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anotherhawk · 5 years

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Death for Immortals Ch2 - Good Omens Fanfic

Previously titled ‘5 times Crowley died carelessly and 1 time Aziraphale made him care’

Chapter summary: 140 years after the flood the last of the children Crowley saved dies peacefully in her bed, surrounded by family. He doesn’t take it well.

Read it on AO3 or under the cut.

2863 BCE

The last of the kids died at the age of 140, surrounded by her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. He waited outside the house until the wailing started, an olive branch clutched tightly in his hand as he shredded the leaves into pieces too small for any human to see. That was it then. No more reason to hang around here.

Her name had been Anurash and her mother had thrust her into his arms as the waters rose, begging him to save her, to give her a chance at life. He'd held her in his arms, miracled milk to feed her with, kept her hidden deep in the bowels of the ark with the other frightened kids for far more than forty days and forty nights of cramped, foul-smelling darkness, until the rain stopped and the waters finally receded. A hundred and forty years. That wasn't too bad, was it? That was a lot longer than a lot of humans got. Mind you, Adam had lived to be nine hundred and thirty, so maybe it wasn't as good as all that. Maybe that was the difference between a human made by the Almighty and a human made by other humans?

He glanced skywards. “What, is it a patent situation? Knock-offs aren't allowed to be as good as the original? Keep going like this and in another thousand years they won't even make it to fifty. Where's the sense in that? If you want them to be better you've got to give them time to grow, don't you?”

A couple of passers-by stared at him. He scowled back and they flinched and quickly hurried away, whispering to each other.

Right. Eyes. Evil demon eyes that they were supposed to shun. It had been a long time since he'd been anything other than a stranger in this town, even though he had largely been responsible for building it. Well, there hadn't been much other option, had there? The oldest of the eighty-seven kids he'd managed to save had been fourteen, and most of them had been a good bit younger than that. What the heaven did they know about building houses, planting crops or digging wells? Only what their parents had got to teach them before Her Upstairs got tetchy and decided hey! Time for no more humans without my seal of approval.

He'd seen the rainbow. It was beautiful. But even now, well over a century later, the kids still found bones sometimes when they played, and those bones had had names, once upon a time, and were they really so despicable that they deserved to be washed away and forgotten?

Anyway, he'd built this town for the kids, and for the first dozen or so years he'd lived among them, making sure that they knew what they needed to take care of themselves. Even after that he hadn't been willing to stray too far. He'd stayed to watch the kids he raised grow up and raise kids of their own, all in absolute defiance of the Almighty, of course. Little humans who shouldn't be alive, running around, growing, with all their questions...it was self-evidently evil, except...except it wasn't evident enough to Beelzebub. As far as they were concerned he should be tormenting, or at the very least tempting, but he couldn't bring himself to do that to his kids, at least not in any way that Hell was going to approve of. And even after they'd grown up he hadn't wanted to wander too far afield, just in case the kids might need him, and in this part of the world there was only the two groups of ark survivors left, and Aziraphale was keeping a close eye on Noah's lot. If he'd thought he could get away with it he might have claimed credit for Noah turning to drink, but honestly he had nothing to do with it. 1

So Hell wasn't happy with him. Just yesterday a goat had looked up at him with glowing red eyes and told him he needed to improve his job performance of face the consequences. No specific consequences had been mentioned, but no doubt someone somewhere had something in mind already.2

A shadow fell over him. He looked up to see Aziraphale. “Crawly? I thought that was you.” Further sounds of grief came from inside, catching the angel's attention. “Oh, dear. One of yours?”

“Yes,” he answered, without thinking about it.

“I see.” Aziraphale gave him a look of deep disapproval. “Well, it sounds as though there's a lot of people mourning her. I hope whatever little scheme you wound her up in was worth it.”

“What? No, she wasn't...I. Hngh.” He flinched. Her death hadn't been his. Neither had her life, really, she'd lived that for herself. “What are you doing here, angel?”

“Official business. I'm here to offer a few blessings.”

Cold iron seized his spine. “Oh, really, thesse people are worth Her blesssings now?”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “Everyone deserves Her blessings, Crawly.”

There was a small herb garden growing in pots on the doorstep. He grabbed the closest plant, violently uprooted it and threw it as hard as he could at Aziraphale, smacking him right in the chest and leaving a trail of dirt down his white robes.

“Well, really,” the angel sputtered, miracling the mark away with a wave of his hand. “I hardly think there was any need for that.”

Part of him wanted to apologise. Part of him wanted to throw another plant, maybe even include the pot this time. Most of him just wanted to crawl into a deep hole in the ground somewhere and stay there for the next millenia or so. “Don't know why you're so surprised. Demon, remember? Your mortal enemy and all that.”

“Immortal, I think you'll find,” Aziraphale said with a sniff. “And I'm fairly certain that 'mortal enemies' aren't supposed to throw plants at each other.” He did the finger quotes. Crawly resolved to recommend that a special place in hell be set aside for people who do the finger quotes.

