#like look yes the bookshop burned and its the heart of aziraphale but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vampiremarz · 1 year

Text

Split The Heavens

"We're closed" The Demon said flatly, pushing his glasses up so they would stay propped up on his forehead(that corner of the bookshop was way too dark to wear sunglasses, And read something) "I thought Muriel was running the Bookshop?" the customer said, their oh so familiar voice rang in Crowley's ears. His skin crawled, as he looked over his shoulder. "Aziraphale." he monotoned. "

Something wet and warm ran down the demon's cheek, it burned like holy water, but worse. it didn't kill him, but the burn wouldn't go away. He didn't know demon's could cry.

cross posted on ao3

The Demon had watched The Angel step into the elevator with a smile on his face. It broke his heart. He felt it slowly crack and shatter into a million pieces. his dark glasses covered his eyes welling up with tears. As music began to play on the radio as he turned the key in the Bentley, instantly he turned it off, not wanting to wallow in his emotions. He slammed his foot down onto the gas pedal, going as fast as the Bentley would let him. oddly slow compared to their usual 90 in Central London. "oh for fucks sake" He groaned. His glasses had slipped down his nose so he pushed them up with his middle finger.

His plants seemed to wilt behind him like he could hear them crying for help. "stop your whining, I watered you last night" He said through his teeth. He shuffled through the stack of CDs and tapes stashed in the glove compartment, frustrated he slammed it shut, turning the radio on and switching a few channels.

His original plan was to go back to his flat, but now that Shax had returned to hell his "home" was his once again, instead of slowing down and parking the Bentley in his parking spot, the brakes seemed to falter, the steering wheel turned on its own and Crowley was on the road once again. "FOR FUCKS SAKE" He slams his fist down on the dashboard, and the radio sputters.

"Love of my life, can't you see?

(Please bring it back)

Bring it back, bring it back, don't

take it away from me

Because you don't know what it

means to me (means to me)"

Love of my life by Queen had started playing on the radio, or the Bentley's mind of its own had decided to force Crowley to face his own emotions, the emotions he had felt for the first time ever

"You will remember when this is blown over

And everything's all by the way

(ooh, yeah)"

The radio continues. Crowley took his hands off of the steering wheel, looking ahead of him at the road as the Bentley seemed to drive itself.

"When I grow older, I will be there at your side" He sang along to the song. "To remind you how I still love you- Dammit Angel" He cursed under his breath before removing his glasses. In 1974 they had seen Queen play that song live, together. Aziraphale had apparently traded one of his books to get them "VIP" tickets, whatever that meant. ( And coincidentally, Crowley got to meet the band) He saw them 8 more times before Queen's last album was released.

He vividly remembered how during the bridge of the song Aziraphale's hand had brushed up against his, of course, they were sitting next to each other, they had gone together. Not like it was a date or anything(it was)

Lost in his thoughts the next thing he knew he was back in front of the bookshop. A.Z. Fell and Co. the oh so familiar sign read.

the bells above the door rang as he stepped inside "Welcome!" Muriel shouted from behind a pile of books almost twice their size, poor thing had just discovered what books were and now they were practically swimming in the mess the demons had made the night before. "oh! it's you, the demon" They said, straightening their posture "The Metatron put you in charge of the shop?" He said through his teeth again, straightening his glasses. "yes! I'm very excited" They replied "If Aziraphale finds out you're actually selling them or you damaged them in any way, the new Supreme Archangel will have you punished I'm sure" His fingers brushed against the dust of a book, despite Aziraphale only leaving about a half an hour ago it seemed to take a toll on the bookshop. "oh… are you just trying to scare me? it won't work on me Mr. Crowley, I'm an angel and you're a demon"

"blah blah blah doesn't matter, I know the bookshop better than you"

Muriel sighed "I suppose you're right"

Crowley sighed. The bookshop felt so empty now. "I'll help you get situated, He liked things a certain way" He stepped towards the angel, and Muriel stepped back. "Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you or anything, despite demonic appearances"

Muriel picked up one of the books from the large stack, an older and relatively smaller one. One Aziraphale had carried around with him when he had first gotten his hands on it, back in 1957. "Now, are you gonna read that or put it back?"

"put it back"

"Angel always organized them by author first name and genre, I have no idea how he didn't blow a fuse when Gabriel-" he corrects himself "Jim started organizing them by the first letter of the first sentence" He scoffed "Are all of these "authors" humans?" Muriel asked, using air quotes. "uh, I suppose so? never really thought about that" Crowley shrugged his shoulders, picking up a book and reading the author's name to reshelve it "Mr. Crowley?" They asked again. "hu?" he looked up from the book. "Once you're done teaching me about books, can you teach me about humans?"

He raised an eyebrow "You what now?"

"teach me about humans!" They said with a smile "You and Mr. Aziraphale had been here for 6,000 years, right? surely you know more than I could learn from observing"

"well… you're right I do know more. I'll consider it. You start organizing the best you can. I'm gonna go get a pick me up, hopefully, something alcoholic and a chat with someone" he pushed his hair back and walked out of the bookshop. The truth was he didn't mind Muriel, they were too clueless for their own good but also curious. The questions they asked reminded him of himself before the fall. He wanted to be nice to them, but they reminded him too much of himself, and too much of Aziraphale at the same time. Halfway to Nina's he realized he didn't really want to talk about what happened, just needed to get away from the bookshop, it was an instinct to meet Aziraphale there. Crowley groaned. His next option was to go back to his flat, pick up the mail shax had left at his door. He sauntered over to the Bentley and turned the car on, of course a sappy love song that reminded him of Aziraphale was playing, he decided to drive in silence instead.

splash! suddenly the demon was soaked, He shot up, his head throbbing and the room spinning "Crowley, where's Aziraphale?" Maggie said, her hands on her hips. Nina was next to her, holding an empty coffee cup, she must've been the one to wake him up "It's been weeks since we've seen either of you, very very unusual "

"fuck both of you" The demon groaned, rolling to the other side of the couch he was comfortably lounged on "I assume it didn't go well?" Nina asked, picking up a few empty wine bottles "Jesus Crowley how much can you drink? Are you planning on drinking your life away?"

"I'm not drinking my life away, just drinking the next decade away, till Aziraphale comes back or , till it doesn't hurt anymore" he muttered, reaching for the half-drunk bottle of wine next to him. Nina quickly grabbed it before he could, causing Crowley to fall off of the comfortable couch. "I'll go find the other one" Maggie said, giving Nina a kind pat on the shoulder. Nina gave her a nod as she headed up the spiral staircase. "What happened?" Nina sat on the couch, the demon still on the floor. "He left," Crowley said, his face squished into the floor. "oh! I wasn't expecting that, you two were absolutely made for eachother"

"I doubt that" He rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "He went back to heaven, wanted me to join him again, but we went through this ages ago, we're not on heaven or hell's side. we're on our own, but he picked heaven over me" His voice faltered slightly. "Oh Crowley, that's horrible" He simply just shrugged in response.

"I'm glad you came back. Aziraphale wasn't just the bookshop owner he was the landlord too, someone has to run it who knows the ropes already" Crowley sighed, looked like he couldn't abandon the bookshop even if he wanted to.

Crowley sat up. He blindly fumbled for some sort of drink, and begrudgingly, Nina handed him the bottle of wine she had snatched up. "the Metatron, that old fuckin idiot placed Muriel in charge, I have nothing against them but they don't have a clue what's going on at all" Crowley talked with his hands, almost knocking the bottle against the coffee table and breaking it.

"the Metatron? what type of a stupid name is that?"

"He's an old guy, balding, and smells like moldy cheese, but I'm probably exaggerating. He was in here earlier and gave Angel a coffee. I think it was a latte thing with almond syrup"

"I remember him! he was the first customer in that morning and asked a weird question, he asked if anyone ever asked for death"

"do they?"

"no," She said plainly, almost side-eyeing him.

"Muriel said they saw you drunkenly praying last night. You're a demon, who were you praying to? Satan?" Maggie said, heading down the stairs.

"I was asking God to take care of Aziraphale" he muttered under his breath, Looking down and away so he could remove his glasses and wipe off the lenses, covered in lukewarm tea. Maggie sighed "Crowley…"

"Yes, stupid human I know. I know"

The empty coffee cup is tossed at his head "You've been camping out here for weeks, you gave your flat to Beelzebub and Jim and haven't even unpacked the boxes of your shit!" Maggie pointed towards the stack of boxes by the door labeled "Krowly" the handwriting absolute chicken scratch, obviously written by Beelzebub. "You got all this from Muriel?" Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, and your plants died," Maggie added. With a wave of his hands, the plants were luscious and green again "No they're not"

"you can't miracle everything to be better" Nina pulls over a chair and one for Maggie, sitting down in front of Crowley. "Muriel wants me to teach them about humans. Guess I'll be staying around longer than I wanted to, I'll run the bookshop I guess"

“Don't be a horrible influence on that poor kid”

“I won't, Aziraphale will probably come back in the next few days, he’ll realize how boring it is in heaven”

“What are you going to tell people if they ask where he is?”

“Probably in America or somewhere stupid” Crowley shrugged. "He'll come back"

"you're very nice for a demon, I know I don't have much of a reference to base it on but you're a really nice guy" Maggie said. "Look uh, I told Miss sandwich already, I'm not either. I'm not nice" he said through his teeth. "Have fun lying to yourself then" Nina said before Maggie could, like she could read her mind. "we should go, we have to open our shops, we'll be back after closing to make sure you're not drunk again"

The demon was nice, As much as he hated to admit it he wasn't evil, he was far from it. The last mean thing he ment and actually remembered saying was telling Jim- Gabriel to step out of the window and face plant onto the sidewalk of Soho London. As much as he hated Gabriel, he still regretted it.

The demon who lived in his car after he lost his flat, never thought to ask his angel for a place to stay, he thought it would make Aziraphale uncomfortable. The same demon who felt comfortable enough with said angel to show his eyes around him, the eyes he could have miracled into normal human eyes at any moment. The demon who would do anything to kiss Aziraphale again, despite how horrible the situation was or how painful of a memory it was, how much it hurt seeing the look on Aziraphale's face. He would still do it all over again.

His Bentley turned a familiar shade of yellow, shortly before malfunctioning and becoming undriveable. Crowley could've easily miracled it, fixed. After everything the car had been through with him, after 90 years of Aziraphale sitting in the passenger seat. He couldn't dare look at it again, his most prized possession was left in an empty lot, yellow instead of black. The Demon knew the Bentley reflected his own emotions.

Life without Aziraphale moved ever so slowly. Crowley was used to life moving slowly, he had been on slow-moving earth with slow-moving humans for six thousand years, but this was painfully slow. Time should've been flying by, but it wasn't. But from Inspector Constable turned bookseller's perspective, he seemed to be doing better than he was the day Aziraphale left.

Crowley sat lounged over the fancy chair pushed up against Aziraphale's old desk, shuffling through a box of records, the cardboard around the packaging edges fraying slightly "Muriel? What should we listen to together? Queen or?...." He held up an autographed version of A Day At The Races and started shuffling through the box again, looking for a second option. "the queen of what? Why are we listening to a queen?"

"What did you just say?" He gritted his teeth, spinning around in the chair and dropping the box onto the floor "I don't understand who's the queen?" They asked. Crowley simply strutted towards the record player "Muriel Muriel Muriel you are about to have your mind blown- sorry human expression" He corrected himself, avoiding a question. The record slid out of its sleeve and into his hand, very very cautiously placing the pristine record (despite being 47 years old and still in mint condition) onto the turntable.

As the first song started playing and he slumped back into his chair "Take a seat and enjoy the music little angel" He said, lifting the to-go coffee cup to his lips, "was six shots right? Nina knows your usual but I wanted to try and remember it"

He nodded, closing his eyes to enjoy the music "Do you-" They continued, being interrupted by Crowley's finger behind, held up to shush them "Listen to the music" Crowley said, side-eyeing them. "this one's called Tie Your Mother Down" Muriel sat down in their chair, a simple blue metal chair opposite next to Crowey's fancy deep red and gold throne-like chair. Crowley couldn't bring himself to sit in the chair that had been next to the desk before. It was Aziraphale's chair, not Crowley's. He had brought his chair from his flat, and stolen Muriel's from Nina's. Aziraphale's worn-down chair sat nicely in the corner as if he was sitting there with them. His gaze shifted towards the record player, then towards the chair as the songs switched. "I can dim the li-" the record sings, quickly Crowley jumps to his feet, the needle quickly skipping "Why'd you do that?" They tilt their head to the side "I uh…. I just don't like the song" He responded. His demeanor had changed drastically. "Mr. Crowley, are you ok?" They asked. "I'm fine! just that's enough of this album for today, pick one from the box. I'm gonna organize the books' ' He stormed off to the other side of the bookshop. a nice old lady had come by to sell a box full of her husband's old books, he had to inventory them and shelve them, a boring task he had no idea how Aziraphale dealt with it. "I think I'll get a new one!" They stood up. Crowley shuffled through his pockets, he sauntered back over to them and placed about 15 pounds into their hand "Maggie will probably let you just take a record because she doesn't have to pay us- Aziraphale, rent anymore but pay her anyway"

"That's very nice of you for a demon" They respond, putting the pounds in their pocket. "Eh, not really, I just don't hate Humans. Gray zone, remember?"

"Mr. Crowley?" Muriel asked, standing by the door. "Yeah little angel?" he responded

"I'm going to miss you when you go back to hell"

"You've got a day, just gotta tie up some more loose ends" Crowley shrugged his shoulders "you'll be fine without me, I've waited for Aziraphale long enough" Crowley fixed his glasses as a customer came through the door. "I'm still going to miss you" Muriel said with a smile "be careful, saying stuff like that is gonna get you pushed outta heaven" He whispered to them, patting them on the shoulder. "Go pick out a record kid," he sauntered back over to the books that needed to be shelved.

Muriel skipped their way over towards Maggie's record shop, the bells above the door rang and she turned her attention towards the door "Muriel! It's nice to see you" she smiled. "Mr. Crowley said I could get a new record" They smiled, walking over towards one of the shelves, sorting through the newer records, still in the plastic. Then towards the older ones till they found a pretty blue one. "Can you play this one for me? I wanna know what it sounds like" They handed her the record "Ohhhhh this is a nice one" Maggie smiled "Voulez - Vous by Abba, Aziraphale used to like this one he would always listen to it here while looking for other records but never bought it" She slipped the record onto the turntable and let it run. The first few songs grew a smile on Muriel's face. "I'll take it!" They said, taking the record from Maggie the second it was back in the casing. They drop the money given to them on the counter and skip back to the bookshop "Wait! Muriel the record was only 3£ not 15!" She shouted but they were already too far gone to hear her, she simply sighed and placed it in the cash register.

Crowley, now swimming in books, refused to turn around and greet the customer as the doors opened "We're closed" He said flatly, pushing his glasses up so they would stay propped up on his forehead(that corner of the bookshop was way too dark to wear sunglasses, And read something) "I thought Muriel was running the Bookshop?" the customer said, their oh so familiar voice rang in Crowley's ears. His skin crawled, as he looked over his shoulder. "Aziraphale." he monotoned. "I came to check on Muriel but I guess you ended up taking over"

" teachin' them, I'll be out of here soon enough" He stood up, dusting his clothes off. "Crowley… I-" He took a step towards him, his attention being stolen from Crowley to the wilting plants under the window. "Don't. you told me how you felt and made your priorities clear"

"Oh Crowley, don't be like that. I brought you coffee?" His brows furrowed, but he held the coffee cup full of espresso in front of him. "Muriel brought me one already, and of fucking course in going to be that way you chose your side" He put his glasses back on. "You look good, Are those new glasses?" Aziraphale asked, most likely trying to make conversation "No" Crowley responded, Flatley. "same old glasses, same old me, different you" He picks up the box of books once more and moves to a different section of the bookshop. Aziraphale cautiously stepped towards his old desk, placing the cup of coffee next to the other cup Muriel had brought Crowley earlier.

Aziraphale wished the world would just stop, he could stop it but he doubted that it would get Crowley to talk to him. He wanted those damn glasses off and Crowley, he wanted Crowley.

"Crowley." Aziraphale reached forward to grab his wrist, but Crowley pulled away quickly.

too distracted to pay attention to the door Crowley missed Muriel coming back in, attempting to sneak past the two. He caught them in the corner of his eye, and despite being blocked by the edge of his glasses, he'd gotten used to it obviously. "what record did you get?" He turned his attention towards them "I'll show you after" they said, heading up the staircase.

"You seem to like them now" The angel fidgeted with his hands. "Well, it's been a year, Aziraphale. I know the time in heaven works differently but I hope you're doing well"

"I missed the bookshop" the Angel stepped towards the desk, eyeing the new chairs and his that had been moved "I missed the books, my records, I missed the weather. Heaven is awfully boring compared to Earth"

"take your records with you then" The demon muttered.

"you seem closer with them than you were with me" Aziraphale looked down "For Satan's fucking sake they're like my kid now it gets annoying sometimes. you- you were. Oh fuck off"

"Please, I want to apologize"

"Are you gonna do the dance again?" He laughed slightly, humoring himself. "Do you want me to?" he responded, tilting his head to the side. Crowley dropped the box, his hands were shoved in his front pockets and he turned to face his old friend "listen. I understand you coming to check on Muriel, you're both angels. But I'm a demon. I'm the enemy now" He pulled his glasses off, like an instinct to do in front of Aziraphale. realizing what he had done he quickly puts his hand over his eyes. "Crowley look at me…" He asked, so gently. Slowly Crowley moved his hand, revealing his eyes. The angel's face sank, instead of his favorite shade of yellow staring back at him, Crowley's eyes were a normal shade of brown, with normal human irises. "Crowley what? you?"

"don't like my eyes anymore" He put his glasses back on, sniffling he continued speaking "and I know I fucked up by kissing you-"

"Oh, Heaven Crowley I thought you were trying to tempt me!" Aziraphale interrupted. Crowey's posture stiffened "You think I would tempt you? I never have!? don't be an idiot Ang- Aziraphale '' He corrected himself "I would've never done anything to hurt you. and you assumed?"

"you're a demon! And I'm an angel, an Archangel! you could've been trying to tempt me into staying"

"I USED TO BE A FUCKING ARCHANGEL!" The demon snapped, practically shaking.

Aziraphale stepped back, not expecting Crowley to raise his voice at him, it had never happened before. "what?" he questioned. "Archangel Raphael, He asked too many questions and hung around the wrong crowd. then God punished him"

Aziraphale put his hand up to his mouth, his eyes widening "I asked too many questions" Crowley said, trying to compose himself "Crowley I'm so sorry I never knew-"

"I never wanted you to know"

Aziraphale stayed silent, the look of pity on his face made Crowley want to burst into flames.

"They wiped my memory, Everyone in heaven forgot Raphael eventually, of their own doing or I was wiped from their memory too. I only remember a handful of things. I know exactly how Gabriel was feeling. I can't have that same thing happening to you"

"It won't, I can change heaven. you can-"

"I should've been enough for you to want to stay, what happened to us? shades of gray remember? they tried to burn you alive Aziraphale!" He knocked a few books off the shelf, causing Aziraphale to back up. Quickly he bent back down to put them back on the shelf. "Crowley, I'm so so sorry. I really am" he reached down to place his hand on his shoulder "Did you really want me to be an angel with you?" Crowley had moved before Aziraphale could've touched him.

"Yes of course I did! I know you must've been happier as an angel, and we can be together in heaven. The last thing I want is to be away from you. You can still take my offer"

" You weren't there when we switched. You didn't see how your stupid angels treated you"

"I'm in charge now Crowley. they won't-"

Crowley interrupted him "They wiped Gabriel's mind because he didn't want another Armageddon. Threatened to wipe him from the Book of Life because he fell in love with Beelzebub. You- mmmhhh" he stopped himself "Do you understand what they'll do to you?"

"They won't do anything to me, because I'm in charge" the archangel stated. "Join me, please. Nina told me you accepted hell's offer, take mine instead."

"Fuck Heaven, fuck Michael, fuck Uriel, and all the other angels. fuck god and fuck you. As you said, Like it's always been Aziraphale, I'm a demon, nothing ever gonna change that."

"It wasn't always that way, you were Raphael, you can be him again. It can change! Let me help you"

"YOU STUPID FUCKING ANGEL!" Despite it being almost a perfect day a strike of lightning came crashing down just outside the bookshop, singeing the concrete ground. "You can't help me! I am a demon. I enjoy being a demon." He said through gritted teeth, a deep growl coming from his throat. "I'm like a walking bomb of death and destruction. Just leave, please. I could kill anyone with a snap of my fingers, I could kill you"

Aziraphale stood back, those last words stung "Anthony J Crowley! I'm not leaving you, not again"

"For Satan's sake! why won't you understand?! I don't want to be a damn angel! I wasn't happy as one, all I did was get in trouble for asking honest questions! I- All I wanted was you. I was happy with you" He said, furrowing his brows "Angel I loved you" he wanted to kick himself for letting the term of endearment slip. Aziraphale's eyes softened "You what?"

"Forget it, I'm going upstairs. If you want to you can take some of your shit back to heaven" Crowley fixed his glasses, turning around to head upstairs the spiral staircase. Aziraphale quickly responded. "Loved?"

"Love doesn't matter, you chose to be enemies again" He looked down at Aziraphale's hands, dangerously close to his own "Do you still love me?"

Crowley sighed "It doesn't matter" he rolled his eyes, "humor me" Aziraphale sighed "Oh you think this is funny?"

"It's a human expression, you know this!" His voice got all high-pitched and whining, one of the mannerisms Crowley had thought was cute. Crowley's gaze traveled back toward Aziraphale's eyes.

Something wet and warm ran down the demon's cheek, it burned like holy water, but worse. it didn't kill him, but the burn wouldn't go away. He didn't know demon's could cry.

"Crowley-'' Aziraphale reached forward to wipe the tear off his cheek. "No. I don't love you anymore" his voice shook.

The angel’s hand drifted down to grab his wrist. The demon watched as his fingers trail down further, intertwining their fingers. He realized Aziraphale was also looking down at their hands, his fingers tightly gripping Crowley's limp hand.

The Demon exhaled, his breath faltering "Aziraphale…" The Angel looked back up at him, and suddenly his eyes widened. Crowley had been using a miracle this whole time to make him seem… alright. His comment about Crowley "looking good" now felt out of place and almost like an insult had spilled from his lips. His hair was longer and messy, he could smell the alcohol on his breath, and could practically sense the tired eyes behind his glasses. stubble shaped his face, making him look more disheveled. A single freckle sat above his lips, an angel kiss as some would call them.

Tired eyes was an understatement, Crowley couldn't sleep anymore. Some night were by choice, he didn't want to relive the horrors that were the nightmares that followed the day Aziraphale left, some nights he would lay awake contemplating different ways that morning could've gone.

Aziraphale understood why his plants were wilted now. "Crowley… you look…" he brushed his hand up his arm, against the soft fabric of his sweater. "yeah I know. Maggie and Nina tried to get me to put myself together again. Too hard when I feel so damn empty. so I miracled myself" The angel's hands came up to gently take the glasses off of the demon's face, and quickly Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, deep eye bags under his eyes confirmed the tired gaze Aziraphale suspected. "Don't do that again" He quickly grabbed his glasses back from the angel.

"But Crowley, I… we… Oh" He struggled to find the words "Was this why I couldn't find you? I checked on you through heaven but you had gone missing. You miracled yourself to seem human. Crowley, I'm so sorry."

"you can take your apology and shove it up your feathered ass"

"Crowley, my dear…"

"don't" He turned away from Aziraphale. "Fuck you, Angel, if you wanna talk to Muriel I'll tell them to come back down but I don't want to see you again. and don't look up my file, leave me alone" He pulled his hand from his grasp and continued up the spiral staircase. Aziraphale could hear the heartbreak in his voice.

