Sometimes, Crowley really didn't understand his angel. Especially when said angel was hiding his face in Crowley's shirt, peeking fearfully at the television screen while two (or sometimes, three) American men tried to kill some mythical creature.
"Why do you watch this if it terrifies you so much…?" Crowley said as, for the fifth time in twenty minute, Aziraphale gave a little, scared squeak.
"B-because it's got a wonderful plot and wonderful characters and NO SAM DON'T GO IN THERE!" Aziraphale cut himself off, clinging to the demon tightly as the character on the screen made a stupid decision. Crowley put an arm around the angel's shoulders, trying to get him to calm down enough for normal conversation.
"They always go where they shouldn't, Angel, it's just what humans do," Crowley reasoned.
"Yes, but Dean told him not to!" Aziraphale's eyes were glued to the screen again as another man started generously pouring salt from an industrial-sized container onto the thresholds and windowsills of a house. Crowley gave up any ideas he had about trying to use logic to counter the rather obvious fact that his angel was too easily scared by what he saw on television. There was a slight pause in the events on the screen, and Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with curiosity. "My dear, I've always wondered…is the myth about salt true?"
"What myth about salt?" Crowley didn't exactly like where that was going…he didn't have to pay strict attention to the show to understand that whoever wrote it knew their demonic lore.
"You haven't been paying attention at all, have you? Apparently, if a demon stands in a circle of salt, it can't get out. The same thing goes for getting into a house or a room—if the entrance is salted, demons can't get in," Aziraphale explained.
Behind dark lenses, Crowley's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Of course not," he said, some of that annoyance leaking into his tone.
The corners of Aziraphale's lips pulled up in a small smile. "Well, I'm just going to have to try it out sometime—" he was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot from the television, riveting his attention back to the screen.
~x~
Crowley unlocked the door to his apartment, showing the keys back into his pocket and stepping in. He went straight for his plant mister, all prepared and filled with water that morning with the knowledge that he would be using it later. He began his usual plant-watering (and threatening) chores. The demon noticed nothing out of the ordinary until he got to his bedroom. Or, more specifically, the door to his bedroom, which was open and had a thin line of salt dusted onto the threshold. Blessing under his breath, he looked around the apartment for any sign of Aziraphale. He found the angel in the kitchen, calmly making himself a cup of tea, two empty salt shakers resting on the countertop. "That is not funny, angel. Not funny at all," Crowley said flatly. "You make me regret having given you a spare key sometimes."
"So it actually worked?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and smiled nonchalantly. "I'm going to have to remember that, just for future reference," he teased.
"I'm serious. There are houseplants," Crowley emphasized the word, "in my bedroom, and they must be threat—er, watered," he finished, getting a broom and dustpan out of the coat closet. "Go clean it up," he ordered, holding out the cleaning supplies to the angel.
Aziraphale gave a sigh and put his mug down on the table with mild reluctance. "Oh, all right." He took the broom and dustpan, pressing a kiss to his grumbling demon's cheek before going to clean up his little prank.