Curate, connect, and discover
thinking about Crowley and Aziraphale driving around, doing whatever, before everything went to shit in the end. Crowley's driving the Bentley, obviously, and the two of them have fallen into a comfortable silence that they're both used to after 6000 years together, especially the past few, since the stopped Apocalypse.
Crowley is driving like a maniac as per usual, blasting Queen and whatever else happens to have been in his car for less than two weeks. He glances sideways from beneath his glasses, a stolen glance that he allows himself towards his the angel, and he sees -
Aziraphale has fallen asleep.
Crowley is surprised. He hadn't even known that the angel did sleep. and then he remembers that night in his flat after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, when, before they had made their plan to stop their own respective sides from getting to them (thanks, Agnes Nutter) they had passed out, spectacularly drunk, on Crowley's couch that had become soft just for the occasion, and the demon had awoken to the angel snoring, leaning over his leg. So, yes. Aziraphale slept.
Crowley contemplates this for about three seconds before letting out an extremely exaggerated, dramatic sigh and slowing down the car, stopping his inane swerving and speeding and dropping to just below the speed limit. And then some. And then some more.
He miracles any and all possible bumps in the road to be smoothed over, and muffles the outside noise through suddenly-tinted windows. He flicks the radio down, Freddie Mercury barely audible over Crowley's bated breaths and Aziraphale's small, huffing snores.
The Bentley recognizes the significance of its owner's actions, and it too works to quiet its own engine, smoothing out its drive and warming its insides to be the perfect temperature for a fussy angel.
Crowley glances at Aziraphale once more, and settles back into his driver's seat, fully prepared and ready to loop around, driving slowly with barely any music, if it means that his the overworked angel can have a well-deserved rest.
When Aziraphale wakes up later, he cracks open an eye to see Crowley, driving slowly and purposefully, mouthing the words to some barely-audible song of his (probably be-bop, Aziraphale thinks disapprovingly), his sunglasses having been placed in some compartment. His gorgeous yellow eyes are barely visible in the dim light of the car through the windows, even though it's still day out. Almost as if someone has miracled the windows to be purposefully dark, as to not disturb someone. A sleeping someone, perhaps. Perhaps that is the same reason why the Bentley is driving slow enough for it to be of a concern, and why the usually-deafening music is at an all-time low volume.
Aziraphale watches for a long moment - an extended stolen glance, of sorts - and then lets out an exaggerated yawn and stretches, blinking slowly, smiling at Crowley, who, at the sight of him, reddens, and immediately clocks up from going 30 miles per hour to 95, the music abruptly becoming blaring again, Queen's Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy.
"Sleep well, angel?" He asks, slamming his sunglasses back over his nose, and Aziraphale smiles, rolling his eyes. Silly demon.
"It was quite undisturbed, yes." And then, more cheekily: "Thank you, my dear."
"Dunno what you're thankin' me for," says Crowley gruffly, and Aziraphale merely smiles wider before leaning back in his leather seat, watching the demon's gaze flicker over to him ever so often from behind his sunglasses - as if to check that his counterpart is still awake, and to check that he has no need to be as kind as he just was.
(might write an actual fic of this lmk if that’s something y’all would want to read!)