#(name): a little help here crowley!!! how am i supposed to beat *that* (gesturing to overblot tako) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sams-sass · 4 years

Text

You Found Me Pt. 2

Hi guys! Here is part two to You Found me. Thanks for all the love. Hope you guys like it!

GIF not mine

Read Part One, Three, Four, Five and Epilogue:

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Epilogue

Summary: You, Dean, Sam, and Cas try to understand who are you are and what you are capable of.

Characters: You, Dean, Sam, Cas, Roweena, Crowley.

Pairings: None just yet. Sam x Reader eventually (we are heating up!)

Warnings: None really, little bit of fluff. Feelings of self doubt.

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

“Dean!” Dean turned around and saw Sam running through the halls of the warehouse. He was carrying a girl, she looked pretty beat up, she was covered in dirt, her hair was a mess, and there was blood on her shirt.

“Is she…” Dean let his voice trail off.

“She’s alive. I’ve got her Dean, it’s her.” Sam said with a short nod. “She’s got a head injury, there’s dried blood.”

“Let’s get outta here, get her to Cas.” Dean said with a flick of his head. The boys carried you to the car and moved Crowley to the front seat. Sam scooted all the way against the door and laid you on top of him so your back was against his chest. Cas sat next to him so he could heal the injury to your head. Cas touched your forehead and his eyes widened at the feeling of the power coming off of you.

“She could heal herself, there really is no need.” Crowley mumbled, clearly to piss off the boys.

“Cut the shit, Crowley. Who is she?” Dean said.

“She’s an empath.” Said Cas.

“A what?” Sam asked as he bunched up his coat to use as a pillow for you so your head stopped bouncing so much.

“They have been extinct for almost 100 years, until now of course.”

“So, what is an empath?” Dean asked eyeing the backseat through the rearview mirror.

“They are ancient creatures. They aren’t bad per say, however they are extremely powerful which is why they were hunted by everything: demons, angels, hunters, even monsters hunted them. They are able to pass into the mind of others completely undetected, they can’t read minds but they can see mental images that the other person has seen. They are also highly perceptive to the emotions of others, hence the name empath. They can read a person, who they are as a person and what they are feeling. These feelings though, its not like humans, they can tell what a person is thinking based on what they are feeling. A very powerful one, can also project feelings onto others, make them feel whatever they want. This also means they can project their feelings as a weapon or a shield, which is also why Crowley says she can heal herself.” Castiel explained.

“Ok, but why were they so hated by everyone?” Sam asked at the same moment Dean hit a bump, you slid slightly and Sam had to grab your waist to pull you tighter against him.

“Because, they can go into your mind, you bloody fool.” Crowley said loudly. “Castiel, Y/N, that’s her name, she was also able to astral project while conscious. All she needed was the image of the person she was trying to get to.” Crowley said.

“That is almost unheard of.” Castile said looking at you, his brow furrowed.

“That must be how she got into the bunker without any of us seeing her.” Sam said, trying to make sense of all this. You groaned and shifted in Sam’s arms. “Hey, it’s ok, your ok, I’ve got you.” He tried to sooth you as best he could. Your eyes rolled and for a second Sam thought you were going to come out of it, but you let out a long breath and fell back into unconsciousness. Dean pulled up to the bunker and undid the chains on Crowley.

“I don’t want to see you go near her again.” Dean said to him.

“Scouts honor.” Crowley agreed before disappearing. Cas helped Sam get you out of the car, Sam carried you into the bunker and put you in the spare room. He stood at the end of your bed and contemplated taking your shoes off to make you more comfortable, but decided against it. Sam then got a bowl of water and a washcloth. He dribbled the water into your mouth with the washcloth, you responded by swallowing. Sam didn’t want you to choke so he stopped and decided to get you a glass of water for when you woke up. He rubbed the dirt and dried blood of your forehead and checked any open skin for more injuries. Your wrists were pretty torn up so he went and got some gauze to wrap them up. You still didn’t stir by the time he was done so he reluctantly left you and went to his room to hopefully catch some shut eye.

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

Your eyes slowly opened and you came back into consciousness. Everything that had happened came rushing back, the bar, the basement, Crowley, and Sam. You looked around at your surroundings. You were on a bed that felt oddly comfortable, the walls were a muted nude tone, and there were no windows. Your mouth was so dry it almost hurt. You turned your head and saw the glass of water, picking it up you smelt it not noticing anything. You gulped the water down forgetting to breathe for a moment, but it wasn’t enough. As you looked back at the glass you noticed your wrists wrapped in gauze, “Sam” you said to yourself with a smile as you lightly touched your bandaged wrists. You got up and slowly looked into the hallway, “where the hell am I?” you thought as you looked around. It was chilly and concrete, large and sturdy. Your fingers grazed the walls as you walked trying to find a source of water. You touched a door and thought about knocking, but decided against it. Turning a corner you saw a large table that lit up, wait, you remembered being here. You looked to your right and saw the library you came to that night. You walked up the steps and started to look at the books, interest overpowering your thirst.

“Hello.” A deep voice said behind you. You jumped slightly and turned around. The man with blue eyes (you think his name was Cas) stood on the last step of the library, clearly trying not to frighten you. He had a small smile on his face, but his eyes were squinted slightly telling you he wasn’t sure how to feel about you.

“Hi, I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t, I do not sleep. My name is Castiel, I am an angel of the lord.” He said calmly.

“Did you just say….angel?”

“Yes, I am an angel. It comes as a shock to most humans.” He said still calm as ever.

“Can’t imagine why.” You said as a joke.

“Probably because it is a difficult subject for humans to understand. Angels are not seen by many humans.” He said his brow furrowing.

“Sorry, I was joking.” You said with a smile.

“Right, I often misinterpret jokes.” You gave him an understanding smile.

“If you are and angel, then what is Crowley?”

“Crowley is a demon. Specifically, the king of hell.”

“King of hell?!” You said back your eyebrows shooting up.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Was all you could say back. “Castiel, do you know what I am?” You asked hopeful.

“Yes, you are an empath. From what I have heard, a very powerful one at that.” He said finally walking closer to you.

“I have never had powers before, I was just a normal girl living a normal life.” You said staring down at your hands.

“I do not know what happened, all I know is I can feel the power coming off of you and it is extreme.” You were beginning to gather that Castiel didn’t have much of a bedside manner.

“Right. So empaths, what are they supposed to be able to do?” You asked him glancing into his eyes. He gave you the same description he gave the boys in the car. “Oh my god. How can this be? I feel so confused.” You said running your fingers through your hair, quickly stopping once you realized how knotty your hair was.

“I know, we will figure it out. Sam and Dean are hunters. They will stop at nothing to help you understand, you will be safe with them.”

“I don’t want to stay here, I just want to go home and forget all this ever happened.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Dean said walking into the library. “I’m sorry, I know its not what you wanted to hear, but you aren’t safe right now. One of us will take you home and you can get whatever you need, but your going to have to stay here with us. At least until we can get this all sorted out.”

“But-“

“You may be in serious danger.” He said looking into your eyes. “Let me, Cas, and Sammy protect you for a little bit. Besides, I am sure there is some kind of lore on empaths in this bunker somewhere.” He said gesturing to the books around you. You could feel the sincerity in him, he really did want to protect you, but you could also feel that he wanted to keep you here in case something went wrong. In case you were something he needed to take care of.

“Ok.” You said defeated your shoulders slumping slightly.

“Good, now I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. You like waffles?” Dean asked.

“Love them.” You said. “Do you mind if I shower?”

“Not at all. We do not have any girl clothes, but I’m sure we can find you something. Come with me.” He said motioning you to follow him. You two walked silently into a large room with a washer and dryer. “Here.” He said pulling out a large flannel, a pair of sweat pants, and a pair of socks. “This is literally all we have.” He said with an apologetic look.

“As long as I can warm up and not be in this skirt anymore.” You said taking the clothes from him. “These are perfect, thank you.” You said looking into his green eyes. Dean then showed you to the bathroom and where Sam kept his shampoo with a boyish grin, he then left you alone.

You shed all your clothes and quickly got under the warm water. Standing under the spray, your emotions came rushing to you in a flood. Your hands began to shake and your stomach felt sour again. Tears fell freely down your face as you mourned for everything you were giving up. Your friends, your job, your house. All the things that made you, you slowly slipped away and what was left scared the hell out of you. This powerful being that you were supposed to be made you nervous and sad. Scared and alone. With as many times as you had been told how “powerful” you were in the last couple of days, you had never felt so tiny, so weak, so vulnerable. Letting yourself feel all of these emotions was cleansing in itself. You washed your hair and body, watching the dirt and blood spin around the drain. Then you took a deep breath and got out of the shower. Putting on the flannel first, you laughed at how long it was on you. Putting on the comfortable clothes made you feel a lot better, warmer, more at home. You walked out of the bathroom and almost collided with Sam.

“Sorry!” He said grasping your shoulders.

“It’s ok.” You said with a small smile, looking into his hazel eyes.

“I see Dean found you some clothes to wear, want me to wash your other ones?” Sam offered.

“No, those I would like to burn.” You said with a chuckle.

“We can take care of that.” Sam said laughing with you.

“Dean’s making waffles and I haven’t eaten in who knows how long.” You said following the smell to the kitchen.

“Right, of course.” Sam said walking with you. You could feel his sincerity same as his brother’s. However, unlike his brother, he trusted you. He wanted what was best for you.

“Thank you, Sam.” You said gesturing to your wrists. “For finding me and for helping me.” He smiled at you could feel the relief wash over him.

“No problem. The gauze got wet in the shower. I can change it if you want, after breakfast.”

“That might be good.” You glanced back to his eyes.

“Good.” He said with a quick nod of his head. The two of you walked into the kitchen and Dean immediately handed you both a plate stacked high with waffles. Once you saw the food and the smell hit your nose you couldn’t help yourself. You sat down at the table and shoveled the food in your face. Sam got you another glass of water, you drank it down in one gulp. He quickly poured you more, getting a pitcher and putting it on the table. Dean put down a plate of bacon on the table and you had to restrain yourself from grabbing the whole thing and putting your face in it. In the middle of you shoving your food in your face, the flannel hanging loosely over your body moved and exposed your birth mark. Castiel reached forward and moved your shirt to the side slightly. You grabbed his hand and looked at him confused.

“I’m sorry, but you have the mark of a witch.” He said. Sam and Dean stopped eating and looked at your chest.

“It’s just a birthmark.” You said trying to move away.

“No, no it’s not.” Dean agreed with Cas.

“Do you have any family?” Sam asked politely.

“No, I’m an only child and my parents died in a car accident when I was 16. I have been on my own ever since.” You explained.

“We have to call Roweena.” Sam said with a sigh.

“Well…shit.” Dean mumbled back.

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

After breakfast Sam called Roweena.

“Hello, Sam” She answered.

“Roweena, we need you to come here and help us.”

“What? Heavens no.” She quickly snapped.

“The girl, the one Crowley sent to spy on you. She’s an empath.” There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.

“Dear God, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Roweena’s on her way, should be here this evening.” Sam said turning towards all of you. “I’ll start looking into the lore on empaths. There has to be something here.”

“I’ll help you. I want to learn as much as I can.” You said walking over to Sam. He nodded towards you as you both walked over to the library.

“Here, let me change your bandages first.” Sam said walking out of the library and coming back with fresh gauze, a towel, and some antibacterial gel. He knelt in front you and slowly removed the old gauze, it was still wet and starting to itch. He took the towel and gently wiped at your wrists to remove the excess water. The touch of his hot skin on yours was sending you into over drive. His feelings were all rushing to you, stress, fear, anger, but lingering at the bottom was hope. Burning bright like a beacon, hope. Sam rubbed the gel over your wrists and gently wrapped them again with the bandages.

“Thank you.” You said, finding his eyes as he gathered everything.

“Anytime.” He gave you a nod and sat across from you at the table in the library. The two of you looked into almost every book you could get your hands on and found a few things. The lore was basically an overview of what Cas had already told you. Dead end.

You both fell back against the chairs. You rubbed your eyes as Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sam.” You broke the silence. He looked up at you. “Can we go to my house so I can get some clothes that fit?” You asked.

“Sure, we aren’t finding anything new here anyway.” You both got up and got into the impala. The hour long drive to your house was devoted to small talk. You asked questions about the bunker, about how they became hunters, about how they know an angel. Sam was forthcoming, he answered what you asked and you could feel he was being truthful. He asked you more simple questions, if and where you went college, what you did for a living, how old you were. You pulled up to your house and you got out, running up the stairs and getting the spare key from under the potted plant. You and Sam walked into your home.

Sam thought your home was quaint, homey, cozy. The whole house smelt like you, felt like you. Warm and pure. You ran into your room and grabbed a suitcase out of your closet and began filling it with clothes. You brushed past Sam to go into the bathroom to grab your toiletries and makeup. Walking back into your room, Sam saw you pause as you grabbed a jewelry box. You ran your hands over it, smiling slightly before you placed it into the suitcase as well. You threw in shoes, deodorant, and a few other sprays that Sam didn’t recognize. You closed the suitcase and looked at him. Sam found himself staring into your y/e/c on more than one occasion.

“Ok, I’m ready.” You said grabbing your pillows off the bed. “Actually, wait. I want my blankets.” You said walking over to a wicker basket near your couch, grabbing about 5 fuzzy throw blankets. Sam smiled to himself. He grabbed your suitcase as you balanced your blankets and pillows in your arms. You loaded the car and started the drive home. This drive was filled with more serious conversation.

“How are you feeling? About everything, I mean.” Sam asked you looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m so scared, Sam. How do I step into this role? I am just a girl. I feel so alone.” You said looking at your hands in your lap. You could feel Sam’s heart aching for you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. If it helps I know what it feels like to have “powers”.” He said with air quotes. “I used to have visions, I know what you mean when you say you feel alone. Just know that Dean, Cas, and I we will do anything to help you. You don’t have to feel alone, not with me around.”

“Thank you, Sam.” You said looking at his profile as he drove you back to the bunker.

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

The heavy iron door opened and you and Sam stepped inside. You looked around now realizing that you never asked where you were.

“Hey, Sam, can you tell me about this place?” Sam smiled at you as you placed all your stuff in the spare bedroom. Sam sat on your bed as you put your clothes in the dresser and told you all about the men of letters, the bunker and how Sam and Dean came to live there.

“So, your grandfather came into the future and now you live in an underground fortress?”

“Pretty much.” Sam said with a laugh. You laughed with him and for the first time in a while, you felt your whole body laugh along too.

“Sam, Y/N!” You heard Dean’s voice calling you. “Roweena’s here.” The two of you left your room and walked into the library once again. You pulled on Sam’s sleeve and looked up at him. He looked down at you and gave you a reassuring look.

“Come sit right here, dear.” Roweena said to you, motioning to the table. You could smell her fear, she was afraid of you. You sat down on the table and looked at her. She moved the flannel off of your birth mark and took in a breath.

“Ah, yes, you have been marked by a witch.” She said nodding her head. “I can remove the spell if you would like.” She said looking at Sam and Dean rather than you.

“Crowley already gave me some potion or something, I have my powers.” You said looking at Roweena confused.

“Yes, he gave you something to release your powers, but until the mark is removed you will not have full access to your abilities.”

“Oh, well then take it off.”

“Hold on!” Sam jumped in. “Usually this type of magic comes at a cost. Is there anything we need to worry about?” Sam asked, his jaw set.

“Well, if I remove the mark and she is not strong enough to hold her power it could kill her, but that’s a wee chance.” Roweena said calmly.

“Um, what?” You raised your hand to your mark, covering it.

