[Good Omens] Envy the Subtle Serpent

Chapter Two

At lunch, Crowley tried again to justify his almost-attack on the American, and once again Aziraphale shut him down, only this time over a glass of Chateâu Lafite. Apparently his self-defense argument was incredibly flimsy when one considered the fact that the library director was a fragile human and Crowley an immortal demon. According to Aziraphale, he could not claim to have been afraid for his life, no matter what size or shape his vessel had taken in the moment, because the human hadn't intended him any harm. Crowley disagreed quite vehemently. The sheer number of times Aziraphale had almost been discorporated by innocent, fragile humans should have proven his point in one.

After paying for the meal they parted ways, and Crowley went straight home to sulk. He took the stairs up to his flat for the simple pleasure of stomping on them, and in case the noise wasn't enough to piss off his neighbors he broke the elevator for good measure. Once inside, Crowley slouched in the doorway and snapped his fingers. Every last set of drapes in the flat whisked themselves shut in an instant, creating the shadowy ambiance of a sterile crypt.

In the bedroom Crowley set his mobile on high volume and placed it carefully beside his pillow. On the off-chance that Aziraphale called to apologize, Crowley wanted to be able to consciously ignore it, or at the very least wait until the last ring to pick up. With a final complicated gesture, he miracled a summer thunderstorm outside the window and crawled under his duvet to hibernate for the foreseeable future.

Tuesday morning rolled around and Crowley stirred. The knowledge that he was meant to do something today rattled around in his brain like an empty tin can on a moving bus. He chased the thought lazily, and recalled that Aziraphale had suggested weeks ago that they travel to the not-so-distant village of Ashwell for a parade. Moaning into his pillow, Crowley cursed his impeccable internal clock and started to get up.

Dragging himself out of bed was a challenge. When he finally managed to stand he felt weighted down, as though with every step he was wading through a pool of neck-deep water. A shot of espresso from the machine in the kitchen cleared some of the residual sludge, and after miracling his clothes clean and his hair decent Crowley left the flat in favor of the bookshop. On his way out of the building, he bypassed the out-of-order notice for the elevator and regained a slight spring in his step.

The little sign in the shop's front window was turned to CLOSED when Crowley arrived, but the door unlocked under his touch. He found Aziraphale tucked away at his workbench near the back, carefully peeling stickers off an old book with an extremely small spatula. The smell of the liquid adhesive remover wrinkled Crowley's nose as he approached.

"Morning, angel."

Aziraphale jumped in his seat as Crowley poured himself into the closest chair. "Goodness, I didn't hear you come in! Good morning. Excited for the parade?" Crowley grunted noncommittally as the angel turned back to his project. "I'm almost finished up here, and then we can get going."

In an effort to get him into the spirit of things, Aziraphale launched into a detailed description of the parade's history and an itinerary for the day. Their argument on Friday might as well not have happened for all it mattered now, and not for the first time Crowley felt a little foolish for putting as much effort into sulking as he had. Azirapale obviously hadn't thought about it, or him, at all over the weekend, which was probably for the best. Crowley already felt embarrassed enough without the angel knowing the extent of his hurt feelings. As Aziraphale prattled on Crowley relaxed and scrolled listlessly through his phone, humming and hawing where appropriate to project the impression that his attention was not as rapt as it really was. Aziraphale knew better, of course, but Crowley had an image to maintain.

The peace of the morning was abruptly shattered by an incoming call on the bookshop's ancient rotary telephone. For a moment they stared at it in shocked silence, then turned to one another.