Have you considered putting a stop to these tumbles?
( genuinely asked, but said in such a tone that one might believe that aziraphale thought crowley could just simply stop. he doesn't—he's long since understood that being a demon meant that a certain amount of resistance was to be expected from the world. a sort of pushback, if you will.
he begins to stride across the room, tucking his hands in together.
then crowley is asking a completely different question. one that aziraphale isn't ready for. )
[There's some bitter retort on the tip of his tongue, his usual sarcasm rearing from the earth of his being; why yes angel, why didn't he think of that, just not fall?.
He bites it back, because Aziraphale is doing that thing where he's wringing his hands and Crowley knows it isn't the time. He knows Aziraphale's tells like he knows the back of his hand, and there is the fidgeting where Crowley has asked the kind of uncomfortable questions that draw in little flecks of Doubt, and then there's the fidgeting where Aziraphale might have done something that was both absurdly kind and very against the the Rules, and then there's the fidgeting when something is very, very wrong.
( a thoughtful little sigh as the angel searches for the right words to articulate himself with.
the answer isn't exactly a simple one and he isn't entirely sure that crowley would be able to understand him either. he had never had the experience of being an angel on earth. they had already talked about this some, he didn't know what it was like to be intrinsically connected in the way aziraphale had been. which is pretty unfortunate because it would certainly be a lot easier to explain if so.
aziraphale accidentally lets the silence stretch on too long, caught up in the tangle of his own thoughts. )
Erm.
( he eventually says when he notices he's taken too long to answer. )
I come predisposed to being 'troubled', angel, it comes with the territory. Don't worry about me.
[He hates it when Aziraphale goes quiet, the way he tries to make himself small and insignificant and unnoticed. Hell was awful in it's own myriad of ways, but it never once tried to make it seem like it was for Crowley's own good.
He takes his hands in his own in careful, halting movements, in case his friend wants to draw away. He cups them in his palms so delicately, like they're fragile - some fine-boned bird weak and dehydrated.
It is the same tender care with which he's held the hearts of newborn stars.]
Angel [Plaintive, there's the crack in his voice, the damning evidence he isn't wheedling or tempting.] You can tell me what's wrong.
Oh, see, this is exactly why I was hesitating to tell you. . .
( for as much as aziraphale found the demon's concern to be touching, he also truly didn't want him to worry. he didn't want to see him caught up in knots over this when there was nothing he could do about it. things like that had a tendency at eat at crowley, becoming nagging little doubts and intrusive thoughts.
he lets out another little noise, steeling himself. )
It's just—Well, it drains me. I can perform them, but only at cost. I am not sure what will happen if I use it too much.
( the answer to that particular riddle is that he'll pass out and be forced to sleep for a while, but he doesn't know that yet. )
[Crowley doesn't particularly mind having something to worry for. Or at least something to complain endlessly about; their new home has already lost its luster in that regard; he'd be beating a dead horse at this point.
The messing with their miracles is fun and exciting new territory, for him to find grievance with. It's good to keep the mind occupied; if Heaven hadn't been so celestially boring he might never have Fallen to begin with.
The point being, if Crowley wasn't twisting himself in knots over something or another, he'd probably expire on the spot.
Right now, he's livid on Aziraphale's behalf. Not, perhaps, as angry as he'd been when he relayed what Gabriel had said, no. But still, there's that twisting of his mouth into a thin, tight line.]
I don't know of anything outside of Herself who could do something like this to... us.
[Well, other angels and demons probably could if they ever managed to develop an iota of creativity and a sense of cooperation. But that was about as likely as an amoeba developing sentience; that lot tended to stick to the classics.
It just wasn't going to happen.]
But this isn't really Her style. Not enough dead firstborns, pillars of salt, and drowned corpses.
[Yeah he was still a bit miffed about all of that.]
The salt pillars had been more of Sandalphon's concoction than Hers.
( aziraphale corrects, but with a certain disdain in his voice. it was ugly business all of that. it had been a different time, an entirely different world, but it hadn't sat right with aziraphale.
just one of many things that weight down his chest like rocks. )
The first time he'd ever shown a jot of creativity and he came up with that. Salt!
( don't get him started. the other angels just had a different mind to them. aziraphale has long since accepted that, exploited that, and even depended on that. he's so familiar with their thinking and practices that he hasn't seriously thought that god might be behind it.
beyond, of course, ultimately.
this is something else. this isn't upstairs or downstairs. it's something entirely new. )
I fear we might be dealing with something like the Anti-Christ again.
[It's an idle, off-hand remark, which speaks a great deal about how much thought Sandalphon deserves to be spared. There are some angels that smite - fair enough, comes with the territory, but there are some who take such twisted delight in it, you'd almost mistake them for demons.]
Something like Adam, though... huh.
[The kid had been alright. Extraordinary in his ordinariness. Altogether a good kid but also Crowley hoped they never crossed paths again. That would be nice.]
If that's the case, whatever this is can just bend reality to their will. Bet they're having a right lark, watching us run around like whatsits with their heads cut off, trying to figure out their master plan.
[But the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Hadn't Adam initially wanted to clear the board, so to speak? Rearrange the world to his liking? Maybe he hadn't been entirely off on his initial freakout when he got off the train. Maybe the apocalypse had happened.
And this was the aftermath, the 'fixing of the world' by whatever this universe's antichrist was.
He rests his chin on his palm, eyes settled on Aziraphale.]
Not sure what we can do about it. It's a little late to play dress up as Nanny and Gardener.
I doubt it would have had any influence if we had.
( simply. dress-up wasn't the solution to all their problems.
aziraphale waves a hand, moving himself along. he has thoughts that he wants to share about it. )
I don't really get the impression that's this . . . shebang is personal at all. Have you noticed? How everything is catered towards the humans?
( honestly, with the way their luck pans out sometimes, it probably wouldn't be a surprise if they ended up here by accident. were never intended to be residents. just like coral swept up in the waves. )
But I believe we can find the solution in working together.
[There were a lot of humans about, so it stood to reason that things would be catered towards them. Crowley and Aziraphale liked their food and drink, but they didn't need it the way humans did. In fact, despite the place being a city, it was a lot like the g-]
...Together...?
[Crowley had a thought just a moment ago. It was a good thought, very sensible, very clever. It's gone now; that train derailed and falling to shambles into the river of forgetfulness by a much bigger train that had no desire to share the the tracks.
His eyes are enormous, his crooked smile a tremulous, hopeful thing. He's sure he looks terribly soppy, but he really couldn't be bothered to care. It's not like they were in public or anything.]
You'd be alright with that...?
[His tone is casual, but the yearning look is anything but. It's a thrill, really, how they can just do what what they want, but he still feels like he has to make sure. He's been thrown for enough loops, thank you.]
( as crowley's expression begins to soften, aziraphale's begins to brighten. slowly, slowly, slowly. like cranking the dial. all of his concerns and awkwardness about the situation rapidly start to lose priority, fading away as thoughts to be addressed later. how could he be more concerned with anything beyond how crowley is looking at him right now?
aziraphale smiles. )
More than alright.
( because of course it is. they work well together, don't they? and there is a very honest part of aziraphale that is excited at the idea of the two of them having a problem to tackle together again. )
Mind, we'll need to cooperate with the others so it won't always be just the two of us.
[Just them and the humans solving the mystery of this city.
Yeah, Crowley can live with that.
Especially with that smile; he loves when Aziraphale lights up like that and he especially loves being the cause of it.
He lets himself sink into the moment for a little while, the way he would sink into a hot bath. Nothing wrong with a bit of indulgence right? Nothing wrong with sitting side by side while he thumbs lazy little circles over Aziraphale's knuckles and they smile at each other, right? They can have that for just a little while.
It's fine. He's fine. Definitely no Evil thoughts winding through his head.]
Of course, of course. [He agrees with a wave of his free hand, though abruptly aborts the motion. He didn't want to perform any accidental miracles; not the way things have been backfiring, he thinks glumly as his hand falls back to his side.]
Humans are good at figuring these sorts of things out. We'd just be going in circles if we didn't get their help. Still...
[He's about to say something else for a moment, but it gets caught in his throat. It's wrapped up in too many long, tangling feelings, and he has to swallow it back down. Instead, he gives Aziraphale's hand a squeeze, his lopsided smile back again.]
...eh, we'll be alright. It's not the end of the world.
( there is something stuck in aziraphale's chest, something warm, bright, and oh-so-full of love. it sits heavy within him, threatening to burst forth. threatening, threatening, threatening in that way that it always does whenever he finds crowley to be particularly charming. he thinks that he would have to be made of stone not to find himself moved by the show of tender affection.
tender hands, tender looks, tender thoughts.
for brief shining moment, aziraphale thinks about how anywhere with crowley could be tolerable.
he returns the squeeze with his own, saying something that he doesn't have the words for. )
It's not.
( said a little too softly, a little too warmly. )
I don't quite know what it is, but the stakes don't seem to be as astronomical.
( then abruptly, he's reminded that he is actually supposed to be welcoming crowley into cohabitation. not thinking any bold thoughts. how he's supposed to do that exactly, he's not so sure, but he imagines that he can cobble something nice together. )
Oh, I'd almost forgotten. Do you need anything to be comfortable? ( then a quick gesture with his free hand out towards the condo. ) I haven't gotten to redecorating it yet.
