Since I had so many people asking me for more Good Omens fics, here is another one! This is for 29Pieces who requested something with hurt Aziraphale and protective!Crowley. It also got away from me a little, so it ended up being a two-shot. Hope you guys enjoy! (Also, unless specifically marked, my GO fics will probably always have a little influence from both the book and the tv series)
The Arrangement
A Good Omens Fanfic
Part One
Ninety-eight percent of the time, what Crowley and Aziraphale had come to call "The Arrangement" worked out fine with none the wiser. Crowley would sometimes perform a small miracle on Aziraphale's behalf and Aziraphale might do something perhaps a little more in what one could call a grey area, but still miraculous, to save the demon time. If their Home Offices gave credit to the wrong individual, that was just an oversight that neither saw fit to mention.
However, there was that pesky two percent calculated from past experiences where Things Went Wrong, and sometimes rather badly.
It just so happened that today ended up being one of Those Times. In fact, this particular incident was so bad, that perhaps they should change the percentage to ninety-seven to three.
But that was all semantics at the end of the day. What mattered was that Crowley inadvertently got his friend caught in a trap.
It all started out innocently enough, though Crowley was in a hurry. Aziraphale was quite wrong in his statement that one couldn't drive ninety in Central London, especially when you ignored congestion charges. (Those has been his invention, of course. A particular stroke of brilliance that was still getting him commendations).
The reason Crowley was in such a hurry was because he'd had no good ideas for weeks and Hell was not impressed. He was being checked up on constantly, making him anxious and annoyed, and all around weary. After all, could they really expect him to have a stroke of brilliance every time he went out to tempt and do evil? Everyone had off days, after all. Perhaps he had set the bar too high in the past, though most of his commendations, like the Spanish Inquisition for example, had been happy accidents where he'd just been in the right place at the right time. People were often so eager to do the bad things themselves that demonic influence seemed irrelevant sometimes.
But today there was to be a meeting of Parliament and there was never a better opportunity for catastrophic chain-reaction tempting (Crowley's specialty) than when a bunch of politicians were together. Crowley knew quite a few subtle little buttons to press that could start up a good wave of low-grade evil that could turn into much, much more within a few weeks' time, and he would finally have something to report to the Home Offices.
However, the problem was, to do it right it was a two-man job. Or, well, more specifically, it would require a demon and an angel.
Which is why he'd asked Aziraphale to meet him in a discreet park not far from the Houses of Parliament.
The angel was waiting for him on a bench when Crowley parked his car.
Aziraphale stood to meet him. "Crowley."
"Angel," Crowley replied, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Aziraphale fidgeted slightly. "I know I shouldn't ask questions, but, all the same, I am curious as to what we are doing here? Especially since there is to be a very important meeting in Parliament today. I can only assume that this has something to do with that." He drew himself up with a slight gleam in his eye, directed at the demon. "I don't commit acts of treason or terrorism, Crowley."
"Treason?" Crowley snorted. "That coming from someone of your ilk working with a demon? And you know me, Aziraphale—terrorism isn't my style. Finesse is so much more worthwhile than the big stuff in the long run. Are you going to help or not?"
The angel huffed. "Very well. But I may have a favor to ask of you in return."
Crowley rolled his eyes, tilting his head back expressively so Aziraphale could tell he was doing so behind his glasses. "Yes, all right. But for now, we're losing our opportunity." He explained his plan and Aziraphale listened. The angel wasn't exactly happy, but once Crowley convinced him that his part really wasn't bad it was just, at worst, neutral, he seemed appeased and they separated to go about their jobs.
Aziraphale finished up his part of the deal with his usual efficiency and waited for Crowley to finished his. Perhaps it would have been best for him to not be around the scene of the crime, but, well, he didn't want Crowley to need something else and find him gone. Besides, it wasn't really a scene of any crime unless you looked very hard. Not yet anyway. Crowley usually worked in repercussions more than flashy displays of evil. He was a master of quietly tempting souls. Aziraphale, of course, couldn't approve of such things, but he would be lying if he wasn't, very deep down, just slightly impressed by it all.
And perhaps after they were finished, they could go for lunch—or tea, since it was getting later. It had been a while since Aziraphale had seen his friend and it would be nice to catch up.
