Chapter Text
Soho was the last place Crowley wanted to be, and yet, the one place he always seemed to end up.
There wasn’t anything for him here except a few hundred years’ worth of memories, punctuated neatly with one so terrifically awful that it felt like a stab wound whenever it popped into his mind uninvited. Every inch of this block was layered in the ghosts of an angel.
The street felt hollow without him, like looking at where the furniture isn’t.
But here Crowley was, again, late at night so that he wouldn’t catch Maggie’s pitying gaze or Nina’s regretful one. He didn’t blame them for what happened, but he couldn’t bare to look at them now, not now that they knew it was all over. Their advice had done something worse than not work.
He glanced at his watch, dark and shiny and sleek- a manifestation of everything he wanted to convey about himself to the outer world. Aziraphale was the only one who saw something different there. Saw under it.
It was 2:12 AM. All the shop lights were off.
All except one.
For one desperate, manic moment, Crowley thought Aziraphale had returned. The light on was the one the angel left when it was late but he was still reading. The figure under the light wore a cream tartan dressing gown, but their hair was dark and their skin olive. Not Aziraphale.
Crowley stood there for a moment, thinking about his last time in that little shop. Thinking about the last time he’d touched Aziraphale. They’d kissed. The memory was like a block of ice.
It hurt. It hurt to have the knowledge that Aziraphale’s lips felt exactly as Crowley had expected. Every other facet of that moment was terribly different from what he had imagined.
It was foolish to come down here. He gazed into the shop, desperately aware that he was only hurting himself by being so near it.
In a moment of shock, he realized that he’d been staring at the angel in the bookshop, and that the angel was now staring back.
They looked at each other for a moment. Then, Muriel’s face bloomed into a wide smile and they waved enthusiastically.
“Oh god,” murmured Crowley, turning away and walking down the street. The Bentley wasn’t too far.
“Um, wait! Hello!”
Crowley stopped, exhaling. He could hear the angel’s feet pattering behind him and wanted to run, but he detected a note of sharp eagerness in their voice. Their loneliness was palpable even at a distance.
“Crowley? What are you doing out so late?”
“I’m a demon, we’re practically nocturnal.” He turned to face them.
“Are you still a demon, then?”
Muriel’s tone was entirely different than Aziraphale’s had been, so long ago. Crowley didn’t have the desire to respond with a quip now.
“Yes,” he said flatly.
“Oh,” they replied, a little bemused. “I thought if you weren’t on Hell’s side, it meant you were something else…” The angel trailed off, thinking. “Well, it’s lovely to see you again anyway! Would you like to come in? I’ve got, um, whisky?”
Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. He was surprised to hear Muriel knew what whisky was, let alone that they had any. Then it hit him- the whisky was probably the bottle Aziraphale kept on hand for when Crowley was in.
“I don’t think- I don’t-.“ Crowley’s hands were up in front of his chest as he backed away slightly, as if he were talking down a gunman.
“Oh, right. Of course. Sorry,” Muriel replied, obviously crestfallen. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Muriel turned to go back to the bookshop, leaving a sour feeling in Crowley’s stomach. He knew all too well what it was like to be lonely on Earth. How much effort it took to belong there.
“Wait,” he groaned, regretting it immediately.
Muriel turned around with a dazzling smile. “Oh, yes, sorry?”
He groaned once more, then stomped up to them.
“Why do you want to be my friend?”
Muriel’s head tilted like a confused dog. “Um, well, I don’t know what to say! Why wouldn’t I want to be your friend?”
“Why would you? I’m a demon, remember?”
Muriel smiled blankly back, as if they really couldn’t understand the question. Crowley sighed. “Listen. I can’t go in Az- in- in that shop, but I can sit on the stoop with you. If you’re still offering whisky, that is.”
“No, silly,” Muriel began, waving their hand dismissively. “I’m inviting you in, you have permission-“
Crowley growled. “I don’t need permission to go in there, but…I just can’t. Shall we drink or not?”
