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isfjwallflower · 8 months

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A Good Omens Fanfic (please help me think of a title) *contains some s2 spoilers*

Part 1:

The first thing Crowley remembered was his roaring headache. Then his gut shifted uncomfortably. It had been a long time since Crowley used his powers to shrink and grow his body. He almost forgot the terrible stomach pains that came with that. He recalled stumbling through the graveyard in Aziraphale’s arms. Then the earth opened up and sucked him down what he only could describe as a great big ‘straw.’ Gray shadows shifted side-to-side, and he heard a giggling — no — a chortling. His yellowy snake eyes always took a moment to adjust to change of light. He felt around for his small, circular sunglasses. He wore them for the look of it, of course, but there were other reasons Crowley wore them besides for fashion. They helped him see better, too.

You look silly, the angel said at one point in the last one-hundred years. He had changed his glasses up pretty frequently. He thought that maybe Aziraphale would like each next model. Then again, the angel hardly ever saw what was directly in front of him.

The shadows became grainy and then came together. Lord Beezelbub was sitting on their throne, one leg crossed over the other, body stretched over the arm rests. Flies buzzed around their head and landed on their dark, dark eyes. Between them and Crowley, a long table spanned the length of the room. On one side of it, six demons sat straight. They looked down over their noses at him with disapproval.

“Can you lower your voices? I had a wild night, I’ll tell you.” He said this with a sarcastic tone. He wanted the demons know he wasn’t scared. Demons didn’t ‘get scared’ and he was terrified. “Partied all night. Got many humans drunk with wine. Some man broke a bottle over another’s head. Very, very bad,” an air of pride stung as it left his mouth.

“No one has said anything,” a junior demon spoke.

“Silence!” the lead demon barked. “The Demon Crowley--”

“Yeah? Stating the obvious today are we?” He kept his smile living.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Eh,” he looked around for effect. “I’d say we’re in Hell, but I’m not sure.”

“Of course we’re ‘in Hell.’ Do you know where in Hell we are?”

“Where the hell am I?” he laughed. The demons sat in silence. “Tough crowd.”

But Crowley knew were he was. He was in the Judgment Room. Not the ‘judgment room’ that humans went to at death, but the capital ‘J’ ‘R’ Judgment Room that demons went to when they royally screwed up.

“What were you doing that got you almost disincorporated?”

“Almost disincorporated? I thought you were either disincorporated or not disincorporated.”

“Well—” one of the junior demons spoke.

“Silence!” their leader shouted. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. What did you do to get almost disincorporated?”

“Alcohol poisoning.”

“Alcohol poisoning?”

“Alcohol poisoning.”

“We know it wasn’t alcohol poisoning.”

“Ngh, do you know what a case of alcohol poisoning looks like?”

“Of course I do. Alcohol poisoning is a big deal. It has its own department.”

“Yeeahhh, it’s changed in the last three centuries. Alcohol poisoning.”

Crowley was sweating. He knew that ‘alcohol poisoning’ was not a good lie. He was a demon, and he knew what lies were good and which were bad. But technically good lies were bad and bad lies were good, which puzzled him greatly. The demons looked at each other. The junior demon whispered to the leader. The leader then smacked him in the head with their clipboard.

“You idiot. Of course it hasn’t. Crowley, we’ve given you a chance give us an accurate report and you lied. We know where you were and what you were doing.”

Crowley’s stomach dropped. His lips twitched. “Were you watching me? Ugh. That’s just distasteful. You’re having demons follow me when they could be doing actual demon work.”

“We know you saved a human’s life and another human’s soul.”

“What!” he exclaimed. “I don’t go around doing any saving. It’s all a part of my greater plan. Like how I tempted that one guy on the mountain with infinite money and riches. Well, that didn’t work as I wanted to, big curve-ball on that one, but this time — this time it’s going to work.”

“Be quiet,” Beelzebub said calmly. They sat slouched over their throne as before, but it was obvious to Crowley that no matter how distracted Beelzebub looked, they were always listening like a fly in the corner of a room. “Crowley. You are under review. For the next century you will be under review. The demon Thrush will accompany you to Earth.”

