Title: Potential
Author: Joon
Rating: R
Feedback: YES!
Archive: Sure, just drop me a note.
Timeline: Takes place a year after "Here's toYou." Year as in earth time.right. Disclaimer: Crowley and Aziraphale belong to PTerry and GNeil. All other characters are mine.or at least my personal interpretation of them. Summary: Once upon a time, there was an angel and a demon..
Author's Note: I know readers out there weren't exactly cheering about how "Here's to You" ended, plot-wise, I mean. And I have to admit that while I thought about ending it there, this plot bunny began to grow in my head. We get to see Walter Kettich again, who was in "Earthly Possessions" and was responsible in some ways for getting Crowley started on this little path to rethinking his life.
So, for those of you who want to risk knowing more past the rather bleak ending of "Here's to You," read on. The story of Crowley and Aziraphale in my rather sadistic hands continues.. ***********************
"Really, Crowley. It's quite heartless of you," admonished Aziraphale.
Winding a length of lo mein noodle around his chopsticks, the black-clad demon smirked. "Me? A demon? Heartless? Well, who knew?" he said, chidingly. The grin on his face widened a little more as Aziraphale's blue eyes remained looking thoroughly stern and reproachful.
"They're utterly defenseless, Crowley. They look to you to take care of them and all you do is frighten them," said Aziraphale, extracting a piece of ta chien chicken from his carton.
"They're my bloody plants."
"You're utterly cruel to them."
"Oh, you want to talk cruelty, angel? Let's talk about the little Garden of Death you had going in your yard."
A slightly annoyed scowl appeared on Aziraphale's face. An expression Crowley had found to be rather fun to provoke. He'd grown fond of it sometime around the turn of the century.
"What happened to my plants is completely different from-"
"They were utterly defenseless, Aziraphale," said Crowley, repeating the angel's words, imitating the mournful tone. "They looked to you to take care of them."
"I did look after them!"
"If by that you mean you slowly murdered them with over-watering and poor fertilizing. At least when I toss out my greens I do it quickly. That lot had to go through a long, slow death. Except that one you accidentally sat on. That one got some mercifully quick demise," Crowley added.
"I tripped and the poor thing was just right there," said the angel, glumly into his little white carton.
"I think you underestimated the difficulty of plant-caring."
"How hard can it be, honestly?"
"Honestly, Angel of Flora Death?"
"Perhaps I could start off with something a little less.dependant?"
"Cactus?" Crowley suggested. "At least if you squish that one it can get some revenge before it expires."
Aziraphale coughed around his mouthful of ta chien chicken, though Crowley could tell it was a poorly disguised laugh.
From his seat, Crowley supplied the laugh. But he soon stopped when a force out of nowhere seemed to hit him sharply across the back of the head. The world exploded in a burst of red and white lights, making all images fade in a haze of lights that made the demon reflexively close his eyes. For one odd moment, Crowley thought something had actually knocked him completely out of his body. He certainly couldn't feel it anymore.
But then he could.
A stone against his cheek.
A searing hot rock against his leg.
The humid air surrounding his left arm.
And several miles away, teeth gnawing on his right arm.
The Dump.
+++++++++++++++++++
"I.I'm not entirely sure HOW, sir," stammered Crouch. "I just don't know."
"I don't expect you to know, Crouch!" thundered the Prince of Hell.
Scurrying off to one side, away from the direct line of shouting he was getting from his Lord, Crouch scratched deep lines into the hot stones, thinking rapidly. "It.it could just be hallucinations. We have seen this in the Dump. Many have-"
"It's not a hallucination, you festering maggot," snapped Lucifer. "That snake dreams." Being called a 'festering maggot' lifted Crouch's spirits a little, along with some hope that he would actually make it out of this in one piece. If Lucifer saw fit to compare him to a maggot, he couldn't *really* hate him completely. "We do not dream here. Not one has penetrated our walls," said Lucifer, lowering himself back onto his throne. "How is he doing it?" The last part was said almost thoughtfully to himself.