Muriel beamed. “Right! Be right out!”
They eagerly trotted ahead, while Crowley took his time approaching the shop as though it could blow up.
His mind wandered back to the fire. When he thought he lost Aziraphale. A painful lump in his throat appeared.
“One whisky, coming up!” Muriel nearly sang, clinking the bottle and two glasses as they stepped back onto the stoop.
Crowley stared. “You’re not drinking any, are you?”
“Well,” Muriel smiled conspiratorially. “I was thinking perhaps I ought to try some. They’re always talking about alcohol in books. I’m too nervous to drink it alone. I hear it can make you…” They swallowed cautiously, holding the bottle carefully as though not to upset it. “Drunk.”
“Smart angel,” Crowley murmured. “It’s best not to drink alone if one can help it. That’s a free Earth lesson for you.” He began pouring the drinks. “Have you ingested anything before, Muriel?”
“Oh no, nothing yet.” Muriel smiled trepidatiously.
“And you’re starting out with hard liquor in the company of a demon?” Crowley finally laughed- it felt like ages since he had last done. There was mischief in the sound. “Perhaps I misjudged you, Muriel. Cheers.”
He lifted his glass. Muriel did the same, not understanding they were meant to touch. Crowley clinked the glasses and tossed much of the drink into his mouth. Whisky was better savored, better sipped, but this was the closest he’d been to the bookshop since that day. He needed some courage.
He had, of course, forgotten that Muriel did not know how to properly drink whisky. They drank as much as Crowley did and swallowed slowly, their eyes wide.
“Did you like it?” Crowley asked, amused. He’d expected a little more reaction.
Muriel shook their head. “Oh, no. Not at all, actually. It was worse than terrible.” Crowley grinned.
“I’ve never heard such a poor review given so brightly. Here,” he said with a snap. “Try this instead.”
Across the street, a small window in the front of the Drunken Donkey tinkled apart. A cup filled with a fizzy pink drink soared towards them and landed at Muriel’s feet.
“Is it…whisky?” Muriel took the glass and studied it warily.
“It’s a Shirley Temple. You’ll like it.”
With a glance at Crowley that clearly said I hope I can trust you , they brought it to their lips.
“Drink it slower this time, it’s bubbly,” Crowley cautioned. “And watch out for the cherries- those red round things. You’ve got to chew those.”
Muriel obeyed, tipping the cup slightly and sipping slowly. Then, eyes full of confusion, they broke out into another massive smile.
“Oh yes, that is MUCH nicer!” Muriel laughed. “Why does anyone drink whisky when Shrilly Tembles are available?”
Crowley smiled, a bit bitter this time. “Whisky can make you feel less pain. Dulls the hurt. The taste starts to become nice when you’ve had enough of it.”
“I hope I never need to drink whisky enough that I start to enjoy the taste,” Muriel said, a bit frightened. They sipped more of their Shirley Temple and watched Crowley, who had fallen into another memory.
“I want to be your friend because you’re good.” The words came out of Muriel like a fact.
Crowley looked at them. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Well,” Muriel began in an almost business-like tone. “I’ve read nearly all the books in the shop. It hasn’t taken too long, you see; scriveners like I was are required to read quickly. Lots of texts in Heaven to refer to. Lots of records. When there aren’t many angels around to talk to, you get good at reading quick.”
“But what does that have to do with me being good or not?” Crowley said, dumbfounded if not impressed. Muriel hadn’t been in the shop long. There were thousands of books there.
“I read the books about you,” Muriel said matter-of-factly.
Crowley wasn’t following. “The books about me? The ones that talk about me and the other demons falling out of heaven?”
“Oh yes, I did read those. But I meant the ones about you and Aziraphale. The letter books to Aziraphale’s friend.”
As far as Crowley knew, Aziraphale had many passing acquaintances throughout the millennia, but none he wrote books of letters to.
“What friend?”
“Oh, his friend Diary? You must know them. They must be an angel, but I don’t think I’ve ever met them before.”
