It took almost an hour for them to reach Anathema's cottage. Once there, Anathema grabbed several boxes full of herbs and candles - plus a number of strange items Aziraphale couldn't name - and then they were on their way to see her grandmother, Agnes.
Aziraphale was fond of Agnes. She was just like her granddaughter – confident, kind, and most important of all in this situation, a witch.
The three of them went back to the flat and cleansed every room. Next, they did the bookshop. Aziraphale hadn't seen anything ominous down there, but better safe than sorry.
By the time they were finished it was dark outside, and it must have been obvious that Aziraphale was still nervous because Anathema gave him plenty of reassuring words and then said, "You can stay at my place, if you like."
"Thank you, my dear. That would be greatly appreciated."
Several days later, a priest came over to the bookshop and performed both an exorcism and a blessing. This made Aziraphale feel much better, but he still wasn't sure he'd ever feel safe in the flat again. As much as he hated the idea of selling his lovely bookshop, it might be his only option.
Aziraphale stayed at Anathema's place, night after night, though he still returned to the bookshop most days. It was his livelihood after all. He had lots of book restorations to do and the occasional novel to dig out for an online customer.
The bookshop felt safe enough. He'd never seen anything spooky in there, and his Uncle Ezra had always seemed happy in his antique shop. Had Uncle Ezra known the flat was haunted? Was that why he'd never lived up there? Was that why he'd stopped renting it out? Aziraphale had been under the impression that his uncle, in his old age, had found being a landlord too stressful but maybe there was more to it than that. Aziraphale found himself rather furious at the possibility that Uncle Ezra had known all along that the flat was haunted and had left the building to him anyway without so much as a warning.
One day, in desperation, Aziraphale called Gabriel to ask him leading questions – he might remember more from their childhood visits – but Gabriel seemed to know nothing about any ghostly goings on and Aziraphale refused to ask him outright. He'd only tease him about it.
The long commute by train soon became a bit too much for Aziraphale, and so, after a few too many late nights, he found himself daring to sleep on the couch in the backroom of the bookshop. There was a little kitchenette and a bathroom, so he moved out of Anathema's place and started to live in the bookshop itself. In truth, he'd also been feeling a bit in the way in the cottage. Anathema was in the beginnings of a relationship with a lovely young fellow named Newton.
Whenever Aziraphale needed to go up into the flat to collect something, Anathema kindly went with him for moral support. He'd eventually have to pack everything away if he planned to sell the place, but he couldn't bring himself to do that just yet. He hadn't even been able to bring himself to put the place on the market. What if the ghosts really were gone? He'd not seen anything spooky in the flat since, though he still felt nervous whenever he was up there. Perhaps all of the cleansing and the blessing had worked after all.
The more time Aziraphale spent in the bookshop, the more he wanted to keep it. Maybe he could. He could get a flat somewhere else, and who knows, maybe one day the flat above the shop would feel safe enough for him to move back into.
Late one night, Aziraphale was sorting through his finances when he realised with a sinking feeling that he needed a folder of paperwork that was still in the flat. He remembered stuffing it right to the back of his wardrobe. He considered asking Anathema to accompany him, but it was late, and it would be an awfully long journey for her. He didn't want to bother her - and he didn't want to wait an hour for her to arrive either – so he decided to be brave. Nothing spooky had happened up there since the blessing and the cleansing. There was nothing to worry about. In fact, if he went up there alone right now and it all went smoothly it would bring him one step closer to feeling safe in the flat again.
The stairs creaked as he ascended them, and as much as he tried to stay calm, all he could think about was that poor little ghost boy and the picture he'd drawn.
Heart racing, he stepped into the flat. The living room was cold, and his footsteps seemed loud in the silence. It was perfectly safe, he reminded himself as he switched on the lights. Ghosts couldn't hurt him, and they'd all been banished anyway.
He hurried through the living room and down the hallway into his bedroom at the end. It took mere seconds to find the folder he wanted and then he was coming back the way he'd come, his prize tucked under one arm.
He was halfway down the hallway - and feeling rather proud of himself - when the sound of shouting made him stop dead in his tracks. It was loud but muffled, echoing strangely, and although he couldn't make out any of the words he could tell it was coming from the living room.
The only way out of the flat was through the living room.
Aziraphale was trapped.
The door at the end of the corridor was open but his field of vision was so narrow that all he could see was the back of the sofa. He forced himself to creep forward towards the door, terrified of what he was going to see but knowing he had to get out of here.
