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space-pot8o · 4 years

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Inspired by a post by @toedenandbackagain

The advertisements were how they found each other, every once in a while, when the world changed too quickly. The newspaper was the only form of media to remain consistent. There was just too many ways to communicate now, Crowley thought. He’d had a hand in creating the internet, and now the humans were so invested even he could barely keep up with it.

Of course, he had a cell phone, but Aziraphale didn’t. He’d already tried the bookshop’s landline to no avail. It was like the angel was allergic to any technology made after the mid-nineteenth century.

He paid the man at the newspaper stand, scooping up a paper and opening it to the personal adverts as he wound through the crowd. He barely needed to pay attention to where he was going; people just seemed to veer out of his way.

Halfway down the page, he found what he was looking for.

Angel will be feeding ducks at St. James’ Park on Monday at 10am. Company would be appreciated.

“Found you,” Crowley muttered. Or at least, he hoped. The last time he’d been wrong, it had been the most awkward of situations. It was… well, let’s just say there was a reason Crowley didn’t respond to adverts that fit his physical description anymore. Or those looking for an ‘evening companion’, as much as that sounded like a term Aziraphale would use. No, he only responded to ones that specifically said ‘Angel’ now. Less chancy.

Crowley glanced at his watch, the shimmery dark face reading quarter to ten.

“Perfect,” he murmured, snapping the newspaper shut and tucking it under his arm. Aziraphale might like to read it, he supposed. He also supposed that perhaps he should stop talking aloud to himself so much.

Thirteen minutes later, Crowley arrived at St. James’ Park. In the distance, on the bench where they usually met, sat a prim figure with a shock of light hair and a cream colored jacket. One side of his mouth drew back in a grin as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes on the ducks in the pond as he came up beside the bench.

“That one was a bit obvious, don’t you think, angel?”

“It’s Angela, actually.”

Crowley froze, turning to look at the person sitting on the bench, who was not in fact Aziraphale but instead an old lady with pinned up white curls and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh, I suppose I must have mistyped it when I was sending it into the newspaper. I just can’t get the hang of these computers.”

Crowley blinked, glancing around uncomfortably as the shock began to pass.

“I think I’ve answered the wrong advert,” he said, taking a step backwards.

“Oh,” the lady said, her face falling a bit. “Well you’re here, would you like to feed the ducks with me, anyway?”

Crowley hesitated. As disappointed as he was that it wasn’t his angel, there was something compelling about her.

“Well alright, I suppose,” he heard himself say as he sank down onto the bench beside her.

“Here you go, dear,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread from the bag beside her. He accepted it as she threw a handful of crumbs into the water.

“My best friend Peggy just passed away, you see, and feeding the ducks used to be a regular outing for us, especially as we got older. I only put the ad in the paper because I don’t have too many friends left and I’m just at such a loss without Peggy.”

She gave Crowley a sideways glance.

“It seems to me you feel the same way without whoever you meant to meet here, your angel, considering how disappointed you were to find me instead.”

Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug, shifting uncomfortably. She was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“The ducks seem to like you though, don’t they?” Angela continued. “Do you come here often dear? I swear they remember faces. They would certainly remember Peggy every time, though I think she was coming here to feed them long before we started coming together.”

She threw a bit more bread in the water.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She reached for her bag. “Would you like a sandwich, dear?” I brought an extra, it was always for Peggy, she was always running around and I swear she would never stop to eat unless I made her.”

She pulled out a paper-wrapped square, which Crowley accepted reluctantly. He would have refused, but there was something in the woman’s eyes that warned him against fighting too hard.

He unwrapped the paper, revealing a ham and cheese sandwich on good homemade bread. He took a bite to be polite, and Angela smiled.

“There’s a good boy. You’re quite a skinny one, aren’t you? You remind me of Peggy’s husband when he was young, only you’re much taller. Of course, that was before the war.” She trailed off, tossing another handful of bread to the eager ducks.

Crowley took another bite of the sandwich, surprising himself. Usually Aziraphale was the only one who could get him to eat.

“I just realized I never got your name, dear,” Angela said, turning back to look at him.

“Anthony,” he replied after a moment, deciding Crowley would be too hard to explain. “Though not many people call me that.”

“Oh yes,” Angela replied. “I know how that is. My given name is Angela, but I’ve never met someone who didn’t call me Angie instead.”

Crowley nodded. Nicknames were such a human thing, he thought. You have one name but everyone just calls you something else.

“Some people have called me Tony,” he said slowly, trying not to show his distaste. “You could call me that instead.”

Angie glanced over, her eyes shrewd.

“You don’t strike me as a Tony,” she replied. “Anthony suits you just fine, I think.”

Crowley relaxed a bit at her words.

“One of Peggy’s friends had a son named Anthony,” Angie continued. “Now he was someone better suited as a Tony. I always felt the name Tony was meant for a troublemaker, but that doesn’t seem like you at all. But young Tony, he can’t seem to stay out of trouble. I think he does it on purpose. No, you’re much too polite to be a Tony.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Where had this woman been for the last six thousand years? Under a rock? Crowley, polite. What a concept. Though, he supposed, Aziraphale would likely agree with her.

“My angel keeps telling me I’m a good person,” he said, tossing some bread into the pond. “I’m not inclined to believe it, though.”

“Why ever not?” Angie replied. “You seem perfectly nice to me.”

Crowley did his best to ignore the uncomfortable prickle her words sent over his skin.

“My job… it requires me to do some things, that most people would agree, do not make me a nice person.”

Angie was silent for a moment.

“And it’s not like I hurt anyone, of course not,” Crowley continued. “I just… inconvenience them.”

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” He jerked his head up.

“Does it bother you,” Angie repeated, “That you do these things? That some people might think you’re bad?”

Crowley blinked, truly stumped for the first time in four hundred years.

“I mean, it’s my job,” he replied. “It’s who I am.”

“Oh, psh,” Angie replied, waving her hand. “I can’t even count anymore the number of times I’ve had this very conversation with Peggy. Her job always had her doing these questionable, dangerous things. I’m not sure her employers cared about the means as long as she got to their end. It wore on her, too. But you are not defined by your job, you are defined by what you care about. Now I’ll ask you again, does it bother you?”

“I suppose it bothers me that I don’t feel like I live up to my angel’s view of me,” he admitted. And it was true. He never felt as good on the inside as Aziraphale seemed to think he was.

“Well then, there you are. Bad people, truly bad people, don’t care about being better. So from what you’ve just told me, that proves you’re not a bad person.

Crowley froze again as her words washed over him. Never, in all his time on earth or in hell, had he ever considered that. He still wasn’t inclined to believe her, but she said it with such conviction that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.

Angie glanced at him again, her gaze shrewd but soft.

“Surely if that’s what I see, your angel sees it too.”

It was all Crowley could do to nod.

They sat together a while longer, Angie telling stories about the trouble she and Peggy got into after the war. Crowley nodded and made the appropriate remarks required for polite conversation, and he found himself actually enjoying her stories.

All these years, he’d never bothered to connect with a human. They seemed so dull, and their lives were over so quickly. He hadn’t thought it was worth it. Besides, he had Aziraphale and that friendship was plenty for him.

About an hour later, their stock of bread was finally depleted. The ducks, of whom a great number had congregated on the water before them, began to disperse once they realized the supply of treats had run dry.

Angie dusted off her coat, watching the ducks swim away with a sigh. Crowley glanced at her, but her gaze was fixed across the pond somewhere in her memories.

“I know I wasn’t who you were hoping to meet,” she told him. “But I am glad to have met you. You’ve made me feel a bit less lonely just when the world was starting to seem big and empty. Thank you, Anthony, truly.”

He shifted in his seat.

“Well I suppose… well, I could meet you here again. If you’d like.”

“I would,” Angie said, her blue eyes misty as she gave him an enormous smile. “Same time next Monday?”

Crowley gave her a nod, stretching out his legs as she stood.

“Goodbye, Anthony. See you then.”

He watched her totter off down the path until she was out of sight, then turned back towards the water. What an odd turn of events, he thought. What she’d said to him ran through his mind as he sat there, waiting to see if perhaps his angel would still show.

For the next seven Mondays, without fail, Crowley would meet Angie at the park to feed the ducks and listen to stories about her life. She enjoyed talking about her adventures with her friend Peggy more than anything, which Crowley was surprised to find sounded a lot like some of his adventures with Aziraphale; In particular, one dicey evening involving a church, some German spies, and a few rare books.

One morning, on the eighth Monday in fact, Crowley was early. He sat on their usual bench, waiting for Angie to appear around the corner, when he felt a presence beside him. He turned his head slightly to the right, just enough to see a flash of cream coat, and his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Hello, Angie,” he said, turning his eyes back to the pond.

“Hello, my dear Crowley.”

Crowley froze. He knew that voice, and it certainly wasn’t Angie.

“Trying out a new nickname, are we?”

He whipped his head around to see Aziraphale standing there, looking ethereal in the morning light.

“Er, no,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I was walking by and I saw you sitting alone. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, angel,” he replied, the words coming out a bit harsher than he intended. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t really want to tell Aziraphale about Angie.

“Alright,” Aziraphale replied, his face falling the tiniest bit. “I’ll leave you be. I’ll be at the bookshop later, if you feel like catching up. Perhaps we can get a bite to eat.”

“No wait, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go,” Crowley straightened abruptly, catching Aziraphale’s sleeve.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Sit down, angel.”

Aziraphale took a seat beside him, settling in as he always did.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright?” He asked again, glancing at Crowley worriedly.

“I’m fine, I told you. I just come here sometimes to¬—”

“Anthony! There you are.

Crowley’s adrenaline spiked again as he turned to see Angie making her way up the path towards them.

“I see you’ve brought a friend today. I wish you would have warned me so I could have made an extra sandwich. Here’s yours, by the way— honestly, do you live on air, Anthony? You’re still so skinny.”

She paused for breath and handed him the paper wrapped sandwich.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Angie,” she said as she took her seat on his left, reaching out her hand to Aziraphale.

He shook it, his expression still dumbfounded as he glanced back and forth between the two of them.

“Angie, this is my friend, Aziraphale,” Crowley told her.

“A.Z. Fell? Oh, you own that lovely little bookshop in Soho, don’t you? I’ve been meaning to stop in there for ages, but it never seems to be open when I drop by.”

Crowley could sense Aziraphale relaxing at the mention of the bookshop, and he let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Here you go, Anthony dear, I daresay these ducks have waited long enough,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread.

He threw some in the water, handing a piece to Aziraphale as well.

“Oh, here comes that swan again,” she told him, throwing bread in the opposite direction from where the white monstrosity was silently gliding towards them.

Aziraphale tossed his crust of bread towards it, and the giant bird slowly began to sink. He jabbed Crowley in the side with his elbow, and the swan resumed bobbing on the surface.

“You know, two weeks ago that naughty bird came right up and stole my bread bag right out of my hand. Anthony jumped right up and tried to get it back, and the poor dear almost fell in the pond! It was quite a sight, though, to see him fighting a swan in the middle of St. James’ park.” She let out a laugh. “But he’s always doing such nice things like that, he chased my hat when it flew away and he’s always helping me around puddles and such.”

Crowley sank a bit lower in his seat, his ears reddening as he saw a small smile of amusement on Aziraphale’s face.

“Cr—Anthony is such a nice person, I tell him all the time but he doesn’t believe me,” Aziraphale replied, casting a kind look at Crowley, who was presently trying to sink through the bench and the ground and down to somewhere he could escape this embarrassment.

He shot an irritated look at Aziraphale, who simply smiled back.

“Oh that reminds me, Anthony, I brought this for you,” Angie said, reaching into her bag to pull out a long, cream colored scarf. “It’s getting colder every day and you’re all skin and bones, you must get dreadfully cold and I don’t want you getting sick.”

Crowley took the scarf, reluctantly looping it around his neck. Aziraphale’s amused smile returned as Crowley shot him a look— one he knew the angel would understand even if he couldn’t see his eyes, that dared him to say anything about it.

Of course he wouldn’t get sick, but he wasn’t going to tell Angie that, nor was he going to hurt her feelings. She continued telling stories and Crowley began to relax as Aziraphale joined in the conversation. He smiled, thankful that the worst of the awkwardness had passed. He threw a handful of bread to the ducks, only half paying attention to the conversation for a few minutes until Angie leaned forwards a bit towards Aziraphale, reaching over to pat his perfectly manicured hand.

“I’m so glad he finally brought you to meet me, my dear. Of course, he’s told me so much about his angel I feel as though I know you already.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale, though he was sure the angel’s smile mirrored Angie’s.

“Ngh,” he said, crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably, wishing very much in that moment that he was elsewhere.

“Oh, you’re just like Peggy,” Angie chastised. “She was always so easy to rile. Very well, I’ll leave it alone if only so you stop looking like you’re trying to hide inside yourself. Here, feed the ducks some more.” She handed him another piece of bread, which he accepted.

“But really, Mr. Fell, you’ll have to tell me more about this knitting club. I could always use more good friends like Anthony.”

Aziraphale obliged as Crowley sat and listened, nodding and replying every once in a while as would be polite in a conversation between friends. The three of them sat happily on that sunny Monday morning and fed the ducks, as they did on every Monday that came after.

#good omens #good omens x marvel #fanfiction #feeding the ducks #I added a link to my wattpad on the off chance you’d like to see more of my writing

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banrionceallach · 4 years

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Reverse AU Crowley/Harry Omens Short

This will only make sense if you’ve read both my main fic and my scraps on AO3. Posting it anyway.

Raphael is still here.

He is still here and he keeps smiling at Aziraphale all the time.

Aziraphale keeps smiling back.

Crowley hates it.

He is not jealous, he tells himself, as he watches Raphael sit on a couch in the back of the bookshop. Raphael is currently pouring over an arcane text that Aziraphale thinks might solve the ‘angel from an alternate universe’ problem.

Crowley has known Aziraphale for six thousand years. He has argued and dined with and gotten drunk with the angel innumerable times. They’re best friends. Aziraphale walked into hell for him and sassed Michael into the bargain. He knows Aziraphale loves him. They are raising (another) child together, for Someone’s sake. Some alternate universe angel is not going to change that.

Even if he is basically a better version of Crowley.

Stupid angelic tosser. With his stupid round pupils and his stupid white wings and his stupid long braided hair that Aziraphale spent a whole minute complimenting after lunch.

( It is just possible that Crowley is trying to grow his hair out as quickly and discreetly as possible.)

Currently Crowley is alone with the Archangel Bloody Raphael, because the aforementioned child that Crowley and his angel are raising together had a sleepover with the former antichrist and Aziraphale has gone to Tadfield to pick him up and also consult the local witch on their Alternate Universe Angel problem. Normally picking up Harry from a friend’s house is something Crowley does in the Bentley, but today the knowledge that that would have left Aziraphale alone with Raphael for over an hour had made him strongly suggest that Aziraphale should go, and use the opportunity to consult the witch.

Crowley really hopes Book Girl has something. He doesn’t know how much more of the archangel’s presence he can take without jumping across the room and trying to claw his stupid perfect eyes out.

He notices the other red-head has put down his book and is looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“What are you looking at?” he demands.

Raphael shrugs innocently. “I was just surprised you didn’t go to Tadfield instead of Aziraphale.” He waves a hand at the piles of esoteric text cluttered around the room. “It would have been more efficient for you to bring Anathema here while we continued to research, wouldn’t it?”

“Leaving Aziraphale alone with you?” Crowley snaps, with rather more honesty than he prefers. “Not likely!”

Raphael arches a fine auburn eyebrow. “Are you always this possessive?” he asks and damn him, there is actual genuine concern in his tone. Who is he to be concerned about Aziraphale? He has his own version, yes? That he should be wanting to get back to? A tiny part of Crowley still doubts that. He can’t imagine a demon Aziraphale, can’t imagine Aziraphale Falling.

It hurts to think about.

“Possessive?” Crowley sputters, wrenching his mind away from the possibility of a horrified spiral into guilt. “I am not!”

And the thing is, he isn’t. Not usually. But of course, it occurs to him, it’s been rather easy to not be possessive when he can be safe in the knowledge that no one else on the planet has a hope of competing for Aziraphale’s affection. Not humans, not other demons, definitely not other angels.

Except now, there is another angel. An angel who never fell, still bathing in Her favour. With Crowley’s face. And, key point, without the more demonic attributes caused by the Fall.

He is polite and gentle and exudes a puppy-like bouncy enthusiasm and he keeps smiling at Aziraphale and Crowley hates everything about him.

“Really?”

“Really,” Crowley snaps back, baring his fangs. “I am concerned for his safety. For all I know, this could still be some trick by Above and Below to attack us. You could be in on it.”

“You really are very suspicious, aren’t you?” Raphael says, grinning like Crowley has just said something amusing.

“Demon,” Crowley snaps. “Goes with the job description. Suspicious, sly, evil demon.” He notes with satisfaction that his blunt reference to his status makes Raphael go pale and twitch slightly. Good.

“You’re not that demonic,” Raphael says softly after a moment, giving him a considering look. “I think Azirafell is worse. Better, I mean. At demoning.”

This is too much.

Crowley snarls and surges to his feet. “I,” he hisses, “am the Serpent in the Garden. The Fall of Man? Humanity exiled from Eden never to return? That was me. For six-thousand years I was Hell’s favourite demon. Don’t go thinking I am soft!”

Of course, it’s at this moment that Harry runs into the room, having just got back from Tadfield. “Dad! Dad! Is it true?”

Crowley draws his fangs back in so fast there’s an almost audible click. “Is what true?”

Harry is about to reply when he spots Raphael. Raphael stares at him, wide-eyed. Harry stares back, fascinated.

“Wow,” the nearly-thirteen-year-old breathes. “You really do look just like Dad! Weird!” Then Harry frowns. “Why don’t you have the cool eyes, though?”

Crowley flips from cursing Harry’s sense of timing to grinning widely. He and his angel have the Best Son. Objectively. It is fact.

Raphael makes a strangled noise. “Dad?” he manages to wheeze, still staring at Harry.

They had not mentioned Harry up until now as a precaution. Just in case Raphael was part of a plot against them. Watching Raphael almost choke in shock, Crowley is extra glad they’d not mentioned the young wizard.

He still has to squash the urge to snap ‘yes, this is our son’ in his most smug tone of voice. Crowley loves Harry and is not under any circumstances going to use him to score against the annoying stupid archangel who will be punted back to his own universe as soon as possible.

So instead he just waves, wiggling his fingers insouciantly at the Archangel. “That’s me.”

(It’s also Aziraphale, as well as James Potter, sadly deceased. People who start talking to Harry when he mentions his father soon learn to be alert for context clues.)

Raphael coughs, clearing his throat. “You’ve . . . adopted a child?” he says weakly.

“That’s right,” beams Aziraphale, who has just walked into the room behind Harry.

“Stole,” Crowley corrects. “We stole him. Evil, remember.”

“More like rescued,” says Harry, the little traitor. Raphael gives him a watery smile.

It turns out that (to Crowley’s great relief) Aziraphale has brought back a way to get Raphael home. Unfortunately, the ritual to do it takes hours to set up.

Raphael spends most of that time trying not to stare at Harry. He doesn’t really succeed.

Eventually, since they are now guaranteed to be archangel-free very soon, Crowley grudgingly explains how Harry came to be living with them.

Raphael is appalled.

“What do you mean, this headmaster knew and just left him with those people for ten years?” he hisses, his golden eyes narrow with outrage.

“He’d convinced himself that the blood ward was the only resort,” Aziraphale explains.

“Bullshit,” snaps Raphael and for a second Crowley almost likes him.

“Quite,” Aziraphale says. “We were less than happy with the state of affairs ourselves.”

“No kidding,” the archangel mutters. Right,” he says decisively. “Is that circle ready to get me home? I need to take a quick trip to Surrey. Just to check on something.”

It is possible, Crowley thinks, as Raphael steps into the circle and disappears in a flash, that the archangel will find that there is no alternate Harry. Or perhaps there’s no alternate Voldemort. Or Dumbledore. Who knows?

***

Harry Potter, aged almost thirteen, ran from Number 4 Privet Drive, his suitcase and his owl’s travelling cage thumping beside him. His could feel his heart jumping in his chest. He had never been so angry in his life. Why had he listened to Aunt Marge? Why hadn’t he done the smart thing and excused himself to the loo when she’d started to talk?

What was he going to do now?

A noise and sudden light, caught his attention. It was a car, approaching fast. When it reached Harry, it skidded to a stop. He backed away, fumbling for his wand.

Then the passenger’s window rolled down, and a man’s head emerged. “Hello,” the man said in a cheerful voice. “Harry, isn’t it?”

Harry gasped and backed away further.

“Look,” said the man, “I don’t normally get involved in these things, but my friend here” – he waved vaguely towards the driver, a man with long waves of red hair- “seems to think you need help.” The man squinted at Harry. “And from the looks of it, he’s right.”

An enraged roar, familiar to Harry, echoed out of the night.

Uncle Vernon, furious and getting closer.

“Alright,” said the driver, speaking for the first time, “that’s enough of that.”

Harry heard the sound of clicking fingers and suddenly found himself in the car’s back seat with Hedwig’s cage next to him. His seatbelt had already fastened itself. The big black dog, which he’d almost tripped over earlier, was sitting on the car floor and looking extremely puzzled.

“Really dear,” said the man in the passenger seat to the driver as the car sped off, Vernon Dursley’s furious shouts receding into the distance “Did you have to bring the dog too?”

“Yep. He’s a good dog.”

Harry swallowed and finally managed to speak. “People will come looking for me,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

The man in the passenger seat smiled at him. “Well I do hope so, my boy.” He nodded towards his friend. “Raf here is quite keen to give Albus Dumbledore a piece of his mind.”

#Good Omens #Harry Potter #Reverse Omens #Crossover crossover #because it makes me happy

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - Epilogue

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Aaand we finally made it to the end! Which is a beginning in many ways. How is it going to go? Beats me, but it probably won't be boring. Also yes, I am just posting a Christmas-themed chapter right before Easter. So sue me. I had a blast writing this one - hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing!

***

“Unionize Hell. You’re telling me we should unionize. Hell.”

“Well, it would be a first step towards giving you some bargaining power. Once demons begin seeing Satan as someone you can bargain with through the sheer force of numbers, it will be easier to convince them they can decide to walk away.”

“This is the single dumbest idea I have ever heard coming out of your mouth.”

Sitting beside Gabriel, Michael stiffened and glared daggers across the table. “If this is how you believe you can address us, we may as well end the meeting--” she began, only to trail off when Gabriel grinned, resting an elbow on the table and leaning his chin on the palm of his hand.

“That’s blatantly untrue,” he said, still smiling at Beelzebub. “You’d ve heard dumber by far.”

The prince of Hell’s lips curled upwards for the briefest moment. Michael shifted a little on her seat and glanced over at Dagon, who just so happened to be sitting beside Beelzebub for the meeting. She met her gaze briefly, but it was enough for Michael to know she was not the only one to be mighty uncomfortable at the turn Gabriel and Beelzebub’s formerly entirely professional relationship had taken. That was an odd sort of relief.

Unaware of their second-in-command’s discomfort, or just blatantly ignoring it, Beelzebub let out a thoughtful, buzzing sound. “... Hmph, I suppose I have. But I am ready to be you are not inclined to have the Heavenly host unionize.”

“Ah, actually,you’d lose that bet. We have given the go-ahead.”

The Lord of the Flies blinked. “... You have?”

“Yes. It worked out for my friends back in Southampton, so I figured, why not Heaven?”

Michael briefly wondered if she was supposed to remind Gabriel that Heaven was not precisely the same as a port city on England’s south coast, but in the end she decided against it. She was a warrior, had always been, but a good warrior knows how to pick battles and that was not the hill she was ready to, figuratively speaking, die on.

Across the table, Beelzebub raised an eyebrow while waving away a few fies “And God is not displeased?”

Gabriel shrugged, leaning back on his seat and spreading his arms a little. “I have not been fired yet, and I am taking it as a good sign. I suppose it may create a precedent for angels to leave, if so they wish, on more amicable terms than you did. And possibly with some severance. Who knows, perhaps if you had formed a union in the first place instead of going immediately for full-on rebellion--”

All right, they got sidetracked far enough. “Gabriel,” Michael spoke up.

He cleared his throat. “Right, yes. Apologies. Never mind the past. What I am saying is, it might be a viable path forward now - for beings on either side. Do give it some thought.”

“Mmh.” Beelzebub crossed their arms, leaning back against their seat with a foot braced against the table. To Michael’s surprise - and to Dagon’s utter bewilderment, it seemed - they seemed to be truly giving it some thought. “I suppose that perhaps, this does fall into the ‘so dumb it might just work’ caregory. And it’d make Hell worse for Reagan and Thatcher. I will consider it.”

“Very well. I do believe that concludes the meeting.” Gabriel said, and smiled. He’d been smiling an awful lot throughout the meeting, and not the kind of insincere business-like smiles he would usually sport on such occasions.

No, Michael thought, not usually. Before.

“Actually, there’s more we need to discuss,” Beelzebub said, standing. “Privately, if possible.”

“Ah, of course. Right this way. You’re all right wrapping this up, Michael?”

Trying with all her might not to wonder about their private discussion, Michael nodded mechanically. “Of course,” she droned, and busied herself picking up papers once they were gone, trying to ignore the demon who was very much not gone.

“... For the record, the cold shoulder treatment only works if the one receiving it cares about getting the cold shoulder,” Dagon spoke up after a few minutes, filing papers away in a folder she had seemingly summoned out of thin air. “And I do not care.”

And yet you had to remark on that.

Michael let out a snort, choosing not to argue. She hadn’t been trying to remember the being they had known before their rebellion and Falls, or at least not as hard as Gabriel probably wished her to - Sandalphon and Uriel were fairly ahead of her there - but she did have the uncomfortable sensation she had known Dagon, whatever she was called before, quite well.

Awkward, considering she was rather certain it had been her to cast her out.

“Have you had any success in tracking down the Duke of Hell?”

“Hell has a great many Dukes. You will need to be more specific.”

“I believe there is only one who is currently a fugitive,” Michael said, her voice sharper. “Hastur. The one who kille-- who almost-- sort of killed Gabriel.”

“... We lost him somewhere around Alpha Centauri, but I am certain we will catch up with him eventually.”

“Are you always this inefficient?”

“I mean, you’re welcome to try catching him yourself,” Dagon snarled, snapping the folder shut. It seemed the perfect moment for her to disappear in a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, but she did not; rather, the Lord of the Files seemed to hesitate. Michael had just enough time to wonder if she may have remembered something from before that Michael did not before she finally looked up and spoke again.

“All right, since we are suddenly supposed to have opinions now, what do you really think of this… entire… thing?”

“You mean, Gabriel and Beelzebub’s plan?”

“Calling it a plan seems more generous than I’ve ever known you to be.”

That was true, Michael had to concede. When she had tried asking Gabriel if there was a plan they should know of, he’d only replied that he was ‘sort of winging it’. It certainly was a complete u-turn from how things used to be, but if he had been brought back and… not yet cast out again over his unorthodox involvement with Beelzebub, there had to be a reason.

Perhaps whatever he had learned in his time on Earth would be the key to everything. After what she had done to him by blindly following orders, Michael was willing to heed his words now, and so were the others. If it turned out to be a mistake, they would face whatever consequences there may be as one. Never again would she lift a sword on her friends.

“... No, it is not a plan,” she finally said. “I suppose it is more of a leap of faith.”

“Faith in what?” Dagon made a face. “In God?”

Michael did not take the bait. “More in our own ability to figure things out, I suppose.”

“That’s the sort of thing humanity is all about,” the Lord of the Files muttered, and blinked when Michael let out a brief laugh.

“Well, perhaps that is precisely the point. Try being more human.”

“... Have you hit your head? From the beginning of everything, it has always been human who tried to become more like u--” she trailed off, wrinkling her nose as though she had just sunk her fangs into a lemon. “You. More like you. And from the beginning, you have encouraged that.”

“Maybe that is where we went wrong after all.”

A pause. “Are you seriously suggesting it should be you-- us-- to lower ourselves into being more like them? Really?”

“Well. It is what Yeshua did, and perhaps it was a lesson meant for us,” Michael shrugged, and tuned to the door. “After all it was humanity, and not us, to be made in God’s image.”

***

“Oh, look at that. Another wedding invitation.”

“Shadwell and Madame Tracy?”

“How did you guess?”

“They made it abundantly clear during Anathema and Whatshisface’s wedding reception.”

“Ah, fair. Do you think they’ll allow us to take Warlock to their wedding as well? He got on well with the Them, and Madame Tracy has surely invited those children.”

“Can’t see why not. Are you sure they meant to invite us?”

“This is marked for the Serpent of Eden and the Southern Pansy.They did mean to indeed.”

“No clause against witches?”

“Oh, there is. It is to be a witch-free wedding. The only exceptions to the rule are dear Anathema, Adam, the two of us, and the bride herself.”

“You’d think that by now he would have noticed she only has two nipples.”

“Don’t be crass, dear.”

“Fine, fine. Do you think he’ll ever stop thinking we’re witches?”

“Unlikely. And I am not particularly inclined to disrobe and let him count nipples.”

A hiss. “Old fool.”

“An old fool who managed to swindle both of us for a few decades.”

“... Don’t remind me.”

Aziraphale chuckled, and settled more comfortably in his armchair, setting aside the letters to pick up a book. Wrapped around the back of said armchair, the Serpent of Eden leaned his head on top of Aziraphale’s own. He tended to enjoy inhabiting that form, Aziraphale had found out, when the weather outside was cold and the fireplace was lit.

Amazing, how many more little things about Crowley he’d found he didn’t know, after so many centuries of… acquaintance. Sharing a home with someone really did lead to a lot of interesting discoveries. For one, he could now see the appeal of laying in a bed and hallucinating behind closed eyelids for a few hours.

“I could make my entrance in a cloud of Hellfire,” Crowley muttered, tongue flicking against Aziraphale’s hair as he reached to pick up a book.

“I suspect giving the groom a heart attack would put a damper on the wedding.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

“No, Crowley.” Aziraphale reached up to scratch the scales on Crowley’s side.

He hissed again. “Spoilsport,” he said, but he leaned into the touch all the same.

“Heh. Either way, we have plenty of time to make plans for the wedding, whereas Christmas is around the corner. Do you have anything in particular in mind, Crowley?”

“You do realize demons don’t really celebrate the birthday of your boss’ son, right?”

“Ah, I suppose that’s fair. But I wouldn’t mind a quiet evening in, perhaps bake some cake,” he said, faintly wondering whether Crowley would object to mistletoe.

“Oh. Well, then I could help with the tasting, I guess. And-- wait. There are presents, right? Do you want presents?”

A chuckle “I am rather content as is, but thank you.”

“Ah. Of course,” Crowley seemed to stammer, which was no mean feat considering he currently had a mouth whose anatomy was not meant to utter words in the first place. His head slipped lower, and ended up resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “... You wouldn’t happen to know anything about whatever Heaven’s planning, would you? Things have been… quiet.”

“Not at all. Nor you have the foggiest idea as to what Hell is on to, I’m guessing?”

“Nothing whatsoever. I think I’ll wish them luck and keep it this way.”

Aziraphale smiled, took a sip of wine, and opened his book. “My thoughts exactly,” he said.

When he tilted his head to rest his cheek on top of his head, Crowley did not protest.

***

Did you throw out another of your angels?

Not to my knowledge?

You must have. Someone just got through all layers of Hell all the way down to Satan’s lap. Sliding down a pole and singing. What the Heaven is going on up there?

Let me check with Uriel.

***

“Uriel?”

“Yes?”

“Are you aware of any angels being cast out? Beelzebub insists someone just got there, and I quote, ‘sliding down a pole’.”

“We have cast out no one. Their security must be really lax. Didn’t they have a similar problem with a poet from Florence at some point?”

“I don’t think that one came in sliding down a pole, but fair.”

***

I can confirm we cast out no one. Must be a mortal.

Wonderful, more paperwork and security checks. Thanks for checking, I guess. At least he seems to be keeping Satan distracted from anything we do.

Dare I ask how?

Don’t.

All right. Have you changed your mind about coming with me to the Christmas party?

Absolutely not. But I will meet you afterwards for carnal relations.

Are you aware that it does not count as a sin and therefore it is not the middle finger to God you think it is?

Are you saying you’re not interested?

No. Usual place?

Usual place. Don’t be late.

I wouldn’t dare, Gabriel wrote with a smile, and his finger lingered over the send button for a few moments. I love you, he almost wrote, but he did not and in the end he just sent out the message as it was. Beelzebub would have found it both saccharine-inducing and redundant, and for good reason. There was no need to spell it out, really.

They were both very much aware of it.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for usual celebrations?”

“Rather certain, yes. My former colleagues on Earth invited me to join them so long ago, it would be rude for me to cancel on them.”

“Yeshua might actually show up this year.”

“Ah, I am doubtful. He never did attend his birthday party, did he now?”

That was true, although not something any of them had really felt entitled to comment on. Sandalphon knew that Gabriel had taken it… not quite as a slight, but close enough. After all, the celebration was about a birth whose annunciation he was most widely known for.

Now, on the other hand, he seemed too taken with the idea of celebrating it on Earth to be bothered in the slightest. “... I suppose he didn’t,” Uriel conceded. Gabriel closed the drawer with the last of his work for the calendar year, straightened his tie, and smiled.

“Why don’t you come with me? You could use getting to know more humans, too.”

Both Michael and Sandalphon blinked. Uriel raised an eyebrow. “To celebrate Yeshua’s birthday on Earth with them?”

“Why not? I am sure they won’t mind if I bring some friends. And you could use a break, Uriel. You’ve been working on reorganizing the lower spheres for months now.”

“You know I do not get tired,” Uriel informed him, but she was already glancing over at Michael and Sandalphon.

In the end, it was Michael to shrug. “I suppose,” she finally said, “it would be interesting to see how the celebrations have changed since last time I took a look. They were not precisely cheerful, back then.”

“... When was the last time you did check?”

“Sometimes in the mid-fourteenth century,” she replied, and Gabriel laughed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Ah,” he said, “I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”

***

“... And this is why it’s either panettone or pandoro, and anyone claiming not to take a side is coward and a liar, and--”

Fabrizio rambled on, clearly rather satisfied to have finally found an attentive listener in Sandalphon, and Gabriel chose not to interrupt him. Somewhere at the other side of the room, Łukasz was staring in absolute disbelief as Uriel drank the twenty-second shot in a row without seemingly feeling any effects, and he might just be starting to fall in love.

As he stepped towards the door and passed by a table, Gabriel chuckled. “Go easy on them,” he muttered, and Michael just raised an eyebrow at him, effortlessly beating yet another warehouse worker at an arm wrestling match. In the end, Gabriel decided that as long as the only thing getting bruised were egos, there was no reason to intervene.

He stepped outside into a cold, clear night. No comet in the sky, but he had felt a pull to come out all the same. He let his gaze wander down the street and there it was - a shadow crouched in an archway, barely illuminated by a street light and covered in blankets as he tried to keep warm. Somehow, the blinking lights of Christmas decorations on the building made the figure seem even more lonely. And that wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do at all - especially not that night.

“Excuse me,” Gabriel called out, approaching the man. “Would you like to come inside? It is quite cold, and my friends and I are having a party - I am sure they wouldn’t mind.”

The man looked up. He had long dark hair tied back in a ponytail to reveal dark brown eyes, and his features were just barely illuminated by the street light - but it was enough for Gabriel to trail off, taken off guard. The man smiled.

“Thank you for your offer, Gabriel. I think I’ll take you up on this one.”

Ah. Well. It made sense, come to think of it. He’d always been original like that. Past the initial surprise, Gabriel straightened himself and smiled. “Any particular name I ought to call you by tonight?”

“In this time and age, Joshua will do. It's nice to see you guys paying more attention to humanity. I look back fondly on my first lifetime among them. Most of it at any rate,” Yeshua added, and stood. He straightened his back with a groan. “Ow, my spine.”

Gabriel was unable to hold back a chuckle. “Is this how you’ve been spending your birthday for the past two-something thousand years?” he asked. Until not too long ago, he would have been offended by the notion. Now he felt rather foolish for not having thought of it.

“More or less. No offense, but I enjoy Earth. Corporate events were never quite my thing.”

“None taken. I hope your mother is well?”

“The one who cast you out of Heaven, or the one who hit you in the head with a clay vase?”

“... The latter.”

“Ah, yes. She is very well. Still rather sorry about the incident, but maintains you should have knocked if you didn’t want a vase to your head.”

“That’s… understandable. But we have amended records to omit that part, so no harm done.”

“I am aware. So, is there anything I may do to thank you for your hospitality tonight?”

“... Do you still do the thing with the water and wine? Because I believe we’re running low.”

A laugh. “Ah, yes,” he said, slapping a hand on his shoulder as they headed back inside. “I think that can be arranged.”

***

Somewhere, Crowley is losing his entire MIND over the fact this guy got to use a pole on his way in.

#good omens #ineffable beurocracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #aziraphale #crowley #winging it

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the-ineffable-demon-crowley · 4 years

Text

The Sweetest Wrath

Your romantic dinner with Crowley goes pear-shaped when Aziraphale unceremoniously interrupts. As your attention is captured by the angel, Crowley finds he has to use more creative means to remind the two of you just who you belong to.

Pairing: Anthony J. Crowley x reader (ft. Aziraphale)

Warnings: Exhibitionism, little bit of voyeurism, praise kink, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, car sex

Length: 4.2k

Cross-posted to AO3 here

This work is a commission for @mollyplier

⋘ ⋙

Despite what you might think, demons had very busy schedules. Well, someone had to go around tempting people into their insidious desires, spreading hate and unrest within the population. Whether that be by blocking off all the main roads with untimely construction work that never seemed to be completed, pulling down all the major phone networks on a Friday evening, or by crashing the entirety of the public library’s database during finals season, Crowley had a long to-do list. Never mind the collection of souls for the Dark Lord, a back-breaking tasks in of itself.

Of course, that never stopped him from using his tempting charms as a means for his own good. There were a few souls that had caught his eye over the centuries, but they were far too special to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord. No, these were just for him. You were one of his finest achievements, but it didn’t take much to ensnare you. His charming walk, his easy grin, and his simple one-liners. Who could resist? It’d almost felt like you knew him for centuries, but that was just how comfortable you were with Crowley, and how much of an old soul he really was beyond the sarcastic, sniggering snake he could be sometimes.

Still, he worked hard, even if he didn’t want to. Which is why you loved Aziraphale, a cheeky but posh cherubic principality who was Crowley’s colleague, friend, confidante, everything. Though Aziraphale didn’t like it, he understood how useless it was to cancel each other’s work out, and would sometimes come to an agreement with Crowley over the heavenly state of the souls of some town’s population. Usually, Crowley won the coin-toss. Aziraphale never thought to ponder how Crowley was always so lucky.

But on the off-chance that Crowley lost, Aziraphale would keep you company. He was a delightful companion, and the two of you always spent your time talking books, plants, and the bureaucracy of Heaven. Aziraphale had much to say regarding that. But now, with Crowley off unveiling the worst in people, you were sat at home alone, planning. Conniving, he would call it, and then boast about how he had done well in corrupting you. If only he knew.

You’d made a reservation for two at the RItz for you and Crowley for that very evening. It was technically Aziraphale’s favourite place, but you knew Crowley was fond of it as well, having been dragged there for drinks and crêpes since its inception in 1906. You planned the whole thing out; for dinner, a sumptuous 4-course feast, and for dessert, well... You had several decadent selections in mind, each sure to make him more insatiable than the last.

Your instructions to Crowley were simple as you typed them out on your phone. Dinner, tonight. Pick me up at 8. Stay hungry, my demon.

His reply was swift. Ravenous already. See you tonight.

Crowley wasn’t often known for punctuality, but because you hadn’t been able to spend much time together since he was busy at... work, you supposed it was, he was outside your flat, leaning against his Bentley waiting for you at 8 on the dot. You smirked at the sight of him, black blazer, black trousers, per usual. Red hair swiped upwards, black sunglasses framing his sharp features. He was angular, positively fiendish, and he was here for your soul.

⋘ ⋙

As expected, the Ritz was beautiful, the vintage building’s peaks soaring into the backdrop of the starry night sky, and its patrons dripping in glamour. Guests came dressed with their savings on their sleeves, with even the most casually dressed of diners boasting expensive loungewear. You thought you fit right in on the arm of your demon, bedecked in black, and you, clad in a tasteful dress that brought out your eyes. As you made your way up towards the entrance, your arm brushed against Crowley’s, and you nearly flushed, as though this was your first date all over again. He just had that kind of effect on you.

Despite the fact that Crowley wasn’t often one for affection, you could feel his long, strong arm slipping around your waist as he escorted you into the dining room, a quiet din of the other diners filling your ears. You sat down onto the white upholstered chair, and smiled at Crowley as a waiter came to take preliminary drink orders. Minutes later, drinks and the first course had arrived.

“This is absolutely glorious, angel, thank you.” Crowley murmured as he tipped the mixed alcoholic concoction into his mouth. His tongue darted out to collect a stray droplet, and you watched it with fascination at its snapping movement.

“It’ll get even better once you start eating instead of just drinking.” You quipped, lifting a forkful of your dinner to your mouth. Crowley grinned.

“All in good time.” He raised his hand, fingers long and neatly manicured, and gestured to the waiter for another round.

“Have Hastur and Ligur been giving you much trouble?”

“Ngk.” Crowley responded, this time taking your advice and swallowing whole his bites of dinner. However, he remained a perfect gentleman, and you couldn’t help but stare at him outfitted in his jacket and trousers. He didn’t necessarily fit in among the glitzy crowd of the Ritz dining room, but damn if he didn’t look every bit as expensive as everybody else in there, right down to the shining black gunmetal of his sunglasses. “Nothing I can’t handle. They’re attempting to delegate the planning of the next recession and stock-market crash to me, but I told them they can stick it right-”

“Oh!” A sudden soft gasp, otherwise masked by the din of the room, caught Crowley’s ear. Mostly because he’d heard it for centuries; mainly when a particularly cute creature was in view. His partner in.... something, Aziraphale. You noticed him noticing it, and turned your head to see what had caught his attention.

“Crowley! Y/N! How lovely to see you both here!” Aziraphale was positively gleaming as he approached the dinner table, a ray of sunshine in direct opposition to Crowley’s black void. You couldn’t help but smile at the angel, appreciative at his endless enthusiasm.

“Aziraphale, what a surprise!” You returned.

“Oh, my dear, I have been holed up in my shop for what feels like hours. I had to get out and have a nice cuppa. Speaking of which, have you read that novel I gave you yet? You simply must, I could not put it down for the life of me.”

“Oh, I’ve gotten about halfway, and I was so shocked when one of the twins died, and- oh, please, sit down.” You hadn’t expected this interruption, but now that he was here, you simply couldn’t resist a quick chat. You were about to ask a nearby diner if you could borrow one of the chairs at their table, but one miracled itself right in front of your eyes. You glanced around at the others, the magical appearance of the chair apparently unnoticed, then at Crowley, seemingly as indifferent as ever, continuing to sip at his drink.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now, tell me what you think of the heroine.” Aziraphale happily on the chair.

You gushed about the novel with Aziraphale for a few more minutes, admittedly completely neglecting Crowley during that time. But every time you glanced at him, he seemed to at least be paying attention, albeit drinking all the while. You had counted three or four empty glasses before the waiter came to collect them, bringing a fresh one shortly afterwards. A demon’s tolerance was essentially bottomless, so Crowley wouldn’t be anywhere near drunk yet, but it could be soon at the rate Aziraphale was talking, and Crowley with no other way to entertain himself.

“Oh, have you finished eating? Then I believe it’s time for dessert- garçon! Three of your finest strawberry crêpes, s’il vous plaît.”

“Oh, angel, I think Y/N had planned for-” but Crowley was quickly cut off, and he sat back in the chair, raising a brow to you. You signalled to give it another minute, and you would start to shoo Aziraphale off.

“Don’t be silly, Crowley, company as lovely as YN here deserves nothing but the best- and the crêpes here are the best.” This seemed to shut Crowley up for the moment, but you could tell he was getting a little territorial over your attention, with his boot beginning to slowly trace itself against your ankle. You cleared your throat to focus, but your leg did not move, eager for a piece of Crowley during this interrupted dinner. Still, it was simply impossible to be rude to the angel, and Crowley, for whom it was somehow an endearing trait, was seemingly refusing to help. “Oh, Y/N, that reminds me, I have taken your advice and have taken up a spot of painting.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun. What medium?”

“Oil paints, I should think. I dabbled in it before, of course, tried a hand at some neoimpressionism, but I should think the classical styles are more my type, the nude portraits and the like. Positively divine.” Crowley snorted, the first indication that he hadn’t petrified and turned to stone since Aziraphale’s arrival.

“Bit biased there, aren’t you?” He drawled smugly.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley from the corner of his eye pettily, then looked back at you. Then as if to spite him, or perhaps out of a naive desire to simply catch your beauty on canvas, he blurted out, “You’d pose for me, wouldn’t you, Y/N? You’d make a beautiful model for a nude study.”

Your eyes flashed and your mouth fell open slightly, lips parting in surprise. It wasn’t necessarily the request, but the fact that Crowley was right there-

“Oh, yes, I could see it now. Bedecked in honeysuckle and lavender, in your hair, against your lovely skin, you’d be heavenly. What do you think, Crowley?”

You laughed, a bit taken aback. “I’m flattered, really! But I-”

“Oh, I should think she would be- Y/N.” Crowley leaned forward, placing his elbows onto the table. “Get your coat, sweet.”

Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused, bless him, turning to look at the demon. In the meantime, you stood from your chair and scooped up your jacket, trying not to think about how Crowley’s darkened voice sent shivers up your spine. You knew this was coming from the moment Aziraphale even mentioned nude portraits, could almost see how his features were shadowed by lust at the thought of you. Aziraphale’s voice remained strong, but innocent. “But the crêpes haven’t arrived yet-”

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale.” He cajoled. “Let’s have a bit of a walk, hm?” Crowley inclined his head towards the exit, his red hair catching the light of the chandeliers. You smirked as the angel, still babbling, stood up and reluctantly agreed, leaving the promise of his dessert behind.

With Aziraphale in front of you, Crowley’s arm slid possessively around your waist a little tighter this time, pulling you to him, against him as you walked between the tables. You could feel the power in his body with every step, and though you knew you were in for it now, the thought of Crowley claiming you as his was as delicious a dessert as you could ever have suggested. Despite his intimidation, you knew he was secretly enjoying this; he had found the perfect excuse to shut Aziraphale up, and finish the the night off exactly the way he wanted to- with your legs spread.

The night air was cool but not unpleasant as a breeze traced across your skin. Your senses felt sharpened, each of his touches sending you into a frenzy as he led you towards the car. Aziraphale followed behind, one of his hands holding the other in front of him like a poised debutante.

“Y/N, sit in the back for a moment, please.” You heard the subtle growl in his voice, and you obliged, popping open the door of the big, black Bentley and slipping inside onto the cool leather. The angel and the demon got in in front of you, and you stared at their beautiful silhouettes. Crowley, a lean, shadowy, sinful figure, and Aziraphale, a vision of purity and light even in the nighttime, even in the face of Crowley’s wrath.

The car was silent for a beat before anybody spoke.

“My two angels,” Crowley murmured, turning back to look at you in the backseat. “You’ve both been naughty, haven’t you?” His gaze turned to Aziraphale with a slight turn of his head. Even behind the impenetrable sunglasses that perched on his nose, his gaze was heavy, dangerous. You scarcely felt yourself breathe. You were in trouble now.

“Crowley, it’s my fault, Aziraphale was just-” You began to reach forward for him. He turned his head towards you, and your mouth closed. You sat back against the backseat of the Bentley quietly, the leather creaking underneath you. It was the only noise in the car for a long moment.

“I know what he was doing, love. Like to have a bit of a look? Bit of a flirt?” He looked at Aziraphale. “And you-” You bit your lip, eyes lifting slowly to look at him. “You know.”

God, did you ever. Crowley had never been that much of the jealous type, but for you to have been fawning over Aziraphale like that, during a dinner meant for him to relax? It was enough to trigger the most hellish side of the demon, and you were in for it now. Heat flooded your core, and you pressed your knees together. You saw Crowley raise a brow behind his glasses, a smirk adorning his lips. He saw.

“You’re enjoying this. Would you enjoy bouncing on my cock while Aziraphale watches, then? I think it’s what you both deserve after tonight.” He inclined his head towards the angel, who began sputtering in shock.

“Crowley, I say!” But you saw his cheeks flush pink, painting the perfect picture of a cherub. You weren’t going to lie, making Aziraphale watch was one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, and you had never expected Crowley to go that far. It was clear things were going to be played by his rules tonight.

“What d’ya say, angel?” His smirk grew wicked, and you grew hot beneath your clothing. Your reply was a whisper, but you knew he heard it, and he knew you meant it.

“Yes, Crowley.”

It took him precisely half a second to materialize in the backseat with you. It was a mess of limbs, his long and lean, and yours tangled up with him. His hands gripped your hips, and his lips found yours in a searing kiss. You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his strong, nimble fingers beginning to trail up and down your sides, one slipping underneath your shirt to palm at your breast. His thumb rolled circles over your nipple, and you groaned your pleasure against him.

“Eyes on me, angel.” He growled in your ear. You blinked, and looked up at the man overing over you. His sharp features were illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights outside, and whatever scarce cars drove by. You knew they couldn’t see anything; the car was probably magicked to invisibility. Crowley wouldn’t be that careless. He was lithe, but heavy, a comforting weight between your legs, and his hair already a mess from the way your fingers had been running through it. He stared down at you with black eyes, his sunglasses still on his face. “Both of you.” He barked, lifting his head to look at Aziraphale. The angel, looking quite unsettled, turned his head to look at you. Crowley’s hands made quick work of your shirt and your bra, exposing your breasts to the night air.

You felt like you were being ravished in front of God himself, a demon laying snugly between your thighs. Crowley seemed to agree, as he bucked his hips against you, his hard erection pressing into your clothed centre.

“Fuck, Crowley, please.”

“So needy, angel, even with an audience. You’re greedy, little one.”

His large hand snaked down to between your thighs, his fingers beginning to rub you against your trousers. You keened at the feeling, head rolling against the car door, hips squirming. He held you fast, his weight keeping you pinned down beneath him. You felt absolutely at his mercy, without even Aziraphale to dare help you now. Crowley’s fingers then found the button and zipper of your jeans, at which point he began to yank them down.

“Crowley, is this really-” You heard him start, but your moan swallowed his words in the darkness of the car.

“That feel good? My long fingers inside of you?”

Precisely two of his long fingers were now buried deep inside of you, thumb on your lit, and palm slapping against your pussy. Your hands snapped forward, gripping his forearms. You felt the power beneath the corded muscles that flexed underneath his thin black blazer. The smell of smoke and leather overwhelmed you, eyes shutting tightly as his fingers increased their pace.

“Look at me. Look at me, or I won’t let you cum.” He hissed, and your eyes popped open, so desperate were you for release.

“-Yes, Aziraphale,” He addressed the angel calmly, though his eyes remained on you. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see her splayed out, desperate, needy, begging? ‘Cept of course, it’s my cock that she’ll be bouncing on, isn’t it, love?” His thumb rolled over your clit harshly, and your hips bucked. Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on you, so clearly in the throes of pleasure. He wasn’t proud of himself, and yet...

“Yes! God, yes...”

“You like him watching, don’t you?” He purred in your ear, and your ankles hooked around his hips, an attempt to bring him closer. No part of him touched you except his hand, buried in your soaking cunt. “Say it.”

“I-I... I like it! I like it- please, let me... cum.”

“Alright, I’ll allow it. Cum.”

Stars sparked behind your eyelids, and fire tore through your insides. Your juices soaked his hand, fingers still fucking in and out of you, and you heard him groan at the sight of it. You could also feel him rubbing against your thigh in search of a bit of friction, but still, he kept his composure. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead, hair sticking to your cheeks. Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly; you’d nearly forgotten he was there at all.

“Are you satisfied, Crowley?” He muttered.

Crowley grinned. “Not nearly.”

In the blink of eye, you were on top of the demon, jeans abandoned, and his cock free of his tight leather trousers. He folded his hands behind his head, mirroring your previous position, and yet it was clear he was the one in charge here. His sunglasses were also gone at this point, and the sight of his snake eyes filled you with desire. There was something so wrong about it all, being fucked by a demon with an angel staring right at you. You had no hopes of explaining this one to the Almighty.

You could barely keep yourself upright as you straddled him, limbs still weak from your orgasm. Crowley did not care.

“Turn around, Y/N.”

You raised a brow, and his eyes narrowed, challenging you. You quickly changed positions, with the help of Crowley sitting up a bit in the back. You were now sitting atop of him, staring directly in the face of Aziraphale, sitting in the passenger seat. If he had looked uncomfortable before, he was positively faint at this point. It was clear he wanted to look away, and yet, if either by some wicked temptation or by Crowley’s clear commands, he did not. Not for a second.

Not even when your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the tip of Crowley’s cock rubbed against your folds. Instantly, you felt desire electrify your insides, and you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. But you needed his permission first. He rubbed the pre-cum against you, and you felt your juices slowly dripping down your thighs. You shuddered, hips bowing down to try to take him in. He chuckled.

“You still want my cock, love? Right in front of Aziraphale?”

You lifted your eyes to the actual angel’s, and he gave you a slight smile as if to assure you. Angel or not, he couldn’t have not been enjoying this display.

“Yes, I want your cock always, Crowley, please, please fuck me.”

“Whatever my angel so desires. Keep your eyes on him and I might let you cum again.”

With one hand on your hip pulling you towards him, he used the other to guide himself into you. Thick, long, and hard, he filled you entirely, and you felt stuffed as you seated him inside of you right to the hilt. You heard Crowley growl underneath you, the only time he had lost his composure during this entire affair. His hand pushed against your hip, encouraging you- pushing you to build up your rhythm. You gyrated your hips against him as hard and fast as you could, but it didn’t feel like enough to Crowley.

You bounced against his cock, tits bouncing in front of Aziraphale, hands reaching for the headrest to steady yourself. Crowley’s hips, powerful and strong, fucked up into you as his cock filled your walls. You felt him shift slightly, and the instant he hit that special spot, your back arched.

“There, is it?” Crowley’s voice was rough, and his grip, his pace, was rougher. “Look at you, being fucked right here in the backseat, absolutely soaking wet for my cock, even with someone watching. You are a little minx, aren’t you?”

His dirty words spurred you on, bouncing as quick as you could, chasing your high. You knew Crowley’s permission wouldn’t come easily this time, and you had to make it count.

“Aziraphale, isn’t she lovely?”

Your eyes flitted to the angel’s, then fell, and he swallowed, clearly affected by the sight of you. “Positively decadent.”

“And she belongs to me.”

His fingers wrapped around a handful of your hair, bending your neck back. You felt his teeth scrape against the exposed skin, and you cried out at the feeling of the pleasure and pain mixing. “Look at him while you try to cum.”

One of his hands traveled between your legs, and his fingers pinched your clit. You nearly sobbed, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse, but still, he kept you going. Your release was coming, and coming hard. Crowley could feel it by the way your hips began to stutter, your pace slowing as your limbs grew weak from the exhaustion.

“Don’t you stop.” He yanked your hair harder, and you moaned in response, the stinging sensation in your scalp a delicious addition to the pounding between your legs. His cock, hot and hard, was hitting you over and over again in the your most sensitive of places. But you were so close, so close.

“Please le-let... me cum!” You begged, his fingers gripping your hair and your neck bending as you stared into Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley’s fingers began to tweak at your clit, but his permission didn’t come. You cried at the feeling, continuing to fuck yourself against his cock without any sign of release in sight.

“Tell me who you belong to.” You could hear his voice becoming ragged as he fought the urge to cum himself, eyes fixated on the way your ass bounced against his hips, his cock disappearing in and out of you.

“You! You, Crowley, only you... Please!”

“Cum.”

With one single word, you fell to pieces. You fell forward as his hand released your hair, his hands now gripping your hips harshly as he sought his own release. You moaned at the feeling of letting him use you for his own pleasure as your cum soaked his cock, your thighs, and the leather of the Bentley beneath you. Your fingers slipped against the plastic interior of the car door, trying to no avail to get a grip on your surroundings. He thrusted in and out of you a handful of times again before cumming, hot spurts of cum filling you up inside, then slowly beginning to trickle out.

Crowley’s hands, no longer harsh, but strong, moved to disengage himself from you, and reached for some napkins to help you clean up. You reached for your shirt and jeans, and began to dress yourself as awkwardly as you could in the small space. Crowley’s hair was mussed, and his perfect skin glowed with sweat. You felt your hair sticking to you, and the heat of Crowley’s cum still inside you. Limbs weak, you allowed yourself to be collected in Crowley’s arms.

Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly.

“Yes, well... that was-”

“Divine? Tempting enough to immortalize on canvas?” Crowley finished with a grin. You felt him chuckle beneath you, and you snuggled in close to his chest.

“No! Goodness, no, I, uh... get the message.”

“Glad to hear it. You alright, love?”

“Yes, Crowley.”

“Good. Shall we get some dessert?”

You saw Aziraphale’s gaze light up, and you knew that his eyes were never meant for you. Only Crowley’s.

#Anthony Crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony j crowley x reader #anthony crowley x reader #anthony j crowley smut #good omens smut #good omens au #good omens smut au #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #commission #fanfic commission #mollyplier

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inkwell1013 · 4 years

Text

Garden Woes - Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Genre: Angst with a happy ending, Oneshot

Word count: 1335

Warnings: Arguing/Domestic dispute

Summary: Crowley always bullies his plants. Aziraphale babies them. They both think they are doing what’s best for their plants and its causing some conflict in their otherwise perfect relationship. One day, all the tension that's been building up explodes and an argument ensues.

Notes: I completely forgot about this fic. It’s been on ao3 for ages, but I forgot to post it here. I hope you all enjoy!

- - - - -

Armageddon had been stopped and all was well in the world. Crowley and Aziraphale had both been fired of course; that was to be expected after what they had done. Neither of them wanted to associate with either side now anyway.

Aziraphale’s awkward confession was accepted and requited and the two of them decided to move in together. There was just one small issue with that. They couldn’t decide who should move in with who.

Crowley’s studio apartment was too small for the two of them and quite frankly, Aziraphale didn’t really like Crowley’s neighbourhood. There was nothing wrong with it really, but Aziraphale didn’t enjoy being in areas full of negative energy and hatred. It made him feel unwell. Also, whenever he met someone going down a bad path, he felt a strong urge to show them the glory of God, which did not make him a popular person in those parts. Old habits tended to die hard after all.

They tried to move Crowley into the top floor of the bookshop but that didn’t work either. Aziraphale was far too protective of the books he sold and Crowley tended to pick them up with dirty hands or dog-ear the pages, infuriating Aziraphale to no end. There was also Crowley’s unfortunate habit of walking around the bookshop shirtless, completely oblivious to the shocked stares of the customers. None of Aziraphale’s customers seemed to like Crowley very much and Crowley was always picking fights with the customers who got angry and threatened his angel.

Neither option was working. When Crowley was flipping through a newspaper early in the morning, he found an advertisement for a cottage in the outskirts of London’s suburbs. It was perfect. It had enough space for the both of them, an empty home library for all of Aziraphale’s books and a huge garden for all of his many plants.

He brought it up with Aziraphale and was met with positive feedback. They met with a realtor and arranged the purchase of the house, buying it with their collective savings and moving in on a rainy spring afternoon. The house itself was dusty but otherwise clean. The garden however was full of weeds and overgrown grass. It was a bit of a fixer-upper but with time, it would be manageable.

The two fell into a comfortable rhythm of unpacking their things and fixing up the garden. Aziraphale was apprehensive at first, worried that he would mess it up, but got into it pretty quickly. The grass was mowed and weeded. They whipped up a few raised beds and sowed a few seeds. When they didn’t start growing straight away, Aziraphale got annoyed and Crowley had to remind him that these things took time.

Aziraphale wasn’t the best at waiting for things; whenever he wanted something to be ready it was, all it took was a small miracle. The only thing this didn’t work on was plants. He had tried it a few times before but they always withered away from his ethereal energy. The only thing to do was wait.

The waiting itself was excruciatingly boring, but when the plants first began to sprout, they were both really excited. A few weeks passed, and they were growing well. There was only one problem.

They just couldn’t agree how to treat the plants. Crowley insisted on what he called tough love, whereas Aziraphale tended to baby them. So they divided the plants between the two of them.

Crowley watered his plants daily and pruned the dead branches. If they grew, they grew. If they died… then… they died. He also yelled at them to make them grow better, which they did out of pure fear. Aziraphale thought this was just cruel and would go behind Crowley back to be kind to the plants, giving them compliments and encouragement.

Aziraphale on the other hand carefully watered his plants regularly and spread fertilizer on a weekly basis. He weeded the beds and gave the taller plants support beams so that they could grow straight. He was always chatting to them and complimenting their appearance, making them grow brilliantly, trying to please him. Often he found himself searching through his once forgotten gardening books for new tips and tricks or to help him diagnose some obscure disease or insect infestation

Their tactics couldn’t have been more different. That was where the arguments came from.

It was a quiet Sunday morning and Aziraphale was in the garden spraying insecticide on his cabbages and scattering some slug repellent when he notice black spots on some of the leaves of Crowley’s roses. He had heard of this before. Diplocarpon rosae. It was an invasive fungal infection that could decimate rose plants if nothing was done.

Crowley would probably just cut off the affected branches and burn them. Aziraphale planned to tell Crowley when he got home and went to go inside but he stopped himself. He had some fungicide in the shed and Crowley didn’t have to know. He fetched the fungicide and sprayed it on Crowley’s rose bush, before going inside.

Crowley got home from the city, where he worked. He didn’t tell Aziraphale much about it because he never really asked. It was dull but well paying. He took of his coat and went to check on the roses – his favourite plants. When inspecting them, he caught a waft of something strange. It was a sharp and chemical smell. He took a closer look and smelt it again.

He recognized it. Fungicide. Aziraphale had tampered with his plants. He was pissed and went to confront him about it. Crowley thundered into the kitchen. Aziraphale was sat at the kitchen table sipping his tea. Crowley slammed his hand down on the table, making Aziraphale jump.

“Crowley, Dear, I hadn’t realised that you were-“ said Aziraphale before Crowley cut him off.

“You tampered with my plants didn’t you? We agreed to keep our plants separate. You promised me that you wouldn’t mess with my plants!”

“It’s not my fault that you’re so mean to them,” mumbled Aziraphale.

“What did you say?” asked Crowley.

“It’s not my fault that you’re so mean to your plants!” yelled Aziraphale, standing up and raising an accusing finger. “Your so mean to them all the time and it’s not fair on them,”

“My methods work Aziraphale! Babying them will do them no good in the long run,” Crowley muttered.

“I don’t have to deal with this,” said Aziraphale, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” He stormed up the stairs, leaving Crowley alone. As soon as he saw Aziraphale leave, he regretted what he said. Sighing, he put his head in his hands.

Aziraphale was reading while sat cross-legged on the bed. He was furious at Crowley. Why was he being like that? He angrily turned a page. When the door cracked open, he didn’t look up. Crowley cleared his throat and spoke.

“I’m sorry. I guess everything got a bit much for me. It’s difficult for me to admit but I miss the way things were sometimes. When everything was familiar you know? Everything is so new now” he said sheepishly.

Aziraphale closed his book and set it on the table. “I think I know what you mean. It’s been months but I still try to call the head office and worry about getting caught with you. It makes no sense but in a strange way, I miss it. Having a purpose and a place to be, I suppose,” he said, laughing weakly. “I think we’re both a little in the wrong here, dear. Shall we shake hands and move onwards?”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “I’m sorry,”

“So am I,” smiled Aziraphale “But try to be nicer to your plants, okay?”

“I will,” agreed Crowley, with a yawn. “Are you about done reading for the night?”

“I think I am,” said Aziraphale, switching off his lamp.

“Goodnight dear,” he said as Crowley crawled into bed next to him.

“Goodnight Angel”

#fanfic #fanfiction #good omens #inkwell writes #good omens fanfiction #good omens angst #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #angst #hint of fluff #crowley and his plants #gardening

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goodomensblog · 5 years

Text

Afterward - Part 10

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

(#1 won this round! It’s heist timeeee)

Afterward - - Part 10

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

“...so, in summation, we, well - slightly bent the rules and kept the jar of Hellfire.”

“How?”

“Swapped out the real jar with a fake and,” Gabriel shrugs, “the demon didn’t notice when he brought it back. Truthfully, the poor guy seemed a little-,” he stops, awkwardly grimacing as he taps a finger against his head.

“Idiot,” Beelzebub hisses, fingers curling, piercing the couch with jagged holes.

Gabriel waves a hand, and the shredded couch knits together.

“Works out for us though,” Crowley says.

Beelzebub, slumping in exhaustion, manages a nod. Extending a sharp nail, they reach out, poking a fresh hole in the newly repaired couch.

Aziraphale, glancing down, presses a staying hand on Beelzebub’s wrist.

“Rest,” he counsels. “Save your energy. We don’t know how long it will take Gabriel to return with the Hellfire.”

‘Me?”

Three sets of eyes are, at once, glaring at the Archangel.

“Obviously,” Crowley says, breaking the silence.

“Hey - I already told you it was here. I could have easily kept that to myself.”

“You are literally the only one here who can get it,” Crowley replies, incredulous.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to,” Gabriel says, crossing his arms. “You all don’t even know what’s been going on in Heaven today. Frankly, it’s a mess. In fact, I should be out there right now, you know, doing my job. People are on high alert. It’s a whole thing. Even I couldn’t just walk on in and take the Hellfire.”

“Gabriel,” Beelzebub says, forcing their weak voice loud. “I’m not - I’m not asking you for a favor. I know - I know you wouldn’t - If you do this, I’ll pay up - I’ll pay up later. You know I’m good for it,” Beelzebub hisses, forehead creasing in pain. “Anything. Just - ugh,” shivering, the demon heaves a wheezing breath and goes quiet.

Their dark gaze turns up, dull and half-lidded, as if they already know what the Archangel’s answer will be.

Gabriel had listened, holding himself rigid, posture perfectly straight. And now that Beelzebub has silenced, Gabriel turns his head down, nostrils flaring. He shakes his head.

“I cannot-”

“You can. And you will,” Aziraphale interrupts.

Gabriel turns at the interruption, lips curling into a sneer.

Aziraphale, bracing his hands on the couch, presses up. Beelzebub watches him rise, dark eyes unreadable.

Hands fisted at his sides, Aziraphale turns. Standing straight, he looks at Gabriel, head tilted to meet his eyes.

“You’ll retrieve the Hellfire. Because Beelzebub is dying. And it is within your power to save them. And because,” and when Aziraphale pauses, drawing a breath, his wings flicker in and out of existence on this plane - and they don’t look quite right - but they’re gone before Crowley can see more than a glance.

“It is the right thing to do,” Aziraphale finishes, head held high.

“You don’t get to decide what is right-”

“I just did,” Aziraphale snaps. His fists are trembling.

Crowley, circling around Gabriel, curls his fingers, knuckles cracking as nails shift to claws. “I’d listen to the angel, Archangel.”

“Fighting will draw attention. Thought you wanted to avoid that, seeing as you are a traitor,” Gabriel says, shifting to keep both angel and demon within sight.

“Oh, I would prefer it, yes. However, I’m starting to think Heaven might be otherwise occupied today. What did you call it? A mess?” Aziraphale asks, stepping into a stance Crowley recognizes. Last time he’d stood like this, he was holding a flaming sword. “So I’m wondering if they’d notice a power surge at all. Especially from the residence of an Archangel.”

Shivers climb Crowley’s spine, because this is a side of Aziraphale he doesn’t get to see very often. Smiling, sharp as a knife, Crowley prowls, matching Aziraphale’s stance.

“Just say the word, Aziraphale,” Crowley calls, gleeful.

He does usually prefer more creative methods to outright violence. But for Gabriel, who sent Aziraphale to burn with a cold, guiltless smile, Crowley is happy to make an exception.

“I don’t want to drag you into this, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, eyes on Gabriel as he circumvents the coffee table.

“Please angel, you’d have to drag me out of it.”

Crowley is moving opposite Aziraphale, keeping the Archangel perfectly between them.

Gabriel spins, trying to face both of them at once.

“You have a choice to make, Gabriel,” Aziraphale calls.

“I can take you. Both of you,” Gabriel replies, the nervous edge in his voice undercutting his bold words.

“Maybe,” Aziraphale says - as Crowley calls out:

“Can you though?”

Violet eyes flick back and forth between them - and then to Beelzebub, pale and sunken on the couch.

Crowley is almost disappointed to see the fight go out of him.

Tension bleeding from his rigid spine, Gabriel shrinks back. Letting out a string of sharp, ancient curses, Gabriel drags a hand down his face.

“Fine,” he says, vitriolic. “But I am not touching that damned jar. Someone will have to risk coming with me.”

Cold eyes look to Crowley.

“Fine by me.”

Aziraphale, gaping, scurries between them. “No - no. Not fine.” Eyes wide, Aziraphale turns on Crowley. “You are not going out there. Not with him.”

“I can probably disguise myself well enough for a quick trip to the - er, wherever. Like Lil’ Gabbie said-”

“That is not my name.”

“Like Gabbers said, Heaven’s preoccupied today,” Crowley shrugs - and it has not escaped his notice that Gabriel has yet to reveal what precisely has Heaven so worked up.

“They won’t notice me if I take steps to conceal myself. Besides,” and here Crowley pauses, lowering his voice. “Best someone keeps an eye on our favorite Archangel anyway. Ensure he doesn’t make any extra stops along the way.”

“I’m right here. I can hear literally everything you’re saying.”

Crowley, casually flicking his middle finger over Aziraphale’s shoulder, continues.

“Really angel. I’ll be fine. More than fine once I get my hands on the Hellfire.”

Behind Aziraphale, Gabriel shifts, his already rigid posture stiffening.

“Yeah, stop that. I’m not going to waste it on your sorry ass, Archangel.”

“Try it and I’d smite you where you stood.”

And then Aziraphale is turning, and the air is vibrating around them.

“Touch him and I swear to God that I will end you, Gabriel,” Aziraphale says, the terrible timbre of truth resounding with a buzzing pressure, laying weight to his every word.

Crowley’s skin is prickling - in reaction to both the gathering power and Aziraphale’s words; heart in his throat, he reaches out, placing a staying hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

Electricity sparks between them. It is red - no blue, no, it’s black and white and silver and gold and -

Angel and demon start, pulling apart.

The electricity fizzles out, curling and twisting into nothing, like smoke from a doused flame.

Crowley glances up, meeting Aziraphale’s startled gaze.

“What…?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale answers, pale and hushed.

Behind them, Gabriel heaves a deep, exhausted sigh.

“You two had to go fuck up something else, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t-” Aziraphale starts, bristling - then halts, glancing down at his wrist.

Crowley turns his own wrist over, inspecting the cut that is, by now, nearly healed.

“Huh.”

“Yeah huh. Look, I’ll deal with whatever fuckery you two managed to create later. You want the Hellfire or not?” Gabriel glances, as if on impulse, back at the couch.

Beelzebub’s eyes have drifted closed.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, turning.

“I’ll be back before you know it, angel. Promise,” Crowley says, and believes it - because lying to his angel about something like this would be unforgivable.

As if he can feel the truth, resonant, in Crowley’s words, Aziraphale stops. Lips pressing together, he looks Crowley up and down. Brows curving, concerned skin wrinkling between them, he says, chin quivering, “Crowley, I-”

“Are we going or not? Come on.”

Crowley reaches out, brushing his knuckles over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. There are no sparks, but Aziraphale, nonetheless, shivers beneath the touch.

“Don’t open the door for anyone, angel,” Crowley says, and with a snap, shifts his body.

The Archangel Michael stands, slouching, in the center of the room. Pursing golden lips, Crowley removes his dark glasses.

“Seriously,” Gabriel says, flat and exhausted, “What happens if we run into the real one?”

Hands on his hips, Crowley shrugs, arching one of Michael’s manicured brows.

“I am the real one. I’m walking around with the Archangel fucking Gabriel. The other one’s clearly the impostor.”

Eyes rolling to the ceiling, Gabriel heaves a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s just -”

Beelzebub, reaching out, grabs hold of Gabriel’s pants.

“Ten minutes,” Beelzebub says, voice quieter than a whisper. “Think I can last...ten more minutes. Understand....asshole?”

Gabriel’s expression is impossible to read. Lips pressing together in a hard, flat line, he drags his leg loose of Beelzebub’s grasp.

“Hey,” Gabriel calls with a sharp look toward Crowley and Aziraphale. “Is this happening, or not?”

Crowley, flicking his fingers in a mocking salute, gives Aziraphale one last lingering look.

“Be back soon, angel.”

“I believe you,” Aziraphale says. Eyes wide, and hands wringing in front of him, he watches as Crowley step up to the door.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale calls as the door swings open. “What I said earlier - I meant it. Don’t lay a hand on him.”

Gabriel, casting a withering glance back into the apartment, slams the door.

Tapping a heel against gleaming marble floor, Crowley turns a long look at the arching halls.

Heaven.

“Try not to sully it with your sin,” Gabriel says, and sets off at a brisk pace down the hall.

Crowley, sneering at the back of his head, flips him off with Michael’s manicured hand, and strides purposefully after.

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

After six thousand years, Crowley again walks Heaven’s halls….

A fun one this time! Choose how much energy Crowley will devote to “getting along” with Gabriel on their Hellfire acquisition mission:

0% energy - Crowley will be 100% bastard. Because Gabriel is the actual worst and he deserves it.

50% energy - Crowley will be reasonably civil - unless Gabriel is really asking for it. They do have limited time, but Crowley isn’t about to let Gabriel walk all over him.

100% energy - Crowley promised Aziraphale that he would return unscathed. If he has to play nice with Gabriel to ensure his safe return, he will.

Comment or reblog to vote :) (ALSO thank you all so much for voting and participating in this! I just absolutely love reading your thoughts behind why you are voting for any given option.)

Read Part 11 Here

#my writing #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fanifction #ineffable husbands fanfic #ineffable husbands fic #aziraphale #crowley #good omens beelzebub #good omens gabriel #ineffable bureaucracy #eventually maybe #good omens #HELLFIRE HEAVEN HEIST IS A GO

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spac3bar7end3r · 5 years

Text

In Which Gabriel Decided To Eat Something

Ineffable Bureaucracy / Post Armageddont / Getting together / 1447 words

prompt: “I could really eat something.”

read on Ao3

“I could really eat something,” Gabriel said, and Beelzebub had to do a double-take. They can’t believe their ears. Hungry? Gabriel? After all this time?

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Gabriel reached the pepper shaker on the table and played with it like an easily-distracted human child (Not like Beelzebub knew how human child behaves. They’d never met one).

“You want to eat human food?” Beelzebub asked. They turned their head and signalled the waitress to come to their table.

“Well, I want to try.” Gabriel’s voice got higher than usual. Even he himself doesn’t look sure if he wanted to eat or not.

“Sure, whatever. What do you want? I’m gonna take two breakfast sets, one strawberry milkshake and make it really sweet.” The prince of hell turned to order like it was something they are pretty used to and it was. Crowley and the other goonies didn’t know this, but Beelzebub always sneaked out and came to the human world when they were bored.

“I…will have what you have.”

“Two more of the breakfast sets?” The waitress asked. Beelzebub appreciated her nonchalant expression, or let’s say this human might experience a lot of weird occurrences that she didn’t think it was strange for a tiny being like Beel to order two large sets of an English breakfast.

Gabriel didn’t know whether he should confirm or not because he’d never eaten human’s ‘gross matter’ before, so Beelzebub said instead, “One set for him, plus coke.”

The waitress nodded before she walked away.

“Coke.” Gabriel perked up, tilting his head a little bit then added, “Like cocaine?”

“Calm down, you uncultured swine. It’s a fizzy drink.”

“It’s a drink that is fuzzy. It’s very disgusting. You’ll love it.” Beelzebub shrugged.

“It is ours or yours?”

“Crowley’s.” They didn’t even want to take credit for it because they thought it was the fizzy drink was stupid and should be heaven’s creation instead of hell. What a dumb drink.

That’s why it’s perfect for Gabriel.

“Ah. That bastard.” Gabriel nodded.

“Yeah, speaking of that bastard, he and your angel are moving to some human village, I think.”

“Aziraphale is not my angel.”

Beelzebub waited for the ‘Not any more’ phase to come, but it didn’t.

Plates of Full English Breakfast came. Gabriel instantly frowned when he noticed the food. He picked up a fork and poked a piece of black pudding like it offended in somehow.

“What’s this?”

“Black pudding—look, do you really want to eat human food?” Beelzebub asked, still not believe what was happening. They pulled two plates in front of them and began to eat like they were starving (and in fact, they were. Hell didn’t have food and Beelzebub secretly loved devouring human food when they came up here).

Gabriel shrugged. He decided to try eating one. The archangel’s expression looked hilarious that Beel had to stifle a laugh between each bite.

“I do want to eat human food. I want to try to see what’s it all about.”

“Humans are disgusting.” Beelzebub chews. “But their food is the only thing they have done right.”

Gabriel nodded while sipping his coke. He eyed a glass of strawberry milkshake in front of Beelzebub, so the prince of hell pushed it to the angel in front of him. The second Gabriel swallowed the liquid his eyes widened, looking accusingly at Beelzebub.

“Why didn’t you order this for me instead of this black liquid? This is so great.” Gabriel continued sipping.

“Hey! That’s mine.”

“Not anymore.”

Beelzebub shook their head and reached for Gabriel’s coke instead. Gabriel hummed happily over his milkshake.

“So the reason why I asked you to meet today is because of this,” Beelzebub snapped their fingers and suddenly there was a stack of paper in front of Gabriel.

“Hm, what’s this?”

“An official truce contract,” Beel said then continued, “We don’t want to admit, but that angel Aziraphale was right. We don’t want to fight in a war that we are not so sure why it has to happen in the first place. And from what I see, the human is already doing great destroying the world themselves.”

Gabriel nodded. One hand holding a paper while the other is holding a toast. His eyes skimmed the word across the paper.

“Alright, so you suggest we have a truce and do what? Nothing? Are we supposed to hold hands and be friends now?” Gabriel swallowed the word like those times before the fall, but Beelzebub didn’t need to know that.

“Maybe. Look, we can be civil. Look at us now, we’re having breakfast together.”

“That’s because it’s you and me. Can you see any angel having meals with a demon?”

“Crowley and Aziraphale?” Beelzebub raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, right.” Gabriel nodded slowly. “But our jobs cancel each other out? How can we are at peace when we know that you guys are trying to bring the human to your side.”

“Read the papers. We’re concluding that in the future there might not be only your side or our side.”

Gabriel skimmed the text again, asking, “Human side? We’re going to fight them?”

“We’re not so sure yet.” Beelzebub sighed, “I didn’t think I’m going to be good with all the angels either. After all, you guys were the one who kicked us out.”

“I didn’t,” Gabriel said, recalling the past.

“Yeah yeah, but that doesn’t mean you were not on their side. You were the archangel for satan’s sake.” Beelzebub pushed the empty plate on the side and began to eat the other one.

“So what do we do?”

“Truce?” The prince of hell pointed at the contract.

“Truce.”

So Instead of going to chase after that angel and demon couple or making angels fighting a war with demons, the archangel and the prince of hell just kept having meals together. The second time was another breakfast at the same diner, the third was a Korean barbeque downtown, the fourth was at a Japanese restaurant (where Gabriel refused to try sushi because ‘it looks fucking gross’).

The third time they met Gabriel brought back an official truce contact with his signature. So all the demons and angels have stopped going at each other throat when they saw each other. Some still did their job as usual but most of the time, the human was doing fine themselves, whether to be good or bad. Heaven and hell didn’t even need to lift a finger.

What surprised them the most was the fact that several angel-demon couples were increasing A LOT. It seemed like all these 6000 years, Crowley and Aziraphale were not the only heaven and hell agents that ‘work together’. They were just better at hiding it than these two.

“Do you think the Almighty know about this?” Gabriel asked the sixth time that they met.

“I guess. Does that mean we’ve worked for nothing for so long?” Beelzebub frowned, thinking of all the time they’ve been giving orders and reading reports, falsified reports.

“It’s not nothing. I know you had a lot of fun fooling human in the eighties.”

“I did. That was fun.” Beelzebub grinned. Today they were at a small restaurant in London. Gabriel ordered a blueberry pancake (who would have thought that the archangel had a sweet tooth.) and Beelzebub ordered spaghetti and meatballs. The waitress rolled their eyes when she said pasta is not for breakfast, so Beelzebub secretly played a small mind-trick on her when she walked back to the kitchen. Gabriel noticed but didn’t say anything.

“I wish I know it before though that there are others out there who do…this.” Gabriel pointed to himself then at Beelzebub.

“Do what?”

“Like, being together. I was looking for a way to talk to you. I even suggesting human food!”

“I thought you like eating.” Beelzebub’s eyebrows raised.

“Well, at first I pretended to like it but then it was growing on me. I hated it before. I heard that human do this kind of thing when they want to be together with someone.”

“And you want to be with me?” Beelzebub tilted their head.

“Of course, idiot. Why would you think I’m taking an interest in a gross matter in the first place? I want to hang out with you.”

Beelzebub slowly nodded.

“You don’t want that?” You don’t want me? was implied. Two lilac eyes staring at Beelzebub expectedly.

The prince of hell rolled their eyes, answering, “Who do you think suggesting a truce in the first place, you dimwit. I’ve always wanted to be with you.” Even before I fell was implied, but Gabriel didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

#good omens fic #ineffable bureaucracy #beelzebub #archangel gabriel #My fic #sbfictober #good omens #spacebartenderfic

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perhapsitmaybedragons · 4 years

Text

God’s a Right Bastard, But Then So Am I Chapter 5

Actually wrote this one last night and managed to refrain myself from immediately posting.

As always, here’s the AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633029/chapters/65211916

Or you can read below:

Angels have been around Forever. Demons technically have as well, but when they first started they were angels, too, so it doesn't really count. Patience was a learned practice for all of them, or at least it should have been. They were rushing it this time. Last time they'd used thousands of years of planning and everything had fallen to pieces mere inches from the finish line. It was making all of the angels antsy – this time they were going to get into things as quickly as they could.

But that didn't mean they couldn't find the time to bother someone.

Normally Gabriel wouldn't show his irritation. Or in the old days he might have found someone he could smite without the Almighty getting upset at him. But that was the old days. Smiting just wasn't the way of things anymore, and since they were working with demons he couldn't even take it out on them. Still, he had to bother someone, get under their skin the way that failed Armageddon was under his.

Which is why he was now at Aziraphale's door, a basket in hand.

Aziraphale's eyes went wide when he'd answered – assuming that Crowley had finally showed up to start discussing things he hadn't even bothered to check before opening the door. He tensed up at the sight of the archangel.

“Gabriel,” he squeaked out, motioning desperately behind his hands for the others to hide. “Whatever could bring you here? I did think heaven and I were on the uh...outs, so to speak these days.”

“Nonsense!” Gabriel said jovially, taking great pleasure in watching Aziraphale squirm. He'd already sensed the humans there – and Adam, for that matter. He was only a little surprised – he was actually more surprised Crowley wasn't here, but he figured that was actually a point in his favor. “You know, I just got it into my head – you've been living here since?”

“Since the beginning,” Aziraphale answered automatically, now trying to shut the door in Gabriel's face. Gabriel pushed the door open wider and let himself in. “Now really isn't a good time. Perhaps you could come back later?” His tone strongly implied that 'later' actually meant 'never'.

“Ah, but then you wouldn't be able to introduce me to your friends,” Some people might have described Gabriel's smile as he said that as being 'snake-like'. Aziraphale knew better. Snakes only attacked in self defense or out of hunger. This was the smile that only belonged to the type of predator that played with its food.

Aziraphale considered playing stupid – the words “what humans” almost came out of his mouth, but before he could make that mistake, Adam came out from behind one of the bookshelves.

“You're one of them angels,” he made a face, “You tried to get me to go along with it and destroy everyone.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. “And I am so sorry,” The apology sounded sincere, yet the words also sounded like they were ...dripping. “I am here to make amends, though I suppose it's not the best way to do it. See, I also have just a teeny, tiny little favor I'd like to ask of you, Aziraphale.”

“He's not one of you anymore,” Adam crossed the room, trying to station himself between the angels. Anathema came out of her own hiding place to grab him, Newt trailing just behind her. She managed to grab Adam and pull him back, but he continued scowling, making half-hearted attempts to get out of her grip.

“Aziraphale can handle himself,” she said reassuringly. Adam couldn't see her face – which was pointed at Aziraphale and trying to communicate the question 'can you handle this?' without having to come out and say it. Aziraphale just thought she looked a little constipated.

“It's just a quick lesson,” Gabriel said, holding up his basket. He pulled the small towel covering the contents to the side. “I have some very nice apples and I thought, well, I had hoped to make an apple pie. But I've never actually baked before,” he turned his full attention back to Aziraphale and ignored the others. “I thought you could help me? It's my understanding you're pretty fond of human food, so you could help me get it exactly right.”

“Pies can be a bit tricky,” Aziraphale agreed. “But apple pie's a bit ...American. Wouldn't you rather an apple crumble? Ooh, or a nice spiced cake – one with caramel or toffee icing, perhaps?”

“No,” Gabriel said shortly, looking annoyed. He had planned for Aziraphale to be on guard and scared the whole time. Not launching into a bunch of other dessert ideas. “It really should be an apple pie. Heard so much about it.”

“He doesn't have the ingredients,” Newt was trying to come to the rescue, but he was thinking in human terms again.

Gabriel moved the basket of apples so that he only gripped it in one hand, did a complicated gesture with the other hand and now he had a basket with anything else one could need to make an apple pie – including a very nice pie tin.

“He'll help you with the pie,” Adam decided for them, “But then you have to leave. And you can't bother Aziraphale ever again. Do you promise?” Gabriel nodded. “I mean it. You're an angel – you can't just make a promise and then do it anyway.”

Gabriel smiled. “You have my word as an angel – I will never, ever, bother Aziraphale and his little book shop ever again.”

Adam and Aziraphale both looked satisfied, so Newt fell in line and breathed a sigh of relief. Anathema, however, was adjusting her glasses and squinting. “You should probably get started on that pie,” she suggested. “Adam could give you a hand.”

“That would be lovely,” Aziraphale agreed. He grabbed an apple from the basket and offered it to Adam. “Here, you could try the first bite, make sure they're good enough?” He smiled at the reversal and made a mental note to tell Crowley later that he'd tempted the human into biting the apple this time – but Gabriel snatched the apple out of Adam's hands before he could take a bite.

“Sorry,” Once more his tone as apologetic, but Adam hadn't missed the flash of anger that crossed Gabriel's features. “I have exactly enough for the pie. You understand.” Adam didn't – if Gabriel had never made a pie before, how could he be certain he had exactly enough? But he didn't press.

“Well, we'll just pop into the kitchen,” Aziraphale explained to Newt and Anathema. He seemed to want them to do something, but he couldn't communicate it with Gabriel there. They stayed planted where they were and watched as the two angels and the Anti-Christ disappeared into a kitchen that was only sometimes there.

Anathema waited until she felt as confident as she could that they wouldn't hear her. “His aura's wrong.”

“I thought you couldn't see Adam's?”

“No, not Adam's. The angel – Gabriel, not Aziraphale. There's something tinged there. Aziraphale's aura is solid white except at the edges where it's sort of black, but the kind of black you can see stars in. Gabriel's looks like ...like a white silk shirt that someone's done a pretty good job of washing a stain out, but if you look closely enough it's still there.”

“Well, maybe his aura's always looked like that?”

“No, it hasn't. I saw it when he was trying to get Adam to restart Armageddon. Back then it was solid white.”

“Well, you said Aziraphale's isn't solid white at the edges, should we really be worried about this?”

She grumbled. Newt had agreed to read all of her occultist books and magazines, but he still didn't believe in a good portion of it. “Auras changing like this is a big deal, especially for someone like an angel. They're supposed to be timeless and unchanging.”

“Maybe it's because the definition of goodness changed,” he offered. Newt had not yet figured out that sometimes someone wants to be listened to without any input. Anathema thought she was explaining things, Newt thought they were spitballing ideas together. She groaned.

“Maybe, it's possible but I don't think so. I wish we knew some more angels so we could test it,” she moved forward just enough to peer into the kitchen. Aziraphale was making Adam wash his hands before he would allow the boy to help in any way. She grabbed Aziraphale's phone from where he'd left it – on top of one of the bookshelves.

“Why are you using his phone?”

“Does Crowley answer anyone else?” She said shortly, stabbing at the buttons to dial.

“Aziraphale?”

“Crowley!”

“What are you doing with angel's phone?” Crowley sounded slightly amused. “That's you, Anathema, right?”

“Yes. Crowley, listen – there's an angel in the bookshop.”

“Er –yeah, he owns the place. That's kind of been his thing for a hundred plus years.”

“No,” she paced as she talked. “Not him! One of the other ones. Gabriel?”

“Gabriel's there?! What the hell are you all still doing in there?! Get out, get out right now. And put Aziraphale on the line, he should know better than to let Gabriel in there-”

“Crowley,” she interrupted, “Aziraphale is in the kitchen with Gabriel. Oh – um..and Adam, actually. And by the way, we've all been trying to get a hold of you lately. They're helping Gabriel make an apple pie.”

“What?” Crowley asked flatly.

“An apple pie,” Anathema now wished she hadn't brought it up. It sounded ridiculous and it sounded so ...wholesome. Two angels helping a curly haired, sweet blond boy making an apple pie? She was pretty sure her mom had sent a postcard like that to her aunt once.

“Ok. Keep an eye on all of them, but maybe this is just a power move,” Crowley seemed to be deep in thought. “I'll be on my way soon. After someone starts giving me some answers.” He hung up and Anathema momentarily wondered if he were also in a hostage situation – just one were he was the captor.

“Sit and wait,�� she said to Newt's questioning expression. “But if he offers us any of that pie, I wouldn't take it.”

Crowley set the phone down and adjusted the gramophone on the coffee table. “I know you're there and I think you know that I know, so let's just have a nice chit chat before I run off to save my incredibly stupid friends.”

I'm glad you have friends now, God offered meekly.

“Come off it and let's get on track. What were those vials?” He had a sneaking suspicion and if he was right things were about to get even worse. Right now he just had to get Her to show her hand. Something he didn't think anyone – human, angel, demon or other – had ever managed. He waited with his arms crossed, feeling a little like a petulant teenager. The kind that's been forbidden from doing something really fun, but the parents settled on their reasoning as 'Because we said so' instead of coming out with the truth.

The vials are their plan. Part of it, at least.

“Yes, obviously! I think I could riddle that part out for myself. I want to know what the vials do. What's in them, can they be counteracted? Should I have thrown them out when I had the chance?”

Silence.

“You know, if you aren't going to help me I can't keep helping you. And I don't think you'll be able to keep your promise anyway. Can you?”

I can, She insisted.

“How can you? You don't know what's happening anymore!” He pushed himself off the sofa and glared down at the gramophone. “You didn't know for sure that those vials would be there or what they do, did you?”

You always did ask too many questions, Her voice was soft now. There was no accusation – she said it fondly, actually. it made you realize things before any of the others. You're right, Crowley. I can still see flashes – I still see all of Earth, all of the humans – but most of the angels and demons are hidden from me. I can't even see into the uppermost boardroom in heaven anymore. I have a sense for what they may be doing, but I no longer know. It's recent, but they've decided they don't want me to know.

Several thousand years ago, right before he'd fallen, Crowley would have been gratified to finally hear God being forced to tell him an absolute truth, especially one that admitted that even she didn't always know what was going on. But this? This was horrifying.

“How did they even manage that?” He didn't mean for it to come out sympathetic, but it did. “You're everywhere, see everything.”

“Not anymore.”'

“Ah. Well. ...sorry about th---shit,” Crowley headed toward the door. “Gabriel's at Aziraphale's – if you don't know what he's up to right now...” he didn't finish the thought, just slammed the door behind him.

Good luck God said as though anyone could hear her anymore.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #gabriel #good omens god #adam young #anathema device #anathema #newt #newton pulsifer

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ladyoutlier · 5 years

Text

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

In which God drunkenly restarts the universe and Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves in the role of Adam and Eve.

[Read on AO3] | [Read My Other Fics]

Chapter 1: Take it from the Top

God really thought Armageddon would do it. She really thought that after 6000 years of buildup, surviving the End of the World would’ve pushed her OTP into pure, raw romance. But that’s not what happened. Sure, they were closer now than ever. They fully embraced being on their own side. They awaited a future together. Them against the world. But they still hadn’t so much as hugged not to mention something as simple as saying I love you. The world had almost been destroyed, and they still weren’t together together!

They were still playing their little dance that they had been since literally the beginning of time, and God was quite done with being subtle. She was going to do something about it, but first, she was going to get mad drunk.

Now, a drunk God is a really, really scary thing. Absolutely anything can happen. Suddenly, gravity works in a completely different way. The less mass an object has, the greater its gravitational pull. Or maybe a new species gets invented. That is how the platypus came into existence after all. Alcohol and God is simply not the most calming of combos. And this time… oh it was something to be very scared of, indeed.

God had drank roughly an ocean full of liquor when She decided on a plan. “Fuck it!” She cried, stumbling over a pile of creation dust. “If they won’t just get to—together on their own. I. Me, I’ll just do what I did with the hu—hum… monkey people. Garden all to themselves. Only them. Take it from the top!”

And with that, God pulled the great big lever that reset the entire universe.

Aziraphale woke in a garden absolutely and completely naked. The name Adam, circled in his head as if he was for some reason now meant to be called that. Poppycock, he thought. That name isn’t fitting at all.

This was quite the bizarre scenario. He was sure he had been in his bookshop the night before. He and Crowley had shared quite a few drinks celebrating the averted Apocalypse. Now, he was quite definitely not there. To add to the strangeness of the whole thing, he had never slept before in his life, and yet, he had most definitely awoken here. In Eden.

Eden? Why did he want to call this Eden? And why did he think the name Adam belonged to himself? This couldn’t be Eden. It hadn’t existed for thousands of years! He sat up, blades of grass tickling his naked skin as he moved. This wouldn’t do at all. He snapped his fingers, and his familiar outfit returned to him.

This was Eden; he was sure of it. The plant life. The looming surrounding wall. He was in Eden and suppose to be Adam. How ridiculous! This must be a dream. He had never slept before, but he must have now. Only that could explain this absolute absurdity. A faint breathing took his attention back down to the ground beside him.

Oh. Oh, he most definitely was dreaming. On the ground beside him, nearly touching him, was Crowley who was sporting his birthday suit just as much as Aziraphale had moments ago. He was Adam, and Crowley was… Eve. He was supposed to be Eve. Oh, this had to be a dream.

Before the angel could think another thought, the demon stirred awake. He blinked his eyes several times in a confused manner before he spoke. “Ad—Aziraphale, why in the name of Satan is the name Eve floating about my head? And why did I almost call you Adam?” He took the same wild look around that Aziraphale had moments ago. “And why are we in bloody Eden?”

“So, you’re just as confused as I am, and this isn’t a dream?”

“I’d think not. Unless we’re both having the same one.”

Aziraphale stared at him. As peculiar as the situation had found itself, it hardly worked as a distraction from Crowley’s current, ahem, lack of clothing.

“Wot?” The demon glanced down to himself. “Oh for the love of—” He snapped his fingers in a rather hasty, upward movement, and his signature style returned to him. He looked back to Aziraphale with a rather exasperated expression. “As if it’s not something you’ve seen before.”

“Oh, yes. Quite right. Bigger things to attend to. Or not bigger. Poor word choice. More important, yes. Like what’s going on.” The angel quickly stood and brushed himself off before charging into the wilderness in front of them.

“Right…” Crowley drawled on, still baffled by, well, everything. He took a moment to raise an eyebrow to Aziraphale’s words before tailing him into the wild.

Somewhere on an ethereal plane, God, in a drunken slur, cursed. She hadn’t really been listening to anything that was said. If She had, maybe She would’ve controlled Her rage a bit more. As it was, all She was able to register was that they both had put their clothes back on much too quickly.

Aziraphale and Crowley walked in silence for a few minutes, pushing past leaves and branches as they delved deeper into Eden. Every detail down to the pebbles half-buried in the dirt was completely accurate to the Eden the two of them remembered from 6 millennia earlier. But why it existed now and why they were here was a complete and utter mystery.

“So do you have a plan or are we just taking a nice stroll through Eden for the scenery?” Crowley asked, swatting the branch of a fruit tree out of the way.

“Ah, well, no. I figured exploring our surroundings would be more effective than just sitting in the same spot completely baffled. As for a specific plan, I haven’t got one.”

“Think it’s some trick? Some dastardly plan from Above and Below given their inability to kill us?”

“I don’t know how they would manage a thing like this. Something as large scale as this could only be accomplished...”

“By the Almighty.”

“Indeed.”

That was a horrifying realization. The Almighty hadn’t directly interfered with the world since Noah built his ark or since Jesus lived. To even consider that God had altered the world so much, especially with the knowledge that the End of the World was supposed to be the day before… it invoked shivers.

Crowley rather fumbled with his words as his mind raced on laps ahead of his mouth. A series of fragmented sentences was all he was able to verbalize. “But God can’t have—I mean why would She—what purpose would it—and us as Adam and Eve. Why?”

“I don’t know. Um, careful with the questions, Crowley. You know where they lead.”

“What? Going to Fall again, am I?”

“No, I mean that you’re supposed to be Eve. Eve hasn’t taken from the Tree of Knowledge yet.”

“What the Hell are you on about? Is another me going to show up? Hardly need that. I’m a bigger sinner than Eve could ever dream of being. Don’t need some pathetic fruit to prove that. And—” He waved his arms about wildly. “With that logic, we should both be walking around with a lot more bare skin exposed. Adam and Eve were hardly all that modest before eating the apple. Rather not do that though. Mosquitoes are more Hell incarnate than demons are. I’d say we’re in the post-apple stage if anything.”

Aziraphale absorbed Crowley’s words. A rather frustrated wrinkle appeared on his brow. “I must say, none of this really makes any sense.”

“You think?!?” the demon huffed, stomping in a quick circle. “We save the world one day and wake up the next to find it reverted back to day one. Gabriel really was an idiot for his God doesn’t play games with the universe remark. Complete knob head.”

“Where do you think he is?”

“Dunno. Up in Heaven I presume. Why should I care?”

“If we’ve found ourselves in a new role… perhaps the rest of the universe has as well.”

“That sure would make an even bigger mess of things, but it’s not like they deserve it any less than we do.”

“Deserve would imply that we did something wrong. That the Almighty is punishing us. If that’s the case, I have no clue what for.”

“Yeah, crazy to think God would punish us and not explain what for. Completely out of character that. She probably just got piss faced.” Crowley took a few steps back and faced the sky. “She can bloody well just put it all back now!”

“Crowley! You can’t just yell things like that!”

“Why the blasted Hell not? Earth was the only thing we had going for us, and now it’s gone swirling down the porcelain throne.”

“The Almighty seems to be paying more attention now than ever. You might have been able to get away with such blasphemy before, but now She might be a bit more, um, testy.”

“If She wanted me to be all holier than thou, then She shouldn’t have left me a demon when She reset the world.” He grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You should be pissed too. She took everything away. Everything. Remember that little talk we had before we decided to avert the Apocalypse? All those human luxuries that were worth saving? All that’s gone. No more fine wine, sushi dinners, cars. Your books are gone, Aziraphale. All of ‘em. Just like that.”

“They—they’re just physical things. Nothing I can’t live without.” Despite his words, the angel’s expression said otherwise.

“How can you say that? This isn’t some minor inconvenience like if a waiter brought you the wrong dish. Everything’s screwed.”

“We still have each other.”

And that was a comment that Crowley couldn’t argue with. He released Aziraphale and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. Yeah guess so. That’s something. More than something.”

“We’ll figure out what’s going on. Fix it if we can.”

“And if we can’t.”

“Learn to live with it. What else could we do?”

“Challenge God?”

“That sounds like a good way to turn a bad scenario into a worse one.”

Crowley shrugged in mild agreement. “Hasn’t worked out well for me in the past.”

“I guess the next step would be to find somebody, so we can properly determine the extent of the problem.”

As if God Herself heard that (She didn’t. She was too busy fighting the cork off a bottle of wine to be bothered by Her failure of an OTP.), someone showed up.

“Eve. Oh, Eve. Aren’t you getting hungry?” a rather familiar ribity voice asked.

Crowley about choked on absolutely nothing upon hearing that. He and Aziraphale turned to the source of the voice. Pitch black eyes of a rather enormous frog stared back at them from a rather prickly bush. Although this particular demon wasn’t known for this particular form, Crowley recognized him nonetheless.

“No!” Crowley whined. “They didn’t get you to do my job, did they? Ugh, a real classless act. No style.”

The frog that was Hastur, Duke of Hell, leapt out from the bush and transformed back into his more humanly appearance, wearing a night dark robe. “It’s your own fault, Crowley. You betrayed us. Of course you lost your job.”

“Yeah, but you? Literally any other demon would’ve been a better fit.”

That seemed to hit exactly the nerve Crowley intended. Hastur narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m only supposed to get you to eat the apple. Otherwise, humanity might’ve not had a future this time around.”

“Wait. So many questions. You’re just fine with this strange world reset thingy? And what’re you on about with that humanity’s future bit.”

“Ha. Like I’m telling you anything, traitor.”

“Sorry to intrude on this reunion,” Aziraphale, who had been watching silently, now spoke up. “But I must insist, whoever you are, that you tell us what you know.”

Hastur turned his attention to the angel. The frog on his head caught a fly from the air. “I don’t take orders from those Upstairs. You’ll have to go to one of your own for answers. Although, I heard they’re more of Hell than Heaven nowadays.”

“Explain yourself!”

A sly smile grew from Hastur’s lips. “You haven’t heard? Archangel Gabriel has found himself, ah, demoted. His position has been taken over by Lord Beelzebub.”

Crowley burst into a fit of laughter. He heavily leaned on a tree for support. “Even though that’s obviously a bald-faced lie, it’s absolutely hilarious.”

“Don’t believe me? Why don’t you ask him yourself? Heard his new job was guarding the Eastern Gate.” Hastur gave a quick smug glance to Aziraphale before looking back to Crowley. “And do eat the apple before you go. It is part of your job as much as it is mine.”

Crowley plucked an apple from the tree. “Angel, let’s go meet the new you then.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, still eyeing Hastur rather warily. “Perhaps he will be more willing to provide answers.”

Two pairs of wings, one black and one white, entered this earthly plane and appeared on their respective angel’s and demon’s backs. With a forceful take off, Aziraphale and Crowley took flight to the east, leaving the Duke of Hell behind on the ground below. Crowley tossed the apple in his hand a few times before chucking it at the shrinking form of Hastur.

“You might’ve got my job,” he called down. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll help you do it!”

God snorted off wherever She was. Either She had finally drank enough to become slap happy, or She had forgotten how funny of a stubborn bastard She had made Crowley. Honestly, it was likely a bit of both.

Crowley forgot how clean the air was in the beginning. The sky of Eden felt a whole lot healthier than the 6000 year old one of yesterday. Of course, it hardly mattered as the demon didn’t do much flying back in modern day. It just wasn’t worth the miracle it would take to alter people’s memory after a nice flight.

“Crowley, who was that? One of your old coworkers obviously, but which one in particular?”

“Hastur, Duke of Hell. Although guess he’d have my old name if we’ve got Adam and Eve’s. Crawly. Ugh, can’t believe I went by that as long as I did.”

“For confusion’s sake, let’s just address everyone by their proper names. I prefer to think of the new names as a bestowment of a role rather than a replacement identity. I rather like being me.”

“Works for me. Don’t think I could call anyone else Aziraphale beside you anyways.”

As the Eastern Gate neared, it became obvious that there was indeed someone guarding it. A winged figure grew into view, but this individual didn’t have just two wings as Aziraphale and Crowley did. No, this person had six, three layered on each side. Only a few specific angels had wings like this, and all of them were Archangels.

“Do you suppose that Hastur fellow was being honest?” Aziraphale asked in response to seeing the Archangel’s form.

“It’d be a first for him,” was the extent of Crowley’s reply.

They landed on the Wall. A wave of uncomfortable deja vu flooded through Aziraphale. This was all like a memory but one that was corrupted by a nightmare. There indeed was a Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and it most certainly wasn’t him but rather Archangel Gabriel just as Hastur had said. The Archangel even sported the same robe that Aziraphale had worn all those years ago. However, unlike Aziraphale, Gabriel still wielded his flaming sword.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale called rather hesitantly. He was hardly comfortable around the Archangel considering he had sentenced him to death just the day before. “Would you mind explaining what’s going on?”

Gabriel turned to face them with his infamous false-happy grin plastered to his face. He looked less than surprised to see them. “Uh, obviously the Almighty was upset that The End of the World didn’t go off as intended, so She reset the whole universe to make it happen this time. And we all got new jobs because of our failure to perform, duh.” He shook his head as if Aziraphale was the most stupid being he’s ever come across.

“That—that’s hardly a logical deduction!”

“Do you think this happening after you and your demon pal’s mess up is just a coincidence? This is a direct result of your actions, Aziraphale. Although I guess that name is mine now.” Gabriel’s smile turned rather bitter.

“Yeah, he’ll be keeping his name.” Crowley took a step between the two angels. “And if God really got all pissy that the end times didn’t kick off, She could’ve jump started them Herself. Would’ve cost roughly the same amount of energy as doing this!”

“Back off, demon,” Gabriel replied, pointing his sword towards Crowley. “Sure, holy water left you unscarred, but I doubt this will.”

God abandoned the bottle of wine She had been nursing and instead summoned a bag of freshly popped popcorn. Now, this was entertainment: the demon acting as a shield between his love and Gabriel. Maybe this plan was working out.

“There’s no need for violence!” Aziraphale cried, pulling Crowley back to his side. “I think we can all agree that we’re quite unhappy with our given arrangement and would like things to return to normal. Can we not agree to that?”

“Yes. I think we can all agree to that.” Hastur’s voice caused both Aziraphale and Crowley to turn around rather quickly. The Duke of Hell had joined them on the Wall, black smoke still pooling from where he landed.

“Funny. Thought you would love this, Hastur,” Crowley replied, sauntering over. “You get all of Satan’s fun jobs this go about.”

“I don’t enjoy the idea of living in your shadow for the next 6000 years.”

“And I thought you said Lord Beelzebub has taken over Gabriel’s role. That seems more than advantageous for Hell. Why would you want to give that up unless, of course, you were lying?” Aziraphale asked in a very passive aggressive tone.

“Oh, I’ve got the answer for that one,” Gabriel answered. “Beezy’s not that well off up there. They may have stolen my job, but they are very much still vulnerable to holy water, and oh, we’ve got a lot of it up there.”

“You didn’t kill them did you?!?” Hastur growled, charging directly up to Gabriel.

“Ah, no not going to answer that one. Now back away, demon, or I can assure you that you’ll never find out.”

Gabriel waved the sword between himself and Hastur. The Duke of Hell backed up in a rather quick fashion with a less than intimidating expression on his face.

“If it was my choice, of course I would’ve chosen to keep my old job over something as lowly as this.” Gabriel turned to speak to Aziraphale. His sword, however, remained pointed at Hastur. “But this was the Almighty’s decision. Do you really want to go against God’s Plan, Aziraphale? Are you left with any faith or has your demon left you with none?”

“Of course I trust the Almighty!” Aziraphale replied, taking a step forward. “But just as I believed that She didn’t wish to destroy the world, I can’t imagine She wanted us all to be so unhappy. Wanted to undo everything that’s been done.”

Gabriel lowered the sword and approached Aziraphale, halting just a few inches in front of him. “This isn’t permanent. Is that what you think? That God has done this for good? Honestly? You really should’ve spent more time Upstairs when you had a chance. Could’ve picked up on some things. No, this is obviously some kind of test, and once we pass, everything goes back to normal.”

“If it is so obvious, could you please inform the rest of us on what exactly this test involves?” Aziraphale asked, still staring the Archangel in the eyes. He leaned ever so slightly forward into Gabriel’s personal space. Just a few days ago, he would’ve never dreamed of speaking to a superior in such a strict, demanding way, but the End of the World had changed all that.

“Just do your job well,” Gabriel replied with a shake of his head. “The Almighty gave us new ones for a reason. So do good work. Get rewarded. In this case, everything goes back to normal. Simple.”

“Wait,” Crowley began with a hand on his hip. “Your idea of what’s going to fix all this is for us all to pretend to be someone else as if we were actors putting on a play for God? That’s what’s going to put everything back to normal?”

“Well, don’t just copy what’s already been done. Do it better. Like how I’m holding onto this sword and not losing it. Make improvements like that.”

“Improving Crowley’s work is far from a difficult task.” Hastur said, still keeping his distance. His petrification from Gabriel’s threats may have worn off, but the lesson remained learned.

“Really? Can’t wait to see how you handle that,” Crowley replied, not even bothering to turn around.

“Any other demon would’ve been a better fit...” Hastur responded, throwing Crowley’s own words back in his face.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the two bickering demons before looking back at Gabriel. “How are we supposed to do a more outstanding job than Adam and Eve? Can you even improve upon a job with no criteria?”

“Uh, not my problem. You two need to figure out how to make a human together or something. You’re the Earth expert. Not me.” The Archangel gestured to Eden below. “For starters, I’d get back down there. Adam and Eve lived in the garden. Not on the Wall surrounding it.”

“Is that actually all you’re going to give us?”

“Uh, yeah. I really don’t like you.” Gabriel’s eye twitched. “Now go. And take the demon with you. Both of them actually if you can.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Come on, Crowley. I’m rather done here.” He grabbed the demon’s hand, which was currently flipping off Hastur, before he could reply and jumped off the Wall with him.

They freefalled for a moment before catching the wind and soaring back up into the air. They only heard a few final words as they left the Eastern Gate to return to Eden below.

“I think we’re scheduled for a talk, Archangel.”

A demon and an angel stood on the Wall of Eden, but it very much so was the wrong angel and demon. A thunderstorm rumbled in the sky. It would be the first rain of the new world, yet there would be no act of kindness shared up on the Wall during it. All of the kindness would be left down in the greenery of Eden this time around. But God didn’t mind. She was instead rather captivated by Crowley and Aziraphale holding hands as they soared through the air.

[Chapter 2]

#Good Omens #Gomens #Ineffable Husbands #Good Omens fic #my writing

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angelofrainfrogs · 5 years

Text

Serendipity (Part 1/3)

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (but not the main focus)

Other Characters: Warlock Dowling

Description: Seven years after Armageddidn't, a boy wanders into A.Z. Fell and Co. and finds something more priceless than a first-edition novel- a reunion he (and his childhood caretakers) never thought possible.

Rating: G

Genre: General/Family/Mild Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432192/chapters/48473378

Part 1

Aziraphale raised his head from his book as the bell over the shop door jingled merrily. The angel carefully set the book and his glasses on a nearby table, standing up with a small sigh. Today had been blessedly quiet and he’d hoped that it would remain as such- this was only his third customer and it was already mid-afternoon. Still, he knew that if he let whoever had just walked in wander aimlessly, they might feel the urge to buy something; it was best to check on the visitor and see what their mission was before they tried anything rash.

“Hello!” Aziraphale said warmly, rounding the corner of an overstuffed bookshelf to find a boy examining a section of Italian poetry. The boy was in his late teens, with a lanky build just a smidge taller than Aziraphale. He wore dark jeans and a V-neck t-shirt bearing the logo of some pop band the angel would never understand. His hair, a cross between dirty blonde and light, light brown, was cut short, save for the unruly swathe of bangs that fell in front of his bright blue eyes.

“Hey,” the boy replied, pushing his bangs out of the way to get a better look at Aziraphale.

The angel blinked as he was hit with a wave of strange familiarity. A slight crease between his eyes was the only thing that alluded to this; otherwise, he kept himself composed. Aziraphale had seen so many humans over the years, he got the occasional twinge of feeling that he knew someone passing by in the street, but it always turned out to be a double of someone he’d met long ago. This boy, surely, was no different.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, young man?” Aziraphale asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“No, I just… kinda wandered in to look around, honestly.” The boy laughed and Aziraphale couldn’t stop his smile from widening. The laugh, coupled with the boy’s American accent, triggered something deep within his memory, though he couldn’t quite reach it. “The Yelp reviews of this place are wild; I wanted to see what it’s like for myself.”

“Yelp reviews?” Aziraphale questioned, tilting his head. He’d heard of this before from some of the other customers. From what he gathered, Yelp was a platform where people could post reviews of places they’ve visited. Based on what Aziraphale had been told, his bookshop would be classified as having a “mixed rating.”

“Yeah, people have said all kinds of shi- er, stuff about this shop,” the boy replied, correcting his near-curse as he guiltily met Aziraphale’s gaze. Something told the boy that the shop owner wouldn’t appreciate that sort of language. Remembering a particularly interesting review, the boy’s face lit up. “Is it true there’s a giant snake in here?!”

“Ah, well… sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted, a bemused light in his eyes. “He tends to wander, though; he’s out at the moment.”

The boy’s face shifted into an expression of mingled confusion and curiosity. Aziraphale’s unneeded breath caught in his throat. The strange sensation pulsed in the back of the angel’s mind, the feeling that he definitely knew this boy. He wanted more information on his origins, but it wouldn’t do to push too hard, lest he scare the boy off- Aziraphale had been told on more than one occasion that he could be rather “ruthless” (according to a certain demon, though the phrase made the angel scrunch his nose up in disgust) when it came to gathering information he desperately wanted to know.

“We don’t usually get many visitors from out of the area; are you on holiday?” Aziraphale asked, busying himself with reorganizing a shelf of books that had been shifted out of alphabetical order. There had to be some connection- he’d probably met the boy’s family or long-distant relative on a trip to America many years ago.

“No, I’m going to college here- university, whatever you want to call it,” the boy replied with a shrug. “Well, I mean, I don’t have class today- I’m not skipping or anything.” Again, there was that guilty look, as if the boy was afraid of disappointing the man in front of him- which was odd, since the boy had certainly never met the elusive Mr. Fell before. “I’ve got a day off, so I figured I’d check out Soho. I never really got to just, like… explore England when I was a kid.”

The angel froze mid-task. His slowly turned, focusing on the boy’s face and really looking. Time seemed to fade before his eyes, the boy’s defined features softening into the lanky face of a pre-teen, then melting further into the chubby visage of a child with a smudge of dirt on his cheek from where he’d rubbed his face while planting flowers-

“You okay, Mr. Fell?” the boy asked, noting the slight tremor in Aziraphale’s hands. The angel blinked, quickly composing himself.

“Yes, I-I’m fine, young W-… dear boy.” Aziraphale caught himself as his voice slipped into an accent he hadn’t used for over seven years. He shook his head; there was absolutely no way this could be the same child whose bruises he’d healed with a loving kiss and a touch of divine miracle.

“…Okay.” The boy didn’t sound convinced but decided to let the matter drop. He’d heard that the owner of the bookshop was eccentric and figured that the hyper-focused attention he was receiving was part of the package. Although, the boy had to admit that, just for a second, the man had sounded terribly familiar.

An awkward silence followed, neither of the two knowing how to continue the conversation. Aziraphale’s mind was racing, trying to figure out if this really was the boy from his memory and, if this was true, why in the world he had chosen to visit the bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley had a discussion many years ago about whether they should try to reconnect with Warlock Dowling and had concluded that they’d already interfered in the boy’s life enough. His personality had seemed fairly balanced when they’d left, save for a tendency to be extremely blunt when speaking his mind. They had no idea what they'd really done to the poor mortal boy’s psyche and decided it best to leave him be and hope that he grew up as normal as he could from his eleventh birthday onward.

So, Crowley and Aziraphale stayed far away from the Dowlings for nearly a decade. They were so strong in their conviction of never going to see Warlock again that they hadn’t even entertained the possibility that the boy might find them.

No, it’s too much of a coincidence, Aziraphale thought, watching the teenager as he started looking through the poetry books in front of him. The angel glanced towards the ceiling, his lips pursed. Unless this is another part of Your ineffable plan…

“Hey, Mr. Fell?” The boy’s questioning tone brought Aziraphale back to Earth instantly. “I know you don’t, like… actually like to sell stuff, so the internet says, but maybe you could help me find a book for my mom’s birthday? I honestly don’t think she’d notice if I bought her a first edition Shakespeare collection or whatever, but… I dunno.” The boy shrugged. “I thought I could try something different and see what she thinks.”

The look in the boy’s eyes is what ultimately convinced the angel that his instinct was true. Aziraphale had seen that look much too often for his liking- it was a look of sad resignation that Warlock's parents, ever-distant and too wrapped up in the political world to raise their own child, didn’t care about him nearly as much as they should. A twinge of ice shot through the angel’s heart. He’d hated seeing that expression on a child’s face, but he utterly despised it now, knowing that things didn’t seem to have changed nearly a decade later.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the boy asked, seeing Aziraphale’s face slip into a strange expression. “You look-” He was about to say “weird,” but it was at that exact moment that the nagging familiarity that had also been gnawing away at his own mind came to the surface. He saw the face in front of him sporting a shining collection of bad teeth framed within a cloud of fluffy hair, though the mental image was skewed as if he had to look up from a much shorter height than he was now.

But, as with Aziraphale’s own recognition, it was the eyes that ultimately broke through the fog of childhood memories- the eyes currently gazing at Warlock full of more love than anyone should be able to comprehend. Without warning, Warlock felt tears prick at the edges of his vision.

“…Brother Francis?” he choked out in a small voice. Aziraphale smiled, and if Warlock had any remaining doubts about the man's identity, they were blown away like the shadows of night banished by the rising sun.

“Oh, my dear, dear boy,” Aziraphale said warmly, opening his arms, and Warlock fell into the hug without hesitation. They gripped each other tightly, and the angel realized what a fool he’d been for leaving the boy without a word. He and Crowley should have gone back after the apocalypse was thwarted, or at the very least written a letter explaining why they’d left; judging by the way Warlock held onto Aziraphale as if he were a lifeboat in the midst of a stormy sea, the angel realized that the boy must have missed them just as much as they’d missed him.

Aziraphale and Warlock stayed in the embrace for a while longer, and then the boy gently, almost reluctantly, unwrapped his arms and took a step back to give Aziraphale a proper once-over.

“What happened to you?!” Warlock asked, astonishment dripping from every word. Then, suddenly, a fierce frown twisted his face. “And why the hell did you and Nanny leave without saying anything?! Er, sorry, I mean why the heaven- ugh, you get my point!”

Aziraphale smiled again; this was the boy he used to know, attitude and all. Warlock always had a penchant for speaking his mind, a fact that was encouraged wholeheartedly by his Nanny. While Aziraphale didn’t want Warlock to stop expressing his feelings and asking questions either, he had been bothered by the boy’s increasing vocabulary of unsavory expressions, which the angel had tried to remedy by correcting him with more docile phrasing. Apparently, the instinct to do so still was still present.

“Hellooo?” Warlock said, waving a hand in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Brother Francis- Mr. Fell… whoever you are! This is really weird, and I need you to explain a lot of things!”

“Oh, I do apologize, my dear; I get a bit lost in my thoughts, sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted with a guilty chuckle. He hesitated for a second and then gestured towards the back of the shop, where a comfortable couch and coffee table resided. “Yes, we… we really should have a little chat. Please, have a seat and I’ll put on a pot of tea and join you.”

Warlock didn’t move, instead narrowing his eyes. Aziraphale blinked at him.

“…Would you prefer coffee instead?” the angel ventured. Warlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of him, slouching to the side in a pose uncannily similar to someone else Aziraphale knew.

“You literally just up and left me when I was eleven years old,” the boy explained, a scathing bite to his words that made Aziraphale wince. “According to the internet, you’re some weird cryptid- which I can now confirm, knowing who you really are, because you and Nanny were definitely not normal. How do I know you won’t just-”

And here the boy cut himself off, realizing how vulnerable finishing that sentence would make him seem. He knew that Brother Francis had seen all sides of him, weak ones and all, but that was many years ago. He’d still been a kid then; now he was older and much more practiced at hiding his true emotions, since the only people who’d had time for them disappeared after his eleventh birthday. Just because he’d found his beloved gardener and confidant again through some divine- or hellish, he never knew which to believe- turn of events, it didn’t mean that things would instantly go back to the way they were before.

Warlock didn’t think it was possible for Brother Francis’ expression to soften even more, but apparently it could. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking him, the angel reached out and gently brushed Warlock’s bangs out of his face, tucking them behind his ear before cupping the boy’s cheek in his hand.

“I’m not going to leave you again, dear boy, please believe that,” Aziraphale said, injecting as much truth into his words as he possibly could. “It was a rash decision and your Nanny and I should never have disappeared without a word. I’m just going to flip the Closed sign on the door and put the kettle on, and then we can talk, alright?”

Warlock nodded almost imperceptibly, but Aziraphale saw the gesture. He gave the boy’s cheek a light pinch and winked, earning a cry of embarrassment. With a laugh, the angel disappeared around a bookshelf, moving towards the front door. Rubbing his cheek and pouting, Warlock shuffled to the couch in the back of the shop. He’d forgotten how endearingly annoying his old gardener could be.

Aziraphale flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” and leaned back against the old wooden door, shutting his eyes. He was overjoyed to see Warlock again, certainly, but he was completely unprepared for this situation. What was he supposed to tell the boy? What excuse could he possibly give for Warlock’s closest companions abandoning him without so much as a “goodbye?”

Aziraphale and Crowley always regretted the way they’d handled that situation, but they had bigger concerns at the time- namely, the impending apocalypse and the fact that Warlock was not the antichrist they thought he was. Aziraphale grimaced, running a stressed hand through his hair; what should they tell Warlock about that? Should they expose him to the supernatural world he’d unintentionally been apart of for the first half of his life?

“…Probably best not to bring that part up,” the angel murmured to himself. He adjusted his waistcoat and steeled himself for the afternoon ahead. He would make Warlock a nice cup of tea, call Crowley to give him a warning on who awaited him back at the bookshop, and then bide his time until the demon showed up and they could have a proper conversation about what to do now that the boy was back in their lives. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.

So, of course, it was guaranteed that things would not turn out the way Aziraphale hoped. As the angel busied himself in the tiny kitchenette area in the back of the shop, the bell over the front door rang again.

“Angel!” a voice called, and Aziraphale let out a strangled yelp. He rushed out of the back room and was greeted with the sight of Warlock, standing by the couch slack-jawed and staring straight ahead. Trapped at the end of Warlock’s gaze stood Crowley, wearing an eerily similar expression of shock. The two of them gazed at each other questioningly for an agonizing few seconds, before Warlock asked, in a trembling voice:

“N… Nanny Ash?”

“…Ah,” Aziraphale said when Crowley turned his helpless expression upon him. Though the demon’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, Aziraphale knew they were giving him a look of utter confusion. “Crowley, we… we have a very special visitor.”

“Ngk,” the demon replied.

And then, suddenly, Warlock was in Crowley’s arms, holding him tight, and Crowley returned the gesture without a second thought, overwhelmed with a great sense of relief. The boy was shaking, obviously trying very hard not to cry, and the demon instinctively gripped him closer and grinned into his hair.

“Hey, little hellspawn. Good to see you again.”

***

Read Part 1. (You are here.)

Read Part 2.

Read Part 3.

#good omens #fanfic #fanfiction #warlock dowling #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #found family #reunions #serendipity #ao3 #phantomhivemast3r #midna3452

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padfootagain · 5 years

Text

Will You Still Be Here In The Morning? (I)

Part 1 : Before The Arrangement

Okay, I've finally finished that one-shot that rebelled against me and decided to ruin my life this week by getting so damn long (over 24k)!!! As I've said, this was meant as a one-shot but it became way too long for me to post it as one, so I'm going to split it into five parts and post them in a row to make it easier for you to read. However, it is meant as a one-shot, keep that in mind about the format of this story. I wish I could say it's a brilliant idea of an AU that got out of hand, but really, it's just a collection of moments, and there aren't really any plot beyond that, sorry… just Ineffable Husbands pining for 6 thousand years…

I'm also going to post it on AO3, but this time in just one long post, so if you prefer to read it all in one piece, you'll find the link to AO3 on the masterpost for this story. Go to my masterlist, choose Good Omens, Ineffable Husbands and choose this story in the series section.

I do hope you all like this, it has been hell, but I've overcome it. I am warning you though, it's not all unicorns and rainbows, there is both some angst and the fluffier fluff in this! ;)

Please, tell me what you think about it.

Gif not mine

Word count : 4520

Crawly was shaking, and not because of the cold. Not really. It was because of the shock of it all, the last molecules of adrenaline leaving his veins and abandoning him to the realization striking.

He had tried. He had tried so hard to save as many as he could. He had built his own boat, he had gathered as many children as he could, he had planned everything. As soon as Aziraphale and he had discussed God's plans, he had tried to stop it. Or, well, not to stop it, but to prevent a part of the utter destruction it would cause. He couldn't save all of them, he couldn't save it all, but he could save some of them. For his side, he would pretend it was an attempt to go against God's plan, and it truly was, actually. He wasn't scared for the side effects it would have on him and his relation with his superiors.

But it hadn't worked. It hadn't worked at all. Maybe God herself had found out about his plan, or maybe humans were just that bad sometimes, but a group of angry men had come to destroy his ship. They had been angry at Noah and his ark too, but they hadn't destroyed the it. Maybe Aziraphale had something to do with that. Crawly wasn't sure. What he was certain of was that as he stared at his boat go up in flames, he couldn't find a way to hold back his tears.

They were salty, and bitter, and they tasted like the first rain on Eden. They tasted a little bit like his Fall too. They tasted a lot like the first time he had asked an unwanted question, and was reprimanded for it. They tasted like doubt.

He had fallen for questioning God, for his longing for knowledge, for his want to hear a reason behind his orders and actions of others. But the question why? was the most dangerous of all. He had learnt that a long time ago.

He had watched the wood of his large boat turn into ashes, black smoke emerging out of colourful flames and floating upwards towards a sky that grew darker and darker, greyish puffs of smoke drifting towards blacker clouds and illuminated by the red and orange fire it appeared from. It was just before the rain would start, right before the seas would rise. It was right before God would kill them all…

Why kill even the children?

The same question was in his head again then, staring at the dancing blazes. The most dangerous of all, but God couldn't make him fall twice anyway, so there was no need to keep the question in.

He shouted it out to the sky, his yellow eyes drowned in tears and fixed onto the firmament, his jaw clenched and anger and betrayal painted all over his features.

Why the children too?

He couldn't fathom a single valid reason for it. Why save one man and his family over all these innocent souls? How could God think that a grown-up man was purer than a new-born baby? How could she punish even the ones who hadn't done anything wrong to the world yet? It felt so wrong…

Aziraphale had found him, drunk to no end, a week after the water had gone back its rightful place again. The flood was over, the seas and oceans had found back their rhythms, lakes and rivers were back to their normal quiet. But there was no one left, almost, to enjoy the peace.

The angel had been looking for his hereditary enemy for days and days, but when he found him, it was in a dark little corner of a house lost in Northern Europe, surrounded by nothing but alcohol.

There was something then that moved in Aziraphale's chest, that he knew he shouldn't have felt. Not for a demon, and anyway, not a movement like this at all. It didn't matter. He pushed the thought away. He had been worried when he hadn't found any trace of him after the flood – his reasonable inner voice argued it was because he ought to keep an eye on the adversary, his feelings told him otherwise, but he couldn't resolve himself into listening to them for now.

He thought again of the day of the first rain, he thought of how natural it had felt to stretch a wing for Crawly to hide under, how easy it was to talk with him. He would have lied if he had pretended like he hadn't been happy to see him again after their parting on the walls of Eden. Even their encounter before the ark, although the circumstances were terrible, had brought a warm feeling to spread through his entire being.

It was pain that conquered his frame now, as he looked at Crawly sitting on the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees, like a child thrown into the night who was afraid of the dark.

He knelt by the demon's side, would try to shame him out of his drunken trance, to bring his mind back into focus on the world around him. It took him a single word to do so.

"Crawly?"

His head snapped up, and his golden eyes almost like amber then, in the dim light of the fire from the hearth nearby. Now that Aziraphale thought of it, the house smelled of burnt wood, ashes and spilled wine, and something absolutely indescribable that smelled just like Crawly.

"Aziraphale?" he asked in a blur, his eyes unfocused although he was doing his best to rest his gaze upon the angel before him.

Knots formed in Aziraphale's stomach at how hoarse Crawly's voice sounded as it passed his tightened throat.

"I wondered where you had run off," he explained with a nervous little laugh. "Couldn't find you anywhere down there, in the south, so I thought… well, I wanted to know what you were up to. Demonic force unleashed upon the world and all that, of course…"

Crawly shrugged.

"Drinking, 's all."

"I can see that."

"You?"

"Looking for you. That's all. I… I heard about your boat. Why did you build it?"

A few tears escaped Crawly's eyes again.

"The children," he merely answered, but he knew he didn't need to explain more of it for Aziraphale to understand what he meant. "But they destroyed it, and I… I couldn't save…"

He loudly sniffed, drying his cheeks on his sleeve, but as soon as he put his arm around his knees again, some new tears rolled down to wet his skin once more.

"They were crying. When the water was so high, and there was no place left to hide. They were crying… they were crying and there was nothing I could do…"

"I know. I heard them too," Aziraphale whispered, hurrying to dry his eyes before Crawly could see how affected he was too.

But the demon noticed it anyway.

"Why would She let the children die?" he asked in a whisper, as if afraid to be heard by someone else than the angel before him.

But Aziraphale shook his head.

"I don't know. I really don't know. But, as I understand it, it's not our job to know this kind of things. We must accept it. God knows what purpose Her actions serve, and it is what matters."

"But why can't I know too? Why is it so bad that I want to know why She did it?"

Aziraphale had no answer, and he didn't pretend like he did have one.

"I don't know."

They stared at each other for a while, both of them trying to withhold their tears, and both of them miserably failing.

"You should sober up," Aziraphale eventually broke the silence that had settled in the room, only disturbed by the cold wind howling outside and the fire cracking next to them.

The night was violent, like many had been since the flood. The wind seemed unable to rest, the temperature had dropped unusually low for this time of the year, the animals roamed longer in the shadows under the moonlight. There was an unrest shaking the world, as if the flood had scared the Earth itself, and it was afraid God would do it again.

She had promised she would not, though. Instead, She would invent rainbows.

As they stared at each other, both Crawly and Aziraphale were shaken with the same urge, that they both refrained. They wanted to hold each other, even if for just a minute, feel the physical reassurance brought by someone who knew how they felt, knew what had happened since the beginning and knew how unfair it was, although none of them dared to speak the words they thought about. Instead, they just stared at each other for a while. There wasn't any word really invented yet to describe how they felt for each other. It was okay. They guessed it might be, one day, like all things had been invented before and would be invented later, the same way God was about to invent rainbows.

Aziraphale moved to sit next to Crawly, against the wall of both mud and clay. He rested his back against the hard surface before taking Crawly's jar, and drinking some wine. It didn't taste very good, but it didn't matter. The alcohol was all he was looking for.

Crawly meant to say it. That he was happy Aziraphale had come. That he felt better now that the angel was by his side. That he didn't want him to leave. That he hadn't stopped thinking about his kind smile, and his long white wing stretching in the first raindrops, and his ridiculously blond hair, and his clever blue eyes. That he had hoped their paths would cross more often than he could dare to admit. But he couldn't speak the words out loud, they were too dangerous, and he couldn't imagine a way for the angel to feel the same as he did. So instead, he mustered his last strengths to ask one more question, his voice low, weak, shaking in a breath.

"Will you still be here in the morning?"

Aziraphale found himself wanting to cry again, but he didn't. Crawly's question sounded a lot like please, don't go. Please, stay.

"We'll see," the angel answered in a hesitant voice.

Although his words sounded a lot like I will.

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

It was the middle of the night. There had been no signs of evil lurking around the town, no words from Hell to notify Crawly about moving pieces around. He wasn't even sure if it was a mere accident or if Hell was involved. All he knew was what he could witness now: the consequences of an event he couldn’t stop anymore.

The great library of Alexandria was burning, and within its walls, the greatest treasures of mankind turned into ashes: knowledge and beauty.

History, philosophy, poetry, tales… all were turning from scrolls to blazes right under his eyes, and there wasn’t much he could do. If he were to be honest, he didn’t much care about the texts. He cared about the angel he was certain to find there.

Without fail, Aziraphale was here. He seemed desperate, yet focused his efforts in an attempt to contain the fire and stop it from spreading across town. Crawly could see a few people lying on the ground, safely, a few meters away from the burning building. Somehow, he knew the angel had used his powers to get them out of the fire and save their lives.

Crawly would be in trouble if he was caught helping Aziraphale with the burning inferno, and he reckoned he could hardly take such a tremendous risk. There were hundreds of people around, too many eyes that could have been watching for his reaction, for his actions. He couldn’t take the risk to have Hell learn about the way he felt for Aziraphale. He didn’t dare to imagine what either of their sides would do to them if they learnt…

He couldn’t work in plain sight, but he could do some discreet work. He could move to adjacent streets and bless them against the coming fire, he could disguise himself to evacuate the people in neighbouring streets. He could heal the wounded who had been taken away from the flames. Finally, he could miracle himself inside the library, just for a few seconds, just long enough to grab an armful of scrolls, and miracle himself out again.

And it's exactly what he did that night.

At dawn, he found Aziraphale in his house, not far from the burning library. The flames had spread to more buidings, but the angel lived far enough in the city to be safe. The blazes were weakening, slowly yet surely. There was little more to do except wait for it all to be over.

Crawly brought with him a large bag, containing the scrolls he had saved and a large jar filled with wine.

He knocked four times in a particular pattern, the code he and Aziraphale had designed to let the other know who was visiting. It was safer this way. If another Angel was with Aziraphale now, he would make some noise, either by breaking some pottery, raising his voice or coughing… no matter what, something loud and clear that would tell Crawly to run as fast as possible.

Instead, he recognized the faint sound of slow, reluctant steps coming closer to the door, and Aziraphale soon appeared before him.

The angel seemed exhausted, desperation extinguishing the usual glint that shone in his blue eyes. He had scratches on his cheeks and arms, even a rather deep burn on his left upper-arm. He didn’t seem to care much about them though.

Crawly clenched both his fists and jaw. He wished he’d known for certain who was truly responsible for this. He would make sure to send them straight to Hell. But for now, the culprit was a mere rumour, and it wasn't enough…

"What do you want? Has something happened?" he asked the demon, still blocking the way, preventing Crawly from stepping inside.

"Has something happened? Are you serious? You think I haven’t noticed the library burning?"

"Did you have something to do with that?"

Crawly’s gaze softened, and he spoke in a soothing tone this time.

"No, Aziraphale. It wasn’t me. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I know you loved the place."

It was Aziraphale’s time to soften, and he moved aside, letting the demon in. He locked the door behind them.

"Do you think it comes from your side?" Aziraphale asked in a hesitant voice.

"I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything."

"You really didn’t know?"

Crawly turned to face Aziraphale, eyes of sulphur and amber meeting irises as blue as the sea. And when the demon answered, the angel had to doubt that he was telling him the truth. Crawly had always been a terrible liar… at least with Aziraphale.

"I would have tried to stop it if I knew."

"Really?"

Crawly shrugged, trying to look casual, but his voice sounded a little too fragile.

"Hey, you know… knowledge can lead to questioning, and I’m the living proof that your side doesn’t like questions. So obviously, it would have been a very demonic thing to do."

But his tone and the softness of his voice, and the look in his eyes that seemed almost tender were rather saying he would have done it for Aziraphale.

"Heard it was because of good old Julius again," Crawly went on. "Burnt ships near the harbour, the fire spread through the parts of town closer to the sea. I can't be sure it's the real reason behind it all, though, maybe it is another demon. Anyway, I'm sorry."

Aziraphale let himself fall on a chair around his wooden table, heaving an exhausted sigh. When he spoke again, Crawly could hear the tears in his voice.

"I couldn’t save anything. Just the people inside, but not a single scroll, nothing more. I should have prevented it altogether. What kind of angel am I? Not even able to protect a library…"

Crawly sat down as well, pulling the chair across the floor to sit right in front of the angel. He took out of his bag the jar and the scrolls. Aziraphale’s eyes grew round at the sight of the parchments.

"I arrived too late, I’m sorry," Crawly mumbled, looking uncomfortably away from the angel as he handed him the texts, while Aziraphale was now staring at him again, his mouth a little agape with a mixture of shock and hope. "I couldn’t save much. Had time for only one trip inside."

"You went inside? After the fire started?"

"Well… you were busy helping around the library, so… yeah. Anyway, you know, demon, fire… suits me better than it suits you."

He handed the scrolls still, but Azirapahale wasn’t making any movement to take them.

"You went inside to save those?" Aziraphale went on, his voice shaking.

"No need to make a big deal of it," Crawly replied.

"You could have been hurt!"

"I wasn’t."

He shook the parchments a little, a silent plea for the angel to finally reach out and take them. It felt like Crawly was handing over more than a few scrolls though, something of him that he didn’t dare to name but that had been Aziraphale’s for a while.

The angel eventually took the scrolls in his hands, shaking a little as the dry parchment fell under his fingers, as he grasped the only things of the library that remained. He had spent so many hours there, had found so many stories and essays to add to the collection. It was all gone now. All, except for the seven scrolls he was now holding in his trembling hands.

And it was thanks to Crawly.

"Thank you," he whispered, his cheeks wet with tears, but Crawly shushed him in a hurry.

"Don’t say something like that! Imagine if someone was listening! Besides… there’s no need for a thank you, really. It’s alright."

Aziraphale hesitated when he spoke again. He could have told a lie, or speak his mind. It was a battle he often fought around Crawly. He found himself longing to speak out words that an angel should never say, and even less so to a demon.

He was too tired, too distraught, too desperate to think about Heaven’s rules at this moment though.

"Crawly, if I… if I can ask for one more favour I… I think I would… like some companionship right now?"

But his voice sounded like he truly meant please, stay. Crawly, for the love of God, stay.

The demon struggled to hide the smile that tried to form on his lips.

"Yes, angel. I can do that. In fact, I came prepared."

He took the jar he had brought, and poured a drink for both of them. And Aziraphale, despite his tears, smiled.

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

"So… you made this one?"

Crowley nodded his head, blushing a little and mumbling an incomprehensible answer.

"I didn't know you used to make stars," Aziraphale breathed, clearly impressed. "It's lovely. I've always liked stars."

"Wasn't any big deal, really."

"No big deal?! Crowley! Of course, it is! They are beautiful!"

Crowley shyly smiled.

"Thanks."

"I think this one is my favourite," Aziraphale smiled, wiggling a little, the scroll he had brought to share with Crowley completely forgotten by his side now. "Yes, most definitely. It's gorgeous."

"Actually, there are two stars," Crowley explained. "But they're very close, the closest there are in the sky. And they are so close, you can't make the difference between them, and only see one. I thought… I thought it was… meaningful, at the time. To have two things so close they seem to be just one."

"Soulmates," Aziraphale smiled and nodded.

"Yes, like soulmates."

"What's their name? You haven't told me."

"Alpha and Beta Centauri."

"Oh, so lovely…"

They had eaten dinner together, it was the beginning of the oyster season. They had walked a little through Rome as twilight painted the sky with gold. They had settled down in the forum, sitting on the edge of a wall, at the top of a flight of stairs. Despite the scroll that Aziraphale had brought for Crowley, the conversation had settled on the firmament as the angel enjoyed the view of the burning stars through the branches of cypresses. And that's when Crowley had revealed that a long time ago, before his fall, he had helped creating them. And the angel couldn't refrain the wave of affection aimed at Crowley that washed over him at the thought of the demon creating some of the most beautiful things in all of Creation.

"You've never told me," Aziraphale said softly, carefully, as if he spoke to a child he feared to scare away, "how it happened."

"Making stars? Nothing that complicated, you just need gas and a little bit of heat and then… then the trick is to make them hold together in equilibrium. Also, the balance of colours is tricky, and that takes a while. Other than that, it's not that hard."

Aziraphale chuckled.

"I didn't mean the stars, but I'm glad to know that now."

Crowley nodded knowingly.

"I know you didn't mean the stars."

He remained silent, and the angel decided to back away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Hurt me?"

"Well, it… must be quite a painful memory. I shouldn't have asked that."

"Yeah, yeah… it was quite painful, indeed."

Crowley's voice was weak now, a little too deep as well. It sounded far off, remoted, as if he spoke from another world. He seemed lost in memories he wished he could forget.

"You… we should talk about something else, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Crowley shook himself and turned to Aziraphale again, a casual smile on his face.

"'S alright, angel. Nothing to worry about. I'm fine. I just… haven't really talked about it since it happened."

"Really? But it was a long time ago."

"Demons aren't really the 'open up and share your trauma' types."

"Neither are angels," Aziraphale muttered with a wince.

"I know. I remember that."

"Look I… if you want to talk about it, because it would help you… now or whenever you'd feel like it, then I will be here to listen to you, Crowley. And on the contrary, if it makes you feel uncomfortable to mention it, then it's okay too."

The demon slowly nodded, feeling his throat tightening and tears blurring the world around him.

How could Aziraphale be so kind? Even with him? A demon? No one had ever been so kind to him…

Silence settled around them for a while. It was already late at night, and yet a few people kept on walking through the city, either to fetch more wine to drink or on their way home. The torches set around the forum attracted insects and a few fireflies were buzzing around the place, tiny dots of light moving through the stony lane and buildings.

When he spoke again, Crowley's voice was soft, distant again, a mere whisper almost destroyed by the blowing breeze, and yet Aziraphale did hear him. And maybe it was a little bit of a miracle.

"I didn't mean to fall, you know? I mean I… I didn't stop believing in Her. I didn't choose to follow Satan. I simply… I wanted to know. I wanted to know why things were the way they were. And I asked too many questions. And as no one would tell me, I asked around, and I kept on asking, and I hung around the wrong people in the end and… And when they fell, they pulled me down with them, but I didn't… I didn't choose a side. I was molested into one. Because I asked why and She didn't like that. I… sauntered vaguely downwards. That's all I did. I never understood why, here again. Why is it a bad thing to want to know why…"

His voice broke, he sniffed, and Aziraphale had to dry his own cheeks too.

"I'm sorry, Crowley," he whispered, his tone matching the demon's.

"It hurt so much… it burnt… it burnt so much and my wings…"

His voice broke again, and this time, he couldn't muster the strength to speak again. Aziraphale rested a reassuring hand on his back, stroking gently, soothingly. Crowley didn't dare to move, too scared the angel would stop. He struggled to control his breathing, but miserably failed.

"It's over now," Aziraphale whispered in a warm voice. "Besides, your wings are still beautiful."

Crowley dried his cheeks as he let out a little laugh.

"Yeah, well… they used to be so white."

"I think they suit you better in black."

They looked at each other and exchanged a smile. Aziraphale had moved his hand to rest where one of Crowley's wing should appear, and he traced circular patterns there. It was intimate, trusting… and Crowley couldn't breathe at all by now.

"Angel?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Are you scared of me?"

Aziraphale frowned.

"Why would I be?"

"I just… I don't want you to be scared of me. I know I'm a demon but I… I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right? We're… I wouldn't do that."

He almost said that they were friends, but he couldn't. He didn't want to go too far, and that was not the point. If Crowley knew the way he felt for the angel, if he had put words onto the feelings making his heart swell right now, he couldn't imagine for a second that Aziraphale could feel the same.

He was a demon, and Aziraphale… oh Aziraphale was the brightest, the kindest angel there was. He was a burning, but just like a star, Crowley was doomed to admire him from afar. Just like a star, he was unreachable…

For these past few years though, as they both lived in Rome, they had become closer than ever before. They spent time eating together, and talking, and taking walks, and laughing… If there was always a shadow following them that they tried to run away from, they still took the risk to see each other. If they were still careful and looked over their shoulders, they met anyway. Crowley reckoned it was enough, it was already more than he had thought possible not so long before.

The angel nodded.

"I know, Crowley. I know. And I won't ever do anything to harm you either."

"Oh… I know, angel. You're too soft for that."

Aziraphale laughed, but could hardly deny Crowley's words.

"Angel?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Will you still be here in the morning?"

The angel had heard the question several times before, and he knew that the hidden meaning behind the soft words was please, stay.

Aziraphale gave him a bright, tender smile.

"We'll see."

But it sounded a lot like I will.

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

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squaaash · 5 years

Text

like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass

read on ao3

Summary:

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

Throughout his tenure on Earth, Crowley has found that he greatly enjoys sleep. He’s learned that it’s nice to have a break from, you know, eternity. But he never knew how much he had come to rely on it until he couldn’t sleep through the night without being woken by–

By the fire.

And it absolutely baffles him. Because Aziraphale is fine. Aziraphale is alive, as he reminds himself every second of every day. Crowley should be fine too. (Except he’s not.)

Author’s Note:

hey everybody! guess who's still down the good omens hole! it's me. and this one hurts.

please take care reading this one! it involves nightmares, some issues with reality, some suicidal thoughts and very explicit descriptions of panic attacks along with imagery of fire and being burned alive (there's no gore, but again it's rather explicit about the concept) so please be careful if any of this might be a trigger

i've done my best tagging this for those things, but i'm rather new to posting on ao3, so if anyone has any advice on how it could be better tagged so people can navigate their triggers, don't hesitate to let me know!

that said, i'm pretty proud of this one, so please enjoy!

Text:

Crowley can’t breathe.

He doesn’t necessarily need to breathe, but the impact of the firehose against his chest forces all the air out of his lungs as it knocks him flat on his back.

An ice-cold sensation seeps into his clothes, his skin, his bones, his everything.

But it’s not the water. It’s something much, much worse.

Aziraphale is dead.

The thought makes his fingers go numb and his head go fuzzy.

He stays on the ground, his face tilted upwards towards the burning pages fluttering through the air like ashen doves. Aziraphale’s precious books. His misprinted bibles, his prophecies, his poetry. Centuries of collection used as kindling.

But it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no one left to miss them.

Aziraphale is dead.

Crowley takes a long, ragged breath, letting the smoke settle deeply into his lungs until it stings something awful. He wants to stay here. He wants to let the fire burn up his corporeal form. He wishes it would take everything else that makes him up with it.

And so it does.

As the flames crawl up his scalp, lick at his sleeves, swallow him up right down to his snakeskin shoes, he doesn’t find himself back in Hell. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he knows for certain that he’s finally approaching the end. The release.

Crowley will be gone. The world will end. Adam Young will make it so. And that is fine.

As Crowley slips away, he’s thankful.

Because Aziraphale is dead. And life without Aziraphale is no life at all.

But Crowley wakes up.

He bolts upright, half expecting to be met with unbearably humid air thick with the smell of sulfur. The smell of Hell.

He’s in bed, his entire body is covered in a cold sweat, tears streaming down his face. His breath is coming in shallow gasps as his body tries to hack up the smog that isn’t truly there.

He exhales shakily. He has this routine down to a science now.

His clock read 3:36 AM. He shuts his eyes and presses his hands over them tightly.

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

He needs to shower. Crowley knows by now that there’s no use trying to get back to sleep. He could easily rid himself of all the sweat and tears with a single thought, but a cool shower always helps him come back to himself a little easier.

The first time that Crowley had a nightmare about the bookshop, he got violently sick.

It was so vivid, so faithful to the experience he had, that he didn’t quite realize what was going on until he was slumped on the tile floor of his bathroom, sobbing and retching into the toilet like some hammered university student. He’d hoped it was a one-time thing, a fluke brought on by all the recent Armageddon-induced stress.

It’s been weeks like this.

By the fire.

And it absolutely baffles him. Because Aziraphale is fine. Aziraphale is alive, as he reminds himself every second of every day. Crowley should be fine too. (Except he’s not.)

It occurs to him, he should probably reflect a bit on that, as he strips and steps under the cooling spray, but his nightmares leave him too drained to think much of anything other than his new mantra.

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

He rests his flushed forehead against the tile.

Aziraphale is alive.

–––––––––

Aziraphale also can’t leave well enough alone.

“Respectfully, Crowley, you look awful.”

“You say the sweetest things, angel.”

He’s stopped by the bookshop a few hours prior to their plans to dine at the Ritz, dropping himself onto the sofa with propped his legs up on the arm, his feet dangling over the side. (He visits more often now for the purpose of staying rather than going out. It eases his heart to see the place intact.) Aziraphale has abandoned his finances for the moment to pester Crowley about the dark half-moons he’s sporting under each eye.

He had been fine for a while, but now the lack of sleep is truly taking its toll on him. He’s the kind of tired that stuffs your head full of cotton and lines your bones with lead. It makes your eyes burn and your feet drag. And as oblivious as the angel can be at times, he’s noticed the recent change in his best friend.

Crowley knows he looks awful, and he knows why he looks awful, but that doesn’t mean he has to admit it.

“Are you sleeping, Crowley?” Aziraphale peers at him over his reading specs (that he doesn’t need) and furrows his brow.

“Don’t worry about me, Aziraphale. I was marathoning Golden Girls all night, had a lovely time.”

“I always like a good chamomile tea in the evening if I’d like to sleep that night, puts me right–“

“Come on, I brought this on myself and it’s fine. You can drop it.”

The angel narrows his eyes at him, but abandons the subject for now and turns back to his computer.

Thank G–Thank… Someone.

So Crowley relaxes into the sofa as Aziraphale babbles on about a lovely new bakery that opened down the block recently, letting the lilting tones of his voice wash over him.

Before he knows it, his eyelids are getting heavy.

He thinks about fighting it, sitting up and listening more closely in the hopes of keeping his exhausted body awake. Surely his falling asleep would only exacerbate Aziraphale’s worries just as Crowley’s gotten him to drop the subject.

But he’s just so tired. So he gives in.

He’s awoken by the sound of crackling flames.

He sits up, his eyes wide. His head still feels thick with sleep, he’s not sure how long he’s been out for.

He’s still in the bookshop, Aziraphale is still at his desk, chattering away as he works.

But there’s fire coming up through the floor beneath him.

Hellfire.

“Aziraphale, get away from there!” Crowley wants to jump up and pull him away from the flames, but he’s rooted on the spot, unable to move.

Aziraphale turns towards him, entirely unbothered. “Whatever are you talking about?”

The flames snake upwards, slowly engulfing Aziraphale as they go.

Crowley wants to scream and yell and fight. He wants to drag the angel out of the blaze. But his voice is trapped in his throat as if he’s choking on his screams. His muscles refuse to move an inch.

Aziraphale’s tan trousers and cream-colored jacket turn black as they burn.

The angel doesn’t seem bothered by the heat. He’s looking at Crowley with concern on his face. (Entirely misplaced concern, as Crowley isn’t the one who’s currently being burned alive.)

The heat stings his eyes but he can’t look away. He has to sit and watch as the inferno eats his best friend whole.

Aziraphale is dead.

Finally, a scream rips its way out of Crowley’s throat.

“Aziraphale!”

A sharp pain on his face snaps him back into reality.

“Crowley, dear, are you alright?”

Crowley’s on the ground next to the sofa. As he rolls over, he suspects that he smacked his cheekbone against the floor when he fell. The impact’s left him somewhat dazed as he takes in the bookshop around him, breathing hard.

There’s no fire.

Aziraphale is kneeling next to him, looking absolutely distraught. Crowley takes a deep breath.

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

“Crowley, what on earth is going on? You were yelling in your sleep. And your cheek! It’s already bruising. Oh, you poor thing!” The angel reaches for Crowley’s face to better inspect the bruise, but he flinches away, no matter how badly he craves the grounding touch.

He has to squeeze his eyes shut against Aziraphale’s devastated expression.

“Crowley, please talk to–”

“I have to go. I’ll take a raincheck on the Ritzsss– On the Ritz.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is– Crowley, stop!”

He can’t do this. He scrambles to his feet, startling Aziraphale enough to fall backward from where he’s crouched on the floor. The longer he looks at Aziraphale, the more vividly he remembers the sight of him ablaze. Dead.

So Crowley does what he does best. He runs away.

–––––––––

He’s in the Bentley, breaking every traffic law known to man as he speeds back to his flat.

He’s tripping up the stairs, he doesn’t trust his hands not to shake as he unlocks the door, so he opens it with a thought.

He slams it shut and collapses against it, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs and squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears inside. And it hurts.

God above, does it hurt.

It’s a feeling that starts deep in his chest, a pressure that grows and grows until it permeates not just his body but his being, everything that makes Crowley, Crowley. It makes his lungs shudder, his stomach turn. His fingers go numb and his vision goes spotty. It makes his head spin and his heart ache. The worst part about it is that it just doesn’t make sense because Aziraphale is fine.

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

Aziraphale is alive. Aziraphale is alive. Aziraphale is alive.

He wants it tattooed on the insides of his eyelids. So that even if he doesn’t know anything else, even if he doesn’t know himself, at least he knows that Aziraphale is alive.

Because since that day, the fear has been ingrained in him like a program that can’t be rewritten, the fear that Aziraphale is–

Is Gone.

Just the thought drives all the air out of his lungs. He feels somewhat faint. His head is pounding. Pounding. Pounding… On the door?

He should yell at whoever it is to go away. Or open it. He should do something, anything, but he just can’t. He’s gasping desperately for air and his skin feels too tight. It’s as if there's a spring wrapped around him coiling tighter and tighter until he’s crushed in its center.

He can distantly hear someone speaking. It’s as if he’s underwater. Drowning. Sinking down, down, down.

The water runs down over his shoulders. It’s almost soothing.

Wrong. Not water. Hands.

Hands.

Crowley takes a slow, ragged breath. The smog and confusion start to clear from his brain. He takes stock of himself: He’s curled into a ball on the floor, knees up against his chest, face pressed tightly down against them, arms wound over his head. Somewhere between the bookshop and his flat he’s lost his sunglasses. His back is up against the inside of his front door. There are hands on his shoulders and a voice speaking in soothing tones. There’s an urgency to the voice, though. A fear. A fear that the voice’s owner trying and failing to conceal.

Crowley exhales. Lifts his head and opens his eyes.

Aziraphale.

“–that’s better, isn’t it? There you are, just keep breathing with me, just a little bit slower, love, breathe with me. You’re in your flat, and I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere, just watch me and breathe, darling–”

It’s a steady stream of sweet nothings and nonsense, but it’s steady so Crowley hangs onto it with all his might.

He keeps his gaze locked on Aziraphale’s and he breathes. They breathe.

Aziraphale is alive.

Crowley’s not sure how long they stay there, him curled up in a ball and Aziraphale cross-legged in front of him, but he feels the some of the tension drain out of his body, his head lolling to one side as his exhaustion catches up with him once again.

Aziraphale takes both of his hands. “Crowley, will you please tell me what’s wrong?”

His voice is solemn and deep in a way that it so rarely is. Crowley sighs, his eyes fluttering shut as he nods. He knows that this is a conversation that needs to happen, but it doesn’t make it any less difficult.

Crowley refuses to take his eyes off of his toes as he concedes, “I’ve been having these… dreams–” Oh, he hates how small his voice sounds. “–Nightmares, I suppose, is the more accurate description.”

When he doesn’t continue, Aziraphale nudges him a little further. “And what happens? In these nightmares?”

“Well, they vary, from time to time, but there’s–” His voice catches in his throat. He’s already worked up again at just the thought, at the way Aziraphale looks so anguished, so he drops his forehead to his knees once again, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on the grounding feeling of Aziraphale’s hands in his. His voice escapes as a strangled croak once he forces himself to continue. “But in every single one, you die Aziraphale. You burn just like– Just like I thought you did, that day in the bookshop. You burn, and you’re dead, and I’m all alone and it’s–” His throat closes up and he can’t continue. There are tears gathering in his eyes again. Aziraphale’s hands tighten around his before disappearing.

Crowley panics for a moment, eyes flying opening as he picks up his head, fearing the worst. But Aziraphale is only shifting to sit by his side instead, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s slight frame and drawing him close so that he can rest his head against the angel’s chest. Crowley spares a thought that he’ll ruin Aziraphale’s shirt and vest with his snot and tears but then gentle fingers are carding through his hair and he really can’t be bothered.

“Listen, Crowley, right there. You can hear my heart beating,” He could. He could feel it, too, a gentle thudding sensation against his cheek. “It’s symbolic more than anything else, really, but it’s proof. I’m here and I’m not leaving you, Crowley. I’m here, I’m alive and so are you.”

Aziraphale is alive and so am I.

The dam breaks and Crowley weeps.

But it’s different than before. It’s not out of terror, or loss, or the sensation of hot smoke in his face as everything burns down before his eyes. For the first time since Armageddon, a sensation of catharsis sweeps over him as he cries. He cries for little Adam and his friends, swept up in something so much bigger than themselves, he cries for Anathema and Newt, the weight of the world upon their shoulders. He cries for Aziraphale, so good and human and ineffable.

And for once, Crowley cries for himself. Because he’s literally been dragged to Hell and back again and he’s tired. Tired of the overarching plans and orders and the bigness of it all when there’s so much pleasure to be found in the smallness. The smallness of people and their cups of tea and television programs and postcards and fancy wines and CDs. The smallness of the smile thrown his way when he’s said something witty, pink flustered cheeks, and the feeling of soft hands in his.

Crowley trembles and wails and it’s fine because now there’s someone there to hold him.

Soft kisses in his hair and on his forehead, fingertips wiping away his tears, and a soothing hand up and down his spine.

Eventually, his sobs subside and they stay curled up against the door as Crowley sniffles against Aziraphale’s chest.

“How long has this been going on?” Aziraphale asks quietly, continuing his comforting touches.

“Since that day.”

“Oh, love.” The angel sighs and rests his cheek against the crown of Crowley’s head. “Gosh, I should’ve noticed–”

“You did notice. And I was doing everything in my power to hide it from you.”

“Still. I hate the idea of you going through that on your own,” Aziraphale lifts his head and shifts himself into Crowley’s eyeline, purposefully meeting his eyes. “Please come to me, the next time your experiencing something like that. You’re not a burden, it’s not a difficulty. I want to be there for you, and I’d love it if you’d let me.”

Crowley nods and places a hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, drawing him in for a chaste kiss.

Thank you for being here when I need you. I love you.

Aziraphale kisses him back, placing his hand over Crowley’s.

I love you, too. I’ll always be here.

“Well, I think it’s about time we get you to bed.”

“Will you stay with me, angel?”

“Always.”

#good omens #good omens tv #good omens fic #go #go fic #gomens #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #Aziraphale #crowley #squaaash #joldiego #ao3

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charliesshitposts · 5 years

Text

Supernatural Omens (part three)

The nice and inaccurate prophecies of someone.somewhere about something that never happened. A fan fiction.

Warnings: None (: Feel free to read this in front of your parents and pets.

Word count: it’s short (I think). This might be the shortest chapter I’ve written. And the thought of that is honestly bothering me.

Authors note:I’ll be adding and editing to make it longer when I get the chance to do so. This week is honestly hectic which is why it’s not my best chapter. I’m real sorry about that.

——————————————————————————

Castiel stood confused next to Aziraphale. The angel paged rapidly through the book Jack had given him. He didn’t speak. He just stared at each page with wide eyes and an equally wide smile. This crept the Seraph out.

“All our answers are in here. This book,The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnus Nutter, this was written by a witch who could see way into the future. Maybe..just maybe..she saw...oh dear lord here it is!”

The angel got closer to show the seraph what he was looking at. Castiel read quietly. Aziraphale handed him the book without a word and went back to where the boys were asleep. He came back with a notepad and a pen.

“Let me see something.” He said whilst taking the book back from Castiel.

“What’s happening?” Asked Cas.

“Hang on my friend.” He said. Aziraphale grabbed his phone off the receiver and dialed. Cas watched as the angel talked for a split second over the phone before rapidly hanging up.

“We’ve got him.” Aziraphale muttered.

“What?”

“We’ve got him! We’ve got the boy! I mean,obviously we don’t have him. I know where he is though. Number 4 Hogback Lane,Tadfield.”

“Well alright then,let’s go.”

Aziraphale put his hand against Castiels chest to stop him.”It’s not that easy. We can’t go personally. Well have to send someone to keep an eye on him.”

Cas breathed out through his nose.”But..” he saw the look in Aziraphales eyes and sighed.”Alright fine.”

“I’ll have to report to Crowley in a few hours.” It seemed as though Aziraphale was going to add something to his sentence. He was,but he quickly stopped himself. Instead he said “Would to come with me?”

“Well..” Castiel thought.”If you go then the boys have to go.”

Again Aziraphale took a moments pause to think it through. Finally he nodded.”Okay..How’s your cocoa?”

Cas looked down at his still full cup. It warmed his his palms.”I haven’t had a sip yet. How did you get so used to eating and drinking?”

The angel smiled.”One gets used to human traits after a while of being around them. Let’s sit down by the window and wait for sun rise. I’d love to hear about your life back in your universe.”

The Seraph was led to a small round table. A cinnamon scented candle burned on top of it. Next to the candle was a plate of oatmeal cookies. They sat across from one another. Unlike Aziraphale,who looked more awake and livelier than ever,Castiel looked exhausted and run down. Cas had never known what rest was because his body and mind were constantly on alert,fearing for the next threat. He low key envied the angel,who’s life up until that point seemed better than his.

“So tell me about yourself.” Aziraphale said.

Cas brought the mug away from his lips. He liked the cocoa.”About myself or about my life with the boys?”

“Let’s start off with your life.”

“Alright. Life up in heaven was strictly based on following orders with no questions asked. I have to give credit to the Winchester’s. If it hadn’t been for them I’d still be a tight ass. I was given the order to pull Dean out of Hell,which I did. But first I needed a vessel to inhabit during my time on earth. A devoted man named a Jimmy Novak prayed for this,and well.you’re looking at him. His body,that is. He died a long ago and I kept living in here.Dean was skeptical about angels and other celestial beings at first but that gradually changed over time. Sam thought I’d be different because I was kind of a dick to him when we first met. But he changed his mind once he got to know me.Over time I grew fond of humans,and the angels running heaven didn’t like that.Then when the time came to choose between the order or my human friends I didn’t hesitate for a second in choosing them. I’ve ‘died’ and came back many times.”

Aziraphale had the rim of his cup pressed to his lips but he had yet taken a sip. His hand and the rest of his body had frozen with hearing Castiels story. He couldn’t believe what he had heard. And yet he wanted to hear more of the Seraphs life.

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale breathed out. He took his sip and set the cup down.”Tell me about your life with the boys. What’s your daily routine with them?”

“My daily routine is hectic. Sam,Dean,Jack and I are always on the go. Sometimes the Archangel Gabriel tags along.Solving cases take up to two weeks to do. If the case is important or life threatening it takes more time. We had just finished our biggest one,killing the devil,weeks ago. But then the Archangel Micheal,who had killed the devil whilst wearing Dean as a vessel,took off with Dean. He had broken the deal they had made prior.So then we had to search for them. Thankfully he found us first. It was just Dean. Micheal had been there briefly but he was killed.We then felt it was time for a much needed break. But then you and Crowley popped up in our library and here we are.”

The angel frowned.”I didn’t know that.Im so sorry we ruined it for you guys.”

Castiel smiled.”It’s alright. There’s no need to apologize. I’ll admit i was upset at first but I’m not anymore. Your a pretty nice angel, Aziraphale. Much more nicer than the ones back in our world.”

Aziraphales eyes widened.”That can’t be possible. All angels are nice.”

“No.” Castiel shook his head.”Not where I’m from. Everyone is uptight,righteous and always wanting to follow their given orders word for word. Nobody questions their orders.Nobody thinks about the consequences those orders could have on others. I was like that before I met Dean. He’s the reason why I am the way I am now,and I’m eternally greatful. The only angels that are easy to get along with are the ones that have been living with humans for a long time. The only other one besides myself is Gabriel. But he wasn’t easy going at first.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gabriel didn’t tell us at first that he was an archangel. He said he was a trickster and,before joining us,messed with Sam and Dean numerous times. It took a time of talking and making him see what he was doing was wrong before he stopped. It also took a long time for Sam and Dean to trust him.In fact he’s back in our world house sitting for us.”

Aziraphale smiled.”Would you like to call him to see how everything is going?”

Cas nodded.”That be nice. Could I get more cocoa please?”

“Yes you most certainly can.” Aziraphale set the phone in front of Cas. He retrieved both his and the seraphs cup and left to refill them.

Cas dialed the long distance number,followed by the international number,followed by the area code then finally the 7 numbers to the housephone in the bunker. It rang,and rang,and rang until finally Gabe picked up.

“Who are you and how did you get this number?”

“It’s me you flip flop.” Cas said.

“Cas!” Gabriel exclaimed.”How’ve you been buddy? It feels like it’s been years since we’ve spoken. Where are you guys at? How’s Sammy?”

“I’ve been good,thank you for asking. We are in London. It’s very pretty over here. The people are really nice. Sams doing fine. He’s sleeping. How are you doing? How’s the bunker?”

“That’s good to hear. I’m doing great. I’ve spent this whole time doing a massive clean up around here,your rooms included. I’ve dusted,wiped down,moped,swept and washed everything around the house. I’m currently doing a load of laundry and I’ve got popcorn popping in the kettle.”

Castiel smiled big.”Thats great Gabe. Thank you so much for taking care of the place. I’m sure the boys will appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem at all. Oh! Now that I have you on the line. Are those cats yours? The ones that have been hanging around the bunkers garden and like to eat all the plants?”

“No.They aren’t. Jacks been feeding them but we’ve been telling him not to. If you feed them they won’t leave.”

“........Well it looks like you’re going to have to buy a scratch post.”

“Why?!”

“...........I let them in.”

“Gabriel!! Why would you do that??”

“I thought they were yours!”

“Why on earth would you think they’d be ours!? Dean could barley take care of that goldfish he won at the fair. Poor thing died after 3 days.Sam’s allergic to cats,which you should know! And Jack,although he says he can take care of them and go to school ,can’t take care of them!”

“What about you?!”

“I’ve got my hands full with other things!”

Gabriel chuckled.”Well..you should of thought of that before you decided to get six cats.”

“SIX?!”

“Hey my popcorns done. Gotta go. Buy me a souvenir.Like a hat or a postcard or a fridge magnet! Oh! Oh! Buy me a fridge magnet!! Say hi to Sam for me. Bye Cas!”

“GABRIEL DONT YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME!” Cas shouted. But the line was already dead.

Aziraphale set three cups down at the table. A sleepy eyed Dean approached Cas,who was staring at the phone receiver with a blank face. He had gotten up when he overheard that Cas was talking to Gabriel.

“What’s the matter Cas?” He asked in his groggily morning voice.

“Apparently we have six cats.”

Dean closed his eyes tightly. His head fell back.”Dammit! Gabe let them in?!”

Cas nodded.”Yes. He thought they were ours.”

“Darn it Gabe. He’s going to have to get rid of them before we get home. Jack can’t know. It’ll be harder to get rid of them if he does.” Aziraphale came into Dean’s peripheral vision. He looked over at the angel and smiled.”Good morning.”

“Good morning Dean. Congratulations on your cats.”

Dean chuckled.”Thank you. Do you have any cookies to go along with this cocoa?”

“I do. They’re on the table.” While Dean ate Cas and Aziraphale brought him up to date with what had happened while he was asleep. The finding of the antichrists address and the book with prophecies that Aziraphale was more than likely not to give back.

Dean immediately stood up.”Well let’s quit wasting time and get going.I’ll wake up Sam and I’ll leave a note for Jack.”

“Hang on.” Cas said,standing up too.”It’s not that easy.”

“Why not? We know where the kid is,let’s go and talk him out doing what he’s doing to do before he does it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Seems pretty easy to me.”

Aziraphale checked his watch.”Actually fellas,it’s time to report to Crowley. You and Cas are more than welcome to come with me.”

“Jack and Sam have to come too.” Dean said.

“Fine.” Aziraphale said. “But please hurry.”

————————————————————————-

In the taxi on the way to the spot where they were supposed to meet Sam was anxious. He had a sixth sense his brother didn’t have. The sense of impending problems. He didn’t say anything. It was a Winchester trait not to say when something was bothering them. But Dean knew his brother. He take it out of Sam wether or not he wanted too.

While Castiel and Jack talked about nonrelated things,Dean leaned in to whisper to his brother.”What’s wrong?”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows.”Nothing. Why do you ask?”

Dean rolled his eyes.”Come on man. Clearly somethings wrong. Just look at how tense you are.”

Sams eyes trailed down to his hands which were clasped tightly together. He sighed.”Alright,your right. I can’t help but get a feeling that something is going to happen very soon.”

“You mean like the apocalypse?”

“No,something between all of us. Aziraphale and Crowley included.”

Dean looked over at where Aziraphale sat,in front with the driver.”What kind of something?”

“I don’t know. But be prepared for whatever might happen. I could be wrong though. It could just be my head playing games with me.”

The oldest Winchester leaned back in his seat. “Let’s hope so.”

—————————————————————————-

Just like when they arrived at the ex convent, they were the first ones to arrive at the bandstand where the demon and the angel had agreed to meet.. Jack went to explore the surrounding areas but he promised he’d be back soon. Aziraphale looked at Sam quizzically.

“You have a tense nerve in your neck.”

Sam chuckled.” I do not.”

With a small hand motion Sams neck twisted involuntary. He let out a gasp followed by an exhale.”I guess i did.” He laughed,his hand rubbing his neck.”Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dean came trotting over towards them excitedly.” Hey Aziraphale,can you crack my back for me?!”

Cas looked at him sternly.”Dean-“But before he could continue,Crowley arrived.

He talked to the three as he approached them.”Good morning to you all! Great to see the band back together. How did everyone sleep?”

“Great!” Jack greeted. He had appeared out of nowhere right beside Dean. “How did you sleep?”

Crowley laughed.”Great. I slept great kid. Thanks for asking. So- any word on the antichrists location?”

Sam spoke up.”Castiel and Aziraphale we’re working on that all night and-“

Aziraphale cut in quickly.” We found nothing.” The four outsiders stared at the angel in shock. The angel didn’t notice. Or rather he did but he didn’t acknowledge it.”Sadly we’ve found nothing.”

“Oh great.” Crowley said.”That’s just bloody dandy isn’t it!!”

“Crowley..it’s all part of the Great Plan.”

“Screw all of this! Screw the damn plan.”

“You’re forgiven for that remark.”

“I can’t be forgiven you lopsided boob!” Crowley took three long strides to stand directly in front of Aziraphales. Their faces touching at the nose.”Forgiveness isn’t part of a demons job description. I’m eternally unforgivable.”

Aziraphale looked up to meet Crowley’s stare.”You mustn’t forget you were once an angel.”

“I know but that was a long time ago.”

“Aziraphale-“ Castiel said. With a snap of the angels fingers the seraph went mute. As if Aziraphale had pulled out his voice box.

“Cas!” Dean rushed over to help his friend who desperately tried to find his voice. Sam grabbed Jack by the shoulder and pulled him a few inches back. It’s what he had feared.

Aziraphale went back to talking to Crowley.”The angels can find the boy.”

“Alright so they find them. And then what?!” Crowley growled.”We kill him??”

“No..not them.”

Crowley looked incredulous at the angel. He took a few steps back.”You’re seriously not suggesting that I do it.”

“Angels don’t kill kids. Angels don’t kill anyone. If you do it then it will look as though heaven didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“So your wanting to dump it all on hell?” Crowley mock Aziraphale .”’Oh I’m a dumb bum angel! I don’t do wrong! I just sit up here on my cloud making good choices.Not like those dirty demons who lurk around creating havoc everywhere they go!!’””

“That’s not what I said Crowley and you know it!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“Whatever. Alright whatever! But you bet your fluffy ass I’m not going to kill him. If there’s anybody here who should be chosen to kill him it should be you.”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

“Fine then you know what? I’m leaving. I quit,im leaving. Good day to you sir...sirs.”

Aziraphale followed him to the entrance of the bandstand.”Where?? There’s no where else to go.”

“It’s a big ass word i can go wherever I please. We can go wherever we please.” Crowley ran back to Aziraphale. Both of the demons hands pressed the angels shoulder. “You and me. Let’s run away. We can leave the apocalypse behind. We can go wherever we want. You and me. We’ve been friends since since the beginning of the universe. Let’s pull a Bonnie and Clyde and ditch everything and everyone. What do you say?”

If Aziraphale wasn’t who he was,he would have said yes in a heartbeat. He would have apologized to the four outsiders for bringing them here and wasting their time.He’d suggest that if they wanted to stay and stop the apocalypse themselves then he and Crowley would give them all the information gathered up until that point. But unfortunately or fortunately Aziraphale was who he was,an angel. A rival of the demon.

“You can’t be serious.” Said the angel.”We are a demon and an angel. You and me were never friends. We can never be friends. Not in this life time,not in the next life time. I never even liked you.”

“Oh come on. You love me.”

“We’re on opposing sides.”

“We are on the same side.”

“No Crowley.”

“Aziraphale..angel,please!”

“No.” Aziraphale said sternly.”For the last time no.”

“FINE!” Crowley choked (screamed) out,clearly hurt.”Fine! Have it your way..but If you think you’re going to stay with all four outsiders then you’ve got another thing coming. We both get an even custody.”

“Even custody? We aren’t married. They aren’t our children.”

“I get the humans! Dibs on the humans. The humans are mine.” Crowley marched over towards Dean and Sam. He grabbed them both by the collar and pulled them away. It looked as easy as pulling a shoe string.He talked over his shoulder as he dragged them away.”You can stay with the angels. Your all the same. A bunch of soul crushing leavers who don’t care about anyone else but yourselves..”Dean and Sam watched in silence as Aziraphale,Cas and Jack grew tiny with the distance. Sam could clearly see that Aziraphale was hurt. He was crying. Dean heard sniffles coming from Crowley. He was crying too.

“Crowley bring them back!” Shouted Aziraphale “You’re being ridiculous!”

But Crowley didn’t hear him. He pulled the Winchester’s towards his Bentley,quietly crying the whole way there.

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