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onceuponapuffin · 1 month

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Fanatic Intervention Part 10!!

Part 10 whaaaaaat??

Alright, so idk if any of you have actually been to NYC, so I played it safe on that end. But I have been (just once), and if you haven't ever heard of Ellen's Stardust Diner, I highly recommend you run (not walk) to Youtube or TikTok or something and search it up. Those folks are amazing, and I had to give the place a nod. Because come on, Aziraphale would LOVE to be served by singing waitstaff.

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You had all gone downstairs for dinner that night (you were not dressed fancily enough, but no one noticed so you pretended you weren’t feeling inadequate the whole time). Aziraphale ate, Crowley watched, you watched them while you ate, Anathema just ate because she’s the only rational one in the group here, let’s be honest. The second you got back into the room apartment suite, you crashed and were dead to the world until morning.

And so, you wake up, yawning and needing coffee, but otherwise alright. You make your way out of your bedroom, and find Anathema sitting at the large dining room table surrounded by papers, tarot cards, rune stones, crystals, a pendulum, and books. She’s frantically writing on a piece of paper.

“Good morning!” You say as you approach her. She looks up from her work.

“Oh, good morning. How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright thanks. What time is it?”

“Um...about 12:30.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. A lot happened yesterday and you needed to recoup,” she replies with a shrug. You are so grateful for her understanding, but decide to put the effort into not dwelling on it.

“How’s it been?” You ask, nodding at her papers. Anathema sighs.

“Well, I haven’t made any headway yet.”

“Anything I can do?”

The doorbell rings. There’s a doorbell?? Of course there is.

“Oh!” You hear Aziraphale call from one of the living rooms. “That will be the crepes! ENTAAH!” You snort a laugh through your nose. From here you can’t tell if there’s a feather boa, but you can practically hear a feather boa in his voice – you don’t need to see one. Anathema sighs.

“I need...I NEED for you to get one of them out of my hair for a bit. If one isn’t ordering room service, the other one is prank calling the front desk. There’s a mountain of toiletries in the living room, and the doorbell won’t stop ringing. It’s driving me crazy.”

As if on cue, you hear Aziraphale calling from the door: “Crowley! We have enough shampoo!”

Well, babysitting supernatural entities wasn’t exactly the way you thought this would be going, but who are you to argue with Anathema? You nod.

“Any preference which one?”

“No. Just...one of them.”

“Yeah, okay. Give me five minutes.”

“Thank you.” She puts her head in her hands for a moment while you go to get yourself ready.

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You and Aziraphale walk down the sidewalk towards Times Square, sipping on frappucinos. Aziraphale had been skeptical about the drink until he saw the mountain of whipped cream and the caramel drizzled on top.

“Have you been here before?” He asks you casually. You shake your head.

“No, but I spend a lot of time on the internet. So I’ve heard things. You can learn a lot just by lurking.” You swirl your straw around the frozen coffee to mix in the last of the whipped cream. “Have you? I mean you and Crowley have been practically everywhere, right?”

“I’ve been once. But it was a very long time ago now. I came for the World’s Fair in 1939. Marvelous, really, the technology at the time. Not nearly as fascinating as how technology ended up evolving of course.”

“Technology isn’t your thing, though,” You say, raising an eyebrow.

“I prefer to admire it from a distance, but I can appreciate it all the same.”

You think about how he has a driver’s license, and the ancient computer in his bookshop. Besides, how would he make tea without a kettle. It makes sense.

“So,” Aziraphale begins, “What is this venture that you need me to accompany you for?”

“Oh I think you’ll like it,” You say with a smile. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows quizzically.

“Oh?” He asks, intrigued, as he takes another sip of his drink.

“Broadway,” You say. Aziraphale’s face lights up.

“Oh!”

“I figure,” You say, “What a shame it would be to spend time in New York City without seeing a show on Broadway. And I’m not sure I trust Crowley’s theatre manners.”

