#and crowley keeps trying to pull him out of the force for the 2 decades they know one another because he knows that already.

[gayforgoodomens]

Policeman/Criminal AU

It’s all about Aziraphale finding out the police and chief commissioner Gabriel especially are horribly corrupt, and leaving the force to protect London himself as a free agent 

Crowley (street name the Snake) is his criminal best friend with whom he’s been having an Arrangement for the past two decades of exchanging info to protect civilians from both horrible sides. they can’t be together because they’d both be eliminated by their superiors for treason

#good omens #good omens fanart #aziraphale is extremely gay and has enjoyed the police's homophobia his entire career #has become 'the southern pansy' at the station #keeps getting menacing letters and insults carved into his desk #but he genuinely thinks hes one of the good guys and that its for the greater good for the longest time #until he wakes up and realizes yes not all cops are bastards but such a crushing majority of them are #there's no point associating with them anymore #and crowley keeps trying to pull him out of the force for the 2 decades they know one another because he knows that already. #they met during a big operation called The Fall where a lot of corrupt cops and a big gang were busted together #been watching too much law and order ignore me

[poohkeepsee]

I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles  by  2street2car Words: 10,311     Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me  by  ellispark  Words: 45,876     Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine  by  LeverDrift Words: 67,939     Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills  by  ilovehowyouletmefall           Words: 26,052     Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human.  And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend  by  sobsicles    Words: 8,445     Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You  by  sobsicles Words: 95,090     Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication'  by  JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home  by  domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing  by  NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462     Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts  by  pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922     Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees)  by  sobsicles   Words: 74,173     Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim  by  Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910   Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)  by  sobsicles           Words:     108,427     Chapters:     4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date  by  aeli_kindara Words: 8,968    Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road  by  thegeminisage Words:     109,629     Chapters:     7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims  by  lagaudiere Words: 31,904     Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)  by  sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au  (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend  by  reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart  by  peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.

#destiel #deancas #fic recs

[skelligiri]

Obligatory lockdown fic

“Good night, angel.”

Click.

Aziraphale hung up the phone, and, with a hum and a spring in his step, went right back to baking. He had come across a carrot cake recipe in one of the oldest cookbooks in his collection earlier that day and busied himself with weighing Ingredients (the carrots miraculously fell out of the bag finely grated). But no matter how hard he tried to keep his mind focused and to not think of the phone conversation, he couldn’t suppress the desire to pick up the phone again as the night progressed. The print date of the book, which indicated that it had been printed shortly after the Reign of Terror, didn’t help, jolting memories of being locked up in the Bastille and being saved from a violent discorporation by an unlikely friend.

2 days. After that, he wouldn’t hear Crowley’s voice again until July. The angel wasn’t sure why he was even giving it any thought - Crowley had a habit of sleeping for months, years, even decades at a time, and had done so countless times over the millennia.

He just hadn’t spent prolonged periods of time asleep since the aborted Armageddon a year prior, Aziraphale mused. Crowley had mentioned how he couldn’t get himself to cause any havoc because everybody was miserable enough already, which was not surprising – the angel knew that, at heart, Crowley was a decent person. However, when reaching for the cake tin, a thought stopped him in his tracks – Could it be that Crowley was not only bored, but that the misery of the situation had gotten him down? His friend certainly hadn’t sounded happy.

---

Somewhere in central London, a demon swatted aimlessly at his bedside table until he found his ringing phone, sending his designer sunglasses tumbling to the floor in the process. It didn’t concern Crowley; his glasses knew better than to invoke their already cross owner’s wrath by breaking.

“What?” he snapped. “It’s me again. I just wanted to know how you are feeling today.” “Same as yesterday. Same as every day since the lockdown started. Bored. Didn’t forget, did you?” the demon drawled. “No… no, and it does make sense I suppose, there are certainly things I am looking forward to after this whole lockdown business. I wonder how the birds at St. James’ park are doing. If the little cafe on Belgrave Street is still going to be there - it used to be a book shop, you know. Anyway, now that I have a better understanding of the baking process, I do wonder if I will have a newfound appreciation for cake. Not that I ever did not appreciate cake, as I’m sure you are well aware, but the cakes at this particular establishment have always been home baked by the owners, wonderful people. Their children worked some odd jobs there to help pay for their education –“, Aziraphale babbled, unable to contain the flood of words until it was cut off by his friend’s exasperated groan. “Aziraphale. You do know that depriving someone of sleep is a method of torture, right?” Aziraphale blinked in response. “You were asleep already? I thought you were going to wait two days?” “Yeah, but I had a very productive day yesterday. Scared a seedling into growing 2 inches, sat around doing nothing. Started a few arguments on Twitter, although that really wasn’t much of a challenge. Sat around some more. Decided to treat myself to an early nap.” “Ah. Right, um. I really just wanted to know how you were doing. And…”

The angel found himself considering his words for a moment. Even in his head, they sounded a bit silly. Still, the question burned on his tongue.

“Out of curiosity… ever since the events of Armageddon and the… fallout thereof. Have you ever felt a little lonely?” As expected, the question was followed by a cackle on the other end of the line. ‘”Yah, I really miss Hastur. Real hard, not having to put up with the threats and the stench.” He paused. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to miss the ponces up in heaven. Missing Gabriel, are you? Michael?” Aziraphale’s face contorted, and he outright shuddered when Crowley added “Sandalphon?” “Oh heavens no!” he blurted out, ignoring Crowley’s snort. “I don’t miss heaven. The bookshop feels more like home to me than heaven ever did, you know that.” “Well then, let me go on the record saying that I don’t miss Hell either, big shocker I know. Was there anything else?” There was a short silence between them, which Aziraphale found himself unable to fill. “… Angel, I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you want me to come over or not?” Crowley asked. “I… I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.” “Right. Well in that case, I’m going back to sleep.”

Aziraphale fidgeted. There was one more question that needed answering. “W-well, before you go! You… You definitely shouldn’t come here. But, in theory, if I were to find a way to come over to your place…” “…You. Come over here?” “Yes.” “Wha, you gonna get on a bus during a pandemic? I thought setting a bad example and getting too close to people is something you consider demonic activity. Angel, I’m almost impressed.” “Without breaking any rules, of course!” “And how would you go about that, then?” Aziraphale could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smirk in Crowley’s voice. “… Not sure. It’s just hypothetical, really. Anyway, would you mind if I did?” “’Course not, why in the heavens would I mind, not like I haven’t had you over before.” “… Right, right. Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Good night, my dear.”

Click.

----

Not even Aziraphale’s gramophone seemed to be able to drown out the silence of the following days. The angel often found his gaze locked on the black feather he kept next to his recipe books. A keepsake from Crowley. He had passed it off as a meaningless gesture. Aziraphale knew better.

Being honest with himself had never been the angel’s strong suit. But he had gotten better at deciphering what his gut was trying to tell him in the months since the war had been averted. Rather than decades, centuries or even millennia, it now took him a mere fortnight to realize that he couldn’t drown out what he wanted more than anything.

He wanted to be near Crowley. To keep his friend company. They had always had each other to rely on whenever one or more of the horsemen had raised their heads.

But Pestilence posed a very unique challenge, turning the very need for people to reach out to each other during hard times into a potentially deadly risk. He couldn’t just walk out of the bookshop and set a bad example for humans. Maybe he should wait until July, he thought to himself. Sit here, on the couch, where the demon had slept so many times over the years there undoubtedly was a Crowley-shaped indent in the foam, drink tea and eat cake while catching up on his vast collection of books… but after hearing his dearest friend’s voice, this thought suddenly felt so much less appealing. He found himself picking up the phone again, aching to speak to Crowley, but what was he going to say? There was nothing else to say. The time for talking had passed, he realized. Now was the time to act – which was a harrowing thought.

But he should definitely follow the rules of the lockdown, Aziraphale decided, which meant no leaving the house. Not being able to get sick or transmit the disease was beside the point. Laws were there for a reason, after all. But while the laws surrounding the lockdown were not to be broken even by him, not all laws that applied to humanity applied to a celestial being. For one thing, angels weren’t bound by the laws of physics. And just like that, an idea hit Aziraphale as his gaze locked on the phone in his hand.

Crowley had done it before, he had (repeatedly and proudly) bragged to Aziraphale all about how he had outwitted Hastur back before Armageddon’t by travelling through the phone line and trapping the duke of hell on his ansafone. It was one of his favourite stories to relay after a bottle of wine and usually culminated in him thanking the angel for being the sole reason he even kept the ancient eyesore in his flat. If Crowley could do it, Aziraphale reasoned, why couldn’t he? “It might just work…” he mumbled to himself. Hesitating, Aziraphale considered the phone line separating him from his demon. The rules of the lockdown were one thing, but there were other rules to consider. 6000 years of careful consideration, of boundaries, of careful movements so to not spook or even endanger the other. But those times were over now, weren’t they? They were on their own side now, they didn’t need excuses. They were meant to be free. They deserved to be free.

And nothing was stopping them. Not really.

Aziraphale took a long look around his bookshop. He closed his eyes. A thought, a silent prayer, a faint smell of ozone, and just like that, he knew that it would be safe until he returned, whenever that may be. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and without further ado, willed himself to dissolve into particles straight into cyberspace.

Inaudible to anyone but Aziraphale, the phone line for the next fragment of a second was filled with panicked, garbled noises of distress, as a defragmented angel was trying to herd the atoms making up his corporation through a telephone line. He had to admit: Pulling this off without any atoms escaping was brag-worthy. He found himself wondering if bouncing around weightlessly like this was what a rollercoaster felt like. He didn’t much care for it. And he didn’t much care for re-emerging, either, all his atoms snapping back in place like magnets, sending him stumbling aimlessly. All he could do was brace himself for the unavoidable impact.

But luckily for the angel, Crowley’s phone had rolled out of his hand when he’d fallen asleep after their last conversation, on a bed that had to have been touched by a demonic miracle or a dozen to reach such an unnatural level of softness. The yelp that followed Aziraphale’s body hitting Crowley full-force would have usually caused the angel a great deal of concern, but Aziraphale was too occupied with his own spinning vision and trying to figure out where he was and which way was up, limbs flailing, helplessly entangled in black, velvet bedsheets.

“What the FLYING FUCK-“ Crowley yelled, followed by a string of expletives, and Aziraphale realized that the sounds were coming from the floor next to the bed. “Ah – I didn’t mean to - Apologies, my dear.” he offered breathlessly. “Aziraphale?!”

The demon’s upper body emerged from beside the bed, golden eyes wide. “What the heavens - How did - wh-?!”, he stammered, ever so eloquently. Aziraphale scrambled to sit up, tried to brace himself on the wall, missed, and found himself face-first on the bed with a groan. He realized that Crowley must have rushed to his side when he felt himself being propped up by a steadying hold under his arm. That thought was confirmed when he heard Crowley hiss under his breath. The angel held on to his arm for dear life. “I… I’m so sorry to wake you like this. Are you hurt?” “No, just got better acquainted with the floor, thank you very much.” Aziraphale barely managed to lean against the headboard to wait for his vision to stop spinning. “I just. Thought this might be a way of coming over without breaking any rules. I must admit, you made this whole traveling through the telephone line business sound rather a lot easier than it is.”

