Work Text:
Aziraphale sighed and smoothed down his vest, trying to keep his wits about him as customers, actual customers, roamed around his shop.
He guessed it was technically his shop, it was really owned by a pair of very nice young ladies who went to university locally and had just all of a sudden won a six-months cruise to the Bahamas and needed someone to mind it while they were away. And Aziraphale had just happened to be there and offered his services.
The downside was he actually had to sell the books the ladies had in their shops, and while most of the books he was all too happy to get rid of (‘Modern classics my foot.’ Aziraphale had scorned flipping through a book with a similar cover to every other book in the series, labeled ‘spicy’ by some of the patrons) others he tried his damndest to hold onto. But nonetheless there was more foot traffic than empty days, and Aziraphale was slowly learning to let go.
The supreme archangel sat in his chair sitting by the open window, looking out into the rainy streets of Edinburgh. Rainy days meant less customers, which meant more peace but sadly more chances for him to think. He fingered the top of his mug, letting his thoughts drift as people passed the shop on the sidewalk under umbrellas or with their jackets over their heads, wondering if he was doing the right thing, and if going about it alone was his brightest plan to date.
But who could he trust? Surely no one from Heaven, especially after the stunts he pulled and then hiding off in disguise while trying to prevent the Second Coming.
He hadn’t regretted leaving that day, two years ago. He knew he had to; he would always sacrifice his happiness over the Earth’s anytime, and when trumpet called, he answered. But trying to stop the Second Coming was tricky, the Metatron kept an eye on him to the point where he had no privacy in Heaven and if it wasn’t him, it was Michael or Uriel who kept dropping off paperwork and keeping him busy, and in the dark, about things happening. Truth to be told he wasn’t doing much in regards to actually planning the Second Coming, just a lot of paperwork that seemed to never end. It’d been only one random meeting back in, time passed so slowly in Heaven but Aziraphale assumed March, when Metatron announced they were ready for Jesus to come back to Earth and they needed someone to mind the Book of Life until he was ready to start the Second Coming.
Aziraphale offered almost immediately. That same day (night? afternoon? There was no way of knowing) he had cloaked himself in a powerful miracle and then left Heaven to hide the Book of Life.
It was rough, Aziraphale couldn’t go back to his old life in Soho, to his old bookshop, although he was sure Muriel was running it splendidly. He wasn’t even sure if he could trust Nina and Maggie, them being only humans would have no way in properly hiding him, and they were probably overdue with giving him a scolding for messing around in their personal lives. The only one he could trust, and could form a plan with, didn’t want to be found.
Aziraphale jumped at the sudden tears burning in his eyes. He took off his small glasses and rubbed them away, trying to calm himself down. Crowley had made no attempt at finding him or seeking him out in the few months he had been back on Earth. And Aziraphale, ever the gentlemen, did not try to seek the demon out as well out of respect for him. After all, how could he? After the way things were left? Aziraphale slowly let his hand drift to touch his lips, feeling the burn of the kiss Crowley left him with two years ago spread over the soft flesh like a blanket.
It was all he ever wanted. It was all he ever dreamed about since the church bombing and after they saved the world the first time. He wanted to kiss Crowley with the same passion as the protagonists kissed their lovers in his books, he wanted to dip him and snog him so deeply that if they weren’t supernatural beings they’d have to come up for air. He wanted to close his bookshop for days, weeks even, and show the demon how much he adored him, how much he wanted him, how much passion he had built up in the 6,000 years they were mismatched together.
But Crowley didn’t sense, nor care, that Aziraphale was back on Earth. It seemed like that door to happiness was closed forever.
“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpered, letting his hand drop. More people passed on the sidewalk, he tried to pretend he didn’t feel a pang of hurt watching a couple walk by his window, so engrossed in one another the rain didn’t bother them. “Why can’t we move past this? We never let anything come between us before.”
Then again , a bitter voice in the angel's head that sounded suspiciously like Michael sneered, you two didn’t kiss before .
Aziraphale waved that thought away with a huff before the bell over the door to the shop jingled, signaling a customer had just come in. The supreme archangel debated whether or not he had a good hiding place so he could ignore them and they’d hopefully go away when he gasped.
Over the shelves he could spot a tuft of red hair, jostled red hair that was in a style Aziraphale heard described as ‘retired rockstore’ many times when he was walking with Crowley at the park.
Crowley!
Aziraphale jumped up so fast his chair nearly clattered to the ground. Crowley had come to seek him out at last! Oh he knew he would, he never lost faith that he would! The angel quickly hurried to the front of the store to greet his demon, a thousand thoughts running through his head.
They’d bicker and argue, Crowley would be petty of course, maybe he’d leave but he’d come back in a little while because that’s just how Crowley was. There’d be tears and wine, lots of wine, but they’d make up and Aziraphale would confess his true feelings to the demon and Crowley would hopefully do the same. Then they’d come up with a plan to stop the Second Coming and it’d be just like old times! Side-by-side defending the world their side . Aziraphale was almost wiggling as he rounded the corner of a bookshop, making it to the front.
“CROWLEY-” Aziraphale shouted but in a flash felt like he was soaked in cold water.
Crowley-or the customer as the angel was quickly to discover-glanced up from the book they were reading and raised a brow over their thick glasses. They were dressed in gray jeans, a gray dress shirt with a black vest over it, and a black suit coat with an umbrella tucked under their arm, a Crowley-like outfit but not his outfit.
And their eyes. Aziraphale felt the tears coming to his own again. Their eyes were a warm brown, not like the fierce and soft yellow eyes he had fallen in love with.
“Oh I’m sorry.” The customer began shutting the book. “It’s just, the rain is getting worse out there and I needed a spot to wait while my husband finishes work. This is a nice bookshop you got here.”
Aziraphale cursed himself for feeling such grand hope and he shook his head, trying to stop the tears from falling. It wouldn’t look good crying in front of an actual customer, even if he felt his world crumbling in front of him. “It’s alright.” Aziraphale said sullenly, trying to keep his breathing even. “S-Stay as long as you wish. If you need me, I’ll be in the back taking stock.”
The supreme archangel turned on his heel and tried to quickly hurry away when the customer called out again. “Y’know I really like this one.” They announced making Aziraphale turn his head. They held a copy of Persuasion up to the shopkeeper, not well-read or battered like his own back in the bookshop, but with one of those more modern covers that tried to appeal to the youths. “Can you imagine being forced to leave the love of your life because your family disapproves? Jane was really onto something there.”
“Yes. Yes she was.” Aziraphale managed to choke out before his voice completely broke. “Between diamond robberies.” He couldn’t hold it in much longer, with a sob Aziraphale rushed to the back, leaving the poor customer confused holding the book.
“Lord, I hope it wasn’t anything I said.” The customer muttered while opening the book again.
Aziraphale barely made it to the back before collapsing on his knees in front of his chair, the tears burning down his face as the painful memories from the past two, and some from the last 6,000, came rushing to the surface, only managing to clap a hand on his mouth before letting out a painful, and mournful wail.
The topic of conversation in Edinburgh, namely around the bookshop and in town that day, was how hard it rained down that day. It was like the angels were weeping.