The Ghosts in the Attic (They Never Quite Leave)
31 Aug 2019
It had been a nice day. The forecast hadn’t called for rain, but as they’d dined, a light drizzle dotted the windows of the little Mediterranean bistro they’d been meaning to try. They were tucked away at a table for two in the little alcove near the front, where Aziraphale could watch as the collection of droplets grew. He cast about for some kind of comment on how lucky it was for them that it hadn’t started up on their way in.
He couldn’t find a single thing to say. He picked at his papoutsakia instead. It had gone rather soggy.
In which an angel overthinks, a demon stews, and both of them refuse to say what they actually mean. Their emotions also might influence the weather a tiny bit...
15 Sep 2019
He’d been tempting Aziraphale the whole time, hadn’t he?
Not, like, goading him or teasing him to get him flustered and huffy and so indignant. Proper temptation. Doing his job, unintentionally, without even realizing it. Forgetting himself. Like the way he’d forget about hissing or blinking or ducks. He was a demon. Temptation came with the territory.
It was one thing to be in favor of the general idea of tempting Aziraphale, but quite another for it to actually happen. At his own hand, at that.
He wasn’t sure what had spurred on this sudden spiral this time, sometimes he was able to ignore the niggling guilt and the knowledge that he was just wrong. So wrong for Aziraphale. That no matter what Crowley’s intentions might have been, he was only paving the way for the angel’s personal pathway to Hell. As wretched as Heaven was and as much of a bastard as he could be, Aziraphale didn’t belong in Hell.
In which a demon takes his turn to overthink, an angel waits, and they try to actually use their words to say what they really mean. Mostly things just go pear-shaped. Or another kind of shape, if you're Aziraphale. Companion fic to The Brightest of Signs.