Footsteps sounded behind him and he turned with a smile, expecting to see Crowley.
"Ah, Crowley, how did it go—oh…"
It wasn't Crowley. But it was a demon and Aziraphale began to realize that mistakes may have been made that day after all.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" the demon cocked an eyebrow, looking disturbingly pleasantly surprised to find Aziraphale. He wore a long trench coat with ratty edges that seemed to have come from Dickens's London and greasy hair. To top it off, he also had a Cockney accent. "An angel, is it?"
"I was just going," Aziraphale said and turned swiftly, thinking the best course of action was to be gone as swiftly as possible.
A slim, grimy hand with too-long fingernails caught his elbow and yanked him backwards. "You sure about that, angel? Because I think we'd better have a chat, you and I. You see, I came looking for Crowley and I find you instead. Now, isn't that just a little suspicious?"
"Unhand me!" Aziraphale said indignantly, yanking against the demon's grip and trying to keep the panic from rising in his chest. He wished for about the millionth time that he'd never misplaced his flaming sword.
The demon only chuckled, his eyes black and cruel. "Oh, no, little bird. We're going to have our chat whether you feel talkative or not. And when we're done, you'll have told me all about what you and Crowley are up to. You see, the home office has been…launching inquiries. And you being here, well, that just brings up a whole new batch of questions, now, doesn't it?"
Now, Aziraphale, might not be the most warlike angel, but he'd been in his share of fights over the millennia and he knew how to throw a punch. Which is what he did, square into the demon's nose.
The demon reeled back with a howl, letting go of Aziraphale and clutching his nose as blood spilled over his chin. Aziraphale kicked him in the knee for good measure and took off across the park.
Crowley chose that moment to come into view, looking rather pleased with himself and altogether unsuspecting. Aziraphale felt panic rise again, not wanting the other demon to see Crowley here.
"Crowley, go!" Aziraphale tried to shout before something slammed into his shoulder and he tumbled to the ground.
Crowley was smiling, whistling and congratulating himself on a job well done as he went back to the park to find Aziraphale. As he turned around a fountain, he looked up and saw the angel running toward him, a panicked look on his face.
"Aziraphale?" he queried as he stopped.
"Crowley, go!" the angel cried.
Crowley caught a glimpse of a figure behind Aziraphale and didn't get the chance to shout out a warning before the figure flicked his wrist and sent something flying through the air. It hit Aziraphale and the angel slammed into the ground with a startled cry.
"Aziraphale!" Crowley couldn't keep from shouting as he spurred himself forward and skidded to a spot beside his friend. He crouched and reached down, turning the angel to try and see what had hit him. A dagger protruded from his left shoulder, blood leaking out from around it to stain the ridiculous argyle cardigan the angel had been wearing. Crowley touched the dagger instinctively and Aziraphale let out a soft moan of pain, reaching up to clutch the lapel of Crowley's coat as the demon snatched his hand away and propped the angel against his knees, unable to believe that someone had actually stabbed his friend.
Crowley saw red and looked up at the smirking figure sauntering forward.
"Well, looks like the rumors are true after all. Must say I'm not really surprised it was you, Crowley."
"Malebranche," Crowley growled, recognizing the figure.
The demon stopped only a couple feet in front of them and Crowley subconsciously pulled the angel closer. None of this was helping his case, of course, but he would be damned—or, damned again, at least—if this demon hurt his best friend again.
"What is this, Crowley?" Malebranche said, looking down at him with a sneer. "Haster said you had fallen off the rails, but I didn't really think you would stoop so low as to consort with angels." He cocked his head to one side. "Are you a spy then?"
Crowley snarled up at him. "No. He's a—a contact."
Malebranche snorted. "A likely story. But one I will get from you before long. What do you say all three of us take a trip Downstairs?"
Crowley felt Aziraphale tense, and he bared his teeth at the other demon. "Try it."
It wasn't a smart thing to say. Malebranche was one of Haster's lieutenants and had gotten just as many commendations for his jobs as Crowley had, only his skillsets were a bit different.
It seemed that among other things, Malebranche didn't take defiance kindly and simply reached down, taking Crowley by the throat, grip crushing. Before Crowley could fight, he was torn away from Aziraphale and thrown halfway across the park, crashing through a park bench with enough force to shatter it and leave him winded.
