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"Remind me again," says Aziraphale, fussing with the safety bar holding him in this ridiculous contraption, "why I am doing this, precisely?"
He's genuinely not certain what the reason is, other than that it involves Crowley saying "C'mon, angel" one too many times and smiling a little too widely in the process. He does rather like seeing Crowley smile. At least, he piously amends, when the reasons for it don't involve sin and temptation. And he can't quite see how this particular activity could result in either. Although, admittedly, he's not entirely sure what result it's meant to have.
"Ahhh, it'll be fun," Crowley says, for at least the fourth time. "You'll love it, angel." He delivers this statement in such a way that Aziraphale strongly suspects what it actually means is, "You'll hate it, but I'll love sitting next to you watching you hate it."
Aziraphale tests the bar again. It seems secure, but can one entirely trust such things?
"Feels a bit like flying," Crowley adds.
Aziraphale hmphs a little. "If I want to feel as if I'm flying, Crowley, I could always just fly."
That isn't quite true, though, and both of them know it. He can't simply get his wings out and take a spin through the sky, not where any humans might see him, which is nearly everywhere these days. Heaven would notice. And Heaven would especially notice if he tried doing so in Crowley's company.
Aziraphale tries not to notice the small, wistful feeling that thought engenders, somewhere in the back of his heart. Being extremely practiced at it, he does not find it terribly difficult.
Crowley makes a scoffing noise. It's a familiar enough sound, one that expresses a small amount of real frustration, but no actual disdain. Aziraphale can't help smiling at him, but he feels the expression melting from his face as, in the next moment, they begin to move.
They're rising now, slowly. The view is nice, at least, Aziraphale decides, looking out over a landscape of human merrymakers. He might not understand exactly why they're enjoying this place – the availability of some rather pleasant ice cream notwithstanding – but it makes him happy to see them doing so.
He turns to Crowley, about to say something to that effect, when suddenly the world tips over.
It doesn't feel like flying at all, he thinks, as he tries to miracle his stomach back into its proper position in his torso. It feels like falling.
They rise again. They plummet again.
Falling.
He looks over at Crowley, worried, but the demon is grinning as if he hasn't a care in the cosmos. As if he is precisely where he wants to be.
Well. Crowley always did love to go too fast.
Aziraphale doesn't. He never has. He doesn't now. But he can't get off. He can't stop. He simply has to hold on and endure until the end. Up and down, faster and faster, everything going by too quickly for him to see, too rapidly for him to understand.
What is it with humans and their technology? Everything speeds by fast enough already. Why would they want to hurl themselves through the world even faster? Can they possibly enjoy this... this pointless headlong rush to nowhere?
He tries closing his eyes, but it doesn't help. He can still feel the world flying past. Like centuries slipping away, like civilizations rising and falling. Up and down, up and down, and always, unstoppably, forward. He knows it's ridiculous, knows there's nothing to be afraid of, but he can't help imagining the end of this ride as a final, fatal plunge off a cliff, into nothingness, when the track finally runs out.
If only the humans knew, truly knew, what lay ahead of them, would they be smiling and cheering and shrieking happily as they are? Would they want to hurtle themeslves faster and faster like this, or would they try everything they could to slow down, to stop, to stay?
Not that it matters. The entire world is rushing towards that cliff, and when the track finally does run out, he'll simply have to accept it. Have to pretend to be happy about it, to enjoy it every bit as much as Crowley wants him to enjoy this ride.
He hadn't realized he was even capable of feeling this ill. This... unanchored. He reaches out, unthinking, and grabs Crowley's hand as they rise, and rise, and rise, as they crest the last, impossibly tall hill. He feels Crowley's hand gripping his in return as they fall. He tries not to scream. He isn't entirely certain he succeeds.
And then...
And then they're at the end, safe. All the hills climbed, all the drops endured. They have not gone spinning off into nothingness. The world is still here. All around them are humans enjoying a pleasant Saturday, pursuing their amusements, eating their ice cream. Living their lives.
His hand is still in Crowley's. He ought to feel embarrassed by that. He doesn't.
"All right, angel?" Crowley says. His smile is bright, cheeky. You see?, that smile says. I knew we'd be all right. I knew you were up to it, angel.
"Yes," Aziraphale finds himself saying, as the safety bar releases and sets them free. He smiles back at Crowley. For reasons he does not understand, he feels grateful. "Yes, I do believe I am."