#you guys all saw how aziraphale was adamant about not going to heaven during his and metatron's talk right?

[disaster-catalyst]

"he said i could appoint you to be an angel"

he said I could give back the happiness that was unfairly ripped away from you, to see you make stars without fear. i'm directly going against the almighty's decision and pushing past my trauma of heaven for you. i want you to be happy again.

[ladyamaranta]

where the heck is Raphael

I assume we all agree that the narrative is strongly implying that Crowley was but a common angel (the 25 lazarii miracle, the high rank clearance, what he says to Gabriel about knowing how it feels, how he does not tell Aziraphale his name when they first meet during the galaxy creation scene, the fact he knows The Metatron -an angry and flame surrounded versione of The Metatron, Saraqael having worked side by side with him, and also maybe some too powerful miracles here and there like in S1 when he was able to froze time for himself, Aziraphale and Adam in a sort of Heavenly space in the middle of a Very Important Moment) ...so the point is which not common angel was he.

From my very personal point of view the main thing in favor of him being Lucifer is that I would love that sentence in S1 to be the opposite of what we thought it to be. I'm referrinf to: "I was just minding my business one day and then, oh lookie here, it's Lucifer and the guys"; the last part would therefore be not something Crowley said, but something that was addressed to him. Someone came there, took a look at him and went "ohh, it's Lucifer and the guys" and started to complaing about the food. I appreciate this kind of 'irrelevant subversion' of how you first pictured a told (and not yet shown) scene in your mind. Also it would be fun for Lucifer to be, in this universe, not the mind behind the rebellion but someone who was just minding his business and someone else saw as the right person to go to to give further resonance to some minor issues about the food.

But.

But from the same very personal point of view, I'd love for Crowley to be Raphael because I would love for the Great Raphael to be a fallen angel in this retelling of christian mythology. Lucifer is THE fallen angel, everyone knows he was the first to cast down the pearly gates; most christians associate him with Satan, call him the first sinner, consider him inherently baaad.

But Raphael? One of the greatest angels? One of the saints? To be one of the fallen?

Just. Lovely.

Also I recognize the story has an important hole here:

Where the heck is Raphael?

At least Lucifer was mentioned, also Hell has so far not had the same amount of screentime as Heaven has, so I don't see the absence of Lucifer (given that in this universe Satan≠Lucifer) as deliberate as the absense of Raphael.

Everyone is familiar with Gabriel, Michael and Raphael as they are familiar with Lucifer. Yet Raphael is never shown nor mentioned.

Everyone is familiar with Gabriel, Michael and Raphael, almost no one is familiar with Uriel and Saraqael and no one is familiar with hecking Sandalphon. Yet they chose not to use the famous trio Gabriel-Michael-Raphael to straightforward let the audience know 'this is Heaven's Small Council'. No, they get rid of Raphael like he was a barely known angel, like he was an angel no one knows the name of before reading about angeology, like he was a Sandalphon.

Listen, this is deliberate.

The absence of Raphael is deliberate.

And I would love for him to be the 'angel who fell because he was asking too many questions'.

I would love for him to be the powerful Supreme Archangel that was just minding his business when Lucifer and the boys reached out to.

May I add.

...even if Crowley is not Raphael, I'm sure Raphael would pop up somewhere else, because the narrative has strongly pointed in the direction of a fallen Great One.

I refuse to believe The Metraton said

"For one Prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice makes it look like there is some sort of institutional problem." about some hecking Sandalphon.

--

Little addition because I have never seen this Very Valid Point mentioned:

Crowley gives away a lot of younger sibling energy when interacting with Gabriel and Middle Child Michael 😌

[abbybubbls]

My Thoughts on Aziraphale Being a Bastard

I never quite understood Aziraphale being a bastard. I mean, yeah, he doesn’t let anyone buy his books, he swapped his aristocratic clothes with the guy who was gonna chop his head during the French Revolution, he makes puppy-dog eyes and teases to make Crowley do what he wants, he miracles that one army human away, called Michael “dude”, but from what I remember, that’s about it of Aziraphale doing bastardly things.