He groaned, pushing himself up, having only one thought for his now missing and broken sunglasses and his suit, before he saw Aziraphale trying to edge away from the other demon, clutching his wounded arm against himself as Malebranche leered at the angel. After that all other thoughts escaped Crowley.
Crowley growled, forcing himself to his feet and staggered toward the other demon.
Crowley took a chance and attacked. He and Malebranche crashed to the ground and struggled. Malebranche got in some heavy punches, but Crowley didn't let him have all the fun. He gave back as good as he got until he couldn't anymore, ending up flat on his back with Malebranche standing over him, foot square in the center of Crowley's chest—definitely ruining his very expensive shirt beyond repair.
"You disgrace yourself, Crowley," Malebranche sneered. "Defending an angel? Why, I'd say how far you'd fallen, but I think that would be a little ironic, now, wouldn't it?"
Crowley growled and struggled. He heard Aziraphale let out a pained groan and tried to turn his head but Malebranche moved his foot to Crowley's neck, pressing into his windpipe. Crowley, of course, didn't really need to breathe, but he'd sort of forgotten that for the moment.
"It's fortunate, really. I'll bet you'll be willing to spill all kinds of things if we torture the angel, hm? If it distresses you so much to see him hurt, just wait until we put him on a rack in Hell. Perhaps your mouth won't be so smart anymore."
"Crowley!"
He heard the hoarse, yet determined grunt and flicked his eyes over to see Aziraphale, straining toward him, something in his hand.
Crowley didn't think twice, instinctively knowing what the item was, and reached to snatch it from the angel's hand, swinging up to stab it into Malebranche's leg.
The demon howled, stumbling back from Crowley and giving the demon enough time to stagger to his feet, grabbing Malebranche by the front of his coat.
"You hurt my best friend," he snarled.
Malebranche grinned, teeth yellow. "That so? Well, don't think getting rid of me will change anything. That wound looks like it might be hard to shake."
Crowley let out an intelligible growl and slammed the knife up into the demon's chest.
Malebranche howled, then shattered into ash, the dagger falling to the ground. Crowley snatched it, tucking it into the back of his belt before he turned back to the angel.
"Aziraphale!" he cried as he knelt beside the wounded angel who had stopped trying to rise after he had gotten to one elbow. That seemed about as much as he was capable of right now.
"Is he dead? Or just discorporated?" Aziraphale asked.
Crowley bit his lip, looking behind him. "I don't know. But either way he's gone long enough for us to get out of here. On your feet, angel."
Aziraphale cried out as Crowley pulled him upright and then had to wrap an arm around the angel in order to keep him on his feet. Aziraphale was holding one hand to his shoulder, attempting to keep the blood from flowing, but blood, once liberated, never seemed to want to give up its freedom. Crowley was worried. The fact that Aziraphale was bleeding still, let alone at all, told him that the dagger was not an earthly one. It had been meant to hurt supernatural creatures. Probably meant for Crowley if he resisted.
Well, he'd resisted, and he was just finally realizing what that meant.
His own knees went weak for a moment before he remembered that he was the only thing keeping Aziraphale up. So he stuck his courage to the sticking place and hustled the angel along. He could think about the consequences of his actions later.
"Come on, we have to go see to that."
"Crowley…will they come after you?"
"Not if they don't find out who did it," the demon replied with his usual devil-may-care attitude. Of course, that was a rather poor choice of phrase because in this case, the Devil would care; he would care very much as it turned out. Crowley hoped he never found out and the Home Office just chalked this up to a freak accident or maybe desertion.
Luckily the park was not populated and his car was parked close by. He pushed Aziraphale into the passenger seat and then fumbled for his keys with shaking hands as he climbed into the driver's side.
It took several embarrassing tries to get the key into the ignition as well, and as soon as he did, and the car rumbled to life, he slapped the radio off, not wanting to risk a missive from Hell. He did not want to answer any questions they might have.
Aziraphale was curled into himself, slumped against the door and Crowley bit his lip. This situation was probably worse than he was letting himself realize right now, and he knew that eventually he would likely have to deal with it, but for now, he had more important things to see to, like his best friend bleeding in the passenger seat of his car. (On his upholstery!)
