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ineffable-kelpie · 2 months

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Rating: G

Wordcount: 1,602

Summary:

A year after accepting the position of Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale gets an unexpected visitor.

(This is post-s2 hurt/no comfort, you’ve been warned)

Aziraphale stood at the window to Heaven, surveying the non-Euclidean cityscape below. It was supposed to represent Earth, but it was only an approximation. If Aziraphale tried to focus on any of the details, they slipped away, leaving him with only the hazy impression of a city too clean and empty to count as a city at all.

The window always drew him in on his rare breaks between meetings, even though he knew he shouldn’t keep coming to look. It only made him wish he was looking at London, or any real city on Earth. He didn’t need the reminder of how terribly he missed it. And yet here he was.

“Um, Archangel Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale startled, recognizing the voice. Goodness, he hadn’t heard from Muriel since he’d left them in charge of his bookshop. He ought to have dropped by Soho and checked in with them sooner, but…well, he hadn’t, for the same reason he shouldn’t be at the window right now.

He plastered on a smile and turned around. “Hello, Muriel. I suppose you’re here about…” He trailed off. Muriel wasn’t the only one standing there.

“I’ve apprehended a demon,” said Muriel, standing stiffly with their hands at their sides. “Er, I mean, he turned himself in. I’m not helping him, of course. But he thought—I thought you might want to decide what to do with him.”

Crowley stood there with one hand in his pocket, the light gleaming off his crimson hair and the gold frames of his sunglasses. Crowley was here, in Heaven. Looking at Aziraphale.

A thousand emotions brimmed in Aziraphale’s chest. He turned to the window to compose himself. Training his face into a neutral, businesslike expression, he cleared his throat, folded his hands in front of himself, and turned back. “Thank you, Muriel. Could you give me a moment to speak to the prisoner?”

Muriel nodded and backed away, leaving Aziraphale alone with Crowley. Aziraphale immediately regretted sending them away. He tried not to look at Crowley directly, but his black clothes stood out against Heaven’s blinding whiteness like ink on a page, and drew Aziraphale’s eye the same way. “So,” he said, fighting for his life to keep his tone light, “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

“No chance in Heaven or Hell.”

No, of course not. Aziraphale had thought as much.

“How’s the first year been?” Crowley drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Had it been a year already? Aziraphale had been so swamped with onboarding and project planning and other useless meetings that he’d barely started on the reforms he wanted to enact. But he couldn’t let Crowley see how much he was floundering. “It’s been going very well, thank you. I’ve been enormously successful. And yourself?”

“Great,” said Crowley. “Can do whatever I want, without any assignments or projects to worry about. I’ve been travelling, now I’ve got no reason to stay in London.”

Aziraphale gritted his teeth and smiled against the sting of the words. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Good.”

“Good!”

They stood there for another unbearable minute. Crowley just looked at Aziraphale expectantly, waiting for him to talk, as if Crowley hadn’t orchestrated this meeting himself.

“Why are you here?” Aziraphale demanded, when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“Come home, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale stiffened. That was far more direct than he expected. “I am home.”

“You hate it here,” said Crowley. “I can see it all over your face. You’ve been miserable ever since you left, but you’re too proud to admit it.”

Aziraphale set his jaw. He hated how easily Crowley saw through him. He turned away to look out the window again, and clasped his hands behind his back. “You’re imagining things.”

“You don’t want this.”

“You have no idea—” Aziraphale cut himself off. You have no idea what I want, he was going to say, except that wasn’t true. Crowley had spent thousands of years anticipating and indulging his every unspoken whim. He probably knew what Aziraphale wanted better than Aziraphale himself. But those selfish desires didn’t matter next to the higher purpose that had brought Aziraphale here. “I serve the Greater Good,” he said in clipped tones. “What I want doesn’t factor into it.”

In the reflection of the glass, Aziraphale saw Crowley slump by a tiny degree. He looked away as soon as he realized he was looking. “So if that’s all—”

“Do you know what I want, Aziraphale?”

Crowley’s voice was flat, without any bite in it. Aziraphale blinked, unsure where this was going.

“I want to just…exist, without anyone telling me what to do or what to be. I just want to be allowed to be me. A quiet, peaceful retirement, on Earth.”

“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear. Perhaps you should get back to that.”

“And I want my best friend there with me.”

Aziraphale’s unnecessary heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t want to face eternity alone,” said Crowley. “And I don’t want him to have to, either. We could…we could move out to the country, just the two of us. Get a little cottage. We’d have a big library for his books. Maybe a garden in the back.”

Aziraphale’s throat constricted. The picture that Crowley painted was so painfully beautiful. He didn’t know Crowley had thought about it in so much detail.

Crowley wasn’t done. “We wouldn’t need to worry about who saw us together. We could sit for hours just talking, and have the best time.” His voice softened. He seemed to have some difficulty getting the words out. “I want to make him happy. He…he deserves to be happy, even if he doesn’t think so.” Crowley paused. “I think…I think we could make each other really happy.”

