Archive of Our Own ^beta

Crowley had not taken anything that caused hallucinations, he was quite certain. Then again, the amount of alcohol in his bloodstream made him rather uncertain as to... Well, everything. The world was still a bearable, temperature-room soup, and it was yet to be seen if it would heat up into agonising pain, or leave him cold and empty once he stopped drinking. If he ever felt like stopping, that is.

So he wasn't entirely certain if the person sitting next to him at the bar was entirely real. Nobody should be able to bother him, he made sure of that. He didn't remember if sitting next to him was included in bothering.

The asshole in question was wearing sunglasses. A pair he himself might have worn a few decades ago, but now decidedly not. Some things got old and stylish, some just got old. He had standards.

He suddenly needed to take a swig out of the glass of - whatever it was that he had been drinking. Didn't really matter much.

He tried to get a better look at the stranger next to him. Dark hair. Good cheekbones. Drinking... Huh. He examined his own bottle. Yes, drinking talisker as well.

Would you look at that.

In the soup of his mind, the metaphorical spoon has long ago dropped and disappeared. But now a glint of metal was trying to catch his attention.

He did his best to concentrate. The guy sitting next to him was... He was…

A bit strange in some way. The spoon went back to happily clinking away at the bottom of the bowl.

He didn't get a chance to try and fish it out again, because the stranger spoke.

"Alright, what are you playing at."

Crowley turned to him with an eloquent "whuh?".

The stranger turned as well, and glared from behind his sunglasses. At least Crowley assumed so. He had a lot of practice in concealed glaring, less in being concealingly glared at.

"What do you want? Who are you?" The glaring continued. "Not working with Hell anymore. Not interested in any offers. If it's about the Second Coming, I probably know as much as you do."

Crowley was very rapidly getting sober against his will. He stumbled off the barstool, narrowly avoiding total collapse.

"What?! 'm not... 'M not working with Hell either, no! Or... Or with Heaven."

What the fuck was going on?

There was a small comfort in the way the stranger was almost as unnerved as him. Wary. Careful. He didn't stand up when Crowley did, but he did turn to watch his movements closely.

"Why did you appear out of nowhere next to me then?", the stranger hissed.

"Funny you should ask," said Crowley, sitting back down, almost sober enough to think, "because I would have asked you the exact same question."

Through two pairs of sunglasses, the staring contest that ensued seemed rather pointless. Crowley was used to having his eyes covered, secured, but currently was reflecting on how annoying it can be for the other person. Which was good. When it's him being annoying, that is.

He broke the not-really-eye contact, and took a deep breath. There wasn't really much to lose now, was there.

With a sigh, he offered his right hand. "Crowley."

The stranger did not move for nearly a minute. His face was devoid of expression, save for his eyebrows shooting up when he heard the name. Crowley was about to put his stupid hand away, but the stranger's own carefully rose and shook his.

"Crowley. Also."

Well, this was about to get very weird. And very confusing.

Crowley looked at the stranger again, really looked. Yes, this was the spoon. This was the thing that had been nagging him - the person seemed awfully familiar. Not only on a superficial physical level, with the clothes and sunglasses and alcohol, but also on a metaphysical one. This was... Him.

It also was not him. He would know. He was him. Someone else could not be him. Most likely.

He realized that the handshake went on longer than usual, and broke it off, perhaps a bit too quickly. To hide the awkwardness, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, because the bottle was miraculously full again, and he really needed a drink. Again.

The stranger - the other him - seemed to be of a similar mind. He halfheartedly raised his own glass in Crowley's general direction. They drank together in silence.

"Nice to have someone to have a drink with again", Crowley said, because hell, he came here to get shitfaced and cry, and if he had a chance to rant at someone who actually heard it, for his own blessed sake, he would.

The other Crowley made a noncommittal sound, and was about to raise his glass to drink, but then furrowed his brow. "Wait. Again? What about..."

"Mgh. Yeah, not... Not happening anytime soon." He was not ready to talk about this. He needed to talk about this and this might be his only bloody chance. He was a coward.

"Ah." The other Crowley shifted in his chair uncomfortably, clearly processing the words. "Happened before. A century or so of radio silence. Always... Always works out in the end. Somehow."

Crowley didn't know how to feel about this. Because he sort of recognised this as an attempt at comforting him. The other him looked uncomfortable as well, so at least he wasn't alone in it.

"Mmh, it's... Different this time." He turned and with a frown raised a finger, "We are talking about the same thing, right? The same... Person. 'Cus if we're not, this conversation could turn very confusing very fast, and, uh..."

"I think we are, yeah. I'll say it if you say it first." The other Crowley was glaring again, but with much less menace. More... caution. Right. Never too much caution. Crowley knew he wasn't a threat, but the other Crowley couldn't read his mind. The other Crowley, it seemed, still had something to lose.

He leaned heavier on the bar, and mumbled, "Aziraphale." He looked into his glass, hopelessly. He filled it again. "I'm talking about Aziraphale."

"Right. Yeah. Kay." The other Crowley sniffed. "Aziraphale. Also who I meant."

They sat in silence, sipping their drinks. Crowley was, much faster than his counterpart, getting drunk again.

