Work Text:
Crowley was loitering in the shop, idly poking at a pile of books while Azirpahale was occupied with something. Business. What a waste of time.
Boring, not even a picture on the cover, boring -
"Angel!" he sang out. "What kind of pulp are you collecting these days? 'A woman wailing for her demon lover,' this says on the back, bold as anything."
"Hmm?" Aziraphale bustled over and picked it up. "Oh, this one. Yes, the allusion got my attention as well but it's not about that at all. The demon does most of the pining and wailing in the end."
"Such nonsense," Crowley managed.
Mortals were writing about lovelorn demons now? That sort of thing gave entirely the wrong impression. The occasional demon who wasn't entirely on board with Hell's approach, that was one thing. Showed they saw demons as free thinkers, fit right in with the rather flattering Satanic Temple nonsense. He had no problem with that sort of story.
Pining, though. Nothing like as complimentary.
"Oh, quite," Aziraphale said. "The ideas some humans have! Why, somewhere around here..." he turned slowly, frowning at the bookcases to either side. "...when did I see that last?"
After a minute or two of muttering he gave a satisfied hum and grabbed two fat paperbacks. "Just look at these!"
Crowley obliged. On one book, a very stiff sort of angel with her head in her hands, standing in front of a - water tower? Knobby pyramid? On the other, a muscular figure with black wings and a wrap that only covered his face and crotch.
"What - what are these then? Going for rather different styles, aren't they, her all covered and him a second away from losing that cloth?"
"Oh, they're ridiculous, my dear. The covers are only the start."
Crowley handed him a glass, keeping one back for himself.
"...thank you?"
"Struck me as a conversation that deserves a drink, that's all."
"Mmn! I quite agree. They're quite fascinating. Why, these angels are simply obsessed with breeding with humans."
He set his glass down with a click.
"Not like that! Or, well, yes, but it's having children they're particularly keen on. And then there's this bit about their god - perhaps the intermediary to their god? - being an ancient spaceship? The theology is rather confused."
"Don't know if humans are reading them for the theology or the fucking, angel."
Aziraphale frowned. "I suppose, but it would be a rather distracting backdrop."
There was no steering this conversation. It was some kind of sailboat and Aziraphale was the wind; the trick was to hold on and not capsize and work things out once he'd stopped. Crowley did not feel much more confident on this metaphorical boat than he would a physical one.
"Oh?"
"There's clearly something to it. It comes up in this sort of book often enough -"
Were the other apocrypha he'd bragged about like this? Just a tiny bit of speculation about the ethereal and occult smashed in the gaps around love stories and sex and whatnot?
"- this fascination with spaceships, with gods as creations of their ancestors left to watch over them and slowly malfunction like, oh, those fragile little phones they have lately."
"Suppose you can't blame them. Both sides are so out of touch they might as well look for guidance in a, a broken phone."
"Mmmn." Aziraphale's gestures finally calmed. So worked up over these little puzzles, his angel. "The spaceships though, the spaceships -"
"Spaceships are just cool, adding those in is clear enough."
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" He smiled. Perhaps a bit condescendingly, but that was Aziraphale.
"Go on, tell me about the spaceships then."
Aziraphale dropped onto the couch beside him. "Let me find the bit. It starts well into this one, I think."
"Take your time," Crowley told him. "We've got nowhere to be."