Crowley stormed past the open door to Muriel's room, the record spinning on their turntable

"Look into his angel eyes, One look and You're hypnotized" the new record they had just bought sang. With a wave of his hand the record started spinning backwards "Listen to another one Muriel, I can't stand this song anymore" He said with a deep growl in his voice. "Mr. Crowley, are you okay? I wasn't expecting to see Aziraphale- Or the traitor" Muriel stood up, following him to his room. "it's fine, he's just coming to get some of his books to take back to heaven" He responded, opening the door to his bedroom, the room across the hall from the dusty and locked door that was Aziraphale's room. "Mr. Crowley" Muriel stood up straight, speaking louder than usual "I have a confession to make"

The demon raised an eyebrow before uncorking a bottle of wine in his room and leaning against the doorway. "As you probably know angels can sense Love" they stated "and last year before Mr. Aziraphale left, I might have sensed it between you two, very heavily. and I also might've accidentally been watching through the window when I felt that love was the strongest" They watched as an almost disappointed look grew on Crowley's face "I saw you kiss him and I could sense the heartbreak"

"Muriel…" Crowley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"And I still sense that love and heartbreak in you, but it's even stronger in him I think he meant the apology"

"Even if he meant it… Aziraphale is too holier than thou to leave heaven again. And I'm going back to hell, there isn't time for an us anymore"

"You two were happy when you were still with heaven and hell before you left, right?"

"This is different now, he's an Archangel, and I'm going to be the new prince of hell, just like Gabriel and Beelzebub. We cant- shit" He looked down at the ground, adjusting his footing and bringing the bottle of wine up to his lips "fuck… I'm gonna regret this again" He shuffled past them, and back down the staircase. He was met with an empty bookshop, not an angel in sight. "FUCK!" He shouted, tossing the bottle to the ground, the glass shattering. Quickly he threw the doors open and scanned his surroundings, searching for that familiar face he longed for. "Aziraphale!?" He shouted, hoping it would get his attention if he hadn't already returned to heaven.

"Aziraphale! Where are you!" He stepped out from the awning over the doorway, the cold rain drenching him instantly. He turned left, towards Maggie's shop and raced through the sidewalk. "FOR SATAN'S SAKE WHERE ARE YOU!?" He sputtered, his voice being overpowered by the loud rain hitting the concrete sidewalk and the cars zooming by. Suddenly his attention was grasped by a man in a tan trench coat with a pristine white umbrella, across the street by Nina's. Dodging cars he sprinted over "Aziraphale!" He shouted, finally getting the Angel's attention. He turned around to face the demon "Crowley?" Very out of breath, he came to a screeching halt in front of him "Aziraphale…" He swallowed harshly "Oh you're soaked" He responded with a slight laugh "I love you" Crowley responded, his voice filled with emotion, not his typical rage, almost filled with urgency and affection. "I know I said I didn't, I'm a demon we lie"

"for a demon" Aziraphale breathed out "You've always been a terrible liar"

"I never wanted to lie to you, angel"

"I know, my dear I know"

"Don't go back to heaven, they can appoint Michael as supreme Archangel or some other idiot with a stick up their ass. please. I'm choosing you over hell. choose me over heaven this time"

A slight smile formed on his face. "I told you I wouldn't leave again" he hesitated when stepping towards him "I don't know why I told you I forgave you, I- I guess it's because I was scared and I thought you were tempting me, I knew you would never, Crowley you're the kindest demon ever. I wanted, I wanted to tell you I love you" He said quickly, all in one breath. Crowley let him catch his breath before he placed his hands on his cheeks, so gently, like he could make a mistake at any moment. Aziraphale reached forward, pinching the earpieces of his glasses and pulling them off his face "There you are, so pretty. I thought you had changed them for good" he said with a smile, placing Crowley's glasses in the pocket of his waistcoat. "Angel I-" The umbrella clattered to the ground as the angel leaned forward and his hand swept through the demon's hair. Crowley backed up, his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, pulling him along with him under the awning. They looked into each other's eyes, longing for each other. slowly they pulled closer till their lips brushed against each other. A wave of relief washed over Crowley. His hands-on Aziraphale's shoulders glided down to his waist to pull him closer.

their lips parted slightly, just enough for Crowley to tell Aziraphale was smiling, probably the largest he had ever seen him smile. "This kiss was better than the last one," the Angel said, backing up more, reaching to grab the umbrella, now upside down and filled with water. "This kiss was reciprocated," Crowley muttered, his arms still around the angel's waist. "Oh don't be like that, dear" Aziraphale playfully punched his shoulder "We're both soaked now, back to your bookshop to dry off then dinner at the Ritz, Angel? it can be our first official date" Crowley asked. "our bookshop you mean? They can kick me out of heaven a second time. I'm staying" He leaned forward once again, their foreheads touching. Crowley placed a soft kiss onto his lips before stepping back and holding out his hand for his angel to take, and gladly he did. "I'm sorry, I really am," The angel said once more "I know angel, I'm expecting the dance sooner than later" The demon responded "Once I'm in dry clothes, my dear. you're growing out your hair again, I love it" with his free hand he brushes a strand of hair soaked and stuck to his face behind his ear. "ah oh I almost forgot" he took Crowley's glasses out of his pocket and placed them back onto his demon's face "thank you, Angel" He responded, absolutely smitten.

"Did I ever tell you who this song was based on?" Crowley said, swirling the wine left in his glass around, the two comfortably lounged on the floor in front of the fireplace, the record player going.

"Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine o'clock)

precisely. I will pay the bill, you taste the wine

Driving back in style, in my saloon,

will do quite nicely

Just take me back to yours, that will be fine"

Aziraphale shook his head, Busy sitting behind Crowley, braiding his longer hair.

"Come on and get it

Ooh, love (there he goes again)

Ooh, lover boy (he's my good

old-fashioned lover boy, ooh)"

"It's about you, Good- Old fashioned Lover Boy," Crowley said with a wink. Aziraphale leaned forward, his face pink with blushing "I'm trying to focus my dear I'm a bit out of practice" The elastic tying the braid together snapped as Aziraphale let go of Crowley's hair and smiled at his work, "done!" He smiled, leaning forward to set his head on Crowley's shoulder. "Angel I don't mean to kill the mood, but I need to know, why did you come back now? why not sooner?" Crowley turned around to face his angel.

Aziraphale was at a loss for words, not really, just didn't know how to explain "It's a long story, it can wait for another day"

"Angel, I'm not going to be mad at you I just need to know"

the angel sighed "They… the other angels, they weren't you. I couldn't see you from heaven and it honestly scared me, I was worried about you. I felt so alone there, a week in heaven and I was already ready to come back to the bookshop- to you, I came down to earth once, I saw you here, with Muriel, and Maggie and Nina"

"And you didn't say anything?"

"You looked happy. I didn't want to ruin anything for you"

"you know I used a miracle to disguise myself, angel"

"I know I know my dear but I didn't know that then. but, I returned to heaven and was sternly reprimanded for coming to earth, the other Archangels noticed I was acting differently, so when I returned to my office you were there"

"what? I've been here this entire time" Crowley questioned "I know I know, but I was- and you were an angel! you seemed just as happy as you were before the fall. You said that Metatron offered you the same position, but you wouldn't show me what it was it was very out of character of you "

"Angel, I love you but I'm not following anymore"

"They made a deal with hell and made a puppet of you!" Aziraphale whined, his voice all pitched. He covered his face with his hands, almost like he was embarrassed "I was so happy to see you- or the puppet that I kissed you. Heaven wasn't expecting that, they weren't expecting me to have feelings for a demon, because angels don't express emotions that way usually, and-and affection is a human thing. You looked like you, but I should've known something was off. You didn't call me angel anymore, your eyes weren't that beautiful, beautiful yellow anymore" The angel's thumb brushes against the demon's cheek. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the bookshop.

Crowley rubbed his hand up and down Aziraphale's back, reassuringly "I didn't figure out it wasn't you till it was too late. I should've known"

"Too late for what?"

"We were in my office, I was doing paperwork, I was practically swimming in paperwork up there. I don't know how Gabriel dealt with it. I leaned in to kiss you and the puppet stopped me, and-" Aziraphale leaned forward, hiding his face from Crowley. "I can't even repeat what it said to me! it was horrible Crowley I ran away from heaven and came right back to the bookshop, when I saw you here I knew the you in heaven was just the other angels tormenting me"

"That's why you were so adamant about asking if I wanted to be an angel"

"I thought you were! but I don't even know if, if-"

"Angel, Angel calm down, it's ok. I'm me, I'm me" Crowley pushed Aziraphale's hands off his own face, replacing them with his own "Are you sure?" he responded, finding comfort in Crowley's touch "Yes angel, I'm sure, I've always known I'm me," he said with a chuckle "you wanna hear something that only I would know or something?"

"yes please"

Crowley sat up straight "The only thing I remember from before the fall, when I was still Raphael. God appointed me to design a section of the stars and set up the whole damn universe. I was almost done. All I had to do was crank up the engine and you showed up. You held the scroll for me while I turned the thingy. You introduced yourself, and I was too focused on my creation to tell you mine"

"oh my dear that was you?"

"didn't expect something that highly of me hu angel?" he said, almost teasingly "Believe me now? I'm me"

"Yes my dear, you're you" Aziraphale leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips. Crowley brushed his hand up Aziraphale's back, leaning closer towards him. "Crowley?" Aziraphale said with a hum, leaning away from his demon. "mhh?" he responded, leaning in once more, craving more of Aziraphale. "Let's watch the stars together?"

Crowley's gaze softened, he smiled as the mention of stars left Aziraphale's lips "we'd have to miracle away the London smog?"

"Easy task, to the roof?" Aziraphale stood, holding his hand out for Crowley. "Angel, I'd like an apology first" he said with a mischievous smile.

Aziraphale took a breath and held up his right hand and swayed his right hip forward and in a sing-song voice said, “You were right.” A hop in place. “You were right.” A slow twirl followed. “I was wrong.” then a gracious bow. “You were right.”

"I was right about what" Crowley grinned, pulling his angel close by his hips "mhhh not sure " Aziraphale teasingly looked away "Angel" The demon said through gritted teeth "you were right about being us, I love you Crowley"

"to the roof, I want to see how my work has aged. I never had the heart to look on my own" Crowley planted a soft kiss on Aziraphale's cheek before taking his hand and guiding him up the stairs towards the roof.

#good omens #azicrow #good morning im sad #not a fix it #buttttttttttt #azi's gotta do the apology dance again #crowley accidently adopted muriel #crowley #aziraphale #crowley and aziraphale #crowley used to be raphael #Spotify

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onthecrosslook · 3 years

Note

Ineffable Husbands hurt/comfort for the writing requests thing please?🥺👉👈

Something Quite Unlike Most

Anthony J. Crowley liked to pretend that he didn’t care. He was awfully fond of acting indifferent and cold to other demons of Hell, and even occasionally to his friend*, Aziraphale. Demons like him, well…they didn’t actually exist. He wasn’t really a demon* at all, to be entirely honest.

He wasn’t sure what he was.

But he knew damn well that he was kidding himself if he thought he couldn’t care less about Aziraphale.

Especially once he received a very urgent phone call from the angel himself.

His phone rang once. Crowley didn’t pick up.

His phone rang again. Crowley glanced at it once or twice and didn’t pick up.

“I’m not going to pick up,” said Crowley as he picked up the phone upon hearing the third ring. Muttering a few colourful curses, he placed the receiver to his ear. “Yes, hullo, Angel, how are you?”

Aziraphale breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Crowley? Oh, hello, dear! Er- well, I’d be doing well, but I’m in a bit of a pickle.” He chuckled nervously and yelped. “Well, you see…”

“What the dev- Er- God? What have you done, Angel?” He tried to hide the urgency in his voice as he tapped his fingers against his desk, but his concern* was clear.

“I may have…er…well, don’t laugh at me, Crowley!” Aziraphale demanded with a slight whimper.

“I won’t bloody laugh, just tell me what’s wrong!” Crowley demanded.

“Someone gave me an old book,” Aziraphale confessed. “He was a really, really lovely gentleman. He was very tall with rather wavy ginger hair and had very odd eyes and cheekbones.”

“What?” Crowley asked in a mix of astonishment and blatant horror.

“Oh, yes! I was quite fond of his eyes, multi-coloured. Looked like the stars!” Aziraphale smiled pleasantly while simultaneously wincing in pain. “Said his name was Ben*.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

“Something wrong, dear?” Aziraphale asked in classic angel fashion (even whilst being in pain).

Crowley sputtered out a string of nonsense in an panicked attempt to tell Aziraphale to throw the book into the Pacific Ocean. “Tha- that wasn’t some kind bloke, Angel. What was the book called?” He was seconds away from bolting out the door.

Aziraphale sounded sheepish. “Well, it had a different cover at first. I thought it was a first edition copy of Huckleberry Finn, can you imagine that? Then when I opened it up, the first page said ‘The Lesser Key of Solomon*. Bless me, I’ve- ow!- no idea what that means.”

“It means that an undesirable just- oh, bloody- oh, b-bloody, good G- Satan. Shit!” Crowley knew exactly who he was talking about, especially when he mentioned his former boss*. “Angel, I’m coming over right now!”

“Oh, take your time!” Aziraphale said kindly, before letting out a dainty “fuck” as a result of the excruciating pain he was in. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Goodbye, Crowley!”

And then he hung up.

“Damn it, Angel!” Crowley hissed as he sprinted out of his flat and to his beloved black Bentley. He knew he only had a few minutes before Aziraphale* burst into flames or- worse! Something much worse!

Not realising he didn’t have his keys, Crowley accidentally willed the car to start and started driving like a man possessed. The other cars on the road parted in waves as he slammed down the accelerator and sped to Aziraphale’s bookstore*.

On its own, the car’s radio dial spun around and landed on a station that was blasting ‘The Show Must Go On’. Crowley glanced at it in surprise and adjusted his sunglasses, still not slowing down.

Inside, my heart is aching…

He spun around a corner and nearly hit a jaywalking pedestrian.

My makeup may be flaking, but my smile…

Crowley swallowed a lump forming in his throat, heart racing.

…still stays o-O-NnN- Nearly there, Crowley!

He flinched as the familiar voice of his ex-employer crept over him. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Oh, don’t fret, darling. I’m sure he’ll be just fine.

“What do you want?” Crowley demanded, his voice shaking. “He didn’t bloody do a thing!”

But you did, didn’t you? You betrayed me, Crowley. What ever happened to our side?

“There was never any ‘our side’,” he spat. “You wanted to- to destroy the world!” Crowley scowled and tried to turn off the radio, but it sent an electrical shock coursing through his fingertips. “Shit! Shit!”

Don’t be so foolish, darling. Shame about that human, though. If Aziraphale dies, well…hahahahaha…

“Shut up!” Crowley roared, and just like that, the radio clicked off.

Silence filled the car as tyres screeched and the Bentley arrived at the bookshop.

“Angel?!” Crowley shouted as he slammed his car door shut and rushed inside.

The bell tinkled and Aziraphale looked up. “Oh- ow!- C-Crowley, hello, dear!” he said weakly. He was slumped against a bookshelf, his wings visible and extended for some reason. His pleasant smile hid an obvious truth.

He was dying.

Crowley’s gaze, frozen with fear, landed on his friend’s wings with horror. They were turning black with some sort of secreted oily goo and the feathers were falling off, and Aziraphale was pale. Paler than usual. Circles were dark under his unusually dull eyes, and trickles of blood were making their way down his lips.

“How do I fix this?” Crowley said in despair. “How? D-do- do I- I…Miracle. I can do a miracle, can’t I, Angel?”

Aziraphale lifted his head and met Crowley’s terrified eyes. “Dear, listen, I’ve…I’ve tried it. Didn’t work, I’m- I’m afraid.” He let out a little chuckle. “Foolish of me to check. Should never have- well…sit with me, dear. For a bit.”

Crowley nodded and gingerly sat by Aziraphale. “Angel, there…must be some-something. Anything at all, I’ll do. Please.”

“It’s all right, Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured him, before coughing loudly and dabbing a bit of blood away with a handkerchief. “We could have run away together, you know? You wanted to.”

“Alpha Centurion,” Crowley murmured. “There’s nothing?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale whispered. “Take my hand, dear. Only for a while?”

Crowley nodded again and intertwined his fingers around Aziraphale’s own. “I…I…Please, Angel. Don’t leave me.”

“We’ve had six thousand years, Crowley. Isn’t that enough?” Aziraphale tried to smile, but he grimaced instead. “I’m…sorry.”

“No,” Crowley said. “It’ll never be enough. I…I love you, Angel. For six thousand bloody years, and now I’m going to lose you because of- of- fucking Satan!” Tears dripped down his sharp nose and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “Angel?”

Aziraphale did not respond.

“A-Angel?” Crowley mumbled, sniffing and pushing his shoulder. “Angel, please…”

The ‘please’ didn’t work.

Crowley swallowed and stood up. He took a shuddering breath and staggered to Aziraphale’s desk.

“DAMN IT!” he shouted, but it didn’t feel like enough. “DAMN IT! DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN- SHIT!” Crowley picked up the cursed book and threw it across the room. “WHY HIM? WHY- WHY HIM? FOR GOD’S- FUCKING! HELL!”

He didn’t notice, but he was radiating a power that hadn’t been seen in centuries as he sank to his knees in despair. His wings sprouted painfully from his back, black as night, as he struck the floor with his fists in anguish.

“AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley screamed* with such vigour that the bookstore shook, the lights of London flickered, and the ground trembled. “GOD!” He pounded the ground and cried out for someone, anyone, to hear him. The Powers that Be had decided to be especially cruel that day, leaving him to ponder why they had chosen Aziraphale- his* angel.

Crowley, for the first time in his entire existence, sobbed. All at once, his anger went away, and all that was left was a crushing sadness that left him slumped against a pile of books in unwavering agony. His soul was shattered and his mind was empty, an awful combination for a heartsick demon-but-only-just.

He was silent for a long time. The only sounds in the bookshop were the occasional shuddering sob, and even that steadily dissipated until the world finally quieted down.

A hand lay on Crowley’s shoulder.

He looked up.

“Do you love him?” an elderly woman asked.

Crowley blinked and nodded, trembling.

The woman smiled. “I suppose it is possible, then. For a demon to love an angel. For one to change one’s plan. One’s destiny.” She tilted Crowley’s chin up with delicate fingertips. “I ask you again, Anthony J. Crowley. Do you love Aziraphale?”

“Yes,” Crowley whispered, and his heart ached because he meant it, really and truly meant it.

“Well,” the woman whispered, her fingers beginning to glow golden, “it is decided. Your angel must be returned to you. It is not his time. And you have proven yourself worthy, Crowley. May you forever keep my trust.” She turned towards the fallen angel (the truly Fallen one) and waved her hand over his pale forehead.

A light bathed over Aziraphale, and his wings fluttered and straightened themselves, the colour returning to a radiant white. The blood vanished from his lips and his eyes grew bright. Then, slowly, carefully, his chest rose and fell with the effort of taking easy breaths.

Crowley couldn’t help but stare in astonishment. “Thank you,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say. “Can I ask, er…” He rubbed his forehead and crept to Aziraphale’s side. “Who- what are you, exactly?”

The woman laughed softly. “I’m ineffable,” she said gracefully, and her form flickered and dematerialised from the bookshop, leaving Crowley to wonder if he’d just witnessed a true and genuine, bonafide Miracle.

Aziraphale’s eyes slowly opened and gazed adoringly at Crowley. “Hello, dear,” he whispered, his cheeks rosy and healthy. “I must apologise for leaving you, if only for a moment.” He smiled sheepishly.

“You bloody bastard,” Crowley sniffed as he pulled Aziraphale to his chest and held him tightly. “I thought I’d lost you. For good.”

“I never want to leave you, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied. “Not for another thousand years, at least. You still owe me crapes, don’t you? Can’t possibly go without trying those.”

Crowley chuckled as his eyes burned. “As many crapes as you can eat, Angel.”

“You really are quite nice. The nicest demon I’ve ever met.”

“I dunno. I dunno if I’m a demon anymore.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled. “Then what?”

“I’m yours,” Crowley said, and took Aziraphale’s hand in his to lead him out of the bookstore.

In the end, they were all right.

It really was ineffable.

༺═──────────────═༻

*friend, meaning the Olde English and Germanic ancestor of the word ‘frēon’, which in turn originally meant ‘one who loves’.

*the demon I refer to, of course, is based on the Greek word ‘daimon’, which is defined as a ‘divine power, fat, or god’. Crowley was neither. The real translation means ‘replete with wisdom’. Crowley didn’t have that, either.

*this marked the sixth time Crowley had ever been concerned in his life. They all, of course, had been concerning Aziraphale in some way, shape, or form.

*if this sounds familiar, then it should.

*another name is ‘Salomon is Regis’. It’s a cursed grimoire of demonology. Demons fear its power.

*Satan couldn’t outright kill an angel, but he could trick an angel into killing himself. He was quite fond of stealing faces of popular celebrities to do this. Aziraphale, being Aziraphale, didn’t recognise him.

*the curse was so horrific that Aziraphale could not miracle himself free.

*he had the location memorised to demonstrate how little he cared for Aziraphale.

*it is said his grief was so great that it shook the Heavens.

*Crowley never truly wanted anything more in his entire life.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #amazon prime original #fanfiction #request #fic request #anthony j. crowley #a. z. fell #miracles #Ángels #demons #god #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #happy ending

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Good Omens one-shot “At the End” (Rated PG)

Summary: When the angels and demons finally succeed in having their war, there's only one thing that Aziraphale and Crowley can do with the time Earth has left...

Say goodbye to their home. (1408 words)

Notes: I wrote this hoping I would be accepted into a zine that ended up being canceled. The theme was basically what happens after Armageddon.

Read on AO3.

"Wot do you think you'll miss most about Earth?"

"Really, my dear?" Aziraphale clicks his tongue in disgust, but he can't bring himself to look away from the chaos ensuing below them to berate his companion properly. "What a question to ask at a time like this!"

"I think this is the perfect time to ask that question," Crowley says, but without his teasing edge. He offers it sympathetically. They both have a similar connection to this planet, had an investment in it thriving, but Crowley feels Aziraphale's heart breaking more than his. "When you lose something, you mourn it."

"It's not entirely lost! N-not yet." Aziraphale chokes around the words. Even though they leave his mouth passionately, he knows he has sinned by saying them.

Not lost yet may be the biggest lie he's ever told.

The first few hours had been soul-crushing.

The moment Holy rays broke through the clouds and shone down from above, ethereal voices announcing the arrival of God's angelic army, a flock of the faithful came out in droves to greet them. They prayed, sang joyously, raised their voices to the Heavens, invoked every one of God's Holy monickers. It should have been a huge stroke to Her ego... if She had been paying attention.

From Aziraphale and Crowley's perch atop St. Paul's Cathedral, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Those God-fearing mortals were the first to get trodden underfoot as angels barreled over them to confront their enemy - an extremely vulgar and unnecessary display when one considers that angelic footsoldiers can fly.

Hordes of evil-doers emerged from hiding as well, in lesser, but equally exuberant, numbers. They seemed suspiciously more eager for the fight, proving that those who call themselves 'Christian' might outnumber worshippers of Lucifer, but demons had their zealots better prepared for what the end of times would actually entail.

Either way, it didn't matter.

Those humans willing to spill blood at the drop of a hat, even their own, were used as cannon fodder against a foe they couldn't possibly hope to defeat. Within seconds, thousands lay dead on the streets of London and, Aziraphale suspected, all over the world.

For their part, Aziraphale and Crowley refused to join the battle, but no one paid them a lick of attention. An angel cavorting with a demon was no longer an issue. They could finally do as they pleased without fear of retribution, albeit on a planet whose hours were numbered.

"I would have to say I'm going to miss my car," Crowley continues, provoking conversation in an effort to allay his angel's anxiety. "And my flat. And alcohol. Hell's bells am I going to miss alcohol."

