Aziraphale and Crowley just love each other so damn much okay
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“So we’re supposed to. Uh,” Crowley begins, and then stops.
Aziraphale doesn’t blame him. The first time he’d read the prophecy it’d seemed vague and unhelpful, but then they’d worked out that the “fire” referenced was probably Hellfire, that Heaven and Hell were coming for them, and that the only way out was to. Well.
“Seems that way,” Aziraphale says, with far more evenness than he feels. His face is the colour of just having been told by a 17th century witch to mix essences with the demon one adores. That is to say, it’s very, very red.