"Sssso. As I said, he'll come around. If he's anything like, uh, the one I know." He shifted in his seat. "Urgh, this is like pulling teeth... Only I've never had teeth pulled, you know? Least, I don't think so. You probably haven't either, huh?"

Crowley didn't reply for a second. This was weird. It was weird, because it was so familiar. "Don't recall, no. But, see, it's not gonna happen. Not this time."

He could see the confusion, even through the sunglasses. "Pulling teeth?"

"Aziraphale." He drank the rest of the glass in one swig, and brought it down onto the bar. "He's not coming back this time. See, he's not just, not just pissed off at me, or having some alone time, no. He's, he's"- he laughed, and pointed up -"he's in a better place!"

He could practically see gears turning in the other Crowley's head. He liked to think he wasn't easy to read, but his own expressions he could recognise, no problem. He could read him like an open... Well. It was easy to tell what he was thinking, is all.

"Is this when the bookshop burned down? Is this some... Time travel alternate reality thingy going on?" The other Crowley wiggled his fingers, as if that made it any clearer, "Because I remember having a thought of drinking myself unconscious then, and..."

"Nonononono," Crowley interrupted, "that was a few years back, no. I mean - yeah, I did basically that, then, too, I guess, but then he came back, and I..." His voice was not cooperating. "Mnh, and I drove to him. And everything worked out, the whole Apocalypse thing at least."

He needed more alcohol.

"Huh", said the other Crowley.

"What?"

"I just drove straight to Tadfield. Was in the book, the, uh, notes and all that."

"Huh. I just figured it was a random book."

They both pondered this for a while.

Crowley felt the need to start talking again. "And then through the blessed flaming..."

"...m25? Yeah. Mkay. So... A lot of things are the same. And that was a few years ago for both of us."

Crowley nodded.

"So why is your Aziraphale in Heaven? I mean, I'm assuming he is, you pointed that way, so uh... What gives?"

"He...." Crowley's truly monumental task of not letting his voice crack failed, so he tried again, "He has discovered his civic obligations!" Something that could either be a laugh or a sob escaped his throat.

The other Crowley looked at him with confusion. He took it as a prompt to continue. "And he uh, offered me a position. I declined. Granted, then I made a complete ass of myself trying to get him to stay, and..."

"Wait wait wait", the other Crowley interrupted. "A position... In Heaven? What?"

"Right?!"

"Aziraphale knows better than to trust Heaven! I mean, at least mine does. The only reason he accepted the whole Second Coming job was that..."

"...wait, you've mentioned that before. Is this what they're planning? Jesus two, kill all life boogaloo?"

"Yeah, but I mean, we've stopped one Apocalypse. Granted, the humans did most of the work, but you know, if it worked out once, it can work out again." He nonchalantly took a sip of his whiskey, not making eye contact.

Crowley realised with surprise that while the other Crowley's face hid quite a lot of fear, he really did believe the words he just said.

"I envy your optimism." Crowley murmured, and looked on behind the bar. The bartender has long gone home. There was no-one else here.

"Hey, lisssten. I'm not saying it's gonna be easy, right. And that we can just sit back and relax, and the Universe sorts itself out. I'm only here because Aziraphale's busy with paperwork, and I needed to, to wind down for a minute. But hey, if it worked out for me, then..."

"Have you seen Spiderverse?" Crowley interrupted.

The other Crowley looked slightly offended at the interruption. "Have I seen what?"

"The movie! Well, two, there's a sequel now. Animated, lots of... Action and stuff. Came out in uh, 2019? The sequel came out last year. Or maybe this year?"

The other Crowley's mouth opened, then closed. It opened again, with a question, "What year is it where you're from?"

"2023. I mean you're... Oooooh." The realisation hit Crowley like a molasses-covered bus. "Ooh, okay, yeah, that would explain..."

"Yeah, would explain the fashion choices." The phrase was said in a way that suggested the fashion choices in question, while not entirely approved of, were at least interesting. Like a very strange exotic and dish that looks revolting, but might turn out delicious. Might.

"...yeah. Yeah, I should have known. Wouldn't wear these glasses today. Anyways, well that's kind of also a thing in that movie. Same person is different in different dimensions, it can be a different year, place, and so on, but the person and the key events in their life stay the same. It's still Spider-man. Or woman. Or... You get it."

"Wait, Spider-man as in comics? They're still making movies out of superhero comics?"

"Yeah!"

"Huh." The other Crowley leaned back, and shook his head. "Figured they'd stop after the whole Flash thing."

Crowley resisted the urge to go on about how he really should have taken credit for the soulless comic movie industry. Especially Marvel. Would have gotten him a commendation, that. "Wait, so what year is it for you?"

"1994."

"Aaah." He recalled it as the year he was finally beginning to get over Freddie Mercury's death. "Yeah, that tracks." He exhaled through his nose. "But the not-so-pocalypse still happened about four years ago for you?"

"Huh, yeah." He shrugged. "Guess it works out better if it's done earlier?" The other Crowley's grin was designed to piss off. "Because let me tell you, from the looks of it, you got the short end of the interdimensional stick."

