Chapter Text
Crowley’s feet were tingling. “Were” ― past tense. Now they’re throbbing. And he can already feel the pain getting worse, moving from his soles to all of his corporation.
Still, the angel’s safe. And his books as well. Good job. Got in a few witty lines too. Smooth.
Well, the name thing... But he didn’t hate it. Could’ve been...
He realises that he’s about to use the Thames as a shortcut. He blames it on the Bentley — it doesn’t know the route. Not yet. (She will. Won’t she?) He knows it’s just him. The pain is making him tired, he could sleep for a century.
Get your act together. Almost there. Then...
Aziraphale’s voice sounds more stuck-up than usual, as if he were trying to hide something behind a wall of dignity. A big wall, almost a fortress. (Maybe he really didn’t like the name, he was just being polite?) “I have some of that— that whisky. The one you like. That you used to like, I don’t know if you still...”
“I do.”
Don’t push your luck. You should go home. Your home.
Crowley wishes the Bentley would go faster. She does.
As they dash down Fleet Street, it sounds like Aziraphale’s giggling.
It makes no sense. The angel’s always been calm and collected in the face of danger. Unfazed. Heaven’s on his side, after all, as he’s made it clear more than once, and...
“Erm. Well. Would you like to— Crowley! Oh, Lord. Watch—! Shouldn’t you slow down a—”
“Oh, blessed.”
“Crowley, please don’t—”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, it’s just— I was wondering. Do you always drive... like this?”
Crowley replies with a noncommittal grunt. He’s always been very careful with the Bentley, but now he’s just realised that there’s a lot of potential for low-grade demonic mayhem in cars.
“...Crowley?”
“...yes, ang— Aziraphale?”
“Are you feeling well?”
Crowley glances at the angel. “Why?”
“I was just perceiving some...”
Oh shit. Act cool.
“After all these centuries, you’re still oversensitive.”
“After all these centuries, I’m still an angel. And I cannot help noticing that you didn’t answer my question, just as I cannot help thinking of how you just walked on consecrated ground, and you did a miracle on said consecrated ground...”
“The church had already collapsed.”
“My point still stands. I have every right to wonder how you’re doing.”
Crowley scoffs and keeps silent. He glances at his passenger, expecting to see him completely focused on his precious bag. He meets Aziraphale’s gaze, intent on studying him.
“Erm... Crowley.”
He hopes that his smile is cool enough to charm... well, not charm-charm, I know the angel’s not interested, not like that, you’re a demon, but...
No such luck. Aziraphale keeps on staring at him.
“The bookshop’s still in Soho.”
“Yes.”
“We’re in Mayfair.”
“Oh.”
“Unless...”
The street should be too narrow for the Bentley to do a u-turn, but Crowley’s got way too many things to worry about that. For instance: Is Aziraphale blushing? Why?
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Oh, no problem at all.” Aziraphale smile turns into a sigh. “If you don’t want to tell me that your feet are still hurting from the consecrated rubble that’s been clinging to your soles, I understand. You just went above and beyond...”
“Oh, please. I couldn’t have let those— eurgh. I couldn’t have let you... y’ know.”
“I don’t. But thank you, the bureaucracy for a new body can be quite bothersome, though, if I were allowed to gamble, I’d bet that what you just went trough was rather worse. And... you should’ve turned left on Berwick.”
“Shit.”
“Just aim for the Lagavulin, my dear.”
Aziraphale is definitely giggling now. Crowley decides not to think about it.
He knows that he’s going to think about it all the way home.
Your home , he tells himself.
The Bentley comes to a stop in front of the bookshop.
“Well, my dear. Thank—”
“Don’t mention it.”
Crowley gets out to open Aziraphale’s door. Just being polite, he thinks. Then, home.
He finds himself on a sofa in the back room of the bookshop, a glass of whisky in his hands, his jacket hanging on a hatstand, his trousers turned up, his feet in a basin of hot water, and an angel kneeling in front of him with a smile.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”
So, I guess this is home.