He gunned the engine and the Bentley sped off. He did some thinking then. His flat was closer, but he knew that was the first place the demons would show up looking for him. (If they were looking for him.) So it would have to be the bookstore. Hopefully that was not compromised.
He glanced over to see Aziraphale slumping further against the door, shuddering. The simple fact that he was not protesting Crowley's breaking every speed limit rule, was enough to worry the demon.
"Hold on, angel," he muttered. "Don't you dare…" he cut himself off. It wasn't a mortal wound, of course. He had no reason to worry.
He drove through Soho and ended up at the bookshop soon enough. He screeched to a halt to the shock of several people on the sidewalk. He may have jumped the curb a little, but he was in a rush, and they should have noticed that, damn them!
There was an infernal amount of people around and Crowley blessed under his breath and then cursed for good measure. He got out of the car, and yanked his coat off, going around to fetch Aziraphale.
"Alright, let's get you inside and fixed up," he murmured, tucking his coat around Aziraphale's shoulders to hide the blood (it was already ruined from the scuffle anyway) and pulling the barely responsive angel out of the car, kicking the door shut behind him before he staggered toward the store. Hopefully they would look like nothing more than a man helping his drunk mate back from the pub.
Crowley snapped his fingers to unlock the door and hauled his burden inside, making sure the sign was still flipped to "CLOSED". It would not do for a customer to walk in right now. Owners of bookshops that sold rare books were not supposed to stumble into their establishments bleeding from an altercation with a demon. That just didn't happen.
Crowley steered Aziraphale to the back of the store and finally got the angel over to the couch. The thing was, of course, covered in books, which Crowley carelessly swept onto the floor.
"Crowley, really!" Aziraphale protested.
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Only you would be half dead and only care about the state of your books." He settled the angel down and hurried to find a towel or something as Aziraphale stared mournfully at his abused books. Absolutely no sense of self-preservation, that one.
Crowley found a towel and snatched a bottle of wine from Aziraphale's stash and hurried back to the angel, watching him slump, still clutching his arm, though seeming somewhat reluctant to get blood on the furniture. Of course; why couldn't he have had the same compunction about Crowley's beloved Bentley? Crowley huffed and took his coat from where it had rested around Aziraphale and slung it over the back of the couch.
"Alright, let's see it then," Crowley said, getting to business, rolling up his sleeves as if hoping it would give him a boost of confidence. He reached out to unceremoniously loosen the tie around Aziraphale's neck, letting it join the books a moment later as he unbuttoned the angel's shirt and cardigan, pushing them carefully off his wounded shoulder. Aziraphale let out a strangled noise and Crowley hissed.
The wound was deep and still bleeding. The thought that the blade might have been poisoned was a worry somewhere deep in the back of Crowley's mind. He wouldn't have put it past Malebranche to think of something nasty like that. The demon only ever worked in nasty. But surely if that were the case Aziraphale would be a lot worse off already, at least one would assume so.
"Oh," Aziraphale said, sounding a bit faint, and when Crowley glanced up at him, he was rather pale, seeming unable to look away from his own wound. "I've never been very good with blood."
Truth be told, neither had Crowley. He might even be what one would call squeamish, especially by demonic standards (and really, blood was supposed to stay on the inside so you couldn't really blame his feelings on the matter) but he wasn't about to let the angel know that.
"You're the one who pulled a dagger out of your own shoulder," he said.
"Looked like you needed a little assistance," Aziraphale returned and let out a strangled yelp as Crowley pressed the cloth against the wound to try and stop the blood flow.
"I would have had him in another minute," Crowley muttered.
"Of course. My mistake," Aziraphale said and the smallest hint of a smile crossed his lips before he pressed them together into a thin line of agony. "Is it…very bad?"
"Nah," Crowley waved it off. "Angel like you will recover in a couple days, I'm sure. Just going to clean it to be on the safe side, though."
Crowley grabbed the bottle of wine, wishing to down the whole thing, but instead he cupped the cloth under the wound and without further ado, simply poured a good dose over it.
