A/N: Hello, lovelies! I finally FINALLY got another bit of fanfic written, feels like I've been away for a while...
This 2 part fic takes place in the sentient bookshop and Bentley verse! If you haven't read the others, here's the gist: this takes place post-series and the Bookshop and Bentley both have full sentience, only Aziraphale and Crowley somehow still don't know it. The Bookshop thinks Crowley's name is Dearboy... the Bentley thinks Aziraphale's name is Angel. They're both fantastic ^_^
Thanks for the beta read, Aini Nufire!
And Nothing But the Truth
"—and around this time, what would you say the year was... oh drat, I simply can't remember. Shall we say the 13th century, BC? Quite some time ago, regardless. Where was I, though... oh! Yes! Yes, dear me, I was telling you about the oysters, and how ancient Greeks began farming them as a delicacy. Did you know, the Greeks were also the ones—"
The bell over the shop rang in the middle of Aziraphale's speech, though it didn't deter him one iota. The bookshop rumbled in displeasure deep in its foundations to see that other blasted angel, the one Aziraphale called "Sandalphon" and the bookshop called "Weasel Face".
"Has he stopped talking for even a second since I left four hours ago?" Weasel Face complained, drawing closer to where The Big Dick Himself was standing over Aziraphale with a glazed over expression.
The Big Dick Himself (or Gabriel, if you were inclined to use his polite name, and the bookshop was not at all inclined) mutely nodded.
Weasel Face scrunched up his nose. "Has he said anything useful in all that time?"
The Big Dick Himself shook his head with a satisfying mix of awe and immense regret for having done this to himself.
"Maybe we didn't give him a big enough dose," Weasel Face suggested. "We could give him more—"
"More? Are you insane?" The Big Dick Himself hissed. "I asked him one question about how he pulled off that trick with the hellfire and it's taken him four hours just to get to 1300 BC!"
Weasel Face glowered, then stormed up to Aziraphale and gave him a hefty smack across the face. Aziraphale mewled in discomfort, shoulders straining with the effort to free his hands to defend himself.
"Shut it!" Weasel Face snarled. "What about the demon? Did he help you pull a fast one, then?"
"My good man," Aziraphale said slowly, working his jaw. "If you would listen half as well as you talk, which I must admit is sorely lacking in itself, perhaps you would know I'm just getting to that. Now then, I've lost my place, let me go back a few years—"
"No!" The B.D.H. moaned, dropping his face into one palm. "Just... skip to the end!"
"Some 'truth serum'," Weasel Face griped. "I thought it was supposed to force him to tell the truth."
"The truth— my dear Sandalphon, do you believe for one instant that I would lie about oyster farming?" Aziraphale gasped with much affront. "Now then, it's quite clear to me why nobody likes you. Do us all a favor and stand there quietly. Gabriel only brings you places to be intimidating, you know, not to do any amount of thinking."
"Moving on," The B.D.H. snapped sharply and rather quickly. "It's working correctly, Sandalphon. It's removed his inhibitions and he's spoken nothing but truth since we dosed him... only it's taking him forever to get to the actual point."
"Give me a few moments," Weasel Face darkly suggested. "I'll get him to the point."
The bookshop did not like this line of thought, not one bit. If only it could alert Dearboy and the Bentley to what was happening, but all its attempts to reach the demon had ultimately not been much help. With the other angels focused on Aziraphale, it furtively spun the rotor on the phone, ringing Crowley once again.
o\[]/o
A little more than four hours ago:
It happened too quickly for the bookshop to do anything about it.
One moment Aziraphale was humming cheerily along to a bit of Stravinsky and puttering about with a feather duster. The next, the front door was blown open so forcefully that the bookshop's pipes wheezed in shock, and four Someones came storming in. None of the Someones were Dearboy, nor could they be ordinary human customers, since the shop was closed and the door locked. The shop identified them immediately as angels, and worse: it was Weasel Face and The Big Dick Himself. The other two weren't ones the shop had seen before. It didn't matter; the unfriendly glint in their eyes and the way Aziraphale immediately took several steps back in dismay said everything.
"Aziraphale," The B.D.H. greeted him with too much cheer and too many teeth. "I was hoping to run into you here."
"Yes, well... it is my bookshop, after all," Aziraphale returned coolly. Nervous eyes flicked around at the angels, all advancing on him until he was slowly being backed into a corner. "What do you want, Gabriel?"
"What? I can't just pop in on an old buddy?" The B.D.H. asked with a false brightness that wasn't fooling anyone. When Aziraphale didn't deign to answer, he quickly dropped the facade. "I think you know what I want," he growled. Menace dripped off of him like ice cream off a cone during a really hot day when one couldn't eat it fast enough, which was distressing.
"I thought after last time, you were warned to leave us alone—"
"I'll take my chances," The B.D.H. interrupted. His eyes narrowed. "You've still got some answering to do, Aziraphale."