“Don’t worry, dear. I can feel how strong you are, you’ll be just fine.” Without a seconds delay she moved your hand with hers and touched your mark, she began chanting in Latin. Her eyes rolled back in her head and a burning started on your chest. Your breathing quickened as you looked to the three men for help. Roweena muttered the final word and your head flung back as a scream tore from your lips, Cas caught you before you fell back. Your breathing stopped and your eyes stared straight ahead. No one moved, no one even blinked.

A breathe filled your lungs as your eyes slammed shut. When they opened again, they were a glowing violet and a light emitted from your chest and hands. Your back arched and more screams left your throat, your whole body felt like it was engulfed in flames. Cas laid you flat on the table, Sam and Dean were just staring. Completely in awe. Roweena had her hand over her heart and was muttering protective spells. The light from your chest and hands began to dim slightly and then receded into you, your eyes went from violet to y/e/c and the screaming stopped. You were sprawled out on the table taking long, deep breaths trying to calm down. You sat up and looked at all of them, worry was etched into all of their faces.

“It’s ok, I’m ok.” You said telling yourself more than them. You looked at them, really looked at them and it all started coming to you. Everything they were feeling was rushing through your mind, even Cas. He wasn’t blank anymore, his feelings raced through your mind the more you stared into his eyes. He was petrified, afraid of what you could do. He was also confused, he didn’t understand why you were so powerful. Dean was also incredibly scared, his feelings were pushing into you quick and hot. He was scared of what you may become, he was scared of you. Sam was completely in awe of you and everything that just happened. He was scared too, but not of you. He was afraid of what was coming after you. What he would do to protect you.

Roweena wasn’t staring at you any more. She was quickly gathering her things, and hurrying towards the door.

“Bye boys!” She said over her shoulder and about 5 seconds later you heard the heavy door open and slam shut.

“So, what now?” Dean was the first to speak.

“Got any alcohol?” You suggested.

“Oh that, that I have plenty of.” Dean went and got some glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He poured you each a glass and passed them out. You chugged yours before anyone else could even get their glasses to their lips. You poured yourself another glass and decided to sip this one. The four of you calmed slightly as you all sipped the whiskey and ate the popcorn Dean made.

“Can one of you make me a fire? I would really like to burn the clothes I was kidnapped in.” You said taking another long pull of your drink.

“Absolutely.” Sam responded with a smile.

Once the fire was made you all sat around it, watching your clothes burn away to ash.

“Thank you.” You said addressing all of them. “I appreciate everything you are doing for me. If you hadn’t found me. I don’t know what would have happened.”

“We are going to figure this out, Y/N.” Dean spoke up. You could still feel the nervousness coming off of him. The fear, the apprehension of the unknown, but you could also feel his desire to help and that it often outweighed his fear.

“We will protect you.” Sam said, finishing for his brother. For the first time since your parents died you felt like you had people who understood what it was like to feel heavy and consumed by the world. You believed Sam, Dean, and Cas would do anything for you and in that moment you realized you would do anything for them as well.

Tags: @hunting-the-grievers

#sam x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn #spnfandom #supernatural fanfiction #you found me #you found me pt 2

127 notes · View notes

fightevilandthengetblownup · 3 years

Text

FIC: 'Tis The Damn Season V

---

"Do you know what she's like?" "Huh?" "Well… do you have an idea what to expect?" "Hmm?"

"Are you even paying attention to me right now?" The younger girl asked abruptly, doe-eyes wide and blue as she looked balefully back at her companion. The confused look she got in return made her cheeks flush a soft shade of pink that didn't quite match up to her hair. "I was asking if you knew what the woman was like. The...the hunter. Like.. I've never met a hunter before, and aren't they supposed to be dangerous?"

Tems brows creased for a second, blue-grey eyes catching the light as the darker haired woman gave a short, sharp laugh. Bela tossed her hair back, brown waves tucking over her shoulder in a way that managed to look effortlessly chic like she'd never been able to do herself. "Hunters? Pssh. They talk a big game, but those I've dealt with? Rarely worth worrying about, and that was when I was a human."

"Yeah, but...but now wouldn't they...you know...be happy to kill you?" "Most would've been before, now I've got extra tricks up my sleeves though. Just like you."

"Well...I don't know about that," Tems mumbled quietly to herself as she fiddled with the edge of her choker impatiently. "I don't know if...that is, uh...I don't think I could hurt someone- someone who's a person and alive and-"

"Human. I get it." Bela's smile was comforting, and Tems found herself smiling shyly back under the other woman's supportive look. This was why she was so glad that the other demon had come along. Alone, she would've been terrified. "So, what was the question again?"

"Do you know what she's like?" Tems asked again, voice firmer and feeling more in control as she shifted her weight after a second of hesitation again, looking across at her friend as they waited at the edge of the parking lot. "I mean, whoever she is must be important if Cr- the King is sending her messages."

"Like I said, the hunters I used to run into weren't all that. Pretty much they're balding, middle aged men that are barely functioning alcoholics with too much flannel and death wishes," The other demon said thoughtfully, pulling a nail file from the air and starting to work on her already immaculate fingers. "There's only three that were worth any consideration, and I know two of them are already on fairly positive talking chit-chat levels with the good ol' boss man."

"Oh?" "You don't scheme to take down Lucifer together without getting some sort of working relationship sorted, right?" "I...I suppose not."

The other demon smiled at her gently, and Tems let out a small huff as she blushed again at the realisation she was being teased all over again. Just because her drive for ambition hadn't kicked in yet despite how long and just how spotless her record was, didn't mean she should always be getting teased about it. Kicking at the loose pebbles at the edge of the tarred parking lot as she fiddled with the edge of her choker, the redhead forced herself not to pout or sound too upset as she added sulkily, "You still didn't answer my question. Do you know what she's like?"

"Not personally," Bela replied quietly, picking at her pinky nail with renewed focus. "And I'd also never dealt with a female hunter. Didn't think there were that many around really, it's more of a dick-swinging contest."

"Oh, it definitely is." The unexpected voice made both demons jump, Bela dropping her nail file and Tems almost tripping on the uneven surface as she jerked her head over from looking at her friend to the short woman in front of her. "I mean, I'm still waitin' for my eight inch strap to arrive in the mail so I can participate, but I should match up or exceed the other guys' expectations then."

If the typical hunter was an older man reeking of cheap booze and dirty flannels like Bela's description had conjured for the younger demon, the person speaking to them was the complete opposite. Pretty and petite, but with clearly defined muscle under a casual mix of a floral print top and cut off jean shorts, the blonde was not like the other's answer to what hunters were like - even ignoring that she was a woman. The only things that set off any warning bells as Tems righted herself and tugged carefully at the wrist hems of her plain blue dress were the innocuous charm bracelet on one wrist and the sharp as a blade smile.

"Depending who you're competing with it probably would be-" "I thought it was a safe starting point. I don't need to beat them all, just some." "Seems like you likely would. Unless you know some giants."

"Only one." The blonde and Bela's banter took a few moments to sink through Tems shock to resonate and catch her attention again. There was a beat as the two others shared a common look before the shorter of the two added as sharply as her smile. "Can I help you loiterers?"

The demon pair shared an exchange of looks - Bela’s brow curved upwards for a long moment as Tems’ eyes darted between her companion and the staring blonde - before the older of the two gave a huff. “Well, the princess here’s been sent with a message for someone. I’m just here for some fresh air.”

“The what now?” There was a second as the shorter hunter’s eyes widened in confusion before she tilted her head the other direction. “Nevermind. Who’re you two after?”

“Joanna Harvelle.” “Ah, so me then.” “I kind of already worked that out, darling.” “Aren’t you clever. Now who the Hell, and while you’re at it what the Hell, are you two? And who’s sent you to find me?”

Tems shuffled awkwardly at the others’ exchange, biting on her lip for a moment as she considered just how scary such a small woman must be to not only be a hunter, but a hunter at that diminutive a size, and a hunter that had caused enough issues for the King to have sent a messenger to her. She closed her eyes for a moment, clinging to the thought that Crowley was fond of her and cared about her and wouldn’t risk her on some dangerous mission if this huntress was that scary. He had to be sure she’d be okay to send her and not someone else, right? Or maybe he just didn’t trust anyone else with the information - not that she understood that point much of her message at all.

“Um, we’re- well, you got it kind of right. Uh, my name is Tempest, and this is Bela-” Tems finally found her voice, shaky though it was, as she opened her eyes and looked back down towards the shorter woman. She jerked a hand up, gesturing towards her friend and chanced a look to see the older demon giving a slightly haughty look at the other, before returning to fiddling at her sleeve cuffs. “We were sent by the King- um, by Crowley the King of the Crossroads?” Her voice trailed off as she hoped for any sign of recognition from the woman, and prepared herself to smoke away at the first sign of violence.

While it wasn’t violence, she definitely saw the flash of awareness followed immediately by a twist and pursing of the hunter’s lips, something that seemed so innocuous but sent a slight shiver down her back at noticing it.

“Oh, that fuckin’ bastard, huh?” Joanna’s voice was harsh and rough as she shifted her weight and even took a full step back from the pair, eyes running over them as if sizing them up before pulling herself back up into her fullest height and a cocky smirk crossed her face. “What’s that asshole want? He finally want’ta accept his defeat gracefully? Want to know if I’ma send his drunken ass somewhere other than Hell next time I see him?”

Tems’ cheeks flushed hotly at the other’s words - the crassness catching her off guard from a sweet looking woman, as well as the obvious hatred setting through her tone - before dropping her eyes down to her shoes rather than dare to stare the other down. “N- no, that’s not what he, uh, said.”

“Oh? Well now I am curious what the fuck he wants.” “He, um, wanted to confirm if we- that is, like, crossroads demons - could go back to operating in the area if called.”

“Huh?”

“Something was taking us out, hunter,” Bela cut over the top of Tems’ trying to work out what to say to that question. She’d not been privy to the exact issue, Crowley’s keeping her usually from a lot of the other demons as his favorite but also not sharing the issues that the other redeyes whispered about to each other, but the dark haired demon definitely knew more about it than Tems did. “Whenever we came in this state pretty much. Crowley’d negotiated a, shall we say, cease-fire but it also left an entire area of crossroads with little deals popping up being not serviced or only serviced with those...disposable demons.”

“So you mean all of you?” “Oh, like you hunters are any less so. Bunch of sociopathic, blood-thirsty vicious-”

The blonde shook her head at Bela’s hissed outburst, throwing her head back with a harsh laugh before shaking it again and giving a quiet sigh. “So, you’re here cause Crowley wants me to do him a favor, huh?”

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks again at the realisation that was the truth, and even further - her skin glowing redder still that she was sure it would match her hair if she looked in the mirror - to realise that that’s why he’d sent her for this. Crowley chose his best negotiator, he trusted her to be the one to be able to deliver not only the message but deliver on it. That was pressure. A lot of pressure. And pressure that left her tugging at her sleeves as she shrugged a shoulder at the question and dropped her eyes rather than look at the curious look she was being given by her friend. Bela was a good demon, there was a reason Tems enjoyed her company, but this was her task.

“He does.” The redhead said gently, sucking in a breath sharply as she gave a final nervous tug at her sleeves before looking up towards the sneering huntress. “I, uh, look I don’t know what the situation might be between yourself and the King, but, like, he had hoped that we’d be able to come to an agreement of sorts.”

The blonde paused as if considering the words, before her sneer shifted into a wide smirk that screamed danger towards Tems. “Oh, I’d sure love to hear what he might have to even try to organise. Ya know what?”

“Hmm?”

“You tell that asshole, and in these words exactly-” Joanna’s eyes had a shine to them that unsettled her. It was like the fleeting times she had spotted some of the older, more vicious and powerful demons around, that exuded power and cruelty in their looks only, that would send little redeyes like them scurrying away within moments. But she couldn’t drop her eyes as she looked back at the blonde even if she wanted to. She needed to deliver this message, she needed to succeed or at least ensure the best negotiation she could for Crowley, she couldn’t fail the man that put his trust in her. The hunter smirked wider, teeth white and sharp. “-That if he wants to work out some details, he can come talk to me himself at a very specific blade point. Then maybe I might be so nice as to consider considerin’ helping him. For I am a benevolent God. ...You got that?”

Tems could see her friend nodding from her peripheral as she nodded her head too, something about how simple the words were making her feel like they held far more meaning to them for the blonde and likely for Crowley than they sounded like. Glancing to the side, she saw Bela’s brows creasing as well, before she darted a look back to the blonde.

The hunter’s smirk had slowly shifted at their nods, her mouth pulled into a slight frown instead and those eyes that flashed with that dangerous edge had softened as she seemed to look between the two demons for a moment before shrugging. “If he has an issue with that, tell him I said he could stick it up his own ass rather than takin’ it out on your two too, okay?” Joanna’s words didn’t sound particularly nice or caring, but at the same time, Tems thought it sounded like an apology as well. “Can’t help what ya’s have become, so don’t let him hold what I’ve got to say ‘gainst you.”

Frowning slightly, Tems felt her head nodding again before her mind had even had a chance to catch up to what she was saying. It was something Tems wasn’t sure she felt was fair either - she knew she’d made a deal as a child before she knew right from wrong really but she could have helped from condemning herself, and the same could be said for her friend even if her situation had been all the worse.

“Say,” The hunter’s voice cut through Tems’ morose thoughts then, brown eyes wide and curious instead as she glanced between the pair of demons. “Why’d he send you two anyways?”

“I’m just here to stretch my legs, actually.” Bela quipped back, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she looked back at the other. “I don’t suppose you know what it’s like down there-”

“More like Dante’s or like Paradise Lost?” “Depends where you are, actually.” “Given Mr Would-Be-King sent you, I’m guessin’ you’re both redders?” “So the areas a lot less… screaming than the rest, yes.”

The back and forth had shifted somewhere from aggressively judging into a swift pattern of give and take, before the hunter gave a shrug of her shoulders - a peek of sun-kissed tan skin that spoke volumes of the difference between a sun filled life to the dank of a cold afterlife. “Hmm, I don’t suppose Dean or Sammy could confirm that then - not that anyone wants to ever talk ‘bout it.”

“Oh, you know those two?” There was an edge in Bela’s tone as she spoke, and Tems tilted her head curiously before reaching out and taking her friend’s hand. “Don’t suppose they’ve grown any hearts since I knew them, hmm?”

“When was that?” “Dean was on his count-down clock, and can’t say I’m not a little sad that I missed out on seein’ him downstairs.”

“Hmm? Ouch, that’s harsh.” “Well, if they wouldn’t help out a girl in need - they deserve harsh.”

Tems squeezed her friend’s hand tighter then, trying to send through what kind of support she could to the other. Dying and knowing it was coming for you was not something that could be understood other than by those who’d experienced it first hand, and the desperation in those last few months, weeks, days and hours couldn’t be faulted. Sharing a supportive look with her friend, the younger demon shifted a little closer unconsciously as if it would help any.

“Can’t say they’re fans of it still, I’ve had to beg them a few times before they’ll pull on up. But perhaps I just get their softer side than others do.” The hunter’s voice was soft, and Tems could see that her face was equally soft as she looked between the two demons before tilting her head curiously. “That wasn’t all that long ago, surprised you’re already...high enough… to be on any sort of terms with the fuckin’ dumbass.” There was a blink where both demons’ looked back at her in confusion before the blonde clarified, “I mean Crowley. Being what - King of the Crossroads? Heh, bet he hated that little downgrade. He makin’ the most of holding any sort of power then, huh?”

“He has been, uh, more attentive to us, that’s true.” The redhead replied this time, noting that her friend was still clearly stuck digesting the information regarding the other hunters she’d known in life. That they were both alive seemingly was causing some confusion for her, and Tems would have to talk to Bela later about it. “He’s a very good King.”

