Chapter Text
Crowley drives. The Bentley carries him further and further away from the shop, away from London altogether. The radio stays silent, the engine roars louder than ever, and Crowley’s eyes never leave the road, even if he has no idea what he’s actually looking at. Day turns to night over and over again and still the demon drives. Since the odometer stopped counting decades ago and the Bentley wouldn’t dare to run out of gas, there’s no real way for anyone to track just how far they both drive before the Bentley eventually takes Crowley back to the bookshop.
Coming to a halt in her usual spot, the Bentley’s engine gives a strange groan and refuses to turn back over. Crowley only continues to stare out of the front window, the world passing him by much more slowly now. Eventually, he grits his teeth and pulls his body out of the vehicle. He refuses to turn, can’t bring himself to look at the corner lot, but his legs seem to have a different idea and he soon finds himself opening a door that should definitely be locked.
The other angel’s presence fills the space, just enough to remind Crowley of that day, but he only pushes it aside and keeps walking through the shop. His couch, the one he always sprawls in, comes into view soon enough and Crowley stops before it. Looking around the dark shop, the demon takes in barely any information, only noting the absence of pages turning, the lack of forgotten tea mugs, and the empty fire place.
The couch is there to catch Crowley the second he falls into it, his knees giving out as the last day he was here washes over him. Shoving the memories back into the box they belong in, the demon settles back into the cushions. Briefly, he thinks about the plants in his car that he should go get. Thinks about how he should go see if he has his flat back after all. How he should...
A face swims in front of Crowley. After a blink or two, the name attached to the face comes back to him.
“You’re here,” the angel says to him, a question in their tone that they don’t voice.
“Said it was ‘our’ shop,” Crowley hears himself answer, his voice too soft to belong to the demon he is. “Means I...”
“Well, of course you can be here,” Muriel fills in when Crowley’s words fail him. “If it’s your place too, no reason why you can’t be here. We’re both just... um... book...” The angel’s face scrunches while they try to think of what they are this time, what cover the feel like wearing, and it’s enough to make Crowley sick.
“Shop sitters,” he croaks out, zoning out as Muriel flutters around with their new job description. With a sigh, Crowley goes back to watching, not really taking in anything, but not wanting to miss a moment either.
“Our shop...”
Crowley allows this memory to wash over him. The look on... the hopeful love in... Well, he can remember everything about their moment and exactly what it made him feel. After spending so much of lock down on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder while the rest of the world came to a standstill, having anywhere to call home no longer seemed like a priority. Sure, he knew he could always stop by here, but there was no more going out, no more lunch or movie or demonic meetings to fill his days. So the fear had set in deep. While humanity had been scared of a virus, Crowley found himself terrified by the idea of either heaven or hell catching up to them.
Losing his flat had only made it all worse. Shax first appearing had only strengthened his fears, but when the other demon had only left Crowley alone, it was too late to keep them from taking over his place. There wasn’t really anything for Crowley to do about it though, so he had packed up what he could and only continued to try and keep....
The bell in the shop jingles and Crowley’s eyes swing over to the humans that walk in. The pair meanders around, fingers trailing over book spines as they take in the sights. Muriel eventually makes their way over to the humans and does their best to talk to them. Crowley lets it go on for as long as he can. When talks turn to prices of books, he wiggles his fingers and watches as the conversation changes.
“Sitters, not sellers,” the demon calls out just loudly enough for Muriel to hear once the couple has left.
“Right, shop sitter!” Muriel exclaims. “Course that’s what I am. Don’t know the first thing about selling, since that’s not what I’m here for.”
Nodding along, Crowley tracks the too bright angel for as long as he can without moving from the couch. He can hear them still talking about the difference between a seller and a sitter, but the sounds lose all meaning as another memory washes over him.
His... They had shared a look while Gabriel and Beelzebub had finally announced what was going on. Watching the two of them together had had Crowley feeling all kinds of ways. In the end though, he could only see himself and... How they could have been the ones going off together instead like he had suggested only a handful of years ago. The couch seems to swallow him as Crowley’s mind betrays him, all the hope and joy he’d felt in that moment washing over him again with a bitter after taste chasing it.