“No,” he agreed nastily. “They're probably supposed to lob flaming swords at each other.3 You go first. Oh, wait.”

The door behind him slammed open. “Gentlemen, please. This is a house of mourning. For the love of God, please take your petty quarrel somewhere else. Have you no decency?”

Aziraphale was stammering out apologies. He sighed and stood up. “Not lately,” he told Rubat, Anurash's granddaughter, and he turned and walked away.

The angel didn't follow him. He told himself he wasn't disappointed.

Right. Well, then. He wiped a hand down his face, harsh enough that it hurt and looked round at the familiar faces walking by. Most of them didn't give him a second glance. A couple of them caught his eye and shrunk away. Anurash had always loved his eyes...she'd used to call them suns. He remembered chubby baby hands clapping together joyfully when he made her that doll, remembered her first steps, always rushing, always in a hurry, always wanting to see everything, remembered all the questions – why does the moon change, why can't I see my eyes, why the flood, why, why, why – and he remembered Luka, the streak of dirt seemingly always across his face no matter how often he wiped that sticky face, and he remembered Teth, and he remembered Saul, and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered.

There was nothing holding him here now. Nothing holding him back. Everyone expected him to be evil – and he was evil, he was a demon. Might as well live down to it.

Three hours later and six fights had broken out, three marriages had ended, the blacksmith had been persuaded that there was more room for showing off making weapons rather than farm tools, the hunters had been persuaded that the farmers didn't respect them enough, someone had stolen the entire store of apples and set them fermenting, the pigs had been set loose in the granary and the inn was on fire. 4

It was chaos. There were shouts, smoke, recriminations flying everywhere and children crying in the street.

There were children crying in the street...

A hand closed around his upper arm and Aziraphale pulled him round. “What on earth are you doing?”

“My job.” He didn't look at the angel. The child on the street was clutching a doll in her chubby hand, her parents nowhere in sight. There was a streak of mud across her face.

“You don't...what's wrong with you?”

He shrugged the angel's hand off and gave a sharp-toothed smile. “Popular opinion says everything.”

“There he is!” A screech from down the street. Running footsteps, a whole mob's worth.

“The evil one walks among us!”

“Get him!”

“I see him! I see the demon!”

They were coming from all sides now. He took a couple of steps back. “Lovely seeing you, Aziraphale, but I really have to be going.”

He ran. The mob chased him, parting around Aziraphale like they didn't so much as see him, and the angel just stood there like a rock in the river, and Crawly ran. Hands grabbed out at him as he passed, punching, hurting, and stones hammered into him. Black blood ran down his face, dripping into his eyes. If he reached the river he could just turn into a serpent and escape that way.

He didn't make it. They cut him off, knocking him to the ground, kicking, punching, stamping, and he shifted, slipping into a snake, trying to slither away, and the last thing he saw was the blacksmith raising a sword above his head and bringing it down.

Aziraphale carefully buried the little broken body on a hill overlooking the river and tried to ignore the feeling of being utterly alone in the world. He'd seen the demon die and he hadn't done anything. There hadn't been anything to be done, it wasn't for him to interfere, and if he had interfered it would have been to smite the demon out of existence once and for all. Obviously. No, he had nothing to feel guilty about, it was just that he didn't like seeing the humans moved to such violence, that was all.

He scattered the last shovel of soil on the small grave and stood awkwardly for a moment. “I'm sorry,” he said at last. “I don't know what happened today, but I think, maybe, there was something else I could have done. I'll do better next time.”

There were two people he could have been speaking to. He didn't think either of them were listening.

1He did feel it was a reasonable enough reaction to the trauma of witnessing divine genocide, however. He'd even turned to it himself a time or two. The one time he'd actually managed to get to sleep since the Flood he'd had to face the memories of all those desperate hands clinging to the side of the ark until one by one they slid away.

2The goat had chewed on his sandals afterwards. He wasn't sure if that had been the hellish influence or the goatish one.

3Crowley had never actually been issued a sword, flaming or otherwise.

4You might think that this is rather a lot for one demon to achieve in three hours. But even if he had mostly passed unnoticed for the last century Crowley had been living alongside these people. He knew where the buttons were and how best to press them. And, like any act of self-harm, once started it was incredibly difficult to stop.

#Good omens #my writing #good omens fanfiction #good omens angst #death cw #self harm cw #ineffable husbands

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wisdomrays · 5 years

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THE MIRACLES OF PROPHET MUHAMMAD (pbuh) : Sixth sign.Part3

a comb, bewitched it, and threw it into a well. The Noble Messenger told his Companions including ‘Ali to go and bring the spell in the well, which they did, finding it exactly as described. As they unwrapped the hair, the Messenger’s discomfort lessened.

