Heist
Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to people who are not me.
Rating: PG-13
Authoress note: Aziraphale needs help
Chapter One
Aziraphale felt like a right bastard.
But he couldn't do this on his own, he needed help, a very specific kind of help; and there was no way his sometime acquaintance would help him with something like this.
'But you're an angel,' the little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Gabriel sneered at him. 'The End does not justify the means.'
Aziraphale sighed loudly, making Crowley jump.
"You alright there, angel?" Crowley asked, leaning forward a little in the plush comfy chair he'd taken residence in the moment he arrived in the bookshop.
"Oh, yes," Aziraphale spluttered. "I'm going to get a spot of tea, um… would you care for some?"
"Coffee?" Crowley said, lifting his eyebrows and schooling his expression into one he clearly thought of as endearing. Aziraphale nodded briefly and went into the kitchen.
His hands were shaking as he started the kettle and pulled the china out from the cupboard. He had a job to do, failure was not an option, and that wasn't just something he thought for dramatic effect, failure really wasn't an option in this case. He spilled the milk as he poured it into thin china cups. But he was an angel. How he did things was just as important as the result. He couldn't be seen asking for help from a demon.
While it was true, the pair had their little agreement not to interfere with each other, hell they'd even casually assisted each other in the past. This was different. This was something much more than a casual miracle here or there. This was important.
The kettle boiled and Aziraphale took the tea tray back into the shop proper.
"Sounded fun," Crowley said as Aziraphale set the tray down. "What were you dancing with the cups?"
"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale frowned.
"The clattering racket you were making," Crowley said. Aziraphale said nothing, just handed him his coffee and sat down.
Talk about the proverbial rock and a hard place. If Aziraphale asked for help, then he was wrong. Angels do not get help from demons, but if he didn't get help, then he'd fail in his endeavour and that was unthinkable. He didn't know what to do. He felt sick.
"Are you going to say anything?" Crowley asked. Aziraphale's head jerked up to look at the demon opposite him.
"What?" he asked.
"Are. You. Going. To. Tell. Me. What. You. Wanted. To. Tell. Me." Crowley said slowly.
"What made you think I wanted to tell you anything," Aziraphale hoped he didn't look as flustered as he felt. The sweat prickling across his forehead led him to suspect otherwise.
"The fact you called me and said you had something you needed to talk to me about," Crowley said. "I'm guessing it's bad, as the biscuit you started dunking turned to soggy mush in your cup and you don't seem to have noticed."
"Oh," Aziraphale looked down at his tea and the clumps of biscuit floating in it. "Oh, dear."
"Come on angel, the suspense is killing me," Crowley offered a smile, but it had far too many teeth. Aziraphale swallowed the cold lump creeping up from his stomach. Usually Crowley's smiles garnered an automatic smile from him. Ever since that first day on the Wall, Crowley's attempt at a terrible joke had made him smile before he realised what it meant. He couldn't help it, there was something deeply infectious about the demon's smile. For a cursed and demonic creature, his smile was usually so free and easy, an expression of genuine happiness rather than malicious intent.
But today the sight of Crowley's smile only made him feel worse. Anxiety and guilt smashed wetly together in his stomach.
"I have something to ask you," Aziraphale said eventually, not meeting Crowley's gaze.
"I suspected," Crowley said, tipping his head back and practically inhaling his coffee.
"I… I need help with something," Aziraphale said, feeling bile rise in his throat, burning and acidic.
"Ok," Crowley said, free and easy as you like.
"You don't even know what it is yet!" Aziraphale snapped, dropping his cup. His semi solid tea sloshed onto the carpet. Crowley shrugged, his liquid bones made the gesture graceful and lanky at the same time.
"Whatever it is, it's obviously bothering you," Crowley said. "So of course I'll help."
"Just like that," Aziraphale said under his breath. He snorted, his eyes felt hot. Crowley flinched and tugged at his collar.
"I guess," he said. "So what kind of…"
"I had a visit from Gabriel a few days ago," Aziraphale said softly, leaning down to pick up the cup and scoop the semi liquid mush back into it. He flinched at the gentle wash of demonic energy that brushed past his hand and gently blew the tea stain away. He offered Crowley a smile in thanks. "He gave me a task, something my position on earth has made me uniquely suited for."
"Great guy, Gabriel," Crowley said, Aziraphale could hear the sneer in the demon's voice, he didn't have to see it on his face. "Wish Hell had a few like him, sure would make things more… productive."
"Shush," Aziraphale muttered, but couldn't help the small smile that spread over his face.
"There we go," Crowley sounded oddly proud at the smile. Aziraphale shook his head, slightly exasperated.
"You're so strange to me," Aziraphale said.
"I think you mean fantastic," Crowley said, grinning.
"That's what's so strange," Aziraphale said. "You're my natural enemy yet…" he trailed off, the words he wanted to say sticking in his throat like sandpaper. He wanted to tell the demon that when he'd asked for help from his fellow angel's they'd looked at him like he was a massive arsehole, incompetent and beyond revolting for daring to bother them. They'd made snide comments and snarky remarks about his capability, inferring that if he couldn't do something as straightforward as this then he didn't deserve to keep his position. Yet here was a demon, a creature of the Pit, offering to help without even knowing what it was he needed from him.
It wasn't the first time Crowley had behaved in a way that confused Aziraphale; he had suspected now for a long time that Crowley was a bit of a rubbish demon, despite his boasting.
But rubbishness aside, he was still a demon and if the angels found out Aziraphale was even speaking to one, let alone turning to it for help, well, he'd lose more than his position.
"Besides, you helped me first," Crowley said, snapping Aziraphale from his turmoil.
"Nonsense," Aziraphale said.
"Says the one who offered his wing to keep me dry," Crowley said. Aziraphale huffed.
"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" he snapped. "Besides, that's the point, I'm supposed to be nice, I'm an angel. You're a demon, you're not nice."
"Not even a tiny bit," Crowley said, looking smug. "Grind me down to my finest atoms and you won't find a single molecule of nice."
"Hogwash," Aziraphale said under his breath.
"I'm the worst," Crowley was grinning in that way that meant he wanted to tell Aziraphale a story about some new annoyance he'd inflicted on humanity.
"Yes, dear," Aziraphale said. Crowley stopped grinning and frowned.
"Come on," he said, finally sounding exasperated. "You've got a problem, I've agreed to use my skills and wiles to assist. That normally fixes it," he made a weak gesture at Aziraphale's face. "but you look like a slapped arse."
"Don't be vulgar," Aziraphale admonished.
"But I'm so good at it," Crowley said. Aziraphale sighed yet again.
"What I need your help with, it's not just another low grade miracle," Aziraphale breathed. "It's something more."
"Ok," Crowley said. "Just tell me what you need, then we can go back to drinking."
"It's not that simple," Aziraphale snapped.
"Why not?" Crowley said.
"Because I can't tell you, I just need you… I need you to trust me."
"Angels and secrets," Crowley huffed. "Like cheese and pickle, wine and cheese, ham and tomato."
"Yes, quite," Aziraphale said.
"Bananas and bacon," Crowley muttered.
"That doesn't sound right," Aziraphale said, then shook his head. "Wait, that doesn't matter, what matters is that I need you to come with me in a few hours, and when we get where I need to go, I need you to be the biggest you you can be."
"The biggest me?" Crowley said. Aziraphale flushed.
"Yes, quiet." Aziraphale muttered. Crowley's grin spread over his face like butter on piping hot toast.
"That sounds like something I can do."
End Chapter One
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