Crowley wasn't in the mood for this. The way his thoughts were going was not nice. The soup was boiling.

"Yeah. Yeah, you know what, it's good to know that if only the miserable Great Plan had the alarm set for a few decades earlier, it would all have worked out fine!" He hit the table with his fist, and stayed in the position, shaking, as the hand that was holding his now-shattered glass bled.

It was very silent for the next few minutes.
He finally stopped feeling the glass shards, only to realise they simply weren't there anymore.

With a sound that suggested trying out teeth-pulling would be very much preferable right now, the other Crowley leaned against the bar as well, mumbled something that sounded a lot like "I'm gonna regret this...", and asked through gritted teeth, "Do you. Want to.Talk. About it?" He looked like he regretted it at once.

Crowley pulled his glass-shard-free hand across his face, beneath even his glasses. He didn't want to talk about it. He desperately needed to talk about it. He might never get the chance to talk about it again - not really, not to someone who understands. Certainly not someone who understands as well as he assumed only he could understand.

He sighed. "Will you listen."

The other Crowley looked like he wished to dematerialize right on the spot. He was nearly writhing on the barstool, every part of his being begging him to say 'no'. Crowley pitied him, really. He wouldn't like to be in this situation either. Finally the struggle concluded in "mmnhgghh, sure."

Crowley sighed, both in relief and resignation. This would be hard for both of them. "Where do I even start."

"Not at the beginning, please." The other Crowley rolled his head back in exasperation.

"I mean it started there, I s'pose, but you probably already know all of that, more or less."

"Maybe just... Tell me the worst part. Rip the bandaid off, or whatsitcalled."

"The worst? Without any context?" Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. You'll fill me in later if needed." He shrugged. "No reason to dance around it."

Crowley took a few deep breaths. "Kay. Okay, I can do that."

Rip the bandaid off. Couldn't have said it better himself.

"I kissed Aziraphale, he said 'I forgive you', and then he left."

The other Crowley, who had up to that point been leaning on the bar, now nearly lost his grip on it. He fumbled to not fall off his chair.
"You what?"

"Don't make me say it again."

The other Crowley was silent, staring into space for a good thirty seconds. "Like, on the lips?"

"Mhm."

"And - and it's not... You're still in England, right?"

"Yu-p."

"And it hasn't changed meaning since..."

"Oh for whoever's sake, yes, you're not missing cultural context, you're not missing anything, it means exactly what you think it means."

The other Crowley leaned heavier on the bar, his head propped up on his hand, his sunglasses tilted. "Okay, listen, I'm gonna be honest. I thought you were kinda sad and pathetic, and a bigger coward than me. Like, no offense, but that's the... thingy... the aura you give off. But now I'm not so sure anymore."

Crowley wasn't offended exactly, he would have probably said the same thing if he saw himself right now. What he was surprised about was that this got-the-long-end-of-the-interdimensional-stick Crowley, whose Aziraphale was seemingly still on Earth and talking terms with him, was so... Jumpscared? No, not the word, probably. Ah, yes. Flustered by the idea.

"No, but... On the lips?"

"Yes!"

"Like in movies? Like humans?"

"For fuck's sake, yes! I was desperate. I don't really... I'm not sure why I did it, exactly. Maybe I wanted to convince him to stay. Maybe I wanted to hurt him back. Maybe I thought, hey, might never get the chance to do this, might never see him again, do it now! Either way, it was really stupid."

The other Crowley looked at him again. "Sorry, I'm still stuck on the 'you kissed him on the mouth' thing."

Crowley laughed incredulously. "What, you've never... You've never thought of it? Are you still in the 'can't believe he actually called me his friend' phase?"

"What? No, he's been calling me his friend for a - a long time. I just never thought that..."

Crowley, for the first time in this entire conversation, felt like he had the more stable footing, at least metaphorically. Physically, he was still unsure of the cardinal directions. "Ah, yeah, I think I get it. You're in the 'we're friends and that's cool, but I constantly feel like something is missing, and, shit, do I want this to be something different, and even do something about it?' phase. Yeah, had that... Had that a few days before everything crashed. Shouldn't be surprised, really, given that I also needed someone else to tell me this to my face to get it."

The other Crowley looked straight at him, visibly shaken. He then looked away, leaned on the bar, and took his sunglasses off, staring at the rows of bottles, but clearly not seeing them.

Crowley saw a chance to be hilarious. He took his own shades off, and looking at the other demon with too much faux-compassion in his snake eyes, he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

The other Crowley, it seems, was in the mood. He burst out laughing, covering his eyes with one hand. Crowley found himself chuckling as well, and some of the nervous energy that had been building up between them was released.

The other Crowley replaced his glasses on his face, but was still smiling as he turned to him, and said, quite decidedly, "No."

Crowley raised his hands in defence. "Alright, alright! No pressure. Only if you're ready."

"I preferred you sad and pathetic, actually. You evoked pity at least. Seeing you smug is just annoying."

"Oh, don't lie to me, you love being annoyed. I would know."

Their laughter died down.

"This is weird, huh. This is really weird."

"Yeah, agreed. Can we go back to you telling me how your existence went to shit?"

