Crowley was tired. So very, very tired. It wasn't because he hadn't slept in ages. He didn't need sleep, of course, but he liked it very much. But he hardly saw the point in sleeping anymore. Sure it would make this lonely eternity end or at least pass by faster, but it was so impermanent. It's not exactly like time existed anymore anyway. Not how he'd always experienced it, at least. The sun and the stars weren't even there anymore to keep him company.
He hadn't used his voice since his worst day. There was no point. Even Antia stopped talking to him. She was his only companion, but she was also literally him, so it wasn't the same as...
He sat on a hunk of rubble that used to be a part of an old stone building in London. The Great War had happened. All the forces of Hell and all the forces of heaven clashed on Earth. No one cared what happened to the planet or its inhabitants.All of humanity perished in the fight, either from their own machinations (nuclear bombs, bullets, blades), or as collateral damage of demons and angels fighting with everything they had.
He'd tried to stop them. Both he and... Aziraphale... had tried to stop the war before it began. And for that they were both branded as traitors and hunted down until... Aziraphale didn't make it. Aziraphale didn't make it and it may as well have been his fault. If he hadn't convinced him to try and stop the war maybe he wouldn't have been...
"Thinking like that won't solve anything, you know." Antia spoke her first words in a long time. Her voice was a bit rough from disuse, but she continued, "We did everything we could."
But it wasn't enough to keep his angel safe and he wasn't about to rise to her bait. He laid back on the uncomfortable rock, causing the little gecko to bounce on his sunglasses. If only this great dead Earth could swallow him whole and end this. This must be his punishment. Neither Hell nor Heaven would take him when the retreats sounded, not that he'd want to go. Neither deserved him and he didn't deserve them. But the Earth? This was where he belonged. He just wanted it to be full of People, full of life, and especially full of Aziraphale.
But that wasn't how this world worked. That wasn't the fate he'd been handed. There was so much he would do differently if he'd had the chance.
As he lay there on the uneven and uncomfortable rock, he finally closed his eyes. and as he started to drift off for the first time in ages, he suddenly felt like gravity had been switched off and Antia let out a tiny yelp. His eyes snapped open as he felt something solid and decidedly more smooth against his back. There was the sound of a lake lapping gently against the dirt edge and ducks quacking.
He sat up immediately, oblivious to the distressed sounds his gecko soul was making from her perch on his shades. He had no idea how it happened, but he was seated on a bench in the decidedly intact St. James Park. His head whipped around even as his eyes stung from how bright the moon and the streetlamps were, taking in the signs of life everywhere, from the smell of the nearby flowers to the sounds of the creatures about. And People! Glorious, wonderful, imperfect People.
He would have let out a whoop of joy, but his voice was in such disuse no sound came out. It didn't really matter anyway. How he got here didn't matter. Was it a dream? Was it a chance to change things? Fix his mistakes? Save his angel? He didn't care, really.
There was really only one thing he knew he had to do. He had to find Aziraphale.
When there is nothing else to lose, does hope die too?
He hadn't used his voice since his worst day. There was no point. Even Antia stopped talking to him. She was his only companion, but she was also literally him, so it wasn't the same as...
He sat on a hunk of rubble that used to be a part of an old stone building in London. The Great War had happened. All the forces of Hell and all the forces of heaven clashed on Earth. No one cared what happened to the planet or its inhabitants.All of humanity perished in the fight, either from their own machinations (nuclear bombs, bullets, blades), or as collateral damage of demons and angels fighting with everything they had.
He'd tried to stop them. Both he and... Aziraphale... had tried to stop the war before it began. And for that they were both branded as traitors and hunted down until... Aziraphale didn't make it. Aziraphale didn't make it and it may as well have been his fault. If he hadn't convinced him to try and stop the war maybe he wouldn't have been...
"Thinking like that won't solve anything, you know." Antia spoke her first words in a long time. Her voice was a bit rough from disuse, but she continued, "We did everything we could."
But it wasn't enough to keep his angel safe and he wasn't about to rise to her bait. He laid back on the uncomfortable rock, causing the little gecko to bounce on his sunglasses. If only this great dead Earth could swallow him whole and end this. This must be his punishment. Neither Hell nor Heaven would take him when the retreats sounded, not that he'd want to go. Neither deserved him and he didn't deserve them. But the Earth? This was where he belonged. He just wanted it to be full of People, full of life, and especially full of Aziraphale.
But that wasn't how this world worked. That wasn't the fate he'd been handed. There was so much he would do differently if he'd had the chance.
As he lay there on the uneven and uncomfortable rock, he finally closed his eyes. and as he started to drift off for the first time in ages, he suddenly felt like gravity had been switched off and Antia let out a tiny yelp. His eyes snapped open as he felt something solid and decidedly more smooth against his back. There was the sound of a lake lapping gently against the dirt edge and ducks quacking.
He sat up immediately, oblivious to the distressed sounds his gecko soul was making from her perch on his shades. He had no idea how it happened, but he was seated on a bench in the decidedly intact St. James Park. His head whipped around even as his eyes stung from how bright the moon and the streetlamps were, taking in the signs of life everywhere, from the smell of the nearby flowers to the sounds of the creatures about. And People! Glorious, wonderful, imperfect People.
He would have let out a whoop of joy, but his voice was in such disuse no sound came out. It didn't really matter anyway. How he got here didn't matter. Was it a dream? Was it a chance to change things? Fix his mistakes? Save his angel? He didn't care, really.
There was really only one thing he knew he had to do. He had to find Aziraphale.