Chapter Text
October 1st 20XX
The Bentley’s wheels screeched in protest to the speed that Crowley slammed the brake, not bothering to pull into his usual parking space outside of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley sat in silence, staring straight ahead, and waited for Aziraphale to get out of the car.
The atmosphere was particularly tense in the car and had been for some time, seemingly nothing in particular had happened to cause the shift in the tone of the lunch they were returning from, it was almost as though something had hit the off switch for Crowley’s ability to at least pretend to be sociable. The lunch ended in a more abrupt manner than Aziraphale had hoped it would, the dessert menu had looked particularly inviting and he was enjoying the demon's company. “I suppose I can’t talk you into coming in for a drink? Tee, Coffee? Perhaps something stronger?” Aziraphale was looking anywhere except for Crowley, tension clear in his voice and in his body language.
This wasn't an unusual offer for the two of them, Aziraphale almost always offered after they’d gone out for a meal, regardless of the time of day. Typically, Crowley had already parked up and was practically already out of the car before Aziraphale even had a chance to ask, but he liked to anyway.
He was a creature of habit, that’s all.
Aziraphale knew he hadn’t done anything wrong and absolutely did not need to apologise. He knew this, but he also knew that if he looked at Crowley in this exact moment he would crumble and apologise for everything and anything under the sun until things were less tense. Crowley hadn’t said a word since they left the restaurant and Aziraphale hated it. “Well… At least let me know once you’re home, dear.”
“If you need anything-” Aziraphale started before giving up when Crowley shot him a look that he didn’t want to read too much into, and got out of the car.
He closed the door carefully behind him, patting the top of the Bentley seconds before Crowley sped away in his usual manner, narrowly avoiding having the car spin out of control as they turned a corner - not that the Bentley would ever let that happen.
Now back at the flat, Crowley kicked off their outer layer of clothes - shoes, jacket and jeans dropped onto the floor by the doorway, dealing with them was a problem for another time, or maybe they’d miracle them away on the way to their room.
He was tired. Bone-achingly tired.
It wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault, and Crowley knew they’d have to apologise (again. why does it feel like they have to apologise so much to everyone lately? They’re a demon, surely they shouldnt be doing this much apologising) eventually, but that was the least of their concerns for today. They needed to go to sleep.
Demons and angels didn’t need to sleep, but sleep was Crowley’s favourite human way of avoiding things. There truly was nothing better for a hard reset of the brain like a good, long sleep. Maybe not a century-long nap this time, though.
Crowley slumped onto his bed, legs hanging half off the edge. He stayed there for at least fourteen hours (who’s counting?), waking with a dull ache in their lower back and the base of their neck and 10 missed calls - 3 voicemails - from Aziraphale. They played the voicemails as they stretched out their muscles and searched for their muscle rub.
"I still don’t really understand answer machines, dear, I wish you would answer so we could talk directly. Are you okay? Did you make it home safe? Give me a ring if there’s anything you need. I’ll try again in a few hours.”
“Crowley, my dear, it seems I have your car keys. I suppose the Bentley is a wonderful little thing and wanted to make sure I knew you were safe. Can you even drive her without the keys? I don’t know if I’ve seen you put diesel in her in quite some time, so I suppose it doesn’t matter really. Well, if you need anything…”
“It’s rather late, are you sleeping? I do hope you’re okay, and that the Bentley’s keys weren’t a distress signal that I’ve missed. It would be quite cryptic of you if it is, but if it were a matter of being subtle… Ah, I’m getting away from myself. I hope you aren’t too upset about lunch today. We don’t have to go back to that restaurant anytime soon if you’d be uncomfortable, my dear. I don’t mind dining there alone, the staff usually are particularly nice, I think today was just one of those days. I’ll leave you be for the night, sleep well.”
Crowley spent the following three days in various states of contemplating fleeing the country (maybe even the solar system) or just going back to sleep. Even going as far as looking at flights to literally anywhere that wasn’t England, they could teleport, but the thought of teleporting and the amount of energy that would expel was not appealing in the slightest, and neither was the idea of getting caught.
Not that he’d been caught before, or that he would really get into trouble if caught by Hell - could probably pass it off as going back to old times, working anywhere and everywhere. but the risk was far too high both for getting caught and causing themselves some kind of injury with teleporting right now.
Crowley’s chronic pain flares and whatever this feeling was seemed to make it harder to do miracles and to teleport, both because it hurt to move sometimes, and because it just took so much effort and energy, They weren’t sure if it was possible, but during a flare up they worried that their corporation wouldn’t be put back together correctly when teleporting or moving through the telephone system as he had that time to get away from Hastur.
Crowley still couldn’t shake the flight-y feeling by the end of the third day inside. The feeling that they would be better off if they ran away from it all began to feel suffocating and it made them feel like they were slowly losing their mind. It felt like the feeling had started to build a home inside the pit of his stomach. He should leave the flat, at least, probably, maybe.
The flat was too empty, too cold, and distinctly lacking in an Aziraphale-shaped presence.
In the bookshop, Aziraphale had spent the last 14 hours, well, dithering. He had contemplated walking over to Crowley’s flat, it would only be a 25 minute or so walk, but it was 4 am and he was supposed to be giving Crowley space (even if he had called 10 times, it doesn’t count if they don’t answer, he decided).
Aziraphale was back to thinking over the lunch that they’d had, it had been the same as every other lunch or meal-related outing they’d had over the years. They’d talked about nothing in particular for a while while they waited for the food, and they were half way through the meal (drinks, in Crowley’s case, except for when Aziraphale offered bites of the dishes that tasted particularly good) when the demon’s mood and the atmosphere in the restaurant completely flipped.
The restaurant was a little busy for the day they’d gone, but there had been no other demons or angels around - at least not to Aziraphale’s knowledge, he had checked a few times after Crowley’s shift in mood - so it couldn’t have been something from Hell or Heaven that had caused the mood change and the sudden cold shoulder Aziraphale had gotten from Crowley.
The only notable thing Aziraphale could think of was a waiter bumping into the back of Crowley’s chair a good few times past what might have been considered accidental, they’d done the same to Aziraphale once or twice but it definitely happened more to Crowley. Was he just mad that it kept happening?
That didn’t really make sense, though. Crowley could have miracled it to stop happening if it was bothering them too much, or they could have swapped seats. Was there something wrong with their miracles?
Even if that had been the final straw for Crowley’s mood, it didn’t really make sense to Aziraphale that it was the whole reason for the sudden change.
Aziraphale mentally combed through the conversations they’d had, and the snippets of conversations that he’d heard from around them, nothing particularly stood out to him as anything that could have possibly caused this situation, either.
He didn't really want to ask Crowley what had happened, just in case it was something he had done and not realised he’d done it, Aziraphale was already dealing with feeling guilty about choosing the restaurant on such a busy day knowing Crowley didn’t really like to be seated in busy places, and wasn’t sure if he could handle the guilt of Crowley’s current spiral being due to something he had said or done on top of that, especially without the demon being here to be comforted and reassured that whatever was said, Aziraphale hadn’t meant it in the way it came across, that he would be more mindful in the future.
Aziraphale was beginning to feel particularly exhausted from thinking about the situation to such length, and perhaps a little dizzy from pacing in a circle for the last three hours. He ultimately decided that unless Crowley told him otherwise he had done nothing wrong ( communication, definitely something the both of them are good at, right? Not at all terrible at it.) , and that the best course of action was to wait it out until Crowley showed up again. In the meantime, he was going to repair some books he’d been putting off dealing with and listen to some music until it was time to open the bookshop.