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Chapter Text

Ain't nothing sweeter in this world than the sound of three hundred Arkansans singing the Star Spangled Banner. Not that Anthony Crowley was a patriot, mind you. He'd just as soon watch the country burn on most days. It's just that the National Anthem always comes first. All those eyes glued to a red, white and blue flag while Crowley's were glued to another one entirely. One solid green and jammed into the back pocket of a man with a potbelly and a trucker cap who got the gig based solely on how quickly he could haul ass out of the middle of the track before he got caught between two bumpers, at least one of which was just as likely to be held on with chains as with a weld. 

Anthony Crowley, just Crowley if you asked him, which no one in this stop off the interstate ever seemed to bother to do, had a downright pavlovian response to all them good ol’ boys ‘n girls belting out o’er the land of the free. He'd learnt about him in the library, by the by -Pavlov, that is- not in school. He hadn't learned a whole helluva lot in school at all. It wasn’t that his teachers didn’t try’n give him an education so much as the fact that there wasn't near enough pupils in his grade to give everyone what they needed and so they tended to teach to the middle ground, and that didn't leave room for much more’n the basics. 

Not that it mattered all that much. It wasn’t his subpar education tying him down so much as the money it would take to pack up and leave. That ain't to say he didn't dream, though. Oh, he dreamed. But despite his lack of education he wasn't stupid. He never let those dreams do much more than help him pass the day until he could crack open a cold one and pass the night with a little liquid assistance. 

What he wouldn't give for some alcohol just now. Something to tamp down a few of the butterflies making a mess of his belly so that maybe when got hisself lined up and took his foot off the brake he'd land the sixty-six Imperial under his fingers right where he wanted it. 

He still couldn't believe he'd snatched her up for only two hundred dollars and the sixer he had in his passenger side footwell. 

“My sister got one just like this,” he'd said, sweat dripping down his brow. “Needs a new engine. Least I can do ‘fore she goes off to nursing school in Little Rock.”  

The man standing on the other side of the flimsy screen door had given Crowley a long once over before he’d turned over his shoulder toward the scatter of framed pictures on the mantle. Was it his daughter in the photo with her graduation cap held high? His wife? Crowley didn't ask. And he hadn’t looked back over his own shoulder at the Chrysler sitting on blocks in the driveway, either. His mama always said he wore every emotion he ever felt on his cheeks and he wasn’t about to get too excited and let that redheaded flush give him away.  

Crowley'd handed over half the cash and the Bud Light and come back with a trailer before the man could change his mind. Loaded ‘er up all on his own while he tried his damndest not to let his eagerness show. 

He ain't got no sister, after all. 

Just a whole lot of feelings he don't know what else to do with.

Taking an axe to the windshield the second he'd unloaded the body-on-frame beast behind his double wide was more satisfying than spending his weekends raw doggin’ the boys that called him faggot behind his back. Whether it was healthier, he couldn't say, but even with his knuckles busted up and bleeding he didn't stop. Worked straight into the night ripping out trim and smashing glass so he'd be able to make good on that entry fee he’d already paid. The winnings wouldn't get him out of town. Hell, he'd barely break even after four new tires and an alternator from the scrap yard, but for a few measly hours he wouldn't be thinkin ‘bout how miserable a life he led. 

Naw, he'd be as at ease as one of them Buddhist monks he read about in a National Geographic he found laying out on the circulation desk last week. Anathema gave him a look when he snatched it up but didn't shoo him away. Let him pretend he was on the other side of a globe he didn't know nearly nothin’ about until all them kiddos started filing in for story time and he thought he best skedaddle ‘fore their mamas started making a stink about him being there. 

Sitting in his Imperial, more than a little cocksure, a feeling not too awful unlike what the article had described as zen started to slide down Crowley like a ladle of chocolate gravy poured straight over his head. 

He could feel it starting from his crown where his helmet sat snug and then running thick and heavy over both of his eyelids which he risked closing while the crowd erupted into a cheer that wasn’t technically proper etiquette according to a history book he'd leafed through in the confines of the library’s air conditioning one afternoon last summer when the humidity was high enough to drown a frog. 

The corners of his jaw relaxed, his molars sinking away from one another for the first time all day. His temples went gooey and all those aching muscles in his neck went slack. His shoulders, which he wore like earrings on a good day, crept down and his chest sank, the aftermarket seat belt he installed at three in the morning sticking flush against his Kiss tee as he let out one long slow breath. 

Just as soon as his heart had settled down to a trot from a gallop, the announcer was on the horn and there was folks slapping the hood of his car and all around him engines growled like a pack of wild cats just waiting to rip each other's throats out. 

Crowley said the next best thing to a prayer and turned the key in the ignition and to his utter delight the old girl roared with the best of them. Ain't no way that fella one county over woulda sold him his Nana's daily driver if he’d have known it'd end up in this lineup. And he might just have a stroke if he saw the devil's number spray painted two feet tall on the driver's side door. 

Same number that got him booed as the announcer called his car and Crowley puttered out onto the watered down field that had hosted a tractor pull the night before. 

Crowley didn’t mind.

This fucking town already hated his guts. 

He didn't see no point in catering to them on the county fair grounds where his reputation didn't matter so much as how well he could bash the shit out of the next guy tryin’ to do the same to him. All that hate from the stands only made him thirstier to make it through his heat to the feature, even though he hadn't the past three years running. 

The past three years, though, he didn't have a Mopar that had been getting banned from demo derbies left and right in the surrounding counties. He wouldn't be able to take her over the border into Missouri, but he didn't need to in order to take home a trophy. And maybe next summer he would need to pick up a Vic or a Caddy to stay in the game, but he'd cross that bridge when he got there.

Crowley put his front bumper right up against the dirt barrier meant to keep him out of the stands and wiped his palms on his thighs. Let his Levi's soak up the sweat that had gathered between his skin and the steering wheel and pushed his foot down just to hear his engine rumble. He could feel it from the soles of his boots all the way up to his chest and damn if it didn't give him half a chubby just waiting to let off the brake. 

At the end of the track the last car pulled up to the mound and out of habit Crowley threw his arm where the passenger seat should have been. When it met with nothing but empty air he wrenched it all the way around until he could rest his elbow on the back of his own seat and trained his eye on that stocky man with the green flag. He held it tight in his hand now lest anyone mistake his gestures for something they wasn't and jumped the gun. 

The crowd that had so dutifully put their hats and their hands to their chests for the anthem and stood misty eyed with honor and respect now hooted and hollered and screamed for carnage. Although they was one in the same, tradition and violence, weren’t they? Sure seemed the case in Crowley’s neck of the woods where fire and brimstone ran in people’s blood and falling out of line was bound to get you an ass whooping you wouldn’t soon forget.

Crowley, who couldn’t recall ever adhering to no goddamn line, remembered every single one of them, at least.   

The sun was well on its way towards the horizon but the muggy summer air still made sweat trickle down Crowley's spine and pool at the waistband of his Hanes. The steady roar of the crowd kept getting eaten up by the engines all around him. The sound of a dozen other men sharing the track, most of them for reasons not too dissimilar from Crowley's own, though he wasn’t always so good at remembering it. He had enough heartache to go around but that didn’t mean the weight of the world wasn’t just a little too much a little too often for damn near everyone in the county. 

Crowley didn’t think about all them feelings everyone else didn’t know what to do with neither. 

That wouldn’t get him no trophy. 

He ignored the notion just like he ignored the murmur of the announcer riling up the crowd. Easy enough to do with all the noise around him until that all too familiar countdown started, three-hundred strong.

Ten!

Crowley let his eyes wander to the car opposite him. To the patchy lavender paint job and the unchained trunk. 

Nine!

Number 116. 

Eight!

He knew the man behind the wheel. Well… he was well acquainted with the toe of his boot. Same pair he wore to church every Sunday. 

Seven!

It would be damn hard not to disqualify himself aiming straight for the driver's side door and the smug face on the other side of it. 

Six!

Crowley revved his engine. Gripped the wheel. 

Five!

He shifted in his seat and slipped his gaze away from the bigot that was staring him down too. Narrowed his eyes on that green flag still clutched tight in swollen fingers. 

Four!

Aim for the radiator. 

Three!

The tires.

Two!

Take him out clean and then move on to the next self-righteous piece of shit that looked down on him. 

One!

The green flag unfurled and though Crowley knew it couldn't be true, he was sure he could hear it ripple over the scream of a dozen junkers with their mufflers ripped off. And just as soon as he'd seen it, it was gone again, the man with the belly hightailing it through the mud while tires spun, digging in deep looking for traction. 

Crowley didn't let himself get too excited. 

Not yet.

He eased that sixty-six back slow to start. Hit the gas once he had a footing and five seconds later his rear bumper was folding the trunk up off number 116 like the lid on a can of sardines. The crunch of metal giving like soft butter was music to Crowley's ears. Set a firecracker off in his belly that had him throwing his car into drive and spinning mud onto an audience that squealed with delight at the brown flecks he left on their summer-pink cheeks and sweat stained t-shirts. 

This town always did love to see the muck flung, it just wasn't usually Crowley that had the pleasure of doing the flinging. He didn't have no time to appreciate it, though, because one lousy hit wasn't gonna take out that purple piece of shit. Not quite.

It did what it was meant to do, though. 

Good ol’ number 116 was forced to turn himself right around on account of the trunk lid flapping where the back window woulda been and Crowley took advantage of the combined forward momentum to bring the nose of his sixty-six straight into its clipped-back wheel well. 

The seatbelt stung against his chest but the pop that coulda just as soon been 116’s tire as his tie rod made Crowley forget every bit of discomfort in his body, from the too tight feeling of his sweaty jeans against his thighs to the loneliness that came with being queer in rural Arkansas. 

He'd remember it all in the morning, though. 

Always did. 

Made those few precious moments on the track and in the pit all the sweeter. 

Crowley grinned seeing 116 on the run. He was moving faster than the man with the green flag, tail tucked. 

“Pussy,” Crowley spat as he watched him limp away on three tires. 

The avocado green car that clipped him on his chase hardly even jostled him in his seat. He didn’t pay it no mind. One more good hit and that fucker would be out, Crowley was sure of it. And with a chassis like the one he was sitting on, he was more than willing to risk another hit with his front end to do it. 

Crowley swung around to give chase, tail end arcing out wide and smacking another car in the process to the utter delight of the crowd. He threw ‘er into drive and got lucky with a little traction, lurching forward like a shot.

The sweet, sweet satisfaction of taking that asshole out of the running was as good as the fuel running through his lines, and it went up in flames just as quickly as if he’d put a match to the fumes when his car did a one-eighty beneath him when it oughta been moving in a straight line. 

Crowley's helmet hit the B-pillar with a crack. 

His seat belt snapped tight against his chest and it took him a minute to realize that it felt so much like he was trapped in a bear hug because his ass end was a good four feet higher than his front bumper. 

He had only as much wherewithal in the moment as it took to recognize a glimpse of powder blue. A splash of white. He knew the car. Could picture the crude angel wings on its roof that he couldn't have seen from the driver's seat of his car but that practically glowed from up in the stands. 

That glittering white spray paint matched the ridiculous platinum halo under the driver's helmet. 

Crowley's tires spun. He was caught up on the barrier, wheels digging him deeper every time he hit the gas. 

Crowley didn't need to glance at his watch to feel the seconds slipping away. He only had about sixty left before he'd be disqualified for going too long without hitting another car. 

Smoke barreled out of the stacks jutting up out of his hood and Crowley was sure that a matching plume was rolling out of his ears. Against his better judgement he slammed his foot on the gas and sure enough his tires only dug in deeper. 

Metal crunched all around him but not a soul risked a cheap hit that might knock him free of his predicament. Crowley couldn’t blame them. He’d leave a Chrysler built like a truck hung up on the barrier, too, rather than go head to head with a car some folks were beginning to call uncrashable. 

Crowley slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and growled as loud as his overtaxed engine. Just his luck to finally get a leg up only to be cut off at the knees. 

The flagman in his line of sight reached behind his back and Crowley knew he was reaching for the black flag tucked in his belt. No fucking way was he gonna give anyone the satisfaction of taking him out. Never had before, no sense in starting now. 

With a muttered curse Crowley reached up and snapped the flag zip tied to the frame of his car.

It felt worse than he cared to admit hearing the crowd cheer when he did it.

Chapter Text

“You ever gonna tell me who's been giving you those hickeys?”

Crowley flipped a page in the book in his lap and didn't bother to look up.

“Baby girl, the second I kiss and tell is the second I stop gettin’ laid in this piece of shit county.”

“Watch your language, this is a family establishment. And get yer goddamn dirty ass boots off my furniture.”

Anathema might've been only barely old enough to count as an adult as far as Crowley was concerned but she had a tendency to mother him. He acted like it was an irritation but if he was being honest with himself, which he didn't do all too often, it was the reason he came back in the beginning. Every single man in the world was wanting for something and though he hadn't managed to admit it to himself just yet, he longed for something tender. A gentle voice and a kind hand when he hadn't known such a thing since he lost his actual mama all them years ago. 

Not that she'd been a warm woman, as such. But she wasn’t cold neither. She was just hard and worn and got stuck with a soft baby far too young. Spent more time figuring out how to pawn him off on other folks more’n actually caring for him. Hell, Crowley hadn't been a latchkey kid so much as half orphaned. But still, every once in a while, she'd come home late and draw the blinds and wrap him up in her arms when she thought he was sleepin’ and for a little bit he felt safe. 

Then it was just foster homes with adults that cared more about that government payout than feedin’ him. Teachers that were eager to put their hands on him for actin’ out when he got bored. Youth pastors who acted like he was broken cause he wasn't interested in girls like all the other thirteen year old boys and thirteen year old boys that already knew he deserved bullying. 

Needless to say he put up more walls than the Ming Dynasty.  Crowley never woulda expected that a sixteen year old girl working Sundays at the local library might be the first to peer through his cracks. Or that three years later he'd’ve let her talk him into a library card that he actually used every weekend. 

Crowley scrunched his nose at his boots. Twisted his ankle ‘round to peek at the mud caked between the treads. 

“They ain't that dirty.”

One sharp look from Anathema and Crowley slid his feet off the low table in front of him. 

“We're closing up. You gonna take that book with you or just keep using it as an excuse to come track mud across my floors?”

Crowley cocked his head and lifted a brow. “You said I couldn't take more out until I brought some back.”

“I’d be willing to make an exception for my carpet. You know how much it costs to get a cleaning service in here? We're already barely keeping the doors open. And funding is always on the choppin’ block every time those idiots in Washington get together.”

Crowley scoffed. At the mention of politics as much as the notion of payin’ someone to run a wet vac.

“Cleaning service? What is this, the Ritz? I'll steam the whole dang building for a case of Bud.”

“I'm holding you to that.” Anathema tidied a stack of pamphlets about the library resources no one but Crowley seemed to know about and flashed him a grin. “You excited for tomorrow night?”

Crowley’s insides did something not entirely pleasant. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. It’d been one whole whirl around the sun since he got hung up on the barrier and disqualified in heat one and he was still dreaming about snapping his flag. 

He hadn't even managed to get the Mad Dog vote from the audience considering the three whole minutes he spent on the track ‘fore he had to resign. It was what he’d been counting on if his ringer of a sixty-six hadn't gotten him top spot. The crowd might not’ve liked him, but that was all the more reason to vote him through to the feature if he didn’t get there hisself. Every story needs a villain and he'd gotten used to playin’ the part. They’d put him through just to watch him get bullied and beaten a little more. Smooth brained as some of them folks were, though, they weren’t stupid enough to give him another chance with a pristine car. 

Not when he might just have taken out everyone's favorite golden child. 

Crowley avoided Anathema's question ‘cause try as he might he was no good at talking ‘bout his feelings. One of these days they was sure to just all come gushing out like the geyser pictured on the page open in his lap. 

He had an inkling they’d burn a few folks once they did. 

“You comin’?” he asked instead.

Anathema looked up from her stack of pamphlets. There was a glint to her eye that Crowley couldn’t quite place. “You'll never guess who was in here askin’ me the same thing the other day.” 

Crowley lifted a brow while Anathema plunked down onto the seat across from him and put her own not-so-dirty boots up on the table between them. She didn’t give him a second more to guess before she was blurting it out like maybe she had a geyser inside her too. 

“Newton Pulsifer.”

Crowley didn't let his eyebrows creep up toward his hairline, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about the pink crawling up toward the hickeys on his throat. 

“Was he, now?”

“I got that grant, you know? For the computer. Moving the library into this century and all that. Company sent him in from the city for the set up. But you know he's already in town every other week as it is.”

Crowley dropped his eyes back to the book in his lap. 

“I didn't.”

He did. 

All too well. 

Knew ‘fore Newton Pulsifer’s own mama did when he'd be in town. 

But like Crowley said, he don't kiss and tell.

“Well, he is,” Anathema said with a little pink startin’ to touch her own throat. “And he was here on Wednesday asking if I'd be attending the fair this weekend.”

Crowley felt his jaw tighten. “And what, pray tell, did ya tell ‘em?”

“That I never turn down the opportunity for a funnel cake. Especially if I might persuade someone else to buy it for me.” She smirked and looked like all of a sudden like a full grown woman who wanted far more than just a funnel cake. 

Crowley didn’t know if the sour taste in the back of his throat had to do with seeing her grow up right in front of his eyes or the person who was responsible for it. 

“Aw, An,” he said with a grimace. “Don't bother with that guy.”

“And just why in the hell not?”

“He ain't worth it.” Crowley scratched at the purple bruise peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt without meaning to. “Trust me.”

Anathema pretended to inspect her nails. There was a defiant little curl to her grin as she peeked at Crowley through her lashes. “He’s picking me up soon as I can get you out the front door.”

The girl was nothin’ if not stubborn. Crowley probably woulda had more traction tellin’ her what a swell guy Newt was. 

“Don't say I didn't warn ya.” Crowley snapped the book closed and waved it in the air as he stood. “You gonna let me take this home or what?”

Anathema’s smile didn’t budge. In fact she damn near wiggled watching him head for the exit.

“If it’ll get me my funnel cake faster.” 

With the book tucked under his arm and a promise that he'd return part of the stack sitting next to his bed the next time he came around, Crowley headed for the door with Anathema on his heels, a pep in her step that made his stomach twist in a way that wasn't at all comfortable. 

She stuck the key in the lock and leaned out into the late afternoon sun, the flyaways around her face catching the rush of the cool, dry air getting sucked out into the sticky Arkansas heat. 

“Good luck out there tonight, babe. I'll be rootin’ for you.”

Crowley couldn't help but picture his find of a lifetime sixty-six hung up on a mound of dirt while the kid that never knew a hardship in his life walked away with the prize money. 

“You know luck ain't never been my friend, An.”

Anathema didn't let her expression slip toward pity and Crowley was as glad for it as he was annoyed by it. The two halves of him that never quite fit in the middle was grinding up against each other, part of him wanting someone to care and the other terrified that they might.

“Then get out there and kick some ass all on yer own.”

The sun was still way up high when Crowley pulled out of the library’s parking lot and hit the main drag. The only drag, really. A half mile of shops and a single traffic light that coulda been a stop sign was just about all there was to town. A few blocks of struggling storefronts bookended by the most frequented establishments in the county: the bar at one end and the church at the other. 

Crowley avoided both. 

He'd get judged walking into either one. 

When he needed to be in town he stuck mostly to the library, the liquor store and the garden center he had the good fortune of working at. But he spent most of his time outside the city limits where there was more space than anything else.

Life was easier that way.

Hell, pluck out all the people and Arkansas wasn't half bad. Crowley actually liked living tucked between the Ouachita and Ozark mountains. The Arkansas river, which the valley he resided in was named for, ran cold and fast due to all the water trickling down from the uplands and there was more swimming holes than he could count. When he wasn't chest deep in frigid water he was miles deep down an overgrown trail or climbing up one of them mesas that jutted out of the valley like upended pudding cups. Tomorrow, in fact, he might just get hisself lost among the oak and the hickory and the cedar. 

But he’d worry about that tomorrow. 

Tonight he had more pressing concerns. 

Such as taking a certain Bible thumpin’ goody two shoes down a peg.  

Back on his own little slice of Arkansas, Crowley’s Imperial was already loaded up and ready for the derby, and much as he was looking forward to getting her unloaded and back on the track, she gave him a tightness in his chest too. He couldn't stand thinking that he might end up repeating last year. And it oughtn't’ve meant so much in the grand scheme of things, but he was so accustomed to losing that the little bit of hope he might come out on top for once was wreaking havoc on something inside him he hadn't taken the time to properly examine yet. 

Crowley circled his trailer and checked the chains for a third time. He didn't wanna go and wreck the ol’ girl before he even got to the derby and it would be just his luck to have missed something the first two times around with all those twisty twirlies going on inside him.

When he was more than certain that each wheel was secured and his most prized possession wasn't going nowhere but where he dragged her, he hitched the trailer to his truck and hopped in the cab and started toward the fairgrounds he hadn't set foot on since last year. For some reason he thought it might feel different this time around, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. But as he sorted his registration and pulled into the pit among the scattering of other early birds, he felt just the same as he always did. 

More ash than phoenix. 

And more dirt on someone's boot than anything else. 

Nothing changed in that regard when the designated safety official puttered over and started poking around at his pride and joy. 

Crowley’s car was clean as a whistle. He wasn't gonna give no one no excuse to keep him off the track. Checked off every single box on the list a dozen times over in the last week to be sure of it. Til they added one that said No queers or No Imperials he was solid. And he knew they was probably working on both, but he'd tripled checked the rules and regulations and they hadn't banned either just yet. 

The safety official, a burly man with a bald head and a surly lookin’ scowl, pointed a thick finger at the hole cut in his hood. 

“Cut ‘er back. Regulation is ten inches.”

Crowley snarled and jammed his own finger at the jagged metal.

“That's ten inches! I measured!” Several times. With two different measuring tapes. 

“Cut ‘er back or walk.” The official jerked a thumb over his shoulder and didn't bother to look Crowley in the face. Probably better that way. The glare he was giving the man was sharp enough to cut. 

“They're gonna flood my engine if they go sticking that extinguisher in there. Take me outta the whole thing.”

The man circled Crowley's car. Kicked a tire and shone a flashlight through one of the holes in his trunk where he'd chained it shut. 

“Don’t go catchin’ on fire then.”

Crowley chewed back his snarl. Took the crumpled pack of Camels from his breast pocket and slipped one between his lips before he finally turned over his shoulder toward the scrawny woman standing behind him with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“You got any snips?”

She spit a wad of chew onto the ground and wiped her chin with a wrist. 

“Yeah, boss.”

Crowley didn't really know why Beatrice Musca hung around, but he never passed up the opportunity for a hand in the pit. Even if that hand flipped him the bird just as often as it did any actual helping. He wouldn't call the two of them friends so much as mutually miserable. With her flop of box-dyed black hair and Judas Priest t-shirt she got just as many dirty looks as Crowley did. Them three boys out east in West Memphis that got stuck with murder charges sure didn't help in that regard. Guilty or not, the Satanic Panic of the eighties was back in full force in their neck of the woods and half the town was sure good ol’ Bea was next in line to strike. Crowley already had a reputation, so he never much minded her hangin’ around. At least she was handy with a socket wrench, even if she wasn't the most gifted conversationalist. 

Snips in hand and ash falling off the cigarette hanging from his lips, Crowley got to work opening up his hood an extra inch, cursing up a storm under his breath as he did it. 

Bea leaned a hip against the fender and shielded her eyes from the sun. “You got this under control?” 

Crowley frowned at the blood trickling over a knuckle where he'd caught it on the freshly cut metal. 

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Gonna go get me one of them bloomin’ onions ‘fore the lines get too long.”

Bea was halfway out of the pit before Crowley could even look up from the rust red droplets on his hood that matched the paint job on the driver's side door. He rolled his eyes at her back. 

“I'm good, thanks,” he muttered. 

He couldn't eat anyway. Not even if he wanted to. He had two hours until the green flag went up and he'd be a ball of energy until then. Nothing was gonna go in that didn't come right back up again. He'd found that one out the hard way.

Crowley dropped his cigarette onto the dirt and ground it with his toe. Crawled through the window and turned the key that lived permanently in the ignition just to let the growl of his engine soothe his frayed nerves. 

Except it didn't roar to life.

Didn't even purr.

The ignition only clicked against his palm.

He pumped the gas pedal a couple times and turned the key again. Harder this time, like it might somehow make a difference. Like he didn’t know damn well the engine wasn’t about to turn over. It hadn’t given a cough. A whimper, even. Nothing at all to indicate there was any juice left in the thing. 

“Motherfucker,” Crowley hissed through clenched teeth.  

The battery under the hood wasn’t brand spankin’ new, but it wasn’t on its last legs, neither. And there wasn’t no functioning dome or headlight left in the car to drain it. 

Still, he was in his truck in a heartbeat and pulling it nose to nose with the Imperial. 

Sure would be faster to jump the thing with Bea on hand, but he was well accustomed to doing the dance solo. Red to dead, red to good. Black to good, black to ground. He started up his truck, stepped over the cable strung low between the front bumpers and let his forehead hit the steering wheel with relief when the sixty-six started up too. 

The bile that had begun to rise in his throat at the click of his ignition settled back down into his belly where it swirled around with all the regular nervous energy sitting thick in his guts. 

“You had me scared for a minute, there,” he grumbled at the car as he slipped back through the window and approached his truck’s engine. “You better behave or it’s the scrap yard for you. I hear they’ll pay a pretty penny for-” Crowley’s heart sank right down into the muck when he pulled the black clamps and she sputtered and stalled behind him. 

He couldn't bring himself to look over his shoulder at the engine going cold. Which is why he jumped and smacked his head on his hood when a disembodied voice, far closer than he imagined someone coulda gotten since he turned his back, said, “I got a spare alternator if you think you can get it swapped out in time for your heat.” 

Crowley glowered at the jumper cables in his hands. 

Now just why in the hell would Aziraphale East wanna give him a leg up when the bastard took him out in the first five minutes last year?

Chapter Text

Aziraphale knew that Anthony Crowley had no love for him after he took him off the winner’s stand last year, but he still wasn’t expecting every muscle in his body to go rigid the second he opened his mouth. He coulda swore he saw his hackles go up like a scared dog. Dogs though… they mighta liked to bark and bare their teeth but a kicked one didn’t take much to bully. 

Maybe it wasn't hackles at all. 

Maybe his spine was arching like one of them mean ol’ barn cats that had taught Aziraphale a lesson or two about boundaries when he was barely knee high to a grasshopper. Cats, they had more fight in their scrawny bodies than most of the men Aziraphale knew combined. And more lives, too. 

Yeah, Anthony Crowley was definitely more cat than dog. 

And when he turned around and set eyes on Aziraphale, he looked about ready to get his claws out. 

Aziraphale knew that the smile he offered up in return was a little unsure at the corners, but in his experience that made people all the more willing to forgive him. And forgiveness was dang near his favorite thing. After all, Anthony Crowley wasn’t the only one Aziraphale took out of the running last year. At the end of the day he'd taken just about everyone off the stand. And those he didn’t take out with force he trounced with the months of time and effort he put into his car leading up to the derby. 

It was something he was used to, winning. And he was dang good at it, too. 

Nevermind that pride was a sin.

Aziraphale might've grown up in the church, but that church was all fire and brimstone and he was fueled by righteousness to accomplish whatever he set his mind to and call it God’s will. He preferred not to acknowledge the possibility that he mighta also had some kind of complex that drove him to win. One that may or may not have had something to do with fillin’ the hole left by what he really wanted with a bunch of meaningless trophies and pats on the back from the deacons at his church. 

He didn't stop at the demo derby, neither, though it had been his favorite so far. He'd been winning long as he could remember. He took top spot in his sixth grade spelling bee. Won the biggest stuffed animal at the balloon pop each summer and brought down the biggest buck every fall. He'd even taken out Ms. Michaels for best pie at the not-so-friendly church bake off last winter. 

Served her right, if you asked him. Her crust was never all that good to begin with and she wouldn't know a ripe pear if it bit her on her narrow behind. 

All that to say, it was really hardly Aziraphale’s fault he’d taken Crowley out so quick last year. The moment he saw that Mopar in the pit he knew he’d have to act fast or else there was no way he’d place, even with all the time and money he’d put into his car. It had given Aziraphale no pleasure to watch the man snap his flag and take himself out of the running so early.  

Well, strictly speaking that wasn’t entirely true.

He’d gotten the same little thrill he did watching Ms. Michaels’s lips turn down at her second place ribbon. It was just that he had no ill intent toward Mr. Crowley like the rest of the town seemed to. Far as Aziraphale knew he never hurt no one. Kept mostly to himself on the outskirts of town in a trailer plunked down in the middle of the world's most organized junk yard. 

Tidy rows of beaters. 

Washing machines in pieces. 

At least three boats, none of which looked like they would even float, and half a ton of miscellaneous metal separated by type and size while he, along with the rest of the county, waited for the price of scrap to go up. 

He was a tinkerer from the looks of it. The beds of his nails, not that Aziraphale was lookin’, were permanently stained with grease and the calluses on his palms were so thick Aziraphale had to wonder if he could feel them at all. He always seemed to have a pencil tucked behind his ear and a beer in his hand and not one bit of shame about who he was or who he was attracted to. No matter how many times he'd gotten his ass kicked for it. 

That crook in his nose was from Aziraphale's cousin. And the scar cutting through his brow from a man that sat behind Aziraphale in church every Sunday. 

Aziraphale shifted his weight from one foot to the other and took a glance around the pit.

It wouldn't do to be seen fraternizin’. 

His family already thought he was too soft. 

But the piece of his heart that remembered the parts of the Bible people seemed to forget wouldn't let him just walk by the man when it was clear as day the car wasn't starting because his alternator was shot.

Crowley drew himself out from beneath his hood and leveled a sneer at Aziraphale. “Excuse me?” 

Aziraphale took a cautious step forward and ignored the way he could feel his heartbeat in his belly. “I’ve got an alternator that’ll fit it. That’s why you’re stalling out. Not your battery.” 

“I know why she’s stallin’.” 

“Right. Well.” Aziraphale hiked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of town. “My garage ain’t far.”

“Just why exactly are you so concerned with helpin’ me?” 

“It’s the Christian thing to do.” 

Crowley sucked his cheek between his teeth and chewed. He didn’t look even a little convinced of Aziraphale’s good will. Was hard to blame him considering just how much had been done to him in the name of Christ that wasn’t nowhere near Christian. 

Aziraphale tried on a smirk instead. “And the win’ll feel a whole lot more satisfying when I’ve actually had to work for it.” 

Something that almost looked like a smile touched the corners of Crowley’s eyes. As soon as his expression had thawed, though, it iced back over, his steely gaze narrowing on Aziraphale. 

“How do I know you’re not just tryin’ to fuck me?” 

Aziraphale's lips parted but he didn't get a word out in his own defense before a punch of laughter distracted him from what he was gonna say.

“You think awfully highly of yourself, don’t you sweetie?” 

Every inch of Crowley’s demeanor shifted as a narrow hand landed on his shoulder. From puffed up tomcat to touch starved stray in the blink of an eye. He turned toward the voice, and the hand, with obvious affection. 

“Just how’n the hell did you get into the pit, An?” 

It sure was something to see him lean against the girl. Fold right down under the arm that draped over his shoulders like maybe if he got the angle just right he could wear her. 

She grinned at him and she might as well’ve had a spotlight in her mouth the way his face lit up to see it. 

“It ain’t exactly Fort Knox,” she said with an eye roll that reminded Aziraphale of the girl he first met at church, though he hadn't seen her there in years.  

“Miss Device,” Aziraphale said with a tip of his chin. “I was just offering Mr. Crowley here-”

“Just Crowley,” he hissed in Aziraphale’s direction. 

Aziraphale's eyes wandered down to the jut of Crowley's hip and the hand resting against it. He was so narrow it was surprising his fingers didn't wrap all the way around himself and meet on the other side. Aziraphale had to wonder just how many times Crowley had tightened his belt before Luke finally gave him a chance at the garden center.

He surely didn’t wonder nothin’ else. And if he looked a little too long, he didn’t mean too. Was just lost in his own head, is all.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and looked at Anathema instead. 

“I was offerin’ Crowley here a spare part.” 

Anathema shared a meaningful glance with Crowley that made him roll his eyes. Aziraphale was used to feeling on the outs, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so left out of a conversation made entirely of looks. 

“He’d be much obliged,” Anathema said with a grin that made the tips of Aziraphale's ears feel warm for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He did what he could to ignore the creeping feeling that he was the butt of a joke he didn't understand. He'd gotten pretty good at it over the years, but he wasn't immune to wishing he was on the other side of the punchline. 

Crowley, meanwhile, was busy ignoring Anathema's quick fingers which were twisting a tiny braid into his hair to hang behind his ear. It was hard to take him too seriously when he put on what musta been his version of a stern face and fished a cigarette out of his pocket. 

“If it shits out on me halfway through my heat there’ll be hell to pay.” 

Aziraphale didn't let himself laugh but he couldn't contain the smile that spread across his face. Without that alternator Crowley wouldn't even make it onto the track. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Aziraphale rested a hand on his belt buckle and watched Crowley’s gaze settle on it. “I can be back in a jiffy if you think you can get it done in time.” 

“Of course I can get it done.” A flame leapt up from Crowley's fist. His eyes stayed glued to Aziraphale's belt while he took a long drag and only wandered back up to his face as he blew a plume of smoke through his lips that hung thick in the muggy air between them. 

“Any particular reason you got Mopar parts just layin’ around at your shop?” he asked just as Aziraphale finally started to walk away. 

That competitive spark flickered in Aziraphale's belly. He knew his grin was smug but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. 

“You ain’t the only one with an Imperial this year.” 

For the last six weeks, every time Aziraphale laid eyes on his sixty-four he got a swoop in his guts. Truth be told it had been pure luck he'd gotten Crowley out so early last year. A miracle, really. Ain't no way he woulda taken home the prize money at the end of the night if he hadn't taken advantage of Crowley's doggedness on the track. He’d been so fixated on taking out Deacon Sandalphon that he hadn't seen Aziraphale coming. It’d been a cheap hit, but it was the right move. Ain't no shame in that. 

That’s not to say he didn’t carry a little guilt over the whole thing, though. After all, it was an open secret what the Deacon had done to Crowley last year. And Aziraphale suspected he knew why, too. 

But that was neither here nor there. 

Aziraphale stuffed those sticky, uncomfortable feelings into a dark, unvisited corner of his mind like he did with all the rest of his guilt and focused on the fact that he had a fighting chance this year, no cheap hits required.

It’d be fun to have to work for it. He wasn't lyin’ when he said that a little competition only made the win sweeter. 

Aziraphale hopped out of his truck and jogged the handful of steps to a door with a closed sign in the window. It was a door that was always open to him, though, and in a blink it was swinging shut behind him again. 

Guardian Auto Repair might not have been his in name, but his mama left him the key in her will. And with a little time and a bit of cash he'd wrestle the lease out of his uncle’s hands and the shop would be well and truly his. 

Until then he'd toe the line. 

For the most part. 

Ain't like anyone would notice one lousy alternator erased from the books. 

Aziraphale had a white cardboard box in hand before it hit him that he hadn't unlocked the door when he came in. He didn't bother to lock up his house, but there was money in the tools and parts in his shop that he couldn't afford to lose. And no matter what people round these parts liked to claim, their little town was far from free of crime. Plenty of folks out in the woods with home grown chemistry labs made sure of that. 

A shadow passed behind the privacy glass in the door to his office and he took a step toward a tire iron hung up on the wall. When the door burst open he nearly tripped over his feet scrambling to close the last twelve inches between his palm and his saving grace. 

“Aziraphale! Buddy! I thought you were at the derby!”

Aziraphale clutched his chest and cursed under his breath even though he didn't often let himself stoop to such foul language. 

“Gabe! You scared the heck outta me.”

The door swung closed as fast as it had opened and Gabriel East leaned against it like a male model in a JCPenney catalog. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyes landing on the box in Aziraphale's hand.  

“Just stoppin’ in for some parts.” Aziraphale craned his neck to try to see around Gabriel’s broad frame. “What are you doin’ here?”

“Oh, you know the church. Gets busy on Friday nights. No room to think and I’ve got a sermon to give on Sunday.” 

His cousin only ever came by the shop when he needed something, but the Friday night prayer groups did get a little rowdy from time to time. If you asked Aziraphale they functioned more like gossip mills than anything good natured, but he left the judgement up to God. Wasn’t his place to intervene. He wasn’t the one chosen to stand behind the pulpit, after all. If anyone was gonna steer the flock toward kinder pastures it was gonna have to be the man flashing his pearly whites at Aziraphale. 

“You comin’ out tonight?” Aziraphale asked, content to change the subject if it meant he wasn't about to get bogged down with a favor or two. Or three. 

“Wouldn’t miss it. I hear that fruitcake Crawly’s got his Imperial back out. Bet he’s not expecting you!”

“His name’s Crowley.”

It wasn't like Aziraphale to argue with his cousin, but something inside him spoke up before he could get his mouth under wraps. Maybe it was that guilt he thought he’d taken care of. Maybe he'd piled those dark corners up too high and things were starting to tumble out into the light. 

Gabriel lifted a perfect brow and shrugged. 

“Well, if he ever came to church his name might come to me a little more easily. The ladies got him on their prayer lists, ya know?” 

Of course they did. Any excuse at all to drag someone through the mud in the name of the Lord, they took it. Bet they kept tabs on every single bite mark the man wore on his neck like merit badges, too. Prayed extra hard every time he carried a bag of mulch to their cars with the evidence of his sin right out there in the open.  

Aziraphale could feel the weight in his corners starting to shift. He sighed and nodded at the office behind Gabriel. 

“Turn the lights off when you leave, would ya?” 

The middle of Gabriel’s face scrunched up tight.

“Don’t tell me you’re on this save the rainforest nonsense or whatever folks are all up in arms about these days.” 

Aziraphale didn't have the time or energy to try to educate the man. Not least of all because he'd never listened before and it was likelier for the pigs in the 4-H barn to grow wings and fly than for him to listen now. 

“Just turn ‘em off, please.”

Gabriel flashed one of those smiles that had half the ladies in the choir swooning over him. 

“Bring home that trophy, Aziraphale.” 

It killed Aziraphale a little bit that he knew how good he'd feel when Gabriel bragged on him in front of the congregation on Sunday. He gave Gabriel his own grin. The one that had the other half of the choir swooning over him. 

“I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Text

The air seemed thicker than before. Heavier. 

Crowley kicked the welded shut driver's side door and fumed while Anathema put her hands on her hips and failed to look the least bit intimidated. 

“I'm sure he'll be back in no time at all,” she said.

“I ain't worried about that, An. I'm sure Bible Study is creamin’ in his drawers over his good deed.”

“Then what's got you all in a hissy fit?”

“He just had to go an’ find himself an Imperial, didn't he? As if lookin’ like that ain't enough, he's just gotta take home the gold again too?”

He’d gotten used to seeing Aziraphale around town in his Sunday best. Even coming straight from his shop he somehow kept that baby blue work shirt pressed and all but spotless. Crowley surely didn't mind lookin’ when they crossed paths, but he'd forgotten what a ripped t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans did for him. 

The grease caked thick in the creases of his knuckles wasn't helping neither. 

Blond and pretty and not afraid of a little hard work? 

The boy was catnip. 

Didn't mean Crowley wasn't hot as a teakettle on account of what he'd be drivin’ in the derby. 

“I think he was flirting with you.”

Anathema leaned her elbows on the hood and for the first time Crowley noticed the sharp line of a clavicle. The hint of cleavage she’d never shown at the library. Hell, up until that exact moment it hadn't occurred to Crowley she had tits at all. Far as he was concerned she was still sixteen and toothy and talking about getting out of town just like every other sixteen year old he'd ever met. 

He couldn't stop from thinking about Newt and that funnel cake he'd promised her. 

Crowley rolled his eyes and leaned against the fender. Pretended she didn't have a clue about adult things. And that he did. 

“There wasn't no part of what just happened that could be considered flirting.”

“How would you even know?”

The purse of her lips didn't do nothin’ to convince him she should be going on dates with grown ass men. Crowley was startin’ to regret the conversation entirely, but he’d never admit as much to himself, so he did what he’d always been so good at doing and dug in. 

“I’d like to remind you that I do get laid in this dump.”

“What's that got to do with anything?”

Crowley pushed off the fender and turned his attention to the battery cables running to his passenger side footwell so he didn't have to face the conversation head on. Leaned through the window and double checked the connection while his voice echoed in the stripped interior of the Imperial.

“In a place like this it does take a little bit of an awareness of these sorts of things.”

“What sorts of things?”

Crowley smacked his head for a second time that afternoon yanking back out of the window. He rubbed the tender spot on his scalp and glared.

“Jesus Christ, how long have you been there?”

Aziraphale cocked his head like a golden retriever puppy and shrugged. 

“Not long.” 

Crowley prayed he'd only heard the part about getting laid. He could live with that. He didn't see no upside to letting him in on the rest of it, though. That whole part where Crowley had admitted to an attraction that wasn't a crush so much as an appreciation of thick arms and soft curls and hips he could really dig his fingers into. 

“You got the part or what?” he hissed, more’n a little too much bite in his words to try and compensate for how he was feeling. 

Aziraphale either didn't clock it or was ignoring it. His smile matched the tilt of his head as he held out a dusty white box and took another step toward Crowley. 

“On the house.” 

Crowley stopped with his hand only halfway to the box.

“I don't do favors,” he said. 

That syrup sweet grin finally sagged at the corners. Aziraphale sighed and shoved the box into Crowley’s limp hand. 

“Never asked for one.”

It did something funny to Crowley’s insides to watch that too-perfect mask slip. Reminded him for half a second that he wasn't the only one with a whole world in his head that no one knew nothing about. He squeezed the box between his palms and gave Aziraphale a look he hoped came off appreciative despite the words that came out of his mouth. 

“I ain't gonna take it easy on you out there just cause of this.”

Aziraphale didn't quite put the mask all the way back on. He lifted a brow and only half his mouth.

“Oh, I wouldn't want you to.” Somewhere in the distance a generator whined and a welding torch popped. Aziraphale’s eyes darted over his shoulder like he'd forgotten they weren't the only ones in the pit. He nodded back in the direction he'd presumably come from. “I should probably…”

Crowley found it was best to pretend it didn't sting when folks didn't want to be seen associating with him. So he did just that. Gave a curt nod that could be read whatever way Aziraphale felt like reading it and turned his back on him. 

There was of course a practical nature to letting him walk away so easily, too. Bea wasn't back with her damn bloomin’ onion and he still needed to run through the rest of his pre-derby checks. Without an extra set of hands he'd only barely get through them all and get the alternator swapped out before they called him to the lineup for his heat. No sense sitting around chit chatting when it was gonna eat up what precious little time he had left. 

He was propping the hood open when Anathema gave him a peck on the cheek and a squeeze around the waist. 

“I'm late to meet Newt.”

Crowley gave her a look that she hadn't done a damn thing to be on the receiving end of. “Tell him I said hi.”

Something shameful bubbled in his guts watching her bounce away toward the midway. He tried not to picture the arm around her shoulders or the stuffed teddy bear won at the milk bottle toss, but his jealousy wasn't a tameable beast. He funneled it all into his wrist and got to work removing his busted alternator 

It was out and lying on the ground next to his feet when Bea finally came wandering back into the pit. 

Crowley snarled at her. 

“Where the hell've you been?”

Bea didn't even bother to look concerned. 

“Last I checked you weren't payin’ me to be here. Which means I can be wherever the hell I wanna be.”

“I coulda used a hand with this. Not many volunteers around here willin’ to lend one.”

“People aren't always so bad as you like to make ‘em out to be, ya know?” Bea popped a hunk of deep fried onion between her lips and washed it down with a slug of Dr. Pepper. 

“Yeah? Remind me that the next time I show up to work with a split lip.” Crowley’s fingers itched for the cigarettes in his pocket but he jabbed them at the hunk of metal on the ground instead. “Damn alternator’s bad.”

Bea talked with her mouth full, spittle and little bits of breading accompanying every other syllable. 

“Didn't know you had a backup.”

“I didn't,” Crowley spat back. 

Bea had a way of making an awkward silence into a weapon and Crowley never could figure out how to wiggle out of the discomfort of it. He shrugged and nodded in the general direction he'd caught a glance of golden curls disappearing. 

“Aziraphale East offered up his spare part.” 

Bea, the fucking child, gave Crowley the same lifted brow that Anathema had. He'd have been content to ignore it entirely but she apparently wasn't ready to let the bad joke die just yet 

“Don't know many folks that would pass up an opportunity for Aziraphale East’s spare part,” she said with a smirk that coulda cut someone.

Thank God for the summer heat. 

Crowley’s cheeks were already so pink he didn't need to worry ‘bout the flush he felt picturing what Aziraphale was packing beneath the belt buckle that woulda been more at home at the rodeo.

He put his head back down, anyway, and stuck out a hand. 

“Fuck off and hand me that socket wrench.”

Pride wasn't Aziraphale's only sin. 

Especially not when the county fair rolled into town and brought with it all manner of temptations. 

Aziraphale watched Newton Pulsifer, who’d moved to the city the day he turned eighteen, collect a paper plate mounded up with powdered sugar dusted fried dough from the narrow counter in front of him. It was still too early for all them blinking lights from the rides and the games and the food stands to put on a real show, but the colors still danced across his cheeks and reflected off the glasses that had gotten him more than a few nicknames in school. 

Aziraphale licked his dry lips and squinted at the menu above his head. 

“Can I get one of them frozen lemonades too?”

“Comin’ right up!”

Aziraphale tugged a bulging wallet out of his back pocket and eyed the corn dog, cheese fries and elephant ear already waiting for him. Gabriel loved to remind him that gluttony was a sin. As if his own vanity and self-importance weren't. Aziraphale wasn't so sure that he didn't just need to be able to hold something over him from time to time. Anything at all to make him feel better about his own shortcomings, not that he'd admit he had any. Didn't matter much either way to the guilt it built up inside him every time he had to endure that disapproving frown. 

“Anything else I can getcha?”

The young woman working the register smiled, but it was the look of someone that had practiced it. That had curled up her lips in the mirror and made sure that there were crinkles in the corners of her eyes. Aziraphale knew because he’d spent half his life doing the same thing. 

“That'll be it,” he said as he put his cash down between them. And then, before he could stop himself, because apparently that was the trend of his evening, asked, “You local?”

The woman glanced down at her hands and the smile on her face wavered. “Just passing through. We do the whole summer circuit.”

Aziraphale’d hardly even been outside the county. He spent so much time in his shop it woulda been hard to travel even if he had the money for it. As it was all his savings needed to go into getting Guardian in his name instead of his Uncle's. 

“You must get to see so much. Meet so many people.”

“Folks ain't much different in the valley ‘n they are in the mountains.”

She might not have meant to say so much, but Aziraphale heard a whole novel in that sentence. He took a quick glance around and all he could see was whole lotta folks that looked much the same, Aziraphale included. Try as he might he couldn't come up with a word of reassurance. He'd seen time and time again the way anyone even a little different was treated. And he'd heard the way even his own congregation tended to talk about folks that wasn't white. As if their Lord and Savior hadn't been born in a land full of brown people. 

He dropped an extra bill into the tip jar while his insides squirmed. Caught the sheen of a cross hanging at her throat and took a shot in the dark.

“I hope you have a blessed night.”

Her fingers went to the necklace and she smiled again but there was a little light behind it this time. 

“You're in the derby, right?”

“How'd you guess?”

“Saw you last year. Everyone cheered when you took out that… well…” She leaned over the counter and whispered. “Satanist.”

Aziraphale chuckled as he slid a paper plate onto an open palm.

“Oh, he's not actually a Satanist. I don't think. Easy to judge a book by its cover, though. Especially when the cover is so… Well. Bold.”

Aziraphale hadn't appreciated the number Crowley chose for his car last year, but he wasn't about to pretend he thought Crowley was out in the woods sacrificing babies or dancing naked or whatever it was the satanists were up to these days.

The woman behind the counter didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue neither. 

“Either way. I'll be rootin’ for you.”

“I sure do appreciate it.” Aziraphale said, and meant it. 

It wasn't no easy task to balance all his paper trays, but he was nothing if not well versed in persevering. He’d make do with stacking ‘em like Lincoln Logs and just lick the cheese off the bottom of the tray sitting on top of the fries if he needed to. 

Aziraphale stuck the frozen lemonade into the crook of his elbow and hissed at the cold. Edged his way through the crowd slowly funneling towards the grandstand. Barely missed taking the brim of a cowboy hat to the nose and almost lost his corndog. Halfway to where his car was parked in the pit he caught Newt glancing over his shoulder walking into a tarot reader's tent on young Anathema's heels. He looked anxious about it, which Aziraphale didn't blame him for. No need to give people reason to talk if you could avoid it. Not when everyone was already whispering about why he fled town and left his mama to fend on her own. Aziraphale was sure he'd hear whispers in Bible study come Sunday evening.

There was still half an hour until the first heat of the derby but Aziraphale would be remiss if he didn't at least check in on Crowley. It was the right thing to do. Even if the bylaws prohibited him from lending a hand in the pit. 

He was still following the rules. 

The spare part, that wasn't assistance.

That was a transaction. 

A local mechanic offering goods. 

There was nothing specific in the rules about that. 

Aziraphale popped a squat on a spare tire and watched the space between Crowley's brows pinch. It felt so easy to find common ground with a man so different from him when that man was elbow deep in an engine. He felt a camaraderie that he couldn't so easily ignore. 

And maybe they wasn't actually so different. 

Maybe it was high time Aziraphale admitted as much. 

The thought had no sooner tumbled out into the light than he was shoving it back into a corner. 

Aziraphale opened wide and jammed half the corndog into his mouth just in time to get caught lookin’. 

Metal clanged and echoed as Crowley fumbled the tool in his hand and dropped it into his engine. Even from his distance, Aziraphale heard him curse. The corndog split in half between his teeth while Crowley clenched his jaw and worked a skinny arm down into the engine block. 

The scrawny goth that followed Crowley around like a shadow barked out a laugh that only made the muscles in Crowley’s throat stand up taller under his skin. 

Aziraphale didn't need another hint that he'd overstayed his welcome in all of ten seconds. He took down the rest of the dog in one bite, slipped the stick into his back pocket as he stood and let a slug of the already not-so-frozen lemonade cool his throat before anyone else noticed where he was lookin’.

Chapter Text

It was a good thing Crowley didn't have no time for his imagination to run away with him. He might've let it given the opportunity, and god only knew what he'd unleash if he let himself go from mild attraction to full blown crush. It wasn't a part of himself he'd met just yet, but he had a feeling he wouldn't much care for it. 

At the far end of the pit the organizers were giving the five minute warning for the first heat. Bea topped off the oil and wiped her hands on the front of her tee. 

“We're gonna be cuttin’ it close.”

Crowley was still feelin’ salty about being all but abandoned for overpriced fair food and didn't manage to pull the bite out of his voice as he turned on her.

“Mighta been done already if it hadn't taken you an hour to get a damn bloomin’ onion.”

Bea’d never backed down from a fight. Especially not with a man. And especially, especially not with Crowley. It was one of the things he appreciated most about her, though he'd never tell her as much. No sense in further inflating her belief she was incapable of being wrong. And ‘sides, he suspected she knew anyway. 

Her lip curled and her forehead wrinkled as a look that could only possibly be considered incredulous settled onto her face. 

“Wouldn't be done at all if I had the good sense to stop comin’ round entirely. You ain't doing my reputation any favors, ya know?”

“I do believe that goes both ways.” Crowley fluttered a hand at the pentagram hanging from her earlobe. “It’s one thing to be gay, another one entirely to be gay and a Satanist.”

Bea scoffed. “I think your paint job does just fine convincing folks of that all on its own.”

After last year the derby officials made him change his number. Cited the same decency clause in the bylaws that kept hotheaded rednecks from spittin’ at the refs or cursing loud enough for spectators to hear. 

It was a load of bullshit, but Crowley knew how to pick his fights. He'd complied before hauling his Imperial to the pit this year. 

Mostly. 

Sprayed over the last six on the driver's side door in the same shade as the original paint job, but in a matte finish so it was just about as visible as if he'd done nothing at all. 

Crowley wiped his hand on his thigh. Craned his neck and grinned at the side of his car. 

“Just the year of the model. Nothing satanic about the number sixty-six far as I know. And I've been reading up on it.”

He spent about as much time browsing religious texts and theological studies as he did feeling bad about how the church he grew up in treated him. It didn't make him feel much better, but he did take solace in the fact that folks like him weren’t persecuted in every good book that had ever been written. 

Bea gave him a look that was as worried at the edges as it was annoyed. 

“If Goldilocks doesn't beat yer ass they're gonna disqualify you on some dumbass technicality like this. You know that, right?”

Crowley shrugged. Picked at the matte black paint and didn't quite meet Bea’s gaze. 

“It ain't about that.”

“Then what the fuck’s it about?”

“Proving that a fag can come out on top.” A fleck of paint chipped off in his fingers, leaving the red underneath peeking through. “That the only way to hold me down is with the boot they keep on my neck.”

Bea was quiet for so long that Crowley finally looked up to find her brow pinched tight and her lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“Don't call yourself that,” she said. 

“Why?” he asked, feeling a little defensive. Like maybe he mighta chipped away a bit of himself just now too. “They all do.”

Bea turned away. Looked out over the pit full of folks that ain't never had nothin’ but grief for either of them. “Just… don't.”

Crowley rounded his trunk and double checked the chain holding it closed. Kicked a tire and ignored the bile creeping up his throat that had as much to do with the countdown to lineup as it did with the way Bea wouldn't look at him. He gazed down at the chipped paint sticking to his sweaty fingers and then back at Bea.

“You should put your name on her.”

“Why?” she asked, her expression skeptical even as she was taking a step toward the bed of Crowley’s truck where the spray cans had rattled around the whole half hour to the fairgrounds. 

“Part of the team, ain't you?”

Bea finally looked him in the eyes again. She cracked a grin and in two minutes was kneeling next to the rear fender admiring her handiwork. 

Crowley cocked his head sideways. His face scrunched in the middle. 

“What the hell is that?”

“It says Beez.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“Contrary to what these yokels might tell you, I can read.”

“Like Beelzebub. Lord of flies.” Crowley lifted a brow at her and she shrugged. “I’m tired of being Bea. Doesn't feel right.”

Crowley studied her for a minute. Her close cropped hair and baggy t-shirt and ratty converse. The ring in her nose and the grease smeared across her jeans. 

He knew he didn't have all the pieces to what she was tryin’ to say, but he also knew what it was like to not feel quite right. And what it meant to have one or two people in his life that made him feel closer to normal just for not judging him.

“Alright, Beez.” He leaned in through the window and started up his engine, relief and anxiety filling him up in equal measure at the sound of it. “Keep me running all night and the beer's on me.”

Beez went a little pink around the ears and ducked back around the fender to futz around with something that in all likelihood didn't need futzing with. 

It sure was funny looking at those four letters and thinkin’ he had a whole ‘nother reason to win. 

Aziraphale didn’t have the pleasure of going head to head with Crowley. Not yet, at least. As much as he would’ve loved to start out his night going all in, he knew full well why the organizers put them in different heats despite their claim that the draw was random. Two mopars battling it out wasn’t bound to end soon. Especially not after last year. Crowley would be on full alert for his baby blue paint job. Ain’t no way he’d let Aziraphale sneak up on him again.

He supposed it didn’t much matter. They’d just have to wait to have it out in the feature, s’all. Dollars to donuts Crowley’d come out on top in his heat and Aziraphale was determined to win the whole dang thing, so he’d surely do the same. 

Aziraphale dragged a finger through the bright orange cheese in the bottom of the paper tray sitting on the hood of his car. Popped it between his lips and groaned as he sucked it clean. He wasn’t sure if it was the setting or there was some kind of magic in that oversized pump, but there was nothing quite like county fair nacho cheese. 

The crackle of the loudspeaker drew a hush over the crowd. How on God’s green earth Mr. Shadwell secured his spot on the mic, Aziraphale would never know. He couldn’t tell if the man was from the delta or Appalachia or maybe was fresh off a boat coming in from the British Isles. All Aziraphale knew was that he was an institution, and it didn’t seem to bother anyone that you could only understand every third word out of his mouth. 

In fact people ‘round these parts might riot if they replaced him. Tradition mattered more’n sense for some folks and while Aziraphale understood the comfort that came with it, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe a little change now and then might not be worthwhile. 

Aziraphale picked up what was left of his cheese fries and made one more pass with his index finger as he started for the track. He wouldn’t miss the chance to watch Crowley in action. 

For learnin’ purposes, of course. 

People were nothin’ if not predictable and with a little studying Aziraphale was sure he could find all his soft spots. 

By the time Aziraphale found a good vantage point the cars were already on the track. Even without the sixty-six he coulda spotted Crowley from a mile away. Those unruly wisps of red peeked out of the bottom of his helmet like a scarlet letter. As if God hadn’t already made him different enough for a place like this, he had to go and make him stand out too. 

Aziraphale ran his fingers through his own nest of curls and tried not to think too hard on the way they shone as much like a beacon under the setting summer sun as they did beneath the fluorescent lights in the church basement. His mama had called his blond hair a gift, but he wasn’t so sure he agreed. 

A chorus of engines growled and popped and goosebumps crawled up Aziraphale’s arms even as sweat dripped down his brow. Crowley was already turned around in the driver’s seat, head on a swivel as he scanned the cars lined up opposite him. 

Aziraphale scanned them too. 

Dear old Deacon Sandalphon hadn’t paid his entry fee this year. Said somethin’ about his character if you asked Aziraphale. Crowley had been the first car out and it had only lit a fire under him. The Deacon, on the other hand, never seemed to come back from being the second one to break his flag. 

It had been the smart thing for Aziraphale to do, going after the weakened Buick like a lion taking down a sick antelope. Didn’t have a thing to do with the fact that the sick antelope liked to put his steel toe in rib cages and pretend it was a righteous thing to do. 

It was anyone’s guess who Crowley would target first this year. He’d run afoul of half the men on the track that Aziraphale knew of and he was sure the other half just weren’t so vocal about it. 

The thought made something deep inside Aziraphale throb. An infection left to fester that was only getting blacker with every passing year. 

The green flag flew and Aziraphale scraped the rot into the corners with the guilt and a heartbeat later metal crunched. 

It was music to Aziraphale’s ears that Crowley seemed to be able to hear too considering how he swept around the track like a practiced dance.

Any casual spectator might’ve thought that he was driving wild. Erratic. Dangerous even. But there was an order in the chaos. Every time his car met another, the hit was calculated. Precise. Even when his car was on the receiving end, no one seemed to be able to land a blow just where they was aiming. 

He was aggressive and unpredictable and Aziraphale found his pulse ticking up watching him clear the competition.

One by one the flags came down while the crowd cheered for a man they wouldn’t have had a kind word for otherwise. 

“He’s gonna kick yer ass, ya know?”

Aziraphale dropped the paper tray still clutched in one hand. He’d been so caught up watching Crowley work the track he hadn’t noticed the storm cloud that had sidled up next to him. Her eyes were glued to the sixty-six still driving smooth even with its front end crumpled and he knew she was already working through how she and Crowley would spend their time after the heat. The repairs they’d need to make to give him a run for his money in a few short hours. 

“I’m no wilting violet, Beatrice. I can hold my own out there.”

“I know that. But he needs it more than you. And that’s what’s gonna matter.” 

He wasn't sure he agreed with her, but he didn't dare challenge the claim. He bent down and picked his paper tray back up. 

“I always liked having you at the shop, you know?” 

“Sure had a funny way of showing it.” 

It was more complicated than she made it out to be. He hadn’t wanted to let her go. Not many people knew their way around an engine like she did. But then all that business went down in West Memphis and his uncle was afraid of what people might think. That they might take their business elsewhere if they didn’t feel safe. He hadn’t had a choice. It was can Beatrice or risk the shop.

He didn’t feel good about it, but he still surprised himself when he opened his mouth again.

“I could use a hand. If you wanted to pick up a few hours.” 

She barked out a laugh filled with nothin’ but spite. 

“I’d rather chew glass.” 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or offended. He turned his attention to the carnage in front of them rather than think too hard on it.

Out on the track Crowley was toying with the last car that still had legs. Tapping him just often enough to keep from getting booted. It brought to mind the mangy barn cat that had showed up on Aziraphale's front porch with a baby bunny in its jaw. The thing was so skinny Aziraphale wondered why it didn't just eat the poor thing. It made more sense to him now watching Crowley bat around his prey. And he had to admit that it made watching the final hit that cracked the radiator all the more satisfying. 

Aziraphale couldn't help but put his fingers between his lips and whistle when Crowley crawled out onto the hood of his car and put both fists in the air. 

He ignored the funny look it earned him from Beatrice. 

It was better than sex, driving off the track rather than getting hauled out hitched to a tractor. Crowley reached an arm through the window and patted the flag zip tied to the A-column as he pulled her into the pit. 

“He just gave you that part to take you out.”

Crowley had been hoping for a little positivity rather than crossed arms and a scowl. He stopped himself from saying a prayer as he turned the key in the ignition and let his too-hot engine start to cool. His voice felt loud in the quiet left in its absence. 

“Thats kind of the goal in this whole thing.”

“He's gonna,” she said, matter of fact. “Take you out.”

“Fuck, just let me enjoy this, Bea-” Crowley choked on the name. Goddamn was it irritating to be incapable of turnin’ off his empathy. No matter how hard he pretended otherwise. He sighed as he dragged himself through the driver's side window. “Beez.”

The pack of smokes Crowley pulled out of his pocket was crushed and he knew he'd feel the seatbelt that had done the crushing come morning. Some of the fellas at the State Fair had proper harnesses, but he wasn't made of money. Growing up he mighta thought his mama owned the state on account of that ridge out east that shared his last name, but it didn't take long to figure out they didn't own shit. If you didn't count all the debt, that is. He hadn't managed to crawl up many rungs on the social ladder after she passed. The garden center kept him in unstained briefs and lousy with cheap beer which felt sufficient most days, but it sure would be easier to make a showing on the track with a little extra cash in his pocket. 

It was clear from the wrinkle of Beez’s nose that she wanted to say something else to him, but instead she waved her hand through the plume of smoke Crowley exhaled and started circling the sixty-six. 

Crowley sucked down half his cigarette and followed her. “Let’s check the fuel lines,” he said as if he didn't know full well she was already thinkin’ it. “Battery cables.” He jabbed a finger toward the hunk of rubber that used to be a tire. “We need to swap that out.” 

Beez frowned at his crumpled hood. Got all the way down onto her back and gazed up at the engine from beneath. 

“How's the radiator?”

“Solid.”

Her neck folded up like an accordion as she dipped her chin to look back up at him. 

“Knock it off with the front end hits.”

“She's solid,” he said. Then crouched down himself to make sure there wasn't no leaking water to make him a liar. Sure enough the radiator was hot, but still in one piece. “It's not a problem.”

“You lost six inches driving like a dumbass out there. Two more and she’ll start stallin’ on you.”

“I got the fuckin’ job done, didn't I?”

She hauled herself back up and kicked his front bumper with that disapproving look that made him squirm.

“Aziraphale ain't gonna ignore such an obvious weak spot.”

Crowley winced at a twinge in his back as he stood too.

“Let me worry about Bible Study.”

“Twenty bucks says his front bumper won't have a dent goin’ into the feature.”

Crowley ran his palm over the chewed up metal and remembered every hit that he’d risked for the trophy. He needed to go into the feature strong if he wanted a snowflake’s chance in hell of coming out on top. 

“We’ll see if we can't gain a few inches back. Chain the front bumper so we don't lose it.”

Beez still had a brow lifted. Was still sneering at him. Crowley put his palms up and rolled his eyes.

“And I'll lay off the front end hits, Jesus.”

“He's in the last heat. With a little luck his repairs’ll be rushed. It'll throw him off. He likes to take his time.”

Now it was Crowley that lifted a brow. 

“Does he, now?” he asked before he could properly consider the words that was coming out of his mouth and just how they might land on Beez’s ears. 

She snorted and started toward the garage-worth of tools laid out and ready to keep him in the running. 

“He's so far outta yer league it ain't even funny. And so deep in the closet he may as well be in Narnia.”

“You think so?” he asked, sounding just a little more hopeful than he probably oughta. 

“Why don't you focus on fucking him metaphorically tonight.”

Easier said than done considering just how much of a corndog the boy could fit in his mouth in one go, but Crowley decided then and there that he would. 

Second place was just the first loser, after all, and he was tired of losing.

Chapter Text

The globe over the light in the center of the ceiling held a tiny graveyard of bugs. Crowley stared at their blurry shapes while he took a long drag from his cigarette. He should clean it out but the only time he ever noticed it was when he was otherwise occupied. The second he had the time it would be the last thing on his mind. 

He imagined he knew a little what it musta felt like, running uphill and never making it a damn inch. Stuck forever in a pit he could never claw his way out of. 

“You should sign up for more derbies.”

Crowley held the smoke in his lungs. Relished the feeling of being full. 

“Why’s that?”

“You fuck better when you win.”

Sweat pooled at the base of Crowley's throat and the oscillating fan at the end of the bed didn't do a damn thing to cool him down. 

He'd been running hot all night. From the second he climbed in his car to the second he climbed back out with the title. The heat had been easy. All them beaters that didn't have more than a couple weeks worth of attention didn't stand a chance against his tank. They'd fallen as easy as a line of dominoes against Crowley's little finger. 

The feature, though, that hadn't been nowhere near so simple. The men he was up against had skill. They had history. And more’n one of em had a win under their belts. 

Though there was only one Crowley was really worried about. 

He didn't let Aziraphale East sneak up on him again. Kept him in his peripheral even when he was huntin’ down the mad dog qualifiers. Folks that drove wilder than he did and limped their way into the feature by way of audience applause. Lucky for Crowley their driving had done a number on their cars and ain't none of them had Beez at their side in the pit to work whatever demonic magic she carried inside her. 

He hadn't been surprised how easy they were to smash into compliance, but he was more than a little startled when Bible Study started tag teaming with him, clippin’ wheel wells while Crowley aimed for radiators. Putting ‘em on the dirt just like he'd done to Crowley the year before. 

For a minute there it felt something like camaraderie. 

But Crowley knew the score. 

Only one flag would stand in the end and he wasn't ‘bout to be fooled by something that looked like partnership. That wasn't a mistake he’d ever made before and the silence of an engine taken out by his rival wasn't gonna change that. 

Crowley puffed a ring of smoke up toward the globe.

“Doesn't matter much. Last time we’re doin’ this.”

A snort drew Crowley's eyes away from the brittle carcasses suspended from his ceiling.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it this time, Newt. I can't do this to An.”

He shouldn't have opened the door when Newt knocked, but all that energy from the derby was still swirling. He kept replaying the moment Aziraphale East had looked him dead in the eye and snapped his flag and it had been easy to open the screen door and let Newt pull his shirt over his head. And easier still to push him face down in the dirty sheets. Newt slipped on the thick-framed eyeglasses that had nearly broken when he had. His gaze lingered on Crowley's body rather than his face. 

“We shared a funnel cake. We're not official or nothin’.” 

“What’re you doing leading her on anyway?”

Newt rolled his eyes. Stood up and pulled his jeans back up over his hips and the impressions of Crowley’s fingernails with a grimace. 

“I'm not leading her on.”

The ash on the end of Crowley's cigarette fell onto his chest where it sizzled against the damp of his skin. He fished a pair of boxer briefs off the floor and wiped himself clean with a frown. His eyes flickered back up to Newt and the imprint of his teeth on the back of his shoulder. 

“Far as I know she ain't got no cock.”

“Some of us eat off the whole menu.” Newt shrugged on a shirt and every last bit of the evidence he'd been with Crowley disappeared beneath it. “And as much fun as I have with you, I'm not exactly looking to get caught with a dick in my mouth around here.”

Crowley scratched at the brand new hickey on his neck and thought about the third degree he'd get the next time he was in the library. The looks he'd get at the grocery store and the sneer he'd get from the woman behind the counter when he filled up his truck in a few days. 

“Must be nice to pretend you're somethin’ you're not.”

Newt blew air out of his nose and didn't bother to look back over his shoulder as he pulled on his boots.

“Must be nice not to.” 

The library wasn't where Aziraphale normally spent his Saturday mornings, but he had to get out of the shop and there wasn't no way he was going to the church. Not after last night. 

Maybe he shouldn't have spent so much time actin’ like he wasn't on his own. Pretending he had a friend out there rather than an enemy. Or maybe the real trouble started before he even drove out onto the track. Maybe if he'd spent a little more time worryin’ about himself rather than Anthony Crowley he woulda realized he'd forgotten to zip tie his distributor cap. 

It’d been so fun while it lasted, though, that he couldn't find it in himself to regret giving Crowley the alternator. Even the look Gabe had given him after they’d hauled his car into the pit couldn't dampen those twenty minutes of chasin’ and getting chased that felt more like two. 

It had been exhilarating. The careful way they'd circled each other when the third place car threw in the towel. The rush to make metal meet metal before the timer hit zero. The roar of a crowd, only barely audible above the roar of their engines and Aziraphale's own pulse in his ears. 

It hadn't been easy, but he'd had Crowley on his last leg. Taken out three tires and had his front end folded far enough back that someone mighta mistaken his sixty-six for one of them new compact jobs outta Japan. There was a second there near the end when Aziraphale was sure he had it in the bag. When Crowley’s car stalled out and he disappeared beneath the dash and the ignition squealed and coughed but wouldn't catch. Aziraphale watched the smoke pouring out of his stacks and was sure he couldn't recover. Or if he did it would be with a burst of flames that would get his engine pumped full of a fire suppressant that would finish the job. 

But then that white smoke turned black and his engine howled and Aziraphale couldn't get turned around fast enough before Crowley’s rear end was gettin’ real familiar with his radiator. 

It was hardly even the hardest hit Aziraphale had taken all night. It was just bad luck. 

No, scratch that. 

It was bad planning. 

Doesn't matter how sturdy your car is if you can't make the dang thing start. 

“Well, if it ain't second place!”

Aziraphale had been so lost reliving the night before that he hadn't noticed a shadow falling across the books in front of him. He whirled and crumpled the slip of paper in his fist. Of course the only person in a hundred mile radius that might think something about the 363.49 jotted down in pencil would be the one to sneak up on him in the stacks. 

“Miss Device!” 

His voice was too high, but she didn't seem to notice. She leaned against a shelf twice her height and beamed at him and it felt like the first genuine smile he'd been on the receiving end of in months. 

“I haven't seen you in here in ages!”

It was the only place he could think of that he wouldn't run into no kin of his, but Anathema was a librarian, not the therapist Aziraphale probably ought to have so he decided to keep that fact to himself. His smile wasn't nowhere near as authentic as hers had been, but there was the start of something real in it. Hers was a face that wasn't dragged down with disappointment in seeing him, which was more than he could say about his own family after he left the county fairgrounds a runner-up. 

“Found myself with some time on my hands this morning.” 

It wasn't technically a lie. He was good at that, living in half truths.

“Shouldn't you be working on that car for next weekend?”

“Next weekend?”

“It's summertime. You can't spit without hitting a derby.”

Aziraphale had never needed to leave the county. Winning right here at home had always felt like enough. He reached up and squeezed his own shoulder, fingers digging into the tender flesh where his harness had dug into him over and over again. There was a knot just outside the reach of his fingers that he never could seem to get rid of even when he wasn't subjecting himself to a hundred car crashes in a single night. 

“Might need more’n a week.”

Anathema didn't seem deterred. She shrugged and poked the spine of a book back in line with its neighbors. 

“State sign ups are still open.”

“You're awfully tuned into the Arkansas fair circuit.”

She shrugged again. Her face was splittin’ into another grin. 

“Information is kind of my job. And ‘sides.” She lifted a brow and spoke out of only half her mouth. “You ain't the only one from the winner’s circle barkin’ up my tree this morning.”

“Hey An, this damn computer won't-”

Crowley stopped in his tracks and stood up straight, then frowned and leaned against the bookshelf opposite Anathema while she lit up again.

“Speak of the devil!” 

The frown on Crowley's face didn't stick. Went soft before his eyes could even wander all the way down to Aziraphale's boots. 

Aziraphale couldn't help but do some looking of his own. Anyone would. Crowley was wearing jeans that didn't have no business being so tight and the bite mark on the side of his neck looked so fresh Aziraphale wasn't sure he didn't get it walking the length of the library. 

“Wrong aisle.” Crowley reached up and futzed with the sunglasses sitting on top of that wild red hair. “I think yer lookin’ for the 200’s.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, his stomach twistin’ up something awful. 

“You're in social sciences. Religion is that way,” he said with a nod over his shoulder. 

Apparently there were two people in a hundred mile radius that Aziraphale needed to worry about. He had to stop himself from eating the ball of paper currently soaking up the sweat from his palm. 

“Walking card catalog, ain't you?” he spat without actually meaning to.

Anathema pushed off the shelf and reached for Crowley. He didn't abandon his slouch entirely, but he craned toward her like a leggy plant gone too long without the sun. Aziraphale understood him all too well in that moment. When was the last time someone reached for him like that? Out of affection rather than obligation? 

A pang of jealousy cut through Aziraphale's chest and obliterated half the lies he told himself every day. 

“Honorary librarian, this one.” Anathema squeezed Crowley against her side. “Puts in more hours than half the staff.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but there was a dusting of pink on the apples of his cheeks. 

“Half the staff are sixteen and only work the weekends.” 

He looked at Aziraphale instead of Anathema when he spoke and Aziraphale had to wonder if Crowley mighta cared what he thought. Just a little bit. Enough that he was maybe a little embarrassed by how much time he spent in the library when his reputation would have you believe anything but. 

Anathema wiggled her fingers in the space between the three of them. “Aziraphale here is interested in the State Fair.”

“I never actually-”

“Lookin’ to get trounced again?” Crowley asked with a smirk on his face that was more becoming than Aziraphale cared to admit. Not that it meant nothing. Was just that winning looked good on him. Maybe Beatrice had been right. Maybe he had needed it more. Maybe Aziraphale oughta just let it lie even though the thought of a little redemption didn't sound half bad. 

“It was actually Miss Device that suggested-”

“We haven't actually managed to get on the world wide web yet, but Newton Pulsifer - You went to school with Newt, right?” Newton had been a couple years behind Aziraphale, but in a town their size everyone knew everyone. Anathema didn't wait for him to answer either way before she was prattling on. “Well, he says there are more’n two thousand websites and you can find all kinds of stuff on ‘em. I thought maybe we could find something about other derbies between now and then. It's ten whole weeks until Little Rock after all.”

“I didn't know y’all had a computer.”

Anathema's face lit up and this time she reached for Aziraphale. Grabbed his arm and squeezed and sent something warm shooting through his veins that he could get used to, but probably shouldn't. 

“Brand new. Imagine, our little town on the cutting edge of technology!”

Behind her Crowley’s slouch deepened. 

“Waste of time unless you like listening to the damn thing holler at you like a rabbit caught in a snare.”

Anathema waved a hand at him. 

“I told you Newt would help later.”

“Don't need Newt’s help.” Something cold touched Crowley's expression, but he slipped the glasses out of his hair and over his eyes before Aziraphale could say what it was that he mighta been feeling. “And I don't need no world wide web to go find another derby to win. Got a phone at home that works just fine.”

With that he stomped off around the corner and out of sight. But not before Aziraphale saw the way his ears had gone red. He frowned at the empty spot where Crowley had been. 

“He ain't good at taking charity when it's offered, is he?”

Anathema shrugged. “He just ain't used to it. Not a lot of folks around here offering.” Half her mouth curled up in a smile that wasn't entirely joyful. It was the kind of smile Aziraphale was used to seeing from folks round here. “Was kind of you last night to help him out of a bind like that.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Doing the right thing ain't always easy. Not in a place like this. And he may never admit it, but I know he appreciated it.” Anathema’s eyes wandered from Aziraphale's face to the books on the shelf behind him and he stood up a little taller without hardly thinking about it. Took up a little more space so she might not be able to see the gold leaf titles he hadn’t been lookin’ at anyway.

“You need help finding something?” she asked. “I can always help. With anything at all.”

Aziraphale couldn't help but picture her arm around Crowley. The tender way she'd braided his hair in the pit and the way he softened around her. Like she was someone he could trust completely. Some of that tension he carried with him eased. He glanced over his shoulder and chewed at his lip. 

“Actually, um.” Footsteps on the other side of the shelf drew Aziraphale's attention and just like that his shoulders crept back up and that place he couldn't reach throbbed. “Cookbooks?”

“Honey you are way off. Six forty-one point five. Down at the end, past the powder room.”

“Thank you, Miss Device.”

“Miss Device is my mama. Call me Anathema, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Anathema.”

She lingered for another second longer and then spun, her skirt billowing out around her like a circus tent, and left in the same direction Crowley had. 

Aziraphale headed in the opposite direction. 

Straight to the bathroom where he flushed the catalog number in his palm.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale East's auto body shop was in a whitewashed building that musta been as old as the town itself. The foundation was cracked and the roof had seen better days and the original red brick peeked through in patches where tree branches and tall weeds had swept against the facade for decades. 

Guardian Auto Repair was the only spot in town to get your brake pads changed aside from your daddy’s garage and the only place where the man up to his elbows in grease looked like a goddamn angel. 

At least that's what half the women in town said. 

Explained why they weren't taking their cars to their daddy. 

Didn't have a damn thing to do with why Crowley was walking through the door on a Monday afternoon, though, the bell hung over it tinkling to announce him. 

“Be right with you!” came a muffled voice from the distance. 

Crowley hung his glasses on the collar of his shirt and didn't bother to wait in the mess of an office he'd walked into. The towering stacks of invoices and scatter of tchotchkes that looked like they woulda been more at home in some granny’s curio cabinet made Crowley itch. Things were only marginally better in the garage itself, but at least the tools had an order to them, even if it wasn't the order Crowley woulda gone with. 

There was a pair of legs sticking out from beneath a pickup truck that was far too new to need work done. It was the kind of truck Crowley, and most of the town for that matter, could never afford which told him that another East musta been taking advantage of that family discount. 

Crowley leaned against an air compressor and looked at the thighs that were flexing to push the creeper an inch further beneath the truck. They was far too sturdy not to imagine what it might feel like to be nestled between them. And there was that belly too. Just enough for Crowley to sink his teeth into if he was so inclined. 

Best not to let his imagination run away with him, though. He cleared his throat and enjoyed the way those legs tensed and rolled Aziraphale right out from under the engine. 

Aziraphale blinked up at Crowley like a little baby lamb that was seein’ the sun for the first time and frowned. 

“Crowley?”

“That's my name.”  

Aziraphale didn't sit up. Stayed right there on his back as if Crowley didn't already have too many impure thoughts. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes danced around the shop and it broke the spell just a bit. Of course he didn't want to be caught dead in the same vicinity as the local degenerate. And sure, it stung just like it always did, but Crowley had to admit he kinda liked the thought of sullying that perfect reputation just a little. The thrill of someone walking through the same door he just had gave him a tingle underneath his belly button. 

Lucky for Aziraphale, though, it’d been a ghost town when Crowley pulled up. Everyone musta been hiding from the afternoon sun that had the mercury rising with every passing minute. Not a soul would even see his truck parked right around the corner, let alone the way Aziraphale was lookin’ at him. 

“Came to give you this.”

Crowley dropped a wad of cash on Aziraphale's chest and leaned back against the compressor again even though he probably ought’ve just walked straight back out the door. Aziraphale wiped his hand on the rag hanging out of his pocket and picked up the crumpled bills but still didn't sit up. 

“What for?”

“For the alternator.”

“Aw, Crowley.” Aziraphale finally eased himself up off his back, legs splayed wide to keep the creeper from rolling too far in any one direction. He held the money back out to Crowley. “I don't need this.”

“I ain't never owed anyone no favors and I'm not about to start now.”

“I told you I didn't expect one.”

Crowley let his eyes wander up the insides of Aziraphale’s thighs to the place his work pants was hugging him just a little too tight. He couldn’t help but see an invitation whether there was one there or not. 

“People always expect one.”

“I don't want your money.”

“Then put it in the collection tray when it passes by on Sunday.”

Aziraphale sat with that for a second. Then crumpled the cash in his fist while a smirk that never quite made it to his lips narrowed his gaze.

“Maybe I could put it toward my entry fee.” 

Crowley frowned but it was as put on as the unaffected slouch he always assumed when he was balls deep in a situation that made him feel not entirely comfortable. Like walking into the holiest auto body shop south of the Mason Dixon. Was hard to pretend for too long that the thought of going head to head again didn’t please him, though. His own smirk crept out of his frown before he could stop it.  

“Like gettin’ whooped, do ya?” he asked. 

“Like gettin' revenge.”

For a second time in only twice as many days Crowley saw a glimpse of the man beneath the facade. The places where something that felt like the real Aziraphale peeked through like the red brick on the other side of the wall. Crowley had to wonder if he was the branches or the weeds. Or maybe he wasn’t neither. Maybe something else had been wearing the boy down. 

“Not very Christian of you,” Crowley said with more appreciation than he meant to let slip through.

Aziraphale held Crowley’s gaze and shrugged. “Even Christ wasn't a perfect man.”

There was a second where neither one of them said nothin’ at all, like they was both trying to untangle just what Aziraphale was saying. Crowley decided he didn’t much care before he went and cared too much. 

“What was it that took ya out?” he asked.

Aziraphale chewed on his lip for a minute before putting his hands on his knees and standing. 

“Distributor cap.”

Crowley barked out a laugh that caught even himself off guard. 

Aziraphale was clearly tryin’ his damndest to look annoyed but even he cracked a smile. 

“At least I didn't get a pristine Mopar hung up on the berm two minutes into my heat.”

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and beamed. 

“She ain't pristine no more.”

Aziraphale grinned like he could feel the pride too. Like he could remember every hit that had taken Crowley all the way to the top for what mighta just been the first time in his life. 

“No,” he said. “No, she ain't.”

There was something easy between them that Crowley couldn’t quite put his finger on. He glanced at the exit sign hanging over the door but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave on account of it. 

“You did alright out there,” he said, knowin’ full well that it was gonna get under Aziraphale’s skin. 

Sure enough Aziraphale crossed his arms over his broad chest and fixed Crowley with a look that woulda made him uncomfortable if it were on the face of just about any other man in town. 

“I did great out there. You just did a little bit better.”

“Beez did a little bit better. She runs all the checks. And never forgets the zip ties.”

Aziraphale’s brow pinched above his nose. “Beez?”

