new motorist of the community. The thing was beautiful in the most offensively angelic way possible. Soft leather seats. Gold detailing. A dashboard that looked handcrafted by a retired violin maker. It smelled faintly of old paper and bergamot tea within two hours of Aziraphale owning it, which was frankly unnatural and deeply suspicious. 

In those two hours that Aziraphale already planned to spend in his bookshop, the car instead decided to take polite turns towards an antique shop and a bakery that he’s never seen before, but adored all the same. There, the former protector of the Eastern Gate, got himself retro goggles and a helmet, as well as a pair of old white leather gloves to fully commit to the bit. 

At the bakery, Aziraphale indulged in a nice espresso macchiato and took a total of four canelé in a neat paper bag. He thought about indulging in them later while he would read books. On his true way back to the bookshop, Aziraphale noticed another ordinary car parked right in front of his bookshop’s entrance and started to speak with himself:

“Well, that’s rather odd..” He uttered with a worried look “You should be there, darling, for the most convenient of times!” And so it was, after he made sure no angels were looking, he miracled away the car that was standing in the spot intended for his Mini Cooper and stepped out of the car, still wearing the gloves and goggles, looking absolutely adorable.

At the bookshop, he neatly took off his leather gloves and placed them on his desk, as well as switching his vintage racing goggles on a pile of books to delicate narrow reading glasses. He thought about Crowley when he placed two of the canelé into a small tea plate and started to read some of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works, most notably the Adventure of Bruce Partington plans and moaned as he took a bite of his bought pastries, he knew that an unknown bakery near an antique shop would not have disappointed. 

Speak of the Devil.

The familiar soft growl of an engine rolled down Soho before the car itself appeared, deep and devilish and entirely too loud for the narrow street. Aziraphale did not need to look up from his book to know who it was. No one else in London announced themselves with quite so much a theatrical entrance like Crowley. 

Outside, the Bentley swept around the corner with all the dark elegance of a hunting animal returning to its den, tires hissing softly against the road. It slowed before the bookshop. And then it stopped. So did Crowley’s gaze. The Mini Cooper practically glowed like the Pearly Gates of Heaven.

Inside, Aziraphale turned to another page of Bruce Partington plans with care, his pursed lips were accompanied with a look of slight worry in his eyes, but he did not turn his sight towards the entrance of the Bookshop. 

Outside again, Crowley remained inside for several long seconds, trying to determine whether the vehicle had arrived by accident, miracle, or active conspiracy against him personally. Aziraphale could almost feel the demon staring through the shop window, but the angel did not budge. Or at least tried not to.

Crowley immediately got out of The Bentley, angrily stomping past his own car and The Mini Cooper and into the Bookshop, blocking the entirety of the main Soho street. The bookshop door finally burst open hard enough to jangle the bell into distress. 

Crowley swept in carrying the scent of dead plants, engine smoke, and indignation. His sunglasses were already halfway down his nose as he looked at Aziraphale with furrowed Serpentine yellow eyes.

“What…” Crowley uttered slowly, “is THAT, Angel?”

Aziraphale looked up with deliberate innocence, a canelé poised delicately between his fingers.

“Hello, to you too, Crowley!”

“The yellow thing outside. What is that.” Crowley urged, taking off his sunglasses with one hand.

“Isn’t it lovely!” Aziraphale brightly cheered and brightened immediately.

Crowley glared with all of his demonic power, as if he was Jesus and Aziraphale was Judas, as if Aziraphale just surprisingly filed for divorce.

“You bought a car.”

“That I did, dear.”

“You,” Crowley repeated, pointing vaguely toward the window, “bought that.”

“It’s a Mini Cooper!” He happily cheered.

“I can see that.”

“I thought it suited me...” Aziraphale carefully closed the Doyle collection with his delicately manicured hand and looked at Crowley entirely on his chair.

Crowley hissed.

“---WHY.”

“I thought I could go to auctions on my own…” Aziraphale mumbled into his pastry.

“WHAT.”

“I didn’t want to bother you after our last fiasco, Crowley!” He cried.

