Happy Holidays, sirius_luva!
Title: Step Forward
For: sirius_luva
By: taiyou_to_tsuki
The star shone brightly over the small town where He was born.
Or would be born, or was being born. There was no set time for when it was going to start shining, but it had been going on for a while now so one had to assume it at least had started. Like a small sun, the star illuminated the sky over Bethlehem and sent ripples of light into the dark night. It was quite beautiful on its own. But the entire sky seemed to curl and shudder on the edge of its light; no longer dark and unfriendly but the warm depth of a still ocean, a great curtain of indigo silk.
Farther away, the regular stars were scattered over the horizon, all competing in vain with the newly arrived sign of Heaven.
Aziraphale wasn't present himself. He wasn't surprised no one had asked him to be, and instead he was watching the city from a distance. He was convinced he wouldn't have watched the event even if he'd been commanded to, anyway, and was now happily enjoying a much more pleasant view. The angel would have plenty of time to observe Him later on in life, after all. And surely nothing would ever be the same again after this night, perhaps it was just as well someone took notice of this view, memorized it just so it would be remembered.
The stars, the sky, the town and the land. How heaven was but a vault over a flat earth... How hard it was to imagine any cities, any nations, any humans at all beyond the dark skyline.
But miles away, the star was still nothing but a star in the distance.
And maybe a certain demon did look towards the sky, over the world and looked in the direction of this star, this beacon of faith, just for a moment.
But he wouldn't have known and the world continued to madly spin on.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aziraphale sighed loudly, and hot air escaped his lungs as mist.
London was cold this Winter. No snow of course, but frost covered the rooftops and the chill was the kind of chill that bit every exposed area of skin and sent you shivering, dying for a cup of hot chocolate when the wind blew. Aziraphale tried hard not to inhale the cold air again when he cast another glance on his watch. Crowley was never late; he just showed up at the time that seemed to fit him best.
The angel was sitting on the cold roof of a relatively tall building; not tall enough to draw any attention to it but still giving a good enough view of the rest of the city’s rooftops in sight.
Roofs were extraordinary things. They were everywhere a house was, but seldom noticed. That meant they were excellent places to meet up, and it also gave them an opportunity to talk more than getting stinking drunk. (Discorporation might be a minor obstacle for supernatural beings but it’s never very pleasant, especially not from falling off a roof.)
Neither Crowley or Aziraphale particularly enjoyed Christmas, but they approved and disapproved of it for the totally opposite reasons. Downstairs revelled in the tainted atmosphere of greed and stress surrounding the holiest of holidays, and On High praised the light and love and good will that hovered over humanity in equal amount. They both found each other’s source of delight regrettable.
Crowley and Aziraphale both expressed their discontent, and continued to make their pick amongst at least ten different kinds of alcohol-based drinks.
A gust of wind from heavy wings brushed the back of his neck.
“Merry Christmas.”
Aziraphale could almost see the expression Crowley made at the affected greeting without actually looking at him.
“I suppose.”
And yes, there was the bottle of wine and the corkscrew. Now all they needed was a conversation. Aziraphale chose to start one, like so many other conversations are started, with a question:
“Did you think you would miss it?”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was one of the most peculiar things Aziraphale had seen up to this point.
Sure, as humanity, and religious worship in particular, goes, it shouldn’t have been very exceptional. And it wasn’t, really, simply puzzling in its own simplicity - the ass, the ox and the manger between them. Obvious imagery, and totally without function. Nothing new under the sun. Had Aziraphale known back then how popular this “Nativity scene” would become, he would probably have felt even more puzzled.
Christmas was still something new though, and Aziraphale was observing his latest subject’s mass with mellow interest. Also, Crowley was with him.
The demon was definitely annoyed and stared intensely at the robed figure next to the farm animals, like he was trying his hardest to understand why on Earth anyone would be willing to stand up and preach such nonsense in public. Or he was simply trying to stare a hole through the holy man’s soul.