“Beatrice. She don't like her name all of a sudden and I ain't one to judge.” It was a pointed comment delivered with a lifted brow. Crowley’d put back half a thirty rack with her the night Aziraphale fired her ass for absolutely no reason. 

A bit of color crept up from the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt. 

“I leave the judgment up to God.”

If Crowley rolled his eyes any harder they might just fall out of his head. 

“That's a load of horse shit and you know it.”

“Sure are keen to shoot the messenger for a man that don't judge,” Aziraphale snapped.

“It's your shop!” Crowley snapped back, finally lurching away from the compressor he’d been using like a kickstand. 

“It's my Mama's shop! Well…” Aziraphale looked away from Crowley. Rubbed the slope of his shoulder and shrugged. “It was. And she didn't leave the keys to me. Not on paper, anyway.” 

“I ain't never seen no one else in here.”

Aziraphale scoffed. Let his gaze settle back on Crowley. 

“Oh, you come here often do you?”

“It's a small town. Can't get nowhere without passing by.” 

“My uncle’s the word of God in this place. And he don't speak often, but when he does I tend to listen. Only way I'll get what shoulda been mine.” 

There was a hurt behind Aziraphale’s eyes that Crowley only knew ‘cause he’d lost his own mama and it was the same hurt he carried with him every day too. It softened him to see it, but he wasn’t ready to let no one know it. He leaned back against the compressor and fought the urge to slip his sunglasses over his eyes.

“Was still a shitty thing to do, firing her like that.”

Aziraphale ran his fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck. 

“I know it.”

Every time Aziraphale opened his mouth it chipped away at something inside Crowley. He’d never met someone so quick to own up to his shortcomings. He decided then and there to drop it. The way Aziraphale’s shoulders curled around his chest suggested he’d already beaten himself up enough. No sense in piling on when Crowley knew first hand that ain’t no one harder on you than yourself. 

He scratched at his throat and eyed the edge of a bill sticking out of Aziraphale’s fist.

“So that entry fee. Where exactly are you headed?”

The relief on Aziraphale’s face at the change of subject was palpable. Just like that he was smiling again. Almost like he’d been hoping Crowley would ask. 

“Lake of the Ozarks.”

“Can't run your Imperial up there in Missouri. Nowhere on this end of the state at least.” 

“Didn't need it last year to win, won't this year neither.” Aziraphale leaned against the pickup behind him and gave Crowley an up and down. “Only ever bought it in the first place to see the look on your face.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale his own once over. Cocked his head and lifted a brow. 

“Think about me that often, do you?”

Aziraphale didn't give Crowley the satisfaction of telling him to shove it, but his ears did go a fetching shade of pink at their tips which was a whole ‘nother kind of satisfaction. 

“You're a decent driver, Crowley. You should think about it. We had a pretty good arrangement there in the feature.”

“Aziraphale East.” Crowley put on a concerned air. Clutched pearls he wasn’t wearin’. “Are you suggesting something that is clearly against the rules and regulations?”

“I ain't suggesting nothing. Just making an observation’s all.” Aziraphale forced the smile off his face. “Best to save the Chrysler for the State Fair anyway. And I know you got a dozen cars out there on your property. Surely one of ‘em runs.”

Crowley was still thinking ‘bout them pink ears. Couldn’t help but wonder if he might get them to turn scarlet. 

“Keeping tabs, are ya? I'm beginning to think you got a crush on me, Bible Study.”

Aziraphale’s frown deepened, and so did the color on his ears. “Look, come or don't. No skin off my back.” 

“What county did you say?”

There wasn't no good reason Aziraphale had to bring up that derby up north. As he rolled back under his cousin's truck and watched black boots disappear through his office door he told himself that it all boiled down to that sin he was so afflicted by. 

Pride, obviously. 

He just wanted another chance to wallop on Anthony Crowley and earn back a little of the face he'd lost on Friday. Didn't matter that no one from church was gonna drive that far to watch him, it was the principle of the thing. 

He was gonna drive like his life depended on it.

And he'd bring his daggone zip ties this time around. 

Excitement made his ribcage feel tight. 

He had less than two weeks to get one of them beaters out back derby ready, but he was sure it wouldn’t be no trouble. His social calendar wasn't exactly packed. Easy enough to flip the sign on the door to closed and spend his evenings right where he spent his days: up to his elbows in an engine. 

Sure, it woulda been nice to have someone like Bea- like Beez at his side to get the job done, but that was a bridge she didn't seem too keen to rebuild. 

Truth be told he didn't blame her. There were certainly days he didn’t much feel worthy of forgiveness. Might come easier if he’d actually apologized, though. 

He unscrewed the oil plug and watched the thick stream pour into the pan at his side and committed to doin’ so the next time he saw her. Now, admittedly their paths didn't find much occasion to cross, but he knew exactly where she'd be in eleven days time and if he just happened to run into Crowley while he was putting things right, then so be it. And if he just happened to see them burying the hatchet and adjust his opinion on Aziraphale, well that wouldn't be so bad neither. 

Aziraphale’s shoulders shimmied all on their own and oil sputtered against the concrete floor. 

“Dang it!” 

He rolled himself out from under the truck, straight into his cousin. 

“Gettin’ her tuned up real nice?”

Aziraphale thanked his lucky stars Gabriel hadn’t showed up ten minutes sooner when Crowley was tossing singles at him. He’d be real lucky though if Gabriel stopped comin’ round entirely. There wasn’t no sense in him dropping off his truck when he’d hardly put a thousand miles on it. Aziraphale was sure he just liked how high ‘n mighty it made him feel to put Aziraphale on the ground for no good reason. 

“It's brand new, Gabe.”

Gabriel buffed the dove gray paint job with his sleeve. 

“Do me a favor and give ‘er a good once over with the Armor All when you're finished.”

Aziraphale eased himself up to his feet. Put his back to his cousin and headed for the bin of kitty litter he kept in the corner for soaking up oil.

“This ain't a detail service,” he called over his shoulder. 

“Only place you're fixing to clean up.” Aziraphale didn't have to look back to see the look on Gabriel’s face. It was the expression he wore most often when they was speaking. He'd’ve found something to be disappointed about even if Aziraphale had brought home the first place trophy. 

“We don't win ‘em all.”

“Maybe if you were out there giving more ‘n love taps…”

Aziraphale paused with the scoop buried halfway in the litter. His anxiety felt like a corset. 

“He's a wily opponent.” 

“You went easy on him.”

It woulda been the first time anyone ever went easy on Anthony Crowley. He wasn't sure if he was feeling ashamed because he had or hadn't. 

Aziraphale sucked down a breath that pushed as many of his feelings into the dark as would fit. Lifted the scoop and turned around with a smile that touched his eyes but not his heart. 

“Gonna take the Vic up to Missouri in a couple weeks.”

Gabriel’s brows climbed up his forehead. 

“Your wily opponent gonna be there?” 

“Couldn't say.”

Gabriel patted the hood of his truck and headed for the door to Aziraphale's office. 

“Let me know when you can. Maybe I'll tag along.” 

“Sounds great.”

Lies always had come easy to him so he followed it up with one more he only ever told to himself. 

It didn't keep him from picturing fiery locks and scrawny thighs, though. 

Chapter Text

There was better choices, technically speaking. Cars that already ran just fine or only needed a part or two that coulda been yanked out of one of the other dozen rust buckets parked in the weeds.

But ain't a one of ‘em could take a hit quite like the Caddy that used to belong to Crowley's mama. 

It was the only thing of hers he owned and only ‘cause he'd hunted it down in the scrap yard after he turned sixteen. She'd roll in her grave to see the windshield explode before the engine even turned over, but he was sure she was used to it by now on account of all the rollin’ she'd surely already done watching him come of age. And he had to admit it felt a little cathartic to take that first swing. 

Catharsis. That was something he’d learnt about snooping around in the stacks where he'd come across Aziraphale East the day after they'd gone head to head in the county derby. He still didn't know just exactly what Aziraphale had been looking for, but he knew the boy was too smart to think he was gonna find a cookbook in the three hundreds. Even Anathema had delivered that bit of seemingly friendly gossip to Crowley with a lifted brow. Almost like she wanted him askin’ questions even though that ain't never got him nothing but trouble. 

Didn't stop him, of course. 

Never had. 

Which is why he now had a stack of books next to his bed ranging from folklore to polygraphy. 

The sun disappeared behind a thick cloud and a breeze that smelled like rain cooled the sweat on Crowley's back. Wasn't no sense gettin’ caught swinging an ax with a storm rolling in, so he tossed it through the window onto the back seat and shook out a tarp. 

Woulda been easier to lash the damn thing down with another set of hands, but Beez seemed to be occupied more often ‘n not these days and Anathema never was one for manual labor. Preferred her books and her air conditioning to the Arkansas humidity. 

A gust of wind sent the far end of the tarp billowing up and back over the hood of the car and Crowley cursed. He was scrambling to get a hand on the thing before the storm whipped it half a mile down the road when the sound of tires on gravel caught his ear. 

The truck crawling down his driveway wasn't nowhere as new as the one he'd seen in Guardian two days ago, but Crowley still knew it belonged to an East. It was the cross hanging from the rearview as much as the blond curls in the driver's seat that gave it away. 

He wasn't sure if the shimmer under his ribs was irritation or excitement so he ignored it, and the truck, entirely and kept right on gathering the bright blue tarp into a bear hug. All the way up until he couldn't no more.

“You need a hand there?”

Crowley finally let his eyes wander away from what he was doing. 

“I got it.”

“Don't look like it.”

It was with a scowl that Crowley let Aziraphale grab the edge of the tarp still flapping in the wind. It had to be, ‘cause otherwise he might be smiling. Aziraphale musta hung up his work shirt at the end of his shift and he didn't bother to put nothin’ else on over the thin white beater he wore underneath. It showed off his farmer's tan and a pair of biceps that might just feature in Crowley's dreams that night. If he was lucky, that is. 

It felt a little like it had out on the track, giving in and letting Aziraphale tug the tarp over the roof of the Cadillac. There was something about the way they moved together that anyone else mighta attributed to a familiarity between them. Maybe they woulda been right, but Crowley didn't let himself go so far as to wonder whether he might start considering Aziraphale a friend. 

“You're lucky my rifle was inside,” Crowley said, his eyes wandering back to Aziraphale's arms as he tugged the tarp into place. “I don't normally take too kindly to strangers showing up unannounced.” 

“Stranger?” Aziraphale turned over one shoulder and squinted into the distance. Then turned over the other and did the same. “I don't see no strangers around here.”

Most men that made the trek down Crowley’s driveway preferred to pretend they were. Crowley pretended he did too. And Aziraphale East seemed to be trying his hardest to convince him he wasn't most men, but at the end of the day Crowley knew it wasn't true. 

“What do you want, Aziraphale?” 

Sure enough Aziraphale's eyes wandered toward Crowley’s trailer. Just when a familiar tingle started to build behind Crowley's belly button, though, his gaze moved past it.  

“Coulda swore I saw a Crown Vic back there.” 

Crowley frowned and tossed a bungee cable over the hood. Maybe it wasn't the favor he usually ended up on the receiving end of when an unfamiliar truck pulled up to his residence, but it was a favor nonetheless. 

“There might be,” he said, some part of him wishing Aziraphale had shown up for something else altogether. 

Aziraphale disappeared on the other side of the Caddy but his voice rose up over it despite the wind starting to pick up. 

“The fellas at the scrap yard never give me a deal on account of my last name.”

“I told you I don't do no favors.” 

Aziraphale popped back up on the other side of the car and put his elbows on the roof. 

“No favor. Just a financial transaction. Cold hard cash.” 

Truth be told Crowley could use a little extra spending money. Derby cars don't build themselves and Caddies that spent half their long lives rusting in the weeds cost even more. 

Wasn't no fun to give in so easy though. Not when he could keep looking at the veins in Aziraphale's forearms. 

“Been keeping tabs on my inventory?”

“There’s a great fishing hole out this way. Can't help but look when I pass by.”

There was a twinkle in Aziraphale's baby blues that Crowley couldn't help but notice. It had that tingle starting up in earnest again. 

“You ain't doing much to convince me you ain't got a crush.”

Aziraphale frowned and Crowley couldn't help but notice the way he turned over over his shoulder to peek at the blacktop in the distance, neither. Lucky for him not many folks was interested in the fishing holes past Crowley's property. There wasn't no prying eyes to see Aziraphale East fraternizing with Anthony Crowley. 

“Hows about a trade?” Crowley licked his lips and didn't try to act like he was looking anywhere but at the guns on full display five and half feet in front of him. “You strip and then I do.”

“Pardon me?” 

There it was. That little dusting of color on Aziraphale's cheeks Crowley'd been aiming for. He let a smirk creep onto his face and nodded toward the line of cars on the other side of his double wide.

“The Crown Vic. You strip ‘er for parts and I get a gander of your yard.” 

Aziraphale walked around the long rusted hood separating them and wiped his palms on his jeans. Stuck out a hand and gave Crowley a smile that looked a skosh nervous. 

“You got yourself a deal.” 

It was shameful, being thankful for the ten foot fence surrounding the yard behind Guardian but Aziraphale was only human. He had a reputation to maintain. A business to keep afloat. Expectations from his family, not to mention the church. Oh, how people would talk seeing him hip to hip with Anthony Crowley, elbows deep in an engine that hadn't run in twelve years. 

They hadn't talked a whole lot when they'd done the same behind Crowley’s trailer a day after the storm had unleashed and sent them skittering in opposite directions. Just a word here and there about cars. A few sentences exchanged about the summer in high school that Aziraphale spent working at the garden center Crowley now all but managed. Even when Crowley had let that gruff exterior crack and tossed a barb or two it had felt calculated. Like he was still testing out the waters. Seeing how far he could push before Aziraphale pushed back. 

Which had made it all the more surprising when Crowley had slipped through his door two days later and tossed an ice cold Bud at his chest. It had exploded over Aziraphale’s fist when he cracked it open. Splattered his shirt and dripped onto his boots. For some reason that had made Crowley smile. But not nearly so much as when Aziraphale unbuttoned his work shirt and tossed it onto the hood of a car waiting for a new timing belt. 

It wasn't until their knuckles were brushing inside the engine of an old Ford that Aziraphale admitted to himself he might've gotten a thrill from that grin. He might not’ve had an ego as big as Gabriel’s but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate a little flattery now and again. No matter where it was comin’ from. 

Crowley shifted his weight and his hip brushed against Aziraphale's. Just enough that Aziraphale looked up and caught Crowley looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Crowley shifted his focus back to his hands and cleared his throat. 

“You ever find the cookbook you was lookin’ for?”

“The what?” Aziraphale asked. 

“At the library. The cookbook. That was what you was lookin for, right?”

Aziraphale knew for sure that Crowley hadn't been there when he’d told that lie. Didn't matter that it was just Crowley and Anathema doing the talking, knowing that he was getting brought up in conversation at all made him nervous. Especially considering where they'd come across him. 

“Right. The cookbook. Uh, yeah.”

If Crowley noticed the hesitation in his voice he didn't let on. 

“Not much of a cook myself.” Crowley grabbed the bandana hanging out of his back pocket and wiped the sweat off his upper lip. “Ninety percent of my diet’s coffee and beer these days.” 

“No wonder you ain't got no meat on your bones.”

Crowley rested his forearms on the apron and gave Aziraphale a sidelong glance. 

“I got meat where it matters.” 

Aziraphale tried to stare at the engine block but couldn’t keep himself from lookin at Crowley who smirked. Then flexed a skinny bicep and sure enough the stringy muscle stood up underneath his freckled skin. 

“Mind outta the gutter, Bible Study,” Crowley said. The red on his face, though, suggested he mighta been insinuating exactly what Aziraphale was pretending he wasn't thinking. 

Aziraphale could feel his own cheeks heatin’ up and was desperate to steer their conversation back to safer waters. He nodded toward the interior of the shop.

“I got some leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and dipped back down beneath the hood. 

“I ain't a charity case. Can feed myself just fine.”

So much for safe waters. 

Aziraphale felt as frustrated as he did lousy.

“That ain't- I didn't mean-” Aziraphale choked back an irritated sigh. “You just said you wasn't eating s’all.”

“It's called hyperbole, Angel.”

If Aziraphale had been taking a swig of the beer sweatin’ all over the air filter in front of them he mighta choked on it. Luckily he’d been doing his dangdest to keep his faculties in check instead of drownin’ his nerves. With the choking hazard good and passed and his nerves trying their dangdest to transform into something else, though, he gave in. Snatched the can right up and emptied what was left down his overly warm throat. 

Meanwhile, Crowley didn't even bother to look up from whatever the hell he was trying to wrench out of the engine to add to his stack of random parts sitting next to his feet.

“What kinda leftovers?” he asked as if he hadn't just called Aziraphale that. 

With the cold beer settling in Aziraphale’s belly he found that the desire to feed Crowley trumped his embarrassment. It felt a little like getting to scratch behind the ear of a timid dog. He was gaining some trust and couldn't pass up the opportunity to earn just a little bit more. 

“Ribs. A couple hush puppies.” Aziraphale crushed the can in his fist and tossed the empty into the front seat of the car behind him. “Slice or two of possum pie.”

Crowley finally perked up. Stopped working at the part he still hadn't managed to extract and looked up at Aziraphale. 

“Homemade?”

“You ever had it any other way?”

Crowley chewed on his lip. Looked over his shoulder at the bright red Coleman cooler sitting just inside Aziraphale's shop. 

“I'll trade you the rest of that six pack for a slice of the pie.”

Aziraphale sighed. It was startin’ to get old, this song and dance. 

“We don't gotta trade, Crowley. You can have a slice of pie.”

“We’ve been over this. I don't do favors.”

“Why do you always think someone's gonna want something from you?”

“Someone always has.” Crowley wiped his hands on the same bandana he’d used to catch the sweat pearling on his lip and shoved it back into his pocket. “Spend a few years in the foster system and you'd see.”

“The world ain't always like that.”

“World's exactly like that in my experience.”

“Well I'm not like that.” 

Crowley leaned his hip against the car. His eyes kept landing back on the door that would lead them to a mint green fridge made in the fifties. 

“My mama used to make a mean possum pie.” 

Something swelled in Aziraphale’s chest. His own recipe was adapted from what his mama had left written on an index card. 

“Mine too,” he said. “But mine ain't half bad neither.”

“Don't expect a pie in return.”

Aziraphale was gettin’ used to letting his irritation show with Crowley instead of hiding it behind a smile. He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. His shoulders sank and somehow, despite it all, that ache that lived permanently between ‘em was nowhere to be seen. 

“Good lord,” he groaned to a face that was startin’ to light up just a bit. “C’mon. There might even be some coffee left in the pot.” 

There was coffee. Thick and dark and scorched from a morning sitting on the heat. Crowley didn't seem to mind. Gulped it right down between nibbles of chocolate and cream cheese that could only possibly be called delicate. 

“Well?” Aziraphale asked, nervous at the careful way Crowley was eatin’.

Crowley swallowed. Took a swig of coffee and poked at a wispy peak. “My mama used to use Cool Whip.” 

“I can make it with Cool Whip next time,” Aziraphale said just a little too quick. 

“Next time? You gonna start bringing me pies? Cause I already have a feeling you like me and that ain't gonna help you much in arguing otherwise.”

There was a devilish look on Crowley’s face that Aziraphale met more easily than he imagined he could.

“Who's arguing?” he asked.

It was nice to see a little color developing on the apples of Crowley's cheeks instead of feeling it on his own for once. 

Crowley dragged his fork through the whipped cream on top of his slice. “I like it this way.”

Maybe it was the beer he chugged but Aziraphale felt his stomach swoop. This was more than scratchin’ behind the ears. Crowley might as well’ve just rolled right on over and showed his belly.

“You need anything else for that Vic you can give me a call.” Crowley snatched up a pen and scribbled a number down onto the corner of his napkin. “Or just swing by.”

“Only if you promise not to shoot.”

Crowley slid the napkin across the table with a grin. “I only raise my barrel at strangers.”

Chapter Text

There wasn't no good reason for Beez to show up two hours later than she said she would, but she didn't have a tendency to supply justification for much of anything. It was one of the things Crowley liked about her. There wasn't an awful lot of people ‘round these parts that didn't seem to give a shit  what people thought about them or, at the very least, what some eye in the sky thought about them, so he tended to appreciate it when he seen it. But damn if it didn't stick in his craw waitin’ around when he coulda been doing somethin’ else. 

Somethin’ like relieving a little of the tension he'd been living with ever since Aziraphale East unbuttoned his shirt like one of the grainy men on the stolen cable channels of his youth. He knew early on that he was different when his eyes were glued to thick arms and broad chests instead of fake tits like all the other boys. It only just hit him watching Aziraphale undress, though, that he mighta developed some particular interests during them formative sleepovers owin’ to the fact that the softcore films they managed to tune into never showed the men below the waist. 

It was gonna be a problem if Aziraphale kept stripping down to beaters that hugged him so damn tight. He might as well've just worn nothing at all considering how piss poor of a job the things did at leaving anything to the imagination. 

Crowley tucked the thought away the second he spotted Beez’s Omni kicking up dust. There wasn't near enough hours in the day to get his mama's Caddy ready for the derby and Beez had already wasted two of ‘em. Gettin' lost in a fantasy sure wasn't gonna help earn them any time back. Crowley tried for a look that came off disapproving as she slammed her door behind her, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. Beelined straight for the bits and bobs he'd traded to guarantee Aziraphale’d make it to the derby up north that weekend. 

“What's all this shit?” 

Beez kicked a part from a late model Galaxie that Crowley didn't actually need but that had taken him and Aziraphale half an hour to extract. 

“Hit up the scrap yard.”

It wasn't technically a lie. He just left out the part where that scrap yard was conveniently located behind Guardian Auto Repair. If Beez wanted to make assumptions, that was on her.

“For this garbage?” She picked up an exhaust manifold and sneered at it like its mere existence irritated her. “None of this gonna win you the derby.”

Thirty whole seconds and Crowley was tired of being on the receiving end of her bad mood already. He never could resist pokin’ a bear though. Not if it might end up diverting the conversation away from Aziraphale East who wasn’t the only man in town Beez woulda disapproved of him fucking, but ranked pretty high on her shit list. 

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and put on his own sneer. 

“Where you been all afternoon?”

“Busy,” she snapped. Too quick to pass off as flippant. 

Crowley watched her stomp off the porch toward the Caddy where it was sittin’ under a flimsy carport he’d MacGyvered out of old conduit salvaged from a demolished elementary school, a pocketful of zip ties, and the blue tarp Aziraphale had helped him wrangle a few days ago. 

“With what?” he asked as he stomped after her. 

She turned mid stride and Crowley damn near mowed over her. Stopped with the toe of his boot just a fist’s length away from her ripped Chuck Taylors.

It was another thing he admired about her. Didn’t matter how big the asshole was, she never shied away from squarin’ up with ‘em. 

Didn’t really count with Crowley, though. She knew as well as anyone that Crowley could take a hit but wasn’t no good at throwing his own. 

Standing a foot in front of him she sure looked about ready to take a swing. He gave her his chin but she threw her hands up instead. 

“Why're you so up my ass tonight?”

“What, I can't ask questions now?”

Beez glared for a few more seconds before waving her hand at the Cadillac. 

“Can we just focus on gettin’ this shitbox ready for next weekend?”

He was more interested in why she'd been so cagey lately, but it was what she was there for. And there wasn’t no way he’d be able to do it all by his lonesome. He took a defeated step toward the shade cast by the tarp but couldn't resist one last jab. 

“I wasn't the one two hours late,” he muttered

It wasn’t unusual for the two of them to go half the night without exchanging more than a few words, but the longer they worked the harder it was for Crowley keep his trap shut. Halfway through replacing the radiator mounts with ratchet straps, Crowley couldn’t keep from blurting out exactly what he’d been trying to avoid talkin’ about. 

“Bible Study’s gonna be there. In Missouri,” he said, apropos of nothin’ at all. 

Beez didn’t look up from where she was busy rewiring the starter. 

“I heard.”

Crowley wrenched a strap down and wrinkled his nose at her. 

“From who?”

She shrugged. Soldered a joint before she opened her mouth again. 

“Just heard it around.”

Folks sure liked to talk, but not many of ‘em talked to Beez. It only made Crowley curiouser what she was keepin’ to herself. 

“Heard he offered you your job back.”

Beez finally looked up from what she was doing. 

“From who?”

The muscles in Crowley’s back was startin’ to complain about how long he’d been bent over the radiator. He stood up straight and pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket. Rested a hip against the fender and flicked his lighter.

“Just heard it around,” he said with the same disinterested shrug he’d gotten from her. It earned him the irritated stink eye he’d been aiming for. The tobacco in his cigarette crackled as he took a long satisfied drag. “You gonna take him up on it?”

“Seriously, what's with the third degree?”

“Just seems like a good opportunity’s all.” 

Beez went back to the wires sticking out of where the dash used to be. 

“Thinkin’ bout gettin’ outta here, actually.” 

Everyone was always thinkin’ bout gettin’ outta here. If he’d heard it once he’d heard it a million times. Crowley watched a bumble bee loaded down with pollen hop from one wildflower to another. Brought his cigarette to his lips again. 

“Sure you are, Beez.” 

“Do I get to put my name on this one too?” 

It was the first time she didn’t sound pissed off since she stepped out of her hatchback and she was fightin’ the grin on her face when Crowley looked back in her direction. She wasn’t winnin’ and it reminded him why he put up with her bullshit moods. And why she put up with his. 

“Maybe if we get ‘er running.” 

The grin stretching her lips flipped upside down in an instant. 

“It doesn't even run? Why the fuck am I rewiring the starter if it doesn’t even run?!” 

Crowley flicked his ash onto the ground. “She turned over for me once or twice.”

The soldering iron hit the stripped back footwell and Beez dropped her face into her hands. “This is gonna be a fucking disaster.”

It was gonna be a disaster. 

Aziraphale hadn't given it a second thought when Gabriel said he might tag along but apparently he'd been serious as a heart attack. It didn't make no sense. Gabriel had a sermon to prepare for and it was one thing to drive the ten minutes to the county fairgrounds but another altogether to drive three and a half hours through the Ozarks to a derby that hardly anyone even knew he’d entered himself in. 

The worst part of the whole thing, though, was that Gabriel was catching a ride. 

Aziraphale felt at odds with his cousin at the best of times. He didn't know how in the heck he was gonna kill seven whole hours of driving plus a night at whatever cheap motel had vacancy. And it wasn't that he had plans, but he'd been lookin' forward to a chance to get to know Crowley without all them busybodies from the church lingering around the pit.

As it was he'd have to pretend to be as distant as he'd been up until Crowley's alternator gave up the ghost going on two weeks ago now. Seemed a damn shame after finally getting a smile or two out of him. 

Aziraphale eyed the fresh pie sitting in the back of his fridge and made a last minute decision to drop it off at prayer group before he hit the road. No reason to give Gabriel more ammo than he already had. He could already hear the comments and even materializing in his own head rather than coming from Gabriel’s lips they filled him up with shame.

Insatiable, aren't you?

Working on those love handles?

To sully the temple is a sin, Aziraphale. 

Heaven forbid he figure out why Aziraphale’d actually spent twenty minutes whipping his cream by hand. 

He yanked the pie out of the fridge and stomped to his front door. Let it slam behind him and didn't pay no mind to the way the perfect peaks smooshed against the cling wrap as it came to rest against the seat of his truck. 

Those bitter old biddies at the church didn't deserve perfect peaks anyway. 

Didn't stop him from feeling embarrassed when he sat the manhandled pie on the Church’s laminate countertop next to the kettle and a yellow sponge that’d seen better days. It certainly wasn’t on par with the version that had won the church bake-off and he was sure there’d be whispers sayin’ as much in due time. 

“I hear you're heading to Missouri.”

Aziraphale stopped himself from cursing, but only barely. Miss Sara's new motorized wheelchair was so quiet he never knew when she was sneaking up on him. He convinced his eyebrows to stay at a reasonable height and turned on a smile before he spun around. 

“Word sure travels fast ‘round here, don't it?”

She lifted one paper thin eyebrow and pursed her lips. 

“I hear you're not the only one.”

Something slick and uncomfortable slithered around in Aziraphale's belly. He didn't quite manage to keep the smile on his face. 

“Oh?”

“I hope you bring our pastor back safe and sound before service on Sunday.”

Aziraphale wasn't sure if he should be more ashamed of the relief that washed over him or the next words out of his mouth. 

“What, you don't want Ms. Michael at the pulpit?”

He didn’t feel no better than the prayer circle throwing Ms. Michael under the bus so fast just to change the subject, but them shameful feelings softened considerably when Miss Sara grinned and took the bait. 

“Oh, she would like that, wouldn't she?”

Aziraphale leaned forward and let the barest sinister edge creep onto his lips even though he knew he'd regret it later. 

“I don't think she likes much of anything more than she likes herself.”

Miss Sara didn't go so far as to agree but she didn't object, neither. She pressed her lips together to keep her grin in check and pushed the joystick forward to close the gap between them. Well as she could, at least. The church hadn't exactly been built for folks with wheels and ain't no one seemed too keen to tear out the kitchen so she might be able to navigate it. 

As he stepped around the island to meet her halfway it didn't escape Aziraphale that the garden center had a brand new ramp at its entrance and she had a wraparound porch in full bloom that had laid barren for years.

Miss Sara Craned her neck and eyed the whipped cream going soft beneath the plastic.

“Best put that pie in the fridge, young man.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Aziraphale jumped to it even though he’d been content to let the thing weep on the countertop and blame its sorry state on the heat. 

“And not too high, neither.” 

As if he didn’t already feel crummy enough, it hadn’t even occurred to him that he’d left it sitting where she couldn’t reach. That she didn’t care so much about how runny the dang cream got as she did about being able to put it out at all when she set up for prayer circle that evening. 

Aziraphale slid the pie into the fridge and resolved to propose a renovation at the next church meeting. 

Miss Sara fanned herself with a handwritten list of what he could only assume was everyone's personal business. 

“We’ll be sure to pray over you and Gabriel tonight.”

Aziraphale smiled.

“I sure do appreciate it,” he said.

It was an easy lie to tell even though what he’d appreciate was if his name didn’t come up at all. If Miss Sara knew he was going north for the derby half the town must. And if folks knew what he was up to, it wasn’t entirely unreasonable they’d know what Crowley was up to. It didn’t take much else to get whispers started and once they did they took off like wildfire through dry brush.

“Don’t let your cousin distract you driving over these mountains. The lord’s grace only goes so far.” 

“I promise to drive safe.”

“Certainly not the whole time, though,” she said with a wink. 

“Maybe not the whole time.”

“Good luck tonight.” 

She started for the meeting room where in a few short hours rumors would get traded under the guise of good will. Aziraphale was fixin’ to head in the opposite direction when she called over her shoulder. 

“And Aziraphale? Maybe bring home the gold this time.”

The Caddy was turning over three times out of five. 

The cooler was stocked with beer.

There was two and a half hours of open road behind Crowley and five hours until the first heat and already a familiar anxiety was twistin’ his guts into knots. 

Worst of all Beez insisted on driving herself up to Missouri and even though they didn't tend to converse so much as enjoy their mutual silence, he missed having the company. 

Well, if he was being honest, which he still wasn't entirely fond of, that wasn't quite true. 

Actual worst of all was that all that quiet time to himself had him thinking how nice it might be to have someone who actually liked conversing with him sharing the cab of his truck. And it was one thing to pass his nights thinking about spite fucking the entitled golden boy comin’ after his first place trophy, but another one entirely to actually want his company. To crave his attention and and miss them fluttering lashes that had Crowley thinking his bad joke about a crush might not’ve been too far off the mark after all. 

It wasn't a crazy notion. 

Crowley couldn't recall Aziraphale ever goin’ steady with any of the pretty girls in the choir even though everyone saw the way they looked at him. And Crowley had picked up on far subtler hunts than gifting him an alternator that kept him in the derby he'd go on to win. 

Granted he'd made a mistake or two in his time too. 

Taken home a busted lip and another reason to feel alone for his efforts. 

Something told him even if he was missing the mark with Aziraphale, though, that he wouldn't be taking home a new scar. 

It was a dangerous thought. 

One that had him thinking about companionship when he was normally damn good at not getting unrealistic. 

Which meant his brain pivoted one-eighty back to safe territory. By the time he crossed into Missouri he had himself wondering if he might be able to tempt Aziraphale into twenty minutes of alone time after the feature. Over the border where he didn't have a reputation that stuck to him worse than his shadow, no one would assume a thing. And there wasn't no better way to kill what hadn't yet rooted than with a quick blowjob in a dark field that they'd never talk about again. 

Hell, if he got lucky they'd never talk again at all and then he wouldn't have to deal with the warmth tryin’ to kindle in his belly.

Chapter Text

Just why in the heck Gabriel insisted on taggin’ along just to disappear the moment Aziraphale parked his truck to check himself in, Aziraphale didn't know, but he was on the verge of dropping to his knees and praising the Lord for it. Three and a half hours was a long time to share the cab of his truck with a man who loves nothing more than the sound of his own voice and he was so giddy the whole time that Aziraphale didn't get a word in edgewise. 

Which mighta been perfectly on brand except he didn't mention his Sunday sermon once. Near as Aziraphale could tell he hadn't even packed his Bible and them little stickers he used to mark the verses he was gonna read at the pulpit. Seemed more interested in late night TV and some new fangled juke box at the local bar. Or maybe it was an old fashioned juke box over the county line? Aziraphale was admittedly a little hazy on the details. Was hard enough to keep up with Gabe in the first place but after the first ninety minutes of being talked at rather than with Aziraphale’d been living mostly in his own world. 

One where he was handing a fork to Crowley and watching him take down a pie that woulda been right at home on the cover of Country Living. 

Aziraphale backed his Crown Victoria off the trailer and reveled in the relative quiet of Gabriel’s absence. Nothing but him and the rumble of the V8 for company. He closed his eyes and let the vibration soothe him. Breathed in the oil and exhaust smell of the pit and felt at home in a place he'd never even been. 

A gentle tap on his thigh had him furrowing his brow and opening his eyes back up. It took him a second to figure out what he was looking at, but once he did he had to grin at the zip tie sitting in his lap. 

“Crowley,” he said like a breath of fresh air before he even looked up. 

Didn't no one else know about his distributor cap. 

Sure enough it was Anthony Crowley standing outside his car with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. He had his hair tied back at the nape of his neck but a few loose strands danced around his sun kissed cheeks with the summer breeze. The smudges on his hands and wrists said he'd already been in the pit long enough to get some work done and Aziraphale really oughta get going with the same, but it didn't feel as pressing as it normally would have. 

He cut the engine and tossed the zip tie back at Crowley. Out of force of habit his eyes took a gander over their surroundings while he pulled himself through the window, but Gabe was still nowhere to be seen. 

“Don't worry,” Crowley said with a look that was only half irritated. “Beez fucked off to God knows where soon as we got the Caddy unloaded.”

Crowley hadn't taken a step back when Aziraphale climbed outta his car so when his boots hit the ground he found himself just about as close as they'd been tradin’ parts. Wasn't no fence to hide behind this time around, but not a single unfamiliar face even glanced in their direction. Aziraphale ignored the fearful voice in his head telling him to take a step away. He stayed rooted to the spot and waved his hand toward the midway. 

“Gabe too. Didn't even stick around to help get the Vic off the trailer.”

“Gabe?”

“He insisted on coming.”

The look on Crowley's face was as disappointed as Aziraphale felt about the whole situation. All Aziraphale could do, though, was shrug. Woulda only invited more unwanted attention if he'd asked him not to. 

“I didn't know he ever left the church.”

“He don't normally.” 

Crowley dug the toe of his boot into the dirt. Chewed on his lip for a minute before nodding over his shoulder.

“I got some cold ones in the back of my truck.”

Aziraphale’d be lyin' if he said he wasn't interested, but that first place spot was even more tempting. 

“There's rules against that.”

“One little Bud Light ain't gonna hurt nothing.” 

“It will if it gets me disqualified.” 

The grin on Crowley's face suggested he mighta been considering the possibility when he suggested a drink. Behind him a blue and gold boat with an Egyptian figurehead swung into view high above the fairgrounds. Aziraphale followed it, and its rows of screaming riders, all the way back down to a scatter of booths. His eyes landed on a bright red sign that made his mouth water more’n a beer. 

“How's about a lemon shake-up instead?” 

“Fine. But you're buying.” 

Crowley didn't look near so disappointed as he sounded. And he didn't hesitate, neither. Started off for the midway before Aziraphale could remember to follow. Or maybe he was just too distracted to convince his legs to move. The tattered jeans Crowley was wearin’ were slung so low that Aziraphale found himself staring at a set of dimples that looked like they was winking at him with every unhurried step Crowley took.  

Aziraphale shook off the stupor and bolted after him the second he realized his jaw was hanging open but it didn't keep the image from burning into the backs of his eyelids. He couldn't seem to blink it away as they crossed the imaginary line where the pit ended and the midway began. He hardly even noticed the crash of the milk bottle toss or the screeching children flying down a giant slide on burlap sacks. Almost tripped on two teenagers canoodling over bright pink cotton candy and didn't realize he’d met the woman working the concession stand until she was knocking a ketchup bottle onto his foot in her excitement. 

“Aziraphale!”

“Ah, um.” Aziraphale felt just a little like letting the ground swallow him up. He never imagined he'd see her again, which wasn't as good an excuse as he thought it might be to not get her name the first time around. “I'm sorry, I don't think-”

“Muriel,” she said, eyes big and smile bright. 

“Muriel.” It was a lovely name. One he would've remembered if he'd been decent the last time they’d spoken. “How's the circuit treating you?”

“Oh, it's great.” The absence of those practiced crinkles in the corners of her eyes said otherwise and sure enough a frown swept across her face. “I still can't believe you got beat by that-”

“Muriel, was it?” 

Crowley plunked the ketchup bottle back on the counter next to the mustard and an oversized tub of relish. There was a touch of amusement on his face and Aziraphale did his best to counter it with a smile he hoped was kind. And that did some legwork in persuading her it wasn't worth remembering that she'd seen them together. 

“This is Crowley,” he said as if he didn't know exactly what she thought of him. “He's running tonight too.”

She clasped the cross hanging between her collarbones and her grin grew too big to be convincing.

“So nice to meet you!”

Crowley grinned back. It brought to mind a hyena Aziraphale had seen in a nature documentary once. 

“Sure it is,” Crowley purred. 

Aziraphale plucked his wallet out of his back pocket and tried to be cheery enough for all three of them.

“Two lemon shake-ups,” he said. “And a funnel cake.”

While Aziraphale was busy digging out the cash to pay, Crowley scooped his paper cup off the narrow counter and dropped a five dollar bill in the tip jar all in the same motion. Almost like he was hoping no one would notice.

Muriel just so happened to re-materialize at the window with their funnel cake just in time to watch the folded bill hit the bottom of the empty jar. Her nose crinkled. The smile on her face was confused but more genuine than any she'd leveled at Crowley yet.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice as cautious as the gratitude on her pretty face. 

“A seed in the jar’ll go a long way. Trust me. I been there. Only way to get these assholes to part with their money is to convince ‘em it’s what everyone else is doin’.”

The cynicism felt like Crowley through and through, but Aziraphale wasn't expecting the bit of color that crawled out of his collar when he got caught dropping the cash in the jar. His eyes kept wandering back to that bit of pink as they started their slow stroll back toward the pit. 

“That was awfully nice of you.”

Crowley pushed his sunglasses up in his hair and stared down into the open top of his cup. Used his straw to stir the ice and reamed lemon half in circles. 

“Don't go telling folks. Nice ain't gonna get me nothin but grief.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Aziraphale resisted the urge to bump him with his hip but leaned close enough that Crowley looked up anyway. “Got you a funnel cake, didn't it?”

“Oh, that’s for me, is it?”

Aziraphale stopped with a curl of fried dough dangling between his fingers and his lips. He bit it in half and held out what was left.

“Best when it's still warm,” he offered. 

Aziraphale didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't for Crowley to eat it right out of his hand. 

Or for his lips to brush against the tip of his finger when he did. 

It sure was a funny thing the way Crowley's pre-derby anxiety seemed to settle right down the second he saw that desert beige Crown Vic roll into the pit. And it disappeared entirely standing face to face with Aziraphale. Even having Anathema by his side back home hadn't dulled the storm inside him in quite the same way. Though he supposed he hadn't been distracted wondering if Anathema made the same noises in bed that she did eating funnel cake. Or if her cheeks went quite as red when she was about to come as they did when Crowley put his lips around her finger. 

Really, every time Crowley turned around Aziraphale was confirming what he suspected. Hell, the simple fact that he kept coming ‘round at all was convincing Crowley that he mighta been interested in the same thing Crowley was. 

That romp in a dark field after the derby was looking more ‘n more likely with every shade Aziraphale's cheeks darkened and Crowley wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. Not when he knew that feeling anything more than just horny wasn’t bound to get him nothin’ but heartache down the line and he had a belly full of butterflies that he needed to crush. 

“Seeing as you bought me lunch, I s’pose this counts as our first date, then?” 

Aziraphale flexed his hand at his side and stared in the direction of an engine squealing. 

“You oughta be considering it your last meal.”

Crowley ran a finger over the bump on the bridge of his nose and frowned. 

“And here I was beginning to think you was different.”

“Don't be like that.” For a second Aziraphale looked like he wanted to reach for Crowley, but he let his hand fall back down by his thigh instead. He seemed genuinely put out which didn’t make Crowley like him any less. “I meant because of the derby, and you know it. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t never.”

