"You know, when I said don't expect less rubbish'", Crowley began, "I didn't realise...Uhm."
"It's. Goodness. This is very..."
The angel trailed off helplessly.
"Crowded?", suggested Crowley.
"Quite", agreed Aziraphale.
They kept hovering in the air a few hundred meters above the mountain, watching the procession with bafflement. Crowley wasn't sure if they were several groups or one big one, but they formed an unbroken line of slow-moving coloured dots from the very top along the narrow ridge leading up to it all the way down to the next lowest peak and beyond.
"Should we come back tonight?"
"Do you think that would help?"
"Maybe? I don't think they'd attempt the climb at night. I mean it's already half a suicide mission during the day, trying it during the night would be insane. You'd never make it in the dark."
"You're probably right", said Aziraphale, just as one of the climbers in the middle of the line stumbled and fell; an orange jacket between two bright green ones. "But. Well. Truth to be told I'm not at all sure about these good people's sanity at the moment."
Crowley snorted. He didn't need to turn his head to know Aziraphale was fidgeting next to him. The merest hint of a warm breeze caressed Crowley's hand as the miracle rushed past, barely noticeable in the cold unless you knew it was going to happen. His skin prickled for just a moment.
The orange dot got to their feet again and kept moving.
"There", said Aziraphale. Then: "They'll all make it, of course.
It was a statement as much as a dare.
"Course", said Crowley. He wouldn't have, even if he'd had the heart and he didn't. It wasn't anywhere near the Spanish Inquisition, but it was awful nevertheless. He wasn't sure whether the fact that they were mostly doing it to themselves was consolation or not.
Aziraphale sighed.
"Very well. Tonight, then", he said.
"How about some hot cocoa until then? My treat", said Crowley and grinned at the smile that spread on the angel's face.
"That sounds lovely."
-
One cocoa turned into several, turned into breakfast, then lunch, then dinner and a few bottles of wine and then they did it all over again. Several times. Because, as it turned out, humans sometimes did climb mountains in the dark. Apparently lower temperatures made the ice more stable. Who knew.
Eventually a series of blizzards had forced the climbers to abandon their hubris – if not for good then at least until the next bout of fairer weather, when some of them would undoubtedly try again.
For now, however, Crowley and Aziraphale were finally alone on top of the wold.
More or less.
"Still a bit...wossname. Macabre", the demon finally acknowledged the elephant on the summit.
"Quite so."
They'd walked the last bit on foot, just for the novelty and because, well, they could.
There had been a surprising number of bodies still on the mountain.
None of them had been moving.
This had been somewhat less surprising, but quite jarring nevertheless.
An icy gale whipped Crowley's dark hair first into and then out of bis face. He blinked and the wind around him subsided considerably. He took a deep breath, inhaling the clear, freezing air and sternly told his body not to make such a bloody fuss about the lack of oxygen.
Aziraphale reached out and tucked a loose strand behind Crowley's ear. Neither of them needed to feel the wind or the cold, but they had each left just enough of it to have the right atmosphere.
The weather had considerately cleared up at the summit, leaving them a good view of the surrounding mountains; rising from the clouds around them like snow-covered islands in a sea of white. Above them millions of stars winked out one after another as they were swallowed by the growing light of the dawn.
After a while Aziraphale said quietly: "I do wish I could do something for those poor bodies. It doesn't seem right to just leave them here. But I can't think of a way to get them down that won't get noticed lest I miracle the less visible ones directly into a grave and don't tell anyone. And that might still get me a reprimand from above."
Crowley shrugged.
" 'S just bodies", he said.
"Yes, I suppose", sighed Aziraphale. "Still."
They sat a little way off from what was technically the highest point with their backs turned towards the ascent. Neither of them were particularly bothered by corpses, not after 60 centuries, but, well. It tended to spoil the view.
Crowley idly picked up a piece of ice and threw it over the edge.
"Could always get rid of some of the rubbish", he said. "They'd hardly track that."
"Oh. Yes. Thank you, my dear. What a good idea."
The angel smiled and snapped his fingers. Nothing changed in their immediate surroundings, but Crowley knew the mountain had just gotten significantly cleaner. He spit at an oddly shaped stone to his right or perhaps it was ice. The spit froze seconds after it had hit its target. Aziraphale tut-tutted with mild disapproval. Crowley smirked, but only a little.
"Oh come on, that hardly counts. It's practically water."
"It's the principle of the thing", Aziraphale said primly.
He did not shove Crowley, because angels would never stoop so low as to do something as undignified as shoving their friends for being mildly annoying about something inconsequential, but his tone perhaps suggested – to someone who had known him for six thousand years and was listening closely – a verbal sort of shove.
Crowley grinned and threw another shard of ice into the nothingness below them before resting his elbows on his knees. Aziraphale did the same. He tried to follow the piece with his eyes but it was too small and he lost sight of it almost immediately when a gust of wind blew it to the side.
"Have you ever been to the moon?", Crowley asked suddenly.
Contrary to the stars its pale form was till faintly visible against the lightening sky. It was nearly full. Or had it just started waning? Aziraphale always got it mixed up.
"No", he admitted. "Didn't you go once? Uh..." He scrunched up his nose, trying to remember a date. "Sometime in the sixties? Seventies?"
"Sixty-nine", said Crowley. "Right after the Americans did it. Wanted to see what all the fuss was about."
"And?"
"The moon itself? Not that interesting to be honest", said Crowley. "Spectacular view of the Earth though. Bloody brilliant."
"I think I'd like to see that", said Aziraphale.
"We'll put it on the list", said Crowley.
"Which reminds me", said Aziraphale, pulled a wrinkled piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket, pressed it against a thigh and crossed out: 'Stand on top of Sagarmāthā''.
"Technically we're sitting", nitpicked Crowley.
"We were standing before", Aziraphale replied evenly and the demon had to concede the point.
They stared into the distance again. Crowley tried to count the mountain peaks but gave up after losing count for the third time. Aziraphale hummed a piece of classical music that Crowley didn't recognise.
"Do you want to go today?", the angel then asked him.
"What? To the moon?"
Aziraphale nodded. Crowley tilted his head to the aide and thought about it for a moment.
"Sure", he said eventually. "Why not. Let's do it today. We can go right after the sunrise if you want."
"After breakfast", said Aziraphale firmly. "I refuse to space travel on an empty stomach."
"Obviously", said Crowley, chuckling, and put the list away.
Aziraphale watched him solemnly.
"You know", he began, "it has occurred to me that our bucket lists don't seem to be growing any shorter. We keep adding things as we go along."
"Huh", said Crowley. "Well, we keep thinking of things we want to do. Are you bothered by it? I know the bucket list was my idea."
Aziraphale smiled.
"Not at all, my dear. Just a thought. I quite enjoy having an endless bucket."
"I told you, that's not what–" He saw the expression in Aziraphale's eyes. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny."
Crowley briefly stuck out his tongue at Aziraphale before once more picking up a piece of ice to fling over the edge. It sparkled as it fell.
"Oh, here comes the sun." Aziraphale broke into an even wider smile. "Hello."
They watched quietly as it rose over the horizon; its light flowing over the endless mountain tops like a wave, painting them a burning blood red gold.
Almost as if a giant hand had carelessly spilled a whole bucket of it.