There, in the middle of the living room was the ghost he'd originally seen in the hallway – the very hallway he was currently stood in. The ghost was facing the window and shouting loudly, his face contorted with rage. Dark mist swirled all around him, and although there was no sign of any devil's horns or a tail like in the drawing, he still looked like a demon that had escaped from the depths of Hell.
The assurances from Agnes and Anathema that ghosts couldn't hurt him and wouldn't even know he was there was little comfort in that moment. Fear had Aziraphale turning towards the front door, planning to make a mad dash for it.
Then he heard the crying.
Aziraphale looked back into the room. The red-headed ghost boy was cowering next to the window, frozen in terror, staring at the demon that was now striding towards him.
The ghost boy darted to the side, trying to get away, but the demon closed the gap between them, grabbed him by the throat and then forced him back against the wall, still yelling in his face.
"No! Let him go!" Aziraphale heard himself cry, a fierce protectiveness flaring inside of him. The thought that these ghosts might be sentient, that this child was being forced to relive this attack over and over again, had him horrified. "Get out!"
Both ghosts turned in unison to look right at him. So they really were sentient, they really could see and hear him. Aziraphale felt dizzy. What was he doing? What if Anathema was wrong and ghosts could hurt the living? He had no idea what this demon was capable of.
But the demon was staring at him with sheer blind terror in his eyes, a sound of panic escaping him. He let go of the child and almost tripped over his own feet in his desperation to get away, his gaze still fixed on Aziraphale. It was so strange to see this monster so afraid of him. The demon ran for the door but faded away into nothing before he reached it.
Aziraphale looked back at the child who was gazing up at him, a look of awe on his face. The child spoke but it was like listening through water, and Aziraphale couldn't make out the words. The boy gave him a huge smile and then slowly faded from sight too.
Tears in his eyes, Aziraphale picked up the folder he'd dropped and then rushed downstairs to call Anathema.
30 years ago. The 1990's.
Crowley was eight-and-a-half years old, and he was currently sat at the living room table happily drawing some flowers using brightly coloured pens.
"I'm going to start dinner now, petal," said Crowley's mother as she got up from where she'd been sat beside him. "Will you be alright for a moment?"
"Yeah," said Crowley, briefly looking up from his drawing. "What are we having?"
"Chicken stew. It's Luci's favourite."
Crowley pulled a face, incredulous. "He's coming over again? But he was here yesterday!"
"Please give him a chance. He's my boyfriend."
Crowley snorted and went back to his drawing. "I don't like him."
His mother sighed. "I know you want me to get back with your father-"
"It's not even about that. I just don't like him. He shouted at you."
"Luci apologised and he even took us out for dinner to say sorry. It was all a silly misunderstanding, and he feels awful about the whole thing."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Lucifer's stupid."
"Anthony, you know how I feel about name calling. He's not stupid, and his name is Luci. Or Lucian."
"Don't care," Crowley said defiantly.
His mother crossed her arms.
Crowley let out a sigh. "I won't call him Lucifer to his face, okay? He'd probably yell at me if I did."
"I'm sure he wouldn't yell at you. You don't want to hurt his feelings, now do you?"
Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug.
There was a knock at the door and Crowley's mother immediately became flustered. "Oh, he's early! How do I look?"
Crowley looked her up and down. "Nice dress."
She opened the door and Luci strode in with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a carrier bag in the other. He gave Crowley's mother the flowers and a box of fancy chocolates from the bag before handing Crowley a paper bag full of sweets.
"Now, what do we say?" his mother prompted.
"Thank you," said Crowley reluctantly.
"You're welcome, champ!" said Luci.
"Only one," Crowley's mother said. "You don't want to ruin your dinner."
Crowley opened the bag. It was full of sour apple drops - one of his favourites - but it was going to take a lot more than that to make Crowley forgive Luci. He took one and then his mum took the bag away.
The two adults wandered off into the kitchen while Crowley sat down and got back to his drawing.
A few minutes later Luci joined him in the living room, sitting down next to him on the sofa. He picked up the remote control and turned on the television. The sound of food being prepared drifted from the kitchen.
"Whatcha drawing, champ?"
Crowley proudly showed him his picture. "S' roses."
"Bit girly," Luci scoffed. "Are you drawing them for your mum?"
"Isn't girly," Crowley argued. "Granddad likes flowers too. He does lots of gardening and I help him whenever I visit. He's got lots of roses."
"Why'd you sign your picture 'Crowley'? That's your dad's name."
"It's my surname too. Everyone calls me Crowley at school. I think it sounds cool."