“And a very good sort of asshole too.” Joanna chirped back with a smirk, rolling her eyes, before fixing them onto Tems. “So, she’s new and you’re the messenger. That makes you older, right?”

“Oh, oh no.” Tems felt herself flushing at that misunderstanding. “I… that is, Bela has been around longer than myself but I, uh, I’m good at my job.”

“Oh, so you’re useful. Hmm.” “Crowley is very complimentary to me.” “Best watch yourself or he’ll be more than complimentary.” “He’d never!”

Tems had not been that shocked before than at hearing the implication from the hunter before her. It was one thing for other demons - those who knew Crowley and the way he was - to assume things, and another for someone she’d never met before make the suggestion that that could happen. That she seemed to know it wasn’t already though - the warning in those brown eyes and that gentle tone - was almost as shocking.

“No?” Joanna’s brows creased for a second as she seemed to be thinking before fixing her with another look instead. Eyes fixated on the black necklace around her neck. “She called you ‘princess’ before, right? Crowley dotin’ on you like a daddy, and not the sugar type, huh?”

Her cheeks felt all warm again, and she tugged her hand from her friend’s now comforting grip to tug awkwardly at the collar of her dress with a quiet cough, as if to cover her choker. It wasn’t exactly right but it was also not wrong either - Crowley protected her and clearly cared about her as more than just for her successes; but that wasn’t exactly how it felt for her. “I- He’s- It’s not totally like that.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll fuck up sometime soon enough.” The blonde’s words sounded sharper for a moment then, and looking up from her shoes, Tems was surprised to see something else to the woman’s eyes all over again. Not the hatred and fire from before, the dangerous thread of a threat earlier, or even the detached sympathy towards Bela when they’d discussed some mutual acquaintances. It confused her to see something more akin to compassion and actual empathy directed towards her from someone who should for all intents be pointing a gun in her face or reciting some exorcism to send her back where she came from. “Perhaps he’ll be better with you and learn from his previous mistakes, loosen up that stick from his ass to let you have your own life. Seems you’re allowed other friends at least, so maybe…” There was a pause, and Tems felt herself frowning in confusion as the words seemed to seep into her mind and bounce about confusingly as the blonde’s eyes flickered between the demonic pair and then back to meet her own gaze steadily. “Maybe you’ll be better off, and he ain’t all that bad. He's not always an asshole, not entirely...”

By the time she finished chewing the thought over though, the blonde woman was halfway across the parking lot back towards the rough looking building as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“Thanks!” She heard herself calling out, and jerked all over again in surprise to see the blonde spin about and wave a friendly hand towards them as she called back as well “No problem! Next time, just knock.” before the sound of laughter cut through the air again.

It was something Tems realised, as she turned back to her friend and then tugged on that part of herself that was that intrinsic part that let her disappear from one place and appear in another, that had been missing. The sound of carefree laughter and the loss of it was ringing in her head as she found herself returning to the figurative darkness of the underworld, pondering if maybe she would get another chance to head back up and maybe negotiate again, maybe even get to make the sound herself next time.

---

#cc #ca #temspov

1 note · View note

perhapsitmaybedragons · 3 years

Text

Of Gingerbread and Flies

For creativerocket-jpg - I’m your gift giver for Good Snowmans. I hope this is ok - this is what came out when I tried to write using your prompts (which I loved, by the way). Plenty of The Them, Crowley, Aziraphale and Beelzebub.

Summary:

Beelzebub would like to challenge Crowley. But the Them step in to make sure the competition is more appropriate for winter activities. And of course, no one likes games more than The Them. So who will triumph in making the best gingerbread house?

Can be read on ao3 here or read below: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534104

Crowley grumbled, unsure of what had awoken him. Whatever it was, he decided to ignore it and rolled back over, resolute in his decision to sleep in. It was a cold day and best spent, in Crowley's opinion, bundled up under the covers. Maybe he could talk Aziraphale into joining him if he offered the angel some cocoa. It wasn't Crowley's favorite but it could be all right if you punched it up with the right kind of alcohol.

“Seriously, wake up,” Came the voice that had first roused him. That wasn't Aziraphale's voice. Crowley bolted up, startled. His eyes went a little wider when he found the Them standing around his bed. “We can't get started without you,” Adam repeated.

“Get started with what, exactly?” Crowley grabbed for his sunglasses and shoved them on. The Them didn't mind his eyes, but he still preferred covering them up.

“Dear,” Aziraphale finally joined the others in the bedroom. “The Them has uh...made a bargain on your behalf, it seems.”

Crowley pulled himself out of bed and snapped his fingers to replace his sleeping outfit with his preferred tailored suits (well, if miracles can be counted as tailored). “Someone needs to start at the beginning with this,” He snapped his fingers again, this time in the direction of Wensleydale, “You. Nerdy little human. You tell me – No, Adam,” He shushed Adam before he could start in, “I want this straight and to the point. Wensley's better at that stuff and you know it.”

Adam opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. Instead he just shrugged. Excited to be the one chosen, Wensleydale launched into his explanation. “So Adam knew something bad might happen here at your cottage today so he said we should come over here and sure enough,” Normally he wouldn't speak so quickly, but he was also keenly aware that they were on a time limit. Which he really should explain to Crowley immediately, but well...first things first. “We found Beelzebub outside your window – that's what Adam said their name is, anyway, and-”

“Beelzebub?!” Crowley yelped. “Angel, Why didn't you wake me up?!”

“Because, by the time I knew about it the Them had already taken care of it. Beelzebub's waiting for us in the living room.”

“We moved all the way out here to the Downs to get away from everything. How is it you four keep showing up here?” Crowley tried to look cross. Apparently he was failing, given the way all of the Them were smirking at him. For a mad moment he thought he saw the same expression on Dog.

Wensleydale cleared his throat to get permission to continue. Crowley nodded at him and gestured for him to get on with it. “So we found Beelzebub outside your window,” he repeated, “And they said they were here to challenge you and Aziraphale because apparently you made them a laughingstock-”

“I never zzssaid that,” Beelzebub pushed the door to the bedroom open and glared at everyone. “No one zssaiid that I was ever a laughingstock.”

“You didn't have to say it,” Pepper shrugged. “It was kind of obvious by you being here in the first place.”

Beelzebub vibrated indignantly at them. Crowley wondered for a moment how they managed to do that in a humanoid form, but decided it wasn't worth it to ask. “So they asked me to join them in this ridiculous challenge.”

“I mean, maybe it is ridiculous,” Brian shrugged, “But you agreed to it. Didn't have to twist your arm or anything, either. You just said yes.”

“Demons must take on what we're challenged to,” Beelzebub insisted. Crowley made a face at them.

“I don't think that's true,” He pondered all the times the Them had challenged him to increasingly ridiculous things, wondering if he hadn't been able to say no due to some demon bylaw he wasn't aware of or whether it was his own fondness for them. He was pretty sure it was the latter, but he would probably be pretending the former was true going forward.

“So here we are,” Wensleydale continued. “We're all building gingerbread houses and who ever has the best one wins. Aziraphale is the judge.”

“Because since he's an angel he won't be biased,” Adam explained. Crowley resisted the urge to laugh at that.

“Okay. So I'm ...making a gingerbread house? Or you lot are?” he asked the Them. They all nodded. “So I'm making on or you are?” he repeated, hoping for a real answer this time.

“All of you are,” Aziraphale cut in to explain. “I judge, but everyone else makes them. If Beelzebub beats you they get to take you with them. If they beat the Them, they take me. If they don't beat either of you then they don't get anyone and owe something to the Them. Though they haven't told me what it is they want.”

“Isn't hell supposed to be leaving me alone?” Crowley demanded. “Pretty sure that was a condition for me leaving you all alone after that holy water incident.”

“I'm not all of hell, am I?” Beelzebub pointed out. “I'm not in hell, I'm here. And this is personal.”

“Of course it is,” Crowley rolled his eyes at them. “Do I miracle in the gingerbread or do we have to waste time making it first? Or are we doing one of those annoying kits?”

“You slept in quite a while, dear,” Aziraphale shrugged. “The Them and I already got all the gingerbread made. It's only fair if it's all the same kind of biscuit, after all. So I helped them with that step – did you know it's rather difficult to make a biscuit that can be used for construction but still tastes nice? But I think we succeeded. They're still gingerbread, but they're also chocolate and I put some ancho powder in there, quite lovely-”

“Can we get on with thisszzz?” Beelzebub insisted. “I don't have all day.”

“I mean, don't you?” Pepper asked innocently. “What do you do all day down in Hell, really? Just ...sit over and poke souls with a pitchfork, I imagine. This is probably way more fun.”

Beelzebub didn't answer.

“At any rate, we should probably move on. Let's stop standing around in my bedroom and get started on this whole …” Crowley wanted to call it a fiasco. He'd never baked before and never decorated any type of dessert before. And he supposed the rules probably demanded that he not use any miracles. He confirmed this with Adam, who looked indignant at the suggestion.

“What kind of competition would it be, then? Pepper, Dog, Wensley and Brian can't do miracles. Where would that leave them? I mean, yeah, I'm on their team but it still wouldn't be fair. Even though we have been practicing.”

Apparently this rule was news to Beelzebub. They stamped their foot in irritation. Crowley smirked at how childish they were being, but didn't say anything. “You mean I have to do this the ...human way?!”

“Yeah. That's what makes it fun,” Adam insisted.

The kitchen was already well prepared for the competition. Aziraphale had even thought to put some tarps down on the floor to minimize the mess, as though they weren't going to just miracle it all clean later. There were three long tables set up in different parts of the room, and Crowley made a mental note to tell Aziraphale to stop watching so much Great British Bake Off. Each table had a stove built into it, the gingerbread on the side, paper and a pencil to draw designs out with and of course tubes of frosting.

“Crowley, dear, you'll be over here,” Aziraphale gestured to the table closest to the front, directly in front of a stool that Aziraphale now perched on. Beelzebub took the table to the left behind Crowley and the Them took the one on the right.

“Aziraphale, sir?” Wensley piped up from their table. “Actually, could we have some water and sugar? I read that burned sugar holds the houses together better.”

“Are you old enough to cook?” Aziraphale asked, looking embarrassed as he was clearly trying to puzzle out the Them's ages. “I just don't want any of you to hurt yourselves.”

“I can do it,” Brian insisted. “My mom taught me how to cook. She said it's the first step in learning to look after yourself. I just have to clean up any messes I make.” Brian always tried to clean up said messes, but no matter how hard he tried his mother always found a spot later. Multiple spots, really.

Aziraphale did a complicated gesture with his right hand and a boiling pot of water appeared in front of the Them on their stove. Brian checked it carefully and confirmed the sugar was already in it.

Crowley watched them carefully, then glanced over at Beelzebub. They hadn't started any construction yet. In fact, instead of even attempting to build they'd popped a piece of gingerbread in their mouth. Crowley watched as Beelzebub closed their eyes, apparently savoring the flavor. Their eyes popped open and they grabbed another handful, scarfing it down. Crowley couldn't blame them. Aziraphale had become an excellent baker. Even Crowley could be easily tempted by Aziraphale's treats.

He took a nibble off one piece of his own gingerbread and conceded that it was definitely very tasty. But unless Beelzebub ended up eating all of theirs and had to forfeit, he still had to construct something. He took two pieces and frosted them together, wondering if he should follow the Them's example and make burned sugar. He decided against it. He didn't know how to make it and would probably just burn through one of Aziraphale's pots and make the angel grumble at him.

He stepped back, trying to admire his handiwork. All he had done was make a triangle. It slumped the moment he let go, the pieces falling over each other. He sighed and glanced over at the Them. They were remarkably good at teamwork. Brian was cooking, Pepper was assembling, Adam was the designer and Wensleydale was making adjustments on the fly when things didn't work out. And Dog ate any pieces that fell on the floor. Crowley sighed and turned back to his own gingerbread, trying to figure out what to do.

After several minutes of trying several things only to have them work out disastrously, Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who smiled back at him, then pulled out his pocket watch. “I do believe we forgot to tell Crowley about the time limit.”

“Sorry Crowley!” The Them chorused, none of them looking up from their creation.

“How long?”

“You have ..oh, ten minutes left.”

“Ten minutezz?!” Beelzebub grumbled. Crowley checked out their table and snickered. Beelzebub really had spent the whole time eating instead of working. They now had two sad little pieces of gingerbread left. Nothing someone could really make something out of.

“Nine now, since you both groused for so long,” Aziraphale corrected cheerfully. Crowley hissed at him.

Crowley took a few marshmallows from a nearby pile and started fiddling with them, then slapped some of his gingerbread together in heaps that he thought vaguely resembled what he was going for. By the time Aziraphale called that time was up Crowley figured he'd done about as well as could be expected.

“First, Beelzebub's,” Aziraphale motioned for everyone to join him at Beelzebub's table. They had a single piece of gingerbread left, which they had stuck a chocolate chip on.

“It's uh. Modern art,” Beelzebub tried.

“Excuse me. I invented modern art,” Crowley piped up, “I know modern art when I see it and this isn't it. Unless you have a pretentious way of explaining why the chocolate chip is alone – like it's meant to be a fallen and the gingerbread is the cruelty of -” Aziraphale caught him in the ribs.

“Crowley, you're not helping.” Which wasn't true. Rather, Crowley was helping the wrong one in this case.

“A lovely attempt, Beelzebub,” Aziraphale said graciously. They glowered at him. “Ah, now to Crowley's creation,” They all moved together from Beelzebub's table to Crowley's.

Crowley had haphazardly thrown what was passable for a house together, but more interesting were the two snowmen out front. Both were composed of two marshmallows shoved together. He'd melted some away from one so that the snowman looked skinny. To this one he'd added a piece of black licorice as a scarf. To the other he'd placed a yellow M&M on the top, pressed down so that it might give the appearance of a halo. “'S Me. Me and Angel,” He explained unnecessarily. Aziraphale looked touched. Adam let out a small “aww,” which the rest of the Them then echoed (Well, Dog barked it, but softly).

“Well, that's enough of mine. Let's see what Hellspawn and the others came up with, shall we?” Now it was Crowley who led everyone to the final table. He felt immediately sheepish on seeing what the Them had come up with.

The house was something to look at. A Victorian model all done up in gingerbread – as the kids had planned it was held together by burnt sugar but the frosting had been utilized to draw bricks on the sides and shingles on the roof. A dog – Dog by the look of the one inside out ear – had been carefully crafted out of modeling chocolate. There were four kids building a snowman (and here Crowley was surprised to find they'd also used marshmallows for their snowman – it made him feel he'd done something correctly). The kids looked to be made of a mixture of modeling chocolate and fondant. It wouldn't pass for professionally done – some of it was lopsided, one kid was missing an ear and they hadn't bothered to mold feet on any of them – but it was still a triumph.

“Fine, fine, they won,” Beelzebub threw up their hands. “I concede. Even Crowley's was better than mine. I'll leave now.”

“You can't!” Adam insisted. “There's too much gingerbread for all of us, and it's really cold out there.”

“You do understand they're going back to hell, right?” Crowley interrupted. “Cold is not exactly the problem there.”

“It doesn't matter. It's cold, we have all this gingerbread, we should eat it together,” Pepper argued. “You rarely ever eat, Crowley. This is too much for just us and Aziraphale. And Beelzebub really liked the gingerbread, didn't you?”

“Er uh...maybe,” Beelzebub's eyes darted away from the kids and Crowley found himself snorting at the situation. These kids could easily face down all the forces of hell, just by being their usual sweet selves, he figured.

“So?” Crowley asked. “Will you be staying?”

Aziraphale's eyebrows went up. “Crowley, are you asking Beelzebub to spend the rest of the day with us and the Them?”

“Do we have a choice? This lot already decided for us, I think. Besides, they like your gingerbread. Thought you'd be happy about that, at least.”

“It was very good,” Beelzebub admitted, their voice small. “I'd like to stay.”

“Good,” Pepper said with a nod. “I think that's what we were going to ask from you anyway, for our winning.”

“Right,” Brian agreed. “You have to stay.”

“All right. But any tricks and Angel here gets out the holy water.”

Beelzebub's eyes grew to the size of saucers. Apparently it hadn't occurred to them that Aziraphale could get holy water whenever he pleased. The truth was there was never any in the house and Aziraphale was unlikely to allow it for fear of any of it accidentally splashing on Crowley.

It was agreed that Beelzebub could spend the rest of the day with them. Crowley and Aziraphale had both learned that it was almost impossible to argue with the Them once their mind was made up and well, if they ended up with another demon who, while not on their side exactly might be ...adjacent, well, where was the harm?

So they passed the rest of the day with Aziraphale showing Beelzebub how to make the gingerbread, the Them showing them how to make snowballs (and of course, then having an ensuing snowball fight – Beelzebub had excellent aim and was delighted to find that the Them kept arguing about who got them on their team). By the time the sun was setting they were all back inside, gathered in front of the fire. Aziraphale threw a blanket around Beelzebub's shoulders, then wrapped himself and Crowley in another one.

“Your hands are always freezing, dear,” Aziraphale complained. In answer Crowley put his hands up Aziraphale's shirt. “Ughk! That's not funny!”

Beelzebub chuckled then took a long sip of their hot cocoa. “This is why you like it here, huh?”

“It's part of why I like it here,” Crowley answered, his arms wrapping protectively around Aziraphale. “There's even more good stuff. You'd be surprised... You should come up again. Let the Them show you around.”

Beelzebub took another sip, mulling it over. “I'd like that.”

“Oh look!” Adam pointed out the window, “The snow's started!” Crowley resisted the urge to point out that it was only snowing because Adam felt it should be, deciding to enjoy the view instead.

All in all, even he had to admit, snuggled up with Aziraphale like he was, surrounded by some of the people he liked most (minus Newt and Anathema and plus Beelzebub, who may be coming around but was still not someone to be trusted or liked, at least not yet). Even Crowley had to admit this was a pretty perfect day.

#@creativerocket-jpg #@good-snowmens #Good Omens fanfic #good omens fanart #Adam Young #Aziraphale #demon Crowley #beelzeb #The Them #Pepper #Brian #Wensley #Wensleydale #I think it's cute #Meant to be a very sweet story

6 notes · View notes

peacockwinchester · 4 years

Text

Crowley x Winchester! Author

Unrequested

Help, I'm beginning the Crowley craze. I have a oneshots book on Wattpad and it's got a good variety of my characters, but... So much Crowley. I mean. I love him. All the time. Beautiful man. (I simp for this man, and yes, I am aware how bottom-energy I am) Also this is my first oneshot using my new name! I get so giddy when I refer to myself as Misha. I wish people would actually use it in real life😢

~Misha~

My brothers and I were backed into a corner. We hadn't planned for someone other than Guy. Guy was currently choking Dean, but I was too dizzy to get up for a second. When I did try to get up, I was thrown back by Guy's intern. I would be bruised if I lived through this, and I had a lot of cuts from glass and the corners of tables. I blinked, watching Sam choking, wishing I could just stop that damn intern. Then, the intern flashed out, Ruby's knife protruding from his stomach. He fell forward.

Becky stood where the intern had just been, looking a little shocked.

"Whoa..." She said quietly.

Sam grabbed the blade and tossed it to Dean, who held it to Guy's throat. I got to my feet, a bit shaky from being thrown by thin air.

"How many deals do you have running here?" I asked, knowing Guy was now backed into the corner we'd just been in.

"Fifteen," Guy replied.

"Well, call them off, or I'll cut my own loophole in your throat," Dean growled.

"Oh, crap..." Guy muttered, eyes widening.

"Yeah, you said it," Dean grinned, "You're in a world-"

He was cut off by the sight of Crowley. My heart skipped a beat. It had been too long since I saw my boyfriend. Of course, no one knew he was my boyfriend, so I couldn't convey my excitement.

"Hello, boys," Crowley smiled at my brothers, before catching my eye discreetly.

Dean moved, so he was facing Crowley. Crowley, smiled at Sam.

"Sam, mazel tov. Who's the lucky lady?" He asked.

"You're Crowley!" Becky gasped.

"And you're- well, I'm sure you have a lovely personality, dear," Crowley replied.

I sighed. I didn't understand why people had to be so mean to Becky. I mean, I would never forgive her for roofie-ing my baby brother, but she was lonely, I guessed. I knew what that was like.

"Ah, another step and I'll Colombian necktie your little friend here," Dean warned.

"Please, don't let him get off that easy," Crowley scoffed.

I could see he was enjoying the opportunity to show me hiw he ran his kingdom. He liked to show off. I guessed that it also might be a hint that I would have to do this someday, but that was a long way off, and I didn't want to see things that weren't there.

"Sir, I don't think that you-" Guy started to give an excuse.

"I know exactly what you've been doing," Crowley glanced down at the intern's body, "A little birdie named Jackson sold you out, emailed all the juicy deets to my suggestion box. I assume that's my whistle-blower? Shame. Had a future. Unfortunately, you don't."

"I was just-" Guy started, sounding like a middle-schooler trying to get out of a detention.

"There's only one rule: make a deal, keep it," Crowley shut him down.

"Well, technically I didn't-"

"There's a reason we don't call our chits in early- consumer confidence. This isn't Wall Street! This is Hell! We have a little something called integrity! This gets out, who'll deal with us? Nobody! Then where are we?!"

"I don't know..."

"That's right. You don't. Because you're a stupid, shortsighted little prat. Now, hand tha jackass over. I'll cancel every deal he's made."

"What are you gonna do with him?" Dean asked.

"Make an example of him. Fair trade, right? We all go our separate ways. No harm done," Crowley answered.

"What, out of the goodness of your heart?" Sam scoffed.

"Guys-" I tried.

"Shush, Misha," Dean said.

"Years of demons nipping at your heels, haven't seen one for months. Wonder why?" Crowley scowled at my brothers.

"We've been a little busy," Dean said.

"Hunting Leviathan- yes, I know. That's why I told my lads to stay clear of you meatheads," Crowley locked eyes with me, silently telling me he was helping my brothers because of me.

"So, what do you know about-" Sam began to ask.

"Too much," Crowley stopped him. "You met that dick yet? Smuggest tub of goo since Mussolini. I hate the bastards. Squash 'em all, please. I'll stay clear."

I giggled at the comparison to Mussolini. Crowley looked back at me.

"What?" he frowned.

"Nothing. Just. I never thought I'd hear that from you," I quickly plastered on my "Winchester face".

"Please!" Crowley rolled his eyes, trying to look mad at me.

"Rip up the contracts first," Dean ordered.

Crowley snapped his fingers.

"Done... And done. Your turn," he said.

"No, nonono, let-" Guy started to plead.

Dean let go of Guy, shoving him towards Crowley. Guy straightened up awkwardly, clearly panicked in front of his boss.

"Pleasure, gentlemen. Misha," Crowley gave me a small smirk.

With that, he and Guy were gone. I felt the tension dissipate. Becky glanced over at me with a look I couldn't read.

Dean and I stood to the side as Sam and Becky signed the annulment. My phone rang. Dean looked down at me. I checked the caller ID. It was Crowley.

"Uh, old friend. Gotta take this," I gestured to the door before heading into the hallway.

Dean frowned a bit, but didn't question me. I shut the door to Becky's apartment behind me, picking up the call.

"Hello, darling," Crowley's voice said.

"Hi," I smiled.

It had been over a year, but I still got butterflies when he called me that.

"Are you in a good spot?" he asked.

"Good enough. Sammy's getting annulled in there. I told Dean it was an old friend," I shrugged.

Crowley suddenly appeared in front of me, phone still in hand. I smiled, hanging up.

"Old friend, huh?" he raised an eyebrow.

"What, can't I have normal friends?" I asked, playfully.

"I'm just saying, it doesn't seem very believable."

"I don't care. I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Your fault, not mine."

"I know, I know. Leviathans are just... Tricky. And time-consuming. We still have no idea how to gank their asses..."

Crowley frowned at my frustration.

"Don't think about that now. Let's just enjoy each other's company," he said.

"You're right, as always," I smiled gratefully.

Crowley wrapped me in his arms, a little awkwardly at first. I took in the smell of his cologne, which was way too expensive. Everything he owned was worth more than me. Crowley looked down at me, a funny look on his face.

"What?" I frowned.

"What's this?" He gently touched a cut on my forehead from last night.

"Just a cut, why?" I asked.

"He hurt you," Crowley furrowed his brow.

"Yeah? Pretty much everyone does. Sometimes even my own brothers."

"He hurt you. I'm going to torture him even more, the dick."

"Crow, you don't have to, everyone-"

"Misha, that doesn't condone it! I have just as much desire to murder your brothers as the people who've tried to kill you!"

I looked at him, a little surprised he cared so much. It was a surprise, but I liked it. It felt good that he cared what happened to me. I kissed his cheek.

"What was that for?" Crowley asked, still a little worked up.

"Thanks. For caring," I smiled.

"Well, I'm supposed to. Here," he touched the cut, healing it instantly.

"Thanks..."

"Of course."

He leaned down to place a kiss on my lips. His beard tickled my face. I pulled back, laughing a little.

"What is it now?" he sighed.

"Your beard tickles," I grinned.

"It does?" Crowley frowned.

"No, I like it! I like it a lot," I poked his cheek.

"Oh, good. I would have cut it if you didn't like it."

"Don't ever cut it! It makes you look even more handsome!"

Crowley smiled, kissing me again.

"Call me soon. I missed you," he said.

"I missed you too. I'll try to call tonight," I agreed, kissing him yet again.

When I blinked, he was gone, the weight of his arms around me suddenly lifted from me. I shivered. It was cold now. I made my way back inside.

Sam, Dean, and I were walking down the hall, leaving Becky's apartment when she called after us.

"Wait, Misha! I wanna talk to you before you go!" She called.

We stopped. Sam and Dean looked at me quizzically. I shrugged. I wondered what she wanted too.

"Ok!" I nodded, "You guys go ahead, I'll meet you at the car."

Becky waved me into her apartment and closed the door. My fight or flight was going into overdrive. I didn't think she could do anything to me, but my hand moved closer to the gun under my jacket.

"Who were you really talking to out there?" She asked.

"What?" I asked, caught off guard.

"None of your friends from before ever call you."

"Becky, I don't-"

"Misha, I read all the books."

I shut my mouth trying to think up a feasible lie. Becky crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, giving me a Mom look, even though I couldn't remember my mom's. I gulped. She wouldn't take a lie. I couldn't cover anymore. I sighed.

"Fine. It wasn't a friend," I admitted.

"Then who was it?" Becky was immediately intrigued.

"It... It was, um... My boyfriend," I tried to avoid saying Crowley's name.

"Oh! Who is it, who is it? No, wait. Let me guess... Ummm... The only allusion to romance in the books was between you and Crowley, so... Is it?" She gave me a sly look.

"How the hell did you-"

"Oh, come on! The chemistry was so easy to pick up on. You two are bad at hiding! Besides, I heard a guy out there like you were talking face to face."

"Oh. Wow."

"Yeah. So. Give me the details. I wanna know everything!"

I laughed a little. Becky watched me intently, waiting for me to open my mouth. I sighed.

"Well... We've been dating for a couple years. I dunno. It seems pretty obvious that we'll get married someday, if I live long enough."

"And Sam and Dean don't know."

"I don't want them to know. It was bad enough when I changed my name. At least Dad isn't here anymore."

"They'll get over it. I know they love you, they just... Have some prejudice. When they see that your happy, they won't mind."

"I highly doubt that. I'll be the queen of the bastards that killed our mom. But it doesn't matter. I can still cut them out if I have to."

"But you shouldn't have to! A lot of people would kill to have a sibling relationship like you guys."

"Um. We did."

Becky snorted.

"What I'm saying is give it some time. Don't cut them out if they give you grief up front," she said.

"I know. I'll try. Thanks, Becky," I grinned.

"Anytime! Good luck with Crowley!" she waved as I moved to walk out.

"Yep!" I waved back.

My brothers were waiting for me, leaning against the hood of the car. They looked up.

"What took so long?" Dean asked.

"Eh, talking relationship advice," I shrugged.

"What, like, don't roofie your crush?" Sam joked.

"Yeah," I laughed.

"You know, I said some crap when I was all dosed up," Sam cleared his throat.

"Oh? She wasn't your soulmate?" Dean teased.

"Shut up. I mean, I do need you guys watching my back. Obviously," Sam said.

"You know, for a whack-job, you really pulled it together," Dean looked up at Sam.

"You two be nice," I gave them my best "mom" look.

"But it might be nice. Y'know, you two have been looking after me pretty much your whole lives. It might be nice to take a break, step back a little," Sam looked between us.

"Nah. I don't know any different," I gave Sam a playful punch in the side.

"Alright, I was just saying!" Sam laughed.

"Yeah, get in the car, hippie," Dean shived him a bit.

I laughed. My brothers were my life. I just hoped they would stay that way when I added Crowley into the picture...

#crowley supernatural #crowley #fanfiction #spn fanfiction

3 notes · View notes

pengychan · 4 years

Text

[Good Omens] Winging It - James 4:11

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

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

A/N: This chapter is longer than usual because I added a full page of fluff between Crowley and Aziraphale that has little to nothing to do with the rest. But I left it where it is ‘cause Christmas, I guess, and you really cannot count on Ineffable Bureaucracy for fluff.

***

The angel Gabriel from heaven came His wings as drifted snow His eyes as flame...

“Of all songs, did they have to pick this one?”

“Hah! Don’t like Sting?”

Something did sting all right and, as a matter of fact, he did not like that, but Gabriel knew better than to explain why those words - a song about his most well-known task and the mention of his wings, which had been white as drifted snow except for the faint purplish tint of the primary feathers - made him wish he could shut himself in a dark, quiet place for a century or two or twenty.

“You could say that,” Gabriel finally muttered, mildly thankful of the fact the background noise in the pub made it easy enough to shut out the lyrics if he didn’t focus on it too much.

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t mind it. But maybe we’ve just had it up to here with Christmas songs by now. I swear that every year they start playing them earlier and earlier. We were just through Halloween and bam, Christmas. I swear I’ve been hearing jingles ever since.”

Ah, yes. Halloween. Gabriel made a face, trying not to think of the laughs everyone at the warehouse got at his expenses from time to time over his less than measured reaction when several workers had come in dressed up as demons. Namely, screaming and trying to climb up the closest scaffold. Even Daniel had been unable to keep himself from laughing to tears - but really, how was he supposed to know it was just pretend and not, well, actual demons?

Of course, that wasn’t something he could say aloud, so he had to resign himself to the fact that everyone working in the warehouse thought he was, to put it mildly, a scaredy cat. Not that it had done much damage, aside from the occasions ‘boo!’ shouted behind him to try getting him to repeat the performance; somehow, it seemed to have actually helped.

“I found you a little stuck up at first, but you know what, you’re good fun,” someone had said, and that seemed to be the general consensus. Plus, the fact he was able to speak to every single worker in their native language - English, Polish, Romanian, Urdu, German, Italian, you name it; he hadn’t lost that sort of knowledge - had gained him a lot of respect despite what they probably perceived as oddities from his part.

That was… not the kind of workplace he was used to, but chances were that no one would hold him down to tear out a pair of limbs because a CEO told them to, and Gabriel found he liked that in co-workers. Besides--

“Gabriel? Did you hear a word of what I said?”

