So here they are, varying in length, genre, setting, and style. Some of them are pure crack, others fluffy, philosophical, completely hypothetical, and pretty much anything in between.
I hope you have as much fun reading these as I had writing them, and please don't forget to leave some feedback when you finish. You can even just tell me your favorite, if you want!
Thanks, guys, and enjoy!
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#01 – Motion
"You're doing it again."
"That slithering thing."
"Oh." Crowley grinned. "Does it bother you?"
Crowley's face fell.
"Not even a little bit?"
"Fine. Then I guess I'll stop."
"Whatever you want, my dear."
Aziraphale gave himself a mental pat on the back; he really did hate it when Crowley got too snake-y.
#02 – Wrong
Crowley raked his claws across Aziraphale's back, deep enough to hit bone. The angel hissed in pain and spun, retaliating with an impressive kick that struck Crowley solidly in the chest and sent him reeling back into a wall. The demon barely had time to twist out of the way before a fist hit the wall where his face had just been.
Angel and demon circled each other for a moment. Crowley was the first to break, lunging forward with claws outstretched. Aziraphale managed to dodge the initial attack, but the poison in his veins made him slower than usual and Crowley grabbed his arm from behind, twisting it up behind his back until bones snapped. Crowley dug his claws into the wounds already marring the angel's back and felt Aziraphale stiffen beneath him. He moved his hand around to the angel's neck and dug in, hesitating ever so slightly before he tore out Aziraphale's throat.
A heavy silence filled the alley when it was done. Crowley lowered the body to the ground gently even though he knew the owner no longer had any use for it. He flicked the blood from his claws, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and trudged back into the city streets, somehow feeling that he had just made a huge mistake.
#03 – Young
The young angel turned and cocked a perfect pale eyebrow at the demon addressing him.
Crowley glared at the angel through his shades.
"Where's the angel who used work here?"
"You mean old Aziraphale?"
"That's the one."
"Don't screw with me, angel. I haven't seen him in months."
"Well I assure you, he hasn't gone anywhere."
Crowley scoffed and turned away.
"Whatever. If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him. We have an appointment."
"I'll let him know, my dear. I'm sure he hasn't forgotten."
Crowley paused. Only one person in the world ever dared to call him "dear." He glanced back at the angel and saw that his slim shoulders were shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Crowley lowered his shades and peered at the angel, open-mouthed. There was no mistaking it now, not with those pale eyes and that wavy blonde hair. Crowley could only gape.
#04 – Last
Crowley should have known that dinner was their last.
He should have noticed Aziraphale's strange behavior at the restaurant. He should have noticed the way the angel dithered before getting out of the Bentley at the end of the evening, the way his voice faltered when he tried to say goodnight, and way his eyes were shining a bit too brightly.
"See you tomorrow?"
Crowley should have noticed the wavering smile upon the angel's face when he said "sure." He should have noticed the affectionate hand upon his shoulder before Aziraphale slid out of the car.
But he didn't.
So when he returned to the bookshop the next day only to find it completely boarded up and barely able to pass for a shop anymore, he was concerned. And when no one answered the phone or the door or came to thwart him when he tempted the manager of a small grocery store into stealing a few fifties from the cash register, he was upset. But when a month passed, then another, he became certain.
Crowley should have known that dinner was their last.
But he didn't, and now Aziraphale was gone.
He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.
#05 – Cool
"Crowley, is this really necessary?"
"Of course it is."
"But… it's leather."
"Well I can't be seen at a club with you if you're going to be wearing tweed."
"You know, I haven't actually agreed to go with you."
"You sound so sure."
"I am. I've already tempted you."
"Interesting. I must have missed that."
"Oh, shut up and put these on."
"Sunglasses? Really, my dear…"
"There. Now you're ready."
#06 – Gentle
He had fallen asleep on Aziraphale's comfy old couch in the middle of one of their late-night drinking sessions. He knew he should go back to his own flat, but he was quite comfortable and therefore quite unable to make himself rise. He cracked one eye to see that someone – and he had a pretty good idea who – had removed his sunglasses and placed them on the table beside his head. He glanced across the room toward the only source of light and couldn't help a little smile when he saw Aziraphale all cozied up in a plump chair with a heavy tome in his lap.
The angel must have sensed he was awake, because he lifted his gaze from the aged pages and looked straight at him. Crowley knew he didn't get his eye closed quickly enough, but he faked sleep anyway. He could hear Aziraphale walking toward him and was prepared for a lecture about how he was lazy and sleep was unnecessary and he should stop pretending and just go back to his own flat already, but instead a light, warm weight settled over him and a soft hand brushed his hair before the footsteps retreated again.
Crowley didn't dare move for another few minutes. He could still see the light on through his closed eyelids but he had no idea whether or not Aziraphale was watching him. Carefully, secretly, he shifted his hand until he touched the thick, worn blanket that had been tossed over him. He wrapped his cold fingers into the material and hugged it close.
If only someone from Hell could see me now, he thought wryly, but he couldn't quite make himself care as he drifted off into a comfortable sleep once again.
#07 – One
It was always so boring after Crowley had been discorporated. Aziraphale never really knew what to do with himself. He would bless a few people, heal some sick, grant a few miracles (with permission, of course), but it just wasn't the same without some really good wiles to thwart.
His biggest problem, however, was that the company stunk, in that he had no company. He still went to nice restaurants, ordered nice wine, had wonderful dinners and even better desserts, but he never truly enjoyed them. It was all because of those words he had to say before he started each meal. They completely ruined the mood. Those stupid, horrible words:
"Table for one, please."
#08 – Thousand
"Did you put something in this bread?" Crowley asked, tossing yet another large piece into a group of particularly feisty ducks. "They seem more… ravenous than usual."
"Of course not," Aziraphale said indignantly. "I just made it instead of buying it. Do you think there's a difference?"
"Hm," Crowley said, "let's think. Angelic bread, fresh from the oven, or store-bought white loaf that disintegrates as soon as it touches the water… which do you think the ducks prefer?"
"I'm going to guess the angelic."
"Should we stop feeding them?" Aziraphale asked, tearing off another piece and lobbing it toward a group of newcomers.
"Well, we are drawing quite a crowd. And I'm almost out."
"As am I."
Demon and angel glanced at each other, then at the ever-growing mob of hungry ducks. There had to be at least a thousand around the pond, quacking and scratching and biting to get to the bread and the two men on shore, who were beginning to back away slowly.
"Shall we?" Crowley asked.
"I should think so."
#09 – Torn
The bedroom was dark, and Aziraphale could just make out a lump on the bed. He sat next to it, gently shaking what he took to be a shoulder.
"Crowley," he said. The lump shifted and a hand appeared, swatting at the offending angel. Aziraphale just kept shaking, rougher this time. "Crowley," he said, more firmly.
"Nnnghk," said the lump.
"Crowley, you have to get up."
"In the morning."
"It's four o'clock in the afternoon."
"Then I still have a good eight hours until it's morning."
Aziraphale sighed and let his hand drop. His fingers brushed something rough and very un-fabric-like, and he looked down in surprise. He pulled the sheets back to reveal dark wings sprouting from the sleepy demon's back. Aziraphale stared at them in amazement. He rarely saw Crowley's wings; the demon didn't like to show them, and Aziraphale now understood why.
Each black feather, which had once been white and whole, was almost completely shredded. It gave the wings a horribly tattered look, and Aziraphale could tell it was the sort of thing that would never be healed: it was the price for falling.
He smoothed the feathers down as best he could before laying the sheet over them again, then left the room silently.
He would let Crowley sleep through dinner, if only this once.
#10 – Learn
"Wait, now what do I do?"
"You have to attack that guy."
"Use your sword!"
"I have a sword?"
"Oh my G – yes, angel, and it's rather important!"
"How do I use it?"
"Just swing your arm around."
"Sorry, my dear. But look! I killed him!"
"I'm very pleased."
"Don't be so cranky. It was your idea to teach me, after all."
"I know, but I thought I'd get to play at least –"
"Oh my goodness! What is that?"
"Use your left hand to spin attack."
"Your left – oh, give me the damn thing."
Crowley tugged the Wii controllers away from Aziraphale, muttering something about how he would never beat the game if he kept letting incompetent, poofy angels play.
#11 – Blur
It isn't common for people to see a genuine, 60-year old Bentley hurtling down a London street, but a few had become quite used to it. In fact, one old man swore he had seen the same car with the same driver for close to forty years. His grandchildren liked to hear stories about it.
"Well," the old man would say, "I never really could make out the driver very well. He always seemed to be shadowed, and I never got a good look at his face."
"Then how did you know it was the same guy, Gramps?" a little girl would ask from her perch on his knee.
"I just know," the old man would reply. "When you see the same black blur every week for forty years, ya start to recognize it."
#12 – Wait
The small room shuddered with divine power as two archangels and one Principality towered over the lone demon. Or at least, the archangels towered; the Principality stood a bit apart from them, pale eyes filled with worry.
It shouldn't be like this.
It wasn't this demon's fault.
"Demon Crowley," Michael said, his voice echoing impressively. "You have been accused of trying to kill a member of the Heavenly Host. How do you plead?"
"If I plead not guilty, will you let me go?" Crowley asked, the sardonic grin on his face undermined by his trembling voice. His eyes flashed briefly in the Principality's direction, seeking support, but the angel was frozen, too stunned to speak.
This wasn't right.
"I doubt it," Uriel said in reply to Crowley's question, a rather wicked grin on his face. He tugged the sword from his belt and leveled it at Crowley. "It's time to end this."
Crowley's eyes widened in horror and his gaze was drawn again to the Principality, who steeled himself at last and stepped forth, mustering as much power as he could into a single word:
#13 – Change
"You know you've been acting different lately?" Crowley said one day over lunch. Aziraphale choked on his tea and dissolved into a slight coughing fit.
"I'm sorry?" he asked once it had passed.
"You've been acting weird lately. Less angelic."
"Whatever are you talking about?"
"Well, right before we walked into the restaurant a homeless man asked you for change and you blatantly ignored him."
"I hardly think –"
"Last night you were trash-talking Gabriel while you were drunk."
"I certainly don't –"
"The day before yesterday you stole a book."
"Have you been following me?" Aziraphale hissed. Crowley smirked and sipped his tea triumphantly. Aziraphale glared.
"Well you've changed, too, you know," he said. Crowley cocked an eyebrow.
"You tipped the bartender last night. And you paid full price for both your drinks and mine."
"That doesn't –"
"You apologized for stepping on my foot this morning."
"I didn't mean –"
"You defended Gabriel while I was trash-talking him."
Crowley paled and set his tea down slowly.
"Time for us to spend some time apart?" he asked. Aziraphale smiled and slid a passport and plane ticket across the table.
"Way ahead of you, my dear. I'll see you in three months."
#14 – Command
Crowley kicked back on his white leather sofa, TV remote in one hand and scotch in the other. He flipped to the news and sipped his drink. It was time to see how well the Arrangement was working out.
" – in other news, the Prime Mini – CROWLEY."
Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes. So much for a nice night at home…
CROWLEY. ARE YOU THERE? CAN YOU HEAR ME?
"Loud and clear. What do you want?"
YOU HAVE A NEW ASSIGNMENT.
"Did I have an old one?"
I AM GOING TO ASSUME THAT IS A JOKE. ANYWAY, SOME PEOPLE DOWN HERE HAVE TAKEN SPECIAL INTEREST IN THAT PRINCIPALITY YOU ARE CONSTANTLY WITH.
Crowley's insides twisted and all he could think was, Damn.
THE HIGHER UPS WANT YOU TO BRING HIM DOWN.
"I – uh – what do you mean?"
I AM GOING TO ASSUME THAT IS A JOKE, AS WELL. DO PEOPLE THINK YOU ARE FUNNY UP THERE?
"No, but why –?"
HE HAS BEEN A PAIN IN THE ASS, BASICALLY. OR HAVE YOU NOT NOTICED HIM THWARTING ALL OF YOUR PLANS?
"No, I have. It's just that I've managed to do some pretty good – I mean, bad – stuff lately, too, so I didn't think it would matter –"
IT ALWAYS MATTERS, CROWLEY. BRING HIM DOWN. YOU HAVE ONE WEEK. – and gave birth to live puppies! Truly a miracle. Back to you, George."
Crowley stared at the television set blankly for a minute, then drained his scotch in one swig, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one.
#15 – Hold
"You look cold."
"Are you sure? You are cold-blooded by nature, after all."
"I told you, I'm fine."
"… You're shivering, my dear."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. Come here."
And despite all of his protesting, Crowley couldn't help but sink into the angel's warm, blanketed embrace and think that maybe being held wasn't so bad after all.
#16 – Need
The bookshop appeared surprisingly empty.
"Down here, Crowley."
Crowley followed the quavering voice to behind the counter. The angel was sitting on the ground, eyes closed and leaning against the back wall. The demon cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into his pockets uncomfortably.
"Is… everything all right?"
Aziraphale sighed and opened his eyes wearily.
"A demon attacked me today."
"WHAT?" Crowley bellowed. "London is my territory! Everyone knows that! Those bastards! I'm going to –" He was about to storm off when Aziraphale caught his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. He looked down at the angel. "What?"
"I'm sorry, my dear," Aziraphale said softly. "But could you stay for a bit? I'm still rather shaken up."
Crowley hesitated only for a moment before heaving a sigh and sitting beside Aziraphale. The angel smiled weakly and rested his head against the wall, eyelids fluttering shut. Crowley watched him curiously.
"I thought you said you didn't need sleep," he said.
"I don't," Aziraphale murmured, completely unconvincingly. Crowley smirked and reached up to flip the sign in the window to CLOSED.
"Well, no one's judging," he said, summoning a book from the counter and flipping to the first page. "I'll stay and keep watch while you rest. I can wait a while before heading out to kill that demon."
"Thank you, Crowley," Aziraphale mumbled, and was asleep in less than a minute.
#17 – Vision
It was a dark, peaceful night in Eden, broken only when the Guardian of the East Gate addressed the darkly scaled snake resting on the wall above him.
"Can you see in the dark?"
"Yes. Why do you –?"
"Great," the Guardian groaned, sinking to the ground and kicking off his sandals. He then proceeded to rub his sore feet, sighing in relief. "Could you keep watch and make sure no one's coming? I'm supposed to be standing guard all night but my feet are absolutely killing me."
"Uh, sure," the snake said, slightly baffled.
So marked the beginning of cooperation between angel and demon.
#18 – Attention
"Angel, it's me. I'm back in town for a bit. Give me a ring and we can grab dinner sometime. Ciao."
"It's me again. Where the hell are you? I left you a message days ago. Ring me already!"
"This is getting ridiculous, angel. The point of having an ansaphone is for you to actually receive messages and return them. I know this might be a strange concept for your fifteenth century mind, but please try."
"Aziraphale, are you avoiding me? Because a heads up would have been nice. But seriously, if you aren't avoiding me and are just not answering because you're a prick, ring me. I'm bored."
"What the hell, angel? It's been weeks. I'm coming down to the shop."
Aziraphale smiled and set his suitcase down behind the counter, removing his jacket and hanging it near the door just as squealing tires rounded the corner and a black Bentley screeched to a halt outside.
Right on time.
#19 – Soul
"Oy." Crowley waved a hand drunkenly in Aziraphale's direction, leaning over the table. The angel sighed lightly – not yet as intoxicated as his companion – and leaned over to meet him. Crowley seemed to be struggling for words. "Angel. 'f I… 'f I die, where d'ya think my soul'll go?"
"Probably back to Hell, so you can get a new body," Aziraphale answered logically. Crowley shook his head.
"Nononono. 'f I die for real. I mean, do I go back to Hell as a default, or can I redeem myself and go to Heaven 'stead?"
Aziraphale stared at the demon for a moment, then lowered his eyes to his drink, stirring it uncomfortably.
"I… I don't know," he murmured. Crowley closed his eyes and for one horrible second Aziraphale thought he was going to cry, but then the demon shouted for the waiter to bring another round and the moment was over.
#20 – Picture
"Will you be ready soon? Our reservations are at eight," Aziraphale called from Crowley's living room, pacing around the area as he waited for the demon to finish getting ready.
"Keep your knickers on, we'll be fine!" came the angry reply from the bedroom, and Aziraphale sighed. He paid a little visit to Crowley's poor plants, touching each in kind to reassure them that not all humanoid creatures were evil, before heading over to the pristine white sofa and taking a seat.
Something shiny on the end table caught his eye and he leaned over to pick it up. It was a small silver picture frame, and inside was a photograph that had been taken of Crowley and him a few years back at the duck pond. The demon had his arm around the angel's shoulders and –surprisingly – they were sporting almost identical grins.
"Ready?" Crowley said, striding out of the bedroom and directly to the door. Aziraphale replaced the frame with a smile.
"Yes," he said softly. "Let's go."
#21 – Fool
"Please don't, Crowley."
"Really, my dear. I'd just like to forget this, if you don't mind."
"But you're in here. This is you."
"Yes, I know. Now let's put it away."
But Crowley did not. He held the old manuscript and grinned, staring at the faded depiction of a fourteenth century English court. Along the left side, shown twirling flaming torches and dressed in the colorful livery of a court jester, was a very familiar blond man with a slight glow around him.
"You actually wore a motley hat?"
"Please don't make fun. It was a living."
"I'm not making fun! I'm just commenting." A pause. "At least it's better than tweed."
#22 – Mad
Anthony Crowley was a little bloodthirsty.
Tempting was so easy now. The world was war-crazy, thriving on combat, breathing in gun smoke, living off of death and a victory that could never be reached. Torture was a staple of life. Grotesque murders and massacres were commonplace, even smiled upon.
And despite all of the evil being done – by unsuspecting humans, no less – Crowley found himself a bit sickened.
He knew he shouldn't be. He knew he should be pleased, proud, even, but for some reason each helpless soul tossed into a gas chamber or shot dead by mindless soldiers caused what was left of his soul to rend a bit further.
It was driving him mad.
But he had one escape from the terror: a shabby little bookshop in England, where he knew he would be safe from his own mind and could lose himself in alcohol and a sympathetic smile.
#23 – Child
"Will I see you tomorrow?" the young boy called over his shoulder as he jogged toward his father. Aziraphale just smiled.
"I'll be here," he said. The boy flashed a grin and took his father's hand. Aziraphale's smile fell once the pair turned the corner.
He knew the boy would not return the next day. He knew his family was not Hebrew, and there would be no lamb's blood upon his door. So that night, as divine power swept through the city and stole the life from the first-born of Egypt, Aziraphale knew that the boy would be killed. And it was with this knowledge that he drank himself into a stupor and tried to forget that innocent smile.
#24 – Now
The squealing of tires outside should have been warning enough, but Aziraphale still found himself jumping when Crowley burst into the shop, sending the bell into a jingling frenzy and rattling the windowpanes.
"Get your coat," he said, not even crossing the threshold.
"What? Why?" Aziraphale asked, pen still poised over the crossword he was attempting to complete.
"I'm taking you to Greece. There's no need to pack anything, we're staying at an all-inclusive resort and I have credit cards. Let's go."
"But I can't –"
And, grumbling, Aziraphale went.
#25 – Shadow
He was being followed.
Aziraphale glanced casually at his reflection in the window of a little shop and caught a glimpse of the dark figure behind him, but didn't let his gaze linger too long. He didn't want the stalker to know he had caught on to his ruse.
He suddenly veered off onto a side road, feeling mischievous, and was satisfied to note that his stalker followed him. This trend continued for a few minutes until finally both angel and follower arrived in front of the Ritz.
Aziraphale turned to face the stalker with a smile.
"Dinner, my dear?"
It took Crowley a moment to realize that he had been caught and tricked into a dinner date, but once he realized it he sighed.
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#26-50 can be found here. Thanks for reading!