Them blasted butterflies were all stirred up again and Crowley was ready to singe their delicate little wings with something hot and fast and more than a little regretful. 

“Maybe you are different, Aziraphale East. More different than folks realize, even.”

Aziraphale stuffed another twist of funnel cake into his mouth but didn't deny what Crowley was saying, which might as well’ve been a confirmation as far as he was concerned.

Crowley grinned. He was gonna quash this thing in his belly and get off in the process, he was sure of it. Put his lips around more than the tip of Aziraphale's finger and kill this thing before it ever took root. He reached out and stretched his own piece of funnel cake off the paper plate. Tipped his head back and piled it onto his tongue. The fried dough melted almost as fast as the powdered sugar and maybe it was the calories, the first ones he'd had all day besides for the cream in his gas station coffee four hours ago, but he felt energized. He even took a brain freezing slug of his lemon shake-up and didn't immediately regret it. 

There wasn't hide nor hair of Beez or Gabe back in the pit, but Crowley knew better than to think it meant he could stay sidled right up next to Aziraphale all evening. He grabbed one last inch of dough gone sticky with the humidity and made sure Aziraphale was watching when he hollowed his cheeks and sucked the last traces of it off his thumb. Felt bright blue eyes on him as he sauntered back toward the burgundy Caddy that was already making him regret all that sugar and acid. 

Away from Aziraphale's side, the seasick feeling that came with his anxiety grew again. More ‘n more with every passing minute, all the way up until they was calling his lineup. Which just so happened to be the moment Beez finally decided to show her unconcerned face. 

Crowley didn't bother to look in her direction. 

He let his nerves, and more than a little unresolved childhood grief, do the talkin’. 

“Maybe I shouldn't’a let you put your name on this one.”

“I got her runnin’ didn't I?”

Crowley slipped into the driver's seat and tapped together the two wires jutting out of the dash next to his steering wheel. Listened to the engine sputter but not catch. Once. Twice. Three times. 

He finally shot a glare at Beez while he did what he could to keep down the funnel cake making its best effort to come back up. 

“Have some patience,” she said. “And set the fucking choke.”

Crowley snarled but pumped the gas. Sweat ran down his bicep and dripped onto his thigh. He shoulda known better than to rely on someone to be there when he needed them. You'd think he'd be used to it by now, gettin’ by alone. 

His stomach churned, but when he touched the wires the Caddy finally turned over. Crowley let out a long hot breath. Twisted the wires together and promised himself he’d use the winnings to splurge on something a little more reliable next time around.  

Beez leaned down and shoved a helmet against Crowley’s chest. “Get outta yer head.”

“I am,” he snapped. 

She sighed and slipped a brace around his neck. “Get him outta yer head.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and tugged his helmet down over his hair. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of admitting when she was right. Not when she'd all but abandoned him soon as they pulled up to unfamiliar territory. He chose to ignore the fact that it had earned him twenty minutes of alone time with a man he was refusing to acknowledge he had a full blown crush on. It was easier to channel his shit towards being pissed at her than deal with his real feelings. 

It was only out of the corner of his eye that he saw Beez cross her arms over her chest and give him the same look his mama used to, but it was enough to get something hot stirred up under his ribs. Something he’d deal with out on the track. 

Or so he thought. 

He couldn't quite decide just what he'd do or who he was pissed at anymore when he saw an all too familiar beige beast pull into the lineup two cars behind him. 

Aziraphale was supposed to be in a different heat entirely, but sure enough he rolled up to the berm right next to Crowley. His chin folded against the brace he wore wrapped tight around his neck as he turned and gave Crowley a grin that had him wondering how he was supposed to focus on anything else. Then the flash bastard went and winked while he revved his engine and it felt about as close to foreplay as you could get without touchin’ someone. 

Between the glint in Aziraphale's eye, the flex of his bicep, and all the feelings he was failing to ignore, Crowley was so damn distracted that he missed the green flag entirely. Only realized it had flown when Aziraphale went haulin’ ass out of where Crowley’s passenger side window had framed him up like something that oughta been hung up in a museum somewhere. 

By the time Crowley finally got his Caddy on the move, someone was already smashing into him. He’d’ve been more pissed about the whole thing but the car that had been aimin’ to take out his axle had no sooner put itself in reverse to try again than it surged forward, having taken a heavy hit to its rear end. Crowley got a tingle deep in his belly watching a beige hood crumple with the impact. 

A header in a car without so much space in front of the radiator as there was in an Imperial was a risky move. One Crowley wouldn't soon forget, especially considering Beez had been right the first time around. Aziraphale’s front end was damn near pristine going into the feature back home. If it hadn’t been for that distributor cap there wasn’t a chance in hell Crowley woulda won. Aziraphale was either going for that mad dog qualifier, which didn’t seem likely, or he was flirtin’. And Crowley would be remiss if he didn’t flirt back. He knocked Aziraphale free when he got hung up on the berm and took a face full of mud in the process. Intercepted two different attempts to take out Aziraphale's tires and even with his radiator cracked and his engine hissing took a hit that wasn't meant for him. 

And just when he was feelin’ real good about himself, and the prospect of a thank you in a few short hours, his damn engine died with just four cars left still running. Crowley, Aziraphale, and two assholes with cars painted in scales that was so obviously team drivin’ they musta known the organizers ‘cause otherwise their asses woulda been booted five minutes into the heat. Two assholes who just so happened to be at the far end of the track with a direct line to Crowley’s passenger side front bumper.

They revved their engines and shared a glance and it didn’t take a genius to figure out they was about to give him an arena shot or two that he wouldn’t soon forget. The first of ‘em hit the gas and with the mud going dry in the summer heat his tires got more traction than Crowley had all night. He didn't even get the chance to put his head down and work on restarting his car before the reptilian asshole was barreling straight for him, ready to take him outta the running for good. 

Crowley couldn't do much more than let off the brake, take his hands off the wheel and brace for impact. 

He wasn't expecting that impact to come in the form of a beige bumper that squeaked in front of him just in the knick of time. 

Crowley was as swept off his feet as he was furious. Aziraphale coulda let him take the hit and maybe even taken the heat. Gone on to win the whole damn thing. Instead, when he went to put up chase he didn't budge more’n two inches. The force of the hit had gotten his Vic tied up with Crowley’s Caddy and no amount of maneuvering was making much of a dent in their predicament.

All the other two cars had to do was sit back and sandbag each other while the crowd cheered. Sixty seconds of Crowley’s car refusing to start and Aziraphale's car refusing to let go of Crowley’s and they was both out of the running. The top two cars would move on to the feature and there wasn't no consolation round at this derby so just like that their night was over.  

And it woulda normally made Crowley mad as hell, but just as soon as he felt his ears get hot, Aziraphale was standing on the hood of his car all lit up gold by the setting sun and he had his hand out and Crowley couldn't think of anything but reaching out and taking it. 

And just like that losing suddenly didn't feel so bad.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was gonna hear about it the whole drive back to Arkansas. He knew he would. He was sure there'd be a heavy helping of guilt tripping about the rules, too. That team driving wasn't allowed and even if it was, ain't no way he shoulda been teaming up with Anthony Crowley. Gabriel wasn't always the sharpest knife in the drawer but even he could draw a line between two dots and Aziraphale had put his dot on the page a mile wide. 

Still, that arm thrown round his shoulders after he'd yanked Crowley out of his still smoking car mighta been worth it. Sure, he got a hug or a pat on the back at the church from time to time, but it never felt like anything more’n a social obligation. 

Crowley, though… he’d squeezed. Hooked an elbow around Aziraphale's neck and pulled until his temple was kissing Crowley's jaw. The crowd had gone wild and it didn’t much matter that they was probably cheerin’ for the cars goin’ on to the feature, it sure felt like the two of ‘em was on top of the world and folks was happy to see it. 

It was a world he wanted to live in. 

Just thirty seconds of it mended something inside Aziraphale and even though he knew it'd snap again in due time, he rode that high all the way back to the pit.  

Winching the straps down around the last tire to haul the Vic back home, Aziraphale could still feel the ghost of Crowley’s knuckles against his collarbone. He put his fingers to it and coulda swore the skin felt warmer right where they'd been. Or maybe that was a feeling that lived more in his heart. A remnant of a touch that reminded him of his mama and a love that was truly unconditional.  

At the end of the day all that really mattered was that he was feeling high as the sky and couldn't contain his grin when he saw Crowley sauntering through the pit in his direction, face still flecked with mud. Crowley was grinning too. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. Letting something genuine peek through the scowl he wore like a shield. Every time he did it chipped away at the shield Aziraphale wore too. It was thin as copy paper by the time Crowley was in spittin’ distance. 

The flood lights lit up the mess of his hair gone matted from his helmet and glinted off a silver can in his hand. 

“You gonna take me up on that beer this time around?” 

Aziraphale glanced in the direction of Crowley’s Caddy. Then toward the midway where he'd last seen Gabe heading hours ago. He didn't need an excuse to spend time with Crowley, but avoiding his cousin for a little longer was a good one either way. The sound of an engine screaming to life grabbed his attention and sent goosebumps racing down his arms. He nodded toward the raucous crowd filling the stands.

“Feature’s on in five. I bet we can still find some seats in the back.” 

Crowley coulda thrown the beer like he had back at Guardian, but he stepped close instead. Put it directly in Aziraphale's hand so that their fingers touched. Just long enough to breathe new life into the goosebumps already pimpling his skin.

“Seats in the back it is.”

Aziraphale popped the tab with a tingle still running up his arm. Tossed back the whole thing while Crowley bit his lip like one of the girls in the centerfolds he’d only ever pretended to be interested in. In the chaos of the pit where folks he didn’t know were more concerned with getting their cars in shape for the final showdown than with what he was doing, Aziraphale didn’t have to pretend nothin’.

He kept his eyes square on the man in front of him and crushed the can in his fist. Threw it into the back of his truck and took the second can Crowley was already holding out for him. 

“Let's go then.”

Walkin’ hip to hip with Crowley, an icy beer in his gut and another in his hand, Aziraphale forgot to worry about Gabriel. And there wasn't no sense in worrying about anyone else. The only other people that knew him was Beez, who already hated his guts but didn’t seem the type to spread rumors back home, and Muriel, who surely didn't know nothin’ about Crowley’s sexual preferences. And even if she did, it ain't like most folks would stop to give her the time of day anyway. The security in that fact gave him a whole heaping mound of guilt that he washed away with a guzzle of Bud Light as he climbed all the way up the bleachers for a couple open spots at the top that was really just one open spot. Even as slim as he was, Crowley’s thigh ended up pressed right up against the length of his own when they sat.  

Crowley put his beer between his heels and watched the first cars lining up to enter the track. It wasn’t hard to figure out just where he was lookin’. Aziraphale was lookin’ at them subpar green paint jobs too. 

“You shoulda let him hit me,” Crowley said.

It'd been an easy choice not to. Felt like second nature sheltering Crowley out there on the track. 

“An arena shot like that while you were wide open woulda wrecked your frame. Taken you out of the whole darn thing.”

Crowley huffed and gave Aziraphale a sideways glance. 

“Took us both out in the end, didn't it?”

“Your frame’s still in one piece though. And if you reinforce it… get the radiator swapped out. We could run in Oklahoma next weekend.”

“Oh we could, could we?” Aziraphale didn't pretend to be interested in nothing but the pleased look on Crowley's face. He admired it for so long that Crowley eventually shifted his focus back to the cars beginning to roll out onto the track. “You coulda won this one.”

“She wouldn't’a made it through the feature,” Aziraphale said with a shrug. “Bitter is the fruit that falls early.” 

The lifted brow aimed at Aziraphale made him laugh. “She coulda used another week in the garage,” he explained. “And I'm guessing yer Caddy coulda too.”

“Guess I mighta been a little over eager to get back out there.”

“That win felt good, huh?”

“Best feelin’ there is.” Crowley picked his beer back up. Pushed his tongue into his cheek and gave Aziraphale a once over that sure seemed appreciative. “Well. Nearly.”

Aziraphale couldn't tell if Crowley’s advances were gettin’ more direct or if they were just coming off less like jokes. Or maybe it was all just in Aziraphale's head. Maybe it was all just good natured ribbing and he was fixin’ to embarrass himself if he rebuffed Crowley. 

Which is why he didn't. 

Better to take the joke leaning back. 

Literally. 

With his fingers interlaced behind his head and his biceps flexed and a grin on his face that coulda meant a good few things. 

“Nearly,” he parroted back. 

Crowley shifted on the bleachers like he meant to recline too but winced and went forward instead. Put his elbows on his knees and took a swig of his beer. 

“You alright?” Aziraphale asked.

“It's nothin’.”

“Didn't look like nothin’.”

Crowley put a palm on the skin peeking out between the waistband of his jeans and the hem of his tee. Right above one of them dimples Aziraphale was gonna pass the drive home thinkin’ about.  

“Think I just aggravated something. You know how it is. Spend yer nights bent over an engine then take some hard hits out there. Just needs to loosen up s’all.”

Every eye in the arena was on the cars revving their engines down below. Tucked away up in the corner of the stands there wasn't a soul paying them any mind at all. 

Something hot flared deep in Aziraphale's gut as he put his thumb against Crowley’s bare skin. 

“Here?” he asked just in time for Crowley’s eyes to go wide. 

“That's the spot,” Crowley squeaked out.

Aziraphale couldn't hear the countdown. Didn't see the first cars collide even though his eyes were set square on the action rather than on Crowley. The only thing he could focus on was the electricity traveling between them. The smolder that burned in his belly when he put his hand flat, fingers creeping up the back of Crowley's tee, and started to knead where no one could see it. 

Crowley didn't seem to be paying much attention neither. Just dropped his face into his hands so that all Aziraphale woulda been able to see if he was to look were the scarlet tips of his ears and the slow shudder of his ribcage. 

Tires popped.

Axles snapped. 

One at a time flags came down. 

And, gun to his head, Aziraphale couldn't say who was still in it and who was gonna be taking their cars to the junk yard come morning. 

But somehow he heard clear as day when Crowley tilted his chin toward him and grumbled through the space between his forearm and bicep. 

“You wanna get outta here?” 

Aziraphale really oughta go find Gabe. Find a motel with a vacancy sign. Take a long cold shower to wash away the sweat and the mud and the grease and maybe pull the Bible outta the bedside table. 

But the part of him that had been taking the wheel more often than not as of late blurted out “yes” and was standing before he could consider all the reasons he shoulda been sayin’ “no.” 

Chapter Text

They was handing over the first place trophy when Crowley and Aziraphale walked out of the fairgrounds side by side. In three minutes they’d escaped the bright white overhead lights that lit up the track. Two more and just the glittering red and blue of the Ferris wheel was catching on pale curls. 

They kept on walking though. 

All the way past the last row of cars parked in the grass outside the midway until there wasn't nothing but velvety black wrapping all around them. 

Crowley hoisted himself up onto a wooden fence that creaked under his weight. Fished around in his pocket and drew out a pack of smokes he'd had the good sense to leave in his truck instead of his pocket during their heat. 

The flick of the flame was too bright to see around, but he could feel Aziraphale's eyes on him. Could feel the heat of him, too. The ripples of his breath in the dark and the way the fence sagged when he leaned against it. 

“That’ll kill ya.”

Crowley slipped his lighter back in his pocket and blew a ring between his lips that he couldn't see. 

“Yeah, but I'll be livin’ in the meantime.”

Aziraphale plucked the cigarette from between his fingers and a second later the glow of the cherry lit up a face too handsome for the valley. 

The fingers that put the cigarette back between Crowley’s own didn't pull away entirely. They sat right there on top of his where they was resting on the weathered wood.

Crowley wet his lips and stared at the glimmer of the fair in the distance. 

His heart was pounding. 

And not for the reasons it usually did when he managed to tempt some horny young thing into the dark. 

Some of what he was feeling was familiar. That firecracker fuse of anticipation was hissing away in his belly, singeing him on the inside, but at the same time he found he wasn't keen to do more’n just what they was doing. Not yet. 

It was fucking terrifying. 

Far more so than the uncertainty that came with reaching for some cowboy's belt and hoping he wasn't gonna get socked in the nose. 

Crowley wasn't sure what to do, so he didn't do nothin’ all. Just sat there like an idiot wondering how long until his cigarette burnt all the way down to his knuckles and whether he'd keep sitting there once it did just to have a few more seconds of those gentle fingers against his own. 

He didn't get the chance to find out before an explosion of light had Aziraphale yanking his hand away.

The cigarette hit the dirt between them and Crowley put his arm up over his eyes. Too little too late, he was already all but blind from the headlights shining directly at them. 

“Aziraphale?” came a voice from the distance.

Crowley tried to peek over his arm toward the voice but couldn't see nothin’ but blinding white. He didn't need to be able to see her, though, to recognize that delta twang. 

“What the fuck? Muriel?” he asked even though he knew who was behind the high beams.

“Mr. Crowley?”

“Just Crowley, actually,” he grumbled. “Ain't you supposed to be working?”

“It was an accident. I didn't mean to hit the lights.”

“You wanna turn ‘em off then?” 

The headlights clicked off but all Crowley could see was big fat spots where he shoulda been seeing lines of parked cars. He reached for Aziraphale outta something that felt like habit but couldn't possibly have been and met with nothing but open air. 

The distance of his voice when he finally spoke suggested he mighta managed to put more’n half a fence panel between ‘em when he'd wrenched away.

“We was just having a smoke,” Aziraphale said even though no one had suggested they were doing anything else. 

The edge of panic in his voice got Crowley’s temper flarin’. He turned a snarl toward Muriel even though he still couldn't see her. 

“Were you watching us?”

“I didn't see nothing,” Muriel said, her voice closer than it had been a moment ago.  “I was just… Curious. About these sorts of things.”

“What sorts of things?” Crowley growled.

“We was just having a smoke,” Aziraphale repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“What sorts of things, Muriel?” 

“My break’s almost over.” The voice that had been getting closer was moving away again. “I should get back to the stand.”

Crowley’s eyes was finally startin' to readjust to the dark and even with only half his features visible he could see the fear on Aziraphale's face. 

It tore him up inside even though it wasn’t a fear he’d ever known. Folks was gonna find a reason to judge him no matter what. He never saw no sense in hiding who he was.

But that had been his choice.

He could only imagine what it felt like to have that taken from him.

Crowley hopped off the fence and pulled a new cigarette out of his pocket. Closed his eyes and sucked down a lungful of smoke while he stomped through the grass. 

“Let me walk you back.”

“I know the way.”

Crowley was towering over Muriel before she could put any distance between them. She flinched as he took her by the elbow and ushered her away from Aziraphale. 

“I insist.”

Halfway across the field turned parking lot Muriel finally yanked her arm from Crowley’s grip. She took a step backwards. 

“I didn't see nothing.”

“That's because there wasn't nothin’ to see.”

“My family'll notice if I don't get back. Even if it's busy. Especially if it's busy!”

Crowley rolled his eyes and flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. He hadn't meant to scare the poor girl quite so badly. He'd just been eager to give Aziraphale space. Make him feel safe.

“Calm down, Muriel. I'm not a fuckin’ mob enforcer.” He squinted in the direction they’d come from.  “Me’n Aziraphale… we was just havin’ a smoke. Commiserating. Neither of us made it past our heat.”

Muriel nodded. “Just friends.” 

“No, not friends. Two rednecks getting away from the crowds and crossing paths.” He jabbed the fingers holding his cigarette at her. “Not that anyone needs to know about them crossed paths, yeah?”

Muriel fiddled with the cross hanging from her neck. She didn't look so worried no more. In fact she took a step closer to Crowley. 

“People… they say it ain't a secret. That you're-” she bobbed her head side to side. “You know.”

Crowley gritted his teeth. It felt like a paper cut every time someone acted like it was a filthy word.

“It ain't.” 

“And Aziraphale?”

“Dont worry about Aziraphale. And don't even think about going and talking ‘bout him with no one else. Nothing to tell. Got it?” 

“No one talks to me anyway. Not until you two.” Muriel squeezed the cross in her palm. The twinkle of the carousel lit up a shy smile. “I think it's really sweet what you're doing.”

“Oh my god, Muriel.”

She gave a little bounce on the balls of her toes. 

“I didn't know satanists were so nice.”

“I'm not a-” The conversation was going the exact opposite of what he intended. All he wanted was to get back to that fence and arguing with the little busybody wasn’t gonna get him there any faster. “Ya know what, you're right. We ain't.”

She reached out squeezed his arm. Ignored the furrow of his brow and gave him a wink. 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” 

The field was swarming by the time Crowley made it back to the rickety fence where a man had touched him with tenderness instead of self-loathing. There was muddy boots and tired grins as far as the eye could see, but none of them belonged to Aziraphale. 

And when he got back to the pit there wasn’t no mangled beige Crown Vic neither.

Chapter Text

Run. 

It was what Aziraphale's gut had screamed at him the second he was lit up like daylight for anyone to see. 

Served him right for thinkin’ he could get away with something. For feeling invincible for all of one night. Every single decision he'd made starting with offering up that alternator had been stupid. Only sensible thing he'd done in weeks was driving off the Missouri fairgrounds and not stopping ‘til he’d put nearly two hundred miles behind him.

He wouldn'ta been able to sleep anyway. Why spend his night tossing and turning in a lumpy motel bed when he could get himself back home where he shoulda just stayed in the first place?

Of course he hadn't gone there, neither. 

Dropped Gabriel off and drove straight to his shop where he'd spent the rest of his night and most of the next day banging away on a car that he'd let take more of a beating than was sensible, not least of all because of how obvious it musta been why. All things considered Aziraphale probably oughta been at church instead, but he found it easier to pray when he was staring at an engine. 

Not that he'd been doing much praying for the last few hours. He’d reinforced his frame and welded his hood and put crumple zones in the trunk but to be honest he didn't much feel like talkin’ to God. Not when he was the one that put a desire in his heart that he couldn't get a handle on. 

And a man in his path that he couldn't get outta his head. 

The bell above his office door tinkled and Aziraphale hung his head and sighed. Didn't anyone bother to read these days? 

“Sign says closed!”

“Door was unlocked.” 

Aziraphale's belly seized. He’d thought Crowley might throw in the towel after he finally listened to his gut and got the hell outta dodge before he let his desire take the wheel again. Was counting on it, even. If he kept actin’ stupid he was bound to find himself under the high beams of someone that mattered and the only way to avoid that was to avoid Anthony Crowley. 

For good. 

The last thing he needed was Crowley walking through his door when he hadn't yet figured out how to stop thinking about him. 

Some small part of him, though, felt swept off its feet. 

Crowley wasn't giving up on him just yet. Not even after last night when he'd gone and proven just how broken he was. 

Aziraphale shoved that hopeful part of himself into one of his corners and smothered it with the shame he’d been carrying on his shoulders for nearly 24 hours. The shame of what he was about to do as much as of what he'd done.

“You should go,” Aziraphale said without turning around. 

“I think I'd rather stay.”

The sound of Crowley’s boots kept drawing nearer. Aziraphale had hoped he wouldn't need to look him in the face when he lied to him, but maybe if he convinced his eyes to lie too, Crowley might listen. 

He turned but looked at the floor when he realized he wasn't gonna manage. 

“I want you to leave,” Aziraphale said. He'd gotten so good at lyin’ over the years he was sure even he'd believe it once the words left his mouth, but every twitch of his tongue sounded as hollow as he felt. 

The footsteps were still coming, undeterred by his bullshit, and Aziraphale tried to take a step back for each one coming toward him, but he didn't get far ‘fore he was bumping right into the Vic. The footsteps didn't stop when he did. They kept right on coming ‘til Aziraphale's gaze was cast on Crowley toes instead of on the meandering outline of an oil stain beneath them. His eyes crawled over the dusty hems of Crowley’s jeans all the way up to his filthy, threadbare tee but he didn't have the guts to go any further. 

Crowley hooked his thumbs in his pockets. Dipped his face low and waited until Aziraphale finally gave in to the torment of his silence and looked him in the face. 

“Do you?” he asked. “Want me to leave?”

Aziraphale's mouth felt dry. His pulse was hammering in his ears. He hadn't never been so close to Crowley before. Had never noticed the flecks of gold in his eyes or the freckles on his nose. The milky line cutting through his cupid's bow. Aziraphale could smell cigarette smoke on Crowley's breath and he was right back in that field with his heart on fire. 

All he could think to do was douse it in cold water ‘fore it caught again. 

“I don't know what you think was happening last night, but-”

“I think we both know what was happening.”

It didn't matter that every miserable word that came out of his mouth felt like hot coals on his tongue, Aziraphale kept saying ‘em just in case he might start believin’ what he was saying. 

“I'm not like you.”

“Oh, Angel.” Crowley lifted a hand and put it on his jaw and Aziraphale shoulda stopped him but he didn't. “I never said you were. But we sure do share some common ground.” 

Aziraphale didn't look at the hand that landed on his waist. Didn't look at Crowley’s feet as he took another step closer. He stared right past the tired eyes and the tangled hair and the scars that threatened to break his heart. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do to ignore the heat of him. 

He was drawn to it. 

Craved it. 

And still he shook his head. 

“You’re misinterpreting my good will.”

Crowley scoffed, but he didn't back off. “Did I misinterpret your hands on me too?”

“It was nothin’,” Aziraphale said, his voice weak. 

“Oh, fuck you.” Crowley was so close their noses were nearly touching. The hand on Aziraphale's waist slid down to his hip. Followed the top of his jeans all the way around to the small of his back where ain't no hands been in too long. “Gonna touch me like that and tell me it's nothin’?” 

“It wasn't-”

“I ain't gonna stand here and pretend I know what I'm feeling.” Them long, rough fingers dragged all the way back around until they was toying with the button at the top of Aziraphale's fly. “But it sure as shit ain't nothin’.”

Aziraphale's belly shuddered against Crowley’s fingers. If someone walked through the door there wasn't no mistaking what was happening. Aziraphale's eyes darted toward the bright red exit sign and then down to the calluses catching on the fabric of his shirt. The part of him he'd tried to bury when Crowley had walked into his shop was clawin’ its way back out. Was reachin’ for tangled waves and bringin' their lips together. 

But the rest of him, the part that had spent its whole life telling lies, kept right on telling them. 

“I'm afraid I don't share the sentiment.”

“You’re a liar.”

It was the truth and it felt so good to be seen for what he really was. No one in Aziraphale's life had ever cared enough to realize it. That Crowley had was as frightening as it was heartbreaking.

“Crowley, you need to leave.”

“You're really gonna stand there and tell me you don't want this?” 

“I don't. I'm not… I don't.”

The lies were getting harder. They'd never felt hard before. 

“You don't?” Crowley sneered. He ran a single finger down the front of Aziraphale's jeans. “Might be more convincing if you weren't about to bust your zipper.”

Aziraphale caught him by the wrist, but he couldn't figure out if he was stopping him or keeping his hand right where it was. 

“Crowley,” he gasped.

“Relax. I get it now.” Crowley popped the button on Aziraphale's jeans. “It's nothin’. You're just one more horny redneck looking for a favor after all.”

Aziraphale's fingers slipped from Crowley's wrist as he sank to his knees on the dirty ground. His hands were far gentler than Aziraphale expected. Like he was handling blown glass instead of a man that didn't deserve an ounce of his kindness. 

“I guess I did misinterpret your goodwill.”

Aziraphale braced a hand on the fender behind him. Crowley’s mouth was as hot as the look he was giving him, but his hands stayed soft, thumb stroking the crease of Aziraphale's thigh in what could only possibly be a reminder of the way Aziraphale had touched him on the county fairgrounds over the state line. 

As terrified as Aziraphale was that he might hear that bell over his door tinkle, he was more terrified of Crowley never touching him like this again. And so even though he shoulda just as soon stopped Crowley because they was doing this for all the wrong reasons, Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to. 

His chin tipped up and his lips parted and instead of pushing Crowley away he put his hand on the back of his head and kept him right where he was. 

Rip the bandage off. 

A quick burst of pain now was better’n drawing out the suffering of wondering what coulda been. 

Crowley shouldn't’ve hesitated in Missouri. Shoulda had Aziraphale's cock in his mouth straight away and maybe he wouldn't have to deal with knowing how gentle his hands was. How good it felt to know something tender again. 

It was better this way. 

At least that's what he kept telling himself. 

Even with Aziraphale's fingers in his hair and his cheeks going pink and that tangled feeling in Crowley's belly. 

They'd kill this thing here and now. 

It was a transaction. 

A generous hand for a generous mouth. 

Just like every other prick he'd ever fucked. 

He'd swallow Aziraphale's secret and hold it for the both of them and tomorrow they'd go back to being strangers. 

It was better this way. 

Even though Aziraphale trembling under his fingers made something inside him sing and every quiet grunt rising out of his mouth felt like a gift. 

Crowley closed his eyes and took Aziraphale into his throat. 

Dragged his thumb away from the pulse in the crease of his thigh and took his balls in his hand. Pushed his shirt higher and made sure his nose was bumping right up against the thatch of dark hair beneath his belly. 

The insides of Aziraphale's thighs quivered against Crowley’s knuckles and he knew the end was coming. 

Rip the bandage off. 

It was better this way. 

It didn’t matter that Aziraphale was lying to himself. That it was clear as Crystal Pepsi that they wanted the same thing. 

They’d never be anything more than what they was right now. 

Aziraphale's fingers clenched. His hips jerked. Crowley opened his eyes and he could tell Aziraphale was fighting against his own pleasure. 

And that it was a losing battle. 

One more flick of his tongue and Aziraphale was buckling in the middle. Painting Crowley’s throat with a heat he wouldn't soon forget and making a sound that would live in his chest for the foreseeable future. 

Just as soon as it had begun Crowley was pullin’ Aziraphale's jeans back up over his hips and stopping himself from doing what he desperately wanted to do. 

He wiped his bottom lip with his wrist and started for the door just in time to hear the copper bell he'd walked under five minutes earlier announce another arrival. 

Crowley didn't bother looking at who had walked in as he headed out the back instead. Just called over his shoulder while he sat with the sting, “Thanks for the spare part.”

Chapter Text

There was still sweat beaded on Aziraphale's lip when Gabriel waltzed into Guardian like he owned the place, but at least he'd gotten his jeans buttoned and his still hard cock tucked up into his waistband. Even then, he was sure everything was written all over his face. 

The shame. 

The regret. 

They was feelings that had become as reliable as the rising sun, but they felt different this time around. Pointed in all the wrong directions. 

Of course the Lord would send him Gabriel just when he was already feelin’ miserable. No better messenger to remind him that suffering was God's will. Good ‘ol Gabe preached it from the pulpit every Sunday morning to a room full of folks that had suffered more’n most. People that couldn't make ends meet but tithed every week. That was well acquainted with pain and fear and couldn't do nothing but try and pray it away.

Aziraphale knew firsthand it didn't work. 

He'd been tryin’ his whole life. 

Gabriel stopped with his hand on the fridge’s curved metal handle. Looked around the shop and frowned.

“Someone here?” 

Aziraphale didn’t dare step away from the Crown Vic. He wasn't sure his legs would hold out on their own if he did. His sweaty palms slipped against the scuffed beige paint and he did what he could to convince his lips toward a smile.

“N-no. Nope. Just me.”

Gabriel wrenched open the door and snatched a bottle of Coke out by the neck. Popped the cap with the opener mounted on the side of the fridge and took another look around.

“Coulda swore I heard someone just now.”

Aziraphale refused to look in the direction he'd last seen Crowley. He was more afraid of how he'd feel if he did than he was of the fact that Gabriel might realize he was lying. 

“Don't know what to tell ya.”

Gabriel set the glass bottle down on Aziraphale's work bench without takin’ a sip and cleared the space separating them in three long strides. 

“You ok?” 

Aziraphale reeled back without meaning to. It wasn't like Gabriel to concern himself with anyone else's feelings. He rarely asked any question that wasn’t self-serving. It sent Aziraphale skittering more off kilter than he already felt. 

“Fine,” he said. “I'm fine.”

Gabriel put a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and squeezed and it didn't seem quite like he knew what he was doing, but the simple fact he was touching Aziraphale at all was more affection than he'd ever given him before.

“Don't worry about that derby.” 

Aziraphale had to drag his eyes away from Gabriel's hairy knuckles. 

“What?” 

“I hear them folks up in Missouri have a loose relationship with the rules.” Gabriel gave his shoulder one more awkward squeeze and then poked a meaty finger right in the middle of Aziraphale's chest. “You drove real good.”

“Th- thanks?”

Gabriel’s smile was blinding but Aziraphale didn't have to look at it for long before he was heading back for the bottle of Coke already leaving a ring on the bench top. 

“And your sportsmanship was admirable. With the Crowley kid.” 

“Right…”

Aziraphale stared at the back of Gabriel’s head. It was as if a different man had walked through his door than the one he'd grown up with. 

“Anyway.” Gabriel tipped the bottle back and turned to face Aziraphale again. “Just thought I'd stop by and check in. You seemed pretty tore up about the whole thing on the drive home.”

He'd been tore up, all right. Absolutely wrecked. But it didn't have a damn thing to do with the derby.

“Was just tired s’all.”

The lies sure did come easier when they was directed at Gabe.

“Well. I've gotta run. But cuz?”

“Yeah?”

Gabriel stuck a finger in his direction and grinned.

“Love you, man.”

Gabriel left the way he'd come in and Aziraphale was left clinging to the Vic, mind ping-ponging between every absolutely unfathomable thing that had happened during the last ten minutes. 

Surely he was dreaming. 

It was the only thing that made a lick of sense.

He just couldn't figure out if he was in a nightmare or not. 

A tickle against his wrist snapped him out of his head and when he lifted his clenched fist he found a strand of crimson hair still wrapped around his fingers. 

He stared at it while something tight gripped him around the throat.  

He'd gone and ruined the only good thing to’ve happened to him in too long. 

And for what? 

An auto body shop in a town that was dying? 

A church full of folks that conveniently ignored the parts of the Bible that taught compassion?

His stomach rolled. 

Even lookin’ at the battered Crown Vic made his heart feel heavy. He couldn't stop his eyes from wanderin’ to the place his fender had crumpled when he was actin’ on his feelings instead of behaving the way folks expected him to. 

He'd gotten it wrong. 

He'd gotten it all wrong. 

Aziraphale ran his palm over his face and realized he was trembling all over. It didn't even occur to him to wonder whether Gabriel had noticed because he could still feel Crowley's mouth on him and in that moment he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to unfeel it. 

Wasn't sure if he wanted to. 

If he deserved to. 

Not after the things he'd said. 

He tugged at his collar and struggled to choke down a breath. It was too hot. Too humid. The shop felt like it was closing in on him and all he wanted was space to think where he didn't feel under someone else's thumb. 

The sky was an angry gray when he stepped through the door, filled with tall clouds heavy with rain. The first crack of lightning split the sky as he started his truck and he was sure the same thing was happening in his chest. The damp streaks on his windshield matched the ones on his cheeks. 

By the time he pulled into the long drive to his house the rain was coming down in sheets. Aziraphale didn't hurry to his front door. He let the storm batter him until he was soaked to the bone and then stood there a little longer. Waited until his fingers had gone pruney and his teeth was chattering before he tracked mud across the linoleum straight to his fridge for a beer that wasn't nowhere strong enough to tamp down his feelings. 

It felt good going down, though. 

Better still under the warm spray of his shower. 

He closed his eyes and let his fingers walk down his belly. Cupped himself in his palm and remembered the gentle way Crowley had touched him. He wished he'd done the right thing. That it was Crowley's hand on him instead. 

He couldn't stop himself from thinking that maybe it could be. 

Maybe if he dug out that phone number scrawled down on the corner of a napkin. The one he kept in the top drawer of his dresser next to his underwear, hidden away from pryin’ eyes. As if he ever had company that might come across it otherwise. 

Out of the shower his eyes lingered on the butter yellow rotary phone hanging on his kitchen wall. It sounded so easy, picking it up. But the longer he waited the harder it felt. 

He poured a finger of whisky into a mug and sat at his empty dining room table. Stared at the tangled cord until he was about to pop. 

“Fuck it.”

Aziraphale stood while he still had the barest nerve. 

He took a single step toward the kitchen and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. The thunder that followed made his walls shudder. The light over the kitchen sink flickered and then went out entirely. The window unit struggling to keep his bedroom below ninety wheezed and shuddered to a stop. The electric thrum coming from his TV went silent.

The only sound in his little house was the patter of rain against the leaves in the trees outside and the rush of water from his gutters. 

Which is why he nearly jumped out of his skin at the rap of knuckles against his rickety screen door. 

For ten whole seconds all Aziraphale could do was stare. At the rain running down Crowley’s arm to puddle on top of the six pack dangling from his fingers. At the flex of his forearm where he braced it high against the doorframe. At the look on his face like maybe, despite it all, he still hadn't given up on him just yet. 

Aziraphale knew that second chances didn't come around often and he wasn't about to lose this one. 

Not when he’d gotten so used to winning. 

Chapter Text

“I think we should talk,” is what Crowley was planning on sayin’. 

He didn't get the chance. At first because Aziraphale was standing in the dark with the flicker of lightning glinting off his bare chest and a look on his face so haunted Crowley couldn't think of nothin’ but reaching out and holding him. 

And then because Aziraphale was pushing the creaky old door open and yanking Crowley into a kiss like somethin’ he'd only ever seen in the movies. 

It was crushing and deep and so clearly terrified, and it sent shockwaves all the way down to Crowley’s feet which were stumbling forward into a house he'd been pretending he didn't want to know by heart. Past an empty sooted fireplace and a shelf as tall as any at the library. Around the shadow of a wingback chair and over what mighta been a pair of boots all the way to a dining room table sat next to the kitchen Aziraphale musta made that possum pie in. 

Aziraphale's ass hit the edge of it and their lips finally parted. 

Crowley licked his lips and tasted whiskey as smoky as the cigarette he'd sucked down in his truck workin’ up the courage to walk the last twenty feet to Aziraphale's front door. He looked down at the fist twisting the front of his shirt. The belly heaving beneath it. He could feel the rush of Aziraphale's breath against his lips and the frantic beat of his heart at the corner of his jaw where he'd held on for dear life. 

“This doesn't feel like nothin’,” he said.

Aziraphale took the sixer from his hand and dumped it onto the table behind him. Pushed up on tiptoe so their foreheads and their noses came together. 

“Shut up.”

Crowley resisted the hand that threaded into the knots at the back of his head and avoided Aziraphale’s lips even though he really didn’t want to.  

“Abso-fuckin-lutely not,” he said with a grin that wasn’t at all genuine because Crowley’d already felt somethin’ tearing him open once that day and he wasn’t about to give in to Aziraphale’s lust just to get told he didn’t mean anything again. “I wanna hear it.”

“I want this. I want you.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes were full of the same terror Crowley’d tasted in his kiss. He recognized it because it felt a lot like looking in the mirror. Turning his truck around as soon as he made it down his driveway mighta been the scariest thing he'd ever done in his life. Not knowing, though, felt even scarier. The thought of living with the memory of Aziraphale's touch and wondering what coulda been… that wasn't a sting that faded. That was a wound that would rot. That would throb every time someone touched him like they hated him as much as their desire. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered and damn if it didn’t send somethin’ healing shooting right through Crowley’s soul. 

Folks didn’t apologize to him. 

The men he fucked didn’t think enough of him to consider his feelings at all. 

Much as those two little words had stirred up a storm in Crowley’s belly that rivaled the one beating against Aziraphale’s window panes, he didn’t let it show. Not after he’d already showed too much of his hand. He wouldn’t let his affection get turned into a weapon when Aziraphale changed his mind again.

Crowley took a step back and nodded in the only direction a bedroom coulda lived.  

“Have me then.” 

A moment of hesitation tried to suffocate the flames of Crowley’s hope, but the nervous smile that spread across Aziraphale’s face only fanned them again. 

The hallway leading away from the kitchen felt a million miles long and Crowley spent the whole journey starin’ down at the thick fingers interlaced with his own. Ain't no one ever held his hand before. Not since before his mama passed. It was a touch he hadn't known he'd been achin’ for and it was damn near torture to let go as they crossed the threshold into a room that coulda been empty save for the bed far as Crowley knew considering the way his vision had tunneled on the bright spot in front of him. All his aches and pains, both real and imagined, disappeared the second Aziraphale hit the edge of the mattress and put his hand on Crowley’s hip instead. 

It laid there so solid and so sure that it swept away all the hurt in Crowley’s heart for just one single solitary second. He felt so light he thought he might float away but Aziraphale was dragging him down into his lap before he could find out where the storm might take him. 

Then they was kissing again. 

With that same bruising, crushing desperation from before. Like they was both holding onto the same fear that if an inch separated them that they might lose their nerve and come apart for good. 

They musta spent ten minutes just like that. With their arms wrapped tight around one another. Fingers tangled in curls and raking stripes down pale skin until finally, finally one of them was brave enough to breathe. 

Crowley couldn’t say who, but the second they came apart his shirt was getting yanked up over his head and they was falling onto sheets sticky with the dewy heat of the storm. 

One at a time Crowley’s boots hit the hardwood with a thud but neither of them could be heard over the thunder rolling outside. 

Aziraphale slipped his own boxers over his hips while Crowley wiggled out of jeans that stuck to his sweaty thighs. 

The slap of rain against the glass turned to the crack of hail. 

A flash of lightning lit up the anticipation in Aziraphale's bloodshot eyes.