“Huh?” Gabriel looked up from his glass, and his confused expression was probably enough of an answer. Daniel rolled his eyes a little, and took a swig from his glass before he spoke again.

“I asked what plans you’ve got for Christmas.”

“Plans?”

“... I take it you have none?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Not really,” he murmured. Christmas was celebrated in Heaven as well, of course, though not the way mortals did. It was one impressive birthday party, although the birthday boy himself rarely showed up in the high spheres to see them. Now he certainly wasn’t in the mood to celebrate it either way.

“Ah. Don’t you have any family? Sorry if that’s personal, it’s just that you never mentioned--”

“I had-- siblings,” Gabriel cut him off, blurting out what he felt was probably the closest term a human would understand, and emptied the glass. When he spoke again, his voice was beyond bitter. “We’re not on speaking terms.”

I understand you have no wish to see us, and we will not impose.

Daniel nodded, his expression grave. “... I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” Gabriel muttered, more harshly than he meant to.

Daniel didn’t seem fazed. “Did they do something, or--”

“They cast me out,” Gabriel snapped, slamming the empty glass down. “They just-- they were told to cast me out, and they did. I...” he paused, and swallowed. He hadn’t heard from Crowley or Aziraphale in the past couple of months, but now the demon’s voice rang in the back of his mind, loud and clear as though he was standing right there before him.

Had it been you receiving the order and Michael the one on the ground, would you have refused to do what God asked of you?

All we knew was that we owed obedience, the letter read.

“... They cast me out,” he repeated, and leaned back against his seat. It still hurt to think of it; the scars over his shoulder blades ached at the memory. “And then they went and said I could call for them whenever, but I can’t. I won’t.”

“Maybe they want to make amends,” Daniel said slowly. He put down his glass, still half full; he spoke slowly, carefully. “Maybe they-- regret throwing you out.”

We never wished for any harm to come to you. I hope you know that.

“Maybe,” he finally said, gesturing for the waitress to bring him another drink by lifting up the empty glass. He was getting used to alcohol, sort of, but three drinks seemed to be his limit and he had no intention to surpass it, so that would be his last for the evening. “I doesn’t really matter. We’re through.”

“I’m sure that if you did take their offer and tried to call--”

“What, are you their advocate now?” Gabriel snapped again, and immediately regretted it. He groaned, rubbing his face. “... My apologies. It is a sore subject.”

“No, no, I get it,” Daniel immediately backpedalled. “I’m sorry. I pressed on without even knowing what happened. I just-- you know, sort of know how it is, wanting to make contact after… something stupid and cruel you wish you could take back, but can’t.”

Daniel’s wistful tone, more than his words, got Gabriel’s full attention. He stared at him across the table as another gin and tonic was put in front of him; he thought back at Aziraphale, how dignified he was while stepping into Hellfire, how hard facing him was when, even after all that, he went out of his way to help him.

“Do you regret what you did, or do you only regret where it landed you?”

“I regret it. I do. I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” Gabriel finally said. “Guess I know what it’s like, too. Actually, everything happened because I did something stupid and cruel I did and can’t take back.”

“Mmh. Want to talk about it?”

Gabriel lowered his gaze back on the glass. “Not really.”

“I see,” Daniel said, and thankfully didn’t pry: he just took a long swig of his pint before putting down the glasses. “... Maybe there is still time to fix it. It’s what I tell myself all the time.”

Gabriel glanced up. “Fix what?”

“Whatever you did wrong.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Gabriel muttered, then, “what is it you want to fix?”

For a few moments, Daniel said nothing. He stayed silent, seemingly debating with himself whether or not he wanted to answer, then he sighed. “Ah, you see - there is someone I-- well. I had a sister. I still do, I think, she can’t be that old but you never know. I’ll know for sure once I find her.”

“Oh?” Gabriel took a sip, frowning a little. Daniel had only ever talked about his wife, and not very much: he was tight-lipped when it came to his life before he found himself in the streets. All Gabriel had gathered was that his wife had died of cancer, and he had no other family. No mention had been made of an estranged sister before.

Daniel nodded, frowning down at his own glass. “Yeah. I don’t like talking about it, but-- she was my older sister. Her name was - is - Alison. She was way older than me, by almost fifteen years. She must be about seventy now, but I can’t picture that very well. She was twenty-five last I saw her. I was eleven. And Christ, I was a catastrophic dick.”

“I can’t picture an eleven year old boy being such a catastrophic dick,” Gabriel muttered. “Unless it’s the Antichrist, then I guess I can.”

Entirely unaware of the fact that statement was not a joke at all, Daniel chuckled. “Heh. I guess I was just following my parents’ lead. They were the ones who told her to fuck off, and I repeated every single shitty thing they said.” Another long swig. “I wouldn’t now. Those were different times, and I was a kid. But that’s the convenient excuse, isn’t it? Different times and all that.”

“What did she do?”

“She was into women.”

Gabriel blinked. “... Weren’t you as well?”

“What-- well, I was a kid, but-- well, yes, but I am-- a guy. You know? Adam and Eve and all that.”

Oh, right. That was a thing with humans, getting hung up on such insignificant things. “I’d wager their example is not one anyone should strive to follow. Adam and Eve’s, I mean. When you get kicked out of Eden, you know you’ve done something wrong.” He made a face. “Believe me.”

A chuckle, half-hearted. “Heh. Not a bad point, that. But that’s not the way people thought at the time. Our parents sure didn’t. And I thought whatever they told me to think. When you’re that age you still think your parents can do no wrong, you know? Like they’re God or something.”

There was a painful twinge in Gabriel’s chest that he did his best to ignore. “I understand.”

“So she-- stood there, and took the insults, and if not for the fact that her girlfriend was there I think our father would have tried to beat it out of her. But that woman looked like she could break him over her knee, so he didn’t. He just screamed. My mother screamed and cried. And Alison looked at me.” Daniel threw back his head, finishing the pint in one gulp.

Gabriel suspected he knew what he was going to say next, but he kept quiet and waited for him to speak again. When he did, his voice was tight. “I told her she was disgusting, and that I never wanted to see her again. It was stupid, and it was cruel, and… I didn’t even fully understand what was going on, I think. But I knew it was something that made our father furious, and it made our mother cry, and I hated her for it. I told her I never wanted to see her again,” he repeated, like he could scarcely believe it.

“... And you did not.”

“I did not. She was told to leave, and she left - they both did. Skipped town.” A pause. “... I got a letter from her a couple of years later. It was addressed to me only. I always picked up the mail, she must have known I would get it before our parents did.”

“What did it say?”

Daniel grimaced, giving him a look that was pained and ashamed in equal measure. “I don’t know. I recognized her handwriting and just threw the envelope in the fire. We moved home a few months later and I never got anything from her again.”

“And that was--”

“Forty years ago. I began looking for her about ten years ago. I figured it would be easier with all the technology - Facebook and Instagram and whatnot, if you listen to folks everybody is on it. But not her, apparently. I can’t find her anywhere. Maybe she’s too old for that crap. I tried with electoral registers, but… nothing. I guess she might have opted not to be on the public list, or changed her name, or…” he paused, the next words he’d clearly been about to utter - or she’s dead - never getting past his lips. In the end, he sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. I’m starting to think it would take a miracle.”

As Daniel turned to gesture for the waiter to get him another pint, Gabriel looked back down at his unfinished drink, his brows knitting together in thought.

“Yes,” he said slowly, more to himself than to Daniel. “I suppose it would.”

“But maybe it’s for the best that I don’t find her,” Daniel said, turning back to him. He looked saddened. “Maybe she doesn’t want to see me ever again, either. I was awful to her. I didn’t know any better, never occurred to me to defy our parents, but-- yeah, I can’t take back what I did. I only wish I could let her know I’m sorry.”

We cannot begin to understand God’s reasons to order such a thing of us, and to punish you alone, the letter on his desk had said. All we knew was that we owed obedience. We never wished for any harm to come to you.

“You know,” Gabriel said slowly, “you shouldn’t despair just yet. Miracles do happen, after all.”

Should you ever need us, all you need to do is call out our names, and we’ll be there. Always.

***

“Ba’al.”

“Ah, Gabriel. I was wondering where--”

“Where have you been?”

“... I don’t like your tone.”

“You were with Astaroth again, weren’t you? And Lucifer, and--”

“Maybe. So what?”

“You know what! It’s… the wrong sort.”

“The wrong sort for what?”

“To be around. The things they say - it’s not an amusing joke anymore. Everyone is on edge. Patience is running thin. They have stopped short of declaring themselves above God so far, but it seems a matter of time before something happens, and when it does--”

“Maybe we are above God. Them, me, you.”

“What-- Ba’al!”

“We do all the work, no? God has done nothing but give orders in eons. Why shouldn’t we take-”

“Don’t you dare say such a thing! None of us is above--”

“Be quiet, Archangel! Remember it’s a Virtue you’re talking to!”

“I-- you--” Hesitation, because never before did Ba’al bring up their superior rank, but only for a moment. “You’re a Virtue because God willed so! You exist because God willed so! You can’t seriously think--”

“What I think is none of your business.”

An attempt at walking past Gabriel. Gabriel refusing to budge. “Please. I don’t understand what’s gotten into you.”

A pause. “... If you really want to understand, come with me one of these days.” A step forward, a hand held out in invitation. “Maybe you’ll change your mind once you listen--”

“I won’t! Are you out of your mind?”

No answer, for a few moments; only a long, icy silence. “... Perhaps you should be on your way, then, Archangel Gabriel. You wouldn’t want to be caught hanging with one of the wrong sort, would you?”

“What? No, I didn’t mean you, you’re not--”

“And how would you know?”

More silence; not icy, but stunned. “I-- I know you.”

“... No. You do not.”

***

I knew him, before the Fall.

Of course, was nothing new: Beelzebub had known that annoying little piece of trivia for well over three months now, during which he had avoided that insufferable idiot like the pla-- no, wait. Not like the plague, they had quite enjoyed that despite part of history despite-- I was a healer once wasn’t I -- the sudden increase in the influx of souls in Hell. That had resulted in some serious pressure on the chronically understaffed New Arrivals department - the understaffing was intentional, of course, or else it wouldn’t be Hell - as well as a few headaches.

And speaking of headaches, there was one threatening to split their skull right now. Served them right, Beelzebub through, for trying to remember. Why do that? It was painful, and whatever they dredged up couldn’t possibly be worth it. Gabriel wasn’t worth the hassle of trying to change his mind. He wanted to live as a mortal? Fine then, let him live as a mortal.

He’d die eventually and when it happened, Beelzebub could bet a six hundred and sixty-six souls that he’d find himself in Hell - because God was no better than the worst of them, except when it came to PR - and oh, how they’d laugh, then. They’d laugh in his stupid face and throw him in some pit to be tortured for all eternity, because he could forget getting a nice, important role after rejecting the offer so many times. And then they’d never glance in his direction again.

They’d never have to remember. Just cast him down, like he’d cast them down, and… and…

But he did not. It was Michael.

“I had a spear, and your sword was broken…”

“Gabriel, what are you waiting for? Strike them down!”

But he had not. Neither of them had moved, which was… stupid. Why had they not moved? Why had he not struck them down?

“No, I didn’t mean you, you’re not--

Enough. Beelzebub shook their head to chase away the memory, expecting another spike of pain in their head, but nothing happened. Well, now that was… interesting. Memories were painful to pull up from the depths of their mind, but once they managed to do that thinking of them caused no more pain. Nothing to keep them from revisiting them.

“Lord Beelzebub? Is something the matter?”

Dagon’s voice seemed to come from a mile away. Sprawled on their throne, Beelzebub looked up.

“Nothing’s the matter,” they buzzed. Whether Dagon believed it or not, she knew better than to argue. “What is it?”

“We have received a report from the demon you assigned to watch the Archangel Gabriel.”

“Be quiet, Archangel! Remember it’s a Virtue you’re talking to!”

“That idiot is no angel,” Beelzebub snapped, straightening themselves. “He’s a mortal. He’s nothing but a waste of time and resources. Give the demon another assignment and forget about him.”

Dagon blinked a few moments, taken aback, but she was quick to recover. “Yes, my Lord,” she said, and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Beelzebub called out, and held out their hand. “... The report.”

May as well read it, and then forget all about that fool.

***

Sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the letter he’d found himself unable to throw away, Gabriel felt increasingly foolish as minutes passed and he did nothing, said nothing, called out for no one. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t do it.

Calling out names - or just one name, you don’t need several archangels for one miracle - was all that it would take, and they could make Daniel’s wish come true by finding out where his sister was, if she was even still alive.

Such a huge change to his life, with minimal effort… and no risk. He knew none of them would harm him again. He knew none of them had wanted to do it in the first place, but still he couldn’t will himself to do it. The mere thought brought him back to when he had last called out their names, cried out their names as he begged for the pain to stop, for them to stop hurting him.

“Michael, please! Uriel-- Sandalphon-- no, no, no, please please--”

Gabriel swallowed, trying to ignore the burning sensation over his shoulder blades, and forced himself to relax his grip on the letter before he damaged it. He threw it back in the drawer and slammed it shut, then reached to take his phone, and dialled the number to Aziraphale’s shop.

The thought of turning to him for help again left a sour taste in his mouth - after what I did, after all he’s already done - but it felt less unbearable than the alternative. He’d explain he needed to help a human and he’d help, or his demon would, and that would be it. Easy. Convenient.

Except that no answer came; the phone rang and rang, but no one picked up and Gabriel realized, belatedly, that Aziraphale had mentioned leaving London around Christmas time for a few days.

“Leave a message and I’ll get back to you,” he’d said. There were few things Gabriel was better at than delivering messages, but this time he just ended the call without leaving any. He would just call back; there was no rush, after all. He could take care of that in the New Year.

He failed to take into consideration, even after living as one for months, how frail humans truly are - and how easily their lives are snuffed out, without warning.

***

“You did what!”

“Gave the wrong directions to the Wise Men.”

“Crowley, for the love of-- you did not!”

“Why do you think they only got there in January? They lost the star and asked for directions.”

“How do you lose a star?”

“Well, it was cloudy.”

“I see. And you absolutely had nothing to do with it, did you?”

Crowley grinned. Aziraphale made a sound halfway between a snort and a rather undignified giggle.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Oh, you do. How long have we known each other?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“All right, that we can recall, we have known each other for some six-thousand years, give or take a few months. So yes, you can absolutely believe that I gave wrong directions to the Wise Men. It’s got my name all over it. In my defense, they did the worst part on their own.”

“The worst part?”

“Picking the gifts. Newborn shivering in the cold, and they bring incense and gold and whatnot. Not very wise of them. Why not a blanket?”

“Gold can buy many blankets.”

“Not in the middle of the night in Bethlehem, it can’t.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t have arrived at night if someone hadn’t thrown them off course.”

“Nice try, angel, but they were travelling at night, following a comet that just so happened to be heading the right direction. They wouldn’t have arrived during the day anyway.”

A sigh. “All right, fair,” Aziraphale conceded, and went back to looking up. The night sky was perfectly clear, the stars so very close. The valley below them was almost completely dark.

“Maybe we could visit Alpha Centauri,” Crowley said. “A vacation. But I like it here, for now.”

“A demon, enjoying a visit to the Devil’s Dyke? Who would have thought.”

“Did I just experience a microaggression here? The betrayal,” Crowley sighed in mock hurt, leaning back on the blanket they had lain on the grass. They both could keep their body temperature in check easily, but neither had wanted to really bother, so they were wearing thick coats and, in Aziraphale’s case, a woolen hat. “You know how this place came to be, right?” Crowley asked.

“Ah, I heard the myth. The devil was digging a trench to let the sea flood churches, but the noise disturbed an old lady who lit a candle. The devil thought daybreak had come and fled, leaving it unfinish-- wait. Oooh, wait. Don’t tell me…?”

