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Crowley really couldn’t find any disadvantages to thwarting Armageddon.
Aziraphale was safe. The two of them were finally on the same side. The world carried on. Humanity could continue to both baffle and entertain him. And Heaven and Hell were left with egg on their respective faces.
So yes - a thwarted Armageddon was the only Armageddon Crowley cared for.
But with that in mind -
The two of them were finally on the same side.
But what exactly did that mean?
Was romance involved?
Was Aziraphale even interested in a romantic relationship?
And if he was -
What did a romantic relationship between an angel and a demon look like?
For instance -
Would it be alright if Crowley, without any excuse whatsoever, reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand? In broad daylight? Where everyone could see?
Could he safely slip an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder?
Leave room on the couch and suggest that Aziraphale joined him? Not to cuddle, obviously, as a demon Crowley would never, ever, voluntarily engage in cuddling. But he might be persuaded to lean against the angel, and if said angel wanted to put his arms around Crowley and allow him to bask in Aziraphale’s warmth . . well. Crowley certainly wouldn’t object to that. As long as they agreed that such an activity was not cuddling.
Or would even suggesting one of those things earn Crowley a smiting? Or, even worse, a firm reprimand from the one being he loved more than anything?
Crowley didn’t know. And asking could easily send Aziraphale running in the opposite direction. So instead he did what he’d been doing for more than six thousand years. He made Aziraphale the center of his universe. Basked in his presence. Drowned in soft smiles and the angel’s warmth and overall wonderfulness.
But the only problem with that approach was -
That humans did the same. At least the humans on Whickber Street.
Since thwarting Armageddon, Crowley had made a habit of driving over to Whickber Street every single day.
Partly because he wanted to make sure that Heaven stayed away from Aziraphale. But mostly because he simply found himself craving Aziraphale’s company.
Some days the angel was too busy to entertain Crowley. But he never threw him out either. On those days Crowley found himself sprawling on the couch and watching Aziraphale like the lovesick demon he absolutely refused to be.
Some days Aziraphale would have all the time in the world. Those days were obviously the best of days. They would go out for a late lunch or an early dinner, stop by the bakery on the way back, pick up something for later and spend the evening enjoying each other’s company.
And some days - and those were the days that caused Crowley a bit of trouble - would see Aziraphale interacting with his neighbors on Whickber Street.
Of course the actual interacting wasn’t the problem.
No, it was the humans’ reactions to said interacting that made the demon prone to hissing and growling under his breath.
You see -
The humans simply adored Aziraphale. Whenever he graced one of them with his smile, they would instantly smile back. Sometimes they even smiled before Aziraphale did.
And they went out of their way to make Aziraphale happy.
Whenever he went next door and asked about some records the human had never heard of, the human would go out of her way to make sure that the records could be placed in Aziraphale’s hands days later.
And the human across the street, the one with the coffee shop . . Crowley was quite sure that the sheer amount of chocolate used in the concoctions she served Aziraphale was breaking at least ten laws.
And don’t get him started on the fellow responsible for the magic shop. He and Aziraphale seemed to be in a world of their own; a world where snakes exploded out of cans (pretty ridiculous, if you asked the original serpent) and where rings that couldn’t be separated could make a grown man and a man-shaped being bond for hours on end.
And if that wasn’t bad enough -
All the humans Aziraphale interacted with would show signs of being completely endeared with the angel.
Their voices would go soft. Their eyes would go heart-shaped. Their body language would seem to make them gravitate towards the angel. Almost as if they were as cold-blooded as a certain serpent who had spent the last six thousand years daydreaming about crawling into Aziraphale’s lap and simply stay there forever.
But the humans weren’t cold-blooded.
No.
They simply wanted to get closer to Aziraphale.
Which meant that the days where Aziraphale was destroying the sanity of the humans inhabiting Whickber Street were days where Crowley would trail in his wake and growl and hiss under his breath.
But fortunately those days were rare. Aziraphale never spent days on end socializing with the humans occupying his street. And the humans never ventured into the bookshop.
Until one faithful day, that was.
The day in question didn’t show any signs of being different. Crowley got out of bed mid morning, brewed himself his usual six shots of espresso and spent an enjoyable hour glaring at his plants. Afterwards he spread a few rumors on social media (rumors that, in time, would send various groups into almost identical frenzies) before grabbing his car keys and getting ready to drive over to Whickber Street and take Aziraphale out for lunch.
