Disclaimer: In case it isn't blatant enough, people who own rights to the work don't go around writing fanfiction. I have no claim to anything recognisable within the story.
Summary: Things might have seemed peaceful in the aftermath of the cancelled Apocalypse but Crowley knew something was wrong on a very fundamental level when he witnessed Aziraphale actually selling a book.
A/N: The inspiration (or was that counter-inspiration?) for the selection available on the shelf came from a comment by Fenrislorsrai.
A big thank you to ArcticRose for her support.
New Purpose
The first thing that Crowley thought was off was the new shelf. Not an additional shelf, mind you - those did appear in the bookshop with some regularity whenever Aziraphale introduced some accessions to his ever-growing collection, exceeding even his obliging shelves' willingness to accommodate the newcomers. The additional shelves tended to do their best to fit in quietly, striving to pretend they have always been there. No, this shelf was new with the newness of unfaded, freshly lacquered wood and it stood proudly at the front of the bookshop in a manner that could even appear, dare he say it, appealing to someone stepping into the shop.
The first time Crowley came to see Aziraphale and noticed the thing he couldn't help but stare. But the angel acted as though there was nothing unusual about it at all, forcing the demon to eventually conclude that maybe it was one of those little oddities that crept up when Adam restored the reality to factory settings. Like that CD he found in the Bentley's glove compartment that actually played Coldplay as advertised. The kid was eleven - you couldn't expect him to get every detail right and Crowley was grateful enough that he managed as well as he did with the rest of the world. The demon could handle listening to 'Trouble' and looking at the new shelf if that was the price he had to pay for the world still existing.
The fact that over the next few weeks there seemed to be people in the bookshop whenever he dropped by during the business hours (whatever they happened to be that particular day) he wrote down as a coincidence combined with the surprisingly enticing new shelf. It was an inconvenience not to have the angel to himself, but at least the customers didn't seem to leave the angel as put out as they usually would, so the afternoon was easily salvaged which, in all honesty (however embarrassing displaying it was to a demon), was all Crowley really cared about.
That was until he noticed the business hours displayed on the door. Normally, he would never even spare them a glance - they were just one of those things that blended into the background through familiarity. Until, walking in, he registered something being off with said background and, upon closer examination, realised that the opening hours had changed . Not in the 'Let's alter this a bit and not give them a chance to actually figure out the best time to come' way either. While the hours currently displayed on the sign would still make it a challenge even for a money-laundering business to stay afloat, they were now, to his bewilderment, comprehensible.
This made the stunned demon proceed with an extreme caution, half-expecting the now apparently unpredictable angel to have blessed objects haphazardly laying around. Thankfully, he saw none. What he did see was Aziraphale cheerfully thanking someone for their purchase which, all things considered, was probably more disturbing.
Crowley blinked slowly behind his glasses, wondering what to do with the suddenly nonsensical situation. Then again, as they had a chance to prove with their trials, a celestial being taking over somebody else's corporation was not immediately apparent to neither angels nor demons interacting with said corporation. While the reasons anyone could have for impersonating Aziraphale in such a long game were currently eluding him, he couldn't exactly dismiss the possibility. Dread washing through him, he did his best to act natural as he leaned casually on one of the shelves.
"Business going well today, Angel?" He inquired in an impressive attempt at a cheerful voice. "I thought I could drop by and see if you were in the mood for a little reconnaissance in that place in Chelsea that you wanted to try."
The angel's eyes lit up in a very familiar manner. "The one offering French cuisine? With shared plates and wine?"
"Yeah, that one." Crowley couldn't help the relief at Aziraphale not only acting more like himself but also recognising the reference.
"I think it's a delightful idea. I'm closing in half an hour and will be all ready to go. Can I offer you something until then?"
Now that on the other hand had an effect on the demon that was exactly opposite to relief.
"You're closing in half an hour?"
"My business hours are openly on display."
"Certain I can't tempt you into closing just a little bit sooner?"
"Close sooner? What a notion! It would be terribly unprofessional."
The suspicion of something being not quite right returned in force.
"Unprofessional. Right. I'll just wait till you're done then," Crowley announced, going still in his spot.
He observed Aziraphale for the remaining half an hour, in a manner that could have possibly been considered unnatural, unless someone specifically thought of the manner in which snakes unblinkingly regard their potential target. If that created a distinctly unnerving atmosphere in the bookshop, that was responsible for having the final potential customer of the day turn on his heel and leave a minute after entering, all the better. He didn't know what was wrong with Aziraphale but he was certain the angel would appreciate someone keeping his precious books safely unsold. Throughout this all, Aziraphale seemed to behave much as he normally would, chatting away pleasantly about, Crowley was fairly sure, some illustrated edition of George Elliot's book (the details eluded him as he was far too concerned now to focus on the actual words).
Crowley had a hard time, trying to settle on a theory of what was going on with his angel. One moment he seemed perfectly himself, fussing over some ridiculous detail and babbling happily, the next he would do something like commenting on stocking up popular titles that had everything in the demon scream impostor. Still, he needed to make sure what he was dealing with, somehow.
Once they sat comfortably in the Bentley the demon decided it was time to try some probing questions (in the interest of complete honesty, it was Crowley who was perfectly comfortable - the angel, while not visibly uncomfortable, was rather tense, complaining about breaking the traffic laws, endangering others and potential risks to the London's architecture resulting from a sonic boom had the Bentley ever managed to break the sound barrier. Both Crowley and the Bentley were inordinately pleased with this, the demon because the angel did sound like himself and the car because she really appreciated someone believing in her.)
"Remember that Mozart's concert at the Swan and Harp Tavern in Cornhill that we went to way back when, Angel? Fun wasn't it?" the demon asked randomly after running the red light without even attempting to slow.
"Crowley, honestly, what's the matter with you today? As you well remember, we had to leave during the interval because you publicly argued with Herr Mozart about the difference between nurturing talent and child exploitation."
"We still got to eat dinner after so it was a successful evening by my book. Speaking of books, you told me about your plans then…"
"For the shop, you mean? I suppose I did, now that you mention it. But why the sudden nostalgia? And do be careful, my dear. That was a frightfully reckless maneuver."
"It was perfectly fine. Nobody got hurt, did they? And no nostalgia here, Angel. Just remembered that, that's all."
"I really would rather if you paid more attention to the road."
"If you insist, Angel. Maybe if I do, we can get there faster."
The fact that the angel grew only slightly paler at that could be a sign that it really was Aziraphale, who had a chance to get used to his driving. Then again, it was entirely possible that the potential impostor was simply playing his role very well. Or didn't know what the traffic laws were in the first place. Of course, he knew about that ill-fated Mozart's concert and Crowley was relatively sure that nobody in Heaven knew about that but on that fateful night at his flat Aziraphale did mention that Heaven was not entirely oblivious to their meetings. Who knew what level of detail those reports had?
He parked the Bentley close to the restaurant, in a manner that strongly suggested that he considered parking rules a personal insult, but was entirely too worried to draw any satisfaction from that simple detail.
What preoccupied him almost completely at this point was the question of what was the one thing about them that Aziraphale would know that Heaven had no idea about. The only thing that came to his mind was the trick with hellfire and holy water that they pulled on their respective trials but he had no idea how to bring that up casually.
Then they were shown to their table, decorated with a candle to no doubt set the mood and, struck by a sudden idea, the demon casually reached for the candle, grasping the wick between his fingers. His every instinct screamed against what he was about to do but there was no other way to be certain. With just a quick thought the candle started burning with the infernal flame.
As soon as he lit the candle, Crowley looked at the angel. Any potential impostor would at least attempt not letting the sight affect them, working on the assumption that since Aziraphale was immune to hellfire, Crowley could well be doing things like that all the time. His angel however- Aziraphale's complexion grew positively ashen as he took a step back from the table. His eyes were wide as he searched the demon's face for some - any - explanation.
Crowley immediately snuffed out the flame and took a step towards the angel, standing rigidly two steps away from the table.
