Thursday, August 15, 2002 9:27:31 AM
hidoko Matsumoto (aka v0id)
email: voidmatsumoto@yahoo.co.uk
archive: if you really want, please ask. Scheduled to be at http://xz0ne.cjb.net
pairing: Crowley x Aziraphale
notes: Yay! I swear Medical Certificates belong to heaven. School was brought about by hell. Erm, and for a moment I can't decide if spraying harmful alkaline substances into your eye belongs to either. Maybe it's just human.
Disclaimer: copyright of
some characters are monopolised by a cooperative of neilgaiman and terrypratchett…
angst, PG.
"But I Can't Help The
Feeling. I Could Blow Through The Ceiling. If I Just Turn And RUN and it
wears me out./ if I could be who you wanted all the time…"
-- fake plastic trees,
radiohead
The angel had never
understood the demon's preoccupation with sleep, but he had realized why,
now, as he had cried and allowed himself to be lulled into the dark chasm.
There, there had
been no hurt. Just eternal rest, or at least what would have seemed like
eternal, if he hadn't woken up suddenly and bolted straight up. It was
because of the dreams.
Dreams that had nagged
vaguely at Aziraphale's consciousness, and were blown full-fledged into
desires in his dream.
Aziraphale glanced up helplessly,
wondering if the Metatron had anything to say about everything. He didn't
want to fall, but it was hard*. It had never anybody's fault, that wandering
in the realms of dreams had caused him to see everything as they were,
purely, in raw forms of emotions and guilt.
And Aziraphale didn't
want to wake up, at all, upon realizing that it was the only escape he
could be capable of.
He didn't want to
wake up and pray.
He knew all too well
that confession wasn't enough.
Wandering. Crowley
walked along the street, lonely, dismal, and small. He mewed desperately,
and found a corner of the street to cuddle up to. In a small, dire corner,
tired legs wrapped against his body.
He closed his
eyes, and waited for the body to expire. It was cold, so cold. And that
current reality pinned him down into a powerless little kitten awaiting
his fate.
An angel stepped
out of nowhere.
"I'm here to fetch
you," he said, and smiled.
And Crowley had
smiled. The figure seemed to glow with radiance, and whitish blonde hair
shimmered in the sunlight.
It had been long
ago, Aziraphale remembered. He was wandering the universe with his other
half.
He gazed into
his eyes, and saw his own reflection in the clear mirrors.
And he smiled.
He was walking
through the beginning with his other half—they had no names for companionship.
It wasn't friendship, or love. Just companionship, the way two souls felt
complete when they were together, as if they were previously one**.
Crowley purred.
He rubbed himself against soft hands. It was warm and white, and Crowley
had never felt so comfortable, even though he usually hated white as much
as he hated light.
But this time
it was okay. He was a cat.
He wormed his
way out of the immense gentility, and soon he was chasing a butterfly.
He fell, into the ditch. And wailed, and wailed.
Hands picked him
up and stuffed him into a suitcase.
He scratched against
the suitcase. Let me out… Let me out… Let me out…!
Let me out, damnit!
Don't leave me,
he said.
I have to, the
other's face was contorted with sadness that could have drenched the entire
universe. I can't stay with you.
Ignorance is bliss.
You can't win just because you know more. Just because—
Why can't we try?
he retorted, I would like to have a chance. So would Lucifer, and Hastur.
Pain stabbed at
his being, You would follow Lucifer than follow me?
He shook his head,
It's not… Lucifer. It's the choice. I want to be given a choice.
We all have the
choice. It's just that we don't choose to do it.
If we all have
the choice, then why does God say to defy him is a sin?
We have the choice
but we have to face the consequences. It's ineffable. It's the way it works.
Well, then I'd
like to see what's the worst he can do to me. Destroy me? I could die,
I could afford to. I didn't ask to be created, for eternity and henceforth.
He touched Aziraphale gently, stars twinkling in cosmic hands, You don't
understand, do you?
I can't.
I know.
Why don't you
want to live? Existence is okay. We can be happy. We are happy.
He pulled his
hand away. Those eyes, twinkling like a thousand nebulas, fell away. I
don't think I can be happy this way.
Is this all not
enough? What is it that you desire?
…
…Can't you live
for me?
…
Am I not enough?
…
Please.
…Sorry.
Don't leave me.
Please.
Don't…
Something pressed
against his chest painfully. He felt as if he was submerged in a thousand
miles' deep of water, struggling to surface, without even knowing why.
Aziraphale'd forgotten
to breathe, but that was okay.
He woke to the soft
air wrapping around him, as opposed to the raw mental energy that had existed
in Dreams.
He struggled to remember
the face of the other angel. It had been from long ago, he remembered.
He just couldn't place his hands on whom it had been, that had caused him
so much grief and loss.
AZIRAPHALE, WAKE UP.
YOU ARE NOT MEANT TO SLEEP. SLEEP IS AN INDULGENCE THAT YOU CANNOT AFFORD.
Aziraphale raised
his pale eyes, and saw the Metatron, "Good morning."
