#all those ways of trying to make aziraphale better than Crowley and making Crowley weak and pathetic and dependant on him

[lenaellsi]

starting to get frustrated with the whole "the end of good omens 2 is just a miscommunication" thing like. okay, that's part of it? but it's not all of it?? like yes, they are both taking things the other is saying the absolute worst way they could and not communicating vital information but. this would not be fixed by them having impeccable communication skills. it's a conflict of morality. because that's a thing that happens to them? all the time?? you could even call it one of the main conceits of the show??? (thoughts under cut to save a dash)

like. aziraphale literally still thinks heaven and angels are inherently better than hell and demons. he says that. full stop. that's not a miscommunication. i am bemused by the idea that aziraphale just wants to make heaven good enough for crowley because...no? yes, he wants to make heaven better, and yes, he wants them both to be safe, and crowley to be happy. but entirely apart from that, he wants crowley to be an angel again. he does not like that crowley is a demon. this is textual. "like the old times," and "you're the bad guys," and "not even demons are that stupid," and "you, unfortunately, are evil," and "i know the angel you were," plus all of the stuff from s1. he's been saying this with his whole chest for the entirety of two seasons. this isn't JUST a miscommunication. it's a mistake, born out of the same black and white thinking that led to aziraphale trying to teach the virtues of poverty in episode 3.

it doesn't mean he's "bad" for thinking it (because actually, it turns out that people aren't inherently good or bad, even when they make mistakes that hurt others! and that's! the point! of the show!) it just means he needs to learn and grow next season. right now, he thinks of crowley (who he adores) as the exception to the general rule that Heaven Is Good and Hell Is Evil, when what he really needs to do is throw heaven's rules in the garbage. we, the audience, know that, because we're watching from an objective point of view and have more information than aziraphale does. crowley knows it, because he learned it the hard way. we've seen crowley succeed in talking aziraphale around before--see armageddon, the arrangement, food and drink--but honestly, i do think that this is something aziraphale has to decide for himself, in the same way he was the one to ultimately make the choice that he would not fight in a war again.

and crowley needs to do some major growing too. his urge to run away and hide from problems, his inability to look inward and recognize his own feelings, his temper, and his fear of being seen as weak or soft were all explored at length this season, and those issues resulted in him really bungling the argument at the end. the main problem at the center of this--the destruction of the universe--is a fight they have been having, literally, since time began. crowley has tried to fight for earth in the past (see: the antichrist plan) but again, his instinct to jump ship when he thinks things are hopeless is something he needs to overcome.

i think you can reasonably debate whether aziraphale's choice to try to change heaven from the inside has merit. (not because heaven will listen to him, but because he'll have the opportunity to mitigate their influence at a crucial time.) there's an argument about institutional corruption and harm reduction at the heart of this that i, a tumblr user with a good omens fan blog, am not going to argue about in a text post. but i just want to recognize that this is not ONLY an issue of crowley and aziraphale talking past each other. there is real conflict here, and real character growth at stake, and it HAS to be resolved before they get their happy ending.

[wishfullyeternal]

Aziraphale x Crowley- A Hopeless Encounter

A/N- I am well aware that I never post on here anymore, however, this piece would not leave my head and I had to make a story out of it. I'm trying to improve my craft on this one, so plot and emotions were not my first thought when writing this piece. I plan to continue it, but who knows. I'm much busier than I was when I was fifteen, now working two jobs and going to college full time, but I try and find time to write. I digress, most of you don't care. Anyways, enjoy the story! Requests are open, but again, I don't post on here very much, so unless it's something I really want to write, I probably will not get to it.

Words- 1,734

Warnings- General Violence

"Sit. Down!" The demon ordered, staring at the pair. Aziraphale obeyed quickly, leaning himself against the dark dank walls of hell, smiling nervously towards Crowley. The back of his shirt had become stained with thousand-year-old dirt and grime, but he didn't care. The coat (which had stayed stain-free for over one hundred years) was the last thing on Aziraphale’s mind.

If you would have told the pair what was just about to happen to them, they would have laughed straight in your face. Much like the way a classmate would when proving they were right about a preposterous rumor.

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a split second, wishing he was back at his bookstore. There was a stale mildew scent in the air that made his nose turn up. He hoped Crowley had some type of plan to get them out of here, but with one look at the Demon, he realized Crowley was as useless as he was.

“Don’tcha think Hell has better things to worry about than little ol’ me?” Crowley spoke, feigning innocence, with large black sunglasses shading his eyes. He didn’t need them down here, but they were a type of comfort to him, knowing the Demon couldn’t see the serpent that lay beneath.

Aziraphale had learned over the thousands of years to read Crowley quite well underneath his “cool” shades. (Aziraphale thought they were quite tacky, but didn’t let him know, of course) Right now, both Aziraphale and Crowley had no idea why they were dragged into the pits of hell, on a Wednesday morning, during their time at St.James’ Park. It was a shame really, Aziraphale had really looked forward to seeing Crowley. They had both been quite busy with saving the world and all that, so it was nice to meet each other just to talk.

“Sit down Crowley,” Beelzebub said, appearing through the iron wrought door that held them. Cobblestone walls surrounded them, and a slight drip could be heard from the right wall, where a puddle of mystery liquid lay. Aziraphale didn’t dare go near it, and Crowley was too busy snarking back at Beelzebub to even notice.

“I really don’t understand it, if you would please explain o’ holy one, I would- for once- be greatly appreciative…” Crowley trailed off, still standing. Although Crowley was a bit taller than Beelzebub, the Prince of Hell was–well, the Prince of Hell. Definitely not someone Crowley wanted to be around, definitely not while in this situation. The other demon who had led them in had already left, but neither Aziraphale nor Crowley had noticed. Aziraphale had his eyes fixed on Crowley, and Crowley had his eyes fixed on Beelzebub.

“Your Angel,” Beelzebub started. Crowley couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that they had called Aziraphale his Angel. The two words floated around his head. Crowley had been pining for that Angel since the first time they met in Eden. The way the blond’s wings wafted over his head, protecting him from the first rain. The way he smiled when he was nervous. So afraid of doing the wrong thing. Crowley didn’t dream, but if he did, he was absolutely certain that they would all revolve around his Angel. Perhaps his Bentley as well… But he would never admit such a fact. Admitting he was attached to the Angel was admitting he was weak. He was not weak. Crowley was far from it. Crowley had bound up those feelings so far into his (lack of) soul, that it barely bothered him. (Of course, it bothered him more than anything in the entire world, even the end of it, but even Crowley couldn’t swallow that truth.)

“He’s got something we want…” Beelzebub continued, sneering at Crowley, seemingly disgusted by his very existence. The flies that swarmed around their head seemed to hasten, syncing with their emotions.

“I promise-” Crowley pouts, pointing at the Angel who had sat down on the floor, in the most proper way he could.

“He couldn't even hurt a fly! He has nothing you want,” Crowley knew Beelzebub wouldn’t believe him, they had no reason to. As far as Beezlebub was concerned, Crowley should have been dead over five thousand years ago, and they both were eerily aware of that fact. Crowley also knew that Aziraphale was strong, much stronger than Hell assumed. Aziraphale, if he wanted to, could be as much an angel as Sandalphon, Michael, or even Gabriel. (In a violent way, of course, he was always a perfect angel to Crowley) But Crowley didn’t want Hell to know this fact, it would be just another dart for Hell to throw at them.

“Sit down Crowley. I have nothing to say to you.” Beezelbub said yet again, forcing the Demon to sit on the ground, and began to stalk over to the Angel. Crowley knew this room had demonic sigils, preventing the prisoners from using magic to escape, but perhaps they hadn’t messed with Aziraphale’s powers. He hoped. As soon as the thought ran through Crowley’s mind, Aziraphale began to yelp in pain, and a searing sigil burned into the top of his hand, in mostly the same Enochian language that Crowley assumed was on the other side of the door. Crowley was rusty on the language- but assumed it was binding Aziraphale’s powers as well. As the burning orange flesh melted into black characters, Crowley cringed.

“Don’t you touch him!” Crowley started, forcing himself up from the ground, and starting towards the injured blond. Aziraphale looked towards Beezelbub, trying his best not to seem alarmed, or scared at the fact that he was indeed helpless. They both were.

“Crowley!” Beelzebub yelled again, pushing their palm out and magically binding Crowley’s hands and feet together. Letting him trip over himself and fall face-first onto the concrete floor. There was a large scrape left on his right temple, and blood was slowly dripping out of his nose. He brought his tied hands to his head, rubbing the scrape to try and soothe it. Aziraphale gasped in surprise, yet said nothing. He had nothing to say.

Beelzebub snapped and Crowley’s mouth was gone, filled with skin. Aziraphale furrowed his brows, trying his best to get up and make his way toward the ginger, but Beelzebub blocked the way, their stature standing tall over Aziraphale.

“You aren’t going anywhere, you pathetic excuse for an Angel. Or rather, a principality.”

Aziraphale’s face was contorted in a sort of rage only found in the nicest of angels. One where you could barely sense it was there. Aziraphale never showed his anger on his face, but it was blatantly obvious that Beelzebub’s use of rank had deeply offended him.

“What could you possibly want from me? I’m a principality after all. I just follow orders.” While both Beezlebub and Crowley knew that was a lie, Beelzebub seemed to ignore it, resting their fingers in the shaggy curls of the Angel, pulling the blond hair taut.

“You don’t understand how much power I have over you right now. Not even your little Demon could help you now. I could kill you…” Beelzebub trailed off, looking around the room, staring upwards at a flickering incandescent light, emitting a slightly annoying buzzing sound that barely went above the sound of flies buzzing around the Prince’s head. Aziraphale begged Beelzebub, unaware of what they wanted.

“I don’t know anything,” Aziraphale said, and Beelzebub tightened their grip around the tufts of hair, pulling his head uncomfortably up, exposing his throat. His Adam’s apple was bobbing uncomfortably, and Beelzebub’s free hand grabbed his chin, forcing his head to look straight at them. Both Aziraphale and Crowley were dancing on the edge of a knife, waltzing towards a terrible fate.

Instead of explaining to them what Beelzebub wanted from Aziraphale, they simply kicked the poor angel straight into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. (Aziraphale technically didn’t need to breathe, but it was a human formality he had grown used to.) Aziraphale grunted, the pain flourishing around his belly and through his body. Beelzebub roughly let go of the Angel. Aziraphale grimaced and held the spot where Beezlebub had kicked, shaking his head softly, trying to rid himself of the pain. Crowley tried his best to scream profanities- but was silenced by the lack of a mouth. Instead, he decided on trying his best to drag himself towards the Angel, who was still holding his stomach.

“I’ll be back, behave yourselves.” Beezlebub laughed at their own attempt at a joke and walked out the door, flies following obediently. Crowley’s mouth reappeared as they left, and he gasped at the new feeling of air filling it. At the same time, the binds had left his arms and legs, and he rubbed the places where they had been, before wiping his nose of the semi-coagulated ichor.

“Oh, Angel c’mere…” He motioned for the Angel to lean himself against him. Before he did, Aziraphale gently rubbed the dried ichor from the scrape on his temple. Aziraphale leaned his head into the crook where Crowley’s neck met his shoulders. The warmth there was enough to soothe the pain that radiated from Beelzebub's kick. Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale and gently ran his fingers through the Angel’s thick curls.

“It’s okay, it’ll be alright…” Crowley said. His words didn’t match his feelings, Crowley had no idea what Beelzebub wanted, nor how he was going to get the both of them out of there. The room felt like it was shrinking, and suddenly the puddle that was once fifteen feet away, felt like it was two feet away. Everything was seeping in on them, and neither the Demon nor the Angel had a way out. It was hopeless. Crowley continued to slowly brush the Angel’s hair, using his other hand to trace the sigil on the top of his palm. It burned the tips of Crowley’s fingers, but he didn’t care.

“I’m so sorry Crowley, I really do apologize-” Crowley put a hand up to silence Aziraphale.

“You know I would go to heaven and hell for you Angel…” Crowley quieted himself at the end and didn’t even realize what he was truly saying.

Aziraphale just nuzzled his head further into Crowley’s neck, letting the feeling of his friend envelope him in a soft glow. It was hopeless, but at least they had each other.

[definitely-not-gremlins]

Okay, now I can finally gush: I love how the season 2 finale, particularly those last 10 minutes feel somehow preventable and yet were completely inevitable.

In terms of preventing it, there’s so many things that you can point at and go “If only …”, because so many things led to this exact sequence of events. Surely there could have been a happy ending in there somewhere. If Nina and Maggie had spoken to Aziraphale and Crowley both, if Aziraphale hadn’t insisted on speaking first, if Crowley hadn’t let Aziraphale go off with the Metatron alone, …

But changing these things wouldn’t have ultimately mattered, because this outcome isn’t the result of a few isolated factors or a couple of bad decisions. It’s the result of everything Crowley and Aziraphale have been doing or have neglected to do for thousands of years.

Because even now Crowley and Aziraphale still haven’t spoken about what really matters. And it’s not just how they feel about one another (which, yes, Crowley tried very hard to articulate). It’s about their core conflict, about Crowley’s desire to ditch all their problems and at least proverbially run away together colliding with Aziraphale’s desire to take responsibility and fix those problems, instead. And it’s about the lack of communication and lack of understanding that fuel this conflict. Crowley has never given Aziraphale the chance to fully understand him or his misgivings about the whole system they're stuck in and Aziraphale has never ventured to properly understand.

And that’s what, even without that particular Metatron-shaped intervention happening right then, would have kept them from forming anything lasting together. From forming a bond that would be stronger than any attempts to tear them apart.

Which is something they were always going to have to deal with eventually, because Heaven intervening has become inevitable, as well. Crowley and Aziraphale stopped the last attempted apocalypse, prevented each other’s executions, accidentally made an archangel-grade miracle together while actively trying not to and tried to take the matter of Gabriel out of Heaven's hands and into their own.

They were two uncontrolled variables “on their own side”. Heaven was never going to let this go on indefinitely. They were always going to try and do something about it. And since Crowley and Aziraphale were never going to get to talking about all those aforementioned things, they were always going to have a weak spot.

This was always going to happen in some way.

Those other things (Maggie and Nina, Beelzebub and Gabriel) just made everything far more emotional and allowed Crowley to make his confession. To make it at all and to make it the way he did. For better or worse. It allowed both of them to express a certain level of desperation to be together, even if they are stuck without a way to get there.

But, hey, that’s what an upheaval of the status quo is for.

[suzukiblu]

Fic Writer Meme

Tagged by my dear @dancinbutterfly, and like, obviously I will take any excuse to talk about writing.

.

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

168, although a few of those are podfics that the podficcer credited me as a co-author on. Actually less than I would’ve expected, tbh.

2) what is your total ao3 word count?

1,431,989. Honestly also kinda less than I would’ve expected at this point. I will blame all those old fics I never brought over from LJ and ff.net for this expectation.

3) how many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

I literally cannot tell you, the ancient ways have been lost to me. I can give you my Ao3 fandoms, though!

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Overwatch

The Witcher (Netflix)

Young Justice (Cartoon)

Animorphs

Star Wars

Good Omens

Venom

Fantastic Four

Leverage

League of Legends

Daredevil

Supernatural

Care Bears

World of Warcraft

Spider-Man

X-Men

Slender Man Mythos

Additionally, long ago: Naruto, Gundam Wing, Digimon, Ranma ½, Bleach, Inu-Yasha, and many scattered other fandoms of my youth. So, so many others. So I’ve written for 25+ fandoms, at least.

4) what are your top 5 fics by Kudos.

a mark, a mission, a brand, a scar (13004)

I once started out to walk around the world but ended up in Brooklyn (8450)

it’s a long way forward (so trust in me) (6965)

oh don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me (6818)

if the bad times are coming let ‘em come (5362)

5) do you respond to comments?

Not really these days, though I hoard and treasure them like a freaking DRAGON. I used to respond to all of them but sometimes I’m just not around and then it becomes awkwardly late to reply and also they kinda . . . pile up a bit. I do try to answer all the comments with questions in them, at least, as long as the questions aren’t literally spoilers or anything like that.

6) what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t usually write super-angsty endings, I think? I don’t FEEL like I usually write super-angsty endings, anyway, at least not these days. I think I did it more often when I was more into, like, drabbles and shortfic. Now I just spend way too long on stuff to give it a downer ending.

The most recent angsty ending I can think of is wanna hold him, maybe I’ll just sing about it, though eventually I did write a sequel to that to soften the blow a bit. And also torment people a bit. Both, technically. Technically both.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

blondes really do have more fun, definitely. It’s very . . . giddy, I guess? What with the gender euphoria and all. There’s angst and heavy emotions in the actual plot but the highs of the happy parts/ending are probably the highest/happiest ones I’ve written, and Supergirl gets everything she wants without having to compromise or give up anything else.

8) do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I write fusion fic more than crossovers, really, but I have written a LOT of fusion fic. Some of it has been weirder than others, tbh, but probably the Avatar: The Last Airbender/Animorphs fusion that I have been lovingly slaving over deserves to be this answer if only for how much extremely sincere effort I have put into it over the years.

9) have you ever received hate on a fic?

Mild hate, but occasionally. I don’t really tend to remember negative comments, tbh, though it does sometimes make me not want to reread the comment section I know they’re in. But a lot of the hate I’ve gotten in the end just seemed like socially-awkward people being unnecessarily blunt instead of just hitting the back button, so I try not to take it personally. Can’t please everyone. Don’t WANT to please everyone, frankly.

10) Do you write smut? What kind?

Yes, and the kind is “a lot”. Sometimes I don’t really feel like it but definitely I have done a lot of it. I try for Feelings and also to be safe, sane, and consensual as much as I can.

11) have you ever had a fic stolen?

I . . . am not sure? Though probably, after being at this for all this time. Someone once told me that someone picked up a fic I’d (at the time) abandoned and just started writing/posting more of it without asking or telling me about it, but I never actually found said fic and I don’t know if that technically counts as “stealing” anyway.

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

A few times, yup, it’s pretty gratifying! I also like to run them back through Google Translate and see what they say, haha.

13) have you ever co-written a fic before?

yoooo @dancinbutterfly, @rainnecassidy! Also done it with a few other people long, LONG ago, but that was back in the LJ era. Don’t think I’ve technically collabed with anyone else lately, although sometimes people will give me ideas for stuff I’m writing or offer suggestions when I’m stuck on a thing, which is very helpful.

14) what’s your favourite ship?

Like . . . per fandom? ‘Cuz we could be here a while. Most recently it’s Jaskier/Geralt, for a while it was Aziraphale/Crowley, DEFINITELY for a while it was Steve/Bucky . . .

You know, I guess technically my all-time favorite ship is actually Naruto/Sasuke, because I made a LOT of friends in Naruto fandom and it actually hugely influenced the end of my teenage years and beginning of my adult life and so, SO much of my writing. So like, if nothing else it wins on influentialness.