"Pity we don't have some now. I think a hull full would find itself useful," Aziraphale adds in a weak attempt at humor.

"Wot about you? Will you miss the food? Your bookshop?"

Aziraphale sighs. "Humanity."

Crowley raises a brow. "Humanity?"

"Yes. Without humanity, the rest of it wouldn't have been possible." Aziraphale scans the carnage below, trying not to focus for too long on any one thing... or any one person. He's already seen too many faces he recognizes, twisted from agony. "Without humanity, it wouldn't have meant anything."

"I suppose."

A tortured voice rings out, but it's snuffed out quickly. Aziraphale doesn't know which side does it, but he shakes his head in shame all the same. “I thought She’d show them mercy. I thought that, in the end, She’d come through. Spare them. That She wouldn't allow them to suffer as bystanders in all of this.”

“I hate to be the one to say I told you so, but… ”

“Then don’t, my dear.” Aziraphale reaches out and takes Crowley's hand, pleading wordlessly for him to stop, but also needing him for comfort. “Where is She? Where has She gone? Why has She abandoned them?”

"You've been asking that question for generations. I would think, by now, you'd know the answer."

"But I don't. Perhaps I should... " Aziraphale swallows heavily, his attention pulled to the skies by a streak of gold, then one of violet, passing overhead. "They know," he spits bitterly. Crowley follows his angel's gaze to the trails above them, one which he assumes must be Gabriel's. "She's obviously told them."

"Perhaps not," Crowley says, not in an attempt to defend Her, but to soothe his angel. "Just like last time, they're doing wot they think is right. Following wot they believe."

"And what do they believe? I don't know! They've never told me!"

"You'd think you'd all be on the same page. I mean, there's a book about it and all."

Aziraphale scoffs at that. "I think you and I both know that the archangels, Gabriel in particular, have never held any stock in books. Books are primitive, human things. They have nothing to do with angels. Not even the Bible... " A host more gold streaks zip by, and Aziraphale's words trail off into nothingness. Of all the books in Aziraphale's collection, his Bibles have always been his favorites. And not just the misprinted ones. The words inside gave him comfort, especially during those long stretches when he didn't hear from God at all. Though written by man, they were imparted by Her (if he overlooked the dodgy editing).

But they're gone. Not a single one remains, not even in the church where they stand, its insides crackling, burning beneath their feet.

Earth had become Aziraphale's Eden. Now, so many things he held dear are disappearing before his eyes.

Crowley squeezes the hand holding his. "Come, my love. It’s time to leave the garden.”

Aziraphale's eyes snap his way. They linger on his face for a moment, then drop to their clasped hands. “6000 years on this planet and you choose today of all days to call me your love?”

“I'm sorry." Crowley inches closer, lifts Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "I really am. I should have said it sooner. But I’m going to take you to a place where I’ll say it every day. I promise.” He wraps an arm around his angel's shoulders, gently urging Aziraphale to leave before the battle brewing, showing no sign of slowing down until it has consumed every last brick, every last breath of air, swallows them, too.

But Aziraphale hesitates. "C-can't we take them with us?" He gestures down to a tattered group of frightened survivors - a shivering young woman, no older than twenty-five if she's a day, and three children, all under the age of ten - huddled in a narrow crevice created by a metal door off its hinges, sheltering them among the rubble of the church's ruined stairs.

They've found themselves a decent hideaway, Aziraphale thinks. But he knows they're simply delaying the inevitable. They'll be found out before too long, become collateral damage.

Like everyone else.

"We can't just leave them to die, Crowley."

"We have no other choice." Crowley's need to escape intensifies as he watches the poor humans, tastes their fear rise with the heat of the flames. "Besides, perhaps they'll pull through. You never know. Humans have always been resourceful. They might find a way."

"Do you honestly think so?"

"Yes," Crowley lies. He would give his angel anything in the universe, anything within his power. He's trying to give him faith.

Because he can't give him this.

They can't save anyone but themselves.

Crowley turns Aziraphale away, blocks his view by unfurling his dark wings, ready to lift his angel into the air on his own if Aziraphale refuses. "I'm sorry, my love. We must leave them behind."

Aziraphale relents, unfurling his own white wings and heading for the upper atmosphere, watery eyes focused on the where in front of him and not the destruction behind him, with Crowley's shard of hope keeping his heart pinned in place.

Crowley should do the same. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But like Lot's wife, Crowley peeks behind him one last time to say goodbye to this place that has been his home for most of his existence.

It was a wonderful existence, but mostly because he had Aziraphale there to muddle through with him.

At least Crowley will still have him when all is said and done.

The last thing Crowley sees before they breach the clouds is St. Paul's Cathedral crumble in on itself, leaving behind a mound of ash.

And nothing more.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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whatawriterwields · 4 years

Text

It still happens sometimes. Even after a year, after twelve months of love and laughter, a cottage in the South Downs picked out and a hundred nights spent together within it, there come days when the past catches up with Crowley. When the fire comes to consume him again in terror and confusion and pain.

It happens like this: he’s dozing outside, sprawled on the soft grass, and it’s peace. And the sun warms his skin and it’s joy. And then the sun beats down and makes sweat trickle down his face, and suddenly something connects to something else in his brain.

The feel of that trickling sweat sends too many images bolting through his brain. And when he jolts upright, panic has already clouded out his rational thinking, and all he can see is flames - flames everywhere - Aziraphale gone, dead, his shop in ruins - the world ending and my best friend killed, killed, killed -

“Angel!” Crowley chokes, his voice hoarse and inaudible, and staggers to his feet.

Aziraphale isn’t around him. That’s all he can register, and it sets the panic in deeper - they took him, Heaven, they killed him for his betrayal, for loving me - or Hell, it was Hell, they killed him to strike some meaningless blow at the end of time - it’s my fault, it must be my fault, I should have protected him!

He sees the cottage and he doesn’t see it. It’s the bookshop belching flames. He flings himself at the back door and opens it, and inside is something that was peace and quiet and happiness half an hour before and now it’s soot and smoke and screaming.

“Aziraphale!” he cries louder. “Aziraphale!”

It’s not real, and he doesn’t need to breathe, and yet the smoke in his lungs overwhelms him. He collapses to his knees on the carpet. Angel, my angel, come back - I need you - I never told you everything -

A broken sob rips from his throat.

Shouldn’t have left you - never should have left, I love you, I’d have done anything for you, I’d have saved you from this if I’d been here -

And it feels, for that one moment, like the fire is going to swallow him whole. Like it’s going to rise up around him and consume him and leave nothing but brittle bones and ash. For a moment the grief is so great it beats Crowley into helplessness, and he’s certain everything is over.

That’s how it happens. He’s hunched over himself, on his knees, hands wrapped around his head and sobbing when he feels a gentle pressure on his chest.

It should be frightening. This unexpected touch, here as he kneels vulnerable on the floor, should spark some survival instinct and make him flinch away. And yet, before he’s aware of anything else, before he comes to any more realizations, he finds the pressure soothing. He knows it’s the touch of a friend.

“Oh,” he whispers, breath hitching. It’s an involuntary sound. The pressure is a hand; a warm, soft hand resting over his frantically beating heart.

He’s still in the bookshop, but -

But this didn’t happen in the bookshop.

“Crowley,” says a familiar voice, hushed and tender.

That voice - he didn’t hear it in the bookshop either.

“Crowley, my treasure, are you here with me?”

He blinks. The hand is clearer than the smoke and flames around it. He breathes in with a shudder, and the smoke seems to dissipate, while the hand stays solid and in place. He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again, and the fire has receded to the edges of his vision. That gentle hand is still touching him, its thumb slowly stroking over his shirt as though to ground him, to ease him into the present moment.

Crowley looks up, his eyes still filled with tears. Aziraphale kneels before him in a large knit sweater, his hair unblackened, a quiet, loving look written across his features.

“Darling,” he whispers, “are you seeing the bookshop again?”

Another sob rises up and Crowley shuts his eyes again. That look can’t be real. He can’t believe in it, not like this - not when he still can’t remember why the world isn’t burning and Aziraphale isn’t gone. Surely his chances for that sort of look are far behind him? After he abandoned Aziraphale to this inferno, surely -

“Beloved. I’m alive.”

Alive. Alive. He hears it but he doesn’t understand. And yet, the hand doesn’t move, doesn’t leave him empty; it anchors him amid his reeling thoughts. The thumb keeps gently stroking his chest. And after a moment, Crowley realizes he can’t smell the smoke at all anymore.

Alive.

“The fire was over a year ago, Crowley. I’m safe.”

Safe.

The hand draws him closer. Crowley is pulled in helplessly; he still doesn’t look up, but that doesn’t stop Aziraphale from wrapping wide arms around him, holding him so gently, cradling him like something precious. It doesn’t stop Aziraphale from smoothing back his hair with sweet, tender fingers and then kissing the place where it meets his forehead with soft, soft lips. And Crowley finds himself curling tighter into the embrace instead of resisting it. When he’s held like this, other memories begin to come back to him; the universe begins to resolve itself again.

“My Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs again. “Are you here with me?”

Crowley nods incrementally. “I… I think so.”

“We’re in our cottage. In the South Downs.”

Yes. He remembers that. A new home for both of us, for our own side, a peaceful place far away from the bustle of the city, from the pull to bless and to tempt, a world we can build for ourselves - together, together -

“You were just outside napping.”

Lying on the grass, staring at the sky, feeling safe - safe - not afraid to be defenseless out there, not on my guard - I have an angel to protect me, an angel who never sleeps and who always -

“I love you, darling.”

Loves me.

That’s when Crowley opens his eyes.

Aziraphale is gazing down at him with a tenderness that makes Crowley’s heart crack. He remembers now, everything, he knows it’s all over and the world is right, but the wound has just been scraped raw again - he’s exposed again, vulnerable, and the light of Aziraphale’s love burns so much brighter against that. He gasps at the sweetness of Aziraphale’s smile. The tears keep flowing down his cheeks, silent, overwhelmed, as Aziraphale rocks him back and forth.

“Angel,” Crowley says, and then sighs deeply.

“What do you need, my love?”

Crowley shakes his head. The panic is gone. All he wants is to keep being held, just like this, for the rest of time. “You, angel.”

Aziraphale doesn’t object. He hums in affirmation, in fact, and leans down to kiss Crowley again. On his forehead, on his cheeks, on the side of his head. On his lips with a quiet, unfathomable sort of love.

That’s how it happens. It’s growing more infrequent, these days, but Crowley’s not sure it’ll ever be behind him completely. He may always have times when he wakes up this way - the heat reminding him of the terror he’s seen, the despair, the day he came inches from giving up everything. Those old wounds may never heal up so the scars aren’t visible.

Maybe that’s all right, though. Aziraphale pulls him from his memories every time. He brings Crowley back into his willing arms, and in those arms nothing can really hurt him. Of that he’s absolutely certain.

It’s been a year. They’re mending.

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#good omens #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fanfic #crowley x aziraphale #robin writes fanfic #have some soft hurt/comfort tonight #i'm doing well with my nanowrimo word count so I thought i'd bang this out #enjoy

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Time - Good Omens Fic

Goal was to write three fics for this weeks @bingokisses prompts. Well, I got two! The first is “Time” a Night At Crowley’s Flat/Pre-Body-Swap/Wing Grooming fic. It’s for the prompt “Wrist kisses” which I had twice on my card, the first paired with “Wing Grooming.” I’m going to do edits before I move this to AO3, so let me know if anything sounds off!

“So that’s it.” Crowley lounged against the wall, arms crossed. Not looking at Aziraphale. Not looking at anything.

“Yes. I pretend to be you, you pretend to be me. Hellfire. Holy water. We survive.”

It wasn’t easy, keeping his voice steady. Aziraphale mostly managed it by not looking at Crowley, not thinking to hard about it, acting as though the entire problem were simply some clever logic problem. Most certainly by not imagining what would happen if they failed.

“Don’t like it.”

“Come now,” he tried to smile. “Let’s not start over again. We’ve considered every angle. The plan works, and it’s our – our best chance.”

Crowley grunted as if regretting his promise already. “Not going to argue. Just. Don’t like it.” He’d been belligerent since the moment Aziraphale had suggested the swap, inspired by his own recent experience with discorporation. He’d expected Crowley to dislike the idea, but the demon had fought against it, tooth and nail, every step of the planning process.

Not that Aziraphale didn’t have his own doubts. He’d struggled to keep them at bay since stepping off the bus. Now he pressed his hands together, ordering them not to tremble, as the fear started to grow in his gut, building, pushing out into his limbs and his heart.

Choose your faces wisely – that was clear enough. But playing with Fyre could mean many things, only one of which Crowley was immune to. What if he’d missed something? What if there was more to it?

What if the prophecy wasn’t intended to save both of them?

He imagined Michael’s sword, blade aflame, swinging towards Crowley while he was bound to a chair—

It wasn’t a noise, just a sharp intake of breath as he pulled himself back to reality, but it was as loud as a scream in the silent room. Crowley’s head snapped around, eyes pinning the angel through his dark glasses. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing.” Oh, his voice didn’t sound certain at all, his eyes still burned in the imagined light of Heavenly swords. Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried again, but no words at all came out this time, just a strained squeak.

Heaven would see this coming, surely. They would suspect as soon as Crowley stepped into the flames. He needed to outsmart them, needed to think of the next step, and the next, a hundred moves ahead, but he didn’t have time…

“Angel.” Crowley’s voice was sharp, a whip crack cutting through the silent room, and Aziraphale cringed, huddling into himself instinctively. “Bless it, Aziraphale, if you’re having doubts too, we need to rethink this. There’s still time, we can – can take off, be out past the Oort Cloud before either side notices. I know plenty of stars they’d never think to look.”

“Crowley, no. We’ve been over this already.” His voice didn’t sound calm but at least it wasn’t breaking anymore. “We can’t hide forever, they’ll – they’ll find us eventually.”

“I’d rather they chase us across the galaxy than – than stand around waiting for them to grab us. At least we’d have a chance. At least we’d have time.”

Aziraphale wanted that. Time. More than anything, he wanted time to think, to plan, to prepare. To stand beside Crowley and not be afraid.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no future if they ran, no earth, no them, just this one terrifying moment, stretched on and on for eternity, poised forever at the last moment before the attack. Always waiting. Always afraid. He couldn’t take a life of this, he couldn’t even take one night of this.

He was so lost in his own thoughts – torn between wanting time and wanting it to be over – that he didn’t even notice Crowley’s approach until the hand landed on his shoulder. It wasn’t rough – it was the gentlest touch, barely felt through his jacket – but the suddenness of it startled Aziraphale, making him stumble away.

“Crowley! There’s no need – I’m – please—”

“You aren’t fine, don’t try to tell me you’re fine,” he spat. Then, in a lower voice, “Talk to me.”

It was too much. Already he’d nearly given in to the fear, but this – this moment of concern – it tugged at him, threatening to break his last thread of dignity, of control, and that was the only thing keeping him going right now.

“There’s nothing more to discuss.” He tugged at his waistcoat, trying to school his expression. “And if – if you’re just going to argue, I’d rather you left me in peace.”

“Aziraphale…” A warning.

“I mean it, Crowley.” He interrupted, fighting to keep his mind from shattering. “That’s enough. Go!”

Crowley spun away, with a noise halfway between a snort and a snarl, and stalked through the enormous revolving door, disappearing into the next room.

Leaving Aziraphale alone with his thoughts.

Crowley glared at his trembling plants, burying his fingers in leaves, tugging at them for any sign of weakness, of spots or yellowing, any imperfections. But he didn’t really see them.

His mind kept shifting, jumping between a bookshop in flames, a voice in a bar, and the sudden appearance of Aziraphale at the airbase. A hurricane of worry and relief and fear and longing with nothing remotely like calm at its center.

He wanted to run to Aziraphale. Override all his objections, drag him away. Haul him off this world, to the stars, to Andromeda, to the farthest corner of the universe, far from the beings that wanted to hurt them, had hurt them again and again for thousands of years.

It wasn’t the first time. He’d wanted to at the airbase, run up, grab Aziraphale by the lapels. Make sure he was unharmed, shout at him to stop taking foolish risks. The same at the church in 1941, the Bastille in 1793, again and again, across centuries of companionship –

Wanted to reach out, pull him close, promise that everything would work out.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Never could. Maybe never would.

He’d always blamed it on their sides, needing to stay apart to stay safe. But he didn’t have that excuse anymore, did he? And that’s all it was. An excuse.

It was Crowley’s nature to be cold and distant. Aloof. Project coolness and confidence so that no one could see what lay underneath, the shattered worthless wreck of demon. Keep them all at arm’s length, even the being he least wanted to push away, and where did that leave him?

Alone in his solarium, shredding the weakest leaves off a fig tree, on what could be the last night of his personal eternity.

Had he always been this way?

Crowley didn’t think so. There had been a time when he’d been open, inquisitive, carefree. Long ago, before the Fall, before six thousand years in Hell and on Earth, before he learned…everything.

He could never go back to that. You couldn’t unlearn the truth of the world, once you’d learned it.

One glance over his shoulder, back at the door. He could go back. Apologize. Open himself up to the one being he knew would never hurt him. Say the words that had sat on his tongue for countless centuries.

He could, but he wouldn’t. Not tonight. He needed time. Time to get his head on straight, to learn to be honest with himself, to know what it was he even wanted.

And time was the one thing he didn’t have.

Aziraphale rested his hand on the door frame, wishing he had the courage to step through.

It was his own fault, of course. He’d pushed Crowley away. As he always did. It was easier.

He didn’t belong here, among humans, beside a demon. Simple fact: he was an angel, and he belonged in Heaven. There was no place else an angel could exist and feel whole and happy.

That, he’d always told himself, was why he had this aching emptiness inside – because he was far from his home, corrupted by earthly influences. A degraded angel.

Heaven talked a great deal about love. Angels love Creation, they love the humans, they love God most of all; they love each other, and they love him. In spite of all his flaws, he was constantly reminded, they loved him.

And he believed it. For a long time, he believed, because not believing was dangerous, and painful, and terrifyingly. And because, well…because that’s what he believed love was. How was he supposed to think otherwise? It was the only thing he ever knew.

But six thousand years on Earth slowly eroded his ignorance. He saw humans develop friendships, saw them fall in love, saw them care for their children, their parents. Saw some become cruel, or manipulative, or negligent; saw others be loyal, and warm, and welcoming even to strangers.

He learned all the ways that love could be expressed. All the things that masqueraded as it. What it could look like. What it should look like.

And even then, he could keep pretending that he found that in the cold, distant praise of Heaven, but only so long as he could pretend he didn’t find it anywhere else. That he didn’t have a being in his life who always supported him, always stood by him, never made him feel flawed or broken, never abandoned him.

Even now, when it might mean destruction for both of them, still at his side.

In the face of that, how could he ever believe that Heaven loved him?

He pushed the thought away, back into the dark recesses of his mind, where he’d carefully hidden it from himself for longer than the lifetime of civilizations. It was still a dangerous thought, a dangerous word. A distraction.

It wasn’t the time for such things.

He had to put their survival before everything else. It meant staying here and facing their former sides head-on, not running away and waiting to be caught. It meant deceiving Heaven and Hell, not angering them from some foolish desire to fight or take revenge. And it meant facing the challenge with cool logical minds not clouded by any newly acknowledged emotions. It made sense.

The best thing he could do for himself, for Crowley, was to keep his distance tonight.

I need a new plant mister.

For ten minutes, Crowley had managed to keep himself focused on pruning the trees, silently clearing out some leaves or stems to make room for new growth. The emotions raged somewhere deep inside, but the surface was as calm as ever. But then he noticed the echeveria was a little dry, went to give it a bit of water, and realized the bottle was gone.

Hastur had destroyed his plant mister, and he needed a new one.

He could simply manifest one, he supposed, as easily as he’d created the pruning shears. But the ones at the corner shop were so cheap, it was easier to just grab one on the way to Aziraphale’s bookshop, and take a few moments to see what new sprouts had arrived, then stop over at the bakery for some coffee and one of those crispy pastries.

Except.

Except there wasn’t a bookshop anymore, was there?

Which meant he wouldn’t be heading over tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again.

No more surprise breakfasts before the first customers of the day. No more late nights sharing a dozen bottles of wine and arguing about philosophy. No more perusing the poetry section when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, or thumbing through the latest illustrated guides to botany or astronomy that always found their way onto the shelf beside his sofa.

No more secretive walks in the park to share secrets and feed ducks. No more shoddy pretenses for a weekend drive. No more weaving the Bentley through four lanes of traffic.

The world had ended, but only for him and Aziraphale.

It wasn’t fair.

After everything they’d done, everything they’d suffered to save the world, they still lost everything and it wasn’t fair!

The knot of emotions he’d been holding back broke free in a flash, flooding him faster than he could control it. With a shout he hurled the little plant at the wall, cracking the pot, spilling soil everywhere. Then he grabbed the aloe vera, the orchids, the antherium. One after the other, thrown against the wall, the floor, the window.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screamed, pulling over the umbrella tree, shredding all its leaves. “All of you! You worthless pieces of shit!” He kicked over a dragon tree. “You had your fucking chance! No more excuses, no more second chances.” A glass bowl full of air plants; he snatched it up and smashed it hard against the table, shards spinning off in every direction. “Make your fucking peace with the soil, because every one of you is—”

“Crowley!”

He spun around to find Aziraphale watching, wide-eyed, from the doorway.

Fuck.

Well. That’s the end of that, he supposed. After that sort of display, Aziraphale wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

He clenched his fist, turning away, but that sent a sharp pain through his hand. Hissing, Crowley looked down to find a shard of glass, stuck in the side of his hand. Of course. Exactly what this day needed.

“Are you hurt?”

He shot a glare at the angel, suddenly beside him.

“Just a scratch. Leave me alone.”

Aziraphale’s hand landed lightly on his wrist, pulling the hand over for closer inspection. “You need to be more careful, Crowley.” He ran his thumb lightly up the side of Crowley’s palm and the little triangle of glass fell free.

“I’m not going to – to die from a little cut, Aziraphale.”

He’d meant it as a joke, of a sort, but Aziraphale’s hand tightened around his. “Don’t.” The angel’s thumb brushed across the cut, making it disappear in a small burst of healing. “You need to be more careful.”

“It’s a bit late for careful.” He tried to pull his hand away, but Aziraphale ignored it, bending over as if to inspect his palm for damage. “Look, Angel…”

“What a mess!” Aziraphale tutted. “An absolute disgrace.” But he hadn’t so much as glanced at the graveyard of ruined plants all over the floor. Instead, he was inspecting Crowley’s nails. “And you expect me to go out wearing these tomorrow?”

“You’re one to talk. I saw the state of your wings earlier. Have you groomed them this millennium?”

“Even if I hadn’t, it still wouldn’t compare to this – this—” He held up Crowley’s hand, nails caked with dirt, cracked, uneven. “I thought you took pride in your appearance.”

“I’ve been a bit busy.” Crowley snatched his hand back and tried to walk away.

“I don’t want an argument tonight.”

“Then stop trying to start one!” He took a deep breath. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll go take a shower. You wait in the kitchen, or wherever you want.�� He glanced around at the mess he’d made. “Don’t bother cleaning. No point, is there?”

“Crowley, stop!”

“It was ‘go’ before, now you want me to stop? Make up your blasted mind.” But Crowley stood still, glaring at him. “What is it? What do you want?”

“I want to take care of those nails.”

“You what?” But Aziraphale’s face was dead serious, set in his most stubborn frown. “Look, you fussy bastard, this isn’t – we don’t have time for this!”

“You have somewhere else to be tonight?” But when his hands reached for Aziraphale’s again, the touch was strangely gentle. “Let me take care of these. Please.”

