Chapter 4

Crowley sat like a gargoyle at the table in the front of Aziraphale's shop, his tremors all but returned. Aziraphale had offered to take them away, but Crowley was too afraid of losing his edge. Being uptight did have its advantages; you were much quicker to react to threats. So, in his parental-esque worry, Aziraphale had made him some tea and brought him a book.*

He sat, staring out at the snowflakes now fluttering across London through his dark sunglasses. Winter was a demon's holiday. The vegetation dies, the humans become ill, and the weather seems to breed sin. Normally Crowley loved winter. Normally.

"So, what? You're going to keep me like a bird in a cage?" he practically whispered, not turning to face the angel.

"Don't be dramatic, I just... I just need to think about how I'm going to do this, and I can't concentrate if I send you away, knowing..."

Crowley blinked slowly, inhaling as he raised a hand to his temple, rubbing it.

"Knowing that my flesh will be boiled and fed to me the moment I leave your side," he said in a deadpan.

Aziraphale did not respond, but Crowley heard the clink as the angel anxiously sipped his tea.

"It seems hopeless because it is, angel," Crowley grumbled, turning his head to watch a particularly beautiful woman stomp down the cold concrete streets in her elegant Jimmy Choos, unbothered by the snow. "You know how this ends."

"Please don't start that again," Aziraphale begged. "Drink your tea."

"'S cold," Crowley barked.

"Well whose fault is that?"

Crowley held up his horribly trembling hand. "I'll spill, angel."

"I offered to fix that."

"I don't need your novocaine or your pity," Crowley snapped, rubbing his temple harder and already regretting his words.

Aziraphale inhaled to respond, but Crowley interrupted.

"I'm sorry. Wallowing in self-pity seems to be my go-to response. I'm sorry," he said again.

The angel stood, but before he could approach, the shop's door swung open.

Crowley didn't have to turn to know who it was. Aziraphale's relaxed expression tipped him off, but it was the girl's aura that really clued him in; he'd felt it the night before. She had an air of relaxation about her, a kind of... numbing agent that had been rather pleasant to be around. It was probably a byproduct of her clairvoyant abilities. She numbed others while taking in all the emotions herself. Must have been terribly lonely.**

"Good morning, Penny," Aziraphale said in his most pleasant businessman voice. "Back so soon?"

"Classes cancelled. Snow's not so bad, I just think the professor's a bit peaky about it. Mind if I study here?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Aziraphale said, his eyes dashing to Crowley.

He shrugged in a horribly noncommittal manner, hoping it said 'I'll behave.'***

"Oh, hello," Penelope said as she turned to the table, setting a backpack on the floor and a book on the table.

A Study Of Women and Theology: The Hushed Voices Of History.

Crowley read the title, but couldn't muster the grin. He sighed, looking back out the window at the growing snowflakes.

"No pithy comments today?" Penelope asked, flipping the book open to a Lord of the Rings themed bookmark as she sat across from him.

Crowley nodded 'no,' removing his hand from his chin and letting it slap unceremoniously onto the tabletop.

"Oh, he's... having a bad day," Aziraphale chimed in, to which Crowley snorted. "Tea, love?" the angel asked of the girl.

"Yes, please," she said, pretending to shuffle about her belongings, but Crowley could see her peering up at him, her eyes wandering down to his trembling hand as Aziraphale walked into the back room to put the kettle on.

Crowley noticed her gaze, pulling his hand back like it had been sitting on a burner.

Shockingly, she laid her hand on the table, palm up, beckoning his. He stared at her as a deer on a country road stares at a flaming Bentley.

"I can—"

"I know what you can do, you really don't want to, trust me," he snapped, eyeing her intense brown eyes.

"That's my call, I think," she replied, curling her fingers a few times to beckon him again.

He inhaled, swallowed hard, and exhaled as he raised his hand, placing it a bit too harshly into her palm.

She tensed, her brows angling hard over her eyes as she closed them, her hand tightening against Crowley's.

"My God," she whispered, twitching as Aziraphale re-entered the room.

"Oh no, my dear," Aziraphale gasped hurriedly, rushing forward. "Don't..."

"Shhh," she cooed, closing her eyes tighter. Crowley watched her intently, wondering how much of it she was getting.

"I've never felt so much fear, so much agony," she whispered.

"You and me both, love," Crowley mumbled.

"Both of you, stop talking," she snapped, her hand tightening on his a second time.

Aziraphale smiled at her voraciousness, approaching quietly and kneeling next to the table.

"How... how are you even functioning right now?!" she asked, her voice shaking and a tear falling down her face. She sniffed, hurriedly wiping the tear away with her free hand.

Crowley didn't answer, mostly because he had no answer.

"It's so odd. It splits down the middle, the fear. Most of it isn't for you... it's wandering somewhere else, someone else."

Crowley cleared his throat nervously, suddenly yanking his hand from the girl's.

She jumped as he did, her head snapping up to look at him with terror and pity clearly etched into her features.

"I..." she began, pursing her lips as she paused. "I'm sorry."

Crowley nodded, but still didn't respond. He refused to look sideways at Aziraphale, very aware that he had easily figured who Crowley's fear was aimed at.

"Both alright?" Aziraphale asked comfortingly, laying a hand on both Penny's and Crowley's wrists.

Both of them nodded, both of them likely lying.

Aziraphale stood, hurrying to the counter and grabbing Penny's tea. Crowley defensively looked back out the window, very aware of her gaze as Aziraphale approached again.

"Here you are. Just the way you like it," he said.

"Thank you," Penny replied warmly, her eyes still burning into Crowley as she sipped it.


* He hadn't touched either of them in the hour he'd been sitting there.

** Crowley knew the feeling well.

*** It definitely said 'I'm in no mood to behave, but I'll give it the good demon try.'