15) what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Let ‘Em Come. @rainnecassidy and I wrote that AU a long-ass time ago now and I never did my half of the sequel fic because I got too distracted with another longfic I was working on at the time and then took a real long fandom break. I always felt kind of bad about it because people seemed to bother her for said sequel more than they bothered ME for it, since her fic was the last posted part. Unfortunately I just don’t have the spoons or the MCU-focus for the research and effort it’d take anymore. Also, like . . . it’d probably be pretty long, so unless I was REAL obsessive about it it’d take a good long while.

Basically I think its time has just passed at this point, alas.

16) what are your writing strengths?

Sex, action, snark, and weird fusion fics. Also making people love things they usually hate, that’s one I get told a lot.

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

Fitting physical descriptions of . . . literally ANYTHING into the story. Just, anything. Physical descriptions are hard.

18) what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I try not to do it, personally, because I know soooooo very little about other languages. Sometimes I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of it, but usually I feel like it’s better to avoid it, personally.

19) what was the first fandom you wrote for?

I literally could not even tell you. The first fandom I REMEMBER writing proper “fic” for was . . . Ranma ½, I think. I thiiiiink. But that was a long-ass time ago and I never even posted it anywhere because those were the days when I despised typing things up beyond all measure, hah. And before that I remember writing Animorphs . . . comics? Storyboards? Something like that. Kind of a cross between the two.

20) what’s your favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I do not know! There’s really just too many, tbh. Some top options are you found me when no one else was looking, best friends means you get what you deserve, clay kids, Avamorphs, handmaiden!Anakin, oh don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me, and . . . and I could go on for a dang MINUTE, honestly, haha, I’m just gonna stop myself here before I get too carried away.

.

I tag whoever happens to be reading this that wants to be tagged; have fun with it!

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Human Affection - Good Omens Fic

One more fic for the @bingokisses prompts - this one from last week - Behind the Knee kisses! Which I found a little odd, so I decided to go silly on this. Should be a good counter for the angst I put out. This will be going on AO3 after some edits, so let me know if you spot anything off.

CW: Silly drunken banter.

“Crowley, that is absolutely absurd. Stop making things up.”

“I’m not!” The demon reached for a bottle of wine, shook it, found it empty, and went hunting for the next. “I know these things. I know humans. Better’n anyone.” He finally found one with at a little red still at the bottom, shrugged, and drank it straight from the bottle.

“Not better than me,” Aziraphale protested, scowling a little as he lifted another nearly-full bottle.

“Much better’n you.” Crowley wasn’t quite drunk enough for this sort of argument, but now his pride was at stake. “Y’don’t even like talkin’ to them!”

“No,” he admitted as he poured another glass, “but I read. A’stensivly.”

“Obstentily?”

“Egstenilly.”

“Abstentally?”

“Exten…I read a great deal!”

“Ha!” Crowley jabbed a finger at Aziraphale, then realized he should make a point. “You don’…don’ read the right sor’ of books. Gotta read th’ naughty ones. Th’ones Heaven don’ like.”

“I read plenty that Heaven disproved of,” Aziraphale objected, taking a long drink of wine and licking his lips happily.

“Ooooh, did you? Do you?” Crowley tried to saunter from the sofa to Aziraphale’s chair, but the table unexpectedly got in the way and he wound up sprawled on the floor instead. “Angel reads some…some…scantilating books?”

“I haven’t the first idea wha’ you mean,” Aziraphale said primly. “But I happen to know that humans do not, in fact, just kiss all over everywhere as you so crudely put it.”

“Do, too. Everywhere. Name a part, lips go there.”

“No, no, no.” Aziraphale waved his hand, sloshing wine that took one look at his perfectly white sleeve and quickly crawled shamefully back into the glass. “They have – certain areas. Erroneous zones.”

“Don’ think that’s right.” Crowley managed to crawl close enough to grab the chair, pulling himself up to rest arms and chin near where Aziraphale’s elbow rested. “Ergonomic zones?”

“Erogenous!” Aziraphale beamed, then turned pink. “Oh. Yes. But they kiss there and it feels, er, stimulating. Everywhere else is…not.”

“S’that so?” With a grin, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and kissed it – or rather, the lowest knuckle of his thumb, since his aim seemed slightly off.

“Crowley!” The angel jerked his hand away. “What’s that s’posed to prove?”

“You din’ like it?”

Aziraphale squinted at his thumb. “I don’ think there’s meant to be nearly this much s’liva, my dear fellow.” He wiped his hand on his trousers. “Really!”

“Oh, you thin’ you’re so clever. Clever Angel. Why don’ you try it?”

“I will!” Aziraphale set his glass down and took Crowley’s hand, studying it like an ancient tome. Finally, he turned it over, spreading Crowley’s palm like a map, and lowered his lips until warm breath filled his hand. Then he pulled back. “There.”

“Wha’? Tha’s not – y’didn’ touch me!”

“Did so!”

“Your nose maybe. Gotta be the lips, or s’not a kiss.”

“Snot kiss? Really Crowley—”

“No – no – is not a kiss.” Crowley made a half-hearted attempt to pull his hand back. “Wha’ they teach you in those books?”

“Perfectly acceptable. Kisses on the palm, light as a breath—”

“Light as a breath. Not a breath. It’s a wossname. Same-ilie.”

“Simile?”

“S’what I said. You gotta actually use the lips or it don’ count.”

“Are you certain? I could just…” Again, he bent forward, lips hovering a hairsbreadth above Crowley’s palm, breath caressing the lines of his hand, warm and strangely tingling.

So Crowley pressed his hand into Aziraphale’s face, mashing his lips. “Mwah-mwah. Now it’s kissing!”

Aziraphale batted at his hand, pulling away. “Stop that! You ridiculous serpent!”

“No! Kiss me again!” Crowley tried to push his hand against Aziraphale’s mouth again, but wound up sliding it across his cheek instead.

“Ah!” Aziraphale caught his hand, pressing it there. “See? That – tha’s good. This feels…pleasant.”

“Does?” For some reason, a different sort of smile began to spread across Crowley’s face. He liked how his hand fit perfectly around the curve of that cheek, how he could feel it bend and pull as Aziraphale smiled. He’d need to try this again some time.

“Oh, yes. Because of, er, nerve endings I think. When…when you touch them…”

“Shooosh.” Crowley cupped both Aziraphale’s cheeks in his hands and pressed until the angel couldn’t talk. “Too many words!”

“We are arguing,” Aziraphale pointed out in a muffled voice, though he didn’t try to push Crowely’s hand away this time.

“Fine. ‘Nuff arguin’. Less try an eggsper…exteri…try science.”

“Crowley, if you just slobber on me…”

“Nah, s’fine. Look. Whazz – what’s one of th’places you’re s’posed to kiss? The error zones.”

“Oh. Ah.” Aziraphale looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Let’s…let’s say mouth. Er. Neck. Wrist.”

“Wrist!” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and tugged it towards him, pulling the sleeve back a little to reveal the veins of his wrist. “How’s this feel?”

Pausing to make sure his lips were dry this time, Crowley leaned down and pressed them to that last inch of exposed flesh. It was soft, a little salty, and he swore he could feel Aziraphale’s pulse flutter. He tried again, gently exploring the angel’s wrist, feeling the way his fingers flexed and curled in response.

When he was finished, he tilted his head to look up at Aziraphale, whose face was quite pink. “Good?”

“Er. Yes.” Aziraphale pulled his hand back and slid his sleeve into place. “Obviously. It’s – it’s meant to feel good. But it was. Er. Yes.”

“Ha! An’ you said I can’t kiss!”

“Never said that,” he objected.

“Oh.” Crowley scratched his head. “Wha’ were we arguing about?”

“You – you said humans like being kissed anywhere, and that simply isn’t true. Some areas are – are sensitive to that sort of – of touch an’ others…er…look, no human enjoys, ah, being kissed behind the knee, for ‘zample.”

“Don’ they?” Crowley leaned further over the arm of the chair, grinning up at Aziraphale. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“I would think they’d have mentioned it.”

“Maybe they have. Maybe they talk abou’ it all the time an’ you jus’ don’ know.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “But they tell you?”

“I mean…” Crowley waved his hand, trying not to look like someone who knew less about kissing than he did marine biology. “S’in the music, innit? Always talkin’ ‘bout kissin’ everywhere. Or – or movies.” He nodded, certain James Bond had once shown something along those lines, and really, he would know, wouldn’t he?

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale surged to his feet, then tottered, nearly losing his balance. “I think you’re lying.”

“Naaaaah, I don’ lie…”

“Oh-ho! Oh-hoho!” He paused, apparently trying to catch his train of thought again. “Ah. Right.” With a wave of his hand, the angel was suddenly wearing a much shorter pair of trousers, in a style that hadn’t been in fashion for over two centuries. “Yes. Now. We shall see.”

“See what?” Crowley was busy mentally reconstructing the rest of the outfit that had nearly gotten Aziraphale executed in 1793. He really hadn’t had time to appreciate it in that dungeon. Maybe he could say something to convince Aziraphale to miracle up those shiny shoes.

“See if kissing back of the knee feels as good as the wrist. For science.”

Crowley nodded, then the words finally clicked in his mind and his head jerked up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Wai’ – wai’ – wai’ jus’ a minnnnit. You wan’ me to kiss…yer leg?”

“I can’t very well kiss it mysel’, see?” Aziraphale stood awkwardly on one leg, bending the other knee as high as he could before losing his balance and falling back in the chair. “S’no good. You have to do it.”

“Nnnnnh.” Crowley squirmed around to sit in front of Aziraphale and lifted his leg as if about to help him into new shoes. “Where…here?” His fingers traced uncertainly along the bare calf.

“No – no, higher. Back of the knee.” But Crowley could feel the way Aziraphale tried not to wiggle as his long fingers ran up the soft curve of flesh.

“Angel…are you…ticklish?”

“Don’ know what you – stop! Stop!” His leg kicked out and Aziraphale slumped further in his chair, struggling to escape Crowley’s fingers. “You – you monster!” But even as he squirmed, he laughed.

“Jus’ admit I’m right an’ I’ll stop.”

“Never!” And with that, Aziraphale launched himself from the chair, pushing Crowley to the ground. “Never surrender, Foul Field! Er, Fiend!” Before Crowley could try and fight back, he tugged up the side of the demon’s black shirt and started running fingers up and down his ribs.

“No!” Crowley laughed, struggling to push him off. “You – you bastard!”

“I know all your weaknesses!” A second hand joined the first and nearly discorporated Crowley on the spot. “Give up!”

“Aaah,” Crowley managed – a rather ineffective battle cry, and completely drowned in their combined laughter – and twisted, pushing at the angel’s shoulders and arms, squirming to get free. He managed to escape and belly-crawled across the floor, ducking behind a shelf.

“Get back here!” Aziraphale shuffled after him as fast as he could.

But though Aziraphale might be strong, Crowley was far more maneuverable. He darted out and grabbed the angel’s leg. A few quick tickles to make sure he was completely off his guard, then Crowley leaned down and pressed his lips to the inside bend of Azirapahle’s knee.

“There! How you like that?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sat up, blinking eyes watery from tears. “Ah. Yes. I can see that…tha’s not unpleasant after all.”

“It isn’t?”

“No…it was…well, quite intrik…entreeg…int’resting.” He frowned at his leg as if it had betrayed him. “Though why a spot like that there of all places…”

“Human bodies are weird,” Crowley reminded him.

Aziraphale nodded sagely, then let himself fall to the floor. “Yes. S’pose you’re right. I don’t understand humans at all.”

“No one does. They don’ make sense.” Crowley crawled closer, lower body twisting into a snake tail that wrapped around Aziraphale’s legs while his still-humanoid head and arms rested on the angel’s chest. “I mean, why kissss at all? It’ss fun, but isss weird.”

“Very strange,” Aziraphale agreed, shaking out his wings to drape over them both, enveloping Crowley in warm white feathers. “This is much better, you know.”

“Mmmmh,” Crowley nodded as he started to drift off to sleep, lower body constricting tighter. “Sstill, we could try kissssing again. Or tickling. Tha’ssss fun, too.”

“Of course, dear. Anything you like.”

[childrenofthesunny]

Seek Him Who My Soul Loveth (2/2)

Part 1: link

-------------------------------------

Crowley somehow managed to keep his feet coordinated enough to carry him up the stairs without incident, eyes locked on the broad expanse of Aziraphale's back. Aziraphale glanced back over his shoulder as they reached the landing, as if making sure Crowley was still following.

 With a smile, Aziraphale opened the door to his bedroom, gesturing for Crowley to go in ahead of him. Crowley had never been inside Aziraphale's bedroom before, but was entirely unsurprised to find the contents of the bookshelf overflowing, spilling out onto every stable flat surface in the room. Aziraphale kept the main light off and dimmed the reading light to the lowest setting possible, in deference to the sensitivity of Crowley's eyes.

 The bed was the same as Crowley's, albeit with far paler sheets. Somehow, it looked so much more inviting than his own.

 He should have taken the floor downstairs. He was going to get all sorts of ideas being laid out in Aziraphale's bed, and he wouldn't be able to act on any of them.

"So, we'll start with your neck and work our way down, how does that sound?"

 "Nyeah, sounds good," Crowley said vaguely, trying very hard not to feel let down by the perfunctory, business-like clip of Aziraphale's words. The other man was doing him a kindness, he shouldn't be so ungrateful. It wasn't Aziraphale's fault that he didn't understand what having Aziraphale's hands touching him was going to do to Crowley.

 "Excellent," Aziraphale replied, clapping his hands together briefly before gesturing towards the bed. "Please, won't you lie down?"

 "Shouldn't I take off my shirt first? Make it easier for you?" Crowley asked, feeling both bold and stupid. It was a risky suggestion, he knew. In many ways, it would make things harder for him, place him further along the path of temptation. And perhaps that was why he'd done it to begin with – to give Aziraphale a chance to realise that it would be impossible for Crowley to experience something like this innocently. To give him the opportunity to firmly remind Crowley that he shouldn't be reading into things, or to retract his offer of assistance entirely, and tell Crowley to leave his room.

 Wouldn't it be better, in the long run, for Aziraphale to reject him now? To leave Crowley to suffer this pain as a form of penance, without the guilt of having forced Aziraphale into doing things that he might only realise the significance of after the fact?

 Aziraphale's breath hitched and he paused, staring wide-eyed, finally seeming to realise. Silence descended between them, heavy like a shroud, and for a moment, Crowley felt the first threads of panic beginning to curl around his heart, his lungs, threatening to tighten like a vice. Much as he knew it would be for the best, the prospect of putting Aziraphale in the position of having to let him down gently made Crowley want to bury himself alive.

 "No," Aziraphale said, and the threads turned needle-sharp, piercing Crowley's organs and leaving him feeling like he was drowning. Then Aziraphale continued, shakily, the formal tone completely gone, "Please, allow me. I wouldn't want you to put any more strain on your back than you have already."

 The words were hesitant, like Aziraphale couldn't quite admit, even to himself, that the two of them touching skin to skin might not feel entirely platonic.

 He had to know. Surely, he knew, deep down, he wouldn't be behaving with such uncertainty if he didn't.

 It was still a flimsy excuse, but Crowley was far too weak to resist. He stopped breathing entirely as Aziraphale reached for him with trembling fingers. He didn't dare move an inch as the other man approached him, terrified of frightening him off after all.

 Aziraphale's fingers grazed the underside of Crowley's chin as they curled around his clerical tab, working it loose and setting it down gently on the bedside table – or, more accurately, setting it down atop the precarious pile of books stacked onto the bedside table. Crowley swallowed desperately, trying in vain to calm the goosebumps that had erupted over his skin all the way down to his wrists. The glancing path Aziraphale's fingers had travelled blazed with heat, like he'd been branded. Like anyone who looked at him, now, would instantly be able to see all the lustful thoughts that had immediately jumped to the fore of Crowley's mind. How he imagined those soft, steady fingers cupping his jaw and drawing him in close, solid arms curling around him in a protective embrace, pink lips pressing gently against his own–

 Aziraphale turned back around and reached for the top button of Crowley's shirt, then paused, the heat of his palms bleeding through the thin black cotton as his hands hovered less than an inch from Crowley's chest. "All right?" he asked.

 "Yup," Crowley replied, slowly dying.

 Aziraphale worked the buttons of Crowley's shirt open a fraction slower than propriety demanded, forcing Crowley to finally gasp in a fresh breath of air or risk passing out. The shuddering of his chest made Aziraphale's fingers graze against him again, and Crowley all but keened at the sensation, knees close to buckling.

 As a rule, Crowley avoided touch. He'd always felt that it was the better option, that any deviation would invariably set off a slow descent into sin. That by denying himself entirely, it would be easier to suppress his urges, as he wouldn't truly know what he was missing out on. He wondered, now, whether that had been a mistake – that by refusing to allow himself to receive a kind touch for all these years, he had only made himself that much more susceptible to the effects of a gentle hand against his bare skin. If this was how he was already reacting to an accidental touch, how was he going to survive Aziraphale's hands pressed against him with intention?

 The bottom button of his shirt finally popped free, almost making Crowley sway into the motion as Aziraphale's hands began to pull away. Horrified, Crowley hastily forestalled the movement of his hips, very carefully keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Still, he saw Aziraphale's hands drift upwards to the parted front of Crowley's shirt. Instead of taking hold of the fabric to ease it off over Crowley's arms, however, Aziraphale's hands slipped beneath, warm palms brushing along Crowley's shoulders as he pushed the shirt down over his arms.

 Crowley made a broken little sound and kept his face resolutely turned away, knowing that if he met Aziraphale's gaze now, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from kissing him, and ruining everything.

 "Sorry," Aziraphale murmured.

 It took Crowley a second or two to parse the fact that Aziraphale was giving him the excuse of his sore back for the sound he'd just made. "'S OK," he managed. "My own fault, anyway."

 He dared to pray that Aziraphale wouldn't notice, or at the very least wouldn't comment on, the fact that his nipples were stiffly standing at attention.

 Aziraphale caught the shirt before it could fall and stepped away, also avoiding eye contact as he rebuttoned the shirt. Crowley couldn't help but think of how it would still be warm from sitting against his skin, that Aziraphale would still be able to feel some of Crowley's heat beneath his fingertips.

 "You can go lie down, now," Aziraphale said over his shoulder, voice only a little unsteady as he carefully folded the shirt and laid it out on top of a stack of books, next to the one beneath Crowley's collar. Crowley nodded jerkily, all but rushing for the bed, grateful for the opportunity to hide the shameful reaction his body was already having to Aziraphale's proximity.

 He laid himself face-down on the bed, arms tucking in around Aziraphale's pillow. He settled in, breathing in Aziraphale's scent from the pillow as subtly as he could.

