Hi there! I decided to continue the story after all (well, always meant to, but y'know, life and other stuff). This isn't really a full chapter, more of a little vignette. The next one will be a full chapter, though. I try not to disappoint.

A normal person would have taken time to grieve, but not Crowley. He was far too stubborn. Some might have mistaken that stubbornness for strength, but Aziraphale had always seen right through the poseur that was Crowley. He had his regrets, and that's all the angel would say about it if anybody had asked him.

Aziraphale stood on a pebble-filled beach in what was neither Heaven nor Hell, but an in-between place. As a mortal, he'd been given a soul, and a human soul can never die, not even if it were pierced by a thousand holy swords.

He'd ended up here, wherever here was. It was a concept for which there were many names. He himself had settled on none of them. It occurred to the former angel that the place where he was was a form of torture itself. It wasn't the fires of hell, but it wasn't exactly pleasant either. It was perpetually cloudy, and it rained most of the time. If this was in fact a form of Purgatory, then Purgatory looked a great deal like a remote Scottish island. Aziraphale had found it peaceful at first, but as time wore on, he grew more and more lonely, desperate for someone to talk to. Some days he was content to curl up with a book, as he often had in life, and others he longed for someone, anyone, to talk to, until it nearly drove him insane.

He sighed, took one last glance across the waves, and trudged back to the cottage he'd taken up residence in. It was a far cry from his shop, but there were enough books to keep him happy. He tottered into the kitchen and made himself some cocoa. He needed to think. Crowley had just woken up, and it was clear to Aziraphale that he missed him, even if Crowley himself didn't realize it. Somehow he had to let the demon know that he was still alive and well, for all intents and purposes.

He had seen what his children had done to his dear old friend, and he was none too happy with them. They had passed on some time ago, that he knew, but he didn't know what had become of them. His Maeve, kind and gentle soul that she was, was Above without him. He had never told her that he had been an angel once, or his children. Crowley had taken care of that and made a fine mess of it. Aziraphale couldn't really blame his children, though. He tried to think of how he would have reacted if all his life, he thought himself entirely human and suddenly found out otherwise. Still, they could have handled it better.

He pitied the demon, doomed both from Heaven and to wander the earth until he was either recalled or the End of Days actually happened.

If he were still in Heaven's favor, he might have done something. But as it was, he was stuck here with the only things he had cared about for most of his time on earth…his books.

He only realized then how truly worthless they were.

Yay! Aziraphale isn't (completely) dead!

This doesn't really add too much to the story, but review if you feel so inclined.