I thought I'd try something light-hearted here. I might do a second part but it really depends what people think of this.
It had been a whole week since Armageddon. A week is far too long for a demon, even one who has lived for six thousand years. Crowley was bored. Aziraphale had been busy, cataloguing books, so he had had nobody to talk to. He slumped around the flat, searching for things to do. He didn't even have a job now. He had never thought he would miss temptations so much. It seemed like the perfect time to do something stupid.
Eventually Crowley decided to look it up. It always worked for the humans after all. Having scrolled through endless pages of five-minute crafts, cooking projects and walking routes he found something good. Looking at the page, a sudden image popped into his mind. Him and Aziraphale, crossing Europe in the Bentley, visiting interesting places, historical sites, beautiful views, nice food. A matter of seconds later, the demon was cruising the streets of London at one hundred and twenty miles an hour, on the way to a certain corner bookshop.
…
Aziraphale was more receptive to Crowley's idea than the demon had though he would be. Maybe it was because Aziraphale had been looking through his travel guides again. There was just one condition. He wanted to stop in France.
"We could go to Reims, dear! It's the 'unofficial capital of Champagne'" he quoted a book he was holding. It had a bright cover which read, 'Food Capitals of Paris'.
"Choose one place in France angel, because I have plenty of better ideas."
They finally agreed that Aziraphale could go to Reims and he could choose a few more places. But Crowley was driving, and that put him in charge.
"You're not going to take us to any war zones or anything?" asked Aziraphale apprehensively.
"Of course, not angel, they're no fun," scoffed Crowley, before scowling as Aziraphale gave him a 'I knew you were a nice person' look.
Calais
"I'm not taking the ferry angel."
Crowley was starting to regret bringing Aziraphale along. Not only had the angel insisted on brining what appeared to be his entire bookshop with him, he now wanted Crowley to travel by boat. Boats reminded Crowley far too much of his brief attempt at being a pirate, which was not an experience he wanted to relive.
"But I bought us tickets."
"I'll bet you paid and everything."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. Two tickets appeared in his hand.
"Well so did I angel. For the Eurotunnel."
"The what?"
"It's a train which goes under the English Channel."
Aziraphale blanched. Small dark spaces were not really his thing. But Crowley was at the steering wheel, which meant he was going down into the darkness.
…
They pulled out of the train not forty minutes later.
"And that," Crowley grinned, showing Aziraphale his watch, "is why the ferry is an utter waste of time."
"But Crowley dear," Aziraphale pointed out, not unreasonably, "We literally have all the time in the world."
Crowley was quiet. He scowled at the angel for what must have been the fourth time in the last hour.
A Random French Motorway
"This is worse than the M25," remarked Aziraphale.
Crowley didn't answer, his head was resting on the steering wheel and his eyes were closed. Suddenly the traffic began to move again. Very slowly.
"We're moving! We're moving!" Aziraphale squeaked.
They moved sluggishly for about a metre, before coming to a stop.
"Maybe we should stop at a service station," suggested Aziraphale, because Crowley was looking murderous. He gave a discreet wave in the direction of the side of the road, "look dear! There's one in fifty yards."
…
Crowley was finishing his coffee when Aziraphale came and sat next to him, looking disgruntled.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
"You have to pay to use the lavatories here!" Aziraphale exclaimed.
"Why'd you go then?"
"It's part of the Road Trip experience," Aziraphale, fishing a book out of his tartan carpet bag and sliding it across the table toward Crowley.
Crowley surveyed it with mild horror.
"One hundred things you must do on a road trip?"
Aziraphale beamed.
"And using a toilet at a service station is one of them? Trust me angel, whoever wrote this has signed a contract with some kind of travel industry."
Aziraphale looked confuse and Crowley laughed. Aziraphale had been right, stopping at the services had definitely cheered him up.
Reims - France
"Aziraphale," Crowley called into the back of the Bentley, which had grown to the size of a minibus, "Aziraphale."
Aziraphale dragged his eyes away from a brightly coloured picture of a gorgeous lake, in one of his many guidebooks.
"Where?" he asked.
"In Reims,"
"Really?" Aziraphale looked as though all his dreams had come true.
He bounced out of the Bentley like a plump, blond grasshopper.
"Where shall we go first?"
…
The guide led them into a dark, quiet cellar. In there were several enormous barrels of Champagne. The guide started to tell an enraptured Aziraphale about the history of the Champagne house, while Crowley inspected the barrels. He had only come for the tastings but Aziraphale had been desperate for a tour, and since this was his part of the trip, Crowley had complied.
