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Ineffable Drabble Collection

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Crowley. You really must stop doing this while I’m working!”

“’Working’ would sssuggest that you actually sssell any booksss, angel. We both know better than that.”

“While we’re in public, then, dear. It really is most distracting.”

“Good. I aim to be dissstracting. Good for my bad reputation.”

“Certainly better than the real reason you go to all the trouble of transforming and wiggling under my clothes.”


“You could have just asked for a blanket, my dear. Or a lamp.”

“Why bother with a lamp, when you’re a perfect ray of sssunssshine?”

“Devil. Thou speak with forked tongue.”

“Whenever possssssible.”

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It was long past closing time in the dining room of the Ritz. In the kitchen the cooks had shut down their ovens and wiped down their hobs, the waiters all hung up their aprons and divided tips.

Two still sat out at a table, chatting about old times, which were really Old Times. Empty bottles stood like weary soldiers, and smiles came easily to them both. Smiles and passing touches, experimental nudges, testing these new waters.

They’d stayed past closing time, after all. There was no guide for what came next.

Anything was possible once the ovens were off.

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“Your eyes are beautiful.”

No one ever called his eyes beautiful before. They were a reminder of his Fall, of his mistake to dare ask questions. A reminder that he was a demon.

An angel calling that sign of his disobedience, his unforgivable act, beautiful?

Crowley blinked, something he didn’t often do. “I think maybe it’s you who needs glasses, angel.”

Aziraphale shook his head, smiling. “I can see perfectly well what’s in front of me.” He reached out, and stroked a thumb over Crowley’s cheek. “And it’s beautiful.”

Crowley wondered if it was possible to Fall a second time.

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“I feel like I ought to be thanking you.”

“A demon, thanking an angel?”

“Yes, well. That’s why I’m not, you see. What sort of demon would I be, going around and thanking people?”

“An unorthodox one.”

“Well, exactly.”

“Of course.”


“I completely understand.”

“… Still, you know. For the… shelter. You know.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Would have been a bit humiliating, eh? Killed right after my very first mission?”


“Do you think this… rain… will always be so holy?”

“I think it will just be this first one.”

“That’s alright, then. Can’t be counting on you all the time.”

“… Quite.”

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In the Beginning, it would have been impossible to imagine an angel and a demon becoming as close as they were. In the Beginning, it would have been impossible to imagine demons.

But they had always been improbable, dancing along the edge dividing enemy and friend – that divide never so wide that they couldn’t reach one another.

Now, after the End? Who was there to say there even was a divide? Distinctions of ‘friend’ and ‘enemy’ crumbled away, tumbling them both into something more than either. Something which had always been there, something…

“My dear…”




… Inevitable.

… Ineffable.

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Love couldn’t really be all that bad, could it? And yet it seemed to be what he had to defend the most often. His love of the world, his love for humanity – it couldn’t be wrong. It was all the creation of the Almighty, and to love Her creation… that could only be right.

And yet, to love too much

Perhaps that was why humans called it ‘falling in love.’ Giving up so much of oneself to another, no matter who they were, was certain to make one Fall. Perhaps more so if they just happened to be a demon.

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Since the ‘hell’ had been taken out of his job description as ‘hellhound,’ a lot of Dog’s senses had been dulled. Dulled, but not removed. And he still had his memory.

Demons had a certain smell. It was unmistakable, not a scent which could be scrubbed away or covered. A discerning nose could always pick it out. So it confounded him when there appeared to be a demon whose scent was… faded.

Definitely a demon, but… less?

And then there was an angel – another unmistakable scent – and he was faded, too.

Less like their types, and more like one another.