logsinthenight | you're a sky full of stars

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you're a sky full of stars | closed

characters: Aziraphale and Crowley
location: At the park
date/time: 9/18 for lunch
content: A long overdue picnic, with a surprise meteor shower
warnings: Y'all it's gonna be cute. Hiss hiss fall in love.

Aziraphale had spent the last two days off and on making a spread for the picnic that he'd promised he'd take Crowley on before their little boat hijacking plot, so the fact that there were falling stars everywhere was just a nice little bonus. "Ah," he had said, as they headed out, straw basket full of goodies with a gingham blanket covering it tucked under one arm. "I wonder what that's all about."

Now, on the dark green lawn of the park, somewhere by the pagoda with the ice cream cart in plain view, Aziraphale throws the blanket open and places a rock on one corner and a bottle of wine on the other to weigh it down. He pulls out a few wrapped cheeses, some crackers, dried apricots, walnuts he'd cracked himself that morning, extremely terribly made pork pies, and eton mess that had, at one point, aspirations as a pavlova.

And, of course, some awful red table wine that would taste better once poured, as long as Aziraphale got to touch it first. "It is beautiful," he remarks, looking up at the sky. "Were you in the Americas for the Leonid storm in 1833? I was. It's a bit like that."

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"Oh?" he asks, curious, because Crowley had never shared such things with him. But he supposes he also wasn't a demon.

"Well, maybe we'll all reach a point where it isn't personal, but trust me, right now it quite certainly is."

He miracles Crowley another flake, half in apology, half just to try and talk about something else maybe.

Crowley's stories in Hell had also all been completely made up, because the truth was far too personal. He imagined most of the demons around that time made up their stories, too. Better than the truth, which was just their truth.

He looked over at Aziraphale, with his huge ice cream cone that had another bit of flake sticking out of it. He looked a bit ridiculous, with it melting all over the place. He leaned in, letting out a short breath that increased the cold of the ice cream just a bit more, to let it last a bit longer before it melted.

"More wine?"

"Oh, yes," he responds, even as he licks drippings off the cone. The integrity of the cone, for the record, is quickly coming apart.

"Oh, we're going to have to finish this quickly," he says, "before the wine, I think." Because miracling all the flavors different was alright but miracling the actual cone not to melt was too much. If Crowley had already done it, Aziraphale hasn't noticed, and is offering him the cone in efforts to have him help.

"Oh, no, it's too sticky, don't give it to me," Crowley says, but he's clearly taking it anyway. There's literally too much for the two of them, and he feels positively ridiculous about it all. At least the ice cream is a bit colder, so it's less likely to completely melt all over him.

"Did you bring a bowl or something?" he suggests.

"No, why would I have brought a bowl? Perhaps one of the jars I've put the eton mess in, then. Five scoops may have been ambitious; I knew I should've stopped them at three," he adds, because that's about how many they've made it through in total so far. They're dripping on the ground a bit now, and his hands are sticky and sweet. Well, one hand anyway.

"How do children do this?" he asks, to no one in particular, as he casts his gaze up and experiences a brain freeze for what seems to be the first time in ever. "Oh my God, what is that?"

"What is what?" Crowley says, looking at the angel in extreme worry. He drops the ice cream on the ground immediately, ignoring it. "What's happened?"

No, no, no. The spirit has poisoned them. Crowley's barely touched the ice cream, but Aziraphale has had a good bit of it. This has to be what this is.

"Oh," he starts, clutching his head with his clean hand. "Ah, never mind. It seems to have subsided. It was just as if my entire head froze in my skull. Awful." He shakes it out.

"I'm fine now, thank you. Oh, dear, we've made a mess." There Aziraphale is, worried about the mess they're making instead of how he'd scared Crowley like that. He does appreciate it, though, Crowley always coming to the rescue, even for something so minor.

"What---an ice cream headache?"

Did Crowley just get very frightened over an ice cream headache?

No, he wasn't frightened. Crowley never gets frightened and fawns all over Aziraphale. Certainly not.

"Forest spirits will eat it up," he says, miracling away the mess on his hands.

"Oh, true, they do love their sweets and I don't think they particularly care if they've been on the ground." And yes Crowley, you did in fact, just fawn over Aziraphale's brain freeze.

"But-- thank you, Crowley, I'm fine." He shakes his head and frowns at the dropped ice cream one more time. "More wine, then?"

"I wouldn't mind a bit more, yes," he agrees, moving back to the ground. He gestures for the angel to sit next to him.