Crowley decided that his picture needed more swirly vines so he picked up the dark green pen and then removed the lid with a dramatic flourish - perhaps too dramatic because he accidently caught Luci's arm with the nib, putting a green line on his white shirt sleeve.
Luci's face scrunched up in fury. "You little shit. You did that on purpose!"
"Didn't," Crowley gasped. "I'm sorry! It'll wash out, I promise!"
Luci grabbed the pen from him and threw it to the floor. Crowley's lip trembled and then tears started to roll down his cheeks.
"Stop it. Men don't cry," Luci hissed under his breath.
"Yeah they do!" Crowley sobbed. "And you called me a bad word. Mum's gonna be so angry!"
A look of panic crossed Luci's face, but only for a moment. "She won't believe you. She knows you don't like me."
"I'm still telling," Crowley insisted.
"You'd better not. I'm in the mafia, and if you tell her - or if your mum dumps me - I'll send people to hurt you both."
"You're lying. Mum said you work in an office."
"I only pretend to work in an office," Luci said with a grin. "I'm hardly gonna tell her the truth, am I? It's a secret. But it doesn't matter if I tell a kid like you - no one would believe you. You'll still regret it if you do tell anyone though."
Crowley swallowed, too afraid to speak.
The kitchen door opened and Crowley's mum came out. "Anthony, what's wrong? Oh, sweetie, why are you crying?"
Crowley dried his eyes on his sleeve.
Luci patted Crowley's arm. "I told you it's okay, champ. I'm sure it'll wash out." Luci turned to face Crowley's mother. "He accidently got pen on my sleeve."
"Oh, darling," she said gently. "Luci's right. It'll wash out. Remember when you got red pen on your favourite T-shirt? It came out first try!"
"No harm done," Luci said with a sickeningly sweet smile.
"You wanna help me make dessert?" Crowley's mother asked.
Crowley nodded, took her hand and found himself being led into the kitchen while Luci remained on the sofa, remote control in hand.
Once they were alone in the kitchen, Crowley's mother closed the door and then knelt down in front of him.
"Are you okay, petal?"
Crowley nodded.
"What happened? You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm on your side."
"I got pen on him. It was my fault."
"It was an accident, poppet. No one's fault. Did he yell at you?"
"No."
She smiled. "Do you wanna use the whisk?"
"Yeah."
Crowley didn't sleep well that night. He heard his mum and Luci giggling as they went past his bedroom door to the master bedroom. When Crowley finally did drift off to sleep he was awoken again by Luci coming down the hall to use the facilities before returning to the master bedroom again. He wished Luci would go home and never come back.
A week later and Crowley was tending to the potted plant he kept on the living room windowsill. His grandfather had given it to him.
There came a shocked little sound from behind him, and Crowley turned around expecting to see his mother.
Instead, there was a complete stranger – a man – sat on the edge of their sofa. He was glowing white with misty tendrils swirling all around him.
Crowley had barely gotten out his scream before the man was vanishing into nothing.
His mother came running. "Anthony? What's wrong?"
"Saw an angel!"
"What?"
"An angel over there!" Crowley gasped, pointing a trembling finger. "But he's gone now! I'm not making it up, I swear! He was glowing all over with a massive halo!"
"Calm down, darling."
Crowley gasped in horror. "Unless it was a ghost!"
"Hush now. It must have been your guardian angel come to check on you. Once he saw you were safe and sound, he flew back up to Heaven."
"Yeah?"
"Or a trick of the light. Maybe it was the headlights of a car through the window."
"Definitely my guardian angel," Crowley said confidently. "It must have been."
"You were lucky to see him. Most people never get to see their guardian angel."
Crowley considered this. Humans probably weren't allowed to see angels, and that was why his angel had vanished so quickly and why he'd looked so shocked when their eyes met. Crowley hoped his angel wouldn't get into any trouble for accidently being seen by a human.
"Mum, look, I drew my guardian angel."
"Oh, what a sweet little bow tie. Your angel doesn't wear robes?"
"Nah. Angels can wear whatever they like."
Crowley was sat at the kitchen table while his mother made dinner. He put his finished picture on top of the pile of his other drawings and then he started a new one. This time, he drew himself and his mum.
"That's lovely! I like the way you drew my curly hair. How about you add Luci to the picture? I'd love to see how you draw him, and I'm sure he'd like it too."
Crowley did as he was asked. He was trying to act as though he liked Luci now. He didn't want to risk his mother breaking up with him, scared that the mafia would come after them like they were in some sort of Film Noir.
By the time Luci arrived, Crowley had moved on to drawing some ducks on a lake.