The demon groaned, but what was he supposed to do? Not say yes? “Fine. If you insist.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Between them was a bowl of warm water, an array of tiny torture implements, and a towel, which Aziraphalehad used to briskly brush the dirt from Crowley’s fingers. Now he held the demon’s right hand, turning it this way and that to inspect each nail in the light of his halo.

“That’s a little better,” Aziraphale murmured, picking up the clippers and starting to trim.

“You know, I can do this myself.”

“Can you? Really?” It was strange, having his hand held this way. Entirely in Aziraphale’s power, unable to move, yet it was only the lightest pressure, really. Firm, but gentle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you chewed them.”

“Only when they break.”

“That isn’t funny. Look at this.” He lowered Crowley’s right hand and picked up the left, pinching the thumb between his fingers. “Just look!”

“Looks like a thumb.”

Another tsk, and Aziraphale set to clipping again, not trimming each nail as low as he could (as Crowley usually did), but instead quickly removing the sharp edges or cracked portions, leaving a few millimeters on each. When he was satisfied, he picked up an emery board. Crowley expected him to start scrubbing roughly, sandpapering his nails smooth. Instead, with a few quick delicate motions, he reshaped each nail into a perfect oval. Now and then, he paused to scrape underneath with the point of a nail file.

“What is this, anyway?” He held up the tip of the file, covered in hard flakes of black residue. “I thought it was soil, but it isn’t the right consistency.”

Crowley gulped. He remembered charging into a burning shop. Driving for almost an hour in a flaming car. Falling to the ground at the airbase more than once—

“Dunno,” he said weakly. “Could be – lots of things…”

Aziraphale’s hands hesitated over Crowley’s smallest finger, and he could see how the emery board trembled. Yeah, you’re cleaning the last of your bookshop out of my nails. How does that feel? Crowley wished he had something comforting to say, but he just felt hollow. The day had left him without anything to offer.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale steadied his grip and got back to work.

“Why?” Cowley found himself saying, as the angel moved back to his right hand. “Why are you wasting your time on this?” On me?

“Don’t be foolish. Time spent with you is never wasted.” Blue eyes flickered up again to catch his gaze before focusing on the nails once more. “Although I do wish you’d put a little effort into basic maintenance without my needing to nag you.”

“But—” He bit his words off, not knowing what to say. “Why?”

“Why? Why? You spend an hour every day on that ridiculous hair, not to mention weeks spent putting together your – your ‘new look’ every few years. I would think you’d agree that personal grooming is its own reward.”

“No, I…” He watched the long, thin board move back and forth. His fingers were curved slightly in Aziraphale’s grip, pinned in place by his thumb. “I just thought you’d want to be alone.”

Silence for the length of two fingers. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

His stomach was hard as a rock, twisting with emotions he couldn’t name. “I…I’ve been awful,” Crowley confessed. “All night long, since we got back, I argued, I snapped at you. Threw a tantrum. The other day, I shoved you against a wall. And…and this morning I called you stupid…I’d think you’d want to be as far from me as possible.”

“As I recall, you were the one who wanted to abandon me for the stars.”

“No…” But he had said that, hadn’t he? “I didn’t…I wouldn’t really…”

“Oh, hush.” Aziraphale frowned and moved to the last nail. “I’ve known you for six thousand years, Crowley, I’m well aware you have a temper. I have never held against you the things you said, or did, when you were angry.”

I have plenty of other people to ‘fraternize’ with. I don’t need you.

“Never?”

“Never.” Aziraphale put down the file and pressed Crowley’s hands between both of his. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

He lowered Crowley’s hands into the bowl of warm water. Aziraphale had added some sort of soap, and it clung thickly to his fingers in a pleasant way.

“Still…I don’t like you to…to see me like that…”

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Do you think less of me?”

His worst? Crowley couldn’t even imagine what that would mean. The embarrassing smile as he showed off his latest magic act or shouted encouragement at the actors in a play? The possessive gleam when he saw a priceless first edition, whether one of his own or one he was about to acquire? His incorruptible desire to see the good in absolutely everyone, even Gabriel, even Crowley?

“No,” he whispered as his heart surged anew. “No, I never have.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching Crowley’s hands as they soaked in the water. “It’s good, you know, to-to have a simple ritual in a time of stress. Something you can walk through, step by step. Unhindered by, ah, by emotions. Very calming.”

“I do feel a little better,” Crowley admitted.

“I expect you do. But…I meant for myself.” He lifted Crowley’s hands free of the water and gently patted them with the towel. “I’m…I’m…well, I’m rather convinced I’m going to let you down tomorrow. Not play my part well, or…or lose my nerve…or overlook some vital clue…”

Crowley felt the tremors in Aziraphale’s hands before he suddenly pulled away, fingers twisting in the towel, pressing it against his mouth. But he couldn’t hide the wave of emotion that overtook him before Crowley’s eyes.

“Angel!” Crowley grabbed his shoulders, newly manicured fingers feeling more sensitive against the fabric of his shirt. “Aziraphale look at me.” Slowly, the blue eyes came back into focus. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We do. Crowley, it’s the only way.” The towel crumpled further as he crushed it in his grip. “I – I – I won’t – I’ll find a way, I just need to – to buck up…”

“Are you scared?”

“What? No, I – I—”

“Because I am.” Crowley let go with one hand to pull his glasses free, toss them aside, then reached up to brush the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “Have been for…longer than I can remember, but then I lost you. Last night, and this morning, and then…the fire…” He swallowed. “And you know what? Each time it felt more real and more painful than before, and I don’t…I can’t…”

His gut heaved. The hollowness he’d felt after the fire opened again, threatening to devour him, permanently this time. “Aziraphale. I am more terrified right now than I’ve ever been in my life, and I don’t know how to stop it. So. If you’re scared…that’s fine.”

The towel fell, and Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in both of his again, but this time clinging to it, clutching it, pressing Crowley’s fingers against his lips where the towel had been a moment before. Crowley reached with his free hand and…what? Touch his face? His hair? What was he supposed to do?

Before he could decide, Aziraphale seemed to blink his eyes clear and look again at Crowley’s nails. “Just a few hangnails to trim, and then we’re done.”

“Nh. Yeah.” He settled more comfortably. “Whatever you want.”

Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand, carefully massaging moisturizer across his palm, between his fingers, and into his nail beds. Memorizing the shape of them, the knobby knuckles, the veins on the back of his hands.

He’d wanted to do this once before, when the thoughts that needed to be hidden, even from himself, had threatened to overwhelm him. 1941. He’d longed to sit Crowley down and wash his feet, check them for burns and injury after his walk across hallowed ground. Let the activity distract his mind from the thoughts and emotions he couldn’t afford to acknowledge, and just be there, in the moment, caring for Crowley. Appreciating him. Holding him.

It was just as well he hadn’t attempted it back then; evidence tonight suggested it didn’t work.

He ran his thumbs across Crowley’s palm one last time, smoothing in the moisturizer, feeling the skin plump up, taking note of the calluses here and there just below the fingers. He didn’t want to let go.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, when his fingers had lingered perhaps a bit too long. He looked up to meet the demon’s golden eyes. They were soft tonight, and vulnerable, and filled with pain that tugged at his heart. But that pain seemed to be fading, replaced by…by one of the things Aziraphale was not supposed to be naming. What with the thunderous pounding of his heart in his chest and the blood in his ears, Aziraphale almost missed Crowley’s next words: “Thank you.”

Very suddenly, his heart went absolutely still.

“You…you’ve never…said thank you.”

“Grave oversight.” Crowley turned his hands over, running his thumb across his newly manicured nails. “This is…yeah, this is nice.”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale waved a hand, neatly teleporting his supplies into a different room. It was his usual method of cleaning up – eventually, things would wind up where they were supposed to be – but he realized alarmingly late that this now meant he and Crowley were simply sitting on a bed together. “I…I suppose I should thank you. For, ah, for indulging me—”

“Should I…return the favor?”

“Ah!” He snatched his hands against his chest, as if afraid Crowley would steal them entirely. Well. That wasn’t quite what he was afraid of. “Return? How – how would you – Crowley, my nails are – are already in tip-top shape, and you wouldn’t—”

“Your wings. Like I said,” Crowley went on, familiar sharp edge slipping into his tone, “absolute mess. You’re one to talk about grooming, carrying around two disasters like that.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was about to snap something else, but his eyes accidentally met the demon’s, and there was nothing mocking about them at all. Anxious, shy, almost waiting to be hurt. Did he always hide that expression behind his glasses?

“I, ah…I’ve never…how do we do this?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Ngk. Unh. I mean. Sit there or…or maybe…lay down? On your stomach?”

“Ah, yes, I wouldn’t want to – to get tired, holding them up.” Aziraphale stretched out across the top of the duvet, resting his cheek on one of the pitch-black pillows, and extended his wings.

He could have sworn he heard a heavy breath – maybe a gasp, maybe a sigh. “Just as I thought. Look at this utter disgrace. When was the last time you preened?”

“Well, as I never walk around with them out—” Aziraphale was cut off by an impossibly gentle touch, two fingers brushing lightly across the leading edge of his wing. It felt…good, an electric shiver that ran down his wing and up his spine.

“Oh! S-sorry.” Crowley sounded embarrassed, which was something Aziraphale had never heard before. “I shouldn’t have…is this alright?”

“Yes. It’s…it’s very much alright.” He wrapped his arms around the pillow, feeling the need to brace himself, and stretched his left wing slightly. “Please, continue.”

The touch of Crowley’s palms against his wings was electrifying, yes, but also gentle, soothing. He carefully explored down the length of them, not stirring any feathers yet, just learning the ways they lay against each other, where they grew thick, where the flight feathers emerged. Aziraphale could feel the feathers that were out of place now – they snagged and tugged against Crowley’s hands, bunching in the wrong spots. Uncomfortable, the way sitting in a chair too long could be uncomfortable without even noticing.

“You’re lucky you didn’t need to fly,” Crowley remarked, scolding, as if it was an everyday risk, instead of something that hadn’t come up in five thousand years. His fingers now flicked around the shortest patch of Aziraphale’s coverts, just shy of the leading edge, finding one of the culprits. Manicured fingertips burrowed deep into white feathers, hot against the skin and muscle beneath, and with a few quick but gentle scratches twitched it back into position. “Does this hurt?”

“No…That feels…” Crowley traced the feather from base to tip, pushing the barbs back into the correct alignment. A few more strokes ensured it lay, flat and neat, alongside the rest.

“One down, dozens more to go. And that’s just this side. Hope you’re comfortable.”

He was, though. Aziraphale closed his eyes, sinking into the gentle rhythm as Crowley moved – feather by feather – across his wing, setting each to rights. He felt as though a burden were being lifted, the worry in his stomach slowly unknotting, bit by imperceptible bit, as if the world were fading away, leaving nothing but that touch.

By the time Crowley reached Aziraphale’s alula feathers, the pain in his gut was gone. As he worked his way back across the primary coverts towards the scapulars, Aziraphale began to forget what he’d been worried about. Then the warm fingers ran down the first of his flight feathers, and time stopped entirely.

Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale’s feathers could feel so different from his own, but they did, so soft and delicate he would have believed they were pieces of clouds if not for the warmth that emanated through them.

Was it because angel feathers were somehow more pure? Or was it simply a matter of familiarity – that his fingers had stopped even noticing the texture of his own wings?

He was nearly finished. Really, he was done already, but his hands still glided across coverts and primaries, feeling for anything out of place, any excuse to delay longer.

“Right there, please.” Aziraphale suddenly interrupted. “Just…just a little itch. Could you…?”

“Got it.” Crowley let his fingers sink in again, scratching gently at the base of a feather. “Here?”

Aziraphale just murmured in relief, a little sigh. Crowley had knelt beside him to better reach the wing, but now Aziraphale shifted, pressing their hips together. “This feels simply marvelous.”

“Y-yeah,” Crowley said, clearing his throat. “S’why you’re supposed to do it regularly.”

“I should have asked you to, years ago.”

Crowley smoothed the feathers back into place. He was finished. It was time. Time to switch and part ways, possibly forever.

He didn’t lift his fingers from the edge of Aziraphale’s wing.

“Would you have?” Crowley wondered, surprising himself to hear the words out loud. “Would you have let me, if I’d asked?”

Stirring, Aziraphale tucked his wings away, all that glorious heat vanishing to another plane. He rolled over and considered Crowley, but didn’t sit up yet. “I’m not sure. I…I would have wanted to. But…well…”

“And if I’d – I’d asked for other things?”

“I don’t know. Would you have asked? If I’d indicated my interest?”

Somewhere, the sun was rising. Somewhere, the day was starting. Time, never any time.

“I don’t know,” Crowley confessed, the words ripped from his soul. And then, not letting himself think, he fell forward, onto the pillows.

Aziraphale caught him, pulled him into an embrace. “I want to find out, Crowley. What we are. What we can be. I wish…I wish…”

Long fingers reached up to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. “I know, Angel. I know. We’ll get our chance.”

Aziraphale nodded, though the tears in his eyes said he didn’t believe it. A brush of fingers on the back of Crowley’s hand, and Aziraphale turned to kiss his palm, his wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I wasted our time. And now…”

“No, you didn’t waste anything.” He pulled Aziraphale roughly against his chest. “You hear me? Nothing. I’m…I’m glad for every moment we had.”

The angel didn’t respond, just sobbed, once, face pressed into Crowley’s shirt.

“Shhh. We’ll survive this. I swear it. And then we’ll have eternity to figure this out. Alright? You and me. And…and things will be different this time. I’ll be different.”

“Don’t you dare,” Aziraphale said, his arms locking behind Crowley, strong enough to break his spine. “Don’t you change a thing, Crowley. I don’t want anything to be different.”

“Really? You’re happy with how things were?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale pushed back, just enough to meet Crowley’s gaze, eyes wide and wet and earnest. “So…so very happy, when we were together.”

“Well, then.” Crowley bent forward, resting his lips on the top of Aziraphale’s head. “That’s what we’ll do, yeah? Be together. Forever.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #Wings #crowley's flat #aziraphale and crowley #angst #good omens angst #emotional h/c #pre-body swap #night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #manicure #tumblr fic #my writing

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holycatsandrabbits · 5 years

Text

#ButterOmens submission!

ButterOmens explained

For future works: no max word count, all types of fanwork welcome!

Snow Angel

Crowley knew the angel was gone. He knew it outside on the street. He knew it inside the burning bookshop. He would know it forever. But it wasn’t just the sense of loss that made him sob there, on the floor, in the flames. It was the thought of what Aziraphale had faced at the end. Had he been scared? Had it hurt? Had he wished for Crowley to save him, the way Crowley always had before? Imagining Aziraphale being alone at that moment was worse than Crowley being alone now himself.

It was hot in the burning shop, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. It was hot—and then slowly, in a oddly soft, sort of breezy way, it wasn’t. Crowley looked up and a falling snowflake lighted on his eyelash. Crowley had lost his sunglasses a while ago, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d had them off in a snowfall and had caught a snowflake just there. Another snowflake landed on his nose, and he watched them fall, filtering through the smoke, down over the flames of the shop. They should have melted. Everything was burning, books, tables, chairs, wine, everything except the snowflakes. They fell gently, and where they came to rest, they doused the flames.

They weren’t made of holy water—they were as harmless against Crowley’s skin as regular snow—but they were obviously angelic in origin. Crowley could feel that, he could see it in the way the clearing smoke revealed a soft white glow in the air, an ethereal aura. It grew brighter, until Crowley knew what was coming. He wasn’t surprised to see Aziraphale walking through the burning shop, glowing brightly, and so very, blessedly cold in the middle of the fire. The last of the flames winked out as he passed, his bare feet taking measured steps across the floor, white robe trailing behind him, swishing in the gathering snow. His wings had a glittering look to them, like they might be made of ice crystals.

Crowley pulled up his legs and rested his head on his knees, looking at the angel sideways. Even with the new perspective, Aziraphale remained.

“Did I crack finally?” Crowley asked. “My nightmares can’t even hold together anymore? Guess I don’t care, if you’re in this dream now.”

Aziraphale looked worried and compassionate and sad. “Let’s not stay here, my dear,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “Care for a walk in the park?”

Crowley shrugged, but he stood up and took Aziraphale’s hand. The angel’s skin felt soft and cold against Crowley’s heated fingers. Their next steps were on the path at St. James Park, and the snow fell down around them even faster now.

“Oh, you look better already,” Aziraphale said with a pleased smile. “Here, darling, let me see to you.” He waved a hand and Crowley found himself in clean clothes with no holes burned in them, light fabric that hardly protected him from the welcome cold of the snow. He still had no sunglasses, and snowflakes landed on his eyelashes again. Aziraphale twined their fingers together more tightly and leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder. His left wing curled around Crowley, a physical representation of the angelic aura that was completely surrounding him.

They walked for a few minutes, and Crowley felt himself gradually calm. His breathing slowed and his steps grew more sure, black boots on the snowy path beside Aziraphale’s bare feet. Crowley’s heart kept racing, of course, but what else could it possibly do when Aziraphale was holding his hand?

All was well until Aziraphale gave him an adorably hopeful look and said, “Darling, do you think you’re ready to wake up now?”

Crowley missed a step and stumbled, nearly tramping on Aziraphale’s foot. He tightened his grip on the angel’s hand. “I’m not leaving,” Crowley said forcefully. “If you’re here, I’m not leaving. I’m going to sleep for the next century.”

Aziraphale looked amused. “Oh, I’d rather you didn’t, my dear. I’d miss you terribly.”

Crowley wavered a little, and Aziraphale reached out his other hand to steady him. “Aziraphale?” Crowley breathed. “Are you actually here? In my dream?”

“For the moment, yes. But I’m afraid that I need to open the shop shortly, so—”

Blackness washed over Crowley’s eyes. “Don’t leave.”

Aziraphale frowned in concern, but he also looked determined, and as strong as Crowley had ever seen him. “Let’s try something,” Aziraphale said. “Can you feel me holding your hand?”

Crowley looked down at where their fingers were clasped together. “Yeah.”

“All right. Now do something for me, dear. Let go.” To say that Crowley didn’t want to do that was a terrible understatement, but it was difficult for him to deny Aziraphale when he—well, it was difficult for him to deny Aziraphale anything ever, really. It was clear which one of them was the better tempter. Reluctantly, Crowley let the angel pull away.

“Now,” Aziraphale said softly, “can you still feel me there?”

“I—” Crowley looked down at his empty hand. Somehow, he didn’t feel the wind against his skin, and the falling snow diverted around his fingers as if something was in its way. There was the faintest feeling of Aziraphale’s hand still caught up with his.

“I’m holding your hand in the waking world,” Aziraphale told him. Crowley met his eyes in confusion and Aziraphale smiled at him. “I know you only trust one person, Crowley, but it’s me. I won’t lead you astray. Wake up into my arms, darling. Please.”

Despite his terror, Crowley closed his eyes and felt himself jump, throwing away the dream, the vision of Aziraphale as a sparkling creature of blessed cold and ice, leaping into the unknown and not sure if he’d be caught.

When he opened his eyes, Aziraphale was still there. Crowley’s entire body was folded up on the angel’s lap, with Aziraphale’s arms and wings wrapped around him.

“Welcome back,” Aziraphale said, with a very relieved smile.

Crowley took a couple of shuddering breaths, and Aziraphale soothed him through them, rubbing a hand against his back.

“Guess I was the one to leave this time,” Crowley whispered, weary and almost ashamed.

Aziraphale kissed him softly, on the lips and then on the forehead. “Doesn’t matter, darling. Wherever you are, I’ll come to you.”

*******************************

*Crosses her fingers and hopes someone will draw Snow-angel!Aziraphale in the burning bookshop*

Thanks to @n0nb1narydemon and @acuteangleaziraphale for coming up with ButterOmens!

Find this work on Ao3

#ButterOmens #ButterOmensHolyCatsAndRabbits #Good Omens #Dannye writes #Good Omens ficlet

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29-pieces · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 29 - Good Omens

Day 29: Reluctant Bedrest Fandom/setting: Good Omens, following the events of days 9, 11, and 13 - Crowley has rescued Aziraphale from the cult and finally brought him home for some caretaking. Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

[Part 1 starts here]

You guys wanted a continuation for the three-parter, so here it is! :D Told from the Bookshop’s POV. If you like Sentient Bookshop stories, be sure to check out Lady Wallace’s Good Omens whumptobers day 27 ;)

I also have a full chapter fic with Bookshop and Bentley, Soul of Vellum, Heart of Chrome! Headcanon basics: the bookshop thought Crowley’s name was Dearboy. It can do little miracles of its own. Neither Azi nor Crowley have a clue 😂

~*~

PART 4/3

The bookshop watched Dearboy bring Aziraphale inside, fretting with so much fretfulness that the glass panes in the windows were rattling slightly. Neither the snake-eyed demon nor the bookshop's beloved angel seemed to notice, though the Bentley naturally pointed it out at the first opportunity, along with an admonition to calm down and take care of their beloved pair. The Bentley wasn't often the voice of reason—quite the opposite—but this time it was right.

Aziraphale was clearly alive and that was, of course, the main thing. As for what had happened to him, the Bentley couldn't give many details other than how the angel had been restrained when it busted through the wall of the compound to rescue him and Dearboy.

The thought of Aziraphale strung up on some horrid pentagram, muzzled and barely alive, made the bookshop quiver again with rage and alarm. As did the next bit of the story, how the Bentley had been in a terrible wreck on the way home thanks to the cult leader. But, as the Bentley pointed out in exasperation, it was obviously back in tip-top condition, else it wouldn't have made it back to Soho.

This was a good point, so the bookshop tried once again to wrench its attention back to Aziraphale and Dearboy.

The demon was getting Aziraphale up the stairs into his infrequently used bedroom; the bookshop saw Aziraphale shiver, so it cranked the temperature up a few more degrees.

"Easy does it," Dearboy murmured, settling the angel carefully down on the edge of the bed, then squatting down in front of him and taking his hands. "Angel?" he asked in that careful voice that always made the bookshop settle with a creak of content. "What- what do I need to do?"

"Oh, nothing, my dear boy," Aziraphale sighed, looking down at their hands. His face was tight with emotion, though. He would be needing tea, or else something stronger, so the bookshop quickly checked the cupboards to make sure it was well stocked with both. Maybe a bit of that Chateau Greysac it knew Dearboy liked so much, as a thank you for rescuing Aziraphale.

But first, it needed to know what had happened to the angel. The bookshop creaked in impatience, then immediately felt bad when Aziraphale tensed and jerked his head up to check the doorway.

"It's just us," Dearboy reminded him. "Alright?"

"Yes, dear me, so- so silly of me," Aziraphale chuckled weakly. "Afraid I'm a tad bit jumpy..."

"Angel... what- what did they do to you? Are you... are you hurt?"

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes. "Just drained," he whispered. There was a moment of silence, then he peeped his eyes back open to see Dearboy watching him. He took a shuddering breath then managed to choke out, "They took my power, Crowley... they just... took it."

"How?" Dearboy asked carefully. "You still had plenty after the accident, so... they didn't take all of it?"

"I don't know how it worked," Aziraphale admitted with a shudder. "But it was horrible. The pentagram was part of it, and- and there was a spell they used. I've never heard it before. But when they did it, it was like... I felt it, all my power, you know it's usually just a normal part of you, all through your being?"

Dearboy nodded, face unreadable.

"Well, I felt it... moving. Gathering. It was like the spell was pulling it all in on itself into a little ball, and that- that- oh that horrible-" He couldn't go on, a shaky hand releasing Dearboy's to rub over his jaw. He must have been talking about the muzzle that Bentley had mentioned. Tears danced in the angel's eyes as he whispered, "I felt it in my chest, then moving up into my throat, and oh Crowley it burned so badly... this corporation doesn't usually have so much concentrated power in one place, you know. And once it was all in my throat, they- they had some sort of syringe, I don't know what sort or where they got it, but- they... they just took it."

He closed his eyes and seemed to crumple a bit. Dearboy was off his haunches in a second, sitting on the bed beside him with his arms wrapping the angel in comfort and protection.

"You're safe now, though," Dearboy murmured, taking the words right out of the bookshop's, er... mouth. "And they're all dead. And they didn't get all of it, so that's something."

"They did, though," Aziraphale sighed as he leaned into the safe hold. "Or it seemed like it. Only once a day, and by the next morning it was all replenished but every time it left me more and more exhausted. If you hadn't come, Crowley, I- I think they intended to keep going forever. I'm an angel, I- I'll never run out of power, so long as I can recharge somewhat. I didn't know if you'd managed to escape that warehouse or how you would ever find me even if you did, I thought I was never getting out of-"

"Hey, hey!" Dearboy spoke up as Aziraphale grew more and more upset. "I did get out and I did find you. And you're home with your books and your- oh, look, see there's even a box of chocolates right here on the bedside table."

Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes but took the offered box with a watery chuckle. "That's very kind of you."

You're welcome, the bookshop thought, already knowing Dearboy would accept the credit for having brought the chocolates, but that was alright.

"And I'll fetch us a bottle of wine to go with it," Dearboy said. "While I'm doing that, you are going to put on some pyjamas and get in the bed, and you're not leaving it until you're fully recovered. No, don't argue," he said louder as Aziraphale opened his mouth to do exactly that. "You need rest, and lots of it."

"But- the store..."

"Is closed, just the way you like it," Dearboy pointed out.

"But-"

"No buts. You, pyjamas. I'll be back in a tick."

Dearboy fixed Aziraphale with another bossy glower then slithered down the stairs to the kitchenette. The bookshop had two glasses waiting on the counter, along with a corkscrew and the book Aziraphale had been reading before dashing out after Dearboy in such a hurry. As an afterthought, it piled another quilt on the chair beside all of this so the demon could take it back upstairs with him. Aziraphale tended to nest when he was upset, so the more blankets, the better.

With all of this accomplished, now feeling a little better for knowing the story and a little angrier for the same reason, the bookshop settled in to watch over its occupants.

O\[]/O

Aziraphale was a notoriously awful patient, always thinking he was quite ready to be back up on his feet long before he actually was. Dearboy was standing guard—er, keeping him company—but he did love to sleep, that demon. And so the bookshop would have to stand guard as well over the next few days, thwarting the angel on several occasions when he tried to sneak out of bed. The bookshop watched as, nearly a week from being rescued, Aziraphale stole a glance at Dearboy in a chair nearby that was tilted back against the wall on two legs. The demon was snoring soundly, as Aziraphale was supposed to be doing but of course wasn't. The angel pushed the blankets back and crept out of the bed. He started to tiptoe for the door as quietly as he could, which of course wasn't very quiet when the bookstore made sure to creak as loud as it possibly could with each and every footstep.

When that still didn't wake the demon, the bookshop waited until Aziraphale's hand was on the door before it knocked the chair out from under Dearboy with a crash.

Dearboy leaped to his feet with a shout, brandishing the wineglass he'd been holding like a sword until he saw Aziraphale with his hand sheepishly on the doorknob.

"Oi!" Dearboy grumbled. "Where are you going? Back in bed! If you fall down the stairs again-"

"Oh, Crowley, but I simply must mind the store. What if someone thinks I've gone on holiday for being closed so long, and tries to break in and steal my books?"

"No one is going to steal your books, angel," Crowley said with a groan.

It was quite true. A few people had been giving the store quizzical looks over the last few days, some even going to press their faces to the door. That had been great fun, as the Bentley projected some of Dearboy's demonic energy into the store in the form of monstrous specters right in front of the glass. So far two of the peepers had fainted, much to the bookshop and Bentley's glee.

"Besides, I..." Aziraphale broke off and looked away.

Dearboy frowned. "You what?"

"I just... I don't want to be trapped in the same room for much longer," he admitted softly. "Can't we at least go downstairs? Open a window? There's plenty of couches, you know, and after all I've been resting for days. Please, Crowley, I just don't want to feel like... like a prisoner in my own home."

Drat. The bookshop couldn't very well argue with that. Neither, obviously, could Dearboy, who slumped a bit with obvious guilt.

"Yeah, alright then."

But he still hovered right beside Aziraphale as the angel took step by painstaking step down to the main level, at the ready to catch him if need be. The shop had cleared off the comfiest couch of the books that had been piled on it, draping an extra throw blanket over the back for extra coziness.

"Shall I... erm... fetch some cocoa?" Dearboy offered as he got the angel settled onto the couch.

Aziraphale smiled up at him gratefully. "That would be lovely. Crowley," he added as the demon turned to go.

Dearboy turned back, waiting expectantly.

Aziraphale's smile softened, eyes growing warm. "Thank you," he said. "For rescuing me."

"That's the Arrangement," Dearboy said with a shrug. "Though if you're really starting to feel better, I'm going to shout at you for taking my place to begin with."

"Oh," Aziraphale coughed and leaned back on the couch with a rather larger than necessary wince. "I'm not feeling that much better."

"Hmm." The demon fixed a suspicious glower on him, but then hurried on to the kitchenette to fetch the cocoa.

At least Aziraphale's admission that he really wasn't all that better yet was cause enough for Dearboy to continue showering him with care and healing. It did the bookshop's heart good to see its favorite two beings on the couch, cupping steaming mugs for Aziraphale to drink and Dearboy to pretend to drink even though they both knew he didn't actually like it half as much as wine. To see the demon piling blanket after blanket on Aziraphale when the angel dozed off without meaning to, still more worn out than he wanted to admit. To watch Dearboy leap to defend him from imagined captors when a particularly bad nightmare woke him up.

To see the unspoken devotion the two had for each other, and to know that long after the bookshop was able to watch over its angel, Aziraphale would still be in good hands.

#whumptober2020 #no.29 #reluctant bedrest #good omens #fanfiction #sentient bookshop #sentient bentley #hurt/comfort #hurt aziraphale #caring crowley #caring bookshop #also the angel grace extracting syringe thing from supernatural makes an appearance 😂

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thechekhov · 5 years

Text

Good Omens Fic Recs

First of all, I’m gonna say that these are probably not ALL the fics I’d recommend, there are more, but I’m trying to keep it comprehensive.

Fics listed here are non-explicit in nature, though they might contain sexual-ish elements or allusions to sex being had.

All fics under the cut contain explicit sexual content.

Pre-Apocalypse:

it’s the light (it’s the obstacle that casts it) (5783/Complete)

It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale.

Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is.

Or: The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.

two slow dancers last ones out (1658/Complete)

“Do you even know how to waltz?” “No. But you could teach it to me.”

and, so on (8938/Complete)

Crowley doesn’t remember heaven, but Aziraphale remembers him.

notes on a theme (4501/Complete)

After six-thousand odd years playing human, Crowley is beginning to suspect they've both gone a bit native.

Nanny Knows Best (series) (32,800/Kinda Complete?)

Being a nanny, that should be simple. Simple. Easy as pie. Crowley wished that were true. (*Warning: this fic contains various depictions of sexual harassment Nanny Ashtoreth has to deal with.)

Wings and How to Hide Them (10134/Complete)

Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? (*Warning: this fic contains a mild sex scene but it’s not overly explicit, so I’m letting it split through)

When in Rome (series) (3938/Complete)

"And have you?" Aziraphale asked. "Anywhere to be, that is?"

"I don't suppose I do," Crowley said. "Would you like to go to dinner?"

"With a demon?" Aziraphale replied, tipping his head a little, his smile still hiding in his eyes. "I probably shouldn't."

names in history (23468/Complete)

Maybe he’d shown Crowley how to perform a few miracles, but that Crowley had taken to them so well was surely a sign that he wasn’t all bad. And maybe Aziraphale had let himself be called upon to perform a few temptations, but that was just testing the will of the faithful if you looked at it from a different angle.

dream to me (7342/Complete)

“You know, angel. Sometimes I think we’ve been bearing witness to a very great love affair, and we didn’t even notice.”

or: an angel and a demon fall in love. but a bookshop and a bentley do it first.

Linked (15665/WIP)

Crowley allows himself to get caught in a ‘demon trap’. He is now trapped. Oh no. Whatever shall he do.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Post Apocalypse:

Love’s Such An Old-Fashioned Word (2,384/Complete)

There has to be, Crowley thinks, a better word than love.

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape (14,243/Complete)

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.

Rip It Up and Start Again (9128/WIP)

After the Apocalypse is averted, an Angel and a Demon go on holiday, which turns into something a bit like retirement... or it would, if there weren't so much unfinished business following them around...

Gourd Omens (11504/Complete)

“Neave is a name I believe and certainly rings a bell but I will have to look up what a cucurbita is - it sounds rather latin.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Wh-NO not you!”

Aziraphale and Crowley move into their new cottage in South Downs after Armageddidn’t blows over. But of course hellish interference is never far away, and it looks like its target is the local flower show. Can the pair prevent Asparageddon, befriend their neighbours, grow the largest vegetables and win the cup for division B?

A Sky Full of Stars (2575/Complete)

Aziraphale takes Crowley as close to Heaven as they can get, these days.

Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) (3455/Complete)

It's an odd thing, getting on after the End of the World. Crowley takes to sea-watching.

dawn on the gates of eden (1262/Complete)

It’s the first day, but it’s an old story.

Slow (9371/Complete)

It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

it’s a new craze (5541/Complete)

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan. AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we? CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all. AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous. CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.

Warning: the rest of these recs contain explicitly mature themes. I’ve tried to tag them to the best of my ability.

Long Is The Way, And Hard (27081/Complete)

The first time Crawley meets the angel, the celestial being is twisting its shining white robe in its fingers and looking wretched. It hardly spares him a glance as he shifts from snake to human, and Crawley is a touch put-out. It’s taken some practice to be able to do it so fluidly.

#through the ages #gets explicit at the end #soft and emotional sex

small infinities and all that (13208/Complete)

And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them.

#Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human #gets explicit at the end #soft and emotional sex

The Pleasures of the World/Sleight of Hand (35480/Complete)

Aziraphale's fingers brushed [Crowley's] cheek, then turned his head slowly.

"I'm asking you to think it over," he said, so quietly that Crowley almost couldn't hear him. "That's all."

Crowley's stomach clenched harder. Somehow his hand had gotten ideas again and migrated in the direction of Aziraphale's waist, blindly creeping its way around, forcing the angel to lean slightly forward. This was the sort of thing reckless human teenagers did, or in the very least reckless human adults who hadn't gotten out much and were just beginning to notice how entrancing their bridge partners were.

"Won't take much," Crowley said, and leaned over to kiss him.

#slow burn #buildup of various sexual encounters #Aziraphale and his Hedonism are out for a joyride

The 21st Century, In Which They Finally Work It Out (22379/Complete)

This is light speed in comparison to the last few centuries of their relationship, but Crowley is barely holding on to his patience.

#gets explicit in the end #soft and emotional sex

You, Soft and Only (9400/Complete)

He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.

“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

#Aziraphale and Crowley have various sexual encounters through history #get you horny first and break your heart halfway through the story #fem!Aziraphale #fem!Crowley #all sorts of genital configurations and all of it is thoroughly entertaining

The Better Part of Valour (6204/Complete)

“...the apocalypse has Not Happened and they’ve fallen into queerplatonic (or so they think) bedsharing and Crowley thinks he’s alone in being driven slowly to distraction by it, so he says nothing. Then one night he wakes when it’s still dark, and at first he doesn’t know why, until he hears Aziraphale’s breathing a little raspier than usual, and feels the very slight trembling of the bed.”

#bedsharing #Aziraphale has a Vulva #masturbation #fingerfucking #this one gave me about 5 heart attacks from how hot it was

for let thy efforts be (9337/Complete)

The first time Crowley made the Effort, he was reclining on a very comfortable couch in the dimly-lit confines of a cozy little restaurant in Rome, with his head pillowed upon the breast of an Angel.

#alcohol #nonhuman genitalia #fingering

Surrender (series) (78,828/Complete)

Aziraphale felt the explosion of dark power all the way in London, but had no idea Crowley was involved. When he realizes the demon is missing, Aziraphale goes looking. What he finds is not the lively, wily adversary but a dying snake that barely feels of demonic power at all. The angel can perform miracles, but he can’t heal a demon. Aziraphale has to do everything he can to save Crowley, because an eternity alone on this Earth is as unthinkable as the end of the world was.

#Hurt and Comfort #Near Death Experience #Crowley is a VERY pushy sub #marking/possessiveness #piercings and tattoos done with holy water/blessed objects

#good omens #good omens fics #fanfic #fanfic rec #good omens fanfic rec

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livingintheworldofstories · 4 years

Text

The Sound of Music

Genre: Angst with a happy ending Word Count: 5169 Summary: After Crowley and Aziraphale failed to stop Armageddon, the War broke out and the universe got destroyed. After the angels finally win the War, Crowley becomes a captive of Heaven. Who better to decide over his fate than his old adversary Aziraphale? Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence (a little) Ao3: The Sound of Music

After the last second of time had run out, after the last star had burned out, after Beelzebub had died and all the walls of Hell had crumbled, the angel Aziraphale sat in a room without books. The angels, thankfully, had had just enough imagination to think them up – after all, rooms weren’t overly complicated, entirely made out of rectangles, which are entirely made out of straight lines. Had there been a curve or a wiggly line involved, the angels might not have managed it.

Aziraphale had only a moment to register the knock and feel a surge of dread before the door sprang open. Gabriel stepped in, as usual radiating confidence, but slower and with his shoulders down. His mouth was drawn in a serious line. The War had changed him, too. In time, he would go back to being his usual cocky, insufferable self – he had after the Fall. But for a while, the images of blood and death would haunt him the same way they did everyone else. It filled Aziraphale with a deep, petty satisfaction. Then Gabriel stepped aside, revealing who was coming in behind him – and Aziraphale’s heart stopped.

“Crowley.”

The word fled out of his mouth out of its own volition. Aziraphale had no say in it.

Crowley was – alive. A captive of Heaven, despondent and worse for wear, but alive. It took Aziraphale a second to recognize the clothes. They were the same clothes Crowley had worn an eternity ago, when they had tried to stop Armageddon and failed. Now his jacket was torn at the seams, his shirt darkened with what might be dirt or blood. His hands were bound behind his back. Two angels marched in after him, maybe to keep him in line. And then Crowley looked up, straight into Aziraphale’s eyes and Aziraphale had known what he’d done was unimaginably cruel and above all unforgiveable but suddenly he was confronted with the reality of how much. Crowley looked at him with eyes that would never forgive and Aziraphale absolutely deserved it. What have they done to you, he wanted to ask. What happened to you?

Someone had extinguished the spark in Crowley’s eyes, someone had wiped the fond smile off his face and Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought that it had been him, but it had been, it must have been. It could have been.

Crowley was broken and it was all Aziraphale’s fault, only his.

“Have you forgotten…” Crowley started darkly and for one terrifying moment Aziraphale knew that he had. He had forgotten. Drinking fine wine in the book shop, feeding ducks in St. James park, black and red scales, we’re on out own side and I love - “…that there are other colors besides white? Seriously. White everywhere. You guys need to hire a better interior designer. White’s not even a color.” “Quiet,” Gabriel snapped. Crowley closed his jaw and Aziraphale could see him grinding his teeth. “Now, Aziraphale. Since you have proven yourself loyal to Heaven in the war, we provide you with a gift. Your adversary! From earth. Remember? Since Heaven gained victory over hell, as well knew it would, because good always prevails, we are now dealing with the traitors. Like this maggot right here.” Gabriel kicked Crowley’s legs and his knees buckled out underneath him. He struggled to regain his balance but didn’t get up again.

“I shouldn’t say maggot, should I? What was it? Snake? Both writhe and crawl on the floor, so it doesn’t really matter.” Crowley didn’t even look at him, didn’t lift his gaze from Aziraphale even once. Crowley had looked at Aziraphale without sunglasses before but never with such an intensity. Aziraphale couldn’t really read it. Was it an accusatory glare? It seemed to scream I will never forgive you.

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued. “The demon Crowley, the beginning of sin. Now it’s time to end it. I’m sure you’ve been looking forward to this opportunity for a long time.” “A – a long time, yes,” Aziraphale quickly said.

“So, would you please punish the traitor, so that we can all get on with our day?”

“Certainly, yes, yes.”

There was a horrible pause, where Aziraphale’s mind reeled for something to say. Maybe Crowley could sense how uncomfortable he was, just like he always had, because he started to speak, as if to save Aziraphale.

“Ever heard of a color called Pansy Lavender?” A lazy grin spread across Crowley’s face. “I’m sure you’d love it. I did name quite a few paint colors back when earth was still a thing, did you know that?” Gabriel started scowling. “Pea Soup. Flesh. Candy Apple, classic.” Crowley winked.

“If you think you can talk your way out of this,” Gabriel said impatiently, “just remember that you’re in Heaven now. Everything is Heaven now. There is literally nowhere for you to run.”

“You know what I call a place full of demons?” Crowley snarled, his head whipping around to Gabriel. “Hell.”

“Those demons won’t be here for much longer.”

Gabriel’s mouth stretched into his Grin of Superiority. Aziraphale found himself frozen, desperately trying to think of a way to get them out of this. It hurt to see Crowley on his knees. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. But Aziraphale needed to grit his teeth and pretend it was right.

*** Crowley looked back at Aziraphale. He could barely take his eyes off him. It had been so long since he last saw him, so long since… Aziraphale raised his sword at him. Since Aziraphale had made clear once and for all that when push comes to shove, he would never choose Crowley. And push had come to shove. Hard. And he hadn’t chosen Crowley. (And Crowley shouldn’t have expected him to. It was the insufferable hope that festered in his chest. It was quite unbecoming for a demon.)

“I’m just saying,” Crowley said and made his voice sound unaffected, casual and light and everything the feeling ins his chest was not. He had to keep talking, if only to spare Aziraphale from making excuses. If only to prolong what would be the inevitable culmination of a myriad of painful experiences. So, “I’m just saying,” Crowley just said, motioning to the white walls, “a little more love could have gone into -” In an instant, his mouth was burning, his tongue was on fire and Crowley opened his mouth as if to cough out a flame. It hurt to scream and Crowley screamed anyway. The flames went out but the pain didn’t go away, it stayed comfortably behind his teeth. His mouth felt raw and it would have been agonizing to move his tongue, if he had been able to produce a sound with its charred remains in the first place. Crowley only registered the blood when he felt it run down his chin. It must have been in his mouth, but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel anything but the pain. Out of instinct, he pulled, intending to wipe the blood from his lips, but his hand wouldn’t come up. Of course it wouldn’t it, was shackled behind his back.

“That’s enough of that,” Gabriel said, who, with mild effort, had performed the miracle to burn Crowley’s tongue. “You’re a demon. You don’t know anything of love.”

The pain was liquid in his mouth. It seemed to come from somewhere deeper than that, his throat was alight with the memories and pleas he had hurled at God long ago. The War that had taken stage on the universe. The dying demons on the battlefield. He had Fallen with them. He had felt pain with them before. Until then, he hadn’t been able to imagine anything worse than the Fall. Now he knew better. There was no such thing as the worst. It was the kind of thing that added up. And added up. Aziraphale clutched his hands in front of him, so uncertain, so out of his element. He didn’t belong in a world full of nothing. Heaps of nothing. Nothing upon nothing upon more of nothing. There had been other paint colors Crowley had named. One had reminded him of Aziraphale and he’d called it ‘Love Letter’. (He had always been a bit of a fool.)

Gabriel had taken away Crowley’s only weapon now, since the bindings on his wrist also prevented him from performing miracles, and all that was left to do was look at Aziraphale. Feast on it, just for a little bit, before it was all taken away. His angel-white hair. His permanently old-fashioned clothes. He didn’t look happy, though, not one bit, which was quite the tragedy.

Just smile. Just let me see you smile.

Crowley could feel the tears burning in the corners of his eyes. He tried to transport himself back to years and years ago into a bookshop that was long gone and had felt more like home than any of Crowley’s flats. He tried to picture Aziraphale’s face, his soft smile and the exact arch of his eyebrows when he found something funny. He tried to banish the picture of Aziraphale with his sword raised from his mind. “Well then,” Gabriel said, “get on with it.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale and tried to beg him. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t say anything too cruel. Don’t bring your sword down after years and years. “This is between me and him,” Aziraphale said. “I want to… handle this in private.” Gabriel gave a long-suffering sigh. “Alright. See that the matter is taken care of. Someone will come to check on you in… an undetermined amount of time.” As Gabriel left, Crowley faintly wondered if Aziraphale was going to be gentle about it. Grant me a bit of mercy, just a little bit.

He wanted to say something, but it wasn’t just his burned mouth stopping him. He wished desperately he could just swallow the pain down.

This couldn’t be easy on Aziraphale either. He wasn’t a friend, no, Aziraphale had always vehemently denied it and proved in the end that those weren’t just empty words. But they’d known each other for a long time. He was Aziraphale’s somewhat begrudgingly accepted acquaintance. And even if it could never be affection or, Satan forbid, love, Aziraphale’s kindness and all around goodness would make this hard for him.

Aziraphale, gasping for words, stepped closer and even now, Crowley didn’t flinch away. He clung to the same hope he’d hung onto for millennia.

Just have mercy on me.

Stripped of his sunglasses and of his tongue, Crowley felt a breeze of wind could blow him over. A word could knock him unconscious. A tentative touch could break his neck. And Aziraphale – Aziraphale looked at him. And then his hand came up (came up like it had back then, with that blasted sword in his hand -) and Crowley’s breath caught in his throat, caught between the ridges of a throat raw from pleading and bleeding and bleeding. As he anticipated the blow, Crowley was struck with the thought that Aziraphale’s eyes were the same color as they had been so many years ago, but now they were much older. Years had passed, but an eternity seemed to live and upend itself in his irises again and again.

Crowley was waiting for judgment to be passed once again. Hadn’t he suffered enough? (Maybe he had. Maybe this would put an end to it.) And what would Aziraphale’s verdict be? Not good enough for an angel, that was obvious. Not bad enough for a demon. Too supernatural for a human. You are a nowhere-being, why don’t you go back there?

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and then the pain was – gone. He could feel his tongue mend itself. (But the taste of pain lingered.) Aziraphale had given him back the ability to speak. Why? What did he want to hear?

He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound downright pathetic.

“Angel,” he rasped out. It was as much a plea as an insult as a broken promise and Aziraphale’s face unraveled. Both of his eyes came loose and his jaw fell open. “Long time no see.”

Maybe Aziraphale was eager to fulfill the command he had been given, to have this done and over with, at Heaven’s beck and call like he always had been, but maybe Crowley could tempt him to wait. Crowley’s last temptation. He would pull out all the stops.

“Lovely little room you’ve got here. Why, I would love to stay, thanks for asking. Just like old times.” “Don’t,” Aziraphale said quietly. Well. If he was so adamant on Crowley’s last minutes being unpleasant, so be it.

And what could he even say? Aziraphale didn’t want to hear his begging or his apologies and certainly not his love confessions. All he could think of was the sword that hadn’t even been flaming at the time. Everything had gone to pieces within seconds and Crowley had lost track of Aziraphale in the crowd of angels descending from Heaven and demons rising from Hell. The knowledge of how Aziraphale really felt about him was like a rope around his neck, pulling tight. Preventing any word from escaping. A trapdoor beneath his feet and Aziraphale at the lever. (Why did it have to be Aziraphale? Out of all the angels in Heaven, why him? The upside: he could see him one last time. The downside: it would hurt so much more. So much.)

Crowley didn’t really regret having to die. Not really. He’d already lost the eternity he wanted. He had lost the most stubborn car that had ever existed, he had lost the rare but kind touches of Aziraphale, he had lost the stars, every single one of them. All that he had ever created and all he had ever dreamed of having was gone.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I’m so sorry.” Of course. Of bloody course he was sorry. He was going to do it, he had to, but he would be very fucking sorry while he did it. Small mercies for that. (Maybe he had been sorry back then, with the sword.)