And all the while Crowley couldn’t remember if he'd ever wanted anyone so damn bad. If he'd ever felt so desperate to be with someone before. The second they were free from their clothes and back in each other's arms he was working a hand between Aziraphale’s legs. Sinking into him with a spit-slick finger and drinking up the overwhelmed look on his gorgeous face. 

Aziraphale sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. His fingers dug into the meat of Crowley’s shoulder and reminded him just how many hits he'd taken the night before. It was easy enough to forget again watching Aziraphale struggle to string together a sentence. 

“I’ve got… I have…” 

He nodded toward the nightstand and Crowley didn’t need him to say another word before he was reachin’ for the ivory knob on the front of it. He snatched up a familiar looking bottle with one hand and rolled Aziraphale onto his belly with the other. Slithered his way low enough to sink his teeth into an ass he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to appreciate and spread Aziraphale's thighs on his way back up.

Crowley didn't stop to catch his breath.

Took Aziraphale by the waist and dug his knees into the mattress and let his pleasure swallow him whole.

Aziraphale went rigid beneath him. 

The gasp that came out of his mouth wasn’t the kind Crowley wanted to hear. 

Even before Aziraphale’s hand landed on his hip he’d gone still, save the beat of his heart which he couldn’t have contained even if he wanted to. 

“S-slow,” Aziraphale rasped against the sheets before burying his nose in the crook of his own elbow. 

Crowley winced at the pinch of his brow. The discomfort pulling him tight from head to toe. 

It didn’t matter that Crowley hadn’t meant to. That Aziraphale felt so damn good he didn’t realize how fast he was going. It never felt like a compliment to be on the receivin’ end of and Crowley wasn’t about to be like all them men that had convinced him otherwise when he was young and stupid. 

He backed his hips up and dragged his palms up Aziraphale’s ribs. Felt some of the tension follow his hands as he pushed Aziraphale’s arms long and his wrists down into the pillow his head hadn’t quite found when Crowley’d tumped him like a calf gettin’ hogtied for a brand.

The knotted up muscles in Aziraphale's back melted away from Crowley’s belly when he interlaced their fingers again and the clench of his jaw went slack when Crowley put his lips against the side of his neck. 

Little by little Aziraphale’s whole body softened beneath Crowley while he took his time to appreciate the curve of his throat and the breadth of his shoulders and every single busted knuckle on his wrench hand until finally Aziraphale was pushin’ back against his hips which still hadn't budged an inch. 

Crowley eased himself in only as far as he needed to get Aziraphale’s breath speedin’ up then took age just grinding back and forth right where he knew Aziraphale wanted him. Kept his touch soft and his hips steady and his own eagerness on a ball and chain lest it get away from him again. 

It was so much better this way. 

Taking Aziraphale apart slow rather than forcing him toward a peak he didn’t want yet. And better still holding back when he wanted more. Keeping him right on an edge he didn’t know how to tip over without letting go of Crowley’s hands, which he didn’t seem too eager to do just yet. 

When Aziraphale finally whimpered his name, Crowley knew he didn’t stand a chance of keeping himself shackled much longer. He pushed Aziraphale’s hand beneath his body, gave him the room to hike a hip so he could get his fist around himself and enjoyed the quiet grunts and breathy huffs that accompanied his pleasure. It was a siren’s song that Crowley followed all the way up to his own edge until his belly was trembling and his thighs were going weak and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hold out. 

One muffled, half broken “please” was all it took to convince Crowley to take them both toward a shared peak that was crescendoing alongside the storm outside. He grabbed hold of the edge of the mattress and buried his face in damp curls and let weeks worth of desire unravel. 

The wind howled like a freight train and somewhere in the distance a branch splintered and crashed to the forest floor and in the confines of Aziraphale’s bed they weathered a storm that was only just beginning to build. 

Force of habit had Crowley reaching for his briefs the second Aziraphale stepped out of the room. He ain't never overstayed his welcome and the men that rolled up to his trailer long after the moon had come up didn't neither. Their reasons for leavin’ before the sweat had even dried on their chests couldn'ta been more different than his own, but at the end of the day it didn't matter. Either way Crowley had gotten used to spending his nights alone. 

The cool touch of a damp rag in the dark made Crowley gasp. 

“Sorry, too cold?” 

Crowley found himself leaning back into the hand pressed against his spine for the touch behind the rag as much as the relief against the heat. 

“Nah, not at all.”

It traveled up and over his shoulder. Down his chest and over his belly, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Better yet though was the arm that followed and the way it wrapped around Crowley to bring him flush with a barrel of a chest that was everything he’d spent his days imagining. 

Crowley thanked his lucky stars that the power was still out and Aziraphale couldn’t see the way his whole face had gone pink. He didn't need no one knowin’ he was falling apart all over again thanks to nothing more than the simple fact that not once in his life had someone stuck around to hold him. 

While the damp cloth worked all the way down to his sticky cock, the briefs slipped from his fingers back onto the floor. His head lolled against Aziraphale's shoulder and somehow the lips that pressed against the apple of his cheek felt just as good as that first desperate kiss. 

Crowley hadn't been lookin’ to admit to how he was feeling about the whole situation but he couldn't keep his heart from tattling on him when Aziraphale’s arms met in the middle of his chest.  The traitorous thing spelled out everything plain as day against Aziraphale's palms. Crowley spun himself around so maybe he wouldn’t get caught out just yet. 

“Ain’t I the one s’posed to be doing that?” he asked, fingers crawling up Aziraphale’s thighs even though he'd heard the sink runnin’. Knew full well Aziraphale'd already washed away the mess Crowley made of him. 

“I dunno,” Aziraphale said with a shrug that made him look every inch the good Christian boy he clearly wasn’t. 

Truth be told Crowley didn’t neither. 

Didn’t have a damn clue how none of it was s’posed to go. 

Still, somehow, they made it into each other's arms like that was right where they was meant to be. With Aziraphale’s nose tickling Crowley’s neck and Crowley’s foot hooked behind Aziraphale’s ankle and sweat pooling between them. And for what mighta been the first time in his life Crowley didn't fight the part of himself that was wantin’ for something soft. He just held on tight and ignored the voice in the back of his head tellin’ him nothing good ever lasted.

Chapter Text

It was the smell of sizzling bacon that lured Crowley out of sleep. Had his eyelids peeling open even though the sun was too bright and the humid breeze blowing through the window said it was gonna be too hot to think in a few hours. 

For half a second he was nine years old and his mama was barefoot in the kitchen and even though she'd kick him out the door the second he finished washing up the dishes, he felt loved.

It wasn't exactly love he felt when he realized where he actually was, but it held the contours of its shape. Made him feel that thing in his chest he hadn’t killed despite trying. He’d known as soon as he set foot on the cracked sidewalk outside Guardian with the taste of Aziraphale on his tongue that he’d made a mistake. That the sting he was feeling wasn’t gonna fade and that he hadn’t ripped off a bandage so much as ripped the whole lid off whatever was brewing between the two of them.

He hadn’t known what Aziraphale would do when he rolled up in the rain, but it felt worth the risk.

He didn’t know what Aziraphale would do this morning, neither. The uncertainty of having actually slept at another man’s home had him tiptoeing from the bedroom to the toilet to the kitchen like he didn’t belong there. The house looked different in the early morning light. Cozy in a way that verged on cluttered. Like a swap meet and an antique store collided. It was the exact opposite of Crowley’s empty counters and tidy stacks of library books. They both had the same dead bugs in their light fixtures, though, and there was a comfort in that Crowley couldn't really make heads or tails of. 

The floorboards groaned under Crowley’s feet and Aziraphale turned away from the pan he was hovering over. The smile on his face was just about as uncertain as Crowley was feeling. 

“Coffee’s on,” he said and jabbed a fork in the direction of a speckled enamel pot sitting on the back burner of the stovetop. “Milk in the fridge if you take it. But power’s still out, so be quick about it.” 

“Still?” 

“Always takes forever to take care of that kinda stuff out this way.” 

There was already two mugs sitting on the countertop and for some reason seein’ it made Crowley’s chest feel warm. He kept his head down and filled one while he regretted not tracking down his shirt when he’d crawled out of Aziraphale’s sheets. Then realized he’d been staring down at his own reflection in the coffee for too long to look anything but embarrassed. He lifted the pot at Aziraphale in question and resolved to blame the flush starting to climb up his cheeks on the heat rolling off the stovetop. 

“Black,” Aziraphale said, his grin getting a little more sure. “Thanks.” 

Crowley clasped his mug in both hands and leaned a hip against the counter. Watched Aziraphale stab a slice of bacon with his fork and flip it. 

“Ain’t no one ever made me breakfast before.” 

“Oh shoot, was you plannin’ on staying?” 

Crowley’s stomach sank just in time for Aziraphale to reach out and grab him by the arm.

“I'm kidding! C’mon now.” Aziraphale tugged him a step closer and Crowley wanted nothing more than to kiss the pretty smile on his face but he still didn't know how none of this worked so he didn't.

For a heartbeat Aziraphale looked like he might give Crowley what he was wantin’ for, but he let go of his arm instead and went back to the bacon. “How do you like your eggs?” 

“Runny.” 

Aziraphale eyed him like he was waiting for more and Crowley woulda normally pretended he didn't want nothing else but he was gettin’ tired of pretending. 

“With toast. Lotsa butter. And some Tabasco if ya got any.” 

“Think I can manage that.”

Two slices of white bread went onto the griddle and four eggs cracked against the countertop before sputtering and spitting in the bacon grease. Aziraphale cut a hunk of butter off a stick snatched out of the fridge quick as chain lightnin’ and nestled it between the golden brown slices before running a knife corner to corner. 

The plate he sat in front of Crowley looked better than anything you could buy in town and ain’t no one serving him ever looked at him the way Aziraphale did. 

They was halfway through their breakfast before Aziraphale finally spoke again. 

“I had a good time last night,” he said to the yolk running across his plate.  

Crowley tore a corner off his toast and fiddled with it instead of eatin' it. 

“I hope I didn't hurt you,” he said with the sour memory making his ribs feel tight. “You know. Your first time and all.”

Aziraphale paused with his fork an inch off his plate. His grin, when he looked up and met Crowley’s eye, was lopsided. “What?”

Crowley stopped spinning the bit of toast between his fingers. “What?

“Did you think I was a virgin?”

“No, not…Of course not. I mean, you know. With another man.” 

“Oh, bless your heart.” Aziraphale sat back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling like he was weighing what he was ‘bout to say. “You know, much as I try, I ain't never been so good at resisting temptation.”

The bit of toast in Crowley’s fingers hit his plate. “Resistin’... Aziraphale, you’ve been giving me the runaround for weeks!” 

Any hint of amusement still left on Aziraphale's face disappeared entirely.

“It wasn't the runaround.” 

Crowley couldn't process what he was hearin' sittin’ in front of a meal that had meant so much to him ten seconds ago. The chair legs hollered as they slid across the floor and in a heartbeat Crowley was on his feet, ready to do what he shoulda done the night before. 

“Goddamn. I ain’t nothing but another notch on your bedpost after all, am I?”

Aziraphale stood too. So fast his own chair nearly tipped over. 

“No!” His hand was on Crowley’s arm again and it soothed all them prickly things he was feeling even though he wasn't ready to let go of them just yet. 

“No,” Aziraphale said again, the panic in his eyes startin’ to abate already. “You… you ain’t nothing. You're something. More than something. Which isn’t something I’m used to.” 

Aziraphale eased his grip. His fingers slid down to Crowley’s wrist. Then to his hand. 

“Will you sit back down? Please?”

Crowley wasn't ready to let down his defenses, but even trying to deny it to himself he knew exactly what Aziraphale meant.

Because he'd done the same thing in his own way. Kept Aziraphale at a distance ‘cause he didn't know what to do with the feelings he had for him. Worse still he had tried to make Aziraphale another notch on his bedpost.

Crowley sat, but not without pulling his feet up onto the chair and hugging his knees against his cherry red chest.

“Yer quite the dark horse, ain't you Bible Study?”

Aziraphale plucked a slice of bacon up off his plate. The irritated look on his face was tempered with the hint of a smile. 

“You weren't the first, Anthony. You were the best, though. If that makes you feel any better. The folks ‘round these parts couldn’t find a prostate with a roadmap.” 

Crowley had used a roadmap, actually. He was sure if folks just realized what all kinds of books they could find in Ms. Anathema's stacks they might start going to the library, but she never was too keen on advertising the right ones. 

“Who else?” Crowley asked because he was a glutton for punishment and couldn't stand not knowing who’d taught Aziraphale to kiss like that. 

“No one you'd know. Which is kind of the point.” Aziraphale’s lips twitched toward a grimace and he turned his attention to the bacon in his fingers. “Well. Almost no one.” 

Crowley felt his guts twist. There were only so many men in the county that woulda had the balls to try tempting an East and even fewer Aziraphale woulda had occasion to cross paths with. The greasy mug that came to mind made Crowley regret the hot sauce.

“That bastard Sandalphon didn't-”

“No. No, but… I've seen the way he looks.” Aziraphale's eyes wandered to Crowley’s ribs and Crowley could still feel the toe of the Deacon’s boot if he thought hard enough about it. “Did he..?”

Crowley shrugged.

“Wasn't too pleased to have his advances rejected, I guess.” 

Aziraphale winced but didn't look away from the pain Crowley didn’t quite keep off his face. Much as it was nice to have someone to share the burden with, it made Crowley feel raw, too. He wiggled his legs back down off his chair and sprawled so maybe he wouldn't seem so vulnerable as he felt. 

“You gonna tell me?” he asked. “Or do I have to guess?”

“It doesn’t hardly matter, he ain’t around much these days anyway.”

Outta nowhere that all too familiar bottle of lube popped into Crowley’s head. Same brand he had in his bedside table. Something you couldn’t buy ‘round here. Had to get it in the city in a specialty shop Crowley’d only ever heard about. 

“Oh my god, you're fucking Newt too?”

Aziraphale shifted in his seat. Finally popped the bacon between his lips and wiped his hands on his boxer shorts. The look on his face was so clearly nervous that Crowley forgot he was the one ready to walk out a minute ago. All he wanted was to smooth the frown lines on Aziraphale’s face.

“Well. I mean. Was. Was fucking Newt. Not that… If you wanted to.” Crowley’s anxious rambling had Aziraphale looking him in the eye again so he decided to stop while he was ahead. “Never mind.” 

Crowley picked up his toast again. Sopped up a Tabasco tinged puddle of yolk and hadn't finished chewing before he was blurting out what would probably only make the whole conversation more awkward than it already was. 

“Wait. That boy's a rodeo queen.” Aziraphale's brow furrowed and Crowley waved what was left of his toast through the air. “Likes to ride,” he clarified. 

Aziraphale wasn't nearly so scandalized as Crowley had thought he'd be. He just templed his fingers in front of his lips and shrugged. 

“I was happy to oblige.”

“But last night…”

“You didn't exactly ask.” 

Crowley hadn't. And Aziraphale hadn't exactly piped up. Just like they still hadn't talked about what had happened up in the Ozarks. Or in Aziraphale's shop. Or whether they was or wasn't still fucking Newt. 

The morning was starting to feel a bit like one of them roller coasters on the cover of Anathema's tourism brochures and Crowley couldn't quite figure out if he was up or down. Rather than think too much about it, he did what he always did and put himself to work. Gathered up the empty plates and started for the sink before either one of them decided to ask any more stupid questions.

“I can get those,” Aziraphale said, hand reaching for Crowley and missing by an inch. 

“You're gonna be late for church.”

“I think I might skip today, actually.”

Crowley turned on the faucet and picked up the enamel coffee pot from the stove. 

“Gabriel’s not gonna have somethin’ to say about that?” 

Aziraphale's gaze slid down the length of Crowley's body as he started back toward the table and Crowley felt about as undressed as he had waking up that morning. 

“Power’s out. My alarm didn't go off.” 

Crowley grinned as he topped off Aziraphale's mug, as glad for the change of subject as he was to see a little more of this side of Aziraphale.

“I guess that ain't technically a lie.”

The smirk on Aziraphale's face was proud. And more than a little sexy. 

“It sure ain't,” he said before leaning back and cradling his head in his palms just like he had during the feature Crowley couldn't remember a single minute of. His arms were just as tempting as they'd been in those stands and the way he was looking at Crowley suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. “I could show you one of them fishin’ holes that has me out your way every once in a blue moon.” 

Crowley couldn't think of much he'd rather do less considering how little Aziraphale was wearing and how close the bedroom was. 

“Too hot to fish,” he said. “And too late.”

Aziraphale watched a bead of sweat run down Crowley's chest. 

“Never said we should go fishing.” 

It was the first time Aziraphale had missed Sunday service since he came down with a stomach bug at seventeen years old and even then he'd felt guilty worshipping the porcelain throne instead of his lord and savior. It was hard to feel guilty now, though because whatever it was that was growing between him and Crowley, it sure felt like something God had put there himself. The last twelve hours sure felt as close to divinity as he'd ever been. 

He still found himself checking over his shoulder when Crowley dropped trou and waded into the murky water wearing nothing but his birthday suit. There wasn't no one around to see, though. There was half a mile of dirt service road and ten minutes of overgrown game trail between them and the main road. And even if there wasn't, half the county would be in church and the other half would be in bed praying for their hangovers to end. 

Only one with eyes on them was God himself and Aziraphale was sure he had bigger fish to fry. 

“Don't go gettin’ shy on me now.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley sink down to his neck. It was the relief on his face that finally had Aziraphale pushing his own boxers down to his ankles and stepping out of them. The summer sun was blazing and Crowley didn't have no AC in his truck. They'd roasted the whole drive and the thick branches that shaded them hiking in had managed to trap every bit of humidity from the storm-soaked earth under their feet. By the time they actually made it to the spring fed lake hiding in the pines Aziraphale was drenched. 

His hesitation to strip down had snuck up on him, but it'd been an age since anyone had seen Aziraphale just as God had made him. Even the night before the darkness had hidden his body. 

Wasn't nowhere to hide now. 

The dappled shade from the trees didn't cover the place his thighs touched when he walked or the weight he carried on his hips and the sunlight only made the stretch marks on his belly shimmer. By the time his toes hit the muddy edge of the lake his heart was racing and Gabriel’s voice was echoing in his head. 

The water was above his knees when he finally worked up the courage to look at Crowley again. The second he did all that nagging shame babbling in his ear went quiet as a dormouse. His pulse didn't slow down one bit, though, because Crowley was giving him a look like he was a piece of that possum pie and he had a hankerin’ for something sweet. 

Crowley licked his lips and dragged his arms through the water. His toes broke the surface and he didn’t try to hide the way he leered. 

“You comin’ or what?” 

It was easy enough to go to Crowley. Just like it had been since Aziraphale first saw him trying to jump a car with a dead alternator. It made him wonder when those dark corners started calling all his shots. 

When he started calling all his shots. 

Because that's what it was, wasn't it? 

Everything he’d tried so hard to keep folks from seeing was just him. And much as he wasn't ready to introduce himself to the world, it felt good to be himself with someone.

“Atta boy,” Crowley said with one last lingering look before the water swallowed Aziraphale up completely. 

He sank down to his knees in the muck. Felt the water rinse the sweat from his brow and close over the top of his head. It reminded him of when his grandfather had baptized him as a boy and when he broke the surface again and found Crowley standing over him, he felt like praising the Lord just like he had all them years ago. 

His fingers fell on a milky white hip just above the place the water wrapped around Crowley’s body. His lips followed and it felt as holy as it did a sin. Something inside him splintered and then broke and all them dark corners felt lit up in the morning sun. He didn't know how to say as much, though, so he kept his lips against Crowley’s skin. Kissed the soft give of his belly and the jutting curve of his ribs and hoped it said what he didn’t have the right words for.

Aziraphale couldn’t say what exactly Crowley heard in his kiss, but before he knew it Crowley was falling into him. Pushing him down with the weight of his body until they were both sinking beneath the surface. Aziraphale's hand plunged into the mud. His legs went out from under him and he fought to keep them both afloat but all too soon they was both submerged and their lips wrenched apart. 

Aziraphale coughed as he shot back out of the water, but he laughed too. Let his joy go flowing right out of him. No one had ever seemed so eager to kiss him before. None of the strangers he’d let touch him had ever been so overcome with desire. And he hadn't even shaken the water from his sodden curls before Crowley had a hold of him again. Pulling this time instead of pushing. Drawing him up out of the water just to walk him into the shallows and push him back down again. 

The water sloshed against Aziraphale's belly when Crowley came down on top of him, knees hugging his hips and toes tucking beneath his thighs. A breeze cooled Aziraphale's wet skin but the heat of Crowley's kiss made him feel like he was burning up. And oh, how he wanted to. Burn straight down to ash and be reborn in Crowley's embrace before his dark corners started filling up again.

Chapter Text

The library’s air conditioning made Crowley wish he was wearing a proper shirt rather than something two sizes too big with the arm holes cut down to his waist. But he'd seen the way Aziraphale looked at him when he threw on somethin’ similar after their romp at the lake Crowley only pretended he didn't know existed. As if he hadn't been disappearing down the back roads his whole damn life. 

It was more exciting to disappear with Aziraphale, though. How long had they sat on the marshy bank making out like teenagers? Or at least like the teenagers Crowley knew growing up. There hadn't been no one for Crowley to play seven minutes in heaven with. He jumped straight into what he ought not have with men that shouldn'ta been looking at him in the first place. 

He never woulda imagined how good it would feel for Aziraphale not to reach straight for his cock even though it was poking him in the ribs from the moment Crowley crawled on top of him. Made it feel like he was interested in more ‘n just gettin’ off. 

Like maybe Crowley really wasn’t nothin’.

That's not to say he hadn't damn near lost his mind when Aziraphale finally did reach for his cock. 

All that build up had sure done a number on him. 

He'd already been shaking when Aziraphale finally wrapped them both up in one big ‘ol fist. Had warbled against Aziraphale's lips like a man getting raptured right out of his body. 

And then Aziraphale had gone and flipped him onto his back on the muddy bank and Crowley had to wonder if maybe he shouldn't give Aziraphale what he'd stopped letting men take from him years ago. 

“I don't s'pose you brought that lube with ya?” he’d asked with a groan knowing full well he wasn't doing nothin’ but planting a seed. 

He’d been hopin’ an idea might grow but he hadn't been expecting that seed to take root so soon. Five seconds later Aziraphale was pulsing against Crowley's cock and the slick of his spend was easing his fist and Crowley was useless to do anything but follow right after him. 

He shivered picturing the fingernail marks he'd left in Aziraphale's shoulders. Five perfect pink crescent moons. Crowley’d spent the rest of the morning making up every excuse in the book to run his fingertips over ‘em while they splashed in the lake like kids. Once or twice, sun drunk and giddy, he’d even put his lips against ‘em.  

What he wouldn't give to live in that sunny Sunday afternoon for the rest of his life. 

Where ain’t no one existed but the two of ‘em.

“What's got you in such a good mood? You win that derby up in Missouri too?” 

Crowley coulda just dropped his books off on the reference desk and been on his way, but it’d been too long since he'd seen Anathema Device and all that joy she always wore on her face. 

It was easy to match it this morning. 

“Not as such.” 

Anathema folded her hands on top of the stack of books he’d set on the counter and gave him a sunshine bright smile he could feel. 

“I haven't seen you in days! Nearly a week, now that I think about it.”

“Takes a lot of time to build a derby car.” 

“Well? Tell me about it!” 

“Didn't even place outta my heat. Not much to tell.”

“And Aziraphale?”

All them butterflies he ain’t done nothing but feed got to flappin’ in his belly and he knew he wasn’t doing a good job of hidin’ his smile. 

“What about him?”

“How'd he do?”

There was a million things he wanted to tell her but he’d never been the sharing type. Even if he had been, a half a second of picturing Aziraphale’s face in that field in the Ozarks kept his lips zipped tight. 

“Not much better’n me.” 

Anathema popped up off the stack of books sitting between them and rifled around on the other side of the desk. 

“Well looky here. I've been calling around.” She danced a piece of paper back and forth in the air before smoothing it out on the counter facing him. “Maybe next time you can make it to the feature.”

Crowley dragged the sheet closer. Skimmed over the list of dates and county names, each attached to a different fair. Each with distance in miles and an entry fee. A dozen different derbies all in a two hundred mile radius. 

“Used that new word processor. And Newt showed me how to set up the printer.”

“Newt was in town, was he?” 

“He was.”

Crowley wasn’t proud of the twinge he felt beneath his ribs. It wasn’t like Newt not to call. And it ain’t like Crowley ever expected anything from the boy, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting to see him move on to greener pastures so easy. 

Or maybe the part that was tough to swallow was that those pastures were so wide open while Crowley’s were relegated to the dark. 

He swallowed down the bitterness he was feelin’ and tried to be the friend he knew Anathema would be if the roles was reversed. 

“You get another funnel cake?” 

Anathema dropped her gaze and smirked. 

“Somethin’ like that.”

Crowley couldn’t stop himself from picturing Newt bent over his kitchen table in nothing but his cowboy boots. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before his brain could insert Anathema in the image. 

“Ya know what? Nevermind, I don't wanna hear it.”

“What about you?”

Crowley blinked away the dark spots in his vision.

“What about me?”

“That derby was on Friday. How'd you pass the weekend?”

In an instant the only lingering memories on Crowley’s mind involved eggs cooked just the way he likes ‘em and curls heavy with lake water. A man that had smiled at him from the other end of the bench seat the whole drive home and that hadn’t looked relieved when they finally said goodnight. 

Crowley picked at a hangnail and shrugged. 

“Oh, this ‘n that.” He tapped a finger on the list of a dozen different excuses to get away with Aziraphale. “Can I make a copy of this?”

“You got a dime?”

Crowley dug a hand into his pocket and dumped his spare change onto the counter. Anathema tipped her chin toward the parking lot. “Our little readers are starting to pull up. You know where the copier is. Don't be a stranger, though. I wanna hear more about that derby!”

All day long while he watered thirsty plants gone wilty with the summer heat and unloaded statuary that would only sell at the end of summer when they went on sale, Crowley was thinking about that sheet of paper layin’ on the dash of his truck. He could run by Guardian when he got off work. Slip by the closed sign and sneak into the yard out back and have a good excuse for it.

Even after yesterday he still didn't know the rules. What they was or wasn't and when he should or shouldn't touch or kiss. It was something they probably oughta talk about, but he was afraid if they did then they'd have to talk about all of it. And if they did that, maybe Aziraphale would remember all the reasons he shouldn't be associating with Anthony Crowley. 

Best to remind him all the reasons he should be, he figured. 

The second he punched out, Crowley hopped in the driver's seat and was taking the roundabout way to Guardian before he could convince himself not to. Pulled up to the curb while the front of the garage was still wide open and kept his head low. From the shade of a sycamore tree Crowley watched Aziraphale hand a set of keys to a soft woman with an even softer smile. She looked damn near as pleased to be in Aziraphale's presence as Crowley was bound to be in a few short minutes. 

He slouched in his seat and scowled at the way she put her hand on Aziraphale's arm. There wasn’t no panic on his face when she did. He didn’t lean away from her touch. His eyes didn't wander around the street to make sure no one seen it. And it mighta gnawed at Crowley more, but then Aziraphale went and gave her that Ken doll grin he'd stopped trying on Crowley what felt like ages ago now. The woman didn't seem to notice how plastic it was. She just squeezed Aziraphale's arm and tucked herself into her car while the smile slipped straight off Aziraphale’s face. 

As soon as she’d pulled out of his garage Aziraphale reached up and popped the top button of his work shirt. Glanced up and down the block and finally lowered the garage door. Crowley slid out of his truck and kept to the gently swaying shadows even after he jogged across the street. Took one last look over his shoulder as he flipped the sign on the door to closed and locked the deadbolt behind him. 

“You know half my family has the key, right?” 

Crowley whirled. Put his back against the door and felt his heart skip a beat. Didn't matter how much time they'd spent skinny dipping at the lake, seeing Aziraphale standing there shirtless in the doorway between his disaster of an office and his marginally cleaner shop was doing unfair things to Crowley. 

“Maybe you oughta change the locks,” he finally said. 

“Maybe.” 

Aziraphale scratched his belly and Crowley found his gaze following the trail of hair leading down to the top of his oversized belt buckle. 

“You just come to look at me, or did you need something?” 

Crowley mighta forgotten why he'd stopped by entirely if it wasn't for the piece of paper in his hand. He probably coulda used it to fan his suddenly warm cheeks, but he held it out to Aziraphale instead. 

“An, she likes doing this kinda stuff. Made some calls. Put together some info.” Crowley knew full well why he was suddenly nervous and he pretended he was anything but. Shrugged like his stomach wasn’t full of knots at the realization he was suggesting making future plans together when he didn't know if Aziraphale was about to ask him to leave like he had the last time he’d bombarded him at his shop. “Thought, I dunno. Maybe we could get out the atlas and see if there wasn't something interesting out there.” 

Aziraphale slung his work shirt over his shoulder and stepped behind what musta been a desk under all the piles of paper. Took the calendar off his wall and plunked it down on top of a yellow invoice while his eyes hopped back and forth between it and Anathema’s list. 

“We could do two, maybe three before the state fair.” 

Crowley barked out a laugh that was half nerves and half disbelief. 

“Three? I can't turn around repairs that fast. Assuming the Caddy survives any of ‘em. Summer’s crazy at the garden center. Long days, long hours. And I'm lucky if I can tempt Beez out to my place more'n every other week these days.” 

“We could take turns. Crew for each other.” 

“And pass up the opportunity to wreck your ass?” 

“Thought maybe we could try that the other way around this time, actually,” Aziraphale mumbled. 

Crowley snorted. He didn't know whether to laugh or be turned on so he opted for both and couldn't remember the last time he laughed while sporting a semi. Maybe never. 

He braced a hand on the edge of the desk and tried to contain his giggles. 

Aziraphale straightened himself up and crossed his arms over his belly.

“Oh come on. It's not that unlikely I'd win. I do recall beating you once before.”

“You idiot.”

The giddiness was making Crowley forget all the reasons he wasn't gonna assume he could just waltz through the door and kiss Aziraphale. He reached out and slipped the shirt hung over Aziraphale’s shoulder all the way around the back of his neck and used the ends to pull him forward into a kiss that was far more tender than he intended. 

Aziraphale took him by the hips. Then let his hands slide all the way down to take two handfuls of Crowley’s ass. He was smiling when their lips came apart again. 

“Ok. I hear it now.”

“I haven't let anyone wreck my ass for a while, but I reckon I’d let you do just about anything you wanted to do to me.” It wasn't meant to come off so damn honest, but the words was out of his mouth before he could stop ‘em. 

Aziraphale's chest turned the same rosy shade as his sunburnt nose. He didn't say nothin’ at all but the way he tugged Crowley closer with a grip that had his heels lifting off the ground spoke volumes. 

“Insatiable, aren't you?” Crowley asked. 

Same words, same syllables, and somehow they filled Aziraphale up with something sturdy and warm rather than making him feel ground down to dust like when Gabriel said ‘em.

They had him forgetting who all could walk in the door. Why he'd always been so cautious. He pushed Crowley up onto his desk and sent itemized receipts and newspaper clippings fluttering down to the ground like ticker tape. 

He was insatiable. 

Wanted to spend his whole summer making up for a lifetime of hiding from what he wanted. What he needed.

Crowley’s shirt went the way of a flyer for manufacturing jobs in the city. A boot landed heavy on Aziraphale's foot and tumbled somewhere under the desk alongside a space heater he never put in storage when spring hit. Aziraphale’s belt buckle hit his thigh before dragging his pants down to his knees.

“You gotta have some kinda lube around here,” Crowley said while he did his best to wiggle his jeans down his hips. 

Lucky for them both, the space heater wasn't the only winter hanger-on. Aziraphale wrenched open a drawer and fumbled out a half-empty tub of Vaseline that had gotten him through January with only a few cracked knuckles. 

Crowley sagged with relief. 

“Fucking perfect.”

He pushed himself forward, hands slipping on a stack of parts lists, but Aziraphale caught him by the thigh before his feet could even hit the floor. He tipped Crowley back far enough to tilt his hips off the desk and pulled Crowley’s knee up to sit flush against his waist. 

Aziraphale didn’t want to look at the back of Crowley’s head like he was a stranger he’d never see again. He wanted to soak up every inch of his pleasure. 

“Like this.”

The grin on Crowley's face looked torn between excitement and anguish and Aziraphale knew how he was feelin’. It was how he’d felt since Crowley showed up on his doorstep in the rain.   

“Alright Bible Study.” Crowley dug his fingers into the shallow tub at his side. “Show me what you got.”

“You know I hate that, right?”

“Alright then. Show me what you got. Angel.” 

Aziraphale managed to frown but couldn't stop his hips from jerking up into Crowley's slippery fist. His palm managed to hit the lacquered surface of his desk instead of the clutter on top of it and he found the traction to stop himself from folding forward onto Crowley all the way. 

“Like that, do you?” Crowley rasped directly against his ear.

Aziraphale collected himself enough to get his own fingers into the Vaseline. 

“It's preferable,” he admitted while he pushed one of them into Crowley all the way to the knuckle. 

Even against the backdrop of a southern summer Crowley was scorching. So hot and tight that Aziraphale couldn't imagine actually making love to him. He was so overcome with the impossibility of it all that he didn't even remember that he’d done exactly what he was trying to do: shut Crowley up entirely. 

The notion slipped out of his head completely watching Crowley's head tip back. Aziraphale reached up and traced the line of muscle in his neck gone taut. Followed the heavy bob of his Adam's apple with a thumb and then kissed the loose grin stretching his lips. It was all so perfect that he didn't even remember to pretend he wasn't pleased when Crowley called him Angel again. 

It didn't kill that competitive drive that lived in his bones though.

He'd show Crowley what he’s got.

Prove that he could give as well as he could take. 

And that Crowley wasn't the only one who knew where to find a prostate. 

By the time Aziraphale eased his ring finger in beside the middle finger already making him tremble, Crowley was threatening to leave bruises around his bicep. Aziraphale resisted the persistent weight of his grip. That silent plea for more. He waited until the muscles that had his knuckles in a death grip finally relaxed. Until the tension in Crowley’s brow gave and the stilted thrust of his hips against Aziraphale's fist smoothed to a silky roll then deteriorated again. 

And just when Crowley looked like he'd forgotten he wanted anything more than just what he had, Aziraphale left him empty and clearly more than a little furious about it. 

His bare chest heaved.  

His fingers clawed, crumpling the paper under his palm. 

“Bastard,” he spat, eyes screwing closed. “I was so fucking close.” 

Aziraphale already knew the way his toes curled before he came. The way his hands shook and his belly clenched. He'd spent all night thinking about it. Wondering how soon was too soon to make up an excuse to drive out to Crowley's double wide and park in the weeds behind it so he could stay a little while. 

“Why do you think I stopped?” 

Aziraphale had his cock in hand and was fitting himself between Crowley’s thighs when Crowley stopped him with a hand on his belly. All that snarl from before ended up smothered under somethin' that had him avoiding Aziraphale's eye. 

“It's been a while, ok?”

“We don't gotta.”

“And let Newt have one over on me?” It was a line delivered with a grin but he was still looking at Aziraphale's belly instead of his face. Crowley was tight as a bow string again. It didn't take nothin’ more than the memory of how gentle he'd been two nights ago to understand why he was hesitating. 

It made Aziraphale wish they woulda known each other when they was young. Maybe if they had, Crowley would know a little tenderness and Aziraphale wouldn't have so much shame stacked up in the dark.

“Crowley-”

“I want it.” 

Aziraphale had started to inch away but Crowley stopped him with a heel behind his thigh. 

“I want it,” he said again. More sure this time.

Aziraphale pushed his damp hair from his cheek. Tucked it behind his ear and watched the way Crowley leaned into his touch. 

“I can take good care of you.”

The excitement was beginning to outshine the anguish on Crowley’s face, but only just.

“I don't doubt it,” he said. And for some reason it felt like he was admitting it to himself as much as he was admitting it to Aziraphale.

Chapter Text

Goddamn, when was the last time someone looked Crowley in the eye during sex? 

And not just that, but held him by the chin so he didn’t have nowhere else to look. 

Crowley’d dropped his cock two minutes earlier when he was sure it was the only way he was gonna last, but bein’ on the receiving end of Aziraphale’s admiration was threatening to send him over the edge either way. 

It’d taken him by surprise how soon he’d found himself muttering more in Aziraphale’s ear, how eager he’d been for Aziraphale to take the damn kid gloves off and fuck him like he meant it, but nothing had been more surprising than that. Maybe it shouldn’t’a been. After all, when was the last time anyone looked at him like he was anything other than a filthy secret? Touched him like he was anything other than a means to an end?

Every time Aziraphale was patient and gentle it rewired something in Crowley’s brain. Had him thinking maybe he’d been something all along. Maybe it was all them other folks that had been wrong.

Aziraphale slipped his thumb between Crowley’s teeth and grinned when Crowley closed his lips around the tip.

“Atta boy,” he whispered.

Which only pushed Crowley closer to the edge he’d already been toeing.

He didn't see no reason in delaying what they was both after so he squeezed Aziraphale’s waist with his thighs. Locked his ankles behind Aziraphale’s back and lifted his hips up off the desk with his hands thrust behind him for a better angle.

Aziraphale grunted.

Got a hand under Crowley’s ass and showed him what it was like to be fucked by a generous lover. One that listened to every word he didn’t actually say. And that was about to make him come using nothing but his cock and a smirk. 

The desk shuddered every time Aziraphale’s hips snapped forward. 

Crowley’s arms started to shake. 

And there was only one thing he needed.

“Fuck, just kiss me already.”  

There wasn’t no fear in it anymore. The only desperation between them was for a peak that came crashing down on Crowley so hard he wasn’t sure he’d ever come up for air again. 

There was surely worse ways to die than in Aziraphale’s arms. Crowley didn't think he'd much mind if his last moment in this mortal coil was spent watching his pleasure send Aziraphale toward bliss too. 

And what a thing it was to witness.

His face went slack and his body went rigid and his eyes rolled back in his head like a man possessed.

Crowley stared as long as he could but the crook of Aziraphale’s neck was callin’ for him and he couldn’t think of nothing else but going to it. Tasting his pulse as it throbbed in time with the twitches making Crowley’s belly jump.

He gave in and slumped against Aziraphale and it was just as satisfying as he’d imagined it would be, resting there. And everything he’d never let himself admit he wanted with anyone else. 

Once he finally caught his breath, Crowley had to laugh or else he might start cryin’.

“I can’t believe I thought you were a virgin.”   

Aziraphale eased himself out from under Crowley. Made sure he was sittin' up on his own before he let go of him entirely and reached for a box of tissues that had fallen on the floor. 

“I can't believe we just did that in my shop.” 

“You was asking for it answering the door without a shirt on.”

Aziraphale leaned against the desktop next to Crowley and took a handful of tissues from the box before passing it to Crowley. 

“As I recall, you walked straight in. And I'd’ve had a beater on if I'd had any time at all to do laundry this weekend.”

“Hell, I'll do your damn laundry if I can keep taking up all yer time.” It took a minute for Crowley to realize what he was sayin’. He’d been tiptoeing best he could, but was still making it more than clear he was lookin’ for something more. Something that he still wasn’t sure Aziraphale was comfortable with. “I mean. Um…”

“I made you a pie,” Aziraphale blurted out. Like he could hear every damn worry in Crowley’s head and he wasn’t ready to talk about it plainly just yet neither, but was desperate to let him know he wasn’t alone.

“You what?”

Aziraphale crumpled the tissues in his fist and tossed them into a metal trash bin in the corner. 

“A pie. I made another possum pie. Was planning on sharing it up in Missouri but then Gabe came along…”  

Crowley was sure the butterflies were multiplying. Was waiting for one to come fluttering right out of his mouth. He was pulling his jeans up his thighs and doing his best not to let it when he realized there was a post-it note stuck to his ass. He peeled it off and frowned at the numbers scratched down in red ink. He'd known them by heart for years. Ever since Beez taught him how to replace the rear main seals in his high school daily driver.

“You planning on calling Beez?”

“Probably should.” Aziraphale plucked the post-it from Crowley’s fingers and worked his work pants up over his ass at the same time. “Maybe I oughta clean my desk first though.”

Crowley cast a quick glance over his shoulder and snorted. “Ya think?”

“We really stirred up the past I guess. She ain't worked here for going on two years now.”

“Auto repair stratigraphy.”

“What's that, now?”

“Just something I read about at the library.”

“Anathema sure-” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “Oh, the list!” He picked up the sheet of paper that had sat on Crowley’s dash all day. It was soggy and smeared and dripped onto the floor. “Oh. Oh no…”

Crowley cringed and dragged a second wad of tissues between his legs before pulling his pants up the rest of the way.

“I’ve got another copy. Could swing by and take a look. Maybe you could help me get the Caddy runnin’ again before Oklahoma.”

Aziraphale dropped the sheet of paper into the metal bin and wiped his hands on the work shirt he snatched up off the floor. 

“It’s a date.” 

Aziraphale sure never intended to stay the night, but he wasn't mad to wake up with an arm thrown across his chest. He didn't have to turn his head far before his nose was meeting with tangled waves that still held the smell of the cigarette they'd shared the night before. 

Two nights together and it was already gettin’ too easy. But then again, things had always felt easy with Crowley. Ever since the beginning. 