"Anthony, show him that picture you did of the three of us," his mother said excitedly.
Crowley pulled the picture out from where he'd buried it at the bottom of the pile. He'd done his best to make the picture of Luci look as flattering as possible, not wanting to accidently offend him.
"That's brilliant, champ! Well done. And I like your picture of the Victorian angel too," Luci added, nodding at the picture on the top of the pile.
"He's my guardian angel. He protects me," Crowley said pointedly. He wanted to add, 'even from the mafia,' but decided against it. Luci wasn't paying much attention now anyway, instead attempting to steal a piece chicken from the pan without Crowley's mother seeing.
That evening, alone in his bedroom, Crowley added devil horns and a tail to his picture of Luci. He stared at the picture, suddenly afraid that his mother or Luci might find it. He folded it up and then hid it at the very back of his built-in cupboard. No one would ever see it, and in time he forgot all about it.
Crowley, his mother and Luci were all watching television one evening when the telephone rang. Crowley's mother got up and answered it. She had a rushed conversation with someone before putting the telephone receiver down on the side table – not back in its cradle. She rushed into the bedroom and then came back with a set of keys.
"I've got the works keys!" she said in a panic to Luci, and then she picked up the receiver. "Yes, I have them! I'm so sorry! I'll bring them right back. Yes. I'll be with you in twenty minutes at most."
Crowley knew she could easily walk to work in fifteen minutes. One of the reasons they rented this flat – apart from the amazing price – was how close it was to her work.
After hanging up, she turned to Luci and Crowley. "Darn it, they were in my blazer pocket! I can't believe it. I need to take them back. They can't get into the filing room otherwise."
"Don't they have any spares?" asked Luci.
"A couple of the supervisors do, but they're not in today."
"Well, can't they go in instead?" Luci asked, sounding annoyed.
"No. I'm sorry. This is my fault, and besides, I can get there faster than anyone else could." She gave Luci a desperate look. "Could you look after Anthony for a little while? I'll be gone no longer than 40 minutes. I'm so sorry about this."
"40 minutes?! Why were the keys even in your pocket?!"
She seemed speechless for a moment. "They have to be on our person at all times."
"Fine." Luci took a sip of his beer. "We'll be okay, won't we, champ?"
"Yeah," said Crowley, though he hoped he wouldn't be alone with Luci for long.
"You can come with me if you want, Anthony? I just need someone to stay here and take the apple pie out of the oven, otherwise I'd suggest we all go together and make an adventure of it."
Luci scoffed. "He'll only slow you down. We'll both stay here."
Crowley didn't want to be left alone with Luci, especially considering he seemed to be a bit grumpy about this whole key situation, but on the other hand, they were already twenty minutes into an episode of Starsky and Hutch, and he absolutely didn't want to miss it. It was his favourite TV show. He hadn't missed a single episode yet. "I'll stay. I'm watching this."
"Are you sure, petal?"
"I'll look after him," said Luci. "We'll be fine."
"Yeah," said Crowley.
"Thank you so much, Luci. The oven will need turning off in ten minutes - don't let Anthony get the pie out himself! The dish is very heavy."
Crowley's mum threw on her coat and then she opened the door. She turned back towards them. "Anthony. Let Luci deal with the pie," she reiterated. "And be on your best behaviour. If you're good, maybe Luci will let you have some pie when it's cooled down."
"Okay, mum."
The second she had gone, Luci grabbed the remote control and started flicking through the channels.
"No!" Crowley cried. "I'm watching it!"
Luci stopped changing the channel, leaving it on the news.
"Nooooo! We're missing the car chase! Turn it back!"
"I'm the adult here so I get to decide what we're watching."
"But you don't even live here! This is my house!"
"Don't you talk back to me like that!"
Crowley was furious. The whole reason he'd stayed behind was to watch his TV show.
Luci crossed his arms. "You shouldn't be watching Starsky and Hutch anyway. It's too camp."
Crowley had no idea what he was talking about. Starsky and Hutch had never gone camping. Unless- Had he missed an episode?
Luci snorted. "Then again, that's probably why you like it."
"No, it isn't!" Crowley shouted. He hated camping. Too many spiders. He grabbed the remote control from the table.
"Oi!" Luci snarled, reaching out and trying to steal it back but Crowley quickly darted out of his way.
Holding the remote control tightly in his hands, Crowley stood with his back to the window but now he was too scared to change the channel. Luci looked angrier than he'd ever seen him. Hoping to calm Luci down, Crowley threw the control towards the sofa and it landed with a soft thud on the cushions.
