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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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What Might Have Been - 14

(CW: hunger, exhaustion, threats of violence, language, abduction, an ending you won’t like. Outsider POV, but Aziraphale is there.)

(I am...really sorry...*flees the room*)

The latest part of my @goodomenscelebration fic! (Around 5k for this one)

Read the previous parts on AO3!

Food

Lyla had been walking for days. For years, really, ever since her parents had gone out for supplies and never returned, leaving her and Benny to fend for themselves.

They’d thought Dover would be safe. Had been, for almost half a year, before the blight reached the fields, before the fish all died, before the castle had been destroyed by a blast of power during one of the endless battles that raged in the sky.

She didn’t know which side had fired the blast. Didn’t even matter. Their home was gone.

Benny walked beside her, holding her hand. He was exhausted. Beyond that. His little legs couldn’t keep up with the crowd, but Lyla wasn’t strong enough to carry him for long. Every now and then, he tugged at her arm. “’M hungry,” he would whine. “’M tired.”

“I know Benny. Just a little more.”

“How much more?”

“A bit?” Lyla had been to London once, back before Benny was even born. It had taken less than two hours, but it had felt like an eternity.

She hadn’t known what eternity was back then.

“Is there anything to eat?”

Lyla dug in the pockets of her father’s jacket, hanging loose off her thin arms. She’d taken everything she could find from the ruins of the castle, but it had been a long walk through the blight. “I’ve got…um…two walnuts.” She tried to crack one in her hand without letting go of Benny, without falling behind, without dropping the last food they might see for days –

Suddenly her hand was empty.

“Benny!” She spun, to find a man in a pale suit carrying him. “Give him back!”

“My dear, I think you need both hands, and he’s quite tired –”

“Shut up! Give him back now!” She struck out, kicking him in the shin. His eyes went wide with surprise, and she prepared for another kick, maybe a bit higher this time.

“Alright. Here, he’s fine,” he quickly put Benny down and Lyla scooped him up. He wasn’t that heavy after all. Benny had hardly grown at all since the war started.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“What do you mean? I’ve been traveling with you for quite some time.”

“No you haven’t.” There wasn’t a spot of dirt anywhere on his pristine suit. He weighed as much as half the traveling party put together, his hands were manicured. “You’re not from any of the surviving cells. Are you from some – some hidden estate? Which side did you make a deal with?” Lyla clutched Benny until he gave a moan of pain. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“I – honestly, it’s nothing of the kind. I have been traveling with you for a long, long time, remember?”

Lyla frowned. She supposed she did, but… “Dressed like that?”

“Well, I have standards.” He straightened the ridiculous tartan tie around his neck and smiled. “Now, if I can’t carry him, perhaps I can take care of those for you?” He held out his hand. She placed both the walnuts in his outstretched palm. The man clenched his fist for a moment, then opened it again to show both neatly cracked and ready to be eaten.

“Thank you,” Lyla murmured, picking up the nuts and handing them to Benny. He devoured them in seconds.

“My dear, you really should have kept one for yourself!”

“Don’t need it,” she said, even as her stomach growled. “We’ll be in London soon, right?”

“I…perhaps.” His eyes lingered on the dried-up river to their left, empty except for a thread of grey slurry oozing along the center. “I walked this way once, a long time ago.”

“We should catch up,” she muttered. Something about the man made her uncomfortable. They had fallen a little behind the rest of the group, and she wasn’t sure if anyone would turn back if she screamed.

“I don’t think you’re likely to get lost. Just keep to the road and…”

Up ahead, the embankment to the right had collapsed, spilling black earth across the road. It wasn’t thick, but it was wide. Everyone had stopped.

Lyla set Benny down beside one of the abandoned, rusted cars that littered the motorway. “We’ll have to go back.” There had to be a north-bound road that wasn’t blocked. Maybe at Worthing, there was supposed to be a major road there. Maybe. They’d lost the map two days ago, but north was north.

“Go back? It’s just a bit of dirt. Come, even I’m not that precious.”

Lyla backed away from him, eyes wide. “Just a bit of dirt? Are you insane?” She’d stepped on a patch once, back when it first spread to southern England, and had been stuck in bed for a week recovering.

“I just mean,” he waved a hand vaguely.

But more of the crowd had heard him. All eyes were on him now, and the muttering. Who is this man? Where did he come from? Is he a spy?

He held up his hands, looking a little nervous. “I just meant, er, there’s certainly a bit of a path around it. Look!”

They all turned back, and sure enough, there was a narrow strip on the left side of the road, completely bare of earth. They could pass through there, single file.

The man went last, and when Lyla turned back, he was rising from a crouch, dusting off his hands with a frown. “Just stumbled a bit, my dear, don’t worry about me.” He walked beside her again, smiling as if they were friends. “I don’t believe I caught your name?”

“Lyla,” she said, reluctantly. “Lyla Wilson. This is my brother, Benny.” He was walking beside her again, holding her left hand, as far as she could keep him from the strange man.

“Nice to meet you. My name is, er, Kasbeel.”

“Kasbeel? What sort of name is that?”

“Oh a very common one. In. Um. Chaldea.”

“Never heard of it.” Lyla frowned, the conversation shifting oddly around in her mind. “Oh, hang on, did you say Chelsea?”

“Yes, that certainly seems likely.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Kasbeel. From Chelsea.”

Something didn’t add up, but Lyla supposed it wasn’t important. They were heading north, and they’d be in London soon. That was all that mattered.

“Why London?” Kasbeel suddenly asked. “Surely there’s someplace closer you can all go?”

“Closer? The entire south coast is flooded.” She slowed down a little, as Benny’s legs started getting tired again. “And…they say London is safe. Only place they can’t go. You just have to find a way in.”

“They?”

“Who else? Angels and demons. Good riddance to both.”

Kasbeel slowed to a stop. Lyla almost kept walking without him, but his cheerful face had fallen, and he just looked lost. The same expression Benny wore when they’d left Dover, and Canterbury before that, and the day their parents had left…

“Well, why are you going, then?" She demanded "Since you don’t know anything about anything.”

“I – I was supposed to meet someone.” He looked out east, back over the basted, black hills of the South Downs. “Out there. Only…it’s all gone now. I thought he would go to London next. But if he can’t get in…I don’t even know where to look.”

“I mean…they say there’s ways. For humans.” She wasn’t sure if it was true. A wall of energy was supposed to surround the city, incinerating anyone who tried to cross it. But everyone knew someone who knew someone who had gotten out – or in.

Lyla glanced up to find the group already rounding the next corner. It wasn’t safe to fall behind, but somehow, she didn’t feel in danger from this strange man. “I’m sure your friend will be able to find a way in. Us, too. Alright?”

He smiled. “Yes. I just…I very much missed home for a moment.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else. Now come on.” She picked up Benny and started walking again.

“’M tired,” he said, which was almost all he ever said anymore.

Kasbeel’s hand drifted over and stroked his hair. “How about a little nap? I can carry him if you want. It’s no trouble.”

“Well. Alright. But only because we’re walking the same way. No funny business.”

Benny was sound asleep before he even reached Kasbeel’s arms, head resting lightly on his shoulder.

The line of rusted cars stretched across the motorway.

On the other side, the Marked ones, carrying clubs, and broken bottles, and knives.

“Just let us through,” someone called, as the wanderers milled around anxiously.

“Get lost, garbage,” snarled a woman, slamming her hands against a car, the Mark on her face twisted by her rage. “You’re not getting our food. Fuck off!”

“We don’t want your food!” one voice called, just as another shouted, “Please! We’re starving!” And another: “We’ve got kids here, just feed the kids!” And another: “The angels took Brighton, how much longer do you think you have.” And another: “Just let us through!”

“I don’t understand,” Kasbeel murmured, gently rocking Benny, who still slept in his arms. “Why won’t they just let you pass? And what are those brands on their faces?”

“Now I know you’re shitting me,” Lyla grumbled. “Are you going to tell me you never heard of the Mark of the Beast?” The gang on the other side of the cars all wore it somewhere: on their foreheads, their cheeks, their necks. Someplace it couldn’t easily be hidden – a complex sigil of straight and curved lines, contained in a circle.

“Ah,” Kasbeel sighed. “Yes, well…I’ve never actually seen it before…”

Lyla had seen it on the occasional traveler, trying to break into whatever place of safety they’d secured for themselves, hammering at the doors and screaming as she and Benny hid amongst people they hoped they could trust. Never on such a large group, all gathered together.

One of them leapt onto the bonnet of a car, throwing a bottle over their heads. Lyla ducked – she wasn’t the only one – but it shattered loudly somewhere in the distance. The voices all stumbled to a halt.

“You all know the rules,” the figure on the car snarled, pointing with a bar of metal, dented and stained. “Anyone can pass through here – so long as they take the Mark. Otherwise, you go around.” The figure glared across the crowd, taking in the wanderers, their wide, desperate eyes. “Angels don’t bother us. Never have, never will. Only reason they’d come here is for you lot, and we’re not going to take that risk. No Mark, no passage.”

Another murmur ran through the crowd. Kasbeel was asking a question, but Lyla couldn’t listen. She was so hungry. Couldn't think. There was no way around except miles and miles of back tracking, searching for another road north. Her eyes burned. She was so tired.

A wailing siren – mournful and distant – broke through the air, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at all.

“Well,” called the Marked one standing on the car. “Looks like it’s time to decide.”

The ground trembled underfoot, rattling the cars where they sat. The Marked ones laughed, weaving through the barricade, shoving their way through the crowd, forcing the wanderers into a tighter and tighter knot. “They’re gonna want a good look at you lot,” one of them crowed. “Stay right here.” Several people started crying.

Suddenly, Lyla found Benny back in her arms, stirring slightly. Kasbeel stepped in front of her, watching the sides of the road. “Stay close to me, my dear. Whatever happens.”

She could have laughed. He looked at least fifty, soft as…well, as nothing was, not anymore, not in this ravaged world. But he still held his arm out protectively.

Well. He was the least malnourished person here. That might count for something. Maybe the demons would eat him first.

The erupted out of the ground, just like in the stories, the foul earth crumbling and flowing away as they rose effortlessly, already grinning.

Four of them, identical to each other – dark skin, hair in points, long eyelashes, ragged jackets. They surveyed the crowd of wanderers with an expression Lyla could only call hungry.

And Kasbeel…relaxed, a tension she hadn’t noticed going out of his shoulders. He tugged the brim of his fedora lower over his eyes, turning away from the demons.

Wait.

“Where did you get that hat?” Lyla demanded.

“I always had it,” he claimed, then held out a straw hat with a wide brim. “Here’s yours. Stay quiet, don’t look them in the eye, if you can help it, and they shouldn’t notice you.”

“What? I’ve never heard of demons having a weakness like that.” She tugged the hat as low as she could, and noticed for the first time dirt and mud smudged across Kasbeel’s suit. When had that happened?

“Don’t be absurd. It’s not them, I’m shielding you.”

“You what?” Perhaps he was insane after all.

“Sssh! I need to concentrate.”

“Well, look at this,” said one of the demons, smiling and rubbing his hands. He looked…pretty, in a way, if she hadn’t known what he was. “We’ve got some new recruits. Well done, Bob.”

“It’s Rae, actually, my lord,” said the leader of the Marked ones.

“I don’t care.” The demon waved a hand, and suddenly there were several enormous crates of food. Even from where she was standing, Lyla could see tins of beans and soup, vegetables with a little green in them, and by the stars – actual meat. Her stomach growled as she watched the Marked ones gather up their bounty and run back behind the barricade of cars, leaving the wanderers to the demons. She wasn’t the only one, either. All around them, people moaned, shuffling closer.

“Alright, wait your turns,” the lead demon said, as four identical faces circled the crowd.

Even though it probably didn’t mean anything, Lyla tugged her hat down again. “Why do they all look the same?” she wondered.

“Legion,” Kasbeel whispered back. “Foot soldiers of Hell. Though I believe they prefer to be called Eric.”

Yes, definitely insane. Benny shifted on her shoulder, starting to wake up. Lyla rubbed his back and hushed him.

“Well,” one of the Erics began. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the sales pitch by now. Join us, rule the world when we win. Palaces and kingdoms and wealth beyond your dreams. The offer hasn’t changed, though,” he chuckled, “at the rate we’re going, it’s going to be billions of very small kingdoms. Still, better to rule than to serve, right?” He grinned, as if waiting for a laugh.

“You always say that,” someone called. “You haven’t won yet.” There was a little murmuring, but not much. Politics. No one really cared about politics anymore.

“Well, haven’t lost either,” another Eric picked up the thread. “And let’s face it, it’s a better deal than the other side’s going to give you.”

“We don’t want to join anyone,” another voice said, high and scared. “We want to be left alone!”

Benny’s eyes fluttered open. “Lyla? ‘M hungry.”

“Shhhh, not yet.” She held him closer, like a bundle of twigs wrapped in cloth.

“Alright, I can see you’re not forward thinkers,” one of the Erics said, spreading his arms. “Pity that, but we can’t all be management material. How’s this deal? Join us now, and you’ll eat tonight. Fed and protected, from now on.” There was another murmur at that. “You’ve heard the rumors, well, it’s true. Once you get your Mark, the angels can’t touch you. And even our most enthusiastic brethren won’t harm you. Just what you want. Left alone.”

“Preposterous,” Kasbeel muttered, but he wasn’t the only one. And not all the voices were as skeptical as his. A few of them rose above the crowd, directing towards the Erics.

“Do we have to fight?”

“How often does the food come?”

“Can we change our minds?”

“What about a place to stay? Can you give us that?”

The Erics responded to each, enthusiastically, pointing, waving for people to come join them. Lyla wasn’t listening to them.

“’M hungry,” Benny said, his eyes glazed, barely cracking open. “My head hurts. ‘M cold…”

She pressed her lips to his forehead. He was burning up.

“Benny? Can you hear me? We can eat soon, I promise, you just have to hold on.”

He mumbled something, but she couldn’t even hear the words.

She pressed her forehead against his and whispered, and Benny nodded back.

Lyla stepped forward.

“What are you doing?” Kasbeel grabbed her arm. “Don’t be a fool – they’re asking for your soul.”

“So?” she snapped, jerking free, not even trying to keep her voice down. “Why should I care? What’s my soul ever done for me? I don’t need a soul, I need food. Benny needs food.”

“I can help you!”

“Really? How?” She pulled off the hat and threw it at his feet. “You’ve been walking with us for hours and all you do is talk nonsense and – and act like you’ve no idea what’s going on when you obviously do.” He winced, taking half a step back. “Fine, you know what? I don’t care. You do what you need to do to survive. Make people pity you, pretend to be an idiot. But don’t you judge me.”

“Listen, Lyla,” he reached for her hand, and she jerked it away, pulling Benny tighter into her arms. “I know, things are hard. It might seem like – like avoiding suffering is the most important thing –”

“Don’t start with me!” Lyla was all but screaming now, backing away. “Pain now, reward later? Is that your story? Just like those self-righteous angels. Those – those bastards destroy our homes, our families, our lives and they want us to thank them! And smile and get out of the way and ask them to do it again! No fucking thank you!” She glared at his clothes, his ample waistline, his soft hands with perfectly shaped nails, not so much as a chip. “I don’t know where you’re from. I don’t care, but out here in reality? We know we’re not going to make it to the end of the war. So all I can do is make sure my brother doesn’t suffer now. And for that, I’ll do anything.”

She marched away, and never looked back.

“Oi, you,” she shouted at one of the Erics, still trying to convince someone in the front row. Her stomach trembled with more than hunger and exhaustion. He turned to face her, and there was a gleam in his pretty eyes that made her want to scream like a child. “We’ll do it. We’re ready. You can take my brother, too, right?”

“Absolutely,” the demon smiled with too many teeth. “And what are your names?”

“Lyla,” she said, forcing down her fear. “Lyla Wilson. And this is Benny.”

“Well, Lyla, are you ready to swear your soul to the forces of Satan, forsaking the Light of God and the protection of the angels, forevermore?”

“Sure. Yeah. Long as there’s food.”

“And how about you, Benny?” The demon leaned forward, trying to meet his eyes. “Are you ready, too?”

Benny ran his tongue over his cracked lips. Lyla hadn’t even noticed how bad they’d gotten. It was just normal now. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little,” the demon said, smiling again. “Just a moment of pain, and then you’ll be safe.”

“It’s alright, Benny,” Lyla said soothingly. “I’ll go first.” Benny swallowed, and nodded.

“You have to say it out loud,” the demon told him.

“I – I’ll do it. Whatever Lyla does.”

“Good enough.” The demon reached out a hand and rested it on Lyla’s cheek, pressing the heel of it into her cheekbone. She felt lightheaded – weak – very warm. Her legs wobbled, nearly giving out, and something sharp stabbed into her, reached deep, pulled –

And it was done. No flash of light or dark. No soul rending scream. Just like that, she was damned.

She traced a finger across her cheekbone, up to the hinge of her jaw. She could feel the Mark, slightly raised skin. Traced the pattern, identical to all the other Marked ones. It didn’t even itch.

There was a sound behind her, a gentle breath. She turned to see Kasbeel, at the front of the crowd, blue eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. He was shaking his head.

Well. Who the hell did he think he was, judging her?

The demon smiled at Benny. “Your turn.”

Lyla nodded. “It barely hurts at all, and I’ll be right here, alright?”

But the last word was drowned out by a bright, rich note blaring across the blasted plains. Not the wailing siren from before. This was clear, bright.

Trumpets.

“Lyla!” Kasbeel’s voice suddenly sounded choked. When she looked back, he was staggering back in the crowd, crouching down as if in pain.

“Is that –” one of the demons started, looking straight at him.

“There’s more!�� another shouted, pointing in the sky. The clouds split open, and for the first time in years, Lyla saw the sun, saw blue sky, and from that rent came the bright wings of angels – three, five, seven, a dozen of them at least, floating down like feathers.

“Get out of here!” The demons scattered, swallowed up by the Earth the moment their feet touched it.

And not just them. The wanderers broke apart, racing back up the motorway, some running onto the cursed soil to fall, shouting in pain. A few leapt over the barricade of cars, taking their chances against the clubs of the Marked ones.

Lyla held Benny tight, not sure where to run, what to do.

“The children,” a familiar voice called. “All of them. And that woman over there, and those three. None of the others.”

Angels flowed across the sky, landing among the crowd. The people they touched fell limp immediately, to be picked up carefully, like dolls.

A rustle of feathers behind Lyla. She turned, slowly, as if in a dream, and looked up into the kind, warm smile of Kasbeel.

“Hello, my dear,” he said, sheathing his flaming sword.

He plucked her brother out of her unresisting arms.

“Lyla?” Benny mumbled.

“Shhh, don’t worry.” He rested a hand on Benny’s forehead. “How about a little nap?”

He collapsed in the angel’s arms, looking so peaceful, so frail.

“I know who you are,” she mumbled. “The stories. The…the Guardian of Humanity.”

“Yes. My reputation does proceed me.”

“Please,” Lyla begged, “I – I have to take care of him. Don’t…”

“Not anymore. Don’t worry, he’ll be safe with me, as all innocents are. But you…” he brushed a finger across the Mark on her jaw. “Well. Too late for some.”

Enormous white wings unfurled behind him, and another clear trumpet note shattered the air. As one, the angels rose into the sky and vanished through the hole, taking their light, the sky, and Lyla’s brother with them.

And Lyla collapsed onto the empty street.

Aziraphale sat up, shaking his head to clear the last echoes of the trumpet. He’d been helpless to do anything, except stop himself.

Stop himself from joining them.

There was only one thing that could override his mind like that. And the face of the angel that had spoken to Lyla, that had taken Benny…

He climbed to his feet, shuffled over to her, where she still sat, staring into nothing. She looked even younger than he’d thought. Not even sixteen. A child herself.

“Lyla,” he called, reaching for her shoulder. “Lyla, my dear –”

With a scream, she surged to her feet, tackling him, pounding weak fists against his chest. “You bastard! You fucking bastard! I saw his face! It was you! You!”

“It – I know this is – I swear, it wasn’t –”

“I know! Same face, just like the demons.” She hit him on both shoulders, throwing her whole weight behind it. He still barely felt a thing. “But that means you’re one of them! The whole fucking time you were one of them! I walked with you! I trusted you!”

“I’m not!” He held up his hands, but didn’t fight back. When he spoke, it was in as gentle a voice as he could manage. “I swear to you. I used to be, but I’m not. Not anymore.”

“Really? You don’t have a big pair of fluffy white wings? You can’t just – just make food appear? We were starving!”

“I wouldn’t have let you starve, but you were still walking. I had to let you –”

“Don’t say it! Don’t say I had to figure it out for myself. You could have fed us! You could have gotten us past these assholes –” she pointed at the barricade, but the Marked ones were all gone. All except for her. “You could have stopped me.”

“It was your choice.”

Lyla screamed, and screamed, and screamed, fingers tangled in her hair, swinging her head, only breaking to gasp for more breath. He waited, until finally her voice broke, and she sobbed.

Aziraphale pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried.

“Why?” she managed between gasping sobs. “Why did you even come here?”

“I’m sorry. I truly am. I wanted to understand what you were going through. I needed to observe. I never planned to let things get so out of hand. I just – I wanted to know.”

“Well, now you know.” She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “You going to go back? Tell your clones all about it? Have a great big laugh at the stupid humans?”

“I told you. I left them, a long time ago. I am not on their side.”

“Could you,” she gulped, looking away. “Could you have stopped them? Stopped…him?”

He shuddered, remembering the way the trumpet had reverberated through his mind. “That sound. That is…it’s how Heaven delivers orders. It’s very powerful, but it can be resisted.”

It shouldn’t have been so hard. Angels had to accept the orders, had to allow them into their minds, surrender the control to heaven. Aziraphale had done no such thing.

He hadn’t. The other him – the other Aziraphale – had consented so wholeheartedly to what was going on, it had overpowered him. Feedback in his mind, Heaven intruding where he had hoped never to find it again. Would it happen again? Would he be able to resist it? He’d very nearly flown off with them in the end.

“Lyla,” he said, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. “I wish I could have stopped it. But I will find out where they took your brother, I will get him back. I swear.”

“And hand him over to a damned soul?”

“You love him,” he told her firmly. “That’s all that matters.”

He looked at the brand on her jaw, the twisted curving sigil of the Fallen. To his eyes it was unique. Each Marked human had their own, just as each demon did. Hers was on the opposite side as Crowley’s, and just a little further down.

Had he kissed it, that morning, when he tried to wake Crowley up? He usually did, but his demon had been stubborn, right side of his face still buried in the pillows.

He found himself blinking away tears. Crowley is here. Somewhere. You just have to find him. Find Crowley. Find Benny. Help the humans. Avoid the angels…

“It’s too late, isn’t it?” He could see the shock settling into Lyla’s eyes. The defeat. “He’s gone.”

“Oh, no, my dear.” He reached up a hand and brushed her Mark. “It’s never too late.”

Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth, Guardian of Humanity, led his troops over the wall of New Eden.

Inside, the fields and forests sprawled, pristine, perfect. A little more cultivated than the original Eden, of course, the land had forgotten how to provide painlessly, but it was learning. Just as the humans would learn to accept it, to give up their ties to the outside world, to be as they were meant to be.

His mind was troubled today. In the midst of the rescue, separating the Elect from the chaff, he had felt something. Some interference with his orders, something that had made him almost forget the mission, placing itself between him and the wisdom of Heaven. He’d almost wanted to stay and investigate, but he knew the importance of his work.

