Disclaimer: Good Omens and its characters belong to the authors Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

"Shit! Someone phone the head! Patient 4004's trying to fly again!"

"But his medication should have kicked in weeks ago!"

"He's on the rail!"

"Drag him down this instant!"

"He's resisting, sir!"

A noise from a doctor's buzzer irritably interrupted the scene. Once seeing whom the text was from, the doctor hurriedly read the message.

TELL PATIENT 4004 TO GET DOWN. IT'S HIS TURN NOW.

Months before, in another room, in another building, in another town not so far away, a man paced across the room while the other lazily slumped against the wall. The pacing man looked considerably more worried than the other, his worry lines prominent on his forehead. The man against the wall, however, seemed vaguely amused by all of the aforementioned pacing. Though, it was rather hard to tell with the dark-colored sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

"They know, Crowley, " he sighed, wiping his hand over his face. "There's nothing more I can really do for you."

"Bullshit," Crowley said, waving his hand for emphasis. "I'm afraid that's not going to cut it. I didn't do anything. How was I supposed to know that bastard was so impressionable?"

"Why did you think it was a good idea to tell the guy to put a bullet through his boss's head anyway?"

"I was just giving him a fair warning about whom his wife was sleeping around."

"And then you gave him a gun?"

"I was drunk!"

The man in the middle of the room put his face into both his hands and inhaled sharply.

"Crowley... there is enough evidence that you are a conspirator in the murder to put you in prison for life, if not worse. The only way out is to plead guilty to reduce charges." Crowley's lawyer sighed heavily, walking over to lean on the table next to Crowley. His eyes suddenly lit up and he turned to face his client. "Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Insanity. You can plead insanity."

Early in the morning the next day, much earlier than Crowley would have preferred, he met his lawyer on the steps before a courthouse. He was about to face the judges and the jury for his trial. After their decision to plead insanity the day before, Crowley's lawyer went over the entire plan with him, giving him tips on how to appear crazy and coming up with explanations for any questions the judges might offer. Crowley had faith in the plan and kept his cool. His lawyer, however, seemed very uncomfortable and kept pulling at the collar of his shirt.

"Are you sure you remember everything, Crowley?"

"Calm down, it's not like it's your trial we're going to." Heaving an exasperated sigh, the lawyer simply shook his head and pushed open the doors to the courthouse.

"We only have one shot at this. Don't mess it up," murmured the lawyer only moments before the flashes from the press cameras blinded him. But only him. Crowley still had his sunglasses on, after all.

It didn't take long for the two of them to push through the crowd, but by the time they reached the courtroom, the court had already gathered. Not to mention the judge ("Judge Ligur," sighed the lawyer. "It's only natural that you get him.") was shooting them a particularly nasty glower.

"… Mr. Crowley," the judge said, frowning in a way that somehow managed to bare his teeth.

"Yesss, your honor?" he smirked.

"Any self-respecting lowlife would already know this, but seeing as you're the furthest thing from "self-respecting," I must ask you myself to remove your sunglasses as per court decorum."

"Can't," he said, propping his feet up on the table.

"... And why would that be?"

"I've got demon eyes," Crowley said blithely. A few sniggers rippled across the room at his reply, but they were quickly silenced by a dark glare from the judge.

"You honestly expect me to believe that?" Ligur grinned unpleasantly.

"Yessir. Don't see anything wrong with it though. Seems everybody's got them these days. You've got a lovely pair yourself. Nice bright orange color. Reminds me of home."

"Home?"

"Hell, sir," Crowley replied cheerfully. "Lots of flames. Lights up the place quite nicely, if you catch my drift. Maybe I've seen you there before."

"Maybe you have," Ligur said dismissively. Grinning from ear to ear, Crowley raised his feet up and put them back on the table. Crowley's lawyer rubbed his forehead and shot a look at his client. He couldn't help but notice how much Crowley seemed to be enjoying portraying a demon. Judge Ligur banged his gavel, and everyone turned their attention to him.

"As much fun as it would be to watch your little performance further, let us proceed with this trial."

"Oh, we're just getting started." Crowley's already wide grin seemed to grow even wider.

Months before the roof incident, Patient 4004 sat on the edge of his pristinely white bed. White walls surrounded him, and white tiles lined the floor beneath his feet. He slowly raised his head. White ceiling. White like the clouds in the place that was once his home. It had been far too long since he received word from any of the other angels. Far too long.