Three years had passed since they’d reached their arrangement. (Not yet with the capital letter.) Crowley had come tonight as a result of this, as the mass was held in a cave and not on sacred ground. The saint-to-be was uninteresting, but Aziraphale had no bigger project at his hands for the time being, so he would have to do.
The angel wasn’t really listening anymore though. He was looking at Crowley. Their relationship had never been particularly violent or aggressive, but this mutual agreement... It still felt good. Nice and structured, making things so much easier for both of them, and Crowley himself really wasn’t that bad either...
The Italian night hung great and infinite over the mountain. In that moment, it felt like he had a thousand questions to be answered by this person next to him only.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It wasn’t really a loaded question. At least, he hadn’t thought so. Kind of ridiculous, really; Aziraphale would wonder in retrospect what would have happened if he had asked the "right" question instead. Nothing, probably.
Crowley turned his head slightly, and Aziraphale assumed he was looking at him through the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
“... No.”
He turned his head again, put the bottle to his lips and took a small gulp. “Did you?”
Aziraphale looked out over the city. Had he thought he would miss it? Admittedly, Christmas hadn’t been on top of the list of things he would miss when everything ended, but he didn’t dislike it either. It was like any other holiday of the year: a good excuse for self-indulgence. (Not that Aziraphale would admit that to anyone, not even himself.) Not until December had arrived had he even considered there was something to be missed at this time of the year. And, in a way, there wasn’t.
It wasn’t Christmas itself he would miss.
“I never really thought about it.” he finally replied. “It wasn’t exactly of highest priority, so to speak”.
He didn’t move, but then again he didn’t need to confirm this information. A silence grew between them, lasting only a few moments; a contemplative silence.
“Not that I don’t enjoy it though.”
The basic problem is this: when you’ve lived on Earth for millennia, holidays tend to blur, they become temporary occasions, after a while you know they might disappear any year. You don’t put much weight on it, especially not such a new and mixed tradition like Christmas.
Like he'd read his mind, Crowley spoke up:
"And I used to wonder why you never really cared for Christmas..."
Aziraphale snorted. "Yes. There's always been a tendency in Christianity to take over other cultures' traditions and adapt them to your own needs. I suppose it's natural, when you look at it from a certain point of view."
' A completely human reaction'. He thought for a moment and added: "They didn't even get the date right."
Crowley chuckled, then put the bottle to his lips again and smirked.
"What is the real date then?"
The angel put on a look of calculated pity in return.
"I don't know anymore, they've changed the calendar so many times over the years."
"And it's not the spirit that counts? Or whatever drivel you'd usually come up with."
"Yes and no," he paused for a second. "Of course it's a victory for my people, in a figurative meaning. But how many humans celebrate Christmas as the birth of Christ?" The angel shrugged. "It's a PR-victory and not much more, I suppose."
"I could say the same thing for my side."
Crowley mused. "If you ask me, I think it's too much effort put into a simple date."
Aziraphale rubbed his hands absentmindedly, more because of the cold than any kind of nervousness.
"It's all about traditions, not dates," he said. "This--" he took the bottle of wine from the demon's hand "--This too." Crowley frowned.
"Never thought about it that way." He stared at the bottle as if it'd just told him a dirty secret. (Or a sincere one, considering Crowley's stance on things usually considered 'dirty', Aziraphale thought.) "Wait, what, does that mean the Arrangement counts as tradition?"
The angel could follow this line of reasoning, since alcohol and the Arrangement had been pretty much inseparable for an awfully long time. But "No," he said instead, "the Arrangement is a, a... Diplomatic agreement, of sorts. An arrangement between the two of us meaning we'll not interfere with the other's work for the benefit of both parts. I suppose. Er. Why do you ask?"
It was getting late, Aziraphale noticed. The air seemed even chillier, and somehow even the constant buzz of the London traffic and London people seemed to have died away slightly. Crowley still had his wings out, and the angel felt oddly wistful for a short moment.
"I guess that means," Crowley began, "I guess that means it's illegible for the time being, what's with Adam being around now. There's certainly no reason for it to still be in function. I mean..."