No one else could do what Aziraphale did.

He placed his new ward carefully on the grass, running a hand across his stomach. He could heal most of the ill effects of hunger, the rest would come with good, healthy meals. He glanced around for something to offer; every edible plant in the world grew here, row on row, always in fruit, always ready to harvest.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open. “Kasbeel?” he asked.

“No, child,” he said, beaming. “My name is Aziraphale.”

With a strangled cry, the boy’s eyes flew open. He scrambled away. It was a common reaction.

“Don’t worry, my dear fellow,” he said. “You are safe here in New Eden. Everything you could want.” He squeezed the walnuts in his hand until the shells cracked, and held the nuts out.

The boy swatted away the offering. “I want my sister.”

His jaw clenched, remembering her face, the Mark on her cheek. “She made her choice. It’s too late for her. But you, my boy –”

“No. No!” He sprang to his feet, seeming surprised at his own energy. “I won’t! I won’t stay here! You can’t keep me!”

“Come along, don’t be childish. No one has ever escaped –”

“Lyla!” He boy shouted, already running into the fields. “Lyla!”

His voice joined the chorus, the humans calling constantly for their wives, their husbands, their mothers, their friends. But they would learn. One day, they would learn.

This was where they belonged.

This was for the best.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #good omens celebration #goc2020 #Aziraphale #pov outsider #good omens #fanfiction #good omens fanfic #My writing #post apocalyptic #cw: hunger #cw: threats of violence #cw: abduction #cw: language #What Might Have Been #ao3 #ao3 link

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elphenfan · 4 years

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Bare My Heart to Your Sleeping Face (Good Omens) 2/?

I didn’t forget, I’ve just had a lot on my plate. Here it is, for all that cares

............................................................

The last part might seem like a very odd thing to say, except that it wasn’t really. It was Aziraphale wrestling a bit of control back from his run-away and traitorous mouth but more than that, it was a promise both to the sleeping demon and to himself.

A promise that despite, or perhaps because of, this momentary lapse in judgment, Aziraphale would never do anything that would jeopardise their current relationship, and especially not when it came to their respective upstairs.

His love wouldn’t waver, he knew that by this point. Too much had happened in the time they’d known each other, and even in the face of all of that, including the threat from both Heaven and Hell, it had never disappeared or even faded. But nor could he allow it to come between them.

That promise was the last thing he said, however, his mouth clamping quite audibly shut as he finally managed to regain control.

Anger and incredulity at what had just occurred and why it had was pushed into the background for the moment in the silent panic of watching out for any indication that Crowley was in actual fact awake despite everything that said he was still fast asleep or that he had heard any of it.

Green eyes scanned over the defined features, then did it again then once more.

There was nothing. Of course, snakes were known to be able to lie completely still for long periods of time, weren’t they? They didn’t need to be asleep for that to happen, either.

But he’s not entirely a snake, is he? He’s a fallen angel, first of all, then a snake demon. So, it doesn’t have to follow that what they can do, he can as well, and he does look as though he’s fast asleep. God knows that I’ve seen him drunk and consequently asleep enough times to know his face when he’s out like a light.

Even so, the stakes were significantly higher here than they’d ever been, at least between the two of them, weren’t they? This could cause severe and permanent damage between them, after all.

The anger was slowly seeping its way back in between the cracks of the panic, aided by the alcohol forcefully leaving his body now, though it was almost purely anger towards himself.

Why had he started to touch the ginger? Never mind that, really, at least in the face of why on earth he had suddenly started to talk about this? Why would he ever bare his heart like that? It made absolutely no sense and he couldn’t blame it on the alcohol, not entirely, as much as he wanted to.

His eyes scanned over the other’s face again, and yet again saw no indication that he was aware of where he was, much less that something had been said or what that something was.

Please let that be the case. Please, just let him be as deeply asleep as he appears to be. Let me not have ruined it all in one fell swoop. Please.

“Crowley,” he called again, softly, as one final attempt. He considered removing the sunglasses for a better look, to be sure one way or the other. But that wouldn’t necessarily give him a clearer answer and it’d run the risk of consequently waking the other up.

So, as there was still nothing, except perhaps for a slight further opening of his mouth, Aziraphale let out the softest, most unobtrusive yet longest of sighs. For all its smallness, however, it was heavily laced with relief.

Now all he had to do was somehow manoeuvre himself out from underneath the lanky body and lay him out on the sofa as though he’d been sleeping on that all along. But that shouldn’t be much of a problem. He’d done that before, after all, and the residual heat of his body on the seat would help convince the demon’s body that it’d been lying on that all along.

It took a bit more effort than usual, mostly because he was even more hyperaware of everything he did and how it might give the whole thing away.

Eventually, though, he managed to do it and clear his normal seat without sending any book tumbling to the floor, which he was rather proud of. With the way the evening had gone, it would just figure that he’d sent them crashing – and they were quite rare and precious books, too. But no, there was no papery carnage to be had this time.

He even found a blanket to drape over the sleeping figure and had managed to settle himself down in his own armchair with a book in one hand and a careful cup of tea, as he hadn’t been able to face a cup of hot cocoa right then, in the other.

In fact, so long passed before Crowley began to stir that Aziraphale had managed to not just pretend to read but actually become engrossed in what he was reading. That wasn’t to say he’d managed to push the whole incident out of his mind, because he was absolutely certain that the day that he managed that would be the same day he actually got hold of “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter”.

Crowley woke with a serious of small noises that might’ve been annoying to others but which Aziraphale normally found rather endearing. This time, however, he didn’t hear them and didn’t otherwise notice the motions the snake went through as he woke up.

He did clock the somewhat mussy-sounding, searching call of his name, though, and couldn’t help the small extra beat of his heart at the thought that the first thing out of Crowley’s mouth when he woke was his name, even if it was probably merely because he’d fallen asleep in his bookshop and didn’t know where the other was.

“Take your glasses off, you’ll be able to see everything much better,” he said, not looking up from the page. Studiously so, one might say. He didn’t need to see the lanky body slowly wake up and not just because he knew well enough what it looked like.

“Don’t want to. Far too bright as is,” answered Crowley, a slight hiss to his voice. However, he didn’t sound quite as drunk or even as hung-over as one would expect with the amount of alcohol he’d downed. Or perhaps it was more that he didn’t sound as tired as he ought to, given the fact that he’d only just woken up.

Aziraphale didn’t notice that.

“Well, if you will drink that much…” he chided as he turned a page. He conveniently forgot to say anything about how much they normally drank or how much he himself had consumed.

The ginger, however, didn’t.

“You drank more than I did!” Crowley said and whether that was protest, accusation or indignation wasn’t at all clear. “And you had booze in your dessert!”

That last part definitely was accusation. He’d sat himself up at that, the blond could tell by the creak of the sofa and the soft noise of the blanket shifting.

“That hardly counts. You’re supposed to have alcohol in a trifle, it really isn’t a proper trifle without it.”

Aziraphale still didn’t look up from where he was reading his book. At least, ostensibly he was reading it. In reality, he’d stopped being engrossed in its plot and not purely because he had to carry on a conversation with Crowley at the same time. He could multitask in such matters rather well after so much practice. That he chose to block out the rest of the world to focus on his reading was another matter entirely.

Just because he was no longer engrossed didn’t mean he was going to look up, however. He was quite content where he was, thank you ever so much. Ahem.

“But you picked one that had kirsch in the trifle and the cherries on top were soaked in it, too.”

That he was almost entirely coherent now Aziraphale wasn’t surprised by. He’d undoubtedly pushed both tiredness and hangover out with a small miracle or whatever was the demonic equivalent.

But it was nice to fall into something as ordinary as their normal chat, even in its good-natured quibbling form, and he grabbed at it gratefully, in the hope that if he worked hard and kept things bottled up and under mental lock and key far better than he had – preferably, he never got drunk around Crowley again, either – then things could continue like this between them forever. Which would be all that he could wish for, really.

“And as I recall, you stole most of those cherries, one of them off my very fork.”

The smirk the demon had had when he’d done it, too – and the fact that it was a small smirk hadn’t diminished it in the slightest, either.

At long last, he managed to turn a page. Now just to remember what the last paragraph on the previous page had been about. Something about…about…

His view of the page was suddenly obscured by locks of shoulder length red hair. Then the rest of his vision was filled up with the visage of Crowley who was rather too close for comfort. Especially as he was at the perfect closeness for a kiss.

Aziraphale immediately reared his head back a fair bit and did it quickly.

In the back of his mind was the thought that it was good his panic to keep from overstepping – and why was it suddenly so constantly difficult to refrain from that when it wasn’t even as though it was a recent development, even by their standards? – could look as though he was just shocked at Crowley disrespecting personal space.

“You still drank more than me,” drawled Crowley, as though that somehow concluded the argument.

“Well, then I guess what we can conclude from that is that I hold my alcohol far better than you do,” Aziraphale replied, a tad sniffilly, trying hard to ignore the desire to…well, so much, really, it was hard to keep track of.

But Crowley only grinned.

“Hah! As if. You forget that I know you, angel, and I remember…” He paused, at first just frowning. Then it became his whole face that scrunched up for a beat, two.

“Excuse me,” he said around a noise that might’ve been a suppressed burp.

“Really,” Aziraphale said, sounding for all the world like a mildly scandalised housewife from the fifties. But then, Crowley did excuse himself, that was, well, something.

“Your blessed cherries,” Crowley said, stifling another one. “Trying to make a run for it. Oh, Satan…”

He pulled away, looking genuinely uncomfortable, one hand finding the lower half of his abdomen – calling it a stomach or belly seemed almost wrong when it was rarely anything but concave – while the other stayed in the vicinity of his mouth.

Concerned, Aziraphale closed his book and put it away.

Then he handed Crowley a glass.

The demon stared at him for moment but took the glass without comment and downed its contents.

Without question, either, Aziraphale realised a little belatedly. He could’ve filled that to the brim with holy water – not that he ever would, mind! Just the thought of it was abominable and made his insides churn and writhe. What had been in the glass was water and something to calm the stomach whatever ailed it. But the point was that he could have done it, and Crowley would’ve drunk it, without hesitation or question.

His heart was beating painfully in his chest as he watched Crowley let out a sigh of relief, the pain not entirely bad.

This. This right here, the trust in him, the inclusion, the care and all the rest. Wasn’t this worth the heartache, the troubles and the pining?

What an absolutely silly question.

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

It wasn’t long after that, about a year or so, that Crowley got his assignment to deliver the Antichrist to his foster parents and the countdown to Armageddon officially began.

Well, technically, of course, that countdown had begun the moment Earth had been created, really, but the home straight, as it were, had arrived and as always in such circumstances where you’re mainly sure you didn’t want to reach what lay at the end of the countdown, time seemed to pass just a bit faster.

At the same time, though, the fact that it all ticked down to an endpoint, the endpoint, you might say, made things take on a new importance along with the urgency, and thus it felt slower, somehow. As if the world was being run at eight-tenth of its normal speed. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

The fact that they were trying to prevent it from happening at all didn’t make much of a difference in that scenario, unfortunately.

What it did do, however, was push Aziraphale’s fears about what he’d done and whether he’d made a complete mess of everything into at least a modicum of background.

Having the demon somewhere in the world, safe and sound even if Aziraphale would never see him again because of what he’d revealed, however inadvertently, was preferable to have him discorporated or outright destroyed through Heavenly means when the battle, the war finally arrived.

Even in the scenario where it was Hell who won the war – and Aziraphale couldn’t help feeling awful and terribly guilty for even contemplating that possibility, because he shouldn’t – there was no guarantee he’d be safe or even come out of it alive.

No, preventing Armageddon had…further benefits than making sure the Earth and its inhabitants didn’t perish in the struggle between Heaven and Hell to see who was, ultimately, the deserved victor.

