(Crowley’s POV)
Crowley watched the two disappear into the night, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes sharp behind his sunglasses.
“Well,” he drawled. “That was interesting.”
Aziraphale hummed, still staring after them with a worried expression. “They’re just boys.”
Crowley snorted. “Yeah. And I’m just a bloke who likes plants.”
Aziraphale frowned. “Oh, don’t be like that. They seemed—”
“Haunted,” Crowley interrupted. “They seemed haunted, angel.”
Aziraphale hesitated.
Crowley turned to him, pushing up his glasses. “You felt it too, didn’t you?”
Aziraphale pursed his lips. “They’ve been through something.”
“Understatement of the millennium,” Crowley muttered. “Did you see the way they moved? Like they were expecting something to jump out and try to eat them. And I’d bet good money they wouldn’t be wrong.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, well… I must admit, they did seem rather, er, battle-worn.”
Crowley scoffed. “Battle-worn? Angel, they reeked of predator and prey at the same time. I don’t know whether they’re being hunted or doing the hunting, but either way, it’s bloody unnatural.”
Aziraphale looked thoughtful, clasping his hands in front of him. “And yet… they weren’t hostile.”
Crowley exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. That’s what bothers me.”
Aziraphale blinked. “Bothers?”
Crowley rubbed at his jaw. “Look, people like that? They should’ve been more paranoid. More aggressive. Especially the dark-haired one—‘Thomas.’” He said the name with obvious disbelief. “He clocked exactly what we were. Could’ve been defensive about it. But he wasn’t.”
Aziraphale considered that. “And the other one? ‘Henry’?”
Crowley smirked. “Wearing a mask so flimsy it might as well be tissue paper.” He shook his head. “The kid’s tired. But not the normal ‘been-up-all-night’ tired. The ‘been-running-too-long-and-can’t-stop’ kind.”
Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. “…Should we have done something?”
Crowley gave him an incredulous look. “Like what? Offer them tea and therapy?”
Aziraphale frowned. “They’re clearly struggling.”
Crowley made a vague, exasperated gesture. “Angel, everyone in this world is struggling! Those two, though? They’ll be fine.”
Aziraphale didn’t look convinced. “How can you be so sure?”
Crowley’s smirk faded slightly.
Because he knew people who were truly broken—who had lost all fight, all spark. And those two? They weren’t there yet.
No, they were sharp. Sharp enough to be dangerous.
And, despite everything…
They were still standing.
“Call it a hunch,” Crowley finally muttered. Then he shrugged. “Besides, if they’re running into trouble, it’s not our problem.”
Aziraphale sighed but didn’t argue. He just glanced back toward the empty street. “…Still. I do hope they’ll be alright.”
Crowley didn’t say it out loud, but a small part of him wondered the same thing.