𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 ▸ crowley (o.h.)

── xix,

"H-Harry—Hi," Amelia started as she suddenly stood from the ground. She quickly brushed her hair out of her face and forced a small smile, trying to look as if she hadn't just been sobbing.

          "Hi," Harry chuckled, a smile of his own forming on his flawless face. "How are you?" Amelia was trying her absolute best to focus her attention on him—and not the events that just took place between her and Crowley.

          "I'm great," She lied straight through her teeth, "Uh, how are you?"

          "Fantastic, actually," Harry replied whilst nervously scratching the back of his neck, "If I'm being honest—I thought I'd never see you again."

          Amelia tried her best to sound enthusiastic, "Me neither." Harry took a few steps closer, pressing his lips into a thin line.

          "Do you—" He trailed off nervously, "Do you maybe wanna grab some coffee?" The cool wind blew through her hair as she stared back into his eyes. Her facial expression grew blank and she slowly zoned out. Crowley had left her—going on about how she'd be better off without him. But her mind was quick to call bullshit. "Amelia?" The sound of Harry's voice snapped her back to reality.

"I-I'm sorry," She started with a shake of her head, "I have somewhere I need to be." Whether Crowley would approve of this or not—she didn't care. She was going to see him, and she wasn't going to go anywhere. The first location that popped inside her head was a bar—which she had a feeling he was at.

—

          In the back of a small pub, Crowley sat alone at a table—currently drowning himself in alcohol. His thoughts were scattered all over the place. Aziraphale was gone and he had left the only truly good thing in his life—Amelia. Crowley raised his glass in the air, catching the bartender's attention, "Same again!" He downed the last drop of alcohol, watching as the bartender sat the bottle on the table.

"I never asked to be a demon," Crowley slurred, talking to no one in particular, "I was just minding my business one day and then—oh, lookie here, it's Lucifer and the guys." People stole glances at Crowley as he continued to talk, "Oh, hey, the food hadn't been that good lately. I didn't have anything on for the rest of that afternoon. Next thing, I'm doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulphur."

Crowley started to open the bottle, "I can just see Amelia now, sitting there with her little face scrunched up, wondering what in the bollocks I'm going on about." The words slipped out of his mouth before he could even realize, and as if on cue, the ditzy brunette walked through the front door, her eyes trailing around the room until they met his gaze.

Amelia—who was wearing her outfit from the day before—started making her way over towards him. "Amelia!" Crowley started, setting the bottle back down, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting," she answered whilst taking a seat next to him.

The demon let out a soft huff, "I mean, what are you doing here? Amelia Morris at a pub? Who would've thought." The faint smell of alcohol lingered on him, telling Amelia that he was drunk.

"Crowley, we need to talk," Amelia told him. Her expression was confident, as if she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You're right. We do need to talk," Crowley said, leaning in, "Because Amelia, darling," His lips brushed past her ear, "If you keep looking at me like that, we're gonna have to go somewhere private." Her brown eyes widened as a shiver shot down her spine. Just as she was about to say something, a familiar face popped up in the glare of Crowley's sunglasses. Amelia turned to face Aziraphale, making the demon do the same. It looked as if he was some type of hologram.

Crowley lifted his glasses, squinting his eyes at the angel, "Aziraphale? Are you here?"

"Good question. Not certain," Aziraphale replied, looking around the pub, "Never done this before. Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you."

"Afraid I've rather made a mess of things," Aziraphale confessed softly, "Listen, back at the book shop, there's a book I need you to get."

"Oh, look," Crowley started hesitantly, "Your bookshop isn't there anymore."

"Oh?" The angel questioned, clearly confused.

Amelia spoke up, "I'm really sorry. It burned down." Aziraphale looked hurt, which hurt Amelia.

"All of it?"

"Yeah, what—what was the book?" Crowley decided to change the subject.

"The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of—"

"—Agnes Nutter!" Crowley exclaimed, bending down to grab it, "Yes, I took it."

"You have it?"

"Look, souvenir," Crowley said whilst shaking it in the air.

"Look inside. I made notes. It's all in there. The boy's name, address. Everything else. I worked it all out," Aziraphale informed. Amelia took the book from Crowley and started to flip through it's pages.

"Look, wherever you are, I'll come to you. Where are you?"

"I-I-I'm not really anywhere yet. I've been discorporated," The angel stammered out, "You need to get to Tadfield Air Base."

Amelia furrowed her eyebrows, looking up to meet his gaze, "Why?"

"World ending. That's where it's all going to happen. Quite soon now. I'll head there too. I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you think."

"I'm not going to go there," Crowley dismissed plainly.

"I do need a body. Pity I can't inhabit yours. Angel, demon—probably explode," Aziraphale pointed out.

Crowley made a disgusted face, "Blehh."

"Wait," Amelia started, "You can use me, can't you?" Aziraphale was about to speak, but Crowley cut him off.

"No, no, he's not going to use you."

"But, I'm fine with it—"

"—What kind of blasted universe are you from? Don't you understand that no means no?"

"So I'll meet you at Tadfield. But we're gonna have to get a bit of a wiggle-on," Aziraphale told the two.

"What?" Crowley asked.

"Tadfield Air Base," Aziraphale repeated.

Crowley shook his head, "I heard that. It was the 'wiggle-on'." Aziraphale suddenly disappeared, causing the demon to throw his hands in the air. "Lovely."