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Couldn’t snow proper. No that would be too picturesque. Instead London did as London does and was in the middle of an ice storm. Now generally the demon Crowley was all for the mayhem and the general low grade malcontent of a good ice storm. Fender benders 10 cars long, the people sliding past the bookshop windows hilariously flailing their arms in an attempt to remain upright, bonus points if they threw their coffee in the process.
Today though he and Aziraphel were stuck in post-show traffic after a performance at Royal Albert Hall (Aziraphale's idea, Crowley's treat.) He was more worried about the idiots around him and getting them back to his Mayfair flat in one piece. He had plans dammit. Plans that involved the Angel sitting on his left. Plans that involved the angel, dinner, and maybe possibly the culmination of a millennia of unsaid things.
He was going to actually cook things! The wine was chosen, and the plants had gotten a thorough “talking” to before he left that morning. They were to be at their best and most verdant, (Crowley’s plants needn’t be told twice.) And the words. The words had been chosen. Had been chosen for years over and over and over again. Edits made through history of course. Don’t spill it all at once. Maybe try to phrase it in a way that doesn’t make you look like a pathetic sack of emotion. Most importantly don’t go too fast. Ha! Well they certainly weren’t going too fast now were they? No of course not. Not now that he had finally, finally - fuck.The ice was growing thicker by the minute as was the traffic jam. Crowley slammed his hand against the steering wheel and let out a long and colourful line of expletives.
Aziraphale sighed, “They’re just being careful and frankly you should too. It would do us no good to get discorporated now.”
He was looking at Crowley with an edge more concern in his eyes than what his driving normally elicits. "Who knows if they’d ever give us new bodies and then where would we be? That dear Miss Tracy had been so accommodating but I’d really rather not have to possess another host for what could be an indeterminate amount of time.”
Crowley grumbled something indistinguishable as they inched forward. He'd taken on the forces of heaven and hell for Aziraphale. What makes him think he wouldn't do it again? Do whatever it took to keep him next to him fussing over his reckless driving?
There was an accident blocking the exit off the motorway and now cars were being directed slowly through a detour. It’s not fair. Not like much in his life up to this point had been. To be expected really.
“Bugger this.” Crowley eased off the pavement that was doing its best impression of a skating rink and started towards the shoulder. If he could drive the Bentley through fire he could surely coax it into some minor off roading to get around the gits impeding his progress.
“Crowley what are you doing? Surely you don’t mean to…” Aziraphale cut himself off with a yelp as the Bentley careened around traffic and then promptly lost traction and slid into the ditch below.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” each curse was punctuated by a fist on the dash that had Aziraphale less worried about their predicament and more worried about his friend’s mental state. The angel reached across the distance to lay a comforting hand on Crowley’s arm.
“It’s going to be okay. Nothing we can’t miracle away right? We've got plenty of time and nowhere to be.” He tried for a calming smile but Crowley was having none of it.
“No, you don’t understand angel. I have - we have - we had plans!” Crowley growled gripping his hands into his steering wheel. Something tight to hold onto. “Emphasis on had.”
“Plans?” Aziraphale was confused. He didn’t know of any plans besides those which they were coming back from. Of course he hoped Crowley would stay at the book shop for drinks and maybe some take out but he always guiltily hoped for that.
“Yeah well, I guess it doesn’t matter much anymore” he grumbled. It was stupid anyway. Why is he even mad? It’s not like they had reservations anywhere. It’s nothing that can’t be pushed back. They’re immortal. They have all the time in the world for Satan’s sake! But it’s not about that is it? Crowley had a plan and time table and now it wasn’t happening like he planned and what if nothing happens like he planned? What if all goes up in big steaming pile of goo? What if what if what if?
The anxiety was settling in his chest and the breath he didn’t even really need was starting to come out short and labored. In through the nose out through the mouth try to slow down your racing brain. Don’t spiral. Not in front of him.
“Crowley dear would you look at me please?” Aziraphale gave his arm a gentle squeeze and that seemed to bring him back enough to turn his head towards the angel. “What is it that’s so important you would risk the Bentley for?” He was going for light hearted but the smile he was forcing didn’t actually reach his eyes which were still brimming with concern.
“S’nothing. You’re right.” The sigh that escaped him was heavy with resignation He turned away and started to pat himself down as though he was looking for something. His sanity perhaps? Phone in pocket. Keys still in the ignition. Steering wheel in front of him. Foot on the pedals. It took him a minute but he finally felt grounded enough to carry on.
“No hurry for anything angel. What’s a few more hours to us yeah?” His voice feigned control and confidence. His long fingers trembled only slightly as he reached for the keys to start the car back up. Aziraphale's soft touch and comforting smile managed to creep its way into Crowley's determined anger. Because he was right. They had all the time they needed now. Life wasn't spilling out of his hands like so much sand on the beach. They had forever and there was always tomorrow.