'Til We Meet Again - Crowley x Reader

Chapter 23

"Eleven Years Ago" (circa 2008)

The opulent dining experience at the Ritz had left them satisfied and somewhat relaxed, considering the catastrophic circumstances that loomed over their lives. Y/N, Crowley, and Aziraphale sat around a polished table in the lavish restaurant, their empty plates bearing the remnants of a delicious meal. As they lingered over the remains of their dessert, Aziraphale decided to broach the matter at hand.

"So, what are you in the mood for now?" Aziraphale inquired, his eyes darting between Crowley and Y/N.

Crowley, ever the demon with his distinct priorities, replied without hesitation, "Alcohol. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol."

With a unanimous agreement, they settled the bill and left the Ritz behind, embarking on a short walk to Aziraphale's bookshop.

"I have several very nice bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the back. I picked up a dozen cases in 1921, and there's still some left for special occasions." Aziraphale mused.

"You know," Crowley began, his voice tinged with a trace of exasperation, "if Heaven wins, there won't be any more wine, or scotch, or cocktails up there."

Aziraphale, however, remained steadfast in his decision to stay out of the impending showdown between Heaven and Hell. "Crowley, I've told you I'm not helping you," he asserted with a charming smile, "This is purely social."

Arriving at the quaint bookshop, Aziraphale approached the weathered door, an old-fashioned bell tinkling above it as he ushered his companions inside. A warm ambience greeted them, a stark contrast to the tumultuous times they faced. The cozy shop held an air of timeless tranquillity, a sanctuary of books, knowledge, and cherished memories.

Aziraphale paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on Crowley. "I am an Angel. You are a Demon." he stated, "We're hereditary enemies."

With a wry smile, he opened the door for his unlikely allies, allowing them to step inside the comforting embrace of his book-filled haven.

.......

The cozy atmosphere of Aziraphale's bookshop was further heightened by the dim lighting and the rich scent of old books that hung in the air. Hours had passed since they had first arrived, and the trio had indulged in a considerable amount of alcohol. Now, with the night sky blanketing the city outside, they were thoroughly intoxicated.

Aziraphale had settled comfortably into an armchair, his eyes glassy from the drinks, as he watched Crowley, who had risen from his seat and was swaying ever so slightly as he made an impassioned point about dolphins. "My point is... Dolphins!" he exclaimed, his voice more animated than his unsteady stance would suggest. With a hiccup and a swig from his glass, he attempted to clarify his thoughts.

As Crowley continued his inebriated monologue, Y/N reclined on the nearby couch, her cheeks flushed from alcohol. She watched him with an amused and affectionate glint in her eyes, appreciating the way he passionately discussed even the most unconventional of topics.

Crowley, determined to drive his point home, staggered over to the couch and plopped down next to Y/N, his arm instinctively draping over her shoulders. He leaned in closer to her, his breath heavy with the scent of spirits, and took another sip from his glass before resuming his discourse.

"Not to mention the whales. Brain City, whales" he slurred, a mischievous grin dancing across his face as he tried to impress the seriousness of his argument. The world outside the bookshop seemed to blur as they delved deeper into their spirited conversation.

Aziraphale, his usually impeccable demeanour somewhat loosened by the alcohol, looked contemplatively at his glass as he swirled the deep red liquid. He leaned back in his chair and let out a tipsy sigh.

"Kraken. Great big bugger," he began, his voice slightly slurred, "'spposed to rise up at the very end. When the sea boils."

"Well, that's my point. Whole sea bubbling. The dolphins, the whales. Everything turning into bouillab–" Crowley slurred excitedly.

"Bouill-bouillab–"

"Bouillab–"

The word 'Bouillabaisse' seemed to present a challenge to their intoxicated minds, and they exchanged bemused glances at their half-hearted attempts to pronounce it. The result was a series of garbled syllables that dissolved into laughter.

"Fish stew- Anyway..." Crowley continued.

Crowley, ever unpredictable in his drunken states, embarked on a disjointed rant that wandered through various subjects, from the inefficiency of traffic lights to the mysteries of crop circles. As he rambled on, his tone grew more sombre, and his thoughts turned to the dire consequences of Heaven's victory.

"Eternity's going to be bloody horrible if Heaven wins, you know," he muttered, his speech starting to slur as much as Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale, however, was in no mood to discuss Armageddon while in his inebriated state. He waved a hand dismissively and slurred his words with a pout.

"I can't deal with this while I'm drunk," he lamented.

Crowley, in a rare display of practicality, raised an eyebrow and nodded. With a snap of his fingers, he expelled the contents of their glasses, wine that had muddled their thoughts, back into the bottles. The wine returned to its original source, relieving them of their drunken haze. The shop was left in a sudden, almost eerie silence, the remnants of their laughter hanging in the air like a fleeting memory.