Disclaimer: Good Omens and the characters belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett. I really really really wish I owned them though—but if I did, then it might end up being a bit rated R. XD
Author's Note: This is my first Good Omen's fanfic so I hope it turns out well. Comments and reviews will be greatly appreciated, but flames would be utterly ignored, laughed at, disregarded, and handed to Crowley for the purposes of scaring his plants. If you see anything you don't like, there is a back button on your browser which you can make use of.
Okay? Read and review!
Rebels With a Cause
A Good Omens Fanfic
Summary: C/A - As if trying to work up the words and the guts to tell your opposite number wasn't hard enough Post-Apocalypse that Didn't Happen, but both Aziraphale and Crowley get far more than they can handle when they're commanded to train their 'teenage' replacements.
The call came at a most inconvenient time. Nevertheless, it didn't mean that the call wasn't going to be heeded. After all, after two agonizing months of hearing absolutely nothing from Above about what they were all going to do about the characters who took special part in the End of the World That Didn't Really Happen, not to mention an insubordinate attempt to take on Satan all on one's own and talking back at the Metatron, one was pretty sure that at some point in the near future, Heaven was going to call for some sort of slap on the wrist.
And if they chose to lock-on to the fact that the said angel who did all these things was harboring a friendship with a demon—same demon that helped with the entire fiasco if not cause it entirely—it was more likely that the reason for the call was more than a slap on the wrist.
But just because it was expected didn't mean that Aziraphale wasn't as frantic as he could without being so obvious. There was, after all, an Archangel in the room.
"Did they say anything?" Aziraphale asked, wringing his hands. "They just want me to come up there?"
Raphael, who was on duty with the whole 'cleaning up after the Apocalypse That Wasn't', looked rather frazzled, mostly because Above had sent him practically on nonstop errands since the World Didn't End. Being the swiftest of the Archangels, he was made to round the world thirty times in the past two months just to make sure that if the Apocalypse wasn't going to happen, things were at least going to be normal for the time being. He answered, running a hand through his curly hair, "Well…no, not really. They just told me to go get you…make sure you get there right quick too…"
"They're going to demote me again, aren't they?" Aziraphale's blue-gray eyes, which were usually filled with divine light, were filled with clouds of doom.
Raphael replied rather cautiously, "Er…no, I don't think they're going to demote you." He looked a trifle awkward. Aziraphale stared at him. The Archangel—still in full-on glittering regalia complete with wings even on his shoes—now waved his hands around and said, "Er…judging by the things you, uh…happened to have participated with on that botched Apocalypse thing, it'd be a lot worse than just that. I mean look at what happened when you lost your sword and all…"
"You're not helping, Raph," Aziraphale said, ruffled. He and Raphael actually got along pretty well, especially back in the day before the War, and mostly because if there was any angel prone to dropping in every once in a while, it would be him, looking for a bit of a break from his sending messages and decrees from on high.
( The War in Heaven, when the whole third of the Angel population fell.
Gabriel did it most of the time, but he's on leave of absence for the next two thousand years and Raphael was told to cover the post—which was all the better for Aziraphale since he and Gabriel didn't exactly get along as angelically as they should.)
"Well look on the bright side," said Raphael, grinning as he put back one of Aziraphale's strange bibles that he'd been looking at. "They didn't send Cassiel to fetch you. It must be a sign that things can't be that bad!"
(Cassiel: aka the Angel of Tears, aka the Angel of Hard Knocks aka the last angel you want to be fetching you if you're currently in danger of being punished.)
Aziraphale winced. There was that, at least. Heaven was finally asking for him, and even though Raphael said he wasn't sure why, there was a pretty big chance that it was all about the Apocalypse That Didn't Happen. Not only did he not have any idea of what was going to happen to him, he was due to meet Crowley at that quaint little pub they'd gone to some few years back to have a bit of a chat. Or, in Crowley's point of view, another debate on what the Ineffable Plan actually was. Though he wasn't looking forward to the conversation, Aziraphale still wanted to have a chance to see his friend of 6,000 years one last time before he got snatched up by Heaven.
After all, he still hasn't told him that feeling that's been plaguing him for some time now. It was very disconcerting.