Aziraphale's voice seemed strangely small when he replied: "I suppose."
They'd managed to avoid this topic up to this point, or maybe they'd just chosen to ignore it. At first they'd only been glad and relieved over the failed Apocalypse, then glad and relieved over the fact that it seemed to come without repercussions any time soon, and now... Now they were sitting there.
A new silence spread between them then, not of contemplation, but something indefinable. Ineffable, if you so like.
The angel, who'd been looking back and forth at Crowley and the city the entire evening, now turned his gaze towards the sky. Traditions. Humanity needed them. For millennia societies had adapted them to their own needs, their own religions, created new ones but still clung onto their pagan precursors like leeches.
Tradition became a lifeline; not for the people who practised it, but for the people who passed it on.
It was one of those things about humanity Aziraphale didn't understand. Traditions. Was it because they're frail, insecure, because they didn't like change? The angel had long suspected that humanity detested the most essential part of their existence.
While he had been pondering this, Crowley had apparently concentrated on more down-to-earth matters.
"Would you spend time with me even if there is no Arrangement?"
The question was so casually asked it had to be a loaded one.
Aziraphale was about to tell him that that was a silly question, when he realized that perhaps it wasn't. Not to Crowley. And then this realization had to give way to yet another one of much greater impact.
It felt a bit like coming home, but mostly it was a warmth that bloomed, spread from his stomach to chest and limbs and head, a very warm, 'yes, cherished,' feeling... It was the most natural of reactions; subtly, as if it'd always been there. It was in his nature, after all.
Crowley was just staring at him like it was raining, while Aziraphale was staring back in awe, wondering why he had never noticed it before. If there had been something to be noticed before.
Then, he smiled.
The sky over London wasn't as dark as the one over Bethlehem had been. The moon and stars were pale and faint, lit up by the artificial light of the city travelling towards them through space... And he briefly thought how magnificent a star the city must look like from above.
"Yes." Aziraphale said.
"We might have to re-arrange some things though..."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He had been sleeping for almost fifty years.
Aziraphale didn't want to wake him up. It wasn’t like it was any of his business anyway. He sometimes thought he should use this opportunity to work harder, but frankly there wasn't much to do.
The 19th century was all but exciting, but somehow it was still... Refreshing, compared to other centuries. Beneath the sleepy and smoky grey exterior there was something beating slowly, new thoughts and possibilities rallying through the minds of humanity and making way for something... Big.
He could sense it from time to time, something in the streets and the air and the people. Hammers were echoing throughout Europe with a steady beat and the wars went on in an almost lulling pace... To quietly subside.
Aziraphale could understand why Crowley was sleeping. This century was just a prelude, after all, so that was to be expected from the demon. Skipping the meal and going straight for the dessert. Truly, the demon's napping didn't bother him much - the world was going about its business like he had been present all along.
Only this time of the year, he almost wanted to wake him up.
It was cold in London the Winter 1863, and the angel had wrapped himself up in a lumpy blanket in an armchair, cradling a book old even then. The floor was bare and cold, and the entire place was naked and impersonal except for the books and sparse furniture. Aziraphale had felt it was time to move, however improper the time. Honestly, this place couldn't even be called a shop yet, much less a home.
Didn't matter. No one was going to bother him on Christmas Eve. No matter how much Aziraphale would've appreciated it if a certain someone had.
The city was covered with snow; white that blended with the grey in the dirty streets and black night sky. Monochrome. Cold, lonely. A bit too sober for him. He should make some tea.
For some reason, the only thing Aziraphale felt like drinking this night was wine.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was in the middle of the night, early the 25th of December.
Outside, the people who had been awake up to this hour started to find their ways home. They would fall asleep, and they would wake up Christmas morning, cold and miserable as well as warm and happy, and the world would not care. The world rarely pays attention to the fate of individual humans. People are born and people die even this night of the year. The world, it doesn’t care about who’s going to change it, it just spins on.
Snow was falling over London, but it melted as soon as it reached the ground.
