This is...well, pretty much a GO fic, but it touches on Buffy. Sorry Crowley's all New Yorker. The accent's stuck in my head. Blame Nichole.
A spider darts across the wall, pausing a second uncertainly as her shadow hangs over it.
She misses and it gets away, hiding behind an unwieldy armoire.
Her dead joints aren't back to speed yet.
An ocean away, in the land that makes Gileses, four children are having a campout. Pepper's hair is the closest they have to a fire.
Their parents didn't like the idea of Pepper being part of the campout, but Adam convinced them to allow it - they are still young enough for it not to be too indecent.
Moths are the only wildlife near their sleeping bags. They'd hoped for bears, or at least a nest of spiders or poisonous snakes.
War is in Hollywood, creating chaos as a moviestar. She tells them she's from Down Under. The articles all say Australia, but she doesn't correct them.
Famine is following a family in Minnesota - they all are having problems eating. Even when they eat, it doesn't effect them. He smiles sharply at it, enjoying the bare tree branches and the animals that die in the frigid winter because they're not fat enough.
Pollution suggests softly to various Parisians that they shouldn't have to clean up after their pets. The smell of fresh filth refreshes him.
Death is in all the usual places, and a few unusual. Autoerotic asphyxiation isn't everyone's idea of fun, and he knows why.
An angel and a demon stand on a lakeshore, a carefully wide space between them. Every time Crowley steps towards Aziraphale, the angel backs away.
"Why do you gotta be like this? Not like you'd never-" He stops. He hadn't known Aziraphale really before the falling, and there hadn't been opportunity since they were stationed on Earth.
Aziraphale takes another step away, even though Crowley hasn't gotten closer.
"Hey, ineffable, right? If it wasn't right, wasn't supposed to happen, somethin’ woulda stopped it, right? We ain't done nothin' wrong."
His companion just stands here, wringing his hands.
Crowley has masterminded more than a few harebrained plans for them, but for once he is at a loss for how to reassure Aziraphale. He never mastered tartan or brewing tea.
After watching and waiting for too long, he just sits on the bench alongside the dirt walking trail.
This wasn’t how anything was supposed to work.