But the fact that it’d been pushed into the background in favour, if such it could be called, of more worldly concerns did not equal that they were gone or even that they would stay in the background. Of course not.

The first time they surfaced was while they were both ‘employed’ by the Dowlings to look after little Warlock.

He had feared that it would happen sooner, to be perfectly honest.

When they had, in their attempt to cope with the fact that the End of the World had gone from some nebulous future point to an actual, concrete time of roughly eleven years from then, begun to drink, Aziraphale had a few extra issues to deal with. Such as the panic over drinking with Crowley again and the determination that nothing would pass his lips, never mind allow either of them to fall asleep. The fear that being drunk would loosen their tongues, too, and that either would let something slip that they shouldn’t.

Even so, the drink was very much needed in light of what he’d learned, and he couldn’t help the almost copious amount that he downed.

Thankfully, though their talk was decidedly drunken and just a bit silly despite the seriousness of the situation, there was no mention or even hint of Aziraphale’s confession. As for the risk of falling asleep drunk, that was thankfully taken care of by his need to sober up in order to cope with what they were talking about. And Crowley following suit, of course. Most definitely.

In the intervening five years, until Warlock was, they felt, old enough to have a nanny that could also function as a governess and could teach him thoroughly, they saw each other, yes, to find out whether there were any more murmurings from below or above and keep notes on how the ambassador and his wife was handling their little hell-spawn.

Granted, they did also go out to purely enjoy themselves sometimes. Aziraphale wasn’t quite able to enjoy it all as he normally did, at least not for the first two or three years, but after nothing seemed to come of it, he began to relax just a little.

And they were busy with other stuff, too. Impending Armageddon ought really to either speed every activity on earth up as things needed to be wrapped up and everything made ready for the rush or come to a grinding halt as there was no longer much point to try and enact anything. It would be like ordering a buffet option five minutes before closing.

But looking after the Antichrist, balancing out the influences, that brought them into closer…not exactly contact, as there wasn’t too much reason for a nanny and a gardener to interact, but certainly proximity and for a longer period than they ever had. They even did interact from time to time. Of course, they were careful to keep their talk strictly professional, well, mainly, and most certainly didn’t discuss the nature of their little charge while either Warlock or his parents could overhear.

Sometimes, however, Aziraphale thought there was an odd cadence to Crowley’s voice when they talked that was new. It was only occasionally but it happened while in-character as Ashtoreth and Brother Francis – and well, he would have to admit that the slight burr in the softened nanny-voice was…quite lovely – as well as when they otherwise met up and regardless of the circumstance, Aziraphale was still able to detect it.

The oddity mainly came from it seeming to be, of all things, something like optimism, like hope. It wasn’t exactly beaming but it was there, a soupçon infused in many other expressions and tones. Which would make sense if it related to how things seemed to be working, that the heavenly influences really were balancing out the hellish ones, which seemed to the blessed case, rendering the child wonderfully normal.

Crowley had voiced the thought that perhaps he was too normal a few times already but Aziraphale had resolutely pushed the idea aside.

Though he could admit he was hardly an expert, Aziraphale didn’t think the optimism and hope was to do with their apparent success. It felt unrelated to it, among other things because it appeared at occasions and in conversations that had nothing to do with the little boy they were looking after.

It wasn’t only that, either. If it had been purely that, Aziraphale might’ve been able to write it off. As what exactly, he wasn’t sure and didn’t dare examine, in case that it crumbled before him, when he thought that it was in fact solely that.

What was in addition was the occasional long stare from equally long distances that seemed incredibly thoughtful for the demon’s normal range, visible through the sunglasses, and didn’t stop when the blond caught it. Not immediately, anyway, as if Crowley didn’t mind being caught watching. Once or twice there was even just the hint of a smile, highlighted by bright lipstick when nannying, that hadn’t even a hint of a smirk in it.

There was also the fact that he sat himself closer than he’d done before or moved so that he was almost, almost touching the blond without quite getting there and even that sometimes, very rarely, Crowley would open his mouth when there’d been silence between them, and start to ask a question, only to seemingly think the better of it and shut his mouth, then often enough start talking about something else entirely. Sometimes he wouldn’t get further than a noise before he clammed up.

That last part was in itself not really odd but in conjunction with the other things and the fact that they were all rather new additions…

Whatever the actual reason for it, it made the angel’s fear that something must’ve gotten through to the demon of that confession while he slept despite everything, and he was telling him that he knew ratchet right back up.

Aziraphale’s hands bunched into fists against his thighs as he sat in his chair in the bookshop one evening and contemplated it. He wasn’t exactly keen on doing it, but he’d put it off for a long while by that point and it was starting to affect him.

But no. No, that didn’t make any sense. Why would he wait this long to start giving him hints if he’d remembered all along? Or perhaps a better question, if he’d only just remembered or pieced something together, was why he was hinting at it in the first place? Why not confront him outright? It wasn’t as though Crowley could ever be termed as ‘shy’, was it?

It was simply Aziraphale’s paranoia doing the talking and nothing more. Yes, that was it.

However, that left the question of why he’d then been doing all of those things. What other possible explanation could there be? It was hard, to say the least, to think of any that would fit the criteria.

You could always ask Crowley, an inner voice suggested. Be the one who confronts him.

Oh, yes, and how would that look? ‘Crowley, I believe you keep doing this and that and so on, little things that add up to something else, I feel. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I cannot help but be worried and slightly unsettled.’

Yes, that’d just work outright marvellously, wouldn’t it?

Especially seeing as ‘unsettled’ only worked as something not completely horrible, coming from an angel to a demon, when it was used in the context of Aziraphale’s fears and worries. Which was exactly what he was trying to hide.

Using other words wouldn’t work much better either, he felt, because he was, implicitly or explicitly, saying that he was keeping Crowley under observation and monitoring their conversations and for what?

No, there was a number of reasons why that could be construed wrongly. Nor was it as though he was likely to get a good explanation or even an explanation at all out of it. Even if that was the case, the risk to reward was quite disproportionate.

What should he do instead, then?

Oh, he didn’t know!

His closed hands slid down his thighs then back up in frustrated fear and apprehension.

Why had he done it? No amount of alcohol or even the combination of Crowley’s presence in his lap and copious amounts of alcohol should be capable of sending his guard down so fully as that. He should have known better. Should’ve been able to stop his mouth – and his hand!

That was another issue.

In comparison to six millennia, five years was, well, the blink of an eye, really, if even that much. Add to that that Aziraphale had, when the circumstances were right – whether that was by his choice or not was another matter – quite the crystal, almost eidetic memory, and you ended up in a situation where certain moments still felt as though they had only just happened.

Perhaps it was also the fact that it hadn’t been some random person he’d touched. It was Crowley.

Yes. That most certainly made a lot of, if not all the difference.

But he could still feel at least a phantom of that cheek underneath his fingers, the thick, red hair between them and it made him ache, in more ways than one.

That brought him back to the question of why he’d done it. He’d known that it was a bad idea from the off, had always managed to curtail any inclinations to take it where he so wanted but couldn’t take back.

The worst part was…he had no answer. Not a one.

Even after spending what felt like hours on it, he was getting nowhere except feeling further sense of misery about it all.

Then he sighed deeply and got up from his chair.

He would have to be back at the Dowling house in just a few hours, in full smiling buck-toothed ensemble and with a disposition to match as he nudged the actual hell-spawn towards something more…divine, and he did have some actual work to do before then.

Right. Slip back into who he was meant to play – and that wasn’t purely the gardener persona, either.

#good omens fic #good omens #running alongside narrative #Ineffable Husbands #aziraphale/crowley #crowley/aziraphale #pining aziraphale #nervous aziraphale #anxious aziraphale #scared aziraphale #trusting crowley #aziraphale angst #can't think of more tags #elphen fic

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southdownsraphael · 5 years

Text

Pull My Hair And Call Me Your Love

AO3 - 5,531 words - Rating: Explicit

Summary:

Aziraphale can’t resist touching Crowley’s hair, it’s too perfect, too soft, and just the right length to play with. He simply can’t help himself, and after washing the demon’s hair for him, he shoves him up against the wall.

This is my first piece in my new collection - The Harder The Rain, Honey, The Sweeter the Sun - and contains dominance, bratty Crowley, and hair pulling.

Sample:

"That was delicious, angel," Crowley hummed as he gathered up the plates and glasses from the worn wooden table, stacking them carefully.

"Well, I didn't cook it, I just ordered it," Aziraphale pointed out with a smile, rising from his chair and kissing his demon on the cheek. "Are you sure you don't need help?"

"I think I can handle washing up two plates," Crowley chuckled, resting his spare hand on the angel's cheek for just a moment. "You go read, I'm going to go and have a bath once I've finished. And then maybe you can read to me in bed, like last night."

The light from Aziraphale's smile could have lit up a cavern the size of the Grand Canyon as he leaned up slightly, letting one hand brush down Crowley's chest and pecking the demon's lips softly. "Alright. I love you, darling."

Crowley felt the blush rising almost immediately, but squashed the urge to turn away, to hide. Instead, he leaned into Aziraphale’s touch, golden eyes soft as he looked down at his angel. "I love you too."

"I know," Aziraphale replied with a loving, but slightly teasing smile, just before he turned and walked out of the tiny dining room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Crowley smiled to himself, then took a deep breath and wandered into the kitchen. It only took a minute or two to wash the plates and clear the takeout boxes, and then he was on his way upstairs, glancing out of the window as he went. It was still getting dark outside, and he could see the gathering storm clouds on the horizon, covering the sky like a bruise.

He sighed to himself and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door with a soft click. He didn't lock it, it wasn't worth it. After all, Aziraphale could open any door, no matter the lock, and Crowley had made a promise to himself many months ago now to never shut the angel out again, even in small, seemingly insignificant ways. It was their cottage now, they were sharing it together, and neither of them really wanted anything so mundane as privacy.

Crowley leaned over the tub and started the water running while he quietly got undressed, folding his clothes on the white marble countertop carefully. He tested the water and added a little more cold, humming to himself tunelessly as he waited for the water to adjust.

At last, he finally slid into the bath, letting out a happy sigh as the warm water lapped at his bare skin, climbing higher and higher up his sides. He grinned up at the ceiling for a while, his eyes half closed, his body relaxed and content, one arm dangling over the side of the large tub. However, this quiet peace ended rather abruptly, the click of the door sounding loud, even over the rushing water, and Crowley blinked, forcing his eyes to focus.

Aziraphale slipped into the bathroom, no longer wearing his coat or waistcoat, and instead wearing a slightly nervous little smile. "Do you mind if I sit with you, my dear?"

Crowley stared at him for a second, golden eyes wide, then nodded. "Of course. Um. Pull up a towel."

Aziraphale smiled that loving, bright, kind smile and sat down on the shaggy brown bath mat, leaning his side against the tub. "You seem quiet tonight. Did everything go smoothly today?"

Crowley sighed to himself quietly, sliding a little further into the water and closing his eyes again. He didn’t want to admit to himself that the bath suddenly felt too big to be sitting in alone, so he pushed the thought away quickly and focused on the angel’s question. "It was fine. A bog standard temptation and a very small miracle. Fairly boring, actually, but it was a long train journey, and you know how much I hate travelling."

"I know, darling," Aziraphale sighed, reaching out and gently taking Crowley's dangling hand in both of his. He lifted it slowly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his knuckles and rubbing his thumb over the demon's skin. "I'm sorry I couldn't go."

"We should start going together," Crowley blurted out suddenly, his eyes snapping open, his fingers curling, lacing in the shocked angel's. "I..I wouldn't mind travelling if I got to spend the time with you."

Aziraphale nodded slightly and kissed the back of his hand again, then squeezed it gently. "Maybe. Can we talk about it tomorrow? I don’t want to think about work right now.”

