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hikarry · 1 year ago

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Some people asked me for a fanfic and, welp, your orders are my command. This is just a "quick" thing, not even sure it can be considered a fanfic, but what is done is done.

It's technically my first time writing a one-shot (or any type of proper fanfic, really) for Good Omens, so be nice. I'm sensitive and have a fragile heart.

Alas, welcome to the angst zone.

Crowley has heard Aziraphale's True Voice once and only once. Many many centuries ago. It was loud and spiky like nails in a chalkboard. A terrified and desperate yell that pierced through him like a sword. Ran through his bones like a sudden wave that punched the air out of his lungs. Never in all those centuries had he heard anything more disturbing than it.

He had been in Peterfield for a few weeks now, in the middle of a long job, tempting a priest into the pleasures of gluttony and the flesh. Both of them were in a tavern, debating religion in between glasses of wine when Crowley's head snapped up and he fell quiet, just like a dog when they heard a suspicious noise.

"Mr. Crowley?" Father Brown stopped sipping his glass and looked at his companion. "You've become pale all of a sudden, son. Are you feeling quite alright?"

The yell lasted less than a couple of seconds, but it was echoing inside his head. His body moved without his permission, and before he knew, he was on his feet, glass of wine half full tumbling on the table. His hands shaking beside him and his heart racing inside his chest.

Crowley had never heard anything like it, but he knew it was Aziraphale. He just knew.

"Mr. Crowley?" The priest tried again, this time also getting up, and just then the demon registered his presence again.

"Apologies, Father. I have somewhere else I need to be and I'm afraid It's getting late." Crowley pulled a couple of coins from his pocket and threw them on the table. "This one's on me. Shall we meet when I'm once again free?"

"Of course. You always know where to find me."

He nodded and tried to leave the tavern as fast as he could without running, slithering through tables and patrons until he reached the door. He hadn't brought a horse. Satan knows he despises those animals. Not very gentle on the behind, they are. But right now, he was in need of one, desperately so.

Last he heard, Aziraphale had been in Sussex meddling around with some noble family, so that's exactly where he was going to go. Father Brown could wait. It's not like Beelzebub gave him an expiring date. Even if they had, bless all of this. He could handle a week or two in a pit for failing the mission. His priority right now was the angel.

Crowley stole the first horse he saw and galloped in the general direction of Sussex. It would be a long ride, no under three hours, but he would do everything to get there - wherever "there" was exactly - as soon as he could. If he hears Aziraphale's True Voice once again in that state of agony, he might as well lose his mind.

To prove God was really against him, it started raining heavily halfway through the journey. Crowley brushed his hair back, away from his forehead, with one hand while the other held the reins. With all this, he hadn't brought his cape, and now both him and the horse were soaked to the bone and quite exhausted. If it wasn't for a few miracles, he was quite sure the horse would have stopped to rest a while ago.

He snapped, and an invisible shield covered them, keeping the freezing rain away. The road was turning into mud, which would slow them down considerably, but he had to keep going. There was no way in Heaven he would stop until he reached Sussex.

Through forests and small villages, they were like an arrow. Supernaturally fast and focused. His hands had somewhat stopped shaking, but his heart was still hammering, replaying the noise over and over again in his head. He had saved the angel before. For some reason, he was prone to get himself in a spot of trouble every 200 years or so, but the danger had never been enough to force his True Voice out. True Voices were only used in cases of extreme urgency. For humans, it sounded like a screech, but angels and demons could understand them. Something said in your True Voice was like a command, and yet Aziraphale hadn't said anything, he just yelled. Whatever it was that was happening could only be bad. Very bad.

When he finally crossed the line into Sussex, he pulled the reins to stop the horse. Looking around the forest, he pooled his senses to try and find Aziraphale's essence. The last thing he needed was Aziraphale not to be in Sussex anymore and for this trip to have been useless, but no. Right at the edge of his vision, there was the brightness he has been mingling with for millenia. Crowley pulled on the horse again and followed the angel's essence into the other side of the city, deep into the forest.

Both of them came to a stop at the mouth of what appeared to be a small cave. It was covered with some greenery, but nothing that could stop him.