 The mattress dipped beside him, presumably Aziraphale taking a seat. Only, Aziraphale then shifted further. Crowley realised he hadn't sat down at all, just put one knee up on the bed so that he could swing his other leg over the back of Crowley's thighs, all but straddling him.

 "Wh– Aziraphale–"

 "Is this all right?" Aziraphale asked, hands resting atop his own thighs. "I just wanted to be sure I had the best angle, but I can do it differently if you aren't comfortable."

 "'S fine," Crowley managed, swallowing the quiet sound he wanted to make when Aziraphale took that as a cue to settle more firmly against his thighs. Crowley was still twisted part of the way around to look at him, and he was finding it difficult to not let his eyes linger on the thick barrel of Aziraphale's chest towering over him.

 "Neck first, yes?"

 "Mm," Crowley agreed, unable to summon words when he was trying so hard to distract himself from the coil of heat unfurling low in his abdomen.

 "Face down, please."

 Crowley shuffled the pillow down a bit, tucking it under his chin, so that he could press his forehead against the mattress and still breathe. Not that he seemed to be doing a particularly good job of that, air catching in his throat in near-inaudible little gasps.

 One thick, warm hand curved gently around Crowley's shoulder, fingertips brushing along the inked lines of the snake coiled around his arm. It was the first time anyone had touched his arm since he'd had the tattoo done. He wanted so desperately for Aziraphale to trace along every curve and scale, to openly admire the artwork and the canvas beneath it.

 He didn't, of course, hand instead pressing Crowley down onto the bed and keeping him still. The other curled around the juncture of Crowley's other shoulder and his neck, thumb digging into the tension that had built at the base of his skull.

 "Mrghhh," Crowley groaned, unable to help but react to the touch. Just a slight change of motion, and Aziraphale could be running his fingers through Crowley's hair, tugging gently on it to make him gasp, slowly petting it and telling him how lovely it looked–

 No. He had to stop thinking like that. Their duty was to the Church first and foremost, that sort of personal intimacy wasn't something either of them were destined for. This was the closest they were going to get to anything like that, and that was fine.

 It would be fine.

 The firm press of Aziraphale's fingers made their way to the nape of Crowley's neck, sending a shudder all the way down his spine.

 Crowley bit down on the blasphemy that surged to the tip of his tongue. But would it even be taking the Lord's name in vain, when Aziraphale's hands on him made him feel closer to Heaven than any prayer that had ever crossed his lips?

 Still. Better to not risk it.

 Aziraphale's hands skimmed over his shoulder blades in a way that Crowley allowed himself to think felt almost reverential, and then his thumbs pressed into a particularly knotted muscle to the right of Crowley's spine.

 "Hgnhhhk," Crowley garbled, back arching involuntarily away from the pressure of Aziraphale's touch, even as he quite literally ached for more. Dizzily, he wondered whether this was what divine ecstasy felt like, an overwhelming sweet agony that left his eyes watering and his lungs breathless.

 "There's the culprit," Aziraphale said happily, thumb rolling in firm circles as he eased the muscle loose.

 "Nghhhhn," Crowley grunted, turning his face to press it against the pillow, hiding his tears. Aziraphale's scent filled his nose and he trembled, the tension in his shoulders slowly giving way under the steady, sure pressure of Aziraphale's hands.

 "How does that feel?" Aziraphale asked softly, fingers digging into flesh. "Not too hard?"

 Crowley was, in fact, very hard at this point, but somehow he doubted that was what Aziraphale was asking. "No, no, 's perfect, more'n perfect," Crowley babbled, words slurring together in his haste. "So good, you feel so good, I–" Crowley promptly shut his mouth with an audible clacking of teeth, knowing that he was straying far too close to unacceptable territory. Instead, he let his words shift into a formless groan as Aziraphale found a new knot to press his thumbs into.

 Aziraphale tsked at him. "Just look how knotted up you've gotten, you really must take better care of yourself."

 Screw that. Crowley was going to toil in the gardens from dawn to dusk every day, if his reward would be the firm pressure of Aziraphale's hands against him.

 Aziraphale moved down along Crowley's shoulders in inches, seemingly able to home in on every tight muscle with unerring accuracy. His hands didn't seem to tire at all, and Crowley bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to distract himself from the desire to turn around and watch the flex of Aziraphale's arms as he worked.

 It was hard to remember just why he wouldn't be able to get away with that. The soft glow of the reading light lent the whole scene a dream-like quality, almost made him believe that if he turned around and reached out, that Aziraphale would reach back, draw him in and hold him close.

 Crowley gripped the pillow beneath him tighter, and didn't turn.

 Aziraphale's thumbs nestled into the valley of Crowley's spine, hands spread like wings as they pushed up along Crowley's back, forming perfectly to the contours of his shoulder blades. They slowly swept back down and fluttered over the divots of Crowley's ribs, making the breath he drew beneath them shudder in kind. His waist was slender enough that when Aziraphale's hands eventually travelled that low, his fingertips curled partway around Crowley's sides.

 At this point, it seemed like it would actually be better for Crowley if he were to come to fruition, as it were. He knew how to keep himself quiet – teenage years spent living with paper-thin walls would do that to you – and at this point, it would take him so long to calm down after the massage was done that even Aziraphale would have no choice but to grow suspicious.

 "That's the spot," Crowley croaked, hips jerking in a way that he hoped looked like an involuntary response to the pressure being placed against the base of his spine. Aziraphale obligingly shifted forward, driving down more force through his thumbs. Crowley felt something loosen and shift, and groaned in relief, hips rolling against the mattress in a slow, subtle grind.

 When Aziraphale settled back down on the backs of Crowley's thighs, Crowley felt something hard pressing against the bottom curve of his arse.

 They both froze.

 Is that a Bible in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? Crowley's brain supplied, a little hysterically, and Crowley had to tamp down on the mad urge to start giggling.

 Aziraphale's hands had gone rigid against Crowley's skin, like he wanted to pull away, but couldn't remember how. When he spoke, his voice was thick and strained. "Crowley," he rasped, sounding both shocked and horrified, like he hadn't noticed his own physical state until it had been pressed up against Crowley's rear. "I'm so sor–"

 Crowley, struck by a flash of boldness that he couldn't quite place the origin of, shifted under Aziraphale's hands and pushed himself more firmly back against the other man's lap. Aziraphale let out an agonised sound, like he'd just been shot.

 "Crowley," he said again, this time even more shakily. "This isn't, I don't– we can't. We can't."

 "Can't what?" Crowley replied, only a touch sullen.

 Aziraphale made an exasperated noise at him, voice sliding up the octave in his panic. "You know very well what!"

 "You're just helping ease the pain of your fellow clergy member, that's all," Crowley told him. "We're both still dressed – well, mostly, in my case, but that's only to make it easier for you to ease my pain. Nothing untoward about that."

 They could do that, couldn't they? Just pretend, both of them operating under a veneer of plausible deniability, and then…

 And then, after, Crowley would leave the soft golden glow of Aziraphale's room behind like it was just a dream, and they would both keep pretending that's all it was.

 "Crowley…" Aziraphale sighed once more, with an inflection that Crowley recognised from the theological debates they'd had where they took diametrically opposed positions on a topic.

 His heart sank. So, they wouldn't even have that, then. Aziraphale could be so stubborn when he made up his mind on something. And there was true pain in his tone, a bone-deep regret that made Crowley's very marrow ache in sympathy. Would Aziraphale even be able to bear looking at him come morning? Would he have a quiet word to Gabriel whenever he next visited, tell him that Crowley wasn't a good fit for Tadfield after all, giving the bishop the excuse he needed to have Crowley shuffled off to another parish? One with more oversight, one with clergy members that would take a far dimmer view on his past, one that would make him repent more fervently for his sins–

 "You were right, you know," Crowley said softly, letting all his desperation pour out of him. It wasn't as if he had anything else left to lose. "I've been pushing myself too hard, with the garden. It's just, I… I can see the potential that it has, the beauty it could hold if it's treated with the care it deserves. I want to nurture it, see it properly bloom and grow, if…" His breath hitched a little. "If only it will let me."

 Crowley didn't push back against Aziraphale again, not wanting to force anything that wouldn't be welcome, knowing just how fragile this moment was. Tellingly, however, Aziraphale hadn't moved away at all, either, and Crowley dared to let his heart rise up in his chest once more.

 Finally, Aziraphale murmured, "How is your back feeling now?"

 Crowley swallowed hard, fingertips digging further into the mattress. "Not quite there yet." He took as deep a breath as he dared. "Would it be all right if you kept going, for a little bit longer?"

 There was another long stretch of silence, then: "What kind of man would I be, if I left you when you were still in pain?" Aziraphale answered, quiet and trembling. "Where does it hurt most?"

 His instinctive reaction was to sit up and take hold of Aziraphale's hand, then press it against the flesh and bone covering his heart. But there were any number of reasons why he couldn't do that, least of all because Aziraphale was still straddling him and pinning him down by the waist. Instead, Crowley reached back and traced a thumb alongside the dip of his spine. They both stifled a gasp when Crowley's fingers inadvertently grazed along the inside of Aziraphale's wrist as he pulled away. "Both sides," he croaked, returning his grip to the sheets next to his head to keep himself from reaching back and caressing Aziraphale's thigh.

 Fingers dug into the muscle of his lower back once more, but what really made Crowley moan this time was the feeling of Aziraphale hesitantly, deliberately pressing himself against the cleft of Crowley's arse, only a few layers of cotton separating skin from skin. He whimpered at the thought of that final barrier being removed, even though he knew it wouldn't happen – he still couldn't quite believe what was already happening – and moved back slightly to meet the motion of Aziraphale's hips.

 Did Aziraphale realise that this was Crowley's first time doing anything remotely like this? He knew the general shape of Crowley's past, would Aziraphale simply have assumed that he had at least some worldly experience?

 Come to think of it, did Aziraphale have any experience himself? He was certainly hedonistic enough when he chose to be, with all his creature comforts, but that didn't necessarily mean he'd done anything like this before, either. The roll of his hips against Crowley's rear was certainly uncoordinated enough to suggest that he hadn't. Crowley tried very hard to not let that make him feel special, but it was hard not to when the belief system he'd been brought up under told him it was.

 Aziraphale's scent filled his nose, weight heavy on his legs, hands steady against his back, surrounding Crowley completely, encapsulating him in his entirety–

 Crowley groaned and buried his face in the pillow, breathing in deep as he shook himself apart. Dimly, he heard Aziraphale groan in kind behind him, hands tight around Crowley's waist as he pressed himself hard against Crowley's backside.

 Stars danced in Crowley's vision, his entire body lax and warm. The frantic whirring of his mind was momentarily stilled, and he couldn't help but let his lips part in a smile, a soft sigh escaping them. He felt safe, and satisfied, and calm in a way that he hadn't expected. He had expected guilt, and for his stomach to curdle with horror, and his throat to close over in fear, as always happened after he took himself in hand to thoughts of Aziraphale.

 Instead, he simply felt content.

 They both stayed as they were, panting breath slowly steadying into regular rhythms. Aziraphale was the first to pull away – not that there was really an option for Crowley to be first, pinned as he was – and awkwardly clambered off of Crowley's thighs, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. He'd left ample space for Crowley to sit upright, so he did, swinging his legs out and grimacing slightly at the shift of the damp patch at the front of his pants.

 At least the rectory had its own washing machine, and they didn't need to risk anyone else seeing their stained clothing.

 "You feel better, I hope?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

 "I… yeah, I do. Thank you." Crowley swallowed, trying for a little bit of laughter as he added, "Reckon I'll need another shower, now, though."

 But Aziraphale didn't look at him, instead staring down at his own fingers as they twisted tightly together in his lap. Crowley could scarcely believe they'd been pressed so firmly against his own skin only mere moments prior.

 "You should probably go do that," Aziraphale said, still staring at his tangled fingers.

 A lump formed instantly in Crowley's throat, all the guilt he'd expected earlier suddenly slamming into him full force. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but the rising tide of shame within him drowned any words he might have spoken.

 Aziraphale regretted it. He'd regretted what they'd done together.

 Of course he did. What was Crowley, but a temptation? Aziraphale's life could only have become more complicated by Crowley's presence, bringing up questions he was far too frightened to find the answers to. All Crowley had done was push, and push, and now this.

 He had no one but himself to blame. He had known already that this was how Aziraphale would react, deep down, but had allowed his own stupid naivety to convince him otherwise. What right did he have, to force his own feelings and doubts onto Aziraphale? Was Crowley so weak, that the moment someone showed him the barest kindness, all of his own faults came surging to the fore like a flood, drowning them both? How was it fair that Crowley had clung to Aziraphale like flotsam in a storm, only to drag them both under?

 "I did mean now," Aziraphale whispered, like the words had pained him. His knuckles had gone white from how tightly he was clenching them.

 Crowley shot up from the bed as if he'd suffered an electric shock. He wanted to say something, anything, but what words that he could offer would possibly have an effect on the turmoil Aziraphale was surely feeling? What comfort could he give, what apology could he make, for the violation of an oath that they'd both sworn to uphold?

 Instead, Crowley fled the room like the coward he was, with the sinking certainty that he'd been right, earlier.

 Come morning, Aziraphale was going to pretend that nothing had happened at all.

[sushiandstarlight]

Kintsugi

Read this story on AO3

Inspired by the Japanese art of Kintsugi: " repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique.As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.” and the fact that Aziraphale seems to limp when he's temporarily discorporated and sent back to heaven.

Crowley had written it off as a figment of his imagination the few times he thought he had noticed it: the slight limp in Aziraphale’s walk.  Angels didn’t really get hurt and, if they did, they could heal themselves.  If it was bad enough, they could go to one another for healing.  No, there was no reason for Aziraphale to have a limp.  And, every time Crowley thought he saw it in the next blink it would be gone.

In the days leading up to (what was to be) the failed end of the world, he thought he saw the limp with increasing frequency.  Maybe it was stress on his own part: the ever-present worry that they wouldn’t be able to save the world, that they would be parted, that one of them (maybe both of them) would be destroyed... Really, there were a lot of stressors.  Maybe he wanted to see something he could actually put his hands on as a problem.  Or... maybe the strain was living in Aziraphale and he was having more difficulty hiding his physical ailment.  Crowley couldn’t decide because, again, as soon as he would be sure there was something amiss he would take a breath to address it and then the evidence would be gone.  They would be off chasing the doomed apocalypse or arguing over the merits of running away from it.

As they walked back to his flat after dining at the Ritz he noticed the limp again.  Aziraphale was a couple steps ahead of him, talking about his favorite part of the meal and there it was: a slight lopsidedness to his gait.  Crowley could kick himself.  He was inside that corporation just hours ago.  He could have checked for himself.  But, he had been too busy trying to save Aziraphale’s whole self.  It hadn’t occurred to him to give the angel a physical once-over.  And, really, wouldn’t that be an invasion of privacy?

He caught up quickly enough, taking in the angel’s face and finding no distress there.  He couldn’t just ask, could he?  “Hey I’ve known you 6,000 years and I’m just now noticing that you limp on one leg... what’s that about, eh?”  There was no decent way to ask.  It might be something that Aziraphale didn’t want to discuss.

Only now they were at his door and he hadn’t heard much of anything Aziraphale had said the whole way here.  He hardly remembered putting one foot in front of the other.  He had just followed Aziraphale like a puppy, worrying and fretting and trying desperately to figure out how to bring this up.  He wanted to know that Aziraphale was okay, that was all.

Yet, somehow, his mouth was running.  Which, wasn’t really a good thing, since he wasn’t in complete control of it.  It was meandering on about something.  Ducks, it seemed, and methods to make them less buoyant.  How had they gone from talking about dinner to discussing the buoyancy of water fowl?

Aziraphale was giving him the most peculiar look: head tilted and a soft smile on his face.  It was only interrupted by the occasional glance at the door beside them.  The door that was still closed.  Because Crowley couldn’t stop talking about ducks while he thought about asking him why he limped.

And then Aziraphale’s warm, soft hand was on his cheek and his lips- somehow even warmer and more soft were on his own.  Whatever Crowley had been about to add to the duck discussion (for the curious: he was about to propose the idea of finding something equally as buoyant as a duck and strapping the duck to the thing to see if the duck would spin perpetually in the pond) died on a gasp.

“Could we go inside?”  Aziraphale’s face was still close to his, the soft smile from before tugging harder at the side of his mouth.  Crowley nodded dumbly and snapped the lock open.  “There we are.”  Aziraphale had hooked his elbow in Crowley’s and was leading him inside.

Brain still stalled out completely from the kiss, Crowley stood in his own entryway while watching Aziraphale venture further into his flat.  The sounds of a kettle being put on (did he even own a kettle?) and mugs being set out on the counter drifted his way from the kitchen.

Aziraphale had kissed him.

Aziraphale had kissed him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Aziraphale had kissed him while he’d been having a serious thought.  But, that thought was gone now.  All that existed in Crowley’s head was the feel of Aziraphale’s lips on his own.  The gentle breath that tripped over his chin as the angel had pulled away and smiled at him.

And Crowley hadn’t had a chance to respond to that kiss.  He wandered into his own kitchen in a daze.

“I hope you don’t mind... I miracled over my own kettle and mugs.  You really have nothing in here, Crowley,” Aziraphale tutted, “I figure... well, I figure I won’t be getting any more memos about frivolous miracles from upstairs.  Not for a while, anyway.”

Crowley found himself standing directly behind Aziraphale now, close enough that he could feel the heat of him.  When the angel turned he startled.

“Crowley!” a hand went to his chest, “I’m glad I wasn’t holding the mugs... what a mess!  Really, though, if you’re going to have a kitchen you should at least make an attempt to stock it- mph!”

He hadn’t really given it a lot of thought.  Really, no fretting at all had occurred.  Aziraphale had kissed him in the hallway which meant that it was okay for Crowley to kiss him in the kitchen.  a + b = b + a

Aziraphale’s hands wasted no time finding the waistband of Crowley’s too-tight jeans and untucking his shirt.  Those hands that had been on his face mere minutes ago traced over his belly and then his sides on their way to his back where they clawed him closer with always-well-manicured, blunt nails.  Crowley pressed him harder into the counter top, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and scraping his teeth over it.  The angel made a sound deep in his chest, one of his hands dipping beneath Crowley’s waistband to grab a handful of Crowley’s ass.

Crowley broke the kiss off abruptly, leaning his forehead against Aziraphale’s and sucking in some deep breaths even as he rutted against him.

Suddenly, the kettle went off on the stove beside them, causing them to spring apart and spin wildly, looking for whatever danger had found them.  They both looked from the still-whistling kettle to one another at the same time and laughed as the tension in the air eased.  Aziraphale took the kettle off the heat and turned off the stove.

“Maybe we can have tea later.”

“Something you’d rather be doing right now, Angel?”  Crowley would argue that his voice never “purred,” but he was perfectly aware that it just had.  He took a step toward his bedroom and then looked back at Aziraphale in invitation.