"We might as well get it over with, hey?" Raphael said, sitting on one of the tables with a bit of a grin. "I'll be behind you the whole time—"
There was a flash of light from Up Above.
Raphael looked awkward. "Er…okay, I won't be behind you the whole time, but I'll be outside the Metatron's office for emotional support." He smiled helpfully.
Aziraphale sighed. "Indeed… We should just get this over with. It's just that…" and he stopped himself. Friend or no, Raphael was still an Archangel and he wasn't entirely sure that mentioning Crowley was a good idea right now.
"It's just that what?"
"Er…shouldn't we be getting going?" Aziraphale amended, forcing a smile, hoping to distract him. "I don't think the Metatron likes being kept waiting…"
"Patience is a virtue," grinned Raphael in a would-be singsong voice—and there was another flash of light from Up Above, a more threatening one this time. The Archangel jumped. "All right, all right!" he said, eyes wide as he looked up at the ceiling.
Aziraphale waved his hand over himself and he had changed back into the robes similar to what he'd been wearing when he once guarded the Gates of Eden. There was a light gust as his wings released from his back, the tips dropping to the dusty shop floor. Another wave, and the shop locked up completely on its own. He looked at Raphael, disappointment and surrender more than a bit obvious on his face. "Well…? Let's go."
Raphael took one more second to pause, looking apologetic. "Still, though, Aziraphale… I'm sorry, having to spring this on you like this. I know you've gotten a bit attached to Earth and all. I'm not saying it's right, but…I guess I can't blame you for trying to stop Armageddon."
To which Aziraphale smiled faintly. Attached to Earth and quite a few things in it. I do hope Crowley wouldn't be so angry about my standing him up like this… I'll apologize when I get back. If I am allowed to come back. "Don't worry about it, Raphael."
A bright light overtook the entire backroom of the bookshop in Soho. Two pair of great white wings were outstretched upwards—and in a burst similar to a thunderclap less than ten feet away, the bookshop was empty, with nothing more than the books and papers fluttering down at the wake of their flight.
The thunderclap, being actually a powerful burst of divine power capable of rocketing two angels on an express trip straight into Heaven, was not lost on malignant beings in the area. Lesser ones would've been sent skittering for the shadows, but Anthony J. Crowley wasn't one of them, and found the thunderclap merely as a sudden surprising sound that seemed to come from somewhere far away—something that humans couldn't hear.
He was a bit distracted from a bit of trouble of his own he was currently in. Driving at 110 kilometers per hour as usual in his Bentley, heading for his meeting with Aziraphale, the radio was talking to him again.
"Er…so that'd have to be right now, sir?"
YES, CROWLEY, the warped voice of Damon answered, sounding irritated. RIGHT NOW. STOP WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING AND GET BACK DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW. BY ORDERS OF BEELZEBUB.
Crowley mentally blessed furiously. Two months of agonized nothing from Hell over that whole Apocalypse fiasco and now—right now when he was just starting to think that it was okay to relax—they call him, sounding pissed as, well…hell. Right before he was about to meet Aziraphale and engage in another witty banter, and quite possibly spring something pretty shocking on that angel companion of his that he'd been holding back for quite a bit of time. Things couldn't get more depressing than this.
"Did he uh, say what I was being called down there for?" Crowley asked.
NO. BUT IT'D HAVE TO BE ABOUT YOUR BUNGLING THE END OF DAYS, IF YOU ASK ME. And Dagon went off into quite an evil laugh—more so than usual demonic standards. AND PROBABLY SOMETHING ABOUT THOSE THINGS YOU'VE BEEN DOING UP THERE ON EARTH.
Yep. It just got even more depressing. Did they decide to crack down on the fact that he got along with Aziraphale too well for a demon? Worse—if Hell knew, then Heaven would soon enough, if not already, and Aziraphale would land himself in a lot of trouble too. Sure there was a lot of mercy up there in Heaven, but one third of the angels went sprawling down to Hell after the war and stayed that way for a reason.
He wondered what he was going to do if he found Aziraphale in Hell as a fallen angel. Or worse. He'd probably lose his head—if he wasn't already about to lose it now.