Crowley hesitated, about to protest, to ask the angel why he seemed so uncertain, but he shut his mouth again quickly and forced himself to relax. His grip on Aziraphale's hand loosened slightly as he settled back again, studying the angel’s eyes as if solidifying them in his memory, over and over. "Of course, angel."

Aziraphale smiled to himself, watching Crowley's face as peace washed over him once more, peace that was made so much better by the feeling of his angel's hands holding his, his touch warm against the demon's own naturally cool skin. Crowley sank a little lower into the water and Aziraphale squeezed his hand, taking a slow breath in and out. He could see the demon's hair spreading out underneath his head as it was dipped into the water, just the last couple inches getting wet.

"Let me wash your hair, darling," Aziraphale murmured suddenly, driven by an urge to touch that hair, let his fingers run through it and feel that silky softness again. Crowley's golden gaze fixed on his, amused and a little uncertain.

"Hmm? Why?"

"Because I want to," the angel answered with a silly, embarrassed little grin that the demon simply couldn't resist.

"Alright, angel. If it makes you happy," Crowley sighed heavily, pretending to be annoyed as he sat up, gently taking his hand away from Aziraphale's. The angel just nodded, leaning over to kiss his cheek before grabbing a cup off the side of the tub and scooping up some water.

"Close your eyes," he murmured, watching as the demon obeyed, tilting his head back slightly and allowing his lips to curve up in a small smile. Then Aziraphale carefully tipped the water over Crowley's beautiful red, wavy locks, causing them to hang down soaked and long, brushing the demon's upper back.

Crowley let out a soft breath, shifting slightly as Aziraphale leaned over him again, taking the shampoo bottle off the side carefully.

He squeezed some into his hand, then began to rub it into the demon's scalp, working from the front backwards and grinning to himself as Crowley leaned his head back, into the angel's cradling hands. The scent of peaches filled the bathroom, sweet and inviting and making Crowley smile to himself. Of course the angel had picked up his own shampoo.

"Does that feel good?" Aziraphale asked softly, shaking the demon out of his thoughts as he gently rubbed his fingertips down the back of Crowley's head, all the way to the top of his neck. The demon sighed deeply, his entire body feeling heavy and so, so relaxed as Aziraphale carefully pulled the shampoo down, making sure to work it through the ends of his hair.

"Mmm, it's great," Crowley mumbled dreamily, and the angel smiled a little wider, picking the cup up again.

"Good. Head back, darling, I'm going to rinse."

It took a few cupfuls of water to get every last trace of soap out of Crowley's long, thick hair, but Aziraphale didn't mind. After all, he got to run his hands through those flaming red locks over and over again, his fingers brushing his demon's cheek and jaw, and when he finally finished, he pulled Crowley into a soft, loving kiss.

The demon tensed briefly in surprise, opening his eyes reflexively before letting his eyelids flutter closed, his hands coming up to cup Aziraphale's jaw as he ever so gently pulled the angel deeper. Aziraphale just smiled against his lips and pulled away slowly, reaching up to brush Crowley's hair behind his ear.

"I just want to sit with you for a bit, my dear," he announced softly, and Crowley leaned back, letting his back rest against the end of the tub as he looked over at his angel. His golden eyes were fixated on Aziraphale's bright blue gaze, his expression inscrutable until he smiled, and everything softened.

"I won't be long, anyway," the demon answered quietly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he settled into the water comfortably. "I just wanted to warm up."

Aziraphale nodded, letting out a deep breath as he reached over, brushing the backs of his fingers down the demon's cheek. "You do still feel a little cold."

"It's cold out there, angel," Crowley muttered, becoming a little defensive in the face of the angel's reproachful tone. "I wore the coat you bought me."

"Good," Aziraphale said firmly, his voice softening as he went on, soothing his demon. "I'm glad you wore it, I worry about you when it gets cold out."

"It'll be spring soon enough," Crowley smiled, reaching up as the angel stroked his cheek again, this time catching his hand and kissing his fingers ever so softly. "You don't need to worry about me, angel. I'm alright."

"I know, but that doesn't stop me from worrying," Aziraphale pointed out gently, holding onto his demon's hand loosely and flashing him a slightly apologetic smile. "I'm glad we're working more often again now, but it's so nice to have you here with me."

"You've gone soft, angel," Crowley chuckled, sitting up again and folding his knees in front of him as he started to wash off his chest and arms carefully, breathing slowly and deeply as he felt the warm water run over his skin - washing away the cares of the day, the chill on his skin, everything except the feel of Aziraphale’s gentle touches.

"Only for you," the angel answered simply, letting the demon's fingers slip from his reluctantly. "Are you feeling warmer yet?"

"Mhm. Much better."

Aziraphale smiled and skimmed his fingertips down Crowley's back slowly, allowing himself the luxury of feeling his skin, warm and soft under his touch. "You're beautiful, did you know that?" He breathed, and the demon took a deep breath, blushing already and making sure not to look at his angel, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. The ‘I love you’s he could handle, compliments were still a work in progress.

"No. I-I didn't," Crowley mumbled, jumping slightly when he felt Aziraphale's hand on his cheek, stroking his skin ever so gently.

"Well, now you do," the angel smiled, getting up off the floor and lifting Crowley's bottle green towel off the rack, leaving his own light blue tartan towel alone on the radiator. Crowley hadn’t even known they made tartan towels until Aziraphale had brought it home from the shops one day, triumphant in the knowledge that it would annoy the demon no end. "Come on, how about that reading in bed you promised me?"

The demon nodded, smiling slightly as he got up, carefully taking the towel from Aziraphale, who swallowed and took a small, instinctive step back. His conscious mind told him that he was doing it to give his demon more space, but deep down, a little part of himself knew that all he wanted was a better view.

(Continued on AO3...)

#my writing #good omens #fanfiction #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #south downs cottage #crowley is a bottom #hair pulling #crowley is a brat

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not-a-space-alien · 5 years

Text

Into the Unknown, Part 4: Reunited

Art by @petimetrek (Link)

Prologue | Dramatis Personae | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Series masterpost

On AO3

Satan, showing his true colors, left Agares on the verge of death at Mykas’s feet without a second thought or any attempt at all to retrieve her.

Maltha did heal her, only begrudgingly so, and after Aziraphale told her it was quite all right to do so. Agares could be heard heaping verbal abuse upon her in the process, and the final examination ended with Maltha throwing her hands up and saying, “Well, she won’t die, so I’m done here.”

Unfortunately, Agares seemed to have no insight into the recent resurrections; she didn’t even know how she was here. She had no concept of how much time had passed. That was pretty much all the information they could get out of her.

After that, Noah had Agares thrown in the Pit. This had been the standard protocol for any demon, no matter the rank, who refused to stop causing trouble. Which, given the several-hour-long session Noah had with her that ended with Noah coming out looking frazzled and frustrated, she definitely did.

The Pit was a sort of maximum-security prison because it was a simple dimension hole from which nobody could really get out unless summoned by someone on the other side. They hadn’t needed to use it in years, and none of them were very happy to have to open it back up.

Crowley and Aziraphale, once again reunited in safety, realised grimly upon their decision to go back up to Earth that their stressful spate of time needing bodyguards had returned along with the mysterious new arrivals.

There wasn’t really anyone around to ask. Mykas had tracked Satan down to the infernal stables, where the imp manning the barn reported Satan had stolen a hellhorse and taken off in the direction of Earth and was probably long gone by now. So they had decided all available hands should start scouring Earth for his whereabouts before he could get much further and do any more damage.

Noah was pretty much the only one remaining in the ninth layer, so Crowley very meekly approached and asked if anyone would be free to escort him and Aziraphale back up to Earth. Noah scrambled to fulfill his request, and a few minutes later Victoria was by their side, taking them back up to Earth under the safety of her wings.

Crowley had honestly expected Noah to try and convince him to stay in Hell, but he was glad they were free to go. That meant he could finish healing Aziraphale in the comfort and privacy of the bookshop’s back room, where Aziraphale lay on the sofa with wings out.

“What should we do with the food and decorations and stuff?”

Crowley, straddling Aziraphale’s ample posterior to position himself, looked at Adramelech, who stood in the shop with the look of a puppy that had just been kicked.

Victoria stood guard at the entrance to the back room. Crowley leaned over to address her. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we might still have the party…?”

Victoria turned away, unable to look him in the face. “Everyone is scrambling. The higher-ups are having a strategic meeting to decide what should be done about the new arrivals. I expect everyone will be busy investigating and trying to find Satan before he can hole up somewhere.”

Crowley sighed and massaged Aziraphale’s shoulders sadly. “Thanks, Adramelech. Take the decorations down and box them up. We might be able to re-use them. As for the food, no need to let it go to waste. Distribute it around for everyone to take with them. I expect with everyone so busy, nobody will really have interest in cooking. It might prove useful.”

Adramelech nodded morosely. “I’ll bring a basket back here for you and Aziraphale.”

“Thank you, dear boy,” said Aziraphale. “It is much appreciated. You and Sylvia be careful, now.”

Adramelech slunk out.

Crowley sighed, his hands kneading Aziraphale’s flesh. “I keep telling myself things could be worse.”

“They could be,” said Aziraphale. “We could have not gotten to sample the baskets of gourmet food Adramelech is going to bring us.”

Crowley squeezed his shoulders, laughing despite the circumstances. “I meant more like, luckily you aren’t too badly beaten up.”

“I kept my wings mostly drawn in during the whole ordeal,” said Aziraphale.

“Mmm.” Crowley combed his fingers through Aziraphale’s feathers, at this point more preening them just for comfort than anything.

Aziraphale laid his face down into the pillow and said something too quietly to hear.

“What did you say, angel?”

Aziraphale folded his wings and rolled over, arm slung over his face. “I thought we were done with this.”

Crowley set his hands in lap. “Yeah…me too.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“This really isn’t fair,” said Crowley.

“Yeah,” said Aziraphale.

“Well, luckily this time we’ve got almost the entire world on our side,” said Crowley. “We won’t go down without a fight.”

“We won’t go down at all,” said Aziraphale. “Everyone has really, truly come to appreciate the way the world is now. It can never go back to the way it was before, not even with the return of Gabriel and Satan or even God H—”

Crowley and Aziraphale locked eyes, fearful.

“You don’t think…?” said Crowley.

“Somebody, I hope not…” said Aziraphale.

Crowley sprawled out on the bed next to Aziraphale, laughing grimly. “If so, we’ll be the first to go, I’m sure of it.”

Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs. “I suppose we ought to postpone the engagement to a later time, then.”

Crowley no longer had the good humour to pretend the engagement hadn’t been about to happen. “Yeah…”

Crowley kneaded the bedspread, staring at the ceiling. The damn world always got in the way.

“No,” he said, sitting up. “Fuck that.” He dug in his pocket and withdrew the two ring boxes. “It’s not how I wanted it to happen, but this is happening, damn it.”

“Crowley…”

Crowley opened the white ring box and presented the gold ring to Aziraphale. “Aziraphale, will you marry me?”

Crowley’s face was red and very, very serious. Aziraphale laughed, caressing Crowley’s cheek. “Of course I will.”

His hand moved to the ring. “This is beautiful, Crowley…”

“Compliments of the infernal treasury. Hold out your hand.”

Aziraphale allowed Crowley to slip the ring onto his finger. Aziraphale hid his face in his other hand, admiring the way the light sparkled in the beautiful lapis lazuli gemstone.

The angel looked like he might faint. “Crowley, this is wonderful. I see it has something etched into it…?”

“It has a partner,” said Crowley, cracking open the black ring box. He showed Aziraphale the silver and onyx ring, sliding it up his own finger. “They’re enchanted.”

“To do what?”

Crowley scrutinised the spellwork wrought into the silver on his finger. “Not sure…Noah was a bit vague. ‘No matter the distance separating you, you’ll know you’re with each other.’ We can use the charm once every twelve hours.”

Aziraphale rubbed the blue stone on his ring. The sigil glowed faintly. Crowley gasped as he felt a tendril of Aziraphale’s aura through his hand.

“Did you feel that?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley did. It was just a flash, an impression of the angel, the warm love, the tenderness he felt. It was like holding his hand.

“This is—This is—Angel, are you crying?”

“No,” said Aziraphale, crying.

The glow faded and with it, the extra caress of his partner. Crowley rubbed the red gem on his finger, thinking it was probably the best gift he had ever gotten.

“This is wonderful,” said Crowley. “We’ll always know we’re with each other, even…even if we get separated like that again.”

“I want to be with you forever,” said Aziraphale. “I feel like—No matter where we are—where we’ve been, all throughout history—whenever we’re together…being together feels like home. Home is wherever you are. Home is wherever we’re both together.”

Crowley nuzzled his forehead, and Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“We’ll get out of this together,” said Crowley. “No matter what. We’ll spend forever together, wherever it is.”

“I would like nothing more than that.”

Crowley’s hands felt very warm in Aziraphale’s own. Crowley had always felt very warm, as though he had hellfire flickering under his skin, despite him always complaining about being cold.

They both sat up at the sound of Victoria’s booted footsteps coming up the stairs. “We’ve got company,” she said, poking her head into the room.

Aziraphale wiped his face quickly. “Bloody Hell,” said Crowley, jumping off the bed and putting his shoes on. “Who?”

“Archdemon,” said Victoria. “Don’t know which one. They’re still a ways off, but approaching rapidly.”

“What should we do?” said Crowley.

“Wait in the back room while I see who it is,” said Victoria. “They might not be hostile, but judging by the aura it’s not Maltha.”

Aziraphale and Crowley hunkered down on the sofa in the back room while Victoria went out into the shop proper. She returned a moment later and stuck her head into the back room. “It’s Kabata. He’s not trying to get into the shop. He’s eyeing up the shop next door.”

“Yulera’s shop,” said Aziraphale softly.

“I don’t think he intends us any harm,” said Crowley.

The three of them came out into the main shop and glanced out the front window. Kabata could be seen lurking on the street corner, facing Yulera’s shop. Yulera was visible in the shop front, engrossed in a huge volume that took up her whole desk. There was nobody else in the shop—unsurprising, considering not even the wear of the years had convinced her to stop making her shop even more unwelcoming to humans than Aziraphale’s.

“Do you trust this guy?” said Victoria. “Should we let him in if he tries to come in?”

“I trust him not to attack us, at least,” said Crowley. “Why don’t you wait upstairs?”

Victoria was only convinced to do so once Crowley told her about his last encounter with Kabata. Her aura was still faintly detectable from upstairs, a reminder of their protection, but not so much so that it would feel like she was dominating the room like she would be if she were there.

After a few minutes of ambling on the sidewalk, Kabata turned away from Yulera’s shop and approached Aziraphale’s. He met their eyes for a moment before opening the door and sticking his head in.

He didn’t say anything. Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“May I come in?” said Kabata.

“Seems you already have,” said Aziraphale.

Kabata’s hooves tapped the floorboards as he stepped in and closed the door behind him. He wrung his hands.

“Why have you come here?” said Crowley.

“I…need some advice.”

Crowley waited for him to elaborate. The archdemon lowered his head and turned back to face Yulera’s shop. “How can I be someone worthy of her love?”

Now this was something they hadn’t been prepared for. They tried to use the same track they had done with Uriel, but with Victoria upstairs breathing down their necks, and with the way Kabata kept distractedly glancing out the shopfront to the display next door, they were afraid to take too long. They eventually settled for trying to give Kabata relationship advice and sending him off with the suggestion he plan a picnic for Yulera, which would be a lovely activity for their reunion. Crowley conveniently had access to a large supply of leftover gourmet picnic food, so he offloaded a decent feast into a picnic basket and gave it to Kabata, who scuttled out the door looking like he had a plan.

Victoria came down a few moments later to ask how it went.

“All right, I suppose,” said Crowley. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“He went to the park to set up a picnic,” said Aziraphale. “I suspect he’ll be back in a few minutes to invite Yulera to join him.”

Victoria went back upstairs, assuring them she’d watch from the upper floor windows and swoop in if anything went wrong.

Kabata returned as predicted, twenty minutes later. He hovered in front of Aziraphale’s shop for a moment before turning and walking towards Yulera’s shop.

“Here we go,” said Crowley.

Kabata tapped the door, realised it was unlocked, then pushed it open. He disappeared briefly, then became visible through the shopfront as he approached Yulera.

Yulera’s head jerked up, and her eyes widened in surprise.

Kabata extended his arms, mouth moving in silent speech neither of them could decipher.

Yulera slithered over the counter and approached him, tail twitching. Her face extended into a great smile, then as he continued talking, faded into a frown.

“Uh-oh,” said Aziraphale.

Yulera pivoted, grabbed a huge atlas off her desk, and hurled it at him. He turned in time so that it only hit his shoulder, but a slew of weighty dictionaries soon followed. Yulera’s voice could be heard shouting muffled through the glass as Kabata fled.

The chime of Aziraphale’s shop door sounded, and Kabata came in, looking frazzled.

“What happened?” said Crowley.

Kabata flicked an ear, absolutely stone-faced. “She realised I was bad for her.”

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

With no wings, Gabriel had no way to get back into Heaven to try and right anything.

There was one field station within walking distance of St. James’ park. He managed to reach it, walking uneasily, robe soaked with blood, and made the unpleasant discovery that nobody at the field station was happy to see him in the slightest. It was severely under-staffed, with only a single healing angel there loitering with a warrior companion, and they both laughed in his face when he tried to give him commands.

He also made the discovery that when Uriel ripped his wings off, she had also removed a decent portion of his archangel powers. He was operating on about the level of a clerical power. He couldn’t force the healers there to help him when, to his astonishment, they flat-out refused to do so.

Gabriel was familiar with Earth, of course; he had been an Overseer of Divine Affairs on Earth at one point. But he had never lived there, and as a consequence there was nowhere on Earth he felt safe and comfortable running to besides the field stations.

So now, his one resource exhausted, he had nowhere to go. Maybe, possibly he could go back to St. James’ and see if Uriel was still there, if he could talk some sense into her. Maybe he could throw himself on Maltha’s mercy. Maybe—

Maybe nothing. The world seemed perfectly happy to have him dead.

Yet he still went back to the park. There seemed little else to do. His sandaled feet dragged tiredly through the grass, every movement labored at this point. He stopped, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

The park was a nice place to die, at least. The grass was soft. Water bubbled quietly. Ducks quacked.

There weren’t any humans in the park, which seemed odd, but there was one picnicker, and Gabriel’s heart sunk as he recognised him.

Kabata was sitting cross-legged on a checkered blanket, eating from an enormous picnic basket alone. He spied Gabriel, put down one of his sandwiches, and patted the spot next to him.

Gabriel, knowing he had no chance of getting away in this state if the archdemon decided to throw his weight around, complied and took a seat on the blanket.

“You look like shit,” said Kabata. “What happened to you?”

“Uriel got temperamental with me,” said Gabriel.

Kabata grunted and swallowed the rest of his sandwich. Gabriel idly reached into the picnic basket and removed part of a sub.

“I’m going to die again, I suppose,” he said.

Kabata’s small tail flicked. “You’re not going to die, you huge baby. Angels of lesser ranks have survived greater injuries with less help.”

“Nobody has ever had an injury like mine,” Gabriel snapped. “In case you didn’t notice, I lost my fucking wings.”

Kabata shook a bug off his leg.

“How am I supposed to do anything like this? How can I enforce the Heavenly order?”

“Gabriel, do you want some advice?”

Gabriel unwrapped the sandwich, half tempted to actually eat it.

“Give up,” said Kabata.

Gabriel looked over at him. The archdemon took another bite of food.

“But what about the Heavenly order?” said Gabriel.

“Fuck the Heavenly order,” said Kabata, muffled through his mouthful of food. “You’re alive, and you’re free, and that’s the best anyone like us can get.”

“You want me to admit you were right,” said Gabriel hotly. “That we would be better off without God running things, leaving everyone and everything to their own devices. To free will…”

He trailed off as he spoke, anger fading.

Kabata gestured up to the clear blue sky. Birds tweeted. A duck wandered up and eyed Gabriel hopefully.

Gabriel took a bite out of the sandwich. After a moment, he said, “Okay, you were right. But you didn’t have to be such a prick about it.”

Kabata flicked an ear. “Fair.”

They both threw some of their bread to the ducks.

“You can stay with me, I guess,” said Kabata. “But don’t expect hugs or anything.”

Gabriel drew his knees up to his chest. “You and I haven’t spent time together in decades.”

“Yes, but before that, we did work together for nearly six millennia. Running things on Earth.”

“Before you fell.”

“Before you sentenced me to fall.”

Gabriel glowered.

“Do you want me to help you or not? Clearly you don’t have much to go on.”

“You won’t turn me over to them?” said Gabriel. “Surely they would execute me again.”

Kabata shrugged. “You might be surprised at how little anyone in this new order gives a shit about you if you’re minding your own business. I know that was always hard for you to do, though.”

Gabriel took another sandwich. “Minding your own business, huh? And what is ‘my own business’?”

Kabata looked at him.

“What’s your own business? What are your goals? What are you doing now that you’ve ‘given up’?”

Kabata lay back on the blanket, looking up at the clouds. He spread his arms out wide. “Just…existing. Just doing whatever I feel like. It rather agrees with me.”

“Yeah?”

Kabata squinted up at the clouds, as though in suspicion. “…yeah.”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic

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spootiliousrps · 5 years

Text

Ineffable Husbands and the Comfort They Didn’t Know They Needed.

Stranger: ((Set at the Crucifixion: following the idea that Crowley was actually Mary Magdalene)) With the hood pulled up over his head, long red hair tucked back and away from his pale features, Crowley located Aziraphale easily enough as the Son of the Almighty was nailed to the cross. Be kind to each other; well of course that was going to set the humans off. Temperamental bunch and not much for being told what to do. Free will, he supposed, reaped benefits, but it was not without its pitfalls. Case in point being the man across from him being agonisingly slowly murdered in front of them all. As Christ's gaze connected with his, Crowley swallowed, barely even registering Aziraphale speaking before he registered that he was being asked a question. "Hm? Sorry, you were saying?"

You: [Reading]

Stranger: [Thank you :)]

You: Aziraphale's brows furrowed at Crowley's unusual behavior. "Did you know him?" He repeated once more, eying the Demon carefully. There was something odd about his expression this time around... As if he too were in pain watching the scene before them but he was a Demon, after all, that couldn't be the case.... Could it?

You: [Srry wasn't finished ^^;]

Stranger: [No worries :)]

You: Aziraphale had known the Demon for some time now and there were moments that he did indeed take him by surprise but at the core he was still a Demon. Then again, perhaps humanity was having the same effect on Crowley as it was Aziraphale. He suppose he shouldn't be the one to jump to conclusion. "You seem upset, dear." He pointed out.

Stranger: Oh yes, he knew him. His initial given task had been to tempt the son of God, to wean him into sin and within Hell's clutches; he had done it easily enough with Eve in the Garden, after all. And yet, he had failed, finding himself drawn in by the man's innate /goodness/. It was worrisome really; a demon being drawn in by pure /goodness/. He could only hope management didn't hear about it or he would most certainly find himself being discorporated. "Pfft, demons don't get upset, angel," he drawled, settling with the standard expected answer. As the cross was levered upwards, Christ's screams punctuating the air, Crowley turned away slightly, eyes closed.

