#me and Aziraphale have the same ice cream order a vanilla with flake | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jathis · 5 years

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Found You

There was something oddly familiar about the demon and traitor to Hell named Crowley. Gabriel had been thinking about this a lot since the failure of the trials. He didn’t know why the demon kept coming to him but he did his best to try and understand. Perhaps this was a test? Or some kind of warning?

His hair color for one made Gabriel think about the days before the Fall. One of his brothers had hair the same color, perhaps a little brighter? He hadn’t seen an angel with that color since at any rate and from the demons he had seen they didn’t have it too commonly either. Crowley’s red hair was special.

Gabriel learned about Crowley’s ability to heal by accident. He had been sent down to deliver a message Metatron claimed was from Mother and after delivering it he had decided to stay a little, try to see why this place was so special to Aziraphale.

It was during this time that he saw the demon Crowley use his healing ability. A child of some kind had fallen and hurt themselves, ugly red blood seeping from their leg elbows, or were they knees? Arm knees? Gabriel wasn’t sure but the child was hurt and bleeding and the demon Crowley had walked over and knelt in front of them, whispering words of comfort as he held his cupped hands over the wound and sealed it.

Demons shouldn’t be able to heal. A demon could only have a special form of magic if they were of a high ranking. Crowley was just some demon who refused to follow orders or do anything malicious. He shouldn’t be able to do that.

It made Gabriel sit and think long and hard. He went through the Earth Observation files and found more instances of Crowley healing humans. Sometimes he even healed Aziraphale when he was hurt!

Gabriel could only stare at the images. He wanted to make sense of this. He needed to make sense of this. Why did seeing Crowley heal make his chest hurt so much? Why did he have such an odd ache that took him back to the days before the Fall?

It was while looking at a picture of Crowley healing someone’s hands that Gabriel realized what it was. His eyes widened and he stood up at once. He needed to go down to Earth.

He needed to speak with Crowley.

***

“Vanilla with a flake, please.” Crowley handed over the money and accepted the cone from the vendor with a slight nod. He turned and started to walk away, forked tongue lapping at the ice cream and avoiding knocking the candy bar from its place. He caught sight of a few ducks and started to walk over, planning on causing some mischief with the water fowl.

“Brother?”

Crowley stopped and nearly dropped his ice cream. He turned to look at who had spoken, focusing on keeping his face straight. “What?” he asked, cringing at how his voice sounded at the moment.

Gabriel’s eyes started to tear up. “It is you,” he said. He started to approach but stopped when Crowley held his ice cream out like a shield in front of him. “Raphael.”

“Crowley.”

“Raphael…”

“My name is Crowley,” he firmly said. He took a lick from his ice cream, trying to calm his nerves. “What do you want? If you’re here to hurt Aziraphale…”

“I missed you.”

Crowley stopped, sighing as a tear fell down Gabriel’s cheek. Wordlessly he walked up to him and he brushed it away with his thumb. “You were always sensitive,” he murmured.

“So then it is…”

“That’s who I was. Not anymore. You know that.”

“But..!”

“Go home, little brother. Go home and think about why you’ve changed so much.”

“I’ve changed?! Brother, you’re a…”

“Aziraphale told me what you said at his trial,” Crowley lied. He felt an odd sense of satisfaction seeing the hurt on Gabriel’s face. “You’ve become cold, little brother.”

“Michael told me you were destroyed during the Battle.”

“In a way. Just not the way you thought.”

“Raphael...I…”

Crowley sighed and clicked his teeth together. He didn’t know why but he felt sorry for his former brother. Wordlessly he opened his arms and he let out a wheeze as he was pulled into a bone crunching hug.

“I can do better,” Gabriel murmured into his shoulder.

“Then do it,” Crowley said. He patted and rubbed his back with his free hand, offering him a small smile once they parted. “Try not to be such a wanker. Here,” he held the ice cream out to him.

Gabriel blinked as he took it, tilting his head to the side. “What do I..?”

“Lick it.”

“Lick it?”

“Yup.”

The angel hesitated but slowly did as he was told. He gasped at the taste and continued, letting out a laugh. “Oh this is nice! No wonder Aziraphale eats so much!”

