Chapter Text
Crowley unlocked the door to his flat gingerly and slipped inside. Looking around, the room seemed even darker than it had been the last time he had been there. Since the apocalypse, or rather, lack thereof, the demon found it harder and harder to step foot inside the gloomy reminder of his isolation. He had spent the last couple of weeks sleeping on the couch in Aziraphale’s newly-renovated bookshop. He had no real reason to, really. Aziraphale was in and out constantly, tying up loose ends with heaven, and even when he was around it wasn’t like Crowley was staying in the angel’s own apartment or anything. He just… he couldn’t lose him for a second time.
Crowley flicked the lights on and surveyed the room. He didn’t want to be there, but his plants needed watering and, even more so he thought with a smirk, some discipline for their lackluster performance. Grabbing his watering can and sauntering across the room in a way he hoped was intimidating, he began to check on each plant. Very quickly, he noticed that one had a very large brown spot on one of its leaves.
“Now, what the heaven is this?” the demon snarled, swiping up the pot. The plant, a small fern growing in a beautiful Grecian vase, began to tremble violently in fear. Crowley smirked, but was shocked to feel a twinge of guilt for upsetting the plant. What was this? He had never felt bad for abusing his plants before – it was their fault for not growing better, not his – but nevertheless he set the plant back down with a warning glare.
Sighing, Crowley picked the watering can back up and continued to tend to the other plants. He knew why he was feeling the way he was; a few nights before, Aziraphale had returned from heaven, looking more defeated than the demon had ever seen him. At first the angel attempted to dissuade Crowley from thinking the worst, assuring him he was just tired. However, the hurt look in his eyes betrayed him and Crowley eventually was able to piece together that Gabriel and the others were less than pleased with the angel’s “consorting” and had decided to deliberate on the rogue principality’s fate. That evening, Crowley didn’t need to ask what this meant – he had seen it before, he had LIVED it before – it might be the end of the angel. Although it was clear Aziraphale had nothing against demons, that was an entirely different story than becoming one himself, and thus as Crowley looked at the trembling plant, he could only see his angel, eyes wide with fear.
Crowley put the watering can back and, after casting one last glare at the fern, locked the door behind him. Standing out on the landing, he paused. What was next? It was unclear how much longer he would have with the angel. He knew heaven would not destroy him, not after everything he had done, and yet… yet something about the situation felt urgent. Aziraphale was back at the shop, awaiting a verdict on a trial he wasn’t even privy to, and Crowley knew how much it must have been hurting him.
He swung around and unlocked his door for a second time, and strode past the plants to his bedroom. Reaching into the drawer next to the bed, he pulled out a stack of money which he kept around just in case he ever needed to make a legal transaction. Smiling at the fact that such a morally pure moment had not come up, he exited the apartment once again and made his way down the street.
…
Aziraphale straightened the stack of books on the end table for what was probably the dozenth time that morning. Although he knew that no customers would be coming in – he had closed a few days prior upon the news from heaven and had not reopened since – he couldn’t stop himself from making the place look as neat as possible. He couldn’t stop fidgeting and frequently found himself pacing around the shop. It wasn’t that he was unhappy being there – quite the contrary, actually, as he was beyond glad that he had his treasured store back – but he couldn’t help feeling stuck, like a rat in a cage awaiting some sort of torture.
The bell behind Aziraphale rang, causing the angel to jump. He knew he had locked the door and thus the only person entering could be Crowley, as he had the only other key, but Aziraphale was still tentative when he peeked around a bookcase to identify the intruder. Luckily, as he had suspected, a slightly ruffled red-headed demon stood just inside the entrance, clutching a bag and shaking rain water from his jacket. His hair, which he had grown out again, was plastered to his face and he looked as if he were ready to have a less-than-friendly chat with God about Her choice in weather. However, when his eyes caught Aziraphale who had stepped out into the open, the demon smiled.
“Hello angel, how are you doing?” Crowley asked, hanging his coat up and moving forward to greet him. Although Aziraphale detected a slight hint of concern in his voice which he took to be a little patronizing, he knew that Crowley legitimately cared. Over the last few weeks, Crowley’s brash swagger had not deteriorated in the slightest, but the more nights he chose to sleep on the couch in the shop or asked the angel out to dinner, the more Aziraphale knew that Crowley wasn’t about to go anywhere.
Smiling, Aziraphale motioned for the two to sit down in their favorite chairs. With a snap of his fingers, a fire sprang to life in the hearth, and Crowley took the chair closest to warm himself.
“I’m fine.” Aziraphale said with a smile which he immediately realized looked horribly fake. “Actually,” the angel conceded, “It’s been a long day, Crowley. I know that Heaven just needs to look my file over and that they really don’t have that much of a case against me and that if they were going to do something they would have done it already, but still…” he trailed off, settling down into his own chair. His cheeks flushed as he felt the demon looking at him and hoped he could just sink into the chair and not have to think about anything ever again.
“It’s ok, angel” Crowley said softly. “I know. I’m not sure what’s going to happen either.” The demon went quiet for a minute, and Aziraphale was almost taken aback by the lack of effort Crowley put forth. However, as he looked up, he saw that Crowley had a tired grin on his face and was clutching the water-stained bag he had carried in.
“I got something for you, though.” the demon continued. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, or if you even want to think about something like this right now, but… just open it, angel.”
Aziraphale took the bag and carefully reached inside to feel something hard and rectangular. Opening it wide, he looked in to see a book. Considering the number of books he owned, there was a decent chance that whatever was in the bag he already owned, yet as he pulled it out he realized that none of his collection was from Crowley. Over the years the two had interacted many, many times, but Crowley never seemed to take any interest in literature. In fact, Aziraphale had never seen the demon read at all. Because of this, the fact that he had suddenly gifted him a book seemed very odd to Aziraphale.
However, he became even more confused when he read the title. “The American West?” he asked. He was unsure why, in the midst of this crisis, the demon was buying him what appeared to be travel guides. “Wh…” the angel trailed off as two pieces of paper slipped out from under the cover and fluttered to the floor. Reaching to pick them up, Aziraphale caught the word “Delta” and Crowley chuckled.
“I know you said no to Alpha Centauri, but I figured that Portland is a bit closer so I thought, uh, you might want to, you know, take a road trip?” The demon looked abashed, and Aziraphale suddenly realized what he was asking. Neither of them knew how much longer they had, and Crowley was offering them an escape, even if just for a bit. The angel stared at the tickets, overcome with emotion. The demon could do anything, anything, he could run far away and not get mixed up in Heaven, and yet he decided to use his time to show Aziraphale the world? He felt tears rise to his eyes, and looked up to see an expectant Crowley, still blushing slightly.
“I’ve barely spent any time in America!” Aziraphale explained, breaking into a smile. “You want to do this for me?”
Crowley laughed. “Of course, angel. What would I rather be doing?”
“I don’t know, brooding or something?” the angel giggled. “When would we go?”
“The Bentley’s out front, so, I guess, as soon as you pack a bag.”
For a moment, Aziraphale forgot the weight of Heaven’s judgement pressing down on him and jumped to his feet, causing Crowley to laugh again. “Meet you down here in 15?” he asked, making his way to the staircase.
“I’ll be right here.”