Crowley looked genuinely betrayed.

Horrified.

“Our last fiasco was because we spent too long a time in that auction, angel! And you can’t drive!” Crowley started to pace around the bookshop with his sunglasses into one of his hands, before stopping to look out the doors at the Mini Cooper. His soles dragged along like ophidian weight into the ground. Fire started to burn his insides before he put on his sunglasses again. Though, it wasn’t fire, it was pure emotion.

“I absolutely can! And if I need extra lessons.. You can teach me!” He smiled trying to fix Crowley’s moods, standing up from his chair to take a better look at him.

“I’m not sitting in that yellow thing.” Crowley declared. Something hot coiled unpleasantly in his chest. Not hellfire. Not rage, exactly. Something far more inconvenient. The feeling crawled beneath his skin and tightened there, ugly and unfamiliar and terribly easy to recognize once he allowed himself to.

The angel had bought something for himself. Something that did not involve Crowley.

Something that meant he would not need to call him for rides to antique fairs or late-night auctions or little countryside book markets anymore.

Crowley was envious. He wants that thing gone.

He crossed his arms and looked at the ground.

Aziraphale came around him, with a hopeful smile he stepped closer carefully, as though approaching a particularly temperamental animal.

Crowley looked up. That was his mistake.

Crowley hated how effective that look was.

Aziraphale gently reached out for Crowley’s sunglasses, and gently removed them himself.

“It looks like a boiled sweet, angel.” Crowley pointed accusingly toward the street.

“But it does look sweet, Crowley..” Aziraphale held onto those sunglasses, for the most part, he chose things that are yellow, because he wholeheartedly admired the yellow tint in Crowley’s eyes. The rage and the gold.

“You’ll be lost without me.. and the insurance is extortion, angel. Parking is impossible.” Crowley tried to convince Aziraphale at this point to get rid of the automobile.

“If anything happens. I’ll be the first to call you. It’s a promise.”

“You don’t know what the clutch does.” Crowley protested.

“It’s automatic, my dear.” Aziraphale endorsed.

The yellow Mini Cooper sat outside the bookshop like a tiny sunbeam, polished to a heavenly glow sitting at the Soho street, near the Bookshop’s curb. Aziraphale’s car. Aziraphale’s choice. Aziraphale’s newly found independence wrapped in honey-colored paint.  Crowley despised it. Not because it was ugly, though in his opinion it definitely was. That Mini Cooper stole what sacredly was Crowley’s for a hundred years. A dinner invitation. Dates. Drives through the countryside at impossible speeds while Queen blared through the Bentley speakers. Small rituals hoarded over a century.

Now there was a car outside that will carry the pieces of that affection away from him. 

The envy slithered inside his skin like a disease. 

Aziraphale would not need him for rides anymore.

Would not call him late at night after auctions ran long.

The Bentley had always been theirs in a way Crowley never dared say aloud. And now there was another car. Another presence. Another thing being let into Aziraphale’s orbit.

Crowley felt suddenly like some ancient devil cast from a warm paradise all over again, the only sentence that rang in his undivine skull was the same one he heard all those decades ago:

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

Aziraphale was smiling fondly at him even now. Looking at him with the same endless fondness he always had. However, demons were creatures of instinct before reason and every instinct Crowley possessed, snarled possessively at the sight of that bright yellow machine waiting outside the shop like it was one of a rival suitor’s. Crowley’s jaw tightened. He walked near the entrance, to look through the glass panes into the sunny street, the Bentley still blocked the entire street and signal hollering had begun of very unhappy locals. 

Outside, parked far too neatly by the curb, sat the little yellow Mini Cooper convertible. Its paint gleamed obnoxiously, sunlight trapped beneath lacquer like bottled summer. Even with the roof folded, the thing looked heavenly. Crowley clicked his tongue and shoved his hands into his pockets, feet tapping against the Bookshop’s floor. The old wooden floors creaked beneath his steps. Books stirred softly on shelves as Hell simmered unpleasantly under his skin. When he looked back to Aziraphale, Crowley’s thoughts were all negative.