Crowley dismounted and tapped the horse on the side of his neck for the good job, partly unconciously. With a hand, he pushed the greenery to the side and stepped carefully into the cave, the useless invisible shield breaking over him. He stopped for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the darkness and kept silent, trying to hear something. Anything. He was sure Aziraphale was here. His essence was very close, and he could feel his distress rolling out of him in waves. Crowley took some steps forward, as silently as possible, until he started hearing what sounded like multiple voices. He stopped, laying his hand against the wall of the cave, and tried to discern whatever they were saying, but the cave was making it difficult. He closed his eyes for a moment and reached with his senses once again. Indeed, there was the angel, and with him 8 demonic presences. Low ranking demons.

He took a deep breath, punching the wall. Whatever they had been doing to the angel to cause him to lash out with his True Voice, he was going to kill them.

No. Okay. If they were humans, yes, he wouldn't shy away from a little murder, but demons is a more tricky situation. If he attacked them, it would be suspicious. He had to figure out a way to send them packing without giving his hand away.

Another deep breath, and he kept moving, this time trying to make his steps echo on purpose. As he got closer, the voices got louder.

"Try again."

"It's useless! He's out of it, they won't come out!"

There was some light at the end of a tunnel to the left, and he followed it, the voices suddenly going quiet.

The scene he saw as soon as he turned the corner iced his blood and boiled his anger at the same time.

Aziraphale was pinned to the wall by some silver chains, his feet a few centimeters off the ground. His head was hanging down, and his shirt was shredded, soaked in red blood, just like his trousers and his blond hair. His corporation wasn't breathing. He was probably very close to discorporating and Crowley was running out of time.

"Here you are!"

The 8 demons turned towards him, their eyes widening somewhat comically.

"Crowley?" The smaller one muttered, taking a step back from the angel.

Crowley took a few more steps inside, approaching the group while pretending to look around, his hands behind his back.

"I heard some demons had invaded my territory." He looked up at Aziraphale, willing his heart to control itself. "And I've seen you've captured an angel."

"Yes. We've been tracking him for weeks." A woman shaped demon said, quite proud of herself, pointing at the angel. "Took us a while, but we managed to poison him so he would fall unconcious and brought him to the circle." Just then Crowley's eyes fell to the floor where, indeed, there was a circle drawn. He took a step closer, to inspect it. A circle to drain energy. With Aziraphale's sigil. They were really trying to kill him.

Crowley swallowed and closed his hands into fists. He had to control himself and get Aziraphale out of that circle soon. He had been there for over 3 hours, at the very least, and Crowley didn't know how much more energy he would have left to keep himself alive. This wasn't about discorporation anymore.

"You sound very proud of yourself." He finally looked at the demons, stopping between them and Aziraphale. "But I ask you: who ordered you to do this?"

"He's just a principality. It's not like there aren't plenty in Heaven to replace him. No one would miss him up there and, besides-"

The demon took a sudden step forward, taking the sunglasses away from his face and pinning all of them down with his yellow gaze, no white whatsoever to be seen there, pupils barely but a black thin line.

"I'm here, am I not?" When the demons didn't answer, he leaned forward, fangs growing on his mouth. The group took a step back. "This is my jurisdiction, and you have no permisssssion to be here." Another step forward, another step back from the group. "If someone is going to kill an angel, it's going to be me and not some lowly bottom of the barrel demons like you."

"But that's not fair! We had-" Crowley hissed and brought his hands to the side of his body, all his fingers morphed into claws, urging the demon talking to jump back.

"You're very mistaken if you think Hell issss fair." He looks at every single one of them. "Do you even have permisssssion to be upsssside?" The demons looked amongst themselves, but no one answered. "That'ssss what i thought." He took a final step forward, coming face to face with the closest of them. "Get the fuck out of here before I inform Beelzebub you uselesssss piecessss of flessssh have been sssscrewing around in my territory without permisssssion." Everyone stared at him, but no one moved. "NOW!" He yelled and the group trembled before being swallowed by the earth and disappearing.

Not losing time, Crowley walked the few steps that separated him from the angel and broke the circle with his boot, reaching up to the chains to free him, carefully using his own body to support Aziraphale when his limp corporation toppled forward.

With a snap of his fingers, he miracled a blanket and carefully lied Aziraphale on it, kneeling by his side to assess the situation. His wounds needed to be tended to but most of it was normal red blood. His nose and his mouth were the only ones running ichor, which wasn't a great sign. Crowley Looked at Aziraphale and was met with a less bright than usual light, but bright nonetheless. With a sigh, he let himself relax. Aziraphale was going to be fine. He just needed to rest while Crowley fed him some of his energy and get his corporeal wounds tended to. He would be fine. He wasn't too late.