Crouch shifted nervously, running a few more lines into the hot floors with his fingernails as Lucifer tapped his on the armrest of his throne.
"Go and wake him up," ordered Lucifer.
Crouch grinned. Such magical words. Eagerly, the demon jumped up from its half-sitting position, his long nails swiping one last line on the floor.
"Under no circumstances do I want you to let our Crowley fall back asleep and have another dream, you understand?"
"Oh, yes, sire, thank you. Thank you!" slobbered Crouch. He controlled himself from raking his nails across his own arms in delicious anticipation. Best to keep them sharp for the job at hand. It also wouldn't do to start going all ribbons around the Prince of Hell.
"Go,"
+++++++++++++++++
Walter Kettich had forgotten how dreadfully wet London could be.
The faint drizzle that had started earlier had now grown up to a full rain storm, suitably dampening Walter as he walked down the bustling streets. Around him, Londoners who were all protected by either an umbrella or a mack, saw him exposed to the downpour. They noticed the fact that he wasn't fanatically packing rain gear and thought only thing: tourist.
Walter felt rather good about that.
It had been nearly two years since Walter had said "Sod this" to his job as a security guard at the British Museum and "Piss off!" to his sad life in England to head to America. During his intense and extended road trip throughout the States, Walter had made America his new home with great gusto. He loved everything about the odd, contradictory country. The excessive patriotism he found in certain states. The bizarre intensity and speed with which the inhabitants of New York moved as opposed to the languid, comparatively comatose pace of Californians. The frigid weather of Minnesota to the desert heat of his favorite state, Arizona.
And the food! Walter hadn't known food could actually taste good. That it was actually possible for food to be more than something a human needed in order to live. Had it been up to Walter, he would have stayed in America forever, living happily amongst the desert sands of Phoenix and eating barbecue chips. But it seemed fate had other ideas.
A death in the family. Walter's mum. His family had always viewed him as useless and unimportant, but his presence was required.
In the old days, Walter would have taken to the task imaging Sisyphus and his stone. But the shining optimism of the American way had run its course on Walter and he carried it with him as he looked toward two full weeks with his family. He had surprised his father by making rather quick arrangements and taking care of all loose ends. Typically, his father berated him after recovering from the momentary stupor, demanding to know how Walter could function when his mother had died.
So the ex-Londoner had gone out for a walk.
It was strange how aimless as he was, Walter found himself making rather decisive turns around corners and across streets and puddles until he found himself drenched and standing in a familiar street.
It was a little different since he had been there last, but there was no mistaking it. This little SoHo area had been one of his last stops before taking off from London to begin his pilgrimage across America. Inexplicably, his thoughts turned to the small little bookshop where he had purchased his travel guides.
The guides had been his bibles in the beginning. Each one had been incredibly helpful. Almost magical in how it always had *exactly* what Walter had been looking for at that moment, though he wasn't sure why each one devoted three chapters to the best sushi restaurants in every state.
Running a hand through his wet hair, Walter looked around the nearly empty streets. He squinted against the heavy drops of rain that splattered against his face, looking for the dilapidated wooden sign that hung over a green door, mold covered letters reading "Mostly Books." He could have sworn it used to be just next to an old video store. But instead of the unwelcoming, fire-hazard of a broken down bookstore Walter so dearly remembered, there stood a shining, well-lit shop.
The green door was now a glass one as was the entire side of store that faced out on to the street. From where he was, Walter could see several computers and laptops on display. Cheerful, bright red letters were spread out above the glass doors, reading "Computer Corner!" Behind the display of the sleek looking electronics, Walter could see people in bright blue shirts with matching bright smiles talking to customers.
Everything about the place shouted, "Welcome! Come in! Be our friend! Stay as long as you want! Look around! We like you!"
It was so different from the bookstore that had had the exuded a sense of "Enter.if you must."
Walter frowned. He supposed the bookshop had finally been forced to close. He stared a little longer at the new computer store, watching as a blue clad grinning sales person led a couple toward a silver laptop that looked like it could launch a spacecraft with one keystroke.