The drive to the bookshop was pleasant enough; a few cars thought they could outrun the Bentley but the car was more than capable of showing everyone who ruled the streets of London.
So Crowley was in a fine mood when he parked outside the bookshop.
He should have known it wouldn’t last.
The first thing he noticed was that, despite being closed for customers, the bookshop’s door wasn’t locked. As such, this wasn’t unusual; Aziraphale seemed to be able to predict exactly when Crowley would make an appearance.
But when Crowley pushed through the door, he wasn’t greeted by the usual sight of an angel engrossed in a book.
Instead he was looking at an empty chair.
And, even worse -
Judging from a low murmur of voices, Aziraphale wasn’t alone.
Now, this was a rather unusual turn of events. The bookshop wasn’t open but Aziraphale was apparently talking to a human. And said conversation was taking place behind the shelves.
So what was a demon to do?
Except of course slither closer and shamelessly eavesdrop on the conversation.
“I really don’t think -” Aziraphale’s tone of voice strongly suggested that he was trying to come up with something that could finish that sentence.
“It’ll be fun. Trust me.”
The human’s voice made Crowley’s hackles rise. He knew that voice, alright. It was the voice of that obnoxious Mr. Brown. The carpet seller who always seemed to go out of his way to cross the street and talk to Aziraphale whenever possible.
But what was he doing inside the bookshop? And what fun could he possibly suggest?
Crowley was on the verge of simply barging in on their conversation when Aziraphale spoke again.
“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that -”
“It’s something you haven’t considered before. Of course I understand that. But just think about it. A cozy evening. Perhaps with a few glasses of wine. Something to nibble on. And quite interesting conversations.”
“Well, if you put it like that -”
“Excellent. Shall we say six-thirty?”
“Tomorrow at six-thirty. Yes, of course.”
Crowley carefully gathered the remains of his broken heart in his hands. Shoved said hands into his pockets, turned around, and left the bookshop.
He remembered very little about the drive back to Mayfair. All he could think about was a human tempting Aziraphale with alcohol, something to nibble on and conversations. In other words, precisely the kind of evening that had so long been a trademark of Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s.
But apparently the angel didn’t see such evenings as something reserved for Crowley. Apparently that kind of evening was something that could easily be enjoyed with anyone who suggested it. Even that obnoxious carpet seller who drooled over Aziraphale whenever he saw him.
So much for being on the same side.
Well, at least this answered one of the questions Crowley had been asking himself lately.
Aziraphale was obviously interested in a romantic relationship.
But with the wrong species.
So instead of looking twice at the demon who had walked next to him for more than six thousand years; the faithful companion who had done everything in his power to show how much he loved and cared about him -
The angel had looked at a carpet seller and thought that he was the answer to his prayers.
Well.
Needless to say, Crowley did not care for it.
But he also knew that there was nothing he could do about it.
Except of course slither back to his apartment and try to put some distance between himself and the entire situation. Which of course meant that he would need to stay away from Whickber Street for the foreseeable future.
Because there was nowhere in . . anywhere he would watch Aziraphale embark on a romantic voyage with Mr. Brown. He might be a demon. Technically, at least. But he had never felt the need to torture anyone. Not even himself.
Back at his apartment Crowley opened a bottle of scotch. Poured himself a generous drink, sat down on his throne and threw his legs up.
He took a long sip of scotch, savored the taste and told himself that this was fine. Aziraphale being interested in someone like Mr. Brown meant that someone like Crowley, a demon who practically oozed sophistication, wasn’t the right man-shaped being for Aziraphale. No, the angel wanted something else. Someone able to talk about carpets until the cows came home. Someone who loved watching beige paint dry; someone who never drove too fast; someone who had never, as far as Crowley knew, worked for the dark side.
Yes, this was fine. In fact, it was better than fine. Aziraphale and Mr. Brown could enjoy whatever remained of the carpet sellers boring life. And while they did, Crowley would simply do what he’d done for thousand of years. He would keep Aziraphale as the center of his universe. Treasure their friendship, keep an eye out for trouble and remind himself that the angel’s happiness was more important than anything.