Crowley coughed heavily. “You’ve read Aziraphale’s diary?”
Muriel looked completely perplexed.
Crowley spoke fast. “Can you bring it out here? The book full of letters to…Diary?”
“There are a LOT of them,” Muriel replied. “Which one do you want?”
Crowley considered this. “I guess whatever one is about me.”
Muriel didn’t move.
“Is there a problem?”
“All of them are about you. Can you maybe be a little more specific, please?”
He groaned in frustration. “Well, gah! What do they say, then?!”
Muriel got a funny look on their face. “Haven’t you read the books? If I was in a book, I’d read it all the time!”
“Well, Muriel, books with the words “dear diary” in them do tend to be private.”
Muriel blanched, setting down their cup. “You mean I shouldn’t have read them?”
“No, you should not have,” Crowley laughed.
“So, uh, I’ve probably, oh, upset the new supreme archangel? Already?”Muriel wrung their hands fretfully. Crowley pitied them.
“Nah. Don’t worry about it. The Supreme Archangel of all Heaven has moved on from this life. He doesn’t care about the earth or what’s in it.” Crowley heard the bitterness in his voice and took another swig. “He left those books behind. Besides, I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Muriel did not look placated. Instead, they looked frightfully concerned.
Suddenly, their eyes narrowed. “Are you…trying to trick me?”
“Trick you? Course not.”
“I’m not as easily fooled now, you know. These books have taught me a lot. I know about orcs now, and the virtues of tilling the land, and, and- oral sex, and how to bake soufflés!”
Crowley choked on his whisky.
“No need to be yelling about that!” He cried, shushing Muriel. “The- the oral thing, not the soufflés…”
“What I mean is that I’m not as easily tricked. You can’t just say something untrue and get away with it anymore.” They straightened their back proudly, accidentally grabbing their whisky cup instead of their Shirley Temple. “I’m not so naive.” They took a swig and choked.
“What untrue thing did I say?” Crowley’s voice was rising indignantly. He was a demon, he did lie, but he hadn’t then.
Muriel wheezed through the alcohol burning their throat and it occurred to Crowley that Muriel did not know how to spit. “You said Aziraphale didn’t care about the earth or anything on it, but you’re on the earth and he cares about you more than anything. You’re all he ever talks about in those letters. I think he tries to make that Diary person jealous.”
Crowley didn’t want to hear it, not from Muriel and not with Muriel’s light manner. Muriel didn’t understand the weight of the message they were delivering
But Crowley couldn’t stop himself. “What did Aziraphale say? To..to Diary?”
“Oh, you know, just all the nice things you do for people and animals all the time even though hell would punish you for it if they knew. And especially the nice things you do for Aziraphale.”
Muriel paused.
“And also about how you look in your ‘sharp clothes.’ I could do with a lot less description of your outfits, if I’m honest. Totally breaks focus from the narrative, reading six paragraphs about your outfit of the day.“
Crowley started to speak, but words failed.
“That reminds me! Would you please stand up for just a moment?” Muriel looked up at Crowley with a curious, clinical innocence, like a child observing a bug. “And lift up the back of your jacket, please.”
“Uh, what for?”
“I want to understand what Aziraphale means by ‘spectacular buttocks’. The words don’t make sense to me.”
Crowley’s jaw dropped. “He didn’t say that!!…?”
“Strange thing to say, right? Well, aren’t you going to stand?”
“No, I bloody well won’t!” Crowley blushed scarlet and pulled his jacket tight around him. Muriel sighed, a hint of annoyance in their breath.
They sat quietly for a moment. “Did he say anything else…not about my Earthly appearance?”
“Sure! He loves you more than any other being. I’m sure he’s not including God in that group, of course.” Muriel giggled.
Crowley really didn’t need to hear this. Not from Muriel and their buoyant giggle.
“Muriel, could you show me-?”
“Of course! Come on in.” Muriel started to stand, but stopped when they notice Crowley hadn’t moved.
