"Damn the plan, Crowley," he says in a panic, voice breaking. Even though they've won, or at least, they've drawn, he can't help but feel the loss. It's bedlam around them, and he's stood by all this time as people have died around him in the most horrific, terrible of ways. The young have died before ever really living, and some people just lead miserable lives all the way through, and he abided by all of it for the Plan.
He hardly thinks it was worth it, at the moment.
Aziraphale puts his arm around Crowley, turns his face into his shoulder, and lets his cries be muffled by the armor. He has never felt his faith slip quite like this before, and he doesn't know presently which direction to place his anger.
He has to pull himself together, partially because the two of them are technically sort of supposed to be the leaders of the human army, but as people disperse to take shelter from the rain, he lets himself take a little longer than a moment.
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He hardly thinks it was worth it, at the moment.
Aziraphale puts his arm around Crowley, turns his face into his shoulder, and lets his cries be muffled by the armor. He has never felt his faith slip quite like this before, and he doesn't know presently which direction to place his anger.
He has to pull himself together, partially because the two of them are technically sort of supposed to be the leaders of the human army, but as people disperse to take shelter from the rain, he lets himself take a little longer than a moment.