The Boy with the Books

Chapter Three

"Well, as a demon, I have to do my part, don't I?" Crowley reasoned as the two sat on the bench outside the cafeteria.

"Well, yes, but- "Aziraphale struggled to come up with a valid argument, "well, just what are you planning to do?" Crowley fought back a triumphant grin as he realized he was winning him over.

"Gabriel told you to make the boy write, right?" to which the angel responded with a nod. "Well, then I'll make sure of it."

"Really?" Aziraphale's eyes lit up. "He's going to write?"

"Oh, he's gonna write." Crowley affirmed, mischief evident in his tone to anyone but his angel.

***

It had been a solid hour since the boy had been blessed, and there he was, writing away to his heart's content. Crowley and Aziraphale watched from afar, proud of a job well done. "Well, I think our work here is done, Crowley. Off we go."

"Not so fast, angel."

"How's that?"

"Aren't you curious as to what your boy's writing?" Crowley had to bite down the smile again. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed, "Fine, let's go see." They ambled over to the poor boy, fingers stained here and there with black ink.

"What are you writing, lad?" Crowley inquired, "Keep it up and your hand might fall right off." He chuckled, but Aziraphale's eyes widened at the little gag. Crowley gave him a reassuring glance (reassuring him that no hands would be falling off).

"Just an essay." The boy said, barely paying attention to the nosy pair. Aziraphale seemed satisfied with this response and started in the opposite direction, stopped by Crowley's grip on his arm sleeve.

"What's it about?" he asked the boy. Aziraphale didn't like where this was going.

"It's about whether God exists or not." The boy said. Both the angel and the demon's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really?" Now he surely wasn't going anywhere, considering that he seemed glued to the very ground where he stood, dropped jaw and all. He didn't need to glance over at Crowley to know that a devilish smirk had crept upon his face, but he did it anyway.

"Wouldn't you rather go to the movies with your friends?" Aziraphale was quick to suggest other activities to occupy the boy's time.

"I don't have many friends. Besides, I just saw that new film Star Wars."

"Did you like it?"

The boy shrugged.

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look, though Aziraphale's expressed worry and Crowley's amusement.

"And do you write for a paper or just for fun?" the angel asked, praying the answer would be the latter.

"I write for the school paper," the boy said proudly, causing Crowley to turn away and stifle a laugh. Aziraphale remained motionless, shocked at the lengths his friend would go to to throw a wrench in his every plan.

"Well, isn't that lovely?" he said, maintaining a phony smile, "well, mind how you go." And now he seized Crowley's bare forearm, dragging him away from the boy and over to the bleachers.

***

"Why would you do that, Crowley?" Aziraphale tried his very best to scold his friend and bring him back to his senses, but Crowley was too busy rolling on the grass, letting the laughter he had been containing out. "He's writing about whether- God- exists- or not!" he cried in between hysterical laughs. "Looks like- our work here- is done!"

"Snap out of it, Crowley!" Aziraphale commanded in the gravest of tones. This made Crowley sit up straight on the damp dirt beneath the bleachers.

"Forgive me, angel." He said, smile slowly fading away.

"I suppose it's alright. But now what are we going to do? Gabriel will check on my work and this'll get me into so much trouble." Aziraphale grew more worried with each word.

"Don't worry, angel. We'll fix it."

"I should have never asked you to come. I should've done this all on my own."

This, Crowley didn't enjoy hearing, "Well, why didn't you do just that? I saw how well you socialized with the boy."

"There's no need to be rude, Crowley."

"Of course, there isss!" he hissed, rising to his feet and taking Aziraphale by the collar. "If you didn't want me to come so badly, then why did you ask me?"

"Well, because you're my friend!"

Crowley's grip loosened, and the golden eyes fell as soon as he heard the words. "Your friend, eh?"

"Well, yes."

"Angels and demons aren't friends, Aziraphale, you said so yourself."

"Well, maybe we're the exception to the rule," he said softly.

But this last went unheard, for Crowley had sauntered in the opposite direction (again acting as if he knew where he was going). Aziraphale straightened his tie and set off in search of somewhere to spend the night. What the angel and the demon did not know was that nobody ever had important conversations under the bleachers anymore, for a talk there would certainly fall on a third party's ears.