"It's all right. Aziraphale. I'm sorry. You're all right."
The angel seemed to still be breathing heavily. "I'm afraid I fail to find the humour in you threatening me with… with..."
"I wasn't threatening you ," the demon mumbled, leading the still shaken angel to his chair. He noted that Aziraphale was still eyeing the now-unlit candle warily and immediately put it on another table. "I was threatening whoever was pretending to be you. I would have thought you knew by now that I would never do anything to harm you."
"Pretending to be me? I'm afraid I don't follow."
Now that he had established beyond any doubt that this really was Aziraphale, Crowley felt his theory was sounding more ridiculous by the minute.
"It made sense at the time," he stated, dimly aware that he was only making his position worse. At least the angel seemed to be calming down.
"My dear, I fear you are not expressing yourself clearly enough."
"You. Had customers in your shop. And you were nice to them. Even though they bought a book."
"I'm sure you are aware that I do, in fact, run a bookshop."
Crowley gave him an incredulous look.
"But that's now how you run it. That's never been how you run it," he took a deep breath before proceeding to the crowing argument. "You made me wait until you closed before coming here instead of using that as an excuse to close early!"
"You noticed?"
"Of course I bloody noticed. We've known each other for a while, in case it slipped your mind."
"There is really no need for such language. And I suppose I might have slightly adjusted my business practices-"
"Wrecked them completely, you mean."
"Really, my dear. I'm trying to explain. You see, I've been thinking about it. When I still answered to Heaven, running the shop was something of a frivolous diversion. But now that we have sided with Earth, I felt it was my duty to make sure the life I've built for myself here is genuine, and that should include paying more attention to running my business."
"But you hate selling books."
"Really, hate is such a strong word. I don't think it is entirely appropriate for an angel to feel that way in any case."
"But you do."
"I do dislike selling books to those who would not appreciate them properly. There are times when I dislike it quite strongly."
"You hate it."
"I really wouldn't say that."
"You don't have to. So what? You suddenly decided to start selling books?"
"I did employ certain precautions. I have added a shelf, filled with a miscellaneous collection of positions of little to no value that is supposed to draw attention away from the books I'd rather not part with."
"Rather miraculously distracting everyone from them."
"I would rather you didn't spell it out like that."
"Whatever you say, Angel." Crowley slowly grinned. "Now what would you say to ordering some food? The waiter is getting quite distressed not remembering our table on his rounds."
III
A week later Crowley stepped into the bookshop with determination. Two customers were mulling inside, looking at the selection on the front shelf. Which was too bad for them because he really didn't feel like using subtlety at the moment.
"The shop's closed for the day" he informed them in a quietly menacing manner, at the same time radiating just enough demonic energy that the humans in question immediately made themselves scarce, likely suspecting the alternative involved being witnesses to a mob hit.
"Was that really necessary, my dear?" Aziraphale tutted, trying not to let any relief bleed into his voice. He still had some trouble dealing with more than one customer at a time.
"I'm sure it didn't hurt. Hello, Angel. Shelf still working all right?" the demon asked casually, in a tone of someone who absolutely didn't add a number of used Dan Brown books to the lot, that were then enthusiastically bought by people coming in looking for rare first editions and then redirected to finding something of interest on the shelf, thanks to Aziraphale's own miracle.
"I'm sure it would work even better if someone stopped adding things that barely count as literature."
"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," Crowley responded casually, not even trying to hide adding a few bodice rippers to the shelf.
"I really shouldn't allow you to do that. Where do you even find those?"
"They turn up. And you have no idea how funny it is to see people actually paying for those."
The angel actually looked guilty. "They have absolutely no literary value. I should be refunding those, if people only would let me."
"People like trash. Half of the entertainment is built on people liking trash. At least if they get second-hand trash, they are wasting less money on it."
"I should point out that you never denied the fact that they are actually wasting their money," the angel huffed in a tone of someone who had a very firm view of what literature actually was and one of the more definite points included 'not that '.