"Don't throw things at me, you little shit!"
"I wasn't! I was giving it back!"
To Crowley's horror, Luci leapt to his feet and stormed towards him. His face had turned bright red. "There's no discipline in this house! Your mother might let you get away with murder but I won't!"
"M' sorry!" Crowley yelled, tears rolling down his cheeks as he ran. He aimed for the bathroom, wanting to lock himself in there, but Luci caught him by the arm and pushed him until his back hit the wall.
"Let me go!" Crowley screamed. He struggled in Luci's grasp. "Angel! Help me! Mum!"
Crowley let out a shocked gasp as Luci grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.
"Just shut up!" Luci roared.
A bright, white light was shining from the hallway and getting brighter, but Crowley barely noticed, instead focusing on the fact that he couldn't breathe.
"No! Let him go!" a voice rang out, otherworldly and ethereal. "Get out!"
The look of fury on Luci's face morphed into one of abject horror. His grip on Crowley's throat loosened and then he let go entirely. Crowley turned to see who had spoken.
His guardian angel was stood in the hall doorway. He was glowing with a brilliant, divine light, and his eyes were lit with a righteous fury.
"My guardian angel! He's here to save me!" Crowley gasped with glee, rubbing at his throat.
But Luci didn't seem to be listening. He was staring at the angel, his breathing sharp and fast, his skin deathly pale. He ran, almost tripping over his own feet in his desperation to get away.
"You'd better not tell your mafia men to get us, or I'll set my guardian angel on them too!" Crowley shouted as Luci fled down the stairs.
Crowley gazed at his guardian angel in wonder, watching as he slowly faded and then vanished. "Thank you, angel. You're the best."
Crowley rubbed at his throat, dried his eyes on his sleeve, and then bounded over to the sofa. He changed the channel just in time to see a car summersault dramatically through the air.
"Cool!"
Soon, the adverts came on, and Crowley was instantly bored. He went over to the front door - which Luci had left wide open - and briefly considered going down to the antique shop to see if their landlord was there. He was a nice guy, and Crowley's mum would definitely want him to be with an adult. But that would involve not watching Starsky and Hutch. The antique shop was probably closed now anyway, and besides, it was exciting being home alone. Crowley closed and then locked the door, turned around, and then looked for something to do until his show came back on.
His eyes landed on Luci's beer bottle, still on the coffee table. Luci had already drunk half of it but there was still plenty left, and Crowley couldn't resist the temptation. He hadn't had alcohol before - he wasn't allowed - but he was excited to try it. He wiped the top of the bottle with his sleeve and then took a big gulp before instantly spitting it back into the bottle. He started coughing.
"Eww. Gross."
Crowley suddenly remembered the apple pie. It had been fifteen minutes – five minutes too long!
He dashed over to the oven, switched it off and then opened the door. Heat poured out, making him back away but only for a moment. A quick glance told him that the pie wasn't burnt and he let out a relieved sigh, grabbed the oven mitts, and then assessed the situation.
As tall as he was for an eight year old, the counter was quite high, the pie dish did look heavy, and - most importantly of all - his mother had told him not to. Repeatedly. He decided to just leave the door open and let it cool.
Crowley was ever so pleased with himself. He felt confident that Luci would be too scared to ever come back again or set the mafia on them. They were free, and even better, he had the house to himself! He'd never been on his own like this before and he wanted to make the most of it. He was just considering dancing on the coffee table while singing, perhaps even putting Queen on full blast while he was at it, when the adverts ended and his show came back on. He sprawled out on the sofa, immediately enthralled again.
By the time Crowley's mother arrived home, Starsky and Hutch had finished, and Crowley was sat on the floor in front of the open oven, dishing apple pie into a bowl with a spoon.
"Anthony Jay Crowley," said his mother as she came up behind him. "What do you think you're doing?"
Crowley immediately leapt to his defence. "You said I could have some, and you said not to take the pie dish out of the oven myself, which I didn't!" His logic was inarguable.
"Why didn't Luci take it out?" his mother asked, glancing into the living room. "Where is he anyway? Bathroom?"
"He left."
She stared at him. "What?"
"Yeah. He got angry with me. And then he left."
"He left you on your own?!" A fury burned in her eyes which Crowley had never seen before. "That absolute… bad man!" She knelt down in front of him. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Of course."
"What happened?"
"He changed the channel! To the news!" Crowley said heatedly. "Starsky and Hutch was still on so I politely asked him to change it back, but he wouldn't and then he yelled and got angry – and he swore at me! - and then he chased me and grabbed me by the throat-" Crowley's mother made a horrified noise. "But! Then my guardian angel came and scared him away!" Crowley attempted to bat his mother's hand away while she inspected his neck. "Mum, stop it! I'm fine!"
