Apocalypse

Crowley opened his eyes on the first day after. He stared at the ceiling. At least there was a ceiling here.

It was quiet. Far too quiet. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. After the scores of demons and angels that came to raze the earth together, he didn’t think he could get used to the change. It had been so loud for so long.

Now he sat in silence, after Heaven and Hell had come to destroy the world. If he moved, he could see anything. Crowley didn’t want to. He was too afraid to look. But he didn’t want to close his eyes again. If he did, he might go back to sleep and he was scared of what the world would be like if he slept through it again. Continue reading “Apocalypse”

You Go Too Fast For Me

The room was quiet. Perhaps too quiet. Crowley could have been breathing in the alcohol, that was how quietly he drank it.

Aziraphale could have closed his eyes and Crowley would be gone, that was how quiet he was. Which wasn’t a completely new experience, but it didn’t often follow Aziraphale also being as quiet. Usually one of them filled in the space. Currently neither of them did.

There was more space than Aziraphale remembered. He didn’t know where it had come from. To fix that, he got to his feet and moved over to the couch with Crowley. He already missed his chair, but he had to be here. Continue reading “You Go Too Fast For Me”

Rome

Aziraphale remembered when the fountain was first renovated. While he remembered it clearly, he didn’t remember what it had looked like before then. It wasn’t a work of art then. Now it was and it would remain as such for however long people continued to think fondly upon it.

“Crowley, don’t take the coins from the fountain,” he begged.

“Stealing is what I do,” Crowley retorted, fishing them out without even trying to be sneaky about it.

Aziraphale looked side to side, not sure if he wanted someone to call the demon out or not. Not that it would help. If Aziraphale couldn’t get him to stop, other people certainly wouldn’t. Not unless Crowley wanted to make something else out of it.

Or Aziraphale. He rolled his eyes and with a sigh, gave Crowley a hearty shove in the back.

Crowley made a rather undignified sound as he went straight into the water.

Aziraphale pretended not to notice, dusting invisible remnants off his hands.

Crowley resurfaced, absolutely livid. Yet as drenched as he was, he looked too ridiculous to be taken seriously. Aziraphale struggled not to laugh, keeping the corners of his mouth tight to restrain his smile. It was partially successful.

More than Aziraphale looked over now, though noone dared do anything yet. Aziraphale didn’t doubt someone would be coming soon to fish Crowley out.

“I think we’d best be going now?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley reached up and pulled him into the fountain.

Miracle

It was always the little things. The lights on the tree were shining and Crowley felt a headache coming on just looking at them. It went from fire hazards to fire hazards and energy waste, so that had always been a bolster in his spirits. But then Aziraphale wanted to go and look at all the lights and then Crowley was dragged into the mess.

Too many lights. He couldn’t understand the appeal. He kept his tongue in his mouth, trying not to hiss up at the other lights* and disappear when the angel had his back turned. Continue reading “Miracle”

Godfathers

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said one day in the cottage, “I do think that you weren’t completely correct.”

“About?” Crowley was used to Aziraphale calling him out for being wrong, whether he was wrong or not. He was unaffected by the claim.

“Being Godfathers. I don’t think really really made it that closely with Warlock, as wonderful as it was to be with him through his first years.” Continue reading “Godfathers”

Crowley’s Flat

Crowley’s flat felt rather empty
Rather full, rather contrary
Only the plants lived there, he made sure
When other possibilities arose, his mind a blur
Light in one room, he waited with sherry
Yearning for a different company
Stretching a mind to a starlit symphony
Fearing a change, fearing the same
Light in one room, and the rest darkened to bury
A secret compared to his existence, perhaps tame
Taking up residence in that chair long after their fame

Paris

Aziraphale took in the air. Paris didn’t smell like it used to, but it was surprisingly similar in certain ways. Especially on certain streets, where he always felt like he could stop in one more place, no matter when he had last ate.

But that wasn’t the point of the day. He waited out on the street, watching those who passed him with mild interest.

He felt when someone walked up behind him, but he didn’t turn. Aziraphale gave Crowley the opportunity he wanted to place a hand on his shoulder.

Been waiting long? he mouthed, in a language no one would have known, even in London. Continue reading “Paris”

Body Swap

It was supposed to be only something they could do on purpose. So when Crowley woke up in the bookshop, he knew something was wrong. He didn’t even have to move to know something was wrong, because the body he found himself in hadn’t just been sleeping. It had sat in front of a book in an armchair that was far too squishy. As well as the body he was in. More squishy than his own. Continue reading “Body Swap”

Ice Cream

“Crowley’s Milk As Good as Any Better’n Some”

Aziraphale choked on his tea and looked at it again. “J.K. Crowley?”

It was an old carton. Early 1900s, if he had to guess. Aziraphale had gone through an old chest and found it there – thankfully void of milk. He had no idea how it had gotten there. He had probably spent more time than he should have staring at it. Enough time for someone to knock at the door for the third time.*

“Angel, what are you doing in there?” Crowley asked, letting the door open and pretending it hadn’t been locked the entire time. Continue reading “Ice Cream”

Mesopotamia

Aziraphale had never seen that particular piece of art before.

It was made of ivory and it was old. That was really all that needed to be said about that part. The artistry of it was familiar to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Phoenician, he believed. It was a plaque, dug into to display an angelic figure. Or perhaps it was a human, with the wings in the background shielding them from something. It was hard to tell.

“Crowley?” he called out to the other room, not taking his eyes off of the figure.

“Yeah?”

“Do tell me about this one. I don’t remember it.” Continue reading “Mesopotamia”