Chapter Text
First, one falls in love. Then, one confesses it—and finds it returned in full. Ask anyone and they'll say this is a wonderful thing.
They are so very wrong.
Even with the best of couples, there are power dynamics at work. There's a side that gives and a side that takes. One who rules and one who serves—a winner and a loser. If it is one’s wish to live a noble life, one must not become the loser.
Love is no game— it’s war!
…
London, England. Home of the Ritz, and in it, two recent adverters of the apocalypse. On the right, Aziraphale. He’s an angel as well as a book addict, and hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the one sitting in front of him for the last seven hours straight. The other, Crowley, has had a similar issue, though figured out the cause much quicker than our resident angel did.
This is getting quite annoying. I shan’t ever get anything done if all I can think about is how he looked, riding in that automobile of his…
Oblivious to his companion’s musings, the demon takes a sip of the Ritz’s finest wine. “So, no more book shop, no more Bentley.”
Well, that’s one way of getting his mind on track. “I suppose not.” The thought still hurts; his bookshop going up in flames, life work eviscerated all at once.
“You and I are in a lot of trouble, I reckon.”
Aziraphale always hates being in trouble. He’s good at explaining himself and a firm believer that if he can just say the right thing, the powers at be will understand. Still, explaining this one might prove more difficult than even a pro like him can fix.
“What about tonight? My offer still stands— you can stay at mine, if you want.”
Does he look nervous? “As I told you before, that would be silly. I don’t sleep. I’d just be a burden.”
“You’re never a burden, Angel.” Well that was… strangely sincere. And does he look sad? Could it be that he wanted me to stay at his place?
.
..
…
Dear Lord, I’m a fool.
Yeah he is. It took him 6,000 years to figure out that Crowley was into him! Granted, Crowley only realized that Aziraphale liked him an hour before after the angel sat so close on the bus he was practically cuddling him.
This candle lit dinner should be the ideal place to finally get together, especially because they have inklings that the other will respond in kind, but no.
The rest of the meal goes as normal. Just two chaps debriefing about the end of the world. At the end of the night Crowley goes back to his flat and Aziraphale gets a motel.
They choose their faces, get heaven and hell off their backs, and then finally…
…still nothing.
In fact, nothing happens for a full ten months.
That’s ten months of painfully knowing the other feels the same, but not reaching out because they’re too prideful to admit their feelings first. We’ll be skipping past that, because literally nothing interesting happens during that time.
Our story really begins in late May of the next year.
Enter, Deidre Young. Literally, into the bookshop.
Aziraphale doesn’t recognize her immediately, and on habit mentally prepares a number of excuses as to why he can’t sell her whatever she’s interested in.
Crowley, never one to forget a face (like an angry wasp) is first to call out to her. “Deidre, dear, it’s been too long.”
He takes her hand and kisses it, which gives Aziraphale enough time to remember that, one, this is the anti-Christ’s mother and two, after the child made him his godfather, he’s supposed to know this woman.
”What brings you to my shop,” he asks, still weary on the off chance she wants a book for dear Adam.
”Well, I was hoping to call in a favor.” The angel and the demon make eye contact. Typically they only call in favors from each other, so this is a surprise. And since she doesn’t know that they’re an angel and a demon, they both have no idea what this woman wants from them.
“My husband got a seasonal remote work offer— very proud of him, of course— but it’s just too far away to bring Adam with us. And it’s only for three months, but we have no one to watch him.”
Ah, babysitting. Crowley has experience with it, eleven years, to be precise, but he’s not looking to get back into the game anytime soon. And Aziraphale is abysmal with kids.
Obviously, they aren’t just gonna cave to some random request with no reward—
“My family has a property about fifteen miles from Tadfield. A nice wooden cabin— don’t you think a boy like Adam deserves some experience in the great outdoors? Lots of forest around it and a short walk to the beach. You two can stay there and we’ll pay for any food or gas you need.”
Wait. A cabin, where Aziraphale would get to experience regular domestics with Crowley?
A cabin where Crowley could hang around Aziraphale as much as his heart could desire?
A cabin where they could conduct any number of schemes to get the other to confess?