"Are you sure? I can't see any bruises but- Does it hurt?"
"No, mum."
"I should never have left you alone with him," she said tearfully. "I knew he was in a foul mood. But I never thought he'd..."
"Are you gonna dump him?"
"Of course I'm dumping him! He's in big trouble!"
"He told me a secret. He's in the mafia! But don't worry, mum – he knows we have an angel on our side now."
"The mafia? Darling, he's definitely not in the mafia. He works in an office."
"He said he was only pretending to work in an office."
"Oh, he's in so much trouble- He's not in the mafia. He works at the same office as Tracy. Do you remember her office? We went inside once and they gave you a chocolate brownie."
Crowley remembered that brownie well. He nodded.
"Luci lied to you. When did he tell you all of this?"
"When I accidently got pen on him. He got angry and called me a swearword and then he threatened to set the mafia on us if I said anything."
She pulled him into a hug, reassured him, and then helped him with the apple pie. Soon they were sat together on the sofa, each holding a bowl of apple pie.
Crowley's mum grabbed the beer bottle and then looked at Crowley. "Did you drink any of this?"
"...No?"
"It's okay. You can tell me the truth. I won't get mad, I promise."
"I had a sip but it tasted like smelly feet so I spat it back into the bottle."
She laughed and then smiled at him. "Would you like some ice cream with your pie?"
"Yeah!"
She left, taking the beer bottle with her. There came the sound of the contents being poured away down the sink, and then she returned with a tub of ice cream.
"How about we go out for the day tomorrow? Anywhere you want to go."
Crowley's eyes widened. "Anywhere?"
"Within reason," she added with a laugh.
"St James' Park! We can feed the ducks!"
"That sounds perfect."
Modern Day.
Crowley felt a wave of nostalgia as he stood outside of what used to be the antique shop. The sign above the door now read, 'A Z Fell, Books & Bookbinding.'
Ezra Fell must have kept the shop in the family then.
After some amazingly good business decisions and a lot of luck, Crowley had found himself in a position to buy a flat in Mayfair, a particularly affluent part of London. He'd mostly chosen the flat because of the floor to ceiling windows – perfect for his plants – though a part of him simply liked to feel extravagant. Mayfair had always been the most expensive property in a game of Monopoly after all.
He'd moved in a few weeks ago and had just about finished unpacking. The sun was shining today so he'd decided to go for a walk and explore a little. He'd spent a happy afternoon in St James' Park – an old favourite from his childhood – and as he was in the neighbourhood he'd decided to visit the antique shop. He'd wondered if Ezra might still be there and if he would remember him. He'd doubted it. It'd been close to thirty years ago now that he'd lived there, and besides, he'd only lived there for a few years.
Even though the shop had changed hands, the exterior still looked almost exactly the same as he remembered it. It'd even had a fresh lick of paint recently in the exact same shade of burgundy.
He couldn't resist going inside for a nosey, wondering what memories it would stir. He knew he wouldn't be able to go into the flat, of course, but the shop itself still held a special place in his heart and he found himself excited to see what it looked like now.
The bell above the door rang as Crowley stepped inside, and he smiled at the familiar sound, even all these years later.
The shop was beautiful, with vintage furniture and books alike. Crowley felt as though he'd stepped into some decadent Victorian library and was instantly enchanted. He recognised some items from all those years ago - a globe, a grandfather clock, and a table with legs that finished in carved claws that had fascinated him as a child. He stood under the skylight, a circle of pillars all around him, and it felt as though he'd been transported back in time.
Crowley picked up a book and turned it over in his hands while admiring the ornate cover.
"Hallo, my dear. How can I help you?"
Startled, Crowley looked up. A man had appeared in front of him as if out of nowhere, and the sun from the skylight made his platinum blonde hair glow like a halo. Crowley recognised him immediately. The book fell from his grasp as he let out a yelp. "Angel?" he spluttered.
Crowley's face heated with embarrassment. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. This man couldn't be his guardian angel - even if he looked exactly like him, right down to his clothes.
Crowley had put the memories of his guardian angel down to an overactive imagination. Or - if he was feeling generous and a little bit spooky – he believed he'd witnessed a ghost all those years ago. Though a part of him suspected he'd simply drank more of Luci's beer than he remembered, and the entire thing had been nothing more than an alcohol induced hallucination.
