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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His mouth suddenly feels very dry, despite the fact that they've been drinking this entire time, and he very nearly takes Crowley's glasses, but remembers that they're in public.

"Perhaps... we should take a walk around town? Would be a shame to waste the view."

Aziraphale was not one to prolong dates. He was, in fact, rather the one to chase Crowley out of his bookshop and say that he had business the next morning and he still needed to get some work done and wouldn't they be able to talk some other time perhaps.

But he doesn't want to push Crowley away, today.

Edited (they just had lunch...) 2019-09-29 23:15 (UTC)

Crowley is extremely grateful for it. He's used to the angel pushing him away gently, shooing him off when he's been a bit too much, or moving too fast, or hanging around when he needs his space. He's always given him what he needs. Being told that he can stay longer is, well, it feels a bit like a gift.

"We'll come back for the blanket?" he offers, moving to his feet. He offers Aziraphale his hand.

"If it gets stolen, I'm sure it'll turn up," he says, taking Crowley's hand and nearly dragging him backwards as he tries to stand up.

He brushes off any crumbs that might've fallen on his clothes, and actually does go pack up the basket. They'll be back for it.

"Who would steal a picnic blanket?" Crowley says. "That seems like----of all the things to steal in this damned town, there's a whole bloody store that would be easier to loot..."

He watches Aziraphale pack everything up, and thinks, idly, of how different they are. He would've easily just left everything out. Cared about it later, thought of it as future Crowley's problem. Aziraphale cares about it now.

"Haven't seen another picnic basket in town, and it is a nice blanket," he responds, looping his arm into Crowley's as they walk.

"Lovely day for this, really. And you know, if it weren't dark, we wouldn't be able to see any of this." Always looking on the bright side.

"True," Crowley says, glancing back up at the sky. He gives it a brief gesture upwards. "Did you ever build any of them? Any of the stars?"

He never really asked what Aziraphale did before Eden. It was always about their life on Earth. Their life then, not before.

"No," Aziraphale responds. "I didn't build anything. She handed me a sword and said to fight, and I did. Trained the whole time before the war, instead of creating. I think you and the others had done most of it anyway, by the time I was created."

He hadn't been terribly old, as an Angel, though it was hard to tell, since it was before time was invented.

"Hmm," Crowley says, noncomittally. He looks up at the falling stars. "Hard to think of a time without the Earth."

Earth was home. Earth was where the people were, where the wine was, where Aziraphale was. He didn't want to think of a universe without Aziraphale.

"If we can only get one of us back," he says. "I want it to be you, angel. I want you to go back and stop it."

In his shock, Aziraphale tears his arm away from Crowley, and stares at him with wide eyes.

He pauses as if trying to discern if Crowley has just told a very unfunny joke.

"No," he says, determined. "Absolutely not, no, Crowley. You can't possibly. No."

"I can survive here, angel, I can make it in the dark," he says. "But you deserve to get back. You'll figure out a way to free me from there."

He thinks about Rosalind, about her plan with the portal. She might only be able to send through a few, or even only one person. And she owes Crowley a favor. He could make it that she sends Aziraphale through.

"I... how could you tell me such a thing? You know I won't be able to do it without your help, and." And he'll have to be away from Crowley, and what if he never manages to do it? He'll waste away ages, chasing down the wrong thing, going to the ends of the Earth.

And he'll have to stop Armageddon himself.

No.

"Why wouldn't you come with me?"

"I'll go back with you if we can---through the ferry, when we hijack it," he says. "But if it doesn't work and there's another way, we have to focus on getting you out first."

He wants to touch Aziraphale's shoulder, or perhaps touch his face. To emphasize to him how important he is.

Instead, he stands there. "It's the right thing, angel, you know it."

"Absolutely not!" he says. And then, his mind whirling around, he accuses: "Is that why you wanted me to come out with you today? You wanted to... to ply me with food and drink first before telling me that you intend to push me back home and leave me all alone to fix all this?"

"What? No!" Crowley snaps. "This was---this was supposed to be nice, this was supposed to be between us!"

How dare Aziraphale say that! Crowley doesn't even begin to hide his insult.

"That is just something that has to be, and you have to accept it. I'm not going to let you stay here if I can send you back!"

"And how do you think I'd feel if you sent me back and you couldn't come with me?" he asks, looking just as stricken as Crowley does.

"It's out of the question!"

Aziraphale starts to storm off back in the direction of home, because apparently he'd forgotten that it's also Crowley's home.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley calls back to him. He can't just go. This can't keep happening, him saying things that feel right but end up frightening the angel away.

"I can't just keep you trapped here! You deserve to be safe!"

"From what?" he yells, turning back on his heel. "You and I have to go back together, or it won't work. I don't want to send you alone, either; what if Hell gets to you? What if they lock you away forever this time?"

Neither of the places were particularly safe for either of them, but--

"--We just. Have to find a way to do it together."

"Fine," Crowley says. "Fine! We'll find out a way together. We'll work it out together. I don't want to stay here without you anyway."

But if push comes to shove, he's going to get Aziraphale out of here.

"And, really, what can Hell do worse to me than they've already done? They obliterated me. With Holy Water. It was literally the worst they could do."

"They could - I don't know, keep you in a dungeon forever," he says. It's not like Crowley needs anything to survive, but he'd go mad in there, left alone to only his thoughts. Aziraphale would never let that happen to him.

But that's why it was important that they don't part.

He finds that he's walked back to Crowley, and still looks at him as if he's in a great deal of pain.

"I once sat through a cinema viewing of Singing in the Rain with you, angel," Crowley says, flippantly. "That was far worse than any dungeon Hell has waiting for me."

He reaches out a hand and lets his fingers brush against the angel's fingers. He doesn't properly hold his hand, not this time.

"We'll figure this out together. We'll escape together. We have a plan."

"Alright, just," he balls his hand up into a fist and takes it away from Crowley, but then he takes a breath, and settles down, and puts it back where it was, bumping the backs of his fingers against the front of Crowley's, slotting them where there are gaps.

"--Just don't tell me again that you're going to put me through to the other side and-- leave me."

Of course Aziraphale would see it as Crowley leaving him. Crowley, conversely, would see it as saving Aziraphale.

"You think I'd just stay here because I like it here?" Crowley says. "Not that they don't have absolutely fantastic ice cream flavors for me to want to stick around for..."

He offers the angel a small smile. A gesture that's meant to be an olive branch, of sorts.

"No, I know you don't like it here, but... don't entertain the thought," he retorts, and glancing up, he knows that Crowley rarely smiles, genuinely anyway. When he does, they're generally reserved for Aziraphale, and so, each one of them is a precious gift.

But he looks away, back to the floor.

Crowley's voice turns serious. "We're leaving on that ferry," he says. "I'm getting us out of here. We're not going to be here in a month. Just a few more days and we're gone. Back to where we belong."

He knows he's betting a lot on this plan, but he's not going to give up. It's a good plan, it's worth betting on.

Aziraphale realizes he's standing very close to Crowley now, their fingers laced, static practically brewing between the two of them.

"Yes, we'll go back, we'll figure this out, we'll come back for everyone, and we'll still have time to stop Armageddon," he says, voice so quiet only Crowley could hear him. He has to believe it's true.

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