Hello, my dears. Have you missed me?

Well, might as well cut to the chase. 'Tis the season for gifting all of you with more drabbly angst.

If I get around to it, I might take a shot at writing something festive and dare I say...cheerful. [shudder]

It is an indisputable fact that in time, all things must come to an end. Seasons come and go. People are born and people die. Such is the nature of life. But what most people do not realize is that the very earth on which we stand is a false constant. In time, the earth too will pass away. It is said that we will neither know the day nor the hour when the earth will finally cease to be.

There is a reason for this.

When the time does come for the world to pass, time and the measurement thereof will long since be irrelevant. All that will matter to the inhabitants of this tiny blue planet will be survival. There have been, in the past, great battles between countries that we have labeled "world wars".

These will be nothing in comparison to the great last battle.

The last days on earth will be spent much like the first, a desperate survival of the fittest in which sides are not taken. It's every man for himself. All but our basic primal needs will be ignored. Some think that the world will end by some great supernatural force more or less pressing a button and ending it quickly and painlessly. This will not be so.

Humanity will bring about its own destruction.

Only after the last of us are dead will Good and Evil arrive to fight over our immortal souls.

An angel and a demon both wandered away from their respective sides in the Great Battle, disinterested in fighting for something they had long since lost their belief in. An immeasurable sadness filled their hearts, for they had spent most of their existence living among the civilizations whose remnants lay scattered about like refuse. A ruined building here, some shattered fragments there—that was all that was left of the world they had come to know and love.

Neither was really sure where they were—the landscape they now traversed could have been anywhere. The land had been beaten down and destroyed into a uniformly ugly wasteland with a blood-red sky as the backdrop.

They met—though they weren't planning to—at the top of a hill, surveying the damage with pained expressions.

"I can't bear this," said the angel, his voice cracking with grief. "All of this—centuries of work, of progress, of life—all wiped away as if it were dirt on the bottom of their shoes."

"Yeah," agreed the demon with a strained sigh. "They never understood. But then again, they were never really here. They never experienced it! How could they know what they were taking away?"

"They had to," the angel sighed. "It was ineffable. Do you think I enjoyed seeing how people treated each other in those last days? It was horrible!"

"Not really," the demon replied. "It was just like…in the beginning. They came full circle, is all."

"I suppose so." The angel cast a glance at the ruin of a monument that had once stood as a testament to man's achievement. This wasn't like it had been in centuries past, back when the earth was still alive, when he would come across the ruins of an ancient civilization that he had been around to witness. Civilizations rose and fell, but they never disappeared entirely. They dissipated into new groups that would form new societies. But not now. There was nothing left to rise from the ashes, and there never would be again. The promise of an eternity without pain or sorrow seemed so trivial to him now—and he was supposed to be fighting for it. He had lost the will.

The demon was in much the same state of mind, though he wouldn't admit it. Here he was, the embodiment of evil on earth for millennia, finally flanked by his brethren who were ready to fight to the death to win over the souls of humanity, be they damned or not. They would see to it that every soul would become tarnished and twisted, until it was ready to join their ranks and hold dominion over all.

But, he thought, no other of his kind had ever spent time on earth. Only he had. He had seen humanity's greatest triumphs and failures, their tenacity, their strength. He admired their ability to struggle through a mortal life with hope and faith. He had even—dare he say it—cheered for a few of the truly righteous.

He may have Fallen, but there was still a hint of the angelic in him.

Maybe he wasn't a true demon after all.

Angel and demon surveyed the battlegrounds. The sound of the clash of holy and infernal steel rang through the air, and there was the metallic smell of blood.

It may come as a surprise to some, but in the end—be we human, angel, or demon—we all bleed red.

"Angel?" queried the demon.

His holy counterpart turned to face him with a gaze of cerulean blue, his eyes calm and steady. "Yes, old friend?"

"I was thinking—I don't really want to see how this plays out."

"Neither do I." agreed the angel. "I don't think—I don't think I'd want to live in a world without you in it."

"Me neither," said the demon, hand reaching for the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip. "So," he mused, letting the thought hand in the air.

"You're not suggesting…" the angel said warily, fingers brushing the golden hilt of his own blade.

"Yes."

"Together?"

"Together," affirmed his adversary. He knelt on the ground and spread his wings around him, forming a shield. The angel followed suit. Their wings were a protective barrier between them and the ugliness of a land laid waste. Together, here within their feathery shelter, they were just two old friends coming to the end.

They drew their swords, careful not to touch each other until they were ready.

"Are you ready?" the angel asked.

"Wait," the demon said. A hand reached out and drew a classically beautiful face closer to his angular one, eyes shining with unshed tears. Gently, he kissed the angel on the cheek. To his surprise, he returned the gesture.

"I love you, my friend…my brother," the angel breathed. "Dear Crowley."

"Aziraphale," whispered Crowley, as though the name were a caress. "I'm ready now."

"Me too."

Simultaneously, gleaming, yet-unsullied blades were drawn from sheathes and plunged into soft flesh. Enemy gazed at enemy, hands grasping at their wounds, blood spilling over delicate fingers, eyes pleading, saying a thousand things that words never could.

They held each other to the very end, hoping against hope that they would not be destroyed, but there would be a place for them on some greater plane, beyond their respective hierarchies. There, if such a place existed, they would remain together for all eternity in brotherhood and love.

And with that thought they departed, their souls leaving their bodies like two shooting stars headed for the vast and brilliant skies.

Yes, this does read as a bit more slashy than my usual fare, but I tried to downplay it because I still see them as blood brothers (I think that's the term?). I dunno, they seem to have a sort of "Frodo and Sam" relationship, if that makes any sense...hence the title. They would go to the ends of the earth (and beyond) for each other.

As always, reviews and CC appreciated!