Inside, in a big classy apartment, an angel had wrapped his arms around a now sleeping demon. Aziraphale had never quite got the hang of this particular habit, so he was just lying there content with the turn things had taken at the end of their conversation and what had happened afterwards. Crowley was warm, the bed was soft and Aziraphale was experiencing the odd sensation of floating away, trying not to think too much of it since it would definitely end if he did.
They had changed. Their relationship had changed, and they hadn’t even noticed. Relationships change, traditions change, but this is because people change, not the world around them. Aziraphale was wrong about that. Everybody needs something to return to, everybody needs a manger or a glass of wine. It is by having something constant present we will not be afraid to change.
And sometimes the dissolving of something constant will make us ready for an even bigger change.
Aziraphale fell asleep without realizing any of this.
The End.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
As you’ve probably noticed, this fic contains a number of Christmas flashbacks I thought I’d quickly explain before moving on.
The first one is quite obvious. The Birth of Christ (whom we have assumed was the son of God in this particular fic) in Bethlehem. No further explanation needed.
The second one is a little trickier: it is set in 1023, at a Christmas mass in a cave close by the town Greccio, performed by Italian saint Francis of Assisi. Francis of Assisi is the first person in history who is known to have created Nativity scenes; according to some sources he only imitated what he had seen elsewhere on his travels, but nonetheless, he was the first person known to have done it. The Nativity scene was quite a lot simpler back then than now: if you trust in Francis’s biographer Thomas of Celano, it consisted only of a straw-filled manger and a real ox and ass.
The third one was chosen simply because it was the 19th century. Heh. If you’re curious though, I chose the year 1863 simply because that was the year the first modern illustration of Santa Claus appeared in an American newspaper, made by Thomas Nast. XD
And finally: thank you for reading. I’m not entirely satisfied myself, but this is the first thing I’ve written for over six months, so it’s still kind of epic. 8P I only noticed just now that I seem to be a bit obsessive with the topic “Change”... I seem to incorporate it somehow in everything I write. XD Anyway, thanks, and Happy Holidays. :)
Happy Holidays, sirius_luva, from your Secret Writer!
For: sirius_luva
By: taiyou_to_tsuki
The star shone brightly over the small town where He was born.
Or would be born, or was being born. There was no set time for when it was going to start shining, but it had been going on for a while now so one had to assume it at least had started. Like a small sun, the star illuminated the sky over Bethlehem and sent ripples of light into the dark night. It was quite beautiful on its own. But the entire sky seemed to curl and shudder on the edge of its light; no longer dark and unfriendly but the warm depth of a still ocean, a great curtain of indigo silk.
Farther away, the regular stars were scattered over the horizon, all competing in vain with the newly arrived sign of Heaven.
Aziraphale wasn't present himself. He wasn't surprised no one had asked him to be, and instead he was watching the city from a distance. He was convinced he wouldn't have watched the event even if he'd been commanded to, anyway, and was now happily enjoying a much more pleasant view. The angel would have plenty of time to observe Him later on in life, after all. And surely nothing would ever be the same again after this night, perhaps it was just as well someone took notice of this view, memorized it just so it would be remembered.
The stars, the sky, the town and the land. How heaven was but a vault over a flat earth... How hard it was to imagine any cities, any nations, any humans at all beyond the dark skyline.
But miles away, the star was still nothing but a star in the distance.
And maybe a certain demon did look towards the sky, over the world and looked in the direction of this star, this beacon of faith, just for a moment.
But he wouldn't have known and the world continued to madly spin on.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aziraphale sighed loudly, and hot air escaped his lungs as mist.
London was cold this Winter. No snow of course, but frost covered the rooftops and the chill was the kind of chill that bit every exposed area of skin and sent you shivering, dying for a cup of hot chocolate when the wind blew. Aziraphale tried hard not to inhale the cold air again when he cast another glance on his watch. Crowley was never late; he just showed up at the time that seemed to fit him best.
The angel was sitting on the cold roof of a relatively tall building; not tall enough to draw any attention to it but still giving a good enough view of the rest of the city’s rooftops in sight.
