#ks6bd

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I’ve been working very hard to keep my Good Omens hyperfixation off my main writing blog, but I  accidentally wrote a crossover fic with @orbitaldropkick‘s Kill Six Billion Demons, and I like it. So here it is, submitted for general consideration; one of the many stories of 3 Principality Aziraphale Who Guards the Eastern Gate of God’s Immortal Garden With a Flaming Sword, and the demon who much prefers to go by ‘Crowley’.

I like to imagine Aziraphale is wearing something strongly reminiscent of khaki shorts in this universe.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” said 3 Principality Aziraphale Who Guards the Eastern Gate of God’s Immortal Garden With a Flaming Sword. “What was it you were saying again?”

“I said that one went down like a lead balloon.” Said Anthony J Jonah Jameson Crowley Crawly Esquire the Third, Flame of the Sunken Star.

“Yes, it was quite unnerving to find your mask smashed to pieces against the entrance of the maze,” the angel said, worrying at an uneven, protruding quartz crystal on his thumb. “What happened?”

“I was under contract with a sorcerer. He wanted to steal from the Maze of Arun Dat,” he said. 

Arun Dat was remembered most fondly as a master mathematician, but he had a special penchant for labyrinths. Always liked them, never got the chance to explore one himself. He did, however, draw them— copious paper labyrinths, all over his study. Labyrinths like mandalas, meditations that drove men mad trying to plot. When he retired he dedicated his life to finally building a real labyrinth, with the intention of making one impossible to crack. It was rumored to hold a reward at its core, although no record existed among the plans, and Arun Dat was not so wealthy that he could afford to dump the last of his life’s savings just to die with a legacy.

Principality bought them dumplings to share, and left them sitting between them on the stone steps. Crowley wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. He felt small and blue.

“Did you get to the core?” 3 Principality asked.

Crowley shook his head. “No, the team fell apart when we got inside. Three days in, all the humans are gnashing their teeth and accusing each other of old grudges. Turned out the summoner had a habit of writing bad checks. Stuck it out for a week before turning back.”

“Oh, well, the sorcerer must not have liked that.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched, filled with the uncomfortable fact that it was abundantly clear the sorcerer didn’t take well to Crowley’s intuition. 

Crowley stretched his back and gave a loud, theatrical yawn. “I’m glad to be back so soon. Who did the summoning?”

“—er,” the Principality said, chewing his peach dumpling. He had half his helm off, which left the wisps of his eternal flame to curl like hair around his head. Through the eyeholes of his faceplate, he seemed very uncomfortable. “—well—“

Crowley was struck dumb. “You?”

3 Principality Aziraphale fidgeted with the quartz on his thumb. “Well, I was the only one around. I knew your name and your mask, and it wasn’t fair—“

“Angel!” Crowley shouted. “Bloody stupid fool! Brainlessly rockheaded skull, tha! Tha formst a contract with the formless flame, me, to feast on tha light? How could tha be so reckless!?”

The basis of their friendship was a genuine interest and respect for mortal life, paired with a consequential distrust for their respective kin. Aziraphale couldn’t understand why his brothers were so against the wonderfully clever creatures who taught themselves how to traverse the Wheel, and Crowley was always a bit squeamish about treating sapient life like fresh, bleeding meat. For several thousands of years he’d tried to avoid the White-Eyed Woman and the City of Devils underneath, and as a result, spoke the Black Speech with less ease and fluency than others did. 

“Well, you’re my friend,” Aziraphale said, sounding rather put out. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Wouldn’t have the same implications, would it?” Crowley snapped. “Doesn’t have the same long reaching complications, now does it!?”

“Oh, mortals summon demons all the time without any ill effects,” Aziraphale said airly. “And look at how weak their little flames are! Why, this might be the most beneficial contract you’ve ever filled.”

“Oh yes I’m very lucky to find such a gullible angel to feed on.”

“Not to worry, the contract didn’t have any set terms. All you took was enough to get you started.” 3 Principality said cheerfully.

“Tha moth-eaten cottonhead— so you’re the one who came up with this stupid name!?”

“It’s harder then it looks to name an undomesticated flame.” The angel said.

“What’s this ‘Flame of the Sunken Star’ business!?”

“Good friend of mine, awaiting reincarnation in the void. Didn’t think he’d mind.”

“An angel’s— !” Crowley choked, glasses sliding down his nose. His sunglasses were, likewise, smashed by the furious sorcerer that summoned him, but Aziraphale had taken the time to find the make and model Crowley preferred. He’d known demons tended to be smaller after banishment, and tried to purchase accordingly, but the pair barely hung on by their hooks at the back of Crowley’s ears. “That’s the first one I’m shedding. Imagine if your brothers found out you gave a demon an angel’s name.”

“Don’t think they’d care, really,” Aziraphale said, with a bitter hint to his voice. He took a particularly large bite of dumpling and chewed aggressively. “Spend all their time plotting the mass extinction of all life in the cosmos. Call it ‘cleansing the wheel’, they do. Honestly, to hear them talk, you’d think God would pop right back into existence when they‘re done. ‘Good work, chaps, really couldn’t have done it without you’. Can’t expect them to bother with one pesky demon with a plan like that.”

Crowley drew his tongue against his teeth. It was forked, the way it always was. Funny what stayed and what changed between incarnations. 

An awkward silence fell, interrupted by an even more awkward cough.

“Glad you don’t agree with ‘em.” Crowley added.

“Cheers,” Aziraphale said wearily, staring out at the street in front of them. People walked by with barely a glance down, on their own business. Men, women and people of all genders bustling about, some with bags or other luggage, some without. Some in fine clothes, others a bit more plainly dressed. “At least we have a love for life in common.”

“Oh, sure. Lovely, smart mortals. They make clothes and tellies and gates to bridge the spokes of the wheel. Love what they’ve done with the place, me.” Crowley agreed. He crossed his legs and leaned back, in a much smaller approximation of his usual lean. 

“Might be good for business to hang around a copper for a few years.” Crowley mused.

“Former copper, you mean.” 

“Right,” Crowley muttered. “The bookshop.”

“It’s quite fun, actually. You’ll see.”

“Don’t sell many books, do you?”

“I sell enough to get by— oh! Look at that little family!” Aziraphale said excitedly, clasping his hands in delight. “Reach heaven through violence, my dears! May your children grow strong enough to cave the skies! —anyway, the real fun is in appraisals.”

Crowley sighed. It was a sigh too heavy for the small, bony body he inhabited, a sigh borne of many thousands of years walking the spokes of the Red City. He, too, had been present in God’s Immortal Garden. It was where they’d first met.

“--going to estates to view the books, oh my dear you’ll love it. There are so many books of magic with minds of their own! They’re not very clever, sadly, but it’s so funny to see a completely artificial burgeoning soul!”

Crowley’s attention was already starting to drift. He’d never much liked the idea of settling down but, well, he owed the angel. And they got along well enough. Perhaps Aziraphale was right, and he’d enjoy doing book appraisals, or scaring the money out of customers, or some other aspect of keeping a bookshop. Perhaps the books with a sliver of sentience had their own burgeoning soul-flames, he thought mildly as Aziraphale kept up a steady stream of excited chatter.