“Tempting me, serpent?”  Aziraphale reached out a hand and Crowley took it.

“As I recall, you kissed me first.”  Crowley pulled him down the hall and into the bedroom, tugging him closer once they got there.

“Well, you would not stop talking and I’m afraid I p... I pani... cked.” 

Crowley had leaned into his space, trailing his nose along the angel’s jaw in an almost nuzzle as he breathed him in.

“Perfectly good way to shut me up, Aziraphale, bravo.”  And then Aziraphale was left with cold air in the space in front of him as Crowley knelt at his feet.  “May I?” Crowley paused, hands over Aziraphale’s trouser fastenings.

Aziraphale nodded and was about to say more, but now his trousers were in a pile on the floor at his feet.  Crowley suddenly remember what he had been pondering before they got to the door of his flat.

He found himself face to kneecaps with Aziraphale and got a partial answer: the knee to his right looked like any ordinary human knee.  The one to the left, however gleamed a bright gold.  The gold spread in patterns almost like spiderwebs- or sealed cracks- up into his thigh, disappearing under his pants, and down into his shin, leading to his sock. Crowley reached out a hand to touch, but thought better of it and glanced upwards for permission.  Aziraphale didn’t so much look embarrassed or upset as he looked caught out and vaguely concerned.

“You can touch.  You won’t hurt me, darling.”

Crowley looked back at the patterns before him, tracing the cool metal replacement kneecap downwards to where it mixed with warm flesh then back up again, following the same lines up Aziraphale’s thigh until his fingers stopped just under his pants.  He felt Aziraphale shiver.

“I wanted to ask.”

“You knew?”

“Angel, there’s little about you that’s escaped me in 6,000 years,”  Crowley leaned forward and kissed his golden knee, “I just wasn’t sure you’d want me to know.”

“I want you to know everything about me... but this, well...”

“Wouldn’t they heal it for you?”  Crowley was proud of himself that his voice remained level.  The idea that heaven would let Aziraphale suffer, even after what he’d seen of them when he wore Aziraphale’s body as a disguise... It made his blood boil.  He could feel the yellow expanding in his eyes as he vied for some kind of control.

Aziraphale sat heavily on the bed behind him and Crowley immediately filled the space between his knees again, stroking his fingers along the newfound lines.

“I was afraid to ask them to.  Afraid they would think less of me or cast me out for my weakness.  It was all about casting out then, you know.”

“Yeah, I know... So you healed it yourself.”

“As best I could.”

“But it still hurts.”

“Aches sometimes.  If I’ve been on my feet too long or if I’ve been back to Heaven.  It’s so very cold there.  It seeps in and lingers.”  Seemingly without thought, Aziraphale flexed his leg under Crowley’s hands.  “Not to mention they don’t seem to believe in chairs.  What marvelous inventions, chairs.”

“You hid it from me.  Why?”

“My dear serpent,” Aziraphale reached down and caressed the side of Crowley’s face, tilting it upwards so he could meet his eyes, “I didn’t want you to worry.  You worry enough.  There was nothing you could do.”

Crowley gazed up at him, rubbing his hand up and down Aziraphale’s shin and knee.

“I suppose not.”

“And I don’t want you worrying yourself about it now, either.”

“Okay.”

“No, I mean it.  I’m not made of glass.  You’re not going to hurt me.”

“I hear you.”  Crowley walked his fingers around the back of his knee and found flesh there, making Aziraphale jerk and laugh. “Hmm, been hiding a ticklish spot, too, I see?”  Crowley tickled the spot again and Aziraphale tried to pull away, but the demon had his ankle in a strong grip.  He sprawled backwards, pulling at the bedspread trying to get away from the merciless fingers.

“Foul fiend!”

Crowley took the moment of distraction to divest him of his socks and shoes and finally completely remove his trousers.  Then he released the angel’s ankle and climbed up the bed to face him.  Aziraphale was doing the best he could between deep breaths to look put out, but the crinkles around his eyes gave away the smile he was hiding.

“I suppose I only have one more question, then,” Crowley drawled as he traced the edge of Aziraphale’s pants with his fingers, watching in satisfaction as shivers raced up the angel’s body.

“Only one?  You?  Surely not.”

Crowley traced him through his pants, just a barely-there touch.

“You got anything else that’s gilded?”

“I’ll gild you in a second if you don’t touch me properly!”

[casebasket]

Since I absolutely cannot stop thinking about Good Omens, the blessed show, I’m just going to list my favourite things that endlessly swirl inside my mind:

Crowley spends 6000 years tracking Aziraphale so he can swoop in and save his angelic dumbass every time he gets himself into trouble for some crepes and books or when he’s mildly - (mildly!) - inconvenienced or distressed

Aziraphale almost dies for crepes and wow what a mood, what a relatable god damn dumbass, and all Crowley can do is smile 

clearly, Crowley’s considered Aziraphale his friend, his best friend, over the span of six millennia, even when time and time again Aziraphale denies it because he’s fallen so hard in self denial, which speaks to the immense patience Crowley must have, specifically for his angel. Crowley knows Aziraphale likes him, possibly even loves him, even when Aziraphale won’t admit it to himself. Even so, he’s still particularly pleased whenever Aziraphale is happy being with him, to see proof of their companionship 

Crowley keeps urging Aziraphale to run off together and he just says it outright, all the time, they’re on their own side, it’s the two of them, they’re basically a couple, we’RE BEST FRIENDS, and he never runs off by himself 

every time Crowley says any of those things, Aziraphale is shocked by his affection and starts to smile before Angelic Purpose and Ineffable Plans or whatever kicks in and he’s all I DON’T EVEN LIKE YOU but he does and he has for 6000 years, dumbass

the gigantic heart eyes Aziraphale throws at Crowley, constantly, whether it’s saving his dumbass, his dumbass books, his dumbass jacket, his dumbass shakespeare, etc., that he thinks are subtle but he’s clearly gazing longingly. he looks so pleased!! 

Crowley saves Aziraphale’s books and while he’s holding them and looking at Crowley longingly a romantic string quartet plays in the background???

the absolute happiness on Aziraphale’s face when he sensed Crowley behind him while he was imprisoned for crepes

“you go too fast for me, Crowley” woah, dumbass hits home, hurts everyone’s souls, turns table on sunglasses dumbass,

the sadness, almost grief, when he says those words - Crowley has probably always known he loved Aziraphale (and hates that fact but begrudgingly accepts) but Aziraphale has never been ready to accept it, and even when he begins to their diametrically opposed circumstance prohibits him from accepting it, regardless of how many times Crowley’s shown his affection, how steadfast he is in their friendship. In some ways, Crowley will always be miles ahead of Aziraphale, who tends to stay put and delight in his old books, old clothes, hide in old virtues. 

and wow Crowley’s super soft when Aziraphale gives him the holy water, and he doesn’t know how to react at all when Aziraphale sadly, softly mutters  those words

I can’t BELIEVE his threat to Crowley is that he’ll never talk to him again while holding a god damn flaming smiting sword, and Crowley regards that as more threatening than the god damn flaming smiting sword, and stops time itself just so Aziraphale will still pay attention to him, like how flippin whipped can you get 

alternatively, Aziraphale saw the slight flinch when he raised his sword at Crowley and immediately put it back down and threatened him with something equally if not more effective

Crowley literally crying to Aziraphale because he lost him, and all Aziraphale says is a slightly uncomfortable “I’m sorry to hear that”, as if he doesn’t quite believe he’s the source of Crowley’s grief because how could he be? but also he 100% knows its about him, Crowley grieves for him, and in the moment he couldn’t take it, resorts to platitudes, clamming up and not thinking about how much Crowley loves him, how much he loves him back. demon, angel, dumbass denial.

Crowley walks out of the flaming bookshop, thinking his best friend has died, and “Somebody to Love” plays in the background LMAO

Aziraphale experiencing his own frantic sense of loss when he witnesses the angels dragging Crowley away

Aziraphale happily dancing the gavotte. what a dork. gay

Crowley basically pole dancing with a gigantic pin. also gay

Aziraphale so angry and scared about Crowley and holy water, about Crowley possibly dying forever, that they don’t meet for another century, and they only see each other again because Aziraphale is getting killed by nazis and Crowley can’t let that happen. And then Crowley saves him and his dumb books and after that Aziraphale gives him holy water next time so Crowley wouldn’t get hurt when he tries getting it himself 

their respective human ‘agent’ is the same idiot. dumbasses

they had absolutely no hand in raising Adam, who turned out fine. the one they did raise, on the other hand, is kind of an asshole. lol they’re so dumb

Aziraphale’s puppy face when he tries to implore Crowley to do something. it’s disgusting how effective it is. Crowley is weak.

Crowley claims to hate Aziraphale’s human magic shows but he’s also exasperatedly fond when he watches it. WEAK

Aziraphale is a DORK and Crowley LOVES IT. WEAK!!

Aziraphale did a stupid thing giving away the fire sword and shaded him from rain and Crowley’s dumbass has loved him since

“you’re so clever! how can anyone as clever as you be so stupid?” Crowley calling Aziraphale out on his denying dumbass

‘angel’ is a pet name

people rightfully mistaken them as dumb husbands

Crowley basically breaks up with him and Aziraphale stands there on the side walk, devastated 

they don’t say thank you, they just take each other out to meals

laughing together

Crowley worries over what Azirapahle thinks of his name. He cares about that detail. “You don’t like it?”

Crowley says “you can stay at my place if you like” with such hope in his voice, what a soft dumbass

Crowley smiles when Aziraphale slips up and says stuff like “let me tempt you” or “i’ll be damned”. Aziraphale smiles whenever Crowley is nice.

Aziraphale has his bookstore full of the things he loves for him to indulge in, Crowley has his bentley full of Queens music for him to escape. One stands still, the other rides fast. One is sentiment for human things heaven cares not for, the other is a sort of freedom from hell. Both feels safe, are shared with only the other, and when set on fire, are mourned. 

they go on lunch dates like all the time and gaze at each other, softly.

“i know what YOU smell like!” he knows what he smells like

Crowley calls him a bastard and Aziraphale just gives him a shyly pleased look. He’s so pleased, the soft dumbass

so i guess like, the entire show

in conclusion i believe you can interpret their love in any myriad of ways, romantic, platonic, eternally entwined, transcendent of any of our human labels, all encompassing, every love imaginable, all at once. They love each other, and they’re probably in love with each other, whatever that means to them, in the sense that it will always be the two of them against whatever else. In the whole universe, they’ve got each other. They’re stupidly fond of each other, to a point beyond their understanding of the world. 

also they’re a pair of dumbasses

update when I think of more

edit update:

whenever the burned bookshop is brought up Crowley is immediately on high alert softness, ready to console and hug and picking up on aziraphale’s every reaction trying to make him feel better, SOFT

[patsdrabbles]

Down in the Underground

Title: Down in the Underground Fandom: Good Omens & Labyrinth (1986) Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 4675 Summary: Ten minutes after he had been given the basket with his charge and short but clear instructions on what to do with it, Crowley pulled his car over and panicked. There had to be another way. There had to. In which Crowley wishes the Antichrist away to a not very thrilled Goblin King. A/N: @szappan wrote an amazing fic about Crowley being a Bowie fan (please do check it out, it’s great! ❤) and it made me wonder what would happen if Crowley and Aziraphale met the Goblin King. Which I then just had to write because Good Omens and Labyrinth are two of my absolute favourite books/series/movies. Thank you so much @blue-ravens for the help with editing this fic! Please enjoy ❤

AO3 & a drawing I made for this fic

Ten minutes after he had been given the basket with his charge and short but clear instructions on what to do with it, Crowley pulled his car over and panicked.

There had to be another way.

There had to.

*

Sometimes, the ideas we have when under distress, later on prove themselves to not be among the brightest we have.

*

“This child is not from the Aboveground.”

Jareth held the baby a bit farther away from himself and looked at him with curious eyes.

“Wha– Of course he is!”

The Goblin King gave Crowley a wary look.

“He reeks of a strange kind of magic.” He pondered Crowley with narrowed eyes for a moment and Crowley felt himself shift, wanting to slither backwards under his scrutinizing gaze. “As do you, for a fact.”

“Well, ha.” Crowley shrugged. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to conceal what he was from another powerful being, shouldn’t he? “Comes hand in hand with fallin’ from the skies above, I guess.”

Jareth stared at him with an unreadable expression for a moment. Then, Crowley could practically hear the cogwheels turn in his mind and his gaze darkened.

“So this is–” Jareth paused and held up the baby a bit, so that he could look into his eyes. “This is him then, isn’t it? Remarkable... If he didn’t smell just like his people, I wouldn’t even have noticed that he was different.”

He turned back to Crowley.

“I cannot give him back as the Labyrinth’s rules forbid me from doing so, but I do not wish to take him in permanently. I’m sure you understand that I don’t want my kingdom to be destroyed by his powers or... for it to eventually be overrun by folks from Heaven and Hell, when it comes to it.” He sighed. “Do traverse the Labyrinth and take him back, demon. Otherwise, we might be faced with a far greater measure of destruction than is already likely to follow him Aboveground.”

Crowley, who had found the grass at the tips of his shoes especially fascinating the last minute or so looked up sharply when the Goblin King sighed loudly.

“Think about it, demon. You still have thirteen hours from now to come and claim him back. Trust me that I will make your life living hell in new, creative ways if you don’t.”

Crowley hadn’t been listening to everything Jareth had said, too busy still panicking about the impending end of the world while wondering several times why the Goblin King looked so familiar, but he had heard the last part.

He gulped and forced himself to smile.

“Sure. I guess I’ll think about it. Uh... See ya!”

He gave a wave of his hand as he turned and sauntered with dangerously shaky steps back to his car.

He’d have to call Aziraphale. Aziraphale would know what to do.

In hindsight, maybe he should have called Aziraphale before wishing the boy away.

Oh well, it was too late for that line of thought now.

As Crowley drove away (in search for the nearest phone booth), Jareth kept holding onto the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness and scowled.

He had planned to relax today, maybe enact only two boggings (the goblins in question had taken the chicken tossing too far and had hit him square in the face the other day. They had escaped but Jareth had found out their names, which would be enough). He had planned to have a Good Day.

This however? This didn’t look like it was going to be one.

*

The world wasn’t, as most people would have you believe, influenced by two great powers.

The lack of knowledge about the third wasn’t all that surprising, given that it had itself wished to not be involved in Heaven’s and Hell’s meddling with humanity or get tangled in their “weird kind of codependency”.

The third of the powers that be was neither good nor evil – much rather, it was a wild sort of chaos that was able to be precisely just what you imagined it to be.

And when you knew the right words, you might just be lucky enough to call on it.

*

“You did what?”

To say that Aziraphale sounded flabbergasted was an understatement like calling the melting polar caps a minor problem of Earth.

Crowley ran a slightly trembling hand through his hair, not noticing that he ruffled it up.

“I wished away the Antichrist. Sent him to the Goblin Kingdom.”

The voice on the other end of the phone call remained silent for a long moment.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice now was much more quiet and had an almost desperate edge to it. “You can’t just– wish away the Antichrist!”

“But I could, couldn’t I? I did, in fact, and now he’s being babysat by the Goblin King himself until the time’s up.”

“Crowley! You don’t even know what might happen after– even during those thirteen hours! We have no idea how his powers might react to wild fae magic! It might just bring about the end of the world faster than originally planned for all we know!"

Aziraphale was starting to sound frantic and Crowley’s hand was, by now, shaking noticeably as well.

“Alright, so what do we do now?”

“Go get back the Antichrist, I suppose.”

*

“You realize I can’t change the rules even for... people like you, do you?”

“I guess I can see why, yes.”

Aziraphale nodded and nudged Crowley’s arm when the demon didn’t respond to the Goblin King’s question.

Crowley, however, had been deep in thought, resulting in him asking the one question that had been on the tip of his tongue since he had first seen the Goblin King about an hour ago.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like David Bowie?”

The Goblin King didn’t reply, just gave him a terrifyingly wide smile in response as he held the Antichrist in his arms.

“Alright, the child. The Antichrist.” Aziraphale tried to get their attention back to the urgent matter at hand. “I’m aware that the rules give us thirteen hours to–”

“Twelve hours and ten minutes by now.”

“—solve the Labyrinth and get back the child you have taken. Right.” Aziraphale cleared his throat as the Goblin King continued staring him down.

“Uhm.”

“Usually, only the one making the wish gets to run the Labyrinth, but as the rules aren’t very clear on this, I can twist them somewhat. You may run together. Let’s hope for all of us that it’ll help.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who had remained silent after asking his strange and out of nowhere question.

“I don’t want Hell’s Antichrist here any more than you do,” Jareth continued, sounding vaguely annoyed despite continuing to calmingly rock the baby in his arms.

“So you better make an effort – a successful one – and take him back.” He looked at them both, individually, before adding: “I’ll be waiting in my castle in the center of the Labyrinth.”

With that, he disappeared.

“Well, that didn’t sound too difficult.” Aziraphale smiled nervously at Crowley. “We can do this, we’re an angel and a demon, after all! What is a magical labyrinth to us, right?”

“...”

Crowley didn’t meet his gaze, instead looking out over the vast expanse of the Labyrinth in front of them. Inwardly, he cursed himself for his own stupidity.

Wishing the Antichrist away like a nervous teenager unwilling to babysit their baby brother.

In the oddest sense of the word, he supposed, that was exactly what it was.

He was only pulled out of his thoughts when a warm hand grabbed his and Aziraphale smiled at him reassuringly.

“Come on, Crowley, let’s get the boy back.”

Crowley managed a weak nod and followed Aziraphale, who clearly was doing better at trying to convince himself of the upsides of their current situation.

“Come on, feet!”

Crowley sighed but couldn’t resist a tiny smile at the comment.

Together, they made their way downhill.

*

Glitter.

The damn glitter was everywhere. On his jacket, his shoes, his glasses...

Aziraphale either didn’t notice or didn’t mind the light silvery glitter making him shimmer in the light as they walked down the seemingly endless corridor.

Crowley sighed but refrained from commenting on the obvious.

*

“’ello!”

“Oh, hello there, my friend!”

Aziraphale crouched down to be on eye level with what appeared to be a little blue worm.

“We’re trying to cross this labyrinth, but we can’t seem to find our way out of this corridor.” Aziraphale smiled at the tiny worm, who looked at him with big blinking eyes.

“Oh, you should come inside an’ meet the missus. The tea should just be ready.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, somewhat at a loss. “We’re a bit in a hurry right now, I’m afraid ...but maybe on our way back?”

Crowley nodded, although there were more important things than tea dates with magical worms on his mind right now. Such as finding the Antichrist in order to ensure his own continued existence, for one.

“Lovely!” the worm exclaimed. “You two are the first who didn’t outright decline the offer, the missus an’ I do appreciate that, really!”