It was ridiculous.

Utterly ridiculous.

He knew it.

A car should not matter.

And yet the sight of Aziraphale smiling at that tiny golden contraption with the same fondness he usually directed toward the Bentley made something acidic coil inside Crowley’s stomach.

The Bentley had history.

The Bentley had loyalty.

The Bentley had survived the war, Armageddon, and a good century of Crowley driving like divine punishment incarnate ever since 1926. Now Aziraphale had replaced all that with a ridiculous yellow toy that looked like it should come with complimentary lemonade.

“Crowley… you worry me. Say something.” Aziraphale’s anxiety fluttered like two cherubian wings from the weight of cupid’s bow and arrows.

“You’ve replaced me, angel.” He responded. The irritation inside Crowley twisted into something meaner. Hotter. Hurt.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Crowley! You haven’t even properly looked at it yet!” Aziraphale exclaimed softly, almost pouting now. “I thought perhaps you’d like to see the interior…”

Crowley once again stopped in his serpentine tracks, it was once again, like always - Aziraphale’s tone. That impossibly gentle, hopeful little voice Aziraphale used whenever he genuinely wanted to share something with him.

“Oh, well..” Crowley drawled, forcing indifference over every syllable, “if you so insist, angel.” 

The angel hurried toward the door, coat fluttering behind him. Crowley followed slower, dragging his feet slightly against the floorboards like something reluctant being pulled toward execution. It was all feeling like filing for divorce, come meet my new John, Crowley mocked the very choice he agreed to in the first place, making grimaces along the way to descent. Blubber, Blubber. That he even saw it in the first place, he could have willingly ignored everything and moved on, nonononono. NO.

Aziraphale approached The Mini Cooper with unmistakable affection, fingertips brushing across the bonnet, before Aziraphale’s car opened both of the doors on each side.

Crowley froze.

“Angel.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell me you breathed life into this one.”

Aziraphale blinked.

“What? Certainly not!”

The car’s headlights flickered twice.

“It blinked.” Crowley pointed immediately. 

“It did not blink.”

“It absolutely blinked.”

The car gave a tiny electronic chirp.

“Oh, that’s horrifying.” Crowley recoiled as if physically offended.

“Well… perhaps there was a minor miracle involved.” Aziraphale fussed with his sleeves, suddenly looking suspiciously guilty.

“Angel.”

“I only wanted to take in the moment!”

“Angel.”

“I just wanted a car that would know me like your Bentley knows you, Crowley!” Aziraphale protested “There’s nothing evil about it! And I wanted a car to drive you somewhere too..” He continued. “All this time we risked losing our corporeal bodies with your reckless driving and I knew you wouldn’t want me to drive the Bentley… So I took matters into my own hands!”

Crowley opened his mouth and nothing came out. 

The fury that had been blazing so comfortably inside him sputtered awkwardly against the confession. He started to ease at the realization, Aziraphale passed him his sunglasses back and immediately Crowley put them back on. The demon once again looked at the car and understood what hit him like a realization. Aziraphale had wanted not a replacement nor to escape Crowley, but only a place for him beside Aziraphale.

“Oh,” Crowley said at last.

Aziraphale crossed his arms. “Yes, oh.”

“You wanted to drive me somewhere.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Why, of all machines. Did you opt for a Mini Cooper? You could have gotten an Aston Martin. A Jaguar. Plenty to choose from, angel.”

“It’s yellow.. And it has cup holders!”

“Angel, you did NOT BUY A CAR JUST BECAUSE IT’S YELLOW.” Crowley snarled.

Aziraphale said nothing, he just lowered his own gaze to the car he’s gotten. The Mini Cooper could feel his upset. In turn, the angel just patted the hood in appreciation. He was not getting rid of it. The bright yellow paint reflected softly in his eyes. Crowley suddenly became painfully aware of how much genuine affection sat in that simple gesture. Crowley scowled harder to compensate.

“I’M NOT GETTING RID OF IT, CROWLEY!” Aziraphale protested, the angel rarely was stubborn, but when he was, he managed to be atop and he wasn’t planning on letting his guard down now.

