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The world ended, as it had started, in a garden.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. For starters, the grassy patch of park the angel and demon found themselves settling into didn’t have nearly enough flowers to call itself a garden, boasting only a handful of withering shrubs that shivered and plumped themselves out as best they could under Crowley’s glare. Moreover, the world–the human one, Earth and all the kingdoms thereof–remained, much to the dismay of both heaven and hell. The end, it seemed, was not one of fire, blood, and ash; the world hadn’t ended at all really, not in the literal sense. But the one they walked for the last 6,000 years had shifted, and in its place, something new had formed.
Something they both quite liked indeed.
Something that allowed for picnics in the park, for grazes of hands that led to holding of hands, out in the open, head offices be damned (or blessed). Something that ended all fearful fights of opposite sides; that instead gave way to the whispered vows of our side.
Aziraphale had been the one to suggest a picnic all those years ago; at the time it was a hypothetical, a wish, “maybe one day we can take a picnic, but you and I both know that will never happen. It can never happen, not if we want to stay safe.” The words left unspoken rang louder than the few he said aloud, as had been the case throughout the entirety of their relationship.
Another change the pair enjoyed.
Crowley lounged on the– Someone, why– tartan picnic blanket spread over the grass, eyeing his angel through half-lidded golden eyes. Another day, he might have complained about the angel’s textile preferences, but today felt too important to waste on old routines they’d rehearsed over the last few millennia. Today, Crowley felt alive and real and new , and for a being as old and as weary as he often was, wasn’t that something?
“What are you staring at?” Aziraphale’s bemused voice pulled him into the present, where he was laying across a blanket from his angel, the day after Armageddon decidedly did not happen, having survived the apocalypse and the trials of their respective Head Offices relatively unscathed, and he smiled. Any other day, he would have played it cool, lied to save face, but not today. Today, he found himself saying, “Just looking at you, Angel.” Roses bloomed across Aziraphale’s cheeks, and suddenly he couldn’t stop, “I’m just really happy. For the first time since–” the Fall, he pushed it down, not. today. “in a long time, I think I’m really happy.”
He risked a look into Aziraphale’s eyes and briefly wished he had on his glasses as one last defense, but he had left them in the Bentley; he needed to do this right, he needed Aziraphale to see him. The angel’s eyes had misted over and he met Crowley’s nervous gaze with a look that was far too knowing. He gave a soft smile and reached for the demon; Crowley found himself scrambling to his knees to get closer as Aziraphale said gently– always so gentle with Crowley – “I think I know exactly what you mean.”
“Yeah?” Crowley asked. His heart was in his throat–not that he needed one, but he had gotten quite used to it in his time on Earth, even if it was doing rather unpleasant somersaults in his body at the moment.
The angel reached out again and this time found what he was searching for; their hands tangled together and he traced Crowley’s wrist with his thumb. He nodded softly.
They didn’t need to say it. After 6,000 years they could read each other almost as well as they could read themselves. But today, they did, because today, for the first time, they could.