Crowley nodded again and gestured for Aziraphale to get on with it, becoming impatient.

“Uhm, the exit to this corridor, kind sir?”

“Ah yes, the exit! You aren’t looking for a door an’ you will have to look from the right angle to find it!”

Crowley nodded and, without another word, turned into his old form.

“Oh, fancy that skill!” The worm commented and nodded in approval.

Crowley slithered along the wall, turning his head this way and that way, until the wall seemed to give way beneath him. Or rather, disappear.

“There’sss another pathway right here, angel.”

He turned back into his human form and went to take Aziraphale’s hand in his to pull him along when he didn’t move.

But Aziraphale didn’t budge even so.

“We don’t even know what direction to take yet, Crowley!”

Crowley sighed heavily.

“Alright, Mister Worm, what direction should we take?”

“Take a turn to the right, this should fit your purpose. The path to the left is filled with grave dangers!”

His eyes widened comically and Crowley grinned at him.

“What dangers might those be?”

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand twitch in his own and became aware of the heat rising in his cheeks when he realized that he was still holding the angel’s hand.

“The path to the left ...it leads straight to the center of the Labyrinth!”

Aziraphale turned sharply toward Crowley.

“Then the path to the left is the one we need to take!”

“But–”

“Thank you again, kind sir. I will keep your offer for tea in mind.”

Crowley turned toward the new path and felt, just as he was trying to let go of Aziraphale’s hand unnoticed, that the angel held on tighter to his own. Unsure what to say – or if he should say anything in the first place – he continued on, Aziraphale by his side.

The worm looked torn as they left, unhappy to see them choosing the more dangerous of the two options. But they had asked the right question and gotten their answer.

In the castle, the Goblin King nodded at a crystal sphere in satisfaction while rocking the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. They might very well make it in good time.

*

“Crowley, I’m starving!” Aziraphale was wailing and Crowley rolled his eyes.

“You can’t starve, you’re an angel.”

“But still, I very much feel like I am.”

Crowley got distracted by something to his right rustling in some sparkling bushes, so he didn’t notice Aziraphale moving on ahead and looking around the corner of the pathway.

He didn’t see Aziraphale’s delighted facial expression at the sight of an apricot tree that was yielding a lot of beautiful, ripe fruit.

He also didn’t see Aziraphale’s plucking an apricot from the tree or how he pulled out a handkerchief to quickly clean it.

And he didn’t see Aziraphale take a bite of the apricot or the moment of realization he had, mirrored in his widened eyes.

He did hear Aziraphale’s physical form hitting the grassy ground beneath his feet and was running toward him before he could even see what had happened.

He felt the panic rise in his chest.

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale, what happened?”

When Crowley reached him he still hadn’t gotten a reply or any other reaction, so he let himself fall to his knees to take a better look at the angel.

He was still breathing, which... Wasn’t a requirement for a heavenly being, but at least seemed to indicate that, albeit unconscious, Aziraphale hadn’t been discorporated... or worse.

Crowley frantically looked around, trying to figure out what had happened.

Then he saw it and froze.

Lying on the ground not far from Aziraphale’s outstretched arm and clearly bitten into – a peach.

Crowley growled in frustration.

They should’ve brought sandwiches.

A clearly magical sphere floated by him and Crowley managed to get a glimpse at the translucent image it showed.

It was Aziraphale, looking confused and kind of lost, in a ballroom, surrounded by ballgoers whose faces were covered with masks.

The people were staring at him, making it hard for him to pass through the mass. Then, music must have started playing, because several people started dancing and Aziraphale’s eyes lit up in delight.

“Damn it, angel,” Crowley hissed to himself.

A second glance into the sphere showed him Aziraphale dancing among the crowd and... a very annoyed looking person who could only be the Goblin King himself, albeit disguised with a mask. When said Goblin King turned to stare up at him through the magical sphere, Crowley cursed again and took a step toward the apricot tree.

They were all round and ripe, the perfect apricots. Since they would all hopefully lead to the same thing, however, he plucked one at random. 

He hissed in his best snakely manner at the fruit he held with his fingertips and reminded himself that he was doing this for Aziraphale. So that after that, they could continue searching for the Antichrist.

Damn hell.

He took a bite and felt himself falling.

Damn all fruit trees.

*

When he came to, the first thing he noticed was that the world seemed brighter than before. Looking around, he decided that hundreds of candles seemed to be to blame for that. Second, things seemed rather... peachy. But not in the all-is-well kind of way, but in the way that the taste of the godforsaken peach he had eaten was still lingering on his tongue, coating his mouth and, quite oddly, also affecting his other senses, almost... clouding them.

He didn’t like that one bit.

He continued down an already quite crowded hallway and reached a big double door that presumably led to the ballroom he had seen. He pushed it open and shuddered momentarily at the sight in front of him. There were way too many people attending this ball for what he considered to be his comfort zone, if one were to ask him. But since nobody was asking him, he went on inside, hoping to find Aziraphale as fast as possible.

People were laughing and giggling almost manically as he made his way through the crowd, having to push more than a few of the ballgoers aside when they seemed to intentionally block his path or hold onto his sleeves.

He was getting rather annoyed by the time he spotted Aziraphale, standing rather lost in the middle of the ballroom. The spark Crowley had momentarily seen in his eyes in the crystal was gone and he looked rather worried as he unconsciously fussed with the hem of his coat sleeves. When his eyes met Crowley’s, however, they seemed to light up again and he started to make his way toward the demon.

Crowley felt relief wash over him when he came to stand in front of Aziraphale and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Don’t. Don’t ever just do something so stupid ever again! I thought you had died or something for a moment!“

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened and he looked so sorry and–

“Aargh, stop it, angel! I know you’re sorry, let’s just. Find a way out of here.”

Crowley turned around and started looking for the ballroom door, just to find it was ...gone.

“What in all seven –”

He turned back to Aziraphale when he felt the angel’s hand gently on his shoulder.

“It’s gone, Crowley.”

“What do you mean, it’s gone? It was right over there mere minutes ago!”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“I checked after I appeared here, as well, but the door was gone again moments after my arrival.”

“So what do we do now?”

Crowley was starting to feel antsy. Things were not developing in their favor.

Suddenly, music began to play. There were no musicians to be seen, except for–

“I’ll eat a damn hat if that isn’t the Goblin King himself.”

Aziraphale followed his gaze to the other side of the room where Jareth the Goblin King was standing in an inexplicable beam of light and, by all appearance, was about to start to sing.

The two of them were so surprised by his appearance, however, that they noticed only too late that the crowd had started to close in on them, pressing in from all sizes and leaving them surrounded by a slowly moving circle.

“I’m sorry, Crowley. If not for me, we weren’t stuck in this mess of a situation.”

Crowley took a sharp breath when Aziraphale reached out and held his hand.

He obviously didn’t mind holding the angel’s hand, but he also feared the treacherous color that rose to his cheeks the last few times it had happened.

Aziraphale must have noticed his intake of breath, because he let go of Crowley’s hand all of a sudden, a quiet sadness overtaking his eyes.

“There’s such a sad love,

deep in your eyes...”

Jareth was, in fact, singing now, and Crowley felt awful. They were running out to time to fix the mistake he had made and now they both were stuck in this place with Aziraphale looking like Crowley had kicked him.

Crowley remained quiet for a moment, lowering his gaze to the ground when he noticed Aziraphale turning away his gaze.

The Labyrinth was a place full of riddles, going by what Jareth had told them at the beginning. So maybe being stuck in a ballroom meant...

He looked up with an apologetic smile and held out his hand to Aziraphale.

“There’s such a fooled heart,

beating so fast in search of new dreams,

a love that will last...”

“Come on, angel.”

Aziraphale was looking at him and then at Crowley’s extended hand. He looked back at Crowley and, after a moment of hesitation, took his hand and let himself slowly be pulled in.

“Maybe this is gonna fix things.”

Aziraphale frowned slightly and Crowley let out a small nervous laugh, his breath brushing over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“...maybe it’s not, but it seems worth a try, right?”

Aziraphale met his gaze and nodded.

He looked back at the ballgoers surrounding them, a sort of dancing carrousel by this point, and frowned in thought.

“Perhaps we’ll manage to get closer to the Goblin King, that way. We should try to ask him what to do.”

Crowley nodded and felt warmth rise in his cheeks when Aziraphale squeezed his hand and took a step closer.

“I’ll paint you mornings of gold...”

“Let’s dance, my dear.”

“I’ll spin you Valentine evenings...”

Crowley nodded and took the first step.

And they danced.

*

While they were slowly swaying to the rhythm of the music, the ballgoers around them were still talking and pointing and moving around them.

Crowley tried to focus on the warmth that Aziraphale was giving off and not on ...everything else. He hoped that this would work. Things had obviously gone too well previously and...

“But I'll be there for you... as the world falls down.”

...Aziraphale was holding him, not letting go.

They made their way across the room in a slow pace, the crowd around them letting them move as long as they continued dancing.

“Falling... Falling...”

“It’s working,” Aziraphale breathed out in astonishment when he realized what was happening.

“Falling...”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed quietly and held on for dear life.

“Falling in love...”

*

By the time the song ended, they had also reached the Goblin King, who was giving them a long, contemplative look. In one hand he was holding a ball mask, which he made disappear in exchange for another crystal. He let it run up and down his hand as he looked at them a moment longer, before this gaze fell to their still joined hands again.

“You’ve made it all the way here. What do you want?”

The astonished look must have been similar on both their faces.

“We want out, obviously,” Aziraphale stated.

“Are you certain of that?” Jareth asked. “Even if out of here and out there might mean a less pleasant life for both of you?”

Crowley cocked his head in inquiry.

“The whole doomsday situation. And–” Jareth nodded toward their joined hands. “–that, perhaps, even more.”

Crowley saw Aziraphale blush and look away out of the corner of his eye, but the angel didn’t withdraw his hand.

Somehow, confidence at last got a hold of Crowley and he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand as he grinned at the Goblin King.

“We’ll figure it out.”

To their surprise, the Goblin King threw the crystal up in the air.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Jareth grinned back at them and around them, the world fell down.

*

After that, finding the castle in the center of the Labyrinth was a piece of cake.

They ran into a bunch of goblins and other fae folk, but for the most part, the direction they had to take was clear and their path free of dangers.

They had talked some and both realized that they were “absolute morons”, as Crowley had put it, smilingly. Aziraphale had returned his smile, equally radiant in its nature, and had gently squeezed his hand. They would talk about this once they had left the Labyrinth (‘this’ being their strong mutual affection that they both had previously been too nervous about to realize that it was reciprocated; ‘previously’ being the past four thousand years, give or take).

They also talked about the Antichrist and what they would do once they got him back from Jareth.

“Bring him to his new parents, of course.”

“Yes, of course, but what... what about his upbringing?”

��You aren’t suggesting...?”

Aziraphale nodded and, as they continued walking, they formed a plan.

*

They still had more than enough time to spare by the time they entered the castle together, only letting go of each other’s hands for the first time in hours to push open the big front gate.

They found the Goblin King and the baby in a big room at the center of the castle.

“At long last, here you are. And here ...you are.” Jareth grinned a toothy grin as he handed over the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness to Crowley. Then, he let himself fall back onto what appeared to be a fairly uncomfortable big chair that, on a second thought, seemed to function as a throne.

“You did it, great! And with four hours to spare, on top of that!”

As he shifted the Antichrist in his arms, Crowley heard Aziraphale exhale in relief next to him. Quite frankly, if the end of the world weren’t as immediate as it unfortunately was, he would have gladly spent the next two decades sleeping.

“So– any further... life-changing happenings or the like since you left my ballroom?”

When the two didn’t reply immediately, Jareth flashed a grin that only lasted for a moment, before being replaced by a more neutral expression.

“I have been told that it seems to be somewhat of a common experience among runners.”

Aziraphale turned a lovely shade of red and Crowley found himself rather tempted to just ...Ah, to hell with it.

He took Aziraphale’s hand in his as gently as he could while not jostling the baby on his arm and felt Jareth’s gaze on them even as he finally allowed the love he felt for Aziraphale to show when he looked at the angel.

When he looked back at Jareth, the Goblin King was smiling.

“So, there’s hope for you lot yet.”

*

With the Goblin King’s help, the three of them reappear Aboveground somewhere in the outskirts of Tadfield a short time later. The Bentley stood waiting for them a couple of meters down the road.

“Well, here we are.” Aziraphale looked down at the basket that was now, once again, holding the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.

“Here we are...,” Crowley mumbled, when, suddenly, the thing that had been nagging him at the back of his mind for the past few hours finally surfaced.

“Oh, crap, we’re late for the birth of the other baby!”

Aziraphale paled and Crowley felt the panic rise in his veins.

“I’ll have to reorder time, though I don’t know if I can manage to turn back all thirteen hours, but I’ll have to try and–”

“Perhaps I could help with that.”

An owl sitting on a nearby tree branch turned into Jareth casually leaning against said tree’s trunk.

“Time is easily affected by my magic, Aboveground and Underground.”

A clock appeared in the air next to him, as if required for the impending demonstration.

The Goblin King snapped his fingers and for a split moment, Crowley and Aziraphale felt air and time rush past them. Then, it was night again and the clock on Crowley’s watch – just like Jareth’s flying clock – indicated that it was still 11.24 pm, mere minutes after Crowley had originally left Hastur and Ligur at the graveyard.

“Well, go then!”

Jareth made a shooing motion with his hands when the two others just continued staring at him for a moment.

“In that case... Thank you.” Aziraphale smiled and looked like he wanted to step forward and shake Jareth’s hand before coming to think better of it.

“Yeah, thank you, I guess. Spared us a lot of trouble if that had come out.” Crowley gave him what he hoped looked like an appreciative nod.

“Nevermind, I’m glad he’s not going to grow up with me. I have enough on my plate as it is.” The Goblin King sighed and shook his head.

“You still look like David Bowie, though,” Crowley couldn’t help but mention again.

Jareth just grinned at that and, within a blink of the eye, was gone.

Aziraphale sighed as they began walking toward the Bentley.

“You just had to point that out again, didn’t you?”

“Well, he does look an awful lot like David Bowie! Don’t blame me for stating the obvious!”

They continued their friendly bickering as they approached Tadfield, smiles on their faces and a plan for the upbringing of the Antichrist in the works. It was bound to go wrong, of course, before it would go right again, in the end.

A barn owl followed the Bentley down the street for a minute before disappearing in a light shower of glitter.

[mostweakhamlets]

weird request but could I ask for something domestic? it can be canon or any au. just imagining those two like haggling at a farmer's market or picking out new furniture for the south downs

Not exactly domestic, but kinda domestic. They were supposed to leave the house, but I got carried away thinking about them staying in 

vlogger au:

--

Crowley suggests they explore town their first weekend in the South Downs. Aziraphale is eager to ger his personal library set up, but Crowley insists that they get out for a breath of fresh air. It’ll be better than digging through boxes for another day. 

“You packed up all your dust with you,” Crowley says, a sneeze caught in his nose. “Let’s go, angel. Your books will be here when we get back.”

Aziraphale looks around his room. To enter his library, one would need to enter through a regular door in the hallway. It would appear to be nothing more than a closet before stepping in. Then, it would appear to be an architectural mix of the world’s greatest libraries--all of Oxford’s, Cambridge’s, a touch of Alexandria. It would be breathtaking and stretch on for ages. 

The shelves were currently mostly empty, and old cardboard boxes all over the floor ruined the aesthetic. But Aziraphale looked quite at home, sitting on the floor, surrounded by his books and he unboxed them. 

“I don’t know, dear. Isn’t it supposed to rain later?” 

“It’s always going to rain. It’s England.”

“But I wouldn’t want us to get caught in it. Not when it’s warm and dry in here.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him. Crowley was weak for that smile. It was the smile that got Aziraphale dinners at the Ritz, extra bottles of wine, and little pastries from down the street in London. It was the smile that got Crowley to sit next to him and open a new box of books. 

“This is very kind of you, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Crowley knew that Aziraphale was anxious about moving for the first time in centuries. When they drove away from the bookshop, Aziraphale had kept his head turned to his window, but Crowley could see that he was blinking back tears. Crowley made sure that he bought a new CD for their trip so that Aziraphale could have comfort music. It had since turned into The Best of Queen, but Crowley had collected spares that the Bentley hadn’t seen yet. 

“We could see if there’s any nice restaurants in town,” Aziraphale continued. “Whatever you’re in the mood for. And we do have more wine, I believe. Somewhere in the mess in the kitchen.” 

“We can look for it later,” Crowley said. “I don’t know why you wanted to buy so many pots and cooking... things.”

“I’d like to start cooking, my dear. It’s been ages since I’ve done it, but I don’t think I’ve lost my touch. It might be a while before we actually see results, though.”

“It’s fine.” The kitchen, like the library, was full of boxes and only a few unpacked necessities. “We can find places in town in the meantime.”

Crowley pulled out his phone from his back pocket and began looking for nearby restaurants--something he knew Aziraphale would enjoy. Maybe sushi or a place with an extensive dessert menu. He would insist that it was what he was in the mood for, but it would truly be to see Aziraphale wiggle happily in his seat and hear him admit that he was enjoying their new home. 

After 30 minutes of reading reviews and scoping out menus, Crowley noticed Aziraphale was 50 pages into a book. 

“I thought we were unpacking.”

“We were, but I thought a break would be nice,” Aziraphale said, turning a page and then another only half a minute later. 

Crowley pulled the book away from Aziraphale’s lap and replaced it with his head. Aziraphale smiled down. He put one hand on Crowley’s chest and the other played with his hair. 

“Let’s talk then,” Crowley said, lacing his fingers over his stomach and crossing his ankles. 

“About what, dear?”

“Do you really want to be here?”

Aziraphale blinked. His hands stilled. “What do you mean? Of course, I do!”

“Then why stay inside all day?” 

“We’re still settling in.”

“But I’ve been more social than you have. That’s not good. We have neighbors who want to meet you.”

“They’ll have to wait. And I’m not that social of a person. You know I like keeping to myself.”

Crowley scoffed. “You love meeting people as long as they’re not trying to take any of your precious books.”

Aziraphale was quiet. Crowley’s stomach felt wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to bring it up. Or the right way. Maybe Aziraphale knew that he was being a shut-in and just needed time to work through it himself. 

Crowley fiddled with a button on Aziraphale’s waistcoat. The fabric around it was worn down. Threads were torn and frayed. No matter what, Aziraphale refused to get it fixed or allow Crowley to miracle it back to how it once looked. He had fussed the day a button finally broke free of its last stitch until he managed to sew it back on himself. Suggesting getting a new one just made Aziraphale roll his eyes at Crowley with a comment about how he wouldn’t understand not needing to change and update his life every time there was a new human trend. 

Crowley thought of it more as a need to not change. Ever. 

