What water slides off
A/N: Attention, please, this is super spoilery. So do not read this if you haven't already watched season 2 of Good Omens. I won't say much more, except that this is a hurt/no comfort fanfic, with a small amount of fluff in the form of a sweet memory.
Nina and Maggie were having a cup of evening tea in the closed coffee shop.
Crowley had watched them closely over the span of the last weeks. There was something quite charming about the way Maggie tended to smooth out the crinkles from her skirt before entering the door to Nina’s shop. He liked how breathless her smile got get when they talked to each other. The way a rosy blush illuminated her cheeks, when Nina sent her the tiniest smile.
It felt good to watch them. At least, that way, he had something to do. Someone to check up on.
It hadn’t stopped raining since Aziraphale had left.
An odd and cruel joke played by nature. He could have tried pulling himself together, doing his utmost to lure out the sun behind the grey clouds. But he wasn’t really feeling up to it. And he didn’t actually mind the rain.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone since his last remark to Aziraphale, three weeks prior. Not even to his car. The Bentley itself had quieted down a lot. Crowley could have been surprised about the lack of Queen music blaring out of the radio. But he wasn’t even noticing it.
Through his dark glasses, he watched Nina and Maggie chat about their day. They were comfortable with each other. Excited and a little nervous, but slowly realizing how well they fit together, how well the other seemed to understand what they were feeling and thinking. With every passing day, they were getting less tense, less scared.
The rain was dripping from his glasses. He could easily have stayed inside the car. But he was barely taking notice of the water soaking him to the core. He didn’t mind standing in the rain. He didn’t mind anything anymore.
He could stay until Nina and Maggie would leave. Then he would probably go back to his flat, water the plants, sleep, wake up, drive back here, get out and stand in the rain again.
When you were basically immortal and very much alone on your own side without… anyone, what else was there to do? He wasn’t working for Hell anymore, he was certainly not partaking in the upcoming heavenly plans and he no longer had an angel to upset, console, dance and drink with.
The pain was new to him. The constant throbbing inside his chest. It wouldn’t vanish when he turned into a snake, it wouldn’t vanish when he got high on Laudanum, it simply. Wouldn’t. Vanish.
He hadn’t expected this. Well, he hadn’t expected most of what had been going down, this last month. But this state of being… He had only felt worse at two other instances of his existence. And they were both linked to- no matter.
Humans at least knew that their chest-throbbing wouldn’t be eternal. Their earthly existence had to end at some point. But Crowley? He had been here for a very long time. He would still be here for a very long time. Unless Heaven or Hell sought to end it all and actually managed to go through with it real soon.
Who knew what they would make Aziraphale do. Who knew what kind of mental reboot they had in store for him. Maybe Crowley got lucky enough to appear on a sort of Wanted list. Some paper that would suggest his instant discorporation.
Who knew. Maybe it would be Aziraphale’s own signature at the bottom of the paper.
The rain stopped all of a sudden. Not the actual rain, though. It simply didn’t drench him any further. A shadow was blocking out the little bit of light that the day still had to offer from above. Surprised Crowley raised his head, taking his eyes off the two women in the coffeeshop.
The suit of the person standing next to him appeared to be of an impossible shade of bright white. They were holding an umbrella of the same colour over his head. A look of concern was directed at his face.
“Mister Crowley? Are you… are you aware of the rain?” The angel cadet asked. Crowley recognized Muriel who had taken over Aziraphale’s bookstore. He didn’t react to their question, merely remained in his position, one arm on the Bentley, the other stacked to his side, the hand stuffed int his jeans pocket. He looked at Muriel through his dark glasses, not showing any signs of interest in their comment. Their appearance had surprised him nevertheless.
“Uhm, I thought- I thought it might be nicer to maybe- not get wet. So, if you want, you can keep the umborella.”
“Umbrella,” Crowley corrected quietly, almost inaudibly. The movement of his vocal chords sent a violent shock through his body. As if it was waking him up. As if he’d been in a state of trance. He blinked, suddenly feeling cold.
“Umbrella, right,” Muriel laughed, rolling their eyes upwards as if they were reprimanding themselves for being silly. “Things that water slides off. Practical!”
It was like a slap to his face, the sudden memory of car rides with Aziraphale.
“Ducks!” “Sorry?” “They’re what waters slides off.” “Just drive the car, please.”
Or more like a punch to the gut, really. Gulping, he furrowed his brows and moved his hand up to take the umbrella from Muriel. They were a little too small for Crowley’s height; the top of the waterproof material was grazing his hair. And the water was beginning to drip inside collar.
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it and sounding like he was meaning it. Hopefully, Hell was currently too busy with reorganizations to notice any grateful demons walking the earth. Or rather standing around on the earth, losing the feeling in their legs.
“Oh, no problem.” Muriel was beaming, entirely incapable to understand the mere concept of sadness or heartbreak – something Crowley was even more grateful for. He really had to stop it, or Hell would take a notice. “You can keep the umborella. I’ll be in the bookshop.”
The mention of the bookshop was another sting in his heart. He looked on as Muriel crossed the street without taking any offence in the car that came to a squealing halt and honked at them. They waved, still beaming, miraculously not wet from the raging rain when they reached the threshold to the shop and disappeared inside.
