Not the Heavens. Just… the sky, all the glittering splendour of it, whether by day or by night. It changed moment to moment, never the same. He rather liked it for that reason. Not stagnant or fixed, like the Heavens. Or Hell for that matter.
He’d had no part in the building of the celestial spheres, a soldier through and through, but he appreciated the artistry and handiwork that must have gone into their creation.
And some nights, he would find a quiet rooftop or an open plain and sit and indulge in his admiration.
Spoilers for Gneil’s anniversary present to fandom.
"What the fuck was that?" Mickey gasped, staggering under the weight of the boxes.
Sammy - who was keeping exactly two metres away from him - shook his head, his mouth opening and shutting without making a sound.
"I mean what the fuck was that?" Mickey said again.
Easy job! Bookshop. Old books. Worth a fortune, some of them. They'd gone in the back, since it was all closed up. No one to pay attention. No one to notice.
No one...
No one except apparently whatever the fuck that was!
"Ah!" It had beamed like sunlight and was all glowy and bright. "Humans!"
Mickey'd never admit to shitting himself. Definitely not. But when some bloody great glowy thing - oh Jesus Christ the eyes! THE FUCKING EYES! - called you "human", there were... things your body did without asking permission first.
Sammy definitely hadn't climbed up his back. Definitely not. Or panicked.
"You know," the... whatever the fuck it was... said, "you really shouldn't be out and about just now. You could get sick."
Kind of hard to back out the open door with a 6'2 brick shithouse clinging to you like you're his mum.
"So you'll go home, then?" Was it smiling? It had been bloody hard to tell. "Jolly good! And make sure to stay in, won't you, there's a good chap?" It must've had hands because it clapped them. "We do keep an eye on these things."
"Home." Mickey squeaked. Sammy was almost out the door. He was too. "Yeah. Home."
"Oh!"
Mickey flinched, half-expecting flames and teeth and Christ knew what else.
Instead, the... thing had shoved a box in his hands. Then another. And another. Until he was tilting forward and staggering under the weight of them.
"You can take these with you! I'm sure you can make sure they get to the right people."
Rocks? Curses? Amulets? Some... weird shit that glowy monsters kept in bookshops? He hadn't asked. Hadn't even looked. Just croaked and backed out the door with Sammy and the boxes. Could've dropped them when they fled, but...
But...
We do keep an eye on these things.
Christ on a cracker...
They got to the van in one piece and Sammy yanked the doors open, then pulled a bottle...
"Where the fuck did you get hand-sanitiser?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Sammy wailed. "IT JUST SHOWED UP IN MY POCKET."
Keep an eye on these things.
Shit biscuits.
Mickey set the boxes down cautiously, as if they might explode. Very carefully, he lifted the lid off the top one. It...
"Cake?"
Mickey nodded, staring. he lifted the box to one side and opened the next. The sodding thing was packed with bread. Loaves and loaves of bread. The next had biscuits. They smelled amazing. "What the fuck...?"
"What do we do with that?" Sammy said, sounding a bit less shaky now they weren't showered with bees or locusts or something.
"Dunno." Mickey sat down on the edge of the van, heart going like a duracell bunny.
Sammy fidgetted. "He said to get it to the right people," he said. "Like maybe people what need it?"
Mickey nodded slowly. Yeah, that sounded right.
Keep an eye on these things.
"Could drop some in to the Burkes," he said. "They must get through loads with all the kids. And old Mr. Patil. Don't think his family can get stuff for him."
"And Kasia down in flat sixteen," Sammy's expression brightened. "I think she'd like some cake."
Mickey grinned at him. "Any excuse to talk to her, eh?" He reached out to smack Mickey on the arm, then hesitated. Two metres, wasn't it? He shuffled a bit further away on the van bed. "We should get a roll of poly bags from Tesco. Seal everything up safe."
Sammy nodded. "We'll be like Santa. With cake."
Mickey grinned crookedly. "Yeah."
Or like some weird glowy magic thing who gave them food for all their neighbours.
Normal blokes didn't get weird glowy magic things, but who said what was normal? The world definitely wasn't right now.
He got up. "And maybe we can pick up some bits and pieces for them as well. Just cake isn't going to help anyone."
The angel flinched as if caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. “What?”
Aziraphale gestured to the… frankly rural clothing and… stick-thing he was prodding at the ground. “This. What’s this in aid of?”
“Working the soil isn’t hurting anyone.” Crowley said defensively.
“No. I expect poking it only upsets the worms.”
Crowley stared at him, then grinned crookedly. “No, look.” He crouched down and tugged away some tangled weeds, revealing a small shoot. He cupped his hands like it was precious. “New life, breaking through.”
Crowley swayed where he sat, staring blankly out the window. His forehead bumped against the glass and he blinked, puzzled. Tired. He was so bloody tired.
“No, darling,” Aziraphale murmured.
No? No what? Had he said something? He squinted at the demon, baffled.
Aziraphale gave him a small smile and patted his shoulder, leaving Crowley even more confused. Nothing there but… Aziraphale gazed at him, worried and fond. Ah. AH! A pillow!
Why not? After everything, why the hell not? S’not like Heaven didn’t know already.
Defiantly, quietly-thrilling, Crowley rested his head on his beloved demon’s shoulder.
While Aziraphale would never profess to be overly enthused about religion, he had to admit that the trend of holy days were quite delightful. Especially when they veered in the dramatic directions.
In this particular case, literally so with the most skilled of actors upon the stage in their masks and the hushed awe and reverence of the crowd as masters of stagecraft rumbled imaginary thunder and raised aloft divine creatures.
Wine flowed and food vendors moved among the tiers of the theatre.
This, the demon thought blissfully, this was what humanity was about. Such enthusiasm and creativity and delight.
Marble stone glistened eerily by the lamplight as an angel, moved through the pillared halls.
The priests were all abed, only an acolyte tending the lamps. He didn’t notice the figure of shadow and flame.
Crowley made his way onwards, into the holiest of places.
“Just me,” he said softly, as he entered, dropping the veil of the sanctuary behind him. “Passing through.” He undid his cloak, shaking out. “Have you see this place? Beautiful stonework. Just them, some rocks and tools.”
As always, no reply came.
And as always, he curled on his cloak on the floor, and slept.