“I’ll try to be better,” Aziraphale finally said. “We can start going out, and I can catch up to speed.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying, angel. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you want, we can pack back up and be in London tonight.”

“I’d like to give this a chance. But...”

“It’s too fast?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Just a touch.” 

Crowley reached up to touch Aziraphale’s cheek. Aziraphale leaned into it until Crowley was stroking his soft jaw. 

“Let’s stay in for tonight,” Crowley said. “And then tomorrow we can go on a walk.” 

“That sounds like a fine plan.” 

“You can finally meet the neighbors, and they can finally stop asking me about you.”

“Oh! What have you told them?”

“Just the basics.”

“Good.”

“But I did tell them all something different about you.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s hand away from his cheek. “I don’t suppose you told them a single truth?”

Crowley smiled. “Come on, angel. What’s the fun in telling them the truth?”

[sharada-n]

Febuwhump day 4 - Impaling

Fandom: Good Omens

(because sometimes you need to write some good old Aziraphale!whump to treat yourself!)

Many times since arriving in this cold and dark country had Aziraphale thought he would have been better off staying in London.

Not because of the weather, which was dreadfully dour and worse than what he was used to, for so far as that was still possible. Not for the people, who were broody and suspicious of strangers – certainly strangers who were quirky and fair with a bounciness to their step and panache to their speech. Not even the terrible meals were what made Aziraphale regret sailing over here.

Oh no, it was his own curiosity he lamented.

Curiosity wasn't a virtue to humans, and for angels even less so. But Aziraphale was weak and wont to give in to his own whims and as he was pushed against the moist forest ground scattered with dead leaves by two men, he realized he couldn't name the little village he had been staying in, or which country this was.

They did tell him curiosity killed the cat.

The boy was barely a few years into puberty, dark hair and big green eyes that only grew wider in fear when his father pressed the wooden stake and the hammer into his hands. Hawthorne carved and sculpted and said to be perfect to extirpate the creatures of myth that were currently rumored to roam these parts. The same myths Aziraphale had traveled so far to learn more about, to record for the sake of human peculiarities.

The father spoke in rushed tones, a language Aziraphale knew as he did all others, but didn't hear often in the Queen's country. His speech was too disjointed to make out much anyway, though the underlying purpose was clear. Somehow they had become convinced that those terrible soulless creatures of the night were real.

And that Aziraphale was one of them.

With the intent of keeping their families safe and keeping themselves safe, they had decided to take the only logical course of action and kill him. Two men kept a firm grip on Aziraphale's arms, calloused hands digging into the wool of his coat and using force to push him to his knees. The third man had brought his young son, Aziraphale could not decipher why. but he could decipher perfectly what his intention was as he handed the stake over to the boy, pointing a finger and talking another few low words.

A scared glance was sent his way before the boy was shaking his head, fingers curled around the wood and he was shivering either from fear or cold as he tried to force the improvised tools back into his father's hands. For all his efforts, they were only put back into his own. Another few words and then the father shoved his son forward with a firm push to the small of his back.

The dim dusk light reflected off the tears threatening to spill from the boy's eyes. Aziraphale wanted to say something – wanted to tell the poor lad that this was all a big mistake and he shouldn't have to do this – but the words had dried on his tongue like holy water in the pits of hell. Motionless, he watched the child raise the stake with one hand, the hammer with the other, pressing it up to their own shoulders in anticipation.

Then it descended towards Aziraphale's chest.

Pain ripped through his being as the stake pierced his skin, burrowing into the flesh beneath. Aziraphale hadn't been frightened – such a silly human emotion for one who couldn't die. And while not the most gracious way to go, being staked at least was supposed to be quick and instant when done right.

Which was how he realized seconds later, it had not been done right.

The ripples of agony were radiating too low, below his ribcage and when he opened his eyes he could see blood pool out and stain his waistcoat, making dark patches against the ground. The stake had buried deep, but too low. Much too low to reach his heart.

The boy realized his mistake at the same time, letting out a high-pitched and terrified squeak. One of the men holding Aziraphale's arms let go in surprise, but he didn't manage much more than to slump forward, renewing the pain from his wound to new heights. Blinking out of his stupor, the father started loudly cursing at his son for failing what was probably perceived as a simple task, a rite of approaching adulthood for people of their craft. He snatched the hammer out of the boy's hands and then went to make a grab for the stake still protruding from Aziraphale's chest.

A smothered gasp escaped him, the wood actually being a lot more painful when exiting than when it went in. The foul taste of iron spread in Aziraphale's throat, blood coming up with unsubdued coughs to stain his lips.

On command, the other man let go too and then Aziraphale was tumbling backward, the back of his head hitting the ground with a dull thud, getting leaves tangled in his curls. He could barely see the sky through the trees and his vision was already growing hazy.

Truly, God must have been in the foulest of moods when she came up with the blessing of a drawn-out death.

The father towered over him in blurry shapes, the stake the only remaining solid objects in Aziraphale's vision and he had given up praying a long time ago – hadn't seen the use of it when he had a direct line to heaven itself – but at that moment he could only hope it would be swift and painless.

But what he was waiting for never came.

Instead, it was Crowley's hands that touched his cheeks, traveled coldly down the length of his neck and downward more to pull his coat to the side. Aziraphale tried to protest, a vague murmur with no strength behind it that was cut off by a gasp when he felt his own corporal tissue sewing itself together. The pain was indescribable and far worse than the stake had been.

Then Crowley was trying to hoist him up by his armpits to get him into a seated position. Hurt echoed through him, but not as unbearable as before and Aziraphale managed to comply, leaning against the other for support. His head fell onto Crowley's shoulder.

"You shouldn't waste a miracle on me, dear fellow." Even speaking was hard with traces of blood clogging up his throat. The wound had healed enough to not be fatal anymore, but not much more than that.

"Do piss off," was Crowley's response, ever eloquent. His head whipped from side to side as if he was looking for something but he seemed to think better of it. "C'mon then."

Aziraphale shook his head, indicating he was in no position to go gallivanting off just yet. He feared that using his legs now would only cause them to collapse underneath him. "Where are the humans, the boy-"

"I didn't kill them if that's what you're asking," Crowley said, the faint traces of displeasure on his face. He was too humanely pale with worry.

Forcing a smile that might resemble more of a grimace in the current circumstances, Aziraphale answered. "I wasn't."

Crowley looked at him, the fiery color of his eyes over the spectacles and Aziraphale always thought he looked a bit silly like that. But he never mentioned it. Knowing when to keep your tongue was not a human virtue either, but it certainly was a divine one.

"How did you find me?" he asked when he felt recovered enough to get up. Crowley supported him in the endeavor, throwing one of Aziraphale's arms over his shoulder and keeping his own curled tight around his waist.

Crowley carefully started moving, throwing continued glances at his face to make sure he wasn't in any undue pain. "You pinned a note on the door of the bookshop, angel. Said you were going to hunt vampires?"

"It was in jest."

"You don't say." Crowley kicked at the stake on the ground, stained red with Aziraphale's blood. Dropped in the men's haste to get away from a real creature of the night making its appearance. "Looks like they found you first. You really are stellar at getting into trouble, you know. Good thing I'm always there to save you."

Aziraphale tried to laugh, but his chest hurt too much to allow it. "I do hope that was also in jest."

Crowley didn't reply. And that in itself might have been answer enough.

[topaziraphale]

the same people who hc aziraphale as being weak/not being a warrior are the same people who LOVE crowley being this super suave tempter. hello, the whole POINT of good omens is that they are neither of what they are expected to be. aziraphale rejects his role as a warrior, but that does not mean he is weak. crowley's job is to be a this suave, amazing tempter, but meanwhile he's just Anxious. aziraphale is Strong and crowley is a tempter, its just not in the way their sides want them to be.

I think a big part that plays into the charm of these two main characters is exactly that - at first, you have certain ideas for how an angel and demon character might act, especially with how they’re normally depicted in pop culture and stuff, but then you quickly learn that they’re just not quite what you’re expecting. Aziraphale and Crowley both subvert the audience’s expectations of them as well as what is expected of them by the other characters - in this case, Heaven and Hell respectively. 

This actually ended up being way longer of an answer than I thought it would, so I’m putting the rest of it under a cut. For those that don’t feel like reading it all and just want a summary:

I basically talk about how Crowley puts up an element of coolness and style in what he does as a demon except for when it comes to direct temptations, and then I offer a little mini-dive into his psyche and how there’s a lot of vulnerability underneath his Cool And Definitely Not-Nice persona. Then I talk about how Aziraphale is in fact a soldier of Heaven, one who is capable of being a warrior, and how him not wanting to fight in the war is not a display of weakness, but rather one of great strength.

Also, all of the quotes I use here are from memory, so there’s a chance some of them aren’t exact.

When Crowley does his job, he does it with elements of coolness and style to it. (Note: What he perceives as cool, because some of the stuff he finds cool is actually kinda dorky. In a lovable way, of course.) But that’s for when he has his next big idea on how to generate petty low-grade evil. It’s how we end up with him cutting off a phone network by infesting a building with rats and using the guise of a technician to waltz in there and pour coffee into a cable-box-thingy, rather than him just snapping his fingers and making the networks go down that way. The ladder method is boring and not very cool. 

But you’ll notice he doesn’t approach direct temptations the same way. I can see where one might think he puts as much effort into being cool and suave when it comes to making temptations, due to the way he presents himself, but honestly, all he really does is just make you see something in a different light. He just, talks. Talks and makes really good points. 

“What about diabolical plans? You’re supposed to thwart the wiles of the wicked one at every turn, aren’t you? You can’t be certain that thwarting me isn’t part of the Divine Plan?”

“If there was no boy, then the process would stop. There’s a boy now, but that could change. Something could happen to him. I’m saying you could kill him. One life, for everything else.”

There’s no suave element in the way he does it, not much finesse. No extra fluff. He’s just saying what needs to be said, to make sure his idea is getting across. And it’s also fun to note that these acts of temptation are for Aziraphale - in fact, I don’t think we see him tempt humans at all after Eve. He’d rather set up elaborate schemes to ruin peoples’ days over actively participate in an act that could directly damn their souls. 

Sometimes, you have to wonder why he goes through so much effort to be this way when he knows that he’ll get in trouble for not doing his job...

Crowley puts up a front that he’s confident and content with what he is and the job he has to do. He always tries to play the act of a cool, stylish, perfect demon that is mean and evil and most definitely not a nice person. But we can see that underneath it all, he never meant to fall, and he’s still upset about it. He still doesn’t understand why it happened for what he did, and he knows he never will. He doesn’t like that the answer for it all is always chalked up to: It’s part of the Great Plan. We see him project the wrath of God onto his houseplants. We see him directly call out the nature of the Plan more than once, in the show.

I’ll even argue that he’s somewhat projecting onto Adam and Eve when he talks about how God punished them in the garden, when he first speaks to Aziraphale: “Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me. First offense, and everything.”

Aziraphale, being an angel, is clearly part of the army of Heaven and is expected in battle. We even get reminded of this by the many times people ask him where the flaming sword is, and by Gabriel telling him he’s a mean, lean, fighting-machine. And once more when the Quartermaster informs him that his platoon is waiting for him - they wouldn’t be waiting for him if he wasn’t their lieutenant. The script book even implies his strength and power. To paraphrase the line: 

“He’s not threatening him (Crowley) with it (the flaming sword), just reminding him that he can do dangerous and very out-of-character things if he needs to.” 

And in the novel itself, it’s implied that after all this time, Aziraphale still has what it takes to fight if he absolutely must, when he picks up the sword in preparation to fight off Satan himself. 

“Once you’ve learned how to do it, you never forget.”

There’s no reason to think he doesn’t easily have the ability to be a warrior. And not only a warrior, but a strong one, at that.

Here’s the thing with Aziraphale: he doesn’t want to participate in this fight. He thinks it’s wrong, but he can’t admit it to himself, he can’t just outright say it. He jumps through plenty of mental hoops to try and find reason in the fact that Heaven wants Armageddon to happen.- he thinks his people might just be misguided, their intentions are good, sure, but he wants to show them that this way is better, that there doesn’t need to be another war, that they can save everyone. The beings of Heaven are always Good, right? For him to fully admit that what he thinks they’re doing is wrong is to also admit the flaws of his own angelic nature, that he’s just as capable of wrong, and that’s a terrifying thought. Look at how desperately he wants it all to work out:

But when push came to shove, and the entire world was at stake, and Heaven was all for it to happen despite Aziraphale’s efforts to show them otherwise, he had enough. He chose to not go back to Heaven to fight in the war. He chose to try and save the world, despite his actions being perceived as going directly against the Great Plan. In the series, he literally puts his foot down, looks the Quartermaster in the eye, and tells him: “I have no intention of fighting in any war. I was in the middle of something important, I demand to be returned!” And when nobody was helping him, he went and figured out how to get back himself. He finally had the strength to choose for himself what he thought was right over what was wrong.

I get confused and, even sometimes think to myself, Did we watch the same show?, when I see people interpret Aziraphale’s reluctance to fight as a sign of weakness or passiveness. That very decision he makes, after millennia of not daring to defy his superiors like that, took a lot of courage. It’s quite literally the heart of his character arc.

[readingwritingcrying]

A good omens prompt? Crowleys a snake, and snakes dont sweat/are cold blooded. No way to internally regulate temperature. So maybe something about that? Overheating in the gardens or something?

nonnie, this prompt was absolutely galaxy brain of you. I’ve read several about him being too cold, but I haven’t seen any with him overheating and it was so much fun to write! Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy!

Similar to how angels and demons don’t need to eat or sleep, they also don’t need to sweat. They don’t need many things a human might, as their grace (or equivalent demonic energy), was. However, there were still limitations. Their bodies could be killed, causing rather inconvenient discorperation. They could change physique depending on lifestyle, most things very similar to a human unless miracled to be otherwise. 

Angels, however, tended to fit in better, at least in terms of appearances. Demons tended to have more animal-like features. Crowley was no exception. His eyes, his tongue, even the way he walked was reminiscent of the beast he was cursed to be. He always hurt some in a human form, and most importantly to this moment: he had absolutely no internal temperature regulation. 

Sure, when Crowley’s flat was chilly, what was a little demonic miracle to warm it up? But when the whole of London felt like it was fucking melting, there just wasn’t much he could get away with.

Especially not now. 

Since the not-apocalypse, he and Aziraphale had to keep it light on the miracles. Little things, sure, after all, they weren’t hiding, just trying their best not to give Heaven or Hell any new reasons to be upset with them. So Crowley couldn’t just get rid of the heatwave, no matter how much he wanted to. 

It caused a whole lot of grumbling from him, at first. Crowley’s flat had air conditioning and heating because he knew it was necessary for himself. He may not have mentioned as much to Aziraphale when they had decided to move in together (a decision made after the second week where Crowley had refused to leave the angel’s side other than to tend his plants). He was a demon for- for Someone’s sake. It seemed silly to need such a thing.

He only regretted it this morning. Crowley’s eyes blinked opened slowly, squinting at the bright light that shone through the window. Normally, he would be content to bask in its warmth. But the whole blessed house felt like an oven. He groaned and sat up lethargically. The black silk of his bed was cool to the touch, and for a moment, Crowley was tempted to simply nap the rest of the day. But a breeze and the rustle of leaves reminded him of more pressing matters: his garden.

Crowley squirmed his way out of bed, dressing with a quick demonic miracle. Black leather pants with a black shirt to match - he had quite sensibly forgone the jacket today. It was worth it, with how hilariously flustered his angel would get whenever he showed a bit more skin than usual (really, Aziraphale’s sensibilities hadn’t changed in decades). 

As Crowley sauntered through the cottage, he realized Aziraphale wasn’t there. He froze quickly, horror flooding like ice through his veins. His slitted eyes darted around the cottage to check for any signs of danger until he spotted it. 

A little yellow note stuck to the door. It wasn’t actually a sticky-note, it was just a square of paper, but since Aziraphale thought it was, the paper found itself not minding being hung from the wooden door. 

‘Someone e-mailed about a misprint bible I’ve been just dying to get my hands on! I went to go meet them, and, well, I wasn’t sure if I should wake you up, you really did look quite peaceful my dear. I’m not even sure if you’ll wake up before I’m back since I won't be very long, I’ll be home for dinner, but just in case.

-Aziraphale’

Crowley’s face relaxed into an easy grin as he read the note. He could hear the words in his head as if the angel were saying them himself - even in a short note, he managed to have the same rambling quality to the way he said things. If Crowley were being particularly truthful, he would admit that he found it rather endearing. 

Letting the pleasant feeling sink into his chest, Crowley was soon out the door. He kept a sizable outdoor garden as well as the smaller one they had in an extension to their cottage. It was odd, modern, and not at all fitting to the homey style of the cottage. As well, it was quite ugly. But it was a decent sunroom, and nearly all the smaller houses seemed to have one. 

But since they ate in there, Aziraphale spoilt them absolutely rotten. It was a lost cause. 

Crowley walked slowly through the garden; face neutral. He glanced casually at the plants, inspecting them from afar with a carefully practiced disinterest as he decided on what he would need to do. Each plant would need careful watering, he could carefully snip at a bush here or a tree branch there, and with a furious hiss, he spotted a patch of weeds that had dared to grow in his garden.

Those he would destroy carefully, slowly, and painfully. Make an example of them.

Decided, Crowley got to it. He was utterly absorbed in it, as he usually was. The sun beating down on his back as he worked was almost forgotten. Each plant was meticulously tended to, checked for spots or for sagging leaves, or pests as the sun rose higher in the sky. 

He didn’t even begin to notice something was wrong until he stretched up with sheers in his hands only to drop them as pain seized his muscles.

He recoiled with a grimace as his muscles cramped, trying to move or breath in a way that didn’t flood his senses with a sharp stab of pain. Eventually, in what felt like hours but couldn’t have been much more than a minute, his body began to relax. 

If his body was that determined to be a snake, it would have to damn well wait, Crowley grumbled in his mind. Pain wasn’t unusual for him, but it usually wasn’t like that. As if he would let that from stopping him, of course.

He was rather busy at the moment, and couldn’t very well garden without arms. He wanted to finish, have Aziraphale come home, have dinner with his angel, and be some semblance of normal or at least of right.

And that was that Crowley pushed forward. The cramping didn’t stop. He was hot, and his muscles seemed to groan and tense with every small movement. And he was tired. It was something that shouldn’t really be possible. He hadn’t used great amounts of demonic power, and he had even slept the night before.

It really should be concerning. He was just too tired to be concerned. As another cramp shot through his stomach, Crowley knelt down in the grass. His skin was a burning shade of reddish-pink, his face was flushed, and his lips were dry. 

Crowley considered calling it a day and retreating to the shade of the indoors. Maybe he could take a cool bath, even. The thought was tempting enough after several minutes of feeling miserable on the ground, he decided to go along with it. A soak might help the cramps, even.

