Chapter Text
Utah
Crowley took a long slurp of his coffee, the kind of exaggerated, obnoxious sound that filled the silence between them like a challenge. Say something. But Aziraphale didn’t take the bait. He just stared out the diner window, fingers twitching on the table like they wanted to grab a menu and wave it around for dear life.
Finally, the angel cleared his throat. “It’s... quite a nice little town, isn’t it?”
Crowley didn’t bother looking up. “Sure. Lovely. The pinnacle of civilization,” he muttered into his cup.
Aziraphale pressed on. “It reminds me of that village near Hadrian’s Wall. You remember, don’t you? That little tavern with the—”
“Why didn’t you ever come down to check on Muriel?”
The words were out before Crowley could stop them, and the surprise on Aziraphale’s face made him wish he hadn’t said a damn thing. He stared down at the black liquid in his cup, suddenly very interested in the way it reflected the overhead lights.
“Muriel?” Aziraphale asked carefully, like he wasn’t sure where this was going.
“Never mind,” Crowley said quickly, cutting him off. “Forget it.”
But Aziraphale didn’t forget it. He just kept staring, his lips parting like he wanted to say something—maybe explain himself, maybe apologize—but nothing came out. The silence sat between them, heavy and awkward, until Crowley pushed back in his chair with a huff.
“Where is she? Been in the loo long enough to redecorate it.”
“It’s been five minutes, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, his tone measured but just on the edge of exasperation.
“Yeah, well, she’d better hurry up. I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to. People are staring at us,” Crowley snapped, lowering his voice but making no effort to hide the edge in it.
Aziraphale frowned, glancing briefly at the other tables. “No one’s staring at us,” he said dismissively, waving a hand.
Crowley’s eyes darted from table to table. He could feel it—eyes flickering toward them, whispers exchanged, subtle movements that felt less like coincidence and more like observation. His gaze landed on a man by the counter, hunched over a plate of scrambled eggs, pausing mid-chew to glance their way. The man quickly looked back down at his plate when Crowley’s sunglasses turned in his direction, but his grip on his fork tightened like he was ready to stab something.
Across the room, a woman in a red flannel shirt was stirring her coffee absently, staring out the window as if she hadn’t a care in the world. But the spoon in her hand had stopped moving, her reflection in the glass betraying the way her eyes flicked toward them every few seconds. See? Crowley thought, his paranoia spiking. This wasn’t normal diner behavior. This was... something.
“People are staring,” Crowley hissed, leaning across the table toward Aziraphale. “Haven’t you noticed? That bloke at the counter? That woman over there pretending she isn't?”
Aziraphale followed Crowley’s gaze, his expression carefully neutral. “They’re just people, Crowley. No one’s watching us. Honestly, you’re being—” He paused, suddenly noticing the man at the counter darting another glance their way, this time accompanied by a muttered word to the server passing by. Aziraphale frowned, his brows knitting together.
“ See? ” Crowley hissed again, sitting back but keeping his fingers poised on the edge of the table like he was ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble. “I told you.”
Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, his face shifting from confusion to mild concern. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said quickly, though there was a new tension in his voice. “Perhaps they’re just curious because we’re... not from around here.”
“Oh, sure. British accents . The most fascinating thing to hit Nowheresville since sliced bread,” Crowley bit out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really think that’s it?”
Aziraphale flinched at the sharpness in Crowley’s tone, opening his mouth to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he folded his hands in front of him, trying to appear calm despite the unease creeping in. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said softly, though even he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
Crowley scoffed, his eyes darting toward the restroom door. “Yeah, well, I’m not waiting for things to go pear-shaped. She needs to get her arse back here, now. ”
Crowley scoffed again, his fingers twitching as he stood abruptly. “Pay for the food. We’re leaving,” he muttered, his voice low but firm, glancing toward the restroom as if he might drag Evanna out himself.
Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he hissed back, leaning across the table, “ Pay? She’s not even done, Crowley!”
“I don’t care,” Crowley snapped, though he kept his voice at a sharp whisper. His sunglasses flashed as he turned back toward Aziraphale, one hand braced on the table. “We’ve lingered long enough. You want to sit here and wait for whatever nonsense is brewing? Be my guest. But I’m getting her out of here.”
Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line, glancing around nervously at the other patrons. The last thing they needed was more attention. “Fine,” he grumbled under his breath, “but you can’t just storm in there, Crowley.”
“ Watch me. ”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale hissed, but the demon was already up, his long strides taking him toward the restroom.