And then I thought about all the times he did things out of kindness. He does do miracles for himself, but most of the time, he’d do miracles for others because he’s so selfless.

That iconic moment of him giving away his flaming sword to Adam and Eve, because they may need it more than him (There are dangerous animals! They’re gonna be cold! She’s expecting a baby!)

Shields Crowley with his wing during the first rain (completely forgot to put this in, forgive me)

Immediately corrects himself after using Crowley’s deadname

Offers to have lunch with Crowley a MULTITUDE of times

Feeds the ducks at St. James Park

Fails to fool Nazis but fools Nazis anyway with Crowley’s miracle bomb (and Aziraphale was SO excited to trick them Nazi fuckers, you go angel)

Reluctantly gives Crowley holy water (in a tartan thermos so that Crowley knows how much Aziraphale does NOT want him to die)

Feeds Crowley’s rats by leaving food bits in the alleyway near his bookshop (seen on Nail Gaiman’s Tumblr somewhere... can’t find it tho)

Revives a dove back to life after accidentally letting it suffocate in his coat (nobody focuses on the fact that he brought it to life, wtf guys)

Miracles a baby to safety from strolling into the street (deleted scene, but still counts as a good deed)

Keeps treats in the Bentley in case Crowley gets hungry peckish

Miracles for Mary Loquacious to have good dreams

Heals Anathema and miracles a bike rack on the Bentley, offering her a ride back home

Swears once to let all that anxiety out before getting discorporated (swearing can be healthy, kids)

Has no violent tendencies, nor wants to be fighting in any kind of war (a true pacifist if I ever saw one)

Miracles Madame Tracy’s moped to fly over at the Tadfield Airbase

Fools ALL of Hell as he’s playing around in holy water as Crowley (like a cheeky badass)

Sends burglars home with cake

Aziraphale is SO good. I’m sure I must be missing a few things, but these are all the things I could remember in what makes Aziraphale so pure and considerate. In my head for almost a year, I’m just thinking, why do people immediately think that Aziraphale does bad things just because Crowley told him so? He’s not THAT much of a bastard! Like Crowley said, Aziraphale is just enough of one!

Do people really think that AZIRAPHALE, an angel that loves crepes and knows the Winnie the Pooh books by HEART, can be a ruthless fella?

And then I thought of Heaven.

It’s clear that Aziraphale was never happy in Heaven, but he never outwardly says he despises the place. If anything, he mildly tolerates the Archangels, as much as they make him feel small and insecure about himself, and they even physically abuse him.

All the other angels that we see never really do anything remotely kind. Heaven is literally the embodiment of a toxic household when it comes to Aziraphale being there, giving him anxiety and possibly even PTSD, for over six thousand years.

Heaven has strict rules, so what does Aziraphale do? Break them. He breaks them by being too good.

And Crowley is there to tell Aziraphale that he is just enough of a kind bastard to break those rules.

[luckyspike]

Adventures in America, Ch. 4 - In which Crowley makes a friend and the guardian goobers receive some unexpected news

Chapter 4 is Crowley and Aziraphale centric so enjoy because we probably won’t really see them for a while after this. Maybe. IDK I haven’t written much beyond this.

Not on AO3 yet in case I decide I want to change major plot points later I guess or something lmao and also i dont want to disappoint anybody in case i never finish this

I really like this story leave me alone

Ch 1/Ch2/Ch3

-

“You really think sushi is a good idea?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, while he watched the demon fiddle with his jacket collar in the hotel mirror. “We are in America, Crowley, and you know I did think we should try to get a bit of the local flavor while we’re here.” He gave up dragging the brush through his hair, still damp from the shower, and turned his attention to his shirt cuffs instead.

Crowley considered this, pulling his t-shirt down and then back up again. “Right. Well, angel, I’m not opposed to anywhere else but let’s put it like this.” He turned to Aziraphale, hands spread. “It’s supposed to be a great sushi place and we’re about to embark on at least 6 weeks of hauling up and down the American midwest, which isn’t exactly known for its sushi. Roadside barbecue? Yeah. Terrible fast food? Absolutely. Hole-in-the-wall diners with great desserts? Undoubtedly. Fresh sushi? Probably not. And if the goal is to minimize miracles during this thing, if you get a bit peckish for some sake nigiri then you’re just going to have to wait until we’re back in civilization.”