They wandered through the dark corridors for several more hours, by which point even Aziraphale's enthusiasm was waning, and Crowley had resorted to leaping out as tourists from behind barrels, after taking his sunglasses off.
When they finally emerged into the light, blinking like moles, Aziraphale looked exhausted, and the tourists looked terrified.
"Who would have thought holidays could be so tiring?" pondered Aziraphale.
Crowley was studying an information plinth.
"According to this, we just walked six miles of underground tunnels," he said.
Aziraphale uttered a faint moan and looked worriedly at his new shoes. They really weren't made for walking and he didn't want the leather to stretch to much.
…
Several more hours later they emerged from the tasting in much better spirits. Aziraphale attempted a complicated tap dance on the pavement and promptly crashed into a lamp post while Crowley laughed so much he had to lean on the wall for support.
They walked back to the hotel they were staying in, making a quick stop so that Aziraphale could see the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Reims.
"Who's that?" asked Crowley, pointing to an angel carved into the Cathedral.
He was hopping from foot to foot as the consecrated ground stung his feet but had insisted on coming in with Aziraphale.
"It's called the smiling angel," Aziraphale replied huffily, "though I must say, it's a terrible likeness."
Crowley stared at the angel, and then Aziraphale in astonishment before commenting,
"Yes. It really is."
Nuremburg - Germany
"Why did you bring us here Crowley?" asked Aziraphale angrily.
"It's an important historical site." Crowley shrugged.
"You know the second world war was a terrible time for me," Aziraphale said, "all that business with those German spies, and I nearly lost my books."
Crowley's slight smile gave a hint of why the second world war might not have bought back the worst memories for him.
They looked out over where people would have stood once for the Nuremburg rallies. Aziraphale realised Hitler must have stood on this platform once and shivered. The whole place had a grim feel. He looked around for Crowley then spotted him hopping down the enormous steps to read an information plinth. He hurried after him.
"You know," said Aziraphale, quoting yet another guidebook "they used eagles as symbolism. It was the symbol of the romans. The greatest empire in history."
"Hmm."
Crowley seemed very interested in the wall. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder.
"Crowley!"
"What?"
Aziraphale read out the piece of fresh and definatley illegal graffiti which had appeared on the wall.
"'Crowley was here'. You could have come up with something more original at least."
"Why don't you have a go?"
Aziraphale frowned disapprovingly at him.
"Take it off."
"Why? It was in your book."
"I beg your pardon?"
Crowley flipped to page twenty-four.
"Leave something for your holiday destination to remember you by. Come on angel, what is this book?"
"It didn't mean graffiti and you know it," Aziraphale said.
But Crowley, having made his point and spread his mischief, had sauntered off.
Prague – The Czech Republic
"Where are we now?" asked Aziraphale grumpily. He still hadn't forgiven the graffiti.
"Prague." Crowley called into the back of the Bentley, "I've got somewhere to show you."
Aziraphale looked apprehensive as they walked silently up a large hill.
"Here we are," said Crowley as they stopped beside a wall, over which flowers were tumbling in a waterfall of colour.
He led Aziraphale to a gate and opened it. they were on a gorgeous rooftop terrace, which overlooked the beautiful rust red roofs of the city. The aged copper roofs of the churches stood out green against the sea of red. The lights of the city were just starting to turn on, and soon the view would shine like the night sky. Around them were chattering people, enjoying a delicious meal in the sunset.
Aziraphale and Crowley looked out over the sunset in silence until the food came.
"It's soup in bread!" Aziraphale was wildly excited.
"Yeah," Crowley tried to look as excited as Aziraphale, "they serve their soup in bread here."
"Where did you find this place?"
"Oh, you know," Crowley shrugged, "I was just over here for a temptation."
"I suppose that proves it then," Aziraphale murmured, looking out over the city again, "Good things really can come of bad intentions."
Crowley didn't bother frowning at the angel. As long as Aziraphale wasn't angry with him anymore.
They sat and talked until the night had come. But Prague shone bright beneath them as they sat on the rooftop terrace, looking out over the world.
They walked back to the Bentley in the darkness. Aziraphale quoting his guidebook (which had appeared out of nowhere at some point during their meal) about the architecture of the buildings, and Crowley smirking as he raised cobblestones on the street so they would trip people up. It had been a good night. But there was more to come.