The one demon who kept getting silenced stood. As he was rising, his knees shook, and the chair behind him scooted loudly across the floor. He fixed his eyes on the ground and bowed. “I’m a big fan of yours, Crowley, sir. I would have killed to even be part of some of the projects you worked on.”

“Your name is Thrush? Aww, this is going to be good.” Crowley jumped to his feet. He rubbed his hands together. “When do we get started?”

“You’re not supposed to be enjoying this.” The lead demon shook their head.

“Hi, hey, hello, yes.” Crowley shook Thrush’s hand, ignoring what the lead demon had said. Thrush let his hand sit in Crowley’s. “You’re supposed to shake my hand back. It’s a new thing the human’s invented. It’s called a handshake.”

Thrush shook his hand back.

“There ya go. Now, to the elevator. It’s working again, right?”

“No, it’s still down.”

“What!? It’s been down for the last millennia. Agh, never mind. Let’s take the stairs, Thrush.”

Crowley knew it would be a very, very long time until he could see his angel again.

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

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Me? Ignoring my 20+ other projects to start a shitty Good Omens fic bingo? It’s more likely than you think

Defy

“Watch it!”

A pram hit the back of Aziraphale’s calves and the woman pushing it let out a string of curses. That more than the collision had him jumping out of the way, profusely apologizing for stopping in the first place. Aziraphale didn’t think his apologies meant much—especially now that the infant had started screaming—so he miracled up a free coffee at the next cafe she stopped at and a good night’s sleep for good measure.

“Sorry, terribly sorry again...”

The woman gave him a dirty look as she swerved back into pedestrian traffic. Aziraphale shuffled off to the side.

Oh dear.

Well, best to re-tie his loafers, yes? Never mind another miracle he’d performed years back, ensuring those bows would never again come undone (not after he’d nearly face-planted in Crowley’s company). One could never be too careful after all. So Aziraphale bent and spruced up one shoe, then the other. While down there he found that the cuffs of his pants could do with some straightening and there was a nearly invisible speck of dust on one knee. Maybe both. His waistcoat was always askew and the buttons could do with some polishing, his hair was—

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed, lowering his hand from where he’d been patting his curls. “You look exactly as you always have, old boy, and it’s not worth putting this off a moment longer.”

That’s what he told himself anyway. It was quite another thing for Aziraphale to get his feet moving again, rounding the corner that would take him to the front of his shop. The feeling that had stopped him in the first place still hung heavy in the air and Aziraphale found himself fiddling with the buttons on his sleeve, more to waste another few, precious moments than out of any real desire to fix something.

There was a supernatural entity packed into the shop. Oh yes. Packed being the optimal word. Whoever it was had enough power to their name that it had seeped out of their corporeal form and spilled onto the street, drawing the humans’ gaze even if they didn’t know what they were looking towards. Could be a whole army of angels stationed among the books. Demons even. That might generate the sort of skin-prickling heat Aziraphale could feel now, growing hotter which each step he took towards the door. More likely though it was a single archangel.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale whispered, now just an arm’s length from his well-worn handle; the collection of dates and times meant to deter too many from popping in. The faded paper seemed silly now, given that he would have rather hosted any thousands of humans over one of his brethren. So yes, perhaps he should rethink this. Head back out for a second lunch. A long, mid-day walk. Anything other then opening that door.

He could call Crowley.

Aziraphale was stepping across the threshold before he’d even finished the thought. No. They might be on the same side now, but that only meant he couldn’t throw his ally to the proverbial wolves. If his celestial siblings had decided to attempt a second punishment there was nowhere on Earth—or Alpha Centauri for that matter—where he could hide and Aziraphale’s last act as a Principality would not be dragging his beloved down with him.

“Crowley always did say I was stubborn as a mule,” he muttered.

There was something quite freeing about committing to a decision. It allowed Aziraphale to finally still his hands and lift his chin, determined to meet this challenge with at least half the grace Crowley had afforded him during his first trial. Or the sham of one based on the story he’d heard. That alone was enough to give him a burst of something resembling courage, propelling him through the door.