“Well,” Crowley grumbled, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, “it’s still offensively yellow.”

Aziraphale’s mouth twitched.

“That means you’re warming up to it.”

“Don’t push your luck, Angel.”

“Please, sit inside. For me” Aziraphale gestured.

For me.

That killed Crowley inside. But he complied as he loudly grunted. He gestured to the Bentley to drive off to find a spot on its own not to take any more of other drivers time in the street as it was getting peculiarly loud.

Aziraphale took the first step inside, just behind the stirring wheel and posed down to look up at Crowley, with a cherry-sweet smile. He patted the passenger seat a total of three times, quickly, to gesture to Crowley to come and take the seat.

Crowley abided. With all the hurt and hate in his heart.

When Crowley got inside of the vehicle, the car itself made sure the doors were shut with a nice little click.

The inside was something from a picture-book, The Mini Cooper was relatively modern, probably one of the newer things Aziraphale started to own. The salon was light-colored too, the seats in creamy colors that Crowley immediately recognized smelled like his favourite earl-grey bergamot tea that Aziraphale usually prepared in mornings. The cup holders.. ah yes.. the cup holders, two of them. Right where the hands should reach at the arm-rest. That’s a little convenient I suppose, Crowley thought, but did not order a word. He kept quiet for a moment.

“Well?” Aziraphale beamed.

“It looks like something that should come free with a picnic basket.” He grunted, more so mumbled like a snob.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Crowley!”

“I’m a demon, angel. That’s what we are.”

“Look, you haven’t even seen the best part!” Aziraphale glowed and buoyantly clicked a certain button on the panel to make the roof roll back down for some privacy.

Crowley growled like a child that was pissed and rolled his eyes in direction to look away from Aziraphale. Although his eyes watched how the roof extended back into its rightful place.

Aziraphale looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

“The Bentley has a roof.”

“Yes, but this one can put it away.”

“The Bentley can also put it away.”

“No, she can’t.”

“She absolutely can. She just chooses not to.”

Aziraphale blinked and Crowley folded his arms.

“The Bentley was with us for a century and now you have decided to replace it with this ambulance for Canary and Toucan emergencies! It looks like you are on your way to sell lemon sweets at the local market, angel!!!” Crowley said, not looking back at him.

Aziraphale shuddered his shoulders and silently began laughing before bursting into a full discreet giggle.

Crowley felt his irritation crumble at the edges.

Infuriating.

Then Aziraphale reached across the center console and squeezed his wrist.

The touch was warm.

Gentle.

“Dear,” Aziraphale said softly, “I bought a car.”

Crowley looked at him.

“I didn’t replace one.” The angel consoled, while taking in a breath from a good laugh he just had.

“I hope not…” Crowley softly said.

“Besides… my darling, dear, perdition welcoming friend - I told you I will drive you somewhere too. When the Bentley runs out of fuel..”

“The Bentley never runs out of fuel.”

“No, of course. How silly of me to even assume.” Aziraphale looked delighted.

Against all odds, the delightfulness tainted Crowley and he twitched a small smile, even more so right in his eyes. He was beginning to realize Aziraphale was going to be gone. But far from it, Crowley was just wrong one more time. 

“It’s hideous.” Crowley said it like it was a compliment.

“Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome, angel.” He slowly began to unrelease the tension, there were times in Crowley’s existence that he realized for all the hellfire and the burning of his wings when he rebelled, sometimes when it was inside, it glacially turned into embers of warmth when he looked at Aziraphale. Crowley once again opened his mouth, to mumble: “So.. where is it you want to take me..”

Aziraphale cheered, his smile widened into a full sunbeam and his hands shook in excitement.

“Nah nah nah, don’t get excited! I’m just askin’.” Crowley snarled.

“Oh anywhere! Somewhere, you’d like to be!” Aziraphale elated.

“Anymme..ree… bt… hre…” Now even the reader couldn’t hear what Crowley murmured.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked once again.

“Anywhere, but here, angel!”

