The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 168: Interview Part 4

Interview Part 4

The thing about the Book of Life is that you don't need to open it to read it. If the physical (well, corporal, not the right words but where are the right words?) copy is with you, you can hold it in your mind. You can turn the pages and read them inwardly. And sometimes the demon and angel preferred this, because the thing was just so creepy.

                But it doesn't mean that expressing what was in those pages was made any easier.

Newt stayed the night.

                The fire lily could wait until morning. Whatever insomnia possessing Crowley was broken by tonight's oration. His chin fell to his chest as soon as he finished. Newt had to lightly shake him awake.

                Crowley offered him one the twin beds in his bedroom while he stayed on the couch curled up in a blanket. Offhandedly, Newt had taken notice of the demon's collection of neon and black lights. Ironically, he guessed?

Crowley just stretched a long arm out to pointed down the hall. "And take the bed against the left wall," he stipulated, yawning and turning over.

                "Why?"

                "Trust me," the demon mumbled. "You'll see why when the black lights go on."

The demon didn't sleep the whole night. He just opened his eyes, confused because the state of waking had evaded him for nearly a month, and sat up with the darkness until awareness took hold. Then, he trudged to the bedroom door and rapped on its surface.

                "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakie." A long groan escaped through the door.

                "Augh! It's 3:16 in the morning!" Newt cried.

                "Do you want to leave here as soon as possible or whot!" Crowley called through the door.

                "Well."

                "Thought so, come on. That was a promise. You'll get proper vitals if you hurry up."

                On the other side of the door Newt stared, then fell back over, covering his head with his arms.

                "He's worse than Mum!"

Anathema, on the other hand, was not so eager. Aziraphale was turning into a blackhole of melancholy for her, and it was not a place she was familiar with.

                It was just, she huffed as he gently pushed her aside in her own kitchen to prepare a meal, fuck, 3:16?!?!, and too early to be diving headlong into a friend's trauma.

                Easier to deal with a stranger's. But him? Not Aziraphale.

                And what a double-edged sword that was, ever meeting his acquaintance. Like a whirlwind, events had pushed them into become begrudging but fast friends, and she wondered if that's how him and Crowley had started out, and were never able to release from.

                No, she considered, as he grinned expansively, pouring her a cup of coffee. It was stupid love. Long and building. All because he gave his dumb sword away.

                "You're the perfect server," she said off-handedly, grousing that he was hosting in her own kitchen. And at the words, he paused.

                "I'm the perfect servant?" Ah, the words CUT.

                "No, dammit angel, I didn't mean it like that."