He had really let himself believe he finally had a chance to run off to his stars again. It really had been within his grasp, after years of living in fear, of doing everything he could to protect...
The next time Crowley sees Muriel, the angel has their nose buried in a book so deep, they almost run into the demon. Crowley manages to pull up short and stop them both. “Watch it,” he snarls with no real heat or malice behind his words.
“Oh, my apologies!” Muriel starts. “Only, I don’t think you’ve actually walked around the stop the entire time you’ve been here so far.”
Scoffing, Crowley turns away. “Still my shop. Allowed to walk around it if I want to.”
Chuckling, Muriel closes their book. “Sure! Only, I thought the shop belong to Az-”
“It’s our shop,” Crowley barks, cutting off the angel with just enough force to deflect any other questions. Snaking his way past Muriel, Crowley continues moving through the stacks, doing everything he can to forget even that first syllable of a name.
As he makes another turn, Crowley’s eyes land on piles of books Gabriel left on a random shelf. Sighing, he runs his fingers over the spines, eyes tracking over the titles nearby. Trying to make sense of how they are organized, the memory of all of the shelves being moved to make room for a dance floor flood in while his guard is down.
The feeling of stouter fingers lacing with his own, pulling him into the group of humans to dance with the one person he’s always wanted by his side... It’s enough to leave him clinging to the wooden shelf. It was never supposed to be a moment they ever got to experience. Especially not while the store had been surrounded by a poor excuse for a demon army.
The moment happened though and every emotion Crowley can remember feeling, from exasperation to pure joy that he would never admit to feeling, rushes through him again. The intense feelings leave him breathless and it’s all he can do to find something to fall into. When he gets his bearings again, it only takes him a second to realize just what chair he’s landed in, by which desk, next to that window.
He wants to fling himself from it and run out of the shop just like he did that day. For once, in his entire existence, he said exactly what he needed to and it only landed him back in this chair. Alone. The chair where he thought of everything he needed to say. Where he thought of all of the wasted years between them, years he could have admitted all of this many times over. The very same chair he knew he would always walk into this shop and see it filled by...
Throwing a leg over one of the arms, Crowley sinks further into the wing back and stares out of the windows. If you asked him what he was actually looking at, he’d never be able to tell you, but it’s enough to keep Muriel from talking to him the next time they find him. He stays in the chair for days, going over those words once more. A part of himself knows it’s pointless, knows nothing will come of him torturing himself this way, but he can’t quite stop the thoughts from swirling around him.
A blink.
The bottles start appearing around the same time that hands ghost over his back. He’s not really quite sure how they do. At least, he doesn’t remember asking for them to show up, but he doesn’t ignore them either. Not bothering to refill them, Crowley leaves empty bottles all over the shop. New ones keep appearing for him, some only filled with water, but he’s not really paying attention to where they are.
He wonders if Muriel is cleaning up after him one day; there seems to be less bottles on various shelves and he vaguely remembers seeing a pile by the couch. Shrugging internally, he only adds his newest empty and grabs the full bottle as he passes by on legs that barely hold him up. It’s too early in the... too early to sit down again though. Too early to feel fingers hesitating over his shoulders, so he keeps going. The shop never lets him fall though, always has an idea in place for how to keep him upright. Crowley would thank it, if he could.
There even comes a day when the bookshop seems greener than before. It’s enough of a difference to catch Crowley’s attention as he stumbles around and gives him pause. Looking at the small table in front of him, Crowley faintly recognizes a small plant, doing it’s best to reach for him. Tilting his head, Crowley reaches out a shaky hand and runs a finger over a leaf. Every plant he finds starts to look more and more familiar to him, but he can’t bring himself to question any of them. Not even while he wonders just how many plants made it out of his Bentley just in time, or how Muriel - had to have been them, right? - managed to even get them out of the car.
Muriel sits down with him one day. They won’t take a bottle from him, but they sit close enough to him on the couch that Crowley doesn’t really know what to do. So he talks.