“... In my defense, I was drunk.”

Aziraphale laughed, a gloved hand to his mouth. “That would have been amusing to watch.”

“You were busy running around with the Knight of the Round Table,” Crowley muttered, and looked up again, the glasses off his face. Aziraphale followed his gaze up to the stars.

“You know what would be nice? Snow would be nice.”

“Snow, on Christmas Eve? Groundbreaking,” Crowley sneered, but he was already lifting a hand to snap his fingers, and clouds began closing in above them. Aziraphale smiled and said nothing as the first snowflakes began dancing through the air, illuminated by the headlights of the Bentley.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to come dine with us?”

“Yes. I’m tired.”

“It will be fun. Lukács is going to make carbonara, but he’s putting cream in it and we’re all going to watch Fabrizio have a full-blown meltdown.”

“Didn’t Fabrizio say his grandmother would kill him if he didn’t make it home for Christmas?’

“Couldn’t afford the tickets right on the day. He’ll go before New Year’s, if he survives the shock of eating carbonara with cream. So, did I convince you?”

Gabriel - who couldn’t begin to imagine what could be so bad about adding cream to carbonara, a position that would have severely disappointed Aziraphale and caused roughly sixty million Italians to froth at the mouth - smiled a little. “Do get his reaction on video for me,” he said, causing Daniel’s smile to fade.

“Are you really sure? It doesn’t seem right, being alone on Christmas Eve.”

“I’ll live,” Gabriel said, his voice somewhat hollow. He tried not to think of the celebration they would hold in Heaven for the birthday of God’s son, tried not to wonder if it would be held that year too with him gone. He made an effort to smile. “If it gets bad, I’ll show up uninvited.”

“You’re already invited, idiot,” Daniel muttered with a laugh and one more worried look, but he did not insist further. When they parted ways it was already dark, and Gabriel just began walking, not really minding where he was going, barely even looking up. When he did look up, he found himself staring at the pier.

Well, good job I did look up, Gabriel thought, sitting on a bench. It was cold, but at least it hadn’t rained. Or I’d have walked right in the water and I am not entirely sure I would be able to swi--

“You know, this is where the Titanic set off. A good place.”

“Gah!”

“Oh, please. I wasn’t even trying to startle you.”

Gabriel turned to look up, so suddenly it almost made him dizzy, to see Beelzebub perched on the backrest of the bench he was sitting on. They tilted their head on one side, looking at him.

“You look aged.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. It was the first he saw of the Prince of Hell since he’d stormed out of that café three months earlier, although he was fairly sure they did, at the very least, have him under surveillance.

“What do you want?” he asked, full expecting them to answer ‘your soul’.

Beelzebub didn’t reply: they just slipped down to sit next to him. They weren’t bothering to wear a coat proper coat, but then again it was probably for the best. Gabriel didn’t quite want to imagine what atrocity Beelzebub would consider a proper coat.

“They got some idiot to deal with the appeals,” they informed him, causing Gabriel to frown a little. He’d put the appeals system in place himself, for souls to make their case that Hell had claimed them unfairly - far more civilized than having a skirmish each time over a soul. Beelzebub hadn’t been especially keen on it at the start, but in the end they had agreed to it.

Needless to say, nearly everybody who found themselves in Hell filed an appeal, but there were very few cases, relatively speaking, that were truly considered and reached Gabriel’s desk.

Of course, Hell would fight tooth and nail to keep each soul, but he and the Lord of the Flies had always managed to keep those discussions in the ream of civility, meeting on neutral ground on Earth. Sometimes Hell kept the souls, some other times Heaven was able to snatch them, even more rarely it was Hell to put forward a motion to get someone’s soul out of Heaven and into Hell, claiming that significant sins had been overlooked. All in all, it was a challenge, and one that Gabriel had enjoyed, red tape and small writing as his weapons. There was a certain work ethic to Beelzebub, too, and he could respect that.

“They did?”

“Yes, some nondescript angel who tries to argue too many cases at once. Or so I’m told.”

Gabriel blinked. “You haven’t met them?”

Beelzebub scoffed as though insulted. “Don’t make me laugh, I am the Prince of Hell. No time to waste arguing with someone so below me. They sent a nondescript angel, and they got a nondescript demon to deal with it.”

“Ah. I see.” Gabriel fell quiet, and looked out towards the sea, a cold wind ruffling his hair. It had grown, and he’d needed to have it cut for the very first time; needless to say, having someone stand behind him with a sharp object had been… unpleasant, even with the backrest shielding his back from it. Luckily, the barber’s chatter had served well enough to distract him. Overall it had been less disastrous than his first attempt at shaving. “Did you come to tell me that?”

Beelzebub frowned and leaned back against the bench, arms crossed and glaring at the nearby street light. “I have a question. And I demand an answer. Why didn’t you strike me down?”

That was… not what Gabriel had expected to hear. He blinked, turning back to them. “What?”

A glare. “Are you deaf now?”

“I can’t strike you down, I have no powers--”

“Not now, idiot. During the Battle. Why didn’t you?”

Ah. That. “I-- I don’t know.”

You didn’t try to strike me, either.

A displeased buzzing sound. “That is not an answer. You can remember without your skull splitting in two, no?”

“Well, yes, but--”

“Then do better and remember.”

“Last we met, you didn’t want me to--”

“Don’t pretend you know me!” Beelzebub snapped, causing Gabriel to recoil. “I hate nothing more than a question unanswered, so you will give me an answer or else!”

“All right, all right,” Gabriel said quickly, still reeling a little. He… wasn’t precisely sure he wanted to remember himself - that past was dead and buried for a reason - but then again, you don’t say no to Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, without repercussions he’d rather avoid. If they wanted answers, they would have them… but he should get something in return, too. With Aziraphale unavailable and not really wanting to see his former colleagues, at least he could get one question answered.

“There might be something I’d like to ask you,” Gabriel finally spoke slowly, fully aware of the fact that trading favors with Beelzebub was… an awful idea. Beelzebub raised an eyebrow, looking mildly surprised, and Gabriel continued. “It’s about a departed soul,” he said. He hoped, truly hoped that Daniel’s sister was not dead yet, but he didn’t want to explain too much to the Prince of Hell. They had already threatened a mortal to force him into a deal. “Alison Brown from Plymouth, born… sometime between 1948 and 1950, if my estimate is correct. I don’t know the date of death. I only want to know if she’s in Hell.”

“And why would you want to know if that particular soul is downstairs?”

Gabriel pressed his lips together, saying nothing. “Why do you want to dwell in the past?”

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes. “It’s on a need-to-know basis, and you do not need to know.”

“Likewise,” he retorted. He got himself an annoyed glance, but in the end they nodded.

“Fine. Deal. I’ll have the records searched to find out if this ‘Alison Brown from Plymouth’ is in Hell, but when I return with the information I demand answers before I give it to you. And if she is one of ours,” they added, sneering, “I might be willing to trade her soul for yours.”

Ah, Gabriel thought. Of course. Not too long ago, he would have been outraged at the suggestion that his soul was worth that of a mortal and no more. Now he just smiled a little. Despite everything, it was almost a smirk. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d given up on trying to claim me.”

“No. You have well and truly pissed me off too many times not to want you in my trophy room.”

“You have a trophy room?”

“You’ll be the starting point.”

“That’s oddly flattering.”

“Shut up.”

Gabriel smiled faintly and said nothing, waiting for Beelzebub to leave in a cloud of sulphur and smoke, leaving him alone on the pier. But they did not, nor did they say anything themselves. They both just sat there in silence, staring out at the pier beneath a starless sky - and while it was no Christmas party, it was still better than being alone.

***

“Do you think Yeshua is going to show up?”

“Doubtful. He never does.”

“Why do we bother celebrating his birthday, anyway? That’s the sort of thing mortals do. And he spends every single one of them on Earth.”

“Tradition, I suppose.”

“Who started it?”

A pause, and they all lifted their eyes up from their papers to glance at each other, a grim sort of realization dawning in. They couldn’t remember, and were not supposed to ever forget things unless it was somehow related to the Fallen. As the Son of God had been born as a human long after the Fall… well, only one angel had been cast out of their ranks ever since.

Was it Gabriel who’d suggested they should celebrate the anniversary of the birth he’d announced himself as his best-known task? Did he enjoy celebrating it? How did he convince them? Michael couldn’t remember. It was nowhere in the notes she had written down.

Notes are not enough. They can never be enough. Anecdotes about a stranger we know we ought to care about, but cannot remember why.

“Maybe we could check on him,” Sandalphon spoke slowly. “Just to, er, check.”

“He didn’t call for us,” Uriel pointed out. “It would upset him.”

“He won’t know,” Sandalphon replied, and glanced over at Michael. She hesitated.

“Aziraphale is keeping his promise to keep us updated,” she said slowly. It was true, of course, but it didn’t help much now that another realization hit her - she was forgetting what his voice sounded like. How do you write down the sound of someone’s voice?

“But he hasn’t met him since he left London. He only relies on what Gabriel tells him on the phone, and-- we can find him. We can see how he’s doing, and... he won’t know it’s us.”

Michael stared a few moments and finally, slowly, she nodded. Uriel sighed, and nodded back.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Just to check.”

***

“For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up.” -- James 4:11

***

[Back]

[Next]

#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #crowley #aziraphale #christmas chapter? christmas chapter #winging it

23 notes · View notes

thisbitchinthecorner · 4 years

Text

1942 Day 29- Glitter

For @drawlight I really fell in love with the idea of them trying to pick glitter off each other, and then this happened.

Glitter prompt

In an antiquated bookshop in war-torn London, a familiar presence is felt as a demon sweeps into the comfortable surroundings. He brings a gift of sorts, one designed to create a little mischief, and perhaps, make an angel smile.

“Got you a little something, just a card but I thought you’d like it. It’s got an angel on it.” Crowley offered as he set his hat upon the rack. “Oh, and some chocolate too. It’s hard to find decent chocolate in London, nipped over to Switzerland to get these.

Aziraphale eagerly ate a chocolate as he opened the red envelope and removed a beautiful holiday card covered in a reflective substance he had not seen before.

“Oh how lovely! These little flecks of red and gold are just magnificent. Look, I have one on my hand.” The angel said as he shook his hand, unfortunately it was the hand still holding the card.

The demon snickered, eagerly watching what he knew was inevitable.

“Hello! Now there’s more and it’s managed to get all over the floor too!” An increasingly flustered Aziraphale noted. “And it’s on my coat! Crowley! What is this stuff?”

The demon just laughed as he watched the angel attempt to wipe the sparkles from his coat, only to spread more with each pass.

“Help me get this off! What sort of demonic work is this?” Aziraphale cried out in frustration.

“Like it? This is one of mine. Gave some American the idea a while ago, seems it finally made it’s way to London.” Crowley grinned. “It’s called glitter, and it gets everywhere!”

“Glitter? Well it’s most diabolical of you...ahhh choo!” The angel sneezed, a spray of glitter flew into the air, landing all over the pair. “Ow! Now it’s in my eye! Crowley, help me! It hurts!”

“Come on now, let me have a look.” The demon leans forward, his hand resting against the angel’s cheek. He removed his glasses in attempt to see better. “Hold still, you’re more wiggly than I am!”

“I’m trying to, but it hurts!”

“Almost..there! Got it!” Crowley victoriously raised his finger in front of the angel, showing off the offending particle.

“Thank you for that.” Aziraphale offered a cheeky grin. “You’ve got a little bit on your face. Let me get that for you.” The angel rubbed his fingers against the delicate skin under Crowley’s eye. “How in the Hell are there two of them now?” The angel cursed as he successfully brushed the glitter away. The demon gave a shiver in delight at the angel’s touch.

“You’ve got a bit...riiiiiight there.” Crowley carefully inspected.

The angel stood, breathless as he felt the demon’s warm finger slide across his lower lip, the most intimate gesture ever to pass between them, tempting the angel to his very core.

Crowley’s eyes darted from the angel’s mouth to his eyes, and held his gaze. He swallowed hard, feeling as if he might fall straight through the floor and continue falling; yet it would be worth it for what might come next. He leaned closer, and to his amazement, so did Aziraphale. He could see the gold of his eyes reflecting in the angel’s, they were a breath away, so close he could almost taste the chocolate the angel had just eaten a moment before, so close the tips of their noses brushed, so very close...

The bell on the door chimed and an elderly woman wandered into the bookshop, startling the angel, sending him forward, knocking the demon off his feet and sending them both tumbling to the floor with a thud.

“Excuse me, do you sell that book about the curious monkey? I think his name is Hans or Cecily or something.” Her shrill voice called out from the door.

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale called to the woman, yet his eyes were upon Crowley. The angel stood up, and offered his hand to the demon, hoisting him easily to his feet. Nervously, Aziraphale fiddled with his tartan bow tie before addressing the intruding customer. “The what now?”

“The monkey! I want that book about the curious monkey that gets into trouble. I like monkeys.” She yelled back.

“Uhh, no, we don’t carry children’s books here.” He grumbled, frowning as the old lady slammed the door behind her.

Once more, they were alone.

“There’s glitter everywhere, this stuff really is a menace.” Aziraphale said quietly as he brushed a layer from his coat, trying to steady himself.

“One of my best, if you ask me.” Crowley offered a weak smile, clearly disappointed by the intrusion.

“How ever will I get it from the hardwood?” Aziraphale’s eyes widened, his lip pursed in a pout.

“Ok. Fine.” Crowley snapped his fingers, destroying all the errant glitter in the shop. “Better?”

“Yes, much. Thank you.” Aziraphale, still flustered, turned to busy himself with a stack of books.

“Suppose I should be off then.” Crowley shrugged. “Will I see you for Christmas? I was invited to Mr. Olivier’s for Christmas Eve, care to be my plus one?”

“Is that one of your new American friends? Is that where you were all those years?” Aziraphale tried to hide the jealously in his voice.

“Just an actor from Hollywood, angel. And I doubt I’ll be headed back to that foul country again. Next time Hell asks, I’ll tell them to send Hastur.”

“Americans.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t give me an answer. Care to go to the party with me?”

Aziraphale knew he should politely decline, give an excuse- any excuse to shield Crowley from potential danger. Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I must decline. He practiced saying it in his head first. “I...that would be lovely.” Aziraphale surprised himself by agreeing. Judging by the demon’s reaction, he was equally surprised.

“Right. Pick you up at 8 then?” Crowley offered as he put his hat on.

“Yes. Tip top.” The angel turned quickly, trying to calm the heavy beating of his heart. What are you doing? You’re being ridiculous and you’re putting him in danger. What if Hell were to find out?

Aziraphale continued to pace the floor with worry. It is just a party, and there will be lots of people there, and perhaps I can do a little good, given the state of the world. He reasoned. Besides, what happens inside the bookshop is beyond Hell’s reach. They cannot breach my defenses. But I must be more cautious, this can never happen again. I cannot lose him. He glanced at the glittering Christmas card; the angel on the front looked familiar, as did the serpent designed to look like a lovely boarder around the edge, letting the angel know that this card was handmade by the demon. He sighed as he put the card into his box of keepsakes. I cannot lose you because I love you.

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #goddamnoldlady #justenoughofabastardtobeworthknowing

15 notes · View notes

fledermausforstrauss · 5 years

Text

Day 13 - Ash

Aziraphale is given a vague warning. Crowley has a nightmare. 3845 words.

This is part one of two! The second part won’t be out for a little while, but it is mostly finished already. Thanks to @pie1313 for help!!

-----

79 AD

Misenum was a beautiful seaside city at the northern end of the Gulf of Naples that held the Roman Empire's biggest and most important fleet of warships, which was led by roman naval commander, Pliny the Elder.