Crowley put his sunglasses back on. "Sure. So. Yes, I kissed him. I'm not sure if I regret it. Entirely. Before that, I told him... I tried to tell him that I... Ngh... You know." The other Crowley nodded. "Right. So. I was trying to tell him. And he - he interrupted. And he told me how they - well, the Metatron - how the Metatron told him that..."

"Sorry, the Metatron? Voice of God, highest authority in Heaven, and so on?'

"Yeah, that one. The giant floating head. Anyways, he told Aziraphale that since Gabriel was sacked from being Supreme Archangel..."

"Wait wait wait. Gabriel? That stick-in-his-ass Gabriel? Fallen?"

"No, he didn't Fall, he... Argh, I said there would be lots of context needed. Just - sit quiet for a moment and listen, okay?" The other Crowley nodded again. "Okay. So. Since Gabriel ran away to Alpha Centauri or wherever with Beelzebub-" he could see the other Crowley open his mouth to ask, so he raised a finger as a warning, "-with Beelzebub, the Metatron offered Aziraphale the position of Supreme Archangel."

The other Crowley did not manage to stay quiet, despite his best efforts. He slammed a hand onto the wooden bar. "Bullshit!"

Crowley wagged the raised finger. "Right. Bullshit. But it's not over, no no no. See, Aziraphale only said yes, because - get this - because he was told that he could take me to Heaven, and reinstate me as an angel. As his second in command, no less."

It took every nerve in the other Crowley's corporation to not move. Or scream.

"So then I say, right, I ask, so you said no? And he doesn't answer. So - and wait, there's more context needed, because right before Aziraphale came back, these two humans - Nina and Maggie, run a coffee shop and a record shop near Aziraphale's... Well, nearby. Dunno if they're there in your time, but. Anyways. So they told me, right, that we - me and Aziraphale - that we never actually talk to each other. And I say what, we talk all the time! But they said we never actually talk about our actual, thoughts and feelings. And I thought, shit, we don't, do we."

The other Crowley, so far sitting as still as possible, now shifted his position. Despite the sunglasses, Crowley could see his thoughts racing.

He continued. "Right. So. Couple that with my previous revelation, hah, that uh, you know. Maybe this could be something else. And I was just. Determined to do something about it. So after Aziraphale gave me that idiotic offer, I was, as you can imagine, a bit shaken in my conviction. But I still went with it, because," his voice, for the last few minutes going strong, now faltered again, "because I thought well, if this won't convince him to not take the offer, then nothing can." He swallowed, and in a small voice finished, "And apparently, nothing could."

He needed a while to collect himself.

The other Crowley has been covering his mouth with his hand for a while now, as nonchalant in his shock as it is possible to be nonchalantly shocked.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I can understand your need to drink yourself into oblivion much better now. Honestly, would have probably done the same." Crowley nodded, still not ready to continue. "But wait, wait a minute. Doesn't your Aziraphale know how awful Heaven is? Shit, does... Does mine know? Would he... He wouldn't, would he? He wouldn't take that offer. Why... Why did yours..?" This was clearly a crisis the other Crowley would have to deal with sometime later.

"He said we could 'work together'. He said he could make a difference. In Heaven! Hah. As if trying to make Heaven change has ever ended well."

"Myeah."

They sat in silence for a while. Their glasses were empty, but they didn't bother filling them anymore. They were wobbly enough already.

"Wait, what if..." The other Crowley narrowed his eyes, "what if he couldn't tell you what the Metatron had really told him? Have you actually heard any of the actual conversation they had?"

"No, but..."

"Well, there you go. Maybe he was threatened, couldn't say no, and he was trying to get you to come with him! Safety in... Well, in not being alone."

Crowley looked at Crowley as if Crowley had just kicked him. "Don't fucking do this. I know you said you prefer me miserable, but don't do this."

"No, listen, I'm being serious. What if he was speaking in code? Maybe he wrote you a message, or, or..."

Crowley groaned. "You're in your Bond phase, aren't you."

"Wha?"

"You've watched too many James Bond movies. '94, so the most recent one would be..."

He watched the other Crowley struggle to not be too eager to answer. "Timothy Dalton. License to Kill."

"Well, there you go. You're reaching. Overactive... Overactive imagination. I would know."

The other Crowley looked mildly pissed off. "Do you not like James Bond anymore?"

"I do! Of course I do. Still have the..." he pointed in the vague direction his Bentley would be parked, and lamely finished, "the stickers."

The other Crowley snorted. "Man. We're both so cool."

Crowley chose to ignore the sarcasm. "Damn right we are."

The aura of self-consciousness, Crowley thought, was not at all intolerable, when hung in a room with only himself for company. He liked his own company, he decided, but only when he wasn't actually alone.

The other Crowley finally spoke, as laid back as possible. "You know what, yeah. We are cool. And your Aziraphale - I'm sure he had his reasons. He's not... He's not stupid. If he's anything like the one I know. If he still actually believes the propaganda, hey, maybe it'll take him longer, but he'll get there. One way or another."

"M... Like the bullet catch. We gotta... We gotta trust each other." Crowley's wobbly thoughts drifted off onto the deceptively gentle waters of better memories.