Aziraphale was going to be fine.

But now here they were, centuries later, in the same position: Aziraphale laying unconcious on the floor of some basement in the middle of nowhere in Scotland and Crowley kneeling next to him, hovering his still figure with his hands on the angel's face.

Aziraphale had disappeared for a week and a half while he had gone back to London to check on the bookshop and Muriel and bring some more books to the cottage.

Crowley had searched for him everywhere as soon as he didn't come back home at dinner time, and after he went to check the bookshop where Muriel told him Aziraphale had never showed up.

He had used his senses to try and find him, but he could barely feel him. Something was masking his location, and this was driving him up the walls. After 2 years of pure peace and quiet, chaos had to follow them again? Was it Heaven again? Was it Hell? He didn't know, but he would tear them apart if any of them had anything to do with this.

Crowley had no other choice but to reach out to Anathema for help. With a map, a few herbs, one of Aziraphale's bowties, and a liquid that honestly smelled like a cadaver, she managed to pinpoint his location to a small town near the frontier with Scotland.

He didn't lose any time.

In the Bentley with Anathema and Adam (because both insisted on coming and he had no time to convince them it was a stupid and useless idea), he sped from Tadfield to that middle of nowhere as fast as demonically possible without discorporating himself and killing the humans. It took him roughly 5 hours and a lot of law breaking, but they eventually arrived and found a house in the middle of a village with a very weird and heavy aura, or so Anathema said.

After a couple of hours of observing, Crowley lost his patience and invaded the house, consequences be damned. If Anathema turned out to be mistaken, he would wipe the humans' memories out, but, by luck, she wasn't.

The house was the headquarters of some slimy cultists with a bit too much knowledge about supernatural forces and ambition. As soon as he stepped through the main door, he smelled the ichor, and his vision went red. He ran, following the smell and shoving anyone who tried to stop him out of his way.

He kicked the door of the basement open and that's where he found Aziraphale unconcious, laying on the ground in the middle of a summoning circle with two men around him.

Crowley hissed, and his wings appeared out of the eather. With a snap, both men were tossed against the wall with such brute force both fell unconcious.

"Angel!"

Just like all those centuries ago, Crowley almost ran to the angel and broke the circle with his boot, tossing himself onto the floor next to him. This time, there wasn't red blood anywhere, and his clothes were almost as pristine as always, but there was ichor running down his mouth, his nose, and his ears. Confused, Crowley looked around at the circle, and his eyes fell in a couple of markings that should not be in a normal summoning circle. They had turned it into a draining circle at some point.

Back in the 6th century, Aziraphale had only been inside the circle for around 3 hours, and he recuperated in less than a week. His corporations' wounds had been the biggest problem, really. Crowley had to play nurse to keep him from discorporating. But a week and a half? Satan knows what that would do to an angel's essence.

Before he could check, he heard steps coming down the stairs, and soon enough, four other humans showed up at the door. Crowley positioned himself on top of Aziraphale, knees and hands on each side of his body, allowing his fangs to grow on his mouth as he hissed and used his wings to cover the angel the best he could.

"A demon?" One of them said, giving a step back.

Before any of them could say anything else, Crowley watched as Adam and Anathema appeared at the door, the kid punching one of the man in the face and the Witch using a frying pan to knock another of them unconcious. With a wave of Crowley's hand, the last two remaining were tossed against the window and fell unconcious as well.

"Are you okay?" Anathema asked, stepping closer, and Crowley hissed, out of instinct.

Adam joined her, kneeling a few feet away from the demon.

"Aziraphale?"

Crowley looked down at the still unconscious angel, and his wings disappeared. Carefully, he kneeled on the other side of Aziraphale and finally Looked at him. Part of him wished that he hadn't because what he saw wasn't pretty. Aziraphale was barely a flicker of light, and he was flickering like anything. Crowley gasped involuntarily, and now here they were: the demon leaning over the angel, holding his face between his hands.

"What's wrong? Did they hit him?" Adam asked.

"No..." Anathema carefully leaned beside him. "They turned the summoning circle into a drain. They were draining Aziraphale's energy and essence and probably planning on using it to power up spells or rituals or something."

"Is that bad?"

They kept talking, but Crowley was not listening anymore. His heart was ringing on his ears and his whole body was shaking. It was very hard to breath at the moment. This bloody basement didn't have air enough.