“Certainly!” Aziraphale cheered once again, it took one Crowley’s look away for the angel to miracle himself in full racer’s gear: the same goggles he left at the desk, the same white leather gloves he left on a couple of books; He pressed the same button to open the roof for a nice breath of fresh air.

The Mini Cooper tuned the radio to Voulez-Vous by ABBA.

Aziraphale released the clutch softly to politely begin driving out on the open road. Crowley thought this was Class-A torture and ABBA did not help.

“Angel.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to be polite to the accelerator.”

“I don’t want to startle it.”

Crowley said nothing and sank lower in his seat and fixed his sunglasses atop his nose. He was watching the passers by through the tinted glass and felt at an unease when they didn’t blur with the speed of the car, although it was nice to see what everyone was up to, instead of just being the one that’s always looking for road signs, not that Crowley was, he just pondered. With every slow turn, the demon’s throat released a growl through a sigh.

“You know you can take a turn faster than five miles per hour.” Crowley complained, Aziraphale just drove normally.

Aziraphale took the next bend in one smooth motion. Not recklessly. Not even particularly quickly. The tires hummed against the road. Sunlight flashed through rows of trees. The wind caught the edges of Aziraphale’s white blond strokes of hair and tugged at his goggles. 

“I think you’re enjoying it more than I anticipated” Aziraphale contested.

“I’m tolerating it.” Crowley replied.

Voulez-Vous finished. Another ABBA song immediately started. This time it was Mamma Mia.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Aziraphale pressed a little harder on the accelerator. Just as he made another smooth turn, The Mini Cooper surged forward and Crowley curled a devilish smile of his own, a grin. He even lay one of his arms on the door of the car to relax the tension. He gliacially started to realize he could tolerate being the passenger, if his angel just pressed a little harder to reach Crowley’s desired speed. 

For Aziraphale, all of this was divine. His flickered smile that raised two of his apple face cheeks did not stop to fade. For the first time since they’d left Soho, Crowley has stopped complaining. 

Aziraphale noticed immediately.

“My car is growing on you.” Aziraphale poised.

“Angel, don’t get smug while operating a motor vehicle.” Crowley replied.

Another curve appeared ahead. Aziraphale guided the Mini Cooper through it with surprising confidence.

“Where exactly did you learn to do that?” Crowley stared.

“Oh, I’ve had a friend who is a great motorist if he doesn’t go at hellish speeds. I’ve had time to learn.” Aziraphale consoled.

Crowley tried to hide his smile and even snorted despite himself. The tension that had driven them out of Soho gradually loosened. The city noise faded behind them. There was only the road, the sunshine, the music, and the steady rhythm of the engine. Eventually Aziraphale turned through ornate gates and onto a quieter lane lined with enormous trees. Families spread blankets across the grass. Children chased each other beneath ancient oaks. Rowboats drifted lazily across a sparkling lake. Aziraphale parked carefully beneath a tree and switched off the engine. ABBA stopped playing too.

“Right, angel. Where are we?” Crowley sat up. The sudden silence felt soft. Crowley looked around.

“Regent’s park. I thought it could be nice.” The angel removed his goggles and folded his gloves with absurd precision before putting them in the glovebox. Aziraphale’s cheeks were warm from the sun. His pearly blond hair was slightly windswept. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself. And more handsome than ever.

Crowley looked at him and felt something unpleasantly affectionate happen inside his chest. Something that first coiled inside his chest as anger, now curled up in his stomach that he could feel fly around. In a moment that he felt sick, Aziraphale was already by his side, standing outside the car and gently opening the car door to let the serpentine demon out. 

“After you.” Aziraphale smiled in a gentlemanly manner.

Crowley flung one of his legs out of the car, and stood with the next.

Together they wandered into the park, on a road that was coarser than gravel and made of tiny ivory stones. The afternoon had settled into a pleasant golden warmth. Sunlight was filtered through the leaves of the large trees. Somewhere nearby our couple, children were feeding ducks despite several signs explicitly requesting that they do not.

Aziraphale purchased two ice creams from a vendor. Crowley had not asked for one, yet Aziraphale handed him one anyway. They eventually settled beneath an enormous oak overlooking the lake.

