Angel and demon perched together on the wall over the Eastern Gate, some time after Adam and Eve had left the Garden. No one had told either of them to do anything else, and they'd decided that this was as good a place as any to pass the time. It was night, cool and quiet, blanketed in a quiet broken only by occasional amphibian humming or the muted song of a tardy twilight bird. After watching the sunset, they had turned back to the East where the sky was blackest to talk of everything and nothing in the gathering night. Crawly was slumped in his typical posture, leaning with crossed arms on top of the wall, and Aziraphale sat neatly atop it, ankles crossed, airing out his wings.

"Do you miss being.. well, downstairs?" the angel asked awkwardly during a lull in the conversation, "I mean, not a lot of company up here, that is. Could get boring rather quickly."

"Hell, you mean?" Crawly drawled, glancing over at Aziraphale, "Nah. Everything's a bit of a mess down there. And it's not exactly meant to be fun, you know."

"Do you… do you miss Heaven?" This question was far more tentative than the first, and was clearly what Aziraphale had really wanted to ask. His clasped fingers fidgeted. Crawly straightened, and considered Aziraphale for a long, silent moment. The fidgeting intensified. Then,

"Nah," Crawly repeated flatly, and turned his face eastward again, "Things are a bit of a mess up there too. I prefer it here. It's not complicated, y'know? Just me and the animals and a couple of people out there somewhere. Well, and you, of course." He shrugged. "Company's not so bad."

"I just— well," Aziraphale struggled to find the words to express what he was trying to say. Crawly had been his only experience of a demon so far, and he couldn't quite understand what was supposed to be so evil about him, though he was sure he must be. Then there was the matter of their previous acquaintance, and how he couldn't shake the image of the angel he had known. "I know it's not the same, but I haven't been up to Heaven in quite a while either, and until you appeared I was finding it a bit lonely. So I supposed I just wanted to say that I can sort of understand, how" —he cast about for the right words— "How it can feel to.. to look up at the stars and think of what you've left behind."

"No!" Crawly snapped; the angel's words had triggered something inside him, and he turned sharply, ragged black wings flaring into manifestation of their own accord. In the pale light of the moon his face was contorted with rage, and his voice crackled with venom as he hissed, pounding his fist into the stone of the wall, "No you don't! No, you won't ever understand, not ever." Aziraphale jumped back in astonishment, and found his hand reaching for the hip where he had used to carry the flaming sword. With a massive effort, Crawly drew in a shuddering breath, and turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as the other waved vaguely at Aziraphale.

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I didn't mean to scare you. It's just," Crowley dropped his hand, and with both splayed on top of the wall, turned his face upwards, opening his golden eyes to gaze into the nightblack sky. "I can't see the stars," he said quietly, and Aziraphale could see the strain at the corner of Crawly's eyes as he tried to bring them into focus, "They took that from me in the Fall. She took that from me." He glanced to the side and pointed at his face with one long finger and the hint of a rueful smile. "Snake eyes, you see? And there's nothing I can do to change them," he looked up again, brows pinching together, "I've tried."

Aziraphale looked at Crawly aghast, both at the confession and of the cruelty inflicted upon him behind it. He had been there with Crawly when the then-angel had created the stars, when he'd wound up the Universe itself and spoken it into being. He'd seen the nebulae, planets, moons, suns, and all other celestial bodies come into that universe, and his companion's joy and wonder at their being. And now, not to even be able to see the faint echoes of them? He could not imagine the pain. Nor could he imagine why God would have done such a thing.

"Oh, Crawly," Aziraphale said at last, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Carefully he reached out and, placing his hand on top of Crawly's, squeezed gently. Crawly looked down at it, then withdrew his hand, placed it on top of Aziraphale's, and squeezed back before clasping both his hands in front of himself.

"Why should you? Anyway, nothing you can do about it either."

"Would you… would you like me to describe them to you?"

It was Crawly's turn to look astonished this time, and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he managed to reply,

"That would be nice, Angel. Thank you."