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He had enough of this shit. He really did.


For their 6k+ years, It wasn't uncommon, someone would even say - expected; that angels and demons would be fighting. No matter, how uncommon said angel and said demon were. Although said angel and said demon lived in 'friendly' terms, dined, drunk and even averted the end of the world. At least.... this world's. But that's a tale for other time.

Said demon - Anthony J Crowley - The First Tempter of human kind, with anger that could be felt in Mayfair (thus making all of the plants shiver within this radius), run out of A.Z.Fell's bookshop, shutting it's front door with a thump. It just partly blocked already muffled and very offended words from inside.

The noise did caught few stranger's attention but they wisely decided to pass by soundlessly. Clearly this man's (demon's) seething stance might have had a big part of why.


'Right.' he thought. With growing irritation and small huff (he will not breathe hellfire) he turned right. 'Bloody angel wanted to take a stroll.'

Snapping Bentley into appearing would mean cleaning human's minds, which is always messy and headache giving. Not really a great moment to give yourself a headache, innit? No taxis in sight so that left him walking or taking bus.

'You're a demon, Crowley. shouldn't you be... out and about? Giving bad example?' Oh he bloody will. Bus it is.

He just went where wind took him. Figuratively of course. He's not very keen on aggressive shuffle of atoms. Once was enough. Bloody fourteenth century. Too with it's plague.


There was some bus passin' by but no way in he- hea- anywhere, he'd run to it. Small snap guaranteed, it would wait just slightly longer for him to enter. By-product of this small intervention made quite a lot of stumbles, unfortunate threads catching and inconveniently 'loss' of things to people in Soho.

The doors snapped just as he entered (leaving out that one student late for theirs classes). 

'It's bloody pandemic. Why is there so many people on the bus. Ridiculous is what it is'

Second deck was better yet still more than he'd like. There also was that girl with headphones, who clearly had no idea her phone played music out loud. Humans truly can be evil.


     "-you can't be reasoned when I'm done being polite.-"

'another break-up song. great'

     "-I've told you 1, 2, 3, 4-"

'ugh is it what people listen to this days?'

     "-5, 6000 times.-"

Scowl quickly left his face.

     "-Haven't i made it obvious? Haven't i made it clear?"

'wot. is that.'

     "-Want me to spell it out for you?"

'some bloody coincidence! It has nothing to do with-'


'no. nah, that has nothing to do with anything!'

     "-Haven't i made it obvious?"


     "-Haven't i made it clear?"

'no way.'

     "-Want me to spell it out for you?"

'Aziraphale is way too old fashioned for that'

     "-F.R.I.E.N.S. f.r.i.e.n.d.s."

Why is this song bothering him so much? It's just some stupid human song! It lacked the class of Queen! Or! Or.. depth of Velvet Underground! Even those Hozier songs Adam sent him had been better! (Not that he would agree the songs he thought about were influencing his thoughts.)

     "-Have you got no shame, you're looking insane, turning up at my door. It's 2 in the morning, the rain is pouring, haven't we been here before?"

He want's to both to snap it off and listen to it more. What if the angel did influenced songs, just like he did?

     "-Don't mess it up, talking that shit. Only gonna push me away that's it!"

He has to leave. Whatever it's going on is not worth it. With small snap he makes the girl realize her headphones weren't connected. The chaos to turn it off did not helped with what already was going inside him. Nor the idea of that stupid guilt, that could chew on people like... ah never mind.


People now were scarce both inside and outside. Where was he anyway? Ah yes, Planetarium was near. He remembers all his creations like it was barely decade before but it's always nice to see... Maybe he should-

Yes, right. Pandemic. Great.

Same with most bars. That truly left him with going to his flat. When was he last time there? It doesn't matter, does it now. Living in bookshop's pocket had it's minuses. Like the one that happened. Ugh, flat it is then. With quick glance around, to be sure no one was around, he snapped himself home. Why hadn't he- from the beginning- ugh. 


Toeing off his shoes he sauntered through the hall. Sleep always helped. (It didn't really but maybe like in 1941 it would?) At least bed looked comfy. Well, duh. He made sure of that when he bought it. Miracled beds were always a little off. Too much demonic energy surrounding your very vulnerable state, making it ironically less sinful than human's ones. That weird (not so non-existent) gravity of beds and warm pillows were what convinced him the first time he slept, and still had him in it's grasp.

He's feeling tired. He's feeling antsy. That awful song planted it's seeds and he's not stayin' to see what's going to grow out of it.


He stopped resisting that gravity.

And he fell.