He wasn’t expecting the wave of dizziness when he stood. Crowley groaned a soft noise of discomfort, and steadied himself against the nearest tree. He waited for the odd spell to pass, but his head was still spinning, tilting, pulling his insides along with it. Everything was twisted all around in circles, making a mess out of his vision.

Cooling off in the shade would… well, it would have to do, he decided. Crowley let himself slide down, propping his back against the small trunk of the tree. An apple tree, of course. He growled in frustration as his limbs shook from the motion.

It was so hot and Crowley felt so… weak. 

Letting lethargy overtake him, Crowley let his eyes shut against the bright sun. He was breathing much too heavily, his heart feeling like it was starting to pound right out of his chest. He could barely hear himself think, and even if he could, it hurt his head too much to.

All too quickly he found even if he wanted too, he couldn’t move.

…

When Aziraphale returned from his outing, he could immediately tell that something was off. At this point, he had become rather familiar with the demon Crowley’s presence. Now that they were finally allowed to be together officially, they had hardly spent much time apart. Not that Aziraphale minded - he very much liked their current situation. He found the freedom to express his affections... well, quite honestly nervewracking at first. But aside from the lingering fear he would somehow mess things up, it was nothing short of heavenly. 

He, of course, noticed Crowley’s sudden clinginess as well. And Aziraphale knew that when his - friend? Lover? Crowley seemed so much more than just that - felt like it, he would let him know why. And until then, he was completely happy to indulge him. Actually, he always would be happy to indulge him. 

All of this is to say, Aziraphale was very much attuned to Crowley’s specific demonic presence. So when he arrived at their cottage, he was instantly worried.

It was still there, but it was so much weaker than it should be. He dropped his bag containing the book he had acquired and rushed inside the front door. “Crowley? Crowley, dear, are you alright?” His voice broke into a bit of a tremble. He wasn’t there. Aziraphale checked their bedroom, but there was no sign of him. 

At least the bed was messy, sheets pushed out in a way that confirmed at least Crowley had gotten up of his own volition. 

Aziraphale wrung his hands anxiously. Heaven and Hell couldn’t possibly have come for them yet, could they? Surely not in any organized manner, but if a stray demon ran across them, he feared it might be stupid enough to try and attack them. He needed to find Crowley. 

After confirming that he was not in the house, even in another form, Aziraphale walked back outside to check the backyard. 

Seeing Crowley was both relieving and even more worrying. 

He was awake, his eyes open only just, glasses slid down until they were hanging off his long nose to the point of being useless to actually conceal his eyes. They were all a golden-yellow that Aziraphale adored, but they stared out of focus, not yet seeming to register that Aziraphale was there. His skin was red and flushed, and even from here he could hear Crowley’s labored breathing.

Without a second thought, Aziraphle rushed to his side, kneeling down next to him. “Oh, Crowley, what happened, dear boy? Are you injured?” 

The demon only gave a small “Mn,” in response, and he couldn’t tell if it was a negative or positive answer. Feeling for himself, he was relieved not to find even a scratch on Crowley.

“You’re burning up,” he observed softly. His hands found their way to Crowley’s forehead, which should have been slick with sweat but it was completely dry. Snake, Aziraphale remembered. While Crowley had never mentioned it before, it was very much possible that he had no way of cooling down.

Crowley turned his head to the side, seeming to try and escape Aziraphale’s touch, muttering something incoherently. His eyes were clenched with fear, and with a start,, Aziraphle realized that he must not even recognize him yet.

If he was that disorientated, it couldn’t be a good sign. He could discorporate, even. Aziraphale had to cool him down, quickly. If he didn’t… well, there was no way in hell, literally, they were going to give him back. 

“I’m going to get you inside, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pick you up,” Aziraphale explained to the dazed demon. Crowley turned slightly, hearing him, but gave no answer. 

With a determined sigh, he braced himself, scooping up Crowley in his arms. Aziraphale’s heart broke a little at the panicked hiss he let out but held firm as he walked inside. His struggles were weak, and no match for the angel’s hold, but the fact Crowley was fighting him at all stung and worried him to no end. 

He would be okay. He had to be.

Aziraphale hurried back inside, making sure the temperature was suitably cooler in the cottage than outside. They were in the middle of a heatwave so different from the usual summers in England, and most of the houses didn’t come with any air conditioning. Most houses didn’t have an angel, and really, either could work the same if it wanted to. 

Gently, he sets Crowley down on the couch. Its brown leather was cool, and Aziraphale hoped that it would provide even a bit of relief.

He managed to find a thermometer (which they had gotten once they realized under unfortunate circumstances that Crowley, and most likely himself as well, could fall ill) and pressed the device to Crowley’s lips. 

They remained stubbornly closed. 

“Please open your mouth, dear. I won't hurt you, I promise,” he tried to reassure. Crowley’s gaze- his glasses had fallen off completely after Aziraphale had picked him up - was still clouded, but relaxed ever so slightly. Someone else might not have even been able to tell the difference. But knowing someone 6,000 or so years had its advantages. 

He was able to coax the thermometer into Crowley’s mouth, tutting when he read the final temperature. 40.7 degrees, entirely too high for his mortal form. 

Heatstroke, most definitely. He couldn’t let Crowley stay in those clothes - all tight, and entirely too warm, especially the leather pants he was so insistent on wearing. Even during a damn heatwave.

Aziraphale took off Crowley’s shirt first. He felt his heartbeat through his fingertips. It was fast, rapid, and weak. 

“Zziraphale…” Crowley whined in a panic. 

“Shh, I’m here,” he reassured him carefully. He spoke in warm tones, trying to keep Crowley from too much stress when his temperature was clearly too high for him to be anything but delirious. Eventually, the shirt was off. The tight leather pants were next.

It was a bit more of a struggle, with a much less willing Crowley. But at the very least the only Effort that was there was the effort Aziraphle had in maneuvering the leather atrocities off of him. 

Finally, Crowley’s skin was bare, pressing into the cool couch. His skin was still red with heat, and if he had been human, Aziraphale imagined he would be blistered with sunburns. 

Aziraphale was impatient. He simply couldn’t stand to see Crowley in such a poor state, still so defenseless and confused by his surroundings. An idea struck him. If he ran a cool bath - not freezing cold, he didn’t want to shock the poor demon and make the situation worse - it might do more good.

That, and draw less attention than constantly performing miracles to keep the heat down in their cottage.

With that in mind, Aziraphale quickly drew a bath up in their bathroom (which they really only had in case of human guests, and mostly because Aziraphlae really enjoyed the clever invention humans called bath bombs). After checking the temperature to make sure it was suitable, he went to retrieve Crowley.

He was lying on his side, curled up and looking dreadful. “Crowley, may I pick you up again?” Aziraphale lay his hands on Crowley’s back, encouraged by the fact he seemed to press into his hands instead of flinching away. 

Crowley murmured something that sounded nearly like a “sure,” and the slight nod confirmed this. Gingerly, Aziraphale scooped him up. He was muttering something that Aziraphale couldn’t quite make sense of, but that was really no surprise given his current state.

His plan was going rather well until they actually made it to the bathroom. When Crowley’s eyes blinked open, they stayed that way, staring at the water. Not noticing, Aziraphale tried to set Crowley in the bath.

Before he could think about what was happening, Crowley was struggling again, letting out a pained yell, hitting, scratching, whatever he could manage. “‘Ziraphale! Aziraphale! Angel!” he cried, his voice not managing to be loud even as he called for help. 

A wave of guilt crashed through Aziraphale as quickly as he realized what Crowley must have thought he was doing. He thought it was holy water, he didn’t realize it was Aziraphale and thought he was going to be killed. The cries of his love brought tears to his own eyes, although it shamed him to admit it. Too emotional. 

He set Crowley on the edge of the bath, safely dry. “Crowley, dearest, I’m here. You’re safe. Please, nothing will hurt you,” he said, repeating similar things until his desperate escape attempts settled, and finally, Crowley’s eyes seemed to actually settle on the angel’s, seeing him.

“Will you get into the bath please?” Crowley shuddered, his eyes closing with a shake of his head. How many times had Crowley been threatened with this, or whatever else hell had up it’s sleeve before the Trial that Aziraphale had gone to? He had been so caught up in his own fear of consequences, Aziraphale hadn’t realized how much it must have affected him.

To Aziraphale Crowley seemed much more careless, always showing up when he wanted him, and saying things that were far too dangerous, too fast. 

Only with his guard forcibly down could he see how he had been wrong. “You must trust me. Please, Crowley,” he all but begged.

A beat, and then, “Anything,” Crowley agreed. 

With a great sigh of relief, Aziraphale helped Crowly into the bath.

…

Crowley caught sight of the bath with the water, and his mind froze with fear. Whoever had him they. They must have found them. They must have found out, about their lie, and he was too dizzy and disoriented to properly fight, but damn if he wouldn’t try.

He thrashed about, calling for his angel, hoping by some miracle he would be heard, that they would make it out of this. His limbs ached and his head spun, but he couldn’t just submit. 

Please, please. I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him alone. 

They seemed to relent, hold relinquished, and the water at a safe distance away. It must be holy water, he could feel… he felt awful. But he could at least tell there was a holy presence and nothing in hell felt like that, so it must be holy water. 

“...dearest, I’m here,” Crowley heard, his heart lightening with a bit of hope. “You’re safe, nothing will hurt you.” 

Aziraphale. He came. 

“Will you get into the bath please?” Crowley’s mind felt fractured with confusion. Why would he ask him that? The angel was safe, he couldn’t want him to go into the holy water. That couldn’t possibly happen.

He couldn’t find the voice to explain it to Aziraphale though, his throat too dry, so he just shook his head, trying to ignore the way it made him feel the world spin. 

“You must trust me. Please, Crowley.” And that was so unfair. He couldn’t say no when Aziraphale used that tone of voice, and he knew that but why…?

Whatever the reason, Crowley could never refuse his angel, and in his feverish mind, not even this. “Anything,” he said, betrayal and confusion comforted only slightly by how soft and pleasingly cool Aziraphale’s hands were as he helped him into the water.

Crowley shuttered, letting out a low wine as he first touched the water, fully expecting to start sizzling away. 

He didn’t.

In fact, he was laying down, half-submerged, and he wasn’t dead.

It hurt to try and think about at first, but Aziraphale waited patiently beside him, comforting him with low voices and hums, and the occasional rubbing of his right shoulder with soft hands. 

Eventually, he had cooled down enough to think properly. Or at least, think, instead of bursts of realizations powered by blind instinct and emotion. 

“Angel,” he said, voice rough and dry. 

“Oh! Crowley, are you feeling much better?” asked Aziraphale, starting at the demon’s sudden inturruption. 

“Nngh. Could be worse. What…?” He trailed off, making a gesture, splashing a bit of water, to reference his current pradiciment. 

Aziraphale huffed. “You gave me quite a scare, you know. You were nearly passed out in the garden, and don’t you know not to work in such heat? And with black leather, too. You’ve been practically delirious for a good bit.” Although he tries to sound annoyed, Crowley can easily see through the weak front to his obvious worry and care.

He might feel bad for making Aziraphale worry, but that’ll have to wait until he stops feeling so bad himself. “Nn- uh, yeah,” he agreed, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Too damn loud, it is. His head is still pounding. 

“Is there anything you need?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley thinks about it. 

“Water?” He realized it seemed like a silly thing to ask for, considering he was in a tub full of it. “A cup. For, uh, drinking. Throat hurts,” he quickly explained. Aziraphale looks at him a little strangely, but before he can think, there’s a cup of deliciously cool water being pressed into his hands. 

He takes a long, indulgent sip, savoring how it soothed his dry throat. He could feel the cold as it traveled down to his stomach, making him feel just a bit better. “No need for a miracle, really,” he chastized Aziraphale, voice more tender than biting. 

Aziraphale chuckled self-consciously. “I hate seeing you this way, you know.” And Crowley does know. For mostly immortal beings, death isn’t a concept they deal with often, not for themselves. There’s always the assumption of tomorrow, and thousands of more tomorrows because they weren't really meant to end. 

And Crowley knew that when you had to consider it, it was more frightening and painful than he’d like to remember. He wanted to explain it, but that might’ve meant having to say some rather difficult things, and he was too tired for rather difficult things. “Sorry,” he offered instead, which might have been the easiest sign he still felt a little like shit warmed over. 

Aziraphale gave him a tender smile. “How about we get you to bed? I’m sure you’re tired.”

Crowley nodded and stood up. As he stepped out of the bath, he leaned heavily on Aziraphale. The water got the idea and got out of the way, not wanting to bother to two with any residual dampness. 

With his help, Crowley managed to stagger to their bedroom. He flopped on the bed, a small sound of comfort escaping his lips. “Commere, ‘ngel,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow. 

“I wouldn’t want to make you any warmer,” Aziraphale hesitated, luckily versed in Crowley-speak, with or without most levels of distortion. 

Crowley lifted his head from its comfortable spot and shot him a Look. He might not be able to resist any ask of Aziraphale, but Aziraphale had to surrender to the Look, so it was only a matter of time until a soft, shirtless angel was available for cuddling.

Crowley let the exaustion finally take its natural course, and he was soon asleep, possibly even followed by Aziraphale.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So I saw your headcanons of Crowley where he could make certain parts of his body snakelike well imagine this some of the demons try and get a rise out of him and it makes him so mad he loses control of his human form actually growing scales and long fangs in front of people striking terror into those who see him. Then the demons just leave getting exactly what they wanted leaving a crying Crowley whos hiding in his wings trying to run away running away. But the reader stops him and comfort him

Huffle you’re killing me with these bittersweet ideas. They’re perfect ;w;

.........

Crowley had just finished having lunch with Aziraphale. He parted ways with the angel so that he could go back to caring for his plants. 

Usually he didn’t eat, but this time he ordered something that wasn’t alcohol and it was..quite delicious, least to say. Even though it wasn’t a necessity for demons, he was impressed with the chef’s cooking and decided to “miracle” a few bucks into their next paycheck.

Since the aversion of Armageddon, he felt more comfortable getting away with those sort of things. Temptations were still sprinkled here and there to avoid suspicions from people downstairs, although he’s done more miracles than them. 

But even so he denied that he was “nice” and “caring”. No matter how much he strayed from his own kind, he was still a demon and those two words didn’t describe them at all.

As he was approaching the Bentley, Crowley saw two humans standing in front of it, fiddling with the mirror and looking inside of the car.

“S’cuse me,” he huffed as he walked closer to them. “My car ain’t for sale. So if you’d just kindly-”

However, when the pair turned around, he realized their eyes were purely black with scars and burnt flesh all over their faces. They were demons.

He quirked an eyebrow, chuckling in amusement. “Ah..what are you lackies doing here at this hour? You someone’s little errand boys?”

One of the demons grinned maliciously, showing off their sharp teeth, before their barbed tail made a deep slash in one of the Bentley’s tires.

Crowley’s eyes widened in horror, and then he felt fury surge through him. “WHAT THE HELL?!!” He snapped angrily, running to shove them away from his beloved car, although he was tripped by the other demon. 

With a grunt he fell to the ground, a boot pressing down on his back as he struggled to push himself up. But he stopped when he felt his glasses being ripped from his face. “Give those back!!”.

“Why do you hide behind these pitiful things, traitor?” The demon above him inquired, crushing the glasses with their hand as they watched his golden eyes widen in horror. “Let your true-self shine through~!”

“N-No..stop..” He growled, sensing all of the passerbys walking around, staring at him.

Then he heard the shattering of glass, and saw that, much to his horror, the Bentley’s windows were being broken by the other demon’s hammer. “STOP IT!!” He shouted, his eyes already fully golden as he watched them practically massacre his car, leaving dents and clawing at the black paint.

The demons ignored his pleas and cackled, chanting the word “traitor” like schoolchildren, until, finally, Crowley couldn’t take it anymore and let out a loud shout, his tattered black wings appearing out of thin air and knocking the demon above him off his back.

“I SAID ENOUGH!!!” Black scales covered every inch of his skin, his head morphing into a fearsome snake with long fangs. He rose to his feet, wings flapping violently as he pounced on both demons and roared in their faces, claws digging into their skin.

However, the moment was short-lived as horrific screams of fear rang through the streets, and Crowley looked to see people running away; parents turned their children away from the scene as they, too, cried out in terror. 

He heard a small girl call him a “monster” and suddenly...he felt his heart sink and his rage turn to..sorrow?

Dropping the demons, he let them get up and disappear into the night as he gradually shifted back into his human form, although his eyes remained fully golden and his wings stayed visible. “N-No...” He looked down at his hands, feeling himself start to get choked up. “No, no, no..I-I...I-I’m not..”

But before he could stop them, tears began running down his cheeks as he knelt down on the pavement, before his destroyed Bentley. As his lips trembled, he shielded himself from people’s stares with his wings, not caring if they were still looking at him.

He wished they would all just leave. But..maybe they were right.

Maybe he really was a-

“Oh my God..Crowley what happened?”

With a whimper, he bravely looked up and saw you standing over him in worry. Then you knelt in front of him, setting your hands on his arms and hushing him softly. You turned your head and scowled at the small crowd that had gathered. “Don’t you all have places to be?!”

Fortunately, it dispersed quickly, and you turned back to the demon, seeing his wings disappear. “Shhh, it’s okay.” You soothed, rubbing his arms in a comforting manner. “Your car’s in no condition to drive. Let’s take the bus home, alright?”

He just nodded, letting his weakness fully show as you helped him off the ground and took him to the nearby bus stop, away from people. Thankfully the bus was already there with no one on it, so you both sat in the very back.

Crowley tried to keep himself together, but when you gave him a proper hug, he broke down once more, sobbing silently into your shoulder.

In the thousands of years he’s been on earth, he never felt more hurtful, disgusting, and ashamed of himself than he is now.

You just kept hushing him, rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words. A few minutes later, you both arrived to the street where your house was and got off, taking the demon with you.

The bus driver could see that he had been crying, and asked if he was okay. You just said he went through a rough breakup because of his eye contacts.

Once you and Crowley entered your house, you had him sit on your couch, bringing a blanket around his shoulders before you sat beside him.

“Th-Thanks..” He muttered, his voice slightly hoarse from his sobs. “I...I had no idea what came over me. Those..bastards were just destroying my car and..a-and they made me watch.”

“It seems like they were trying to get a reaction out of you.” You hugged him again, letting him lean his head on your shoulder. “A reaction that made you reveal your demon side to humans.”

“I could’a handled i-it better..” He shuddered. “I..I could’ve done anything but what I did back there. Now e-everyone knows I’m a bloody-fucking-monster-”

“Show me it.”

Crowley looked at you, his still fully-golden eyes wide in disbelief. “What?”

“Show me your true form.” You cupped his cheeks, brushing away a tear that fell down his face. “I want you to know I’m not afraid of you.”