Aziraphale exhaled sharply, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. With a discreet flick of his wrist, a neat stack of bills appeared on the table— no fuss, no trouble, just paid and done . He shot a polite, apologetic smile at the waitress, who had abandoned all pretense of subtlety and was blatantly staring at them now.
To distract himself, Aziraphale reached for his tea. The first sip was tepid, the second somehow both bitter and bland. Not Earl Grey, he lamented internally, though his mood soured further when his eyes drifted to the corner of the diner. A small TV perched precariously on the wall was playing a news broadcast. He frowned. The shaky footage looked familiar.
It was familiar.
Aziraphale nearly choked on his tea as he realized what he was watching: a grainy video of himself and Crowley barreling through the streets of Las Vegas, him cradling an unconscious Evanna like a sack of potatoes.
Oh, no.
He glanced around the diner. The stares weren’t just polite curiosity anymore—they were pointed, curious, and a little suspicious. A man at a booth nearby was leaning ever so slightly closer, his phone suspiciously angled toward them.
Oh, no, no.
Aziraphale’s panic spiked as he turned to see Crowley already halfway to the restroom hallway. This cannot happen right now. Acting on impulse, Aziraphale reached out, his hand darting to grab Crowley’s arm.
“Wait!” Aziraphale hissed, his fingers wrapping around Crowley’s wrist.
Crowley stopped abruptly, his body tensing at the unexpected touch. He turned, his sunglasses reflecting Aziraphale’s worried expression. “What the—” he began, but his words faltered when Aziraphale tugged, pulling him gently but insistently back toward the booth.
Crowley froze, staring at Aziraphale’s hand as if it had suddenly sprouted extra fingers. It was warm— really warm —against his wrist, which shouldn’t have been surprising considering Aziraphale was, well, Aziraphale. But something about it made Crowley’s stomach do that weird, swoopy thing it sometimes did when he thought too much about things he shouldn’t think about.
Then Aziraphale let go, quickly, like he realized he’d been holding a lit match.
“What’s your problem?” Crowley muttered, his voice tinged with suspicion but not quite reaching anger. He rubbed his wrist absently, his eyebrows knitting together as he glanced at Aziraphale.
“Stay calm, ” Aziraphale hissed very low.
“Stay—? I am calm,” Crowley snapped, his sunglasses doing little to hide his twitching brows. “What are you…”
“Look,” Aziraphale interrupted, jerking his head toward the corner of the diner where the ancient TV flickered against the wall.
Crowley followed his gaze, his lips thinning as he registered the news footage. It was a still image now—a clearly distressed Aziraphale bolting down a Las Vegas street, clutching an unconscious Evanna, her limp arm swinging ungracefully. Above the photo was the glaring caption: MISSING TEEN LAST SEEN IN VEGAS.
“Oh, for Satan’s sake,” Crowley hissed, sinking lower into his seat. “I told you.”
“ Crowley, this is serious, ” Aziraphale whispered, his tone urgent as his eyes darted toward the waitress, who had conveniently paused in her bustling to glance their way. “We need to stay inconspicuous. ”
“Oh, yeah, really blending in,” Crowley said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nothing screams normal like a photo of us plastered on the tv, does it?”
“Keep your voice down!”
“I'm keeping it down!” Crowley hissed, leaning forward slightly but still managing to loom over Aziraphale despite sitting.
“You were going to march off to the restroom!” Aziraphale countered, his voice sharp but hushed. “What were you going to do, drag her out by her hair? ”
Crowley’s lip curled, but before he could retort, the waitress moved closer, ostensibly refilling a nearby customer’s coffee, though her eyes flicked suspiciously toward their booth. Aziraphale immediately plastered on a strained smile, which only seemed to make him look more suspicious.
“So, what?” Crowley muttered under his breath, eyes flicking toward the restroom door. “We just wait for Her Royal Majesty to grace us with her presence?”
Before Aziraphale could respond, the waitress appeared at their booth, coffee pot at the ready. She filled Crowley’s mug without a word, but her eyes lingered on him a beat too long.
“Thanks,” Crowley said flatly, his fingers tightening around the mug like it was an anchor. He could feel her gaze drilling into the side of his head, and it made his skin crawl. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale, knowing the angel would be staring back with his usual let me handle this face.
“Y’all aren’t from around here, are you?” the waitress asked, her voice casual but her tone razor-sharp.
Crowley stiffened. “What gave it away? The accents or the fact that we’re not wearing cowboy hats?”
Aziraphale kicked him lightly under the table, his strained smile morphing into an even more strained chuckle. “Yes, well, we’re just passing through,” he said, his tone far too cheerful. “Lovely town, really. Very… scenic.”
The waitress’s eyes narrowed, and she shifted her focus to Crowley. “And the girl?” she asked, her voice dropping slightly, as if she didn’t want the rest of the diner to hear. “She yours?”
Crowley nearly choked on his coffee. “What? No! Absolutely not.”
Aziraphale stepped in quickly, his tone soothing but overly rehearsed. “She’s our, uh, friend’s daughter. We’re just… helping her get to where she needs to go .”
The waitress tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “Funny.” Her gaze flicked between their faces, then toward the restroom. “You know, there’s been a lot of talk on the news about a missing girl…”
Crowley’s grip on his mug tightened until his knuckles turned white. “Missing girl? Really? What a world we live in, eh? But, uh, no, no missing girls here. Just us—two very boring, completely normal people having coffee.”
The waitress didn't look convinced. "What's her name, then?"
"Eve," Aziraphale said smoothly, but his smile faltered just a fraction of a second too late. Crowley's head snapped toward him so fast that it was a wonder his sunglasses didn’t fly off. Eve? Really? Of all the names, Aziraphale chose that ?
Crowley jumped in quickly, his voice a forced, strained kind of casual. "But we mostly call her 'the teenager who’s taking forever in the restroom,'" he said, forcing out a laugh that sounded more like a strangled cough.
The waitress paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she scrutinized the two of them. Crowley’s forced grin held firm, while Aziraphale’s polite smile remained plastered in place, just a little too rigid. After a beat, she finally shrugged.
"Right," she said, drawing out the word as though deciding not to care further. "Well, y’all let me know if you need anything else."
She gave them one last look before moving off, her shoes squeaking slightly against the diner's linoleum floor.
Crowley waited until the waitress was out of earshot before he rounded on Aziraphale, his voice a low hiss of disbelief. "Eve? Really ? That’s the best you could come up with?"
Aziraphale straightened in his seat, his expression defensive. "Well, I couldn’t very well say Evanna, now could I? Her name’s on every television in this diner!"
Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. "Next time, why don’t you call her something even more biblical? Like, I don’t know, Mary Magdalene?"
Aziraphale puffed himself up slightly, his tone tinged with indignation. "I thought it was perfectly fine," he retorted. "And she bought it, didn’t she?"
"Just barely," Crowley grumbled, sinking lower in his seat as his gaze darted around the diner. The tension in his body hadn’t dissipated—he could still feel the stares, the whispers, and it made his skin crawl. His fingers brushed his wrist again in that small, absent-minded way, like he was trying to find something solid to hold onto amidst all the uncertainty.
Aziraphale seemed to notice the movement, his gaze softening for a moment. "Let’s just... stay calm until Evanna comes back. We don’t want to draw any more attention," he said quietly, the edge in his voice giving way to something gentler.
Crowley scoffed, shaking his head. "Stay calm, he says," he muttered, his foot tapping nervously against the floor. "I am calm," he added, though his voice lacked conviction. He shot a glare toward the restroom door, his eyes narrowing. “But she really needs to hurry up, or I swear I'll drag her out myself.”
"What could possibly take that long in a bloody diner restroom anyway?" Crowley grumbled.
Evanna stood at the sink, her fingers tugging at her hair in a determined attempt to make it look somewhat presentable. The bathroom was a dingy little space with flickering lights and a soap dispenser that looked like it hadn't been refilled since like ever. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
The restroom itself was a disaster—cracked tiles, a flickering light, a suspicious stain near the sink that she refused to get too close to. Everything about it screamed ew . She wrinkled her nose, her gaze flicking to the battered paper towel dispenser. She let out a sigh, pushing a hand through her hair in an attempt to make it look somewhat decent. Not that she cared what anyone else thought—but still, she had standards.
With one final, critical glance at herself, she leaned in closer, her gaze catching on the reflection of her eyes—something about them seemed... off. For a moment, it was like her pupils dilated too wide, swallowing the brown of her irises until they were an endless black.
She blinked, her breath catching. The mirror shifted. It wasn’t just her reflection anymore—it was her, but not . She was standing somewhere else—somewhere dark, with flames licking at the horizon, the sky fractured, and her own face was set in an expression she didn’t recognize. Something solemn. Something almost... gentle.
Evanna sucked in a breath, her heart pounding. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head as if to dislodge the image from her mind. When she looked again, it was just her reflection staring back—eyes wide, her usual scowl firmly in place.
She let out a shaky laugh, rolling her eyes at herself. “Get a grip, Evanna,” she muttered, leaning away from the mirror. "It’s just this disgusting lighting messing with my head." She grabbed a paper towel—barely managing to yank one out of the rusty dispenser—and dabbed at her forehead, her gaze hardening again.