”I suppose we could make arrangements" Aziraphale says at the same time Crowley says “Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”
”Wonderful!” Deidre says, clapping lightly. “I’ll give you the key now, and I’ll drop off Adam June second. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you!” She sweeps out the door before they can change their minds. Not that either of them have any intention of doing so…
”Don’t mention it,” Crowley says to the space where the woman was.
Aziraphale says nothing at all, eyes locked onto the literal key that could be the metaphorical key to getting a confession from Crowley.
The cabin has no idea the battleground it’s about to become!
Results for today’s battle:
Deidre Young wins (two free babysitters)
-+ ~ <3 ~ +-
June second is fast approaching, and with it, Crowley’s opportunity to make Aziraphale confess.
He’s even written down this phrase on a to-do list and stuffed it in his pocket as if that’s somehow gonna make it more likely.
If only he could put that energy into something more useful, like packing. Unfortunately, he’s already three bags in and is showing no sign of discretion. In his mind everything should come, as he can never be too prepared.
Aziraphale complemented this necktie once, in it goes.
This is how his flat has turned into a tornado of clothes everywhere. He’s going through literally everything he owns, so this might take a while.
And this jacket I’m wearing is not ideal for traveling in but looks really good around greens, ie, the woods. In the bag.
As you can imagine, none of this is being folded.
And, our resident angel is quite incensed at the sight.
“Crowley, just what do you think you’re doing?”
If anyone were to ask him, the demon would deny jumping at his sudden appearance. At times like these, Crowley regrets removing the protective warding on his door and letting Aziraphale waltz in anytime he wants.
”Ah, you’re just in time.” He holds up two nearly identical pairs of sunglasses. “What do you think, the black or the silver?”
”What I think—“
”You’re right, both is good.” They are thrown haphazardly on top of the jacket he was just wearing, which is now hanging half out of a random suit case.
”Crowley! For he- Someone’s sake! You can’t just throw glasses into a bag without the case. And look, this suit’s even got something sticking out of the pocket.”
”Bold of you to say, angel, I can’t recall a time of you ever not having something in your…”
Shit.
That’s right— the pathetic to-do list is hanging halfway out of the pocket, and Aziraphale is actively reaching down to take it out. If he reads it this war is over before it really gets a chance to begin.
Oh Crowley, whatever do you think I need to confess to? Could it be that you believe I harbor feelings for you? Why, you would only think that if you were in love with me! You really are quite nice!
No chance in somewhere he’ll let that happen.
”What about these?” Crowley grabs two random things, which happens to be a pair of too-tight trousers and a cowboy hat.
Where did I even get that?
Doesn’t matter, as Aziraphale now has both of his hands firmly planted on his hips, away from the compromising message.
”Honestly,” he says with an exasperated sigh, “you’ve never worn that a day in your life.”
”Course I have. Wear it all the time.”
He may as well be a cowboy for all the stalling he’s doing. Aziraphale hasn’t caught on yet, but he’s about to turn around, back to the note—
“Wore it to a bar, just a few years ago.”
“Right,” Aziraphale says, but he’s not looking at him anymore, and his hand is on the note.
Think fast, for someone’s sake aren’t snakes supposed to be clever? There’s gotta be something that will distract Aziraphale from the note.
He does have one advantage over him; he’s much less of a prude than Aziraphale is.
“And what do you think, these pants or these ones?”
Just as planned, Aziraphale blushes and drops the note.
”Crowley! That’s— you can’t—“ He takes a steadying breath. “It seems like you can answer most of these questions on your own. Pick me up at noon this Sunday.” He can’t even meet his eyes!
”Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Crowley says to his rapidly retreating form.
Victory, he thinks to himself, but no, it’s not. Because of their little encounter Aziraphale is too embarrassed to ask Crowley to go eat sometime before June second and Crowley, upon realizing what nearly occurred combined with what he did to prevent it, is too.
Results for today’s battle:
They both lose
-+ ~ <3 ~ +-
The fateful day has finally arrived.
The car ride to the cabin is long and devoid of music, because Crowley is certain the Bentley knows. It only plays romantic music when Aziraphale is in the car. It’s sabotage, and distracting.
“Crowley, you’re going double the speed limit!” Aziraphale shrieks over a hard turn. Crowley chooses to interpret this as making conversation. Not giving him a lot to go off of there, so it's up to Crowley to change the subject.
“I’m surprised you’re only bringing one bag, angel. Whatever will you read?”
