Good Omens: The Bachelor Party (Aziraphale x Crowley)

Chapter Two: Bebop

The next two weeks passed without much trouble. Crowley took him to lunch almost every day and always asked for his input for the guest list, what drinks to serve, and if there should be food. In the end, Aziraphale let the demon talk him into a more private location: one of the event Victorian-era houses off Greek Street. However, he didn't know how private it would be with Crowley in charge of the guest list.

The angel did make sure Newt's family was invited; Anathema had been courteous enough to provide a list of names and numbers for the occasion. As it turned out, the fellow did have some cousins that wanted to attend the party.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley that evening as they walked. The cold wind sliced through their layers of coats, enough for the angel to start radiating a bit of heat as they still had a few blocks to go. He still wasn't sure why Crowley had insisted that they walk. It was most definitely the wrong time of year for a stroll, but it was only five blocks away from his bookshop. Perhaps, he worried about someone scratching up the Bentley and didn't want to explain to Anathema why he'd terrorized one of Newt's cousins if it turned out to be one of them.

Either way, it had become increasingly hard to tell if Crowley seemed excited or apprehensive about the bachelor party. Aziraphale had no idea why he would be worried. A few friends, a few drinks, and probably—hopefully—food. As long as the young man didn't touch anything expensive and electronic, there shouldn't be any reason for the evening to be unpleasant.

Crowley inched closer as they walked, and his shoulder brushed against the angel. Aziraphale glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He'd hunched more with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Aziraphale let his warm radiate a bit more and eased an arm around the shivering serpent.

Crowley tensed for a fraction of a second, then slid both of his arms around the angel. "Thanks," he hissed.

Aziraphale had to keep an eye on the walkway as Crowley buried his head into his shoulder, shielding his face from the chilling breeze. He probably would've shifted into his more serpentine form if they weren't almost there.

The angel stepped them over the curb and paused. The thumping pulse of music echoed out into the night as lights stretched out across the sky almost as though to reach Heaven itself.

Aziraphale slid his tongue across his teeth. "Crowley."

"Hmm?"

"When you said a private party, did you mean only the residence of London would be invited?"

Crowley lifted his head from the angel's shoulder. "Well, I mean, some of his cousins aren't from London, so no, I guess."

Aziraphale released his arm from around the demon and sighed at the sight before them. The four-story Victorian dwelling had been consumed by lights and people that poured into the front door.

"Is that a man with a tiger?"

Crowley blinked in that direction, then nodded with a smile of recognition. "Yeah, that's Jim."

"Jim?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. "Jim, the tiger man? How do you even know a man with a tiger?"

Crowley shrugged and thrust his hands in his pockets again. "Well, Jim comes to all my parties. You know, 'relax,' 'live a little,' 'ride the tiger.'"

"I don't think anyone meant that literally, my dear. And I don't believe that is an actual coin of phrase either."

"Oh, yeah, well. Would be bloody rude to send him home now."

"I suppose." Aziraphale steeled himself for the next few hours of chaos ahead of them. He should've expected this, and to some degree he had; however, a bigger part of him worried if this was what they could see on the outside, then what in Heaven's sake did he have going on inside the party. Aziraphale stepped forward. "There's Newt. Let's go be good hosts. What's done is done, Heaven help us."

"No need to get those bastards involved. It'd be a complete buzzkill, angel."

"I suppose with only two weeks to plan this, I'll admit that I am a little impressed."

"There's the spirit—"

"Oh, this is not over, you wily serpent. We shall discuss this at length at the bookshop. For now, let us try to rein in some of this before we find ourselves kicked off the guest list at the wedding."

"Alright, fine," Crowley huffed and followed him as they made their way to the terrified Newt, who stood gawking at the sizeable dazzling spectacle in front of him.

The inside of the house wasn't quite as chaotic as Aziraphale had feared. There was horrible bebop music and equally disturbing dancing happening on the first floor. The second level appeared to be set up as a bar, where Aziraphale was glad to find a refreshing glass of scotch waiting for him. Crowley was introducing Newt to people the entire time, and some were human acquaintances, some were entertainers of sorts with music or card tricks, which had put the angel into a delightful mood upon meeting; then, there were a number of bartenders, waiters, and chefs who greeted Crowley with enthusiastic handshakes and broad smiles.

"Well," Aziraphale mused to himself. "I can't be too surprised that no one knows how to pull together last-minute soirée like a demon." He sipped his drink as they climbed the stairs to the third floor.

Two rows of tables lined the middle of the room with what appeared to be most of Newt's family and actual friends gathered around talking to one another. Aziraphale spied Sargent Shadwell in a corner, discussing his latest witch hunt with two others, who he presumed was the young man's relatives. They had similar appearances and gave the Sargent the same vacant, yet slightly terrified expression that Newt himself wore on many occasions. He seemed to be wearing it at that moment, in fact.

Aziraphale sighed and sat in one of the empty seats at the first table. He wished he'd brought along a book or wished it wouldn't be terribly rude to read. Though, that might not deter him for long. Crowley glanced his direction, then gave him a soft smile. It was one that the angel had seen before. One that was reserved for himself alone.

The demon made his way back to him and sat down. "What's wrong, angel? It's a party. You're supposed to have fun."

"I know, my dear. It's just quite noisy and crowded. I don't even recognize the music or dancing. And it is most certainly not something I could dance to with the gavotte."

Crowley leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I may be a demon, but I didn't make this party to torture you, my angel." He snapped his fingers, and a pair of young men sat down at the table with them.

Aziraphale brightened, recognizing them instantly. "Oh, my goodness. I can't believe..." He whipped his head back at Crowley. "Are they? Are they really?"

Crowley winked and stood from the table. "Flew them all the way from Las Vegas. You've got about an hour before their performance tonight, angel. Use it wisely."

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat and glance back at the pair of men as question after question sprung from his mind. "Oh, dear. This is so exciting. Please could you, I mean, would you teach me one or two of your tricks."

The quiet one nodded with a showman's grin and pointed at his partner.

The taller of the two gave the angel a dazzling look before saying, "So, I hear you like coin tricks."

Aziraphale knew his night had just become one he would never forget, even if the real entertainment had yet to begin.