Dangerous
by the anonymouslibrarians
I do not own Good Omens or any of its characters.
Aziraphale had grown so used to Crowley's company that he had ceased to consider him a threat. Oh, he knew Crowley was a demon. But it had been millennia since Aziraphale had seen Crowley kill anyone who couldn't have been said to have deserved it. His most common hobbies, tying up phone lines and causing traffic jams, were more naughty than evil, in Aziraphale's mind.
The demon who played music at a volume past his car's natural capabilities, smiling when he finally got Aziraphale to sing along, and lay on Aziraphale's couch, wrapped in every blanket the angel owned, whenever the temperature dropped too low, could hardly be considered dangerous. He wasn't like the creatures Aziraphale had faced in battle. Who drank the blood of humans and smiled as untrained angels froze in horror, then discorporated their enemies before they could regain composure. Or so Aziraphale had thought.
One day, though, he received a stark reminder of why Crowley had been chosen to watch over the antichrist. Aziraphale had been alone in his shop when the bell rang as five demons had entered. They weren't too powerful, if truth be told, but Aziraphale had grown rather complacent in recent years. He hadn't had to fight a demon in centuries. And he had no weapon, while each of them bore blades with sinister looking carvings that Aziraphale couldn't quite decipher.
He'd fought back. He'd managed to take out two of their number and injure a third. But the lack of practice counted against him and, eventually, he found himself lying on the floor as the three remaining stood over him, cheerfully discussing whether they should kill him here or drag him to hell. And then the bell had chimed.
Aziraphale closed his eyes, having just enough time to mourn the death of whatever poor human had stumbled upon the scene, when there was a hissing noise, a shriek, and a thud. There was a cry of rage, but...from one of his attackers!
Aziraphale opened his eyes and saw that only two if his attackers were left standing, the third, sans a head, lay on the floor next to the two Aziraphale had dispatched.
Crowley stood over the dead demon. But he wasn't the Crowley Aziraphale knew. His mouth was open in a wide grin that had a terrible glee about it. Fangs were where his human teeth normally were, and his forked tongue licked blood from his lips. His vertical pupils were dilated, and there was a look of rage and hunger in them. One of the demons decided to chance its luck and lunged forward, but Crowley moved too fast for even Aziraphale to see him. And then suddenly the demon was on the floor, his sword nailing him in place. The third didn't make the same mistake. It bolted toward the door, but in a fluid movement that reminded Aziraphale of nothing so much as a snake lunging, Crowley had the demon by the neck in a crushing grip.
Crowley lifted the demon off its feet and brought it closer to him, heedless of its struggles, "When you get back to hell," he hissed, "tell them that thisss one isss mine."
And then he crushed the demon's windpipe and let the body fall.
Scarcely a second passes before Crowley was by Aziraphale's side. The angel probably would have flinched, but all anger was gone from the demon's face and he was easily recognizable as the demon Aziraphale had argued with over whether brownies were cake or cookies.
He helped Aziraphale to his feet, tended to his wounds, and, for once, they ordered pizza instead of going to the Ritz. But Aziraphale would never again make the mistake of thinking that Crowley wasn't one of the most dangerous demons one could ever cross, and he was thoroughly glad they weren't enemies.