"Oops. Sorry," Crowley said with an awkward laugh, bending down to pick up the fallen book in trembling fingers. "You just reminded me of someone I used to know." Feeling ridiculous, he busied himself with returning the book to its shelf. When he finally dared look at the man again he still looked as much like his angel as he had before. He was even wearing the exact same bow tie.
The man was looking at him strangely, his gaze going from his red hair to his amber eyes. "Not to worry," the man said distractedly.
"Thing is. I used to live here. Upstairs in the flat, I mean. It was ages back. Must have been close to 30 years ago now. Does Ezra Fell still work here? He was our landlord at the time. Really nice guy. Thought I'd drop by for old time's sake." Crowley forced himself to shut up. He knew he had a habit of talking too much when he was nervous.
"I'm terribly sorry but Ezra passed away a few months ago. He was my uncle."
"Oh… I'm so sorry for your loss. I was very fond of him. He used to let me play in his antique shop. I used to spin that globe as fast as I could! Heh. Er. Well. I should go. Um. Nice meeting you."
Crowley's heart was racing. He needed to get out of here and pull himself together. He must look like some sort of weirdo. The man already looked uncomfortable. Crowley turned to leave, intending to go home and have a strong drink.
"Wait. You were a child when you lived here? I know it's a terribly strange question but if you don't mind me asking - how old were you when you lived here?"
"Er..." Crowley turned to face him, a strange feeling coming over him. "I must have been about 7 when we moved in, and we lived here for a few years. Why?"
The man swallowed. "Forgive me but… did anything unusual ever happen while you were living here?"
"Unusual?" Crowley felt faint.
There was a look of embarrassment on the other man's face, and he started wringing his hands together. "Like – forgive me – anything spooky? Like ghosts?"
It felt like the ground had dropped away beneath his feet. All he could do was nod. He reached out and prodded the man in the chest, just to be sure. Not a ghost. Not an angel. Just a normal person. Probably. What the Hell was going on?
Crowley drew in a shaky breath. "It was you who scared Lucian away, wasn't it? It was you all along. Holy fuck. It was all bloody real."
"Lucian? Was that the man who attacked you in the living room?"
Crowley nodded, feeling lightheaded. "Yeah. He was my mum's boyfriend. A complete arsehole. You scared him off for good. What the fuck is going on? I mean, it couldn't have been you? It was decades ago!"
"I don't know. I suppose I witnessed events from the past? I've been seeing ghosts – for a lack of a better word – around the flat recently. A man and a boy. I found a drawing of a woman, a boy, and the devil. It made me wonder if one of the ghosts was actually a demon." He let out an embarrassed laugh.
"Wha-? You found that? It was a picture I drew of me, my mum and Lucian, but I added the devil horns later. Everyone called him Luci but I secretly called him Lucifer so… you know."
"And you could see me?"
Crowley nodded.
The man suddenly looked horrified. "Oh, you poor thing! You must have thought I was a ghost! How frightening for a child. I'm so sorry."
"Nnn… no. I thought you were..." he let out an embarrassed laugh. "My guardian angel. Kids, eh?"
The man gave him a hesitant smile. "I'm Aziraphale."
"Hmm. Well, that sounds suspiciously angel-y to me. Just saying."
Aziraphale chuckled. "Religious parents. My brother's name is Gabriel."
"My name is Crowley. What did we look like to you?" Crowley asked curiously. He couldn't imagine ever mistaking Aziraphale for a demon, but then again, his drawing of Lucian must have been an influence.
"You were both shrouded in a dark mist, like you were constantly in shadow. Very spooky. And you kept randomly appearing and disappearing."
"Ah. You were glowing white for me. That's why I thought you were an angel."
They stared at each other for a moment. Crowley broke the silence. "What the hell is going on? This is mad."
"My guess," said Aziraphale, "Is that it's some kind of time travel."
"Weird timey-wimey stuff? Got it. I was seeing the future and you were seeing the past. I suppose that was why we looked different to each other."
Aziraphale nodded. "It would certainly seem so."
Crowley sighed. "Still doesn't make any sense."
"No," Aziraphale agreed. "But I'm glad you weren't a ghost."
Crowley felt his entire world view shift slightly. Time travel - in a manner of speaking - was real, but guardian angels weren't. Oh, he'd not believed in angels since he was a kid, but the possibility that something supernatural had happened to him back then had always excited him.
And it had happened. Aziraphale was real, he was here, and just because he wasn't a literal angel didn't mean there wasn't magic in the air.
"Are you alright, Aziraphale asked, looking concerned.