"Like the... Oooh. Yeah! Yeah, sure. But you know, if he breaks your trust, you shouldn't... I mean you can just go it on your own. Like the old times. Sure, it gets a bit lonely, but there'll at least be Earth, and humans, and..."

"He kissed me back, you know." Crowley was having a nice staring contest with a Cotswold bottle.

"Whuh?"

"He kissed me back. Just for a moment. He didn't push away, and he kissed me back. And for just one second I had hope."

"Ngk."

"Yeah. Not that simple, is it? To go it on your own?"

"Listen, all I'm saying is... Is, either this turns out alright, or it doesn't. And, and you should be prepared for both outcomes. Right?" He turned around to face him properly. "Okay, currently, everything went to shit. Now, from this point forward, what is the worst scenario that could happen?"

"Pfff, I dunno." He didn't really want to 'no.

"Come on, overactive imagination, right? What's the worst thing that could happen?" The other Crowley was now as far from laid back as he could be. He was staring at him intently. He was invested. No wonder, really.

"Right, worst case scenario." He dragged his hand across his face. "Uhhh, tomorrow Aziraphale comes down from Heaven, bringing the Apocalypse with no warning, and... Tells me how much he hates me. And I die. Painfully."

"Okay, now what's the best case scenario?"

"Ah, wait, I've heard that one on the Internet."

"The what?"

"The Internet. Really takes off around the end of the millenium. You'll love it. Love to hate it. Anyways, right, best case scenario... The Apocalypse never happens, and... Nope, not saying the rest out loud, but I know how this goes. Probably neither scenario actually happens, and it'll be something in the middle, blah blah blah."

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'hope for the best, be prepared for the worst', but that's close enough. So just... As long as you don't just sit here and mope, yeah?"

Crowley sighed. "After this, I was thinking of taking a long nap..."

The other Crowley made a face. "Yeah, not a good idea. If your world is going parallel to mine, the end of the world is being planned as we speak."

The other Crowley was speaking as if he actually knew what was going on. Bullshitting convincingly was a honed skill. Less effective when you knew what was up. Up was a cardinal direction, and he was beginning to get a grasp on them again. Or perhaps the room just decided to be nice to him for once and stop spinning.

Crowley went quiet for a moment. "Where are we, actually?"

The other Crowley looked around. "Well, don't quote me on that, but I was under the impression we were in a pub."

"Which pub?"

"Huh?" His glasses nearly slid off the tip of his nose.

"Which pub?"

"What do you mean, which... Oh, right, I get it. You went into a pub in your world, and I went into a pub in mine, but..."

"Yeah!" Crowley was now also looking around, searching for clues. "Which one are we in right now, 's the question."

"Everything looks normal to me."

"Yeah, same. Though I admit, I hadn't admired the place much before I started drinking. Heavily." He sniffed.

"Do you have a watch?"

"Course I have a watch, who do you think I am?"

"It was around, uh, eight thirty when I walked in here?", said the other Crowley, looking at his own.

"Wasn't paying attention, but I think it was earlier for me. Two o'clock maybe?" He stared at the ceiling, as if it could give him the answer. The other Crowley tapped his arm. "What?" The other didn't answer, just pointed to his wristwatch. The dials were spinning at a rather alarming speed. All three in different directions. Somehow.

He looked at his own. The tapes and numbers weren't doing too well either. The other Crowley was peeking over his shoulder, and Crowley could have sworn he hummed in approval.

"It. Shouldn't be doing that, huh."

"Nope." Against his better judgement, Crowley took out his phone. He ignored the quiet "ooh" on his left, and unlocked it. The numbers on the main screen were, unsurprisingly, randomly changing. Like in the Matrix. He wouldn't get the reference yet.

He turned on his location.

"You know, it's one thing to theoretically know about future inventions, another to actually see them. Earth. Nothing beats it."

Crowley was too focused to chime in, but absently nodded his head. The map finally loaded. It was entirely black.

No, not entirely. Right above the arrow signifying the location of the phone, there was a point of interest.

He clicked it. It read "Jimmy's Pub".

He turned around to look out of the front windows. The view was... Indistinct. Earlier, he wouldn't have noticed anything was wrong, but now, when he focused, he could tell there was nothing. Nothing outside of the windows.

"Well, Crowley," said Crowley, "it appears that we are in Jimmy's Pub. Unfortunately it also appears that Jimmy's Pub is located nowhere."

The other Crowley went silent and still. They looked at each other. They both, almost simultaneously, got up and, only a little unsteadily, reached the door. It was, predictably, closed.

"Shit." said the other Crowley.

"Shit indeed," said Crowley. He tested the air. "Not a miracle. Just kind of a..."

"...a warping. Yeah, I see."

He still seemed uneasy. On edge. Crowley wouldn't have minded getting stuck here, but the other one... The other one cared. Had something to go back to.

"Listen. You did a miracle on my hand earlier, right? You healed it."

"Nothing of sorts."

"Argh - lisssten! We're alone here, get over yourself. You did a miracle. And earlier, I think I filled my bottle back up with one as well. What does that tell us?"

"No idea! Why are you... Hmm."

"Exactly. We both have access to our powers. From our respective worlds."