”I brought a few of my travel novels, and a few picture books for Adam. I do hope he still likes those nature books— I have one about a duckling he might like as a bedtime story.”
Adam is twelve, and while it was sweet of Aziraphale to remember that he likes occult magazines, the sentiment will be lost on him should he try to read him a bed time story.
Crowley’s about to tell him as much, but Aziraphale is smiling so brightly at the thought of doing something for the boy that the demon can only nod along.
”Watch the road!” the angel yells rather suddenly. He must have caught him staring— that’s the only reason Crowley can think of as to why he keeps bringing up something so random.
“Don’t need to. Already arrived, and look at that, both in one piece.”
The cabin is more run down then they were led to belive— the lights flicker, the water that drips out of the facet is orange, there’s a constant faint buzzing, and the deck isn’t stable enough for a person to walk on, let alone two.
But Crowley has been imagining cooking for Aziraphale in that kitchen. Aziraphale’s been picturing sitting on that deck, reading next to Crowley as the sun sets.
They’ve both been picturing a confession at this very place.
Expectations are powerful things.
The buzzing stops, the lights stay consistent and warm, and the water runs clear. The deck has two chairs, each with a tartan pillow.
“It’s a big cabin for just the three of us,” Aziraphale says.
They’ve only explored the first floor, and already found the kitchen, living room, and game room, as well as a bathroom and a bedroom.
”I call this one!”
A feminine voice calls from upstairs.
Crowley and Aziraphale both jump; They were so distracted with how nice the cabin was (and the other’s presence) that they didn’t think to question why the lights would be on or the facet would be dripping in the first place.
And that can’t be Adam. Of course they should have suspected this— where one of the Them go the rest follow, especially their leader.
Crowley is really hoping he heard wrong
One, two, three, four.
This is what he gets for being an optimist. Three extra kids to watch.
In vain, Aziraphale asks, “What are you three doing here? Do your parents know where you are?”
”Yep! They were just fine with it,” Pepper says from her perch at the top of a bunk bed.
They weren’t the only ones with expectations. Adam expects to spend every summer with his friends, and the universe is still inclined to listen to him.
“We weren’t told there would be more than just Adam here,” Aziraphale says in what Crowley likes to think of as his customer service voice. He still hasn’t caught on, so Crowley gives him a side eye that says I don’t like it any more than you do, but Adam’s friends are wherever he is.
Aziraphale looks up, which obviously means can’t we use some miracle to get them away? I’m not sure the two of us can handle the whole of the Them.
Crowley shakes his head as if to say It wont work, angel. But we can handle them. We stopped Armegetton, for Someone’s sake.
Aziraphale clears his throat as if to say for ours, I hope you’re right. He turns to Brian and Wensleydale, who are in an intense game of rock paper scissors. Brian wins, hoots, then gives Adam a fist bump. “Well then, I suppose you’re picking rooms?”
”Yeah, Adam and I are gonna have the master bedrooms and Wensleydale’ll take the other regular one.”
”Where will they be sleeping then?” Wensleydale asks.
“My godfathers can sleep on the sofas downstairs,” Adam says decisively.
”We won’t be doing that,” Crowley tells him. “Why don’t you four draw lots to see who rooms with who while Aziraphale and I unpack in the master bedrooms.”
Pepper jumps off the bed. “You can’t make me room with them, that’s sexist!”
“Good point. You get your own room, the boys can share the other,” Crowley agrees.
The three male members of the Them all protest at the same time.
After they have their moment, Crowley lowers his sunglasses. “Listen up. You can either share the room, or I can call your parents and ask them to take you home.”
They form a huddle, and when they break, Adam is first to speak.
”Fine then, we can do this your way just since you came here to watch us. But we want to go on a hike tomorrow and you have to let us, even if it rains or something”
“Alright. If that’s everything, Aziraphale and I are going to start unpacking.”
”Let us know if you need help with— ah, anything,” Aziraphale says back in customer service mode.
Outside of the room, he glares at the demon.
”That wasn’t very nice. You threatened the poor things!”
”First, good. Second, if you want to offer up your room in favor of a sofa, be my guest.”
Aziraphale huffs. If Crowley’s reading it right, it’s an annoyed very well. Thank you for sticking up for us.
Results for today’s battle:
Crowley wins!