He tells them all about the years on Earth, all the times he was alone, and the rare times he wasn’t. He’s not even sure Muriel cares until one day when they start asking questions.
“What happened to the children then?” they ask once Crowley finishes his ark story. “I can remember everyone waiting for an influx of children upstairs and there being none. They were the only ones we were waiting for.”
Crowley stares blankly ahead. “They were only children, weren’t they. Couldn’t let anything happen to them.”
“But...” Muriel mutters. “Wouldn’t... Shouldn’t...”
“Because I’m a demon?” Crowley asks dully. “Yeah, probably. Always did end up doing the wrong things though.”
With that, he pulls himself from his spot and wanders off again, a half full bottle dangling from his fingers. Muriel starts asking more questions after that, finds out about all of the ways Crowley went against everyone’s expectations for him. He can see the ways he’s changing in their eyes and every time it gets to be too much, he always walks off. He can’t handle another angel looking at him that way again. Muriel always lets him go too, even though he can tell they don’t quite understand.
“How did you fall?”
Crowley feels his eyes widen behind his glasses. Flames reflect off of the lenses from the fire that appeared, keeping the chill out of the air. It’s been a quiet day, the first real cold keeping most humans home and away from any shops. He looks over to the angel, takes in the closed book on their lap and the curiosity on their face. “What?” he asks. Not that he didn’t hear or understand the first time, but...
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry!” Muriel gasps, their face instantly reddening. “I should never, I mean, obviously-!”
“It’s alright,” Crowley softly interjects. “Just... why?”
Hands fluttered over the closed book. “It’s this story,” Muriel explains. “Mixed with all of your others, I just can’t... You don’t act like...”
“Like a demon?” Crowley fills in. When Muriel only nods, he sighs and takes a sip from the bottle in his hand. Then another. “I asked questions.”
Muriel’s face scrunches. They wait for more but when Crowley remains silent, they lean forward. “That can’t be all! I mean, I ask questions all of the time! Make loads of mistakes too and I haven’t fallen!”
Looking back towards the fire, Crowley mumbles his answer: “Asked the wrong kind of questions. Pissed someone off enough, they decided I was too much trouble. Barely even fought in the War; didn’t have the heart for it.”
“You didn’t fight?” Muriel’s shock reaches Crowley even with him barely paying attention. “I thought everyone fought in the War. Even angels like me had something to do!”
Crowley’s mind drifts back to that time, thinking of his own angel and the battalion he had led. How he spent most of the battles watching over and protecting.... him the best he could at the time. “Had my own agenda, you could say. ‘sides, not like Hell was really paying attention. Organization has never been a legion of demons’ strong suit.”
Leaning back, Muriel seems to need time to take everything all in. Crowley can tell they’re having a hard time with all the new things he keeps telling them. He doesn’t know why he’s still sharing it all in the first place. Not like any of it matters anymore. Especially not after...
Pulling himself from the couch, Crowley stuffs the emotions threatening to flow out of the box he’s locked them in back down. Grabbing a conveniently refilled bottle that he’s pretty sure was all but empty, he makes his way back to the shelves, determined to get lost once more.
“Why don’t you want to be an angel again?”
Flames dance in front of Crowley and he finds he has to keep his gaze trained on them. “What?”
Muriel shifts. “Well, it’s just, you had that offer. I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but I was and Az-”
“Didn’t know what he was talking about,” Crowley hisses, venom leeching into his every word.
The angel flinches but they don’t retreat, something Crowley would have been proud to see any other day. “Of course he did! You’re his friend, aren’t you? How could you not be after all of those stories, all of the things you’ve gone through together! You could have gone with him, could have had, well, everything!”
Just like that, Crowley deflates. “I already had everything,” he eventually whispers.
He doesn’t even give Muriel a chance to respond this time. Instead, he curls into himself, withdrawing further in than he has in years. By the time he’s done, he only has enough energy left to move closer to the fire, scales sliding gently over the plush rug underneath him.
