The sun was a bloody ball of fire as it slowly sank toward the horizon. The
heavy air picked up reddening leaves and swirled them in a sudden breeze.
Sky was darkening already, the heaving clouds drawing together.
No word was spoken by two figures outlined black by the fading light. One
shape was shorter, and had curly hair, and was holding its hands folded
behind the tense back. The other figure, taller and somehow darker was
standing nearby in a slouched position, its head turned towards the lighter
companion.
"Then this is it, eh Aziraphale?" A harsh, deep voice interrupted the uncomfortable silence. "Yes, I guess so it is." The smaller figure sighed. This was it. One phrase, six short words, and they held more than could ever be said by Aziraphale. But nothing more needed to be said. The end was coming and they both knew it. Not a word either of the enemies turned friends could utter would change that. The end was coming; the already tipped balance between the two Greater Forces would rush like a stormed ocean on people and the two messengers of said Forces were going to be swept under the first waves.
The short creature hasn't tried to contact his superiors; he knew that if he was needed he would be called anytime anywhere. But his wasn't. And he knew what that silence meant. So he still enjoyed his days as much as he could, and watched his shop, and talked to the only other creature that stuck around as long as he did – Crowley. Crowley was a demon, Spawn of Devil, pure evil and all that jazz. But for years that passed without a home the messenger of Heaven became more tolerant towards his opponent, who was closer to angel than the superior ethereal beings that rejected him. Crowley was there since the beginning. The beginning. Crowley was there and for an angel, stuck on unfriendly chessboard of God, the demon was the closest thing he ever had.
As for Crowley, well, he was a demon. That explains everything. He met the angel thousands of years ago, and they were lost to each other for centuries after that. When they met again, the demon tried to take advantage of the pure-hearted angel. But he couldn't, because he had to get closer in order to find his opponent's weakest spot and when he got close enough he would not be able to hurt the angel. Ever. He wouldn't let himself or anyone hurt his angel. After all, only Aziraphale stuck around long enough and such time-weathered friendship could not be easily thrown away.
The small angel broke the deafening silence. "If the end is near... we should make use of the time left to us. But there isn't much time left anymore." Crowley knew that. He took the angel's hand in his own, saying "But we still have each other, don't we?" He embraced his angel suddenly, giving him the warmth that both lacked for so long. The angel slumped into his friend's arms, wishing that the time wasted could return to them both. If they only could...
Two silhouettes faded into one in their last embrace, clinging onto each other as their last hope. They were together in these final days of existence, and neither of them wanted to let go.
But then Crowley released the angel form his hold, and the short angel suddenly sat down on the grass and the starting rain painted tears on his cheeks, mixing with tears of his own.
"Then this is it, eh Aziraphale?" A harsh, deep voice interrupted the uncomfortable silence. "Yes, I guess so it is." The smaller figure sighed. This was it. One phrase, six short words, and they held more than could ever be said by Aziraphale. But nothing more needed to be said. The end was coming and they both knew it. Not a word either of the enemies turned friends could utter would change that. The end was coming; the already tipped balance between the two Greater Forces would rush like a stormed ocean on people and the two messengers of said Forces were going to be swept under the first waves.
The short creature hasn't tried to contact his superiors; he knew that if he was needed he would be called anytime anywhere. But his wasn't. And he knew what that silence meant. So he still enjoyed his days as much as he could, and watched his shop, and talked to the only other creature that stuck around as long as he did – Crowley. Crowley was a demon, Spawn of Devil, pure evil and all that jazz. But for years that passed without a home the messenger of Heaven became more tolerant towards his opponent, who was closer to angel than the superior ethereal beings that rejected him. Crowley was there since the beginning. The beginning. Crowley was there and for an angel, stuck on unfriendly chessboard of God, the demon was the closest thing he ever had.
As for Crowley, well, he was a demon. That explains everything. He met the angel thousands of years ago, and they were lost to each other for centuries after that. When they met again, the demon tried to take advantage of the pure-hearted angel. But he couldn't, because he had to get closer in order to find his opponent's weakest spot and when he got close enough he would not be able to hurt the angel. Ever. He wouldn't let himself or anyone hurt his angel. After all, only Aziraphale stuck around long enough and such time-weathered friendship could not be easily thrown away.
The small angel broke the deafening silence. "If the end is near... we should make use of the time left to us. But there isn't much time left anymore." Crowley knew that. He took the angel's hand in his own, saying "But we still have each other, don't we?" He embraced his angel suddenly, giving him the warmth that both lacked for so long. The angel slumped into his friend's arms, wishing that the time wasted could return to them both. If they only could...
Two silhouettes faded into one in their last embrace, clinging onto each other as their last hope. They were together in these final days of existence, and neither of them wanted to let go.
But then Crowley released the angel form his hold, and the short angel suddenly sat down on the grass and the starting rain painted tears on his cheeks, mixing with tears of his own.