Full Title: Lies to Tell People Who Might Have a Problem with the Truth

They weren't friends, not in the least. They were just two people who'd happened to have known each other of a long time and were sort of used to each other. They didn't really care overmuch about each other. It would be all the same if they were replaced by another angel or demon, or if they'd never even met in the first place. They wouldn't even miss each other if they were separated on a permanent basis.

All their time spent together on Earth meant very little to either of them. All those times getting drunk together—that was just for the sake of not getting drunk alone. All those long, heavy conversations—well, it wasn't as if they had anyone else they could talk to, was it? If Crowley had another demon to talk to, or if Aziraphale had another angel to talk to, they'd that opportunity any day. Really. They didn't even like each other.

The Arrangement was a farce, of course. It had only been instated to make sure that each of them stayed out of the other's business and out of their way—and, of course, to ward off the threat of inconvenient discorporations. The fact that they'd both ended up in London, despite this, was purely accidental. Besides, they both liked the place. Why should either one of them move just because the other was too stubborn or stupid to keep away?

The fact that they seemingly willingly sought out each other's company also meant very little. It was out of boredom, mostly. You got lonely being the only ethereal or occult Being on the planet, so you don't really have any other choice but to seek out the only other Being who even slightly knows what you're talking about or where you're coming from. Even if he is your enemy.

But they weren't friends. No, no, no. Demons don't make friends. Angels don't play favorites.

The fact that Aziraphale was the first person to whom Crowley showed off the Bentley meant nothing. The fact that Aziraphale called Crowley to mourn every time he sold a book was likewise inconsequential. There was nothing significant about their dinner-or-lunch dates or the fact that they ate off of each other's plates at these meals. And you could easily wave off all the times they'd shirked their duties as Representatives of Heaven and Hell to spend time with each other with the simple phrase 'Know Your Enemy.' None of those things meant anything. Crowley and Aziraphale were neither better nor worse, not changed at all, by these encounters.

The biggest proof of their non-friendship was their little spectacle at the non-Apocalypse. Being godfathers to the Antichrist, defying Heaven and Hell, standing by one another at the very brink of Armageddon—that was all driven by pure selfishness. They were thinking of themselves, not each other. They were thinking about how they personally did not want the world to end. The fact that their counterpart agreed with their opinion was a mere convenience. It could have been anyone, and it wouldn't have made a difference. Neither of them made Earth more enjoyable for the other. Really. They weren't friends. Honest.

And for God's sake, dismiss the declarations of affection they made as they prepared to face Satan. It's amazing what stress and mortal terror will make a person say.

(A/N)

Well. Hmm. What can I say about this?

Well, I always love the GOfics where someone makes an offhand comment about how Aziraphale and Crowley are such good friends, and Crowley reflexively says "We're not friends," and Aziraphale just gives him a fond look because they both know the truth. :3 This stemmed somewhere from that kind of idea.

Hope you didn't hate it!

Much love,
Miyazaki A2