Crowley emptied his glass. Refilled it. And burst into tears.
Later. when he’d gotten himself partly under control and threatened his plants to a point where they politely overlooked that tears had been shed, Crowley remembered that humanity, for all their flaws, knew just how to handle a broken heart.
Alcohol. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.
The next morning saw Crowley wake up, deal with the hangover, stumble to the kitchen and glare at his fancy coffee maker until his usual six shots of espresso was ready for his consumption.
While he drank the beverage, he contemplated his plans for the day. There really wasn’t anything he needed to do, except of course stay away from Whickber Street and a certain bookshop.
Shit.
He’d been awake for less than five minutes and already he was thinking about Aziraphale; the angel who had decided to date a human; the angel who would most likely spend his entire day fussing over what outfit to wear for that night’s festivities.
Crowley gritted his teeth. He could just imagine it; Aziraphale opening all his closets, humming and smiling as he gently caressed every outfit he’d ever worn. Aziraphale wanting to look good for the human who would never love him like Crowley did; Aziraphale wanting to make an effort and -
The coffee maker exploded.
The ensuing chaos was enough to keep Crowley occupied long enough for him to push the word ‘effort’ so far out of his vocabulary that it would need the bloody ‘Enterprise’ to bring it back.
Because it was one thing to think about Aziraphale getting ready for a date with Mr. Brown.
Quite another to even consider that ‘efforts’ might be involved.
Crowley spent the rest of the day stress-cleaning his, already spotless, apartment. While definitely not keeping an eye on his fancy watch as the time moved towards six-thirty.
His phone rang at precisely five-thirty. And for the briefest of seconds, and for the first time in his entire existence, Crowley almost didn’t answer it.
Because of course Aziraphale had to call him. Exactly an hour before his big date. Most likely to ask Crowley’s advice on something date-related.
So yes, not answering the phone would be the best way to deal with it.
But since when had Crowley ever been able to turn away when Aziraphale called on him?
“Ah. It’s me.”
Crowley froze. Aziraphale spoke in his ‘something’s wrong’ tone of voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Oh, nothing’s wrong, I just thought -”
Crowley allowed his nerves to settle. Just a smidgen. “What?”
“It’s just that I’ve gotten used to seeing you every day. And I could have sworn you stopped by the bookshop yesterday. But left before I could get rid of Mr. Brown. And since I haven’t seen you all day today, I wondered if something might have happened to you. Silly of me, of course, Hell has left you alone since the bathtub incident, but still -”
Crowley felt his face soften. Of course even a smitten angel would never turn his back on his best friend’s safety.
But -
Wait a minute. Aziraphale had clearly said that Crowley had left the bookshop before he could get rid of Mr. Brown.
Was that a way to talk about a dream date with a human you fancied?
“Mr. Brown?”
“Well, yes, he had the nerve to enter the shop and ask me to host the Whickber Street Association meeting tonight. I tried to decline, the mere thought of humans handling wine and snacks close to the books has me quite disturbed, but he kept insisting. And I would hate to disappoint my fellow shopkeepers, except of course shopkeepers is not the word I’m looking for since they actually go out of their way to sell things, whereas I . . yes. Never mind. But don’t let me keep you away from what you were doing. You’re obviously safe and I have to find a way to keep the humans away from the books while getting though this horrible evening and . . Crowley? Are you there?”
And that was obviously a very good question.
Of course it all depended on Aziraphale’s definition of ‘there’.
Because if ‘there’ meant ‘online and able to use words consisting of more than one syllable’ -
Then Crowley was definitely not there.
But on the other hand -
If he was asking whether Crowley was right this moment grabbing his car keys and running towards the front door -
Then Crowley was most definitely there.
The Bentley’s engine roared to life just as Crowley’s brain completed its short-circuit.
“Whickber Street Association meeting, eh?” The demon growled at the car. It obediently tore out of Mayfair.
“Yes. It’s a lovely tradition, but so far I’ve managed to avoid hosting the meetings. But Mr. Brown’s shop is currently closed, something apparently necessitated by a sewer accident and -”
Crowley grinned. A sewer accident. Why hadn’t he thought about that?
“ . . and so here we are.”
“Humans about to infest the bookshop. Right. Got it. See you in five.”