She had better things to worry about, like getting out of this grimy restroom without catching something, and finding out what those two weirdos were so worked up about. She tossed the crumpled paper towel into the trash with a disdainful flick of her wrist, missing entirely. She didn’t bother correcting it.
As she moved to the door, she glanced back at the mirror, just for a second. The reflection was normal—no weird visions, no apocalyptic flames. Just her, looking annoyed. She sighed. “Whatever,” she muttered, turning her back on it.
She strutted out of the restroom, immediately noticing that people were staring at her. Not in the way she usually liked—the admiring, envious, I-want-to-be-you kind of stares—but in that uncomfortable, concerned way. The way people stare at a car crash or someone who’s doing something incredibly embarrassing. Evanna hated those stares.
She huffed, striding over to Sunglasses, as she liked to call him in her head—who was already getting up, a scowl plastered on his face. The other one was standing too, his smile strained as he attempted to look unbothered
Crowley had already started towards her, intent on getting them out of there without another scene, but then Evanna’s head turned, her eyes locking onto the TV screen in the corner.
Crowley watched her eyes widen, and before he could do anything, she shouted loud enough for the entire diner to hear, “ Those bitches! I told them to delete that! ”
Crowley flinched. Every head in the diner turned towards them, but Evanna didn’t notice. She was glaring at the TV, her finger jabbing at the screen. The grainy footage showed her and her friends on a hike somewhere—a stupidly candid shot, with her hair windblown and her expression somewhere between mid-laugh and annoyance. It was perfectly fine, really, but apparently not to her.
“It’s so ugly, ” Evanna hissed under her breath, her face scrunching up in disgust.
Crowley clenched his jaw, moving in close and grabbing Evanna by the arm, his voice a low, warning growl. "Alright, enough of that. We’re leaving. Now. "
Evanna tried to jerk her arm free, glaring at him. "Get off me . Did you see what they put up there? I look—"
"Yeah, yeah, you look fine," Crowley interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Cry about it later. Right now, we need to get out of here."
Half the diner still stared at Evanna with wide, curious eyes, and worse, the murmurs were growing louder. Crowley noticed a man standing up from his booth—a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a faded flannel shirt, his face lined and sunburnt, the kind of face that spoke of long hours working outdoors. The guy looked straight at them, his eyes narrowing.
“You!” the man called, pointing at Evanna. “You’re that missing girl from the news!”
Crowley felt a chill run through him. He glanced at Aziraphale, who looked pale, his strained smile completely gone now. Aziraphale tried again, waving a hand slightly towards the man, but the miracle seemed to just... fizzle out. The man didn’t even blink.
Crowley tried to intervene, his voice calm but edged with irritation. “All right, mate, no need for drama. We’re just leaving.”
The man didn’t budge. He walked closer, his boots thudding heavily on the floor. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice loud, filled with self-righteousness. “You two—what are you doing with her?”
Evanna looked incredulous, her eyes wide as she glared at the man. “What’s it to you?” she shot back. Crowley could see she was seconds away from making the entire situation worse.
The man’s face hardened. He reached out, grabbing Crowley roughly by the arm. “Citizen’s arrest,” he declared. “I’m not letting you two take her anywhere.”
Crowley’s patience was already worn thin, and now this. He looked down at the hand on his arm, then up at the man, his eyes dark behind his sunglasses. “Let. Go,” he said, his voice a low hiss.
The guy didn’t flinch. He looked at Crowley like he was some kind of monster. “Not a chance.”
Aziraphale moved quickly, stepping between them, his eyes wide, pleading. “Please, sir, there’s no need for this. We’re just trying to help—”
“Help?!” The man cut him off, his voice getting louder. “You call this helping? Kidnapping a girl?”
Crowley glanced around. The other patrons were either staring in shock or whispering among themselves, their eyes flicking towards Evanna, Crowley, and Aziraphale. The waitress was behind the counter, her hands trembling as she picked up the phone.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley muttered, his patience snapping, “ do something. ”
Aziraphale tried again, his fingers flicking towards the man, attempting to nudge his mind, to make him let go of Crowley. The man blinked, his grip loosening for a moment, his eyes growing glassy—but then he shook his head, his hand tightening once more.
“It’s not working,” Aziraphale whispered, his voice edged with panic. He cast a glance at Evanna, who was staring at the TV, still too focused on her image to notice the chaos fully. Crowley’s jaw clenched. He had no idea why their miracles weren’t fully working, but they couldn’t stay here to find out.