Again, according to an authentic narration, the Noble Messenger once gave the news of the awesome fate of an apostate to a group that included such important persons as Abu Hurayra and Hudhayfa, saying: “One of you will enter the Fire with a tooth bigger than Mount Uhud.” Abu Hurayra related: “I was afraid, as later only two remained from that group, one of which was me. Finally, the other man was killed in the Battle of Yamama as one of the followers of Musaylima.” The truth of the Prophet’s (PBUH) prediction was thus confirmed.

It is related through an authentic chain of reports that ‘Umayr and Safwan, before they became Muslims, once decided to kill the Prophet for a handsome reward that had been offered them. When ‘Umayr arrived in Madinah with this intention, the Noble Messenger summoned him, and, putting his hand on ‘Umayr’s chest, told him about what he had planned with Safwan. ‘Umayr answered, “Yes,” and became a Muslim.

Like those mentioned above, many predictions which the Noble Messenger (Upon whom be blessings and peace) gave concerning the Unseen have been recorded in the six best-known, authentic books of Hadith, together with the chains of the narrators. As for the occurrences related in this work, they are definite to the degree of ‘consensus in meaning,’ being related in Bukhari and Muslim-which are accepted by the scholars as the most authentic sources after the Qur’an, and in the other collections like Tirmidhi, Nasa’i, Abu Da’ud, Mustadrak al-Hakim, Musnad al-Ahmad b. Hanbal, and Dala’il al-Bayhaqi.Now, unthinking denier! Do not shrug these off, saying, “Muhammad the Arabian was clever!” Because the accurate predictions of Muhammad (PBUH) concerning the Unseen cannot be explained except in either of the following two ways: you will either suppose that this blessed person had such piercing vision and expansive genius that he saw and knew the past and the future and all the world; beheld the East, the West, and the whole universe; and discovered what happened in the past and what will happen in the future. Such a quality is not to be found in a human being, but if it was to be, it would certainly be a wonder, a gift, bestowed on him by the Creator of the world, which would itself be the greatest of miracles. Or you will believe this blessed person to be an official and a student of One under Whose disposal and observation everything stands, under Whose command are all ages and all the species and realms of beings in the cosmos, in Whose great ledger is recorded everything, so that He may show and communicate them to his student whenever He wishes. Thus, Muhammad the Arabian (Upon whom be blessings and peace) instructs others as he himself is instructed by the Lord of Pre-Eternity.It is related in an authentic narration that when the Prophet appointed Khalid b. al-Walid to fight against Ukaydir, the head of the Dumat al-Jandal, he informed Khalid that he would find Ukaydir on a wild ox hunt, and that he would be captured without resistance. Khalid captured Ukaydir in exactly this way.

According to an authentic narration, when the Quraysh hung up on the wall of the Ka‘ba a leaf on which were written words against the Bani Hashim, the Prophet said to them: “Worms have eaten the leaf, except the parts bearing the Names of God.”

They examined the leaf to find it in the same condition as had been described.

According to an authentic narration, the Noble Messenger (Upon whom be blesssings and peace) said: “There will be a big epidemic during the conquest of Jerusalem.”When Jerusalem was conquered during the Caliphate of ‘Umar, a widespread epidemic caused in three days the death of about seventy thousand people.

Again, according to an authentic narration, the Prophet (PBUH) predicted that Basra and Baghdad would come into existence, which at that time had not been founded, that the treasure of the world would enter Baghdad, and that the Turks and the people living on the shores of the Caspian Sea would do battle with the Arabs and that the majority of them would later enter the fold of Islam, and that among the Arabs they would come to dominate them. He said: “The Persians [non-Arabs] will almost predominate among you, consuming your booty and smiting you.”

He also said: “The ruin of my community will be at the hands of the wicked ones from Quraysh,” suggesting the disorder caused by the wicked leaders of the Umayyads, such as Walid and Yazid.

He furthermore predicted that apostasy would take place in such areas as Yamama.

During the famous Battle of Khandaq, he declared: “From now on, I will make assaults on the Quraysh and their confederates, not they on me.” This was also verified.

According to an authentic narration, he said a few months prior to his death: “One of God’s bondsmen has been given a choice, and he chose that which is with God.”

About Zayd b. Suwahan, he said: “One of his limbs will precede him to Paradise.” In the Battle of Nihawand, one of his hands was martyred and in effect reached heaven first.

The incidents we have so far mentioned concerning predictions relating to the Unseen comprise only one out of his ten different kinds of miracle. Yet of this kind alone, we have not even mentioned one tenth. In addition to what is mentioned here, four general kinds of miracle concerning predictions of the Unseen have been described briefly in the Twenty-Fifth Word, which is about the miraculousness of the Qur’an. Now consider the kinds mentioned here together with the four extensive sorts communicated from the Unseen by the tongue of the Qur’an, you will see what conclusive, indisputable, sound, brilliant, and firm proof of his messengership they form. Indeed, anyone whose heart and mind are not corrupted will of a surety believe that Muhammad is the Messenger of, and receives knowledge from, a Glorious One Who is the Creator of all things, the One All-Knowing of the Unseen.

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