He looked up at them behind the dark glasses, voice somehow gruff and fragile at once. “I- I can’t.”
Muriel considered him for a moment. “We’ll make a deal. You tell me who Diary is, and I’ll bring out either the first or the last book, whichever you like.”
Crowley took one final drink, polishing off the glass. “Diary isn’t anyone, the book itself is called Diary. Diaries are meant for the author’s eyes only, typically. It’s a record of one’s life and their feelings. Very silly things to have. You write as if you’re talking to it.”
In this moment, Crowley felt like Aziraphale’s diary would be the least silly thing in the world to have.
“I think it sounds brilliant,” Muriel breathed. “A record…but about yourself? That you talk to like a friend, even if you don’t have any.”
At that, Muriel looked embarrassed, so they scuttled off to get one of the books before racing back.
“Oh, um, which one should I get, Crowley?”
“The, uh, the…most recent.” His heart seemed to be burning. He was about as nervous as he’d ever been. It was like preparing to ask Aziraphale to be with him again.
Muriel came back with a handsome, leather-bound book, and passed it to Crowley.
“I suppose you’ll need time to read that privately, won’t you?” Muriel said, at almost a whisper, the happy tone of their voice rather tinny.
Crowley looked at them. “Muriel, it’s nothing personal. I just can’t go in that shop. It’s too- too much for me.”
“You have a lot of memories there.” Muriel said softly, sounding far less naive than usual. “I’m sure it hurts when…when he’s gone.”
Crowley grunted, feeling like the cold, empty glass in his hands.
“Hurts knowing why he left,” Crowley muttered. “That he even could.”
Muriel smiled sadly. “I’m surprised myself. He talks a lot about how glad he is to be here, how he never wants to lose this place. But I suppose it’s easier to save the world if you’re the one holding the nuclear codes.”
Crowley could only stare at them.
“Oh, I, I read all about the Cold War,” Muriel explained awkwardly. They reached toward the leather book. “May I?”
Crowley passed the diary back to them, fearful he might not get it back. Every book in the shop had been handled by Aziraphale, but these diaries felt like him. His hands slid across the pages once. It was the closest thing to touching the angel he would likely ever get again.
“Ah! Here’s the section. One of my favorite parts!” Muriel’s index finger was halfway down a page near the start of the diary, and started to read aloud.
“October 18th,
Dear Diary,
The most marvelous thing happened today, and I must admit even I never saw it coming. That I, who knows Crowley better than anyone, and certainly longer than nearly anyone, could still find myself surprised by him speaks to the many joys of living here on Earth. It never fails to amaze. He never ceases to amaze.”
Crowley had gone very still. Muriel continued.
“It was, by all measures, a perfectly splendid Autumn day. The air was crisp enough to require layering, so Crowley was wearing a dark turtleneck- do you mind if I skip this part? These sections make me feel…funny.”
Crowley cleared his throat hurriedly and nodded, his hand gesturing more wildly than he’d intended.
“Thanks,” Muriel exhaled with relief.
“We sat at the benches facing the pond, my Crowley to my left, as always. Some children nearby were tossing bits of food to the ducks. One looked over her shoulder and spotted us. I had never seen this child before, but she approached with a skip in her step and a smile on her face. Vainly, I assumed she was attracted by the angelic goodness I tend to exude, but when she arrived at our bench, she spoke to Crowley instead.
I remember you, she exclaimed. Look what we brought for the ducks!
She held open a brown paper bag full of peas. Dear, sweet Crowley smiled in response and commended the child before sending her off to her mother again.
What on earth was that? I asked, and I tell you, I could not have prepared myself for the answer.
Crowley said ‘I saw them a week or so back. They were feeding the ducks rice- it’s probably the worst thing you can feed a duck, you know. So I told them to try frozen peas. Ducks love them and they won’t make their insides explode.’
He said it so casually, but my heart seemed likely to explode itself. Crowley has always been kind to children, but in all our years, I’d never seen him teaching any how to be kinder.