"Angel?" Now, with his fangs also gone, he reached out with his demonic essence, but nothing reached back. Closing his eyes, he tried to poor some of his energy into the angel like he had done all those years ago, but the essence kept flickering, maybe even more than before. "No, no, no, no. Aziraphale, you bastard, don't do this to me." He opened his eyes again and shook him. "Wake up." Nothing. "Wake up!"

"Crowley-" Anathema tried to lay her hand on his shoulder, but he slithered away from her touch.

"Come on, Aziraphale. I didn't come all the way here for you to keep flickering!" He stopped shaking him for a moment, Looking once again. The light appeared to be slowly dimming. "Angel, it's okay. I found you. Just wake up so we can go home!" He kept pouring energy into him, both hands now grabbing handfuls of Aziraphale's waistcoat. "Aziraphale!"

"Is there something you can do?" Anathema looked at Adam, and Crowley's attention fell momentarily on him as well.

Adam shook his head.

"I don't have any more powers. And even if I did, I don't know if I could actually do something about an angel's essence."

Crowley held Aziraphale's clothes more tightly and looked back at him. He didn't know what to do. Giving him energy worked last time, but now it was doing close to nothing. Aziraphale couldn't be too far gone. He refused to believe that. They couldn't have stopped the Apocalypse and the bloody Second Coming for it to end like this. Because of some stupid humans.

Slowly, a few more drops of ichor fell from his lips, and his chest stopped rising.

Crowley held his breath as he felt moisture take over his eyes. This isn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't going to lose him like this.

"Aziraphale, open your eyes! Open your fucking eyes!" His True Voice slipped through and both Anathema and Adam got up with their hands on their ears, taking a few steps back. "I'm not going to lose you like this!" He pulled on his clothes, slightly lifting Aziraphale off the ground. "Wake up, Aziraphale!" He could feel the tears escaping from his eyes and running down his face, even under the glasses, but at the moment he didn't care. "Wake up right now!"

Suddenly, Aziraphale's eyes sprung open and the angel took a deep breath, coughing up some ichor in the process. Crowley quickly but carefully let his back lay on the ground again and leaned over him, both his hands on each side of his face. Adam and Anathema didn't move from where they were, watching from afar.

Aziraphale tried to talk but choked on ichor, and Crowley ran his thumb down his cheek, wiping some of the ichor from the corner of his mouth. It burned, but he didn't care.

"Don't speak, angel. It's okay." He leaned his forehead on the angel's and felt him pushing up to try and meet him halfway. "I found you. You're okay."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

Crowley looked up to the two humans that he forgot were still present for a moment.

They needed to leave this place and go back to the South Downs, but he was afraid if he let go of Aziraphale and stopped feeding him energy, he would lose him again. For that, he needed one of them to drive the Bentley so he could go on the back with Aziraphale, but...Crowley didn't like the idea of anyone else besides himself or the angel driving his car.

He looked back down at Aziraphale, his eyes now half lided, but clearly still trying to keep himself awake.

Crowley pulled the keys to the Bentley from the pocket of his trousers and tossed them to Anathena, who barely caught them.

"I need you to drive us back home. I'm going on the back with Aziraphale to try and keep him stable through the trip."

"Are you sure that's wise? Isn't there anything else we can do to make him somewhat bett-"

"If there was, I would be doing it right now, Book Girl!" He snapped, when he felt Aziraphale's hand on his forearm, squeezing it. He looked back at him before looking up at the woman once again. "Last time resting and sharing my energy with him solved it. I don't know what else could help."

"Maybe one of your books has a spell to speed up the process?" Adam asked.

"We will only know if we check." She swinged the keys on her finger. "Alright, let's go back to England then."

And so they did. The journey was somewhat uneventful. By now, it was the middle of the night, and Adam ended up falling asleep on the passenger seat. Aziraphale, laying in the back seat with his head on Crowley's lap, fought sleep as best he could, keeping his eyes open mostly for Crowley's sanity than anything else. He managed to talk somewhat at some point during the trip, saying Crowley's name, but the same told him, once again, not to talk while running his fingers through the angel's hair.

"You will be okay, angel. I promise."

And he did, almost 2 months later and after a lot of resting, energy sharing, and a couple of spells, courtesy of one Anathema Device. At the end of the day, it was quite the scare, but Aziraphale was once again strong and full of light, and Crowley intended to keep him that way.

#good omens fanfic #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #adam young #anathema device

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