'Til We Meet Again - Crowley x Reader

Chapter 17

Later that evening

As sirens wailed and the distant rumble of enemy bombers filled the air, the trio found themselves embarking on an unexpected adventure. Crowley had a delivery of whiskey to make to a theatre in the bustling West End, a seemingly routine task in the midst of wartime.

As they navigated the dimly lit streets of London, Crowley's Bentley carried the precious cargo of whiskey in the backseat. The city's blackout restrictions obscured their surroundings, casting a veil of darkness over their journey.

Arriving at the theatre, they were greeted by a stern-faced Mrs. H, the theatre's manager, who seemed less than pleased with their late-night delivery. She inspected the baskets of whiskey bottles with a critical eye, her expression growing more disapproving by the second.

"These bottles are broken," Mrs. H declared with a note of irritation in her voice. "Completely unsellable."

Crowley's eyes widened in surprise, and he struggled to explain. "I'm terribly sorry, but our car was parked next to where a bomb went off. It must have jostled the bottles."

Mrs. H's annoyance seemed to deepen, and she sighed with exasperation. "This is a disaster! The magician who was set to perform tonight has cancelled, and we've got a theatre full of people expecting a show."

Crowley exchanged a worried glance with Aziraphale and Y/N, realizing the predicament they were in. In a time of war, the show must go on, even when faced with broken bottles of whiskey.

Seeing the desperation in Mrs. H's eyes, Aziraphale stepped forward, a glimmer of determination in his gaze. "Perhaps we can help," he offered.

Mrs. H raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "You?"

Aziraphale nodded, his confidence unwavering. "Yes, you see, I have some experience in the art of prestidigitation."

Y/N, always eager for an adventure, chimed in, "And I will be his assistant!"

Mrs. H considered their proposal for a moment, her scepticism giving way to a glimmer of hope. "Well, we're in quite a bind. If you can put on a decent show, you might just save the night."

With a grateful nod, Aziraphale and Y/N returned to the car, helping Crowley to deal with the broken whiskey bottles. They had a performance to prepare, and their celestial powers and creativity would have to serve as their magic for the night.

.......

The night had taken an unexpected turn for Crowley, Aziraphale, and Y/N. What was meant to be a simple whiskey delivery had transformed into a magical opportunity as Aziraphale and Y/N had agreed to perform a last-minute magic show at the West End stage.

Back at Aziraphale's cozy bookshop, the trio settled into the warm embrace of the familiar surroundings. Aziraphale, brimming with enthusiasm, retrieved a dusty old magic book from a cluttered shelf. It had been a gift from Professor Hoffman, a fellow enthusiast of the arcane arts.

With a childlike eagerness, Aziraphale flipped through the pages, revealing a treasure trove of magic tricks and illusions. His eyes danced with curiosity as he selected a few simple tricks to practice, his nimble fingers working their magic on the props.

Unbeknownst to them, they were not alone. Outside the bookshop's window, a group of Nazi zombies watched their every move, their dead eyes fixed on the trio. An eerie chill settled in the air, but Aziraphale, Y/N, and Crowley remained blissfully unaware of the sinister presence lurking outside.

Aziraphale's excitement was infectious, and he couldn't resist showing off his favourite trick - turning a turnip into an inkwell. Intrigued, Crowley and Y/N leaned in closer, their curiosity piqued. Aziraphale explained the trick, demonstrating how he could turn a humble turnip into an inkwell with a few deft hand movements. With a flourish, he transformed a humble turnip into an elegant inkwell, a small puff of smoke accompanying the illusion.