"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. It's just a lot to take in."
"Are you… religious at all?" There was a worry in Aziraphale's eyes. "Because, well. Nobody gets definitive proof. That's part of having faith."
"Oh. No. Don't worry about that. I've never been religious or anything."
Aziraphale looked relieved. "Thank goodness. Religion isn't my sort of thing either."
"Although," Crowley went on with a grin. "I did believe in angels for an entire summer when my guardian angel kept visiting me."
Aziraphale let out a chuckle, and then he looked pensive. "The last time I saw you was when I frightened Lucian away. Is that the last time you remember seeing me? I've been of the assumption that once I banished that horrible man it was all over. To think, I was so worried that he might be an actual demon! Terribly silly. After all, what kind of demon would be scared of little old me?"
"Oh, I dunno. You had quite the 'righteous fury' thing going on, as I recall. And yeah, that was the last time I saw you. In fact, I only saw you twice. The other time was when I was stood in front of the window and I turned around and saw you on our sofa, glowing away."
"Well, it's a relief to know that it shouldn't happen again, although I'm sure I'd handle it far better now that I know what's going on. But, oh, it did make me jump when you two would randomly appear." He stopped and gave Crowley an earnest look. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Crowley smiled. "Yeah, sure. Why not. Thank you."
Crowley followed Aziraphale into the back room and settled himself on the sofa. They talked over tea and cake about the strange experience they'd shared, and then they talked about all sorts of other things – Aziraphale's uncle, the shop, their lives.
Crowley found Aziraphale fascinating, and he didn't want to part ways, but soon it was getting dark outside.
"D'ya wanna get dinner?" Crowley asked. "My treat. It's the least I can do after I scared you half to death - and after you saved me from Lucifer himself. Anywhere you want to go. "
Aziraphale wiggled excitedly in his seat. "Oh, there's a lovely Italian place around the corner if you'd like to try it?"
"Sure. Sounds perfect."
Aziraphale gave him a fond smile, and Crowley couldn't help but smile back.
"Let's go, angel."
Aziraphale chuckled, a blush colouring his cheeks, and then he led the way to the front door and they were on their way.
As it turned out, it wouldn't be long before Crowley got to see the flat again after all.
End.
Authors Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.
I'd love to hear what you thought was going on. What I'm imagining is something like this:
Witches and magic are real – just like in good Omens itself. Anathema and Agnes are witches, and unbeknownst to Crowley, he is too. He is responsible for the timey-wimey stuff without even realising it.
He was so upset and scared of Lucian, and his emotions were so strong, that his inherent magic automatically kicked in and reached out, a beacon searching for help. It ripped through time and space, found his soul mate in the same building and sought to bring them together. (1990s Aziraphale was still a bit too young and far away, but this one was perfect!)
I imagine Crowley being interested in the occult already, and when Aziraphale introduces him to Anathema, she'll teach him everything she knows.
Obviously, Crowley and Aziraphale fall in love and live happily ever after.
Also, just to confirm, Crowley was right. If you're seeing a 'ghost' from the future, they glow white, and 'Ghosts' from the past are shrouded in shadows.
Spooky Encounters Checklist/matchup:
Aziraphale hears a child crying = Crowley crying after getting ink on Luci and then being threatened by him.
Aziraphale sees a man in the hallway = Crowley is awakened during the night when Luci goes to the bathroom.
Aziraphale sees a child by the living room window = Crowley is looking after his plant on the windowsill, turns around and sees Aziraphale. Assumes he's an angel.
Aziraphale sees a child kneeling on the floor in the reading nook who then puts his arm through the wall = Crowley hides the picture of Luci with devil horns at the back of his cupboard. He then forgets all about it. (And he does a rubbish job of cleaning out his cupboards when they move out.)
Aziraphale sees the man attack the child and is having none of it = Crowley gets saved by his guardian angel!
I'm not entirely sure what actions should be taken if someone attempts to strangle your child but I'm pretty sure it would involve a trip to the police station and the hospital. Perhaps they did that after the apple pie or before going to the park the next day.
Starsky and Hutch!
So originally I wanted Crowley and Aziraphale to be the same age as the actors, which meant Crowley would've been 8 in 1979, and when I think of the 1970s I think of Starsky and Hutch (the TV series, not the recent-ish film)
But then I decided they'd be in their 30s instead but I didn't want to let go of Starsky and Hutch so Crowley is watching repeats, okay? Which is how I first watched it too.
I feel like 8-year-old Crowley would definitely love the Gran Torino that Starsky drives.
Happy Halloween everyone!