Aziraphale was so certain he’d be greeted by Gabriel’s smug smile that he nearly tripped over himself when he... wasn’t.

“Ah,” he said, arms splayed out in a comical bid for balance. “Hello. You’re getting tar on my favorite cushion.”

Pollution tilted their head, much like an owl spotting prey. They sat slumped in the chair tucked between the counter and the first bookshelf, long legs stretched out and yes, a small puddle of what looked like tar dripping down from their ear. It settled on the tartan pillow wedged behind their back.

“Sorry,” Pollution said and smeared the muck further into the fabric.

Aziraphale swallowed.

This was most definitely unexpected. Unprecedented. Other un-words that Aziraphale couldn’t hope to think of because his brain was currently the equivalent of an egg frying on the pavement. Yes, a Horseman would most certainly generate the level of power he’d felt outside and—wait. Scratch that. Two Horsemen, Famine stepping out from the shadows to stand at Pollution’s side. He gave a jaunty little wave.

“Hello angel,” he said.

Aziraphale winced, unused to the endearment coming from anyone other then Crowley. Not that Famine meant it in such a way. He might be able to fake it though, with that relaxed posture and easy-going smile. Aziraphale looked around, a bit wild, now expecting the other two to close in on him. When nothing of the sort occurred he was left standing in the middle of his shop with two of the most destructive embodiments to ever exist staring like they expected him to start this conversation.

So Aziraphale did the only thing worth doing when things went pear shaped.

“I’ll make us some tea.”

***

Humans were quite right that there was an art to this practice and Aziraphale had spent many centuries mastering it. He’d never admit it aloud, but he found that the routine of boiling, steeping, and adding produced a drink far superior to what he could simply conjure up with angelic whim. Whether that said more about his skill or miracles themselves, Aziraphale wasn’t inclined to say. Perhaps it was simply the act of engaging in labor before reaping the reward.

Whatever it was, routine gave him a good ten minutes away from the Horsemen, allowing Aziraphale to pick up such useful information as, “I haven’t been attacked from behind yet” and “Apparently physical manifestations of mortal failings do enjoy a good drink now and again.” Famine asked for milk and three sugars. Pollution wanted nothing in theirs. Between checking the milk’s expiration date and pulling down honey for himself, Aziraphale felt another urge to dial a long-memorized number. He needn’t even say anything. The fact that he’d called at all would be more than enough to get Crowley here in record time.

Instead Aziraphale hefted a tray laden with tea and molasses cookies back into the shop, hoping he wasn’t making another wrong decision.

“Here you are,” he said, marveling at how steady his voice was. “I fear I’ve never entertained Horsemen before. Or, ah...” Aziraphale’s gaze landed on Pollution, something wet and sticky now seeping out of their boot. “Horse... people?”

Famine chuckled. “‘Horseman’ is traditional and I hardly care for the labels humans give us. Do you?”

It felt like a dangerous sort of question. Any would have really, so Aziraphale kept his mouth shut and made a non-committed sort of noise in the back of his throat. He poured the tea and tried not to spill too much of it into the saucers.

Pollution was still staring. Then suddenly they leaned forward in their seat, a squelching noise filling the silence, showing too many teeth when they smiled. “He’s nervous.”

“He’d better be.” Famine spoke as if Aziraphale were no longer in the room. “We may not have had our Armageddon, darling, but I hope we’re not that out of practice.”

Two pairs of eyes slid his way.

“Oh! Yes. Very, very nervous. That’s me. Nothing but nerves I should say. I’m positively stuffed with them—like a goose!—and that certainly isn’t changing as you both... ah, look at me like that. Tea?” Aziraphale desperately held out a cup.

He shoved it towards Pollution though and there was a cold, suspended moment as he realized it was the one filled with sugar and milk. Then Famine stepped between them and took it for himself.

“Lovely,” he said, downing half in one go. This close Aziraphale could feel Famine’s aura, the gnawing, bottomless ache that had opened up in his stomach. Instinctually he reached for a cookie only to find that the box was already in Famine’s hands. “I fear we didn’t come here for the goodies though. Rather, we have a proposition for you, angel.”

“...Proposition?”