"How depressing," muttered Walter.
Timeline: Takes place a year after "Here's toYou." Year as in earth time.right. Disclaimer: Crowley and Aziraphale belong to PTerry and GNeil. All other characters are mine.or at least my personal interpretation of them. Summary: Once upon a time, there was an angel and a demon..
Author's Note: I know readers out there weren't exactly cheering about how "Here's to You" ended, plot-wise, I mean. And I have to admit that while I thought about ending it there, this plot bunny began to grow in my head. We get to see Walter Kettich again, who was in "Earthly Possessions" and was responsible in some ways for getting Crowley started on this little path to rethinking his life.
So, for those of you who want to risk knowing more past the rather bleak ending of "Here's to You," read on. The story of Crowley and Aziraphale in my rather sadistic hands continues.. ***********************
"Really, Crowley. It's quite heartless of you," admonished Aziraphale.
Winding a length of lo mein noodle around his chopsticks, the black-clad demon smirked. "Me? A demon? Heartless? Well, who knew?" he said, chidingly. The grin on his face widened a little more as Aziraphale's blue eyes remained looking thoroughly stern and reproachful.
"They're utterly defenseless, Crowley. They look to you to take care of them and all you do is frighten them," said Aziraphale, extracting a piece of ta chien chicken from his carton.
"They're my bloody plants."
"You're utterly cruel to them."
"Oh, you want to talk cruelty, angel? Let's talk about the little Garden of Death you had going in your yard."
A slightly annoyed scowl appeared on Aziraphale's face. An expression Crowley had found to be rather fun to provoke. He'd grown fond of it sometime around the turn of the century.
"What happened to my plants is completely different from-"
"They were utterly defenseless, Aziraphale," said Crowley, repeating the angel's words, imitating the mournful tone. "They looked to you to take care of them."
"I did look after them!"
"If by that you mean you slowly murdered them with over-watering and poor fertilizing. At least when I toss out my greens I do it quickly. That lot had to go through a long, slow death. Except that one you accidentally sat on. That one got some mercifully quick demise," Crowley added.
"I tripped and the poor thing was just right there," said the angel, glumly into his little white carton.
"I think you underestimated the difficulty of plant-caring."
"How hard can it be, honestly?"
"Honestly, Angel of Flora Death?"
"Perhaps I could start off with something a little less.dependant?"
"Cactus?" Crowley suggested. "At least if you squish that one it can get some revenge before it expires."
Aziraphale coughed around his mouthful of ta chien chicken, though Crowley could tell it was a poorly disguised laugh.
From his seat, Crowley supplied the laugh. But he soon stopped when a force out of nowhere seemed to hit him sharply across the back of the head. The world exploded in a burst of red and white lights, making all images fade in a haze of lights that made the demon reflexively close his eyes. For one odd moment, Crowley thought something had actually knocked him completely out of his body. He certainly couldn't feel it anymore.
But then he could.
A stone against his cheek.
A searing hot rock against his leg.
The humid air surrounding his left arm.
And several miles away, teeth gnawing on his right arm.
The Dump.
+++++++++++++++++++
"I.I'm not entirely sure HOW, sir," stammered Crouch. "I just don't know."
"I don't expect you to know, Crouch!" thundered the Prince of Hell.
Scurrying off to one side, away from the direct line of shouting he was getting from his Lord, Crouch scratched deep lines into the hot stones, thinking rapidly. "It.it could just be hallucinations. We have seen this in the Dump. Many have-"
"It's not a hallucination, you festering maggot," snapped Lucifer. "That snake dreams." Being called a 'festering maggot' lifted Crouch's spirits a little, along with some hope that he would actually make it out of this in one piece. If Lucifer saw fit to compare him to a maggot, he couldn't *really* hate him completely. "We do not dream here. Not one has penetrated our walls," said Lucifer, lowering himself back onto his throne. "How is he doing it?" The last part was said almost thoughtfully to himself.
Crouch shifted nervously, running a few more lines into the hot floors with his fingernails as Lucifer tapped his on the armrest of his throne.
