Misconception

The sushi restaurant was five minutes from closing, but the shop owner knew both of his regular customers. Even as the 'CLOSED' sign went up, he let Crowley and Aziraphale take their usual seats by the window.

While the tall, dark-haired man in his pristine suit and impenetrable sunglasses wasn't exactly the sort he bent rules for, the smiling blond bookkeeper from just across the street was. Who could deny someone who looked that innocent a nice dinner, even if his company was…shady.

And that was what the angel and demon had played on every single time they felt like having a late meal in London. The angel didn't influence the shop owner, so he was guilt-free, and the demon got sushi made fresh.

But tonight would be different.

Crowley suddenly shivered and glanced out the glass.

Aziraphale looked up from his chopsticks. "What?"

"I feel something…wrong. Dangerous. It smells good."

The angel shook his head. "Really, dear. All I feel is—" He stopped as the same presence became evident to him. "You must be confused. Some pain, perhaps, and a strong sense of justice, but nothing bordering dangerous." Aziraphale shook his head. "Getting old, dear?"

But Crowley sensed a distinct shape to the dangerous aura. Not cloudy and hazed like most, but solidified, directed, and almost arrow-shaped, growing more so as its owner determined a distinct purpose for it. The arrow stretched out to the victim of that deadly purpose, pointing Crowley right to him. In fact, it seemed to be pointed right at…

A sharp crack resounded as the glass beside them splintered around a new hole.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow as Crowley lowered his hand with a snake-like hiss. Had his mouth been open, there would have been a forked tongue visible to explain the sound. "Bless it!" He dropped a cylindrical piece of metal on the restaurant table with a none-too-pleased expression. "Blessed mercy, who in Above or Below would shoot at me with blessed bullets?"

And it was a blessed bullet, as both the angel and demon could tell by the subtle glow, visible only to their kind, which lingered and fell around the metallic cylinder like morning mist. Crowley's hand was equal proof, as it seemed to have melted and crystallized, as sand does after a nuclear explosion, where he had snatched it from the air beside his head.

"Someone with the knowledge to kill demons," Aziraphale said in answer to the rhetorical question. "And not just discorporate. That could very well have shattered your essence if shot correctly."

Both immortals shuddered at the thought. Events like the one they had just narrowly avoided could start wars among their own kind, and not just between Above and Below. Internal strife.

A teenager with the aura of a tiger opened the sushi bar's door, ringing the bell above. If the shop owner hadn't been calling the police to report rocks being thrown at his shop, he would have shooed the kid out. As it was, he strode in unhindered, noisily dragged a seat from a neighboring table over, and joined the pair.

Crowley was about to tell him to leave, not paying much attention to the kid as he painfully re-formed his throbbing numb right hand, when the teenager spoke up.

"You finance, and basically back, three major companies and a terrorist organization called SCORPIA. I don't much care about the companies right now, but I want to see SCORPIA fall." His tone was flat and final, and his blank stare at the demon unwavering.

Aziraphale looked from the teenager, to Crowley, to the teenager, and back at Crowley. "What?"

The demon frowned. "Was your dad the one who just tried to gun me down?"

He sighed and took the Raven* from its hidden holster, aiming it where he had minutes earlier: the middle of his forehead. "I was the one who shot you. Now lay off assisting SCORPIA or I won't give you advance warning next time." A human, no less an adolescent, who could control and suppress his aura? That was a new one.

The angel reached out, intending to soothe the teen's intentions, only to face a smaller gun.

"I know how to curse bullets, too. Now," he didn't let either weapon waver, "the funding?"

Crowley shook his head. "I haven't backed them in weeks. They've grown incompetent, so I put the money, and backing, in smaller groups throughout Libya. Seemed a better investment."

The teenager frowned, obviously taken by surprise at this new bit of information, and was likely about to ask for evidence to back his statement when the bell signaled another visitor.

"Hey, Al!" A dark-haired, mundane-looking man held open the door, his voice tainted by the telltale Liverpudlian accent. "Grace got last minute info that the target has cut funding for SCOR—" He peeked his head further in, noticing for the first time the two people Alex was holding at gunpoint. "Huh. I need to work on my timing."

"Really?" With a ticked expression, he holstered both guns in a single, smooth and well-practiced move. Alex nodded at Aziraphale. "I wouldn't have shot you. Just needed to keep you back, you understand."

The angel sighed. "Your reasoning seems flawed and your conscience rusted, but your heart is pure. You should, somewhat, understand Crowley."

The teenage spy was unruffled. "Don't tempt me. I still feel he would be better…not here, but my feud isn't with him today."

"Awesome." Crowley reclined in his seat, two of the wooden legs no longer landlocked, and drank his tea. "You seem the kind I could appreciate."

The teen's eyes narrowed, but he left with the man.

As Aziraphale set his chopsticks down, he noticed that the blessed bullet had left with the kid. "Interesting boy, but dear, you certainly attract an odd crowd."

A/N: This is all I have from my plane ride. Well, alright there are others, just not ones from this 'verse. The rest was all pure Alex Rider. If anyone has further ideas, I'm happy to write more drabbles for this crossover. I love Good Omens, but I can't seem to write anything that doesn't lead to Alex. *sob*

*A specialized gun from my Safehouse arc. I just can't seem to get rid of it... It's named for Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven".