Ineffable Interludes: Good Omens

Something in the Coffee pt 1

TW: loss, angst, alcoholism, drugging, depression, foul language

PLAYLIST:

Someone you Loved by Lewis Capaldi

Not a Dry Eye In The House by Meat Loaf

The Story of Us by Taylor Swift

Something in the Coffee

They were happy.

Well, maybe not happy. They were both repressing their feelings for each other, but they were together. They were content. They had a weird little arrangement that worked for them.

Then Gabriel showed up in all his naked, amnesiac glory—though Crowley had to admit that the archangel had a very nice ass hiding under those angelic robes—and it all went to hell. Their fragile peace was shattered. Even after Gabriel and Beelzebub ran off together, after war was averted, and after they kissed, it remained shattered. They poured out their hearts, and the angel chose Heaven.The place that had bullied and broken him, tried to kill him—he went back. He went back, and Crowley was alone. Again.

So he did what he did best: went to the nearest pub and got completely shit-faced drunk. He stayed shit-faced for two weeks, then hungover for another week. When he came to his senses, he went back to the bookshop. Muriel was there, running the place in lieu of Aziraphale. She was having the time of her life, and greeted Crowley with sunny grin. Crowley growled and stalked past her. He spent most days around the bookshop, waiting for Aziraphale to return. Sometimes he would wander the stacks, rearrange things just to be annoying, or veg out on the couch. Twice, he accidentally turned into a snake, and was woken by Muriel's shrill screaming. She'd never seen a snake in real life, let alone one that was almost ten feet long, and curled up sleeping on her office chair. Crowley lifted his head and glared at her until she stopped screaming.

"It'ssss jusssst me," he hissed.

"Crowley?"

"Of coursssse." He landed heavily on the floor and slithered toward a sunny shelf. "Azzzziraphale never had a problem with my ssssnake form."

"I don't have a problem with it!" Muriel said, offended. "I just didn't know you could do it, that's all."

"Well, now you know." Crowley made his way to the shelf and curled up in the sun. "Let me know if you sssssee any ratssss. I'm feeling a bit peckish."

Muriel gagged.

This went on for six months, until his angel came back.

Crowley's plants were more beautiful than ever—and more terrified than ever. The heartbroken demon spent most of his time drinking and yelling, when he wasn't at the bookshop or out fomenting chaos. He was drinking tequila out of the bottle when someone knocked on the door of his flat. He didn't bother answering.

"Crowley, dear...we need to talk."

Aziraphale! His blackened little heart leapt. Then he remembered what had happened, how the only being he cared about in the universe had dropped him like a hot potato without looking back. Hell would freeze over before he opened that door.

Then the door flew off its hinges. Aziraphale stepped over it into the flat. "I said we need to talk."

"Jesus Christ, have you been taking lessons from Hagrid?"Crowley yelled.

"Yer a wizzard, Crowley." Aziraphale waved his hand and the door fixed itself. "I've had a power upgrade."

"I can see that." Crowley squinted, sure he was seeing things. The soft, plump, joyous angel he'd known for six thousand years was lean and muscular. His white-blond curls were combed neatly; he was actually wearing white jeans and a tailored shirt. But his eyes were the same. "What do you want, Aziraphale?"