“Oh, thank you. I knew I could count on you.”
“Of course, angel. I’m just glad you’re not asking for advise on your dating life.”
The Bentley screeched to a halt.
Crowley squinted at the phone. Shit. Aziraphale hadn’t disconnected the call before Crowley spoke. Which meant he’d heard the bit about -
“Dating life? What on earth are you talking about?”
The demon exhaled. Right. Time to come up with something. Perhaps he could turn back time. A few minutes ought to do it. Or perhaps he should go for five minutes. Then he would have the pleasure of listening to Aziraphale explain that the ‘cozy evening’ Mr. Brown had suggested was a Whickber Street Association meeting and not some half-arsed scheme to ask the angel out on a -
“I mean, date is a very loaded word, my dear. If, of course, by date you mean a romantic date and not just a date to look at . . oh, I don’t know, curtains or furniture for a shared household -”
Crowley blinked.
“Not that I’ve been thinking along those lines, goodness me, that would be very straightforward, but since you talked about dates, or more specifically, dating life, it would seem my mind made an association. Silly me. I have obviously been reading too many books. But anyway, the meeting starts in half an hour.”
Right. He needed to -
Hurry over to the bookshop.
Keep the humans away from the books.
Work extremely hard to avoid thinking about dates, curtains and furniture.
And do his best to forget that Aziraphale had talked about a shared household. With a voice trembling with hope. While speaking to Crowley.
Right.
He was the demon Crowley. The Serpent of Eden. Responsible for humanity’s downfall.
He could do this.
Crowley strode across Whickber Street and the bookshop’s doors opened for him. Almost as if it was getting tired of the two morons dancing around each other and wanted to let him know that, yes, it had heard the part about a shared household so what was he waiting for?
But as Crowley crossed the threshold and the door closed behind him, he was greeted with a sign so breathtaking that he almost melted into a pile of burning goo.
Aziraphale. In all his glory.
The angel’s hair was even more chaotic than usual. And he was wearing his usual outfit. So Crowley’s heart had no reason whatsoever to stop beating.
If it wasn’t for the fact that -
Aziraphale looked even more dazzling than usual. A faint blush covered his cheeks. A beautiful smile made his entire face light up. His eyes practically glowed with happiness. “My dear fellow. The humans haven’t arrived yet. But I do fear that chaos will follow in their wake.”
Crowley exhaled. Uttered a word consisting mostly of consonants; a word Aziraphale had no trouble translating.
“Yes, keeping them away from the books will be our top priority for the evening. I hope the refreshments will distract them -” Aziraphale pointed towards a table loaded with bottles and snacks. “But I fear some of them will take advantage of my attention being elsewhere.”
Crowley eyed the bottles. This better not be the wine from Aziraphale’s wine cellar.
Aziraphale looked at the table. Nodded. “Yes, this is for the humans only. Our wine, on the other hand -”
Crowley turned around. “Yeah?”
“If you look at the table in the back office, you will find two glasses and a bottle reserved for a special occasion.”
The demon grinned. Strode to the back office, poured two large drinks and carried them both to Aziraphale. Who accepted one of the glasses with a grateful smile.
Half an hour later the bookshop was rapidly filling with humans and Crowley used his considerable ability to growl, hiss and pretend to be a menace to keep them away from the books.
At precisely six-thirty-three Aziraphale cleared his throat, turned towards the assembled group and raised his voice. “Good evening. And welcome to the Whickber Street Association meeting. Have everyone helped themselves to refreshments? Because then I suggest we -”
“What is he doing here?”
Crowley turned towards the human who had dared to interrupt Aziraphale. Of course. Mr. Brown. That obnoxious idiot of a carpet seller.
“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale’s tone of voice was deceptively mild. Anyone who didn’t know him as well as Crowley did would have a hard time figuring out that this was Aziraphale seconds away from shouting ‘avaunt’.
Mr. Brown gestured at Crowley. “What is he doing here? This meeting is for the shopkeepers on Whickber Street and as far as I know he isn’t -”
Aziraphale looked at Mr. Brown. And something in his eyes made the human recoil slightly. “Crowley is my partner. This bookshop belongs to both of us.”
Crowley’s brain once more short-circuited.