His vision slowly focused on the demon, who was sitting beside him on the bed, more frazzled looking than the angel had ever seen him. Unkempt, bleary-eyed, and absolutely, stunningly beautiful. With a start, Aziraphale noticed that the plants on the balcony had shifted into unnatural positions. As though they were leaning in to see what all the commotion was about. Crowley took notice and turned around to glare at the plants, which immediately went back to their original positions.

Aziraphale took a steadying breath. “It’s good to see you, my dear.” “Yeah it’s… yeah. Same.” the demon stammered. “I was a little worried about you. You must really be concerned about the humans, to so adamantly refuse to break the rules. Commendable as it is.” Crowley made a face at that last remark. “Rub it in, why don’t you.” “I’m not trying to be flippant, dear. What I’m trying to say is… I’m a little surprised you didn’t come over.” Aziraphale admitted. “I didn’t come over ‘cause you told me not to.” the demon retorted. “That’s never stopped you before. You know as well as I do that I was tempting you.” Crowley blinked at the angel’s blatant honesty. “Angel,” Crowley began, “This is different. I just…” Crowley threw back his head and let out a frustrated groan, “I couldn’t just go on a limb and invite myself to stay over for however many weeks or months it’ll take for Pestilence to get tired of mucking up everyone’s day and to bugger off again, could I? Taking up your space and drinking all your wine. ‘sides, we’re not just talking catching up, but. You know. More than that.” When it became apparent that Aziraphale wanted more, Crowley ran a hand over his face. “Living together for fuck knows how long. Didn’t want to overstep.”

Oh.

“W- well,”, Aziraphale started, a familiar warmth rising up in his face, “I certainly didn’t mean to overstep-“ “You’re not.” “Oh. Good.”

Aziraphale swallowed. The heat in his face remained. “Still… I can make myself scarce, if you like. Go back to the bookshop, if one of us needs space, I’m sure I’ll get used to traveling through the telephone line. But, truth be told, I have missed your company.” He swallowed again, followed by a deep breath. “Rather terribly, actually. In fact, I don’t know how I ever managed to spend as much time apart from you as I used to. Things have been different since the events of last summer, haven’t they? Speaking of, the anniversary of what could have been Armageddon is coming up in three months, hopefully things will be better by then. Maybe the Ritz will have re-opened and we will get a chance to celebrate the world not coming to an end, like we did last year.” When Aziraphale’s eyes met the demon’s, there was no trace of white to be found in them. “Until then, I’d very much like to stay here with you. If you’ll have me.”, he added.

The silence hung over them thickly, every second stretching out endlessly. “… Crowley?” Aziraphale asked tentatively, but the demon appeared to be frozen in place, still holding on to the angel’s arm. By the time Crowley finally opened his mouth, Aziraphale wondered if he had said too much.

“I need a nap.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Beg your pardon? Did you hear what I just said?” “Y- Yeah, and, if you don’t mind, I really need a nap.” “You may feel free to nap all you want, but-“ Aziraphale started, but before he could say anything else, he felt himself gently being pushed back against the headrest, and before he had realized what was happening, Crowley’s face was buried in his shoulder, arms wrapped around the angel’s torso like his life depended on it. Aziraphale quickly snapped out of his bafflement and gave his friend a concerned look. “Are you alright, dear boy?” he asked, and Crowley nodded into his shoulder wordlessly. “… Well, are you still planning on napping until July? I will have to miracle myself some books over if you do.” Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale returned the embrace, one hand gently stroking the demons back, resulting in a small, full-body shudder. Crowley chose not to comment when, emboldened by this reaction, the angel pressed a kiss on the top of his head, but he did make a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of contentment. They had touched more frequently since the events of the year prior, more precisely since the night of the body swap, but it never failed to make their hearts flutter. “Well then, let’s get comfortable, shall we? If we’re in this for the long haul.” He grabbed the cover and draped it over Crowley. And as the arms around his torso squeezed him just a little tighter, he added “We have all the time in the world. The cakes in the kitchen know better than to go stale.”

---

Well, seeing as it’s technically the 30th anniversary of Good Omens  today, I thought I’d try my hand at writing. This is actually my first fanfiction, and I plan to write a bit more often in the future. Hope you like it!

#good omens lockdown #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens 30th anniversary #skelligiri

[thepensmight]

Reflections- A Good Omens Fic

This is madness… In a certain bookshop in Soho, a certain angel sat across from a demon sipping wine.1 None of this was unusual. In fact, it had been going on for as many decades as the bookshop had been established. Decades had come and gone, automobiles clogged the once quieter streets, and bebop continued its attempt to permeate the windows of A.Z. Fell & Co. to no avail.2 And A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley or as they were more occultly and ethereally known, Aziraphale and Crowley, had spared a few hours for each others’ company. More often, in recent years, given their mutual investment in the boy, Warlock Dowling. Warlock, for his part, had had a rather unusual childhood of influences, including an imposing nanny, a gardener, and two tutors. 

Aziraphale reflected on those days as he stared at his wine, swirling it to slow his consumption. Back then, they had had to spend more time together. Even the Arrangement had been more cooperative from a distance. Though of course, they had always offered each other help when needed. Or rather, Crowley had. Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t help with any sort of temptation that would require the aid of two metaphysical beings. He simply couldn’t. The Arrangement was simply a matter of convenience.

 They had grown familiar, so that by the time they had elected themselves for the upbringing of the Warlock, their time together felt almost natural. Certainly more natural than his time Above. He shivered slightly. It contrasted every written record, but Aziraphale found heaven cold, almost sterile in the never ceasing white walls and windows. And then there were his comrades-in-arms. Aziraphale’s gaze lowered further. He knew he wasn’t a proper angel. Not given his preferred company, the joy he took in human indulgences like food and books and wine. To him, the bookshop seemed a more enjoyable world than heaven had ever seemed. And now the clock was ticking. He had declared a side. Or rather refused what should have been his side. Aziraphale had been glancing above for some sign of Divine Wrath for the past twelve hours. If I’m already on Earth, where would I Fall? He had wondered where Crowley had Fallen. Had he simply landed on Earth? Or had Hell swallowed him once the sulphur had done its work. He glanced back woefully where he knew his wings lay hidden. I really do prefer white to black.  “It would work...” Crowley’s voice jolted him back to the present. It had a way of doing that. In fact, sometime between the Blitz and discovering the actual antichrist child, Crowley’s presence had started something he was pointedly ignoring. Or trying to. I’m an angel. He argued to himself, there is no difference in my feeling for him than any of Her other creatures. Aziraphale sighed, he’d never been good at lying to himself for very long. Centuries at most. “What Dear?” Crowley hissed softly by way of reproach, leaning closer, “Look, Above and Below will be looking for blood, a whole vat of it in my case, and that’s just a start.” Aziraphale had been more focused on the Fall 3, he hadn’t given much thought to an execution.”It’ll be Holy Water for me...” HIs oldest friend shrugged, “Oozing about in the Underworld for Eternity.” Crowley took an unceremonious gulp of wine, “Hellfire.” Aziraphale replied glumly, “That’sss my point!” Crowley always did hiss a little more when he was stressed or drunk… or drunk because he was stressed. Aziraphale found the tone slightly comforting. He then dismissed the thought. “They can throw me in a vat of the stuff, won’t do anything. I’m already burning.” “Yes but they wouldn’t do that to you.” Aziraphale said tartly, “You’ll get Holy Water,” Crowley leaned even closer, and it was all the angel could do to not look at his lips. Dear Lor- On second thought, probably best not to call the attention of the Divine. He failed miserably as Crowley pulled that sinful smirk of the Serpent thinking of something terribly clever, “My body will.” Crowley’s eyes roved his body and he felt his decided to beat pulse quicken. Aziraphale frowned, What was he- His eyes widened as he realized what Crowley intended, the precise way the snake was looking at him. Not as a meal, as an assessment. Like deciding on a suit. “You mean...” The color rose on angelic cheeks, he stood abruptly, “No.” Crowley stood to follow him, “You’ve possessed people before-” “That was an emergency and she willingly shared-” “So’s this. And it won’t even be body sharing. More like body swapping.” “No.” Oh the thought of what Crowley would could do, what he would see of himself, well his given body. “There must be another-” “Can you think of a better idea?” He couldn’t, “You don’t even know if it will work.” “But it might. Besides,” Again, that smirk crossed his lips and Aziraphale failed miserably at ignoring his lips, his gaze drifting lower to a long lean neck. “You must’ve wanted to take this for a drive,” Crowley was simply teasing,  but his thoughts were too flustered of late. “I-I-” “We’ll get to stay on earth...” There it was, that softer tone he’d always worked so hard to ignore. “We’ll get more time. More bookshops. More music. More everything.” Everything. It reminded him of when the demon had said they could go off together, and how much it had taken to say no. He’d never felt worse. He swallowed harshly. “I-I- suppose it’s worth a try...”

The first thing he noticed was the silence. Aziraphale was so used to the continuous drone of God’s Love and Divine Will, it was simply the background noise of his existence. The constant hum telling him what to do, what his purpose was at all times. It was still there, but Aziraphale realized for the second time in as many days, how much his body had become an echo chamber for the pressures of the Divine.4 With Madame Tracy, it was quieter. This was near silence. He had to focus to even register the drone. He sighed in relief, or rather he would have, had his clothes not constricted his breathing. Just how tight are these jans?5 Black nail polish coated the tips of slender, almost feminine hands. He touched them carefully, He has such lovely hands. A throat cleared, “Right, see you tomorrow,” Crowley was nodding him out of his own bookshop. The nerve! Though the wink tempered the gall of it quickly, “Tickety Boo,”

Shaky breath, he’d tried to go to his private rooms quickly. Longer legs provided a faster stride as he reached the cold stark reality of his counterpart’s quarters. He froze as he passed a full length mirror. Something he avoided as a general rule. He liked his clothes, he made sure they were straight and rather ignored what was underneath. He claimed out of avoidance of vanity. That wasn’t entirely true. The echoes of a thousand ethereally voices sniping at the state of his form, rang in his ears. He’d rather thought there was no harm in making his appearance more comforting. Humans made such lovely food, and his rounder shape had made people more comfortable than the harsh angels that existed in most angels… and demons… and most of the occult and ethereal universe. Over time, the voices had been added to the echo chamber of his form, noise he chose to try to ignore. But today… hands that weren’t his own, ran over thighs that weren’t his own nervously.... Today his reflection would show his spirit. But above it was something more, something beautiful. Urgently stripping off demonically summoned garments. He drank in every inch of his not his own body. Long lithe muscle, a flat abdomen, and fiery hair. Aziraphale shakily ran a hand along not his lips. Touching the mirror pensively, “I love you,” His soul shivered at the voice that formed the words. Wiping tears as he realized he had caused Crowley’s form to cry. Mortified, “No no, this won’t do.” It was overwhelming, the amount of love he felt surging through his veins. Selfish love. Love without borders, love without end. Not a service to the Purpose or the Plan. A love that was his, alone.

Across town, in a bookshop more familiar than the Gardens of Eden, an occult filled body was currently in a state of shock. Love. Divine love. And Purpose. The ultimate torture of Falling was experiencing the hole left from God ripping Her Love from your soul. The fire and brimstone bit was nothing compared to the void. Most demons forgot it to cope. Unfortunately for Crowley, he’d orbited the only ethereal being on earth for millennia. Aziraphale simply oozed with Love, he reeked of it. The angel truly adored all God’s creatures, excepting, of course, for the Evils he had to thwart and occasionally keep as company, given their arrangement.  Angel had given the poor serpent such emotional whiplash over the centuries. A thousand nos, twice as many yeses. Each played in his mind like a broken record, each given with no regard or reason for the methods of the last answer. And yet, simply being near Aziraphale had forced his Falling to remain fresh. A wound constantly reopened by virtue of accompanying the virtuous. And now, a gambit that neither side would approve of. A plot that was both so Heavenly and Hellish it could only be described as Human. Crowley had anticipated some slight discomfort, missing his familiar body and so on, but what he hadn’t counted on was the residual traces of Love as he walked across a rug in the bookshop. It hit him like a ton of bricks and he dropped to the floor as though Falling again. It ate at his being 6, but for a moment, he felt it again. The Divine Purpose. The desire to create and give… the feeling of the stars at his fingertips. A portrait for all to see, but all in Service. All according to Divine Will and Power. Will... Free Will.  Crowley sat up, remembering precisely why his wings no longer glowed a pearlescent sheen as he stared in the mirror. “Bastards.” The word sounded less guttural in Aziraphale’s soft posh voice, but the tone reminded him of his purpose. None so Divine, but perhaps focused a bit on the ethereal. Or specifically, one part of it. He pushed himself off the floor. “I only ever asked why.” Dusting off Aziraphale’s coat, because he knew he’d want it so, he busied himself around the shop. Not moving so much as a page to a different position, because he knew he’d have Hell to pay from a certain angel.  1. Not so much sipping, as “drinking as fast as was angelically and demonically possible to do”. 2. Not for any practical reason. Aziraphale simply believed his bookshop should be quiet, unless he chose to play music. Therefore, it was. 3.And the things he’d prefer to do beforehand. 4.The first time had been with Madame Tracy, which had felt rather like the volume getting turned down to a tolerable level after constant shouting. 5. Or jeans as the rest of the universe would have told him. 6.What Crowley didn’t know was the feeling he was currently suffering through would have killed nearly any other demon.

#good omens #fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #slight angst #crowly x aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale

[prepare4trouble]

Good Omens fanfic - Looking Like This (3)

Part 1 | Part 2

The Bentley really was back.

It wasn’t that Crowley hadn’t believed Aziraphale; after all, he had seen the bookshop, whole and unburnt, when it should have been a charred mess cordoned off and still damp from the hoses that had been used to extinguish the fire. He knew things had been put back more or less the way they had been before the aborted apocalypse had taken place, but it was that ‘more or less’ part that had been bothering him.

Aziraphale wasn’t exactly known for his automobile expertise; until sometime in the mid 60s he had still been referring to cars as ‘horseless carriages’ on occasion. He could have missed all kinds of discrepancies with the Bentley that Crowley would have picked up on instantly.

And so, until the taxi had dropped the two of them off outside Crowley’s flat, it had still been difficult to believe that the car that he had loved and taken care of for so many years; the car that he had purposely driven through the wall of flame that was the M25, and that he had held together through sheer force of will the whole way to Tadfield; the car that he had been convinced he had lost forever, was really back.

He might have gasped. Just a little bit.

“I did tell you,” Aziraphale said with a smug but very happy smile that looked completely out of place on the face he was currently wearing.

Crowley touched his fingertips to the black paint and caressed the bonnet lovingly. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But it was hard to believe it until I saw it with my own two…” he hesitated. They weren’t his own two eyes, they were Aziraphale’s.  “Anyway,” he said. “You’ll get it when you see the bookshop.”

The car looked brand new; fresh off the factory floor. The paintwork gleamed in the sun in a way that it hadn’t for decades. For ninety years, Crowley had been looking after that car, carefully miracling away every scratch and bump, keeping the water and oil at optimum levels — without actually having to check them or top them up, of course — and once, because he had wanted the full car owner’s experience, even washing it by hand on a Sunday morning. He hadn’t enjoyed that very much, although there had been something oddly satisfying about polishing the paintwork afterwards.

Still, over the years it had aged in subtle ways. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but there was a newness to the car now that hadn’t been there last week; something that he recognized from a long time ago. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Age had lent the car a certain kind of dignity that Crowley feared it might take a couple of decades to get back. Right now, it felt like something out of a period drama; not quite authentic.

He doubted that anybody else would notice.

He opened the door and slipped inside. It even smelled like a new car.  Not like a new car now; all chemicals and plastics and pine scented air freshener. No, it smelled like an old new car. Like a new car was supposed to smell.  He inhaled deeply, and touched the steering wheel reverently.

He noted with interest that the car was already fitted with a CD player. It wasn’t actually brand new, then; those hadn’t exactly been fitted as standard when he had first bought the car. Over the years, he had made changes, adding first a radio, then a tape player, and finally — when cassettes became hard to come by and all the music he had ever loved had been transformed into Queen — he had miracled in a CD player and started buying it again in a new format.

There was something else too. He frowned as he leaned in to get a closer look. Two USB ports were built into the dashboard, looking as though they were supposed to be there, and the display on a screen that definitely hadn’t existed the last time he had been in the car, said something about ‘bluetooth’.

“What’s a bluetooth?” he asked.

Aziraphale, still standing outside the car at the driver’s side, shrugged. “Is it some kind of fish?” he asked. “Or perhaps a whale?”

Crowley shook his head. It sounded like it could be right, but something like that had no place anywhere near a car. Especially a car of this quality. “Yeah maybe.” He had been thinking it was something to do with mobile phones. “Are you getting in, angel? Or are you planning on standing in the middle of the road all day? I thought you wanted to see your books.”

“Oh! Right.” Aziraphale hurried around the front of the car and clambered in.

Crowley put the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it. He hesitated. Something else was different too. The car was the wrong size. The pedals were that little bit too far so that he had to stretch his legs to reach them, and a glance in the rear view mirror showed that it was angled slightly wrong. In fact, everything seemed that little bit off. He fumbled for the lever to move the seat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aziraphale look at him. “Problem?” he asked

“No,” Crowley insisted, grinding his… Aziraphale’s… teeth a little. “Nope, no problem at all.”

He couldn’t find it. It occurred to him that he had never had to adjust anything in the car before; it had always just fit him perfectly.

He moved the mirror; that at least was easy, then swept a hand along the side and then the front of his seat. Nothing. “You’re too short for my car,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale said. He sounded mildly offended.

“I mean…” Crowley waved a hand indicating the pedals of the car, then shook his head. “Your legs don’t… the seat’s too far… There should be a lever or a button or something around here to move the seat forward.”

“Really? In a car of this age?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley scowled at him, not sure exactly why the angel of all people — who as far as Crowley was aware had never even sat in the drivers seat of a car, let alone driven anywhere — would have the first clue about the features that cars of different ages should have.  He was right though. Crowley wasn’t sure whether he had simply been lucky with the car before, or whether he had unconsciously made changes to make it more comfortable to drive, but there probably wouldn’t have been any real way to move the seats around back then.

Well, that was easy enough to fix.  He turned the key in the ignition, then reached down the side of the seat again. His fingers immediately found a switch that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. He slid it forward and the seat moved to the correct position. “Yeah, really,” he said. He put the car into gear, pulled out into the quiet road and a nice, steady 70mph.

“You changed your music,” Aziraphale noted.

Crowley listened. Aziraphale was right; it wasn’t Queen. He turned up the volume a little. “Must be the radio,” he said. But it wasn’t.

“No, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale told him. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out three other disks.

“Try something for me; put one of those in instead,” Crowley told him.

Without questioning the request, Aziraphale took out the first CD and replaced it with the other one.   The first notes of Handel’s Water Music filled the car.

“This makes a pleasant change,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shrugged, and swerved to narrowly avoid a cyclist. “I guess the CDs are as new as the car, technically they haven’t been in here long enough. Don’t get used to it, in about two weeks we’ll be listening to Another One Bites the Dust.”

But in the meantime, Aziraphale was right; it did make a nice change.

He squinted a little as he turned a corner into the sun. It seemed unusually bright today.

(part 4)

#good omens #good omens fanfic #crowley #aziraphale #oh look #it's that body swap fic that I still seem to be writing #I know nothing about cars #I hope that isn't too apparent here

[everythingelseisspokenfor]

imagine simon and baz adopting a little girl g o o d b y e I am deceased -🎹 (piano anon)

Oh my god! I literally abandoned all else to write this fic! I wanted it to be cute but turned out a little heavier than I hoped it to be. But I love it, so here it is. I’m posting it on ao3 as well, but thanks for the prompt piano anon!!

Simon

I can’t believe that people would still be this thick in 2017. I mean for god’s sake is being a little more open-minded that hard? The fact that we have to deal with homophobes even now. It’s not like it has anything with their lives, or that I have anything to do with their lives. And somehow, they still think they have the right to force their damned close-minded, narrow sighted opinions onto the world.

“Why would someone say that? Those bloody imbeciles! Why do they think they can?” I complain to Baz as we walk up to our apartment. It’s different living together now that we don’t hate each other anymore. But Baz claims he never hated me. And I don’t think I ever did either.

“Seriously Snow, chill out will you. It’s not like they can change you or me,” he says digging his pocket for the keys. “And there is nothing we can do to change them apparently.” He grabs the grocery bags from my hand and I walk in sideways through the door. The glamour keeps my red wings and devil’s tail out of the eyes of the normal but is still a huge pain in the ass. I’ve gotten more used to it though. I think one is bound to after nearly a decade with it. I can’t believe it’s been 10 years since Watford.

“But it’s just so frustrating!” I groan, “Couldn’t you have used your magic to smite them or something?”

“I can’t use magic outside just like that.” He shrugs like he just stated the most obvious thing in the world. Well, he kinda did. I mean yes, we aren’t just allowed to let people know about the existence of the World of Mages. Unfortunately. I mean how cool would it be if people knew dragons existed! Those poor souls obsessing over fantasy when we deal with it on a daily basis. Well, not anymore. Thankfully. “Besides, I didn’t carry my wand.”

“Liar. You always carry your wand with you.” I counter. He shrugs again. I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I just hate that we live in such a world.”

“I know Simon. Me too.”

Baz

Simon leaves me to do all the preparation for dinner. Just like him. Too lazy to ever do anything. His go-to excuse is always My wings will just make a mess even if I don’t want to. Come on Baz! I can’t believe that I let it work every single time. What can I say? I’m weak, and head over heel for this git. I don’t even know why. I just pick out the onions from the bag when my phone rings. I jump at the sudden loud noise. I take second to check the caller ID before answering.

“Hello, Bunce.”

“Hey, Baz. I need a favour. Simon isn’t picking up.”

“Yeah, he’s in the shower. What’s it?”

