𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍, ineffable husbands

forever and always

Year one: The restless program Crowley had to follow took about ten years to fully complete. He wasn't sure how long it would actually be to him; time altered heavily from Earth to Heaven to Hell. He didn't question it either; it was obvious that he was only expected to follow Aziraphale's lead.

His night was spent looking out the frosted window, and the morning was cut abruptly when there was a subtle knock at the door. He let out a sigh and tore his eyes from the trees. The angel was standing in the doorway, a cautious look in his eyes.

"Hey," he started. "How do you feel?"

"Annoyed." Crowley turned back around to look at his surroundings. It was nice to look at a backdrop that would never change, and it was also pleasant that he stopped seeing threatening shadows out of the corners of his eyes. Maybe that only occurred in hell.

He heard footsteps behind him, and he reminded himself not to punch the angel. It wasn't his fault he was stuck with him, after all. He just had a job to fill. He faintly remembered his old job from his past life; maybe that's why he got sent to hell. He was never told why in the first place.

Aziraphale appeared into view, and though Crowley was irritated, he didn't say anything. He could've told him to find a different window, but that didn't seem custom to Heaven's cultural manners. They both quietly observed the forest, silently agreeing that this was the closest they could be for comfort.

"Did you want to go outside?" The angel looked at him, head tilted when he asked. The small orb of light atop his head followed him; it was a pretty neat characteristic. Still, he refused to look him in the eyes. What color were they again?

"No." He could see Aziraphale tilt his head in disappointment, but he could care less. "I don't trust a place that was once light, but it's now... this."

"I can understand why you wouldn't trust it," he began, "but it's better to not question things here. God just makes things work, you know?" Crowley shook his head.

"I don't know. I don't trust a God with poor communication skills." The angel hummed in response. And so they spent the day simply observing the glass, wondering what the next would bring.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Observing the outside with Aziraphale might have been nice, but now Crowley would trade anything he had for the idiot's head on a stick.

"Come on. You just have to go outside, it's not that hard! It'd be better if you would." This conversation had lasted about thirty minutes or so, much to his dismay. He had been trying to get him to go outside "because you loved the view so much" even though he clearly didn't want to. It was nice observing something, but he didn't dare trust something that had an unknown or mysterious origin.

The argument had started with Crowley touching the window, and Aziraphale insisting he should then go outside. He sometimes wondered what chaos went through that strange man's mind. He didn't know how to tell him he was simply suspicious of things he couldn't understand without having to say it three thousand times over.

"I know I can." He was leaning to the side of the window, no longer looking through it in hopes it would help him win the argument. Aziraphale had opted to argue by the bedroom door. "I just won't."

They continued pointlessly bickering, both of them too stubborn to quit. They both used pointless and inaccurate reasonings for both sides, and while Aziraphale was laughing throughout some parts Crowley couldn't figure out why he would. "Oh I get it, you're scarred" The angel piped up.

"What?" There were few things he truly despised, and one of them was being called scared. He didn't fear anything- he had been forced to face most of his fears in hell. Nobody with a brain would call him scared.

"Well it's okay if you're-"

"I'm not scared." The angel was really testing him now. What kind of ignorant bastard would say such a thing!? Before he realized what hole he had dug himself into, Aziraphale grinned at him, rightfully pissing him off. "Prove it."

He had two options here. He could remain stubborn and win the argument at the cost of his pride, or he could prove that he wasn't scared of the mysterious forest from nowhere at all and walk out the door. It was undetermined which option was better for him.

So he pushed past Aziraphale and walked out the door. The second he opened it he was hit by a million different senses at once. The sky was a dull shade of pink from the setting sun, and the smell... the smell of the forest was earthly and sweet and nice.

It had been a long time since he found something more pleasant than this. He could smell what he assumed were flowers, and the wind softly kissed his arms through the holes in his sleeves. It rippled through his hair, and his clothes shook from it delightfully.

He found himself paused at the doorway, not from fear but from comfort. It was almost overwhelming, but in the loveliest way possible. The outdoors seemed to sing to him, desperate to be explored. He took a deep breath, and the world breathed with him.

He took a step forward. The small cobblestone path which led to the forest brushed against his hole ridden shoes. He could faintly feel the smooth stone very pleasantly on his skin; it didn't hurt like Hell did.

Slowly, he approached a tree. The wind sang in his ears as he did, and he could feel small blades of grass on his feet. The closer to the tree he went, the more the earthly scent filled his nose and lungs. It was something he knew he had felt before, but he couldn't remember when.

Thus, he was standing in front of it. It looked greatly different from when he was looking at it from yards away; he could see each individual piece of bark wrapping itself around the trunk, and it towered over the suddenly small demon. He raised his hand, ignoring its trembling.

Cautiously, he put it on the tree. He had expected it to be smooth, but it was calmly rough against his withered palms. He pressed a little firmer, and it dug into his hand just a little bit, leaving marks when he pulled it back. He couldn't bring himself to leave.

He heard the small crunch of grass behind him (had it made that sound before?), but he didn't find himself angered this time. He didn't bother to look behind him either. The angel appeared beside him again, right in his peripheral view.

"How did it feel?" Thinking about it now, Aziraphale's voice was a little calming when he wasn't being annoying. It was sad to say that wasn't the case most of the time, however.

He thought about it before answering. "Rough." He blinked a couple times, though he knew he didn't have to. "But not in a bad way."

He saw the angel nod. The small light above him flashed irritably. "Why were you scared?"

He chose not to answer, because he knew they both realized the truth. Crowley was a lot more fragile than they realized, even though he was fresh out of hell.