Chapter Text
To the World. Breathe. Breathing space…
… So what now? Aziraphale and Crowley haven’t felt like this before. Unsure where they stand, what they are supposed to DO. They are persona non grata in their respective spheres. For the first time in six millennia they are cast adrift. Feeling uneasy and uncertain, completely without direction is unnerving. Even while thwarting Armageddon at least they were actively working toward SOMETHING, even if it wasn’t what they were made for. (Unless, as Aziraphale secretly considered, the Almighty might have written in their exact roles as Spanner In The Works of the Great Plan, into her Ineffable Plan). Who knew? Well, one Being of course, but she was keeping shtum. No help from that quarter, they were on their own.
So what do an inept Fallen Angel and Conscientious Objector Principality do when there’s no longer a job to do, or a boss to report to? Especially when said bosses very definitely want their heads, if only in retribution for the loss of face when each failed to disappear (or “shut your stupid mouth and die already”, as Gabriel had put it so eloquently). It’s hard to think of something mundane and human like taking a holiday, especially when there isn’t a job to go back to at the end of it. True, they don’t NEED a job per se, but eternity is a long time for (mostly) immortal beings to sit around and twiddle their thumbs. Although Crowley had considered taking up the art of Bonsai* in addition to his regular plants, as sculpting tiny oaks over extremely long periods of time is something perfectly up his tree, pun intended. When you’ve got a lot of time on your hands, slow, long lasting hobbies are probably the way to go.
Then there’s also the uncertainty – mostly immortal, yes, but before there was always the knowledge that you could rely on heaven or hell to supply you with a fresh body should yours get inconveniently discorporated, even if it was a purgatory of paperwork on a par with negotiations with the DWP. (Crowley absolutely refused to accept a commendation for that one – something as evil as the DWP** was worse than anything even the most hateful demon could think up, again, it was all humans there.)
True, both were skilled at keeping their bodies in one piece, but maintaining your self confidence in this area isn’t as easy when you know you don’t get to go around again if you slip up.
So… tread carefully. Watch and wait, suspect everyone, trust no one.
It’s driving Crowley insane. Aziraphale may be delighted to escape into his books, but Crowley is crawling the walls, occasionally literally, having only the least tangential respect for gravity. Crowley isn’t keen on laws in general, and doesn’t see why the laws of physics should be any different, and isn’t averse to holding up a metaphorical finger to them when the occasion suits him. But attempting to take a nap on the ceiling*** is distracting Aziraphale, who brushes plaster off his book, glancing upwards with mild annoyance.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable heading on over to yours for a little bit, dear?” he sighed with gentle exasperation. Crowley stared at him from the ceiling.
“HOW are you so damned relaxed, Angel? How can you just sit there without a care in the bloody world? What if those bastards figure out what we did and come back for another try?”
What he didn’t say, didn’t want to put voice to was what if they come back and I’m not here to help you? That terrified him more than anything. It almost HURT to be too far away from his Angel since he almost lost him. Quite apart from the stench of the demonic puddle in his flat, courtesy of Ligur, a metaphysical stain that would never wash out with any mundane means, it was too big there, too empty, too Angel-less. Besides when he had slept over there one night, his nightmares were haunted by hearing the scrape of shoes in the hallway and echoes of Hastur and Ligur creeping in. It didn’t feel safe anymore.
“Well for heaven’s sake, Crowley, at least go for a walk or something, maybe get us some nibbles for dinner?” Aziraphale suggested softly, his eyes kind. He could see how wound up his friend was, just some fresh air and a change of scene might distract him a little. He may dearly love Crowley, but to the slightly introverted Aziraphale, Crowley’s nervous energy could become a bit too much on occasion, such as when he was resolutely trying to read one of the new old books that Adam had thoughtfully supplied the bookshop with when he reset everything after the Armageddon’t.
Crowley sighed and dropped lightly back to the carpet again. He gave Aziraphale’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. (It still felt … forbidden, something he was still getting used to, little steps…) smiled at him and sauntered toward the door. “Ok Angel, you win, got phone?” Aziraphale fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for the unfamiliar little device that Crowley had INSISTED he accept. Whilst he still resisted actually using it to do anything with, he agreed to keep it if only for the emergency panic button feature built in, which Crowley had programmed to immediately alert him with the Angel’s location, and any video/audio happening at the time should it be pushed, in case anything happened, so he could find him quickly and rush back. Aziraphale held it up and waved it before slipping it back into his pocket again. With a lopsided smile and a nod, Crowley stalked out into the damp autumn evening air, the bell above the door chiming as the door closed behind him.