Only thing that had ever been hard was walking the line that had been drawn for him. Even wrapping his arms around a man that had led him to break all his rules didn't ease that burden. He put his lips against Crowley’s brow and said a prayer even though he wasn't sure anymore that anyone was listenin’. 

“I don't have any bacon.”

Aziraphale snorted. Squeezed Crowley a little tighter before they woke up the rest of the way and that inch of space holding all the things they hadn't yet figured out how to talk about crept back between them. 

“I don't need bacon.”

“No eggs, neither. Or toast.” 

“Thought you said you could feed yerself.”

“I lied.”

In another world Aziraphale would take Crowley to the greasy spoon and buy him pancakes. Make sure he had a full belly before he kissed him goodbye. 

In this world coffee would have to do. Aziraphale knew he had some because they'd made a pot last night when he ought've been getting in his truck. Then they’d sat on the porch and watched the bug zapper spark when he shoulda been heading to bed. 

His own bed. 

The kissing had come later. When he'd actually tried to say goodnight and Crowley had let his hesitation fade away under the moonlight. Then it was just quiet sighs and patient hips and hands too gentle to even believe. 

The bed had been made with line-crisp sheets like Crowley had been hoping for something. It hadn't taken much more than that for Aziraphale to admit to himself he'd been hopin’ too. 

Had been for weeks now.

“I'll put a pot on.”

“Fuck off. My house, I'll make coffee.” 

Crowley didn't move, though. Nuzzled his face against Aziraphale's neck instead and thirty seconds later was asleep again. 

Oklahoma wasn't happening. That much was clear. Every time Aziraphale came around they was getting more bold. By the end of the week they didn't even pretend they was gonna work on the car. 

One little Hey, Angel was all it took to get Aziraphale putting his arms around Crowley right there in the front yard where anyone coulda seen ‘em. 

“What's all this?” Crowley asked, eyes creeping over his own shoulder to the grocery bag resting against his rear end. 

“Thought I might cook you breakfast again.”

All week long they'd pretended it was an accident, falling asleep in each other's arms. Even though Crowley had started kissing Aziraphale when he felt like it. And Aziraphale took every opportunity he could to coax Crowley's hands onto him. 

Admitting it out loud though…

Aziraphale might as well’ve been asking Crowley to go steady. 

Hell, for all he knew he was. It wasn't like he'd ever done this before.

Crowley bumped the lumpy bag with his butt. 

“What's on the menu?”

“Biscuits,” Aziraphale said, and then, with a waggle of his brow, added, “with chocolate gravy.”

Crowley’s mouth was already watering. “Oh, now yer speaking my language.” 

“But first,” Aziraphale narrowed his gaze. “We’re gonna finish reinforcing that frame.” 

Crowley swooned. Let his knees go weak because he knew Aziraphale didn't need both hands to keep him on his feet. Had kept him upright when his legs had given up on him with an arm around his belly and a hand on his cock a couple times now.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier.”

Aziraphale chuckled but it sounded as put on as it did when he was talking to customers while Crowley was hiding behind a closed door waiting to make use of the privacy fence behind Guardian. 

He pushed Crowley back up to his full height and put a few inches between them.

“Imma put this in the fridge.”

“Wait, hold on. What're you running off for?” 

Crowley stopped him with a hand on his belly. He waited for Aziraphale's eyes to wander toward the blacktop in the distance but instead he just looked at his shoes. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Nothin’,” Aziraphale said, eyes still cast low. “Nothin’ at all.” 

Crowley tipped his chin up with a fingertip. The smile that touched his face was careful.

“Yer blushing.” 

“Not a word anyone's ever used to describe me before.”

The smile on Crowley’s face grew more sure.

“What? Sexy?”

Aziraphale shrugged and Crowley dragged him close again. 

“Then maybe folks oughta spend more time at the library expanding their vocabulary, ‘cause I can't think of many words that describe you better.”

Crowley traced the line of Aziraphale's waist in appreciation. Rested his hands on Aziraphale's hips and squeezed. 

Aziraphale huffed and pushed Crowley’s hands away.

“Nothin’ sexy about that.”

Crowley stared. Then put his hands right back where they’d been. “This?” he asked. “Nothin sexy about this?” 

Aziraphale was lookin' at his feet again so Crowley stepped so close he couldn't seem ‘em. Coaxed his eyes back up with a brush of his lips. He squeezed again. Harder this time. “Was pretty sexy last night seeing my fingers right here.” 

Crowley tipped his hips against Aziraphale’s thigh. Made sure he could feel exactly what the memory was doing to him while he put his lips against the shell of his ear. “Yanking you back onto my cock until you came.”

“Crowley!” 

When Aziraphale pushed him away this time he was smiling. He adjusted the front of his jeans and took a step around Crowley but that pink skin was too tempting to just ignore. Crowley had to get his mouth on it again. Caught Aziraphale by the hip one more time and pulled him backwards into his chest. 

“Go put that in the fridge.” Aziraphale tipped his head and let Crowley kiss the warm skin throbbing with his pulse. “We'll get that frame reinforced.” Crowley nipped. Worked his hands beneath Aziraphale’s shirt and took two generous handfuls that Aziraphale didn’t try to squirm away from. “Then I'm gonna remind you exactly why this is sexy as hell.”

Anthony Crowley spent half the night sullying the temple that was Aziraphale East's body. Sure didn't feel like a sin. Nothing about the way Crowley touched him felt wrong. Not a single word groaned against his lips felt shameful. And when he woke up in the morning all them dark corners felt swept clean and lit up like daylight. 

He'd never felt closer to God than he had beneath Crowley’s lips. No sermon had ever made him feel more like he'd been made in his image. More perfect just the way he was. 

“I always felt like God made a mistake when he made me. That if prayer couldn't fix me maybe science could.” 

“God doesn't make mistakes. Not even when he made you, Aziraphale East.”

“Didn’t think you believed in God.” 

“That’s the problem with this town. People always makin’ assumptions. Castin’ stones instead of lookin’ at themselves.” 

“I’ve done plenty of lookin’ at myself. Trust me.” 

“Right here?” 

“Right there.” Aziraphale groaned. Squeezed the pillow between his fingers. “Heavens to Betsy.”

“Got a knot the size of a trailer hitch.” 

Was probably from hauling around a lifetime of self doubt. And more than his fair share of criticism. 

“Did I ever tell you about Gabe?” 

“What about him?”

Crowley dug his thumbs into the space between Aziraphale’s spine and shoulder blade. Sent a noise outta his lips that mighta been embarrassing a week ago but that he didn’t think twice about now. 

“When we got back from Missouri. He was… pleasant.”

Crowley shifted. Snuck his toes beneath Aziraphale’s thighs and lifted up onto his knees for more leverage. 

“The Gabe who broke my nose in twelfth grade?”

“That would be the one.” Aziraphale looked out Crowley’s window at the soybean field butting up against his property. It was a view he was starting to get used to even though he preferred the trees that surrounded his own house. For the privacy as much as the view. “Said we had good sportsmanship.”

“He didn't tell ya you was gonna burn in hell for putting yer arm around a queer?” 

Aziraphale rankled at the word. 

Didn't matter how many times he'd kissed Crowley or that something warm filled him to bursting every time he ended up on the receiving end of his smile. It was still a label he hadn't quite managed to pin to his chest. 

“It was like someone’d swapped him out with a carbon copy. His body but none of his upbringing.” Aziraphale gasped. Arched into Crowley’s touch. “Oh, just like that.” 

They'd been working out each other's tension for days but the knots that had been building up for decades took a little extra elbow grease. 

Crowley dug deep. 

Made Aziraphale squeak again before he let off and plunked back down onto him. 

“Pleasant or not, wouldn’t hurt to shake him. An’s list has a derby next Saturday in the Ouchita Mountains. Hot Springs, I think.” Crowley's fingers swept low to massage the thoroughly used love handles Aziraphale was learning to appreciate. “I don’t reckon Gabe would tag along when he's got a sermon the next morning.” 

“And Beez?”

“Drives herself. Only spends half her time in the pit once she gets there.” 

It wasn't perfect, but then again not much was. Not for two men like them livin’ in a place like this.

Aziraphale settled his cheek onto Crowley’s pillow and watched the soybeans sway in the breeze. 

“The Ouchitas it is.” 

Chapter Text

It was a miracle, honestly, that Crowley found himself loading his mama’s thoroughly crumpled Caddy onto a trailer come Saturday morning. The thing that was burning between him and Aziraphale was only getting hotter every day. He'd ride Aziraphale through the mattress at night and bend him over in the shower the next morning. Share a pot of coffee and a lingering kiss and spend the next eight hours antsy to see him again instead of making checklists in his head that might get him through his heat. 

Crowley was starting to get more used to seeing that powder blue Guardian Auto Repair work shirt on his floor than buttoned up to Aziraphale's throat. And he was beginning to think he'd seen Aziraphale on his knees more often than God ever had. 

It was too soon to be so in the thick of it. 

Too early to feel like he'd hung a part of himself on someone else. 

But damn if it wasn't just a little bit thrilling. 

Yeah, his stomach mighta twisted itself into knots just like it did on derby days when he thought too hard on it. And yeah, that voice that told him to let off the wheel and brace for the inevitable still woke him up at night. But every time he started to doubt Aziraphale held on to him a little bit tighter. Even when he was sleepin’. 

It was what was on his mind when he pulled up to the library, a pile of books he hadn't even touched tucked under his arm. 

The stacks was quiet as a funeral save the flutter of Anathema's feet hurrying to see who had walked through her door. 

Crowley wasn't sure whose face lit up brighter when their eyes met peeking down the length of the library. Anathema took her time meeting him at the circulation desk but it was more’n clear she was restraining herself from running down the aisle. He swept her up in a hug as if she had just as soon as she was within arm’s reach. Breathed in her dollar store shampoo and a hint of something else. Something too rich for their little town. 

“Hey baby girl.”

Anathema squeezed like she meant it then held Crowley at arms length and gave him a long up and down. 

“You mad at me or something? Haven't seen you in an age.”

“It ain't even hardly been two weeks.”

“I miss your grumpy face.” She let go of Crowley’s arms but kept her eye on him as she rounded the desk and took his stack of books between her palms. “Though it don't look so grumpy these days. Got a little color and everything.”

“I'm a redhead, An. It's called a sunburn.”

“Nah, that's not it. You got a glow.”

Crowley bent at the hip and leaned his elbows on the counter. His back was looser than it had been in years but that didn’t mean it didn’t still ache. 

“I ain't in the family way if that's what you're suggesting.” 

“Deflect all you want. I ain't stupid.” Anathema waited a beat that Crowley didn't fill before she deflated on top of Crowley’s thoroughly neglected books. “C’mon. You really ain't gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Who is he?” 

Anathema’s eyes were crawling over Crowley’s neck looking for a hickey that didn’t exist. Much as Crowley wanted him to lay claim, Aziraphale was always careful not to leave a mark on him that someone might see. Much as the cynical part of his brain tried to convince him it was ‘cause Aziraphale was sure someone would pull out a ruler and start comparing it to dental records, Crowley’d always been more of an optimist than folks mighta thunk. Seemed more likely it was a kindness. That Aziraphale knew the way folks talked and wasn't lookin’ to give them anything more to gossip about.  

Crowley scratched his chest and grinned to himself at the tender place Aziraphale’s teeth had made him gasp that morning before the sun had even crawled over the horizon. He pushed himself upright and sauntered away before she could see every second of it on his face. 

“What’d I tell you about kissin’ and tellin’?” he asked as he plunked down in one of the overstuffed reading chairs near the young adult novels.

“Fine,” Anathema said. “I'll just go ask Madame Tracy.”

“Have at it.” Crowley picked up a discarded paperback with a football player on the front of it. Flipped it over and started to read the summary on the back before stopping and scrunching up the center of his face. “Wait. Who's Madame Tracy?” 

“Fortune teller. She does all the fairs.”

Crowley snorted and tossed the book back on the table beside him.

“Surprised they haven't run her outta town with pitchforks.”

“Can you keep a secret?” 

Crowley fixed her with a look that pulled its weight in asking if she was stupid. She pursed her lips at him as if he'd said the words out loud. 

“Secrets other than who you're kissin’.”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his heart. Held up his pinky finger when she hesitated. 

Anathema let that summer sun smile unfurl again and bounced around the circulation desk. Practically skipped to Crowley and plunked down half in his lap before taking his pinky in her own. She bit her lip and darted her eyes from side to side before pulling a bright yellow deck of cards from the pocket of her skirt. 

The cloaked figure on the front didn't exactly look Biblical. 

“What in God's name is that?”

“It's a tarot deck. Had Newt pick it up for me in the city after the county fair. She really was something, Crowley. Had me thinkin’ for days. Maybe you ought pop into her tent one of these days.”

“You better put that back in your skirt. Anyone around here catches you with it, your already thin patronage’ll dry up entirely.” Even as Crowley was saying it he was taking the deck from her hand and emptying the cards into his palm.

“They're pretty aren't they?” 

“Newt oughta be looking after you better ‘n this. He gonna move you into his apartment when these cards get you fired?”

“Library in the city’s a helluva lot nicer than this one.”

She looked like she really meant it. Much as Crowley wanted to see her spread her wings and fly, it picked at something that had never fully healed in his heart too. The ache that came with it shoulda reminded him why he oughta not get too attached to anyone around here, but instead it had him scrambling for anything at all that might make her stay. 

“Folks in the city don't need it near as bad as folks ‘round here, though.”

“Horse. Water. You know the saying. Doesn't matter how much they need it if they don't partake.”

“Places like this are a godsend for some of us.”

Maybe Anathema heard between the lines ‘cause she didn't say another word in argument. She just leaned her cheek against Crowley's shoulder and watched him flip through the cards. He didn't mean to linger on the lovers when they slipped out of the deck, but he couldn't stop himself neither. He traced the shapes with his thumb and even though the figures looked more like Newt and Anathema than him and Aziraphale, got a swoop in his belly. 

“You don't gotta tell me,” Anathema said. “But if you ever want to-” 

“I think I might be fallin' in love with him,” Crowley whispered. 

Anathema put her arms around Crowley’s middle and squeezed. “He's a pretty lucky guy, then.”

The whole slow drive over the Ouchitas had Aziraphale brimming. 

He had a fresh possum pie in the cooler with peaks that rivaled the landscape he was crossing, a half full bottle of personal lubricant, and an excuse to miss his cousin's sermon tomorrow morning. 

And the cherry on top was that he didn't know a soul in Hot Springs which meant no one would blink an eye at him sitting across the table from Anthony Crowley at breakfast. 

Rather than hidin’ they was gonna have a date right out there in the open, and sure it ain't like there was gonna be any hand holding or nothin’ but he figured it still counted. He'd order whipped cream and strawberries on his pancakes and play a bit of footsie under the table and there might even be enough time for one more roll in the hay before check out time. 

The pulsing red neon sign at the Heart-o-Hot Springs Motel had him parking his trailer in the back of the parking lot and fifty bucks later he had two sets of keys and twelve hours of privacy lined up. No hiding his truck behind Crowley’s trailer or watching Crowley pull down his drive before the sun was more’n a smear on the horizon. 

His fingers was already itchin’ for that do not disturb sign. In fact, as he pulled into the pit he realized he was more concerned about what they was gonna do after the derby than during it. He hadn't thought about the first place trophy or the check that came along with it all week. He hardly spared it a second thought as he hopped outta the cab of his truck and hoofed it toward a Caddy with a brand new paint job before he’d even unloaded his car. 

Aziraphale resisted the urge to grab hold of the pert little behind sticking out from beneath the hood but he couldn't quite convince himself to keep his hands off Crowley entirely. He leaned against the front bumper and slipped an oversized red and white keyring into Crowley’s front pocket. Let his lips inch far closer to Crowley’s ear than he woulda dared back home and made sure his fingers lingered just a little too long before he drew ‘em away. 

“Whadya say,” he asked in the sultriest purr he could muster. “Loser buys breakfast?”

Aziraphale didn't notice the size of Crowley’s eyes until a disembodied voice was already echoing up through the engine block. 

“Is that a package deal or do I gotta suck your dick too if I wanna get in on it?” 

Aziraphale jerked away from the Caddy like it was a sleepin’ rattler. Left his stomach on the ground right next to where Beez’s head musta been and barely registered the fingers that slipped off his wrist as he turned and headed for anywhere but where he was.

“Wait! Goddamnit.”  The sound of skin slapping against metal made Aziraphale flinch but he didn't turn around. “For fuck’s sake, Beez!” Crowley growled. “Aziraphale. Hold up.” 

He hadn't even gotten ten steps away from Crowley's bumper before Aziraphale felt the shades coming down and his corners filling back up. 

“Aziraphale!” 

The blurry edges of Aziraphale's peripheral shifted from dead grass and welding sparks to brightly painted booths and lightbulb studded rides lying in wait for the throngs of strangers he'd been looking forward to disappearing into. And he mighta kept on going until he'd walked all the way back to the valley but Crowley had him screeching to a halt with one little word. 

“Angel.” 

He knew he shoulda been stopping because of what people might think if they heard, but that wasn’t what had him turnin’ around. Them two syllables had gone and opened up cracks in his blinds. Reminded him that Crowley’d come back for him twice already and he didn't know how many more times he could run before his second chances ran out. 

Crowley’s entire body sagged with relief when Aziraphale turned around. His hand hovered in the space between them for a minute before he finally squeezed his fingers into a fist and let it fall down at his side. Aziraphale wrapped his own arms around his belly and wished they was Crowley’s. The guilt he was feeling for making Crowley keep his distance sharpened into a barb that he tossed at Crowley instead of dropping at his feet like he ought’ve. 

“Why didn't you say nothin’?” Aziraphale hissed. 

Either the barb didn’t stick or Crowley was already so full of ‘em he didn’t notice. He took a careful step forward and kept his voice soft. 

“I didn't really have the chance, Angel.” Crowley glanced back in the direction they’d left Beez. “Look, she's an asshole but she ain't gonna say nothin’.”

Aziraphale knew it was true, but getting caught twice now had him more’n a little gun shy.  

“She hates me.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a smile that got a little more light shining inside him. 

“She doesn't hate me though,” he said.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure that Beez Musca didn’t hate pretty much everyone. During her time at Guardian the only time he ever saw her smile was when she caught him cursing his cousin’s name under his breath when he thought he was alone. He wasn’t sure if she was happy to see someone sullying the good name of their town’s shining star or tickled at his own state of irritation. 

“You sure about that?” he asked. 

Crowley ran his fingers through his hair and looked around at the early birds wandering through the rows of carnival games packed with cheap stuffed animals and inflatable dolphins. 

“You wanna go?” Crowley shrugged like he hadn’t paid the entry fee and hauled his mama’s Caddy over the mountains. “We can get outta here. You ‘n me. Anywhere you wanna go.”

Aziraphale knew in that moment that the light shining inside him was coming straight from Crowley. And it warmed him through as much as it lit him up. He shook out his hands and reminded himself that Beez would get way more pleasure out of him knowing his secret was in her hands than she would from spreading rumors. 

“I just need a minute,” he said.

“Aziraphale!”

Crowley’s face pinched. Aziraphale didn’t need to find the familiar face in the crowd to know who’d spotted him. He was gonna start wearing a ball cap to these things. 

“And your not friend,” Muriel said with an exaggerated wink as she approached the two of them. “Mr. Crowley.”

“Just Crowley, actually,” Aziraphale said before Crowley could get his hooks in the poor girl.

“I’m so glad to see you both. Together, I mean. I prayed for you two after, well...”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said with a barely concealed grimace at the same time that Crowley rolled his eyes and muttered, “Please don't.”

“How about a couple lemon shake-ups? On the house. To say sorry.”

Aziraphale couldn’t imagine putting anything in his stomach just then. Not with the reminder that his secret was actually anything but. 

“We’ll take a raincheck,” he croaked while Crowley bumped him with a shoulder and corralled him away from the well-meaning grin leveled at them. 

“You know where to find me!” Muriel shouted. 

Aziraphale was starting to sweat. He felt like there were headlights pointed at him from every direction and it was making him feel unsteady on his feet. He pinched the front of his shirt and tugged to try to cool himself down.

“I need some shade.”

Crowley chewed at his lip and nodded over his shoulder. “C’mon.” 

Aziraphale kept his eyes on the bit of keyring poking out of Crowley’s pocket until Crowley was sweeping aside folds of midnight blue velvet. He tapped the sign slung across the entrance before Aziraphale could protest. 

At Lunch

It was cooler inside the fortune teller’s tent than made sense. The second the thick fabric swung closed at their heels and the sun was snuffed out behind it, goosebumps rose up on Aziraphale’s neck. It was a relief but it wasn’t nowhere near so satisfying as the feeling of Crowley’s arms snaking around him. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to go?”

Aziraphale breathed in the musk that came with an hour and half over the mountains and no AC. The smoke that clung to Crowley’s hair and the grease that was as much a part of him as his freckles. 

“I’m sure.” 

The flicker of candlelight danced off the inky fabric draped from the peak in the center of the tent and made the copper in Crowley’s hair shimmer. The sound of the midway was barely more than a whisper and it was almost too easy to kiss Crowley there in the middle of the fairgrounds. His mouth was sour but the barely there whimper the snuck out of his chest was as sweet as the pie safely packed in Aziraphale’s cooler. 

“It’ll be extra for a threeway.”

Aziraphale wrenched away from the palms cupping his jaw.

Blurted out “Shit!” before he’d even let his hands drop from Crowley’s hips. 

He wanted to wrap himself in the bolts of fabric that made up the tent and never come out again. 

He was still staring at his feet when Crowley stepped fully in front of him. Like maybe he could absorb the gaze of the woman that was standing on the other side of the antique table situated in the middle of the tent. 

“Your sign said you were at lunch.”

“And yet here you are.”

Her voice was kind but matter of fact. Aziraphale risked a glance in her direction and caught a glimpse of bottle orange hair, mascara like spider’s legs and lips as ruby red as his cheeks.

“We're so sorry, ma’am,” Aziraphale said, his voice shaking as badly as his hands.  

“Come, come. Sit.”

Crowley hiked a thumb over his shoulder and took a step backwards as if she were an angry bear rather than a middle aged woman in a caftan. “We really oughta-”

“I said sit.”

Maybe it was the memories of their mothers, a sort of conditioned response to an authoritative woman, but their rear ends met the bent cane chairs in an instant. 

Aziraphale wrung his hands together to try to still them. Looked at his busted knuckles and neatly filed nails instead of the woman taking her seat across from them. 

“We really didn't mean to intrude. I just, well-”

“Needed to get out of the heat?”

He huffed out a laugh despite everything.

“That's one way to put it.”

Crowley leaned on the table in front of them. 

“We’d appreciate it if you didn't go around-”

“I believe your beau was speaking.”

“He’s not-”

One look snatched the rest of the denial right out of Crowley's mouth. The fortune teller lifted a finger toward the hand painted sign hanging over her head. 

Madame Tracy

Psychic 

“No sense in lying to me, young man.” She picked up a deck of cards Aziraphale had been too distracted to notice and began shuffling them. “And besides. My eyes ain't what they used to be, but I ain’t blind.”

Crowley pushed off the table and sprawled. Hung his arm over the back of the chair and shrugged.  

“Kissed plenty of folks that ain't my beau.”

Madame Tracy didn’t even lift a brow. Just went right on shuffling the deck. 

“But I bet you don't look at any of them like you look at him.”

Crowley shifted too much to look anything but uncomfortable. 

“He didn't even want it,” he said with a snarl.

Aziraphale nearly choked. It was one thing to be chivalrous but another one entirely to be stupid. 

“Crowley,” he hissed through gritted teeth. 

Madame Tracy, though, just chuckled. She turned her gaze on Aziraphale

“He quite likes you, doesn't he?” she asked before plunking the deck down between them. “You want a reading?”

Aziraphale might’ve had some questions but that didn’t mean he needed a psychic. He stood and pulled Crowley to his feet too. The woman didn't know him from Adam and there wasn't no sense in stickin’ around long enough to change that. Not after she'd caught him with his hands on another man. 

“We’ll get outta yer hair, actually.” 

“You’re sure?” Madame Tracy asked, index finger dragging the card on top of the deck toward her.

“Maybe next time.”

Aziraphale turned toward the heavy drapes hung across the entrance, but not before the card she'd been toying with hit the table. Much as he enjoyed a little sleight of hand he'd never believed in magic. The face of the card lying in front of Madame Tracy didn't do much to convince him he'd been wrong not to. 

Only swords in his heart were the ones he’d put there himself.  

Chapter Text

The checkered flag flew before Crowley even realized he was the last car running in his heat. He’d just pulled a donut at the end of the track for no reason other'n making Aziraphale grin from the fence line and was on the hunt for his next victim when he heard his car’s number over the loudspeaker. 

But just as soon as he found himself on cloud nine he couldn't spot them worried blue eyes nowhere in the crowd. He searched high and low while he drove off the track to the thunder of the crowd and only realized he was on the verge of a panic attack when he finally spotted that blond halo in the pit. 

Aziraphale didn't throw his arms around Crowley’s shoulders the way he wished he would, but he was there. Standing just six feet away from Beez and her scowl. 

That open wound in Crowley’s heart that never quite healed over when his mama went and left him alone in the world felt a little smaller seein’ Aziraphale there, waitin’ patiently for him to ease the limping Caddy into the patch of grass next to his Crown Vic. 

Aziraphale'd had every reason to run but he hadn't. And Crowley sure didn't want to be so hopeful that Aziraphale was gonna keep sticking around, but he couldn't quite help himself. Even the tendrils of worry still retreating from his guts didn’t dampen his hope. 

Much as Crowley was letting his optimism slip rose colored glasses over his reality, though, he didn't push his luck. He stepped up close to Aziraphale but left enough space for the holy ghost between ‘em. Kept his hands to himself and the temperature of his gaze mild even though all that adrenaline from the heat had him itching for something more. 

“You here to make sure I don't make it through the feature?” he asked, resistin’ the urge to put his hip right up against Aziraphale’s. 

“Someone’s gotta thwart ya.”

There was a nervousness to Aziraphale's hunched shoulders and sidelong glance, but the grin on his face looked genuine. And the way he leaned an inch closer only made Crowley’s already rosy view go pinker. 

The hopeful hue went gray at the edges, though, when Beez snorted and started a slow circle of the Caddy. 

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” she grumbled. 

Aziraphale, bless him, didn't take the bait. Just started off in the opposite direction, hand trailing over the peaks and valleys of crumpled metal. The gentle way he touched the car made Crowley shiver. He knew just what them fingers felt like and the way Aziraphale’s eyes kept flickering up to his face suggested he mighta known just what was on Crowley’s mind. Like maybe he wished he was touching Crowley’s peaks and valleys too. 

“Your frame’s bent all to hell,” Aziraphale called over the parade of cars making their way out onto the track for the next heat. He tilted back on his heels and frowned at the Caddy’s rear end. “And that bumper’s about to come off.”

Beez narrowed her eyes at Aziraphale for half a second before leaning through the driver's side and yanking at the wheel.

“You having trouble steering in there? Looked like you were fighting her.” 

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side. Kept on around the car and ducked his head in opposite her.  

“Steering column maybe?” he asked. 

Beez chewed at the inside of her cheek and Crowley could see the gears turnin’. It was the same look Aziraphale got when they ignored their dicks for half an hour and actually got to work. It made him imagine a world where the two of ‘em might do more’n tolerate one another. 

“Let's check axles too,” Beez said and Aziraphale nodded like she'd taken the words right outta his mouth. He turned to Crowley and gave him a look that seemed torn between admiration and exasperation.

“You should be careful showboating out there.”

Crowley hardly paid attention to the words comin’ outta his mouth ‘cause the only thing that really mattered was that Aziraphale’d been watching after all. And it might take some cajoling to get a confession outta him, but Crowley knew he’d been impressed. 

Beez’s face, when she turned it on Crowley, lacked the admiration and doubled down on the exaseperation. “Drives like a goddamn idiot.”

Crowley scoffed and started working on the chains keeping his hood closed. “I’d like to see you do better.”

“Could certainly drive better than you,” Beez said with a sneer.

“Unless you got a car hidin’ somewhere I guess we'll never know.”

“She could drive mine.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped to Aziraphale where he was already slipping the second hood chain free.

“What?” he asked, and heard an echo in Beez’s voice. 

Aziraphale shrugged. Sidled up next to Crowley and started in on the chain Crowley had forgotten was in his hand. 

“Powder puff is still taking entries.”

“Fuck the powder puff,” Beez hissed. 

Crowley stared. He couldn’t tell if Aziraphale was joking and the way their fingers seemed to get tangled up around the chain wasn’t helping him to focus any. “You can't just give her your car,” he said with a chuckle. 

Aziraphale looked at Beez instead of Crowley. “Powder puff finalists can choose to run in the feature.” He slipped his fingers away from Crowley’s and beneath the lip of the hood before he finally looked at Crowley again. “And I can, actually.”

“According to who?” Crowley asked. 

“The rules,” Aziraphale said. His eyes jumped between the skeptical look on Beez’s face and the incredulous one on Crowley’s. “Didn’t neither of you read ‘em?” 

Beez finally took the other edge of the hood and she and Aziraphale lifted it up over the blackened stacks jutting out of the engine. She swiped her hair behind an ear and Crowley could tell she was trying to look like she didn’t give a single flying fuck about nothing at all but her eyes kept wandering back to Aziraphale’s Crown Vic. 

She pulled a wrench out of her back pocket and tipped her chin at Crowley. 

“Is this a bribe so I won't tell anyone you're fucking this loser?” 

The nervous sweep of Aziraphale’s gaze was obvious but there wasn’t no one close enough to hear. Crowley shot a look at Beez he hoped was piercing but it only earned him a disinterested eyeroll in return. It made him wonder if maybe she knew full well that she wasn’t sharing their secret beyond the three of ‘em. The fact that there was space between Aziraphale’s shoulders and his ears made Crowley wonder if he didn’t realize it too.  

“More of an overdue apology, actually,” Aziraphale said. “It wasn’t right firin’ you like that. You ain’t never been a ray of sunshine, but far as I know you wasn’t hired to be one. You were good at your job and that’s what oughta mattered.” 

Beez wiped her wrist across her forehead and shrugged. “Whatever. Water under the bridge. You got this?” she asked as she pushed away from the Caddy and took a step toward the Vic. “I’m gonna need as much time as possible to get your heap derby ready.”

Aziraphale gaped. Turned to Crowley and hiked a thumb in her direction. “Is she being serious?”

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. He was still waiting on Aziraphale to realize how quick he'd been to give his chance away. “Are you?” 

Aziraphale scrunched his face in the middle like maybe it was sinking in but eventually he just shrugged. “I’ve got a cabinet full of trophies at home already. And it sure looks like you could use some help here.” 

Beez was already climbing into Aziraphale’s derby car and Crowley could imagine her scowling at Aziraphale’s wiring and the hastily wrapped gas tank in the back seat. 

“She ain’t gonna take it easy on the Vic.” 

A smile lifted half of Aziraphale’s mouth as he turned his attention back to the twisted frame of Crowley’s Caddy. 

“I would sure hope not.” 

Crowley grinned too. Of all the ways the weekend coulda gone, he hadn’t imagined this woulda been one of ‘em. 

“Your funeral.” 

Inside the engine Aziraphale wrapped his pinky finger around Crowley’s. He turned his smile on Crowley and lifted a brow. 

“Plenty of opportunities to wreck your ass later.” 

Aziraphale had a lifetime of winning under his belt and for a year or so that derby trophy had been his favorite. His new favorite was pulling out onto the track and much as he could probably still do with getting a little of his own issues out on the track, he could think of a million better ways to relieve his tension looking at Anthony Crowley. 

The man was a vision. Sweat soaked and grease stained. All that tension in his body casting deep shadows under the arena lights and making him look cut from stone. 

Aziraphale'd wring every last bit of it out of him in an hour or two. It got his heart pumping. Made him feel like he was behind the wheel rather than standing with his arms folded on the top of a fence that wouldn’t do a thing to keep a bumper from cutting him in half if it made it over the dirt berm. 

Staring at Crowley Aziraphale dang near forgot how his afternoon had started. And how quickly the number of folks that knew more than they oughta had multiplied. Out on the track Crowley’s eyes was dartin’ between the flag man and Beez Musca pulling in three cars down but the second he caught Aziraphale watching from the fence line he didn't look nowhere else. He kept his gaze square on Aziraphale’s face and pushed a long breath between pursed lips that Azirphale couldn’ta heard but that echoed in his head all the same. 

All them rumbling engines and hootin’ rednecks faded away to nothing more than a hum and for a second it was just Aziraphale and Crowley. No pryin’ eyes or gossiping prayer circles or nosy cousins. No small town to tell ‘em what they was doin’ was wrong.

Aziraphale cracked a smile and Crowley grinned back and it felt like words exchanged. 

Then that green flag snapped and the next thing Aziraphale knew he was sittin’ on the edge of a mattress draped in a faded floral comforter wondering why he was suddenly feeling nervous. 

The squirming feeling in his belly only got worse at the sound of a key jiggling in the lock. He found himself holding his breath as the door swung open and didn’t let it go until it closed behind Crowley again. 

“Howdy, Angel.” 

Crowley acted sheepish holding up his trophy even though he coulda just as soon left it in the cab of his truck. Aziraphale took Crowley by the hip and guided him between the spread of his knees. Reached out and touched the molded metal car sitting atop a shimmering tower. 

“Lookit you, mad dog.” 

Crowley ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and waggled his brows. 

“Woof,” he said with a smirk. 

Aziraphale had wanted to pick Crowley up and spin him around when they’d announced his name even after he’d snapped his flag halfway through the feature. A hug felt had felt brave enough, though. Especially with the look Crowley had given him after. Like he’d been swept off his feet either way. 

The mad dog trophy sounded heavy hitting the nightstand which made Aziraphale wonder how Beez was getting on with her own. He imagined it strapped carefully into the front seat of her Omni even though she’d bitched about her second place win. As if she hadn’t absolutely trounced Crowley and just about every other man out on the track.

“Still can’t believe Beez outlasted ya.” 

Crowley’s knee sank the mattress between Aziraphale’s legs. 

“They took it easy on her.” 

Aziraphale ran his hand up Crowley’s thigh. Snuck his thumb under his tee and ran it over the sharp curve of his hip. 

“They won’t next time.” 

Aziraphale was sure no one had been watching the Powder Puff. If they had they mighta known Beez could drive. That she hit hard and smart and could keep a car running like she had automotive magic in her bony little fingers.  

“No, I don’t reckon they will.” Crowley scratched at Aziraphale’s scalp. “What’ll you tell Gabriel?” he asked.

Maybe in the morning, when the sparkle of the night had worn away and real life was starting to settle back in, Aziraphale might care about showing up without a trophy of his own, but in the soft light of the bedside lamp with Crowley looking down at him like he’d been on the winner’s stand too, he didn’t much care what Gabriel thought. In fact, he didn’t feel any of that pull Gabriel’d always had over him. For the first time in his life Gabriel was just a man instead of a hill to climb.  

“Don’t know that I need to tell him nothin’ at all.” 

“What if he-”

“I don’t wanna talk about Gabe right now.” 

“What do you wanna talk about then?”

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hip. He woulda thought that the day they’d had woulda made him more skittish but for some reason it only made him more sure that he knew who he was and what he wanted. Accepting that fact was what had his belly in knots, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t also have him dying for Crowley to remind him that he’d known all along. 

“Don’t really wanna talk at all.” 

Crowley nodded toward the trophy glimmering under the single lamp bulb. 

“Not gonna let me brag?” 

“What, you want me to tell you what a good boy you are?”

“I sure wouldn’t mind it.” 

Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s shirt up just enough to see the trail of hair disappearing beneath his waistband. 

“Act like one and maybe I will.” 

Crowley smirked and took his tee by the nape. Pulled it over his head and sent his already mussed waves into disarray. 

He was still filthy. Mud flecked and oil stained even on the pale flesh of his belly. Aziraphale knew if he put his lips to his skin he’d come away with salt on his tongue. That Crowley’s mouth would be bitter with cheap beer and cigarette smoke. There was something about knowing just what Crowley tasted like that made the nervous tingle in his belly start up again. He ain’t never known a man so well. Never woulda let himself before. 

Aziraphale licked his lips and let his gaze wander down to Crowley’s belt. Grinned when Crowley’s belly rippled in anticipation just like he knew it would. 

“Not a bad start,” Aziraphale said.  

Crowley grabbed himself through his jeans and squeezed so that Aziraphale could see just how appreciated he was feelin’. 

“You’re kind of a bastard, you know that?” 

“And you ain’t nearly so hard as you pretend you are.” 

Crowley turned away but not before Aziraphale saw the pink on his cheeks. He took his time wiggling his jeans down his thighs and toeing off his boots but Aziraphale had spent all afternoon stealing the barest of touches and he’d used up just about all the patience he had. His hands were on Crowley before he could even peel both socks off.

Crowley’s knees hit the ugly floral sham and his palms followed. The second he was on all fours Aziraphale put his lips in the center of his spine and his fingers between his legs. Teased while he groped for something to ease the way. 

Every time they did this the distance between that first time in Aziraphale’s shop and the present grew exponentially. It was like touching a whole new man. Crowley’s body wasn’t afraid of Aziraphale’s touch. Didn’t offer up no resistance. By the time Aziraphale’s lips had made it to the nape of his neck Crowley was already pushing Aziraphale away by the wrist and sitting up on his knees. 

“That’s good. I’m good.” 

Aziraphale caught Crowley against his chest. Wrapped an arm around his belly and held him close. 

“You’re sure?”

Crowley ground down into his lap. Groaned at the pull of his own fist around his cock. Then again at the mouth on his throat. 

“I ain’t gonna beg.” 

If Aziraphale weren’t just as eager for what was to come he’d put that claim to the test. As it was he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to make love to Crowley. 

He’d’ve gone slow but Crowley was rocking back onto him just as soon as he’d pushed into him. Taking him to the hilt from the get go and landing flush against his thighs with every bounce that followed. Aziraphale held him by the waist and met him each time he came down until the slap of their skin was louder than the grunts coming out of their mouths. 

It was too good too soon. 

They’d barely gotten started before Aziraphale was barreling toward his peak. 

Two minutes in and he had to freeze entirely. 

He held Crowley fast and squeezed his eyes shut but the throbbing heat of Crowley’s body was still too much. One more quiet whimper outta Crowley’s mouth and Aziraphale was sure to come. He yanked his hips back. Held Crowley at a distance and sat on his heels. Took long slow breaths and willed his body back from the edge. 

“Oh my God,” Aziraphale whispered as a warm hand guided him down onto his back. When he opened his eyes again Crowley was kneeling over him with his cock in his hand and a smirk on his face. 

“Blasphemy, Angel?”

“Not blasphemy,” Aziraphale managed between shuddering breaths.  

Crowley leaned down and put his lips on his chest and Aziraphale felt about ready to short circuit. Every perfect press went straight to his cock. He worked his fingers into Crowley’s waves and arched into every kiss. 

“I'm praising him,” Aziraphale said.  

“Praising him?” Crowley nipped. Tickled the crease of Aziraphale’s thigh. “He ain’t about to make you come.” He dragged his fingers feather light up Aziraphale’s cock. “You should be praising me.”

Crowley hesitated with his lips hanging over Aziraphale’s nipple. “Yeah…” He swallowed. The look on his face was timid and his voice was too. “Praise me.” 

“What?”

“Praise me,” Crowley said, just a touch more confident this time around. “Tell me how good I am.”

Aziraphale propped himself up on an elbow and took Crowley by the jaw. He wasn’t sure what to say but the second he opened his mouth the truth came out.

“Ain’t no one ever touched me like you,” he said.

For the first time in half a day their lips came together and it stole Aziraphale’s breath away. He had to suck down a desperate breath before he could speak again. “Made me feel like you do.” 

Crowley threw a leg over his hips. Aziraphale could feel the fire behind his eyes.

“Tell me you want me,” he said. Every word more sure than the last. 

“I do.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley again. Held his cock tight and gasped when Crowley sat down on it. “Every second of every day.” 

“Tell me you need me.” 

“Like the air I breathe.” 

Crowley whimpered. His whole body trembled. And the heat in Aziraphale’s belly was building even quicker than before. 

“Oh God,” he gasped. “Oh Crowley.”

“Tell me… tell me you…” 

Aziraphale didn’t need him to say the rest of the words. 

They’d lived in a kiss in a fortune teller’s tent. 

In a shared look before the green flag flew. 

In a hug on the winner’s stand and a possum pie and in more than his fair share of second chances.

Aziraphale nodded but Crowley didn’t see. His eyes were on the ceiling. Then screwed shut tight. Then his hands were shaking and his belly was trembling and it was clear what he wanted but his body wasn’t cooperating enough to take it. Aziraphale held him by the ankles and gave it to him instead. Took him, shuddering and groaning, to his edge. 

The sheets were filthy when Crowley crawled his aching body out of bed the next morning. He fished through the clothes strewn on the floor until he found a pack of cigarettes. Then fished around some more until he located a lighter. Ashed into the sink on his way to the shower and then again on his way back to the angel still snoring in bed while the water heated up. 

A blade of sunlight fell across Aziraphale’s face and lit up the stubble on his chin. A second followed the curve of his belly and the jut of a hip. He looked like he was cracking open and all the light inside him was spilling out. Like a bonafide angel had fallen from heaven and broken to pieces right there in Crowley’s arms. 

He took a drag of his cigarette and couldn’t quite decide if that was a good thing or not.   