Crowley reclined against the trunk, while the Angel enjoyed a simple ground of grass. He was already a little wailing and worried he forgot a throw blanket of tartan to place on the ground, now getting up he wondered if his bottoms would be stained green. Crowley found himself smiling despite every effort not to.

They spoke of little things, yet they were still significant to one another that they chose to listen and bounce off of in their conversation.

A book Aziraphale had acquired, a wine Crowley had stolen; the absurd modern obsessions with podcasts and leaving no patience for cinema.

A squirrel stole part of Aziraphale’s biscuit and he was outraged all the while Crowley laughed so hard he nearly fell over.

“That squirrel just stole my last bite! What a fiend!”

“—YOUR FACE.” Crowley turned into a full train horn, divine intervention was quick to act though and Crowley accidentally flung his last bit of the cone on the ground, he eased off his laugh after that, getting the last bittersweet taste of the situation “I’d pay to see that twice..”

“This isn’t funny, Crowley”

Crowley hummed as he looked at Aziraphale. His ophidian eyes observed him in infrared, seeing more color and heat altogether, and as he looked, he saw Aziraphale’s upset focus on his ears. Crowley deduced his angel felt a little ashamed.

One slithered next to him.

“If it makes you feel better, I threw my cone on the ground…” Crowley consoled, his smugness could not escape his face. A curled smile was on his thin lip, it twitched. 

“Perhaps next time we shouldn’t take ice-cream under a tree here.”

“Maybe the little guy’s got to feed a family, dunno..” Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s face, bemused.

Some hours passed and eventually the sun began its slow descent, the sky began to turn a tinge of lilac and gradient of perfect oranges and reds. Like a bouquet of meadow flowers.

Crowley stood up.

“We should probably head back, angel” He lent Aziraphale a hand.

Aziraphale bent his knees and stood up from the force before letting go of Crowley’s hand. He immediately straightened his bowtie, patted down his waistcoat and rubbed off any remains of a lawn they sat on, absurdly neatly though.

“Right.” The angel said.

As they made their way back to The Mini Cooper, Aziraphale stopped in his tracks. Crowley’s sunglasses slid down his nose. Beyond the lines of trees sat Aziraphale’s new car… and Crowley’s Bentley. Perfectly parked. The two cars sat nose-to-nose beneath a tree. Neither moved. Just like their respective owners a minute ago. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale opened his mouth.

“Unbelievable.” Crowley was in disbelief.

The Bentley faced The Mini not in any territorial manner, but instead in curiosity, a playful demeanour instead. As if the cars were infatuated. The Mini Cooper’s windshield wipers waved once. The Bentley flickered its headlights. 

“No.” Aziraphale immediately covered his mouth.

“Oh, yes.”

“No!”

“Yes, angel.”

When both of them approached the cars closer, it wasn’t that the vehicles were ashamed, on the contrary, The Bentley turned on its engine and glidingly purred. 

“That. Stop that.” Crowley ordered his car.

“Oh Crowley, it’s precious.” Aziraphale softened.

“It isn’t precious, it’s horrifying.” Crowley protested pointing at both of the cars interchangeably. 

The Bentley’s headlights blinked.

“Dear, you followed us throughout London?” The angel asked.

The Bentley blinked.

“Crowley, I think The Bentley likes my car.” He proposed the idea.

“You think?! Stop encouraging it, angel!”

The Mini Cooper’s mirrors tilted elegantly. The Bentley’s engine gave a low, admiring growl. For a moment the two vehicles simply sat there in complete contentment.

Crowley rubbed both hands over his face.

“This is what I get.”

“For what?”

“For making machinery alive! Six thousand years of being a demon and now my car has a love life!” Crowley grunted and hissed. “Oooo Crowley- make a temptation here- a curse theere—! Servee Satan—! We have to win this war against Heaven and make all dukes prevaaaill” Crowley mocked the lot of Hell sounding like he’s about to lose his mind

Aziraphale’s smile softened and he began to laugh.