And when he came back online, it was to the delicious sight of a glowering Mr. Brown crossing his arms. And an angel, who was just enough of a bastard to be worth loving, looking with heart-shaped eyes at Crowley.
The rest of the evening passed in something closely resembling a blur.
Not that Crowley noticed it, though.
He was too busy trying not to melt into a puddle of softness. While replaying Aziraphale’s small speech over and over and over again.
A speech that included words like ‘partner’ and ‘bookshop belongs to us’.
Words powerful enough to drown out the rapid beating of the heart Crowley had entrusted in Aziraphale’s care millennia ago.
Aziraphale closed and locked the bookshop’s doors. Exhaled. And turned towards Crowley with a happy, but slightly tired, smile. “At last.”
“Yeah.” Crowley grinned. “At least you don’t have to do this again for the next couple of years.”
“Millennia, if I can help it.” Aziraphale went over to the snack table. “Oh. There’s almost nothing left.”
“Fancy an early breakfast?” Crowley looked at his watch. “Or a midnight snack? Anything you want, angel.”
Aziraphale’s face softened. “What I want is for the two of us to enjoy a bottle of wine. And perhaps a few biscuits.”
“Right. I’m on it. Any preferences?”
“Just pick something you like.”
Crowley uncorked a quite decent bottle and went back to the back office. Poured two glasses of wine and handed one of them to Aziraphale. “Cheers, angel.”
“Cheers, my dear fellow.” Aziraphale took a long sip of wine. Hummed appreciatively. “Oh. An excellent choice.”
Crowley nodded. Emptied his glass and reached for the bottle.
“I hope your fears about me being involved with Mr. Brown have been laid to rest?”
The demon almost dropped the bottle. “What?”
Aziraphale smiled. Raised his glass and took a delicate sip. “I’m not an idiot. Suddenly you talked about me having a dating life. So I thought about what you could have heard yesterday afternoon. And it’s quite obvious that you thought tonight was about something different. As if I would ever be romantically involved with a human.”
“You might.” The words were out before Crowley could stop them.
But Aziraphale merely laughed out loud. “Dearest. I would never. Not when you and I have managed to establish a perfect romantic relationship.”
“I’m a demon,” Crowley whined. “I don’t do romance.”
“I see.” Aziraphale was still smiling. “So dining at the Ritz, daring rescues, asking me to elope and burning up your car to drive to Tadfield was -”
“Not romance.” Crowley refilled his glass. And did his best to ignore that Aziraphale’s smile kept turning more and more radiant.
“All right. Not romance. Just something you would do for -”
“A partner.” Crowley closed his mouth. Damn it.
Aziraphale nodded. Raised his glass. “Then I suggest a toast. To partners.”
“To partners.” Crowley nodded.
“And to us.” Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes.
Crowley didn’t look away. Instead he smiled and clinked his glass against Aziraphale’s. “To us.”
Six months later:
Crowley carried the box into the library and placed it carefully on the desk. “Here you go. This should be the last one.”
“For now.” Aziraphale opened the box and hummed. “Oh, I completely forgot this version of -”
“I also got you the scones you like.” Crowley nodded back towards their lounge. “Fresh from the bakery.”
“Oh, you are a -”
“I’m not a sweetheart,” the demon growled. “We’ve been over this.”
“I was going to call you a lifesaver.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “I was feeling rather peckish and -”
Crowley slipped an arm around Aziraphale’s waist. Pulled him closer and buried his nose in angelic hair. “You are ridiculous. You know you don’t need to eat, right?”
“But I do so enjoy it.” Aziraphale leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “Be a dear and put the kettle on, yes? Then we’ll retreat to our lounge for afternoon tea, scones and -”
“Not cuddling. I told you not to call it -”
“Yes dear, that’s nice.” Aziraphale once more kissed his cheek and Crowley felt himself melting into the touch.
Crowley smiled as he went into their kitchen and put the kettle on.
Fancy that.
One minute Crowley was being a green-eyed serpent.
The next minute he was living his best life as a demon sharing a home with his angel; a cottage where they were busy creating a life for the two of them.
A life filled with happiness. And love.
So who cared if humanity loved Aziraphale?
And if Aziraphale loved humanity?
Because at the end of the day -
Love had always been the thing that kept the world turning.
And there would always be plenty to go around.
The end.