Muriel says something behind him, shuffles around, and then finally walks off when Crowley continues to not acknowledge them. Blinking slowly, Crowley moves slightly closer to the hearth, coiling up tightly. The warmth barely reaches him. An alarm goes off in his head, but it’s so much easier to just sigh and let it all go instead. So that’s exactly what he does.
The bookshop moves around him as he lays there. He’s not sure how many days pass him by, but it makes no difference; nothing goes back to being the way it should be. The wrong angel is still puttering around the shop. He still doesn’t have his only friend in the universe by his side. He’s still curled up in front of a fire that will never thaw him out. Even as the flames bank themselves, growing hotter without any help, Crowley never feels their warmth.
A week - maybe more - passes before Muriel starts fussing with him. Blankets start appearing, draping over and nesting around him. A soft pillow is slipped under his head. He can feel his plants being moved into the area around him, reaching out to him. Food is left (untouched), set close to his head on the floor. They’re worried and part of him realizes they probably should be.
All the fusing just takes even more away from him. Reminds him of the stack of tartan blankets upstairs that match a specific bow-tie just right. Brings back memories of being read to in the middle of winter, a soothing voice telling him of so many stories. Of gentle music that used to fill the space, giving him a small break from all the background noise on a busy shop day.
When the music does finally appear, Crowley doesn’t really know what to make of it. There’s a very good chance the angel had some sort of help from a very specific record shop owning human. That only leaves him wondering just how often they had been by, but the music changes before he has a chance to really think about it. A song about nightingales starts playing, the words stabbing at him with every note.
He must act as agitated as he feels in some way. The song only plays for a few more chords before Muriel comes running back and starts to change the record. Only when an entirely new song starts to play does Crowley calm down. “Not sure what happened,” Muriel murmurs. “Didn’t think records were just supposed to do that...”
They keep muttering to themselves as they walk away an Crowley tries his hardest to calm down. A few days pass and it happens again. This time, Muriel doesn’t come running, even with Crowley starts to hiss and thrash. The song plays and plays, striking right at Crowley’s cold heart and he knows if he wasn’t in snake form, he’d be smoking by now. Instead, it’s all he can do to finally pull himself out of the nest of blankets and pillows. He snakes through the shop, heading towards doors that would never stay closed for him, and goes out into the cold winter night.
He’s not sure how much distance he puts between himself and the shop. When he does finally stop though, it’s only to curl up in a dark alley, doing his best to hold on to as much heat as he can. It doesn’t last though; soon enough, he’s putting his head down and giving in to the black at the edges of his vision.
It’s just too hard to keep going.
⁂
Crowley please...
I don’t want to be here...
I don’t... I don’t know how I got here...
They’re using me... It was you they wanted...
Please...
You’ve always been the one who does the rescuing...
I can’t do this by myself...
Help me...
⁂
Someone keeps talking to him. No one should be able to see him, not any human anyways, so it must be someone other. Either way, he does his best to tune the being out. Even if he wanted to answer them, he wouldn’t be able to in this form. He lost the energy long ago to change back.
“You have to wake up!”
I really don’t Crowley grumbles to himself. Never done anything I didn’t want to do before, not going to start now.
“Please, you have to! You’ll... you’re going to freeze if you stay here like this!”
Sounds better than the alternative. Living without... yeah, think I’ll just stay here.
The pleading continues, then starts to fade away. He could always believe the being has just finally left him alone, but he also can’t hear anything else around him anyways. He’s not really sure what’s going on anymore. Maybe he really is starting to...
A new presence appears, filling the alley with a gentle glow. “Oh dear,” a new voice says.
“Please, you have to help him,” the first voice begs.
What have you done... Crowley wonders.
“I’ve been trying to get him to answer, to at least come hom-” Muriel rambles.
“Yes well, you are trying to reason with a demon,” the other says.
How... you sound so different... so cold...
“Not to mention,” they continue. “You’re trying to get this demon, of all demons, to do something he obviously doesn’t want to do. Never seen him do anything he didn’t want to. Not even for us.”
You don’t mean that... You can’t mean that...
“I understand that, but we can’t just leave him like this!” Muriel argues and Crowley wishes it was enough to warn him.
