Friday the 13th, 2033
"You can't possibly be surprised," Aziraphale said to Crowley, matter-of-fact, as if this was not the single most excruciating sentence Crowley has ever heard in his six-thousand years alive.
"I am surprised." They were sitting in Crowley's—well, living room is a generous word for it. They were sitting in his… room, where he's got one huge, elaborate chair made of dark wood. He liked the way it framed him; it made him look cool, especially with the sunglasses. Right now, though, he had very much regretted the choice, because the last thing he wanted to do is look even more evil and demonic than the red hair and the black suit and the dark sunglasses suggested.
He thought about taking his sunglasses off. He decided against it. The only thing worse than dark, obscuring shades were bright, piercing snake eyes.
Aziraphale sniffed and looked away from Crowley, his mouth quivering in an unhappy line. He'd clasped his hands in front of him tightly. He'd miracled himself a chair, white and simple, which only served to make Crowley feel more ridiculous.
Aziraphale said the thing Crowley hated hearing him say, the thing Aziraphale seemed near-obsessed with: "I'm an angel! And you're a demon!"
Crowley suppressed a groan. Aziraphale might as well have recorded that line and pressed a button whenever he wanted to say it, and that would save him a good deal of breath. Sure, they had good conversations sometimes, but again and again and again, they found themselves back here.
"I thought we were on our own side," Crowley grumbled. He may as well have recorded that line himself and pressed it every time he wanted to say it, and that would save him a good deal of breath. Crowley was a broken record and Aziraphale was a broken record. They were two broken records in conversation.
"Well." Aziraphel's lips pouted. "Well." And then, like he didn't want to say it but he had to say it, "Apparently not."
Actually, Crowley thought about saying, you don't have to say it. By the way.
"It doesn't have to matter," Crowley tried lamely. Very lamely. "It might not even be true. Hell gave out some false matches, you know."
"Seems like quite a coincidence, don't you think?" Aziraphale still wasn't looking at him, still.
Per usual.
Crowley didn't say anything. He didn't have anything to say. Also, every time he tried to make a noise out of his throat, he felt tears stinging the back of his throat. It was absolutely ridiculous. Snakes didn't even cry. Did snakes cry? He was pretty sure they didn't.
Aziraphale didn't like long, tense silences. (Crowley liked them as a way of provocation; long, tense silences are great tools for sowing discord.) He said tentatively, "Your houseplants are lovely."
"Yes, thank you," Crowley said shortly.
Aziraphale tried again: "I didn't think you'd have such a—a green thumb."
Crowley wanted to be anywhere but there. Antarctica would be better. Alpha Centuri. Why did he reject Alpha Centuri again? Because Aziraphale wasn't there, that was why. And now he here was, going through the worst (and only) break-up of his life, and it wasn't even a list of grievances that separated them, but Hell's latest press release.
Crowley had always been convinced his life was somewhat of a joke, but this really took the cake. Of all the things. Beelzebub.
"I threaten my plants with death and destruction."
Aziraphale looked his way. And then away again. He worried the cuff of his sleeve between his fingers and huffed a breath. He would be absolutely terrible at poker if he ever tried to play, but of course, angels didn't gamble. "Wh-Oh. Yes. Is that what I heard? That seems—" He appeared to be attempting at stern, though all he landed was further distressed. "—cruel."
"As you so astutely observed, I am a demon," Crowley returned flatly.
"Crowley." Aziraphale seemed upset at Crowley for being upset with him. "We can't just ignore this."
Crowley hated seeing Aziraphale upset—he wanted to see Aziraphale smiling delightedly over sushi and fondly over at the musician playing on the corner and softly down at curious children. He wanted all of it, any of it. He even wanted to see Aziraphale's unquashable cheer as he performed his terrible magic act. He wanted to continue going through life side by side.
Aziraphale did not share this sentiment. Apparently.
"Yes we can," Crowley persisted.
"We're enemies."
"We've always known that!" Crowley tipped his head back to indicate an eye roll, since Aziraphale couldn't see his eyes. "That's nothing new. This doesn't have to change anything."
"I'm afraid that's not exactly—well, I think—"
Crowley spread out his arms and nearly knocked over the glass of water sitting untouched in front of Aziraphale. No one was allowed to say he didn't at least try to be a good host, even when he didn't have any food or drink in the apartment. "We've made it work for six thousand years!"
"Look at your arm, Crowley."
"What's some tattoo going to do, remind us to think of each other, always?" Crowley's voice wobbled embarrassingly, entirely ruining the effect of his attempted joke. Oh. Oh, no, he was actually crying.
It was so utterly unfair, being a demon. You always got the worst of both worlds.
Aziraphale looked stricken, and his voice went shrill and panicky. "Don't cry!" He seemed to realize what his voice was doing and softened. "Don't cry. Please don't."
Crowley didn't mean to say it, but it slipped out anyway: "I thought we were friends." He felt unbearably pathetic. "I should've known when you wouldn't run away to Alpha Centuri with me."
"Uh," said Aziraphale. "Of course we were. I mean, I didn't—I mean, haven't we always been? It's just, we're also very much enemies."
Crowley should've gotten used to it, by then. He hadn't.
"Or," continued Crowley, "When you would never let me drive you anywhere."
"Now, that was only because you drive too fast," Aziraphale objected, sounding further put out. At this point he might have been so far put out there wasn't much farther put out he could get. "And I did, sometimes. At the end of the world."
Crowley said, "Or when you didn't even tell me about the Anti-Christ when you found him."
This shut Aziraphale up soundly. Crowley looked at Aziraphale and Aziraphale looked at Crowley. Crowley, having swiped violently at his cheeks, was now, against all reason, smiling. Demonically. Aziraphale was now crying a little bit, his watery eyes finally spilling over. They were very shiny tears, like they were collecting light from the air around them. He was crying… holily.
"Well, I—Crowley, I apologized for that—you know I'm sorry—come, don't be upset—" Aziraphale made several nonsensical gestures.
"You're going to let down there tell you what to do?" Crowley's voice wobbled some more. "Come on, Angel. What happened to—to thwarting all devilish deeds?"
"I don't like this any more than you do," Aziraphale declared. It was a lot of conviction for something so obviously untrue. One of them was accepting it. The other wasn't. It was easily disproven.
"Uh, yes you do. I mean, no you don't. Or—yes you do."
Aziraphale pulled back, something akin to offense flashing across his features. Absolutely ridiculous, getting offended over the truth. Crowley thought angels were supposed to like truth.
"I don't," Aziraphale insisted. "I don't. I simply have more respect and trust in the ineffable natures of the universe." He was clearly pulling it out of his ass, saying it not because he believed it but because he didn't want Crowley to be right.
Oh well, too bad for Aziraphale. Crowley was right. Crowley swiped violently at his tears again, and this time they mostly listened to him and stopped slipping down his cheeks. Crowley didn't even want to be right.
"You always cared about Heaven more than me." Crowley wasn't sure why he decided to say it—perhaps because he had nothing to lose anymore, Aziraphale was it. "I'd have thrown over Hell for you if you ran away with me."