Fly Home

Disclaimer: I own bugger all

A/N: This is very vaguely inspired by the song 'Fly Away' by Vincent de Moor

Fly home. At points in human history that was all Aziraphale could think about doing, at least, after he had finished being sick and praying for the dead.

Fly home he thought when he saw the battlefields of Verdun and the Somme.

Fly home he thought, as he looked down on the ruins of Dresden, seeing the destruction wrought by the RAF and US Air Corps.

Fly home he thought, as he saw the insides of Auschwitz and Treblinka.

Fly home he thought, as he saw the destruction caused by at Pearl harbour, then the attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the look of anguish on Albert Einstein's face when he saw pictures and heard accounts of what his invention had done.

Fly home he thought, after he witnessed the tortures brought to bear by Torquemada and the Spanish inquisition, all in the name of God. After this one he joined Crowley in getting drunk for a week.

When he thought about all these horrors he mantled his wings instinctively and miracle a cup of tea spiked with brandy, to hide from the horrors of humanity and to comfort himself. Later Crowley would turn up, impatient and irritated, as for once Aziraphale had cajoled him into reserving a table and he was pissed off that Aziraphale was late. He strode in, took one look at Aziraphale's face and conjured up a crate of Chateau Lafitte, and they got very merrily drunk. So drunk that Aziraphale spread his wings, and looked like he was going to ascend to heaven, thus fulfilling narrative convention, whereupon Crowley concussed him with an empty wine bottle which he had been waving to make his point that dogs were way cooler than cats. This incident lead to much drunken squabbling, in which Aziraphale forgot his depression which morphed spontaneously into a splitting headache.