Scoffing, the other being moves closer and Crowley knows he’s bending down to look at him. “Come on, you snake. You’re worrying our little angel friend. Time for you to stop all of this and go back to where you belong.”
“Oh yes, please,” Muriel interjects. “I’ll get you’re fire going again, if I can figure it out! Let’s go back to the shop.”
Anywhere but the shop...
“Staying at the shop, are you?” A scuffle. “Guess that’s alright. Not like I need it anymore. Silly thing for me to get attached to anyways when there are so many other important things to be worrying about.”
Crowley’s eyes fly open before he can stop them. There’s too much brightness in front of him though and he has to squint to be able to see anything. When things finally start to take shape, he hardly even registers Muriel. Instead, all of his attention is focused on all of the brilliant white in front of him.
It’s more white than the angel has worn in... a very long time now. Even when he was still wearing all white clothes, they never shined like this. Crowley barely even recognizes him. Blue eyes are the only thing that look the same, even with how cold they are.
“Finally decided to quit pretending?” the angel asks. “Time to stop this nonsense and be a ‘good’ little demon.”
Crowley hisses, the noise barely carrying over the space between them. Who... what has happened to you...
“Are we going to carry him back?” Muriel asks.
The angel laughs. “No reason to do that when I can just-”
A hand raising is all the warning Crowley gets and he does everything he can to brace himself.
A snap.
This time, the blinding white light that overtakes Crowley’s vision is caused by pain lancing through every part of his being and he hears himself crying out from it.
“-do this,” the angel finishes.
“Crowley!” Muriel starts to race to his side where he lays curled up in a ball. He’s out of his demon form, a factor he is just barely able to take in as every part of his screams in agony. “Oh, what’s wrong? Where... How?”
“It’s all an act, I’m sure,” the other angel answers, driving a knife deeper into Crowley’s chest. “Anyways, much to do. If you need my help again, you know where to find me. And Crowley, before I go.” At this, he bends down and stares until the demon is able to open his eyes again, his glasses gone and unable to act as a barrier he’s never needed with…
“Do let me know if you change your mind. We can put all of this nonsense from the other day behind us. You can still be an angel again. Can even spend your time among your stars if that’s what you really want to do. Whatever you like, before all of this is over anyways. Do reconsider our offer. You know how to reach me.”
There one moment, gone the next, the angel leaves with a cold smile. The silence in the shop is so loud once the angel is gone, crushing Crowley even more.
It takes a long time for him to come back to himself enough to register Muriel again. The poor thing is rushing around him, doing so much to try and help. When blankets are tossed over him, Crowley finally realizes just how cold he is, how naked his body is. How much it almost matches the cold in his heart right now.
“Got to get you warmed up,” Muriel mutters. “Have to... your couch, I think I can get you there-!”
Crowley knows exactly what Muriel is trying to do and fights like hell against his broken body to get them to stop. “W-wait,” he manages to squeeze out, hoping it’s enough.
“No, no I can do this,” Muriel continues and Crowley wants to scream.
“P-please, w-wait,” he tries again.
Not again, not this soon... Leave me here, please... Just let me rest...
Sudden movements, especially miracle ones, have never felt good for Crowley. After the fall, his body never worked the same way. Part of his punishment he’s always figured. It’s something he took a long time to share with... By the time he did though, he knew exactly what he had to try and stay away from as much as possible. For some reason, miracles have always hurt the most, a fact they had both worked out together.
When he stays on the floor, he figures Muriel is going to listen to him. At least for the time being. He knows he’s going to have to get to the couch on his own at some point, but for now, this is enough. Maybe by the time he gains the ability to move again, he might be able to breathe around the giant hole in his chest.
Sighing, Crowley curls tighter, holding the soft blanket left behind by Muriel close to himself. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be the same after all of this, but for now, he just has to figure out if there even is an after.
⁂
Crowley...
Oh, my dear... I... I am so sorry...
Please...
You have to forgive me... I would never...
Please keep fighting... I’m trying so hard....
Crowley...