“Something fun.” Pollution had taken their cup as well, though they didn’t drink from it. Their finger just went round and round the rim as a pungent smell began to emanate from the tea. “There’s a war coming. Your boyfriend realized it first. We want in.”

Back in the 1740s Aziraphale had the dubious pleasure of befriending three young boys, each too rowdy and smart for their own good. A bit of mischief had resulted, in its final act, with them yanking a prayer rug Aziraphale stood on—perhaps the only literal example of someone having the rug pulled out from under them. He experienced the same stomach dropping sensation now, the instinctual urge to bring out his wings.

“War?” Aziraphale said faintly. “But... we avoided the—”

“Yes, but humans always find a way, don’t they? Eventually. They’re more resourceful than all of heaven and hell put together.” Famine took another cookie, eating it with a pleasure that contradicted his purpose. “We’re not stupid, angel. We knew going into the war that it would end in our demise. All but Death’s, of course. Angels and demons don’t need to eat, you see. Erasing humanity means erasing me too.”

“And me.” Pollution’s voice had grown softer, though Aziraphale was hesitant to call it laced with anything like fear. “War would survive...”

Famine grimaced. “In a fashion.”

“But humanity,” Pollution continued, not seeming to hear the interruption. “What wonderful creatures. Even if they learn from those brats at the airbase and improve themselves, the two of us can still go on. Famine lives in every holy man of yours, fasting in the name of the Lord. I exist in all the children leaving sweet wrappers in forests and gum under their chairs. We might not be powerful,”

“But you’d exist,” Aziraphale finished. Famine inclined his head.

“And that’s just the pessimistic view. I believe that humanity will continue on as it has, now that you’ve given them that chance.” Famine’s grin was nothing like Pollution’s and every bit as unsettling. “Gorging themselves. Leaving the mess behind.” He finished off the cookies and obligingly dropped the box on the carpet, inciting a happy squirm from Pollution.

“I see,” Aziraphale said. He wasn’t entirely sure he did. “So you need me to...?

“Do nothing. Nothing at all, angel. This was merely a polite acknowledgement. You and that demon started something when you stood at humanity’s side. Know that we have every expectation you’ll finish it.”

Famine clapped him on the shoulder as he went by and Aziraphale nearly buckled at the hunger that ran through him. Pollution followed, having taken nothing but leaving plenty behind. The stench was overwhelming.

“We’ll be in touch,” they said and left a smear of oil on the edge of Aziraphale’s sleeve, grasping it briefly like a child.

“Y-yes. Lovely to see you. Toodle pip!”

Aziraphale had his hands on the phone three seconds after his door closed.

“Crowley? Well of course it’s me, who else—? Never mind. I suggest you get over here quick as you can. No, no, nothing like that. Just... bring dinner would you? I hardly care, dear, just get lots of it. Yes, I’m alright. Quite ravenous though, I’ll explain later. Oh really, Crowley, there’s no need for that kind of... of... innuendo over the phone. I’m hanging up now. Yes. Right now. Goodbye, Crowley.”

A beat passed with the phone pressed against Aziraphale’s ear. Then Crowley’s tinny laughter filled the bookshop.

“Well I don’t hear you hanging up either,” he groused. All of it—the banter, Crowley’s voice, the utter absurdity of this little disagreement—helped to loosen the tension in Aziraphale’s shoulders; alleviated some of the stench from his nostrils and cleared out the air. He sat with a thump and listened to the familiar sounds of Crowley starting up the Bentley. It perhaps couldn’t hurt to stay on the line just a little bit longer.

“Best pick up a few bottles of wine while you’re at it,” Aziraphale said, staring at the empty cookie box. “I just had the most unexpected visitors. I fear we have a great deal to discuss, my dear.”

Crowley cracked another joke about Aziraphale’s visiting practices and that right there was their first miracle in a while. Because despite Horsemen and the presumption of inevitable war, even with the reminder of their newly minted side and all the consequences that came with it...

One joke from Crowley made Aziraphale feel like it was all going to be okay.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #I'm a shit writer with the attention span of a goldfish #god help anyone not following me for GO atm

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