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Crowley made it as far as the Bentley before his legs buckled. He wrenched at the door handle and crumpled inside, then dropped his head in his hands.
Deep, aching pain thudded in his temples, his brow, an impact that struck with each heartbeat. Sharper jolts of pain crawled through his neck. And a heavy fatigue blanketed him, refusing to lift no matter how many cups of coffee he drank.
Crowley raised his head, and the light through the Bentley windows pierced deep into his eyes, stabbed viciously into his head. He yelped and jerked back. “Oh, come the fuck on! I’m wearing my sunglasses, what else do you want?”
And who was he even yelling at? Himself? God? The whole blessed universe?
“Nnnrrnng.” Shuddering, he pressed against his head, then started the car via miracle. More work today, a bunch of souls to tarnish if he wanted to keep up with Hastur’s latest demands. He had a few plans, but needed more. He’d have to think on the drive. Pain or not, he had work to do.
But when he tried to drive off, the Bentley instead turned and headed in the opposite direction. “Um. Car? Wrong way.”
The Bentley ignored him, stubbornly whipping out onto the road and careening towards Soho. It squeezed between two cars and accelerated again.
“No, we’re not going to see Aziraphale.” Crowley wrenched on the steering wheel, which accomplished nothing. “Oy! Knock it off. We have work to do, no time to sit around and drink tea. Turn around right now.”
And still they raced towards Soho, even faster than Crowley usually drove. He snarled and thumped the steering wheel, head throbbing. Bad enough that he had no control over his own life. Now even his car was disobeying him?
“You are my car.” He jerked the wheel again, seething. “Don’t you dare step out of line. I don’t care how long I’ve had you. If you start misbehaving, I’ll take you to a scrap yard.”
The Bentley, unlike his plants, didn’t seem remotely intimidated. Maybe because he’d never crushed a car in front of it, unlike the plants with the shredder. A lot of plants had gone into the shredder this past month. Every time he looked at them, he seemed to find something wrong. Things that would have only earned a minor lecture when he felt better now stood out as glaring, unforgivable flaws that needed immediate punishment.
“You fucking…ridiculous—what are you even doing? Car, knock it off. You hunk of scrap, how dare you? What if I took your tires off and—”
No amount of threats or intimidation made the slightest scrap of difference. The Bentley cruised through Soho, determined as an old trail horse who knows exactly how to get home and means to go there—whether you want them to or not.
The Bentley parked outside the shop, then turned itself off. “We are not visiting Aziraphale! Start that engine right now or there’s gonna be consequences.”
Nope. No movement. The Bentley completely ignored everything he said.
Crowley thumped the wheel again. “I’ve had it! You will obey me this second, or—”
A gentle knock on the window. Aziraphale peered in at him, kind face rumpled with concern. Shit.
The Bentley opened the door for him, and Crowley flashed a brittle grin. “Hi.”
“Good morning, Crowley.” Aziraphale looked between him and the steering wheel, brow creased. “Um. Were you arguing with your car?”
“Yes, and it’s not listening to me.” The light from outside stabbed deep into his head again, and he hissed. “I’m supposed to be working, but this collection of spare parts brought me here instead.”
He struck the steering wheel again, harder this time. And then Aziraphale’s hand closed across his, stilling it in a warm grip. “My dear, the Bentley wouldn’t bring you to me unless something was wrong. She’s a very good car. Won’t you come inside?”
Crowley sighed and squinted at the outside world. His shades weren’t nearly enough to block the brightness, and he shook his head. “I can’t. S’ the light, angel. I can’t take the brightness.”
Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the light levels dropped. “How’s that?”
“Eep?” Crowley squinted up again. “Angel, what did you do?”
“I’ve dimmed the sun,” Aziraphale said calmly, as if it was as simple as miracling a fresh cup of tea. “Is it dark enough for you now?”
Gosh, principalities could be scary sometimes. Especially when they were guarding something. Not that most principalities thought of protecting a demon from light sensitivity, but that was Aziraphale. Always that impulsive kindness.
“Er, s’ better. Can probably handle it now.” Crowley climbed out of the car, then winced. It was still almost too bright, which said bad things about how mad his corporation was. It didn’t like overwork.
Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his back and took his arm. “Here, my dear. You close your eyes and I’ll guide you.”
“Oh. Okay.” With a grateful exhale, Crowley closed his eyes and surrendered to Aziraphale’s secure hold. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to guide him like this, but it was impossible not to trust someone who dimmed the sun for his comfort.
“Here now, watch your step. Careful now.” The shop bell jingled, and the door closed behind them. “Now, let’s see. Sofa, I think? Come along.”
“Mm. Sofa’s good.” Especially because he could lie down.
Aziraphale settled him on the sofa, and Crowley finally cracked his eyes open. The shop lights were dim, almost off. Actually comfortable.
“There, that’s much better.” Aziraphale shook out a tartan blanket, then gave a questioning look. Crowley nodded, and the angel wrapped him in a blanket. “Your head’s troubling you, I take it?”
“Mm, yeah. I dunno what the deal is, maybe just stress.” At least his head hurt less now that he was here.
“I keep telling you, Crowley. You’re far too busy, don’t spend nearly enough time relaxing.” Aziraphale tutted and miracled two cups of tea.
“I do relax! I, er…watch Golden Girls. And go for drives. S’ not like I’m working around the clock.” Except when he was, like lately. “All right, so maybe I am a little overworked. But I’ve got assignments, angel. Can’t afford to just…not do my job.”
Aziraphale pursed his lips and pressed a cup of tea into Crowley’s hands. “Well, no more doing your job for today at least. I insist that you rest.”
Crowley managed a smile at that. “Bossy angel.”
“I am not bossy. It’s simply my duty to protect, that’s all.” Expression still grim, Aziraphale looked him over. “Oh, you poor dear. You look simply dreadful, so very pale. You must rest, Crowley.”
“I’ve got work to do.”
Huffing, Aziraphale set his own tea back down and folded his hands. “Well. We do have the Arrangement, yes? I’m sure I can do something to help.”
Crowley leaned back and groaned at the sudden stab of pain, the wave of exhaustion. Ah shit, now that he’d considered resting, he couldn’t push through anymore. He’d probably have to sleep this off on the bookshop sofa. “I dunno. I’ve got a lot of souls to tarnish today, need to inconvenience a lot of people at once. I was gonna take down Wi-Fi for a while, but that’s a whole…complicated plan. I don’t think the rats would listen to you.”
“Ah. Wi-Fi.” Aziraphale looked at him expectantly. “So, you’re going to disrupt everyone’s audio equipment?”
“No, I… Wot?” Crowley tilted his head sideways, which made the room spin. “Oh. No, angel. You’re thinking of ‘hi-fi’, high fidelity.” Trust Aziraphale to get even a 1950s term confused. “I’m talking about the internet.”
“Ahh, I see.” Aziraphale miracled pillows and fluffed them up. “I don’t believe I have a ‘wi-fi’ for my computer. At any rate, I can likely be an inconvenience…”
Amusement warmed Crowley’s chest. “You don’t say.”
“Hmm, computers…” Aziraphale’s eyes brightened, and he snapped his fingers. “There we are.”
Crowley gave a slow, deliberate blink. And then a frustrated clamor of noise rose from outside the shop. Oh, Satan. “Er? Aziraphale?”
“That ought to do it! I’ve deactivated everything with a computer chip for five minutes.” Aziraphale beamed proudly, settled a pillow on his lap, and patted it. “Well, with the exception of anything that would cause true harm. Emergency services, medical equipment, and such will remain functional. And I’m afraid I didn’t do the whole world, just Britain. Is that all right?”
Crowley gaped at him. “But—nnnhh—that’s…that’s..d’ya know how many things have computer chips, angel?”
Aziraphale took his shoulders and eased him to lie down. “Hmm, not really. But I imagine it’s rather a lot. It ought to be enough to inconvenience people and put them in a bad mood, don’t you think? Or should I do more?”
“M’ pretty sure that’s enough.” Way, way more than enough. And although Crowley still hurt, he smiled again. Felt nice, to have someone care so much about him.
“Ah! Excellent. And I’ve also strongly suggested that all humans near the shop ought to go somewhere else, so it should quiet down in a moment.” Aziraphale settled a blanket across him, then smoothed his hair with a gentle stroke. “There, Crowley. How’s that?”
“That’s…that’s great, angel.” Crowley leaned into the touch, almost choked up now. Aziraphale scritched his head, still just as gentle. “I guess the car was right, bringing me here.”
“Most definitely. I believe a nice, soothing day of rest is in order.” Aziraphale bent and pressed a slow kiss to Crowley’s brow, and another to his cheek. “I’m so very happy to have you visiting, my dear. Please do let me know if there’s something else you need. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“I know you will, angel.” As if Crowley could doubt that after Aziraphale dimmed the sun for him.