He glances at the dropped ice cream, then back up to the stars. "Weird sort of date this is," he says, far to casually to actually mean it. Well, sort of.

"Surely not weirder than any of the other ones we've had," he counters, since they mostly spend them drinking or with Crowley watching Aziraphale eat, or with meeting up trying to stop the end of the world from arriving.

They had done a lot of things together, like see the first play, like watch the first rain, gone out to lunch more often than he could count, fed all manner of wildlife together, walked through art galleries, and so much more.

Crowley was, in fact, a very good dating partner to have, in Aziraphale's opinion.

Crowley looks up at the stars and definitely doesn't try to think about that too much. If one were to actually consider what they did dates, then the two of them had been going steady for quite some time now. But he couldn't possibly think about that. It was hard enough thinking that he went too fast with Aziraphale once.

"I'll have to remember to bring you flowers next time," he says, picking up his glass of wine. "That's what you do on a date, isn't it? Bring flowers?"

His lips melt into a smile. "Ah, only if you want. They would be nice, I'll put them in the kitchen window." And he had gone too fast, at the time, because Aziraphale had just handed him what he'd thought was a suicide pill, and he needed to go home and reflect over whether or not he was going to lose Crowley now or-- when, a hundred years? A thousand?

Their days had felt numbered, borrowed then, and Aziraphale couldn't deal with it, couldn't deal with his own feelings, and certainly could not deal with Crowley.

He no longer had to worry about such a thing, though, but it hardly seemed fitting to revisit any sort of conversation when they had so much to do, like bring all these people home.

Crowley watches Aziraphale's smile for a moment. Times like these, times where it's just them, they've always felt like they could be forever. It didn't matter if they were stolen moments in the middle of their jobs, or hidden away in the bookshop. They were theirs and no one could take that away from them.

Until one day, they did.

Crowley looks away from the angel, back down to his wine glass.

"You haven't told anyone about us here, have you?" he asks.

"Oh! Um," he starts, looking down. "Well, nobody about us, really. And certainly nobody about you." He is feeling a little guilty though, the same kind as when he'd given away his flaming sword.

But he'd only told people he trusted to be good and upstanding. And, so far, they had been... kind. Understanding.

Crowley's eyes narrow behind his sunglasses.

"Angel," he says, warningly. "You haven't told anyone anything, have you?"

It's not that Aziraphale is intimidated by Crowley. He never has been.

But he is. Well. Guilty.

"I told... I told a few people I was an angel. Crowley, I couldn't lie to them anymore. It was only three!"

"Three?" Crowley rolls his eyes. "Angel, you told three people? That's half the town!"

Oh, he knew he should've kept better track of the angel when they were apart.

"It is not! And it was very important. I don't like to lie anyway, you know that. And everyone here is so nice!"

He frets about nervously, ice cream forgotten, wine forgotten.

"You don't have to lie," Crowley says. "Just let them believe that you're a human. Ignore the questions about who you are. I don't even have human eyes and almost everyone in the town believes I'm human."

Everyone except one.

It would be important to note that Crowley is not lying, he is simply omitting that from this conversation.

Aziraphale, as usual, too caught up in himself, doesn't even think to question this omission. "Well, I tried! And then one of them thought I was a priest. And I couldn't very well lie to him about being a priest, especially since he was asking me to take confession. Me! Take confession, as if I have any right to forgive on behalf of The Almighty."

He looks pretty torn up about this, to be honest. But he wouldn't take it back.

"Just tell him you're not a priest and move on with your life," Crowley says. "I have plenty of people think I'm a rock star, but I don't pretend I'm Keith Moon, do I? I just tell them I'm not and let them figure it out on their own."

He takes a long drink of wine. "They'll probably tell everyone else. Everyone in this town will know about you."

"They won't!" he argues, frowning. "First of all, they gave me their word! And secondly, you don't even know who they are. They're good people, Crowley. I wouldn't have told just anyone!"

He's not even going to ask who Keith Moon is or what a rock star is in the first place and why people think Crowley is one.

Crowley tilts his head to the side. "You can't trust them, angel. We're going to leave them all in a little over a week. We can't get attached to them."

He knows that isn't what Aziraphale wants to hear. He always wants to save everyone.

"I'm not getting attached. And if they go back and tell everyone, so what. I thought we didn't have sides anymore, Crowley. I'm no more Heavenly than you are Hellish, so what's the point? We're just like them, now."

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