The other Crowley nodded, slowly, still processing. "So?"

"So I'm thinking, either this is something that only temporarily puts us between worlds, something that will pass, like a, an eclipse! Right? Either that, or, or we'll be able to pull ourselves back with that connection."

"Look who's an optimist now," mumbled the other Crowley, gloomily looking out of the window at the not-view.

"I mean - listen. You can tell me that everything works out nice in the end, I'm allowed to throw that right back at ya." He waved his hand between them. "Fair's fair, right?"

The other Crowley sighed. "You know what, fine." To Crowley's surprise, he headed back towards the bar and sat down. He followed suit.

They drank, a bit slower than previously. The speakers that had been droning out some sad blues before, started playing an instrumental version of Killer Queen. Crowley wasn't sure which one of them was responsible.

"So. You haven't finished telling me your sad life story."

"Was honestly hoping you'd forget."

"Nah, how could I?"

"Urgh. Right. Where was I?"

"He kissed you back, and... No, I think that was later, it's all out of order."

"Serves you right for asking me to tell you the worst bit first."

"Wait, there was more to the worst bit, there was a kiss, and then he said something and left?"

Crowley groaned. "I am not gonna repeat this - you know what? It's your turn. What have you been doing with your time, since Armageddon didn't start?"

The other Crowley raised his hands in defence halfheartedly, and leaned back. "Wait wait wait, you said 'when you're ready'!"

"You seem ready enough. Come on, you can get it in a few sentences if it was really so nice and easy." He took off his sunglasses, tucking them into his jacket. A gesture of… well, he couldn't really put it in words, but the other Crowley would understand.

"Fine." The other Crowley rolled his eyes, and took his own glasses off as well, holding them with two fingers on the table. "Well, after Armageddon didn't happen, we went to the Ritz. Last year Shax took over my flat. Now we're trying to stop the end of the world again." He waved his hands like he just did a jig. "That's basically it."

Crowley's eyebrows got closer together. "Wait, no... No execution?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh. Hmm."

"Wait, no, what execution?" The other Crowley looked alarmed.

Should he tell him? He checked that no-one was listening. The void was empty, there was only the two of them. It was probably safe. Probably. And the other him could find the information useful someday. Or it could make him paranoid. He couldn't know. Then again, protecting someone by keeping them in the dark hasn't exactly worked out too well for him in the…

"...llo? Hello? Jimmy's Pub Floating In The Void to Crowley?"

Someone was snapping their fingers in front of his face. Yellow eyes with slitted pupils stared at him with worry. "Hey there. You were zoning out a little."

"Um. No, wasn't. Just. Lost in thought, 's all."

"Whatever you say," said the other Crowley, but did not seem to actually believe it in the slightest. He could probably read him just as easily. Should have kept the glasses on.

"Anyways. Um. Okay. So. You can't tell this to anyone. Just in case, you know, anything else can leak between our worlds."

A slow, hesitant nod answered him.

"No, you have to say it out loud. Say, I promise to not tell anyone about this unless my life is in danger." Crowley used the lack of glasses to try and convey the weight of the matter.

The other crossed his arms. "So if someone threatens me with death, I'm supposed to rat you out?"

Crowley made a sound. "Just do it. It'll be clearer when you hear the actual thing."

"Alright, alright! I promise I won't tell anyone, okay? Happy?" He gestured with his glass.

"Ehh, good enough." He took a swig out of his own. "Right, so. After we stopped the Armageddon, they captured us. Heaven and Hell. They were planning to execute us for treason. Holy water and hellfire." The other Crowley's face was suddenly very, very pale. "But we had a plan. Well, a prophecy that turned into a plan."

"Didn't you give the book back?", the other Crowley asked, very weakly.

"Yeah, but a scrap with a prophecy fell out. Choose your faces wisely. So we did. We switched places."

"Oh." He swirled the liquid in his glass, probably the same swirling happening in his head. "Wait, where did they get the..."

"Oh, they were working together. Collaborating to destroy us both." He smiled without joy.

"The fucking hypocrisy!"

"Right? Anyways, that absolute wanker Gabriel, he looked me straight in the eye - thinking he was looking at Aziraphale - and he said, and I quote, 'shut your stupid mouth and die already'".

Now that the sunglasses were off, he could very clearly see the anger written across the other Crowley's face. Matching his own, he assumed.

"I mean, I'd always known Gabriel was an asshole, but this is just..."

Crowley leaned back against the bar. "Oh, and it's not over! Because apparently, while him and Beelzebub were talking about ending the world at the airbase..."

"Wait, Gabriel was there?"

Crowley shrugged. "Yeah."

"Huh. It was Beelzebub and the Metatron in my uh, world."

"Ohh. Oh, well, yeah, that explains it. They didn't vavoom at the airbase, so later your Gabriel didn't turn up naked and without his memory on your Aziraphale's doorstep."

The other Crowley choked on the sip of whiskey he was taking.

Right. More explanations. "Yeah, that happened, uh, recently. Turned out him and Beelzebub have been meeting up and canoodling ever since they met at the airbase, and decided hey, actually, nah to Armageddon. So Heaven tried to demote Gabriel and delete his memory, but he put it in a fly and holed up at the bookshop, while we were risking our necks trying to keep him safe. Still don't know why Aziraphale let him in..."