"It's their money. Not like they don't have more ambitious books to choose from here. They've got free will, let them use it. Besides, this keeps your beloved tomes safely unsold."
"I suppose there is that," Aziraphale reluctantly agreed. "I do, however, fail to see how getting rid of my customers aided your apparent aim to corrupt the minds with mediocre literature."
"No great aims for me any longer, Angel. Just some fun. Besides, there is something I want to discuss with you and I didn't want to wait until you finished for the day."
"I suppose, if you think it important enough to cut my opening hours short, you'd better tell me."
"See, the thing is, I think you need a holiday. You are not used to dealing with customers. Or at least not dealing with them in the sense of very politely showing them the door. Doing this so much stresses you."
"Oh, I suppose it can be a touch trying at times but I wouldn't say it's that bad."
"You wouldn't. You've dealt with Gabriel for centuries. You probably don't know how it feels not to be stressed. But this time there is actually something you can do about it."
"I cannot possibly take a holiday."
"Sure you can. Humans do it all the time. You want to blend in, taking a holiday is part of the deal."
"I can't simply leave the bookshop."
"It will be fine for a few weeks."
"I'm not leaving you in charge. The last time I did, you organised a Harry Potter midnight release party! And then you hid among the bookshelves and convinced at least four people they were parselmouths."
"Then you'll no doubt be relieved that what I had in mind involved us going together."
Aziraphale went still for a second.
"Together?" he repeated uncertainly.
Suddenly Crowley started to wonder if this was as good an idea as it seemed this morning. This probably was just another example of going too fast for the angel, wasn't it?
"We don't need to, if you don't want to. You taking a holiday is not dependent on us going together. You deserve some time off and I wouldn't want you to feel pressured into something that you-"
"As a matter of fact, going together sounds quite intriguing," Aziraphale interjected. "Did you have something particular in mind?"
Crowley blinked slowly, mentally switching from backtracking on his idea to cautiously proceeding with it.
"'S not much, really. But there is this cottage by the sea that we could use for a couple of weeks if you wanted."
(The couple of weeks were a bit of an underestimation. The fact of the matter was, after a few months of changing nappies and playing nanny to the supposed antichrist, the demon felt a bit overwhelmed and pessimistic about their plan to the point of despair so he took a weekend off to pull himself together.
He ended up visiting Devil's Dyke because it usually amused him to see the humans doing the most idiotic things, trying to supposedly summon the devil. He sometimes even rewarded the particularly ridiculous attempts by appearing, looking as demonic as possible, to encourage the belief in the method of choice actually working.
As he was about to leave the area, his mood not as improved as he hoped, he noticed an old dilapidated cottage, looking just about ready to crumble. Before he could properly think the entire venture through, he found himself actually buying the place, because it seemed to be falling apart the way Crowley felt he was about to but, contrary to his own overwhelming situation, there was actually something he could do about it. It helped for a while, at least until the cottage had been, with some hard work and uncountable miracles, returned to its former glory shortly after Warlock's seventh birthday.
Then it was largely forgotten, save for Crowley occasionally fantasising about spending time there with Aziraphale. Which was just about unattainable enough to make his frustration grow even more. It honestly didn't occur to him that his fantasies might actually be within his reach until he started contemplating a holiday spot to tempt the angel with.)
Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who seemed to be still contemplating his offer. Finally the angel met his eyes, smiling.
"I think a cottage by the sea sounds positively marvellous, my dear."
III
There is a bookshop in Soho, priding itself in having the most extensive collection of first editions and rare volumes one can find, even if most customers ended up leaving it with used Dan Brown or E. L. James novels, apparently not appreciating the stock they had available.
Unfortunately for those who might wish to try finding some interesting position among the shelves, there currently is a sign displayed on the door, informing potential customers about the owner having closed for a holiday. The more ambitious of those reading it might even attempt to decipher the expected time of the owner's return but so far even those claiming to have fine-tuned their mystery solving skills, thanks to the Dan Brown books bought at the shop, couldn't reach an agreement as to when the bookshop was to open again.