Roofs were extraordinary things. They were everywhere a house was, but seldom noticed. That meant they were excellent places to meet up, and it also gave them an opportunity to talk more than getting stinking drunk. (Discorporation might be a minor obstacle for supernatural beings but it’s never very pleasant, especially not from falling off a roof.)
Neither Crowley or Aziraphale particularly enjoyed Christmas, but they approved and disapproved of it for the totally opposite reasons. Downstairs revelled in the tainted atmosphere of greed and stress surrounding the holiest of holidays, and On High praised the light and love and good will that hovered over humanity in equal amount. They both found each other’s source of delight regrettable.
Crowley and Aziraphale both expressed their discontent, and continued to make their pick amongst at least ten different kinds of alcohol-based drinks.
A gust of wind from heavy wings brushed the back of his neck.
“Merry Christmas.”
Aziraphale could almost see the expression Crowley made at the affected greeting without actually looking at him.
“I suppose.”
And yes, there was the bottle of wine and the corkscrew. Now all they needed was a conversation. Aziraphale chose to start one, like so many other conversations are started, with a question:
“Did you think you would miss it?”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was one of the most peculiar things Aziraphale had seen up to this point.
Sure, as humanity, and religious worship in particular, goes, it shouldn’t have been very exceptional. And it wasn’t, really, simply puzzling in its own simplicity - the ass, the ox and the manger between them. Obvious imagery, and totally without function. Nothing new under the sun. Had Aziraphale known back then how popular this “Nativity scene” would become, he would probably have felt even more puzzled.
Christmas was still something new though, and Aziraphale was observing his latest subject’s mass with mellow interest. Also, Crowley was with him.
The demon was definitely annoyed and stared intensely at the robed figure next to the farm animals, like he was trying his hardest to understand why on Earth anyone would be willing to stand up and preach such nonsense in public. Or he was simply trying to stare a hole through the holy man’s soul.
Three years had passed since they’d reached their arrangement. (Not yet with the capital letter.) Crowley had come tonight as a result of this, as the mass was held in a cave and not on sacred ground. The saint-to-be was uninteresting, but Aziraphale had no bigger project at his hands for the time being, so he would have to do.
The angel wasn’t really listening anymore though. He was looking at Crowley. Their relationship had never been particularly violent or aggressive, but this mutual agreement... It still felt good. Nice and structured, making things so much easier for both of them, and Crowley himself really wasn’t that bad either...
The Italian night hung great and infinite over the mountain. In that moment, it felt like he had a thousand questions to be answered by this person next to him only.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It wasn’t really a loaded question. At least, he hadn’t thought so. Kind of ridiculous, really; Aziraphale would wonder in retrospect what would have happened if he had asked the "right" question instead. Nothing, probably.
Crowley turned his head slightly, and Aziraphale assumed he was looking at him through the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
“... No.”
He turned his head again, put the bottle to his lips and took a small gulp. “Did you?”
Aziraphale looked out over the city. Had he thought he would miss it? Admittedly, Christmas hadn’t been on top of the list of things he would miss when everything ended, but he didn’t dislike it either. It was like any other holiday of the year: a good excuse for self-indulgence. (Not that Aziraphale would admit that to anyone, not even himself.) Not until December had arrived had he even considered there was something to be missed at this time of the year. And, in a way, there wasn’t.
It wasn’t Christmas itself he would miss.
“I never really thought about it.” he finally replied. “It wasn’t exactly of highest priority, so to speak”.
He didn’t move, but then again he didn’t need to confirm this information. A silence grew between them, lasting only a few moments; a contemplative silence.
“Not that I don’t enjoy it though.”
The basic problem is this: when you’ve lived on Earth for millennia, holidays tend to blur, they become temporary occasions, after a while you know they might disappear any year. You don’t put much weight on it, especially not such a new and mixed tradition like Christmas.
Like he'd read his mind, Crowley spoke up:
"And I used to wonder why you never really cared for Christmas..."
