#the other ones were Crowley drunk and Aziraphale spying him. hed be talking to himself and wishing Aziraphale well (ha)

[eybefioro]

Two words prompt: wishing well.

Fandom: Good Omens.

Have fun!

Aziraphale walked in the empty halls. His footsteps echoed loud in his ears.

At the distance – because it was unnerving how much distance there was in heaven – he could see the other angels coming to and fro. He couldn't even see their faces, or distinguish any characteristics in them, from where Aziraphale stood, they were nothing but silhouettes.

He missed Earth terribly. He missed his worn clothes, his comfortable routine. The little restaurants, the people. In a weird way he even missed the bad people, the mafia threatening his bookshop, and the rude costumers trying to buy his books. He missed music and he missed the chaotic streets, but above all, he missed Crowley.

He sighed, looking at the infinite glass panels. At the fake landscape bellow – they were only projections, he knew. Those glass panels were nothing but screens.

And he hated it.

He touched the window, and there was no warmth, no heat. Even the light coming from them was artificial and cold.

Even with all that space he felt trapped in a glass bowl. Those screens were a mimicry of freedom, simulating the complexity and creativity of humans and their world, while trapping the angels up there. Exposing what none of them could had, and that what all of them were lead to believe was undesirable.

His thoughts inevitably turned to Crowley again as he rested his forehead on the cold glass. The glass didn't smudge with the oil of his skin, didn't even fog with his breath. He sighed and closed his eyes.

He felt a tug on his chest. A twinge compelling him to open his eyes, to let himself hear; it was strange, but he followed the instinct and gave in, looking ahead again.

Tha landscape in the screen had changed. Instead of the miscellaneous buildings took off context, there was Crowley.

Aziraphale gasped, and looked around, trying to hide the scene with his wings – but there was no one to see it besides him, no one around.

To the other angels in the distance he also was naught but a silhouette.

His knees trembled, and he slid down to the floor, not understanding what he was seeing, in equal parts grateful and hurting for seeing the demon again.

There Crowley stood, just outside a tiny oasis surrounded by desert. A long forgotten place on earth, but that Aziraphale knew well, a place that once was the outerskirts of the oldest garden; the first miracle he'd ever performed. The humans had been suffering, had been parched. The sword could protect them, the fire could warm them at night, but it didn't provide respite in the vastness of the desert. Aziraphale had observed them, and had made the smallest water spring emerge, the plants had grown and had given them shadow so they could rest. The humans had thanked the guardian angel even without seeing him, even without knowing his name, and had placed rocks around the place to mark their gratitude.

It had been years since he had last visited it; Aziraphale started panicking. Crowley shouldn't be there, should never get near it. He didn't knew Crowley knew about it, but looking back now, it made sense that demon could be watching him watching the humans. It made sense that Crowley, of all the beings, would be the one to know about the singular sanctuary made for the angel Aziraphale. The only place were he could hear prayers from.

"Aziraphale."

The name made his ears ring.

"Aziraphale, do you hear me?"

He couldn’t respond, could only watch and hope, as tears cascaded down his cheeks.

"Aziraphale, here I am in your place of worship," Crowley took a step in the circle of rocks wincing, "Here I am, barefoot in this fucking sacred land," there was a mocking tone in Crowley's voice, even if the sincerity behind it was undeniable. Aziraphale wished he started hoping around instead of just standing, and that he'd leave; he could see the fumes in his feet, the way it was burning him, but he knew there was something even more dangerous in the middle of the oasis. "Before you start getting all twisted, I will not take the holy water, you idiot. I have no desire to die before I can embrace you again." Despite himself, Aziraphale chuckled between sobs, even as the panic churned in his veins. "I just wissh to talk. I will go down. I will be duke. I hate your plan. I hate to be back, and I hate that you're back up there," his voice was strained, hisses appearing, his demonic nature emerging as the pain flared from his feet, "but I trusssst you. Unfortunately I do. But I can't be an angel ever again. I will go down, and I will wait until we met again."

Crowley was looking up, but he suddenly averted his eyes, and Aziraphale knew he was crying. It took some moments, but he talked again after a sharp intake of breath, "I- Aziraphale, what I did- that wasn't how I wanted it to happen," he looked up again, and there was anger in his uncovered eyes, "But I am not ssorry for it. I do not wissh to be forgiven for anything. And if you ever try to forgive me again for loving you I swear to g- Sssomeone I will- I will never talk to you again." He was smiling wickedly, making Aziraphale laugh hearing his words back to him.

"I'm serious, though." He took some steps into the oasis, and Aziraphale’s heart tightened. Crowley's gait was too stiff, too controlled, as he tried to keep going without jumping around, and he got closer and closer to the small water spring.

"Tosssss the coin so we sssee who gets to do the dance thiss time around, eh?" And he flinged the coin in the water, and he was gone. The screen turned back to the inane projection, and Aziraphale felt a weight in his pocket.

The coin. A promise that they would see each other again. A material object in heaven, providing a weird type of confort, a materiality he craved.

He got up, trying to recompose himself, smoothing down the waistcoat that couldn't be smoothed.

Walking towards his desk, the weight in his pocket was grounding; he worried the coin, the same that had been tossed for Edinburgh, the one that he knew had a weightened side, and thanked the demon.

Send me a prompt!