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sparkly-key · 7 months

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Uncontrolled descent

The bookshop was in flames. Aziraphale was gone. Killed. And Crowley couldn't see the sense of staying on Earth or the hope of fleeing to Alpha Centuri. So he goes to the end of the world, angry at Heaven and Hell for wanting their stupid war. Written for Day 4 of Whumptober 2023 - "I can see the danger. It's written there in your eyes."

Crowley stared at the legions of the infernal and the angelic - their members clashing on the Tadfield Airfield tarmac and in the air above it – from behind the wheel of the Bentley as he idled at the edge of the woods.

The end of the world.

He laughed bitterly, tipping his head back and upending the bottle of merlot into his gaping maw with no attention paid to the nectar that escaped his lips.

He should have run. Shoulda shoved the angel into the Bentley and fled to Alpha Centuri like he’d intended hours ago. Or 11 years ago, when this damned debacle had started.

Now they’d killed Aziraphale – Heaven or Hell, didn’t know which one, but damn them all and their bloody war - and he couldn’t even think about escaping Earth. Because what was the point if his angel wasn’t there with him?

Crowley finished the bottle with a gulp and thew it onto the passenger seat, hissing as it clattered against the small mountain of broken glass that littered the spot where Zira had sat the night before. His head pounded but the demon didn’t care enough to miracle away the ache. It wouldn’t matter soon in any case.

A column of lightning barreling down toward the tarmac caught his eye – a stark contrast to the few single licks that danced between the sky and ground as less skilled angels smote whatever demon they could target. No, this display of might practically had a signature and its maker was apparent as he beheld Sandalphon, his wings folding and fanning out expertly as Her executioner struck down his opponents with either the golden sword in his right hand or the precise finger he used to smite those unlucky enough to receive his target. His face alight with a sadistic satisfaction Crowley hadn’t seen since Sodom and Gomorrah.

“That’ll do it,” the demon slurred. He fumbled for the door handle, his lithe fingers pulling at it but finding no give as the Bentley refused to release him. “Let me out, you hunk of russssty metal.”

His car ignored him, revving its engine defiantly as it reversed toward the treeline to get him away from the battlefield. Crowley hissed, slamming his foot on the brake. The Bentley shuddered to a stop, trembling from the force of his ire.

“Either let me out or I’ll drive you there myself,” he demanded, his eyes stinging from unshed tears. “Can’t sssstand the thought of you ending up a twisted lump of ssscraps, not when there’s sssssome idiot mortal who can appreciate you properly before this all goes titssss up.”

His car, his second longest companion, sputtered indignantly at the thought of leaving him.

“’M doin’ thisssss, beautiful, can’t ssssstop me,” Crowley promised. “So you’re either gonna have to leave or drive sssssstraight for that sssadistic twat.”

The radio came on with a burst of static, the thin red line ricocheting from one end of the AM-FM spectrum until it came to rest in the center and music blared through the speakers.

Here we stand or here we fall

History won't care at all

Make the bed light the light

Lady mercy won't be home tonight yeah

The Bentley roared to life, slamming the redhead back against the driver’s seat as gas hit the floor and the pair careened off the incline toward the carnage.

Crowley’s lips twisted in proud smirk, just a hint of sorrow in his eyes as he reached for his spare glasses in the glove box. He slid the wiry frames up his nose and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“Atta girl,” he whooped as they burst through barricade. The Bentley fishtailed, bodies of angels and demons colliding with its obsidian frame before the car straightened its course and peeled onto the tarmac – where Gabriel clashed with Beezelbub, their armies circling them in combat as if though they were gladiators in Rome.

It wasn’t Crowley’s plan, but he could improvise.

You don't waste no time at all

Don't hear the bell but you answer the call

It comes to you as to us all

We're just waiting

For the Hammer To Fall

The redhead snarled when a bolt struck them, ripping through the hood. He braced himself as the car flipped forward, cartwheeling grill to bumper until it slid to a stop on its roof. No music was heard, just the sound of a faintly sputtering engine.

Crowley grunted in pain from where he’d landed, the frame twisting around him like a cocoon. His corporation protested as the demon pat the crumpled dash fondly. “Knew I could count on you.”

I've taken my bows

And my curtain calls

You brought me fame and fortune

And everything that goes with it

I thank you all

The lyrics wheezed through the speakers as Crowley forced himself through the wreckage, ripped metal and jagged glass tearing his clothes and his flesh. He snarled as another bolt – not as strong as Sandalphon’s but still nothing to sneer at – struck the Bentley, silencing it completely while the impact slammed Crowley’s shoulder onto a piece of rebar twisting out of the door frame.

With his car hushed, he could hear the battle around him, the cries of fury and pain ringing out among the cacophony of metal clashing against metal and thunder echoing through the air between the cracks of lightning.

Gritting his teeth, the demon freed his shoulder first – biting his lip to contain the pained yell that threatened to escape – and then the rest of his body. He stood, leaning against Bentley as he took in the sight around him.

A scream of agony broke the air as blinding coil of lightening erupted less than 100 feet away and Crowley turned his golden gaze to the sky. Sandalphon was hovering with his back to the demon, his ivory wings beating steadily.

He pulled an engine crank from the wreckage of his car, the somehow unharmed metal cool in his hand. He ignored the pain in his shoulder as he stepped away from Bentley’s support and strode toward the balding bastard whose offhand treatment of Aziraphale had always rankled.

“Oi, you overssssized tweety bird!” Crowley shouted, testing the weight of his makeshift club. He doubted the prick would make the mistake of getting close, but he was an optimist at heart.

As Sandalphon turned, the demon inhaled deeply, pulling from his aching core, and opened his serpentine maw to unleash a dragon-like flame. The hellfire reached for its target, dancing through the air as the angel furiously beat his wings to remove himself from its range.

He roared, more for effect than for affect, for a moment more and then closed his jaw, his corporation normal.

“Well, if it isn’t Aziraphale’s infernal boyfriend,” the angel sneered.

“Keep my angel’s name out of your fucking mouth,” Crowley hissed, darting forward. His ebony wings flared out behind him, lifting him off the ground with a mighty stroke. The wind bit at his eyes, but the demon’s gaze never left his target as he chased, climbing higher through the sky.

Sandalphon broke through the cumulonimbus clouds, obscuring himself from view. Crowley corkscrewed upwards, wind spiraling outward from his body and dissipating the clouds around him. As he got his bearings, his gaze darted around, searching for the threat.

Instead, it barreled into him from behind. Sandalphon’s arm wrapped around his throat, cutting off his breath as Crowley tried to draw out his hellfire. The angel’s free hand dug into the wound on the demon’s shoulder, close enough to his left wing’s muscle that the dark appendage faltered and caused the redhead to waver in the air.

Sandalphon pulled them backward through the sky and in the blink of an eye, his arm was no long around Crowley’s neck as his hands caught grip of both of his wing’s metacarpus. He twisted his body, planting his feet on the demon’s back, and shoving the redhead’s form away as he yanked his wings back.

He heard a terrible snap and a guttural scream burst from Crowley’s mouth as violently as the hellfire had moments before.

The angel let go and once again, Crowley was falling.

The wind twisted him around as he plummeted through the air and in his descent, the demon could see Sandalphon raise his finger.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted as lightning lanced the sky.

#good omens #Whumptober 2023 #Crowley #The Bentley #The whump is the Bentley #RIP Bentley (┬┬﹏┬┬)#Sandalphon #cw: suicidal tendencies

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jawnlma · 4 years

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I have been on a soft mood lately, jee.

I also can’t draw anything else besides these two morons so have them being soft

#good omens #good omens fanart #aziraphale #crowley #madden aziraphale #anthony j crowley #aziraphale and crowley #crowley and aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wizardy #good omens hogwarts au #good omens harry potter au #my art #crowley's glasses are gonna fall off his stupid face #dude #that's not how gravity works #smh

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - Luke 1:19

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: Almost done! It's not quite wrapped up - an epilogue is coming - but we're almost there!

***

“I say you should let me destroy him.”

“It was not his fault. One of yours was controlling him.”

“Demons cannot create darkness from nothing. They always work on what’s already there, to make it grow and take hold. Hastur will be punished once I get my hands on him, but this human is not innocent either.”

“No one is innocent, that can hardly be held against him. Without the heavy-handed intervention of a Duke of Hell, any dark thoughts he may have had would have remained thoughts, never acted upon. Not the way things played out, at any rate.”

“Does it make any difference?”

“It does, and you know it. All the difference in the world,” was the reply. Beelzebub scoffed, but did not argue further. They just crossed their arms and stayed behind as Gabriel stepped right in front of the man who had stabbed him, who stood still with a horrified expression on his face.

Gabriel picked up the knife that had been dropped on the ground, pocketed it, and pressed a hand on the man’s forehead. The horrified expression melted into a distant, blank gaze.

“Now, if you please,” he said. Several steps away, with the expression of someone who’d rather be quite literally anywhere else in creation - except, perhaps, in the presence of Satan himself - Crowley lifted a hand and snapped his fingers, undoing the time-stopping miracle he’d conjured.

Right away, the stillness was broken. People who’d stopped mid-stride began moving again, cries of alarm that had been cut short rang out once again, and the man - Noah, was it? - staggered back, blinking at Gabriel as though he had no idea how he’d even come to be there.

From his part, Gabriel gave him a wide, stupid smile. Blood had been miracled away almost as soon as the two of them had broken apart - which did, admittedly, take a minute or two - but the front of his suit was red regardless. To be entirely honest, when he’d asked Aziraphale for some red ink and then proceeded to splash it on the front of his suit, they all had looked at him like he had lost his mind. Beelzebub had thought God had taken his brain in exchange for the wings, but now they could at least see what the archangel had been planning.

“Noah!” said archangel was exclaiming, face lighting up. “Long time no see! How are you?”

The man blinked another couple of times, reaching up to rub his head. “What am I doing-- where-- wait, I… I remember you, don’t I? You gave me your coat. But what just… my head...”

“Sir! Are you all right! What is-- oh.”

A man - one of several humans who’d quickly approached to see what was happening, or at least had begun to before Crowley so conveniently stopped time - stopped in his tracks. Gabriel grinned. “Ah, I’m fine, I’m fine! I didn’t watch where I was going and the gentleman here knocked me over, that is all. Entirely by accident.”

“Oh. It... it looked like--” a few pairs of eyes paused on the red stain on Gabriel’s clothing.

"An unfortunate end for an ink cartridge, I am afraid, but no harm done other than that."

“Ah.” A long sigh, while Noah kept looking around in obvious confusion. “Ah, thank God. For a moment we thought you were wounded.”

“Thank God indeed, I am not wounded,” Gabriel replied, voice smooth, and reached to put an arm around Noah’s shoulders. “But forget the ink, I think we should catch up…”

The young man - who would soon leave Soho with a dulling headache, still unsure of what had happened, and with a winning lottery ticket in the back pocket of his jeans - followed, and the crowd dispersed, the incident closed as far as humanity was concerned.

Well. Most of humanity, at any rate.

***

“More tea, Warlock?”

“You gave me three cups already.”

“Right. Right. It is cold by now, isn’t it? I will make more.”

“... Brother Francis. You do realize I am not going to stop asking what the hell happened just because you keep giving me tea, right?”

Ah. Well. Perhaps it had been a slightly foolish hope, that. Tea did have a tendency to smooth over a lot of trouble, but that was probably a little beyond its scope. “Well,” he said, putting up a smile. “I for one would very much appreciate it if you could

“That bloke had wings.”

“Yes, well--”

“And he was stabbed, but then he was fine.”

“You see--”

“And that was not normal lighting.”

“Actually, I was just reading about this interesting phenomena calling ball lighting--”

“And you had wings,” Warlock cut him off once again, glancing over where Aziraphale’s wings would be if he hadn’t temporarily tucked them away on another plane of existence. “Where did you put them?”

“That is… quite the handful of questions.”

“A lot of weird shit happened.”

“Language, young man.”

“You tell me what happened, and I’ll start talking like a duke.”

“Not like the duke who caused this mess, I should hope,” Crowley spoke up, walking - more like sauntering, he never walked like that when he was his nanny - back into the bookstore. Brother Francis, whom Warlock was beginning to suspect was not called Brother Francis at all, finally set down the tea pot to look back at him.

“Is everything sorted?”

“Yes. Nothing of consequence happened, happily ever after, and most importantly Beelzebub and the Archangel Fucking Gabriel have left.”

“Actually, I am still here.”

“Gah!” Crowley yelped, actually leaping a couple of feet up in the air before turning. The bloke-who’d-been-stabbed-and-then-suddenly-had-wings was standing in the doorway, the splatters of red ink gone from his suit and wings no longer visible. He looked… rather pleased with himself for the reaction he’d solicited. “Why are you still here? Wait, is Beelzebub--?”

“They are off to find the runaway, luckily for you. Your forked tongue keeps slipping far too often, Crowley. Keep that up and you may end up giving your little rouse away, sunshine.”

“Sunshine, me? Have you hit your--” Crowley began, only to trail off as though struck in the face. “Ah. Fuck,” he muttered, the annoyance giving way to something a lot more similar to fear. Behind Warlock, Brother Francis cleared his throat, passing the tea pot from one hand to the other and then back again.

“When… when did you figure it out?” he asked. That bunch of weirdos was making less and less sense with each passing moment.

“The third or fourth time he added that expletive between my title and my name in my presence, I suppose.” The man grinned, more than a touch smug, before shrugging. “You need not worry. I will make no mention of it with anyone.”

“We’d be… grateful if you didn’t,” Brother Francis said.

“Speak for yourself,” Crowley muttered, clearly mightily annoyed.

“I owe you too much to do such a thing.” The man made a gesture as though to zip his mouth shut. “My lips are sealed. Ah, and I am glad to see the young man is all right, of course.” The man nodded towards Warlock. “I’m relieved you were unharmed.”

“Huh. I… yeah. That’s gonna be a fun story to tell a therapist one day. Thanks for pulling me out of the way, I guess.”

“You are quite welcome. I am here to thank you as well, Aziraphale,” the man added, turning to Brother Francis, whose name definitely wasn’t Brother Francis after all. “For all your help.”

“Oh. It was nothing.”

“It was far more than I had any right to ask of you.”

“To be fair, you didn’t ask.”

“And you took me in anyway. You do have a lot to teach about the greater good after all, but I assume you’d prefer not to be further involved in the workings upstairs. Am I correct?”

A nod. “Quite correct, as a matter of fact.”

“Well then, I will leave you be. Time to see if I learned the lesson I was meant to learn, I suppose.”

“... Back to your hold position, then?”

“I suppose. I will have to see what Metatron will tell me once I return to Heaven. If I am indeed to return to my duties, I will need to serve notice at the warehouse back in Southampton.”

Ah, great. So everyone here is going insane. Cool, cool.

As Warlock sipped lukewarm tea just to keep himself from laughing a little hysterically, the man he’d known as Brother Francis and who probably was neither thing nodded, and held out a hand. “Best of luck, then,” he smiled. “And thank you for saving Warlock. Crowley and I are quite fond of the boy. You have more than repaid any debt you may have had.”

Behind the man Crowley opened his mouth as though to protest, paused a moment, and then begrudgingly closed it. Warlock was not entirely sure why that made him grin into the cup, but it did. Not that it kept him from yelping and dropping said cup to shatter on the floor with a loud ‘fuck’ when a bolt of lighting suddenly struck inside the bookshop, blinding him for a moment.

When he opened his eyes again, blinking a few times, the man was gone and the bolt of lightning seemed to have caused no damage. Well, aside from the shattered cup he had dropped, which now Brother Francis was picking up and… magically putting back in one piece.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

“What the--”

“Language if you please.” The man who had once been his family’s gardener cleared his throat, and put the mended cup on the table before glancing at Crowley. “Well, I suppose we do owe him an explanation.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“So are Adam’s friends, and they clearly could handle it.”

A sigh. “Fair,” Crowley muttered, and sat down as well before he reached up to take off his glasses. Warlock had never seen him without glasses, even when he was his nanny… and as he took a look at his eyes, he suddenly knew why. He stared, mouth hanging open, as Crowley scratched the back of his head. “All right, it’s a long story,” he began. “So, in the beginning - which is to say, the Beginning with a capital B…”

***

“Archangel Gabriel. It is good to see you again.”

“Metatron. It’s good to see you as well. Am I really meant to return to my old position?”

“That is the will of God. With immediate effect.”

“Ah, I am afraid I need some time.”

“Oh?”

“I need to hand in my notice at my current workplace. It would be unprofessional of me to simply walk away on them.”

“Ah, I see. I am certain that can be arranged - would it help if they happened to find a perfect fit for the job right after you notice is handed in?”

“It would be much appreciated.”

“Consider it done. Anything else?”

“... Does God have any instructions as to what plan I am meant to follow now?”

“You know the answer, Gabriel. You need to forget there was ever a plan, and do what you think is right. You, and everybody else.”

“We may get it wrong.”

“That’s part of the package, is it not?’

“Hah. Fair enough.”

“Rest assured, however, that any mistakes made in good faith will not be dealt with as… severely as your previous crime.”

“That is a relief. However, I ought to disclose that I have grown quite... close... to Lord Beelzebub in my time on Earth. Certainly, God must be aware.”

“God knows all, including your most questionable taste.”

“... Are those God’s own words, or…?”

“My own. But I am here to speak for God, so my apologies for the lapse.”

“Right. And… the Lord does not believe this impedes my return to duty?”

“Clearly not, if you’re standing here before me.”

“... I am not going to renounce Beelzebub. I told them as much and I will repeat it before the Lord.”

“God is aware of that as well. They have been following your eventful stay on Earth very closely. It will be interesting to see how Heaven and Hell are both going from here. Change is the only certainty going forward. That, and the fact you were never forsaken. No one ever is.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now, Archangel Gabriel - do you wish me to announce your return?”

“No, no, no need. I believe I will drop by to see my colleagues myself.”

***

“Hastur is nowhere to be found in Hell, Lord Beelzebub.”

“Hmph, of course he’s not so dumb he’d try to return. I want everyone to know that when found, he must be captured and brought to me.”

“As you wish. On what charge?”

“He disobeyed my direct order by approaching the traitor. Now go spread the word.”

“Of course, Lord Beelzebub.”

With Dagon gone, the Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies sat back heavily on their throne and rubbed their forehead, trying to quell a growing headache and make some sense out of the event of what was supposed to be an uneventful day, at least according to the original plan.

Plans really cannot be trusted anymore, it seems.

With a grunt, Beelzebub turned their gaze on the small table right by, where - among a few mugs of dubious taste - sat a folder. Last they had laid their eyes on it, the name Gabriel F. Archer had been written on it in blood, or rather in red ink that was purposely meant to look like blood. Now, however, the folder was blank - as were the papers in it, no doubt. There no longer was any human by that name whose sins they had to keep track of.

There was only the Archangel Gabriel.

By all logic, that ought to be the end of everything that there may have been between them. Except that the idiot had grasped their hands before they returned to Hell, looked at them in the eye and said, “I will not deny you”.

“Even your precious concierge upstairs denied Yeshua when push came to shove. Three times.”

“I will never.”

“What if it leads to another fall?”

“I survived the first. I can take another.”

“You’re a fool.”

“I am aware.”

Beelzebub scoffed, but a smile was curling their lips as they reached to take the blank, useless folder. It burst into flames the next moment, igniting a few of the flies buzzing around their head before they let it fall on the round - there it crumbled quietly, into ash.

***

“Ugh, where’s the folder…”

Michael rubbed her forehead with a groan, coming to the realization she was really not really meant for record-keeping. Truth be told, that was a conclusion she had come to on almost a weekly basis since Gabriel had been dismissed. She’d take on fourteen wars to end all wars rather than having to keep grappling with what had been the bulk of Gabriel’s job, but alas--

“Any particular folder you’re looking for?”

Ah, speak of the devil. Or rather, speak of the archangel.

“The one concerning renovations of the third sphere,” Michael muttered, looking up at the wall full of… nothing but folders. Paper copies were kept even after everything had been digitized, and Michael had figured finding the physical copy would be quicker than trying her luck with the password she had written down and then misplaced a week earlier.

Gabriel chuckled. “It’s just a little on your left, fifth shelf from bottom, about midway.”

Ah, yes, there it was. “Thanks,” Michael said, and reached to take it out.

Then she froze. And blinked. And then she slowly, slowly turned.

Standing in the doorway of his office, impeccable in a light grey suit and pink tie, Gabriel grinned. “Security has gone downhill since I left,” he said. “Just letting a mortal wander right in.”

Michael opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She worked her jaw a few moments, trying and failing to find words. “You’re not a mortal,” she finally managed. He clearly was not, giving off the kind of power only a celestial being could give.

Gabriel’s grin widened. “No longer,” he said, and suddenly unfolded his wings, causing Michael to recoil in surprise. Not his old wings, the ones she cut and tore away herself; it was something different. The golden brown of the feathers was at odds with the immaculate white of their surroundings, but it was wings nonetheless and not the scorched black that set demons apart. The being before her was the same being she had known since almost the beginning of time.

I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God.

For a long moment, Michael could only stare. Gabriel’s grin faded a little before he cleared his throat and folded his wings, maybe somewhat embarrassed by the display. “My apologies for startling you, I figured I’d--” he began, but Michael crossed the distance between them in a couple of strides, and pulled him in a tight embrace before he could add anything else.

Not something Michael was usually keen on doing, that, but she felt the situation warranted it - and as he returned it after only a moment of confusion, she knew he thought the same. “No one will take your wings ever again,” Michael heard herself saying, and Gabriel chuckled.

“Not even if God orders so?”

“Especially not if God orders so.”

Until little less than a year earlier - the blink of an eye, really, in the context of his existence - Gabriel would have been both horrified and stunned to hear such words from Michael of all people, and would have hardly believed she meant it. Now he clearly did know she meant it, and he seemed neither horrified nor stunned. He pulled back with a smile.

“It’s good to be back.”

“Good to have you back.” Michael cleared her throat and straightened herself, deciding she had shown enough unguarded emotion for the decade. “But… how did this occur?”

“Ah, it is a long story.” A pause. “Actually, not all that long. It happened fairly quickly, but there is some background you... rather need to hear.”

“Of course. There have been developments in Hell, too - it seems they may be harboring thoughts of--”

“I know. Beelzebub told me.”

Michael blinked. “Beelzebub… told you?”

“Yes. They brought it up during the train ride to London.”

“A train ride to London,” Michael repeated, faintly wondering if Gabriel was feeling well. Angels did not get fever and much less have fever dreams, but mortals did - a detail Michael had learned after the eleventh time her appearance had been mistaken for a such episode - and perhaps Gabriel was suffering from some… drawbacks, after almost a year spent as a mortal.

But then again, back when he had still been scared of them, the scars on his back still fresh, he did hide from Sandalphon… and behind the Lord of the Flies of all beings.

But he’s here. God willed him back. Surely he did not fraternize… did he?

Michael opened her mouth to ask, but Gabriel lifted a hand with a sigh. “I know, I know. There is… quite a lot I have not told you about. I’ll explain everything, I promise - at least the parts of everything I understand myself. But first, I would like to visit--”

“Michael, I think I found the password!” Sandalphon’s voice rang out, causing Gabriel to trail off and turn back towards the door. Sandalphon was walking in with some papers under his arm. “You had misplaced--” he began, looking up, and trailed off.

Gabriel grinned. “Hey,” he said, and all the papers Sandalphon had been carrying fluttered to the floor. If Michael had gone for an embrace, Sandalphon - ever devoid of sense of measures - went for a full-on tackle. Gabriel didn’t seem to mind, though, and Michael opted to push aside all worries and questions for a few minutes, especially as Uriel came to see what the mess was all about. It was rare to see her smile so openly, and Michael decided to leave it at that. After all, they just got Gabriel back.

Everything else could be sorted out later.

***

“You son of a bitch!”

“You know, given the circumstances of who is personally and directly responsible for my existence, what you just said is about a dozen different kinds of blasph-- oof!”

Of course Gabriel couldn’t really be out of breath anymore, but if he could, Daniel’s bear hug would have knocked all air out of his lungs. He laughed, patting his back. “Nice to see you too.”

“Archangel Gabriel-- look at you, I can’t believe it,” he barked out a laugh and dropped Gabriel back on the floor. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were drunk!”

“Well, I was. Too drunk to know better than telling the truth. I’d never had alcohol before, let alone in a mortal vessel.”

“Hah! I did wonder how come a can of beer got you rambling like that. So what, I passed some sort of divine test?”

“It was no test, but if it were you’d have passed it with flying colors.” Gabriel smiled, and nodded politely towards the woman in the room with Daniel. “Liv, I presume?” he asked, but of course he already knew the answer. Daniel had a photo of his wife in his wallet, taken before the cancer diagnosis was ever uttered.

“It was probably already eating away at her, but you’d have never known looking at her,” Daniel had once said in a rare moment of talkativeness about the subject. Gabriel had agreed that the woman in the photo did indeed look radiant, and that was precisely how she looked now. Of course, most souls that make it to Heaven do.

“That would be me. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

“What are you doing here?” Daniel was asking. “I mean, you were cast out - they decided to hire you again?”

“In a manner of speaking. I’ll have to hand in my notice back in Southampton, I am afraid, but I do plan to keep in touch with our colleagues. Hopefully they will all come here when their time is up. Although I must say, Łukasz is on thin ice if he keeps on putting cream in carbonara.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can put in a good word for him if needed, no?”

“Me? Ah, I don’t know. Maybe,” Gabriel replied, all fake innocence, and Daniel laughed.

“Never had a friend in a high place before. This is a nice change of pace,” he said, dropping a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder before his expression turned… a little more serious. “I’ve got to thank you for all your help. Finding my brother.”

Ah, that. “It is all right. I am only regretful he was not found on time for you to meet in person.”

A pained expression crossed Daniel’s features, there one moment and gone the next. “... Well, I do hope… he will come here? Eventually?”

“Oh, yes. He and his wife are well on track to gain access to Heaven.” Unlike your parents, Gabriel thought, but Daniel had not asked once about them and he chose not to bring them up. “Actually, they want me over for lunch next weekend. I figure I ought to go.”

“Ah, of course.” Daniel seemed to hesitate. “Tell him I said hi. I mean, I know you can’t say that, but if you could just-- try and-- let him know. You know what I mean?”

Yes, he did know. “Of course. And one day they will probably both want to smack me for not coming clean,” Gabriel said. “Ah, before I forget - would you like to have Lawrence’s old dog?”

Daniel blinked and looked over at Liv. She shrugged, at a loss. ��Lawrence’s… what?”

“His old dog. It has passed away, and as all dogs find their way to Heaven, it is only a matter of finding out its name…”

***

“He’ll keep calling you Brother Francis for a while before he gets used to your name, isn’t he?”

“Most likely. I cannot blame him, it was a lot to take in. I certainly do not mind, when it came to choosing a name I picked that of someone I do admire a great deal.”

“That weird hippy who talked to birds? Should have known when you kept welcoming pests into the garden.”

“Heh. Maybe you should have been the gardener after all, as long as you promised not to terrify the Dowlings’ poor plants too much.”

“And leave the role of nanny to you?”

“Well, why not?”

“You wouldn’t have looked half as good in that dress, angel.”

Leaning next to him on the huge bed in their cottage - Crowley had not expected Aziraphale to join him on it, truth be told, but he had no complaints; maybe the day had just been that draining - Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, I would say we did a decent job with the boy. He took it better than I expected he would, all things considered.”

“We did keep out some parts of the story.” Namely, the fact they had briefly talked about… getting rid of him, when they believed him to be the Antichrist. Not that either of them had followed through, or even wished to.

“True. But all things considered, he was more excited than anything else.”

“He’s still eleven, of course he was excited. He’ll be back with even more questions.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Maybe we could have him over here next time. At the cottage.”

“Can’t see why not.”

“... We could have wiped his memories off. Do you think he will really keep all this to himself?”

“He’ll be thrown in the madhouse if he tells, to use his own words. He’s a smart kid. Takes after me.” Crowley grinned. “He’ll keep it under wraps like Adam and his friends did. More smart kids. I wonder how they’re doing.”

“Well, I am reasonably certain we’ll find out in September. I would be very surprised if they didn’t receive a wedding invitation themselves.”

“Wedding invitation?”

“Ah, yes, it came in the mail. I forgot to bring it up - remember that dear Anathema and… Newton, I think the name is? They kindly invited us to their wedding.”

“Did they? How nice. I will need to find a good dress.”

“Don’t you upstage the bride now, you know it’s not nice.”

“I am not nice.” Crowley hissed, and Aziraphale just chuckled before he stretched. Crowley considered asking once again if he was sure Gabriel would indeed keep their secret, but decided not to. Aziraphale seemed certain, and he was… willing to trust his judgment, this time.

“Ah, perhaps this is a good occasion to find out if sleep is indeed all that you make it out to be,” Aziraphale was saying. “You’ll ensure I wake up in the morning, won’t you?”

Crowley blinked a moment, taken aback. Then Azirapahle raised an eyebrow, clearly confused by his sudden silence, and he cleared his throat with a quick nod. “Of course,” he said, having absolutely no intention to rouse Aziraphale any earlier than necessary.

With complete control over his human form, Aziraphale was of course able to will himself to sleep within moments, his expression absolutely peaceful. Crowley could have done the same, but he… didn’t. Not yet.

A good night’s sleep was indeed all it was made out to be and then some more, but at the moment he didn’t mind staying awake just a little longer.

***

“So you were re-hired for your job? That sounds exciting. You must be happy to go back. Have more cake.”

“Ah, thank you. It did feel a lot like coming home, but it will be keeping dreadfully busy. I believe the entire business is long overdue for some rather radical changes.”

“Hmph. From what you have said before, it sounds as though you were fired without just cause.” Lawrence sipped some tea, leaning back against his seat. “I certainly hope they will not pull the same stunt again.”

“Ah, to be completely fair, there was due cause. I was simply in denial over it. Hardly anyone likes admitting to being wrong.” Gabriel took a spoonful of the block of carrot cake Berenice had just dropped on his plate, going his best to pretend he didn’t notice Doyle peering up at him from under the table, drooling copiously and trying with very little success to play the part of the starving stray. “And I have learned much in my time away. I believe management thinks that’s what makes me qualified for the work ahead.”

Lawrence shrugged. “Well then, if this is what you feel works best, I can only wish you the best of luck. Should you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know,” he added.

Gabriel smiled. “Thank you,” he said, glazing over to the framed photo of Lawrence and Berenice’s wedding day - namely Doyle’s predecessor, the huge Newfoundland who’d been their ringbearer on the day,. “... If I may ask, what was that dog’s name?”

Please don’t be Fido. I cannot bear thinking about how many dogs called Fido are in Heaven.

“Huh?” Berenice followed his gaze to the photo. “Oh, that was Chewbarka. A very good boy. Slobbered an awful lot, but he was still the gentlest boy.”

Well, that was going to make the search easier. Gabriel promised himself he’d make sure Chewbarka was found and taken to Daniel as soon as he returned, ate more of the cake, made more small talk, and shook his head with a smile when Lawrence asked him if he’d like to stay for dinner.

“No, thank you. I really do need to go back.”

A laugh. “Ah, of course. You’re a busy man now.”

Gabriel grinned back. “That too, but as of this evening, I just have a date.”

***

“You told the other archangels about me?”

“Yes. There was no reason to keep hiding--”

“How dare you!”

“They would have found out eventually--”

“You denied me the pleasure of seeing their faces as you told them,” Beelzebub muttered, causing Gabriel to trail off, stare a moment, and laugh.

“Hah! My apologies. It did not occur to me you’d have appreciated being present.”

“Hmph. And how did they take it?”

“I think ‘shell-shock’ best describes their reaction, but they’ll get used to it. I think. I mean, I am not leaving them much of a choice.”

I won’t deny you, Gabriel had said, and kept his word. Beelzebub snorted, but did not protest when Gabriel’s arm rested across their shoulders. They glanced up at the setting sun instead.

“... Everything from here is uncharted territory,” they said. No plan, no guarantees, no nothing.

“Yes.” Gabriel grinned. He was doing that an awful lot lately, with childish glee. It was annoying and it made him look stupid, but Beelzebub found they didn’t mind. “Isn’t it exciting?”

***

And the angel answered and said to him, “I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God, and was sent to speak to you and bring you these glad tidings." -- Luke 1:19

***

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

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wwwafflewrites · 3 years

Text

Never Fear (The Winchesters Are Here)

As a Kite

"Dean?!"

"Right here, kid. Right here," he yelled from below. His words were steady, but his heart was not. "You able to get down?" He was pacing, though he didn't stray too far from you.

You shuddered, held tighter to the inclined platform, and shouted down, "No." Most of your weight was on the backboard of the basketball hoop, which was held up horizontally by pulleys on the ceiling. It was a twenty foot drop from where you sat, which was a fatal fall—or worse, paralyzing. If Bobby was any indication, that wasn't fun.

"Do you want me to come up there?" He was already gauging the structure, figuring out how to get to you.

"No," you said miserably, stopping him. Because what would that do? Then you'd both be stuck up here.

"Okay, okay, just—" A loud banging from outside the gymnasium cut him off.

The minotaur was close.

"Dean, you need to get out of here," you urged.

A minotaur was not something you wanted to tango with unless you had the right weapon. They were bulls on steroids. If your research sessions with Sam had taught you anything, it was that bullets were hardly going to tickle this thing.

Dean edged closer. "No way." He was both frustrated and scared for you. "How did you even get up there?"

"Do you really not see the person sized hole in the ceiling?!"

"I see it, I just—" another banging rattled against the gym's doors, which made you both flinch. "I fail to see how you always end up in these kinds of situations!"

"Better this than five feet in any other direction!" Ironically, you were very lucky to land on the basketball hoop, and not straight down onto the polished hardwood floor.

"Right, I forgot. You're the luckiest unlucky person I've ever met, and that's saying something, considering I've met myself."

You snorted, but it felt forced.

Dean paced, raking a hand through his messy hair and looking desperately around the gym. Then, he abruptly stopped, muscles tensing as an idea came to him. "I got an idea, but you're not gonna like it," he said. "At all." He began walking over to the doors.

"Dean?" No reply. "Dean?!"

For a second, you thought he was going to open the doors for the minotaur, but then he paused right in front of the control panel and picked open the lock. "Do you trust me?!" he shouted across the gym. Even from so far away, the look in his eyes was intense.

"I—yes—but Dean—!"

He flipped a switch.

Without warning, the hoop lurched into motion. You scrambled, clutching onto any handhold for dear life as the backboard slowly got steeper. "DEAN?!"

"Easy, easy, I'm right here." He was beneath you again, watching your every move.

You were tense, heart beating against your ribs like a bat in a cage. "A little warning would have been nice!"

"Trust me, okay? Just sit tight, I'll catch you if you fall. You're going to be okay, you hear me?" His arms were ready just in case you slipped.

The hoop was halfway down when the wooden gym door shattered.

The minotaur had rammed through it, having heard your commotion, and it was huge. It had horns as long as your entire leg; beady, soulless eyes; and clouds of dust stirring from its flared nostrils.

Your blood ran cold. "Run!" You kicked your right leg for emphasis, despite the risk of falling.

Dean hesitated.

The minotaur charged, leaving Dean barely enough time to roll out of the way.

It's horns drove deep into the hardwood where he missed, tearing up the floor like butter.

Somewhat of a silence overcame the room, only to be filled by your hoop noisily clanking in place.

The minotaur paused, reared its massive head around to look at you, and growled.

For once, you were glad to be high up.

Until it stood, that is. It was at least nine feet tall, horns adding an extra few feet to its height. It could most certainly ram its head into the hoop and kill you.

Dean's eyes were blown wide as he made the same conclusion. "Hey, you!" he shouted, pulling out his gun. "Pick on someone your own size!" And he shot it point blank.

As predicted, it just made it angry—except, it was too stupid to know who to be angry at. Funny, since it had nested in a freaking public school—because apparently they were the modern day labyrinths. But mostly not funny, considering it attacked you.

It roared, and the entire gym trembled.

Dean booked it for the doors. You couldn't blame him, but... man, that was cold.

The minotaur stomped toward you until you could feel its furious breath in your face, its grunts sending all your hair flying back. This was it.

Without warning, everyone—including the minotaur—stopped to listen to another obnoxious creaking which overcame the room.

You were like a statue, still staring into the dark eyes of the beast, not even daring to turn your head in the direction of the sound.

The minotaur flared its nostrils once more, pivoting on an angry hoof to look at the basketball hoop that was slowly but surely descending from the other side of the gym.

Your heart lifted, and you spotted Dean beaming at you from the control panel, probably high on relief.

You gestured around you. Excellent work, but don't get too smug, now. We still gotta get me out of here.

Dean mouthed one word, pointing to his phone: 'Sam.'

Well, that was good news. If Sam was on his way, then he probably had a weapon to kill it.

You both jolted as the minotaur slammed its monstrous head into the adjacent hoop and ripped it to shreds. Glass and plastic the size of plates dropped and shattered on the surrounding floor. All that was left were the beams that once held the backboard.

That would have been me.

Dean ran to you—having set off the third, fourth, and fifth hoop—and urgently mimed for you to jump into his arms.

You mimed back that, no, that was not something you could do. But you paused, his words from before coming back to you. Do you trust me?

And, yeah, you trusted him. You trusted him with your life.

So you clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming and pushed yourself off of the hoop.

Dean caught you with bent knees, cushioning the impact of your landing. One hand supporting your legs, and the other catching your back. He set you down, and, locking eyes, gave you a proud nod before turning a wary head toward the minotaur.

The hoops still occupied it, as it violently bashed its head into one hoop after another. Glass rained down in sheets, gliding dangerously on the polished ground until there was a small mountain of glass surrounding the minotaur.

You tried to stand—to get away—but your knees were weak.

Dean noticed, slipping your arm over his shoulder, hauling you up, and guiding you to the emergency exit all in one move. His priority was you.

You held your breath as a heavy rumble reverberated from outside the exit. At the moment, you wanted to strangle Sam for the worst timing ever.

You and Dean shared looks, glancing back at the minotaur who was aware of you once more.

Dean scooped you up, not even bothering to deal with your uncooperative legs, and tore his way to the exit. He barreled through the door, tumbling onto the concrete, with you falling out of his arms.

You watched, stunned, as the minotaur rammed at the door. It's horns were too large, locking in inside the building, for even it, for now, was no match for the sturdy brick that held it in place.

Dean interrupted your daze by breaking into a random fit of laughter. There he was, on the ground of a wet, public school parking lot, throwing his head back and enjoying himself for no obvious goddamn reason.

You weren’t sure whether to be concerned or laugh with him. "What the hell is so funny?"

"S—" he could barely spit it out. He couldn't breathe. "S-Sam's got a—ahaha—aha—hehehe's got a—haha—"

You turned to see what on earth Sam had and felt your eyebrows rise to your hairline as you watched a freaking wrecking ball crane align itself with the gym.

You had heard of the Winchesters 'borrowing' equipment, but this was next level. Where had he come across a wrecking ball?

And that bass you had heard from before? As Sam came nearer, it became more distinct.

Your jaw dropped.

Sam was blasting the song ‘Wrecking Ball’.

Dean's howling laughter only became louder as Sam drove closer.

You could tell Sam was smirking, obviously aware of what he was doing to Dean. As Sam hit the brakes, you could see him grin and chuckle—oh he was patting himself on the back for this one.

The minotaur, dumb as a rock, was still slamming itself at the doorway. If it had any brains, it would know to get out of the way because something much larger was about to come through those doors.

Dean eventually sighed, wiping tears, sitting up to watch the demolition.

"You think the cops'll show?" you asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be blasting music at midnight for the entire neighborhood to hear with a wrecking ball crane on school premises." He stood and offered you a hand.

You took it. "Good point."

The wrecking ball collided with the doorway. It caught the minotaur by the chest, crushing every bone in its body.

"If it isn't the Winchesters. And... Winchest-ee."

Crowley.

"Did I miss the party?" When you both glared at him, he smiled. "Is Sam enjoying his little gift?"

"You gave it to him?"

Crowley hummed. "I'm letting him borrow it. In exchange for one minotaur."

"You want the dead minotaur?" you asked. "Why?"

"I'm going to mount it on my wall." Crowley shrugged.

"That's… it? Taxidermy?" Dean asked skeptically.

"Yes. Do I need a better reason? It's cool. Obviously, I want it in Hell. Why, did you expect I'd want his soul or something? Well... of course, I want his soul, but that would never happen. We all know he's smarter than that, Dean, no need to go full mama bear."

Once Sam dismounted the wrecking ball crane, it vanished with a dark smoke.

Crowley sighed. "Well, I suggest you skip town—I’m expecting the school won't be happy about your renovation." Crowley began walking toward the now destroyed exit, disappearing into the dust and not walking back out.

Sam made his way over, smirking at the ground with his hands in his pockets. "So, how did it go for you guys?"

"Horrible."

"Great."

Sam was glancing between you both. "Well, someone's lying."

You shot Dean an odd look. "If you count me getting stuck on a basketball hoop twenty feet in the air with a minotaur trying to kill us, then you have a twisted idea of 'great'."

"Oh, c'mon, you handled it like a champ."

Sam's eyebrows quirked. "You were on the basketball hoop?"

"I fell through the cheap ceiling."

Dean snorted. "Guess they needed a renovation anyway."

You socked him in the shoulder. "You're an idiot."

"You love me."

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hard-boiled-criminal · 3 years

Text

Planetary Magick: 2

(Twisted wonderland x reader)

Masterlist

_______________________

Unedited

“Yeah…charming.” Apparently, by ‘charm,’ the headmaster meant ‘dilapidated and might have asbestos.’

An old Iron fence surrounded the perimeter, the bars mangled and twisted, as if something rammed into it over and over at each possible section of fence. You could only hope that whatever did that was no longer here. Unsurprisingly, the fencing was rusted in many places and had dead vines draped around them, no doubt having tried to survive on the fence but to no avail. What stood out as odd to you though, was the gate: it had an intricate design reminiscent of the black skeletal structure of a stained-glass window. Though it was odd to see these graceful curves and patterns on the gate compared to the arrow-headed fencing, it was something else that put you off. The gate itself was in pristine condition—no rust or dents whatsoever. You noticed an old, rusted padlock on the ground nearby, which was most likely used to seat the gate once upon a time, but that only lead to more confusion about why only the gate was so well taken care off.

The grounds themselves were mostly barren, save for a few vertical hedges and some dead trees. The dorm building itself sat atop the small hill and was in pretty bad shape. All the windows had been sloppily boarded up and patches of shingles were missing from all over the roof.

“Right, right,” Crowley brushed off your comment and lead you up the stone stairs towards the dorm. “Please come inside.”

‘Maybe it’s not that bad on the inside?’

Scratch that, you felt like the guy on the receiving end of “Sike! That’s the wrong number!” You didn’t think it could get even worse, but the interior proved you wrong. It was a complete mess inside; furniture stained and overturned, firewood and books scattered everywhere, cobwebs and spiderwebs in every nook and cranny, paintings and pictures either crooked on the wall or on the ground. The wallpaper was peeling at the seams with patches missing all over, and one of the wall sconces was completely broken, both the lightbulb and glass cover missing. And while the floorboards looked okay, there was no doubt in your mind that some of them were definitely rotted and would collapse under your weight in a heartbeat.

You turn and blankly stare at the headmaster. Did he really believe these were suitable living conditions? You were almost positive there was mold in this run-down dorm, and who knows which ones pose a threat to you since you’re an alien? “Does OSHA not exist here or something?”

“I’m sorry, but I do not believe I have heard of this ‘oh-shuh,’” Crowley replied, sounding honest.

“The Occupational Safety and Health Administration?” You got a blank look from Crowley. You sighed, “figures…” ‘Note to self: learn how to establish a government-funded fantasy OSHA so you can pile Crowley with violation fines. Or at least threaten him with them so he’ll fix up the damn place.’

“Staying here will at least keep you out of the rain,” he rushed to get his sentences out. Maybe he got nervous when he heard you say ‘safety and health?’ “I’m going back to do more research. Make yourself at home. Don’t go wandering around the school! Goodbye!” With that, Crowley rushed out the door in a hurry.

‘Well fuck. First order of business: cleaning up lest I die of never-ending sneezing fits.’ You were only able to get all the furniture upright before it started to rain, making you lose all focus and run to peak out a window, trying to get a good angle to see the rain, and hopefully lightning, through the boards.

You’ve always loved the sounds of rain and thunder. More importantly, there was finally something normal. Hearing the rain pattering against window and seeing the occasional flashes of lighting in the distance relaxed you. Out of habit, you counted the seconds between the lightning and thunder to estimate how far away it was. You counted eight seconds before you heard the low rumbling of thunder.

You sighed, content, before you remembered, “It’s storming! I can collect storm water!” You ran to the first door you saw and flung it open to see what looked to be a kitchen. Excited to finally get a round of good luck, you searched through the cabinets, grabbing any jars and bowls you could find. You found a total of three glass jars, which you removed the lids from, and two large bowls. You stacked the bowls and placed the jars as best as you could inside the top bowl before heading back out the front door. You walked out from the covered entrance into the rain and placed the containers along the side of the stone path so they wouldn’t be in the way. The rain started to fall heavily, forcing you to run back inside before you were completely drenched. Luckily, the large hooded cloak you wore kept you dry for the most part. You carefully pulled off the partially-singed wet coat and draped it across the back of the rocking chair you righted earlier to dry.

“Hyii! It’s really coming down!”

Startled, you snapped your head to face the direction the voice came from, only to be met with that same bakeneko (monster cat) that tried to incinerate you.

“Gyahaha! You’ve got this stupid look on your face like a spider being attacked by a water gun!” The bakeneko cackled at you. They must have snuck in when you set out the bowls and jars. “I’ll have no trouble sneaking back into school. If you think getting thrown out is gonna make me give up on getting in, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Mm, well good luck little bakeneko. It might help to not set the school on fire,” you gave them some helpful advice.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. All that matters is that I get into this school,” the bakeneko brushed off your words. “Afterall, I’m a genius who is destined to be a great magician! I've been waiting for the Ebony Carriage to come pick me up. But... But... Hmph! The Dark Mirror just doesn't have an eye for this. So that's why I came here on my own. Not letting me in would be a loss for the world; humans just don't get it.”

“Well, I have to agree with you on the Dark Mirror part. Afterall, it decided to kidnap me, and I can’t do any of that flash-bang-boom magic you’ve been throwin’ around.” ‘But I can do other magick… I wonder if they have my kind of magick here… I’ll have to do some research later…’

“Wha? You can’t use magic? Pfft! You’re useless!” The bakeneko shrieked as a drop of water fell on him through the ceiling. “So cold! The roof is leaking!” He didn’t move out of the way before another drop hit him. “Fgyaa! It keeps coming! My adorable ear fire is gonna go out at this rate!”

‘Instant karma, bitch.’ You sighed, “I guess I’ll go get one of the bowls.”

“Magic should fix this leak up real quick, but you don’t got any.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can’t make things go boom, I get it. If you’ve got such a problem with the leak, why don’t you fix it yourself, bakeneko?” You said over your shoulder as you walked to the door to collect one of the bowls from outside.

“Huh? Help you? No way! I’m just a regular monster staying in a rainy place. You better get a can of tuna ready before I do any work.”

You shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.” You felt a drop of water land on your head this time. ‘Looks like I’ll need to get both of the bowls.’ You grabbed your damp cloak from the rocking chair and quickly threw it on before running outside towards the bowls. They had already collected about half a centimeter of storm water, and not wanting to waste it, you poured the contents of the bowls into the closest jar. Sprinting back inside, you first placed the bowls down at your feet so you could quickly peel off your now-soaked cloak and hang it back on the rocking chair. You placed the bowls under what looked to be the worst leaks in the lounge area. ‘I wonder if there’s a cleaning bucket or something in a closet somewhere.’

“Yo, I’m gonna go see if they’ve got a bucket somewhere,” you notified the bakeneko, not getting an answer, as expected.

You peered over into a nearby hallway, suddenly much more nervous as you stared down the long, dark hallway. ‘This feels like a horror game and I hate it.’ You tentatively took a step forward, and then another. You made it about five slow steps in before the floor loudly squeaked under your weight. ‘I just had an interesting thought: Actually, fuck this.’ You spun on your heel with false bravado, your entire body now tense. As you stiffly walked back towards the lounge, you froze in place as you felt the familiar tingle of eyes watching you. ‘Okay. Don’t look back. Just. Just keep walking. Put one foot in front of the other.’

It turns out it didn’t matter if you looked back or not because three ghosts suddenly appeared in front of you. They… didn’t look how you’d expect ghosts to look like. These ones looked more… cartoonish. They weren’t half as scary-looking as some of the monsters you’d seen in Scooby-Doo.

One of the ghosts giggled while the other two spoke, “We haven’t had a guest in so long…” Said one.

“I’m itching for some action,” said the other.

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass. I’ve had enough excitement for one day, thanks,” their completely underwhelming appearance circumvented practically all your initial fear, leaving you with only pure exhaustion. You didn’t have much of a filter in this state, but you didn’t really give two shits about what you said when you were tired anyway.

“Why are you talking to yourself…” the bakeneko walked around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. “Gyaaa! G-g-g-g-ghooosts!”

Looked like someone was afraid of the cartoon ghosts.

“The people living here got scared of us and left,” a ghost explained.

“We’ve been looking for more ghost pals,” another spoke. “How about you guys?”

“Deadass? Fuckin’ go for it.”

The ghosts and bakeneko looked a bit shocked that you blatantly agreed to let them kill you to turn you into a ghost.

“Wow, you guys aren’t up to date on humor, are you?”

The bakeneko was the first to snap out of disbelief and shouted, “Grim, the Great Magician, isn’t scared of some ghosts!”

‘Heh, I ain’t afraid of no ghost.’ You had to mentally remind yourself to not start humming the ghost busters theme.

Grim, as you now learned his name was (you think), spewed more of that bright blue fire, completely missing all of the ghosts.

“Where are you aiming?” The ghosts mocked him and laughed. “Over here, over here!”

“Shoot! Stop disappearing!” Grim uselessly shouted at them and continued to be a living flamethrower.

“My mans, please, stop. At this rate there’ll be no dorm left to keep us dry.”

“Shut up! Don’t try to give me orders!”

“…I’m too tired to deal with this shit anymore. Fine. I’ll get you a can of tuna if you win without burning the house down.” You mumbled the first part before speaking to Grim.

“Wah? Mm, I-I’m a genius. I won’t let one—” Grim tried to keep his stubborn pride but was interrupted by the ghosts’ mocking laughter. “Bunch of cowards, ganging up on us!”

“Two cans. Take it or leave it.”

Your new offer seemed to change Grim’s tune in a heartbeat. “Hey, you! Tell me where the ghosts are!”

“’Kay. On your left,” Grim followed your orders and managed to singe one of the ghosts with his flames.

“I hit it!” Grim shouted, now sounding excited. “Alright, let’s chase them all outta here!”

Cue you shouting directions at Grim and him spewing fire in said directions. In all honesty, it felt like a pokemon battle. Except your pokemon was a talking cat with a holier-than-thou attitude. And you were fighting actual ghosts—not ghost type pokemon—actual previously-living-human ghosts. After a few minutes of Grim burning the ghosts, however that worked, they eventually fled the scene of your would-be murder.

“E-eh? We…won?” Grim spoke with the disbelief of someone who has never won in life before.

“Yup. Good job bakeneko Grim.”

“Ha-heee, that was scar—No, I wasn’t scared at all!” Oh Grim, what caused you to act like your pride is what matters the most? “This is nothing for the Great Grim! How ‘bout that, ghosts? You done?”

“Hey, don’t taunt them, bakeneko. If they come back, I’m not giving you directions.”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘bakeneko?’ What’s that even mean?”

“Mm, it’s because you’re like a bakeneko. They’re mononoke, yokai, that resemble cats,” Grim looked ready to protest, but you continued before he had the chance, “and are extremely powerful. If you anger a bakeneko, your chances of getting out alive are slim to none.”

“Hmmph, well, I suppose The Great Grim will allow you to call him by such a title.”

Before you could continue to talk about bakeneko and other mononoke or yokai, Crowley came in through the front door just as you and Grim made it back to the lounge.

“Good evening,” he greeted. “I have graciously brought you supper.” That’s when he noticed Grim beside you. “You’re the monster that ran amuck during the entrance ceremony! I threw you out of the school! What are you doing here?”

“Hmph! I exterminated the ghost problem! Be grateful!” Grim puffed out his chest as he spoke, continuing to act high and mighty.

“Hmm? What do you mean by that?”

“…There were ghosts here that wanted to turn us into ghosts,” you blandly explained to the headmaster.

“Now that you mention it, there were some prankster ghosts living here so students keep away from this dormitory. And that's why it is now empty. I'd forgotten that.”

You half-heartedly glared at the headmaster. ‘Oh, how convenient. You put up the broke alien in a haunted house with killer ghosts that you just so happened to forget about.’

“However, hmmmm…” Crowley either didn’t notice or acknowledge your glare. “For you two to work together to get rid of them.”

“I'm not gonna overlook that "together" comment. They were just standing there watching. And I did this for a can of tuna—Ah! I haven't gotten that tuna yet!” Grim spoke, still holding on tight to that attitude of his.

‘Grim, I swear to whatever deities rule this place that you aren’t gonna get those cans of tuna if you keep up this habit of pushing others down to raise yourself up.’

“I'd like the two of you to show me how you exterminated those ghosts.”

‘Crowley, no—'

“But we already got rid of all the ghosts! Before that: Give. Me. Tuna!” Oh Grim, so we can agree sometimes!

“I shall be the ghosts. If you beat me, I'll give you tuna cans. For I am gracious.”

“Uh, no, wait, Mr. Crowley, please—”

“Now then, Transformation Potion!” Crowley pulled a vial of liquid from his coat and downed it in one go. It didn’t take long for him to become transparent and ghost-like.

“Eeeeeeeh, I don't wanna. This is a pain and I have to team up with them again…” Grim whined.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Bakeneko, maybe if you show him how strong your magic is, he’ll let you be a student.”

“Grrrnnuuu,” Grim grumbled, annoyed. “This is the last time! You absolutely, absolutely have to give me the tuna!”

And you found yourself in a pokemon battle once more; this time, it was you and a bakeneko versus an actual living breathing person that can turn into a ghost.

‘If it’s a pokemon battle, might as well use pokemon rules.’ You pointed at the see-through headmaster, “Grim, bite him!”

“Hah? You really are a stupid human!” Grim shouted and spewed fire instead, though he missed like before.

“Fine, we’ll use your fire, but I’m explaining the pokemon system to you later. On your left!”

Turns out, pokemon battles can get boring when it’s just the same thing over and over again. Eventually, it seemed the effects of the potion wore out and Crowley returned to his usual opaque self.

“Hee-haaa…” Grim was panting, trying to catch his breath. “How 'bout that!”

“I can't believe… There is a person who can command monsters,” Crowley spoke in mild awe mixed with disbelief.

‘…Does this world not have pokemon? Should I?... No, I shouldn’t… but what if—what if I introduced myself as Gary Oak and just… no I can’t do that. I can’t tell people “smell ya later.”’

“Hmmm... Actually, my teacher senses were telling me since the uproar during the entrance ceremony that you have talent as an animal or wild beast trainer.”

‘…This man is really making this a cliché pokemon plot… Is this how it all started? Am I the original trainer!? Nah… Unless—’

“But, no matter how…” Crowley began muttering to himself, to quiet for me to make out.

“Hey, just let him stay here,” you were exhausted at this point and the bakeneko had honestly grown on you some. Plus, you needed him around in order to explain pokemon to him.

“What now? Let a monster live here?” You couldn’t see Crowley’s face behind the mask, but you were sure he was giving you a judging look.

“Well, I mean, he did just show you the magic he’s got, which is a whole lot more than I’ve got, and you’re letting me stay here. So why not let him stay? He still a magician, he’s just, well, in the shape of a cat.”

After a few seconds, Crowley sighed, “It can’t be helped.”

“Funa!? Really?!” Grim’s eyes widened and lit up as bright as his flames.

“However, I can't simply allow someone, let alone a monster, into school who wasn't selected by the Dark Mirror. Also, I can't let you be a freeloader here until you return to your own world.”

“Talk about short-lived joy…”

“Listen until the end,” Crowley then turned to you. “Concerning the fact that your soul was called here, the school has to take responsibility as the owners of the Dark Mirror. For the time being, you'll be permitted to stay in this dormitory for free, but other necessities you will have to provide for yourself.”

‘Uhhh what? I don’t even have my own clothes. How the hell am I supposed to live with no money or ID?’

“Seeing as you have nothing to your name,” he gave a slight chuckle for reasons unknown, “here is my proposition.”

Your mind immediately jumped to all the horror stories you’ve heard of what comes from owing shady people favors. The growing panic must have shown on your face according to Crowley’s next words.

“No need to fret, I'll have you do maintenance and odd jobs around campus. From what I can see, you're pretty decent at cleaning,” he said after glancing around the room. “Would you two like to become the "handyman" of the school? This way you will receive special permission to remain on school grounds. You'll also be able to research going home or study whatever you desire in the library. For I am gracious. However! Only after your work is done.”

“Eeeh!? I'm not okay with that!” Grim complained. “I wanna wear that fancy uniform and be a student!”

“It's fine if you're unsatisifed. I'll simply toss you out again.”

“Ffgnnaa!? I get it! I just have to do it. Just do it!”

“’Kay.”

“Wonderful,” Crowley clapped his hands once in delight of our agreeance. “Then, you two starting tomorrow, endeavor to be the best handyman at Night Raven College!”

“Cool, now that that’s settled, headmaster,” he turned to face you. “I’m, like, about to pass out from pain. I’m covered in bruises and burns, plus my vision is blurry and I can’t focus on anything. My eyes are like a camera lens that twenty children smeared their greasy fingers on. You’re magical in that flashy, immediate results way, right? Doesn’t that mean you or someone else can help me not feel like I want to peel off my skin? It’d be cool for my skin to not burn when I get cleaning solution on it tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, yes, of course,” Crowley almost seemed sheepish, as if he were embarrassed to have not truly noticed the state you were in until now. “While healing magic is not my forte, it should be enough to heal the wounds you have.”

He pointed his palmed towards you and you watched as it began to glow a pale yellow. Slowly you felt your burns and bruises dull themselves to just faint aches. He kept this up for about a minute before he extinguished his magic and pulled his hand back.

“Now, the worst of your wounds are still be a bit tender, but they should be completely healed after a good night’s rest. So, off you go then; sleep now so you’re ready for work in the morning,” He shooed you off with a hand gesture.

“Thank you, headmaster. C’mon Grim, let’s get going.”

As you and Grim headed up the stairs, the headmaster turned around and walked out of the building. Each step creaked under your weight as you trudged up them. While the pain was all but gone, your fatigue was still all-consuming. You followed Grim down the upper hallway, since it seemed he already picked a room before, probably when you went to find a bucket. You followed him into a room in a similar condition as the rest of the dorm. Across from the door sat a fireplace in the center of the opposite wall, a large mirror mounted above it. There were tall windows stationed on either side of the fireplace, almost as tall as the room itself. Towards the left side was a chair covered by a gray dust-cloth, and on the right sat a simple twin-sized bed. You pulled the duvet off the bed and shook it out, watching as you made a cloud of dust dance in the air. As soon as you placed the comforter back on the bed, Grim jumped up and curled himself up in the center of the bed. You were too tired to do anything about that; you’d just have too try and sleep around him. After shaking any dust off of your pillow, you slid yourself under the covers, one leg dangerously close to sliding off the bed. You fell asleep in record time that night.

. . .

You had a rather rude awakening the next morning consisting of Grim yelling at you and pawing at your face because the ghosts were back. Streams of blazing blue fire almost singeing your face made this one of your worst morning experiences to date. With a final warning of there being a one-sided prank war, the ghosts phased away.

“We’ll get rid of you eventually!” Grim shouted after them, but there was nothing but thin air left.

“C’mon, bakeneko. Let’s go see if there’s any food in the kitchen,” You beckoned Grim with a small wave.

“Hmph. Fine. But there better be tuna!” Grim said with a harrumph and trotted out the door ahead of you.

As you went down the stair at the end of the hallway, you saw Crowley standing in the lounge room, waiting for you and Grim.

“Good morning, you two,” he greeted when he noticed you. “Did you sleep well?”

“I was sprawled out then fell out the bottom! Just how ramshackle did you let this place get?” Grim shouted, equally as upset about the state of the dorm as you were. “Then the ghosts woke me up, this is the worst!”

“Like the dead,” was your response.

“Even though you just got tossed from another world you can still be cheeky, wonderful!” Crowley was as upbeat as ever. “I came to speak to you about your work for today. Today you are to clean the campus, but campus is quite large. Cleaning it all without magic is impossible. So, I'd like you to clean Main Street to the main gate to the library, understood? Please watch Grim closely so he doesn't cause a scene like yesterday.”

“I’ll try best,” you said and shrugged. You didn’t know what you’d do if Grim went out of control; you’re not fireproof, after all.

“I'm counting on you. You have permission to have lunch in the school cafeteria. Take care of your work enthusiastically,” and with a flutter of his feathered cape, Crowley took his leave, presumably going back to campus.

“Tsk, no way I'm doing any cleaning,” Grim scrunched his nose at the thought. “I wanna go to class and, bang! Boom boom boom! Use a bunch of awesome spells!” He punched at the air with his ‘booms.’

“How ‘bout we just go to the library after we finish cleaning. Besides, libraries are where they keep all the old forbidden knowledge!” Yeah, under lock and key so no one can read them, but you weren’t about to tell Grim that. “Imagine just how much the other students will revere your power if you master ancient magic!”

“Well, what are you waiting for, human? Let’s get going!”

“Okay but let me collect my storm water first. If I wait too long, it’ll all evaporate.”

“Hmph, fine, but make it quick!”

You quickly jogged over to your bowls and jars that each held a good two inches/five centimeters worth of storm water. You poured all the water you collected into one of the jars before carrying everything back inside. You set them all down on the kitchen counter, then checked the cabinets for a lid to the jar. After finding a lid and sealing the storm water in the corresponding jar, you met back up with Grim in the lounge.

“Alright, let’s get moving.”

“About time,” Grim sauntered off, sass radiating from him with each step.

. . .

The campus was bustling with life, students with hair every color of the rainbow going every which way. After a couple minutes of walking towards what you hoped was Main Street, the crowds began to thin out, students having made it to their respective classes. It wasn’t all that hard to find Main Street, seeing as it was the busiest and largest street on campus. What you weren’t expecting was the street to be lined with seven statues of iconic Disney villains.

‘I thought… I thought I was supposed to be on another planet or world or something? Why are there Disney Villains? Are you telling me that Walt Disney himself was able to expand his franchise across all of time and space?! And maybe across dimensions and alternate universes too?! Hey Walt? You’re taking it too far, man.’

“Uwaaaah~ Amazing. So, this is Main Street. I didn't get a good look yesterday but what's with these statues? All seven of them look pretty scary. This granny looks especially snobby,” Grim said, making a face at the Queen of Hearts.

“You mean the Queen of Hearts? Yeah, she played croquet with flamingos as the mallets and hedgehogs as the balls. While they were alive. Not cool if you ask me. Or most people. Animal cruelty is bad.”

“Ehh?! Why would this lady do that?” Grim looked appropriately confused.

“Who knows? Besides, the Cheshire cat is way better. A true chaotic neutral, that one.”

“Who’s that? And what does a cat have to do with this granny?”

You were about to answer before you were cut off by a new challenger approaching. “You don’t know about the Queen of Hearts?” They had a boyish appearance with short, messy orange hair and a red heart stamped over their left eye.

‘Actually, we were just about to discuss the Cheshire cat, but go ahead and assume, I guess.’

“You know her too? Is she important?” Grim asked the redhead, his attention easily being grabbed by this newcomer.

“In the past, she was the queen who lived in the Rose Maze. She was someone who valued rules and discipline above all, strict in all things from the march of the Card Soldiers to the color of rose bushes. It was a land of madness where all submit to her rule. Why you ask? Because or else it was off with your head!” The heart-eye boy monologued with some dramatic flair.

“That's terrifying!” Grim shrieked, probably at the thought of someone chopping his head off.

“It's cool! I like it. Nobody would listen to a queen who's just nice all the time, right?”

‘Uhhhh, that queen is a tyrant, and tyrants are what lead to revolutions so… vive la révolution.’

“I suppose. A strong leader is better.” Oh, Grim, you sweet summer child who doesn’t know the difference between strength and fear.

“By the way, who are you?” Grim asked.

“I'm Ace, a fresh-faced first year. Nice to meetcha~” The boy, Ace, said with a musical lilt.

“I am Grim, a genius who'll become the greatest magician. The dimwit over here is (y/n). They're my henchmen.”

“Bakeneko, don’t you dare put me on the same level as a Scooby-Doo villain’s underling.” You glared at Grim who gave a sheepish chuckle in response.

“You've got an odd sounding name.”

“People from different places have different names. It’s called culture.” You said blandly, trying to cover up your growing anxiety.

Ace shrugged. “I guess. Just never heard your name before.”

“Hey, Ace,” Grim grabbed his attention; you could feel your shoulders sag in relief. “The lion over here with the scar, are they famous?”

Well, Ace seemed to have this handled, and you didn’t need to hear him summarize the Disney villains. Instead, you ignored him and went over to the statue of Hades and looked at him.

‘If this confirms that Hades also exists in this world, does that mean I can work with him? I know many witches back on Earth work with Greek deities, with Hades and Persephone usually being the best of them to work with. Hmm… I’ll have to do some more research.’

You then crouched down to read the stone plaque engraved in Hades’ pedestal. The large plaque read: “The lord of the underworld and guide to the wandering souls of the dead. He carried out his fearsome duties with diligence and care, m…ing even the de…t to offer their aid.” Some words had eroded away, becoming mostly unintelligible sans a few letters.* You tried to make out those two unknown words, tracing your fingers around the grooves in hopes that just maybe you’ll be able to figure out enough of the letters to piece the word together.

“No matter how long you stare at it, you’re not gonna get anything out of that, y’know,” Ace said from behind you.

You sighed and stood up, your momentary reprieve from your anxiety over. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to check.” The plaque didn’t have any information you didn’t already know, except for maybe the words you didn’t know.

“Anyway,” Ace cleared his throat, “He's the Lord of the Underworld! He rules a land crawling with evil spirit on his own. No doubt he is extremely skilled. Even though he's got a scary face, he did that detestable job without ever taking a vacation, and his sincerity won over Cerberus, the Hydra, even the Titans, to fight for him.”

“Hmmm, Hmmm. So having talent doesn't mean you get to be haughty.” Grim hummed in thought.

‘Oh, my sweet tiny bakeneko, you’re learning about manners; I’m so proud.’

“And the last one, with the horns?”

‘Oh hell yeah, Maleficent! We stan an absolute queen. Besides, who doesn’t love dragons?’

“That is the Witch of Thorns from the Magic Mountains,” Ace said, addressing Maleficent with a title rather than her name. “Noble and elegant, even within the Seven, she is top class in magic and curses! She can summon lightning and storms, cover an entire country in thorns; her magic is on a whole other level. There was even a time she transformed into a huge dragon!”

“Oooh! A dragon! All monsters look up to them!” Grim shouted excitedly.

“They're all so cool~” Ace spoke, almost dreamily, before his tone did a 180 and turned snide. “…Unlike a certain raccoon.”

“Pfft... Ahaha! I can't bear it anymore! Ahahahaha!” Ace broke out into laughter. “Aren't you the guys who went crazy at the entrance ceremony? You were summoned by the Dark Mirror even though you can't use magic, and you, a monster, weren't called but still trespassed. Yeahhh, it took everything I had not to lose it at the ceremony.”

“Whaaa!? You're a rude one!” Grim fumed, his ear fire growing in size.

You just stood there and narrowed your gaze, your anger and anxiety fighting each other for full reign. Anxiety won out in the end, keeping you silent when met with his jabs.

“And now you aren't allowed in and got regulated to be a janitor? Haha, how lame,” Ace continued mocking the both of you.

‘It’s not like I had a choice in the matter…’ You clenched your jaw while Grim growled. You could feeling the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, beginning to rise.

“On top of that, you don't even know about the Great Seven,” Ace just didn’t know when to stop. “How ignorant can you be? As I recommend you go back to kindergarten before coming to Night Raven College.”

Grim’s growls got louder as Ace continued. You, on the other hand, couldn’t bring yourself to speak and defend either of you. You felt your throat begin to close up.

“I thought I'd just mess with you a bit, but you really blew my expectations away. Unlike you two, I actually have classes to attend. Keep this school squeaky clean, you two~” He gave you a patronizing wave before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

“This jerk! He's just gonna say that and leave! I'm ticked off!” Grim opened his mouth wide.

“Wait, don’t—” You weren’t fast enough to stop Grim from using flamethrower, for a lack of better terms, on Ace.

“Oh! Watch out! What're you doing!?” Ace angrily yelled at Grim, having just barely dodged in time.

“It's what you get for making fun of me! I'm going light up that fire-head of yours!” Grim matched Ace’s volume.

“Fire-head, huh? Heeeeee. You've really got guts picking a fight with me. I'll turn you into a puffy, little toy-poodle!”

Grim spewed more flames at Ace’s threat.

‘Nope, fuck this. Fuck this. I can’t breathe, dammit!’ You hid behind the nearest statue, which happened to be Maleficent, and kneeled on the ground, trying to steady yourself and calm down enough for your throat to reopen. You bent over to rest your head on the cool grass, closing your eyes and covering your ears, trying to block out the sources of your near attack. You focused on the feel of the grass against your forehead, feeling the separations between the different blades. They were still a bit damp from the morning dew. The more you distracted yourself from the thought of Ace: stressor of the century, the more your throat relaxed and allowed you to draw breath normally once more. You jumped when a shriek pierced through your ears, completely bypassing your hand barriers and reversing all the progress you made towards calming down. Worried that the shriek meant someone got hurt, you jumped out from behind the statue. Instead of someone being hurt, to your relief (you weren’t excited about being an accomplice to assault), the Queen of Hearts’ statue was blackened.

“Crap! The Queen of Hearts' statue is charred!” Ace yelled, the dread on his face matching the shriek you just heard from him.

“It's because you're blowing the fire around! Just let me fry you!” Grim shouted back at him.

“You really think someone is just gonna let you fry them?”

“Enough!!! Just what is going on here!” The voice of Crowley boomed at the three of you, making you flinch.

‘…Fuck,’ looks like you’re not going to be able to avoid an anxiety attack after all.

“Guh! Headmaster,” Ace went rigid.

“He's going to tie us up with the 'lash of love'!” Grim yelled. “Get outta here!”

Though they tried to run, both were caught by Crowley’s whip, foiling their escape plans and making them both yelp in pain.

“Hurts just as much the second day in a row!” Grim whined.

“This is my Lash of Love!” Crowley was furious, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon. “It'll be another hundred years before you can outrun me! I told you just yesterday to 'not cause any trouble', didn't I? Then you go and char the statues of the Great Seven!” He directed his words at Grim before turning to Ace. “I very much would like to see you expelled.”

“Wait! Not that!”

“And you,” Crowley looked at you, making you freeze in place. “This is not how you supervise Grim.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, unable to gather the breath to form a single word. How could you talk when you were struggling to even breathe?

“My goodness,” Crowley huffed in indignation before turning to Ace. “You, what's your grade and name?”

“Ace Trappola, first year.”

“Then, Trappola, Grim, and (y/n), as punishment, I order the three of you to wash 100 windows around campus!”

“Nyaaa!? It's all cause this joker was making fun of us!” Grim protested, his fur standing on end to make him look bigger and more intimidating. It didn’t work.

“Eeeh!? Me too?” Ace looked at the headmaster in disbelief.

“Most definitely! After school, meet in the cafeteria. Understood?”

“Fiiine…”

“Nothing but misery since yesterday!” Grim complained.

Soon, both Crowley and Ace left, and you felt your body slump in relief, your knees buckling under you.

“Wha—hey, human! What’re you doing?” Grim ran up to you, genuinely confused.

You held up a finger to say ‘gimme a minute’ while you caught your breath. “Sorry…Grim…” you said after a minute, panting between words.

“Why are you out of breath? It’s not like you were running or anything.”

“This…this just happens… sometimes…” you shifted from kneeling to sitting cross-legged, leaning against the statue of Maleficent behind you. “I’m not very good with yelling… or with people, for that matter.”

“Hmmm,” Grim hummed in thought. “You humans are weird.”

You gave a soft chuckle at that, “that we are, Grim. That we are.” The two of you sat there in silence for a minute or two as your attack gradually faded away. “Hey Grim? I have a proposition for you.”

“Hah? What do you mean human?”

“What if we skipped lunch so we can make Ace suffer a bit?”

“Heee! Now you’re talkin’ my language!” Grim grinned widely, showing of his shark-like teeth.

*That was all I could make out from the plaque you can see in the seven statues background image.

A/N: Life’s been pretty shit recently hasn’t it.

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awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat · 4 years

Text

Supernatural and Good Omens Crossover

“Hey, Cas!” Dean shouted, a strange excitement clouding his voice (and judgement). Sam and Dean locked eyes for a moment, and Sam could’ve sworn for that brief second, he saw the corner of Dean’s mouth beginning to form a small smile. “Cas! You comin’ or what?!”

Castiel entered the bunker’s hall to see Sam and Dean standing in front of the table, a bowl perched hastily, surrounded by some very common ingredients for spells. A virgins blood, the bone of a saint, goat liver... you get the gist.

As Cas edged forward, a blinding light shot up from the bowl, forming a beam-like shape right next to it. “Dean,” Cas said gruffly, and so very tiredly, “what are you doing?”

“Hey, c’mon man,” Dean replied, pouting, “you can clearly see our own personal witch Sammy has the spell book. Not me.” He raised his hands in mock surrender, causing both Cas and Sam to simultaneously roll their eyes.

“We got him,” Sam spoke finally, much to Dean’s content, and further, to Cas’ dismay, mostly because Castiel knew exactly what Dean was doing and he was very much, as the youth say, done now.

Cas recalled a recent incident about the fight he had with Dean. It was late and Dean had just come back from a very exhausting demon hunt, which had turned out to be quite disastrous, what with all the involvement of Hell Hounds.

Sam had gone to bed early that day, saying that he’d catch up on some research to help beat Chuck, but Cas and Dean both knew that whatever Sam was catching up on, it wasn’t research. Dean could hear dialogues sometimes, coming from Sam’s room. Most often, it was “Title of your sex tape”, which always intrigued Dean very much, and googling it turned out to be a very bad idea.

So, Cas and Dean were relaxing in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of whiskey, talking about everything and nothing. Dean suddenly started talking about how Crowley had turned out to be not such a bad guy for a demon. Then Dean thought about how Heaven, Hell, the Empty and the Purgatory were all in utter chaos, which led his train of thoughts towards resurrecting Crowley. Cas had made a mental note that day: late nights, whiskey, demon hunts and exhausting days always gave Dean the stupidest, most idiotic ideas of all time.

“Sammy can bring him back,” Dean had said, to which Cas was certain he had put up quite an argument but the fight turned slightly vicious and both Cas and Dean spent the following week shooting daggers at each other. Cas eventually forgot what he had said, but Dean stood by his statement.

This was the reason why Sam and Dean had been trying to bring back Crowley for several weeks now; trying different spells, different ingredients, different places and hell, one time, different clothes too (if you must know, Dean insisted that they wear a black suit. Yes, it had been a long day and Dean was down two glasses of Whiskey; why do you ask?). Everytime it didn’t work, Dean would spend days on end in his room, eating nothing but stale pizza, watching reruns of The X-Files. Cas was worried it would happen again.

“Cas? You there, buddy?” Dean pushed Cas back to the present with a small but sturdy tap on his shoulder. “We got him, Cas, we got him.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion and frowned, then looked at Sam, who nodded in agreement. They all focused on the bowl in front of them as the light grew warmer and brighter, until a figure began materialising from the beam.

Crowley opened his eyes to see himself in a strange place, a place he’d never seen before, nor considered running away to. Three men stood in front of him, tall and very well built, wearing an absurd amount of flannel. Crowley looked to his left to see a blinding light, and for a second, he thought he was in Heaven again, with that purple-eyed monster.

“Which poor sucker are you wearing as a meatsuit, Crowley?” The man with the scruffy, short, light hair said.

“Wait, wait, what? Meatsuit? Don’t be stupid--” Crowley sat up straight, looking around frantically, he said, “what the hell did you do with Aziraphale? Where is he?”

“Uh, Dean,” Cas began, clearly suspicious, but Dean cut him off.

“Just hold on to your horses for a second, Cas, let me handle this.”

Cas sighed.

“WHERE IS HE? And, and, did you just say Crowley? Nobody, in all of six thousand years, has ever called me “Cr-ow-ley”.” Crowley spoke angrily, then in exasperation.

“Where’s who?” Sam said, understanding something was definitely off.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley hissed, but it wasn’t an angry hiss, it was more of a habitual, slurring-of-words-hiss.

“Who’s he, your side chick?” Dean joked, but by now he was certain that whoever this person was, it was not Crowley. Sure, he had the accent. And if Crowley had been more focused on looking like an overdramatic sass queen, then maybe the black attire too. But this man, or whatever he was, he was not Crowley.

The blinding light grew brighter still, flashing an almost heavenly glow now, as another figure materialised from the beam.

The figure was more angelic than any form Castiel had seen. Michael could never. Cas could feel the figure’s aura deep inside him, resonating with his own grace, a soft humming of something divine.

“Oh, my, you seem to have caught us in quite a compromising position,” the heavenly figure said, his voice lilted, and apparently apologetic.

“You two are holding hands?” Dean spoke before he could stop himself. “If you think that’s compromising, boy do I have news for you.” Dean subsequently made a mental note to never talk again.

“Well I grew impatient and--” Before the figure in all shades of beige could complete his sentence, the man calling himself Crowley jumped to his feet.

“Angel! Where were you?” Crowley had gathered his senses and he was not going to let his angel go anywhere again. “Aziraphale, you gave me quite a fright, you bastard.”

“Wait, can someone explain to me what is happening?” Sam said, his hands raised, angel blade in one and holy water in the other.

“Is that...that’s holy water.” Crowley mellowed down, a frown making its way up his face.

“Now, that isn’t very kind of you, sir. There is absolutely no need to bring in weapons. That would be simply preposterous!” Aziraphale, replied calmly, miracling away the weapons from the tall man’s hands. This seemed to cause a chain reaction, making more weapons surface. Now all three men were clad with some sort of weaponry; very nifty ones too.

“There is,” Aziraphale began again, more sternly this time, “simply no reason to be feral, dear boys.”

“If you’re wondering, I am Crowley. Crow-ley. I am a demon; didn’t fall, though; sauntered vaguely below. And this is Aziraphale. Now boys, as much as I’d like to stay here and make your lives miserable by, I dunno, replacing all the real bacon with vegetarian bacon, I’d rather wrap this up quickly. We just dealt with an apocalypse and I have the alarm set for a decade of sleeping. And trust me, you don’t want to wait for Aziraphale to start with his magic tricks.”

Dean made a face at the thought of vegetarian bacon but quickly got over it, concentrating instead on the fact that this was Crowley too. Crow-ley, apparently.

“So, you’re not Fergus? You mother’s not Rowena? God Dammit Sammy, what’d you do?”

Sam looked as confused as everyone right now, but he could’ve sworn he had called Crowley from this universe. Something must’ve gone wrong.

“Just give us a moment to talk,” Sam said to the angel and the demon, and turned to Cas and Dean.

“And no monkey business,” Dean added, causing Sam to roll his eyes in disappointment again.

“So, my dear, before we go back, don’t you think it would be wonderful if one could, you know, miracle the one with light hair and the one with the trenchcoat together? I would, but it has become a little--” Aziraphale began suggestively, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“What? Angel, they are just friends! Like us,” Crowley replied.

“My dear, we are married,” Aziraphale sighed, deadpanning.

“Wait, we are?! Since when?” Crowley screamed, obviously taken by surprise.

“Since you went to talk to Holmes, quite an interesting chap, about your secret admirer?”

Crowley shook his head, still confused.

“We got married the next day, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed again.

Crowley shook his head yet again, much to Aziraphale’s disbelief.

“You proposed!”

Sam coughed, interrupting Aziraphale and Crowley’s very important conversation about if they got married or not.

“So, here’s the thing: we think that while we were trying to contact Crowley of this universe, you, Crowley, from another universe were summoned here instead. This could be because of two things: Chuck is going insane and he no longer has control over the veils between universes, or two, because Jack (he’s a nephilim), is back, his powers might have overwhelmed the spell. We also think that because of your “compromising position”, both of you got summoned, instead of just Crowley. Either way, you are free to go.”

“Or you could stay for a couple of drinks, if that is okay by you,” Cas said, hoping they’d stay, just so he could get to know them better.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a knowing glance, coming to an agreement.

“It is noon presently; would you have cocoa by any chance?” Aziraphale chimed happily.

_______________________________________________________________________

Hey y’all! I am sure this has been done before but I am currently practicing escapism by writing silly fanfics so please bear with me through this phase.

I’m gonna tag some awesome people: @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @petrichoravellichor @all-or-nothing-baby @telefunkies @jensenackles-ismyreligion @mystybloo @thedepressedexpress

Tell me if you want me to tag you or if you don’t want me to tag you.

Thank you for reading uwu

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meli-productions · 4 years

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Biblically Known

Despite the name, there is no smut...though things do get heated. Day Four of #ineffablehusbandsauweek for @ineffablehusbandsweek

As always, it can be read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620054

The soft clicking of heels from behind brought Aziraphale’s attention away from the exhibit and towards the intruder. At the sight of the approaching woman, a smile split his face.

“Antoniette! How lovely to see you again,” he said, meeting her in the middle of the room. “What brings you around this time? Biblical or modern?”

The woman, tall and looming over him with her stilettos, smiled and pulled off her glasses, “Um, I think that this time it’s Biblical - something about a garden?”

Aziraphale hesitated, taking a moment to study the woman’s gold eyes that shifted under his scrutiny, then his faltered smile returned to full power, “Of course, darling. Was it the Garden of Eden or the Hanging Gardens?”

She snapped, “That’s the one. Hanging Gardens, sounds like fun - I have a garden too so it seemed like a good report to do.”

“Then come along,” said Aziraphale, holding out his arm for her to take. “I have just the resources you need.”

The two spoke amicably as they wandered the halls of the museum - a sight to behold: the plump curator that dressed like a character off The Mummy movies and the femme fatale of a Bond film. They had met one evening when Antoniette Crowley had arrived at the museum with a notebook in hand and bumped into the curator - Aziraphale Fell - in a very literal sense.

Aziraphale had fussed over the woman, making sure she was okay before asking if there was anything she needed - that he would love to help her as the new curator of the museum. And for her part, Antoniette had blinked up at him for a few minutes, blushed, and asked if he knew anything about the Dead Sea Scrolls.

When Aziraphale beamed and dragged her down the halls, a new friendship was struck - and a promise of continuing friendship stemmed from their conversation and jaunt through history. So when he sees Antoniette in the museum, Aziraphale knows that he’s in for a good time and a wonderful conversation about history.

“So these Hanging Gardens - they were destroyed, too, huh?” asked Antoniette, looking at the mock up that had been prepared in its little corner of the museum. “Just like the tower, just like Eden itself.”

“Unfortunately,” Aziraphale responded with a sigh. “Pity. One of the wonders they said. It’s a shame to lose something so vivid. Was there anything specific you needed to know about it?”

Antoniette perched her elbow on Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Anything you’ve got for me, angel. I’ll pick and choose the information.”

With the go-ahead of a full professorial lecture, Aziraphale launched into a story head tilted up towards the honey-gold eyes that were watching him with rapt attention.

“How’d the lie go today?”

Antoniette looked down and met the smirk of her partner, Beatrice, with a sharp smile of her own.

“It went perfectly fine, thanks for asking. He doesn’t suspect a thing and I got to hear him mourn the Hanging Gardens of Babylon for almost an hour…we had lunch afterwards.”

Beatrice snickered, “Then got off on those little sounds of his?”

“Shut it, Bea.”

But they continued, “He’s gonna find out one of these days - gonna slip or he’s gonna say something historically inaccurate and you won’t be able to help yourself. One way or another, Toni, your anthropologist smartass will show.”

She just shook her head, curls flying wild, “Absolutely not. He’s too smart to say something wrong. Besides, I’m not hurting anyone. I just - I just want to get to know him and if he knew who I really was - ”

“He’d fall harder for you?” asked Bea, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“No, he’d get weird - weird academic boner like that hothead Lucius,” said Antoniette. “I don’t want this to end. And I’ll tell him the truth.”

Bea laughed again, “After you two get married? Or when the director finally spots you and calls your bluff - that you’ve been acting like an ignoramus around your own fucking exhibit.”

Antoniette’s face turned as red as her hair, “We have very insightful conversations, Bea. I don’t act like I’m stupid - just not like Professor Crowley, that’s for sure.”

A roll of bright blue eyes met her own, “Whatever, Toni. But if you don’t tell him soon, it’s gonna come out somehow. You’ll see.”

She sighed, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

A steaming mug of tea thumped down at Aziraphale’s side bringing his head up towards the hand attached to the handle.

“Ana,” he said, slipping off the glasses hanging on the edge of his nose. “Thank you, dear. It’s just what I needed.”

“What you needed was a break from that book. I know your job is to appraise and reconstruct, but you’ve been on that for three hours.”

“Has it really been that long?”

Ana - Anathema - huffed, “Yes, you workaholic. Honestly, when Toni swings by those are the best days because it gets you away from those damned books.”

He tisked, “There’s no need to offend them - they’ve done nothing wrong. And yes, I do agree - it is a delight when Antoniette is around.”

Aziraphale took a sip and noticed the red-lipped smirk that his youngest coworker wore from over the rim of the mug. He raised an eyebrow in question which set her off in giggles.

“Are you ever gonna tell her that you know she’s acting dumb?”

Another tisk, “She’s not acting dumb, Anathema. Her conversations are very insightful, it’s just that she’s not sharing just how smart she is with me. And no. That’s for her to tell me when the time is right. After all, there must be a reason.”

Anathema scoffed, “Yeah, the reason is that she likes you and thinks that if you can’t help her you won’t be interested in being around her. You know what would encourage her to tell the truth,” she paused for him to question her, “ask her out on a date. An actual date, not those ‘well, since we’re at it we might as well have lunch’ dates. Ask her to dinner, buy her expensive wine, take her home and - ”

“Anathema,” said Aziraphale, blush dusting his cheeks. “Antoniette is a lady, I will not do anything untoward.”

She smirked, “Never said to do anything untoward. And besides, if anyone’s gonna make a move like that it’s gonna be her - not you. She is sin incarnate, isn’t she?”

He sighed, and rubbed his temples when she started laughing, “I regret ever telling you that. Now, are you going to join me for tea or just laugh at my misfortune? Come, tell me about your latest project.”

Wednesday night was always a quiet one at the museum - just a few stragglers that would lazily wander up and down the exhibits and when Aziraphale found himself more often than not alone in the ancient artifacts room.

And usually that’s where Antoniette would find him.

This time, though, she was not in her tight pencil skirt and stilettos, but in baggy sweats that disguised her - even her sunglasses were a cheaper pair she’d picked up from a tourist booth on the way in and yet he still recognised her.

“My dearest, are you alright?” he asked, reaching out for her then stopping a breath away from her elbow. “Is there anything you need?”

She was quiet for a moment, and he wished she would fee; comfortable taking off her glasses, but they remained on, “Just - a distraction, angel. Anything you’ve got.”

Aziraphale frowned at the deadened tone, but he gave her a little smile nonetheless, “I think I’ve got just the thing,” he held his arm out, “It’s okay if you don’t want to - ”

Antoniette grabbed onto it like it was a lifeline, “Let’s see what you have, love.”

He kept a quiet drone about the latest visitors to the museum and the field trip of primary grade students that ran amok in the dinosaur exhibit and though she laughed at the right moment and agreed when she needed to, Aziraphale could tell that she was still distracted.

“Here we go, dearest,” he said and sat her at his desk. “My newest acquisition: the ‘Bugger Alle’ Bible.”

She gave a little gasp and reached out with long fingers before folding her fingers and glancing up at him, “Gloves?”

With a smile, he handed over his pair and though he knew they’d be too short, they would be enough for her to touch the book. Antoniette stroked the spine with a delicate touch and cracked it open with the care of a mother to her child, Aziraphale shivering at her gentleness.

“This is in top condition,” she said, breathless. “Did you do the restoration?”

“One of my specialties,” answered Aziraphale, leaning in close and using her fingers to follow the stitching. “Took a few hours - three if my coworker is to be believed - but it’s almost in perfect condition to be displayed.”

Antoniette looked up at him again, glasses slipped down enough for her gold eyes to be seen, “Amazing. This is - stunning work. Delicate - strong - I- ”

Aziraphale cupped her face in his hand, “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I have a feeling that you haven’t eaten - I can order some takeout?”

She leaned into the heat now on her cheek, lips brushing his thumb, “Sounds like a plan - Thai?”

“Whatever you want, dear,” he answered, breathless.

A couple of hours later the two of them had made their way out of the chair and sat on the floor of Aziraphale’s office, leaning against his desk as they passed a bottle of wine between them.

“And ‘s not fair,” said Antoniette, pouting. “That just ‘cus he’s a man he gets my project - top n’m. ‘S like I d’nt even exist.”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale agreed, “Y’re smart and w’rkd hard f’r that - that project - wanker sh’dnt get an’thin.”

Antoniette shot him a wine-drowsy smile, “Y’re not a wanker though - y’re an - an angel. Pretty, s’ft, smart, gorgeous angel. B’t you d’nt want me - y’like books more.”

He huffed and wobbled closer, hand brushing her cheeks, “My books d’nt look like you, th’r not smart and beautif’l and sweet n’ let me talk th’r ear off. Not like you, Antoniette. My dear, m’ so glad you came into my life - best day ‘f m’ life.”

A whimper escaped wine-red lips as Antoniette turned to his hand, eyes closed, and whispered, “I really want to kiss you r’now.”

Aziraphale chuckled using his finger to sweep over her lips, “Me too, but now while we’re drunk.”

Another whimper from Antoniette as he continued his ministrations down to her chin and then to her throat, the warm press of his calloused thumb bringing goosebumps on her skin. Then he pulled away and she met his half-lidded eyes. They both felt a little more sober, a little more sharper.

“If you want - we can have dinner tomorrow - real dinner,” he said. “And we’ll see how it goes.”

She pouted once again, but nodded, “‘S a date.”

Anathema fussed over Aziraphale, fixing his bowtie and coat and running her fingers through his hair before he pulled her hands away and held them tight against his chest.

“Anathema, dear,” he said, eyes crinkled in mirth. “It’ll be fine. I’ve dressed like this every time we’ve been together - mess or not, she doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a date, Zira,” she said, almost bouncing with joy. “I’m so proud of you, viejito, you’ve got a date with a hot, smart woman and you did that all on your own. Get your woman, mi vida.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but the smile did not waver, “Thank you, Ana, I guess you can say I’m finally an adult.”

A voice clearing behind them made them turn around and were greeted by the sight of a gorgeous, black dress clad Antoniette, red curls pinned to the side. Her smile was tight as her eyes flickered from Anathema to Aziraphale.

“Antoniette, darling,” Aziraphale said, his smile spreading. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, “Of course.”

Anathema pulled out of his grip, “Nice to finally meet you, Antoniette. I’m Anathema, co-worker and babysitter of this old man here.”

The two women shook hands, Antoniette’s smile still tight against her cheeks, before Aziraphale held out his arm for her to take. They bid Anathema their goodbyes and headed out.

“She seems nice,” said Antoniette, fingers tapping against the scratchy fabric of his coat. “Young. Smart.”

“And annoying as nothing else,” Aziraphale said, soothing her fingers with his free hand. “Her Americanisms can be hard to deal with - and her boyfriend has his own hands full with her.”

Antoniette’s fingers stopped as his hand wrapped around them, “Oh. She’s - she’s- ”

“An archeologist, and occultist if you can believe,” he said. “And no one for you to worry about, trust me dearest, you outshine everyone I’ve ever met before.”

She blushed and squeezed his arm, “And you truly are an angel.”

He chuckled in return, “I certainly hope not for long.”

Dinner was a slow-moving affair, Aziraphale savoring every bite and Antoniette enjoying every sound he made, tugging the hem of her dress down her dress as she grew hotter. After dessert and coffee - tea for the curator - Aziraphale offered to move the night to his flat and Antoniette took the offer with an almost embarrassing quickness.

“It’s not much,” he said, opening the door to his flat and ushering her in.

Books were scattered around, stacked in every corner and packed into bookshelves. There was a cozy messiness about the room that was perfect for him and she smiled at him.

“It’s wonderful, perfect for you,” said Antoniette, curling into the couch. “And the books make so much sense.”

Aziraphale blushed and scratched his neck, “Would you like some wine? I have a nice Burgundy that I’ve been dying to share with the right person.”

“And would that mean me?”

“I think it is.”

“Then pop it open and come join me.”

When he returned with the bottle and glasses, he found Antoniette, glasses off and flipping through the pages of a book. She looked up at him with wide eyes as he handed her a glass and she refused it.

“What’s wrong?”

She closed the book and handed it over, “Interesting choice - have you - did you - ”

The book was a detailed introspection on the Garden of Eden, a book written by Antoniette Crowley, and his eyes crinkled with mirth, “I suspected. I was just honored that you think that I was worth talking to and - you were just as beautiful as you were smart.”

Tossing the book to a side, Antoniette lunged towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and licking her way into her mouth as he returned the kiss she laid on him. His hands came around her and hoisted her closer, and she moaned against him.

When they pulled apart for air, she laughed as she took in his lipstick covered mouth and he joined her soon after.

“Is it too soon to say that I love you?” she asked, gripping his hair as he began pressing kisses along her neck.

He hummed against her throat, “Only if it’s too soon for me to say that I love you as well.”

Antoniette gave a tug, “I think you brought that wine out too soon,” another moan, “I think I found something tastier.”

“The wine’s waited this long, it can wait longer. Let us indulge in this dessert before turning to the drink.”

She let herself be settled onto his lap as he took a seat, “Sounds tasty.”

#ineffablehusbandsauweek #ineffable husbands au week #Ineffable Husbands #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #female crowley #museum au #curator aziraphale #anthropologist crowley #crowley's name is antoniette #anathema device #beelzebub #human au #good omens #gomens #good omens fanfiction #gomens fanfiction

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wanna-b-poet31 · 5 years

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Crowley’s Truth and Aziraphale’s Lies (A 3-part series) Part 1: Crowley’s Heartbreaking Honesty

So I could do a whole series about why Crowley (in all his piety) is fallen and Aziraphale (in all his temptations) is not. However, I wanted to focus this series strictly on the use of honesty and lies throughout Good Omens. I argue that honesty (and the irony of an honest Demon and a lying Angel) is a tool for establishing their place in-between Heaven and Hell. They serve as hybrids, a liminal space between holy and hellish, allowing for their supposed “flaws” to shine, and enable them to form their own side.

Crowley’s Motivation:

One of Crowley’s defining traits is his imagination. Unlike any other celestial entity, he can create ideas, questions, and fabrications at a moment’s notice. Crowley’s no Saint, he lies to Hastur easily (about calling the demonic counsel), he impersonates Aziraphale stunningly, and (if Aziraphale recalls correctly) he takes credit for all of the horrendous things humanity has done throughout the years (even earning himself some commendations along the way). So he CAN lie, quite well actually, so long as he has the proper motivation.

And, without fail what IS his motivation? Who (or what) inspires him and allows him to focus his thoughts even when he’s panicking (and possibly trying his best to cope with his piles of trauma)? Certainly not humanity alone, and certainly not because he has any sense of self-preservation. The man ran into a burning building head first without a second thought; he drove his beloved car through literal hellfire; he walked across consecrated ground despite being burned simply because he told himself he could. No, he there’s only 1 thing that motivates him.

Aziraphale (of course)

Crowley: Would I Lie To You?

Crowley lies at least 5 notable times throughout the series.

His reports about the ill-deeds he’s responsible for are riddled with lies and half-truths (which is a general fuck you Hell kind of lie)

He fails to tell the higher-ups in Hell about his knowledge about the Anti-Christ, the location of the Anti-Christ and neglected to correct Hell about it (a Fuck you Satan kind of lie)

He hides and ignores the agreement he’s made with Aziraphale from Hell (A Fuck you Heaven and Hell kind of lie)

He deceives Hastur, several times but most notably after Ligur’s death (a fuck you Hastur kind of lie, and he’s murderous so he deserves it sorta)

He Impersonates Aziraphale (An F to the U to Heaven kind of lie)

The notable exemption from this list is Aziraphale.

Unlike the demons who he deceives at any given moment (particularly in defense of Aziraphale), he refuses to lie to Aziraphale.

Are you Satan and have just “blessed” Crowley with the staring role in the Apocalypse? Yeah, great (lies through his teeth about wanting to partake).

Are you a Duke of Hell inquiring about where the Anti-Christ is and trying to confront Crowley about his relationship with Aziraphale? “So Longggg Suckaaas” I’m gonna lie lie lie and possibly kill you for coming towards me.

Are you heaven trying to torture my best friend >lover< with hellfire that will surely kill him? Not today motherfucker, because guess what? Now I’m him and I’ll lie my ass off to protect him.

Are you an Angel who shows free will and loves humanity as much as he does? 404 Error lies not found.

This is not to say he’s always straightforward with Aziraphale. because God, Satan, Someone knows he’s got a flair for the dramatic. But not even does he lie through omission. Whenever Aziraphale asks a question, no matter how light-hearted or series Crowley’s being, he will always give an honest answer, even if it sometimes goes over the angel’s head. >see: Crowley being a blubbering mess because his best friend died and Aziraphale not quite understanding that the best friend is him<

He’s also oddly cryptic when he’s asking for holy water, but never once does Crowley lie. Sure, he’s trying to speak in code “because the trees have ears”, but when he says it’s for insurance, not a suicide pill, it is for insurance.

He can tell that his relationship with Aziraphale has morphed in such a way that it would put him and Aziraphale in danger if Hell ever found out about it. Aziraphale, simply, does not believe him that his only motivation is protection because it is too close to his own fears about Crowley being destroyed.

Which is why I think he’s so upset about the word “fraternize”. First, there is a class element involved with the Victorian use of the word (usually referring to someone of a higher class interacting friendly to a lower class member). Where Aziraphale may have meant comradery (and brotherhood, which also not how Crowley views their relationship) Crowley certainly acts as if he took it to mean Aziraphale was speaking to him like an enemy or an “inferior” species.

This is only further supported by Aziraphale’s accusatory “we may have both started out as Angels, but YOU are fallen”, placing (in my opinion) too much emphasis on Crowley’s fall (a huge trauma trigger for him). But this whole characterization of their relationship is a lie Aziraphale tells himself to repress his fears about Heaven’s traumatic treatment of him. By this point in their partnership (as we’ve seen) both he and Crowley go out of their ways to treat each other as equals. To deny it, to repress their feeling is a slap. in. the. face.

Further, the audience for lying clearly matters to Crowley. In the relative privacy of the park, Aziraphale says “fraternize”, which doesn’t do enough justice for the kind of intimacy the uniquely share. It implies they could be enemies or strangers (which they aren’t, they’re at least friends). Crowley is so intimately aware that even now, in the 1800′s, it’s them (and humanity) against divinity. And, Crowley refuses to lie to Aziraphale, especially about the sort of relationship they share. Sure he won’t tell the other demons, and sure as hell won’t tell the angels how deep their relationship goes, but in this private moment, where he’s approaching as a partner (not an adversary)? It would be the worst kind of lie. It would ignore or erase the new space they’ve created for themselves where they can be equals.

In the above gif, we see Crowley angry and lash out. He says harsh words and insists that he doesn’t need Aziraphale. Since we’re counting, I don’t think this is a lie. Now no, he clearly does need Aziraphale in his life, but he’s just been smacked in the face with the insinuation that they are not equals, they are not friends, they are enemies, and I believe him at this moment, a very hurt Crowley, decides if that’s how Aziraphale is going to treat him, then he will treat him like all his other enemies. At the moment he says I think it he means it because Crowley cannot make time for someone who won’t take his concerns seriously and thinks so little of their relationship. If he can’t be seen as an equal, he’d prefer not to be seen at all.

Although, this is a temporary truth, and one Crowley is willing to correct Aziraphale about in a way he never does for his hellish counterparts. Crowley cares too deeply to wish Aziraphale any real harm, even if Aziraphale can’t call a spade a spade. Crowley sure as Hell would move heaven and earth to demonstrate the extent of his love. He shows as much in his rescue in 1941, and again when Aziraphale once again lies and says “we’re not friends...I don’t even like you” in the bandstand. These lies actively hurt Crowley but not once does he retaliate with. Instead, he meets Aziraphale with blunt honesty. Saying “yes you do” doing everything he can to get Aziraphale on the same page, and share their truth.

Look at the above gif. Not only does Crowley KNOW Aziraphale is lying, but Aziraphale knows it too. While he clearly loves Crowley and has loved Crowley for some time, his inability to work through his anxieties and rely on Crowley as a support system, as a partner, he can’t come to terms with his own trauma.

So, he lies.

He lies and he hurts Crowley. He lies and he dismisses Crowley’s honesty. He lies and he harms himself because they both know this is a facade he can’t keep up much longer. He lies, and Crowley still meets him with honesty and forgiveness.

And honestly, it breaks his heart to be lied to, but he knows the alternative solution would be no best friend at all. Under normal circumstances, Crowley could be patient. He could wait for Aziraphale to come to terms with their relationship almost for forever. But, shit hits the fan, and he needs to show Aziraphale that two of them need to stop dancing, stop being cryptic, and cut through the bullshit for once.

Which brings me to the first Gif of this section. Take a moment, scroll the ridiculous amount up, and just look at the indignation on his face. in the earlier gif “Would I lie to you?”, he clearly consciously makes a point to never lie to Aziraphale, despite it supposedly being “the demon’s way”. Not in anger (like at the bandstand) not even if it’s uncomfortable (like when he’s criticizing Aziraphale for being so clever and so stupid), not even if the angel is (knowingly or unknowingly) hurting him with his lies.

Crowley draws the line at tainting his relationship with the kind of lies Heaven tells, and the kind of disregard Hell tells. Because despite the lies he’s told by Aziraphale, Crowley knows who he can trust, who he needs on his side, who he wants to spend the end of the world with, and it sure as hell isn’t Hastur or Beelzebub.

Because at the end of the day, Crowley knows what the two of them share together. One great way to see this comparison is to checkout @theladyzephyr ‘s meta on Crowley and his glasses. Because while he does let his guard down for Aziraphale (even if only drunk), his autonomy, his consent to wear/not wear his glasses is taken from in by Hastur in the above gif’s scene. Aziraphale, for all his lies, does not cross the same boundaries as Hell does, and genuinely cares for Crowley. He shows remorse for his actions and is clearly just as hurt by his own lies as Crowley is.

A Very Crowley’s Conclusion

But what does this mean in terms of his Honesty? Well, for starters, demonstrates that while he has the power to lie, and could lie to Aziraphale (functionally I mean) he chooses not to.

He might, every now and then poke him and partake in some friendly banter, but never is it mean spirited, not even when they’re both at their breaking points. His ability to lie but restraint from lying; his ability to deceive, but his choice to trust, sets him apart from the rest of the demonic mold.

Quite honestly, He probably could tempt (like really tempt) Aziraphale to his side. He could manipulate and push the Angel into situations they both know he would be uncomfortable with. But, he doesn’t. He doesn’t become the abusive force Heaven and Hell have pushed on the two of them because that’s not how he wants or needs to cope with his loss. No, he needs an equal, not a lackey. He needs an equal, not a boss. He needs love, not control.

It becomes clear that his loyalties have never (at least not in the series) been with Hell. Crowley doesn’t trust or care about his fellow demons. He kills one (permanently) and another (not so permanently) without hesitation. He defies (actively and with little regard for the safety of other celestial creatures) the desires of Hell, working with his bestie to ensure the world breaks even.

Consequently, he’s creating a “third” option with Aziraphale. It is distinctly not a human space (neither of them is human). It’s is not heavenly or hellish, but space for them to be who they are, fight for what they love and feel safe knowing they are a team (romantic or otherwise). And it’s clear based on who he lies to and how he lies, that he’s not cut out for the Demon frenzy or the demon.

Their third space is what Crowley’s been working for since day one because Aziraphale is worth lying to others to protect and worth telling the truth to love.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

#ineffable husbands #good omens #go #crowley #anthony janthony crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #IT'S ALL FINE #sorrynotsorry #good omens meta #meta #long post #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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mila-dans · 4 years

Text

Spells Out Trouble: Escape (The Pina Colada Song)

This is chapter nine AND the last chapter of “Spells Out Trouble.” Masterlist Here!

Chapter Eight: Long Train Runnin’

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 6237

Summary: You have been with the Winchesters for several years now going through all the literal trials and tribulations with them. What happens when Dean gets hit by a love spell and becomes head-over-heels for you? Will your pushed down emotions finally rise or will you get in over your head? Find out what happens when your best friend’s hard exterior becomes mush whenever you end up in his eyeline.

Just so you know: This is my first Fanfic so sorry if there are aspects missing. This has been so fun to write and I am so happy that people like it. This will be the last chapter so thank you to those who’ve been with the story since the beginning. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it! (Also, not my gif! - @rainbow-motors)

You ran out from the infirmary, trying to get away. You could still hear him.

“You should be dead! It should’ve been you! You killed your parents!”

You raced up the stairs. You weren’t quick enough.

“It was your fault they died! You killed them! It was all your fault you piece of sh-”

Slam

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

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Bzz. Bzz. B-Whack.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them. They were sore. Apparently, crying yourself to sleep every night for a month doesn’t leave your eyelids feeling rejuvenated. One months. One god awful month since you ran out of the bunker and never looked back.

You sat up in your bed, moving the sheets around thinking of how much easier it would be to just crawl right back underneath them. It would be easy, sure, but you have stuff to do. And that stuff being leaving credit card trails in far away places just in case Sam was still looking for you. You threw out your cellphone a while back, trading it for one that the boys couldn’t track. You didn’t even know if they were still on the hunt for you. Either way, it didn’t matter. You didn’t want to be found.

You walked to the bathroom, starting your morning routine. Washing face, brushing teeth, combing hair. This was just about the only constant you had in your life currently. A routine. You would leave and find a new hotel, new car, new credit card and new fake name every week. You would say that you were on the run but in order to call it that, you’d have to know what you were running from.

Were you running from Dean? The words that still echoed in your head? The pain of your heartbreaking? Or was it a mix? It seemed like your life just got ripped to shreds. That feeling of your heart crumpling is something that never went away. You missed them. You missed him.

Dean’s reaction was something that you never could’ve even imagined. You thought names would be called and harsh words would be said, but never did you think that Dean would try to shoot you. If it wasn’t for Castiel stepping in front of the bullet just in time, you would be dead as a doornail.

His words, they haunted you. There was only one time that Dean Winchester had ever come close to being like that. It was different back then. You still don’t know why he acted the way he did. Looks like now you’ll never know.

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

Two years ago. Florence, Alabama. Jillian’s Diner.

You sat in the booth with Sam, trying to wipe the excess of Hellhound blood off of your face.

It was the time of the trials. You, Dean, and Sam had all been fighting over who gets to shut the gates of hell forever. Lucky you, it just so happened that you had on the glasses and a knife in hand. You managed to kill the mutt before it killed Sam. Drenched in the blood from a hound of hell. All you had to do was mumble a little Latin and the first trial was one and done.

The two of you waited for Dean to arrive at the diner. He was out in the woods, hunting with the idiots who sold their soul in the first place when it all went down. Sam had given him a call telling him where you two were getting your nutrients.

You didn’t mention to Sam and sure as hell wouldn’t tell Dean what you felt like inside. It hurt on a whole other level. Your forearm was killing you. It was as if a chainsaw was stuck inside you and just kept hacking away. You knew it would only get worse but whatever the cost, it would be worth it. Slamming the gates of hell. Forever.

“You alright?” Sam asked as he wiped the last bit of blood off of your face.

“Yeah,” you replied with a smile. “How about you? I know that you were pretty determined to gut the mutt.”

“Eh, sure but, I don’t care who it is so long as we lock the demons up and throw away the key.” Sam chuckled and you smiled.

“It’s gonna be so great when they are gone. Think about it: no more demons. No Crowley!” You say with glee as the thought leaves you happy.

Slam

“What?” Sam says as he turns around in the seat to see who opened the door.

There stands Dean. He looks mad. Very mad.

“Dean?” Sam questions as his brother stomps over to the table with a deadly gaze directed at you.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Dean shouts, causing a jump from everyone in the place, yourself included.

“Dean!” You reply, trying to get him to calm down. He just continues to stare at you. Maddened.

“Why did you do it?! Why?!” He continues shouting.

Sam stands up from his seat and goes over to Dean, “What the hell, man?” He whispers. “You need to calm down,” he says with a stern tone.

“No! I will not calm down!” Dean says as he pushes Sam away.

The waiters and waitresses start to come and view the fight. You still remain in your seat with the rabid Dean hovering over you.

“Take it outside, Dean,” Sam whispers as he takes notice of the people watching. He knows that if Dean gets out of hand, a lot of people could get hurt. He pushes Dean towards the door but not before Dean can push back.

“Fine! You want me to take it outside? Then I’ll take it outside!” Dean replies as he marches back over to you, grabbing you by the arm and shoving you out the door.

“What the hell, Dean?!” You shout as Sam tries to pull Dean’s hand away from your arm.

“‘What the hell?!’ ‘What the hell?!’ How about what the hell were you thinking by doing the trial?!”

“What?!” You say as Dean starts pacing, trying to hold himself back. “That’s what this is about?!” Dean nods aggressively at you. “I did the trial! So what?”

“‘So what?!’” Dean starts going over towards you again but Sam stops him resulting in a few hits to be thrown.

“Knock it off!” You yell as you pull the beaten brothers from one another. You stand Dean up and try to check on him but he just swats you away. “Dean,” you say grimly, “what is your problem? And talk. Don’t yell. Don’t punch,” you order.

Dean takes a few steps then falls on a bench. You go over to Sam who has blood dripping down from the side of his face.

“How could you be so stupid?” Dean asks you.

“I’m sorry?” You reply, unsure of if Dean just insulted you.

“Seriously. How could you be that stupid? I honestly want to know,” Dean chuckles a little.

“You better watch your mouth, Winchester,” you say as you struggle to control yourself. “I’d choose your next words very wisely.”

“Dean, what is wrong with you?” Sam asks.

Dean just laughs.

“What has gotten into you?” You add.

“I’m pissed off!” He shouts.

“Because I did the trials?”

“That’s exactly why!”

“What’s it to you? The gates are gonna close. Does it really matter who locks it up?”

“Yes! It does matter!” Dean says as he rubs his hands through his hair. “It matters a lot.”

“Is this just because you wanted to do it?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, is this just some stupid ego-hero thing, Dean?” You ask as you look at the agitated Dean.

“No, that’s no--that’s not what it is,” Dean sighs. “Just, why did you have to do it, Y/N? Why?”

“I did it because I just so happened to do it! Okay?” You say sarcastically. “Could you just for once not try and be the one who saves the day? Can you just stow your crap?”

“We don’t know what the trials could do to you, Y/N.”

“So?! You were gonna do them! Just cause you like sacrificing yourself at every chance you get doesn’t mean you have to!”

“That’s not why! That’s no--” Dean stops.

“‘That’s not’ what, Dean? Finish what you were gonna say!” You order.

Dean exhales with a smile. He shakes his head and stands back up from the bench. He walks past you.

“Are you gonna answer me?” You ask. Dean goes over to the car and gets in. “Nice, Dean! Real mature!” He drives off and you turn your attention towards Sam. “Do you know what that was about?”

“No,” Sam answers as he brushes his hair out of his face. “No clue.”

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

And just like that, Dean never talked about it again. He just left pissed off but eventually came back around to his usual annoying self. All you knew is that Dean really liked to be the one to die or get killed. He’d jumped in front of the gun for you more times than once. Never did you think he’d end up shooting at you.

Even though he was mad at you back then, it was nothing compared to how you left him.

You are worthless! You are nothing! You are some bastard that doesn’t even deserve to live!

No.

You should be dead! It should’ve been you! You killed your parents!

Stop.

It was your fault they died! You killed them! It was all your fault you piece of sh-

I said stop!

No matter what you told yourself, no matter how hard you tried to forget, or how hard you tried to block it out, his words played like a broken record in your head. Over and over, and over, and over. Even Jim, Jack, and Jose couldn’t take the edge off. Nothing could. Nothing can.

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

All you could think about was Dean. God, he was stuck in your brain like glue. Even a month later and you couldn’t stop.

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

You had just gotten back from a grocery store downtown and made your way into the motel room. It had been two months now that you were away from the bunker.

It hurts so bad.

You missed your family. You missed your home. You missed Baby. You missed Dean. You missed Cas. You missed Sam.

You went to collapse on your bed as the floodgates opened and all sorts of tears and emotions came out. You couldn’t handle it all alone. It took everything in you to not call Sam and crawl back to him knowing that he would help carry the burden. He always had. He was like the big brother you always wanted. He was your brother.

You reached for your phone but the thought of Dean stopped you from going any further.

What if he still wants to kill me? What if he tries to? What if he's managed to convince them that I am everything he said and less? Why was I so stupid? Why am I here? What am I doing? I should come back home. They miss me, I’m sure. I miss them. I miss all of them. I miss playing chess with Cas. I miss researching with Sam. I miss looking at Dean every time he looked away from me.

Even when Dean was annoying, you still loved that he gave you attention. You loved it whenever he would call your name. You loved it when--when--you loved Dean. Everything about him. Burdens and all. You had spent so long trying to push all of your feelings down and away but ever since… ever since the spell, those emotions arose. Now you suffer the pain of heartbreak. You suffer the pain of losing everything. Everyone.

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

It wasn’t but a day later that you had managed to over sleep. It wouldn’t be that bad if it wasn’t fourteen days now that you were in the same motel. The routine kind of got lost and you gave in to the sight of your bed and ‘On Demand’ on the television.

Knock. Knock.

You heard at the door as you turned off Game of Thrones.

Crap.

This is what happens when you binge. You go into a pit of never ending stories, plot lines, character arcs, and some amazing lighting. The wonders of television.

Knock. Knock.

Right. You take a deep breath. You figure that it is the motel manager complaining that you have the volume too loud. To be honest, it’s not your fault that they make the sound too quiet.

Knock. Knock.

“Coming!” You shout as you crawl out of bed and fax your clothes so it doesn’t look like you’ve been laying in bed all week.

Knock. Knock.

“I’m coming!” You say again as you turn the knob to open the door. You take a glance at the silhouette of a man in your doorway. The sun shines in your eyes and it takes a minute for the sight to settle. You see him. And it sure as hell ain’t the manager. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” You yell as you slam the door shut.

Bam

The door flies back open and you corner yourself in the room, trying to find something, anything.

“Two months and I get a slammed door in my face?” He asks.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” You ask as you terror in fear as he walks in the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Wow, what a greeting!” He says sarcastically. You search for an escape and set your eyes on the bathroom. “I need to talk to you, Y/N.”

“Get the hell away from me, Dean!”

Dean Winchester. Cornering you yet again. The bathroom being your only escape.

You run towards the bathroom as Dean chases after your. “Don’t--” Dean tries to say as he nearly grabs you before he gets another door slammed in his face. “Really, Y/N? Again?”

“Go away!” You order as you lock the bathroom door.

“I told you, I need to talk to you.”

“You can go to hell!” You say as you look towards the window. You try to open it but it won’t budge.

“Yeah,” Dean says from the other side of the door, “that’s not gonna work, sweetheart.” You can practically hear his smirk. You sigh as you realize that you are locked in the bathroom. The only way out is through Dean Winchester which you have to say, you have mixed feelings about.

“Let me out of here!” You command.

“Hey, I’m not the one who locked herself in the bathroom. Besides, we need to talk and I’m not going to talk to a door,” Dean replies.

“Well I’m not talking to you!” You respond.

“Fine then.”

“Fine!” You shout as you search for another escape. Nothing. There is nothing. Dean even made sure that the window was locked from the outside, complete with a note that said “not this time. :)”

Great.

You sat down on the floor, starting the waiting period for Dean to leave.

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

It had nearly been twenty minutes at least. You could still hear Dean on the other side of the door. You could only think about the situation.

Dean was here. With you. You had no backup. No help. No defense. Like always, you were screwed. Now’s the time when you wish you had a spare knife in your shoe or even a lighter in your pocket. You didn’t know what Dean this was. It could be a whole other crazy by now. Sure he didn’t seem aggressive like he was before but you couldn’t trust him. The last time you saw him, he literally tried to kill you.

“Are you still there?” You asked as you pressed your face closer to the crack under the door.

“Yup,” he answered almost tiredly.

“What are you doing?” You asked cautiously.

“Right now? Well, right now I’m taking a nap since you are being stubborn.”

“I am not being stubborn!” You reply defensively.

“That right there is called stubbornness, sweetheart.” You could hear Dean laugh a little.

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

About ten more minutes of silence passed.

“You know? I never took anyone else there,” Dean let out.

“What?” You ask, unsure if this was a trap. Dean always knew how to push your buttons.

“I said, I never took anyone else there.”

“What does that mean?”

Silence.

“Dean,” you try again with your curiosity getting the better of you. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I’m sorry? Are you talking to me?” Dean replies. “Cause I didn’t know doors could talk!”

“Dammit, Dean!” You say knowing that he won’t answer you unless you open the door. You can picture him smiling as you think out the situation.

This isn’t like crazy Dean. Or other crazy Dean. He seemed normal enough.

“If I open the door, will you kill me?” You ask bluntly.

Silence.

“Oh, come on!” You shout in frustration. You were both stubborn but you both knew Dean was the worst. “Give me something here. At least let me know that I won’t die if I open the door!”

“Hm… I can’t promise that. I mean, you may get shot at by an intruder or there could be an earthquake or there could be a lighting storm where lighting comes straight down, bust through the ceiling, and goes right for y--”

“Okay! I get it!” You roll your eyes and cautiously open the door. You see Dean sitting with his back against the wall, very closely mirroring your own position. “You happy now?” You ask sarcastically.

“Um, sure,” Dean answers with a smile.

“So what did you mean by ‘never took anyone else there?’” You question as you slowly scoot out of the bathroom, leaning your back against the bed, facing Dean.

“I mean, you are the only person who has ever gone with me to see the rocks.” He looks at you and smirks, proud of the fact that he got you to come out of the bathroom.

“What rocks?” You ask, confused.

“The rocks! The rock monument?” Dean looks at you strangely. “Please tell me you did not manage to forget the fact that I took you to see the sunset at the rock site.”

You think for a moment and look back at him. “How do you know my dreams?” You say, with concern and confusion.

“Dream?” Dean returns the confused look on your face. “Y/N, that wasn’t a dream. I really did take you there and you really did see the sunset. Why would you think it was a dream?”

“I--Wh--Ho,” you keep trying to form words. The fact that your dream actually happened is the second most surprising thing you found out today. Soon to be the third. “I thought it was a dream because I woke up in bed?” You reply, uncertain.

“Okay, listen, do you remember me waking you up? You were in my bed?” You nod. “Good. Do you remember waking up in the car?” You nod again. “All that, it happened. And afterwards, I drove us home, then you fell back asleep.”

“But how did--how did I wake up in bed?”

“I carried you,” he answers. You look at him confused. It would make sense. “I didn’t want to wake you so I carried you from Baby and back to my bed.”

“Then what?” You ask cautiously, seeing if you might have forgotten something else.

“Then you started shivering. I figured that you wouldn’t want to be under the covers with me so instead, I, you know, I snuggled… you.” Dean smiles, almost embarrassed.

“You snuggled me? That was it?”

“Yeah.” Dean rubs his neck, almost nervous like. “Okay, look, I couldn’t control myself very easily at the time so sorry for wanting to be so close to you.”

“That’s your excuse?” Dean nods. “I don’t care that you snuggled me Dean. In fact, I’m relieved that you didn’t do anything more.”

“Well, I wanted to.” Dean smiles at you. You look down at the ground.

You missed his smile. It’s still hard to believe that he was here.

“How did you find me?”

“You think it was a hard task to find you? Listen, sweetheart, if I wanted to find you the minute you walked out the door, you would've been found. In fact, I’ve known right where you’ve been for months.”

“So you’ve been stalking me?”

“Are--are you serious? No. I just… I had to wait for the right time. To talk to you.” Dean’s face gets red.

“What do you want?” You notice that Dean keeps getting nervous.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, for starters.”

“Sorry for…”

Dean looks at you and rolls his eyes. He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for coming after you, twice.”

“Three times,” you correct.

“Yes, three times.” Dean chuckles a little. “I’m sorry for well, everything having to do with the spell.”

“Like…”

“You really gonna make me analyze my issues here?” You nod and grin. “Fine. I’m sorry that I sang to you in front of a crowd. I’m sorry that I tried to strip down in front of you. I’m sorry that I kept trying to kiss you. I’m sorry that I kept trying to lick your face.”

“What?!” You look at Dean surprised.

“Oh! Right. You didn’t know that or, um, need to know about that.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry about how I made you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry that I hid the cure from you. I’m sorry that I brought up the issues with your parents and I’m sorry that trying to kill you was the most recent memory you have of me. You gotta know that that wasn’t me. I would never say those things. I would never nor would I ever try to kill you. You’re my best friend. And I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You take a look at Dean and the sincerity shown on his face. This was Dean. The real Dean.

“Dean,” you say as he looks in your eyes and you do the same. “I forgive you. In fact, I forgive you more than I forgive myself for toying with you.”

“Hey,” Dean says as he stops your trail of self hatred. “You didn’t do anything wrong. There is nothing to forgive you for. And,” Dean sighs, “there’s one more thing I have to apologize for.”

“And that is?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Dean takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry that it took some witch, some curse, and a whole lot of vodka for me to finally tell you that I’m in love with you.”

“You what?” You ask, wide eyed and confused.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’m so sorry that it took so long for me to admit it.”

You look at Dean who looks at you.

“Right.” You nod your head slowly. “Right.” You get up and walk over to the table. “Right, you’re right!”

“What are you doing?” Dean asks.

“I’m uh, I’m calling Sam,” you say with an unconvincing smile.

“Why?” Dean asks as he stands up.

“Cause the antidote apparently didn’t work.” You nervously type in the numbers on your phone.

“What?!” Dean asks as he snatches the phone from your hand. “No!”

“Dean,” you say calmly, “Give me the phone and we can get this all sorted out.”

“Y/N, I’m not under the spell, alright?” Dean says as he walks away with your phone. You follow him.

“Sure, Dean. That’s right. Whatever you say. But how about you just give me the phone?” You go over towards the bed and try to swipe the cell back from his hand.

“No!” He responds as he moves it from one hand to another.

“What do you mean no?!”

“I mean no.” Dean sits on the bed and you hop up on it trying to reach over his shoulders.

“Give it!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Hm, let me think about it. Oh! How about: No!” Dean stands up and you stand up on the bed, hovering over him. “You’re gonna hurt yourself, sweetheart,” he says with a chuckle.

“Shut up and give me the damn phone!” You lunge for the cellular device. You slowly lose your balance just as you come so close to reaching it. You lean more towards the edge of the bed and fall towards the ground.

Thump

“I told you,” Dean says. In one swoop, he caught you before you fell and tossed your back onto the bed and pinned your arms down with his hands. He comes only inches away from your face as you stare into his bright green eyes. “I’m not under some love spell. But I am in love with you.” He continues to stare in your eyes and gives you a smile. “Now can we behave like adults or do I need to bring out my handcuffs?”

“Oh, shut up!” You respond as you wrap your legs around his waist, turning him around, on his back. You now have him pinned down on the bed and you look into his eyes. “You’re insane. You know that Winchester?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. “But It’s only cause you make me.” You roll your eyes. “I could get out of this if I wanted to. I’m stronger than you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m faster,” you respond. Dean pulls you on the bed with him and leans in close to you. “Why don’t you believe I love you, Y/N?”

You take a deep breath, “Because you can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because… because… because…”

“...Because you love me?” Dean continues. You blush a little and Dean notices.

“Since when do you love me?”

“Since three years ago.” He smiles. “I remember the exact night I fell in love with you and it wasn’t because of some spell either.” You and Dean take a seat on the edge of the bed as he tells you a story. “It was three years ago. In Chesterfield, Missouri. We had just come back from killing some Thule members that decided to overrun an elementary school. After we burned the bodies, we went to get drinks like usual to celebrate but for some reason, you seemed to get carried away.”

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

Three years ago. Chesterfield, Missouri. Webb’s Bar.

I had just walked in after Y/N. She was in that little black dress that I loved so much. Only girl I know who could rock a suit just as much as she could a ballgown.

She made her way over to the bar. Sitting down, waiting for some random Romeo to sweep her off her feet.

Who am I to judge? I’m the one looking for Juliet.

It wasn’t long before Y/N was downing one drink after another. God knows why she’d want to get wasted. Sure, the hunt was a different go around but it wasn’t anything bad. She just seemed to be in some sort of mood.

“Another round!” Y/N shouted causing the whole bar to cheer on the drunk girl of the week. “Woo! Yeah!” Y/N sat at the counter with three douchebags surrounding her.

“Hey, baby,” I heard the one guy whisper to you, “you want to get out of here?”

“Nope! I want to play some pool!” Y/N said as she stumbled from the seat to the pool cue rack.

“What’s she gonna get herself into now?” I whisper under my breath as I watch you miss every shot you take. The three dudes are practically vultures surrounding you now. I could see right through them. The second they get to, you know they are gonna try something.

After about five more shots and three more games, those idiots see their chance. I had already ditched my entertainment for the evening as soon as I saw Y/N. To be fair, you were pretty entertaining too.

I could see where their eyes went. Where their hands wanted to go.

“Let’s get out of here!” Said the one.

“No! More booze!” Y/N replied. “More booze, more booze, more booze, more--” You stopped your chant when the leader of the pack put his hand on the bottom of your back. I could tell that you didn’t like that. They sure did.

“Come on, baby,” another one said as he grabbed you by your arm and started to pull you outside.

You walked out the door with the three numbskulls chasing after you.

“Alright,” I said as I got up and followed you.

They took you out behind the bar and were all over you. I would’ve come sooner but you had managed to knock them all out before I had the chance to watch the game of whack a mole.

“You good?” I asked, still in shock by how even though you were drunk, you still managed to get three guys, who are double your size, unconscious.

“Yep!” You reply, almost combining all the letters together. You start to fall over when you try to salute me.

“Woah, woah, woah,” I rush over to you before you fall, “I got you.” I smiled at you. Still gorgeous. From the minute I saw you, I knew that you must be the most gorgeous woman in the world. You collapsed downwards, not far from face planting in the ground.

“Imma… Imma… I think I’m gonna throw up,” you tell me as you lean over and start to hurl. I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re alright,” I say as I stand you back up. You walk over and place your back against the wall. You stare into my eyes and I stare into yours.

It was a beautiful night. You could see the stars thanks to the busted light beside the dumpster. It was beautiful. You were beautiful. You are beautiful.

You started hiccupping. “Dea--hiccup--I’ve got to tell you--hiccup--I’ve got to tell--hiccup--Dean--hiccup--I love--hiccup--” You never finished your unfinishable statement.

Ah!

We both heard a scream turning our attention away from one another. You bolted towards the sound, even faster than I could run.

It was a young girl. Must’ve been about sixteen. A guy had her pinned up against the wall with a knife to her throat.

The girl continued to scream as he made little incisions into her skin.

Before I could even react, you went over to the man, tapped his shoulder, and in an instant, you knocked him flat on his ass.

“Are you okay, honey?” You asked the girl. She nodded with tears in her eyes. “It’s okay,” you said as she wrapped her arms around your neck. You gently rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. “It’s okay.”

“You alright?” I asked again, as you appeared to be fully alert while being completely intoxicated.

“Yeah, Dean. I’m fine,” you smile. You take the girl out of your arms and wipe her tears. “We’re gonna get you home, okay?” The girl nods as you guide her over to Baby.

I took care of the guy by handcuffing him to a fence, leaving a present for the cops. You took care of the girl by just making sure she was okay. You had been in the backseat with her until we arrived at her parents house. You didn’t even blink till you knew she was safe and sound.

You came and took a seat in the passenger side before we left her house.

“What?” You asked me.

“What?” I replied with a smile on my face.

“You’re looking at me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re looking at me. Why are you looking at me?”

“I can’t help it.” I can’t. You took out four guys tonight all while being completely drunk. That’s a feat even I couldn’t conquer.

“Well fine then!” You shout. “If you wanna look at me so much then you can just look at me as I lay right down here in your lap,” you say with a big grin.

“Okay?” I question.

“Alright,” you say as you lay down in the seat while placing your head in my lap. “Cool. Goodnight, baby.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. You were drunk. You were really drunk.

You closed your eyes, almost falling asleep instantly. I look at you. I look at your head placed in my lap.

“Goodnight, baby. Sweet dreams.”

It was only about a half hour later that I ended up carrying you bridal style back to the motel.

Your eyes kept fluttering, drifting in and out of sleep. You kept mumbling too. I just nodded along with whatever words came out of your mouth.

I placed you gently down on your bed. I pulled up the sheets and blankets on top of you. You started to reach for my hand. You grabbed me and pulled me closer to you. Before I knew it, your lips were locked with mine. You tasted like four kinds of rum and some cheap gin but the feeling… it felt so good. It was perfect.

You just about passed out before you could make out with me even more. I just gently put your head back down on the pillow causing you to fall right back asleep.

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

“What?” You ask in shock of if the events he’d just revealed were true or not.

“Yeah,” he replies with a smile. “That happened too. And that’s the night I truly fell in love with you. It wasn’t even the kiss that got me. It was the fact that you completely went out of your way to make sure that that girl was safe. I don’t even think you could’ve remembered your own name at the time. Yet, you had your instinct still intact. Your instinct to save and protect people. It’s my favorite thing about you. ”

“But--How…”

“...Can you not remember? Or why didn’t I tell you?” Dean finishes. You nod. “I didn’t tell you cause,” he takes a deep breath, “I didn’t want to risk losing the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Okay. Okay.” You try to reassure yourself. “Okay then, if you love me, then why the hell do you pick on me all the time?”

“Oh come on! That is literally the most obvious thing that I could’ve done,” he says. You shake your head confused. “Don’t you know that in school, the guy always picks on the girl cause he likes her?”

“So you are comparing yourself to some immature child now?”

“What! No, that’s not!--Okay, look, you and I both know that I’m not Mr. Share all when it comes to emotions.”

“And whose fault is that? Huh?” You roll your eyes.

“Wait a second now, you’re the one who always runs to Sam whenever you want to talk about something. Never once have you run to me so why would I feel as if I could talk to you?” Dean answers defensively.

“So now it’s my fault? You do realize that it’s a two way street?!” You throw up your hands and lean back your head. “Wow. You just told me you were in love with me and we somehow manage to turn it into a fight,” you say with a huff.

Dean laughs. “You’re not wrong, sweetheart.”

“Really?!” You say agitated.

“What?”

“That! That right there. Calling me ‘sweetheart’ like you do every other girl. Now that pisses me off.”

“Y/N,” Dean says as he looks in your eyes. “If you think that I call every girl sweetheart, then you must be deaf. Because, see, I call them sweetheart but you are the only one who I’ve ever called sweetheart.”

The change in Dean’s voice actually surprises you. You‘ve never thought about how he’s said it differently before. “Sweetheart.” It had a nice ring to it.

You and Dean take a minute to process everything.

“So you are really in love with me?” You ask. No harm in being extra sure.

“Yep,” Dean replies. “I’m totally head over heels,” he moves closer to you, “butterflies in stomachs,” he leans in, “crazy in love.” He places his lips on yours.

This was perfect. It was finally perfect.

Dean moved his lips away from yours for just a second to catch a breath. “And just so you know, sweetheart, the spell worked on me because I was already in love with you. The witch was trying to force love, but when it came to me, let’s just say it’s taken everything in me to not come in here and kiss you sooner.” Dean turns his gaze from your lips to your eyes.

“You couldn’t have just started with that information, couldn’t you?” You question with a smile.

“Nah, too easy.”

“Oh, shut up, Winchester,” you command as you press your lips on him once more.

You wrap your arms around each other, continuing to kiss every square inch accessible on the skin.

“Alright,” Dean says as he stands up. “Come on.” He reaches out for your hand and to take it hesitantly.

“What?” You ask.

“As much as I want to spend every second having my lips on you, I came here for a reason.”

“And that is…”

Dean smiles down at you and brushes his hand on the back of your neck as he pulls you close. “I’m taking you home, baby.”

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

You took a ride in Baby back to the bunker. Your heart was racing. You had laid your head in Dean’s lap again. He continued to comb through your hair. He couldn’t help but smile. You couldn't even think about frowning.

Walking through the bunker doors was something that you had fantasized about from the moment you left in the first place.

Sam was the first one to come running through the war room, racing to you as he wrapped his gigantic arms around you. He had watery eyes that you couldn’t help but mirror when you thought of how much you missed him.

Next was Cas. He wasn’t as quick to get to you, but his grip was so tight. He wrapped his arms around you. He almost crushed you but you didn’t even care. He kept hanging onto you with even Sam joining in the hug. Dean eventually wrapped his arms around the group too. They all hugged you so tight. It felt so perfect.

You were home. You were finally home. You were with your family. You were finally at peace. You were finally, truly, 100%, completely, happy.

—————————————————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed it!

Tag list is open!

@crazybutconfidentaf @doctorlilo @pillowjj @busy-bee-angel-misska @vicmc624 @sl33pybo1

I’d just like to say that I’ve really enjoyed writing this series! I hope to write more in the future. Thank you all for reading! Lots of Love!

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spellsouttrouble #lovespell #supernatural #sam winchester #castiel #spn fanfic #fanfiction #fiction

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mostfacinorous · 3 years

Text

GO Whumptober Day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops. [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27]

The cause of the freezing, humans determined, was either merely ‘nature’ or ‘the growing climate crisis’, depending on whether the person speaking believed in that sort of thing. Either way, everyone could agree that it was unusual to unheard of, and no one much appreciated it.

It had eased off a bit, though-- still frozen, so the snow and ice was sticking around, but the wind had died off and the snow was no longer coming down in buckets, for which they were all very grateful.

The Bentley remained where she’d been parked since that first attempted afternoon out, and the plowed mountain behind her only grew ever higher and ever thicker.

Much like their American cousins from years prior, local heads of council had to remind their followers not to jump out of upper floor windows and into the snow, for fear of cars lurking underneath, and injuries that could and would result from such foolishness.

It didn’t fully stop it from happening, but it might have deterred an idiot or two.

Fortunately, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was particularly interested in jumping out of windows.

There were, however, interested in having a bit of a walk, as it had warmed up enough to allow for it again, and they were feeling a little cooped up.

And so they packed their cocoa and coffee into a couple of thermoses-- carefully color coordinated in black and lightest blue tartan, so as to never be confused with The Thermos, of which they did not speak-- and headed to the park for a bit of time in the watery grey sun of London in winter.

The streets were clear enough to walk on safely and carefully, but the path round the lake was only worn down by others’ feet, and the snow had been trampled enough to have turned to mud, then frozen back to ice in places, making their usual habit of walking and talking more dangerous.

They had decided, after God’s admonition about getting closer, to try and keep their time apart to a minimum. This suited them both quite well, considering the trials and tribulations they’d faced of late, and it was delightful to finally have an excuse to be around one another that neither side could really argue with. After all, not being near Aziraphale when God arrived had put Crowley out of commission for days, and if he had been close, She may not have come at all. Thwarting at its finest, on both sides of the line.

And so, if they held hands to help steady one another, there wasn’t anything Heaven nor Hell could do about it, short of shaking their heads with disgust.

“I miss the ducks.” Crowley said suddenly, interrupting the silence that had descended as their last conversational topic had waned.

“Do you?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “You always treat them quite poorly; I thought you disliked them.”

“I do not!” Crowley protested. “I play with them. Same as how they play with one another, innit?”

Aziraphale held his thoughts on the matter. He did glance out across the lake, though.

“I wonder how firmly frozen it is. Do you suppose they will be able to ice skate on it, after a storm like that?”

Crowley tilted his head and looked out over the ice.

“At least a couple of ‘em are gonna give it a go. Look.” He nodded off near the high reeds, where the ducks liked to put their eggs come spring, and where a few children appeared to be slipping off their shoes, with plans of skating over the ice in their stockings.

“Heavens.” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps we ought to do something to stop them.” He began heading in that direction, a little too far off to be heard if he yelled.

“Bit too late for that, Angel!” He heard as Crowley raced past him, realizing as he did that he’d pressed his mobile into Aziraphale’s hands. He looked up to see a child take off from the edge straight towards the middle of the pond-- and promptly fall through the ice and into the waters below.

“Bugger.” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

Crowley was fast, faster than the other children, even, and he shouted for them to stay as he slid on his stomach towards the hole in the ice.

Aziraphael fumbled with the phone for a spare moment, then got a call in to emergency services. “Hello, yes, I am in St. james’ park, just north of the playground on the birdcage side of the lake-- a child has fallen through the ice and my partner has gone in after them. No, no, I can’t see-- they’ve surfaced. Please send help, I’m going to give you to a child now.”

Aziraphale handed the phone off to the young girl who was standing by, mouth agape.

“Help them find us, please.” He told her, a touch of miracle in his voice to give her the courage she needed to do the job, and then he turned to the lake.

“Crowley?” He called to the man who was clutching at the ice with inhumanly sharp talons that had sprouted from his fingers while he held a boy between his chest and the rim of the hole. “What can I do to help?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley had lost his glasses, and his eyes were wide.

“Don’t come out on the ice- it’s not gonna hold.” Even as he spoke, his fingers on one hand went crashing through the surface, sending them both bobbing as the boy cried out.

“Tail!” Aziraphale shouted, hoping Crowley had enough presence of mind to handle the change. He had always been a better swimmer while serpentine, and perhaps, that done--

He saw the moment that Crowley gained the advantage and they became a little steadier in the water.

“Now then-- if you have to, put him on your back, and break the ice away between you and the shore until you can climb out safely!”

Aziraphale felt next to useless, but he supposed at least one of them had a mind that was not freezing or panicking, and thus was able to assist that way.

“You hear that?” He heard Crowley mumbling comfortingly to the boy. “I’m going to give you a piggy ride now. You hold on tightly, understand? And I’ll soon have us out of here.”

Aziraphale watched, fretting terribly as Crowley helped the boy to climb around on the other side of him, and then began the process of smashing through the ice with his claws.

Aziraphale turned around and saw the fire brigade approaching, an ambulance in tow, and turned back to warn Crowley to hide his transformations.

“The Rescuers are here-- it won’t be long now!” He tried to make it sound hopeful and not as though he was playing supernatural lookout. It seemed to work, though, as the first of them reached him and clapped a hand on his back.

“You’re the caller?” She asked, and Aziraphale nodded, pointing as he accepted Crowley’s phone back from her.

“They’re nearly to the edge,” He added helpfully, though there was a dark and obvious trail of broken ice that marked how far they’d come.

“We’ve got them.” She promised, and waved for backup.

A small army of men and women ran down to the river’s edge to lift the boy off of Crowley’s back as he final grabbed hold of solid land, and Aziraphale managed to shoulder his way through them to reach down and grasp Crowley’s hands.

“There you are, you brave, stupid fool.” He said, pulling him up and onto land and into his arms.

Crowley was shaking with cold, and he had already partially soaked through Aziraphale’s clothing when the team brought them emergency blankets.

“Come on now, let’s get you out of your clothes and warming up.” One of the men instructed.

Aziraphale turned to be sure the boy was receiving the same sort of care; he was already in someone’s thermals.

“Alright.” Crowley agreed, surprising Aziraphale. He was looking straight at the angel, though, not at the humans who were trying to shuffle him off to the trucks for treatment. “Stay with me?” He asked, almost a plea, and Aziraphale knew it was only partially to help him fend off discovery. The other part was God and the unspoken threat of having saved a human life-- and what Hell might do to him for it.

“Of course. Let me help him-- he’s ah, special needs.”

“Alright.” The officials were quick to agree, with the tiniest nudge from Aziraphale. “The parents are on their way, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you and we’ll need to take down statements for our reports after.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale said again. “If you can just fetch us some dry clothing for him--”

He sent them scurrying, and turned back to Crowley.

“Shall we get out of here before they come back, my dear? Make a run for it?”

Crowley, still shivering as if his bones intended to shake out of his skin, grinned back at Aziraphale.

“Best idea you’ve had all day, Angel.”

They booked it, making it out of sight before Aziraphale dried Crowley with a miracle and warmed him with another.

The walk home was almost anticlimactic, after all that.

“Ohh… I dropped the thermoses!” Aziraphale lamented, and Crowley huffed.

“Shall we stop by that little teashop up near Piccadilly?” He offered.

“Oh, let’s. I suppose you could do with something warm to drink anyway.”

“I wouldn’t object. And then home, to a fire and several blankets.” Crowley insisted. He paused, then added, “Thank you, by the way. I saw the boy and didn’t think-- I ought to keep you around, have you keep doing that for me, when needed.”

Aziraphale bumped their shoulders together.

“You’ll be hard pressed to get rid of me, you’ll find, if you keep pulling stunts like that.”

Their usual routine resumed, they made their way towards the tea shop, and home, and left the humans to wonder why they had run, why the boy was swearing the man who’d saved him was a mermaid, and how the hell someone had happened to miraculously be in the right place at the right time to stop childish stupidity from turning tragic.

It was, all in all, a rather successful outing.

#GO Whumptober2020 #Whumptober #Good Omens Fic #GOFic #Crowley #Aziraphale #crowley is good with kids #Ineffable Husbands #that writing thing I do

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spac3bar7end3r · 4 years

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The Times Aziraphale Realized He Had Fallen (in love with a demon)

2128 words

Read on Ao3

1 Time Right After They Get on That Bus

Aziraphale feels too giddy to realize that he didn’t only grab the demon’s hand but is also cradling it in his hands, talking happily about their dinner.

“It’s already late. All the stores are gonna close soon and you don’t like pubs that much.” Crowley says, looking down at their intertwining hands but says nothing about them. Now that he takes notice, Aziraphale also glances down at them. He cannot see past the sunglasses, so he assumes Crowley doesn’t think much about it.

He feels his heart beats weirdly. Is this the effect of the Antichrist bringing his body back? He doesn’t think so. He felt like this from time to time since... well, he never takes note, but now it’s stronger than before.

“Angel?” Crowley calls him when he notices Aziraphale spacing out.

“Oh, well, I prefer a quiet place.” Aziraphale answers and Crowley acknowledges it with some kind of noise from his throat.

“I was thinking maybe we can cook? Unless you don’t like cooking at your place then I totally under--”

“Yeah, we can.” Crowley quickly answers. “I’ve never used my kitchen before but you’re welcome to use it.”

Crowley’s kitchen is spotlessly clean. Well, it’s not like the demon needs to cook. They don’t even need to eat. However, Aziraphale appreciates the kitchen. He’s not sure why Crowley bothered to build it since he won’t ever use it anyway.

“Hey Angel, do you normally sleep? I have a spare room and I can miracle a bed for you.” Crowley’s head appears on the doorway. He takes off his glasses and Aziraphale is really glad for that. He really likes Crowley’s eyes.

“I don’t sleep but I lie on it sometimes. You don’t have to do that though, I can read some books in the living room. We’ve spent a lot of our power during the day.”

“Nah, It’s not that hard to miracle a bed, or if you want to spare my power we can sleep on the same bed.” Crowley grins.

Aziraphale blushes. He doesn’t know why. Although he likes the look on Crowley’s face. Although Crowley smiles a lot, most of the time it should be counted as sneering instead. But here in Crowley’s home, he smiles with eyes glinting and mouth spreading widely. Crowley’s being playful and he loves that.

He loves Crowley’s smile.

He loves Crowley.

…

Oh.

He’s stupid. He’s an angel. He’s supposed to detect the feeling of love, but he can’t even recognize it when it comes from himself.

“What?” Crowley’s eyebrows raising when he sees Aziraphale blushing.

“No, no, nothing at all.”

They had dinner later that evening (mostly Aziraphale’s part and Crowley just drank and stared). They talked about what ‘changing face’ from Agnes’s prophecy could be before they decide yes, literally changing face it is. Why not?

So that’s why he looks like Crowley, staring dazedly in Crowley’s bathroom mirror the morning after, waiting for what may come after.

“I’ll be damn.”

Aziraphale is not sure whether he cannot cope with the thought that Gabriel might come and get him or the thought of him falling in love with his best friend.

1 Time When Crowley Gives Him His Plant

“What’s this?”

“Mint,” Crowley answers curtly.

“And what do I do with it? Eat?”

Crowley rolls his eyes, pointing his hands at the pot in Aziraphale’s hands. “Angel, it’s in a bloody pot. You grow it.”

“Who? Me?” Aziraphale pointed at himself in a confused manner. Why would Crowley suddenly give him mint? Aziraphale doesn’t have something you would call a green thumb.

“Yesss! I’m giving it to you. A gift!” Crowley’s voice gets higher.

“A gift! Dear, thank you. What’s the occasion?” Aziraphale smiles brightly. He lowers his head to smell the fresh scent of the leaves.

“Ughhh…. Housewarming? You didn’t move but it’s technically a new home. Uh, since that Adam kid built it back and stuff.” Crowley mumbles.

“Oh, you’re so sweet.” Aziraphale smiles at Crowley, his heart feels warm. He tries to control it. He doesn’t know if Crowley still feels love like an angel or not but he’s not gonna risk it and make it weird.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m gonna put it in the book shop. Can’t wait to see it grow!” Aziraphale says chirpily.

“I will come and see it from time to time to make sure that it grows alright.” Crowley stares intensely at the plant in the pot. Its leaves shake lightly.

“Please do. I know you’re good at taking care of plants.” And I want you to visit me more often. Aziraphale didn’t say that out loud. He stares at the plant. It doesn’t look keen to meet Crowley often. Aziraphale wants to pity the poor plant, but he wants to see Crowley more.

1 Time When He Wants What Anathema and Newt Have

One Saturday morning Crowley decides to drive Aziraphale to Tadfield to visit Anathema. Anathema told them about Agnes’ book and how they decided to burn it while Newt is looking busy in the kitchen.

“I know it’s the best for them but a little part of me wants to know what Agnes wrote.”

“Probably something nice, and accurate,” Crowley says nonchalantly. Aziraphale gazes fondly at Crowley being Crowley. He knows it the same gaze Anathema used to look at Newt.

The only difference is they have each other while Aziraphale doesn’t have Crowley.

Ouch. That’s hurt a bit. Aziraphale doesn’t know where it hurts but still.

He has Crowley. Crowley is everywhere when he needs him. He always has dinner with Aziraphale. He even gave him plant! But Aziraphale wants more. He craves. He craves the longing look and the touching, the thing that humans do.

A part of him wishes Crowley would notice it but another part of him knows it would be a terrible idea.

“I want to know about something.” Like his future with Crowley. Did Agnes know about how Aziraphale would fall in love with a demon? He believes she did, but what would happen after this though?

“What? What do you want to know?” Crowley raises his left eyebrow, looking curious.

“Just...stuff,” Aziraphale answers. His gaze shifts to the window. “Oh look, the them are here! Let’s greet them.”

Aziraphale stands up abruptly and walks to the front door. Crowley knows the Angel is hiding something but he doesn’t know what it is.

1 Time When Crowley Realizes Aziraphale Has a Secret And Discover What It is

“This place has a lot of plants.” Crowley looks around, scrutinizing leaves and flowers of the plants inside the restaurant. It might be Aziraphale’s imagination but he feels the plants’ nervousness, or maybe that feeling is oozing from himself. He wants to make sure that Crowley likes it here.

“They do.” Aziraphale nods. “I think you would find it more interesting if there’s a place you can enjoy too.”

“What? I always enjoy myself every time I’m with you,” Crowley says easily and Aziraphale wants to smile. He knows Crowley doesn’t mean it like that but still, it’s good to hear that Crowley enjoy being with him.

“But you just always sit and stare. Well, and drink occasionally.”

“That’s how I enjoy myself.” Crowley takes a sip out of his glass. Aziraphale looks at the demon from under his lashes and smiles.

“But sometimes I enjoy talking too, you know.” Crowley interrupts the meal suddenly as if he’s been keeping to himself for a while and wants to let it out.

“Yeah, dear, me too.” Aziraphale nods.

“Well, then…” Crowley shifts himself in his seat. He leans back and looks at Aziraphale’s face seriously before asking, “What’s with you lately? You’re keeping something from me. I can feel it.”

What? This fast? Aziraphale thinks to himself.

“What do you mean?” The angel feigns casualness. He raises one of his eyebrows at Crowley.

“Angel, lately you’ve been...spacing out when we’re together. What are you thinking? Did those guys from Up There say something to you?” Crowley’s eyebrows knitting. He looks concerned and Aziraphale is beginning to panic.

Should he tell Crowley or should he not?

“Well, It’s been six thousand years, I ought to have a secret or two, don't I?” Aziraphale coughs lightly. He feigns ignorance as he picking vegetables on the plate. Crowley hums lightly.

“Secrets? I love secrets.”

And I love you. Aziraphale thinks to himself while looking at Crowley from under his eyelashes, blushing.

“What is it, angel? We don’t need to have secrets anymore, you know?”

“Erm--I will tell you, dear, when the time is right.” Aziraphale wipes the sweat on his forehead nervously (He has been living in this body for a long time, well, except that time with Madame Tracy, but he’s never realized he could sweat like this. Not even the time when God asked about her sword, not Armageddon, but this).

Crowley squints his eyes, looking like a snake, well he is a snake after all.

“When is the right time? Time is stupid,” Crowley says and Aziraphale shrugs.

Crowley is going to say something again but Aziraphale secretly signalled a waiter to come to their table and the conversation is interrupted.

- - -

Crowley’s fingers are lightly knocking at the steering wheel while they’re driving back to the city. Aziraphale can see that there’s something inside his best friend’s mind but he doesn’t want to speak it out. In case the demon still wants to know about his secret.

“That meal was so delightful, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale tries to change the subject, for the fourth time since they got inside the Bently.

“Yeah, I guess.” Crowley nods and looks outside the window.

“I noticed they had the same plants you have back in your pl--”

“Angel, what is your secret?” Crowley asks again. He doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about plants. At all.

Aziraphale knows that he likes--or even loves Crowley, but he’s never thought liking someone would be this hard to keep it to himself, even though he’s an angel, for god’s sake.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to…”

“I just want to know in case I can do something about it. I believe I can do something about it.” Crowley steps on the brake pedal before he turns his head completely to Aziraphale.

That’s it. He doesn’t care anymore if the demon knows or not.

“Fine! If you must know, Crowley, I’ve fallen!” Aziraphale lets his frustration out.

“What? Who told you? Gabriel?” Crowley looks around then looks at Aziraphale as if he’s expecting a pair of black wings coming out of his Angel’s back.

“No, I’ve fallen...in love…. with you.” Aziraphale sighs dramatically.

“Oh well, angel.” Crowley sighs, shaking his head.

Aziraphale swallows. Is this where Crowley says Aziraphale is spending too much time on earth and thinks too much like a human?

“Took you long enough.” Crowley smiles. He steps on the gas pedal and before Aziraphale knows it, they’re already parking in front of the book shop.

And The Time When Crowley Confesses That He Has Fallen Twice

“You expect me to fall? I mean--to fall in love with you?”

“Well, yes! It’s normal to want the feelings to be reciprocated, isn’t it?”

“Reci--Crowley, are you saying what I’m thinking?”

Crowley rolls his eyes, “Yes, Aziraphale, I am hopelessly, stupidly, in love with you,” Crowley says, leaning back on his seat.

“But I--”

“I hope you would fall for me. Well, not literally fall like me but being romantically in love with me. I’ve been hoping that for years.”

Aziraphale looks at Crowley then look at the world outside the Bentley, to convince himself that he isn’t hallucinating.

“You know...I’ve fallen twice.”

Aziraphale tilts his head. He doesn’t understand what the demon means.

“First time was up there and the second one was with you.” Crowley nods his head to Aziraphale’s direction. “I fell in love with a bloody angel, a stupid one,” Crowley complains. “I mean, I think I was pretty obvious--I knew I was pretty obvious, with all the invitations, gifts, dates--”

“Those were dates?”

“Oh my god, Aziraphale, YES.”

“Gifts? I thought you were just generous.”

“Have you ever seen me being generous elsewhere?”

“I thought it was because we’ve known each other for a really long time!”

Crowley rolls his eyes again. Aziraphale thinks Crowley’s mannerisms remind him of the them (but more adorable). But before he can tell his remark to Crowley, the demon moves closer and lightly kisses Aziraphale mouth, then softly brushes his mouth to the angel’s nose.

“Still not convinced?”

Aziraphale folds his lips and looks at the amber eyes in front of him, “I may need more of your persuasion.”

#ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens fic #fictober #My fic #I forgot what else to tag #well #sbfictober2019 #spacebartenderfic

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alysmarylin · 5 years

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The fic you've been waiting for

Crowley avenging his beloved angel - Sandalphon got what he deserved (don't thank me, reblog instead)!!!!!!!!

Crowley and Aziraphale were unpacking the stuff they bought on a big shopping Sunday, and to this very day Crowley can't remember why and how they ended up talking about Aziraphale's, well... Ex-kin.

"I kinda enjoyed Michael", Crowley laughed. "Rather good-looking. Uriel, on the other hand..."

"Don't get me started on Uriel and Sandalphon", Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I hate their guts"

"Sandalphon was a tough prick, I remember. And uglier than Belzebub", Crowley sneered.

"You don't say. He works in my place now, homophobic son of a... They couldn't have picked a worse candidate", Aziraphale said in a somewhat hurt voice.

"Don't worry, angel. Soon enough, he will receive some beating from locals, I tell you"

"Yeah, I should've definitely punched that bastard back", Aziraphale muttered under his nose quietly, angrily.

" Yeah, you bet...", Crowley laughed and then stopped abruptly. "W-w-wait, wait-wait-wait. Back? What do you mean, back?". Crowley stood up from the floor and stepped up to Aziraphale.

" Nothing, really"

"No, not nothing". Crowley's eyes were widened in shock. " Do you mean, that, that piece of shit HIT you?!"

Aziraphale lowered his eyes. It looked like the memory wasn't pleasant. Crowley was gasping.

"When? When did it happen? How come I didn't know?", Crowley was not yet angry but more frightened. " Angel, look at me. Talk to me. Someone battered you and I know nothing of it?!"

"No one battered me. I was walking back to my bookshop and Michael, Uriel and... And he approached me, I was questioned..."

"Where the Hell was I?" - Crowley asked, astonished.

"You drove home", Aziraphale said quietly and sadly.

Crowley tilted his head backward and sighed with despair. "I should've known... ". He lowered his head and looked at Aziraphale with sadness and pain. Aziraphale looked confused and lost.

" What did he do? Tell me, angel", Crowley stepped closer, putting his hand on Aziraphale's arm, leaning closer. "Tell me. He's dead"

"Don't you dare, Crowley, we got away and I won't..."

"What did he do to you? What? Why didn't you tell me? I was up there, I saw him, I could've..."

"Because I didn't want you to", Aziraphale answered bitterly. " I needed you to be concentrated and cool-headed. You freed me from them, same as I did for you. That's all that matters"

"No, it's not. You look sad, you look hurt", Crowley said, cupping Aziraphale's cheek. " Otherwise you would've forgotten".

"He punched me in the stomach, alright?", Aziraphale said with a lump in his throat. His lower lip trmbled a bit. "It wasn't as painful physically as it was humiliating".

Crowley looked down on his angel's belly - soft, beautiful, beloved and precious - and everything before his eyes suddenly became red as blood.

"I told you because I trust you, but if you dare approach him or pull out something stupid like that, I will leave you, Crowley", he heard Aziraphale's voice from some distance.

"Do you hear me? Answer me, Crowley"

Crowley felt his head filling with lead from within.

"I will not approach him. I swear it"

"Good", he hears Aziraphale say. " I'll finish unpacking"

Crowley stopped Aziraphale, holding him by the arm. He embraced him from behind, wrapping one of his arms around his chest and putting his hand gently on the angel's belly. He buried his nose in his soft blonde curls and muttered: "I love you".

"I love you too", Aziraphale answered softly, "Now let me finish".

Crowley looked at him, picking up paper bags and arranging the stuff around the room, looking small and soft and lovely. Somehow it made his silent rage all the more burning and red became crimson in his eyes. He swore he wouldn't approach that sick fuck who laid his dirty hands - no, he couldn't bear to think of it - on Aziraphale

... But he said nothing of his friends.

***

Crowley pulled his hood further on his forehead

"Pleasure to see you, Jay. You look like a heroin addict in that hoody", said Phil.

"I have to hide my hair somehow. Rare color"

Crowley was nervous and feeling restless.

"Yep. You're drop-dead gorgeous lad, we get it. To what I owe the pleasure?"

"I need to track someone down. Name's Saldanphon but he changes his IDs every now and then. You'll have to check for anything similar. Don't have a picture, but I draw him", Crowley laid a piece of paper on a table. The drawing looked fairly accurate. " Looks middle-aged, a bit fat, bald, ugly, has a golden tooth. A homophobe might be hanging around gay bars and the likes to preach or intimidate or whatever he does. That's all I have as of now".

"Well", Phil sighed " It's doable. But it will take a while. Any family?"

"No, none at all"

"I see. The golden tooth is indeed something". Phil looked at Crowley's hand. "You got married?"

"Ugh, yeah", Crowley answered looking around. " You know how to, ehm, tell me of the progress?"

"I've been around longer than you", Phil said wearily, and Crowley had to keep his mouth shut on that remark, " You'll know when I find something. Just one more thing. This, ehm, funny-named morality apostle. What exactly are you planning? He's gonna go?"

"No, not go", Crowley said with sheer disappointment "Plainly be taught a lesson. He put his shitty hands where he shouldn't have".

"Are you gonna call our mutual friend?", Phil raised his eyebrows. " If you want to make it clean, it's the best way. They'll never track his men down. Just food for thought, Jay. A piece of advice from the old man"

"That sounds reasonable", Crowley nodded, as if he had had any idea what to do next when he came to Phil, " I'll think about it. Thank you. Wanna count?". He put a book - a fake book, of course - on a table.

"Here? Oh, please. Trust me, if I don't find what I intend to find here, you'll know", Phil put a book in his bag and stood up. " Have a nice day, kid. Next time, wear something else"

Crowley waited for ten more minutes before leaving the diner. It was only when he was in a crowdy underground station when he put the hood off. He had to be cautious. For everyone's sake.

***

"Do you really think it's a good place, Jay?", said a tall and broad bald man in a leather jacket, trying to sit comfortably on a bench by a pond.

"The best one, in terms of privacy", said Crowley, looking grimly from his hood. " So. You said you owe me a favor all the way back from 1999. I didn't need anything for a long time, but now..."

"How do you manage to look so young, you sick bastard?", the man asked, chuckling, trying to look at Crowley's face. " You look just like my son, and that sad excuse of an heir is 27 now, not something you could tell by the way he speaks, though, I'd give him 10 in that department, still... How old are you, anyway?"

"I use a strong sunscreen. And I have good genes. Good, hardworking Irish people, my entire family. Will you listen or not, Patsy?"

A bald man stopped laughing and sighed.

"Of course. What seems to be the problem?"

"Our mutual buddy, Phil, tracked down a guy I need you to deal with. Here's what I've got on him", Crowley took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to a man without so much as looking at his side. " I want your people to teach him a lesson. He's gotta stay alive. I can't be seen. But I need to watch it from a distance. I know you're ready to do this, but still" - Crowley took out something that looked like a book and put it on Patsy's lap still without looking at him - "this is some additional motivation for you, or a token of a good will, if you wish to call it that way".

Patsy put down an apparently-book-thing in his suitcase and opened a piece of paper. He looked at Crowley, frowning.

" What kind of a lesson do you want him to be taught, exactly?"

"If your boys will do it properly, he'll need new teeth", Crowley said, finally turning his head to his counterpart, looking him in the eyes from beneath his shaded. "The whole damn package. And the old ones, I want to have them. Every single one. Especially the golden one. No internal bleeding, no injuries to any organs. You can break a couple of ribs, but carefully. As you wish. But I need his teeth"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jay", the Patsy man said, looking flabbergasted. " What did this son of a bitch did to you so you became such a butcher"

"He laid his shitty hands where he shouldn't have", Crowley hissed, grinding his teeth. His hands clenched in fists.

" You didn't tell me you were married. Was this your wife?", Patsy asked warily.

"I have no wife, but I am indeed married", Crowley answered. " I know you're one of the few people of your occupation who don't look down on things like that. I love him. But I swore I won't touch this bastard myself. I don't have much choice, Pat"

"I'm sorry it happened to your, well, spouse", Patsy said carefully. " But the guys that I have in my crew are not as open-minded as I wish they were. You know it yourself. Ours is not the most prestigious job. I'll do this favor, but when you're sitting in a car with them, better keep the personal personal".

They shook hands.

"I'll be waiting for your call. You know which number to call, and which not to", Crowley said, standing up. "I'm looking forward to seeing your team at work".

***

Crowley was staring into the field glasses, trying looking at two tall men in leather jackets dragging a bald man resembling Sandalphon, gagged and tied up, to a torch on the abandoned parking lot. The jeep where Crowley and his associates were sitting was right in its darkest corner.

It was Christmas Eve, the 24th of December. The snow was falling gloriously, but the place was too grim and damp for the fairy-tale-like spirit.

“You see them, Cap?”, a young driver, sitting by Crowley’s side asked.

“It looks like him, but I need insurance. I remember his voice. Call them”

One of the guys on the backseat dialed a number and one of the bouncers took the phone.

“Our cap wants so be sure it’s the guy. Let him speak”

He turned on the speakerphone. Soon enough Crowley heard Sandalphon screaming something like:

“I’ll give you anything you want, please, untie me, I need my hands, I…”, before Crowley nodded and Sandalphon became silent again. The phone was turned off and Sandalphon was dragged to a small staircase, and Crowley had to pay very close attention, looking into field glasses again, to recognize what was going on.

“Are you sure your people can do ALL the teeth in one go?”, he asked a bit unsurely.

“You insult us, Mr. Jay. It is our signature. One strike, all teeth. Leaves a strong message”, murmured a young man behind him.

“Well, then…”, Crowley started, but then he saw something rather outstanding, that made him make a certain sound: “Oi, woah… That was surprising… Alright, gentlemen, pardon me for my previous skepticism. I take that back. On second thought, I even refuse to take, the, ehm, the evidence”

He then heard his phone ring. It had to be Aziraphale. He had to answer. He quickly took the phone and blurted:

“Angel, honey, I can’t talk, I’m very busy, buying you a surprise, I’ll call you back in ten, love you”, without letting him even say a word. He figured out it would be more secure.

“Wife?”, asked a second young man, with a smile.

“Yeah. Sort of. Listen, I think I’d rather be going, are they done with the teeth? At the end of the day, I’ll think I’m more than happy without them. I don’t wanna take ‘em. I saw what you did, it was amazing. Drop me at the underground station, please… Else my, ehm, spouse, will be suspecting something, which I don’t fancy, like, at all”.

Crowley was very relieved when they drove away.

***

Crowley thought he had never had such a lovely Christmas morning. Angel was by his side, in his lovely tartan pajamas, they were tucked under the blanket, sipping tea and lazily switching the channels on telly.

“I thought I hated Christmas”, Crowley said quietly, as he lowered his head to Aziraphale’s, planting a soft kiss on his temple. “Now you made me love it. What next, angel?”

“You’ll stop wearing all black?”, Aziraphale answered, with a sarcastic smile.

“Naah, not in this life and not in the next”, Crowley said leisurely, switching the channels. Then he saw the news.

“… The victim of this horrific Christmas assault is alive, but severely traumatized – his teeth were…”

That was something Crowley didn’t account for – the bloody news.

“Ugh, what is it with these people”, he said with a trembling voice, trying desperately to sound casual, turning the telly off. “It’s only violence on this television, I’ll better put on some music. And make you some tea”, Crowley said, standing up.

“Dear boy”, Aziraphale said softly. “I’d like some tangerines. Would you be so kind as to bring your husband a plateful of those?”, he smiled. Crowley looked like he was melting from the inside.

“Every time you say the h-word I can’t say no to anything, angel. I’ll be in 15, a’right”

Crowley sighed with relief as he stepped into the kitchen. He was off the hook now, but some time from now, the angel might still learn about what happened. Will he be able to understand?

“All I did, I did for you”, Crowley thought in pain. “I love you so much I couldn’t stop it. He had to pay, my love, he had to”. Crowley felt tears fill his eyes, as he was putting tangerines in a bowl, but he was able to will them away. “I’d kill for you, I’d die for you, Aziraphale”, he thought with anguish. “I hope you know that whatever comes. I hope you will forgive me for what I had to do”.

***

With Crowley gone, Aziraphale was finally able to read the newspaper.

“Broken teeth, that’s a good take”, he thought smugly, as he read the weekly crime report. “See, Sandalphon. What goes around, comes around, next time you want to apply brutal force to your… arguments, better remember this, no? Though I doubt there will be the next time”

Aziraphale smirked. What his husband lacked in logic and cautiousness, he made up in loyalty and protectiveness. Blind loyalty and fierce protectiveness.

“You’re such an idiot, Crowley”, Aziraphale thought tenderly. “Really, A-J? To think I wouldn’t know? Me, famous Mr. Fell of Soho?”

That very evening, when he received a phone call from Phil and heard of some “heroin junkie looking” guy calling himself “Tony Jay” or “A J”, or, God have mercy, “Jay”, of all things, he knew it has to be Crowley.

“Wearing a black hoodie on top of his shades, really. It’s a miracle he didn’t get busted for drug possession”. Maybe it was indeed a miracle.

Truth be told, he wasn’t angry. He couldn’t approve openly, but there was a certain warmness in knowing that a homophobic golden-toothed prick who assaulted him now got what was coming for him.

“But I can’t encourage this sort of behavior in Crowley”, he thought, hiding his smile. “Now, dear boy, you need to control your impulses. At least, most of the time”.

Still, Aziraphale knew that he was one of the luckiest men – well, not really men, but… - alive, for his partner would stop at nothing to protect him.

“If only he would’ve acted a bit cleverer… Well, I suppose you can’t have it all. He’s beautiful, caring, kind, sweet, fiercely loyal and sexy as Hell, in the most literal sense of this word. It’s only natural he has to be a complete idiot to not let me forget myself. Oh, he brought me the cannoli the other day… This boy watched The Godfather too many times”.

“Angel!”, Crowley said, entering the room with a bowl full of tangerines. “What are you smiling at?”

“I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have you, dear boy”, Aziraphale answered with a loving smile.

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huntertales · 4 years

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Part Four: Hard Pill To Swallow. (I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here S09E01)

Episode Summary: The Winchesters are left in a frantic state after the reader collapses, setting off a chain reaction of events with deadly consequences. Out of desperation, Dean sends out a prayer and meets an angel named Ezekiel, both of them make a unorthodox benefiting both parties while the reader fights for her life. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Episode Warning: Heavy angst, mentions of childbirth, stillbirth aftermath, character death(s), hints of depression. Word Count: 4,331.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

This wasn’t supposed to be the way things ended up. It might have been your body walking out of the hospital, making it appear you were back to normal once again. However there was someone else hitching a ride. A mutual benefit for both if things went according to plan. The question lingering on the Winchesters mind was how you were going to handle the news the person healing up your inside was an angel. They were fixing up your damaged organs while you walked around doing everyday tasks, while you were on a hunt. It was more than just an invasion of privacy. This was something you had to deal with your entire life. You always had another passenger in your own body. And the first and only time you were an angel’s meat suit the experience left a bitter memory behind.

Back when the apocalypse was nipping at your heels, you promised Lucifer your own body to have instead of his original vessel, Sam. You thought you could somehow find a way to save the day before it was too late. Instead the situation veered into a direction worse than you imagined. Sam knew the feeling of being a passenger in your own skin, capable of nothing more than watching as your own hands kill the people you love. Maybe that’s why he was so against this.

Sam knew that Ezekiel wasn’t Lucifer. There was no angel like the devil himself. But they weren’t exactly kind to the three of you since you knew them. He couldn’t fully trust the angel like Dean had. Ezekiel wasn’t doing this at the kindness of his own heart. Possessing your body meant he could heal himself as well from the fall. It would be a mutual benefit for both parties. The younger man was left wondering what the angel said to you in order for you to have said yes. He most likely tricked you. A harmless way to take control. Ezekial told the boys that he wanted to help mankind.

"So?" Dean asked the angel after a few minutes of walking out of the hospital with not much trouble. Ezekial had been in your body for the past fifteen minutes after he left his old vessel lying in your bed. He was examining the damage inside of your body, figuring out the extent of what needed to be done. Dean didn't like the silence. This was his last shot at getting you better and on the mend. "How's it looking in there?"

"Not good." The boys knew that it was you speaking, but it was the angel who was in control. He gave them a brief overview of the things that he needed to fix. Sam noticed the angel used a calm, softlike tone when he spoke. It was nothing like you. "There is much work to be done."

"Yeah, but she's gonna wake up, right?" Sam asked the angel.

“She will.” The angel responded

"So, when she does—what, is she gonna feel you inside, triaging her spleen?" Dean tried to figure out what the whole deal was and how this was going to work. You were most likely going to have lots of questions. A lot of hostility and anger towards him for what he decided to do.

“She will not feel me, no.” Ezekial said. “There is no reason for Y/N to know I'm in here at all.”

“You’re joking. No, this is too big.” Sam protested the angel’s idea. “She has a right to know.”

“And what will she do if you tell her that she is possessed by an angel?” The angel asked him.

Dean stopped walking when he noticed that Ezekial did as well. The older man thought about the answer for a second, wondering what kind of excuse would be good enough for what he had done. Dean knew his choices that he made were going to lead to things he didn't want to think about. You were going to eat him alive and claw his eyes out for what he had done. But he didn't regret the choices he made. It was how it had to be. "Well, she'll have to understand."

“And if she does not?” Ezekial wondered. Dean fell silent from the lack of a concrete answer he could give the angel. The situation was more fragile than if one of the boys had gotten hurt and it was him who was healing them. There was more personal damage done to your body than Ezekial could heal. “Without her acceptance, Y/N can eject me at any time, especially with me being so weak. And if Y/N does eject me, she will die.”

Sam wasn't going to make any promises about keeping this a secret. He didn't want any of this to happen in the first place. But there was no turning back now. He looked over to his brother, wondering what was going to be his big plan. It was Dean's idea to do this, it was going to be his call. Dean was apprehensive about keeping you in the dark. He had done this once before with you when you were still a half demon and working for Crowley. It was a messy situation that ended with you in the hospital. He hated doing this to you. But it had to be. He shook his head in defeat.

“Then we keep it a secret for now. Or until Y/N’s well enough that she doesn’t need an angelic pacemaker.” Dean decided to compromise with the situation. He let out a heavy sigh and wiped his face with his hands. “Or I find a way to tell her what happened. I…” He looked to the hospital and felt the familiar heaviness on his chest return. “As for her being in the hospital, I have to tell her the truth. I can’t lie to her. She deserves to know.”

“I can erase it all, if you like.” Ezekial suggested a plan to try and soften the blow. “She will not remember any of the past two days. And as for her pregnancy...I can block out the memories.”

“You can’t just erase six months worth of stuff. That’s not fair. We can’t act like she didn’t just lose a child.” Sam quickly jumped into the conversation before his brother could do something stupid. “She has a right to know.”

"If I may suggest, we can still tell her." Ezekial proposed a way to tell the truth, just not admitting all the details. The boys knew the guilt would eat you up inside for the things you had done, what kind of danger you put your baby through. You would take all the blame, think about it constantly until you droze yourself mad. Losing a child when you were so close to giving birth would break you. Instead of ripping off the bandaid and forcing you to face the truth, the angel suggested something to...soften the blow. "I can repress the memories from her mind. Make her believe she had no idea she was pregnant at all. If you understand what I mean."

The boys slowly nodded their heads. But it didn’t mean they agreed right away to the plan. Both of them were left wondering what the right thing to do was. They were making so many decisions for you. The least they could do was at least grieve for a life that once was. What could have been. Dean felt his jaw tighten at the last choice he was forced to make. He kept telling himself he really wasn’t lying to you. He was protecting you. He shut his eyes and slowly nodded his head, giving the angel permission one last time to do what needed to be done.

+ + +

The aftermath was going to be the hardest. Dean was warned about it when he got the news about his child’s passing from the doctor. Leaving the hospital without the little person you had been anticipating for nine months to make their arrival. Even if they came a little early, medicine had advanced so much that sometimes babies got fighting chances. Other times...they were taken away from their parents. For no reason at all other than genetics. Sometimes the body couldn’t handle carrying a baby to full term. Sometimes there was no reason at all. You were left with a pile of questions and no shovel to help. But that was life. Try to make sense of what it all means, why certain things happen. All you do is drive yourself mad. Dean learned to accept the tragedies in his life.

Sam didn’t say a single word to his brother after the three of them piled up into the Impala and drove off, acting as if nothing happened at all. Before they pulled out of the parking garage Dean looked into the rear view to see that you were passed out in the backseat after Ezekial announced he was going to work. You would eventually rise from a slumber, having not a single clue what happened. Most of the day slipped away into the night, and you still hadn’t woken up yet. The boys checked on you every so often to see that you were still breathing. And while you were each time, you still didn't give any sign that you were going to wake up.

Dean decided to stop for gas in the middle of Pennsylvania when he noticed the tank was starting to get dangerously low. It gave the boys a chance to stretch their legs and enjoy a bit of fresh air after being stuck inside a hospital for two days straight, forced to smell the chemicals they used to clean the place. Your eyelids began to slowly flutter open when you began to come back into consciousness, the real you. You laid against the backseat door with your head pressed against the glass, the angel you were familiar with from the countless times you fell asleep from pure exhaustion.

You slowly emerged from what like a deep slumber, the kind where you didn’t move for hours, leaving your muscles feeling tense. You managed to lift your head up from the window and wince from the cramp you got. Rubbing the muscle in some sort attempt to ease the pain, you looked around to see the Impala was parked in a gas station from the looks of it. You peeked out the back window to take a glance around when you noticed the boys were in the front seat. Sam was leaning against the hood with his back to you while Dean paid for gas with a stolen credit card. You saw their lips moving and hear their muffled voices, but you couldn’t make out a single word they were saying. From their expressions they seemed stressed out. Exhausted.

You reached a hand for the door and opened it up, swinging your legs out and pushing yourself up to your feet for the first time in what felt like forever. It felt good to stretch your body out from sitting in the car. Your body felt sore all over the place. You blamed it on from being stuck in the car. Slamming the car door shut, you found it odd when you noticed the boys jumped slightly at the unexpected noise. You greeted them with a smile from their reaction of seeing you and around for the first time

"Where are we?" You asked them, looking around at the gas station you were at. There was no soul around here except for the three of you. You had to move slowly from the stiff muscles and aches in your body from sitting in the same position for so long. You glanced down at your watch to see that it was a little past midnight.

"Y/N?" Dean spoke your name in what sounded like a slight nervous tone of voice. You glanced back up at him from how he was acting. You slowly nodded your head, wondering what was going on with him. "How are you feeling?"

“Tired.” You admitted to them. You had to lean against the side of the car when you felt the ache in your legs starting to grow worse. “Feels like I’ve been sleeping a week.”

“Try a day. The pills that the doctor gave you really wore you out.” Dean said. You furrowed your brow slightly in confusion at the mention of something you had no recollection of. If you ended up in the hospital, you had a feeling you would remember. "I bet the past couple of days have been a bit of a blur."

“I guess. I mean,” You crossed your arms over your chest in discomfort and shrugged your shoulders. You tried to wrap your head around the fact that you tried your hardest to remember the past two days, but you had no idea how you ended up here. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Sam asked you.

“The church. Feeling awful. Even when I stopped doing the trials...I got this abdominal pain. It felt like cramps. But ten times worse.” You managed to piece together just enough memories to figure out what happened. And yet not enough to fill in the missing gaps of time over the past forty-eight hours. All of it felt like a blur. “I remember the angels falling. That’s it. But...how—why were we at the hospital? And why does it look like you two were in a fight?”

You finally noticed the bruises on the boys’ face underneath the floresignt lights from above. You stepped forward to expect the busted lip Dean and bruised cheek along with Sam's black eye. Both of them looked like they had gotten into it with someone. You winced at how painful they must have been. The boys didn’t show any signs they were bothered by it.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart.” Dean tried to ease your worried mind off of him. He grabbed ahold of your wrist when you tried to touch his bottom lip to inspect the damage. You looked over at him when he didn’t answer your question. However you noticed his expression shifted slightly, like he wasn’t telling you everything. He was afraid to.

“We need to tell you something.” Sam suddenly spoke up out of nowhere. You turned your head to look in his direction when you heard the urgency in his voice. He opened up his mouth to tell you what had been rattling in his brain over the past couple of days. Before the man could get a single word out, Dean talked over him, stopping him from doing that he would regret.

"Maybe something like this should be discussed later." Dean suggested to his brother in a hardening tone of voice. He thought the setting all of you were in was a little too inappropriate and out in the open like this to discuss such things.

Sam tossed his brother a dirty glare, the mind that showed more than what he was saying. “She has a right to know.”

“Know what?” You asked them. You looked back and forth between the boys to find some sort of clue to the news Sam wanted to break to you. You felt your stomach beginning to clench in nervousness from how they were acting all of a sudden. Both of them wanted to tell you, but neither one of them could say the words. Even the younger Winchester found himself growing mute. “Seriously. Did something happen to me? Whatever it is, just tell me.”

Dean let out a sigh from the corner he was put into without much of a choice. You stared at him with that face of yours that was filled with concern at the damage you had done. He knew at some point he was going to have to have this discussion. He hoped by the time he got to the bunker he would have figured out a perfect way to break the news to you. But there would be no perfect way to do it. What he was going to tell you was like ripping off a bandaid. It was going to hurt in the moment. After a while the pain would subside and turn into a dull ache.

"After...After you stopped doing the trials, you collapsed." Dean decided to take small steps to the version of the situation they had agreed on. Leading with the truth seemed like a good direction to go in. And while every part of him wanted to continue, Dean pressed his lips together to keep that from happening. He couldn't break your heart. But even given you the fabricated truth, the kind where it was supposed to soften the blow, still hurt like it did when he was told himself. "You kept complaining that you were in a lot of pain."

You stared at the man intently from what he was saying, from the look on your face, you vaguely remembered the situation. However what was foggy was the reason why you ended up in the hospital. And what caused the pain. "The doctor might have thought you had..." Dean suddenly found himself unable to say the word. He felt his stomach tense up, almost like he was going to be sick to his stomach. He'd been saying it for the past forty-eight hours like it was nothing. But when it came to telling the one person who deserved to know, he clammed up. You raised your brow and gave him a slightly impatient look, wondering what he was trying to say. You expected just about anything to come out his mouth. But what you heard wasn't something you came up on your own. "He said that you had a miscarriage, Y/N.”

"What?" You felt your lips stretch into a smile at the words that you heard come from Dean's mouth. For a few seconds nothing made sense to you. The word felt so strange to you and yet so heavy. You slowly moved your gaze away from him and to a spot in the near darkness of the empty road ahead. That wasn't possible. You began to frantically think about more to what you were told.

Miscarriage meant you were pregnant. And pregnancy meant you were carrying a baby. A baby that was no longer. You thought back to what you remembered from being at the church. How you felt after you stopped doing the trials. For a moment you felt perfectly fine..and the next you had the worst abdominal pains. It felt like menstrual cramps, but ten times worse. And the blood. You remembered the spot of red blood just below the zipper of your jeans. After that...nothing but a blank memory you couldn't reach.

"How..." You gnawed on the flesh inside of your cheek with your teeth. You looked at the boys for a second before you quickly turned away, suddenly feeling like you couldn't look them in the eye. You felt ashamed. Guilty. Your breathing began to turn deeper, more shallow and rapid as the reality began sinking in. "How...how?”

How did you not know? How did you let this happen? They were just a few questions you asked yourself. Your voice dropped to a whisper as your eyes fell back to the concrete. Your mind wracked itself with trying to figure out how you didn't figure out the symptoms sooner. Your body had been going through changes for the three months that it took to complete them. It was hard to tell what was normal and what wasn't. Did you ignore the warning signs? Maybe there was none at all. You had so many questions. So much emotions you could feel bubbling to the surface. You quickly wiped away the tears from your eyes when you felt them accidentally slip out. Now was not the time to cry.

"You didn't know, sweetheart. None of us could have." Dean finally spoke up after seeing you take the news. Somehow the lie slipped right off his tongue without a problem. A small part of him knew telling you this was wrong. You deserved to know the whole truth. But if you did, then more would come out. And everything he had done would slowly unravel. "The doctor said you were a little over six weeks."

"How is that possible?" You knew better than anyone the trials took a lot out of you. Mentally and psychically. You body was going through changes, most likely that was why you missed a few important symptoms. What had you baffled was how you found the time. It had been a while since you and Dean had an intimate moment together. You awkwardly looked over at Sam from what you were discussing. The conception of your unborn baby. "We haven't exactly...you know. And I would've known if I was late."

"My guess it was after you came back from Purgatory. Remember?" Dean managed to make up an excuse that wasn't a complete and total lie. The both of you did share a night together that was more than just cuddling. Sort of like a victory for what you managed to do. Either way, the memory didn't bring up a warm and tingly feeling to you. You shake your head in anger. "Look whatever happened...whatever the reason, this wasn't your fault. These things just happen."

"I know. I know. It's just..." You were pregnant. For six weeks your body had been preparing and growing a new life. And for whatever reason, if it was because of the trials, maybe a medical reason, they were gone. You lost a lot of people in your life. But losing a life that was part yours...it hurts worse. Because it was someone that could have been. And it was gone. "I know it was only a month. But it still hurts. I don't know why."

"It will for a while. But it wasn't your fault, Y/N. You need to remember that." Dean told you. You forced yourself to look at the man directly in the eye. You had been carrying his unborn child. Until you weren't. You tried to find any trace of sadness in his eyes. Maybe a sense of anger for what you had done. But he seemed strangely calm. Or he was giving you the best poker face of all. "I meant what I said at the church. Nothing will ever change Sammy's or my mind about you. You're capable of anything, Y/N."

The church. You vividly remembered how you gotten over the eight hours while you pumped Crowley full of your blood. You had gone delirious to the point of saying things that didn't make sense Telling deep dark fears about yourself that you thought were long gone. You took on the burden of doing the trials to prove Dean that life didn't have to end in death...and for another reason. You tried to think of what it was, but your mind was drawing a blank. Through the months and changes, you ended up feeling like the trials was the only way to purify yourself from the demon blood you thought was still in your body. You went on about how you hurt the people you love. You kept telling yourself this was the right thing to do. You felt your jaw tighten at the irony.

In all honesty you couldn't have known you were pregnant. You inhaled a deep breath and told yourself something your mother might have heard often. These things happen. It could have been worse. Women go full term and they lose their child. A routine check up to see their little fetus and there's no heartbeat. You lost your child when they were nothing more than a bunch of cells with a heartbeat. Hell, maybe this was the universe of telling you that getting pregnant was a bad idea. You admitted to Dean last year that you weren't opposed to the chance of having a family of your own. It was like your desire to have a barely normal life. For people like you it wasn't possible. You could never raise a child.

Not when the sky was raining angels and hell's doors were still open. Your life was constantly on the line. Women who weren't like you deserve to feel grief. You wanted kids. You wanted a lot of things. But you weren't like most. Nobody deserved to have you as a parent.

"Are you gonna be okay, Y/N?" Sam's voice broke your concentration away from your thoughts. You glanced up at the man to see he was giving you a sympathy expression, the ends of his lips stretched into a small smile. Even if you could see the sadness in his eyes. The man wanted a normal life more than anything. You felt the knife in your heart twist more and more. You slowly nodded your head. "It's gonna be alright. We'll get through this."

"I know, Sammy. It's just...It's a lot to take in." You mumbled. You knew the loss was a shock to both of the boys. Much as you wanted to talk more about this, you didn't have the luxury right now to deal with your emotions. You do what you always did; shove them down and pretend like they didn't exist. "Last thing I remember was the angels falling out of the sky. What's the deal with that?"

"We know much as you. It started right after we left the church." Sam said. He let out a heavy sigh from the trouble all of you had to deal with. Thousands of angels wandering the earth. One of them crawling around in his best friend’s skin. And you had no clue. "Which means we've got that crap on our hands."

“You know what that means.”

“We’ve got work to do.”

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