Behind them, the waitress spoke into the phone, her voice rising above the clamor. “Police? Yes, we’ve got a situation here—”
Crowley swore under his breath. This was getting out of hand. He needed to get Evanna out— now . He tried to wrench his arm free, but the man’s grip was like iron.
“Sir, I really must insist,” Aziraphale began again, stepping closer, trying to put himself between Crowley and the man. The man’s gaze shifted, and he gave Aziraphale a hard shove, sending him stumbling backwards.
Crowley saw red.
He twisted his arm sharply, managing to pull free of the man’s grip. Without thinking, he lunged forward, shoving the guy back with enough force to make him stagger.
“Touch him again, and I’ll—”
He cut himself off, his own words hanging in the air like a threat he couldn't afford to finish. The adrenaline was rushing through him, his heart pounding in his ears, and he could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on him—wide, startled. The look that silently asked, What are you doing?
Crowley bit his tongue, his hands trembling as he forced them down to his sides. He glanced at Aziraphale, the angel still catching his balance, and Crowley quickly looked away, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. There wasn’t time for this—there was never time for them .
The man in the flannel shirt regained his footing, his face turning a deep shade of red as he glared at Crowley. “What the hell is wrong with you people?” he spat, his hand clenching into a fist.
Evanna, who’d been watching the whole exchange with an expression halfway between confusion and boredom, rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of—just stop already,” she snapped, but her voice was shaky now. She stumbled a little, her eyes flicking to the TV and then back to Crowley. The guy didn’t seem to hear her, his attention locked on Crowley.
“Police are on their way!” the waitress shouted from behind the counter, her voice shrill. Crowley’s eyes darted to the phone she still held, her knuckles white around the receiver.
“Brilliant,” Crowley muttered, his frustration spilling over. He shot a glare at Aziraphale. “Fix this, would you?”
Aziraphale straightened, his gaze flickering to the man, then to the growing crowd of patrons. He raised his hand slightly, his lips moving, trying another miracle. Crowley could see the shimmer of it, the way the air seemed to waver around the man’s head—like a ripple in the atmosphere. For a moment, it seemed to work. The man blinked, his angry expression softening. But just as suddenly, he shook his head, his eyes sharpening again.
“Get away from her!” the man barked, pointing at Evanna. “She’s coming with me until the police get here.”
Crowley stepped forward again, his body tensing, ready to fight. He felt Aziraphale’s hand on his arm—a quick, gentle touch, almost instinctive. Crowley stiffened, the contact freezing him in place, and he turned to look at Aziraphale, his expression a mix of anger and something unspoken, something raw.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley swallowed hard, his throat tight. He forced himself to take a step back, to let Aziraphale step in front of him, even as the urge to lash out burned under his skin. The tension between them felt like it was about to snap, and Crowley could feel his control slipping. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, trying not to think about the way Aziraphale had looked at him—like he was worried, like he cared.
Aziraphale faced the man, his expression shifting back to that strained politeness. “Please, there’s no need for this. We’re not harming her, I assure you.”
But before the man could respond, something shifted. The diner’s lights flickered, then went out completely, plunging the room into darkness. Gasps echoed through the diner, and Crowley looked up, his eyes widening behind his sunglasses as he saw the sudden, unnatural shadow falling across the windows.
The sun was gone—blotted out by an eclipse that had come out of nowhere.
Aziraphale’s face went pale, his eyes wide, a look of dawning horror spreading across his features. “The first sign,” he whispered, almost to himself, his voice shaky.
Crowley turned to look at Evanna. She swayed on her feet, her face paling, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. She put a hand to her forehead, stumbling slightly. “What... what’s happening?” she muttered, her voice barely audible.
He grabbed her arm, steadying her as she blinked rapidly, her eyes unfocused. She didn’t react, her face a mask of confusion and something that looked almost like fear.
The man in the flannel shirt seemed to falter, looking up at the sudden darkness, his grip loosening on the idea of a “citizen's arrest” as confusion overtook him. Around them, the diner patrons were whispering, their voices a mix of fear and wonder. A child started crying somewhere in the back, the sound sharp and piercing in the silence.
“Time to go,” Crowley muttered, his voice cracking slightly, though he tried to cover it. He pulled Evanna towards the door, Aziraphale following close behind, his eyes still fixed on the sky, his expression haunted.
They pushed through the diner door, the air outside chilling under the strange darkness. Evanna stumbled again, and Crowley practically dragged her to the Bentley, his patience long gone. He shoved her into the backseat, slamming the door shut as Aziraphale climbed into the passenger side.
The engine roared to life, the sound breaking the eerie silence of the darkened town. Crowley gripped the wheel, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself.