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Summary
“It was you.” Crowley takes his time with the words, feeling each one rush through him. An equal yet opposite kind of flood. “And him. You named him, because he was always there to be named.”
They gaze at each other, stunned.
“We need more books,” says Crowley, at the same time that Aziraphale declares, “We need more cocoa.”
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“We’re drunk, Crowley.”
“Sober up, then.”
“I —,” Aziraphale hesitated, catching himself; a hard thing to do, when his face was still hot with drunkenness, his tongue far too loose and uninhibited. “I don’t . . . want to.”
In 1941, an angel and a demon drink together after a harrowing night, and repressed feelings threaten their fragile coexistence.
Series
- Part 54 of Good Omens Fics
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Summary
In the meantime, they’d have their familiar dance; trips to museums and galleries, promenades through the park, evenings in the shop where the world went golden and giddy at the edges.
Six thousand years, he’d gone without Crowley kissing him. He’d go another six if it meant giving Crowley the world instead.
[Aziraphale and Crowley have rekindled their old friendship, which is all they want from each other now that the world hasn't ended. Absolutely nothing more. Nothing at all.]
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What if Anathema saw the prophecies of that future and decided 'no'
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Summary
Aziraphale ascends to the highest level of the Archangels. And he remembers—well. It’s not important what he remembers.