Fics like someone to sit in your chair to ruin your sleep

"Really," Crowley says, and laughs, sharp and mean. "They gave you the job and not the authority to run it? Well, isn’t that a surprise. If only someone had told you." "That's not how these things work! It's just—slow going, is all. Change takes time, Crowley." "Sure, yeah. Climb your way up, but not too much, ey?" "It's not about me," Aziraphale says, snappy, in that holier-than-thou voice. Crowley smiles mirthlessly, bares his teeth. "No, you're just a tool for the greater Good, are you. How's that working out, d'you think?" "Swimmingly, actually. The Metatron really appreciates my suggestions." He smiles—soft, wondrous, almost disbelieving. Crowley wants to scratch it out of his face. Wants to shake him until he comes to his senses and drops to his knees and begs him— "I always knew you were naive, but not this much," he hisses. "They're going to chew you up and put you through the grinder until you can't take it anymore and then, when you finally, finally snap, they'll cast you down like they did the rest of us." Aziraphale's eyes flick down once—to his mouth, Crowley realizes, and abruptly steps back, face prickling with shame. Shame, him. Imagine that.

Fics like someone to sit in your chair to ruin your sleep

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