Aziraphale’s lips, pressed together in an effort to keep from crying, trembled. It was too cruel of Crowley to come here with such lovely, gentle words and twist the knife he’d already stuck between Aziraphale’s ribs. Behind Aziraphale’s back, one hand squeezed his wrist in a white-knuckled grip. He knew Crowley could see it, but he didn’t know how to hide.

“And I want…” There was a barely-perceptible tremor in Crowley’s voice. “I’d like to kiss him again, and get it right this time. If he’d let me.”

Despite all his efforts, a tear leaked from Aziraphale’s eye and rolled down his cheek. He hoped Crowley couldn’t see it in his reflection in the window. It didn’t matter what he wanted, but, oh, he wanted.

“But,” Crowley added flatly, “I suppose what I want doesn’t factor into it, either.”

Aziraphale couldn’t speak, or his voice would break. He couldn’t turn back to Crowley, or Crowley would see his face and know how deep his words had cut. He didn’t know what he would have said, anyway. He’d already made his choice, difficult as it had been, and that was that.

That should have been that. It was easier if Aziraphale told himself it was already settled. Because if it wasn’t, if he had the option to abandon his post and run away to Earth, and he had to keep choosing every day to stay here instead…

It had been a mistake to let Crowley talk. Aziraphale pulled his celestial phone out of his pocket, drew a sharp breath, and placed a call. “Muriel, please escort this demon back to Earth.”

Crowley said nothing. Aziraphale didn’t turn around until he was gone.

Crowley didn’t often try to tempt Aziraphale. It made him feel demonic, and not in a good way. Dirty. Unclean. Maybe unforgivable. But he didn’t see that he had much of a choice, when Aziraphale was trapped in Heaven, and they’d trained him so well that he wouldn’t leave on his own no matter how much they hurt him.

Crowley hated seeing him there. He had already reverted to the most repressed, unhappy version of himself, as he’d been before the failed Armageddon gave him a taste of freedom. In another year, he might be unrecognizable. He needed to get out of there, for his own good. Crowley didn’t have the firepower to use force against the Supreme Archangel, he didn’t have anything to negotiate with, and asking directly hadn’t worked. So temptation was the only tool Crowley had left. He didn’t need Aziraphale to forgive him for his underhanded tactics, he just needed it to work.

And he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. The best temptations were completely honest, and that was how Crowley did his best work. It had never left him feeling so hollow and numb afterwards, though. He’d planned out what to say, and practiced beforehand, but nothing could have prepared him for how much it hurt to stand there and say it while Aziraphale refused to look at him. But Crowley would accept any cost to get Aziraphale back on Earth, even if the cost was to himself.

Muriel broke the silence that filled the elevator. “So…he’s not coming back?”

“Give it time.” Temptation was a craft that couldn't be rushed. Crowley knew he'd gotten under Aziraphale's skin. The seeds of doubt had been sown, but they wouldn’t sprout overnight. “It always takes time, with Aziraphale.”

After a moment, Muriel asked, “do we have time?”

Crowley didn’t answer. It was anyone’s guess how long it would take for Aziraphale to come around. And neither he nor Muriel knew when the Second Coming would start. It was a race between uncertainties.

But he’d needed to try. As long as there was the tiniest chance of saving Aziraphale from that place, Crowley couldn’t give up on him.

#good omens fanfic #good omens s2 #good omens ficlet #ineffable divorce #happy 1 year since season 2!!!#well maybe not HAPPY but uh #we sure made it a year #good job on that #cyankelpie's fic

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liquidstar · 11 months

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If my mom sees a significant amount of blood she gets lightheaded, and has fainted on some occasions. Once it happened when we were kids, I wasn't there to witness it but I heard the story from my dad. Basically my brothers, around 7 or 8 at the time, were playing outside while my mom was making their lunch, and she accidentally cut her finger. It wasn't anything serious, but it drew a fair bit of blood and she passed out. My dad saw this and rushed over, but he didn't really know what to do so he just sort of started slapping her to wake her up (not recommended, but he had no idea and panicked)

At that exact moment my brothers both came in from playing, and all they saw was our mom unconscious on the floor and our dad slapping her. So, like, without even saying a word to each other they both just INSTANTLY start whaling on him, like, full blown attack mode to defend our mom. Which obviously didn't help the situation, but she did wake up and everything was fine.

Now our dad says that he's actually really glad they attacked him over what they thought was going on, because it means he raised good boys. And I still think that's true, they're very good boys.

#i think about this story sometimes like yeah I'm proud of them for that too actually. good job baby brothers #they're not babies anymore of course they're turning 20 next year which is crazy #but they're still the type of people who'd do something if they saw something of this sort happen for sure #respectful of women and everyone else too. they're good guys #I'm glad I ended up with them living in my house against my will for like 14 years #anyway i have no idea where i was for all this but my best guess is probably a friends house given the time period #i was always at my besties house lol #i hope she's doing well too actually. haven't spoken in forever...#bestie from greek elementary school... if you're out there... let's get muffins and fanta at the bakery across the street again someday 💜☮️

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