Memory palace, memory landfill

They make a black hole: a star made so heavy and so gloriously much, so much star, that it’s ready to collapse under its own weight. Crowley nods at them to do the honors. Beelzebub closes their eyes, and reaches out, gathering gasses and metals and weight and light and sound, and packs it all into the star, more, they think to it, more, more, more, you want more, and then the star wakes up, as it were, and realizes it’s hungry, and with a roar it takes a deep breath in and holds it. The universe begins to slip and tug into it, faster and faster, and Crowley barely yanks Beelzebub back in time, a hand fisted in the back of their robes.

“Thanks,” Beelzebub says.

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley says, and then he says, “Fuck, Beez, look at what we did.”

“Should we have, do you think?”

“Well, it’s too late now,” Crowley says.

Words: 10,190

Status: Complete

Rating: Teen And Up

@mayhawk

Art Credit: Untitled by Anish Kapoor

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Summary:

The thing Aziraphale remembers most about Babylon is the singing. “Do you ever fly?” Crawley asked suddenly. “Oh, I haven’t flown since - the Ark.” A little laugh. That shuffle of feathers again. “You should. S’good for you.” “No thank you.” Aziraphale’s shoulders were nearly up around his ears. If Crawley squinted, he could just see his wings mantling out of the corner of his eyes. Or, what happened if, when the tower fell, Aziraphale and Crawley could not longer understand each other?

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: ~4,500

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Read it on AO3.

Does it ever hit you out of nowhere that Crowley just casually rolled up with, "Every time we meet, you are as delightful and intriguing as the last; a constant source of surprise in an ever-expanding stretch of eternal existance."?

Asking for a friend.