“..but..d-demons are supposed to be-”

“Crowley.”

“You don’t even know what I look like!” He scowled. “Y-You don’t know why people reacted the way they did or...!”

However, when he saw that you weren’t going to take “no” for an answer, he trailed off, before he sighed and gave up, shifting into the form he was previously. 

As he shrugged the blanket off, his wings went over the couch so he was more comfortable. Then he nervously looked at you once more, waiting to see your reaction.

With a smile, you gently rubbed his head, feeling the smooth and shiny scales. “See? You don’t scare me. You could never..even if you tried.” You chuckled softly, before you pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

The snake demon’s eyes widened once more at the gesture. But he then purred slightly and closed them, leaning into your touch. A wing came to wrap around you and he hugged you tightly. And he relaxed when you returned it immediately.

Later on, Crowley will make sure you and him never spoke of this interaction to anyone. 

Until then, though, he dropped his guard and let you give him the comfort and affection he so desperately needed after what happened tonight.

[magnetothemagnificent]

The very first day of the rest of their lives: A soft, hurt/comfort fanfiction featuring snake Crowley and lots of emotion.

Something was wrong with Crowley. It started a the day after they returned from Heaven and Hell.

They were in the Bentley after a night at the Ritz. Crowley was driving, and the two were laughing and talking and having a fun time. Suddenly, Crowley stiffened, and the car skidded off the road.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale shouted, but Crowley didn't seem to hear him.

He swayed in his seat, like he was in a trance. Aziraphale grabbed the steering wheel and pulled the car off to the side.

"Crowley!" he repeated, shaking his friend. He had never seen him this way.

Crowley stirred.

"Aziraphale?"

His voice sounded weak and tired.

"What happened just then?" Aziraphale asked, holding his hand.

Crowley was pale and shaking.

"Dunno," Crowley mumbled, trying to pull his hand away.

Aziraphale grasped his hand firmly.

"Crowley, please, I'm worried about you," he pleaded, reaching for his sunglasses.

Crowley moved away.

"No, don't," he begged.

"Okay, I won't. But you're going to have to explain yourself."

"S fine. I must have blanked out for a second," Crowley insisted, pulling away.

"Let's keep driving," he continued.

"Are you sure  you're in a state to drive?" Aziraphale asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley dismissed him.

Aziraphale was doubtful, but Crowley was stubborn.

"Fine. But we're going to your place first."

Crowley sighed, and started driving.

The rest of the ride to Crowley's flat was spent in silence.

Crowley parked his car.

"We're here. What do you want?" he asked.

"Crowley," Aziraphale began gently.

"You look exhausted. I'm going to make sure you get to bed safely."

"Angel, I'm not a baby!"

Aziraphale put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't argue with me, my dear," he said firmly.

Crowley groaned, but shut his mouth. When Aziraphale wanted to, he could be very intimidating.

Aziraphale led Crowley to his flat, scanning him for any sign of danger.

"Angel, this really isn't necessary," Crowley stammered as Aziraphale opened the door.

He shivered.

"Cold?" Aziraphale asked, touching his cheek. It was like ice.

"Just a chill. M fine, really," he insisted, but let himself lean into Aziraphale's hand. So warm...

Crowley didn't really remember falling asleep. He sort of stumbled into the massive, silken bed and passed out.

Aziraphale smiled fondly at the demon, who was sleeping peacefully.

He tucked him in bed, and gently removed his sunglasses and put them aside.

"Sweet dreams, my dear," he whispered, and planted a kiss on his forehead. He wasn't sure, but Crowley seemed to smile in his slumber.

Once he was sure Crowley was asleep, Aziraphale set about finding something to read. He wasn't going to leave Crowley alone in his state, but he wasn't going to just sit there with nothing to do.

Surprisingly, Crowley had a few books on a shelf in his living room. They weren't of the stock Aziraphale normally read, but they would do.

"Angel?" Crowley mumbled, waking up after a deep sleep.

Aziraphale didn't look up from his reading.

"Interesting taste you have in books, my dear," Aziraphale mused.

"This James Bond is quite the character, I must say."

Crowley's face turned a deep shade of red.

"I don't read. Those books are just.... decoration," he hastily explained.

Aziraphale looked up. When he saw Crowley's face, he let out a gasp of horror.

"Aziraphale? What's wrong?"

Aziraphale quickly put a hand over his mouth.

"Angel...What is it?" Crowley prodded.

"Y-your eyes!" he gasped.

Indeed, Crowley's eyes were glazed over with a ghostly blue film, like a corpse.

"That's not very nice..." Crowley muttered self-consciously, reaching for his glasses.

Aziraphale stood up and walked towards him.

"No, dear, look," he said quietly, leading him to the bathroom.

A mix of confusion and horror spread across Crowley's face as he saw his reflection in the mirror.

His confusion quickly turned to panic.

"What's happening to me?!" he wailed, grabbing Aziraphale. He was trembling, and started rabidly scratching at his face.

"Crowley! Stop!" Aziraphale begged, grabbing the demon's hands.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he told him softly, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Crowley's face was raw and peeling from his sharp claws. Aziraphale had never seen him this way.

"Angel, what's happening? I feel so cold," Crowley whimpered.

"I don't know, dear. Let's get you warmed up," he answered, trying to be brave for them both.

With one arm still wrapped protectively around Crowley, Aziraphale turned on the tap for the demon's bath. Not long after, the tub was full of steaming hot water.

"Come, my dear," Aziraphale spoke soothingly.

He gently removed Crowley's clothes, which were drenched in sweat. Crowley's skin was cold and clammy, and scales were forming on his skin. Aziraphale tried not to think of the worst. His demon looked so weak and vulnerable, and he was afraid he'd lose him.

As he gathered Crowley in his arms to place him in the tub, he realized in horror how light he felt. He was fading.

"Angel, help me," Crowley begged weakly as Aziraphale placed him in the warm water. He closed his eyes. The water felt good, but he couldn't open his mouth to thank his angel.

Without knowing what was happening, he turned into his serpent form.

"Angel!" he screamed, but the words were caught in his throat.

"Ssh, darling, save your strength. I'm here for you," Aziraphale whispered, picking up the terrified snake.

Terror filled Crowley's mind. He didn't want to lose himself. He didn't want to forget.

Aziraphale couldn't bear seeing Crowley so broken, but he forces himself to remain composed. Crowley needed him.

Aziraphale removed his jacket and wrapped it around Crowley in an effort to keep him warm. Crowley rubbed his snout against Aziraphale's waistcoat, and Aziraphale pulled him closer.

"It's alright, ssh," he soothed, running his fingers along Crowley's scaley spine.

Aziraphale slowly rose from the bathroom floor, cradling Crowley in his arms. He walked to Crowley's greenroom, hoping the sun would help. He at least wanted Crowley to be comfortable, no matter what was happening to him.

A dark thought crossed his mind. Was this how demons died? Aziraphale chased the thought away, refusing to think of that. It couldn't be. He couldn't lose him.

Crowley could feel himself slipping. He raised his head weakly. His vision was blurry, but he could see Aziraphale's face, riddled with worry. He didn't want to distress his angel.

"Azzz-" he croaked, trying to speak.

Aziraphale wanted to cry. It took all his effort to hold back tears. They were finally free, and if this was the end.... No, the thought was to terrible to bear.

"I'm here for you, darling. I'm not leaving. I'll never leave your side," he promised.

Crowley wanted to tell him that everything would be alright. He hated seeing how scared Aziraphale looked. He shouldn't be so distressed on his behalf. He didn't want him to see him in his state.

"Azzzz-" he tried repeating.

He wanted to tell him to leave, but deep down Crowley was relieved he wasn't alone. He was scared.

"I've got you, Crowley. I'm not leaving."

Crowley felt something escaping him. He felt an urge to scratch himself again, and began frantically squirming in Aziraphale's lap. He wanted to get rid of something, but he wasn't sure what.

Was the end? Aziraphale wondered. It was far more heartbreaking than he imagined. Crowley was so helpless, he seemed to not even have control of his movements.

"Crowley? My dear, can you even hear?" he asked fearfully, touching him hesitantly.

Crowley lashed at him, snapping his fangs. Aziraphale jerked back.

"Crowley? I know you're in there, somewhere. I'm not afraid of you," he whispered.

Crowley shrank back. He felt his consciousness grow dimmer. He attacked Aziraphale! He tried saying sorry, but the word came out in a hiss. He wanted to cry.

Tears filled Aziraphale's eyes. He wanted to comfort Crowley, to give him peace, but he didn't know how.

Crowley felt trapped in his own body. Something was leaving him, he felt like he was being stripped of....something.

Aziraphale watched Crowley as he rubbed his face against his sleeve. Slowly, a dry, thin layer of skin slid off the end of Crowley's snout. Aziraphale almost laughed when realization hit him.

He should have know! Crowley wasn't dying, he was shedding.

"Crowley! Listen to me, love, you're shedding," he said, feeling relief wash over him.

Crowley thought he heard Aziraphale's voice, but it was all white noise to him.

"Crowley, don't panic. You're shedding, I'm here for you, love. You'll feel better when it's over," Aziraphale assured him, unsure if he understood. Aziraphale stroked Crowley's belly, feeling the snake's body relax and stiffen as his old skin gradually slipped away. As the long, empty shell of skin fell off, Crowley struggled detaching the tail end from his snout. He thrashed against Aziraphale's hand, trying to shake it off.

Aziraphale delicately removed the shed skin, and once it was completely off, Crowley felt an immense sense of contentment. He let his head rest on Aziraphale's hand, and breathed gently, his heart rate steadying.

"You see? It's over now, dearest," Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley's rose and fell in Aziraphale's arms, and he drifted off to sleep.

Carefully, Aziraphale stood, still holding the sleeping snake, trying not to wake him.

He laid him in his bed, and then laid down next to him. It had been a long day for the both of them.

Aziraphale sighed. The worst was over.

Slowly, and still sleeping, Crowley turned back to his corporal form.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked hesitantly.

"Angel," Crowley murmured, opening his eyes.

His eyes were back to their beautiful sun-gold colour. His skin was fresh, almost new, he seemed to be glowing. Aziraphale smiled.

"M sorry," Crowley said guiltily.

"Don't be sorry, my dear," Aziraphale told him, touching his hair, running his hand across his cheek. It was as if he feared he would disappear.

"I must have scared you," Crowley pointed it.

Aziraphale chuckled softly.

"You certainly did. I was afraid-" he paused.

He suddenly turned serious. He crawled closer to Crowley, locking his sea-blue eyes with Crowley's serpentine eyes.

"Crowley," he sighed, cupping Crowley's head in his hands.

"Yes?"

"I was afraid I would lose you before-" he paused again, swallowing nervously.

He gathered all his courage before continuing.

"I was afraid I would lose you before I could tell you that I love you."

Aziraphale braced himself for Crowley's reaction. Would be ruin their friendship?

Crowley blinked.

"Aziraphale, I-"

Now it was Crowley's turn to be brave.

"I love you, too, Angel."

Aziraphale lit up. He pulled Crowley into his arms.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to say it," he apologized, stroking Crowley's head.

"S okay. One of us had to be the brave one, and it wouldn't've been me," Crowley admitted, burying his face in Aziraphale's chest.

"We're two ineffable idiots, aren't we?" Aziraphale mused.

Crowley chuckled, looking up at his angel.

He was so beautiful, and not just because he was an angel. He loved everything about him, every crease, wrinkle, curve on his soft body.

He was exhausted, but he felt at peace in Aziraphale's arms.

The last things he saw before drifting off to sleep were Aziraphale's beautiful, glimmering, loving eyes.

Aziraphale never slept, but as he held his sleeping lover, he felt something he never felt before.

He felt at peace.

He nodded off, and slept for the first time in his life.

[lady-divine-writes]

Perspective

Crowley likes to check in on Warlock from time to time, make sure he’s doing alright without Nanny Ashtoreth. One afternoon, Crowley discovers something rather bittersweet about his former charge and his parents. (1449 words)

“I knew I’d find you here,” Aziraphale says as he finishes his climb, stopping to rest beneath the branches of an old apple tree – healthy and lush, already heavy with fruit. Being ancient, an inhabitant of this hillside before the houses, the cars, even the people, it fears nothing, and that makes Aziraphale smile.

A better hiding spot could not be found for his reluctant demon.

Aziraphale puts his hands on his hips and takes a look around. He breathes in the clean, fresh air; closes his eyes and turns his face towards the golden sun. Today is blessed – one of the first truly warm days of summer.

And he’s thankful for this opportunity to partake in it.

He lays out his tartan blanket and sets himself upon it. He stretches out his legs, leans back on his hands, and becomes one with his surroundings – clear sky overhead, green grass beneath his feet, people everywhere gathering out of doors, enjoying this felicity ...

Save one.

The angel spots him, sulking beneath the bushes, coiled in the shadows.

The tree sits on the slope of a hill overlooking an enormous park. Further down, in an open field, a young boy makes what seems like an impossible catch. The man he’s playing ball with cheers, racing over to high-five his son, congratulating him on intercepting another pop-up. Aziraphale smiles.

“It’s so nice to see the Dowlings have turned over a new leaf,” he says. “Warlock looks genuinely happy. That should make you happy.”

Aziraphale turns his head, looking for acknowledgement from the serpent, but the snake has disappeared. Moments later, Crowley walks out from behind the tree and sits beside his angel on the blanket.

“I guess.” He yanks at a few weak strands of grass (since he’d failed to intimidate the tree), and crushes them between his fingers.

“So, why aren’t you happy?”

Crowley shrugs, merely a placeholder till he can come up with an answer.

“It was nice to feel needed. I know that being his nanny was a ruse but …” Another shrug, just his left shoulder “… I guess I was fooling myself. They never did need me at all. Looks like leaving was the best thing I ever did for them.”

Aziraphale bobs his head left and right, somewhere between a shake and a nod. “Well, you are partially right.”

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley scoffs, eyes locked on the boy in the blue t-shirt and black shorts intercepting another pop-up, while his mother, always with phone in hand, takes a barrage of pictures, posting them proudly to her various social media pages for her friends to see.

“Once you left, his parents had to compete with you,” Aziraphale explains. “With the hole you left in Warlock’s life. It made them realize everything they’d been missing out on, how important he is to them. They started to remember why they wanted a child in the first place.”

“Too little, too late, if you ask me. There are loads of wonderful parents in the world, and yet we’re always overlooking them and giving passes to the bad ones. In my opinion, if you’re gonna be bad parents, you deserve someone else raising your child.”

Aziraphale reaches out, puts a hand on his demon’s knee and gives him a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s a matter of perspective, my dear. You were the greatest nanny Warlock ever had and yet you were a demon, trying to ensure that he would grow up to be evil and cruel.”

“My motives may have been a little skewed, but …”

“… but in the end, you cared about him. Truly cared about him.” Cheers from below draw Aziraphale’s gaze back to the small family, now chasing one another around, playing tag and laughing. “They care about him, too. They aren’t bad parents, Crowley. Not really. They just … lost their way. Forgot what was important. You did them a huge favor.”

Crowley gulps at those words, the notion of losing their way landing on him like a ton of bricks.

It’s something he can definitely relate to whether he wants to or not.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel that way to me.”

“I know it doesn’t.”

Silence falls between them. In it they can hear the words: “Tag! You’re it!”, “Ah! You got me!”, “Good job, Warlock!”, and “Mommy loves you, darling!”

Crowley clears his throat, but it does little to help. Aziraphale feels the lump growing there as if it’s in his own.

“They’re taking him to the states, you know,” Crowley announces, his voice cracking. “Mr. Dowling won’t be traveling as much apparently. They’re going to make a go at being a normal family.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” Aziraphale says, moving closer to his demon.

“Do you now?”

“Yes. And not only for them. For you, too. Now maybe you can spend less time torturing yourself about leaving him and go on knowing that he’s well cared for.”

“And how do you expect me to manage that, hmm?”

“By having a little faith, my love.”

Crowley snarls, grabbing a handful of grass and ripping it from the ground. “Faith in what, angel? God in all of her infinite bloody Wisdom, and all that other nonsense they feed you guys in Cloud City? You’re talking to the wrong damn demon if you honestly think I’m going to have faith!”

“No, Crowley.” Aziraphale finds Crowley’s hand and holds it, smiling when his demon, still mad, wraps his fingers around it. “Faith in yourself. Your chapter in his story may have been brief, but you had an impact. You might have taught him songs about crushing his enemies beneath his feet, but you did it with kindness. You held him and played with him and tucked him in at night. You’re a nicer person than you give yourself credit for, and that kind of love leaves a mark. When he goes to the states, he’s taking a piece of you with him.”

“I suppose I can always hop on over. When’s the last time you’ve been to the states, angel? A while? It might be nice to give it a go, don’t you think?” Crowley stares off into the distance as the family gathers their things and starts to head away. Mr. Dowling tosses the baseball to his son one last time and Warlock catches it. In the process, he turns his head towards the apple tree.

He stops walking.

He squints into the sunlight, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Mom?” he says. “Is that … is that Nanny?”

“Where?” Mrs. Dowling asks.

“Up there!” He points excitedly. “Under the apple tree!”

Mrs. Dowling looks for herself, shielding her eyes with her hand to get a better look. “I … I don’t know. It looks like Brother Francis, to me … in a really nice suit …”

“No, next to him!”

Aziraphale sees mother and son smile. Warlock raises an arm to wave, but Crowley snaps his fingers. Warlock stops, confusion crossing his face.

“She’s … she’s gone,” he says, disappointed. “Wh-where did she go?”

“Maybe it wasn’t her.” Mrs. Dowling puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Warlock sighs. “Maybe. But I thought … I was positive …”

“I know you miss her,” Mr. Dowling says, kneeling to talk to his son eye-to-eye, “but the people we love have a way of turning up from time to time when we least expect it. I’m sure you’ll see her again.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Mrs. Dowling shoots her husband a worried look, but he simply smiles. “I work for the government. I’ll find a way. Now let’s be off. Ice cream doesn’t eat itself, you know.”

“Yeah! Ice cream!” Warlock yells, speeding away. Mrs. Dowling takes one last look up at the apple tree, but the tree is all she sees, not the angel and the demon sitting under it, watching as they walk away.

Crowley takes a shuddering breath in, waving a subtle goodbye with his fingers.

Aziraphale hands his demon a handkerchief.

Crowley takes it.

“Are the book metaphors new, or ��?”

“They’re on brand, darling.” Aziraphale leans in to give his husband a kiss as he blots beneath his eyes. “I do own a bookshop, you know.”

“I’d heard rumors …”

“Now then - how about we go for a walk, hmmm? Take advantage of this fresh air. Or we can find something else to take your mind off of things.”

“Can we go for a drive?”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale says, picking up his blanket and giving it a shake. “Do you mind if I get blisteringly drunk first?”

Crowley offers Aziraphale his arm. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”