He stared so long that steam was starting to pour out of the bathroom but much as Crowley was enjoying gazing at Aziraphale’s sturdy thighs and thick arms and lovely cock, he was more enticed by the prospect of latherin’ him up and gettin’ his hands on him. 

Crowley ran a hand up Aziraphale’s arm and felt his breath catch at the first flutter of his lashes. 

“You owe me breakfast.”

Aziraphale stretched long. His knuckles bumped the headboard bolted to the wall. 

“I didn't lose,” he said with a yawn. “I forfeited.”

Crowley ran his fingernails across Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Same difference.”

Aziraphale peeled his eyes open the rest of the way and looked at Crowley like he’d hung the fuckin’ moon. 

“I can't think of anything I'd rather do than buy you breakfast,” he said, knee nudging Crowley in the hip.

Crowley’s fingers made their way down to Aziraphale’s belly. Then to the cock already rising with his touch. 

“Really? Not a thing?”

Aziraphale lifted his hips off the mattress. His eyes fluttered closed again. 

“Not saying to stop or nothin’, but we done that a fair few times. Ain't never bought you breakfast before.” 

“You feed me all the time.”

“Ain't the same though, is it?”

Crowley shrugged. “Always been good enough for me.”

“You deserve more though.”

“I don't know about that.” 

Aziraphale reached up. Took Crowley by the jaw and made sure they was looking each other in the eye.

“I do.”

Chapter Text

They didn't have no strawberries, but they had chocolate chips that was just as mouthwatering. Not a single bite was as sweet as sitting with Crowley while the diner bustled around them like it was the most normal thing in the world, though. 

Aziraphale wrapped his lips around a bite of pancake gone soggy with syrup and watched Crowley's cheeks go pink.

“Them pancakes sure seem like they're giving you a…” Crowley smirked. The toe of his boot bumped up against Aziraphale's under the table. “A religious experience.”

It'd been easy for Aziraphale to let himself get lost in their little world. Without all them familiar faces everywhere he looked, he’d dang near forgotten that folks could still perceive the two of ‘em even if they didn't know who they was. 

Aziraphale dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin and felt his cheeks go a little rosy too. 

“I'm embarrassing you, ain't I?” 

The faintest shiver ran through Crowley’s shoulders and he looked like he mighta been restraining himself from coming right over the table.

“Not at all,” he said, smirk still planted firmly on his face. “I just hope you don't expect me to stand up any time soon.” 

Crowley leaned over the Denver omelette he'd barely touched. His eyes flickered down to his lap and back up again. “Might be a little embarrassing for both of us.”

Aziraphale shoveled another forkful into his mouth to keep himself from doing something foolish with it instead. Even half a dozen perfectly cut squares of chocolate chip pancake didn't stop the satisfied groan that climbed up his throat, though. The breakfast he was eatin’ wasn't any different than what he mighta gotten served at the diner back home, but it sure seemed it. Didn't take much more than one glance at the flush spreading to Crowley’s throat to put two and two together. 

It was quite clearly the company that made all the difference. 

Aziraphale’s world was better with Crowley in it and he was itchin’ to share more of it with him. See how else he might make the mundane shine.

“Maybe next time we can leave a night early,” Aziraphale said, mouth still half full. “Do dinner too.”

The smirk wavered. Crowley slumped back in the cracked booth and chewed at a hangnail. 

“My ‘ol girl ain't got a next time in her I don't think.”

Aziraphale watched the smile slip off Crowley’s face entirely while the syrup went bitter on his tongue.  

“Oh,” he said, the stack in his belly starting to churn.

“And after Beez… yer Vic might not either.” 

Crowley wasn't looking Aziraphale in the face and he was glad for it, because he knew he wasn't doing a good job of hidin’ his disappointment. 

“Maybe we could go to the city instead.” Crowley said, his eyes still cast on his plate. “See what all the fuss is about.”

It took a second for the words to sink in but the moment they did Aziraphale recognized the nerves pulling Crowley's shoulders up. The set of his jaw and the held breath stretching his ribcage. 

It wasn't the look of a man letting him down easy. It was the tension of a man who had taken a leap and was bracin’ for impact. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said again even though what he wanted to do was reach out and take Crowley's hand. 

“I hear…” Crowley swept his gaze down the length of the diner and lowered his voice. “I hear there's places men like us can have a drink. Dance even.” 

Aziraphale couldn't quite shake the same urge to look over his shoulder. They didn't need to know folks to get in a bind talkin’ so plainly. 

He tucked his foot up against Crowley's under the table and wished it did more in breaking his fall. 

“Maybe let's talk about it after we settle the bill.”

Not all of the tension melted off of Crowley, but a little of it did. 

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a grin coming back to his lips. “Sure.” 

There was somethin’ unsettling about seeing Newton Pulsifer in the daylight. It’d been more’n a year since Crowley first caught the boy lookin’ while he slung a bag of potting mix onto his shoulder and he’d rarely seen the sunlight touch his skin since. 

He looked handsome in the morning light. Young and fresh and unburdened in a way he never seemed to be when he was putting his boots back on and scurrying out the door. 

Crowley probably ought’ve left well enough alone but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Before he knew it he was standing on the sidewalk between Newt and the library’s employee entrance. 

“Newton.”

To his credit Newt didn’t flinch away. Didn’t even pretend he was anything but pleased to see him. He crossed his arms over a chest Crowley hadn’t let himself imagine falling asleep against and grinned. 

“Crowley.”

Standing there face to face Crowley suddenly couldn’t remember why he’d been so eager to chit chat. All he knew was that the grin on Newt’s face was making him remember what it felt like to be someone’s dirty little secret. A dalliance to be forgotten the second something better came along. 

“Ain't heard from ya in a while,” Crowley said. The words didn’t sound flippant like he’d hoped they would. They sounded wounded. 

Newt leaned closer than he ever woulda when they was still fuckin’. 

“Heard you went and found yourself an arrangement with strings attached.”

All Crowley’s self pity dried up in an instant. 

There’d been a part of him that was sure he’d get to the Heart-o-Hot Springs and find an empty hotel room and he wasn't eager to feel that way again. One little rumor might be the straw that broke the camel’s back and he'd do just about anything to keep it from landing.

“What else you heard?” he asked with a snarl. 

Newt rolled his eyes. 

“You really think I'm gonna go spoutin’ off to folks?” 

Crowley didn’t know what he thought, but he had more’n a little ammo to guarantee Newt would keep his trap shut. 

“I don't know nothin’ cept the shape of the birthmark on yer-”

“I hear you took home mad dog!” 

Crowley cursed. 

Newt’s smile grew two sizes. 

Anathema put an arm around both of them and planted a kiss on each of their cheeks. 

“Folks sure do like to talk around here, don't they?” Crowley grumbled to no one in particular. 

Anathema dug a hand into her purse and pushed around more stuff than ought’ve fit inside it. “All them winnings going right back into derby?” she asked. 

Crowley let the snarl slide off his face but kept his eye on Newt. 

“Thought I might take myself on a little vacation instead, actually.” 

Anathema drew a set of keys and a five dollar bill out of the depths of her bag. Put the cash in Newt’s palm and nodded at the gas station across the street with a glance that coulda started a world war. 

“Babe, why don't you go get us some coffees.” 

Crowley recognized the look Newt gave her in return. It was the same one he’d given Aziraphale every day since he’d woken up in his bed to the smell of bacon. Even seeing the depth of his affection, though, Crowley wasn’t ready to give up his own lousy feelings. Not when Newt didn't have to hide how smitten he was.

Crowley waited until Newt stepped off the curb before he turned a lifted brow on Anathema. “Babe?” 

Anathema ignored him and stuck her key in the lock.

“Tell me ‘bout this vacation.”

Crowley followed her in through the employee entrance and breathed a sigh of relief at the shock of the A/C. He flipped the light switch beside the door while Anathema dumped her impossibly full purse onto a steelcase desk.

“A couple a days away from this shit hole,” Crowley said. “Nothin’ fancy.” 

Anathema frowned at a cart overflowing with books that was probably supposed to have been re-shelved by some high schooler more keen to party than work. 

“You planning on taking someone with ya?” she asked. 

Crowley dragged the cart behind him and followed Anathema to the circulation desk. 

“I'm thinking about it.”

“Did you tell him?”

He eyed the letters and numbers on the spines and a map of the library materialized in his head.

“Tell him what?” he asked, only halfway payin’ attention. 

“That you love him.”

The mental image of the library’s stacks blinked out of existence. Crowley looked left and right even though he knew perfectly well that she hadn’t unlocked the front door and there wasn’t a single soul that mighta heard.

“I didn't say I loved him,” he snapped. “I said I might be falling in love with him.” 

“Did you tell him that?”Anathema asked over her shoulder while she hurried to the front door like there was a line rather than an empty parking lot.  

Crowley stayed right on her heel. 

“Why would I tell him that?” he hissed like the non-existent line outside might overhear their conversation. 

“Wouldn’t you wanna know?” 

Would he? Would it make a difference at all? 

Crowley wanted to pretend that it wouldn’t, but he’d been half a second away from finding out just a few nights ago and he’d spent half his waking minutes since wondering what them words woulda sounded like coming from Aziraphale’s lips. 

Crowley shivered at the memory.

Tell me you love me.

Afterwards, his belly full of pie and Aziraphale snoring against his chest, he’d been glad he’d lost the last few words in his pleasure.

But now he wasn’t so sure.  

“Y’all gotta talk to each other,” Anathema said. 

Crowley snorted. He wasn’t about to start taking advice from a nineteen year old. Especially one that didn’t know hardly nothin’ about the man that was courtin’ her. She oughta take her own advice and do a little talkin’ of her own but that wasn’t none of Crowley’s business.

“Since when’re you a relationship expert?” he asked.

“Ain't gotta be an expert to know keeping your feelings to yerself won't do no one any good.” 

Anathema dropped the key into her pocket and turned around just in time for Newt to emerge from the back room with three styrofoam cups balanced between his fingers. 

Crowley coulda unleash all kinds of feelings just about then but he pushed ‘em down instead.

“Keeping my feelings to myself’s done more good than folks realize.”

Anathema looked him up and down like she could see straight into him and frowned. 

“But how much toll has it taken on you?

A weekend in the city. 

Where they could get a drink in a place where they didn’t have to pretend. 

Where they could touch.

Where they could dance. 

It felt like an impossibility but it was there on Aziraphale's calendar. Two weeks after the county fair he’d get a taste of how the rest of the world lived and in the meantime they had two mopars to get derby ready. There’d be late nights and early mornings and maybe they’d get lucky enough for another summer storm to knock out the power so he had an excuse to miss going to a church that was feeling more and more distant every day. 

Even standing in the belly of the beast he could feel the tether between his heart and the pulpit getting thinner and thinner. The folks here wasn’t interested in the Bible that he knew. In the God whose heart would surely break seeing the way people acted in his name. The hate they carried in their hearts in the place they oughta been carrying love.

Aziraphale swung the sledgehammer in his fist and felt the particle board crumple under the weight of it. It was almost as satisfying as the things Crowley had done with his tongue the night before. Things he didn’t know men did to each other but that he was dying to try on Crowley too. 

Another swing a little lower and the entire side of the kitchen island caved in. And he’d’ve kept going until he could make up an excuse to go meet Crowley, but out of the corner of his eye he caught Miss Sara lingering in the doorway. 

He wiped his brow and used the sledge to point at what was left of the cabinetry. 

“The counters’ll be lower,” he said. “And we’re gonna take out the cabinet here, under the sink. Put in drawers there.” Aziraphale waved a hand at the bits he hadn't started to demo. “And I talked to a manufacturer in the city that does pull down inserts for these uppers. Gonna go visit in a few weeks. See the showroom.” 

Miss Sara skirted the edge of the debris and eyed the mess.

“Your cousin’s really on board with this?” 

No one had been more surprised, but then Gabriel hadn't been actin’ much like himself lately so maybe he ought not’ve. 

Aziraphale leaned his weight on the hammer and shrugged. “Handed over the checkbook and everything.”

“You know I haven’t seen him in almost a week. Not since Sunday service. Do you know where he’s hiding?”

Aziraphale was glad not to, even though he hadn’t argued about the kitchen renovation. 

“Afraid not.” 

Miss Sara looked skeptical but she didn’t say as much. Her eyes took another wander over what used to be the church’s kitchen. 

“You know, the last person to do something like this for me was your friend Anthony.” 

“Just Crowley,” Aziraphale said before he could stop himself. “And he’s not my friend.” 

Miss Sara lifted a narrow brow. 

“No?”

“No, ma’am.” 

“Well that’s too bad. He could probably use one around here.”

“Crowley!”

The key in Aziraphale's hand missed the lock. Scraped across the metal and put a scratch in the paint. He took Crowley by the wrist and wrenched his fingers away from his fly. 

Crowley wasn't deterred. He hooked the back of Aziraphale's jeans with a single finger and pulled him back against his belly while he tried for the lock again.

“Ain’t no one lookin’.”

Anyone with half a brain was hidin’ from the heat wave that had settled over the valley like a wet blanket. Folks mighta been sleepin’ outside at night but they was stickin’ to the shade during the day. Even the garden center had shut its doors at noon knowing not a soul in town was thinking about their damn landscaping. 

“We should be more careful. I told you what Miss Sara said.”

Aziraphale got the key in the lock and pressed into his office. His shirt stuck to his back and the curls at the nape of his neck hung heavy with sweat and somehow it only pulled more at the primal part of Crowley's brain. He felt ravenous after three whole nights apart. Wanted to swallow Aziraphale’s cock and come all over his boots while he did it. 

The second the door latched behind him Crowley got his hands on Aziraphale's zipper again. 

“Yeah,” he said. “That you and I oughta be friends.” 

The look on Aziraphale's face slowed him down but didn't stop him. 

“You know what I mean.” 

All too well. 

All week long he'd been looking over his shoulder. Pushing Crowley out the door before you could see the stars in the sky. 

And just when Aziraphale had started throwing a bit of caution to the wind, too. 

He'd tried so hard to stop the straw from landing on the camel's back but they was coming down too fast to juggle. 

Crowley growled. 

Miss fuckin’ Sara and her goddamn prayer circle. 

Her piss poor timing had thrown a wrench into all the things Crowley had wanted to say. Had him convinced if he went too fast that it would bring the whole thing crashin’ down. 

He didn't want to think about any of it for another second. 

He wanted to choke and gag and forget all the things they hadn't said.

Maybe make Aziraphale forget too. 

Crowley put his palms against the edge of Aziraphale’s still overflowing desk and dug his feet in. Pushed it hollering and screaming against the concrete all the way up against the locked door. 

“Careful enough?” 

“We’re supposed to be working on the wiring in the Imperial. We’ve only got a week and Beez said-”

Crowley spit into his palm and shoved his hand down the front of Aziraphale's pants. 

“Let’s not talk about Beez right now.” 

Aziraphale took hold of Crowley's arm. His jaw went slack and his eyelids went heavy. 

“O-oh. Oh, that’s…” 

The weight of Aziraphale's grip as he slumped against the short end of the desk made Crowley’s pulse thump. The overcome look on his face had Crowley hard already. 

“S’what I thought,” he said, his grin smug. 

“Az?” 

Crowley yanked his hand away so fast Aziraphale's zipper left a welt down the back of it. 

He spun on his heel and stumbled back against Aziraphale's chest. 

“Gabriel!” 

“Fuck!” Aziraphale hissed behind him. His hands jostled against Crowley's backside as he hurried to get his jeans buttoned up. 

For a breath all Crowley could hear was his own pulse in his ears as he stared at the polo clad pastor that had knocked him on his ass in high school for looking too long in the locker room. 

He wasn't worried about what Gabriel might do to him no more. He'd spent his whole life learning how to take pain. But the man he loved, because he knew in that moment standing between Aziraphale and his worst nightmare that he did love him, hadn't. 

There was a lie on Crowley’s tongue but he opened his mouth just in time for someone else to fill the silence. 

“I tried to stop him.” 

Crowley blinked. 

“Beez?” he asked, even though he knew it couldn't possibly have been. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” 

It felt like a hallucination watching Beez materialize outta the darkened garage next to Gabriel. And a complete fever dream watching Gabriel put his arm around her shoulders. 

“What…” Aziraphale’s breath was heavy. “What are..?” 

“I love him,” Gabriel said with a shrug that was far too casual for the absolute whiplash Crowley was experiencing.

“What?” Aziraphale squeaked. 

“Him?” Crowley asked. 

Gabriel chewed at his lip. His eyes lingered on Crowley. Then on Aziraphale. He wagged a finger between the two of ‘em. 

“Are you two..?” 

Crowley still couldn’t process the way Beez was leaning against Gabriel’s side like she was used to being tucked right up under his arm like that. He wagged his own finger back and forth. “Are you two?” 

“It was supposed to be like…” Beez shrugged. “A hate fuck thing.” 

Against all odds Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the arm like he might just fall over. He sputtered for four whole seconds before asking, “What?”

“I’m not gonna explain all the shit that gets me off, okay?” Beez said.

Gabriel grinned. Bumped Beez with a hip. “It’d take him all day.” 

Crowley racked his brain. He didn’t remember eating any mushrooms but he couldn’t think of a better explanation for what was happening.

“Why does he keep referring to you like that?” he asked. 

“Feels right,”  Beez said with another shrug.

Crowley couldn’t figure out if he should feel worse about getting caught with a hand down Aziraphale’s pants or the sudden realization that he didn’t really know someone he’d called a friend.

Sure was hard to ignore the half of his heart that was sinking right down into his boots, though. 

He gestured limply at Beez. 

“Why does Gabriel East know that and I don’t?”

Beez finally looked at his feet instead of at Crowley. “I… kinda… ya know.” Beez lowered his voice so much Crowley barely heard him. “Kinda love him too.” 

Crowley couldn’t even put together a full word. Just choked on a few random syllables while Aziraphale plunked back down onto the edge of the desk behind him. 

Beez rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, you both know as well as I do that you can’t help who you love.” 

Gabriel’s eyes went wide. A look of recognition started to dawn on his face. 

“Oh!” he finally said, eyes swinging between Crowley and Aziraphale. “Oh yeah, I’m seeing it now. I see it. The Ozarks are making a lot more sense now.” 

Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s arm. “You’re not seeing nothing.” 

“Cuz, it’s cool. I’m cool.”

Crowley could still remember what it felt like for his nose to break under Gabriel’s fist a decade prior. 

“Since when?!” 

Gabriel looked down at Beez and looked genuinely smitten. “I’ve learned a lot in the last six months.” 

“Six months?” Aziraphale asked, his voice firmer than it had been. 

“Was gonna piss on your desk,” Beez said with a chuckle. 

“What?” Aziraphale snapped. 

“Ran into this asshole,” Beez continued. “Got into it.” 

“Into it?” Aziraphale asked, his voice veering toward a tone Crowley’d never heard before. One that made him wonder if he had the same mean swing his cousin did.

Gabriel didn’t seem to hear what Crowley was hearing. He just smiled in a way that looked fond. 

“We argued,” he said. “And one thing led to another. Next thing you know-”

“We’re moving to Minnesota,” Beez blurted out, eyes back on his feet.

“What..?” Crowley asked while he felt that wound inside him splitting open raw again.  

“There’s laws,” Gabriel said. “New ones. Beez can be he or she or whatever and no one’ll fire ‘em for it.” 

Aziraphale gaped. Took a step forward and threw his arms out. 

“You didn’t get fired for- I didn’t even know! I still don’t even know!”

“I know” Beez said. He finally brought his eyes back up to Crowley. “But the next one will. And I got bills to pay.”

“Minnesota?” Crowley asked, his throat tight. It might as well’ve been the fuckin’ moon. 

“I’ll call,” Beez said with a grimace. 

Crowley sucked his cheeks between his teeth. His face burned. 

“Fuck you,” he spat. “No you won’t.”

“I gotta do what’s right for me, Crowley.” 

“When?” Aziraphale asked, his hand landing in the middle of Crowley’s back. 

“We leave Sunday,” Beez said, his eyes back on his feet. “After state.” 

“No,” Crowley said, before he could stop himself. 

Beez scrunched his nose. Swallowed hard and toed at a stain on the floor. 

“Maybe you oughta do the same,” he said.  

Aziraphale shook his head. “Gabe…”

Gabe took a step backward into the garage and dragged Beez along with him. “Good luck, cuz.” 

Crowley hadn’t wanted to talk. 

Had let Aziraphale wrap him up in a hug but mumbled an excuse and was gone a minute later. 

Aziraphale held his head in his hands and tried to figure out which way was up. He didn’t have a single fucking clue how he should be feeling. And right when he was on the verge of something the bell above his door tinkled. 

When he looked up he was met with a smile that made something inside him slither. 

“Ron?”

His uncle held out a steaming paper cup that only promised to make an uncomfortable day more miserable. 

“Let’s chat.”

Chapter Text

He shouldn't have walked out of Guardian so soon. Shouldn't have left Aziraphale there by himself to shoulder the weight of the afternoon alone. It had felt like a better alternative than piling his own baggage on top of it all, but it wasn't until Crowley was laying awake at four in the morning in clean sheets that he'd been hoping to share that it really hit him. 

He'd gone and done just what he'd been so scared of Aziraphale doing. 

He hadn't meant to. 

Never had no intention of stayin’ away. 

But he hadn't said as much. 

He hadn't said nothin’ at all. 

He’d put the pedal down before Aziraphale could see the tears on his cheeks and hadn't hit the brake until he was pulling off the blacktop onto his gravel drive. He hadn't picked up the phone when it rang and he hadn’t done no callin’ of his own neither.

If the tables was turned he knew just how he'd be feeling, and sure, he might notta been the skittish one, but that wasn't no excuse for his poor behavior.  

Much as it tore him up to admit it, Anathema had been right. If he didn't start talkin’ instead of praying Aziraphale could read his mind, things was gonna fall apart. 

Crowley crawled out from under his line-stiff sheets in the dark. Grabbed a wad of cash outta the coffee tin in the back of his pantry, ran a comb through his hair and a rag between his legs and was back in the cab of his truck just as soon as the first rays of the morning sun hit the soybeans in the field outside his bedroom window. 

They couldn't go for breakfast in town but there was a whole wide world out there where they could. 

Beez, fuck him right to hell, had reminded Crowley as much. 

And Crowley’s truck might notta had AC but it had a tank full of gas and four decent tires. 

It wasn't no surprise that Aziraphale wasn't home, but the faith Crowley felt that it didn't mean he'd run away again sure was. It made him more confident that the words circling round in his head over and over again was the right ones even though they had his guts in a knot worse than the ones they twisted themselves into waiting on the green flag to fly. 

Crowley jogged the ten steps back to his truck. Turned himself around and headed straight into town. Past the church and the diner and through the traffic light that probably oughta been a stop sign instead, all the way to the other end of the main drag until he was pulling up in front of Guardian Auto Repair.

The sign on the door said Closed but that hadn't stopped him in weeks. 

The desk was back in the center of the office where it’d always lived, the only hint of anything amiss a pair of scuff marks in the concrete floor. No one woulda been able to tell just what'd happened just twelve hours prior even though Crowley was sure he'd left part of his heart laying there on the floor.

Or maybe Beez had taken it with him when he’d gone. 

Crowley pulled a crumpled pack of Camels from his breast pocket and stuck a cigarette between his lips to try and tame the anxiety making his hands sweat with a hit of nicotine. 

He let out a plume of smoke that rose all the way up to the rafters as he stepped into the garage.

Cleared his throat at the legs in the distance. 

Aziraphale rolled out from beneath his sixty-four and smiled when he set eyes on Crowley, but it was a smile that sent Crowley’s hackles up.

He'd spent too long with his mask off for Crowley not to notice when he slipped it back on.

Didn't matter that there was crinkles at the corners of his eyes, Crowley could see the worry hiding behind his grin. It made his nerves burn hot as a sparkler in his chest. 

Crowley helped Aziraphale to his feet. Took another anxious drag of his cigarette to gather his thoughts which left just enough time for Aziraphale to beat him to the punch.

“My uncle was here,” he said.  

Crowley had barely blown the smoke between his lips before he was taking another drag to try to snuff out that simmering, popping sensation beneath his ribs. 

Ron East wasn’t a good man, but there wasn’t no convincing this town of that. It explained the too-big grin on Aziraphale's face, though. 

“He wants me to take the church,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley flicked ash onto the ground. “He what?”

Aziraphale took a rag from his back pocket and wiped the grease off his hands. “He wants me on the pulpit.”

Crowley snorted. “He lose his shit when you said no?” 

The smile wavered. Aziraphale wrung the rag in his hands. Stuffed it back into his pocket and started for the pot of coffee plugged in next to the fridge. In three strides Crowley’d caught up with him. One more and he was standing between Aziraphale and the stained Pennzoil mug on the bench. 

“You did say no, didn't you?” 

Without the rag to fuss with Aziraphale turned to his own fingers. Picked at a scabbed knuckle and avoided Crowley’s eye.

“They’ve been led astray for so long.”

Crowley dropped his cigarette on the ground and stamped it with his heel.

“Those people would crucify you if they knew who you was. Tell me you said no.”

“I could make a difference,” Aziraphale said and smiled that anxious smile again. Like if he just pretended long and hard enough it would become the truth. 

Crowley scoffed.

The only change he ever saw ‘round here was folks gettin’ harder. Meaner. More afraid. It wasn’t their fault, but it wasn’t Crowley’s neither. There didn’t seem to be no convincing them of that neither, though. 

“You really think that, you're just as braindead as the rest of this town.”

“He said…” Aziraphale took Crowley by the hand just as he started to turn away. “He said I could make you a deacon.”

Every time Crowley thought the conversation couldn’t get more absurd Aziraphale opened his mouth again. He could hardly believe what he was hearin’.

“What?” he asked. 

Aziraphale took his other hand and held on tight. 

“We could be together. No hiding our friendship. We could run the church together.”

Crowley pulled his hands away. Took a step back and let more than a little venom onto his tongue. 

“Our friendship.” 

“We could sit at the diner together. Crew for each other at the fair. No one would think a thing about it.”

“I know you ain’t this stupid, Aziraphale.” 

“You just have to… to renounce your sin.” 

Crowley’d taken more than his fair share of blows, but Aziraphale's words stung worse than any fist. 

“You mean our sin,” he said. The look on Aziraphale’s face said he already had and it made Crowley’s stomach drop. “I ain't renouncing nothin’, Aziraphale. Ya know, I haven't always been proud of who I am, but at least I've never been like them.” 

“We could change the tides ‘round here. Together.”

“Pretending I'm someone I'm not and joining that fucking church ain't a way to be together.” 

“You're a good man, Crowley. The kind of man that should be sitting in the front pew.”

“Look. I came by…” Crowley could see plain as day where things was headed. Same route they'd gone time and time again. And his heart was already breaking, but he couldn’t help trying to keep the pieces of it together just a little longer. “I came by ‘cause I had some things to say.” He ran his hand over his face. He’d known all the right words ten minutes ago. “There been plenty of men in my past. Lots of folks that wanted to use me.”

Aziraphale’s brow pinched. His fingers hovered between them. “Crowley-”

“Just let me talk, ok?” Crowley paced so he didn’t have to look at Aziraphale and the pity creeping onto his face. “I ain't never had any expectations. And I still don't. But I…” Crowley swallowed the bile trying to rise up his throat. “I think we both know we’ve got something else going on here. I've spent my whole summer with you. Or wanting to be with you. And I'd like to spend-” Crowley’s chin quivered. He could feel everything crashing down around him. “I mean, if Beez and Gabe can…” He looked up at the cobwebs in the corners and blinked back the tears trying to gather in his eyes. “That church is toxic, Aziraphale. You don't need them folks.”

The wrinkles between Aziraphale's brow sank deeper. "Running ain't gonna change things.”

Crowley never shoulda let himself think for even a second that he wasn’t always gonna end up alone in this world. He could feel the rot in his heart rushing out into every inch of him. Turning his insides black. Seeping into his bones. 

“Ain't never stopped you before,” he spat.

“I’m trying to meet you halfway here.” 

The exasperation in Aziraphale's tone only made Crowley’s blood run hotter.

“That's funny, cause I sure ain't seeing your half in none of this,” he said, voice quivering.

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth turned down. He looked as hurt as he did angry. “Then maybe we don't know one another near as well as I thought.”

“Nah, I think we know each other perfectly well.” Crowley ran the back of his wrist over his eyes. “Or at least we do now. Was stupid of me to think you was different. That anything round here could be different”

“Crowley, please. C’mon, I- I need you.”

“Sure don't seem that way to me.” Crowley couldn’t stop himself from putting his hand to Aziraphale’s jaw. He stroked Aziraphale’s cheek with his thumb and fought the part of himself that had grown accustomed to something soft. Let his hand drop to his side and backed toward the door. “Ya know, we coulda had something. Coulda been something. Coulda been… us.” 

Aziraphale’s lip trembled. He put his hand to his cheek where Crowley's had been. “I never shoulda let you into my bed,” he said, voice quiet but sure.

Crowley pulled his sunglasses out of his hair and slipped them over his face as he turned toward the door. 

“You ain't the first man to regret me.”

Chapter Text

When Crowley got home he ripped them clean sheets off his bed and laid down directly on the sweat-stained mattress. Even stripped bare the pillow still smelled like Aziraphale, though, exhaust and Selsun Blue and Old Spice hitting Crowley like a brick to the nose the second he fell face first into it. 

There was a part of him that wanted to take that damn pillow out back and throw it in the burn barrel, but the part of him that was still clingin’ to something he couldn’t have squeezed it against his chest and held on tight. 

It didn't soften his fall. 

He felt every second of it. 

Felt the air getting ripped right outta his lungs. 

Felt himself shattering into a thousand rotten pieces. 

Outside his window the world kept right on turning.

The birds sang and the cicadas hummed and the sun shone bright in a cloudless blue sky. The soybeans danced in the morning breeze and grasshoppers munched on the weeds growin’ up between the rows of beaters behind his double wide. 

His sixty-six sat on blocks next to four scrap yard tires and it sat there all week while the smell of Aziraphale faded from that pillow little by little. 

Come Saturday the whole bedroom reeked of Crowley’s misery instead. Stale beer and unwashed hair. The acrid stench of an overflowing ashtray and half eaten TV dinners starting to go moldy in the afternoon sun. Even the fury of a summer storm didn’t manage to blow away the stench. And them swirling black clouds didn't hold a candle to how dark his life was feelin’. He hardly even noticed the wind and the hail.

When Crowley woke up Sunday morning there was half a dozen new cigarette burns in his still bare mattress and bruises across his knuckles that hadn't been there the night before.

The empty bottle of Skol on his nightstand told the beginning of a story, but it was the hole in the drywall and the blue lidded Tupperware in his kitchen trashcan that filled in the rest of the pieces. 

Aziraphale never could cook nothin’ for himself without packing up a helping and stickin’ it in Crowley’s fridge. Whatever was starting to grow fuzz in his garbage musta been hiding behind the now empty 30-rack of Natty Light for going on two weeks. 

Seeing it sittin’ there on top of all his poor decisions made Crowley want to put a second hole in his wall, but his stomach had other plans. He only barely made it to the kitchen sink before whatever he’d managed to put down his throat the night before was coming back up. 

He was still tryna catch his breath when the wind carried the sound of church bells all the way to his double wide and made him retch again.

Summer felt like it wasn’t never gonna end. 

Every time a cool breeze blew through the valley another soggy heatwave followed right on its heels. It made Crowley’s days as miserable as his nights. Only way to get a wink of sleep was with a beer or three in his belly, which was just about as many as it took to get through the day, too. 

Crowley hoisted a sixer of Bud up onto the counter and tossed a twenty down beside it. 

“Pump four. And a pack of Camels. No filter.”

The woman at the register gave him a once over that mighta just as well been because he hadn't showered in three days as anything else. He didn't have the energy to scowl. Just shoved his change in his pocket and peeled the cellophane off the cigarettes before turning toward the door. He was sticking the beer through the passenger side window of his truck when a flutter of brunette hair caught his eye. 

“Hey stranger!” 

Crowley cringed. He shoulda known better’n filling up right across from the library but it was a nickel cheaper per gallon than the alternative. And further from Guardian. 

“Where’ve you been?!” Anathema jogged across the road with a smile on her face. “I think you're startin’ to rack up some late fees, ya know?”

Only one person left in town with a kind word for him and Crowley knew sure as water was wet that she was gonna pack up for the city just as soon as she could. 

“Busy,” he grumbled as he started around his truck for the driver's seat. 

Anathema bounced right after him and waggled her brows. 

“Busy with Mr. Steady?”

Crowley fumed. He wasn't nothin’ but building pressure on the inside anymore. He was simmering and burbling and ready to burst. 

“Ain't none of your business,” he barked and watched the smile slip off Anathema’s face.

“I'm only teasin’ you,” she said.

Crowley climbed into his truck and slammed the door. 

“Well don't.” He shook a smoke out of the pack and stuck it between his teeth. “And stop talking about me behind my back.” 

The hurt on Anathema’s face grew a shadow of anger. Crowley watched the flame jump out of his lighter instead of watching her sputter to speak. 

“I… I've never-”

“Newt sure seems to know a lot of my business,” Crowley said and filled the cab of his truck with a cloud of smoke. 

“I was happy for you. I didn't tell him nothin’ but that.”

“Nothin’ to be happy about.” Crowley turned the key in the ignition and hoped the sound of his engine struggling to life hid the way his voice caught. “Folks like you that can't keep their goddamn noses outta other peoples’ business have made sure of that.”

The dawning recognition on Anathema's face obliterated any hint of anger that lingered there but only fanned the flames of Crowley’s. 

“Crowley, I didn't mean to-”

“But you did. And you wanna taste of what it feels like?” Crowley wasn't gonna let anyone else break him when they walked outta his life. Not again. He jabbed his fingers at her, ash fallin’ onto the pavement at her feet. “That little boyfriend of yers ain't everything he says he is. Trust me. I'm real familiar with the part he ain't talkin’ about.” 

Crowley left more than tire marks on the pavement when he put his truck in gear and tore out outta the gas station, but he was glad for it. 

Only thing his heart ever did was break anyway. 

By October there wasn't a hint of Aziraphale in Crowley’s trailer no more, but that didn't mean he wasn't on Crowley’s mind. When it wasn't them damn church bells that put him there, it was catching a glimpse of the tarp draped Mopar in his yard. Even as the nights got longer and there wasn't enough sunlight left in the day for him to see that derby car after he got home from work, he still dreamt of Aziraphale. 

Crowley couldn't figure out which was worse, wakin’ up with tears on his face and an ache in his chest or a stiff cock in his drawers and desire in his belly. 

November finally brought the first cool days and frigid nights and even with the bitterness beginning to fade he ached for somethin’ he'd never even known. A warm belly to soothe his cold hands. An even warmer embrace to get him through the long nights. A laugh to echo through the changin’ leaves and whiskey by the fire and a flannel two sizes too big when he had to get up in the middle of the night to take a piss. 

Crowley never thought he'd long for the August heat, but then again longing was ninety percent of what he did them days. It was wearin’ him down like a belt sander. He talked himself outta picking up the phone four times in two weeks but couldn't help answering it when it rang two weeks into December. 

“Told you I'd call.”

Crowley didn’t know what he was expectin’ but it wasn’t Beez. Hearin’ that voice on the other end of the line picked at the empty place his heart used to live.

“Only took you three months.”

“I never said I'd call often.”

“What do you want, Beez?”

Crowley was met with silence on the other end of the line and for a second he thought the universe mighta finally taken pity on him for once and dropped the call. Then Beez was clearin’ his throat and rushin’ his words. 

“Heard about what happened. Azi preachin’ on Sundays and all.”

Crowley stretched the cord as far as it would go and pried open his refrigerator. Plucked out a cold beer and popped the tab. 

“You're about three months late on that too.”

“I hear he's had some interesting sermons.”

Crowley’s chest felt corset tight. Picturin’ Aziraphale at the pulpit filled him with a sadness too complicated for him to properly untangle.  

“I’m not talking about this right now. I've gotta get ready for work. Tree season.”

Beez sighed and Crowley could picture that look on his face. The one that made Crowley think of his mama. 

“Gabe’s walkin’ breathin’ proof that folks can change, ya know?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. Beez was tiptoeing around somethin’, which wasn’t much like him. 

“Just tell me what you want already.”

Another silence. A longer one this time. Crowley was just about ready to hang up the phone when Beez asked, “You eatin’?”

Crowley swallowed down a slug of beer and ignored the reflection of his sunken cheeks in the window above the sink.

“Course I'm fucking eatin’, Beez. Wouldn't be talking to you if I wasn't, now would I?”

“You know what I mean,” Beez said with another sigh.

“Since when do you even care about my well-being?”

“Fuck me for tryin’ to be a friend.”

The hurt inside Crowley was tryin’ to grow so he did what he’d been doing for months and molded it into anger instead.  

“Coulda used a friend three months ago.”

“Really? Cause I hear you stopped talkin' to the only one you got left in town.”

The can crumpled in Crowley’s fist. He stared at his ceiling and tried to will away the tears gathering in his eyes. 

“Move twelve hours away and folks still talkin’ shit behind my back,” he grumbled, as much to himself as to Beez.

“Ain't no one talkin' shit, Crowley. Believe it or not there's folks that care about you. Maybe you oughta think about doin’ a little changin’ of your own or that may not be the case much longer.” Beez sniffed and for the first time Crowley recognized the way his voice wavered. “If you ever end up pullin’ yer head outta yer ass, give me a call.”

The line went dead and somehow Crowley felt more alone than he had before he’d answered the phone. 

He felt like a coward dropping a Christmas card into the overnight box along with a stack of books four months overdue, but a whisper in the back of Crowley’s head that sounded an awful lot like a man he was doing his best not to think about said it mighta been one of the bravest things he'd ever done. Either way he spent the next week chewing his nails down to the quick wondering if it’d been the right thing to do. 

He was feedin’ a ten foot Douglas fir through the baler on Christmas Eve when he caught a whiff of a perfume that smelled like gardenias and old money. 

Anathema looked older even though it’d only been a few months since Crowley’d last seen her. When he looked over his shoulder he saw a woman walkin’ toward him instead of a little girl and he had to wonder if she’d really changed or if maybe he had.

Crowley cut the netting and nodded at the boys ready to haul the tree to the bed of someone’s truck. Waited until they was on their way before he turned toward her. 

“Hey, stranger,” she said, her smile careful. 

“Hey, An.”

“Got your card,” she said, hand to her coat pocket like maybe she’d brought it with her. 

Crowley stuffed his own pink hands into the pockets of his Carhartt jacket. His shoulders crept up toward his ears and he looked at the muddy toe of his boot instead of her face.

“Was a little worried one of them high school kids was gonna open it.”

“They did,” she said with a smirk. “Thought it was from Newton.”

Crowley’d stared at that card for two whole days before he put the pen to the paper. In the end there was only two things to say. Same two things he wished every single day that someone would say to him. 

I was an asshole. 

I'm sorry. 

He had to assume the worst if them kids thought Newt was sayin’ as much. Which only made him feel like even more of an asshole. 

“You two, um. Did you…”

Crowley didn’t know how to ask if he’d managed to break her heart twice with one sentence, but he didn’t have to. She shook her head and laughed. 

“No! No. Long distance ain't easy, but it's a lot easier when you talk. And you gave us a helluva lot to talk about.”

“An, I'm so sorry-”

“Look, I'm not sayin’ you're outta the dog house, but I get it. You were an asshole. A fucking big one. But I get it.”

Crowley looked past Anathema instead of at the kindness on her face and wished he had a complexion that hid how he was feeling. That his face wasn’t going blotchy just thinkin’ about cryin’. 

“I shoulda never…” he tried before he had to swallow down the lump in his throat.

That smile on her face reminded him that for a little while he’d been happy too. 

Anathema reached out and he met her halfway without even thinkin’ about it. Her hands were soft and warm and chased away a little of the cold that lived permanently in his fingers them days. It was the first time in months that anyone had touched him and the realization had all his defenses crumbling.

“Fuck, An. It hurts so bad.” 

Anathema didn’t even hesitate. 

Dragged him into a hug right there in front of all the families picking out their Christmas trees. Folded him down against her chest like a little boy and didn’t let go.

“I know, baby.”

Crowley clung to her and breathed in that expensive perfume from the city. 

“Is it supposed to hurt this long?” he asked, voice muffled against her scarf. 

“I don't know,” she said, fingers carding into the hair at the nape of his neck. “But I know goin’ it alone isn't doing you any favors.”

“I ain't got no one.”

“You've got me.”

“I don't deserve you,” he whispered. 

The arms that was wrapped around him held on tighter. 

“I think that's up to me to decide.”

Dark as January was, Crowley started to see the faintest of light in his life. For the first time since summer he skulked into the library and lost himself in the stacks. Anathema didn't shoo him out the door when the little readers and their mamas showed up for story time and he watched her from one of them overstuffed chairs in the young adult section. 

“She says she don't want kids, but she sure is good with ‘em.”

Crowley looked up just in time to watch Newt plunk down into the chair beside him. 

“Kids?” Crowley asked. “She ain't even twenty yet. Maybe y’all should worry about livin’ in the same zip code first.”

Newt kept his gaze on Anathema. “Trust me, we worry about that plenty.”

Was hard to be bitter watchin’ Newt look at her. Like she was the only thing in the whole library. Was just as hard not to be sad, though, even though he was tryin’ not to be. 

Crowley watched her eyes go wide as she read from the page. “She's gonna leave, ain't she?”