And he could be angry if he wanted to, he could spit poison in Aziraphale’s face, he could accuse and shame and tear apart with words if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Not now. Not when he – they – only had so little time left. So instead, he said: “Don’t be.” It was so hard to summon the words. “I was the one who misjudged. Very badly misjudged.” God – Satan – Somebody, he’d thought it was real. He’d thought they really had something. Six thousand years of something. Aziraphale seemed frozen, in all his bloody sorriness and Crowley couldn’t even be mad. “You were a dream, Aziraphale,” Crowley admitted quietly. “I dreamed you up. An angel who could love a demon. Ha! They did always say I had too much… imagination.” He held Aziraphale’s gaze, even though he had long lost his sunglasses. “This is reality,” he tried to say it full of bitterness, but it came out soft.

“It’s horrible, is what it is. Horrible! What Gabriel just did -” Aziraphale seemed close to tears. “I would rip out Gabriel’s heart if I weren’t quite so sure he doesn’t have one.”

“That’s not very angelic of you to say.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care for the bloody ‘being an angel’ business very much at the moment.” Ah. The War had changed Aziraphale, too, then, at least a little. He wouldn’t have been caught discorporated saying something like that years ago.

“You should be careful to say that kind of thing,” Crowley reminded him halfheartedly. “You know what could happen.” “What, you mean I might Fall? Where to? There’s only heaven now.”

“Hng. S’pose you’re right.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, then. “Here, let me get that for you,” he said and miracled the restraints around Crowley’s wrists away. Astonished, Crowley moved his hands in front of himself, suddenly unsure what to do with them. Why had Aziraphale done that? With the restraints removed, he could perform miracles again, at least those he still had the energy for. He could flee, if he wanted to. Well. Aziraphale probably knew that he didn’t.

“Do get up, my dear, please,” Aziraphale said and touched Crowley’s elbow. My dear. Crowley didn’t know if he was still able to cope with being called that. Gingerly, he got to his feet.

“Please listen. I’m sorry about… the last time we saw each other. I should never – I mean, of course, I never really intended to – it was just such a mess and I didn’t know what to do -” “It’s alright, angel,” Crowley said, an almost automatic response to seeing Aziraphale in distress at this point. “It’s not like you ever made me any false promises. You were always pretty clear about how we stood to each other. It was just me who was too -” hopeful, too optimistic, too in love “- well, foolish to believe you.”

“No. No, you really weren’t. Stop saying these things. Stop talking like -” “Like we were just acquaintances? That it never really meant anything? Believe me, I’ve had enough time to realize you never really liked me all that much. Threatening me with your sword was hint enough for me.” There had, of course, been many hints before that, very many, but Crowley had not exactly been quick on the uptake in that respect.

“I was there,” Crowley continued, even though it hurt more than anything, “that was all. I was the only one who would stick around longer than a few decades. That’s why we were -” not friends, never friends “- acquaintances.” Aziraphale looked at him like Crowley had told him God was a vicious bastard. (A gaze Crowley was obviously familiar with.)

“Really, I’m under no delusions there.” Not anymore, at least. “So don’t feel bad about it.”

“I should never have denied you were my friend,” Aziraphale said, sounding suspiciously close to sniveling.

“It’s who we are, didn’t you always say that?” Crowley said. Then, like an old inside-joke: “You should have smote – smitten – smited? - me the second you saw me.” “Don’t say that.” “Would’ve spared you a lot of trouble, I’m sure,” Crowley said wryly.

Aziraphale gave him a long look and shook his head.

“It would have been horribly boring.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” They shared a small, quiet smile. It was the kind of smile that could probably not bring governments or oppressive power structures down, but that could bring something like our side back into existence.

Suddenly, Crowely could feel the phantom touches of the last few years – the shoves, the scrapes, the pushing, the angels from earlier with their commanding fingers, forceful and rough and I hate you almost as much as I hate myself. He thought of angels with burning wings. He thought of drowning demons. He thought that falling is just like jumping without a goal in mind. And he wanted to reach out to Aziraphale as badly as he had ever wanted anything, with every cell of this body and with every scale of his snake form, with every bit of his true essence. He coveted with the whole of his being and a little beyond.

Then he saw the fond way Aziraphale looked at him, just the way he used to. Crowley’s hand moved on its own but stopped just short of Aziraphale’s face. Then he realized that he had almost nothing left to lose, only minutes. This was his last chance – so he touched Aziraphale’s jaw with trembeling fingers.

Aziraphale looked very scared.

“Shame there’s no beds in Heaven,” Aziraphale said, sounding the way he always did when he was trying to sound casual. “I could really use a lie-down.”

“You could always miracle one.” “It won’t be the same,” Aziraphale said and then miracled one anyway. Crowley had his moments of idiotic confidence and this was one of them, so he took Aziraphale’s hand and led him to the bed.

Just once, he thought, just this once. And committed his worst offence. Like a thief, he leaned forward quickly, desperately, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale gasped in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. This couldn’t have come as a surprise to him, for millenia Crowley had been painfully obvious. For millenia, he had been rejected at every turn. But this one time – this last time – Aziraphale decided to indulge him, to humour him, and kissed him back. Crowley had decided to take and Aziraphale seemed to have decided to give.

It was a last wish fulfilled.

It was everything Crowley had ever wanted, nothing like he had wanted it.

It was Crowley’s sweetest regret.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said after he pulled away and Crowley had no idea how to interpret it. He swallowed heavily.

“We can’t miracle our way out of this one,” he said softly. No matter how much he wanted to pretend they had forever on this bed, in this small room, reality looked different. “I don’t have enough energy to teleport. If you do anything, they’ll know. It’ll show up in the paper work. The thing with the shackles will arleady be hard to explain.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?” Aziraphale said, his voice out of control.

“They expect you to kill me, angel,” Crowley said as neutrally as possible.

“So?” “So… just make it quick.”

Crowley hoped Aziraphale knew how serious he was. There was no way out of this. (He wasn’t sure he wanted a way out of this.)

“No,” Aziraphale said. “No. No. Out of the question.”

Right. It would be hard to make a murderer out of someone like Aziraphale. So this would be his last temptation.

“Listen,” he started in his softest temptation voice. “We both know you never really wanted to get all mixed up with - with the likes of me. You’re not going to give up on being an outstanding angel with a gold star now, are you?” (It would be a little late for that.) “Gabriel and his little band of angels is standing outside that door just waiting for you to do it. They’ll come in and expect to find my remains.” He had tempted Aziraphale to kill before, back when they had still tried to stop the Antichrist. Surely he could do it again? “I would never -” Aziraphale said and was too overwhelmed to speak.

Of course Aziraphale would never, he was bloody Aziraphale. Why did he change his mind about the Antichrist? Right, because he was the Antichrist and about to destroy the whole world. So upping the ante it is.

“I’ve changed, you know,” Crowley said, drenching his voice in bitter sadness that was only partly faked. “The War changed all of us. I’ve… killed.” He tried very hard to sound the way he would if he had committed atrocities in the War. “I’ve ripped angels’ wings from their backs. I set traps of Hellfire for them. I would have done anything to survive.” “No. Stop – stop this immediately. You wanted to run. You told me you did.” “Yeah, but it was a little late for that, wasn’t it? I was caught in the crossfire.” Aziraphale didn’t believe a word he was saying. Crowley started to panic, which is never a good state to lie in.

“At first, I did it just to survive, but then… my demonic instinct kicked in. I started to like it. I wanted to burn every single one of them. For what they did to me. For ruining everything. I wanted to burn all of Heaven. And I did – I burned so many and I didn’t even care.” “You’ve lied better before,” Aziraphale said almost angrily. “Do you really think I would believe that?”

The fight drained out of Crowley, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“It would be easier if you did.” “Stop being so bloody…” Aziraphale seemed to search for a word. “…kind.” “I’m about to die, there’s no need to insult me.” Crowley drew his lips into a wonky smirk. “It wouldn’t even matter, you know,” Aziraphale said, “if you were telling the truth. I would understand.”

Fuck. Fuck. Was there nothing he could say… It was Aziraphale’s life on the line here. If he didn’t comply with Heaven’s orders, they’d kill him too. And Crowley couldn’t let that happen. He just couldn’t.

“Really,” he drawled. “Sparing me an eternity of white robes and Sandalphone playing the harp off-key, that would be a kindness.” “You silly demon. There is nothing you can say that would make me even consider this.”

Crowley sighed, feeling deeply reliefed and anxious at the same time. He cupped Aziaphale’s face with both his hands and started drawing small circles on his cheeks with his thumbs. He wanted to keep this so badly. He wanted to see another sunrise, just one. But he knew Aziraphale had made his choice, years ago, he had made it. And it was the right choice. The only choice. And Crowley was just tired. So, so tired.

“Just put me to sleep, angel,” he said softly and moved his hands further into Aziraphale’s hair. “You know how much I like sleeping. It won’t be so different.”

Aziraphale let out a quiet sob and started to frantically shake his head.

“Just let me sleep,” Crowley said in a last-ditch effort to convince Aziraphale, though at this point he knew that nothing would.

“I can’t.”

Crowley felt like he was trapped in a room with no doors, like he was spinning around searching for one but there were only walls and walls and walls. “You’ve never chosen me before,” he said, like a statement.

“I should have. I would have. On that day-”

Crowley drew his hands back. “You raised your sword at me-” “I was panicking, I don’t know why I did that, but I know I never would have – if you’d just stayed, I -” It sounded unbelievable. He’d thought about that moment so many times over the years, to hear it was different now was – dizzying. He closed his eyes, as though that could somehow keep his head from spinning.

“Can’t we just – run away together?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley’s eyes snapped open.

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” All of it was, all of it was so late. But Crowley would, of course he would. He would raise a new wold out of the ashes of the old one for Aziraphale if he could. “There’s nowhere to run to anymore.”

“I was looking for you, did you know that?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley was stunned into silence.

“...what?” “All over Earth, I was looking for you. I thought something must have happened to you. I couldn’t find you anywhere, not there, not in Heaven, not in Hell. Not on Alpha Centauri. Until the fighting stopped, I kept looking. Waiting.” A strange sort of joy that felt a little like pain rose up in Crowley’s chest.

“I was on Earth,” he said. “I didn’t try to save the world. But… I tried to save someone. Anyone. I’ve managed it before. Smuggled a few more people on Noah’s arch. But this time I couldn’t. It’s all gone.”

He’d dredged through fallen trees, through the blood, through the dead bodies. He’d kept his eyes open for a survivor. He’d found a little girl in an upside-down car, but he’d lost her. He’d lost everyone. “You didn’t run?”

Crowley was taken aback by the question. “Why would I run without you?”

The tears glistened in Aziraphale’s eyes. He looked like this was news to him. There was nothing new about this. It had been very clear for a very long time.

“You really don’t understand, do you?” Crowley said. “When they cast me out of Heaven, I thought I would never be home again.” “And now you’re back in Heaven?”

Crowley closed his eyes and wished he could be less honest about this. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale even wanted to hear this, but now that he had started telling the truth he could hardly stop. “And now I’m back with you,” he said very softly.

“Then let’s go away,” Aziraphale said astonished. “There must be some corner of this hellish Heaven where we can have our peace.”

“What about the angels?” “Pardon my French, but… fuck the angels.” “Aziraphale,” delight gleamed in Crowley’s eyes, “that’s blasphemy.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale, who had sounded very confident before, faltered. “I don’t care.”

“Who are you and what did you do to Aziraphale?” “I’m just. Braver. Than I was before.” Crowley’s shaking fingers reached for Aziraphale’s head again. He licked his lips.

“About that kiss…” Aziraphale blushed. “What about it?” Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Was that… pity, or some sort of deathbed thing-” “It’s not your deathbed,” Aziraphale said firmly. “And… well, I thought… I thought it was…” Aziraphale’s voice got much smaller. “...well. A love… thing.” “A love thing,” Crowley repeated and laughed, a little incredulous of the whole thing. He wanted time, just a little more time, so he gathered the last of his energy and took it. He stopped everything around them, kept them safe in a bubble outside of time. He rushed forward with his head recklessly, almost knocking Aziraphale over. He kissed Aziraphale – and he became a confession against his skin. He pressed a row of small kisses against Aziraphale’s jaw and wach of them was an admission. I missed you. I need you. Look at me through a veil of tears. Let me kiss your eyelashes, let me drink your pain. He let his lips wander all over Aziraphale’s face. Let me kiss the ache from your heart.

Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s chest and pushed him down onto the bed. This space between Aziraphale’s navel and his collarbones was the only holy ground that wouldn’t burn him. The thrumming of Aziraphale’s heart underneath his fingers kept him steady. He settled down half on top of Aziraphale and dropped his head on his chest. He listened to it beating.

Let me rest here. Please let me rest. Let me fall asleep hearing you’re alive and as real as anyone. Let me drift from a nightmare into a dream. Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

(Just hold my hand. Just hold it.) It was nearly too much to bear. Ah. So this was Aziraphale killing him. And he was as gentle as anything. Crowley would stop time for longer, just a little longer. Then they could flee. It was okay. As long as Aziraphale was with him, it was all okay. His mind stopped churning. The memories fled elsewhere. Crowley reached out and entangled Aziraphale’s hand with his. He held it in his own with reverence, with the softest grip - and then he knew. This was how to hold a moonbeam in your hand.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale

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ineffably-good · 4 years

Text

Prompt: Home

This is part of the Good Omens 30th Anniversary celebration prompts! Click here to go read all of the ones I’ve completed on AO3.

Summary: Aziraphale realizes something important about the concept of home on the night before they switch bodies. My imagining of a missing conversation.

_________________________

The Garden was home, first. Not for long, of course – he barely had a week in it, then another little while closing it up. But the right place has a way of seeping into your soul no matter how long you are in it. He had seen it over the years, Aziraphale thought – that certain feeling you get walking into a set of rooms or a library or a small shop where some ineffable combination of elements just curled up inside you immediately and took residence. Was it the light, the warmth, the combination of colors, a particular pleasant smell or inviting hearth? Whatever it was, the heart happily murmurs the word ‘home’ in its presence, and it is never mistaken.

It was years after the Garden before he felt it again. He had many places he sheltered, and some of them he cared for very much, but the true homes were fewer – one in Ninevah, a simple hut but one which suited him very dearly. One in Thebes with its warm breezes and love of learning. A fresco-painted monastic cell in Rome, before he was forbidden re-entry to the Vatican ever again. (And believe him, that still rankled.) A gamekeeper’s cottage in the North of what was now England. A hut in the Bavarian woods. A very small handful of others throughout the ages. He could still recall each of them in fond detail, despite the long or short length of time he had stayed in each.

But honestly, he’d never been in one as long as he had been in the bookshop. Over two hundred years in one place? It was a luxury he’d never dreamed of. Empires rose and fell in that kind of timespan. Wars were fought and won, kings and queens came and went, neighbors lived, neighbors died, and somehow Aziraphale was still there. Inside the same four walls, under the same glass rotunda, living his life. He’d never grown so attached to a place.

Which meant, of course, that it made him vulnerable; he had something to lose, something very valuable, and if his enemies were clever (which fortunately, they rarely were), they had a place to hit him where it would hurt very badly.

It didn’t happen until the almost apocalypse, and then he wasn’t even around to see it. It was up to Crowley to break the news to him, twice. It hardly penetrated the first time. “It burned down,” the demon said to him.

“All of it?” he said, brought up short -- but then there was the discovery that the book had survived, and the need to find a body and stop the end of the world, and that was the end of that. He didn’t think about it again for what felt like days but was truly only hours, until they were sitting on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for a ride back to London.

“It burned down, remember?” Crowley said again, peering at him gently.

This time there was nothing to cushion the blow. He’d relinquished his sword yet again, he’d lost and regained his body, the devil was gone to who knows where, and reality was returning to normal – but his shop, his home, his haven of two hundred and nineteen years, was no more. He kept his face as blank as he could while he reeled inside from the pain.

“How – how did it burn?” he asked later, as they sat on the white leather couch in Crowley’s living room. It wasn’t a pleasant couch; it didn’t invite lounging and reading the way the Chesterfield in his office had. But with Crowley there and a few glasses of wine and a throw or two, it somehow became much more hospitable.

“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted. “Didn’t smell like hellfire, although I couldn’t tell that at first. Thought it had been Hastur or someone, for a while.” He paused to take a deep breath and stuff that feeling down deep. “It wasn’t.”

“Accident, then?” the angel suggested. “I was speaking to the Metatron when I got discorporated. So, there were candles about.”

“The Metatron discorporated you?” Crowley shouted. “That son of a bitch! I’ll fucking murder him!”

“No, no,” Aziraphale said, laying a hand on Crowley’s arm. “It wasn’t him. It was a human. Caught me in the act with the Metatron, so to speak, and assumed I was conjuring demons. I was trying to prevent him from stepping into the circle himself and being harmed when I accidentally crossed the boundary and was sent back to Above.”

“Who?” Crowley growled.

“Never you mind,” Aziraphale said gently. “It was my fault and not theirs, and I won’t have you administering demonic justice on anyone on my behalf.”

Crowley scowled into his wine for a few minutes. “So probably the force of you ascending bodily into heaven knocked over a candle or two and that was that.”

“Most likely,” Aziraphale nodded.

They drank quietly for a few minutes after that, both lost in thought. Aziraphale knew Crowley was thinking about the retribution that was likely coming to them, and he ought to focus on that too – they desperately needed a plan. But his mind was distracted, pinging off random thoughts about the bookstore being gone and particularly about something he did not understand – why was he not feeling as bad as he ought to?

He should be devastated. It was gone, all of it. The culmination of centuries of book collecting, the best nest he’d ever formed, all of it evaporated in the blink of an eye. And it did hurt, like a punch to the chest, but he wasn’t as levelled by it as he would have expected. Instead, he felt – well he felt surprisingly safe. Warm. Cared for. He was with Crowley.

A thought came to him with a sudden shock, and he gasped in spite of himself.

“What?” Crowley said, startling upright. “Do you have an idea for what we should do?”

“Yes, yes, possibly, or the start of one,” the angel said, “but this is something else. Something just occurred to me.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”

“You visited me in Ninevah, didn’t you? At the small hut I kept there?”

Crowley frowned. “Multiple times. Our time there overlapped by about two years. Introduced you to date wine and all kinds of depravity.”

“And Thebes?”

Crowley thought for a moment. “That tent you kept outside of the temples? I think I spent about a month there with you, off and on, recovering from that near-discorporation when the camel spit on me and I fell off right next to the cliff and ended up – oh you know, right?”

Aziraphale remembered that. Crowley had never truly forgiven camels after that. Not that he blamed them. Horrible creatures, camels. If he weren’t commanded to love all of Her creatures, he would have made an exception for that one.

“But were you in any of my homes between the two?” he asked, deep in thought.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Aziraphale waved a hand. “Just humor me. I know you have a prodigious memory.”

Crowley thought back. “I don’t think so. We saw each other a handful of times, but it was always in transit – while we were travelling, or at an oasis, or during a battle. I can’t remember seeing any of your homes in between those two periods.”

“And in Rome, remember that one time when I smuggled you inside the monastery to see the frescoes? Fra Mitti was doing such astonishing work, and there was the one fresco that included a painting of the serpent of Eden, and you insisted on seeing it?”

“Didn’t even burn my feet,” Crowley said, laughing. “Living quarters weren’t consecrated enough. Liked that serpent though.”

“Oh my good Heavens,” Aziraphale said. “It’s you. It’s not the places themselves, it’s the places that you’ve been in.”

Crowley blinked, utterly lost. “What is it you’re trying to say, angel?”

Aziraphale blushed, aware he had revealed more than he had intended to. “Oh, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about the places that I’ve lived and what differentiates them. You’ve lived in a number of tents and huts and houses and manses over the years – you certainly know how some of them are just places to sleep to you and some of them have a different feel to them, like something makes them feel like a true home? Almost something alchemical, the way they morph into something with meaning?”

Crowley nodded. Most of his hadn’t, to be honest. He’d tried not to put down too many roots. Hell frowned upon it, and there was always some rogue demon showing up to visit with him and destroy his belongings for fun anyways, and the few places he had cared for and protected early on had ended up sacked or destroyed in wars and fires, and after a while he had given up on trying to embue his surroundings with a sense of safety. What was the point? The only safety for him was and had always been the angel, anyway. It didn’t matter where he slept.

After the events of the day, finding themselves on their own side, Aziraphale just couldn’t be bothered to hide his true feelings anymore. In for a penny, as they say, in for a pound.

“I just realized that all of the places that have truly become a home to me are places that you have visited,” he blurted out. “It’s not the places themselves, it’s you.”

Crowley looked deeply embarrassed, and also slightly flattered. It was, in a word, adorable, the angel thought.

“Nahhhh,” the demon drawled. “Not me. I mean, maybe I played a part in it. Added some wine and the occasional tchotchke I picked up on my travels. Kicked up the décor a notch or two. But maybe you just only shared the places with me that already felt that way – didja ever think of that?”

Aziraphale smiled fondly. “So, you think I just didn’t invite you into the more horrible places I lived?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Like you only brought me over to the good ones. Because you’re – you know, what did they use to call it? House proud.” He grinned. “Fussy.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes mildly. “If I were truly fussy, I’d have gotten a demon friend with better manners, my dear.”

Equilibrium restored by that slight insult, they both relaxed back onto the seat cushions and sipped their wine. Aziraphale smiled into his cup, though; he knew he was correct in this realization, and he knew why he didn’t feel completely devastated at the moment. Sad, yes, hurting, yes, worried about the future and what they would make of it. But the bookshop, while a blow, wasn’t an immeasurable loss. The things he had loved and gathered were gone, but he was still at home in the world, as long as Crowley was here. As long as they were safe and together.

That jarred a thought in his head, and he reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket to pull out the singed piece of paper that they had been puzzling over earlier in the evening. It was all related, he thought – home and safety and ensuring that each other was present, and feeling as at home in each other as they did in their own skins.

A light clicked on in his brain and he was suddenly, utterly sure that they were going to survive this, whatever retribution Above and Below had planned for them.

“Crowley,” he said, “I’ve had the most brilliant, wicked idea…”

#goc2020 #good omens fanfiction #Aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #home #body switching

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feathered-serpents · 5 years

Text

Aziraphale and Crowley made love in a French castle once in 1019.

They had not known the other was an attendant at the wealthy noblemen’s engagement ball nor had they known they’d find the other when they snuck off for some quiet in the library tower. Perhaps it was the music, perhaps it was the wine, but as Crowley kissed the line of Aziraphale’s collarbone he whispered, “Just this once, angel.”

Aziraphale ran his hands through the demon’s long hair and looked over his shoulder at the star-filled heavens staring at them through the window.

“Yes,” he said. “Just this once.”

Aziraphale and Crowley kissed in an Italian garden once in 1274.

The garden belonged to Crowley, he’d found himself in the possession of a beautiful countryside estate, Aziraphale thought it best he didn’t ask how.

Grapevines grew on the latticework, the ocean could be seen over the hedges. Aziraphale visited only that once, holding a glass of wine made from the very grapevines that grew around them, the sun was setting, staining the marble around them pink and the ocean orange. He still has a bottle of the wine in his cellar.

They reached a pause in their conversation, and while Crowley thought of a new topic to discuss, Aziraphale studied the flow of the sunset on his face, the way it illuminated the gold of his eyes. He kissed him swiftly and suddenly, he never noticed Crowley spilled a drop of his wine.

“It felt appropriate for the moment,” said Aziraphale. “Don’t worry, it was just this once.”

“Right,” said Crowley, “Just this once.”

Aziraphale and Crowley held one another on an English battlefield once in 1462.

They had been on the same side, you may think this unusual but they found themselves on the same side of a war far more than they found themselves on the opposite. Heaven and Hell liked to pick the winning side.

Crowley had taken an arrow to the heart and his corporation had disagreed with its presence. He began to die on the grass far quicker than he could do anything to remove it. He’d closed his eyes, and he expected to open them to the black ceilings of Hell, but he didn’t, when he woke he saw only the unfittingly blue sky above the soldiers as he was cradled Aziraphale’s arms, his head held against the angel’s beating heart. There was no arrow in his own.

“You can’t be doing things like this,” whispered Crowley.

“I know, dear,” said Aziraphale, pressing his cheek against his hair. “It will only be this once.”

Aziraphale and Crowley danced in a bookshop once in 1895.

A wonderful invention such as the “phonograph” had just come to light and Aziraphale absolutely adored it. Finally! Music! In the comfort of his own home. Crowley had been slower to understand, what was the point of listening to music alone?

“It’s like it’s playing just for you!” Aziraphale explained.

“What am I supposed to do with music that’s ‘just for me?’“ asked Crowley.

“What you always do,” said Aziraphale. “Sing, dance, only now no one is watching.”

Crowley finished his drink and stood off the sofa they were lounging on. “Fine,” he said, “dance with me then.”

He held out his hand.

Aziraphale looked at him with wide eyes, and for a moment Crowley wondered if he’d made a dire mistake. Misjudged. But Aziraphale exhaled, taking his hand, running his thumb over his knuckles.

“Just this once.”

Aziraphale and Crowley said they loved the other on a London road once in 1941.

They road together in the eerie silence that always followed a Blitz strike. Aziraphale held his case of books to his chest in hopes that it would muffle his heart pounding loud enough to roar in his mortal ears. What he whispered next was so quiet Aziraphale thought for a moment that he hadn’t said it aloud at all.

“Love you too, angel,” said Crowley after a time. Far too calmly to bring Aziraphale any ease.

He swallowed. His mouth dry and his throat burning. “I’ll only tell you that this once,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “Just this once.”

#Good Omens #ineffable husbands #not sure what I was trying to do with this succeeded but whatever #I need it out of my drafts I'm tired of looking at it

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

Bentley to the Rescue (Rated T)

When Crowley flubs an opportunity to tell Aziraphale how he feels, his car takes over. But it also doesn’t know how to quit when it’s ahead … (2357 words)

Notes: Features Queen’s ‘You Take My Breath Away’ and at the very end, NIN ‘Closer’.

Lunch had been lovely.

Positively lovely.

Aziraphale in particular had been overjoyed with the meal he ate, the champagne they drank, the company he kept.

All very lovely.

And afterwards, he and Crowley walked and talked and laughed and reminisced, pushing away the recent unpleasantness by recounting better times, similar lunch dates, favorite symphonic performances, anything that sprang to mind. They also contemplated hopes for the future – movies Crowley looked forward to seeing, books Aziraphale looked forward to reading, the latest rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream coming to Piccadilly that they planned on attending together. They discussed each topic with the fervor of people who thought they may not live to see tomorrow.

And the economy of those who still may not.

But by the time they pull up in front of Aziraphale’s shop, both angel and demon have gone silent. It’s not the comfortable silence they’ve cultivated over centuries of familiarity with one another. It’s a tense silence, a pregnant silence. A silence that begs the question:

“So … what now?”

Aziraphale asks it, looking to Crowley with wide, blue eyes searching not just for this answer, but for all the answers.

And that weighs heavy on the demon’s shoulders.

Considering the events of the past few days - the past eleven years! - Crowley can honestly say he didn’t think they’d get this far. Every minute that went by, he expected things to end, even if just for them.

Just for him.

But here they are, together in Crowley’s car, looking forward to tomorrow. The world hasn’t burnt up. They haven’t been executed. They’re not even in custody.

They’re free.

For now.

So yes – what do they do?

Crowley chuckles lightly. “I really don’t know,” he admits.

“Seems strange, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale glances out the windshield at life continuing on in Soho, humans who have no clue how close they came to becoming a massive meat stew going about with their day to day – meeting for dinner, hugging on the sidewalk, driving their cars, peeking into his own shop window, shrugging and moving on. “Knowing we don’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves?”

Ourselves. That brings things back to the question at hand – a question that should be easy to answer seeing as everything that’s happened between them, the catalyst to why Crowley could stop time long enough for Adam to defeat Satan and save the world, hinged on Aziraphale finally acknowledging that single thing.

They were own their own side.

The two of them – together.

But now that they’re in no danger of discorporation … or elimination … Crowley doesn’t know how that fits in the context of their future.

“I suspect we go on, yes? Keep doing what we’ve been doing. With a little less supervision, of course.”

“And that is …?”

Aziraphale is fishing. Crowley knows that. He also doesn’t know what he’s within his power to offer. What Aziraphale wants. Aziraphale has already burned him once, so to speak.

What if Crowley isn’t what he wants? Not the way Crowley wants Aziraphale?

There’s an easy way to find out, of course.

Why is he too much of a flippin’ coward to ask?

“You’ll run your bookshop,” Crowley explains. “I’ll take care of my business. I’ll stop by from time to time or you can come visit. It’ll be good. Normal, even. When’s the last time we’ve had normal then, eh?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “Normal. Sounds … sounds grand … actually.”

It didn’t sound grand. But the fact that Aziraphale’s tone has gone solemn doesn’t seem to tip Crowley off.

But it tips someone off. Someone who’s been watching these two fools play this game of romantic Pong since the entirety of their employ. Someone who’s been waiting for a moment much like this, who has witnessed several with high hopes to have them unravel at the last moment.

Someone who is equally tipped as ticked.

“So, I’ll see you around then?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale nods. “I … I suppose so.” But when Aziraphale should be opening the door and sliding out, he turns to Crowley instead.

“Crowley? There’s something I need to tell you. Something … important.”

Crowley shifts in his seat to face Aziraphale. “Okay?”

“I … well, I …”

Crowley takes off his glasses and tosses them in the back seat. “Yes?”

“The truth is …” Aziraphale glances about nervously – not afraid someone will see Crowley’s eyes. No one could notice them from here. But afraid Crowley will see everything Aziraphale is about to say in his.

Afraid he’ll laugh at him. Reject him before the words come out.

“You see, I …”

“You what, Aziraphale? Spit it out.”

Crowley doesn’t sound impatient. He sounds anxious, assuming that what Aziraphale has on his mind is bad news. He did say it was important, after all. So Aziraphale can’t backpedal. He has to get this out, no matter the outcome.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He doesn’t particularly need it, but he takes it anyway. If there’s anything in the air that can give him a boost of courage, he hopes it comes to him. Shoot! He should have invited Crowley inside for drinks! Courage in an amber bottle would be quite welcome right now. There’s a bottle of wine in the back seat. They bought it at The Ritz. He could grab it, open it, and chug it down. Then he wouldn’t struggle to get the words out. They’d be falling over themselves to trip off his tongue and stumble drunkenly to Crowley’s ears!

But no. With supernatural beings, as with humans, drunken confessions of love are tactless and not at all binding in court of law.

“I love you,” he says, doing his best to look in Crowley’s blank eyes when he does, the heat rising to his cheeks fighting to bring his gaze down.

“You’re an angel,” Crowley points out after a brief silence. “You love everybody. It’s in the job description.”

“I’m in love with you,” Aziraphale clarifies. “I’ve been in love with you for the longest time. And before I leave this car and risk you going off to tend to business and not returning for a decade, or napping for who knows how long, I need you to know that.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s eyes pop with surprise while his brain whirls to come up with an appropriate response. There is one. It’s there on the tip of his tongue. It’s been waiting there for centuries to make its grand entrance. But since Crowley is a more eloquent demon in his head than he is in practice, his grand confession of love never sees the light of day. What he says instead is: “Okay. Thanks.”

Aziraphale nods. “Well. So long as you know … I guess.” He reaches for the door handle and pushes, but upsettingly, the door doesn’t open. He wiggles it, gives the door a shove. This time, not only does it not open, it resists.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asks.

“The door …” Aziraphale wiggles the handle more vigorously, shoves a bit more violently. “It won’t open.”

“That one sticks sometimes. You may want to miracle out.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers, but nothing happens. He snaps again, then again, looking to Crowley with concern. “I can’t.”

“Did Heaven take away your powers?”

“I don’t think so.” Aziraphale looks out the window in the direction of his shop. He waits for an inconspicuous moment, then snaps his fingers. The front doors fly open, to the delight of a few stragglers peeking in the windows, but slam shut before they can make it inside. “No. Still have them. How about you?”

“Let me check.” Crowley snaps his fingers. A man on the corner ahead of them, talking up a young lady who looks uncomfortable by his presence, loses his trousers. They rip off his body, tumble a short distance away, then burst into flames, attracting the attention of an officer nearby and giving the lady a chance to escape. “Nope. Still got mine. Wait a minute …” He tries to open his door. He puts all his weight against it and shoves, but it doesn’t budge. He snaps his fingers over and over, but the door doesn’t open. The radio clicks on. Aziraphale assumes Crowley did it, to test his powers, but the demon’s face twists and he smacks a hand to his forehead. “Shit!”

A slow, romantic melody begins to play:

Ooh Ooh, take it, take it all away

“What’s the matter?” Aziraphale asks.

“It’s the car!” Crowley growls. He switches the radio off, but it comes back on.

Ooh Ooh, take my breath away

He keeps turning it off, but it keeps coming on again, playing a song that Crowley obviously doesn’t want to listen to.

“How can the car …?”

“It’s a demon owned car, isn’t it? It’s only natural that it picked up a few things along the way.”

Ooh Ooh, you-ou-ou-ou take my breath away

Crowley switches the radio off for the umpteenth time and puts both hands over the dial, but that doesn’t stop it from coming on. In desperation, he plants his hands over the speakers to dull the volume, but even Aziraphale knows that won’t work. Eventually, Crowley slumps in his seat, puts his hands over his face, and surrenders.

Look into my eyes and you’ll see I’m the only one You’ve captured my love, stolen my heart, changed my life Every time you make a move, you destroy my mind And the way you touch, I lose control and shiver deep inside

Sympathetic to Crowley’s dilemma, Aziraphale tries for himself to switch the radio off, but it doesn’t stay off. “Why is your car playing this song?”

“How the Devil should I know?” Crowley lies. “It’s a Queen song. It likes to play Queen songs. Every car does.”

You can reduce me to tears with a single sigh Every breath that you take, any sound that you make Is a whisper in my ear I could give up all my life for just one kiss I would surely die if you dismiss me from your love

Aziraphale starts focusing on the lyrics halfway through the second verse, his eyes fixed on the radio’s face to avoid looking at Crowley’s. But he can’t help himself. He peeks over, curious about Crowley’s reaction, which he can’t really see with Crowley’s hands covering his face. That aside, Crowley’s Bentley is his pride and joy. He loves it more than anything. It’s an extension of him, in a way.

So if the Bentley is playing this song and needs it to be heard, it’s more than simply the shenanigans of a demonic car.

And this is more than a pretty song.

So please don’t go Don’t leave me here all by myself I get ever so lonely from time to time I will find you anywhere you go I’ll be right behind you Right until the ends of the earth I’ll get no sleep till I find you And tell you that you just …

There’s something so poignant about the lyrics. So fitting. He might have chosen this song himself to express his feelings if he knew it existed, if he did that sort of thing. Aziraphale can’t discount the fact that Crowley asked him to run away with him, how passionately he’d argued that they were friends, had been friends for over 6000 years. How ever Aziraphale saw their relationship, in whatever terms he used, they were at least friends. That should be of some comfort.

And it is.

Some.

I will find you anywhere you go Right until the ends of the earth I’ll get no sleep till I find you To tell you when I’ve found you …

The radio clicks off. The music disappears. And behind his hands, Crowley snickers. They slide down his face and he glares at the dashboard. “Well? Drop the other shoe, will you?” He stares at the radio and waits. When nothing happens, he scoffs. “No. You expect me to say it then, hmm? Cheeky bastard.”

“Say what? What … what is it leaving out?” Aziraphale looks at Crowley, then at the radio, as if the car might outright say.

Crowley rolls his head Aziraphale’s way, gazing at him sadly, fondly. “I love you.”

Aziraphale’s brows lift. “Is that the end of the verse?”

“Yes.”

“But … do you?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Since … since when?” Aziraphale asks, scooting excitedly closer. “Oh … you don’t need to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Crowley smiles. “Since you uttered the magical words I gave it away.”

“Really?”

“Yes, angel. Really.”

“Wow. That’s, uh … that’s a long time.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Aziraphale finds himself at a loss as to how to proceed. This seems like a classic lean in for a kiss moment, but there’s too much tension hanging in the air. An impromptu kiss may or may not relieve that. He’s never kissed Crowley before. He doesn’t want it tainted by mixed signals and bad timing. He’s willing to let Crowley take the lead on that one. Who knows? Kissing may not even be something he enjoys. So instead, Aziraphale turns to the car’s dash and asks in a teasing tone, “Is that all you wanted to say, Bentley?”

The car stays silent, but for only a second. The dial on the radio turns left and right, tuning into different stations, pausing at one, and then moving on. It stops at last on a song Aziraphale has never heard before, but which Crowley seems to know after a single beat since he launches for the dial, wrestling harder this time to try and change the station before the lyrics start.

“No, no, no! That’s enough now! You’ve had your say!” Crowley argues. But the Bentley doesn’t feel the same. The dial pops off and the song remains, it’s steady, provocative beat thumping hard, shaking the seats, and all Crowley can do is drop his head back, put his hands back over his face, groan loudly, and suffer.

I wanna fuck you like an animal …

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

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cloudysonder · 5 years

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Bad Demon (Ineffable Husbands)

Summary: Crowley, in a fit of drunkenness, confesses his feelings for Aziraphale. It doesn’t go down very well. In fact, it goes about as badly as it could’ve gone, and before Aziraphale could even try to process his (already given) response, Crowley is gone; vanished into thin air. So, in a very Aziraphale-like manner, Aziraphale does nothing for a while. And then he panics.

Crowley, purely by definition, was a very bad demon.

Despite how he acted, it was what he truly believed. (As he should, for it was a fact.)

He didn’t ooze the seven deadly sins as he was supposed to, at all times. He wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of death, nor the concept of unjustified violence or horrible misfortune. In fact, he thought these were very stupid concepts; people should get what they bring upon themselves, he thought. There was no need for something to happen to them for no apparent reason.

Well, at least his “evil” habit of questioning authority never changed. (Which made sense, he supposed, to this fucked-up system, which was only Almighty in the way that it was almightily confusing, as the same system threw him down into a vat of sulfur for said habit.)

He spent his angel days making the stars and the sky, falling in love with every one of his creations. He believed in Her with all of his heart, yes, but he asked questions, thinking he also wanted to understand Her with all of his mind.

But that was bad, he was told, and off he went, spiraling into a vat of sulfur, white wings burning until they were black.

He was a bad angel; years and years of not being one had taught him to accept that. Being a bad angel should’ve meant that he would be a good demon.

They were two sides of one coin, and somehow, Crowley had managed to land on the edge.

Crowley, purely by definition, was a very bad demon.

Except around Aziraphale.

Dishonesty was one of the most sought-after traits in a demon. Lying was fun for Crowley, a good 87.83% of the time, but it was mostly for temptations and “curses” that could usually be considered mild inconveniences at best. Lies that truly hurt somebody, now those were things he didn’t like messing with.

Words were the sharpest sword sometimes, and again, he wasn’t really a fan of stabbing, or slicing, or even just very politely and gently mauling. In front of Aziraphale however, he told lies that slashed like a jagged rusty knife into dry skin and stung like salt and cayenne rubbed into wounds.

“I’m an angel, and you’re a demon, Crawl-- Crowley. We’re not even supposed to be seeing each other, much less, you know, fraternizing.” Aziraphale had whispered the last word, as if genuinely ashamed. “The Arrangement. That’s it, alright? I can’t do anything more.”

“I’m fine with that,” Crowley replied, and the lie dug itself deep into his heart. “Like I’d want to spend time around a holy angel, anyway.”

Around Aziraphale, Crowley also tended to indulge in a trick he had learned from the humans: lying to himself.

Or, more accurately, pretending.

Sometimes, when Aziraphale called him “dear” or “my dear”, he liked to imagine a world where he actually meant it. He liked seeing the people who worked at the Ritz look at them with fondness, liked hearing them whisper about how they were such a good couple, and for a few beautiful moments, he would live in a world where it was true. For a few moments, he pretended that they lived in a simple world, where Zira wasn’t an angel and he wasn’t a demon, and they were a couple.

(It most certainly wasn’t hard, since, by most Earthly standards, they already acted like a married couple.)

He had once told the angel that the two of them weren’t on Heaven’s side or Hell’s side, but their side.

Zira responded that there was no their side and tacked on an “I don’t even like you!” for good measure. Unbeknownst to Aziraphale, this small exchange of words had completely decimated Crowley’s sleeping habits (from once a day to a few times a year), as Crowley would often nightmare, and even when he dreamed, again, of a hypothetical world where they were together, the words would echo through his head.

It wasn’t very pleasant.

But sitting with his angel at the Ritz, lying to himself (even for a few glorious minutes) was very pleasant. Probably the most angelic a demon could feel.

Well, that is, before the server brought a small pride flag with their wine, offering them a meek smile and a gentle compliment.

“Hello, sirs.” They placed the wine and wine glasses on the table. “Thank you for being such loyal regulars. I think it’s adorable how you two come for a date here every week. Happy pride month!”

The server stuck the flag in the vase of flowers that stood between the two.

Crowley reveled in the moment (no, his cheeks were not red, and no, he was not avoiding eye contact with Aziraphale; he was just really interested in the label on the wine bottle is all).

“Oh.” Crowley heard a small sound from the angel across from him. “Oh. Oh, no, no, no, we’re not, uh we’re not together--”

Crowley froze, rudely being pulled out of his “lying to himself” act, and immediately poured himself a full glass of wine.

“Oh?” The server had a poorly hidden look of “no way” on their face but politely smiled anyway.

Crowley downed the wine like a shot, his eyes focused on both nothing and everything except Aziraphale.

“We’ll keep the flag, though. It’s very nice.” Aziraphale added, and if Crowley were paying even the slightest bit of attention to the angel, he would’ve noticed that Aziraphale’s face was flushed and his lips were stiff, as he was trying to stop himself from rambling (as he often did when nervous).

Crowley, however, was instead busy doing something very unmistakably human:

Drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

The demon was done with about 3/4 of the wine bottle before the server even left their field of vision.

“You. Yeah, you. Get me another one of these-- yeah, a white’s good. Have any bigger wine glasses?”

The server glanced at the angel and then him, and nodded sympathetically.

“Right away, sir.”

“What is wrong with you today, dear?” Aziraphale’s eyes crumpled at the edges in genuine worry. It made Crowley taste a cocktail of guilt and bitterness, knowing that Aziraphale truly did care for him, but not nearly the way Crowley cared for him. “You’re just... breathing in this alcohol, like a, like a... what were they called? You know, those lovely clean sucking things that they made last century...”

Crowley flushed. Just Aziraphale saying the word “sucking” was too much for him. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Crowley soon decided that if he was able to think coherently, then he hadn’t drunk enough alcohol. He filled another glass just as Aziraphale gasped and exclaimed,

“Vacuums!” Zira took a moment to appreciate his own genius, involuntarily puffing out his chest. “A vacuum! That’s what it is! You’re acting an awful lot like a vacuum, dear. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Crowley replied, more out of habit than actual thought. Hm. His vision was fine, and his words weren’t slurred yet, and more importantly, he could still think. Crowley didn’t appreciate that one bit.

He snapped his fingers, and a small demonic miracle danced around his wine, turning it to something considerably less wine-like, but almost infinitely more likely to turn Crowley into a happier, drunker demon.

In other words, vodka. (Particularly a more demonic sort, with 730.67% alcohol.)

He downed the glass, and promptly fell over, knocked out.

“Crowley?”

He barely registered his angel calling him, voice brimming with concern.

Crowley came to after being hit with the familiar scent of old books and cocoa, and, upon further investigation, realized it was because he was draped over Aziraphale’s shoulder as the angel struggled to drag him home.

Crowley breathed in Aziraphale’s scent before (slightly) uprighting himself. His arm was still wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders, but he was partially walking on his own now.

He heard Zira sigh in relief next to him.

“What happened, my dear?”

God, his eyes were so blue.

“You don’t normally... drink like this.”

Sober Crowley would’ve made an excuse well-suited to his personality; something along the lines of “I felt like it” or “it’s national ‘Get Shit-Faced’ day, angel”.

Drunk Crowley, however, couldn’t even process the question.

“Sssssatan, your eyesss are sso blue.” Crowley flicked his tongue out (it had miraculously shifted back to its natural serpentine form sometime between when he drank his not-wine to when he was draped on his angel’s back) to take in more of Aziraphale’s scent. “....’eally niccce.”

Aziraphale chuckled (adorably).

“What was that, Crowley?”

“Really niccce.”

“What is?”

Crowley made eye contact with Aziraphale, and the demon’s yellow snake-slit eyes crinkled at the edges in fondness.

“...Ineffable.” Crowley hiccupped out, tapping on his chest. “Can’t... understand... why.”

“Huh.” Aziraphale didn’t understand at all what Crowley had said, but felt that it was important for whatever reason, shelving it with his old books in his memory library.

“Sssshakessspeare wasss a dick,” Crowley eloquently added, and the conversation moved on, not giving the angel a single second to process whatever Crowley had just said.

It was when they stepped into the bookshop that Crowley’s despair over the 14th century had miraculously lifted, and the demon’s demeanor shifted to one of relief.

“I’m home!” Crowley laughed between hiccups. He had always imagined saying that when he walked into Zira’s bookshop, and the lack of filter between his mouth and head had long since been removed by alcohol.

“Home? We’re at the bookshop, dear.” Aziraphale absentmindedly replied. Crowley had left his side and was beelining towards his usual spot on the sofa: the whole sofa.

“Yeah.” Crowley was sprawled across the couch, tongue flicking out occasionally to gather as much of the bookshop’s smell as he could. “Home issss where you are, angel.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, his head slightly tilted as his serpentine pupils dilated on a yellow background; a tick he had picked up from the humans. His eyes were half-lidded, decidedly not from the drunkenness that resulted from alcohol but the often even stupider drunkenness that resulted from being smitten.

Crowley had looked at Aziraphale many times this way. Just, never when Aziraphale looked back. Drunk Crowley didn’t seem to give very much of a shit for Sober Crowley’s embarrassment.

“I love you.”

Crowley stared straight into Aziraphale’s too-blue eyes.

“So much, angel.” Crowley tacked on. “Since the Beginning. So, ssso much, Aziraphale.”

He watched as a series of emotions flew across Zira’s face. (If it was to be said, it might’ve been that trait of Aziraphale’s that caused Crowley to trust him so easily in the first place. After all, how could an angel who let everything show on his face betray him?)

First, Aziraphale looked touched. Then, embarrassed. Embarrassment morphed to shame as if he had realized something very important.

“No.”

Aziraphale refused to meet the demon’s eyes. Crowley started to sober almost immediately, albeit unconsciously. It was as if someone had poked a small hole in a water balloon and now the alcohol was draining out of him, like water from a leaky faucet.

Drip.

“What?” A million shades of hurt flashed through Crowley.

“It’s wrong, dea-- Crowley! You’re a demon, you know, a creature from Hell that’s supposed to be terrorizing all of humanity, and I’m an angel, the exact opposite.”

I was once too, Crowley wanted to say.

“I’m meant to love everything equally, and you’re not meant to love at all; there’s no possible way whatever this is could, could, could be.”

Aziraphale was rambling. Everything out of his mouth meant little to nothing to him, but every word stabbed Crowley in a different weak point he didn’t know he had.