"Go and wake him up," ordered Lucifer.
Crouch grinned. Such magical words. Eagerly, the demon jumped up from its half-sitting position, his long nails swiping one last line on the floor.
"Under no circumstances do I want you to let our Crowley fall back asleep and have another dream, you understand?"
"Oh, yes, sire, thank you. Thank you!" slobbered Crouch. He controlled himself from raking his nails across his own arms in delicious anticipation. Best to keep them sharp for the job at hand. It also wouldn't do to start going all ribbons around the Prince of Hell.
"Go,"
+++++++++++++++++
Walter Kettich had forgotten how dreadfully wet London could be.
The faint drizzle that had started earlier had now grown up to a full rain storm, suitably dampening Walter as he walked down the bustling streets. Around him, Londoners who were all protected by either an umbrella or a mack, saw him exposed to the downpour. They noticed the fact that he wasn't fanatically packing rain gear and thought only thing: tourist.
Walter felt rather good about that.
It had been nearly two years since Walter had said "Sod this" to his job as a security guard at the British Museum and "Piss off!" to his sad life in England to head to America. During his intense and extended road trip throughout the States, Walter had made America his new home with great gusto. He loved everything about the odd, contradictory country. The excessive patriotism he found in certain states. The bizarre intensity and speed with which the inhabitants of New York moved as opposed to the languid, comparatively comatose pace of Californians. The frigid weather of Minnesota to the desert heat of his favorite state, Arizona.
And the food! Walter hadn't known food could actually taste good. That it was actually possible for food to be more than something a human needed in order to live. Had it been up to Walter, he would have stayed in America forever, living happily amongst the desert sands of Phoenix and eating barbecue chips. But it seemed fate had other ideas.
A death in the family. Walter's mum. His family had always viewed him as useless and unimportant, but his presence was required.
In the old days, Walter would have taken to the task imaging Sisyphus and his stone. But the shining optimism of the American way had run its course on Walter and he carried it with him as he looked toward two full weeks with his family. He had surprised his father by making rather quick arrangements and taking care of all loose ends. Typically, his father berated him after recovering from the momentary stupor, demanding to know how Walter could function when his mother had died.
So the ex-Londoner had gone out for a walk.
It was strange how aimless as he was, Walter found himself making rather decisive turns around corners and across streets and puddles until he found himself drenched and standing in a familiar street.
It was a little different since he had been there last, but there was no mistaking it. This little SoHo area had been one of his last stops before taking off from London to begin his pilgrimage across America. Inexplicably, his thoughts turned to the small little bookshop where he had purchased his travel guides.
The guides had been his bibles in the beginning. Each one had been incredibly helpful. Almost magical in how it always had *exactly* what Walter had been looking for at that moment, though he wasn't sure why each one devoted three chapters to the best sushi restaurants in every state.
Running a hand through his wet hair, Walter looked around the nearly empty streets. He squinted against the heavy drops of rain that splattered against his face, looking for the dilapidated wooden sign that hung over a green door, mold covered letters reading "Mostly Books." He could have sworn it used to be just next to an old video store. But instead of the unwelcoming, fire-hazard of a broken down bookstore Walter so dearly remembered, there stood a shining, well-lit shop.
The green door was now a glass one as was the entire side of store that faced out on to the street. From where he was, Walter could see several computers and laptops on display. Cheerful, bright red letters were spread out above the glass doors, reading "Computer Corner!" Behind the display of the sleek looking electronics, Walter could see people in bright blue shirts with matching bright smiles talking to customers.
Everything about the place shouted, "Welcome! Come in! Be our friend! Stay as long as you want! Look around! We like you!"
It was so different from the bookstore that had had the exuded a sense of "Enter.if you must."
Walter frowned. He supposed the bookshop had finally been forced to close. He stared a little longer at the new computer store, watching as a blue clad grinning sales person led a couple toward a silver laptop that looked like it could launch a spacecraft with one keystroke.
"How depressing," muttered Walter.