You: Aziraphale's usual smile was no where to be seen as the screams echoed among the crowd. His deep frown and furrowed brow made it obvious that he was not to keen on God's current plan but he was nothing if not loyal. Still, he glanced at the Demon and noted the way he turned away, knowing his words were nothing but a facade. He gave one last look back at the man on the cross before turning as well. "If I am to understand the plan correctly, he will be there for quite some time. Perhaps our sides wouldn't notice if we popped off a bit for a spot of dinner and a few drinks?" He offered, providing Crowley with an excuse to get away from the horror of it all.

Stranger: It sounded callous, really: the two of them popping off for drinks whilst a man died painfully, nailed to a cross. But wasn't that just the way of the world? People were always dying somewhere, no matter what people did or didn't do to stop it. And, as much as Crowley truly did want to just leave, he found an-- odd obligation to remain. "Maybe later, angel," he murmured, clasping his robes a little tighter around himself as he took a small step closer to where Christ was now hanging, head bowed forwards.

You: Aziraphale hesitated at the rejection. He wasn't hurt by it of course... Merely curious and a bit concerned. He gave a small nod before moving to remain next to the Demon. It was obvious that he had been right. Crowley knew Christ and his death was affecting him far more than the others. The Angel's gaze lifted to a soldier who was obviously eying the Demon, taking a step forward as if to stop him. Without hesitation however, Aziraphale lifted a subtle hand and suddenly the Human seemed too distracted with his own thoughts to bother with the Demon; leaving Crowley to do as he wished.

Stranger: Barely even registering the soldier, or Aziraphale's divine intervention, Crowley moved a little closer, feeling Christ's gaze on him as he went. He truly wasn't sure what possessed him to do it; had he not known better, he would have presumed that Christ was a demon himself, capable of tempting and manipulating with impressive skill. After all, he had most certainly tempted Crowley. Moving until his head was level with one of Christ's bloodied feet, he leaned forward, pressing a small kiss against them and hearing Christ's soft sigh of relief above him at his presence (and if Crowley did use a small demonic miracle to ease his pain, then that was his business and his alone).

You: Aziraphale moved with him, staying only a pace or two behind the Demon to allow him what little privacy he could, while still unwilling to leave his side. It was obvious that Crowley was enthralled by all of this and Aziraphale couldn't allow for the possibility of discorporation at this moment for the Demon... He'd likely never return if his higher ups heard how he perished. No... Best to keep close and allow him to morn. Still, the sight was something to behold. Aziraphale couldn't help but give a soft sad smile of his own as he watched Crowley preform his small Demonic miracle, ignoring the way his own gaze seemed to fill with the threat of tears. He wasn't quite sure what type of relationship the two of them had shared but it was obvious that the Demon cared for the man deeply. The Angel would not allow anyone to interfere... not this time.

Stranger: Closing his eyes, resting his forehead against the man's feet for a moment, Crowley finally drew back a little, keeping his gaze downcast. As he stepped away, he bumped into Aziraphale slightly and stilled, making no attempts to place some distance between them. He fell silent, keeping vigil over Christ as the day slowly turned into night and only the steadfast believers and Roman soldiers remained. With the moon bright in the sky, Crowley paced across the ground, before drawing to a stop at the edge of the peak, gazing skywards wearily. He didn't understand why the Almighty would do this to Her own child.

You: Aziraphale remained silent as he felt Crowley bump into him. The Demon didn't pull away so, neither would he. He was tempted to wrap a comforting arm around the men but refrained, unsure how he would react. Instead he simply waited, hoping his companionship was enough of a comfort to matter. He never allowed Crowley to wander too far away from away from him. When he stopped at the edge of the peak Aziraphale hesitated, allowing him a moment alone. The Angel did, however, glance up at the sky as well, catching sight of a few clouds. He gave a small exhale, summoning a bit of wind to clear it away as he moved to the Demon's side once more, finally speaking. "It won't be long now." He mumbled softly, gaze lowering in sadness. "Is there anything I can do?"

Stranger: Hearing Aziraphale's approach as he took his position beside him, Crowley didn't initially respond. He knew. He could sense Christ weakening, his frail human form dying and preparing to release his spirit. "You know there isn't. You were sent here on Heaven's orders to witness his death. Intervention, divine or demonic, is definitely not allowed," he muttered, tugging his robes tighter around himself as long locks of red hair fell in front of his face.

You: Aziraphale pursed his lips at the Demon's response. "I meant for you, my dear." He replied after a brief hesitation. "I am not worried for Christ. He will live on in the hearts of humanity for eons. His throne in Heaven is waiting for him." He paused, glancing back at the cross briefly before sighing and turning back to the Demon. "No... I am far more concerned about you, Crowley." He admitted.

Stranger: Crowley's nostrils flared a little, yellow eyes flashing defensively at the words. "Angels have no business being concerned about demons," he pointed out, purposefully avoiding looking at Aziraphale as he spoke. "Doesn't that count as /blasphemy/?"

You: Aziraphale pinned the Demon with an even gaze but he didn't seem angry at the retort. To be honest he somewhat expected the Demon to be defensive on the subject. Instead of retorting however, his tone was soft... almost caring. "I suppose it does." He acknowledged as if he couldn't bring himself to be bothered by the fact. "And yet, here we are." He added with a shrug. "You may not care for the idea, Crowley... But I am here if you need me." He offered, before moving as if to make his way back down the small slope.

Stranger: The demon said nothing, but he admitted to himself that the lump in his throat was caused by much more than the arid air around them. As Aziraphale began to descend the slope, he closed his eyes, before calling out: "Aziraphale, wait." Hesitating, he slowly turned, his eyes a fraction brighter than normal given the lingering tears within them. "I-- What would you advise for me to do?"

You: Aziraphale paused on command, turning to glance back at the Demon and softening. He moved back to his side offered another saddening half smile. "The only advice I can give is not to hold it in, my dear." He admitted softly, lifting his arms only slightly as if welcoming Crowley into an embrace if he chose it. "And to remember that you are not alone in this. I am here, Crowley... If you need me."

Stranger: Watching as the angel approached with arms open wide, Crowley swallowed, clearly hesitant to actually admit how he was feeling. He hesitated for a moment, before dragging his feet closer. One step, then another, until he was within Aziraphale's grasp, folding himself into the angel's embrace.

You: Aziraphale didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around the Demon, holding him tightly against his chest. He willed comfort towards the man just as he usually did with human's in this situation, though he wasn't quite sure the effect it would have on a Demon. Still, it was worth a try.

Stranger: Bowing his head forward until his face was pressed into the angel's shoulder, Crowley slumped a little, as though all the fight had seeped out of him. And, although the angel's efforts didn't work in the same way as they would have with a human, Crowley appreciated the gesture all the same.

You: Aziraphale lifted a hand to rest at the back of Crowley's head, moving in small short strokes against the fabric there. He wished he could do more for the man... So much more, but he wasn't sure how. Then a thought hit him and he frowned, glancing back towards the cross. "He should not be suffering this long.... Perhaps we should do something to end this." He offered.

Stranger: "That counts as intervention," he murmured against Aziraphale's shoulder, spine bowed as he tried futilely to compose himself. "Your side and my side wouldn't like that. Probably get us discorporated for even thinking about it, angel."

You: Aziraphale paused. "You're probably right." He mumbled softly. "Then again... Perhaps a very compassionate and merciful Angel simply could not continue to watch one of God's creations suffer any longer." He offered, already lifting a hand,about to miracle one of the soldiers to check to see if the man was alive as they did regularly... and miss placing his spear by a few inches. He hesitated however, obviously waiting for Crowley's approval.

Stranger: Crowley swallowed a little as he saw Aziraphale's gesture, interpreting it for what it was. He paused, offering a small nod before he turned his body away slightly, not wishing to see what was about to come to pass.

You: Aziraphale gave a small flick of his wrist before his arm snaked back around the Demon and one of the Soldier's voices rang out announcing another check. The soldiers moved to lift their spears and in a moment it was all over. The Angel turned back to his companion, doing his best not to worry about the consequences of his actions. It wouldn't take long for Heaven to call for him no doubt... not after such blatant disregard for orders. Still, he'd stay as long as he could to comfort his friend.

Stranger: The demon's eyes slid shut as he heard the distinct sound of metal sliding into flesh and, despite how he tried to hide it, tears slid free between his lashes, carving paths down his cheeks. Slowly, he lifted one hand, pressing it against his face to shield it from view.

You: Aziraphale remained silent as he continued to hold the man, increasing the calming emotion the exuded. He allowed his wings to unfold, curling them around the demon to shield them both from anyone who cared to look upon them, even Heaven and Hell.

Stranger: He sensed the angelic wings arching upwards to surround them both and Crowley relaxed a little, grateful for the privacy that the gesture provided. Inhaling shakily, he lifted his head a little, trying to regain his blase facade. "Just a human. Plenty of them anyway. Doesn't make a difference."

You: Aziraphale couldn't help but give a small smile at that. "Of course, dear." He replied simply, obviously not convinced but willing to go along with whatever Crowley needed.

You: It was obvious that perhaps the best thing to help Crowley was to simply listen to him.

Stranger: The demon exhaled again, wiping one hand over his eyes to rid himself of any evidence of tears. "No point staying here. I need a drink," he muttered, sauntering away as though he hadn't just spent the last couple of days grieving over the human.

You: Aziraphale allowed him to pull away but hesitated as he felt Heaven calling for his return. They were already wanting him to answer for his crime. "Perhaps I will meet you there." He commented softly, attention turning towards the opposite direction, obviously distracted. "Save me a seat?" He mumbled softly.

Stranger: Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale as he began to wander away, before his gaze slid knowingly to the Heavens above; the angels clearly now zeroing on them. Well aware that they were listening, he let out a low hiss, tone turning venomous as he spat at Aziraphale: "Confounded angel! I had converted the Son of God to a demonic cause. He would have burned the cross to the ground and wreaked destruction and sin upon the humans the Almighty so coveted. Had you not put an end to his life, we would have /won/. Damn you!" With a theatrical snarl - enough that he was sure the angels would be convinced that Aziraphale had actually done them a great service - he stormed away, acting the part of a furious demon with obvious aplomb.

You: Aziraphale's gaze snapped back to the Demon, gaze wide in surprise as he growled at him. He stared almost dumbfounded as the Demon put on his display before storming off. Slowly however, he softened a small smile appearing on his lips as he watched him go. He hesitated only a moment before turning to face the higher ups. No doubt the punishment would be far less after the Demon's reaction. Perhaps he'd actually get a chance to join him for that drink.

Stranger: Heading back into the town where there was a mixture of grief and celebration over Christ's death, Crowley sank down to take his drink. Retaining his solitude, he sat in the corner, hood tugged up to hide his face as he abortively sipped on his drink.

You: It was a few hours before Aziraphale was allowed to return to Earth. The other Angels had quite a lot of questions but after Crowley's display decided to do nothing more than give the Angel a slap on the wrist. So, Aziraphale returned, finding Crowley's location and sinking down a couple of stools away and ordering his own drink.

Stranger: "Not discorporated then?" he murmured as Aziraphale sat across from him and ordered a drink. He slowly lifted his head, serpentine eyes glowing in the dim light of the room as he studied the angel. "They bought it then, I take it?"

You: Aziraphale mumbled a small thank you as the clay cup was set in front of him before answering. "They were skeptical to say the least but... it seems so." He mumbled, obviously not too proud of himself for the deception. "Thank you." He added, finally looking over at the Demon. "It seems I owe you one."

Stranger: "No," Crowley murmured, cradling the cup in both hands. "I was just returning the favour. What you did-- up there," he managed, before he lowered his gaze to his wine tiredly. "I assume you have questions, angel. Rightfully so."

You: Aziraphale turned back to his own and shook his head. "Not Quite." He admitted softly. He allowed a brief moment of silence before continuing. "I had heard rumors, of course... Of a woman, with long red hair who tempted the men around her... Who had approached Christ." He admitted. "I knew... I suppose I simply hadn't realized the effect the man had on others." He admitted. "I was ordered to watch from a distance."