The Bentley and the Mini Cooper sat quietly together beneath the evening sun. Perfectly content.

“They took after their owners, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s expression became suspiciously fond.

“TheytookaftermostofmeIwontbeevenabletodrivemycarnowblubberblubberblubber…” Crowley mumbled into his own teeth, barely anyone could make something out of whatever he said.

Aziraphale heard.

The angel turned his head slightly, watching Crowley’s ongoing battle with both embarrassment and the English language. The demon had folded his arms. His shoulders were tense. Aziraphale found this all terribly endearing as he watched Crowley battle on with the muttering of someone who’s just lost a bet it seems.

“I can’t believe this, angel! The Bentley’s gone sentimental. Your car is sentient. TRAITOROUS VEHICLES. I spoiled rotten The Bentley for a century! Decades of history—-“ Crowley continued on rumbling like a tiny cloud of rain and lightning just become him. 

In that moment, Aziraphale simply looked at Crowley: At the familiar slope of his shoulders, how he had his arms folded and the untidy nest of red hair slicked back, while he was still grumbling. Something right then and there nestled warmly like a spring bird in his chest. Nowhere near overwhelming just something warm and content like their cars. 

“Oh, Crowley..” He said softly, stepping closer, Aziraphale leaned over and pressed a small kiss against his cheek, gentle, warm and brief.

Crowley stopped functioning. His thoughts vanished. He now stared at his companion. Even The Bentley cut the headlights off and it looked like both of the cars were watching. 

Aziraphale blinked innocently.

“You can’t just———“ Crowley insisted.

“Can’t I?” Aziraphale asked plainly.

“No.”

“You were mourning your car, dear.”

“My car——— OUR CARS HAVE ELOPED.”

“They haven’t eloped, Crowley.”

“Fine. They were actively courting one another.”

Aziraphale laughed. Not too loudly, he didn’t want to embarrass more of his friend. And on the strange coincidence Crowley has smiled too.

Aziraphale instead stepped closer to The Mini Cooper, taking in one last breath of the park and its trees and the quacks of the ducks. He opened one door on the left side for Crowley to get in, he wasn’t about to leave Crowley scorch the vehicle he owned for more than a decade. Insisting he gave the ride back to the Bookshop.

Crowley once again, abided by the gesture. Before he got in Aziraphale’s car, he dictatorly pointed at The Bentley.

“We are not finished, you and me. You hear? I’ll talk to you back home. Off you go.” Crowley ordered. With one fling he plomped himself on the cream seat and could not believe he was back in the vehicle again. Something inside him curled to tell him he was beginning to enjoy being in the passenger’s seat, but it would take him another decade to admit it. No need though, since the angel that held the door could intuitively feel what Crowley thought.

Aziraphale came around the sunbeam colored bonnet to get in the driver’s seat, neatly reaching over the glovebox to take out his motorist merchandise and put it on, before starting the engine.

It seemed like it poised silence of dormant machinery, heavy with unrealized motion before starting up its pistons. A rich song unfurled from the exhaust, swelling into a resonant chorus that vibrated through every bolt and bearing. Aziraphale smiled when the Bentley in front flickered the lights and gave way for the drive. It was going to follow.

Crowley backed away in the seat, resting his hand on the side of the door, before he clicked that button to make the roof curl back to its starting position. The many compliments of the convertible. But he was not cold, so he had another idea in mind. Today, it just so happens Crowley was behind tempting someone and he realized his subject could be Aziraphale. Today too was a really surprising day. 

Something warm settled in Crowley’s chest. He shook his head, fond despite himself. Grateful, too, though he'd never admit it out loud. Six thousand years and Aziraphale could still surprise him.

His eyes gleamed through his sunglasses and Aziraphale noticed it.

“Crowley-?”

“Oh, yes.” He adjusted his seat to make more room for what was about to come. Crowley untied his tie, left his seatbelt outside of his torso and slowly lowered his head where Aziraphale’s waistcoat ended. “Just feeling appreciative, Aziraphale…”

“Crowley, I’m driving!” 

“Eyes on the road, Angel.”