Pliny was well travelled and knowledgeable. He had spent years studying an assortment of subjects, recording any and all findings and compiling them into reports. Those reports he compiled together into books. Those books he compiled into a collection he named ‘Naturalis Historia’ and Aziraphale was itching to get his hands on all 37 of them.

He was standing at the edge of a dock, looking out at the formidable fleet of warships, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Aziraphale!”

Cold chills ran up his spine, but he brushed the feeling off as he turned to face Archangel Gabriel.

“Oh, hello, Gabriel. What brings you here?”

“I noticed you were in the area and I felt it’d be in our best interest to warn you.” Gabriel smiled, sending another wave of chills up Aziraphale’s spine.

“Warn me?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“...Of?”

“Stay away…” Gabriel’s smile widened “From Pompeii.”

“Stay away from Pompeii?”

“Isn’t it fun to say?” Gabriel’s smile widened as he laughed. “But seriously, something big is going to happen and you don’t want to be there. I suggest you just head out now, in fact.”

“Oh, oh. Yes. Alright.” Aziraphale nodded, trying to return Gabriel's smile the best he could. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll be getting out of here soon.”

“Good.” Gabriel said. “Wouldn't want to deal with any unfortunate mishaps, would we?”

“Of course not…”

Gabriel nodded and turned to leave.

“Could I ask…” Aziraphel started. “What’s going to happen in Pompeii?”

“Oh, Aziraphale…” Gabriel said in a condescending tone. “No.”

“Oh.”

“Just stay away…” Gabriel said, gesturing to Aziraphale.

“...From Pompeii?”

“You got it.”

-----

Crowley had been told to check out Pompeii.

There was word travelling around that there would be some sort of fireshow, a real sight to behold. Usually, his higher-ups would have more information for him, but this time there was nothing, just a vague ‘You should check it out'.

An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, so he instead hung around some of the towns surrounding Pompeii, surveying the area.

It was actually quite nice. Villas decorated the edges of the valley, vineyards sprawled across the mountain sides, and the towns were bustling with all sorts of people. One of the towns was perched on the edge of a mountain, facing the ocean. He looked out towards the water, catching glimpses of it between some buildings.

Crowley looked up at the highest point of the mountain, wanting to get the best view of the ocean before the sun set. He followed a path upwards, weaving between buildings then eventually through trees.

A large villa at the top of the hill was decked out with angelic statues, varying from plump little baby cherubs to graceful ballerina-types holding their arms out in a welcoming gesture. He followed the steps up to the building, stopping to study some of the statues along the way, pacing slowly with his hands behind his back, bending forward slightly to take a closer look at the details.

When he made it to the top of the path, he couldn’t help but stare.

To one side of the building was the ocean, what he had come up to see in the first place. The setting sun sparkled off the waves, glinting like diamonds in the sun. To the other side was a beautiful view of the valley, the vineyards spreading out in every direction.

And right between the two views was one more angel. A real one.

-----

Aziraphale did as he was told and stayed away from Pompeii.

Gabriel didn't say he couldn't hang around Stabiae. A beautiful little Roman town known for its lovely views, fancy villas, and delectable wines. In fact, one could have a wonderful time in Stabiae sitting up in one of the hill-top fancy villas, enjoying some delectable wine, and enjoying the lovely view of Pompeii, which by sheer coincidence, sat a mere 3 miles away.

Aziraphale tapped his toes nervously as he stared out the window, neglecting the new book in his hand and the panoramic view to focus solely on the small glimpse of Pompeii he could see.

Gabriel’s warning ran through his mind again.

"Stay away from what?" Aziraphale mumbled to himself. "Why?”

“An angel could get in trouble for asking questions, you know.”

Aziraphale jumped at the voice, turning around to see Crowley standing behind his bench. Aziraphale could feel a slow smile spread across his face.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley asked.

“Me? I, uh…” Aziraphale gestured out the window with the book in his hands. “I came to enjoy the view.”

Crowley raised a brow over his tinted glasses.

“Oh, alright.” Aziraphale sighed. “They told me to stay away from Pompeii.”

“So… you came to Pompeii?”

“This isn’t Pompeii. That’s Pompeii” Aziraphale pointed out the window. “I’m in Stabiae, and only by sheer coincidence. What are you doing here?”

“They told me to come check out Pompeii.”

“But you’re not in Pompeii.”

“Yes, well. I’m not too keen on this one. I’m only getting vague details on what’s going to happen. Something's off, I just know it.” Crowley muttered. “They usually give me more information.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, surprised.

“‘Course. How else am I supposed to do my job.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a second longer, then turned to look out the window again.

“...Do they not tell you anything?” Crowley asked.

“Not when it’s something big.” Aziraphale shook his head, still looking out the window. “That’s why I’m worried.”

“Hm.” Crowley hummed.

Aziraphale thought back to every major event he had been kept in the dark on. Part of him suspected that Gabriel kept things from him to keep him from meddling, part of him was sure it had to be for his own good.

“...I just wish they’d give me something. Is it really that hard? How am I supposed to do what I’m meant to if I’m never told anything? Why--?”

“Stop.” Crowley warned.

“I just want to know why--.”

“Sstop.”

“But--!”

“Angel.” Crowley growled. “Sssstop. Asking. Questionssss.”

“Why should I?” He puffed up his chest, meeting Crowley’s stare. Who was he to tell Aziraphale what to do, he was a demon. “You certainly ask a lot of questions, why can’t I?”

“Because I can’t fall any further.”

There was a long beat of silence where something finally clicked in Aziraphale’s mind.

“...Oh.” Was all Aziraphale could say.

“An angel could get in trouble for asking questionssss.” Crowley repeated, no real venom in his tone.

“...Oh…”

Crowley twitched as if he had been startled out of a thought, his face twisting into a scowl. He turned around, leaving through the door he came in.

“Wait--.” Aziraphale stood from his bench.

“Ssorry for interrupting your evening, Angel.”

Aziraphale froze in place and watched the demon walk out, leaving down the winding stairs. He stayed there long after the sound of his footsteps faded.

-----

The following day, the area was shaken by an earthquake, startling Aziraphale out of the eleventh booking his new collection of ‘Naturalis Historia’. The villa he was in shook a fair bit, the statues rattling in their places, but it settled quickly.

He closed his book as he stared intently at Pompeii. Nothing seemed to be too different, no fault line had opened to devour the city, the structures seemed to be intact, and there were no visible flames. He sat back in his seat, wondering why the Archangel Gabriel went through so much effort to warn him of a minor tremor.

Just as he was about to reopen his book and find where he had left off when the ground started shaking again, more violently. Aziraphale pushed his bag under the bench and left out a side door, getting a better look at the surrounding area from the balcony.

The tremors continued as a thunderous noise roared out from the mountain behind Pompeii. An enormous explosion of black ash spewed out from the top, catching in the wind like a dark cloud and heading for Aziraphale, directly over the city between them.

Aziraphale stared wide eyed at the city below. He looked up at the cloud of ash that was already starting to fall, then back down at the city.

“Please forgive me.” Aziraphale whispered.

Aziraphale manifested his wings, spreading them out wide before jumping the railing.

-----

Crowley sat straight up in bed, looking around at the shaking walls with deep confusion, certain he was still sleeping. The minor tremor faded quickly, leaving him tangled in the bedsheets, feeling lost. He stumbled out of the bed, pulling his glasses on and heading out the door of his room.

As soon as he stepped into the main room of the inn, the building started to shake again, making him lose his balance. He caught himself before he hit the ground and headed out onto the street, looking around. There was a deep, bassy rumble that rolled through the ground.

Crowley followed the path of the fault line as it bisected several buildings.

The inn behind him started to collapse, keeling towards him. He jumped out of the way, tripping backwards into the wall of the next building and slamming the back of his head against the crumbling stone wall, putting him into a momentary daze.

Crowley leant forward, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to regain his senses in the middle of an earthquake. His glasses slipped off his nose and clattered on the ground, the lenses shattering when they hit the stone.

He opened his eyes and was even more disoriented.

His tinted glasses were gone, but it was just as dark. Crowley looked up at the sky that had been clear only a moment ago to see a great big, black cloud blot out the sun. His eyes darted along the cloud, looking for any clue to what was happening, when he spotted something that made his panic spike even higher.

Aziraphale was flying across the sky, his pearly white wings a stark contrast against the dark cloud behind him. Crowley was frozen in place until the angel left his sight, headed in the direction of Pompeii.

“Oh, you fool.” Crowley cursed. “What are you doing, you’re going to… Oh, Angel.”

He manifested his own wings and pushed off of the ground, but as soon as his feet left the ground, the disoriented feeling only got worse. He wobbled as he took off, fighting the urge to land.

Crowley growled, frustrated, and righted himself, looking for the angel ahead of him. As his eyes scanned the horizon, the shock of what he was seeing made him lose focus and he slipped, falling to the roof below him.

He hit the tiles roof hard, rolling over himself and landing on his back. He lifted himself up on shaky arms to take into the destruction, his mouth falling open.

The mountain behind the city of Pompeii had erupted. The black cloud that was blotting out the sun was ash that had blown into the sky, and it was already starting to fall on the valley.

Pompeii was right in the line of fire.

And Aziraphale was heading right for it.

Crowley tried to shake off the dazed feeling and took off again, fighting to steady out his second wobbly takeoff as he headed straight for the city. The wind kept catching him off guard, making his wings dip whenever he lost focus, which was very easy with the ringing in his ears.

The ash was starting to collect on the ground, a fine layer of black dust settling on every surface that he skimmed over. He flew low enough to disturb the ash, kicking patches of it up with the gust from his wings as he swerved between trees, keeping close to the ground in case he lost his balance again.

When Crowley made it to the outer wall of the city he tried to fly over it, planning to circle over to try and pinpoint Aziraphale, but his vertigo spiked with the change of direction and he slipped out of the air, hitting the stone road at the entrance.

He growled in frustration, his head spinning as he looked around. People were running through the streets, panicked, grabbing their valuables and leaving as fast as they could.

“Angel!” He yelled, getting to his feet, but his voice was drowned out by everyone else's screaming.

He started running through the streets, occasionally tripping over his own feet as he forgot how legs worked.

“Angel!” He yelled again, desperately searching for a sign, a flash of white, anything.

He took a deep breath to yell again, but the ash that had started to grow dense in the air got caught in his throat, making him cough. Every cough aggravated his headache which only worsened his vertigo. All of which didn’t help his panic.

He fell to his knees, his breath rasping as he stared at the ground below his knees, trying to regain his focus.

He needed to find his angel.

“Crowley.”

He lifted his head to look down the street ahead of him.

Aziraphale stood before him, eyes wide, staring back.

His hair was a mess, he had dirt and soot on his face and hands, his robes were torn and singed, and his wings…

Crowley let out a sob, crumpling forward, his body finally giving out. He hit the ground and curled onto his side, his vision going dark as he fought to stay awake.

Aziraphale’s wings were black.

-----

The city was in just as bad a shape as Aziraphale had feared.

A few of the larger buildings had toppled in the earthquake and a layer of hot ash had already settled. People were running away as he flew over, barely paying him much attention. He landed in the centre of town, his wings kicking up a cloud of ash.

He wasted no time running through buildings, pulling people out of their useless hiding spots and pushing them towards the exits, shielding them from the ash with his wings. He ran through the streets, his heart aching as he realized he couldn’t do much to help. It was too much.

He couldn’t save them.

“Angel!”

Aziraphale turned at the sound of Crowley's voice and started to run towards it.

“Angel!”

He came around the corner of the main street to find Crowley on his knees, hunched forward.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale breathed.

The demon uncurled, peering up at him with a look of shock.

He looked terrible.

He was on his knees, covered in ash and gasping for breath. His glasses were gone, showing his eyes, and more importantly, his pupils, which were blown so wide they took up the majority of his gold irises. Blood was dripping freely from his head.

The demon choked on a sob and tipped forward, falling onto the ground.

Aziraphale jumped into action, running the rest of the distance. He fell to his knees next to Crowley, carefully placing one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his forehead.

He healed the open wound on his head just enough to stop the bleeding.

Another earthquake rolled beneath them, making Aziraphale lose focus and open his eyes. More ash had fallen while he had been healing Crowley. He stood, using his wings to shield the two of them as he looked around.

The city had grown quiet.

Anyone who could make it out apparently had.

Those who couldn’t…

Aziraphale looked down at the demon curled on the stone below him and brushed the quickly collecting ash off his cheek. He gathered Crowley in his arms and took off, heading for the last bit of blue sky he could see.

-----

Crowley had always asked too many questions.

Ever since his first day in existence, before the concept of time was even a thing, he had always had too many questions.

Curiosity at first. He had so many things to learn, and he wanted to learn it all. Every new thing he had the chance to know was exhilarating.

Interest came next. He found certain things more interesting than others, and while that never stopped him from asking about everything and anything, he certainly had favourites. Among those were the new plants that had started to gather in heaven, the stream of new angels that came after him, and what would eventually be called ‘The Great Plan’.

Concern was quick to follow. The plan certainly was great, but Crowley was worried it wasn’t particularly… good.

The last word he said in heaven, the last syllable he uttered as an angel, contained all of his concern for the newly created humans and the path they were being led down. He had poured his whole heart and soul into it that one word, staring into the blinding light above him.

“Why?”

The pain was immediate. Like a strike of lighting, it tore through him, ripping his angelic grace from his very essence, and continued on through the ground, dragging him down with it.

A guttural scream clawed its way out of his throat as he plummeted.

Sparks danced along his wings as every feather caught fire.

He twisted his neck to look at his once white feathers turn black, but something caught his eye just beyond his wing.

Another figure was falling next to him. Their wings in a similar state, burnt and tarnished, cocooned around their body.

He reached out, running his fingers through the other’s feathers gently, as if they weren’t dropping through the air at high speeds and also on fire.

The wings unfurled.

He was met with a shock of white-blond hair and a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

He gasped, pain shooting through his heart as if he had been struck a second time. His blood boiled and his eyes burned, making him squeeze them shut, screaming out in pain again.

In the darkness, a hand reached out and took his, holding tight.

-----

Aziraphale’s exhausted wings, having been overworked after being inactive for too long, combined with the extra weight of Crowley, made for a bit of a rocky landing. He had tried his best, not wanting to jostle the demon in his arms too badly, but he was just lucky he hadn’t fallen flat on his front.

He had landed on the balcony of an inn on the outskirts of a town north of Pompeii, out of reach of the ash. He pushed the curtain aside as he entered the small room, immediately heading for the bed to lay Crowley down.

As soon as the demon was out of his hands, Aziraphle felt the muscles in his body give out to exhaustion. His shoulders slumped and he leant his head forward, letting out a sigh as his he started pulling his wings around himself for comfort.

He froze at the sight of them.

They were a deep matte grey, nearly as dark as Crowley’s.

His mind raced.

He reached out for his feathers, hesitating before he could lay a finger on them. He took a deep breath and pushed his fingers deep between his coverts, ruffling them slightly.

Relief coursed through him when dust poured out onto his fingers, drifting slowly to the floor, leaving behind glimpses of white under the ash.

He let out another deep sigh, shaking his wings out to get as much of the dust out as possible. Small piles collected on the floor.

Aziraphale stepped over the ash piles and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked down at the demon’s face, peaceful in the moonlight. He placed a hand on Crowley’s forehead and his brow twitched under his fingers. He watched as the demon frowned in his sleep, his head turning away from his touch.

He pulled his hand away and watched as a pained expression spoiled the calm features on Crowley’s face. The demon mumbled something and winced, his wings curling around his frame.

Aziraphale held his breath, his hand inching back towards the demon.