( more like he's been snooping around for clues and hasn't wanted to disrupt the area yet.
however, the motion of his hand and the warmth of the feelings in his chest spark an unexpected miracle. a cluster of small led tea lights appear from the air, clattering loudly against the coffee table as they tumble downward and spill onto the floor. )
[He's about to mention that a bed would be nice, somewhere soft and comfortable to sometimes lay his head and very pointedly does not think about the angel's lap. He is behaving. He is going slow.
He is suddenly pelted in the head with a candle. It's his one warning to quickly sidestep the sudden shower of tea candles, one black wing manifesting right over Aziraphale's head to keep him from getting hit.]
Well, I remember rains of fish, and plagues of frogs and locusts, but this is... new.
[He tentatively lowers his wing, peering up at the ceiling in case any more tea candles are in the forecast for today. Clear skies. Well, clear popcorn ceiling grout, in any case. The wing fades back into the ether.]
Was that one yours or mine...?
[Most times he can tell whose miracle is whose, but there are other times, like now, where it's much harder to say where his miracles begin and Aziraphale's end. He doesn't know why some are so distinctive and some feel so tangled in his will imposed on reality; there never seems to be a pattern to it, but it happens nonetheless.]
( due to crowley's quick reflexes and sturdy wings, nary an electric candle managed to collide with aziraphale. they roll off his feathers effortlessly to scatter across the floor. aziraphale only really gets a good look at one when it rolls against the edge of his shoe. )
Oh.
( quietly. these look like the ones he uses in the shop.
hm.
he pulls his hand away from crowley's to press his fingers against his chin in thought. )
Just summoning candles out of thin air? You worried about a power outage angel?
[He's teasing. He already misses Aziraphale's hand in his. He's already scheming how to get it back. All perfectly respectable diabolical thoughts going through his head, really, as he kneels down to pick up the candles and set them on the coffee table. They'll find a home for them later, certainly, but he doesn't want to just leave a mess before Aziraphale shows him the place; that would be poor manners for one thing, and for another, this is where they're going to be living.
Together.
For the foreseeable future.
It hits Crowley in that moment that they would be, officially, sharing a dwelling, cohabitating, living together henceforth until they found a way out of here which could be... any when.
He swallows thickly as he sets a candle down on the table.
It isn't like he never stayed the night, or even a couple of days at the bookshop. And after Armagedidn't, Aziraphale had stayed at his flat where they put on each other's bodies and...
Look, it's different.
There's spending the night and then there's living together, and now the full weight of just what Aziraphale had offered is hitting him like a sack of bricks. He's glad he's on the floor right now, because he doesn't think his feet would keep him upright at the moment.
Hand holding. Cohabitation. They are going very, very fast right now.
And there's no Heaven or Hell to stop them doing just what they like.
A warm sense of satisfaction spreads out from the core of him to the very tips of his various extremities before he gets to his feet and beams at the angel.]
( while the gravity of what crowley had been offered is starting to sink into him, aziraphale finds himself lost in thought. he doesn't answer the question at first, instead knitting his eyebrows together as he continues to turn over this puzzle in his mind. why had he had summoned those candles?
he's never done something like that before.
this bothers him.
aziraphale isn't done thinking it through before he realises that he hasn't said anything in too long. )
Oh.
( then he thinks back to what he had been asked. )
Oh, yes! Right. Well, you're already intimately acquainted with the balcony.
( a quick gesture back to where crowley had fallen out of the sky earlier. the balcony is connected to the living room. from where they're standing, both the dining room and kitchen are easily visible. it's a high-end condo, but the aesthetics of it are fairly modern.
then he starts heading down the hall, expecting for crowley to follow. )
[Crowley gives a grudging grunt of agreement. Not his finest moment, definitely not his most graceful entrance to date but it could be worse. It would, in fact, take a great deal to spoil the mood he's in.
Even if his miracles aren't working properly (he doesn't use them much anyway), even if he just crash landed on their balcony (of the condo they'd be sharing together), even if they're in a strange new world (far away from the grasping hands of Heaven and Hell), Crowley is feeling rather optimistic.]
Intimately. [He snarls, but there's no real bite to it. Crowley needs to soothe his wounded dignity by putting on his usual infernal airs.
But he doesn't miss that little furrow in Aziraphale's brow, nor the worried look he shoots the candles, and as he catches up, he turns over what Aziraphale said about his miracles a moment ago. Worry creeps between the cracks in his optimism and his slit yellow eyes dart to the side.]
( a quick answer, but not an inaccurate one. he doesn't allow for much room for any further conversation about it because he's already pushing open doors for the sake of crowley's viewing pleasure. the hall closet, the bathroom, and then—
he pushes open another door. )
This should be the study, I believe.
( not that it means much when all the books within the study were empty. as it stands, it is mostly a finely decorated room with two desks and a long couch. which also means that aziraphale isn't too interested in lingering at the threshold of this room for too long.
he moves to the end of the hall. )
And here—
( his voice picks up an excited edge as he opens the door.
within is a massive bedroom that's been divided into two by the large glass partition running down the middle. it climbs from floor to ceiling, frosted glasses and a black metal frame. at the edges, there are privacy curtains to be pulled closed, but in the middle. . .?
there's a sliding door.
aziraphale wastes no time in walking over to the structure, pointing at it in approval. )
These are the bedrooms. I thought this was quite the cracker idea.
[The study definitely needs work. A few decades down the line and some actual books for those uncannily empty shelves, and Crowley could see it being quite cozy. But it's not right now, and he's happy to move on.
He does mentally note that there are two desks but only one couch. It gets the angel a bemused smile; are you trying to tempt him Mr. Fell...?
The bedroom(s), however, does something for him he can't quite put into words.
There's a divider, sure, but it's flimsy. Not even a lock on the sliding door which makes Crowley feels all kinds of ways that really defy description. He black heart beats, and he has to swallow his quickening pulse; the divide seems to exist as little more than a gesture at privacy and not...
Not something to keep them apart.]
Cracker idea indeed...
[He sounds miles away, warmth suffusing every inch of him. He knows, of course, that Aziraphale cares. That they are friends, that they have always been friends since they stood on that wall in Eden. But years of maintaining plausible deniability leaves a lot of cracks where doubt can seep in.
Seeing this vaporizes nearly every doubt he's ever had.
Aziraphale wants this too. Them. Their side. His best and dearest friend.]
Decor's a little modern for your tastes, yeah?
[He'll have to go look for thick, soft, tartan throw blankets, prowl the city for antiques, find some nice, fat satin pillows in shades cream, gold and pale blue; something to inject more of an Aziraphale feel to things.
The condo is very much to Crowley's modern sensibilities, but things feel wrong without Aziraphale's dusty books and fascinating knick knacks from hundreds of years ago.]
the reality of the situation is that aziraphale hadn't just picked this condo at random. no, no. he had properly inspected several potential homes for both himself and crowley—although he's not quite so sure he'd be willing to admit to that—and this had been the best option available. it was spacious, whoever lived here before seemed to enjoy a mix of styles, and he was quite taken with the joined bedrooms.
plenty of other places had diverse perks and nice qualities, but most of them were too modern. too stiff. too cold. styled for minimalists and their awful, boring tastes. this place felt like the best he was going to get in that regard. )
This was once someone else's home.
( as if that just answers everything.
he turns back towards crowley, a warm expression on his face. )
But if we're going to be here for a while, we might as well spruce it up.
[He's just. Going to ignore that bit about it being someone else's home. By the long-lasting nature of homes, given a few decades they usually are, at some point or another, going to change hands.
It's just different here; chafing. Rubs his scales the wrong way. The kinds of things he doesn't want to dwell on.
He flashes Aziraphale his brightest, most roguish grin.]
Leave it to me, angel. We'll get this place feeling like home in no time, you'll see.
[He'd get Aziraphale some proper books even if he had to write the damn things himself.
For now, he strides around the space, taking it all in. It definitely needs more personal touches. Some art, maybe some statuary...? Some records and a player, too. But even bare as it is, it still feels... right.]
It gets beautiful light too. You picked good.
[He'll get some plants too. For himself; some with glossy, broad leaves, in shades of green so deep it was almost blue. For Aziraphale, he'd find only the best flowers, in vibrant pastels. Maybe plant a climbing rose bush out on the balcony.
Yes, he could see them being very comfortable here.]
those words settle comfortably in his chest, blooming into a gentle warmth. that's a lovely thought. even lovelier to hear it being spoken by crowley in that all-too-casual way.
briefly, aziraphale wonders if it's his shop or the demon's flat that ultimately felt more like home to him back in london. )
Than I shall.
( simply. he thinks that's a nice way for them to divide the work up. he picked it out, crowley will fix it up. that and he imagines that having some sort of project might help settle some of crowley's nerves. things always felt a little less overwhelming when there were clear tasks to perform.
he doesn't bother to ask which of the bedrooms he'll take, knowing without question that it'll be the left. the one they're already standing in. reaching out for the cream-coloured privacy curtain, he holds the fabric between his fingers.
there's a soft, angelic jingle as the curtains on this side of the bedroom start to bleed from cream to black.
a first touch towards making it a home. after all, it didn't seem like they were going to be released by their captors any time soon. )
I'm relieved that you like it. I was worried that it might not be ( he makes a twirling hand gesture. ) concrete enough.
[Crowley isn't quite prepared to admit that his cavernous flat in Mayfair was not so much a home as a place for him to put his stuff and take the occasional years-long nap.
But in his heart? The bookshop was always home. Of course it was; Aziraphale was there.
And now he's here, whatever, wherever and whenever here is. As far as Crowley is concerned, that makes the city home.
As he watches inky blackness seeping into the curtains, he's sure his face is doing something ridiculous and soppy; there's something about having his own tastes and preferences not just acknowledged but accepted that's a bit dizzying.
That the midnight black makes a pleasing contrast with the soft cream colours on the other side of the frosted glass.
Yes, Crowley thinks, this could work.]
You know me, angel, I can make myself comfortable anywhere. Just don't overdo the miracles, yeah?
[He doesn't know what will happen - he certainly doesn't want this tentative new home to go up in smoke.]
( a bemused sort of question. he doesn't actually think that to be entirely true. )
I seem to remember—Hm.
( aziraphale stops short, letting out a quiet little noise. there's a newly added weight to his limbs, wearing him down just a little. it's an unusual feeling, one that he still cannot get accustomed to. he lifts a hand, pressing it against his sternum for a brief moment.
then he strides over to crowley's new bed to sit down on the end of it. )
I may have done that a little too impulsively.
( perhaps he needs to wait a little longer in between miracles. )
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( genuinely asked, but said in such a tone that one might believe that aziraphale thought crowley could just simply stop. he doesn't—he's long since understood that being a demon meant that a certain amount of resistance was to be expected from the world. a sort of pushback, if you will.
he begins to stride across the room, tucking his hands in together.
then crowley is asking a completely different question. one that aziraphale isn't ready for. )
Ah. That's a little direct, don't you think?
( hand wring, hand wring. )
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He bites it back, because Aziraphale is doing that thing where he's wringing his hands and Crowley knows it isn't the time. He knows Aziraphale's tells like he knows the back of his hand, and there is the fidgeting where Crowley has asked the kind of uncomfortable questions that draw in little flecks of Doubt, and then there's the fidgeting where Aziraphale might have done something that was both absurdly kind and very against the the Rules, and then there's the fidgeting when something is very, very wrong.
The sharp look melts away into worry.]
Angel...? What's wrong...?
[His tone is plaintive, soft.]
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( a thoughtful little sigh as the angel searches for the right words to articulate himself with.
the answer isn't exactly a simple one and he isn't entirely sure that crowley would be able to understand him either. he had never had the experience of being an angel on earth. they had already talked about this some, he didn't know what it was like to be intrinsically connected in the way aziraphale had been. which is pretty unfortunate because it would certainly be a lot easier to explain if so.
aziraphale accidentally lets the silence stretch on too long, caught up in the tangle of his own thoughts. )
Erm.
( he eventually says when he notices he's taken too long to answer. )
I don't want you to be troubled.
( this is not an answer. )
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[He hates it when Aziraphale goes quiet, the way he tries to make himself small and insignificant and unnoticed. Hell was awful in it's own myriad of ways, but it never once tried to make it seem like it was for Crowley's own good.
He takes his hands in his own in careful, halting movements, in case his friend wants to draw away. He cups them in his palms so delicately, like they're fragile - some fine-boned bird weak and dehydrated.
It is the same tender care with which he's held the hearts of newborn stars.]
Angel [Plaintive, there's the crack in his voice, the damning evidence he isn't wheedling or tempting.] You can tell me what's wrong.
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Oh, see, this is exactly why I was hesitating to tell you. . .
( for as much as aziraphale found the demon's concern to be touching, he also truly didn't want him to worry. he didn't want to see him caught up in knots over this when there was nothing he could do about it. things like that had a tendency at eat at crowley, becoming nagging little doubts and intrusive thoughts.
he lets out another little noise, steeling himself. )
It's just—Well, it drains me. I can perform them, but only at cost. I am not sure what will happen if I use it too much.
( the answer to that particular riddle is that he'll pass out and be forced to sleep for a while, but he doesn't know that yet. )
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The messing with their miracles is fun and exciting new territory, for him to find grievance with. It's good to keep the mind occupied; if Heaven hadn't been so celestially boring he might never have Fallen to begin with.
The point being, if Crowley wasn't twisting himself in knots over something or another, he'd probably expire on the spot.
Right now, he's livid on Aziraphale's behalf. Not, perhaps, as angry as he'd been when he relayed what Gabriel had said, no. But still, there's that twisting of his mouth into a thin, tight line.]
I don't know of anything outside of Herself who could do something like this to... us.
[Well, other angels and demons probably could if they ever managed to develop an iota of creativity and a sense of cooperation. But that was about as likely as an amoeba developing sentience; that lot tended to stick to the classics.
It just wasn't going to happen.]
But this isn't really Her style. Not enough dead firstborns, pillars of salt, and drowned corpses.
[Yeah he was still a bit miffed about all of that.]
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( aziraphale corrects, but with a certain disdain in his voice. it was ugly business all of that. it had been a different time, an entirely different world, but it hadn't sat right with aziraphale.
just one of many things that weight down his chest like rocks. )
The first time he'd ever shown a jot of creativity and he came up with that. Salt!
( don't get him started. the other angels just had a different mind to them. aziraphale has long since accepted that, exploited that, and even depended on that. he's so familiar with their thinking and practices that he hasn't seriously thought that god might be behind it.
beyond, of course, ultimately.
this is something else. this isn't upstairs or downstairs. it's something entirely new. )
I fear we might be dealing with something like the Anti-Christ again.
( another being beyond the scope of either side.
maybe they were here on purpose? )
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[It's an idle, off-hand remark, which speaks a great deal about how much thought Sandalphon deserves to be spared. There are some angels that smite - fair enough, comes with the territory, but there are some who take such twisted delight in it, you'd almost mistake them for demons.]
Something like Adam, though... huh.
[The kid had been alright. Extraordinary in his ordinariness. Altogether a good kid but also Crowley hoped they never crossed paths again. That would be nice.]
If that's the case, whatever this is can just bend reality to their will. Bet they're having a right lark, watching us run around like whatsits with their heads cut off, trying to figure out their master plan.
[But the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Hadn't Adam initially wanted to clear the board, so to speak? Rearrange the world to his liking? Maybe he hadn't been entirely off on his initial freakout when he got off the train. Maybe the apocalypse had happened.
And this was the aftermath, the 'fixing of the world' by whatever this universe's antichrist was.
He rests his chin on his palm, eyes settled on Aziraphale.]
Not sure what we can do about it. It's a little late to play dress up as Nanny and Gardener.
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( simply. dress-up wasn't the solution to all their problems.
aziraphale waves a hand, moving himself along. he has thoughts that he wants to share about it. )
I don't really get the impression that's this . . . shebang is personal at all. Have you noticed? How everything is catered towards the humans?
( honestly, with the way their luck pans out sometimes, it probably wouldn't be a surprise if they ended up here by accident. were never intended to be residents. just like coral swept up in the waves. )
But I believe we can find the solution in working together.
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Mmn, I noticed.
[There were a lot of humans about, so it stood to reason that things would be catered towards them. Crowley and Aziraphale liked their food and drink, but they didn't need it the way humans did. In fact, despite the place being a city, it was a lot like the g-]
...Together...?
[Crowley had a thought just a moment ago. It was a good thought, very sensible, very clever. It's gone now; that train derailed and falling to shambles into the river of forgetfulness by a much bigger train that had no desire to share the the tracks.
His eyes are enormous, his crooked smile a tremulous, hopeful thing. He's sure he looks terribly soppy, but he really couldn't be bothered to care. It's not like they were in public or anything.]
You'd be alright with that...?
[His tone is casual, but the yearning look is anything but. It's a thrill, really, how they can just do what what they want, but he still feels like he has to make sure. He's been thrown for enough loops, thank you.]
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aziraphale smiles. )
More than alright.
( because of course it is. they work well together, don't they? and there is a very honest part of aziraphale that is excited at the idea of the two of them having a problem to tackle together again. )
Mind, we'll need to cooperate with the others so it won't always be just the two of us.
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Yeah, Crowley can live with that.
Especially with that smile; he loves when Aziraphale lights up like that and he especially loves being the cause of it.
He lets himself sink into the moment for a little while, the way he would sink into a hot bath. Nothing wrong with a bit of indulgence right? Nothing wrong with sitting side by side while he thumbs lazy little circles over Aziraphale's knuckles and they smile at each other, right? They can have that for just a little while.
It's fine. He's fine. Definitely no Evil thoughts winding through his head.]
Of course, of course. [He agrees with a wave of his free hand, though abruptly aborts the motion. He didn't want to perform any accidental miracles; not the way things have been backfiring, he thinks glumly as his hand falls back to his side.]
Humans are good at figuring these sorts of things out. We'd just be going in circles if we didn't get their help. Still...
[He's about to say something else for a moment, but it gets caught in his throat. It's wrapped up in too many long, tangling feelings, and he has to swallow it back down. Instead, he gives Aziraphale's hand a squeeze, his lopsided smile back again.]
...eh, we'll be alright. It's not the end of the world.
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tender hands, tender looks, tender thoughts.
for brief shining moment, aziraphale thinks about how anywhere with crowley could be tolerable.
he returns the squeeze with his own, saying something that he doesn't have the words for. )
It's not.
( said a little too softly, a little too warmly. )
I don't quite know what it is, but the stakes don't seem to be as astronomical.
( then abruptly, he's reminded that he is actually supposed to be welcoming crowley into cohabitation. not thinking any bold thoughts. how he's supposed to do that exactly, he's not so sure, but he imagines that he can cobble something nice together. )
Oh, I'd almost forgotten. Do you need anything to be comfortable? ( then a quick gesture with his free hand out towards the condo. ) I haven't gotten to redecorating it yet.
( more like he's been snooping around for clues and hasn't wanted to disrupt the area yet.
however, the motion of his hand and the warmth of the feelings in his chest spark an unexpected miracle. a cluster of small led tea lights appear from the air, clattering loudly against the coffee table as they tumble downward and spill onto the floor. )
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He is suddenly pelted in the head with a candle. It's his one warning to quickly sidestep the sudden shower of tea candles, one black wing manifesting right over Aziraphale's head to keep him from getting hit.]
Well, I remember rains of fish, and plagues of frogs and locusts, but this is... new.
[He tentatively lowers his wing, peering up at the ceiling in case any more tea candles are in the forecast for today. Clear skies. Well, clear popcorn ceiling grout, in any case. The wing fades back into the ether.]
Was that one yours or mine...?
[Most times he can tell whose miracle is whose, but there are other times, like now, where it's much harder to say where his miracles begin and Aziraphale's end. He doesn't know why some are so distinctive and some feel so tangled in his will imposed on reality; there never seems to be a pattern to it, but it happens nonetheless.]
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Oh.
( quietly. these look like the ones he uses in the shop.
hm.
he pulls his hand away from crowley's to press his fingers against his chin in thought. )
I suppose that might have been me.
( a pause. )
Well, that is new.
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[He's teasing. He already misses Aziraphale's hand in his. He's already scheming how to get it back. All perfectly respectable diabolical thoughts going through his head, really, as he kneels down to pick up the candles and set them on the coffee table. They'll find a home for them later, certainly, but he doesn't want to just leave a mess before Aziraphale shows him the place; that would be poor manners for one thing, and for another, this is where they're going to be living.
Together.
For the foreseeable future.
It hits Crowley in that moment that they would be, officially, sharing a dwelling, cohabitating, living together henceforth until they found a way out of here which could be... any when.
He swallows thickly as he sets a candle down on the table.
It isn't like he never stayed the night, or even a couple of days at the bookshop. And after Armagedidn't, Aziraphale had stayed at his flat where they put on each other's bodies and...
Look, it's different.
There's spending the night and then there's living together, and now the full weight of just what Aziraphale had offered is hitting him like a sack of bricks. He's glad he's on the floor right now, because he doesn't think his feet would keep him upright at the moment.
Hand holding. Cohabitation. They are going very, very fast right now.
And there's no Heaven or Hell to stop them doing just what they like.
A warm sense of satisfaction spreads out from the core of him to the very tips of his various extremities before he gets to his feet and beams at the angel.]
So, gonna give me the tour of our place...?
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he's never done something like that before.
this bothers him.
aziraphale isn't done thinking it through before he realises that he hasn't said anything in too long. )
Oh.
( then he thinks back to what he had been asked. )
Oh, yes! Right. Well, you're already intimately acquainted with the balcony.
( a quick gesture back to where crowley had fallen out of the sky earlier. the balcony is connected to the living room. from where they're standing, both the dining room and kitchen are easily visible. it's a high-end condo, but the aesthetics of it are fairly modern.
then he starts heading down the hall, expecting for crowley to follow. )
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Even if his miracles aren't working properly (he doesn't use them much anyway), even if he just crash landed on their balcony (of the condo they'd be sharing together), even if they're in a strange new world (far away from the grasping hands of Heaven and Hell), Crowley is feeling rather optimistic.]
Intimately. [He snarls, but there's no real bite to it. Crowley needs to soothe his wounded dignity by putting on his usual infernal airs.
But he doesn't miss that little furrow in Aziraphale's brow, nor the worried look he shoots the candles, and as he catches up, he turns over what Aziraphale said about his miracles a moment ago. Worry creeps between the cracks in his optimism and his slit yellow eyes dart to the side.]
You alright then, angel?
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( a quick answer, but not an inaccurate one. he doesn't allow for much room for any further conversation about it because he's already pushing open doors for the sake of crowley's viewing pleasure. the hall closet, the bathroom, and then—
he pushes open another door. )
This should be the study, I believe.
( not that it means much when all the books within the study were empty. as it stands, it is mostly a finely decorated room with two desks and a long couch. which also means that aziraphale isn't too interested in lingering at the threshold of this room for too long.
he moves to the end of the hall. )
And here—
( his voice picks up an excited edge as he opens the door.
within is a massive bedroom that's been divided into two by the large glass partition running down the middle. it climbs from floor to ceiling, frosted glasses and a black metal frame. at the edges, there are privacy curtains to be pulled closed, but in the middle. . .?
there's a sliding door.
aziraphale wastes no time in walking over to the structure, pointing at it in approval. )
These are the bedrooms. I thought this was quite the cracker idea.
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He does mentally note that there are two desks but only one couch. It gets the angel a bemused smile; are you trying to tempt him Mr. Fell...?
The bedroom(s), however, does something for him he can't quite put into words.
There's a divider, sure, but it's flimsy. Not even a lock on the sliding door which makes Crowley feels all kinds of ways that really defy description. He black heart beats, and he has to swallow his quickening pulse; the divide seems to exist as little more than a gesture at privacy and not...
Not something to keep them apart.]
Cracker idea indeed...
[He sounds miles away, warmth suffusing every inch of him. He knows, of course, that Aziraphale cares. That they are friends, that they have always been friends since they stood on that wall in Eden. But years of maintaining plausible deniability leaves a lot of cracks where doubt can seep in.
Seeing this vaporizes nearly every doubt he's ever had.
Aziraphale wants this too. Them. Their side. His best and dearest friend.]
Decor's a little modern for your tastes, yeah?
[He'll have to go look for thick, soft, tartan throw blankets, prowl the city for antiques, find some nice, fat satin pillows in shades cream, gold and pale blue; something to inject more of an Aziraphale feel to things.
The condo is very much to Crowley's modern sensibilities, but things feel wrong without Aziraphale's dusty books and fascinating knick knacks from hundreds of years ago.]
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( a little resigned.
the reality of the situation is that aziraphale hadn't just picked this condo at random. no, no. he had properly inspected several potential homes for both himself and crowley—although he's not quite so sure he'd be willing to admit to that—and this had been the best option available. it was spacious, whoever lived here before seemed to enjoy a mix of styles, and he was quite taken with the joined bedrooms.
plenty of other places had diverse perks and nice qualities, but most of them were too modern. too stiff. too cold. styled for minimalists and their awful, boring tastes. this place felt like the best he was going to get in that regard. )
This was once someone else's home.
( as if that just answers everything.
he turns back towards crowley, a warm expression on his face. )
But if we're going to be here for a while, we might as well spruce it up.
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It's just different here; chafing. Rubs his scales the wrong way. The kinds of things he doesn't want to dwell on.
He flashes Aziraphale his brightest, most roguish grin.]
Leave it to me, angel. We'll get this place feeling like home in no time, you'll see.
[He'd get Aziraphale some proper books even if he had to write the damn things himself.
For now, he strides around the space, taking it all in. It definitely needs more personal touches. Some art, maybe some statuary...? Some records and a player, too. But even bare as it is, it still feels... right.]
It gets beautiful light too. You picked good.
[He'll get some plants too. For himself; some with glossy, broad leaves, in shades of green so deep it was almost blue. For Aziraphale, he'd find only the best flowers, in vibrant pastels. Maybe plant a climbing rose bush out on the balcony.
Yes, he could see them being very comfortable here.]
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those words settle comfortably in his chest, blooming into a gentle warmth. that's a lovely thought. even lovelier to hear it being spoken by crowley in that all-too-casual way.
briefly, aziraphale wonders if it's his shop or the demon's flat that ultimately felt more like home to him back in london. )
Than I shall.
( simply. he thinks that's a nice way for them to divide the work up. he picked it out, crowley will fix it up. that and he imagines that having some sort of project might help settle some of crowley's nerves. things always felt a little less overwhelming when there were clear tasks to perform.
he doesn't bother to ask which of the bedrooms he'll take, knowing without question that it'll be the left. the one they're already standing in. reaching out for the cream-coloured privacy curtain, he holds the fabric between his fingers.
there's a soft, angelic jingle as the curtains on this side of the bedroom start to bleed from cream to black.
a first touch towards making it a home. after all, it didn't seem like they were going to be released by their captors any time soon. )
I'm relieved that you like it. I was worried that it might not be ( he makes a twirling hand gesture. ) concrete enough.
( industrial looking, he means. )
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But in his heart? The bookshop was always home. Of course it was; Aziraphale was there.
And now he's here, whatever, wherever and whenever here is. As far as Crowley is concerned, that makes the city home.
As he watches inky blackness seeping into the curtains, he's sure his face is doing something ridiculous and soppy; there's something about having his own tastes and preferences not just acknowledged but accepted that's a bit dizzying.
That the midnight black makes a pleasing contrast with the soft cream colours on the other side of the frosted glass.
Yes, Crowley thinks, this could work.]
You know me, angel, I can make myself comfortable anywhere. Just don't overdo the miracles, yeah?
[He doesn't know what will happen - he certainly doesn't want this tentative new home to go up in smoke.]
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( a bemused sort of question. he doesn't actually think that to be entirely true. )
I seem to remember—Hm.
( aziraphale stops short, letting out a quiet little noise. there's a newly added weight to his limbs, wearing him down just a little. it's an unusual feeling, one that he still cannot get accustomed to. he lifts a hand, pressing it against his sternum for a brief moment.
then he strides over to crowley's new bed to sit down on the end of it. )
I may have done that a little too impulsively.
( perhaps he needs to wait a little longer in between miracles. )
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