Of course, shortly after, Crowley scolded me for staring at him and threatened to cause mischief of some kind if I didn’t cease praising him at once. What he fails to understand, of course, is that I am constantly trying very hard not to compliment him. It is dreadfully difficult to be near the sole source of my joy and be tight-lipped about his endless charms. One could forgive me for not always succeeding.
Maybe someday I will be able to lavish him with the praise he deserves and he will accept it. I pray for it- and I suspect the Almighty listens, for despite his protestations, my Crowley seems to perk up ever so slightly whenever I pay him a well-deserved compliment.”
Muriel closed the book happily. “See?” They said, as though they’d won a debate.
The words meant very much to Crowley, though they didn’t fix anything. They hurt as much as they helped.
“I remember those ducks,” he muttered. “Those kids.”
He needed a moment to collect himself. He needed time to read more. He was still so furious with the angel, but the diary was the closest thing he had to Aziraphale. He wanted that “us time” so desperately. This was, tragically, the next best option.
“Muriel, I think I’d better-“
“Here,” Muriel passed the book back. “When you’ve finished, I’ll trade you for another one.”
Crowley nodded. “Th-thanks, Muriel.”
“Oh, and Crowley? What are peas? And where are the ducks?”
“Tell you what,” Crowley said, standing up. “When I come back to trade for another volume, I’ll show you.”
Muriel smiled widely, clapping softly. “Oh yes! Thank you, Crowley!”
“Not a problem,” he replied, and took off down the bookshop steps. With a grin and a shake of his head, he lifted the back of his jacket up and struck his hip out to the side. He looked over his shoulder at Muriel. “Ta-ta, now.”
“Oh, thank you!” Muriel said appreciatively, staring directly at Crowley’s arse with all the desirous energy of a postage stamp. “But I’m afraid I still don’t understand, really. No offense.”
“Knew you wouldn’t,” Crowley laughed openly, enjoying the feeling. “Never change, Muriel.”
“Oh, uh, okay.” Muriel smiled and waved before turning into the shop.
They didn’t want to get their hopes up, but tonight felt…different. Tonight felt like, perhaps, something have fallen into place. Perhaps Muriel had found themselves a friend, a “drinking buddy”, a “wing-man them”. They had the wings for it, after all.
They checked to be sure the demon had left the block. Somewhere, they could hear the engine of an old car sputter to life and speed away.
Muriel approached the gateway, arms full of electric candles, and activated it.
“Is anyone there?” They whispered nervously.
“Hello, Muriel,” the Metatron said. “I’ll connect you.”
Aziraphale’s face appeared. “Good evening, Muriel, isn’t it a bit late for you? Is everything okay?”
Aziraphale’s eyes looked heavy. He reached towards a bowtie that wasn’t there and settled for smoothing out the new tie Heaven had him wearing. His suit was fine, fancy, sharp and starchy. He desperately missed his old one.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Just wanted to let you know I gave him that book you asked me to give him.”
Aziraphale smiled, relieved. “Jolly good work, my dear.” Aziraphale paused, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “Did he look well?”
“Er, his corporation looked fine, but his expressions….”
“Ah, of course,” Aziraphale replied dully.
“Aziraphale? May I ask a question?”
“Yes, of course.”
Muriel gulped. “What does ‘spectacular buttocks’ mean? I asked Crowley but I don’t really understand what he showed me.”
“Showed you?” Aziraphale spluttered. “Oh- I- dreadfully sorry, Muriel dear, but something’s come up- I must, uh, I must go. Goodbye now.”
The gateway closed abruptly.
Muriel stared at it for a few moments, then giggled to themselves.
They were still learning, and many things didn’t make sense here on Earth. However, if these books taught them anything, it was that jealousy was a very powerful motivational tool when bringing split lovers back together.
Muriel had already been thinking it, even before Crowley had come by. But now that they were almost friends, it was decided: Muriel would be the best wingthem ever. They weren’t so naive anymore, after all.