Aziraphale let out a startled cry and arched his back, jerking away, but Crowley grabbed his shoulder and pressed the cloth against the wound, settling Aziraphale against the back of the couch as he sagged, eyes squeezed shut. New fury washed through Crowley at the sight of his friend suffering so much again and this time at his own hand. It didn't matter that he was only trying to heal him, it was still one more thing that he wished he could make Hell pay for.
"Easy," he murmured before propping the angel against the pile of throw pillows that were quite a bit past their prime, if Crowley were being honest. "I'll be right back."
Aziraphale's only reply was a whimper and Crowley hurried to find some semblance of a first aid kit.
He dug through everything in the shop and finally unearthed one under the kitchenette sink in the back apartment. It was rather lacking, and had probably belonged to the previous owner of the establishment, but it had gauze and tape, which is what Crowley was looking for.
He came back to the angel and patched up the wound, hoping that the gauze would hold. The bleeding at least had slowed, and he really hoped that the wound would heal as quickly as he had promised.
He pulled the dagger from the back of his belt and studied it. It wasn't particularly dangerous, he thought, though it was forged in Hell, which meant it could do harm to supernatural creatures. Nothing too evil though, so hopefully Aziraphale wouldn't suffer any truly ill effects. His earthly body just had to heal itself. Crowley set it on the coffee table, dismissing it entirely.
"Crowley." The demon startled slightly and looked down to see Aziraphale staring up at him.
"Is this going to cause trouble for you with your…Home Office?" he asked, frowning slightly.
Crowley felt a nagging fear inside, but shook it off and shrugged nonchalantly. "Not if Malebranche doesn't show up again."
The angel didn't quite look satisfied and Crowley wasn't either. He couldn't say for certain the demon was dead, and he knew that if he wasn't this would cause trouble. A lot of trouble. Probably for both of them.
But in the meantime, the only thing he could do was make a pot of tea.
"Put the kettle on then, shall I?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, quite," Aziraphale said and settled back onto the couch, trying to find a comfortable position.
Crowley went to put the kettle on the stove and then rummaged around in the angel's tiny book-stuffed apartment a little more until he found Aziraphale's silk smoking jacket that Crowley could confirm had been in his possession since the time these were actually in fashion. Never mind that, though, it would be more comfortable than the bloodstained clothes the angel was currently wearing, and likely wanted to get out of.
He brought it back out and helped the angel into it, first swiftly performing a small miracle as he took the bloody items and tucked them aside, so that they no longer had stains or holes. Perhaps the shirt wasn't pressed to Aziraphale's liking, but he could fix that himself. Then he carefully helped the angel get his wounded arm through the sleeve of his robe and slide it over his shoulders. Aziraphale's hands were clumsy so Crowley did up the tie for him and by then the angel seemed rather exhausted already.
By then the kettle was whistling and Crowley went to make tea with lots of cream and sugar—good for a shock. He brought the cups back out to Aziraphale's reading area and handed him one of the cups which he took cautiously with his one hand.
"Oh, thank you, dear, this will do quite nicely," the angel said.
Crowley sat in a chair and sipped his own tea, watching the angel revive a bit after a few sips. One should never underestimate the healing powers of tea.
"Aziraphale," he said slowly after a while, clicking his nails nervously against the cup. "I'm sorry I called you in to help me only to get you stabbed."
"It was hardly your fault," Aziraphale returned. "It wasn't directly linked to the nature of the deal after all."
"No, but…" Crowley bit his lip. Damn it, he still felt responsible.
"Come, dear," Aziraphale said reasonably. "We both know our Arrangement is about more than just you doing the good thing, on occasion, and me taking it upon myself to sometimes do the bad one."
"Eh?" Crowley cocked an eyebrow over his teacup.
It was Aziraphale's turn to roll his eyes. "We're friends, Crowley. We've always gotten each other out of trouble—at least as much as we've gotten each other into it, anyway. I don't think that's going to change."
Crowley cocked his head to one side and nodded slowly, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "No. I don't believe it will."
So, truly, it didn't matter whether Crowley was in trouble with Hell. If more of his colleagues came for him, he would figure that out. In the meantime, he would watch over his friend during his recovery, and make sure no one tried to hurt him again.
If they did, they would be sorry.
Part Two will be up Friday!