Aziraphale hummed. “Well. When you put it that way. I hardly think the American midwest is uncivilized, though.”

“We’ll see about that.” He turned back to the mirror and re-folded his collar once more, flipping it back up and looking satisfied, although Aziraphale would have been hard-pressed to describe what, exactly, he’d changed. “Definitely not known for its sushi.”

“No. No, I suppose not.”

Crowley turned, and then raised an eyebrow. “No waistcoat?”

“It’s hot out.” He frowned as Crowley grinned. “Don’t start with the whole ‘this is nothing compared to Hell’ nonsense, dear, I know that but not all of us struggle with thermoregulation.”

“Fair enough. It’s more casual, too. Very … American.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile a little as he took the offered elbow. “I think we shall, Crowley dear.”

Dinner was delicious, and Aziraphale had to hand it to Crowley - sushi was really a good idea. Especially if he was going to be at least 6 weeks without. The demon didn’t eat, not unusual, but he seemed to appreciate the wine well enough, and when Aziraphale took the opportunity to compliment the chef (in Japanese, naturally), Crowley chipped in that he thought the restaurant was quite nice, too*. They tipped the waitress generously, and took their leave, Crowley begrudgingly sobering up before they clambered into the massive vehicle to start combing the city for any signs of Adam and the other storm chasers.

[* Crowley did not speak Japanese particularly well, and Aziraphale had tried for years to help him with grammar, syntax, and pronunciation, without much success. Still, he had mastered a few phrases, and ‘very nice establishment’ was one of the more socially-acceptable ones he’d grasped.]

“How do they know where the storms are?” Aziraphale asked, as they cruised down a side-road, Crowley looking sharply into the parking lot of a low-cost hotel. “It’s not as if they’re scheduled occurrences.”

“They’ve got laptops and the like in the car,” he replied, distracted. “Radar and GPS and all that. They follow the storms that way and go to the ones that look most promising.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, and turned to scan the parking lot of a Red Roof Inn. “Quite technological.”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing.” Crowley slowed to study a truck in another parking lot, and then shook his head and pulled away. “I brought the stuff to do the same thing, s’back in the room.”

“So that’s what was in that bag.” Aziraphale considered this for a minute. “And, ah, who are you expecting to use said equipment, Crowley?” The SUV stopped at a red light, and Crowley suddenly looked thoughtful.

“Huh. Didn’t think about that.” He shrugged, and looked over to the car next to them idly. Aziraphale, focused on the topic at hand, didn’t notice the revving of the other car’s engine. “You could learn,” Crowley said. Aziraphale, lost in thought about technological advancements in meteorology, didn’t register the distraction and, under that, the devilish glee. 

“I’m not much good with computers.” He sighed. “I do have the old accounting machine, but -” He stopped, because the 4-Runner’s engine revved rather loudly. Alarmingly. He looked over to the demon. “Crowley?” Something caught his eye. “Crowley, this car wasn’t … I’m certain this wasn’t a manual transmission when we picked it up yesterday.”

“Wasn’t it?” Another hum of the engine. The radio crackled, and songs shuffled through the speakers, seconds at a time, as the SUV cast around for something that would suit. It paused on a song by - who else? Aziraphale thought - Queen, but then moved on, searching through a few more before settling on something with a heavy bassline, electric guitars, and a prominent drum piece. It was bebop, and Aziraphale didn’t like it. Crowley looked thoughtful. “It’s better.”

Aziraphale did have to hand it to the car: the vocalist’s shouted “Go!” coordinated perfectly with the light changing from red to green and Crowley, predictably, slamming the gas. Relatedly, it also coordinated with Aziraphale’s rhyming yelp of “No!”

Tires shrieked and the SUV roared forward, while Crowley laughed maniacally as he shifted through the gears and wove around slower traffic down the long street. The other car - the instigator, Aziraphale tried to assure himself, although he knew Crowley had probably tempted them into it without even trying that hard, the old snake - was a smaller outfit, two doors and sleek, with an iridescent paint job and chrome flashing on the tires. It was also, to Aziraphale’s horror, keeping pace, roaring along beside their car, in spite of surrounding traffic and Crowley’s absolutely death-defying steering. 

“Crowley, what are you doing?” he half-yelled, half-groaned. “You’re going to get us killed! Or arrested!”

The demon whooped. “Just a bit of fun, angel. Hang on!” Another gear shift, and the car accelerated, hitting a highway on-ramp and roaring onto the freeway. The other car, momentarily behind, followed suit. 

“We’re supposed to be looking for Adam,” he reminded Crowley, right hand with a white-knuckle grip on the ceiling handle and the left with an equally tight grip on the center console. “Crowley, please -”

“We have all night to find him.” Crowley glanced to the left, and caught sight of the other car, prompting him to accelerate. The dashboard in this vehicle was much larger than the Bentley’s vast even, and although Aziraphale was moderately terrified for the state of his corporation - he couldn’t imagine Heaven being inclined to give him a new body these days - he did risk a lean over to check the speedometer.

Ah. That was a mistake. He sat back, and pressed himself against the seat. Silently, as they wove through other cars and played leapfrog with the other racer, Aziraphale prayed. Crowley, for his part, laughed over the song blaring from the speakers, and drove, only ever taking his eyes off the freeway ahead to check the progress of the challenging vehicle. The 4-Runner groaned in protest as Crowley quickly changed gears to slow down, swerve around a box truck on the right shoulder, and then speed back up again, rocking back into the lane in front of the truck and taking off. The other car, slowed by a vehicle only going about 20 miles per hour over the speed limit in the passing lane, had to brake hard, and for a few blessed moments, Aziraphale thought it was over. Crowley would slow down now, surely.

Instead, the demon leaned out of the window to better make a rude gesture at the other car. There was a blaring of a horn, and in the rearview mirror, Aziraphale saw the other car break free of the traffic and start to catch up. He groaned, hand over his eyes, prepared for another round of acceleration, but was surprised to hear, over the rushing wind of Crowley’s open window, someone yelling, “Hey, man, get off next exit!” Crowley yelled something in response - very rude, Aziraphale thought - but slowed down anyway, guiding the car off the freeway, tailed by the other car.

“What are they doing?” he asked, cautiously, as Crowley braked again, and turned hard into the parking lot of an International House of Pancakes. The car lurched into park, and Crowley hopped out. The 4-Runner, relieved, shut itself off without any miraculous input at all. 

“Probably looking to fight. Don’t worry, angel, I’ll handle it.”

“Fi - Fight? Crowley, this is America, they probably have guns!” He jumped out too, half-jogging around the back of the massive vehicle until he fell into step beside Crowley. The other car, glimmering under the fluorescent lights of the parking lot, shut off, and two young women stepped out. Yes, definitely American, Aziraphale thought, with a disapproving look toward the ripped jeans and artfully torn t-shirts. The woman who had been driving had a baseball hat on. Backwards. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Americans.

“Dude,” the driver said. “No joke, man!” To Aziraphale’s surprise, when she reached for Crowley, she didn’t attempt a stab or a punch, but rather grabbed his outstretched hand and shook it enthusiastically. She looked to her companion, laughing. “Told you this guy’s like my dad’s age! The fuck you learn to drive like that, man? You drive like a bat outta hell!”

Crowley smirked. “Bat out of London, actually - way harder driving there.” 

The other woman crossed her arms, her expression one of pleasant surprise. “Shit, dude, you’re British, too?” She flipped her long braid back over her shoulder and smoothed a lock of dirty blonde hair down. “Now I’m really impressed - you stayed on the right side of the road and everything.”

The driver rolled her eyes. “Shut up Leanne, it’s not that hard to remember after like, a week. This your ride?” She approached the SUV, hands on her hips. “Don’t see too many of these that can race like that, you know.”

Crowley winked to Aziraphale, and then sauntered up behind the driver, hands in his pockets. “It’s a rental. We just flew in this afternoon. Sorry, didn’t catch your name.”

“Call me Mary. Who are you, dude?”

“Good name, Mary,” Crowley said, grinning over his shoulder back at Aziraphale, who scowled. “Used to know a Mary. Great lady. You can call me Crowley.”

“It’s short for Mariel. Mind if I look under the hood?”

“Be my guest.” He followed her to the front of the car and Aziraphale and Leanne followed behind, Leanne studying Aziraphale and Aziraphale still glaring at Crowley. The hood of the car popped up, and Mary whistled.

“How’d you end up with a rental with a manual and a V8?”

Crowley leaned a hip against the bumper, arms crossed. “Oh, you know, only the finest Enterprise rentals had to offer.” If Mary found that suspicious, she didn’t remark on it, save to nod approvingly and slam the hood of the car shut.

“Well, anyway, thanks for the race. Super fun. Don’t think I’ve pushed Bella up past 110 in a while.” She shook her head at this appalling state of affairs. “Everybody else around here knows me and backs off before we hit the highway. Poor girl never gets room to run.”

“Tragic. Mustang, is she?”

“Yeah, had her from new,” Mary said, smiling fondly back at her car. Aziraphale could see Crowley soften to that. “Leanne and I have put all kinds of work into her - if we hadn’t got stuck in traffic she would’ve had this thing on the straightaway for sure,” she added, patting the hood of the rental. “You got me with the traffic, though.”

“It’s an art.”

Leanne had since circled around to the front of the car with the rest of them, and gently slid her hand into Mary’s. She looked to Aziraphale, head cocked. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ah, Azir - er, Ezra,” he corrected quickly.

“Nice.” Leanne looked from Aziraphale back to Crowley. “Are you guys -”

“What do you drive back home?” Mary asked, ignoring Leanne’s line of questioning, for which Aziraphale felt he should probably owe her a debt. 

“The Bentley. It’s a coupe - vintage.” Crowley added.

Mary’s mouth opened a little. “Woah, no joke? Shit, dude. You got pictures?” His phone was already clearing his pocket before she’d finished the question. Aziraphale shook his head.

“It’s cool,” Leanne commiserated, patting Aziraphale on the shoulder as Mary stepped away, the better to look at probably all of the photos of the Bentley Crowley kept on his phone. She was already marveling at the condition - “I’ve looked after it,” Crowley said proudly - and Leanne went on, “She’s got like four thousand pictures of her car on her phone, too.” She shook her head, and then brightened up. “So what’re you guys doing in Texas? You come in for a festival or something?”

“Oh, no, no, we’re here on holiday. Vacation,” he added, in case she hadn’t understood. She giggled.

“Yeah, I got it. That’s cool. Why Texas?”

He thought about it for a second. “Just seems very American. I’ve never been, and it’s been years since Crowley last left England. Thought we would mix it up a bit.”

Leanne nodded solemnly. “Greatest state in the nation. Well, Mary’s partial to Nevada, but she’s wrong. Anyway, that’s cool. So you just driving around, checking out the night life?”

“Something like that,” he lied. 

“You should try Rain on 4th,” Leanne suggested. “I think you’d like it. Great music, really great drinks and uh, I think you guys would fit in with the crowd there.”

Aziraphale pretended to think it over. “Rain on 4th. I’ll say something to Crowley. We were just thinking of turning in, though, finding somewhere to stay.”

“That’s why you kept slowing down in front of hotels.” Leanne, suddenly, sounded relieved. “We were wondering about that. Like, Mary thought you were looking for a race, obviously, but I was like ‘what if they’re murderers stalking their next victim’?” She laughed. “That’s a relief, anyway!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale forced a laugh, but he was sure he hadn’t been able to hide the shock on his face before she noticed. Murderers? “Oh, my dear, no, no definitely not murderers. No. But, ah, would you have any recommendations? For places to stay, I mean.”

Leanne put her head to the side. “What kind of place you guys looking for?” She looked from Aziraphale, back to Crowley, and then to Aziraphale again. “I mean, the nicest chain place is going to be the Marriott, probably, or the Westin, but like, there’s the Omni and -”

Aziraphale held up a hand, and resisted saying that yes, the Omni was very nice, pity they wouldn’t actually be using the room. “We’re looking for something a little more … economical. But clean,” he added.

“Oh, okay.” She thought about it. “Well, steer clear of Red Roofs and Motel 6’s, then. I found blood in the bathroom of a Red Roof one time**, and like, they totally acted like I should be cool with it. Super weird.” She shrugged. “Microtels are usually pretty clean and super cheap. Uh, I dunno, the chain places. Hiltons or Doubletrees or whatever.”

[** Author’s note: True story, I totally did. Stayed in a Red Roof the night before I flew to Austin to stay at the aforementioned Westin for a conference (all expenses paid, hell yeah) and boy those could not have been two more polar opposite experiences. From bloody bathroom tiles to five-star service BOY did I get some whiplash.]

“Microtel,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “Cheap and clean, you said?” He glanced over to Crowley, and found that he and Mary had left to discuss Bella’s engine in more detail. 

“Yeah, over by the airport.” Aziraphale started walking leisurely back towards the Mustang and his demon, Leanne falling into step beside him. “You going to be in Austin the whole time?”

“Hm? Oh, no.” He shook his head. “No, we rented the vehicle for easier travel - we’ll be moving around for a few weeks, seeing the sights, you know.” He nodded his head toward Crowley. “He loves a good, ah, road trip.” He raised his eyebrows as Mary and Crowley started crouching down in front of the car, obviously considering sliding underneath it to get a better look, right there in the International House of Pancakes parking lot. Mary even had her phone out to use the flashlight, but Aziraphale pointedly cleared his throat. Crowley paused.

“What, angel?”

“Aw,” Leanne whispered, exchanging an affectionate glance with Mary. 

“Hotel, remember?” he said, jerking his head back toward the car, hands folded behind his back. “We were looking -”

“Yeah, I remember. We’ve got a minute.”

“I’m quite tired.”

Crowley was looking at him flatly. Had there not been unfamiliar humans around, he probably would have lowered his sunglasses to really fix Aziraphale with a look. “You’re tired?”

“Yes,” he replied primly. “Miss Leanne was kind enough to recommend some reasonably-priced hotels that will be clean. By the airport.” He raised his eyebrows significantly. Crowley continued staring. “With excellent freeway access.”

The demon groaned. “Yeah, alright. Alright, I get the point.” He held up a hand. “Five minutes?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Very well. Five minutes.” Crowley nodded, enthusiastically, and then he and Mary slid under the Mustang, Mary talking excitedly as the flashlight beam flickered from one mechanical piece to another. Aziraphale sighed. “At least he’s having fun.”

Leanne laughed. “Hey, mind if I ask about your coat?” When Aziraphale looked confused, she went on, “I do some costume design on the side for a little theater company, and that’s a really neat coat. Like, looks like it could have been straight out of the nineteenth century.”

“I suppose it does, yes,” Aziraphale laughed. “I have had it for quite a while.” He shrugged, grinning, and parroted Crowley’s earlier assertion. “I’ve looked after it.”

“So what’s it made of? Was it custom or - ?”

In reality, it was probably more than five minutes, but Aziraphale was more than happy to discuss his coat with a young woman who appreciated good tailoring. Eventually, when Crowley and Mary emerged from under the car, brushing themselves off, it was Crowley who reminded Aziraphale that they really ought to be going, but only after he and Mary had exchanged numbers***. Leanne had been highly appalled at Aziraphale’s statement that he didn’t actually have a cell phone, but he assured her she was welcome to text Crowley any time she might have questions about period clothing, and Crowley only grumbled about it a little. 

[*** When Mary had expressed concern that texting or calls wouldn’t work with an international number, Crowley assured her that his cell carrier was very accessible worldwide, and could pick up messages from anywhere she could think of, and probably a few places beyond that.]

“Hey, enjoy America though, alright?” Leanne added, as the two pairs started to draw apart, backing away toward their respective vehicles. “You guys ever have any questions or whatever, you can hit this girl up!”

Mary looked at her disapprovingly across the hood of their car as she opened the driver’s door. “What, you’re a tour guide now?”

“No, but like, they’re in a strange country, I’m just being nice.” Leanne stuck her tongue out at Mary. “I’m allowed to be nice if I want to.”

Mary snorted. “Yeah, I guess.” They smiled fondly at one another, and then, as one, turned and waved at Aziraphale and Crowley. “Anyway, bye guys! Nice to meet you. Thanks for the race!”

Once back in the 4-Runner, with the roar of the Mustang fading behind them, Aziraphale settled in, pulled his seatbelt on, and smiled happily. “What nice young ladies. Miss Leanne was quite helpful with local hot-spots, too.”

“Yeah.” The key turned in the ignition without Crowley’s input, as the car grumbled to life. Hesitantly, the radio flickered on, the volume so low as to be almost inaudible, and Aziraphale clicked it off. “Good catch on that hotel tip, by the way.”

“You know, if we find Adam,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley steered back onto the freeway, following signs to the airport, “and there’s enough time, she did tell me a nice place to get a drink, if you’d like.” Crowley hummed in noncommittal acknowledgement. “Rain on 4th, she said. She was very complimentary - what are you laughing about?”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley shook his head, and tossed his sunglasses into Aziraphale’s lap. “Never change.”

“You know the place? I thought you said you haven’t been to America -”

“I have Twitter. And the internet. You read things.” He glanced sidelong at the angel. “Bit like your club you went to at the end of the nineteenth century.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “A gentlemens’ club? Oh, it’s been years since I’ve been to one.”

Crowley was looking at him. “Do you -” He trailed off and looked back to the road, fingers drumming pensively on the steering wheel.

“Do I what, dear?”

“Never mind.”  He jerked the wheel to the right and swerved from the left lane and onto the exit ramp, while the horn of a car he’d cut off blared behind them. “You do know what a gentlemens’ club is, right?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Of course I do, dear. I rather liked spending time with those lovely men - we all really did have similar tastes.”

“Ungh?” Crowley said, hastily looking out the window and into the first parking lot they came across - it was for a Jiffy Lube, which was most definitely not where Adam was staying. 

“Of course,” Aziraphale went on, “they also used it as a cover to engage in their sadly-taboo love affairs. I didn’t partake in that, but the dancing was nice all the same.” He reached across the console, which was so broad that it made what would normally be a comfortable gesture physically impractical and somewhat awkward, and rested his hand on Crowley’s leg. Crowley made one of his little noises, still looking out of the window, and Aziraphale smiled. “I think you would have liked it, if you hadn’t decided to sleep through that portion of history. I am rather sorry about that.”

“Ngh, I know, angel.” Suddenly, the car lurched, as Crowley slammed on the brakes. “Hang on.” He squinted. “What’s it say on the side of that red truck?”

“Dear, you stopped in the middle of an intersection.” When Crowley glared at him and failed to move, in spite of Aziraphale’s pursed lips and the honking of various cars cautiously steering around them in the middle of the intersection, he sighed. “Get closer, I can’t read the front from here.”

“Right, fine.” Crowley pulled forward, drove across the sidewalk, and pulled up alongside the truck. “S’that it? Says it’s it, right?”

“It says ‘Big Sky Severe Storm Spotters’ just there.” Aziraphale indicated the front of the truck, where a small decal had been placed. “Is that them?” He looked up to the hotel, while Crowley nodded. “Oh, Microtel.” He smiled. “She does work in mysterious ways.”

“Huh?” Crowley slung his arm across Aziraphale’s shoulders, the better to look behind them as he reversed back over the sidewalk. “Who?”

Aziraphale considered it. “Leanne,” he settled on. “This establishment was her first suggestion when I asked for a hotel recommendation.” Crowley snorted. “I know, quite the coincidence, wasn’t it?” He frowned, as Crowley pulled back onto the freeway. “Why are we leaving?”

“Gotta get our stuff, don’t we? Don’t!” He reached over and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand as the angel lifted it to snap his fingers. “No magic, if we can help it. Don’t want him to know we’re here. And we’ve got time to grab our stuff before we stake them out.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded, and didn’t say anything when Crowley relaxed and let his arm fall to the console, his fingers still wrapped around Aziraphale’s. “That does make sense.” He settled back into his seat, more comfortable, breathing a small sigh of relief when he saw that Crowley was barely going over 90. 

It was the work of an hour to pick up their bags, load back into the car, and return to the Microtel where the truck was still parked. Crowley pulled into a parking lot across the street, with a good view of the hotel entrance as well as the truck, killed the lights, and hissed something to the car. The engine, to the car’s great surprise, idled more quietly. Crowley nodded, approving, pulled his phone out, and tilted the seat back, his heels propped up on the steering wheel. 

“So now we wait?”

“Now we wait,” Crowley agreed, scrolling through something. He paused, squinting at the phone, and zoomed in on something. “Oh, hey, wait a second before you start in on whatever book you’ve got.” Aziraphale stopped moving, his hand halfway to his briefcase. “Got an email from Lucky.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale stopped, and held out his hand. Crowley dropped the phone into it. “Here, I’ll read it. Oh, bother.” He puzzled over the phone for a minute, taking a moment to zoom back out and then a further minute to actually open the email. Crowley remained silent, eyes closed but a small smirk on his lips. “Don’t look so smug, Crowley, it’s unbecoming.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Very well, here it is. It reads:

“‘Hi, Nanny,

‘Wow, sounds like you and Brother Francis have had a nice spring! Glad to hear you had an okay time at the flower show, even if you didn’t win anything. Hah, I’m sure Francis reminded you winning isn’t everything but whatever, it is kind of great to win sometimes -’”

Crowley sighed fondly. “He’s always been so competitive.”

“‘ - but having fun is cool too, I guess. Anyway, I graduated from high school! I attached a few pictures of my graduation - the cool cat next to me in most of the pictures that isn’t my mom or dad is my friend Hal, I think I’ve told you about them before. Wish you could have come to meet everybody, but I get that traveling trans-Atlantic is rough, especially if you don’t like flying.

‘Are you guys doing anything this summer? I’m super excited - I told you I’m starting college for climatology in the fall, but I didn’t know until a week or two ago that before I do that, I get to go on a road trip this summer! Sort of road trip. Like, weather-related road trip. I’ll be’ ….” Aziraphale trailed off, blinking at the text on the screen, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry, and continued, “‘ I’ll be storm chasing across the midwest this summer. I’m really excited to see some severe weather close-up, and I’ll be working with a couple of researchers so hopefully I’ll learn a lot, too.’”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who was staring at him. “You’re kidding,” Crowley said, eyes wide. Aziraphale shook his head, and bent back over the phone, picking up the tempo as he read. 

“‘Although I’m sure you’re probably super excited about me chasing the hellish fury of a vengeful God, just in case Brother Francis is worried please let him know that it really is very safe, and the researchers I’ll be working with often take meteorology and climatology students on storm tours, to teach them - me, I guess! - about severe weather patterns, how to spot developing dangerous weather, and other stuff like that. I mean, I know you’re probably all about widespread destruction or whatever, but sorry to disappoint you since I guess I’m hoping to learn how to prevent casualties and warn people to get to safety! Brother Francis is super proud, I’m sure!

‘Anyway, I’ll email or text you from the road if you want. I can even send videos and pictures! I’m sure you’ll get stuff on snapchat too. Plus, the researchers - Rachael and Noel - update their Facebook page with events from the road during chasing season too, if you want to see their videos and stuff, which’ll probably be way better than anything I take on my phone. You might even see me in a cameo haha! I’ll be internet famous. Discovery Channel, here I come! Their company is called ‘Big Sky Severe Storm Spotters’, they’re the only one on Facebook I think.

‘So that’s the update! Hear from you soon!

‘Infernally missing you guys or whatever,

Lucky’”

Silence permeated the interior of the car for a few minutes. The engine, embarrassed, idled more quietly still. Wordlessly, Aziraphale handed Crowley’s phone back to him, the two of them staring fixedly out of the windshield for a long, long time. Across the street, the red truck sat in the parking lot lights, and somewhere in the hotel, two anti-Christs^ were sleeping soundly.

^ Sort of.

 Crowley was the first to break the silence, reaching his hand up slowly to cover his eyes, and pulling his knees in closer to his chest. He sighed. “Well, shit.”

-

Now with Chapter 5!