“You’d be surprised what you can learn from someone when you don’t treat them poorly,” Crowley said. He held up a hand to stop another flood of apologies. “I’ll talk to him and we’ll see if he’ll want to accept an apology in person. No promises.

“Now...I’ve got things I need to be doing and I suspect so do you. Goodbye for now, Gabriel.”

Gabriel hesitated but nodded. Now that he knew who Crowley had been, he would be more willing to look for him in the future without the intent of murdering him.

When Gabriel returned, Uriel and Sandalphon stared in confusion was he walked by them, eating ice cream.

#good omens

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diaphanedreams · 5 years

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This is based on a complete misunderstanding of the body-switching scene (Never, my children, watch anything on a television 12 feet away when you could be using your smartphone).

First Fanfic in 15 Years (no, seriously)

It's really no more than an oversized drabble (or 3). I only dashed it off in an hour. Well, actually it took 15-20 minutes to write, and the other 40 ruthlessly hunting through every thesaurus I could get my hands on, desperate to find a word with the right nuance. Still didn't; hate the one I finally chose)

The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

For a long time, Aziraphale's hand merely rested over Crowley's. They talked sleepily about Tadfield. It was such a charming little town; quiet, peaceful. A separate peace?

Presently, Crowley broke off from their discussion to murmur, "I go too fast for you?"

Aziraphale smiled.

"That was a world that has ended."

Crowley spread his fingers wide over his knee, dropping Aziraphale's down to interlace with his own.

The bus dropped them at Crowley's flat. They had moved on to discussing the absorbing problem of whether another glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape or a snifter of Louis XIII should round off their evening.

It was only when they had stepped into Crowley's front room that he remembered its stark austerity. Had Aziraphale ever even been up here?

"I don't entertain much." he offered casually (he hoped).

Aziraphale had found the plants. "I never would have imagined--oh, let's not bother with chairs," waving away any potential miracles, "Just hunt up some glasses."

They ended up on Crowley's bed; companionably staring at the ceiling, legs still a bit off the side. "This is rather comfortable," Aziraphale absently brushed the tips of Crowley's fingers with his own as he bounced a bit on the springs. "I wonder if I should get one myself?"

Crowley closed his mouth over what he was going to say. Internally, the phrase "Too Fast" duelled furiously with the far more appealing, "Since you're staying with me..."

Instead, he said, "So old Agnes had a word for us as well. That was thoughtful." Aziraphale frowned, and leaned up on his elbow.

"I've been thinking too, my dear. We know that," he groped for a euphemism and gave it up. "They're not done with us. Hell 'had it in' for you long before we guarded Adam",

"Much that he needed it," Crowley said with a hint of pride.

Aziraphale very carefully refrained from responding, "Thus spake Nanny Ashtoreth."

His face clouded once more, "Upstairs isn't going to be pleased either," He left out the assault at the bookshop. That was not Heaven's modus operandi; they liked it better when you did it to yourself.

Crowley hunted up the parchment from his pockets and read it again word by word. Aziraphale's face was intent, considering. Crowley arched an eyebrow. Then Aziraphale abruptly sat up.

"Oh dear, oh dear. We are in serious trouble," Crowley turned his head to look at him. Aziraphale had shifted again and was studying him thoughtfully.

"Choose our faces..." Crowley mused, as Aziraphale reached out to stroke the snake on his cheek. The penny dropped.

"I think we may be wearing the wrong ones."

***********************

Aziraphale nodded, his creased brows smoothing. He began drumming his fingers on Crowley's chest.

"I'd been thinking that the easiest method may just be to sort of...nudge our spirits into each other's body. When I was borrowing Madame Tracy, it wasn't like superimposing myself over her at all. I felt like I had sort of scooted myself in. And leaving was like being scooped up and swept out. If we both pushed at the same time--"

"You, Angel, didn't push yourself anywhere," Crowley pointed out, "That was all Adam."

"Yes, but I didn't have anywhere to go at the time..." the brows creased again, "What if a transfer would be more like pulling, drawing into each other.." Crowley put his finger over Aziraphale's lips.

"Angel?" Somewhere, probably St. Stephen's, midnight was beginning to strike, "Give me your hand."

"But my dear, I should tell you that it might be..." Unnecessary words. Crowley's hand was already trembling and beginning to tighten its grip.

They woke up alone, wondering when they had fallen asleep. Reality had reset.

Aziraphale's armchair was meltingly comfortable, Crowley decided, closing eyes again. I won't call. Aziraphale wouldn't know what to do with a cellphone if it colourfully metaphored him. We'll just meet up where we always do.

At that moment, Aziraphale was studying Crowley's throne with barely suppressed amusement. He had already giggled loud and long over the pajamas he'd woken up in.

"Could it be a souvenir?" He wondered out loud. Aziraphale was just about to sit in it; sprawling those long legs over one side, as he imagined Crowley would have done.

Then he remembered the houseplants.

"Oh, you must be so thirsty," he crooned to them as he hunted for the mister. He eventually had to give up and carefully tip water into their pots. He admired their beauty again as he walked out the door. Then he paused, hand still on the knob.

"How odd. I could swear I had just sensed a small flash of Love."

On his way down the stairs, Aziraphale carefully practiced what he thought of as Crowley's sexy slither. He nearly fell twice. Maybe, when I put his glasses on, no one will see me. But then, Aziraphale closed his eyes and filled his senses with last night. Ahh, there it is. He tried on a cynical grin. It felt good: suave, dangerous, cool. He swaggered out into the sunlight.

There stood the Bentley; beautifully restored, gleaming like new. He spent a moment tenderly examining it, before hailing a cab.

Crowley was still wandering among the books. Every few shelves, he would stroke a few of them gently. A collection of bright red adventure stories arrested his attention.

"Those are new."

He was almost late to the rendezvous; Aziraphale had already discovered an ice cream cart. Crowley received a vanilla flake that he stared at, nonplussed. They chatted sotto voce, reassuring each other how beautifully their prized possessions had been restored. Crowley groped for a word; Death called it out to him genially.

And then all the forces of Heaven and Hell descended upon them.

**********************

Afterwards, they wandered over to the Ritz. Lunch flowed into tea, and threatened to intrude on dinner.

They had bemusedly discussed the possibility of human friends; interactions with humans had never really been mutual before. Surprisingly, it was Aziraphale who was the more excited. He'd known many, many people, but had no idea what it would be like for a person to know him. Crowley was interested to learn if his fondness for kids would survive close contact with several of them at once.

Poor Warlock. They had talked so much, but never once listened. Well, a new world; more new resets. They were well aware that Adam, who shouldn't have remembered Aziraphale and Crowley at all, was cheerfully waiting for them to come and visit before summer's end.

Warlock. Assuming that he had also been restored from the wreckage of Hastur's temper tantrum; how would he like to spend a weekend or two exploring Hogback wood, instead of slouching around the cold formal grounds of the Residence? Maybe one or two more miracles couldn't hurt; it was past time to leave that garden.

They pondered the Arrangement. No more Head Offices, thank...somebody. That was long gone. But it had opened up a much larger question: do their influences harm or support a human's free will? Crowley lazily pointed out that he had always only given people exactly what they wanted. Or at least, what they asked for. And even then, even then, they still freely chose what they wanted to do with it.

Aziraphale wasn't so sure. Did he even know if his 'good works' had ever actually been good for anyone? More conscientious, or at least conscious, of compliance reports; so worried that he was doing the Right Thing, he had followed the orders he'd been given. A gentle touch stopped his fretting. Crowley's gaze had gone very soft.

"Not always."

They walked out into the night, not entirely sure where they were headed. Crowley had always fled to the bookshop for refuge. It was warm, companionable, cozy. Snug. But it was a warmth that was amicable, fraternal: so cozy and so snug that there wasn't any room left for...more.

So, they walked. Halfway down the Embankment. Aziraphale paused, and turned to Crowley.

"I ought to have warned you; but I wasn't sure, you see. It must have been very disorienting to go from holding hands to that...intimacy in a single evening."

Aziraphale offered up a conciliatory smile. He had always retained an angelic luminescence; bustling, multi-colored London generally muted it. Reflected back on him by the moonlit river, he now seemed to glow.

"Oh no", breathed a dazzled Crowley, "Not when you've been waiting six thousand years."

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