It was a hot, fume-filled August day in Central London, exactly five years after the count down till the Apocalypse had begun. An excommunicated angel and a demon were in the middle of their second fight of the five years in their human filled oasis from both demon and angel kind alike. The first fight had been over where they'd go on vacation after the averted Apocalypse and their near death expirence during their respective trials, Aziraphale had been in favour of San Sebastian, where as Crowley had rather preferred the idea of America. The fight ended rather abruptly when a new restaurant opened up, saciating the angel's desire for something new and the demon's desire for some aggressive forms of alcohol. They didn't end up leaving England, too pleased with the fact that their bookshop and bently had been made new again like they each hadn't been burnt down.
This fight however, ended with a demon storming out of a perfectly innocent bookshop and an angel left fidgeting with a furrowed brow.
Crowley found himself in a small bar, a few streets down from his apartment that he'd spotted on the way home, practically seething with demonic fury. He strolled in with his usual swagger and found himself glued to an unoccupied row of stools. A young bartender was zipping about between tables and booths, there was a group of roudy bachelorettes that had stumbled into the bar half an hour ago and they were mind blowingly drunk, in the corner there were a few men and women gathered near the TV above the bar, watching the football game with the occasional cheer. The friendly bar tender wasn't there for very long before Crowley was mournfully gesturing to the bottle of Scotch up on the bar and in the moment, the bartender appraised him. He obviously had money judging by his clothes and the way he was basically slumped over the counter top. So rather than offer him a glass, she set down the whole bottle, took off the cap and slid it across the bar into his awaiting hand. Then she went back to mixing up the bride to be's cocktail with the overly complicated name that she wouldn't bother to pronounce sober.
"Have you ever said something you regret?" The bartender hummed as she twisted her wrist back and forth, the cocktail shaker was dripping condensation down her palm as she did so.
The demon on the other side of the bar threw his head back and inhaled a near quarter of the bottle as the girl thought up her response.
"Everyone has." He seemed to pause at her answer, maybe he realised that she was a little too clever for her own good, probably a result of working in a bar as people tended to spill their guts a lot, like he was doing now.
"Something that destroyed what you've been working towards for, what feels like a very long time?" The way he'd paused, was almost like he was resigned.
The bartender smiled over at the young women who rushed over to gather her drink just as she'd set down a napkin and glass. The women beamed at her, accepting the glass with both hands and raising it to her mouth as she hastily shuffled back to her table, her heels scraping across the sticky wood flooring that lined the ground.
The demon was now halfway through the bottle and the bartender gave the bar a quick once over before her attention was once again settled on the strange man sitting in her stool wearing sunglasses.
"Yes, but in that instance I didn't regret it at all." Her voice was sweet and kind, but she was willed with a specific conviction when she said that.
In a way it reminded the wile serpent of a certain angel he knew. So self-righteous and holier than thou.
"What'd you say?" By now she had stolen a quick look at the TV in the corner to check the clock and set herself up with a glass of her own.
She accepted the bottle passed to her by the still, somehow sober man and pored till her glass was near full. As she passed it back, the answer seemed to strike him, like the momentary absence of the bottle from his hands had rendered him unintelligible.
"The truth." She laughed and knocked back her drink easily enough.
The bartender set down her cup and leaned back against the bar with her arms crossed.
"That's always what does it." Crowley appraised her as she pushed off the bar and seemed to be flicking through the bottles on the wall like she was flicking through a catalogue.
She was just like any other human. She was nice, because that was her job. As a bartender the girl was trained in small talk
"People don't like hearing the truth, it's scary and sometimes we're never ready for it."
"I hear drinking makes it all better."
"You heard right."
"Cin cin."