The memory of the years spent in the interior of the comfortably warm and strikingly cold place, Aziraphale had called home was the last straw for him. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the handle of the umbrella tightly. All the books he’d “accidentally” sent toppling over with his knees, all the guilty snaking around between the shelves when Aziraphale had ignored him in retaliation, all the bottles of wine he’d offered as an apology…
His eyes fell on the dusty window that went to the street, but he couldn’t make out anything apart from candles, books and statues gathered on the sill.
He would probably never set foot inside the bookshop again. After all those years, all those centuries, it felt like losing not a house, but an entire country. As if his origins had just been crossed out from the face of the earth. All that remained were vague memories that became increasingly surreal…
“If you don’t forgive me, I’ll- I’ll throw this book on the floor.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Leatherbound, it might get scrapes all over it.”
“Crowley!”
“The pages could get all crinkly…”
“What is the use of forgiving you, if I get horrendously mad again immediately after, because of the state you are about to put this poor book in?”
“Right… I will hide it then.”
“Crowley.” The angel was already having a hard time concealing his grin.
“I will go up the stairs and hide it where you’ll never find it again!!” Crowley was halfway up, waving the book around like a hostage he was still threatening to throw to down from great height.
“I shall never forgive you, then.” Aziraphale responded, settling down in his chair with a smile, sipping on his tea.
Crowley was going mad, hissing, ruffling his hair, jumping from one leg to the other. “Arghg, what do you want me to do then?”
“Come down here this instant, place the book gently on this here table and let me do the coin trick.”
A pause followed. Interrupted only by the smug slurping noises of the angel drinking his tea.
“Mrrrmrrmr FINE!” Crowley descended the stairs, snarling and grumbling, placed the book where Aziraphale had asked him to, resisting the urge to thump it down real loudly and settled down on the small chair in front of the angel eventually, not resisting the urge to groan dramatically.
“Was that so hard?” The angel smiled all angelically, as he scooted a little closer to him on his respective armchair, making Crowley growl.
“It’s demeaning.”
Aziraphale’s fingers were fidgeting around excitedly as he seemingly prepared himself to do the ‘magic’ coin trick, a light shining in his blue eyes. Crowley’s expression was the one of a very unwilling volunteer who hadn’t really had any choice in the volunteering.
When Aziraphale wanted to extend his hand towards him, Crowley blocked it with his own, peeking out from behind his glasses uncomfortably.
“But… don’t get too close to my neck.”
“Pardon?”
“Just… it gets all… ticklish.” Crowley slumped his shoulders down in an embarrassed manner and looked away from the angel.
Who seemed all the more endeared and eager to continue. “Don’t worry, Crowley, I’ll be careful. Now.” He cleared his throat excessively, straightening out his back and making a very important face. Crowley pursed his lips.
“I shall make appear, out of the vast nothingness, a coin!” His eyes widened comically.
“In my hands nothing can be perceived.” The white-gloved hands were waving around so quickly in front of his face that Crowley had to blink instinctively.
“But what’s this?”
A quick tickle, almost making Crowley raise his shoulder to his ear, and suddenly a silver coin was almost being pushed up his nostril. Aziraphale was beaming, holding it proudly in his face, all barely contained joy and happiness.
“Tadaaa!”
“Wow.” Crowley yawned, raising his brows in a rather unimpressed manner and trying to act like Aziraphale’s smile didn’t do things to his heart.
It wasn’t due to vanish despite his reaction lacking amazement. Aziraphale continued to giggle excitedly and looked proudly at the coin in his palm. “Now was that so bad?”
“It tickled.” Crowley answered lazily, looking at his watch.
“Maybe we should continue then to get you to laugh again!”
Crowley batted Aziraphale’s intruding hand away, a grin pulling at the corners of his grumpy expression. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll bite off your hand!”
“You wouldn’t.”
“That would be the end of your coin tricks.”
Offended, Aziraphale pulled his right hand protectively to his chest with the other, a dismissive look crossing his features. That really got Crowley to smirk again.
“Not so eager to do magic anymore, huh?” He got off his chair and snickered to himself. “Come on then.”
“Where are we going?” The angel asked.
“I’m taking you out.” Crowley grabbed the beige coat of the golden hall-stand in the shop. “Not in the deadly sense of the word.”
Aziraphale’s blue eyes looked puzzled for a moment, then the smile was back and the cute little side glance he reserved especially for the demon came his way. “Oh dear, where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see, angel, you’ll see.”
Crowley helped the angel inside his coat, grabbed their hats and put Aziraphale’s on his feathery hair quite gently. His blue eyes were shining just as brightly as when he’d prepared to do his magic act.
“I take it, you’ll let me keep my hand, then?”
Crowley smirked, pulling his hat over his forehead and opening the door for them. “For now, angel, for now.”
Crowley had never expected, he’d ever miss the little tickle behind his ear and the angel’s happy expressions as much as he did then.
The umbrella shielded him from the rain, but the memories kept falling through, tearing holes in the frame and crashing down on him, growing heavier and heavier until he dropped Muriel’s gift and hit the top of his car, angrily.
He glanced inside the coffeeshop again, only to find that Nina and Maggie were looking at him now, sadness tinting their faces. His heart felt pierced right through and their attention was only making it worse, so he quickly did the only thing he could think of. He got inside his car and fled.
He had nowhere to go. But at least, he wasn’t looking at the bookshop anymore. Nor at the two women falling in love. Nor at all the ghosts from the past, the laughter, the anger, the moments they’d shared together.
He had to leave it all behind anyway.