“Yeah. I need you to go to Abbey Wood. There is some sort of incident there. I think it’s something Magical, and I’m in America. So, could you deal with that for me?” Penelope was the external coordinator for Watford now, which meant she dealt with all the magic-related things that took place outside the control of the world of mages. Simon and I help her out time and again.

“How urgent is it?” I ask.

“I’m not really sure. But it seems like things are going to blow up pretty soon. Some people are already there but they are barely holding it together. I need you to go now!”

“Okay. But you owe me one Bunce.”

“Thank you so much! I’ll text you the address.”

I drop the onions on the counter as Simon walks out dressed in his PJs. Head dripping wet. I grab the car keys as Simon gives me a questioning look.

“Somethings going on in Abbey Wood that they need my help with. Want to have dinner outside?”

“I don’t want to change!” He whines. I laugh and mutter a quick spell and change his current attire to a grey shirt and jeans. “So much for I can’t just use magic like that.” I give him a cocky grin and he walks in to give me a quick peck on my lips. And we walk out together.

There are more such incidents than you’d think there’d be in a busy city like London. So, the urgency of the situation doesn’t hit me till we reach Abbey wood and see the massive fire engulfing the church. I hit the brakes more suddenly than I intended to, Snow and I fall forward, and I rush to clutch out the seat belt and run outside.

“What the hell is happening here?” I pant out to one of the boys standing there.

“I’m not sure. There were a group of vampires that attacked the church I think. There were a few people here, but I don’t know where they are.”

I’m not listening to him anymore. I quickly reach my jeans pocket to grab my wand and shout, “Make a wish.” The fire only barely dies down. “Make a wish!” I shout again forcing more magic into the words, Simon quickly takes my side enquiring the boy. I try one more time. “Make a wish.” And the fire puffs out. Black smoke covers the entire building and I sprint inside without any warning. The smoke enters my lung and I start coughing. I can barely see anything, but I find myself walking anyway. “Anybody there?” I ask walking over a few people. I scoot down to check their pulse. Nothing. I take a deep breath which only causes me to cough more.

“Baz?”

“I’m here,” I reply, forcing my face to remain neutral. This is not something I was expecting to handle today. Simon scoots down next to me and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. I just nod and get up. “Anybody there?” I try again.

Simon

I hear a low whimper around the corner. I tap Baz’s shoulder and start walking towards the sound. I walk into the confession room in the corner. The smoke has died down considerably, so it’s easier to see. I open the door and find a little girl, probably six or seven, sat in one corner head against her knees, rocking back and forth.

“Hey,” I say mustering the most soothing voice I could put up. She jumps at the sound of my voice and coils further into herself. I take another careful step forward. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “We’re here to help. It’s all over now.” She is crying. Her eyes are puffy and red, and I can’t do anything to help. But I desperately want to. I kneel next to her. “What’s your name sweetie?” I notice Baz behind me.

“Lu –” She sobs. “Lucy” I flinch but recover quickly.

“Okay,” I attempt placing a hand on her little shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here? Okay? Can we do that?” She nods slowly grabbing her little seal toy.

“Mom?” She mutters slowly as she gets up.

“Your mom was here?” Baz asks, his voice deep and sorrowful.

“She –” Lucy sobs again, “She asked me to stay here then left.” I turn to look at Baz whose eyes widen, and I follow his gaze and realise why. There are 2 puncture wounds on her neck. She was bitten. Oh my god. Baz. I turn to face him again and notice him beginning to fall apart. Lucy walks out before I can stop her and walk over to one of the limp bodies scattered around.

“Mommy?” she scoots down shaking the woman’s shoulder. My heart breaks. “Mommy. The bad guys aren’t here anymore. Mommy?” She shakes her harder, one hand still clutching her soft toy. Baz becomes stiff. He doesn’t move. He just stares at the little girl and I notice his eyes filled to the rim glistening with tears. He doesn’t make an effort to wipe away the tear as it falls, and I don’t know if I should stay and comfort him or go to Lucy. I look back to her still trying to wake her mother up, and I instinctively walk there.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” She looks up at me and probes weakly. I look down at her little hand trying settled on her mothers and grab it slowly.

“Let’s get you out of here. Okay?” I try.

“NO!” She pulls her hands away! “NO! I don’t want to go without mommy. No!” I don’t know what to do. My face strains figuring out a way to break it to her that her mom can’t come. So I do the next best thing my good for nothing brain could think of. I pull her into a hug. She fights me for seconds before collapsing into me in tears. I move a hand to her hair placing a soft kiss on her head.

“It’s going to be alright.” I murmur. “It’s going to be alright.”

Baz

I couldn’t take it. It was too much. It brought back memories I wasn’t even sure I remembered. I froze. I was supposed to help, and I froze. I f***ing froze. Simon seemed to have a handle on the situation though. Thankfully. I watched as he carried the kid and walked over to me. He took my hand and squeezed it once before guiding me out as well. Coming to my senses I quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen. As we walk out we notice a few more people standing there with the boy we saw earlier. He leans forward and hands Lucy over to me. It takes me a while to understand, but I put my hand forward and carry her.

“Aleister Crowley, where the hell were you all?”

“We. Uh. We went to follow the vampires who had escaped.” One of them. A girl with blonde hair replied hesitantly.

“And none of you bothered to check for anyone else inside? What is wrong with you.” Their heads all ducked down in shame.

“We just… we didn’t think there was anyone in there!”

“Well. Think again,” He screams.

“Simon,” I warn. I didn’t realise I was rocking her till I heard a soft snore. He takes a deep breath composing himself.

“Fix up this mess and then go home.” He instructs and walks to me. “Are you okay?” He utters, and I nod.

“Can you drive? I don’t want to disturb her. And she probably needs some quiet.” He holds his hand out. “I don’t think I removed the keys from the car.” He nods and opens the door for me. I get in, trying my best not to wake the sleeping child in my arms. He closes the door walking to the driver side. We are both silent the entire drive.

Simon

When we reach home, Baz walked directly into the room and delicately placed Lucy on our bed and tucked her in. I stood by the door frame watching her cuddle into the blanket. Baz turned around, a weird sort of tiredness fixed in his eyes. I walked over to him and embraced him. I didn’t know how else to help him, and words have always failed me, so I wasn’t going to rely on them now. He buried his head in my chest and I could feel the wetness of his silent tears.

“Is she –” I ask pulling back a little, but I can’t complete the question. He nods then collapses over me again. Neither of us had our appetites anymore. But we found a comfortable position on the couch as I handed Baz a glass of water.

“What are we going to do with her? She just lost everything. And she doesn’t even know it yet,” Baz points out. He looks disoriented. Not something I see very often. I scoot in closer to him.

“I know,” I mumble. “We can’t just drop her off at an orphanage because she is… you know.”

“You can say it, Simon,” Baz huffs a laugh, “It’s not something offensive.”

“I know,” Is all I can say.

“What are we going to do?” He repeats and puts his head on his palms.

“Baz…” I start, “Do you want to, um… maybe we should… why don’t we… adopt her?” Baz’s head turns towards me in one sharp motion.

“This is not a joke Snow!”

“I know. I’m serious. Why not? She needs a home. And we have one.” He sits up straighter.

“That’s not all it takes, Simon. If it was just about providing a home, things would be much less complicated. Do you think either of us is ready to be a parent? You barely remember to put on your pants before you leave home.” I laugh slowly.

“I don’t think anyone is ever ready to be a parent. But I think we can make good ones if we try. She needs someone to help her Baz. And I really want to. It’s like you said. Her entire life collapsed in front of her. She needs someone to lean back on. And there is no one else right now who can understand what she is going through better than you. And I can try to not ruin everything.”

“Are you sure about this?” I nod. “Then I hope to god you’re right. Coz if Lucy becomes a rebellious annoying teenager, you’re going to have to deal with her.” I grin.

“Are you serious!”

“Weren’t you just advocating for us to adopt her? If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sorry. I’ll adopt her anyway.” He smiles one of his rare genuinely happy smiles. I grin wider and move in to kiss him.

“We’re going to be dads!” I squeal with my forehead against his.

“I guess we are.”

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #rainbow rowell #prompts #my fic #snowbaz fic #simon x baz

[miraworos]

An echo sharp and strange

No one:

Me: Here, have some Ineffable Husbands plotty angst/fluff chapter fic

~~~~~

Aziraphale examined himself in the mirror, smoothing an errant curl back into place with a practiced finger. Not that he was going anywhere special or was wearing anything differently than usual, but Crowley was on his way over for a visit, and Aziraphale wanted to look his best. That is, he didn't want to look his best for Crowley, of course, but for company in general.

He felt a brief twinge, as if he'd just told a small half-truth, and he huffed at himself. Sometimes it was rather inconvenient being an embodiment of heavenly morality all the time. Even angels should be allowed to lie to themselves now and then.

With a sigh, Aziraphale abandoned the mirror for a cup of tea and the restoration he'd been working on of a 1633 edition of Poems by John Donne. So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame…

The words could not capture Aziraphale's attention completely, though. Or perhaps the words underscored the very thoughts he kept trying to avoid. In any case, his mind returned again to the clock, half past the hour. Crowley was due a quarter of an hour since, but he was often late. It didn’t mean he wasn't coming.

Aziraphale got to his feet, pacing between shelves, pretending to dust with a feather brush Crowley had brought him once a few decades back. Lord, even the duster reminded him of Crowley.

He set the brush down and straightened his waistcoat, reprimanding himself sharply. Crowley was his friend. That was all he would ever be. They may have joined forces to shield humanity from a war that would have meant earth's end; they may have…grown attached to each other in the process; they might even sacrifice their own best interests to rescue each other occasionally. But any other feelings of-of fondness that Aziraphale might feel for his companion could not possibly be reciprocated. Aziraphale may no longer have reservations that his best friend was a demon, but that didn't change the fact that Crowley was a demon, and would no doubt laugh himself silly upon learning of Aziraphale's growing regard.

Aziraphale shuddered at the mere idea of Crowley knowing the true depth of Aziraphale's feelings. Better to suffer the many twinges from half-truths and white lies than to weather the heart-flaying reality of an unrequited…well, something. Or worse, Crowley pulling away from him entirely.

Aziraphale had chosen to flout Heaven's will to the point that he'd been branded a traitor. The only friend he had left in all existence was Crowley. He couldn't risk losing him. Crowley could easily survive as a lone wolf. Aziraphale, however…

Well, it didn't bear thinking about. Aziraphale wouldn't say a word, and he and Crowley could continue their existing friendship unimpeded. It was for the best.

Aziraphale was still trying to convince himself that sorrow was an inappropriate response to this decision when the bell above the door tinkled.

The angel marshaled his features into a smile and turned to greet his friend, coming face to face with the archangel Gabriel instead.

“What in Heaven are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked with no small amount of fear. He was supposed to have had more time. They were both supposed to have more time.

“Just dropped in for a little chat. No need to—what is it the expression—get your knickers in a twist?”

“I have nothing to say to you. You tried to burn me with demonic fire. I’m still struggling to get the sulfur stains out of my coat.”

Gabriel meandered deeper into Aziraphale’s shop, picking up books absently and setting them back down out of order, the monster.

“I will thank you not to touch my things.”

“And I will thank you to address me with the respect befitting a divine archangel.” Gabriel did not refrain from manhandling Aziraphale’s belongings. If anything, he continued to do so, only more pointedly. “You may have slipped the traitor’s noose, but I am still your boss. Or, actually, your boss’s boss’s boss.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. The point is, I will not tolerate any further insubordination on your part. Do you understand?”

“I hardly think—“

“Do you understand, Principality Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale, still miffed but not willing to cause an interdivinity incident over it—the paperwork alone would be insufferable—decided to keep his mouth shut and wait for Gabriel’s intentions to reveal themselves.

For his part, Gabriel strode over to Aziraphale’s favorite chair and sunk down into it, filling it indifferently with his perfectly muscled body and sanctimonious judgment. Aziraphale briefly debated miracling the chair out from under him.

“Why?” Gabriel asked finally, his fingers steepled ostentatiously as he studied Aziraphale’s face.

“Why what?”

“Why did you side with the humans, of all ridiculous things? They are chattel. They serve a purpose, but they are not divine.”

“They are part of the Almighty’s plan. They are...they are Her children, just as we are.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Come now, you don’t believe that. They are no more worthy of Her attention than a swarm of gnats on a summer’s day.”

Aziraphale goggled at him. How could the head of the entire Heavenly Host have gotten it all so very wrong?

“They are destined to sit at Her right hand, Gabriel. For all your disdain, you cannot rewrite the sacred texts.”

“Can’t I? Who do you think wrote them in the first place? It sure as Heaven wasn’t Paul. That cretin could barely tie his own sandals without help. Besides, even dogs get into Heaven, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale tugged at his lapels. Damned if he was going to sit still and listen to Gabriel of all people question the very fabric of God’s Plan. He’d had quite enough of this conversation, thank you very much.

“I didn’t side with them, like Armageddon is some sort of football match,” he said, lips tight with disapproval. “I followed my conscience. The way I was instructed to do. The way we were all instructed to do. Now if you don’t mind, I would rather you leave. Immediately, if you please.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t move. “I am not finished yet.”

“Well, I am. Quite. So, off you go. Pip, pip.”

Aziraphale waved a hand from Gabriel toward the door, but before he finished the gesture, the Flaming Sword he’d stupidly returned to Heaven was leveled point first at his throat, holy fire scoring the blade with white-hot flame. Gabriel must have had it stashed in the same metaphysical plane that hid his wings.

“There’s no need to bring weapons into this, Gabriel. You’re being unbearably rude.”

“What, this old thing? I just brought it along as insurance in case your pet demon decided to make an appearance. Where is the little snake, by the way?”

Now that was going entirely too far. Pet demon? Really?

“My friend,” Aziraphale corrected through gritted teeth—might as well own it openly, now that he’d officially abandoned his duties to Heaven. “Should be here at any moment. And he won’t be happy to see you. I’m afraid you made a rather poor impression on him the last time you met, so you may want to be on your way before he arrives.”

Aziraphale didn’t actually know what Crowley would do if he came across Gabriel in the shop. He might just as well take off in the other direction, assuming that Aziraphale had invited the heartless archangel for tea.

“That’s a shame,” Gabriel said, finally getting to his feet, thank the Lord. He banished the Sword as he said, “I had a message for you and everything.”

“What message?”

“Oh, no. I would hate to impose upon you for a moment longer, when I am so clearly not welcome.”

“Gabriel!” Aziraphale said, raising his voice in consternation. “What is the message?”

Gabriel turned, a feral smile on his lips.

“The Almighty wants to speak with you. In person.”

chapter 2

#good omens #ineffable husbands #fanfic #ao3 #good omens fanfic

[ravengirl94]

There and Back Again (Part 9)

Summary: (don’t read unless you want spoilers) Crowley informs Dean that the demon possessing you used to work with Azazel. When they attempt an exorcism, more demons arrive. The demon incapacitates Sam and then goes after Dean, stabbing you in the process. When she goes to kill Dean, you overpower her.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Warnings: (again, don’t read unless you want spoilers) language, violence, blood, death, too many feelings

This is part of a series: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

A/N: I sat down this morning and MADE myself write this next part. So it might be a little messy. My apologies. I just really wanted to get it out for you guys, since I’ve had several of you ask when it would be out and it’s been FOREVER since part 8 came out. I hope you like it…

Your head snapped up at the sound of Crowley’s voice, but to everyone’s surprise, he wasn’t looking at you. John shifted uneasily beneath the demon’s gaze, glancing to Dean for help.

“I don’t think we’ve officially had the pleasure,” Crowley quipped, not bothering to hold his hand out towards John, “the name’s Crowley, king of hell.”

John flinched at the title, and Dean just rolled his eyes. He was used to Crowley’s flair for the dramatic by now.

“So he’s-” John asked, looking to his son.

“Yep.”

“Why is he-”

“To see if he knows who this demon bitch is,” Dean said, jerking his chin towards where you were watching the interaction carefully. They had gagged you to shut up the demon, but your black glare said enough.

“We do need to have a chat, you and I. Namely about how you managed to crawl out of hell all on your own,” Crowley said, examining John closely and frowning a little. John smirked and tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Caused a little trouble downstairs, did I?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Crowley said, his voice turning dangerous, “Alastair was particularly unpleasant after that, but then again, he was never very cuddly to begin with.” Dean and John both paled a little at the mention of the demon who spent decades torturing each of them, but John recovered quickly.

“Glad I could be of service,” he said, smirking and making Crowley’s face turn a little red.

“Hey! Can we focus please?” Dean demanded, getting fed up. They were wasting time. Crowley glared for a moment longer before turning back to you with a sigh.

“Unfortunately, I know exactly who that is,” Crowley muttered, strolling towards you. He hesitated, raising an eyebrow as Dean growled a warning. “Easy boy, just removing the gag.”

“You don’t touch her,” Dean snarled, “I’ll get it.”

“Nice of you to join the party,” you said as Dean pulled the gag away from your mouth. Crowley ignored you, strolling around the room, for all the world looking as if he was considering purchasing a car.

“That’s Azazel’s little whore. Or should I say - was, since that particular half-wit is no longer with us,” Crowley said, clasping his hands behind his back. They all stared at you, alarm and shock written on each face. Suddenly it wasn’t all that surprising that the demon had gone after you, considering her boss had murdered Mary and Jess.

“And you don’t have control over her why, exactly?” Dean asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer: she’d gone rogue.

“Because he’s weak,” you spat, baring your teeth at the other demon.

“She’s a general pain in my ass,” Crowley mused, “rather fitting she chose the rabbit for a hand puppet, isn’t it?”

“Not funny,” Dean growled, “how do we get her out without hurting Y/N?”

“You don’t,” the demon hissed, eyes flicking black again.

“Come again?” Dean asked, turning to glare at you. “The bitch is mine until I get what I want,” the demon said with a smile that made Dean feel sick.

“Which is?”

“Your head on a plate.”

“Not happening. And I don’t think you’re in any position to be demanding things. Begging for mercy is more like it,” Sam cut in, clutching the jug of holy water tightly.

“Oh honey you’ll be begging by the time I’m done with you-”

“Enough!” Crowley roared. With a wave of his hand, you were silenced. “Can’t you just exorcise the brat? I have more important things to attend to, and this place is making me itch.”

“Solid iron coated in salt will do that to a demon,” Bobby said with a snort, clearly pleased with his handiwork.

Dean just sighed in frustration and turned to Sam.

“I uh… I started, but… you’ll see,” Sam stammered, stepping towards you again.

“Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me, I have real things to do,” Crowley said before pointing a finger at Dean, “And you. If you summon me again like that we’re going to have a problem.”

“Yeah whatever…” Dean muttered, watching as Crowley stepped out of the room and vanished. “Sammy, get on it.”

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…” Sam began reciting from memory, hesitating as the demon began laughing. After a quick glance at Dean, Sam continued. “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii-” Sam shot another worried look at Dean as a low rumble began, building as he continued and shaking the room, “omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te-”

There was a loud bang from above their heads, and the hunters shared wary glances.

“Sammy, keep going!” Dean yelled over the rumbling that still continued. The rest of them hurried back into the basement and split up, John and Bobby taking the bulkhead while Dean and Cas ran up the stairs. The hallway was deserted, and the two of them crept towards the library, weapons drawn. Another crash from outside distracted them for a moment, and then the back door was kicked in.

“Shit…” Dean muttered, raising his angel blade as the demons ran at them. He and Cas worked quickly, and soon the numbers were more even. Dean began to feel decent about their chances, especially because these seemed to be low-level demons without much power. If they’d had any, they’d have-

Dean was suddenly picked up off his feet by an invisible force and slammed into the wall. Plaster cracked beneath him and he grunted in pain, but then the room fell oddly silent. The demons surrounding Cas had stopped attacking, leaving the angel eyeing them warily. John and Bobby were shoved roughly through the back door by more demons just in time to see you stroll in from the hallway. Where the hell was Sam?

“Well hello there Dean,” you said, smiling up at him smugly, eyes going black just to piss him off.

“Fuck… off…” Dean gritted through the pain. The power holding him against the wall was crushed against his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“That was how I planned to kill you, but this will work just as well,” the demon said, shrugging your shoulders. She strolled over to where Dean’s blade had fallen and picked it up gingerly.

“What did you do to Sam?” He demanded as you came closer, trying to stall for something, anything…

“He’s out cold downstairs. I wanted to play with him some more, but I had things to do,” she said, reaching up and placing your free hand against the side of his face. “You should hear her, screaming away in here…” She mused, chuckling as Dean’s face contorted into an angry snarl.

“Oh just kill me already,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes and feigning indifference, “villain monologues are a little cliché, don’t you think?”

“Kill you?” The demon said, laughing again, “oh no, Dean. Not just yet.” And with a quick flip of the angel blade, the demon plunged it into your abdomen.

“NO!” Dean roared, fighting, straining against the power that held him to the wall. The demon just chuckled again, drawing the blade out of you slowly, the silver stained with crimson. Dean watched in horror as blood darkened your shirt, spreading quickly, too quickly.

“Oh yes, Dean. You killed my lover, so I’ve killed yours. And now it’s your turn.” She raised the angel blade again, prepared to drive it straight through Dean’s heart, but he didn’t care. He didn’t give two shits about himself, and to be honest, he never had. All he cared about was that you were dying, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. But as the blade moved, aimed at his chest, suddenly your hand jerked. Dean bellowed as the angel blade hit his shoulder, but then he was dropping to the ground, freed from his invisible bonds. In a flurry of movement, Bobby, John and Cas resumed fighting, catching the demons in their moment of surprise. And you - you were crawling on your hands and knees towards Bobby’s desk.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled, and your Y/E/C eyes flicked to him, shrouded with pain. But they weren’t black. One arm wrapped around your middle, you snatched the tape recorder from the shelf and hit play. Bobby’s voice echoed through the room, reciting an exorcism. You fell to your knees, but you weren’t done just yet. Your fingers found the container of salt, and you tipped your head back and dumped it into your mouth. Black smoke billowed out of you, and you collapsed, propped against the side of the desk. Dean slid to his knees next to you, ripping his flannel shirt over his head to press it against your wound. You were spitting red-stained salt from your mouth, coughing weakly, tears streaming down your face.

“Dean…” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Shhh baby it’s gonna be alright…” he said, brushing the hair out of your face.

“No it’s not,” you wheezed, pausing to spit out another mouthful of bloody salt. Panic flared up inside of Dean, making it hard to breathe. There was too much blood, far too much. You grabbed his hand weakly, making him look back into your eyes. “Dean… I… I made a deal.”

“You what?” Dean demanded, his grip tightening on you.

“She was gonna kill Sammy, Dean. I couldn’t let her. I knew I was as good as dead anyway…” you sobbed tightly, the pain making it hard to even talk.

“How could you do that?” Dean said quietly. You knew what hell was like because he’d told you. You knew what you were facing, what the consequences were, but you’d done it to save Sam anyway.

“Your baby brother, Dean… had to stop…” you were getting weaker, your voice fading.

“Y/N! Come on sweetheart, stay with me!” Dean called desparately, but you were getting paler, your grip on his hand was almost nonexistent.

“Love… you… Dean…” you breathed, shuddering. Your chest didn’t rise again, your eyes turned glassy, and you were gone. A gentle hand landed on Dean’s shoulder but he shook it off, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly.

“Y/N, no… no, no, no… god baby I love you too, come back…”

John stared at his son holding your lifeless body, his heart breaking all over again. He knew exactly what Dean was feeling, what was going through his mind and ripping him apart inside. He turned away and wiped at his eyes, where tears had begun to form. This all brought up too many memories, too many emotions that he had long since buried. All he could think about was Mary. When he said you reminded him of her, he hadn’t been kidding. You acted like her, had a mouth just like she did, and looked just like her even in death. There had been a fire in you, passion and courage and spunk - only to have it snuffed out by yet another demon. He heard your last few words, he knew you saved Sam, saved both his sons from death that day by throwing yourself in the line of fire. You’d made a deal, and you were headed straight for hell.

John shuddered a little at the thought, and knew that’s what was tearing Dean apart the most. The thought of you being tormented, tortured for eternity ultimately because they had all been careless enough to let you be possessed… it just wasn’t right. Someone like you had no place in hell.

Maybe they were cursed. Doomed to lose the people they loved, to spend eternity hunting down the monsters that ripped loved ones away. Azazel was dead, but now there was another demon to hunt, to pursue to the ends of the earth. And John knew, knew from experience, that Dean would do whatever it took to seek revenge.

“Dad,” Dean’s voice cut through John’s thoughts, making him turn back to find Dean still holding onto you. His green eyes were dark, a mixture of fury and despair on his face, but his voice was determined. “You escaped from hell.”

“Yeah son, I did. But it was when the devil’s gate opened. There was a lot of commotion.”

“I don’t care. I want you to take me to hell. I want you to get me there and back again. We’re breaking her out.”

A/N: Lol title drop!! Please don’t hate me

Everything: @avengers4thewin @emoryhemsworth @ashleygee16 @dekahg @eileenlikesyou-maybe

Dean: @summer-binging-spn @amoreagron @angelwingsandsupernaturalthings @supernatural-jackles 

This fic: @summer-binging-spn @oftenmisunderstood @ally-miller16 @trustnobodyshootfirst @xoxoaudreymarie @buckys-beach @fuck-struck-fangirl @adaliamalfoy @deanwnchstr @holahellohialoha @saralibby80 @just-a-chorus-girl-96

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester #supernatural #spn fic #there and back again #sam winchester #john winchester #bobby singer #azazel

[not-a-space-alien]

To Ineffability and Beyond!

Surely you all knew this must be coming eventually???  Obligatory “ineffable husbands in space!!!!” fic

Big thanks to @lunasong365 for always being an incredibly helpful beta!!

Title:  To Ineffability and Beyond

Pairing/Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley 

Rating:  Explicit [nsfw]

Word count: 22,900

Warnings: Smut, body horror, bestiality??

Summary: Far into the future, Aziraphale and Crowley get a new assignment: to accompany humanity into the deepest reaches of a distant galaxy.

On LJ

On AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5

You would be surprised at humans’ ability to make any topic politically controversial.

Well, you might not, since you’re a human yourself.  Or presumably you’re a human, since aliens don’t exist.  But we’ll get to that later.

The point is, conservative factions on Earth managed to raise objections to the idea of interstellar travel at every step. First there was talk about how atheists wanted to use space travel to further their secular agenda.  Then there were objections that aliens, if they existed, would be damned to Hell and it wasn’t worth finding them.  Alternatively, some kind souls argued it was their duty to proselytize the aliens, if there were any.  Those factions argued into stalemate.  Then some on earth said that it would be dangerous and immoral to send humans into the depths of space for a variety of reasons, none of which could be articulated properly, of course, because they were ineffable.  Comparisons with the tower of Babel abounded—humans had no business trying to reach the sky, and the deep space program was a work of human hubris like nothing before it.  These arguments were countered by religious liberals who argued that they had a right or even a duty to explore all of God’s creation so it could be properly admired.

Aziraphale eyed the developments with nervousness.  He’d received no orders from Up There about the topic, so he kept his head in the sand as much as possible.  When he could not help getting involved, he generally tried to persuade humans to keep their feet on the ground.  Not because he was taking the side of the religious protesters in the debate, but because he did not like the thought of Heaven sending him on a journey a million light-years away.  He could see it off in the distance coming towards him, like a train on an inevitable track.

Exploring the galaxy.  Where no man (etc.) had gone before.  Giant leap for mankind, and all that.  The talk about the bird on the spaceship travelling for eternity to the end of the universe came back to him.  He didn’t like it at all.  Space seemed uncomfortable and dismal and he probably wouldn’t be able to bring his books.

Well, that issue was resolved when new laws put into place restricted the use of paper.  He holed himself up for a week in the throes of depression after it happened, because he knew his collection would be seized as contraband.  They would give him digital copies, of course, but it wasn’t the same.  He thought bitterly of the Library of Alexandria and how they had stolen the manuscripts of everyone coming in.  It didn’t seem fair now that he was on the other side of things.  The computer bank he received as compensation just didn’t have the same effect as being surrounded by books.  But it did make him feel better that he could take his collection with him rather easily if he should have to move.

It seemed like an increasingly likely possibility when finally, after centuries of development, interstellar space travel became a reality.

They tested with a probe, of course.  Humans always use a probe first for everything.  But the government said that the test was in preparation for a manned mission to colonize a distant planet.

Humans watched the probe, did their calculations, and turned their telescopes to the stars to find a suitable candidate planet.  Aziraphale drank more heavily than usual during this time, waiting, watching.

The probe was successful. An enormous deep-space vessel was commissioned. Aziraphale waited for the orders he just knew were coming.  Then finally:

Your new mission is to relocate with the humans who will board the Aphelion vessel and continue your angelic duties in their new destination.

At this point in history, Crowley and Aziraphale had been living together for several hundred years, so Crowley saw the instructions as soon as the angel got them.  He shook Aziraphale by the shoulders.

“We get to be space explorers!”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale dismally.

“Where no man has gone before,” said Crowley, tripping in his excitement.

“Yes, of course, dear.”

“Hell is going to send me too, of course.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“We should start packing.”

“It’s going to take decades to build the vessel, my dear.”

Over the next few years, Crowley’s consumption of science-fiction media skyrocketed.  He got out his telescope every night and looked at the sky from the porch of their little cottage to track the progress of the construction of the vessel.  The thing was so enormous that it had to be constructed in orbit as there would be no way for it to escape Earth’s gravity.  It was visible to the naked eye in the sky as it began to take shape.

Humans had a pretty decent mastery over living and working in space by that point.  They’d had a colony on Mars for a while; Crowley had gone up to see what it was all about, but he’d returned a few years later complaining that it had been incredibly boring since they weren’t terraforming Mars and were just living in a big bubble mining things.  But he remarked on how efficient it was.  Humans truly were fluent in the mechanics of working in space.

So the construction of the Aphelion vessel was rapid, efficient, and enthusiastic. And yet Crowley began to mutter to himself when he saw how it was coming along.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Aziraphale said, coming up behind him one evening with a mug of cocoa for each of them.

Crowley took his cup sourly. “I don’t like it.”

“What?  The ship?”

“Yeah.”

“And why not?”

“It’s…”  He struggled to put his feelings into words.  “It’s….not cool!”

“Not cool?  It’s an interstellar space ship!  What could possibly make it un-cool?”

“Just look at it!”

Aziraphale turned, gazing up at the sky and sipping his cocoa.  The vessel was faintly visible in orbit, mostly built, although parts of it still had a skeletal frame and nothing more.  “What about it?”

“It looks like a bloody Hula-Hoop! Or a wagon wheel!”

“Crowley, the ship is circular so it can spin and generate artificial gravity with centrifugal force. What did you think it was going to look like?”

Crowley had been thinking of the thirty-fifth James Bond movie, which had taken place in space and had not been scientifically accurate.  It wouldn’t do to admit that, of course, so he sipped his cocoa bitterly without answering.

His enthusiasm returned when their applications for becoming colonists arrived in the electronic mail. He opened them the second he laid eyes on them.  The two of them snuggled together on the couch to fill them out.

The questions were pretty basic, although the two of them had a hard time answering them.  Date and place of birth were difficult to decide on, and neither of them had ever been to the physician and didn’t know their blood type.

“Angel,” said Crowley. “Look at item 137.”

Aziraphale scrolled to the end of his application and saw that 137 was a simple statement in bold:

THE INTENTION OF THE APHELION MISSION IS A PERMANENT SETTLEMENT ON PLANET KEPLER-442B.  THE APHELION VOYAGER IS EQUIPPED FOR A RETURN JOURNEY TO EARTH IN THE EVENT OF MISSION FAILURE, BUT THE LIKELIHOOD OF A RETURN JOURNEY TO EARTH IS VERY SMALL.  BY SIGNING HERE, YOU ACKNOWLEDGE THAT YOU ARE AWARE OF AND ACCEPT THIS LIKELIHOOD.

“What’s the matter?”

“If we get on board, we’re probably not going to come back to Earth.  They don’t have any plans to come back.”

Aziraphale set the screen with his application down on the table.  “Well, I had thought that was a given.  They’re going out there to colonize.  And it’s very far away.”

Crowley was looking at his application with an expression of sorrow.  

“Had you not thought about that?’

He tapped a finger on the side of his screen.  “It’s not worth staying here anymore since they stopped making cars,” he said, signing the line.

It was said with a forced joking tone.  Aziraphale took his hand.  “Crowley, it’s not the same as Armageddon.  It’ll still be here.  It’ll just be a bit further away.”

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Aziraphale thought he was quashing down his feelings because it had already been decided that Aziraphale was going, and one of them staying and the other going was unthinkable.  And maybe, just maybe the thought of being on a space ship and going off into the unknown where strange and exciting things awaited was enough to make up for it.

They were both called in for the second round of screening.  They were given a physical examination, an ethics test, an aptitude test, a personality test.  Crowley chatted excitedly about the questions, which were supposed to be confidential, as soon as they stepped out of the testing center.

Their results came back within a month:  Crowley had been accepted for the third round of screening, while Aziraphale was given a letter of polite declination. Aziraphale glared at Crowley when the demon turned red and shook with suppressed laughter, and then the angel set about changing his corporation and applying again under a different name.

The second attempt was also rejected.  Crowley fell into a giggling heap on the couch.  Aziraphale huffed indignantly and asked Crowley to pull some strings in the computer system to let him in, the same way he had designed the sigil Odegra into the M25 all those centuries ago when humans still used highways.

“Oh, all right,” he said. “Anything for you, angel.”

Aziraphale was awoken by the sound of bare feet on the wood floor rapidly pattering towards him, and then a weight ramming into him.

“Oof!” Aziraphale wheezed, opening his eyes to see that Crowley had jumped onto the bed and landed directly on the angel’s ribs.

“Wake up, angel!” Crowley said, bouncing on the mattress excitedly.  “Wake up!  Wake up! Wake up!  Today’s the day!  It’s today!”

“Yes, all right, all right,” said Aziraphale, untangling himself from the sheets.  “Give me a moment.”

There was already a cup of tea waiting for him on the table.  Crowley was busily moving things around in the kitchen.

“Crowley, what are you doing? The landlord is going to be coming later today to take care of the house.”

Crowley shook his hands out. “I don’t know.  I’m just so excited.”

“Relax, dear.  Just enjoy the morning, because things will be very different soon.”

They ate a leisurely breakfast, although Crowley’s leg was still vibrating under the table.  Crowley grabbed the suitcases, and Aziraphale wheeled the cart that had his digital collection of books behind him.

“See, you can take your whole collection with you!” said Crowley.  “Humans know what they’re doing.”

They stopped by the park to feed the ducks one last time, emptying a bag of birdseed onto the ground and watching them squabble over it.  Aziraphale had to convince Crowley not to try and sneak a mallard onto the Aphelion.

They arrived at the airport and went straight to the gates reserved for interplanetary travel.  Crowley had cheated to get them first class seats, so they got to sip champagne while they waited to board.

“So where are you two headed?” said a woman who sat down next to them, a kind soul who apparently had never gotten the memo that small talk with strangers was taboo.

“The Aphelion,” Crowley answered proudly.

“No way!” said the woman.  “Lucky!  I applied to go, but they turned me down.”

“Not that lucky,” said the man waiting on the other side of them. “They get to go into deep space and live on some barren rock and never come back.  Probably go mad with cabin fever and kill each other, the lot of them. I’ll pass.”

Crowley glared at the man, but he was wearing his sunglasses so the intended effect was lost.

They were finally called on board. Interplanetary ships looked a lot like airplanes, except they pointed nose-up at the sky and you had to climb a ladder to get to your seat.  Crowley and Aziraphale allowed their luggage to be wheeled away and strapped themselves in, suspended in their seats looking up.

“Aziraphale, have you ever been on an interplanetary trip?” said Crowley as the seats around them filled in.

“Afraid not,” said Aziraphale. “Prefer to keep my feet on the ground, I suppose.”

“Halfway through the flight, the whole cabin is at zero-G, and while you’re not technically supposed to unstrap yourself and move around, the stewards will usually let you if it looks like you know what you’re doing.”

“Charming.”

“You’re not going to give it a shot?”

“No.”

A man in a flight attendant’s outfit came through and made sure everyone had strapped themselves in, as though they were on an amusement park ride.

“Attention in the cabin,” said the voice of the pilot through the intercom.  “Welcome aboard flight T654.  Our destination today is Earth’s moon with a layover in the upper ionosphere.  We have some special passengers on board today headed to the Aphelion.”

Crowley enthusiastically waved his hands above his head.  Aziraphale grabbed his arms and pulled them down.

“This is a reminder that the pull of gravity decreases the further we get from earth and then increases closer to the moon.  Docking at the Aphelion will bring us up to approximately 1.1G’s, so if you’re remaining on the shuttle please stay in your seat for the duration of that connection.”

“How are we going to dock with the Aphelion?” said Aziraphale. “I thought it was spinning around at a zillion revolutions per hour?”

“That’s what generates the artificial gravity,” said Crowley from beside him, in an impeccable and nasally imitation of Aziraphale’s voice.  The angel glared at him.

“Now, if you please, pay attention to the health and safety demonstration at the front of the shuttle, and we can take off.”

The in-flight video demonstrated where the emergency exits were (“Where on Earth would we be exiting to?” Aziraphale commented, to which Crowley replied, “No.”), the location of the emergency oxygen masks (“That wouldn’t be helpful if we were in the burning cold of space!” Aziraphale had said worriedly, and Crowley had shushed him.), and a plethora of other safety devices upon which Aziraphale offered his fussy commentary.

Another flight attendant came by to check and make sure there weren’t any items loose in the cabin that would start floating around without gravity.  Aziraphale thought they were rather making a big deal out of this, and people went to the moon all the time and why was this a whole big long process? They should just take off already.

The crew buckled themselves in, and the countdown finally started over the intercom.

10…9…8…

“Do they have to be so dramatic about it?” Aziraphale said.

7…6…5…

“Because I’m sure they don’t need to actually count down.”

4…3…

“It’s for the ambiance. Hey, angel.”

2…

Aziraphale looked over. Crowley was giving him a lecherous look.

1…

“I can’t wait to suck you off in zero-G.”

The woman behind Crowley had clearly heard what he had said and had a shocked look on her face.  Aziraphale was thrown back flush against his seat before he could respond.  The cabin rattled and shuddered.  Aziraphale was glad there weren’t any windows, because he was sure they were going faster than he had ever gone before in his life.

We have liftoff.

They began to slow.  The motion died down.

“Angel, relax,” said the voice beside him.

Aziraphale looked down and realized he was white-knuckling his armrest.  He peeled his hand off and ran it through his hair.  “That wasn’t so bad.”

Crowley suppressed a snort.

A ticker at the front of the cabin showed their altitude, skyrocketing before their eyes.

“Humans are amazing, aren’t they?” said Crowley.  “Remember when they thought the moon was only a couple dozen miles away?”

“Yeah,” said Aziraphale.

They sat there in silence for a while, just holding hands, thinking of the planet zooming away beneath them.

“It seems a little odd to me that they’re only sending one angel and one demon with the Aphelion crew,” said Aziraphale.  “The population is slated to be, what, several thousand isn’t it?”

“You know they don’t pay attention to those things, angel.”

“Mm, maybe they just wanted to get rid of us once and for all.”

“Ha!  I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Hmm, who should we send to be Hell’s representative on the barren ball of rock a trillion miles away? I know—that chap Crowley!  He messed up the apocalypse, but surely he’s perfect for this job.”

Crowley sat in uncomfortable silence.

“Crowley?  Did I say something wrong?  I’m sorry, I was only joking.”

“They didn’t send me,” Crowley said.

“What?”

“They told me to keep my feet on the ground because they were sending another demon.”

Aziraphale grimaced.  “Oh.”

Crowley flashed him a nervous smile.  “Fuck ‘em, I say.  What are they gonna do about it?”

“My dear, they might very well do something if we aren’t careful.”

“Whatever,” said Crowley, letting go of his hand to indignantly cross his arms.  “And it’s not going to be a ‘barren ball of rock,’ Aziraphale.  There’s going to be aliens on there.”

“…You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious! Aliens have to be real somewhere out there in the galaxy!  It wouldn’t surprise me if they were on the very planet we’re going to!”

“Did you read the pre-voyage materials they sent us?”

Crowley didn’t answer.

“You didn’t read them.”

“It looked like homework.  I don’t do homework.”

“Crowley, they already did a scan of the surface of Kepler-442b and it showed no signs of life at all. If there were a bustling alien civilization on it, I hardly think we’d be going to colonize it.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me with the way Europeans behaved in the 16th century,” Crowley muttered.  “I’m telling you, there’s going to be aliens on there.”

“We have to terraform it first. There’s nothing alive on there. It’s empty.”

“Aliens.  Mark my words.”

“They would have seen them.”

“They’re underground.”

Aziraphale patted his hand. “Whatever makes you feel better, dear.”

They began to feel lighter and lighter as the pull of gravity lessened.  At one point Crowley looked over to see Aziraphale’s mass of curly hair had drifted upwards and ringed his head like a halo.

The intercom dinged.  “We are now approaching the Aphelion for docking.  If you’re getting off, please stay in your seats until the ‘Gravity’ sign at the front of the cabin turns green.  Reminder that if you’re continuing on to the moon, stay in your seat.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped as gravity re-engaged, gradually forcing him back into his seat.

“Aw,” said Crowley.  “We didn’t get to float around at all.”

One of the flight attendants came by and escorted them from their seats.  They were ushered to the same door at the back of the ship from which they had entered.  When it whooshed open, they were greeted by a positively utilitarian bare metal room, the front of which led to a single extremely thick, locked porthole.

“This is the place, then?” said Aziraphale.  His shoes tapped on the metal as he went in.  

Two stewards came out with their baggage, plopped it down, then scurried back inside.

“Have a nice journey, boys,” said one as they disappeared back into the shuttle.

The door vacuumed shut and sealed. Crowley and Aziraphale picked up their luggage.  The door on the other side of the room did not open.  The shuttle remained where it was.

“Ah…” said Aziraphale.  “Are we supposed to…do something?”

“You’re the one who read the pre-voyage materials,” said Crowley.

A red light began to flash on the door in front of them, accompanied by an alarm that sounded like a foghorn.  The porthole at the far end popped open and swung outwards with a groan.  The two of them scuttled across the threshold, dragging and wheeling baggage behind them.  But they found themselves in a second room identical to the first, except this one had a small, squat window in the door at the far end of the room.

The door slammed shut behind them of its own accord.

“Uh….” said Crowley.

Aziraphale strode forwards and looked into the small window.  “I can’t really see anything.”

Crowley huffed and sat down on one of his suitcases.  He zipped the other one open and withdrew a potted plant.  It was in one of those fancy electronic pots that held all the soil in and regulated water levels.

“Ah good, he survived the baggage compartment.”

“Crowley!” said Aziraphale. “They were very clear that you’re not supposed to bring your own plants or animals on board!”

“Aw, what are they going to do about it?” said Crowley.  “Nick’s already here.”

“You’ve named it.”

“He was the best of the best of the best.  This spider plant is ninety-five years old and has risen to every challenge I’ve thrown at him.  I’ve decided to be nice to him now.  He’s proven himself.  We need something to liven up our cabin!  I’m sure it will be dreadful without at least one plant.”

The same red light and foghorn sounded in the empty room, and the door with the window whooshed outwards.

“Come in, come in!” said a woman’s voice.

They dragged their things out the door into a metal hallway.  It was an infinite hallway, connecting rows and rows and rows of metal doors as far as the eye could see, until the unnoticeable curve became visible in the distance and the hallway dipped up and out of sight behind the ceiling.

Crowley blinked at it, fighting vertigo.

A perky woman in a blue vest smiled at them.  “Welcome aboard the Aphelion, space explorers!”

As soon as her eyes fell on the plant in Crowley’s hands, she gasped and lunged at him.

“What are you doing?” Crowley yelled as she tried to wrestle it off him.

“Flora not from the approved greenhouse is strictly prohibited onboard the Aphelion!”

“Get off him!”

“I need to confiscate this, sir.”

“He never did anything to you!”

She finally managed to wrench the plant out of his hands, and she immediately threw it back through the door through which they had come and punched a button on the wall.  An alarm beeped and the door slammed shut.

“Hey!”  Crowley pressed against the door and peeked out the window. The plant was on its side on the floor.

Another alarm sounded, and through the window Crowley could see the door at the far end of the antechamber open, revealing the black void of space dotted with stars and milky swirls of distant galaxies.  The plant flew out in the blink of an eye.

“Nick!” said Crowley. “No!  You murderer!”

He turned away from the window. The woman was breathing heavily, and she smoothed back her hair and put her smile back on.  “Sir, we have a seed bank on board that contains upwards of 75% of the estimated plant species on Earth.  If you’d like a potted plant, you can get one from the greenhouse free of charge.”

“He didn’t deserve that.”

“Sir, if outside flora brings disease on board it would be an ecological disaster.  We’ve under strict quarantine.”

Crowley crossed his arms and glared at her sourly.

“Now, may I see your boarding passes, please?”

Aziraphale took his screen out of his pocket, pulled it open, and navigated the glassy surface to the information card they had given him.  Crowley was still muttering to himself as he took his out and followed suit.

“Oh, you two are in the F wing. Excellent choice,” she said.  “I’m partial to the third circle myself.  Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

The wheels of Aziraphale’s cart clattered on the metal grate beneath them as they moved forwards, down that logic-defying hallway.  “Did you say the third circle?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale elbowed him and whispered, “I told you to read the pre-voyage materials.”

They filed into an elevator, which ended up going more sideways than up or down.  Even given the fact that there were signs and arrows and maps spattering every inch of the walls, Aziraphale and Crowley immediately got lost.

The woman in the vest gestured to a door.  “Here you are, suite 889b!  If you need anything, my name is Maria and my contact information will be on the vidscreen in your room.  Have a nice day!”

She moved off, disappearing into the wall a distance off.  They both blinked, staring down the narrow hallway.

“This place gives me the creeps,” said Crowley.  “It’s like a big metal labyrinth.”

“The pre-voyage materials had a blueprint, dear,” said Aziraphale, swiping his screen in the slot on the door. “It wasn’t supposed to be a surprise to anyone.”

The door swung open.  Their room was small, with one decent-sized bed in the center and a pair of dressers and not much else. All the furniture was bolted to the floor, and the walls were bare except for a vidscreen that said:

YOUR VOYAGE ASSISTANT (VA) IS MARIA

CONTACT NUMBER 60.547.8

Crowley muttered under his breath and approached the vidscreen, tapping it and swiping, crossing out Maria’s name and writing plant murderer.

Aziraphale collapsed his screen into its smallest shape and stuck it into the wall to charge.  “All right, Crowley, now that we’re here, I insist that you read the pre-voyage materials.  They had some very important information that you’ve simply missed.  You’re going to mess something up and get us in trouble because you won’t follow directions.”

Crowley gave him a dirty look and pulled his own screen out, sliding it open and tapping on it.  “All right, then, Mr. Follow-the-Rules.”

Aziraphale set about putting his clothes into his dresser.  Crowley threw himself on the bed, the materials from the Aphelion management open on his screen.  “Ugh, Aziraphale this thing is like a thousand screens long!  It’ll take forever to get through it all.”

“It only took me a few hours, and I was taking notes.”

“Whatever, nerd.”  Crowley rolled over, holding the screen above his face, the light from the ceiling shining through the screen’s translucent, plasticky surface.  The first screen had a picture of the great metal donut herself, accompanied by the words WELCOME ABOARD, SPACE EXPLORERS

He flipped.  The second screen went on and on about the mission statement, to expand the human consciousness into the furthest reaches of the galaxy in the noblest way, etc.  He scrolled past that to the details about the star that served as their destination, Kepler-442 (K type star, nestled in the constellation Lyra), and its planet that would be their new home, Kepler-442b (exoplanet).  The days on Kepler-442b were three weeks long, and with an axial tilt that small, say goodbye to seasons.

“It says it’s going to take us 500 years to get there going at twice the speed of light!” said Crowley. “They expect us to stay on here for 500 years?  Hey, angel, what’s this bit about cryosleep?”

Aziraphale’s face appeared above him, warped by the screen.  “Crowley, if you would actually read it, you’d see that we’re going to live on the Aphelion for about a month as it leaves the solar system, and then once we’re stable at light speed everyone on board is going to go into cryosleep until we reach our destination.  It’s the only way humans could actually live long enough to get to Kepler-442.”

Crowley collapsed his screen. “Hold on, angel.  You’re telling me we’re going to sleep for 500 years?”

“Yes.”

“I get to sleep—”

“Yes, dear.”

“—for 500 years.  And not only is this expected—”

“Yes, Crowley.”

“—but it’s mandatory?”

Aziraphale stared at him for an additional second and then said, “Yes, Crowley.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Crowley, sliding his screen back open.  “This is fantastic!”

��Because I thought you had read it,” Aziraphale said testily.  He dragged Crowley’s suitcase over and began to unpack the demon’s things when it became obvious it wouldn’t get done otherwise.

Crowley noted that the pods for cryosleep would come out of the floor of their cabin, but he failed to find where they would be appearing from.

The Aphelion will be your home for the next 500 years, although you’ll only perceive it to be a few months.  The living spaces are arranged in three circles.  The outermost and largest circle, the first circle, holds wings A, B, and C and is subject to 1.1G’s.  The second circle is slightly smaller and is maintained at exactly the same gravitational force as on Earth, and holds wings D and E.  Guests in wing F in the third and innermost circle can expect to live in 0.9G for their stay.  Each wing has its own greenhouse and set of amenities.  Non-authorized personnel are not allowed to move further than the third circle; the force of gravity decreases with the radius of the ship, and the ship’s engines and robotics are maintained at temperatures below zero. Please note that the Aphelion is a perpetual motion machine; barring the event of catastrophic failure, the vessel always remains in motion and the outer circles should never experience zero-G.  Please rest assured that the AI programs that will control the ship during cryosleep are programmed to put the safety of the human passengers as its paramount goal.

Since most of the processes on the Aphelion are automated, most of its citizens do not need to work full 6-hours days as on Earth; however, depending on your profession, you may be summoned to lend your expertise at various points throughout the journey.  

Crowley had been growing bored, but he snapped back to reality as he read the part about being called to help with the ship.  “Angel.”

“Hm?” said Aziraphale, not looking up from folding laundry.

“It says they might call us to help out depending on what our skillsets are.”

“Well, yes.  I told them I was a shopkeeper, so I had assumed I won’t be doing much until we establish settlements on the planet.”

Crowley bit his lip.

“Crowley?”

“So…do you remember how you asked me to pull some strings to get you in?”

“Yes.  Crowley…what did you do?”

“They wouldn’t take you because of the lame personnel profile you submitted!  I had to make some changes to it to get you on board!”

“Crowley, what did you tell them my profession was?”

“I…may have…told them that you were a robotics engineer.”

“Crowley!” said Aziraphale. “I don’t know anything about robotics! What am I going to do if they call me to help with something?”

“Just lie!” said Crowley. “A few miracles, they’ll never know the difference!”

“I can’t lie!  And I’m going to mess something up!  Bugger, Crowley!  What did you tell them your profession was?”

“Botanist.”

“Of course!  The nice and easy one!  If you get called in all you need to do is prance around in the garden for a while and—”

The vidscreen on the wall suddenly flashed to life, vibrating and showing the microphone icon that indicated a call.  They both jumped with surprise, clutching each other.

They stared at the screen. The microphone vibrated.

“Ah…Hello?” said Crowley.

CROWLEY, said the voice from the screen.

“Bloody hell!” said Crowley, jumping again.

CROWLEY, WE NOTICED YOU DID NOT FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS TO STAY ON EARTH.

Crowley looked at the vidscreen fearfully.

COME BACK NOW, CROWLEY.  WE HAVE PLANS FOR YOU DOWN HERE.

Crowley’s hands tightened on Aziraphale’s arm.

CROWLEY?

“No,” he said.

WHAT?

“No, I’m not coming back down. There, I said it!”

The microphone icon vibrated ominously.

“I’m a space explorer, on a mission to expand the human consciousness into the furthest reaches of the galaxy in the noblest way, etc., and I’m staying up here!  What are you going to do about it?  Are you going to come up and drag me back down?”

More vibrating, no speaking. A smile began to dawn on Crowley’s face.

“You can’t, can you?”

WHAT?

“You can’t get up here.”

DON’T BE RIDICULOUS.  OF COURSE WE CAN.

“You can’t!  Hah!  You don’t know how!”

CROWLEY, WE HAVE DONE INFERNAL WORK ON MARS BEFORE.

“That was me.  I’m the only demon who’s ever left Earth.  Nobody else knows how to go about it, especially on such short notice.”

The icon vibrated in angry silence, and Crowley knew he had struck on the truth.  He fell onto the bed laughing.

“I’m going to be sent a zillion miles away where you can’t reach me because nobody down there could figure out how to get on the shuttle fast enough.”

IT’S NOT THAT FUNNY, CROWLEY.

“Amazing.  This is amazing.  I know you can’t see me right now, but I’m giving you the finger.”

YOU DARE TALK TO US LIKE THIS?

“It’s two fingers now.  All the way up.”

YOU’LL RECALL WE WERE SENDING ANOTHER AGENT, THOUGH.

Crowley’s smile faded.

WE HAVE PULLED A CHAOS DEMONESS STRAIGHT FROM THE PITS IN THE NINTH CIRCLE.  HER POWER IS SO TERRIFYING THAT SHE HAS BEEN LOCKED AWAY FOR MILLENIA. WE HAVE RELEASED HER ESPECIALLY FOR THIS MISSION.

Crowley began to shake with peals of laughter.

CROWLEY???  HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND??

“You sent a demoness who hasn’t set foot on Earth in thousands of years.  And who wouldn’t know jack shite about talking to humans, let alone operating technology.  To be your sole representative.  On a space ship?”

The icon vibrated.  IN RETROSPECT, IT DOES NOT SEEM TO HAVE BEEN THE IDEAL CHOICE.

“Bloody hell!”

BUT WE HAVE REPORTS THAT SHE HAS ALREADY MANAGED TO BOOK A TICKET.

“Oh, has she?  How long did that take her?”

THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT.  SHE’S BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY WAY, CROWLEY.  REMEMBER THAT.  GOODBYE.

The screen clicked off.

“Oof,” Crowley said, rolling over and throwing a hand over his face.  “Hey, angel, how much time did you say we had before we go into cryosleep?”

“A month from when all the passengers have boarded.”

Crowley heaved a sigh.  “I suppose we need to resolve this situation with the other demon onboard before we go under, then.”

“Why?”

“Put it this way.  We’ll be asleep, and we wouldn’t know if someone was, say, ejecting our pods out the airlock.”

“Point taken.”  Aziraphale turned back to the laundry.  “We can get started on that after you finish reading the materials.”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic #to ineffability and beyond