Stranger: Crowley huffed at the description of himself before he raised his cup a little in a rather half-hearted salute. That was him, he supposed; the red-haired temptress. "Probably the smarter choice," he admitted, shaking his head. "I'd have said he'd make good demon material. Very persuasive."

You: Aziraphale nodded at the words. "I suppose that perhaps that is why they were so persistent about keeping my distance... Worried I'd be too tempted to intervene." He sighed. "Still... It is times like this that make it difficult to understand God's plan. I must admit, faith is a difficult thing at times." He sighed.

Stranger: "I would tell you to abandon faith, but that's likely to just make you Fall." Crowley leaned back in his seat, gaze fixed on Aziraphale intently before he shook his head. "Isn't the go-to angelic response that it's all a part of the 'Great Plan'?"

You: Aziraphale arched his brow as he considered the words. "I suppose it is." He acknowledge. "It /is/ part of the 'Great Plan'." He acknowledged in tired defense. "The Great Plan is not for us to know in its entirety." He added before shrugging. "Which, I suppose is what makes it so difficult. Then again, without trial, faith can not be tested." He sighed before downing his drink and pouring more.

Stranger: "No, isn't that convenient?" he drawled, before scoffing at the latter comment and drinking up without pausing for breath; not that he needed to anyway. "Oh, I can't remember having faith like that. Maybe I never did, might be why I Fell in the first place."

You: "Perhaps." Aziraphale replied a bit distractedly. "I just don't understand why it must all be so... painful. I mean... I was created to bring joy and comfort to humanity... and now I must sit back and watch as they destroy one another... While they torture each other... I just don't understand." He sighed, voice cracking slightly.

Stranger: "Are you sure that's why you were created? I mean, it's not like the Almighty /really/ specified. It's just kind of implied that angels are joyous and nice and demons are evil and malicious. Remember /The/ Flood? Not so sure that was a huge comfort."

You: Aziraphale pursed his lips at that, contemplating it for a moment before he shook his head, downing his third glass and pouring more. "What else would I have been created for? I sense love in all God's creations and truly enjoy seeding it in others. The Flood was just... What is the phase human's use.... 'Tough Love'?" He offered.

Stranger: Crowley spluttered at the comment, offering Aziraphale an incredulous look. "No, angel, 'Tough Love' is stopping a child from playing with their friends when they've disobeyed their parents and been disrespectful. It isn't /genocide/."

You: Aziraphale shot the Demon a glare. "Well, you can't exactly isolate the entirety of the Human race." He pointed out flatly. "No, God is doing the best she can with them. Things will settle eventually... She just needs to find her stride. Parenting is difficult." He defended with a nod, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself more than Crowley.

Stranger: The redheaded demon just shook his head in disbelief at the angel's naivete. Then again, weren't all angels naive, believing in God so blindly that they literally took Her word as gospel? "Oh, yes, she did a /wonderful/ job with her latest one. He's coming on in leaps and bounds, or would have been had he not been nailed to a bloody cross."

You: Aziraphale slammed his cup down, shatter the fragile clay in his anger. "I will not have you tempt me to falling, Crowley! That is enough!" He snapped before pausing, gaze going wide at his own outburst. He paused, clearing his throat, the cup suddenly fixed once more and the angel looking shamed as he avert his gaze. "I... I apologize for my outburst. I... shouldn't be so quick to anger." Still, it had been a long day full of emotional turmoil... He was allowed a few cracks in his composure... Wasn't he?

Stranger: Blinking once at the abrupt gesture, Crowley fell silent, studying the angel with an unreadable expression on his face. He didn't acknowledge the apology, merely leaning forward and setting down his own cup. "I think that's enough friendly conversation for the day, angel," he muttered, rising to his feet in a graceful gesture and making to depart.

You: Aziraphale glanced up, gaze filled with his regret. He seemed as if he were going to protest but he let the words die and just nodded, turning back to his drink silently. He didn't know what to say to keep the Demon and wasn't sure if it were the best idea to begin with. So... He let him go.

Stranger: [When would you like to skip to? :)]

You: [Hm... If its cool with you I've always wanted to do a World War moment with them where they meet on the battlefield.]

Stranger: [Sounds good to me! Please could you start off? :)]

You: [Absolutely!]

Stranger: [Thank you!]

You: Aziraphale scrubbed a hand over his exhausted features as he leaned his back against the mound of dirt behind him. He was an Angel which meant he didn't need sleep and yet he was exhausted enough to do it anyways... perhaps even for the next hundred years. He glanced over as the boy next to him cried out in his sleep, frowning deeply down at him. He reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder and quieting him with a bit of angelic grace before returning to his letter. It seemed that most of his time now was spent writing letters to the families of fallen soldiers. It was a ceaseless job and he was certain he could pass it to someone else but... Well, he couldn't bring himself to give the job to anyone else. Especially with Christmas in just a few days. No one should bare that burden. He ducked as another explosion went of near by, showering dust and debris over his chaplain's uniform. He gave a sigh, hearing shots as the men began to stir to fire at their enemy.... Including the man next to him. Aziraphale refused to fight in the war but he was there to give peace and comfort where he could... along with prayers. Which is what he did for the next few hours as the battle raged on. The men around him fell, his own person remaining untouched 'miraculously' as his crewmen lay in piles around him. He was so tired... So utterly exhausted that he didn't even bother to move as he sat on the small mound, peering down at the boy he had only hours ago, used his power to rid him of nightmares. The boy couldn't have been more than sixteen... He had three brothers, two of which were already dead... leaving Aziraphale to write to his parents once again informing them of the loss of their son... He didn't even notice as the tears fell silently as he continued to just... stare... unmoving, as if he were a statue unable to do anything about the atrocities surrounding it.

You: [sorry about the length... got a bit carried away]

Stranger: [Not at all, thank you :D]

Stranger: Crowley hadn't seen Aziraphale for years. On and off, of course, throughout the centuries, but only for fleeting pockets of them. Then the World War came - the war to end all wars (seemed unlikely) - and Crowley was tasked with causing a little additional chaos amidst the bloodshed. Ultimately, it made sense, on demonic terms, to nudge the Nazis in the right direction, but Crowley wasn't really all for causing /that/ much destruction. Little nudges here and there were fine, but he wasn't going to be responsible for genocide and mass-slaughter. He wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up on the side of the British - he had miraculously changed uniforms before he could be shot down - but if any of management asked, he'd just lie and say that temptation worked better from within. And, really, he shouldn't have been surprised when he found Aziraphale; they always seemed to find one another. Moving over to the figure, sensing his aura before he saw him, Crowley dropped down to sit beside him, brow furrowing at the sadness pouring off of him. "Angel?"

You: Aziraphale didn't even glance up as he felt someone sink down next to him, sensing the Demon's presence more than anything. He still didn't move, just stared down at the young man's expressionlessly blank gaze. It took a moment for the Angel to find his words and when he spoke, his voice was just as pained as everything else. "So young...." He whispered softly. "They're always so young. How can they do this to one another?" He asked, finally glancing up at the Demon, desperation obvious in his features.

Stranger: Gaze sliding to the boy curled up on the floor, miraculously alive where others had perished, Crowley said nothing at first. He sighed as the angel glanced across at him before he just shrugged one shoulder. "Free will, angel. They make good choices, and then they make horrible, terrible ones. Point is, they made them. /Choice/. Staple of humanity right there."

Stranger: [brb!]

You: "No..." Aziraphale shook his head, gaze going back to the countless dead around them. "No, thats not it." He denied. "That can't be it. What kind of being would choose this?! What being would destroy and torture itself in such a manner?!" He pleaded. "This is worse than any demon or devil could come up with and yet..." He voice trailed off as the tears increased, staining is filth covered cheeks. "Perhaps you were right, Crowley..." He whispered in defeat. "This is too much... If this is God's ineffable plan perhaps it would be better to fall."

Stranger: [Back!]

Stranger: "You don't want to fall, angel. You wouldn't really like Hell. Not enough space, and it /stinks/ something awful." The joke was a rather weak one, all things considered, but he reached over and gently clasped Aziraphale's arm. "There have been wars before. Humans come back from it, they always do."

You: Aziraphale glanced up, meeting Crowley's gaze, his own broken, brows furrowed. "Thats just it Crowley... This one will end... and these men will be forgotten and then another war will come... and another... and another... It will never end. Humanity will continue to torture one another until the Apocolypse. The cruelty is unbearable. Why won't it end?! Why must they do this?" His voice turned desperate once more, a sob escaping him at the question.

Stranger: "I don't know," he answered honestly, keeping his hand against Aziraphale's arm as he rubbed it back and forth soothingly. "I really wish I did, angel. But I'm not human and neither are you. We weren't supposed to be. We're probably never supposed to know why they do what they do."

You: The words didn't help in the least and suddenly Aziraphale was moving closer, dropping his face against Crowley's chest as he began to cry unashamedly, clinging to the man's coat as the tears dampened the fabric. He was a complete and utter mess and he couldn't find it in himself to care in the least. His faith in humanity was gone, and all that remained was the pain of the horrors he had been forced to witness over the last few years.

Stranger: As Aziraphale more or less slumped against him, Crowley paused before lifting his arms to hold the angel close. He didn't try to tell him it would be okay - he doubted it would - and he merely rubbed his hands along the length of Aziraphale's spine, hushing him tenderly.

You: Aziraphale soaked up the comfort as much as possible until his cries slowly quieted and they remained in silence for a moment. He didn't move away, finding the presence of another living breathing body, far too comforting. Still, he turned his head to peer out at the bodies around them. "I need to bury them." He whispered softly. "Its the least I can do."

Stranger: "You can't bury them all, angel," Crowley murmured, following Aziraphale's gaze to the bodies stretching as far as the eye could see. He smoothed his hand down Aziraphale's back again, resting it at the base of his spine and holding him close.

You: Aziraphale knew the Demon was right; knew that there were too many of them. Still, he straightened before pushing to his feet. "I have to try." He mumbled, moving to a small pile of bodies and miraculously discovering a shovel laying atop one of the soldier's packs.

Stranger: Crowley sighed, before he shook his head and rose to his feet. He supposed he could manage a demonic miracle, maybe cause the ground to shift and-- well. Anyone asked, he could always say they were still alive when he did it. "Come here, angel," he called, gesturing for Aziraphale to join him atop the hill peering over the makeshift graveyard.

You: Aziraphale hesitated, glancing back at the field before them before deciding that the work can wait a few more moments before he followed after. He stood by his side watching over the dead. Tears began to fall once more as he watched the Demon work, the tears filled with gratitude rather than pure sorrow this time. "Thank you." He whispered softly, wiping them away.

Stranger: As Aziraphale joined him, Crowley studied the field of corpses before he snapped his fingers. Immediately, the ground began to tremble before slowly collapsing inwards, allowing the bodies to fall into an eternal rest beneath the disturbed soil. When it was over and the earth had fallen back into place, Crowley shook his head. "Don't mention it, angel."

You: Aziraphale nodded, knowing that Crowley meant it. It wasn't as if Aziraphale wanted a reminder of the last twenty four hours. He straightened, tugging at his uniform and gathering himself the best he could before turning. He checked his watch. "Hm." He hummed curiously. "Just after midnight..." He glanced up at Crowley and offered a small smile. "Merry Christmas Crowley." He said warmly. "How would you feel about heading to the west and showing both sides how to properly celebrate?" He offered playfully. A few small miracles and he had no doubts he could cause a small cease fire long enough to enjoy a bit of wine.

Stranger: [Oh my God, this was beautiful, but I really have to run :( Thank you so much for this though! Your Aziraphale was stunning! I hope you have a lovely day/night :) Bye!!]

#ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriend #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #crowley/aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #omegle #rp #roleplay #good omens

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