Newt didn’t answer. He just furrowed his brow and nodded at the kids giggling at Anathema’s feet.

“How many of them kids do you think is gonna grow up like you ‘n me?” he asked.

Crowley scoffed. “You're with a woman. It ain't the same.”

Newt finally turned away from Anathema and looked at Crowley instead. “You think it wasn't the same when you outed me?”

It was a gut punch that Crowley deserved and it knocked the wind right outta his irritation. “I wasn't thinkin’ straight.”

“Don't much matter.”  

“I'm sorry, Newt,” Crowley said, and meant it even though he knew it wouldn’t fix what he’d done. “I really am.” 

Newt’s eyes was already back on Anathema. “More people ‘round here like her, neither one of us would need to be sorry.”

Crowley tried to tamp out that flicker of hope in his belly, but he was only human. “You saying she's staying?” he asked. 

“Ain't sayin’ nothing,” Newt said with a shrug. “But maybe don't assume the worst of folks.” 

“I really am sorry.”

Newt sat back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. Gave Crowley a long once over.

“I don't wanna forgive you,” he said. A smile touched corners of his eyes. “But your little hissy fit did introduce a whole new side to our lovemaking.”

Didn’t matter how grown Anathema was, Crowley didn’t want to think about the two of them making love. 

“Gross, fuck off.”

Newt's grin turned to a smirk. “Girl tops better than you ever did.”

“Oh my God, get the fuck away from me.”

“You could learn a thing or two.”

“Aziraphale says-”

Crowley’s heart leapt at his own words. He bit off the sentence but not before Aziraphale was materializing in his head in nothin’ but a pair of boxers and a thin white tee that didn’t leave nothin’ to the imagination.

You weren't the first. You were the best, though. If that makes you feel any better. 

Crowley could smell the bacon. Feel the heat of the day. The weight of the memory was crushing. 

“Forget I said anything.”

Newt’s jaw dropped. 

“Aziraphale East was your strings attached?”

Crowley was furious with himself. Not for what he was wanting. Not for the longing that still lived inside him. But for telling Aziraphale’s secret. Even though it was one Newt already knew. 

“I said forget I said anything.”

“Pastor East put in a whole new kitchen last fall.”

The smile on Crowley’s face didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Did he?”

“And I don't know how I feel about him holding AA instead of prayer circle on Friday nights, but it sure is nice to-”

“Just the one bag of potting soil?” Crowley asked ‘cause he was about to stop being polite if he didn’t cut Miss Sara off. 

“Better make it two. Spring snuck up on me this year. It’ll be summer before we know it. Speaking of,” she said, tires crunching on the gravel after Crowley. “I saw one of those cars you boys are always yammerin’ about with a for sale sign out on route twenty. By Mrs. Shax’s old place.” 

Crowley slung a bag of soil into the trunk and knew he’d be stopping by her place when he clocked out to help her get it onto her porch. 

“Not sure if I'll run in the derby this year, Miss Sara.”

Miss Sara frowned and he imagined her making a mental note to put his name on the prayer circle that still lived on by way of telephone even after getting evicted from the church basement. 

“Well if you change your mind, I'll be rooting for you. In addition to Pastor East, of course.” 

“Of course. Wouldn't expect anything less.”

“Then you’ll wire it directly to the starter solenoid-”

“Hold on, I can't write this fast.”

“It ain't rocket science, Crowley. It's a starter.”

Crowley frowned at his chicken scratch. “I know engines, ok? Ain't never had an affinity for wirin’. Maybe if I had I'd be in Minneapolis fixin’ up cars for city folks with more money than sense.”

“You gotta come visit some time.”

It wasn’t the first time Beez had said as much, but it didn’t make the prospect any more plausible. “Don’t matter how damn flat the drive is, I don't think my truck can handle twelve hours on the interstate.” 

“Then get on a plane.”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, sure. Let me just conjure up some money outta nothin'.” 

“Jobs up here, ya know? Decent paying ones, too.”

“Yeah, and snow too. And ice.” Crowley knew because Beez had complained about it all the way until April when the wildflowers were already in full bloom in Arkansas. “I ain't built for the cold.”

“Maybe you could find someone to keep you warm.”

Crowley rankled at the suggestion. He wasn’t even ready to think about meaningless sex, let alone somethin’ more. 

“Look, I gotta go. I’ve got three weeks to get this sixty-five ready before county and there ain't exactly a line out my door to help.”

Ain't nothing sweeter in this world than the sound of three hundred Arkansans singing the Star Spangled Banner.

Not anymore. 

For nine miserable months Crowley’d longed for something else and he wasn't done longing yet, but he leaned against the side of a concession stand with a lemon shake up in his hand and closed his eyes and for just one minute he let that off key rendition distract him from what was really twistin’ his insides up.

Chapter Text

Day in and day out Aziraphale found himself surrounded by friendly faces, but he had to wonder just how friendly they'd be if they knew who he really was. He spent all his energy chippin’ away at what folks thought they knew about the good book, but it'd only been nine months and it he was fully aware that it took more than that to undo a lifetime of lies. 

There was only a handful of people that accepted him just the way he was and half of ‘em had either picked up and shipped out or wasn't speakin’ to him no more. Which mighta been why he wove his way through the crowd twenty minutes before his heat to grab a lemon shake up when he probably oughta been running final checks. 

He didn't even know Muriel’s last name but she didn't let the cross she wore around her neck excuse her from basic human decency and he was lookin’ forward to a smile that was aimed at all of him. 

The second she laid eyes on him, though, she frowned. Then stepped away from the window entirely. The man that took her place was young and thin and wore kohl around his eyes and didn't pretend to be happy to help Aziraphale. 

The shake up he slammed on the counter was only two-thirds full.

Aziraphale picked it up with a smile anyway. 

“I think I mighta just missed Muriel.” Aziraphale stood on tiptoe and tried to peek around the edge of the concession stand. “Is she about to go on break?”

The man’s eyes wandered to a corner Aziraphale couldn't see before he turned back and tossed Aziraphale's change down. 

“She's busy.”

“Well… could you tell her Aziraphale said hi?”

Aziraphale knew full well that she wasn’t busy and it mighta stung worse, but he didn't feel much of anything no more. 

He wore a smile day in and day out, but it wasn't any more genuine than it'd been his whole life. 

Or almost his whole life. 

There was a few months there where it had been the real deal.  

Aziraphale scooped up his change and eyed the five dollar bill sitting in the bottom of the tip jar. 

In a town as small as the one he lived in it was impossible not to’ve laid eyes on Anthony Crowley a time or two since last summer. 

A flash of red hair in the produce section on a Saturday morning. The jut of a hip poking out of the line of folks waiting to cash their checks at the bank. 

It cored him out every time, but somethin’ about seein’ that bill in the tip jar hurt more. 

Aziraphale hadn't been wrong when he'd said Crowley was the kind of man who should be sitting in the front pew. If the men that filled the church on Sunday morning had half the heart Crowley did, Aziraphale wouldn't need to stand at the pulpit at all. And maybe that wouldn't'a meant he'd still be waking up in Crowley’s arms every morning, but at least he wouldn't feel like the fraud he did every week when he got up in front of the congregation and acted like he had any faith left in his heart. 

He had half a mind to wander into Madame Tracy’s tent on his way back to the pit. Seemed as likely that her cards held as much truth as the good word did these days. The number of nights he’d fallen asleep picturing that impaled heart was too many to count. It certainly felt like he had a sword or three in his chest most days. 

He had to wonder if he deserved them. 

You think I ain’t seen your truck parked behind his trailer? You think half this town hasn’t? Do you know what folks are sayin’?

Aziraphale took a sip of his lemon shake up and wished it held the bite of something stronger. He was antsy for his heat to start. For the roar of his engine. The bone rattling crunch of metal and the sting of his harness snapping against his chest. Something that would make him feel anything at all but hollow. 

He took a pass by the track on his way to the pit and couldn’t miss the black on black on black sixty-five shootin’ flames outta its stacks while the crowd counted down. Aziraphale’d done his due diligence to avoid Crowley in the pit, but he knew just from looking at him behind the wheel that he wouldn't be able to avoid him all night. 

Maybe he oughta kept right on walkin’ but he couldn’t convince his legs to move. He posted up at the fence line and let the ice in his shake up melt. 

Right from the get go Crowley drove hard. 

He drove mean. 

He didn’t hand out no favors and he didn’t bump no rookies off the berms. Hell, he put half of ‘em there to begin with. 

His hits was clean and calculated and one by one he took down every other car on the track with the precision of a military sniper. And when that checkered flag flew he spun his tires on the way out and sprayed the first six rows in mud. 

Forty minutes later when Aziraphale was drivin’ his Imperial off the track at the top of his own heat he wasn’t sure if he was lookin’ forward to going head to head with Crowley or not. Whether he’d give it his all or roll over and give in entirely. 

All he really knew was that, ears ringing and shoulders aching, he didn’t feel no better than he had goin’ in. The derby hadn’t worked none of its magic. He felt just as empty as he had when he’d woken up alone that morning. Which was just as empty as he’d felt wakin’ up alone nine months ago. 

He still didn’t know how he’d managed to crawl his hungover ass outta bed that first Sunday and stand in front of the congregation. Didn’t know how he’d talked for nearly an hour about love with his uncle starin’ him down from the back of the church. Didn’t know how he made it all the way through his front door before he broke down and wept. Or how he made it to the next Sunday. Or December. Or to February or June. 

He shambled through life like a marionette on the best of his miserable days. Even loading his Imperial up and dragging it to the county fairground was just muscle memory. He couldn’t even remember if he’d paid the entry fee.

It was a black hole in his mind that wouldn’t fill in no matter how much time he spent thinkin’ on it when he was supposed to be gettin’ his car ready for the feature.

“Lineup’s startin’ Pastor East.” 

Pastor East. 

That was his cousin. 

He hadn’t managed to pin the label to his chest and wasn't sure he ever would. 

The one that had finally started to feel right was taking up too much space, no matter how many times he’d tried to tear it off. And there didn’t seem to be a world where he could wear both. 

Aziraphale tried not to think about the angel wings still painted on the roof of his car as he rolled out onto the track for a second time that night, but it was hard not to when he was only twenty feet from a man whose voice he still heard in his dreams every night. Whose touch still lived in his memory. A man who wouldn’t stay chained up in the dark corners of his mind but who, even after everything, lived inside him like daylight. 

Aziraphale didn't know if his uncle was in the stands, but stepping into the line of fire for Crowley was second nature and he was doin’ it before he could even consider why he might not. The first hit he took that was aimed for Crowley’s passenger side wheel well earned him two whole seconds of eye contact that shred him to pieces. 

It was the most he’d felt in months.  

Didn’t matter that it was about as pleasant as a root canal, Aziraphale risked a front end hit to get close enough to feel something again. 

He couldn’t tell what the look on Crowley’s face meant, but two minutes later when Aziraphale was wide open and Crowley coulda given him a hit he’d remember, he changed tack at the last second. Swept wide and went barreling across the track toward a car that was only barely running. 

The hit was loud enough that Aziraphale coulda swore he could feel it in his own car. It had the crowd on its feet. It had the announcer hollerin’ into the loudspeaker. And it had Crowley’s front end all the way up on top of the hood of the car now sittin’ at an angle, its axle snapped clean in two. 

Even from across the track Aziraphale could see the bright orange flame that rolled out from beneath Crowley’s hood. Crowley grabbed at the buckle keeping his harness strapped tight against his chest but his eye musta caught the same movement Aziraphale's did because he paused with the harness still clasped. Some dumb young thing in a Continental that had eked his way into the feature by way of the consolation round after going head to head with Crowley an hour earlier either didn't see all them red flags flyin’ or he was ignoring ‘em. And he was headed straight for a driver's side hit that was sure to get him disqualified either way if the refs had any sense of decency. 

Aziraphale watched a flag man climb on top of the berm and lob the red flag straight into the kid’s car but it was too late. He took the cheap shot, the nose of his boat slipping under the frame of Crowley’s imperial and sending his car all the way up and over onto its roof. 

The hush that went through the crowd was almost as spine tingling as the whoosh of the inferno that followed. 

Aziraphale was outta his car in an instant. 

His helmet hit the ground just as fast as his boots and he didn't let the mud or nothin’ else slow him down. 

There was a dozen men closer to Crowley’s burnin’ Imperial and Aziraphale still made it to the driver's side first. He skidded through the mud and dropped down onto his belly next to it and the sight of Crowley’s arms dangling against a backdrop of thick dark smoke had Aziraphale frozen. 

It was his worst nightmare come true and he felt his heart stop. 

Then Crowley jerked like he was wakin’ up from a bad dream. 

His head lolled and when he turned to Aziraphale there was a dark line running from one busted eyebrow all the way up into his helmet. Aziraphale was staring at that blood when his other senses finally kicked in. His nose scrunched and his eyes stung and all of a sudden he was starin’ at the broken gas line leading to the tank strapped in the back seat instead. He followed a single drop all the way down to the dark patch on Crowley’s jeans and the puddle still growin’ next to his head. 

Aziraphale dragged himself in through the window and grabbed at the harness holding Crowley upside down in the driver's seat and maybe it was his fear making him clumsy, but it wouldn’t budge. Every time he yanked the damn thing only hugged Crowley’s chest tighter. 

The fire in the Imperial’s engine cracked and rubber hissed and Crowley turned to Aziraphale and opened his mouth just in time for a flame to lick out from under the dash. In an instant the leg of his jeans caught and it was in that half a second that felt like an eternity that every single moment since Aziraphale offered up that alternator a year prior flashed through his brain. 

Every kindness and every smile and every confirmation that there wasn't nothin’ shameful about who he was. 

The look on Crowley’s face when he walked out the door for the last time and the empty life he'd been livin’ ever since. 

Aziraphale was sure he was going to lose Crowley without sayin’ all the things he suddenly knew he needed to say. That he’d never have a chance to undo what he could suddenly see so clearly was wrong. 

But then a fist was grabbing the front of his shirt and he was meeting the fear in Crowley’s eyes and before he even knew what he was doing he was dragging his knife outta his pocket. 

The harness split like butter and Crowley was fallin’ right into his arms and the next thing Aziraphale knew they was six feet away from the still burnin’ sixty-five doused in white foam. 

“We need a medic!” someone called. 

Crowley’s helmet rolled away. 

His head hit Aziraphale’s chest as he gulped down air. 

It didn’t matter how many eyes was on ‘em, Aziraphale put his arms around Crowley’s chest and held on tight. Buried his face in his hair and let the commotion all around them fade to nothin’ at all. 

A trembling hand curled around his wrist and it stayed there until the paramedics pried the both of them apart. 

Aziraphale left his car sittin’ right there on the track. 

Unhitched his trailer and left it in the pit. 

Wiped his eyes and put his truck in drive and left any lingering questions his congregation mighta had answered as he sped off after the ambulance.

Chapter Text

It was forty-five minutes to the nearest hospital and Aziraphale spent every single one of ‘em remembering the way Crowley'd clung to him. Even as he was protestin’ to the paramedics that he was fine and didn't need to go to no hospital, he hadn't let go of Aziraphale's wrist. 

It gave Aziraphale a hope he didn't want. 

Maybe he wasn't too late, it whispered. 

Maybe Crowley had one more chance left in him to give. 

Aziraphale spent two hours sittin’ in the hospital waiting room. It felt like too long. He was just as afraid that Crowley’s injuries were worse than he thought as he was that Crowley didn't want to see him. 

Every time a nurse walked through the double doors leading into the ER and didn't call his name it smothered that ember of hope a little more. He was glad for it. The more it grew, after all, the harder it would be to move on again. 

Not that he’d been so good at that the first time around. 

Every sermon he wrote had Crowley at its heart. 

Each one he spoke straight to an uncle that wasn’t listening. 

And Sunday after Sunday for nine whole months he’d gone home feelin’ emptier than he had the day before.

Aziraphale was fillin’ up a paper cup with what dregs of coffee was left in the pot when he finally heard his name. His heart was in his throat and he was standin’ in front of the nurse before she managed to spit out the last mangled syllable. It wasn't until the heavy double doors was swingin’ closed behind him that he realized he'd left the cup sitting right there next to the powdered creamer and pamphlets about livin’ with loss. 

He knew plenty ‘bout that already. 

Didn’t mean he hadn’t snatched one up and stuck it, folded, into his pocket. 

“We’d like to keep him here for a few more hours for observation.” 

Aziraphale nodded like he’d heard everything else the nurse had been sayin’ but the god’s honest truth was he’d been too nervous to process her chatter. Those shared glances on the track was the first interaction he and Crowley’d had since he’d pushed Crowley outta his life and he didn't know what he was walkin’ into. 

“Looks like he’s had a couple concussions in the past, so it’s just a precaution. But no more derby drivin’ for a couple months.” Aziraphale cringed. A couple months was the whole derby season. The nurse slipped a page off her clipboard as she turned a corner. “And he’ll need to change the dressing on his burns twice a day. They’ll give him an antibiotic ointment on check out. Keep him movin’ but not too much. Here’s a list of occupational therapists in the area that y’all might consider.”

Aziraphale glanced at the paper but his brain wouldn't register any of the words on it. 

“Occupational therapists?” 

“The burn extends up to the thigh, so we don’t want the scar tissue to inhibit his range of motion in the knee.”

Aziraphale could remember in exquisite detail the way Crowley’s jeans had gone up like a tinderbox. How quickly the flame had raced from his shin up to the edge of that dark patch in the denim. 

“Right.” 

“I’ll put together some literature for y’all but it ain’t as bad as it looks. He’s gonna be just fine long as you keep it clean and change that gauze. Twice a day, no exceptions.” 

The nurse pushed open a cracked door halfway down the hall and Aziraphale was in the room before he noticed she hadn’t followed him in. He looked over his shoulder but she was already heading in the opposite direction. 

He clutched the paper to his belly and turned back to find Crowley lookin’ at him. 

“Thank god,” he said and for a second Aziraphale’s heart swelled. “She gone? Grab me the smokes outta that bag over there and crack the window.” 

Aziraphale hesitated, eyes on the gauze wrapped leg propped up on a pillow between them. 

Crowley dug his fists into the mattress at either side of his hips and sat up straighter against the stack of pillows at his back. 

“I had worse before,” he grumbled.  

Aziraphale frowned. He knew every scar on Crowley’s body. Had traced them all with his fingers. And his lips. He could recall every single one. Ain’t none of ‘em was nearly so big as the area hiding under that gauze.  

“Ain’t even third degree,” Crowley said. “Well… maybe one little spot, but it ain’t hardly nothin.” 

Aziraphale could still smell the smoke clinging to his clothes. His jeans were still soaked in fire suppressant. He swallowed something thick stickin' in the back of his throat while his gaze crawled up to the dark stitches holdin’ Crowley’s eyebrow closed. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” 

He winced as he dug his hands in again and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Aziraphale was at his bedside just as quick as he’d crossed the track and landed on his belly in the mud next to Crowley’s tumped sixty-five. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he said as he scooped Crowley’s legs up like they was made of porcelain and set ‘em back up on the bed. He caught the edge of a hesitant grin as he turned in the direction Crowley was looking. There was a whiteboard with notes Aziraphale couldn't understand and a pain scale with faces that stirred up something inside him. Tucked in the corner was a tv mounted high on the wall and underneath that a clear plastic bag sittin' on a chair.

Crowley’s filthy t-shirt was folded up and sitting on top of a pair of mud-caked boots. He had to dig around to find the crumpled pack of Camels at the bottom of the bag. 

“Ya know they outlawed smokin’ in hospitals last year,” he said.

Crowley snatched the pack and lighter outta Aziraphale’s hands and melted against the pillows at his back as he inhaled. 

“Ain’t never cared much about the law.” 

Aziraphale unlatched the window and slid it aside. Then pulled the chair up close to Crowley’s bed and plucked the cigarette from his fingers as he sat on its edge. He took a long drag, eyes traveling from Crowley’s bony ankles all the way up to the sharp collarbone stickin’ outta the sagging neck of his hospital gown. 

“Yer skinny as a rail,” he said on an exhale.

Crowley snatched the cigarette back and ashed into a plastic cup next to his bed. 

“Ain't had much appetite lately.” 

Aziraphale knew the feelin’ well. When he looked in the mirror he could see bones he’d never seen before.

“I never regretted you.”

Crowley ran his tongue over his teeth and tried to furrow his busted brow. 

“What's that now?” he asked even though the way he avoided lookin’ Aziraphale in the eye said he knew full well what he was talkin’ about. 

“Thought about it every day for nine months. I never regretted you.” Aziraphale’d never forget the look on Crowley’s face. The hurt he’d put there lived with him every single day. “Only ever regretted hurtin’ you. Puttin’ you in an impossible situation.”

Crowley shrugged but there was still pain in his eyes that he didn’t fully conceal behind another drag of his cigarette. “We all gotta look out for ourselves around here.”

“Was only ever looking out for you.”

Crowley blew air outta his nose and reached for the remote control. “Sure ya was,” he said with a smile that wasn’t nothin’ but bitter. 

“You don't know what kinda man my uncle is, Crowley.”

Crowley stopped with his finger on the power button. “What’re you tryna say Aziraphale?”

You know what folks are gonna think if two Easts let their temptations run away with them? How it's gonna look on the church? How it's gonna look on me? You'll walk the straight and narrow, you hear me? And if you don't, it’ll be that little boyfriend of yours that pays the price.

For nine months Aziraphale had been sittin’ alone in his fear and his pain. Held it all by himself until he wasn't nothin’ but a shell. 

“He owns the property your trailer’s sittin' on,” he said, tears tryin’ to well up in his eyes. “Got your boss in his back pocket. Not to mention the ears of a dozen men that's already done you harm. Crowley, he snaps his fingers it's like you never even existed in this town.”

“I ain't scared of Ron East.” 

“Well I am,” Aziraphale said and stopped tryin’ to hold back his tears. “And I figured I'd rather never speak to you again than visit your grave.” 

Crowley chewed at the inside of his cheek while the cigarette burnt slowly toward his knuckles. 

“But tonight was a damn good reminder that he ain't the only thing that could put you in the ground.” Aziraphale put his hand over Crowley’s just like he had sitting on a saggin’ wooden fence in the dark a year ago. He was just as terrified as he had been then. “And I'd rather love you while I still can. If you'll let me.”

Chapter Text

I need to take it slow.  

Words from Crowley’s own goddamn mouth, and then Aziraphale had gone and opened up his garage door wide the second Crowley’d showed up and he’d wanted to stomp on the accelerator. 

Consider me a glacier.

I’m serious, Aziraphale. 

So am I. 

Crowley oughta known when Anathema burst through his hospital room door with Newt on her heels and Aziraphale hadn’t tried to yank his hand away that they was never gonna manage slow. 

It was easy enough to pretend, though, with Anathema insistin’ on drivin’ him the hour back to his trailer. 

I had a feelin’ it was him.

Was it the whole pullin’ me outta a burnin car part that gave it away, or..?

Even when Crowley picked up his phone six hours later, that tangled cord dangling between his ear and the wall felt like enough distance to believe he could stop himself from going ass over teakettle on day one. 

The nurse said to change that bandage twice a day. Wasn't sure if you'd think to set yourself an alarm. 

Was you just lookin’ for an excuse to call me?

I mighta been. 

Hell, even easin’ himself into his truck, leg and eye throbbing like all get out, for no reason other'n spending a Sunday afternoon with Aziraphale, Crowley was sure he could keep a handle on himself. 

What're you doing?

Beautiful day. The fresh air’ll do us both some good. 

After your service this morning? You're sure?

Positive.

Only half the congregation had shown up by the sound of it and Aziraphale had still lifted that garage door and handed him a mug filled with coffee thick as tar. Crowley’d take them nurses scrubbin’ the dead skin off his leg a hundred more times to end up right where they was, workin’ side by side for all the world to see. 

Woulda been more pleasant than some of the conversations they'd had since Aziraphale held his hand and told him he loved him, but it was hard to complain. They was gettin’ rid of the rot. Scrubbing til they was raw so maybe they could heal the hurt that’d been festering in both their hearts far longer than they'd even known one another. 

The scars was always gonna be there, but with a little work maybe they wouldn’t hold ‘em back. 

“I ain't never been nothin’ but someone's dirty secret.”

Aziraphale pulled the garage door closed and when he turned around there was a look on his face Crowley mighta read as pity on anyone else. He knew from all the time they'd spent on the phone the last twenty-four hours, though, that he was sharin’ Crowley's pain rather than feelin’ sorry for him. Processing it and figuring out how to talk about it rather than clamming up like they'd done all last summer. 

“I never meant to…” Aziraphale scratched at the beginnings of a beard on his jaw and took his time making his way back to the Clamshell Crowley’d picked up for a song but wasn't gonna be able to drive in Missouri this year on account of how hard his face had hit the steering wheel two days prior.  

Aziraphale leaned against the fender next to Crowley. “I was only ever ashamed of myself.”

Crowley shifted his weight to his good leg and hoped Aziraphale didn't notice. “Ya know, that ain't the comfort you might think it is.”

Aziraphale’s eyes dropped to Crowley’s thigh straight away. “Don’t twist my words,” he said, gaze wandering away from Crowley and across the shop. Crowley knew Aziraphale was looking for the stool he'd been followin’ him around with all afternoon. As if his leg was broken rather than blistered. 

When he didn't find it, owin’ to the fact that Crowley'd squirreled it away in his office when he was in the toilet ten minutes ago, he continued on. “I wasn't never ashamed of being with you. I had… I carried a lot of shame. And I never meant to make you feel like a dirty secret, but you ever try to shed a lifetime of learnin’ in one summer? Cause all things considered I think I did an okay job.” 

“Until you dumped me.”

“I believe you was the one that walked out the door.”

“Yeah, but you was holdin’ it wide open.”

The space between Aziraphale’s brows wrinkled. “I was so… afraid. My whole life that's all I been, but the thought of losing you. Of really losing you…” His voice caught but he didn't look away from Crowley. “I ain't never felt a fear like that before.”

Crowley didn't look away neither. 

“I wish you woulda talked to me,” he said. “I wish I woulda talked to you.”

Aziraphale put a hip against Crowley and let him lean. Took all the weight off his throbbin’ leg. “We're talking now,” he said, a shadow of worry falling over his face. “It ain't too late, is it?”

Crowley leaned a little harder. “No. It ain't too late.”

“I know I said it a hundred times, but I ain't done yet. I was an asshole. And I'm sorry, Crowley. I really-”

It was Aziraphale's jaw instead of his collar that Crowley ended up grabbin’. 

After months of livin’ on scraps of affection from the few folks left in his life, the stubble against Crowley’s palm woulda stolen his breath away all on its own, but the whimper that came outta Aziraphale's mouth when their lips touched for the first time in nine months nearly knocked Crowley on his ass. 

He'd lived this moment in his dreams. More times than he cared to count. And every time the kiss was deep. Biting. As full of anger and resentment as it was anything else. 

But they was gentle with one another instead. 

There wasn’t nothing but forgiveness between ‘em. 

Aziraphale’s lips was soft and his hand careful as it snuck around Crowley’s waist. His fingers walked up Crowley’s spine all the way to the hair hanging against the nape of his neck and he held Crowley close even as their lips came apart. 

There was something soothing about breathin’ in every time Aziraphale breathed out. 

In knowing that no matter how gentle they was, both of ‘em was just as overwhelmed to be in each other's arms again. 

“M’sorry too,” Crowley whispered and kissed Aziraphale again. And then one more time before he let his forehead rest against Aziraphale's. “Where do we go from here?”

The tips of Aziraphale's eyelashes brushed Crowley’s cheek. He drew circles with his fingertips at the small of his back. 

“I don't know for sure what our path forward looks like. But I know I wanna walk it with you.”

“I meant more like…” Crowley cracked a grin for what felt like the first time in months. “Yer place or mine.”

Aziraphale fixed him with a look that took Crowley all the way back to those first few moments Aziraphale took off his mask last summer. Those first peeks he’d given Crowley into who he really was. 

“I’m tryna be serious here,” he said.  

“We been serious since you cut me outta that sixty-five.” 

Crowley knew the first time their eyes met on the track that he wasn't alone in his longing, but it wasn't until he was lookin’ out at the crowd with all them eyes on the two of ‘em that he let himself believe it. It took until Aziraphale was sittin’ next to his hospital bed cryin’ that he dared to hope they might do more than long for one another.

And standin’ in Aziraphale’s shop, holdin’ the only man that had ever meant somethin’ to him, he finally admitted to himself that he didn’t want slow. Didn’t even need slow. He didn’t need nothin’ but the joy that was already settin’ up shop in his heart again. 

“I’ve missed you, Angel. I’ve missed… us.”

Aziraphale finally smiled too. “We probably should get you off that leg for a while.”

“That mean you gonna take me home with you?” 

“I'll take you home with me.” Aziraphale eased Crowley back against the fender and tugged at the front of the sweatpants he’d resigned himself to wearin’ after walking three feet in a pair of jeans that morning. “But we're changin’ that bandage first.” 

Every time Aziraphale said weit sent a flutter through Crowley’s belly. It was a feelin’ he’d spent many a miserable night thinkin’ he’d never know again and he had to wonder just where he’d be now if Miss Sara hadn’t sent him out to route twenty for a sixty-five imperial he’d been convinced he wasn’t gonna take home. He woulda never paid his entry fee for the busted sixty-six that had brought him and Aziraphale together in the first place. Couldn’t even bring himself to take the tarp off her.

Some part of him wondered if she knew.

If she hadn’t been schemin’ something all along

He musta been thinkin’ too hard on it because Aziraphale tipped his chin up with a finger and leaned close enough to send that flutter in Crowley’s belly straight south. “And you're telling me where you hid my stool.”

Aziraphale left him leaning against the wagon and he was halfway across the garage when Crowley finally worked up the courage to say what he’d been wantin’ to say for damn near a year. 

“Angel?”

“Yeah?” 

Aziraphale was smilin’ when he turned around and suddenly it wasn’t so hard to get the words out.

“I love you, too.”

They didn’t stop being gentle once they left Guardian. 

Aziraphale kept his eye on Crowley in the rearview the whole way. Opened the door of his truck before he’d turned off the engine and helped him up the porch stairs and Crowley didn't even pretend he didn't need the hand on his elbow.  

Tucked away in the cool confines of Aziraphale’s bedroom, they took their time. Went slow as a summer sunset. Half an hour after Aziraphale’d followed him down onto the rumpled sheets, Crowley was still half dressed. Every press of Aziraphale’s lips felt like getting kissed by flames all over again and Crowley couldn’t think of a better way to burn away the misery of a winter spent alone. 

By the time Aziraphale was slippin’ his sweatpants off his ankles Crowley felt reborn. Baptized by the heat of his kiss.

And more’n ready to beg.

Aziraphale still wasn’t in no hurry, though. He ran his fingers over Crowley’s ribs. Slipped a pillow beneath a skinny thigh and smoothed the edge of the gauze already starting to fray as he curled up against Crowley’s back. 

“Is this comfortable?” he asked, lips sending goosebumps down Crowley's back. 

Crowley arched against him and guided his hand away from the bandage to the place he was achin’ for it to be. 

“Quit yer fussin’ already.”  

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Crowley.”

“Then fuck me already, cuz ain’t nothing hurts more’n not having you.” 

Their bodies knew a rhythm Crowley was afraid they mighta forgotten. It brought to mind late nights and early mornings. Stolen moments behind Guardian with the sign on the door flipped to closed. Trucks parked in the weeds and one eye always cast over their shoulders. 

And Crowley knew that they wasn’t about to go around holdin’ hands or nothing, but walkin’ outta that garage together instead of sneakin’ out the back almost made the last nine months feel worthwhile. 

Aziraphale’s breath, quick and shuddering against the back of his ear, put him right back on that track in front of half the county. 

Worthy of something safe.

Something soft.

Of bein’ loved out in the open. 

Crowley’s peak came too soon, but he was done with holdin’ himself back. He let go and trusted that the man curled around him would keep holdin’ on. Went all the way to pieces in his arms and when he came back together again it was with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. 

“Sorry,” he said and winced as he nudged his stitches with the back of his wrist. 

“Don’t be.” Aziraphale rolled him onto his back and brushed the edge of his black eye with a thumb. Then said, “I think you should move in,” like it wasn’t nothing at all. 

Crowley blinked. He was sure he’d misheard. “What?” he asked with a chuckle.

Aziraphale fluffed the pillow and lifted Crowley’s leg. Eased it down and smoothed the gauze again. “I can help you ‘til your burn heals.”

“It ain’t that bad, Aziraphale.” 

“You ain’t gonna be able to be on your feet all day. Gonna have to take some time off work. And even if money wasn’t already tight…” Aziraphale wiped Crowley’s belly clean with a t-shirt and tossed it in the direction of an overflowin’ laundry hamper that said he hadn’t been anticipating having Crowley in his bedroom so soon. “My uncle can’t take this place from you.”

Crowley had been so caught up in the whirlwind of their love that he’d forgotten Aziraphale’s fear wasn’t a thing of the past. That it was still burrowed deep inside him. “Angel…” 

“And I don’t gotta worry about you all alone on the other side of town. We could look after each other.”

Crowley propped himself up on an elbow to look for his smokes but Aziraphale was already lightin’ one up and passing it to him. 

He slumped back down in the unwashed sheets and watched the smoke rise up toward the frosted glass bug cemetery hangin’ from the ceiling. 

“So much for glacier,” he said.

Aziraphale ran a hand down Crowley’s belly. Traced the concave shape of it with his fingers. 

“You sped up first. I’m just followin’ your lead.” 

From where he was layin’ Crowley could see all the way down the hall to the dining table and the Bible layin’ open on it. “You think the rest of the congregation’ll keep showing up if they find out we’re sharing a bed every night?” he asked. 

“Ya know, I’ve been makin’ a difference. I really think I have.” Aziraphale sighed and took the cigarette from Crowley again. “But it ain’t my calling. I never wanted the pulpit.”

Crowley knew what Aziraphale wanted. Why he’d been toein’ the line for so long. Why he’d been so quick to bow to his uncle’s whims and fire Beez. 

“He’ll take Guardian from you. You know that, right?” 

There was a bittersweet edge to Aziraphale’s smile. “Ain’t nothing lasts forever. And I think it’s about time to start fresh anyway, don’t you?” 

“You might own this place, but we still gotta eat. How you suppose we're gonna do that if we're both outta work?”

“I got savings.”

Savings always meant to go straight back into Guardian. Crowley scoffed. “I ain't living off your savings, Angel.”

“It would just be for a little bit. Until I can sell this place and we can open our own shop. In Eureka Springs.”

Crowley took the cigarette from Aziraphale’s outstretched fingers. “Eureka Springs?”

“Anathema told me about it. While we were waiting for the nurse to discharge you. Lots of folks like you and me. No hiding. They got a good economy. It’s safe. And derbies in every direction all summer long.”

Crowley’s heartache was too fresh not to feel his stomach sink. 

“So she is leaving.”

“She didn't say it in quite so many words. But…” Aziraphale took his hand just like he had in the hospital. Held on tight and smiled that same bittersweet smile. “Crowley, you were right. There ain't nothing keeping us here. And I hope I planted a seed that might grow, but I said it before and I'll say it again. I wanna walk my path with you.”

“Eureka Springs.”

Crowley’d never even heard of the place before, but he found himself wonderin’ if it had a library. 

“We never got that weekend in the city. Maybe we oughta take a road trip.” Aziraphale looked out the window at the sun still high in the sky. “It’s only a couple hours drive. We leave now, we'd be there in time for dinner.”

Crowley snorted. “You wanna go now? Like right now?”

“Why not?” Aziraphale asked.

Try as he might, Crowley couldn’t think of a single reason not to. 

Chapter Text

That very first night in Eureka Springs they'd wandered into a bar after dinner and saw two men swayin’ together to a country music song right there next to folks that coulda sat in Aziraphale's pews back home. Didn't matter that Aziraphale’d been actin’ like he wasn't still scared to be with Crowley out in the open, it still felt like jumping out of an airplane with no parachute to take him by the hand and lead him to the dance floor before they’d even ordered a drink. 

Crowley hadn't pretended nothin’. 

His eyes had gone big as saucers and his cheeks had gone pink the second Aziraphale slipped his arms around his waist. 

“I don't know how to dance,” he'd said. “Ain't no one ever asked me before.” 

“Me neither,” Aziraphale'd whispered with a smile that was as terrified as it was genuine. “But I'd be willin’ to bet we can figure it out together.” 

The grin that had lit up Crowley’s face was all the confirmation Aziraphale needed to know they was doin’ the right thing. But it was the gasp that had come out of his mouth the next morning when they’d walked up to the Eureka Springs library with its limestone facade and Doric columns and stained glass windows that had been the nail in the coffin. 

The months that had come after wasn't easy but Aziraphale never expected they would be. Between the occupational therapy and the summer heat and the whispers that was gettin’ louder every day, they could hardly catch a break. The weekends they spent in Eureka Springs in a bed and breakfast where the folks handin’ over the keys smiled when they walked in together was the only relief they found outside of one another. 

It was them scattered days in the mountains that kept the both of ‘em gettin’ out of bed every morning. All them glimpses of a community that knew just who they was and accepted ‘em anyway. By the time they found a patch of land on the edge of town they could put a foundation down on, people knew their names, and not for the reasons they did back home. 

Nina at the coffee shop knew their orders when they walked in the door and Maggie at the record store knew they didn't even own a record player, but she let ‘em lurk anyway as long as they was bringin’ her news about Nina. 

It was the world Aziraphale had spent his whole life wishin’ he could live in and knowing there was space in it for him and Crowley made it a whole lot easier to keep it together when his uncle finally changed the locks on Guardian. That and having a pair of arms at home just waitin’ for any excuse at all to hold him.

They’d weathered the storm best they could but the clouds had barely parted before another one was rollin’ in. Three weeks later Anathema packed Newt’s Cherokee to the brim, only looking back to blow a tearful kiss to Crowley. 

After that it was easy enough to do the same. Crowley didn’t flinch haulin’ the boats and the washing machines and half a ton of scrap to the yard and Aziraphale signed the closin’ papers on his house with a smile on his face. 

They loaded their trucks and trailers up on a blisterin’ Sunday morning, put their eyes on the road stretching out in front of them and didn’t do no lookin’ back of their own. 

Not when the ground froze before they could break ground on that plot of land. 

Not when Crowley’s truck finally gave up the ghost right when money was tightest. 

Not even when the local church met Aziraphale at the door with less than open arms.

Because when they was frettin’ over how to buy a new truck and start a business and pay the rent, the bartender that had slid Aziraphale a Bud Light the very first night they’d slow danced together gave Crowley the afternoon shift. And for every set of arms crossed over a chest there were half a dozen that were wide open. 

Including the only ones that ever really mattered.  

Crowley’s was the first ones to wrap around him when he cut the ribbon on a shop his mama woulda been proud of and the last ones to let go when the ghost of his fear haunted him at night. They rocked him to sleep when he caught the flu and cracked his achin’ back and spun him around a dance floor that wasn’t so scary no more. 

And without all that judgement dressed up in the sheep's clothing of faith, ain't nothing in Aziraphale's life had ever come easier’n doing the same.

He reached for Crowley day and night. Warmed him up when the mountains grew cold and kept him from rattlin’ right out of his bones when they made love.

Not even a muggy summer heatwave and a little good ol’ fashioned competition could change that. 

“I'm gonna miss my heat if you keep that up.” 

“Maybe that's the plan,” Aziraphale said. 

He ran his hands from Crowley’s thighs all the way up to meet at the small of his back. His knuckles brushed the worn oak table he'd finally let Madame Tracy read his cards at ten minutes prior. 

She'd winked when she’d flipped over the lovers. And then again when she said she was takin’ lunch. 

Didn't matter how perfect their world was, the rest of the world still had some learnin’ to do. And there wasn't no convincing Aziraphale that the tides weren't changing, but they sure was takin' their time and it'd been half a day since he'd gotten his hands on the man he loved. 

Aziraphale’d been as happy for twenty minutes of privacy as he had been to get handed a large lemon shake up when he'd only paid for a small. Though, it was Muriel's smile that had been the real joy. 

Crowley'd pretended he hadn't wanted the hug she’d swept him up in, but he wasn't no more convincing then than he was now. 

“Ain’t you got enough trophies?” he asked, legs swingin’ and hands wanderin’. “Maybe it’s time you gave the rookies a chance.” 

Them nine months of misery felt like a lifetime ago, but that didn't dampen Aziraphale's appreciation for Crowley’s smile. Waking up to it every day was a gift he was gettin’ better at not wonderin’ whether he deserved or not. 

“Appealing to my good nature ain't gonna stop me from wrecking your ass,” Aziraphale said.

“I think it's my turn tonight,” Crowley said with a smirk, then cocked his head at the first few notes of a song still familiar even muffled by the folds of Madame Tracy’s tent. “Hear that?” he asked.

Aziraphale couldn't help the goosebumps pimpling his skin. 

Another derby season was officially underway and team drivin’ was technically prohibited in the bylaws, but he was gettin’ used to living by his own rules. 

“Ain’t nothin’ sweeter in the world,” he said, fingers draggin’ the hem of Crowley’s sweat damp tee up. 

Crowley lifted a brow. Tugged him closer with a leg that would always carry the scars of their past but would still walk him up to a courthouse two decades later for a piece of paper that said things really could change. 

“Oh, I dunno,” he said with a grin that lit up Madame Tracy’s tent bright as a summer day. “I think I can think of a thing or two.”