ARE YOU LISTENING, CROWLEY?! came Dagon's boom from the radio. STOP WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING AND GET DOWN HERE!! NOW!!
The radio actually blew into a fit of sparks right at Crowley's face, sending him swerving off road. In a great screaming skidding arc, the Bentley made a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn that created a twelve-car pileup that would've made Hell proud if Crowley hadn't been in trouble with them. The car flew out into a grassy knell at the side of the road before Crowley swerved in the dirt again. However, the driver's side door suddenly flew open and threw its occupant into the air.
Crowley realized that he was falling into a great unearthly scarlet symbol on the ground that he was fairly sure hadn't been there before. Boy, when they want me down there now, they really meant now
His last thoughts before he dived right into the symbol on the ground that burst into red demonic light that completely swallowed him up was if Aziraphale was going to be very mad that he'd stood him up without even a call.
"Um…you called for me, sir?" Aziraphale said meekly as he peeked into the office of the Metatron. Raphael prodded him onward. He glowered at his friend for a moment before daring to go in a bit further.
The office was very oddly decorated for an angel's office up there in Heaven—fine cedar for the desk, paintings floating over a white expanse of non-walls, a swiveling chair covered in down and white silk, while the carpet looked like it was made of feathers. Lots and lots of downy feathers. To add to that, there were lots of smaller feathers drifting down from above like great deal of snow. Aziraphale would've sneezed if angels didn't need to do such a thing. Wrapped around marble columns that flanked the path to the desk were a lot of golden laurels, and from behind the desk was a great deal of blinding yellow light. It was a cross between angelic visitation and a CEO's office.
"Aziraphale," came the Voice of God's way of greeting. "Come forward."
Swallowing hard, Aziraphale crept forward, approaching the great beam of blinding light in front of him. "Yes, er…good morning, sir."
There was a harrumph in answer, and the sound of papers shuffling. Aziraphale felt awkward—he hadn't been in here since he gave his flaming sword off to Adam and Eve. And though that didn't go particularly, he wondered how the Metatron would deal with his unique offenses this time around. He stood fidgeting uncomfortably, adjusting the gold tassel on his robes.
"All right," the Metatron finally said as the sound of shuffling papers stopped. Something that sounded like a paperweight was heard thudding lightly on the desk. "Let's get right to it then—no use in wasting any more time."
Aziraphale nodded miserably. He was going to be confined to Heaven this time, he just knew it. That image Crowley gave him of spending eternity with Elgar was turning reality. And Crowley! Well, he'd definitely never see him again… Funny how Heaven could become his own personal Hell if he looked at it from certain angles…
"I had you called here to give you an important task," said the Metatron.
Aziraphale looked up. "Pardon?"
"You have an important job to take care of," said the Metatron. "It would require you to take special care in this matter as it is something requested by God Himself…."
"Wait—" Aziraphale felt confused. An assignment? A very honored assignment at that? What was going on? "You're…you're giving me an assignment, sir? I thought…er…aren't I about to be punished…or something?" He really didn't want to bring it up if he was going to get off pretty easily, but his truthful nature couldn't really allow it to just be glossed over when his offenses were pretty serious.
"Punished…?" came the Metatron's answer, sounding like a patient superior to an ignorant subordinate the world over.
"About the things I did incident with the Apoca—"
"What are you talking about?! That didn't happen!!" came the sudden indignant boom of light and sound and Aziraphale ducked under a wing. The Metatron cleared his throat, sounding a bit more composed this time. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Aziraphale."
"What…?" the angel felt dazed. Was Heaven in denial or something? He did hear a rumor or two about it from some passing guardian angels but he didn't think that they were denying that the Incident ever happened to the point that they were going to wipe him clean of offenses that happened during the time.
"Now!" said the Metatron, seemingly scribbling something on a sheet of paper, "Back to that assignment."
Aziraphale nodded with a gulp. "Er…yes, sir."
"You are going to receive an angel that will replace you."