Aziraphale snorted. "Yes. There's always been a tendency in Christianity to take over other cultures' traditions and adapt them to your own needs. I suppose it's natural, when you look at it from a certain point of view."
' A completely human reaction'. He thought for a moment and added: "They didn't even get the date right."
Crowley chuckled, then put the bottle to his lips again and smirked.
"What is the real date then?"
The angel put on a look of calculated pity in return.
"I don't know anymore, they've changed the calendar so many times over the years."
"And it's not the spirit that counts? Or whatever drivel you'd usually come up with."
"Yes and no," he paused for a second. "Of course it's a victory for my people, in a figurative meaning. But how many humans celebrate Christmas as the birth of Christ?" The angel shrugged. "It's a PR-victory and not much more, I suppose."
"I could say the same thing for my side."
Crowley mused. "If you ask me, I think it's too much effort put into a simple date."
Aziraphale rubbed his hands absentmindedly, more because of the cold than any kind of nervousness.
"It's all about traditions, not dates," he said. "This--" he took the bottle of wine from the demon's hand "--This too." Crowley frowned.
"Never thought about it that way." He stared at the bottle as if it'd just told him a dirty secret. (Or a sincere one, considering Crowley's stance on things usually considered 'dirty', Aziraphale thought.) "Wait, what, does that mean the Arrangement counts as tradition?"
The angel could follow this line of reasoning, since alcohol and the Arrangement had been pretty much inseparable for an awfully long time. But "No," he said instead, "the Arrangement is a, a... Diplomatic agreement, of sorts. An arrangement between the two of us meaning we'll not interfere with the other's work for the benefit of both parts. I suppose. Er. Why do you ask?"
It was getting late, Aziraphale noticed. The air seemed even chillier, and somehow even the constant buzz of the London traffic and London people seemed to have died away slightly. Crowley still had his wings out, and the angel felt oddly wistful for a short moment.
"I guess that means," Crowley began, "I guess that means it's illegible for the time being, what's with Adam being around now. There's certainly no reason for it to still be in function. I mean..."
Aziraphale's voice seemed strangely small when he replied: "I suppose."
They'd managed to avoid this topic up to this point, or maybe they'd just chosen to ignore it. At first they'd only been glad and relieved over the failed Apocalypse, then glad and relieved over the fact that it seemed to come without repercussions any time soon, and now... Now they were sitting there.
A new silence spread between them then, not of contemplation, but something indefinable. Ineffable, if you so like.
The angel, who'd been looking back and forth at Crowley and the city the entire evening, now turned his gaze towards the sky. Traditions. Humanity needed them. For millennia societies had adapted them to their own needs, their own religions, created new ones but still clung onto their pagan precursors like leeches.
Tradition became a lifeline; not for the people who practised it, but for the people who passed it on.
It was one of those things about humanity Aziraphale didn't understand. Traditions. Was it because they're frail, insecure, because they didn't like change? The angel had long suspected that humanity detested the most essential part of their existence.
While he had been pondering this, Crowley had apparently concentrated on more down-to-earth matters.
"Would you spend time with me even if there is no Arrangement?"
The question was so casually asked it had to be a loaded one.
Aziraphale was about to tell him that that was a silly question, when he realized that perhaps it wasn't. Not to Crowley. And then this realization had to give way to yet another one of much greater impact.
It felt a bit like coming home, but mostly it was a warmth that bloomed, spread from his stomach to chest and limbs and head, a very warm, 'yes, cherished,' feeling... It was the most natural of reactions; subtly, as if it'd always been there. It was in his nature, after all.
Crowley was just staring at him like it was raining, while Aziraphale was staring back in awe, wondering why he had never noticed it before. If there had been something to be noticed before.
Then, he smiled.
The sky over London wasn't as dark as the one over Bethlehem had been. The moon and stars were pale and faint, lit up by the artificial light of the city travelling towards them through space... And he briefly thought how magnificent a star the city must look like from above.
"Yes." Aziraphale said.
"We might have to re-arrange some things though..."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He had been sleeping for almost fifty years.