“I understand why you would have that opinion. He can be rather a handful,” Aziraphale says thoughtfully, as though he hadn’t been driving Anathema to insanity himself. “But I assure you, I’ve seen nothing less than exceptional behaviour from him when the two of us have gone together.”

“Well yeah, but that’s with you. There’s a difference,” You tilt your drink towards the angel to emphasize your point. He hums thoughtfully. “So,” You continue, “I figure you and I go see a couple shows. I think we have time for two of them so how about I pick one, then you pick one?”

“I think that sounds like a rather splendid day, in fact,” he says, finishing off his drink and disposing of it in the nearest recycling can.

“Great,” You say, “My pick first.” You dispose of your empty drink container as well, and pause to let the suspense build. “And I choose The Lion King.”

Aziraphale’s face scrunches up.

“Is it bebop?”

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Dear Reader, Aziraphale likes Lion King. He does not, however, like I Just Can’t Wait to Be King, or anything to do with Timon and Pumbaa. He is an angel that can forgive many things, but apparently he draws the line at “bebop” and fart jokes.

“I just don’t understand why it was necessary,” he says with a wince afterwards, “And in an adaptation of Hamlet of all things!”

“You say that like your friend Will didn’t write a thousand dick jokes.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale doesn’t sound convinced. “The rest of it was lovely though,” he adds in a brighter tone, “Breathtakingly artistic, in fact.”

“It really was, wasn’t it?” You say with a sigh. In your hand you hold a bag full of merchandise from the show’s gift shop. Aziraphale bought an artbook. “Do you have a choice lined up?”

“I do indeed,” Aziraphale smiles and waves his hands in a rainbow-motion, “The Phantom of the Opera.” His face has so much joy in it.

Watching Aziraphale experience things is mesmerizing. The ways his face moves, the way his voice shifts around when he gets all excited, the way he gasps so audibly when the performance surprises him. It’s an incredible thing to behold, and you absolutely understand why Crowley spends so much time doing it.

“Well before we go see Phantom, I need some food.”

“Oh! Do you have any ideas where to go?” He leans towards you conspiratorially. “Any secrets you heard while Lurking?”

“Well,” You reply, playing into his game, “I have heard stories of a place called Ellen’s Stardust Diner, and I think you’ll like it.”

“And what makes you think that?” His eyes are sparkling with intrigue. Damn. You have to try and keep your knees from buckling, it’s so intense.

“Two words,” You say, “Singing. Waitstaff.” You hadn’t thought Aziraphale’s face could get brighter, but it does, and so you add the cherry on top, the trump card, the finishing blow: “And they take requests.”

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Dinner was great, dessert was fabulous, Aziraphale was willing to put up with the bebop. Especially after you suggested he request a ballad, and they not only took it, but did a wonderful job of it. Phantom was long, but you both enjoyed yourselves.

Why am I suddenly speeding through this, dear Reader? I’m glad you asked.

When the both of you finally return to the hotel, it’s late. Anathema is still hard at work and you notice a definite...lack of Toiletry Mountain. Crowley is sat demurely at the kitchen table with a glass of whiskey.

“Are you okay?” You ask him carefully.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Crowley replies. You look at Aziraphale and shrug. The angel shrugs back before going to grab himself a drink, and you go see Anathema.

“Hey,” You say, “How’s it going?”

“Oh, much better!” She says, looking up at you brightly, “I managed to get things under control, and I got some very promising readings from the top of the Empire State Building.”

“I’m sorry, you went where? How??”

Anathema smirks and glances over at Crowley, then back at you.

“A witch has her ways.”

“And what happened to all the shampoo?”

“I made him give it back and apologize.”

“I...what….” You sputter. It takes all you have to sit down in a chair instead of just fall over. “How do you do this?” You ask, impressed.

“What do you mean?”

“In every fanfiction, in every alternate universe, how do you do this?” You gesture at the kitchen where you know Crowley is still quietly sat, listening to Aziraphale recount your day. Anathema smiles broadly and slides her glasses back up her nose.

“You can’t expect me to give away all my secrets, now.”

Have you ever before been in a room where you so intensely love everyone in it? If not, you have now.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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