It seemed this was too much at once to even attempt to process, so the other Crowley focused on the last part. "He let him in? Willingly? After the whole execution business?"

"Oh, well, I mean, he's, hah, he's good at forgiveness." He stopped himself from shattering another glass. "And besides, I didn't tell him about that part."

The other Crowley was looking at him incredulously. He fidgeted with his sunglasses, like he was considering putting them back on. "Why?", he simply asked.

"Why I didn't tell him?" A nod. "Well, I mean," Crowley was getting nervous under that stare, the other Crowley swaying to the sides a bit, "I mean he already had a lot on his plate, right? He didn't need to know, at least I thought he didn't, not about the details. It's not like he tells me everything either, I guess we just... Trust that we don't need to?"

His point was not coming across very well.

"You know," the other Crowley said, still staring at him, "I think the humans were right."

"Huh?"

"About you not talking to each other."

"Oh, oh so you and your angel," he saw the other Crowley flinch, but pushed on, "you two are so very honest and so open with each other, yeah? That's why you're trying to chastise me?"

"Mmh."

"Is that why the thought of kissing him is oh so scandalous to you? Do you get your needs across so well? How's that car life treating you, hmm?"

The other Crowley's fidgeting with the sunglasses turned into raising them up to where they were hanging near his face, ready to cover it. Crowley didn't want him to do that.

He sighed. "Listen, it's alright, kay? Don't wanna freak you out. All I'm saying is, we're not so different. And, and if you can give me advice on my situation, then, hey, I could give you advice on yours. Yours seems much easier to deal with, really."

The glasses lowered onto the wooden surface, but so did the other Crowley's head. He sighed, and mumbled from beneath his sleeve, "Sure."

"Okay. So. Tell me about it. If you can't open up to yourself, you won't be able to open up to anyone." He grinned.

The other Crowley raised his head just enough to glare at him. "You know, I hate that your patheticness seems to have rubbed off on me."

"Great. We have more and more in common. Shoot!" Oh, Crowley was having fun now.

The speakers decided that this was the perfect time to play You're My Best Friend. Better than the list of possibly every single Queen song with the word 'love' in the title that have been distracting him for the recent part of the conversation. There was the Old Rat King in there somewhere, too, for some reason.

"Where do I even start?"

Crowley snapped his fingers and pointed at him theatrically. "The worst part?"

The other Crowley slightly shook his head, trying to actually consider the matter seriously. He sat for a moment, listening to the music.

"You know, it's not even funny anymore. The music, I mean. It's not that I mind Queen, Queen is solid. It just seems to always be following me. Even in here, apparently."

"Ah, that might have been me, sorry." Crowley thought about changing the music, but decided not to. Too unsubtle. "It's uh, it grows on you. At first you're like ok, it's fine, then you begin to get annoyed that it keeps appearing where you are, and before you know it, you like it again, so much so that it's become an intrinsic part of you."

The other Crowley looked at him /strangely/.

"What?"

"Nothing." He sniffed. "So. What even is there to say. It's Aziraphale. You know Aziraphale."

"Well, I don't know your Aziraphale."

"Hmm. Right. Well, he's a bastard." He said it with a smile.

Crowley went through the strange stages of getting offended, remembering that it's him that's saying it, about a different Aziraphale, no less, and realising that on some level he does actually strongly agree with it. Still, he shifted a bit in his seat.

"I mean, we've known each other for a long time. Basically forever. We have each others' backs. We like uh. Hanging out. We're, you know. Friends." He sipped his drink, avoiding eye contact again.

Crowley nodded, though his chin being propped up on his hand made it a bit difficult.

"Does this even have to change at all? I mean, it's not that I think I'd make an equally big disaster of it as you did…" Crowley made a face. "...no offence. But still. It's a little…"

"...scary?" Crowley intercepted.

The other Crowley instinctively tried to deflect, but then sighed and gave up. "Yeah."

"Mhmn. Yeah, it is. Scariest shit in the world." He swirled the suddenly half-full glass, and stared at the ceiling. "The question is, do you think it's worth it?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, you ran me through that worst case-best case thingy before." He vaguely waved his hand in the air. "Is the best possible thing that might happen worth risking the worst thing happening? Because you know, I'd love to tell you to follow your heart or the rough approximation thereof, but…"

"Yeah, no, that's fair. Umh." The sunglasses in the other Crowley's hand were nearly doing pirouettes as he mulled it over. "You know what, maybe if I don't do it at the last possible moment, and kind of… mention the topic briefly. Subtly. I mean. I…" His face cycled through several expressions, landing on bemusement. "I trust him? To not freak out about it?"

He helplessly shrugged, looking at Crowley.

Crowley nodded, and after a moment of hesitation, reached out his hand to pat the other on his shoulder once. It felt weird. "Well, then I say go for it. You've got the advantage on me, right? You know what to uh. Definitely not do."

The other Crowley seemed surprised. This was, apparently, not the advice he was expecting from the sad, pathetic version of himself. Frankly, he looked like he was about to have a heart attack, or an approximation thereof.

