'Til We Meet Again - Crowley x Reader

Chapter 18

1967, Soho, London

The year was 1967, and Soho's dimly lit streets held secrets and shadows that whispered of clandestine plans and covert operations. Crowley, the demon with a knack for orchestrating audacious heists, had set his sights on an unconventional target this time, stealing holy water from a church.

With Y/N by his side, they rendezvoused with a select team of individuals at a dimly lit pub. The team comprised of three members, all with unique skills that would prove invaluable for the task at hand. The air was thick with anticipation as they discussed their plan in hushed tones.

However, just as they were about to delve deeper into the details, an unexpected addition joined their group. Lance Corporal Shadwell, a self-proclaimed Witchfinder with an air of eccentricity about him, entered the pub with an air of self-importance. He made his way to their table, introducing himself to Crowley and informing him that he had heard about the heist and was replacing Mr. Narkwell.

The meeting continued, albeit with a cloud of uncertainty hanging over it. Shadwell's presence cast a shadow on their meticulously crafted plan, but they had little choice but to proceed.

After the meeting concluded, Crowley and Y/N made their way out of the pub, the evening's events leaving them deep in thought. However, before they could fully process the turn of events, Shadwell caught up with them on the dimly lit street.

He spoke in hushed tones, his words shrouded in secrecy. "You see," he began, "I've got a Witchfinder Army, Crowley. A loyal group of individuals who could be of great use to you."

Crowley regarded Shadwell with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "And what's in it for you?" he asked, always wary of deals with individuals from the mystical and otherworldly realms.

Shadwell leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "We've got our own interests, Mr. Crowley, but they may align with yours."

With a nod of acknowledgment, Crowley and Y/N retreated to the safety of their sleek Bentley. As they settled into the car, they found Aziraphale seated inside, a worried expression etched across his features.

"Crowley, my dear," Aziraphale began, his voice laced with concern, "I can't help but express my reservations about this heist. It's dangerous, and it goes against... well, you know."

Crowley sighed, realizing that he would have to face Aziraphale's opposition. However, Aziraphale had brought something with him, a thermos. He handed it to Crowley, their fingers brushing as the container exchanged hands. Crowley, never one to show vulnerability, offered a wry smile as he accepted a thermos from Aziraphale. The thermos was filled with holy water, a potent weapon against celestial beings like themselves.

"Take it, Crowley," Aziraphale implored, his gaze steady. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

Crowley nodded, a mixture of gratitude and determination in his eyes. "Thank you, Aziraphale," he whispered.

Aziraphale's presence, while comforting, was fleeting. With a final glance, he left the car, leaving Crowley and Y/N to their thoughts.