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The battle raged across the Heavens, both the sky and ground rent and torn by the fury of the Almighty. Raw firmament sprang into being and was shattered by blasts of fire, Holy and Hellish alike. Legions of thousands clashed in bursts of light, and feathers fell like rain as those who had once been as family to each other met again in anger in the teeth of the great Civil War.
The former angel dropped heavily out of the sky, attempting at the last moment to check his fall with a hasty flap of wings and turn his crash landing into a genteel saunter across the empty stretch of ground he found himself on. He stubbed his toe in the process and winced, cursing colorfully. Well, at least no one had been around to see that.
He straightened up, brushing his robes off with one hand. They were white robes, or had been until the ash and dust of the battle had turned them into a pale grey. He had white wings as well, and red hair. His eyes were yellow.
“Blow this for a lark,” he muttered under his breath, looking up at the sky he’d fallen from. Up there, the battle continued, bursts of fire and distant screams echoing down to where he stood. There was fighting on the ground too, off across miles of empty landscape with only a few rocks poking out of it here and there to give any definition to the blank dreariness of it.
He sheathed the sword he’d been carrying, and spent a moment straightening out the feathers that had gotten crumpled in his wings when he fell.
Nearby there was another flash of light, like a meteor falling through the night sky. Someone crashed into the ground not far from him, far less gracefully, sending a plume of dust up into the air.
The yellow-eyed fallen angel froze, and slowly drew his sword again.
The new figure scrambled to their feet, a white blur of wings and robes and hair. A flash of metal showed that they did not travel unarmed.
The fallen angel narrowed his eyes, stepping silently over the ground as he crept closer. It was so hard to tell who was friend and who was foe these days, but if he could get a closer look-
A flicker, and the other’s sword was poised and ready to fight. The angel - they must have been an angel, those bastards never gave you any warning before attacking - lunged forward, crashing into the fallen angel with a zing of clashing metal, and the fallen angel reacted on instinct to throw them backward and regain some ground to defend himself in. He lifted his sword, locking eyes with his new foe in a deadly challenge, and-
“You?”
“You!”
The angel lowered his sword a little, looking surprised, and the fallen angel mirrored the motion.
“Aziraphale, right?”
“Yes. And you’re-” the angel hesitated. “I don’t think I ever got your name?”
“Ah.” He grimaced ruefully. “Don’t think I really have a name, anymore. Not with-” he waved a hand at the chaos around them, “-and all.”
“...Right.” Aziraphale shifted awkwardly. “I take it you’ve sided with Lucifer’s lot, then.”
The fallen angel gave him a pointed look. “I don’t think he’s really got a name anymore, either.”
“Ah.”
There was a moment of awkward silence.
“And you?” the fallen angel asked after a moment, breaking it. “Sticking with the Old Firm, I take it?”
“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”
“Even with all the bullshit they’ve been throwing at us recently? I mean, have you seen the kind of food that’s on offer?”
“Well-” the angel began, loud and offended. Then he moved closer, dropping his voice to a low conspiratorial hiss. “While I may not entirely agree with every decision management has made recently-” he backed off, looking around to make sure no one had overheard, and raised his voice again. “I don’t see why that’s any reason to tear the whole system down and start from scratch! I mean, surely things could be worked out if everyone just sat down and talked to each other!”
The fallen angel shook his head. “Nuh. Tried that. Suggestion box didn’t work.” He waved his hand again. “Now we’re trying this.”
“Well,” Aziraphale said, huffy and disapproving. “It just seems like an awful lot of fuss for no reason.”
All he got in return was a silent shrug.
He sighed. “I suppose we have to fight each other now, then.”
The fallen angel frowned, disappointed. And here he’d thought they’d been getting on. “Oh, do we have to?”
“Well- well there is a war on!” the angel blustered.
“Yeah, but there’s no one around but us.” Another hand wave, this one casual and airy, at the abandoned firmament around them. “Who’s going to know if we just- don’t?”
“I mean…” Aziraphale cast a subtle glance upward.
“You really think She’s paying attention?” The fallen angel scoffed. “She’s got a whole war to oversee, I really doubt She’d care if the two of us just called this a draw. I could use a breather anyway.” He walked over to a nearby rock outcropping and jabbed his sword point first into the ground, so that it stood upright when he let go. “Coming?”
“Well…” The angel glanced up again, then shrugged and walked over. He stuck his sword into the ground beside the other one, and they both sat down.
Silence fell. They stared up at the sky for a long moment. Above them, there was a bright flash of light, and black flakes began to fall.
The fallen angel squinted upward. “Is that-?”
“Ash,” Aziraphale confirmed, holding out his hand to catch the first flakes.
The fallen angel grimaced. “Blast. It’s a bugger to get out of the feathers.” He batted at a fleck that had fallen on him, smearing grey across his wing. Then he paused, contemplative, and shook his shoulders. Darkness spread from the tops of his wings, pouring down like ink as the white turned black.
“Oh!” The angel startled at the change.
“Oh, don’t bother.” The fallen angel shrugged. “I know it’s dreary as anything, but at least it’ll hide the stains until I have a chance to wash them out.”
“No, no,” Aziraphale reassured him, smiling slightly. “I like it. Black’s a good color on you.”
“Oh?” The fallen angel blinked, surprised.
“Yes. It brings out your eyes.”
“Oh.” This time the word was soft, and pleased.
They stared at each other for a long moment, still smiling a little. Another flash lit the sky above them, bigger than the last.
They both looked up as the ash started falling harder.
The fallen angel lifted a wing automatically to protect the angel from the drifting flakes. In the same movement, the angel’s wing lifted as well to cover him. They whacked into each other, painfully, and reeled backward.
“Ah!”
“Sorry!”
“I was just going to cover you-”
“No, no, I was doing the same!”
They stopped, staring at each other.
They looked away, clearing their throats.
They ruffled their feathers, and hunched their wings to each cover their own head.
Aziraphale sighed softly, regret lacing his voice. “Though, I suppose we shouldn’t be doing that anymore anyway,” he murmured. “What with being on different sides and all.”
The fallen angel looked at him, then looked away. He echoed the sigh, louder and more annoyed. “I hope the higher ups get this all sorted out soon,” he complained. “I’m already tired of fighting.”
Another explosion rocked the sky. They huddled closer on their little outcrop, together but separate, mere specks in the vastness of the battlefield.
Around them, the war raged on.