Crowley pointed a finger. "And don't you… don't you dare run away from it now. You want my advice, then you have it. You said I'm less of a coward, well you gotta…" he tried to focus to find a decent phrasing, but could not. "You gotta not be one either. Am I clear on that?"

The other Crowley was pointing at him too, now, with alarm in his eyes. "Even too clear. Literally. How are you even doing that? And why?"

Crowley patted himself down, but found his body reliably solid, if a little unsteady. "'M not. What are you on about?"

"You're kinda transparent. I can see right through you. And yknow, not in a psycholodg… psych… mental way."

Crowley looked at the other Crowley, and the bar behind him was indeed visible. He looked at his own hands again to make sure.

"Eclipse!" He threw his hands in the air.

"Wha?"

"The thing that brought us here! The interdimen… the thing! Eclipse! It's passing, I think!" He pointed to the glass doors, through which he could very faintly see a familiar street appearing.

The other Crowley followed his gaze, and seemed to have also realised what was going on. "Oh. Ohh! Right." His brow furrowed. "How much time left do you think we have here?"

Crowley decided to sober up a little, because at the moment things were not only transparent, but also too blurry to think about. He looked at the other demon, at the window, at the various faint pieces of furniture that weren't really there yet, but slowly and surely started appearing. "At this rate, for my money, maybe half an hour or so?"

He got poked in the arm. "Ow! What in the bloody…"

The other Crowley dove behind the bar, and after some rummaging, emerged with a champagne bottle.

"Oooh. That's who Moet and Chandon are!"

"Why'd you poke me?"

"Well, would be a little hard to toast if our glasses went through each other."

"Toast? Why toast?" Crowley was now regretting getting sober. The reality of his miserable situation was now, yet again, clear in his mind.

"Look at it this way," said the other Crowley, picking up the corkscrew, "we're both probably about to have a pretty difficult time of it. We got temporarily stuck in a pub that's floating in a void. We both have... Issues." The bottle opened with a pop. "I think this is the perfect time to, you know. Relax a little. Celebrate."

"What is there to celebrate?", Crowley asked, grumbling.

"Shut up, 'm not finished." The other Crowley poured two glasses and sat down. "Celebrate that we're still alive. And that we met. Because well, as much of a sad loser as you are, I did quite enjoy talking to you. 'S not every day you get to, you know. Talk to someone. Like this."

He wasn't meeting Crowley's eyes, and Crowley for a moment felt that this other him also felt like a sad loser sometimes.

He smiled. "You know, I think I'm starting to see why Aziraphale called," he faltered, with the past tense sneaking in like an unwanted guest at a party, but got through it, "calls me 'nice' sometimes."

"Alright, I lied, you're horrible, just wanted to drink something fancier."

"Nope, can't take it back now, I heard it."

The other Crowley sighed, swirling the alcohol in its tall glass, and almost not spilling any. He extended it towards him. "Right. So. What's the toast."

Crowley had one on the tip of his tongue, but thought better of it. Instead, he raised his glass too, and said, "To everything somehow turning out fine."

"Cheers, I'll drink to that."

Clink.

They sipped the champagne. It was quite good. From their respective points of view, they were both getting progressively less and less visible.

"So. Any last advice? Something I should really know about?" Crowley asked, because these kinds of important questions really only come to you at the last possible moment, or when you're overthinking the interaction afterwards.

The other thought about it briefly. "I mean, there's enough difference between us that even if I had specific information, it might turn out to be irrelevant. So just… Second Coming. Soon. Be ready." He shrugged. "Got anything for me?"

Crowley got hit with a thought, and almost slapped his knee. "He can dance!"

"Who? Aziraphale?" The other Crowley was only half-audible by now.

"Yes!"

"Angels don't dance."

"Mine does! And most likely, yours does too. I mean, come on, since when has he been a typical angel?"

There was a short pause, as the other tried to fit the image of a dancing Aziraphale into his worldview. "Uh, neat? What am I supposed to do with this information?"

"You know I'm not one for giving direct orders. I'm just the messenger." He shrugged.

The other Crowley chuckled. "I suppose so." He put his glasses back on, and took a swig of champagne. "Hope you're not tempting me into the wrong thing."

"I would never!" He grinned, though the other Crowley might have missed it at this point. His image was getting very faint. Crowley suddenly felt somber. "Probably won't be a next time to 'until next time' to, huh."

"Probably not."

"Well… good luck, then," Crowley said to the chair where the other Crowley sat. He couldn't see him anymore.

"Yeah. Good luck," answered the voice out of the aether, and then entirely faded away.

_____

Crowley was alone again, with a surprisingly ordinary glass of Moét and Chandon from another world in his hand. It wouldn't be enough to get drunk again. Maybe he shouldn't.

He sighed, and got up from the bar, making the entrance door snap open, and walking out before a very confused owner of the establishment who was just fumbling with the keys could ask any questions.

Crowley sighed, looking out at the early morning on the London street. Somewhere outside of town, birds were probably singing. Here, it was just traffic and dogs. But maybe someday. Maybe.

He had nowhere to go. He went anyway.