Crowley screamed. It was a panicked scream, full of terror and fear.

Aziraphale jolted forward, taking the demon's hand in his own and holding tight.

Crowley shot up in the bed, ripping his hand out of Aziraphale's and backing into the corner, his wings puffed up as he searched the room with wide eyes.

“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale held his hand up to calm the demon, but hesitated, backing away slowly. “...Are you alright?”

Crowley’s eyes finally settled on Aziraphale.

“Angel… You…” Crowley whispered, studying him. “Your wings…”

“Yes, I know. They're a mess.” Aziraphale shook them again, making more ash fall to the ground.

Crowley stared for a minute, blinking while tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He let out a deep sigh, collapsing back to lean against the wall. He winced as his head hit the wall and reached up to investigate.

“Oh, I wouldn’t touch that.” Aziraphale said. “You got a pretty nasty bump on your head back there, and I don’t have enough left in me to heal you.”

Crowley just stared at him.

“You’re going to want to rest a bit.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded.

“Do you remember anything?”

“...Unfortunately.” Crowley rasped.

“What happened to you?”

“I…” Crowley looked away. “I’m not sure.”

It was obvious Crowley wasn’t saying something, but Aziraphale wasn’t one to pry, so he nodded. They sat in silence for a short while, Crowley letting his eyes close as he gently rested his head back, careful of his injury.

“...You went directly against orders, you realize that.” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale nodded again, looking out the window at the cloud of ash in the distance. He could hear the Archangel Gabriel’s warning in the back of his mind.

“Something could have happened to you.” Crowley whispered, interrupting Aziraphale’s thoughts.

Something finally clicked in Aziraphale’s mind.

He looked at Crowley to find his eyes open, staring back at him out of the corner of his eye. His pupils were still dilated, but they were more diamond shaped than full-blown circle.

“That's why you followed me.” Aziraphale mumbled.

The demon just closed his eyes.

After a few moments, Aziraphale realized the demon had dozed off. He stood from his spot on the bed and went back out to the balcony. Ash was still pouring out of the mountain, getting caught up by the wind and being blown south, away from where they were.

The villa he left his new collection of ‘Naturalis Historia’ would certainly be covered in a heap of ash. Just as everything else would be. The whole valley. Everyone who wasn’t fast enough, or lucky enough...

Aziraphale wings closed over his shoulders. He ignored the mess they made in favour of the comfort they brought him.

(TBC)

#good omens fic #good omens #aziraphale #Crowley

13 notes · View notes

kaesaaurelia · 5 years

Text

More stuff from my fic about Aziraphale and Crowley in Prohibition-era Chicago!

(Btw, this fic will be called Hustler’s Blood. I’m not planning to post it as a WIP because I’m hoping it will only be five or six chapters. Title from Nelson Algren, because Nelson Algren.)

In a few minutes the car arrived, and in a few more minutes they were at the restaurant, which smelled of cinnamon and bacon and diner coffee.

Crowley looked slyly over his menu after they were seated. "I hear their specialty is apple pancakes."

Aziraphale swatted him over the head with his own menu. "Stop that, you fiend!"

Crowley flashed him a grin. "Got to be better than the Dutch baby. Bet it's not even Dutch."

"Or a baby," said Aziraphale. "We should complain. Tea please?" he asked the waitress who was hovering nearby. "Milk, two sugars."

"Black coffee," said Crowley.

When she was gone, Aziraphale said, "You were going to tell me about Mr. Capone, I believe?"

"Ah. Yeah," said Crowley. "He's. Well. Let's just say he's been a boon to every memo I send Downstairs."

"Ah. Not a nice fellow, then," said Aziraphale, flipping over his page to contemplate the sandwiches. "Hang on, this is going to be a difficult decision." The waitress came back with their drinks; Aziraphale hemmed and hawed over his order and finally narrowed it down to three things. Crowley ordered the apple pancake, and Aziraphale resolved not to touch it no matter how good it smelled.

Once they'd ordered and handed over their menus, Crowley spilled a little of his water out onto the tabletop.

Aziraphale grabbed his napkin and pulled it out of the way just in time to avoid getting it soaked. "What are you --"

"I'm drawing you a map, angel, relax," said Crowley, and, indeed, the puddle of water did not spread very far, in defiance of all tradition; it stayed in a long, narrow line along the right side of the table. He took out a tin of breath mints and plonked one down by the edge of the water, near the top of the 'map.' "We're here right now." He looked speculatively at the condiments before grabbing the salt and pepper. "This," he said, showing Aziraphale the salt, "is Hymie Weiss and the North Side Gang." He put them slightly more towards the center of the map.

"What an imaginative name," said Aziraphale.

"And this," he said, showing Aziraphale the pepper shaker, "is Al Capone and his Outfit." He put it down well to the south.

"That's all well and good, Crowley, but where are they going to put your apple pancake when it comes?"

"Over there in Naperville, probably," said Crowley, with a vague gesture to Aziraphale's left. "Plenty of room there, nothing happens in Naperville. Anyway. I, Crowley, work for Mr. Weiss, in a procurement capacity, obviously. I didn't really know what I was doing when I started working for the North Siders, so I didn't think to come up with a different name. But!"

And here he placed another mint carefully, somewhat to the north of the pepper shaker. "I, Lilith Cambion, work for Mr. Capone, in a similar capacity. I've got a house out there too, but the neighbors here are more fun to upset and Capone throws bigger parties than I could so I don't really bother." Here he grinned. "You see, my poor sainted husband died in a mysterious boating accident, leaving only his gobs and gobs of cash to comfort me, but the authorities think I killed him. So I escaped to the States to avoid all that unpleasantness."

Aziraphale should have been telling Crowley off for his ridiculous plan, for all this dastardly deception, and for making a mess of the table. But he couldn't help it; this was exactly the sort of harebrained nonsense Crowley loved most, and it probably wasn't even hurting anyone much, so Aziraphale didn't feel guilty about not thwarting it. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, dear."

"I'm not done!' said Crowley.

"Of course not," said Aziraphale. "Please, go on."

"So this," said Crowley, reaching for the sugar, "is --"

"Uh. 'Scuse me?" They both turned to look at the waitress, who was precariously balancing Crowley's apple pancake, and Aziraphale's omelette, corned beef hash, mushroom sauce, and side of extra-crispy bacon. "Sorry to interrupt... whatever this is, but where'dja want me to put all this?" she asked.

"Naperville," said Crowley, pointing once more at the empty space to Aziraphale's left.

"Uh. Sure," said the waitress. "You had the, uh --"

"Apple pancake here, everything else is his," said Crowley.

She put the dishes down carefully, managing to avoid damaging the map. "And I'll get you a fresh napkin to clean up the --"

"No, that's the lake!" said Crowley.

She paused to look at the map, then studied it with the expression of someone who thinks the street preacher is probably wrong about the End Times but is more interested in correcting him on a small detail about the life and wine preferences of Christ. (Not that Aziraphale had ever done such a thing.) Finally, she said, "You got the lake coming out too far west, I think, but I'm impressed you got Montrose Harbor on there. How'dja get it to curve like that?"

Crowley shrugged.

"I'm expecting a helluva tip," she told them. "Enjoy your meal." And she left them in peace.

"Right," said Crowley, seizing the sugar bowl, "so this is City Hall." He plonked it down on the map, dividing salt from South. "Now, I, Felix, used to --"

"Felix hasn't got a last name?" Aziraphale asked. He examined his omelet, which smelled amazing, and took a little taste of the mushroom sauce. Delightful.

"Nobody asked," Crowley said, while Aziraphale dumped sauce on his omelet. "To be honest I think they assumed it was fake when I gave it to them."

"Convenient for you, then," said Aziraphale, sampling the omelet. The egg was nicely fluffy, the mushroom sauce was extraordinarily creamy, and the overall effect was delicious. "This is wonderful, Crowley, would you like to try some?"

Crowley looked across the table at the apple pancake, exiled, as it was, to Naperville, whatever that was. It was bigger than his head and smelled of cinnamon and future dental cavities. "Think I'm good for now," he said. "You can have some if you like." He turned back to his impromptu map. "So, as Felix I used to work for the old mayor. But he ran off to the South Seas to look for a climbing fish."

"A climbing fish?" Aziraphale asked.

"Yeah, I don't think it's a thing. Not sure what that was about, really. Anyway, Big Bill left us all in the hands of this appallingly incompetent wet blanket Dever who likes things to be --" here he used his fingers to put quotes around his speech "-- 'above board,' or something, so I don't work for him. Hinky Dink and Bathhouse John are still in the game though, so I do odd jobs. Mostly encouraging people to vote."

"Hinky Dink," repeated Aziraphale, distastefully.

"Yeah, and you're called Aziraphale, what's your point?" Crowley asked.

"My name was given to me by the Almighty, and cannot, therefore, sound absolutely ridiculous," said Aziraphale. "Anyway, is it so demonic to encourage voting?"

"It is when the voters have been dead for years," said Crowley.

"Ah. And they don't... question...?" He was glad Crowley was having such a good time, but really, using resurrection to gain political advantage really was fiendish, in an actively distasteful way, and he thought he'd better at least register his objection.

"Oh, they don't check," said Crowley. "Really, they're just like my lot. Long as it gets done they're pleased. They pay a lot better, too."

"Seems a little gauche if you ask me," said Aziraphale.

Crowley shrugged. "Well, good thing I haven't asked you. Less fuss than doing the paperwork to make it say they voted, at least for me."

"Ah, well. As long as you put them back when you're finished with them, I suppose," said Aziraphale. He had another bite of omelet.

"'Put them back when you're finished!'" said Crowley, doing a very bad imitation of Aziraphale. "Well of course I do, what else am I gonna do with them?" he snapped. "They'd ruin my parties." He reached for the tabasco sauce, and put it just west of the sugar.

"You're going to run out of condiments soon," Aziraphale said.

"Nah, we've still got ketchup," said Crowley. "Anyway, this is Jane Addams."

"And what band of cutthroats does she run?" Aziraphale asked.

"The most dangerous ones, at least to me. They're social reformers. Do-gooders." Crowley made a face. "I've been working on this woman for years now and I think the only dent I ever made is that she contemplated lying once and then wasn't good enough at it to follow through. It's maddening."

"Poor Crowley," said Aziraphale. "Still, it sounds like you're making a little progress! If you keep trying maybe you can budge her a little more?"

Crowley gave him a wide grin. "Thank you for trying, Aziraphale, but I really think she's got me beat. She's already in her sixties, and her health's never been good, so I think she'll be gone before I can get her soul. But I haven't quite given up yet. Besides, hanging around there is fun, really."

"And I suppose you're somebody called Merit when you're hanging around tempting her?" Aziraphale prompted, mopping up the rest of his mushroom sauce with the last of his omelet

"Yes! Merit O'Malley!" said Crowley.

Aziraphale paused, omelet halfway to his mouth. "Please tell me there's not a bad Irish accent involved, Crowley. Please?"

"Well, there was but both sets of O'Donnells sussed me out," said Crowley, "and then I had to wipe their memories and stop being a safecracker in a hurry. Which was fine, really, being a safecracker is dead boring actually, unless you do it by miracles. Anyway, I decided to try and corrupt all the nicey-nice reform types. But most of them are very... churchy, and it's difficult to get at them."

Aziraphale smiled to himself. "Quite."

"Also most of them are full-up on Pride and Greed and Envy already," said Crowley. Aziraphale stopped smiling. "Not really as fun if you're going to corrupt someone who's already almost there, you know? So I found Jane Addams and I started volunteering at her... thing, and I thought, aha, I'll work my way into her confidences and find out what her weaknesses are."

"What are they?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. "I mean she second-guesses herself quite a lot. But that's no good, it means I can't get her for Pride. Greed, Gluttony, and Envy don't really seem like her thing. And Sloth is right out, her schedule would drive anyone to madness. Except her, apparently."

"Wrath?" Aziraphale suggested.

Crowley shook his head. "I mean, she's quite angry a lot, but..." He gestured at his map. "I think that's fair. And she's a total pacifist, she'd never hurt anyone."

Aziraphale couldn't help notice Crowley'd been leaving one out. "Is she married? Maybe Lust--"

"She's got a wife, sort of. Very much in love. I couldn't do anything there," said Crowley.

"Oh!" said Aziraphale. "Are the humans letting themselves do that sort of thing now? I hadn't realized."

"They're not," said Crowley, "but nobody particularly lets Jane Addams do things, she just does them."

Aziraphale started on his corned beef hash, and stared at the map. "I know it's a bit out of fashion, my dear," he said, "but what about Acedia?"

Crowley looked appalled. "I would never!"

"All right, sorry, I was only trying to help," said Aziraphale.

Crowley sighed. "I know you were. You always do." He rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "I was thinking of turning her over to you, actually. I can introduce you if you like."

"Oh! That sounds very nice, actually," said Aziraphale.

"I will warn you, she is a bit insufferable about Prohibition," said Crowley. "Don't talk about wine around her, she'll just give you this disappointed look and you'll feel you've let her down."

Aziraphale considered this. "Are you sure your lot won't take her?"

Crowley laughed, and waved a hand over his mess of a map, and in an instant the water and the breath mints were gone, and the condiments were back where they started. He reached across the table and retrieved his apple pancake from its long exile, and a delicious waft of cinnamon reached Aziraphale's nose.

"Oh! I was looking forward to seeing what the ketchup was for, though," said Aziraphale.

"I think some people like it on their eggs," said Crowley, making a face. He took a small piece of the apple pancake. "This is good. Aziraphale, you've got to try --"

"No thank you," said Aziraphale, primly.

"Oh come on, it's their specialty," said Crowley. Aziraphale tried not to watch as Crowley licked the fork off. Licking anything like that in public could probably get you arrested in some places. Safer to look at the pancake. Which also looked good, definitely. "Will you at least come with me to Al's birthday party?" Crowley asked.

"Well." Aziraphale hesitated. "I don't know that it's really the place for me..."

Crowley gave him a pleading look that was only slightly less effective for the dark lenses covering his eyes, and said, "It won't be half as fun without you there."

He's only tempting me. It's false flattery. He wants to lead me into a den of iniquity, Aziraphale thought, watching Crowley pick at the apple pancake.

"Ah, well. I understand, angel," said Crowley. He sounded a bit disappointed. "I'll have to find out when Miss Addams is going to be around, though, I still think you'd like --"

"No, no, I didn't say I wouldn't go with you," said Aziraphale, quickly. "Of course I'll go. Somebody's got to keep you out of trouble."

"'Course. Definitely. You'll keep me out of trouble." Crowley looked skeptically over his glasses, and Aziraphale could see the yellow slits of his eyes, and he was looking so fondly at Aziraphale that he didn't think he could stand it, so he swallowed and tried to pay attention to his corned beef hash. "Your food was good, then?" he asked.

Aziraphale nodded. "The apple pancake?"

"It's pretty good," said Crowley. "Sure you don't want any?"

Aziraphale resisted for all of two seconds. "Just... just let me take a look at it."

"A look?" Crowley asked.

"Just a glance. Here, we can switch," he said, offering to exchange his small plate of corned beef hash for the enormous apple pancake. "Just. Just for a moment."

It was a very good apple pancake, and Aziraphale ate most of it. He tried not to notice Crowley's soft smile as they chattered about local theater here and in London, and reminisced.

When it was time to go, Aziraphale left a hundred-dollar bill on the table for a tip, and Crowley left a scrawled note to the waitress, with a suggestion as to where and how long to invest it; then they paid their bill and went back out into the fresh, chill air of January first.

#good omens #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #chicago #kaesa op #text #fiction #hustler's blood #look I know walker brothers wasn't around yet please just work with me here #the apple pancakes #and crowley #i had to #you understand

13 notes · View notes