One thing that the stories always forget, is that angels and demons are really just normal, Crowley mused.
It always said that angels were powerful, holy, mystical creatures. That they warded off evil with the blink of an eye, and glowed with pure good. They saved souls and flew around with huge, white wings that radiated pureness.
And it was the opposite with demons. Always, they were sinful, inhuman, vile beasts, that tempted and cheated and lied. They had eyes that were dark as night and hissed like animals.
It was all so silly. Crowley didn't see where all those myths had even come from.
Aziraphale looked over at his companion, who was staring out into the stars, deep in thought. The tiny pinpricks of light swirled around him, his sunglasses reflecting them and looking like tiny galaxies.
Stars have a tendency to make even the shallowest of people feel deep, and since they were two beings who practically knew all of humanity, they were feeling rather philosophical. Still, they tried to hide it, firmly looking away from each other and thinking their own thoughts.
The angel glanced over to Crowley, and nudged him, snapping him out of his reverie.
"Are you alright, my dear?" He asked. The demon nodded, pushing his glasses up with the tip of a finger.
"Yeah." He muttered. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
He sighed. "Just about the nature of humanity and the universe." He replied, smirking a little. "Nothing big."
Aziraphale gave a small smile, looking up at the same stars that Crowley was staring up at.
"Like what?" He enquired, looking towards his companion.
"Well, I dunno. Just…humans are weird." He sighed. "They always describe us weirdly, you know? Your side is always the good side. Mine is always bad." After a few seconds of silence, he mumbled: "Nevermind."
"You know that's not true, though." Aziraphale said, after a while.
"Yes, but they don't."
The angel frowned. "Since when have you cared about humans, anyway?"
Crowley let out a small laugh. "I do live on Earth, angel. Of course I care about them, even if it is only a little."
"I don't like the way I'm depicted in stories, either." Aziraphale added. "All holy and perfect and powerful. As much as I'd like it to be true, it's rather silly."
Crowley looked over at the angel, and realized that he was right. Angels weren't all powerful, and weren't all holy, and weren't all perfect.
Angels wore too much tartan and smelled like old books. They had eyes the colour of clouds and owned bookstores covered in dust.
Angels had golden hair that always got in the way. They got drunk too often and pretended they didn't.
And this angel, well, he loved a demon.
And Aziraphale looked over to Crowley, and realized that he was right. Demons weren't inhuman, and weren't full of sin.
Demons wore sunglasses all the time, even at night. They owned too many plants and listened to Queen.
Demons liked feeding ducks and hated being alone. They drove a Bentley and had eyes like the golden sun.
And this demon loved an angel.
And they were both so ordinary. Just two normal people, who went out and fed the ducks, and got drunk every Thursday. Sometimes you could imagine the angel sitting on a park bench, feeding the ducks and reading his book. Or perhaps you could see the demon, driving his Bentley and humming along to the music.
And maybe you could see the way they looked at each other, the forgotten stares that they never talked about.
One thing that the stories always forget, is that angels and demons are really just normal.