The Metatron would
have been frowning if Aziraphale could see him frown. Then again, the Metatron
had never sounded friendly after the confrontation in the would-have-been
Apocalypse. Especially not on mornings.
"Sir, is there anything
I should be doing?"
Metatron tried to
say it as loftily as possible (only ending up sounding like he had something
stuck up what would have been equivalent of an a-ho), THERE ARE SIMPLY
MORE THINGS TO DO BESIDES SLEEPING. OUR DEAR LORD HAS PLANNED THE NEXT
GREAT PLAN…
Briefly Aziraphale
wondered if he could get an insurance before that, in case the bookstore
was destroyed and never restored.
AND THOU SHALT NOT
SLEEP.
"It wasn't mentioned
in the holy book," Aziraphale mumbled.
WELL, NOW IT IS.
FOR ANGELS ONLY. UM. WHERE WAS I? OH YES. THE NEXT GREAT PLAN. THE ANTICHRIST
MIGHT HAVE LOST HIS POWERS, BUT WE HAVE FOUND ANOTHER SUITABLE CANDIDATE.
Aziraphale wondered
if it was Crowley's job instead, but chose not to comment.
YOUR NEXT TASK IS
TO UNCOVER HIS MASK, AND TO INSTALL GOODWILL IN HIM—HE MIGHT BE GROWN UP
NOW, BUT NONETHELESS, REDEMPTION IS NEVER TOO LATE.
Aziraphale was glad
that ineffability was never mentioned. "Oh dear… Where is the Antichrist?"
THAT'S FOR HIM TO
KNOW AND YOU TO FIND OUT… BY THE WAY, THEY ARE KNOWN AS MARILYN MANSON
(AND SOMETIMES THE SPOOKY KIDS). REMEMBER TO GET AN AUTOGRAPH.
Poof.
"Oh." Aziraphale
sighed. He thought of Crowley. He should be contacting Crowley now, he
thought miserably. But how could he when Crowley seemed to be mad at him?
Also, nothing justified the implications of…
He couldn't think
properly. Maybe he should be confessing to God, his father whom he dearly
loved. However, insofar as Aziraphale had lived his life, the Almighty
was never seen to be mingling with angels. Only the Metatron was to speak
to them. But how could one talk to God?
Aziraphale prayed.
Forgiveness. Please.
I've done something wrong. Please forgive me, please. And it hurts me to
even say what I did wrong…
Look, said a voice,
and it wasn't the Metatron, Voice of God. It was somewhere on the inside
of his angel-brain speaking, if He hasn't told Metatron that you were a
sinner, and that you were fallen, you haven't sinned.
But I've sinned.
I… I allowed Crowley--
You have not. Crowley
tempted you.
And I gave in--
Look, if you had
fallen, it would have been a lot more painful, wouldn't it?
Crowley wouldn't
speak to me anymore, he concluded miserably, choosing to avoid the issue
altogether. Afterall, there was always Crowley, who could hardly be ignored—he
was the only one who was there.
The Other Half. Aziraphale
felt something that would have been his heart ache, upon remembrance of
the dream. It was showered with nostalgia like the night sky, bits of tears
glimmering upon unfolding itself. Those events… Aziraphale had hardly remembered
what happened. And he could hardly remember who was the Other Half…
If his Other Half
wouldn't stay for him, he concluded, Crowley wouldn't. After all, the Other
Half was an angel, and Crowley was a demon…
No harm trying. Besides,
he had left the kitten at Crowley's place. If there was one thing that
he had to face Crowley for, it was some other lifeform's fate.
Crowley slept, and
he slept. He was only awakened by the loud mews and the sound of a rolling
suitcase***, and the feeling of a holy presence near his apartment.
He willed the door
open.
The angel stood at
the door bravely. Crowley noticed that he was still wearing the red sweater
that he had wished upon him. The red contrasted very well with the platinum
blonde hair and those ice-blue eyes. "Aziraphale."
"Crowley," said the
angel, as a flash of pain crossed his face, "Where is the kitten?"
Crowley glanced at
the suitcase. The angel wordlessly advanced towards it, picked it up, and
turned to leave.
"Aziraphale."
He paused, and turned
to face Crowley.
"Do you think you
need some antiseptic?"
Aziraphale shook
his head, and smiled wryly, "Angels can heal."
"Oh." There was an
awkward pause.
"…Thanks for the
sweater. I like it very much, Crowley…"
"You're welcome..."
"Crowley, the second
apocalypse is near."
"I know-- Aziraphale,
you know it's my job."
"I know, and I'll
do mine, too." The angel smiled, and disappeared away into the corridor,
and down the stairs.
"Thanks anyway,"
whispered Crowley.
~~~~
*Particularly where alcohol
and a certain demon was involved. Well, he had the potential anyway.
** It wasn't quite as difficult
to find the other half of one's soul in those days. The troops had freshly
broken quite a few souls after they excavated the Universe in the first
war.
*** It took a lot of effort
on part of the kitten, given that suitcases were rectangular.
C&C welcomed.^_^