"Mr. Fell, your dinner is here!" Mr. Fell made no movement or response to the nurse, who he noticed was also wearing white. Seeing as this was an asylum for the mentally insane, this should be considered fairly normal. "Mr. Fell?" the nurse repeated, gently touching his shoulder. At this, Patient 4004 (also known as Mr. Fell or Zira to his friends, not that he needed any, thank you very much) turned his head slowly toward the nurse.

Blue eyes -kind eyes, deep eyes, empty eyes, ancient eyes- answered her. For a moment, the nurse could not move, but could only stare at those eyes. However, the moment abruptly shattered as Patient 4004 returned his attention to the ceiling.

"... Thank you," he replied in a voice that seemed hoarse from lack of use. "You're very kind."

"… I asked them about your request, Mr. Fell," she said, placing the tray on his nightstand. "About the books…"

His shoulders tensing, Patient 4004 wearily reached for the tray. Refusing to eat would only result in more… forcible action. He had learned that quickly enough.

"I'm sorry Mr. Fell, but the doctors said that the books would have to wait until later. They need to get you better first."

"But there's nothing wrong with me," he murmured. But in a louder voice, he turned toward the departing nurse and said, "Bless you, madam."

The nurse stared at the patient for a little bit, regretful of being unable to help him, and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Zira used his fork (plastic and dull, to prevent any unwanted actions) to swirl around the mashed potatoes in the tray. Eating was unnecessary for angels, but the doctors would not listen no matter how many times he tried to explain this to them. He lifted some of the food to his mouth, and after eating a couple of bites, left the tray on his bedside table. He didn't feel like eating. He did, however, feel like attempting to communicate with his allies again. They should have come for him ages ago, how could they just leave him to waste time in this cold place? Unless, of course, this was part of the ineffable plan and he had a task to accomplish. There was only one way to find out. He just needed to get his hands on some candles and chalk.

"Watch the glasses!" Crowley twisted his neck and raised his bound arms to push his sunglasses further up his nose. The police officer pushed his back again.

"I said, keep walking!" Crowley huffed and stepped into a room with a lady sitting at a desk and rows of seats. The lady was dressed in a standard white uniform, while a nametag on her uniform read, "Nurse Mary Loquacious." Upon reading the nametag, Crowley had to stamp down the urge to snicker. A name like that sounded more like an unfortunate schoolgirl nickname that managed to stick. One of the police officers accompanying Crowley walked up to the nurse and handed her a folder. Nurse Loquacious, frowning, picked up the folder and leafed through it.

"Thinks he's a demon? Following the Devil's orders? Really? First the guy who thinks he's an angel, now this freak." Loquacious stamped a signature on the documents and stood up.
"'Guy who thinks he's an angel'? Hah, seems like I'm not as original as I hoped," Crowley murmured to the lady when he was out earshot of the police officers. Nurse Loquacious eyed him from head to toe and scrunched her face in disgust.
"Follow me, I'll show you where your room will be."

"I get my own personal room? How nice of you." Crowley flashed a bright grin. However, when he was standing a few minutes later in an open doorway, facing a small space with a bunk bed, a toilet, and a sink, his grin flew from his face.

"This isn't much better than a prison," Crowley said as he wavered in the doorway. A police officer undid his handcuffs, pushed him inside, and slammed the metal door behind him. His face appeared through the small barred window in the door. "You killed a man. What the hell did you expect?" The policeman disappeared, and Crowley sat down on the uncomfortable bed. He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes beneath.

"There's really no getting out of this the easy way, is there?"

"I don't buy it for a second," Hastur grunted, pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

"Bloody cop-out if I ever did see one," Ligur assented, downing his shot glass in one gulp. "But you have the bloody jury to bloody thank for that bloody verdict."

"And 'ere I was, lookin' forward to another execution," Hastur muttered.

"Shut yer yap. Nothin' much we can do at this point as it is. Stupid bastard's got himself all locked up with the loonies now. It's 'is own fault if he really starts goin' daft then." Tilting his head back for another shot, Ligur growled at his empty glass and threw it against the wall. "But…" he grumbled, slurring his words together. "You 'member what happens when they find out the truth 'bout him?"

"… That's when we get to… er… "execute" him, right?"

"That's right, mate. That's right."