“Romance is, it isn’t, it’s not--” He was stuttering now. “It’s not us.”

Crowley somehow got his mouth to work again, but all he could manage was a broken,

“What are we, then?”

I don’t know.

“Nothing.”

Crowley shattered.

The room had gone silent.

Where is my home, then?

Nowhere.

Nothing, nowhere, nobody.

That’s what Crowley had always been. Not an angel. Not a demon. Belonging nowhere. He had thought and dreamed and hoped of a love that would make him something, but in the end, he stayed the same.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

If only he could stop. He wished he could, he really did, wished he could slow down, wished he could relax enough to find something.

If only he could just disappear.

When Aziraphale blinked, Crowley had vanished, leaving behind nothing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley was currently in a Place.

A Place, because he had no idea where he was.

Not on Earth, because Earth was a place he could get drunk and forget. Now, every drop of alcohol that entered his bloodstream exited twice as quickly, after any, any thought involving Aziraphale passed through. Which was always, since he was the reason Crowley was drinking in the first place. He couldn’t be on Earth, because Aziraphale would always be with him on Earth.

A Place.

Not on Hell, because he had been to Hell, many, many times, and this was so much worse.

A Place.

Heaven?

Well, if he could go to heaven, this whole blessed thing wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

It was because he was a demon, wasn’t it?

It was, Crowley told himself. But he could have been better.

He buried his face in his arms, folded on top of himself in the couch he never sat on in his apartment.

If Crowley was better, maybe he could’ve convinced Aziraphale to stay. Maybe Aziraphale could’ve chosen him over the world, chosen their side.

Crowley did ask. Once.

The world or him and Alpha Centauri, and Aziraphale, his lovely selfless good angel, had chosen the world without even blinking.

Even if it meant throwing him away.

“I really should’ve seen this coming.” Crowley chuckled, miserable, and the sound bounced off the walls. “What was I expecting?”

In front of him, a few of his plants had the nerve to droop, and Crowley couldn’t muster anything in him to threaten them. He felt very much like drooping himself. Crowley gently held the leaf of the houseplant that drooped, feeling it tremble for a second under his touch.

He knew it was a coping mechanism. But it helped. It helped him deal with things, accept things enough to...

To do what?

Heeding orders was never a desire of his.

Everything he did was for Aziraphale. To see his face, to smell his coat, to tease him, to love him, Crowley lived.

He breathed into the terrified leaf of the dracaena.

He was to the plant as Hell was to him.

Hell had power over him, was what he had thought. He feared Hell for what they could do to him.

But now?

The fear had vanished.

The worst had happened. He lived for Aziraphale, not Hell, he realized, and fear of the past only existed in the minds of fools.

He mumbled a quiet “’m sorry” into the leaf of his dracaena, and it stopped trembling in his hands. Crowley had only ever cried once before, unsurprisingly over the same angel, over the same problem: leaving him.

He was sobbing now; he clenched the leaf of his houseplant in his hands and cried, knowing that Aziraphale would never mourn like this over him.

Crowley might’ve imagined it, but he swore that he felt another leaf of the dracaena patting his back, comforting him.

****Something that passed through the mind of Crowley around his 30th attempt to drink****

Aziraphale had once told him something along the lines of “one could only be truly good if one had the capacity to be truly evil”, and Crowley could do neither.

When he felt shitty, Crowley would’ve normally crashed Aziraphale’s bookshop, lounging on the angel’s couch in the backroom while listening to him rambling about Dante or Dickens, but that wasn’t very much an option now.

Crowley was nothing to the angel, after all, even though friends still wouldn’t have been enough for Crowley.

Aziraphale had screwed up. Badly.

He sat where Crowley had been just a few minutes ago, looking at Aziraphale as if the stars were in his eyes.

Crowley, a demon: Snake eyes unhidden, snake tongue flicking out once in a while, languishing on his couch.

He had felt so much pride in having Crowley be comfortable around him. Felt fondness for the demon that would barge in and collapse on his couch without warning, who listened to his rambles about books and music for hours without complaint.

He kept seeing Crowley’s hurt expression when he had said that he was just a demon.

That much was true, yes. But not just a demon. Crowley was anything but just. He was beyond that, and Aziraphale had always known that.

He was sure that when Crowley was an angel that hadn’t changed. It was for being more than just an angel that he probably got thrown off the side.

This was Crowley: a demon that had drove him more places than he could count, the demon that told him that “Another One Bites The Dust” was by Tchaikovsky, the demon that had walked into a church for him, the demon that had saved books from a burning church for him, the demon that loved him.

“What are we, then?”

His voice was shaking, broken.

“Nothing.”

Aziraphale saw Crowley’s heart drop.

Crowley was gone now; probably never coming back. His only ally in the world, the only constant that had stayed, and protected him, and cared.

“Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?”

He had nudged Aziraphale goodnaturedly and smiled.

Aziraphale put his head in his hands.

Softly, silently, he cursed.

Meanwhile, Heaven and Hell, as both of which had learned their lesson from the last time they left Aziraphale and Crowley completely unmonitored, watched them for about three weeks.

Well, “watched” wasn’t quite the right word. They didn’t “see” very much of anything. Or hear, for that matter.

(Which was a relief, as Crowley very well would’ve rather stepped into a vat of holy water than have Hastur know that he’d confessed his love for an angel while drunk.)

Hell felt a small bit of Aziraphale’s grace lift up from Crowley’s clothes and furniture.

Heaven felt a tad of Crowley’s demonic presence lift up from Aziraphale’s bookshop (Crowley had intentionally left a bit so no one would walk into the bookshop to buy books for a very long time) and coat(s).

As such, Heaven and Hell were optimistic that both had returned to their proper roles as a demon, terrorizer of humanity, and an angel, bringer of miracles. Thus, they sent representatives to congratulate them. Not because they were truly proud of them, of course, but rather because of a mix of emotions, most of which were elements of fear and hatred of the other side.

For Crowley, Hastur.

For Aziraphale, Gabriel.

Gabriel walked into Aziraphale’s bookshop in an extremely Gabriel-like way, that is to say, with perfect posture, hands folded in front of him, a bright smile painted on his face.

“Aziraphale!” He called.

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale looked up from the book he was trying, but failing to read, for his mind had been a bit preoccupied with a certain demon’s absence.

“I just wanted to say congratulations!” He slapped Aziraphale on the back.

“For...?”

“For dissociating yourself from that demon, of course! What was his name... Crawly?”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale corrected, stern.

“Right! Up There is very happy with you, you know.” Gabriel leaned forward to say the last sentence, as if it was a well-kept secret.

A small part of Aziraphale, one that he now hated, felt a glimmer of pride.

Said glimmer of pride was stamped out when Gabriel ruffled Zira’s hair and gave him another slap on the back.

The angel felt nauseous. Gabriel’s smile, his mannerisms, the way he looked like he was proud of him... it all felt so fake.

Gabriel bounced on his feet, refusing to sit down, as if he was ready to leave any second.

Aziraphale thought of a certain demon, who would drape himself over his couch immediately, settling in as if it were his second home.

Gabriel called him terrific, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that he would much rather be told “not bad, angel” with a poorly concealed smile.

The glimmer of pride, if it had ever been there at all, quickly turned into guilt.

He had traded Crowley for this?

Hastur sauntered into the bar with a slight limp.

Surprisingly, the bar wasn’t crowded at all, almost as if someone had put a sort of demonic miracle on it. Hastur grumbled approvingly, spotting Crowley as the lone figure at the counter, sipping whiskey directly from the bottle.

(He still couldn’t actually get drunk, of course, but drinking felt better than lying on his bed doing nothing.)

Hastur grabbed his shoulder.

“Crowley.”

Crowley looked at him.

“Hastur.” Crowley sighed. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Finally gotten free of your angel, eh?” Hastur did something that wasn’t smiling nor smirking, but communicated approval anyhow.

“Not mine,” Crowley mumbled into the bottle.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Crowley took a swig of whiskey. “You could put it that way. And?”

“Hell approves.” Hastur shrugged. “Everyone does. Angels are stupid asses. Hypocrites, the lot of them.”

“Sure,” Crowley replied.

“Yours in particular though,” Hastur added. “Satan, he was idiotic. Bookshop full of books that he doesn’t want to sell. He might as well be one of ours. Stupid name too, something long, Ezra something--”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley grit out.

“Yeah, him. What a preach. Lecturing about evil and good, as if he knows everything. What does he know? He just stuffs his face all day long like a human. No wonder he’s such a lard-ass--”

Crowley decked him, and Hastur flew across the room.

...

Hastur’s back slammed against a brick wall with a dull satisfying thud, and Crowley’s hands hung at his sides, as if they were sagging with the weight of what he had just done.

To put it simply, Crowley had two things on earth: Aziraphale and Hell, which had already put him into a number of quite strange situations, given that they were almost polar opposites of each other.

After Aziraphale rejected him, Crowley only had Hell, and logically, should’ve been demon-ing with all his might: knocking over kid’s ice cream cones, slightly nudging the letters on someone’s birthday cake so that they would be just asymmetrical, you know, evil stuff. He should’ve been training a band of mariachi maggots to sing for Hastur, Duke of WhateverTheFuckCrowleyDidn’tReallyCare, not striking him in the face.

But Satan was it satisfying.

The pompous Duke of Hell who had the nerve to insult his angel was lying on the ground before him, a large bruise blooming on his cheek. Anger still pumped through Crowley’s veins as he leered down at Hastur, feeling very much like he’d like to punch him again.

Gripping him by his collar, Crowley lifted Hastur in the air and threw him into the wall again. Just for good measure. He took a deep breath.

After being near Aziraphale for so long, he had forgotten just how woefully inadequate other demons’ company was in comparison.

On the bright side, Crowley thought to himself as he walked towards the exit. After what happened today, he wouldn’t very much have to worry about “other demons’ company” anymore.

A demonic miracle later, Hastur appeared in front of Crowley again, smug smirk on his face and amusement flickering in and out of his eyes.

To fully understand Hastur’s reaction, one had to understand two very important points.

1: When it was implied before that Hell left Crowley for the most part alone because of a mix of fear and respect from his holy water spectacle, it would be more accurate to say that it was because of a begrudging respect from fear. Hell respected the art of fear very much, and Crowley had instilled it into every demon who watched him bathe in holy water.

Fear, however, only worked when the one who fears thinks the one who is feared has no weaknesses.

2: Hastur wasn’t stupid.

“This is hilarious.” A maggot crawled out of Hastur’s smile.

“What is?”

“You fell in love.” Hastur leaned forward to Crowley’s ear. “With an angel.”

If it must be reiterated, Hastur was not quite the idiot Crowley had always played him to be. He may have seemed so, but that was simply because Crowley was a bit more clever than he played himself to be.

More importantly, Hastur had been demon-ing for far longer than Crowley had.

**A Common Misconception (known by Hastur but unknown to Crowley)**

Demons did not indulge in the seven sins; they simply convinced humans to do so. In fact, it was (or should’ve been) impossible for them to do so in the first place, as each sin was rooted in love, and demons could not love.

(Demons could sense the sins just as angels could sense love, and it was Crowley’s bit of wrath that gave him away.)

Crowley stiffened. He fought the (unnecessary) urge to breathe, as panic rose up his throat. Fear was about three hells of a poison, and Crowley was deeply cursing the fact that he didn’t have it in his serpentine fangs.

“You know Picasso?” Hastur looked directly at Crowley.

Crowley didn’t reply.

“One of ours, of course. I got to torture him for a few Hell millennia, and he told me something.” Hastur continued. “He said, ‘Every time I change wives I should burn the last one. That way I'd be rid of them. They wouldn't be around to complicate my existence. You kill the woman and you wipe out the past she represents.’”

“Wait,” Crowley interjected, sounding desperate.

“Now, Aziraphale, was it? Not a woman, but it’s the same either way, really.” Hastur shrugged.

“Look, aren’t you being a tad overdramatic? Aziraphale-- he’s, it’s not anything, really, you know. In fact, he told me that myself-- look, I’m sorry for striking you, but we’re mates, aren’t we? Demons of Hell, the lot of us, there’s no need to--”

“Ciao.” Hastur dipped his head a bit, and he was gone.

Shit.

....

Aziraphale got rid of Gabriel by sheer willpower, fake smiles, and a gentle bit of steadily nudging his “brother” to the exit.

Upon closing the door behind him, the angel savored the sense of relief and tried to ignore the loneliness that swelled beside it.

The empty couch, the crushing silence.

Overwhelming.

However, the small, but already far too long, interaction with Gabriel had led him to a decision. A decision, he realized, in which he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Aziraphale was, generally, a very reckless person. Sometimes, it could be called bravery. Other times, it could be called stupidity.

He was aware of this, and this awareness led him to ultimately decide that this was too important of an action to rush in with.

He had waited six thousand years. What was a few hours more?

Armed with a pen and a couple hundred flashcards, Aziraphale dived into work.

*A List of Things Aziraphale Realized While Writing Out a Series of Memories and Thoughts*

1.) He was an idiot.

2.) Crowley had confessed to him in his own way many times before (burning church, French Revolution, dinner at the Ritz for no reason), and Aziraphale had never noticed (refer to #1).

3.) He loved Crowley. (Well, he actually came up with that one sometime over the three weeks they’d been apart.)

4.) He really didn’t give a flying fuck (Yes, he had wrote that. Yes, he thought that Crowley would be very proud of him.) about Heaven or Hell, so long as he had the Earth and Crowley.

The moment he had firmly decided on the final point, Aziraphale heard the door slam open.

It was followed by a desperate-sounding, “Angel!”, and Aziraphale immediately turned around, making eye contact with a terrified looking Crowley.

He didn’t even have time to take in the demon’s eye bags and sunken face before Crowley beelined towards him.

Cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands, Crowley rubbed his thumbs over the angel’s cheekbones, as if trying to convince himself that he was there.

“Alright?” Crowley asked softly.

“What?” Aziraphale blinked, bewildered.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked again, firmer.

“Yes, of course, what are you talking about--”

Crowley hugged Aziraphale, crushing the angel’s body against his own (not unlike a snake, in fact). Confused, Aziraphale managed a small,

“Crowley...?”

The demon in question stiffened as if remembering something important. He immediately pulled away, shoving his hands in his pockets, and looking very much like he wanted to jump into a lake of holy water.

“Right. Sorry. Um.” He coughed into his sleeve. “Panicked, a bit. Couldn’t do any demonic miracles. Just a prank, probably, then. Just thought about... some stupid... thing--”

Said “stupid thing” may or may not have been the burning of the bookshop followed by the worst hours of his life.

“--so I just came over without thinking. Sorry. I’ll just-- I’ll just go.” He turned to face the door.

“No!” Aziraphale latched onto his hand. “Wait, just wait right there. I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale hurried to his desk, gathering his index cards, notes, and sticky notes, among all of the other 5,724 things on there.

It was the warmest he’d felt in a while. He’d missed the demon, so much more desperately than he thought he would have, and a single word, a single action from him was all it took to make the world feel alright again.

He’d missed being called “angel”.

Aziraphale flustered at the realization and stumbled, index cards managing to spread across the floor in a matter of seconds.

“What’s all this?” Crowley gestured to Aziraphale’s paper model of the Pacific Ocean on the ground.

“Oh, just give me a second, I’ll have it all sorted out in a minute.” Aziraphale was bent down on the ground, gathering all the cards into a small horde. “Gosh, where’s the last one?”

“Just use a miracle, angel,” Crowley said, exasperated.

For a second, things were normal again.

Crowley bent down to pick an index card up.

He glanced at it and flushed an alarming shade of red. Pushing his sunglasses up, Crowley covered his face with his right hand, the other holding the index card between his middle and pointer finger.

“Ah,” Crowley heard Aziraphale from the ground. “You, you picked up the last one.”

“...is it true?” Crowley murmured quietly, as if he was scared of the answer.

Aziraphale stood up, dragged Crowley up by the arm, and removed his hand from his face.

He stared directly into Crowley’s eyes and smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“I reckon it’s the truest thing I’ve ever written.”

Crowley smiled back.

“Lunch at the Ritz?”

“I thought you’d never ask, dear.”

And he meant the “dear” this time, Crowley thought blissfully.

“A reservation for two, under Anthony J. Crowley.”

The server beamed at them.

“Flowers?” The server offered.

“As many as possible, please.” Aziraphale replied.

“Sure, angel.” Crowley sighed.

“About goddamn time,” Hastur muttered from a table behind them.

“Were you the one who got them together?” A server asked from beside him. He startled, before relaxing.

“Drastic times called for drastic measures.” Hastur shrugged.

“Please let me give you some wine on the house.”

“Could you say I stole it? For my reputation.”

The server paused.

“Sure, sire.”

AN:

Thanks for reading! For earlier updates and other such things, my stories are on AO3 under the name CloudySonder!

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malereader-inserts · 5 years

Text

Times Like These

Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Crowley x Male!Reader x Aziraphale Summary: The aftermath of the biggest event that could have happened and they just missed that one important detail Word Count: 1,371 Request: “A poly Aziraphale and Crowley with a male reader, where after the bookshop burns the reader thinks they are gone because the checked Crowley’s apartment and he wasn’t there and it’s like super sad reader but they come back to the reader's apartment and it gets all fluffy?” A/n: I’m in this trash for Ineffable Husbands and you literally cannot force me to come out of this. So much content for these boys, I’m in love

This couldn’t be happening.

“You’re fucking with me,” You muttered to yourself, you couldn’t tell if you were in a sense of dread or a sense of panic, the emotions were so heightened you were starting to feel numb.

The bookshop was up in flames and your heart was beating rapidly as you tried to look out if they had found anyone inside. Sure, Aziraphale is an angel, but still, as a human, the worry is still brewing inside you. You had just missed Crowley too, who left the burning bookshop yielding a book.

“Please no,” You cried quietly to yourself, wiping away tears that started to fall as your eyes reflected the burning orange that was laughing at you, almost splitting sides funny at the cost of your misery.

You know your angel and demon had been busy for the past few days, and you’ve been pushed aside because something so important needed to be attended to as Aziraphale says - you didn’t mind at all, after all, anything that was work for Heaven and Hell was far more important than you, you think.

For all you know, that fire in Aziraphale’s bookshop could be hellfire and you wouldn’t be able to tell.

You rushed to Crowley’s apartment, maybe you could find him there. But it was empty and cold. You let out a shaky breath as you enter his office, the one that held his throne. You smiled to yourself softly upon seeing the beloved chair however you frown when you see no presence of your beloved demon.

In fact, all you see was a bucket and the thermal that was patterned tartan, and you knew what was stored in the thermal, it was on the floor with a small puddle. A breath was caught in your throat as tears started to sprout, you could hear Crowley sneering in the back of your head that you shouldn’t be crying for him.

Letting out a shaky breath, you leave the apartment, unable to process that you could have lost your two boys.

“I blew hellfire at that dickhead Gabriel,” Crowley snorted amused at his antics, “Would have done a lot worse, you shouldn’t be treated like that by him.”

Aziraphale reddens at his boyfriend's confession, feeling flattered as he takes a bite of his cake. The Ritz was a beautiful restaurant and the two always appreciate the place and its food is utterly divine, though the two does admit that the price was ludicrous.

“You don’t need to do that, my dear,” Aziraphale responds, his voice was soft but very touched as the blush still hadn’t faded away and his lips were in a permanent nature of upwards.

“Yeah, but no, but-” Crowley started spluttering as he leans his forehead against the palm of his hand, taking a moment before looking at his angel who was staring at him amused, “He’s a dick and they won’t be bothering us any time soon.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale nods, the fact that he didn’t have to worry about the big shots upstairs was very soothing to hear, at least, Aziraphale was able to relax with a good book with his two boyfriends in peace.

The two were now more thankful that they didn’t have to act so suspicious, they knew that you hated it and you felt like the two of them were more bodyguards than boyfriends as they were constantly looking over their shoulder if any of their sides were to appear and perhaps antagonise you.

“We’re on our side, Angel, just us and-” Crowley paused, his eyes widening and looking at Aziraphale, he looked confused before it hits him.

“Oh, dear, (Y/n) must be worried....” Aziraphale says in a state of hurry, worry lacing his words and suddenly he’s lost the appetite to eat.

“Worried?” Crowley hisses, “He’s probably freaking out, Angel, worried?”

“Yes, yes, dear, just-”

Crowley stands up abruptly as Aziraphale quickly pays for the food before following the demon, who was getting irritated by the minute at the workers being so slow. He was toe-tapping by the door as Aziraphale grabs him by the wrist to the Bentley.

Crowley goes fast, Aziraphale says nothing on the speed. He’s more concerned about you.

They’ve been radio silent and you had probably seen the mess at the bookshop. They went out for lunch after their supposed execution and didn’t even think about their adorable human boyfriend.

You try to think positive, there was a feeling in your gut that was indicating that maybe you’re lovable fools weren’t dead. They always say that you should trust your gut instinct, they’re usually right. And, you may have ignored that feeling more than you like to, and be proven wrong, so you’re hoping that

Your attempts to blocking nasty images were a book and some herbal tea. The tea would calm your nerves and the book would distract you. You sat on your sofa in your flat, leaning against the armrest with a pillow to rest your heavy head.

You sighed as your eyes slowly devoured the whole new world, slowly reading the words so it was longer for you to be distracted.

Meanwhile, the two supernatural entities were rushing up the many stairs of your flat complex that the two had to catch their breath at the top of your floor.

“For Heaven Sake, they should really install a lift here,” Aziraphale complains as he heads quickly to your door as Crowley mumbles profanities to the stairs whilst following his dearest.

Crowley really wanted to do was to bust the door down and all guns blazing style by kicking it down but on the way to yours, Aziraphale and he had a long heated conversation about that as the two enter your apartment with a crash.

They looked at each other when they heard silence, perhaps they weren’t so safe from their sides at all, worried that either Hell or Heaven had gotten you until you showed up, a book in one hand as you looked at them with wide eyes.

“You utter wankers!” You seethe as you marched towards them and start hitting them both with your book.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Crowley hisses, trying to swat you away.

“Dear, my-ow, my dear-” Aziraphale was trying to calm you down.

“You,” Smack, “Utter,” Smack, “Dickheads!” You screamed at them, putting your book down and taking a moment, they look at you wondering if you would attack again until you pulled them into a bone-crushing hug, “Never do that to me again.”

You hear Crowley chuckle in your ear as you feel both the angel and demon tighten their grips around you, as you buried yourself deeper within their embrace.

“Hey, we saved the world,” Crowley tries to explain as you whipped your head so quick you almost broke Aziraphale’s nose, the embrace breaking so carefully.

“Sorry,” You mumbled as Aziraphale smiles, tilting his head to the side and he was so happy to see you that he had closed his eyes as ruffles your hair, whilst your cheeks heated up.

“It’s okay, my love, we averted the apocalypse!” Aziraphale exclaims, happily, you looked into his dazzling eyes, “Shall we heat up the kettle and settle you down as we tell you the story?”

“Oh, we shouldn’t miss out what happened this morning.”

“What happened this morning?” You looked at Crowley, how mentioned it as Aziraphale looked at him.

“Well, we’ll get to that later,” Crowley chuckles nervously as he sees his angel narrow his eyes behind your back, maybe he shouldn’t induce you into a heart attack yet.

“Hm, alright,” You say, sceptically as you embrace them once more, “Before we start the story and get comfortable, can you promise me one thing?”

The two empyreal beings looked at you expectedly, you sighed as looked at them.

“Just, next time, tell me when you’re doing something so I don’t have to worry so much? That’s all I ask.”

“Awe,” Crowley says, in a teasing voice, “You got it (Y/n)!”

Crowley wanting to crush you in a hug as Aziraphale simple beams and nods excitedly, you were sure that he was about to give himself whiplash.

“You have our word, our love.”

#crowley x male reader x aziraphale #x male reader #good omens #good omens imagine #good omens x male reader

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