Aziraphale didn't want to wake him up. It wasn’t like it was any of his business anyway. He sometimes thought he should use this opportunity to work harder, but frankly there wasn't much to do.
The 19th century was all but exciting, but somehow it was still... Refreshing, compared to other centuries. Beneath the sleepy and smoky grey exterior there was something beating slowly, new thoughts and possibilities rallying through the minds of humanity and making way for something... Big.
He could sense it from time to time, something in the streets and the air and the people. Hammers were echoing throughout Europe with a steady beat and the wars went on in an almost lulling pace... To quietly subside.
Aziraphale could understand why Crowley was sleeping. This century was just a prelude, after all, so that was to be expected from the demon. Skipping the meal and going straight for the dessert. Truly, the demon's napping didn't bother him much - the world was going about its business like he had been present all along.
Only this time of the year, he almost wanted to wake him up.
It was cold in London the Winter 1863, and the angel had wrapped himself up in a lumpy blanket in an armchair, cradling a book old even then. The floor was bare and cold, and the entire place was naked and impersonal except for the books and sparse furniture. Aziraphale had felt it was time to move, however improper the time. Honestly, this place couldn't even be called a shop yet, much less a home.
Didn't matter. No one was going to bother him on Christmas Eve. No matter how much Aziraphale would've appreciated it if a certain someone had.
The city was covered with snow; white that blended with the grey in the dirty streets and black night sky. Monochrome. Cold, lonely. A bit too sober for him. He should make some tea.
For some reason, the only thing Aziraphale felt like drinking this night was wine.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was in the middle of the night, early the 25th of December.
Outside, the people who had been awake up to this hour started to find their ways home. They would fall asleep, and they would wake up Christmas morning, cold and miserable as well as warm and happy, and the world would not care. The world rarely pays attention to the fate of individual humans. People are born and people die even this night of the year. The world, it doesn’t care about who’s going to change it, it just spins on.
Snow was falling over London, but it melted as soon as it reached the ground.
Inside, in a big classy apartment, an angel had wrapped his arms around a now sleeping demon. Aziraphale had never quite got the hang of this particular habit, so he was just lying there content with the turn things had taken at the end of their conversation and what had happened afterwards. Crowley was warm, the bed was soft and Aziraphale was experiencing the odd sensation of floating away, trying not to think too much of it since it would definitely end if he did.
They had changed. Their relationship had changed, and they hadn’t even noticed. Relationships change, traditions change, but this is because people change, not the world around them. Aziraphale was wrong about that. Everybody needs something to return to, everybody needs a manger or a glass of wine. It is by having something constant present we will not be afraid to change.
And sometimes the dissolving of something constant will make us ready for an even bigger change.
Aziraphale fell asleep without realizing any of this.
The End.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
As you’ve probably noticed, this fic contains a number of Christmas flashbacks I thought I’d quickly explain before moving on.
The first one is quite obvious. The Birth of Christ (whom we have assumed was the son of God in this particular fic) in Bethlehem. No further explanation needed.
The second one is a little trickier: it is set in 1023, at a Christmas mass in a cave close by the town Greccio, performed by Italian saint Francis of Assisi. Francis of Assisi is the first person in history who is known to have created Nativity scenes; according to some sources he only imitated what he had seen elsewhere on his travels, but nonetheless, he was the first person known to have done it. The Nativity scene was quite a lot simpler back then than now: if you trust in Francis’s biographer Thomas of Celano, it consisted only of a straw-filled manger and a real ox and ass.
The third one was chosen simply because it was the 19th century. Heh. If you’re curious though, I chose the year 1863 simply because that was the year the first modern illustration of Santa Claus appeared in an American newspaper, made by Thomas Nast. XD
And finally: thank you for reading. I’m not entirely satisfied myself, but this is the first thing I’ve written for over six months, so it’s still kind of epic. 8P I only noticed just now that I seem to be a bit obsessive with the topic “Change”... I seem to incorporate it somehow in everything I write. XD Anyway, thanks, and Happy Holidays. :)
Happy Holidays, sirius_luva, from your Secret Writer!