A series of gorgeous paintings illustrating a deancasbigbang 2011 story.

Aziraphale: "My dear do you see that?"
Crowley: "Show off."

Aziraphale would have missed (or perhaps deliberately ignored) the nuance of together, but Crowley was a man-shaped being of the world, and knew what was being asked. "We've been around since -- for a while," he said. "But it's not like that."

They sit in what humans call a 'deafening' silence, but Aziraphale and Crowley, they know what the silence is really doing. Every molecule in the air around them them is screaming, shivering, suspended in place by the sub-planar vibration given off by what they do.

Gorgeous painting.

The archangel Anael, also known as Haniel, also known as The Angel of Pleasure, also known as That Wretched Strumpet Who Fell To Earth, also known as Anna, flexed her firey wings and cast a thoroughly worrying smile in his direction. “Aziraphale,” she said, in a voice strong enough to draw blood from human eardrums and so irresistible as to cause roses to burst into bloom in the middle of a frigid winter. “I need your help.”

"You'll have to excuse him," Aziraphale told their assignment - Fraser - apologetically. "He has the manners of a - well."

Aziraphale waved a hand tellingly at Crowley. Crowley had evidently made very little effort for the sake of appearance; his wings were distinctly lopsided and his tail appeared to be held on with safety pins. The sunglasses had fallen by the wayside - not much point to them, when one was being obvious about these things - he had, however, managed to manufacture some tiny, tiny snakeskin shoes.

At least, one assumed those were shoes.

When she leaned close to Adam Young, she found the scent of his hair did not exist in her world. But she had smelled it before.

“You could try one.” Aziraphale took a step backwards. “Really, I don’t know who you think you are, saying such outrageous things. It’s almost--” “I wouldn’t tell anyone.” “That isn’t the point.” “And what is the point?” Crawly

"Sorry," Crowley said. He didn't look sorry, but then he never really did. "I was afraid of something like this."

"Like what?"

"It's a bit embarrassing," Crowley said.

1517 - the first trick or treater. “Was it anvil of fate this time, or perhaps the axe of virtue?”