"WHAT?!" came Crowley's yell from inside the infernal office of Beelzebub. It looked like a twisted Roman senate painted red and with burning torches every two feet, with critters of the depths crawling around the posts. A great deal of burning dark red silk was around—silk was probably something they had in common with Heaven—as draperies, and the great Beelzebub himself, that mass of hellish insectlike swarms, was standing behind a great black coal pulpit and glowering down at the demon whose yell just shook the entire vicinity. If that were all Crowley would do.
"What do you mean, replacement?!" he shouted up at him, anger and some panic threading through every cell in his currently mortal form. "You're giving me a sodding replacement?! You're replacing me?!" What about the fact that he's settled there on earth?! What about his house? His plants? His car?! And Aziraphale?!
The last part, he felt his face grow quite hot, and he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with all the damn torches all around him. He best keep his mind off that for now.
"Be zzzzzilent, Crawly!"
"It's Crowley," he said coldly. He'd already defied Beelzebub once, might as well go out with a bang, he decided, because things weren't getting any worse than this. He was literally and metaphorically going to Hell and it wasn't looking to be pleasant anyway.
"Whatever. Now let me finish. If I were to be interrupted again, I will have your tongue pulled from your mouth with white-hot tongsssszzz…"
Crowley shut up but glared furiously. His golden eyes were glowing even more than before. Six thousand years of being stuck up there and then they're replacing him?! What were they on about?! He'd gotten more commendations up there than any other demon field agent they had! And there was no way he was going to stay down here either! Just being here right now was enough to make him want to skewer an imp!
"Yessszzz… You will have a replacement… Besides the mess you've made of that Incident Which Everyone Knowssz Didn't Actually Happen… You will eventually have to be retired from Earth. It'ssszzz been over sixzzzz thousszzand yearzz…"
Who the Hell said he was tired of Earth yet?! Crowley snarled inwardly but said nothing.
"…and eventually, we will want ssszomeone elssszze there…" there was the sound of something clinking behind the pulpit. "But mossszzt fortunately for you and moszzt unfortunately for usszz…you will be there for quite a while yet…apparently." He didn't sound pleased about that.
Crowley felt himself relax a bit. So they weren't replacing him just yet. But he wondered how long "quite a while" actually was that they had already decided to get him a replacement.
"All right," said Crowley, glaring. "I'm getting a replacement. Eventually. So what?"
"You, you insubordinate ingrate, are going to have to train that replacement."
"What?!"
"Yesszz…" Beelzebub seemed happy about that. "We will ssszend him to you in three dayssszzz… And you will receive your replacement, and train him in the job that you now have… Ssshow him the wayszz around Earth…and how thingszz are done."
I don't believe this, Crowley thought. They're turning me into a sodding trainer for rookies. "Why does it have to be me?!" he demanded.
"Handszz on experienzzz… There is only szzo much training Down Here can do… He needzzz to be in Earth and to learn from a field agent…esszzpecially the one he will be replacing…"
Crowley growled and blessed under his breath. Judging by the alternatives, this was actually a pretty good thing. But the promise that in the future he was going to be sent back Down Here again wasn't pleasant anyway. And now, he had to spend his precious remaining time on Earth training some idiot imp who probably didn't even know how to hide his demonic energy from humans and divine representation.
"You really don't have a choice, Crawly…"
"Crowley!"
"You don't have a choice…period." Beelzebub glowered down at him. "You will get a trainee…end of ssszztory. I ssszzuggest that you get your act together…because if that trainee sszzcrews up while he'sszz there…you as his trainer…are responsible…and you will get it from usszz."
Hell wasn't known for fairness. But this, by far, had to be the most unfair thing Crowley had heard of in the entire conversation yet. He'd already started plotting ways of sabotaging his trainee so that he could happily buy some more time on Earth, but it looks like he'd be taking the fall too if his idiot trainee screwed up.
Bureaucracy was hell, that was for sure.
And gathering what remained of his dignity, Crowley turned heel and exited Beelzebub's presence, mortified and angry, wondering how he was going to deal with this completely unexpected punishment. It had to be punishment, because it sure as hell—clearly—wasn't a commendation.
Author's Note: Aaaah…XD So they're getting replaced, hey? But things haven't gotten nearly off the wall enough yet. They haven't even met who they're going to be replaced with, which will make things all the more complicated. XD Please review!