With that, he nodded to the other angels, who converged in a heartbeat. Aziraphale immediately dashed to the side, making a run for it, and even though the bookshop could quite clearly see in dismay that he was never going to make it, it did the best it could to help. The rug in the center of the floor rippled upwards in a makeshift but unsuccessful barrier. The angels trampled over it all the same, and it was Weasel Face who lashed out and grabbed Aziraphale's wrist before he could reach the door.
"Going somewhere?" he leered, nasty as ever as he swung Aziraphale around and slammed him down over the desk.
Aziraphale wheezed as the breath was driven from his body. His free hand grappled anxiously in search of something he could use as a weapon; the bookshop helpfully provided a letter opener that hadn't been there a moment previously, which Aziraphale gamely wielded.
"Ah ah!" The B.D.H. snapped, wagging a finger. One of the other two nameless angels grabbed Aziraphale before he could stab Weasel Face with it, as though it would have really done him any harm, as though they probably wouldn't all have been secretly a little gleeful if Aziraphale had succeeded. "The better you behave, the easier you'll make this for yourself, Aziraphale."
"So please, don't behave," Weasel Face said as he and the other angel pinned Aziraphale's arms, leaning over so Aziraphale was half lying on the desk to protect his personal space. Weasel Face grinned, gold buck teeth glinting in the dim light.
"I demand that you release me at once," Aziraphale insisted, but his voice was shaking. His throat bobbed as the second angel who'd grabbed him placed the stolen letter opener beneath one eye and tapped his cheek.
"Yeah... see, you're really not in a position to make demands," The B.D.H. pointed out. He gestured for the others to bring Aziraphale over, which they immediately did. They shoved him down onto his knees, making quick work of tying his wrists together behind his back with a bit of Heavenly rope. The fourth angel came scurrying over at Gabriel's bidding. The bookshop decided to name her Lapdog.
"What do you want?" Aziraphale asked again, looking from one to the other.
At The B.D.H's gesture, Lapdog held up a ewer of light golden liquid. It wasn't holy water, wasn't the right coloring for it. Both the bookshop and Aziraphale regarded the liquid with no small amount of trepidation.
"What I want is answers," The Big Dick Himself replied. "You're probably wondering what this is." He gestured to the ewer of liquid, and it was honestly the stupidest thing the bookshop had heard him say yet, since of course that was what they were wondering. The B.D.H.'s smile stretched wider. "Well, let's just say I've had the boys down in R&D working on this since you pulled the trick with the hellfire. You haven't been honest with us, Aziraphale. But one good dose of this, and you'll tell me anything I want to know. You won't be able to stop yourself."
A truth serum? The bookshop's windows frosted over to match the bloodless paling of Aziraphale's cheeks. This was bad, very bad. If they asked the right questions, it would implicate Dearboy as well, and the bookshop was as fond of the snake-eyed demon as it was of anybody. More so, in fact. In desperation, it considered pelting the angels with books to give Aziraphale time to escape, but if they caught him again, they would probably burn the place to the ground and take him back to Heaven for the interrogation, and then no one would be able to help him.
"Gabriel, don't do this," Aziraphale quietly said.
The archangel's only response was to gesture to Weasel Face, who gleefully grabbed Aziraphale by the jaw to force his mouth open. When Aziraphale struggled, Weasel Face only wrenched his head back further, sliding behind him to wrap his free arm around Aziraphale's throat.
"I told you this would go easier if you cooperated," The B.D.H. said with a smirk. He strolled forward to stand over Aziraphale, meeting the angel's panicked eyes. "You shouldn't have gone against Heaven, Aziraphale. You're a threat now, and I'll do whatever I have to in order to protect the rest of us. Liriel, bring me the truth serum."
"Nuuh!" Aziraphale pleaded. The bookshop creaked a soft whimper in fear for its angel but there was nothing it could do as Lapdog handed over the ewer. There was a brief scuffle as Aziraphale thrashed even harder, but Weasel Face was far stronger and had an easy position to keep him subdued. The shop could only watch helplessly as The Big Dick Himself poured the serum down Aziraphale's throat.
"Sandalphon," he ordered as Aziraphale choked and spluttered.
With another gold toothy grin, Weasel Face released Aziraphale's jaw to force his mouth closed instead, covering it with one meaty palm and then pinching his nose shut so that the angel had no choice but to reflexively swallow the golden liquid. Weasel Face let go and stood, kicking Aziraphale down onto his side. The bookshop wrapped one corner of the area rug around Aziraphale's ankle in anxious reassurance that he wasn't alone, while they all watched with varied emotions as his body trembled and then, heartbreakingly, fell slack.
The B.D.H. dropped to one knee over Aziraphale and snapped his fingers a few times in his face.
"Aziraphale?" he asked. "You here?"
The bookshop watched its angel slowly peel his eyes open; they were glazed over and unfocused, the lines smoothing themselves out as though every care had just slid away.
"Oh yes," he replied in an odd, dreamy voice. "I've been here for a long time, you know. The bookshop is my home. It's a dear old thing, much nicer than Heaven ever was, if we're being honest."
The bookshop's heater purred in loving delight, momentarily forgetting the danger. It remembered a second later as Weasel Face and Lapdog heaved Aziraphale up and shoved him down into an armchair. The bookshop subtly drew the arms in ever so slightly to continue holding Aziraphale in a carefully comforting grip. It needed to alert the Bentley and Dearboy somehow. It didn't know exactly how they could get Aziraphale out of this mess, but they were both clever and resourceful and needed to be warned, at any rate. Furtively, with all the intruders' attention on Aziraphale, the bookshop began to spin the rotary dial on the nearby phone to ring Dearboy.
"Let's try some test questions," The B.D.H. decided, drawing up another chair and sitting in front of Aziraphale with obvious triumph. "Name and rank, angel."
Aziraphale hummed vaguely. "Not a question, is it?"
The Big Dick Himself glowered and cuffed him across the face. "You know what I mean, Aziraphale! What is your name and rank?"
"But you just used it. Aziraphale. That's me, you know. Although, among the humans, it would be regarded as quite the strange name, indeed. Wouldn't do at all to go giving away my true nature to them. Bless them indeed, but humans can be ever so funny about things like that, no "chill" at all as my dear friend Anathema would say. She always has a funny turn of phrase. Young ones always do—"
"Answer the question, Aziraphale!" The B.D.H. snapped, rolling his eyes. "Name and rank!"
Aziraphale huffed, clearly no longer caring if the others saw his irritation, normally hidden behind a carefully polite demeanor. "I'm doing so. Tut tut, such an impatient boy, you always were perfectly dreadful for it."
The bookshop's windows rattled in a puff of shocked amusement at the bald faced insult, momentarily distracted from its task with the phone to gleefully watch The B.D.H.'s face turn puce. The other Nameless Angel tittered softly under his breath.
"I would be careful if I were you," Gabriel growled dangerously, leaning forward to jab a finger in Aziraphale's direction. "Consider your position carefully. Do you really want to make me angry right now?"
"You did ask for the truth," Aziraphale said with not a whit of concern. "One ought to be careful in asking for such things. The truth is a dangerous thing. Now where was I, yes, my name. As you may have noticed on the shop front, I've been going by Mr. Fell here among the humans. It's a play on my actual name, you see, if you were to take the end of 'Aziraphale' it—"
"Yes, yes, I got that!" Gabriel barked. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is clearly going to require some amount of consideration. Let's try something else. What is your affiliation with the demon, Crowley? Did he help you trick us somehow with the hellfire?"
The shop had finally finished dialing. The call connected a second later.
"Hullo?" Dearboy's muffled voice sounded in the earpiece, not loud enough to be marked by the other angels. More than ever, the bookshop wished it had some form of a voice. At least the Bentley had its radio. Unsure what else to do, it knocked the phone off the hook, hoping perhaps Dearboy would hear the interrogation in the background.
Unfortunately, the clatter of the phone was much louder than anticipated, drawing every eye towards it. The B.D.H. frowned, then nodded curtly to Weasel Face, who weaseled over and silently placed the phone back in its cradle, ending the call.
"Trying to pull a fast one?" The B.D.H. asked Aziraphale.
"Heavens, no," Aziraphale vaguely hummed. "Odd things happen here. There was a poltergeist, you know."
The bookshop's heater huffed. No, there had not been a poltergeist, never had been, it was just that neither Aziraphale nor Dearboy had ever cottoned on that the bookshop had gained sentience years ago, and continued to explain its actions with vague notions of being haunted. Their favorite excuse for the bizarre happenings was a poltergeist. The bookshop was content to let them believe it.
"Well... no tricks," The B.D.H. told him sternly. "Now then. About Crowley. Tell me everything."
"Everything?" Aziraphale chortled. "Goodness gracious. Are you sure you want to know everything?"
"Everything. Start from the beginning. I insist."
"Oh, well then, just remember that you insisted. I offered you a chance to reconsider, and you didn't take it. You never did want to listen to me. But why should you? As far as you're concerned, you already know better than anyone about anything. I'm just a principality and you've never wanted me to forget it. It's unbecoming of an angel, you know. All that about humility isn't just supposed to be for the humans. We're supposed to model for them God-like behavior and I must say you're a far cry from her."
Scarlet now, The Big Dick Himself gave Aziraphale another hearty smack across the face that would have sent him tumbling off the chair if the shop hadn't swiftly raised the arms just enough to keep him steady.
"Are we sure about this serum?" Lapdog asked nervously. "This— this isn't how I thought it would go."
"It's working," The B.D.H. snarled. "He wouldn't dare talk to me like this otherwise. Get back on track, Aziraphale. I asked you to tell me everything about Crowley, from the beginning, and if you know what's good for you then you'll do exactly that."
"Dear dear, alright then. You wanted the truth and you wanted it from the beginning, so let's start at the beginning. Well, I suppose as early as I can begin would be...the garden. I didn't know Crowley when he was still an angel. All the demons were, to start. When I first saw him, he was the serpent of Eden and my, what a start he gave me! Have you seen him in his snake form?"
"No. Move on."
"No no, because really it all matters. Let me try to describe the scales. At first glance, they're all black, obviously. But the closer you look, the more colors you see. Iridescent, that's the word. It's almost like... have you ever seen a picture composed of hundreds of other, smaller pictures?"
"No," The B.D.H. grumbled impatiently.
"Oh, my dear fellow, but they're astonishing!" Aziraphale exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "You really must pick up a book or two of art before you return to Heaven. I can recommend some wonderful editions, also excellent for the classiest of coffee tables. The cleverness of these humans! Their art is one of the things I love best about them! To imagine they began with nothing but a few rudimentary charcoal depictions of animals on the walls of caves, and now, endless possibilities! Let me walk you through a brief history of human art, otherwise you'll never understand their use of the serpent iconography that's so relevant to knowing all there is to know about Crowley, and you do want to know everything, as you recall. The earliest recorded use of drawings began in the caves—"
"No, please!" The Big Dick Himself groaned.
The bookshop began to dial Dearboy again.
o\[]/o
The Bentley rumbled down the street with the engine revving for no good reason other than to hear it rev. It enjoyed the way it drew stares from other drivers, especially the ones that looked envious. They should be envious. It was a beautiful car.
"Aziraphale, honestly!" Crowley grumbled, not nearly as content as he ought to be, as far as the Bentley was concerned. What was the point of a joy ride if not to enjoy the ride? Though it had to admit, Angel had been rather persistent in his calls to Crowley today. That was the seventh time in the past four hours, though he never said anything, and never answered whenever Crowley rang him back.
"Honestly," Crowley repeated with a little shake of his head as his cell phone tooted out a little tune yet again. He mashed the button to answer the call and shouted, "HULLO? Angel! What in the blazes do you want? Hello?" He pulled the phone away to glance at the screen, then shook his head and returned it to his ear. "HELLO! Aziraphale, I swear, you are the only one I know who can pocket dial someone with a rotary phone. Hello!"
He hung up and tossed the phone into the Bentley's passenger seat.
"It's that poltergeist, I know it is," he grumbled.
This time, the Bentley stopped revving, falling silent in sudden thought. The poltergeist... the bookshop? Could the bookshop be the one calling? Why would it be doing that? Some sixth sense began to tingle deep in its engine. Well, probably not the sixth sense. The Bentley didn't really have all the other five senses in any proper way. Wouldn't work right to say that its fourth sense was tingling, though. Which sense was the fourth sense? In any case, it was starting to get a feeling that perhaps it was the bookshop trying to get their attention, and perhaps that meant trouble. Which in turn meant it needed to get Crowley over there right away to check on Angel.
With Crowley distracted, the Bentley took the initiative to turn down a road that would set them on a closer track to the bookshop. It dropped the temperature in the car by only a few degrees, not enough for Crowley to realize what it had done but enough that the cold-blooded demon would start feeling uncomfortable. The solution to all discomforts was to go see Angel. It popped the radio on at the same time, ignoring whatever cassette Crowley had in currently to play some choice Queen lyrics instead:
"Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine
I will pay the bill, you taste the wine
Driving back in style—"
"What are you on about?" Crowley muttered, switching the radio back off. He shivered. The Bentley lowered the temperature another degree or two, watching Crowley's face shift in contemplation. "Was I supposed to meet Aziraphale somewhere?" he asked out loud, mind nudged in that direction as the Bentley had been hoping at the mention of their favorite meeting place. "We didn't have a dinner date. 'Sides, it's not even teatime. Why does he keep calling?"
The Bentley switched the radio back on.
"You start believing everything's gonna be alright
Next minute you're—"
"Blessed car!" Crowley snapped, slapping the radio off once more. He definitely had gooseflesh now, as well as a certain anxiety on his face that the Bentley really needed him to act on. His fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel, more and more unsettled as the Bentley added an almost imperceptible whine to the engine, just to really get him on edge. Finally it seemed Crowley had had enough as he glanced around and grumbled. "Screw it. The shop's only a few minutes away. I'll just pop in and see if he wants to grab a bite."
Relieved, the Bentley sped up before Crowley could even push the pedal closer to the floor.
Time to find their angel.