The Ineffable or What If
What if Crowley decided to take matters into his own hands to save Aziraphale (despite his protests) from Armageddon's war between heaven and hell? Takes place during the Alpha Centari scene.
Good omens does not belong to me. It belongs to the amazing Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett in the past, present and always forever. Italics are original script or thoughts of the characters. Enjoy.
A plump middle-aged white-haired man with fair skin and sky-blue eyes strolled anxiously down Soho London's crowded sidewalk, wringing his hands rather frantically. He was impeccably dressed in an vintage Victorian-era beige suit and a warm velvet brown vest complete with tartan collar. While he looked like he was one of crowd pushing to get home before the oncoming rainstorm broke out, in actuality he was trying to return to his book shop to determine once and for all if Heaven would really be so cruel as to allow Armageddon to occur. As it stood, the end of the world was scheduled to happen today.
This harried gentleman was an Angel.
To humans on outside he was known as Mr. Fell, the eccentric shop owner of A.Z. Fells books and purveyor of first editions which he would never relinquish for love or money. In reality, he is Aziraphale, the Principality and guardian Angel of Eden's eastern gate. He was attempting to save humanity from Armageddon, but after being punched in the gut by other, more war hungry angels roughly five minutes ago by saying just that, his morale was rather dismal at the moment. And from his furrowed brow and anguished expression, the world's fate was almost quite literally on his shoulders. However, it should be argued that he was not alone in bearing this burden.
A sleek luxurious silver and black Bentley braked hard over a curb just feet away from A.Z. Fell's bookshop. Aziraphale stopped, staring in shock as a familiar ginger-haired man with stylish black sunglasses leaped out of the driver's side of the car so fast, he nearly banged the front door into an oncoming pedestrian. This man went by the name Anthony J Crowley. He unlike Aziraphale, was dressed in a modern stylish black suit with a black undershirt and a loose hanging silver tie which matched far better in our current fashion era.
However, he was no more human than Aziraphale, but he was no angel.
No, he was a demon. A fallen angel, the original tempter of sin, and the infamous serpent from the very same garden of Eden. Despite Aziraphale and Crowley's backgrounds as being hereditary enemies, they've been friends for 6,000 years and had grown rather fond of the quirks and imperfections of earth, humanity, and of course each other (though neither were inclined to admit it out loud just yet).
"Crowley! What are you-"
"Angel! I'm sorry!" Crowley said urgently. "I apologize. Whatever I said I didn't mean it! Work with me, I'm apologizing here! Yes? Good. Get in the car." He beckoned with one hand and shoved open the back-seat passenger door with the other.
"What?" Aziraphale exclaimed. "No!"
"The forces of hell have figured out it's my fault. But we can run away together! Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody would even notice us!" He rambled frantically on.
"Crowley you're being ridiculous! Look I-I-I'm quite sure if I could just-just reach the right people, then I can get this all sorted out."
"There aren't any right people! There's just God moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us!" Crowley's voice rose in frustration.
"Well, yes, and that is why I'm going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it." Even Aziraphale heard the tremor of fearful uncertainty in his voice. He tried to hide a wince as his gut throbbed once more.
"That's won't happen! You're so clever! How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid!" Crowley shouted angrily, desperate to get through that thick angel skull of blind righteousness and faithful piety for once.
"I forgive you," Aziraphale said simply. His heart however clenched at the hurtful words thrown at him by his dearest companion.
Crowley looked at him for a moment with such a stricken expression that Aziraphale almost reached out to grip his shoulder reassuringly. He wanted to say how much Crowley had meant to him throughout all the ages they had spent together. He wanted to tell him that he had found the true Anti-Christ and his location so that they could drive off together to stop the destruction of the world they loved so much. But the fear of vengeance from hell upon Crowley due to his unwillingness to cut ties with an angel, his own desperation to reach the Lord to confirm his wavering belief that Heaven would not allow the senseless destruction of humanity, and the simple fact that they would always be on opposite sides stopped Aziraphale short.
"Oh. Fine!" Crowley snarled angrily. "I'm going home angel! I'm getting my stuff and leaving! And when I'm up out among the stars I won't even think of you!" He gestured his hand wildly up towards the sky.
Crowley made as if to move towards the Bentley but stopped for a moment to look back. Unforgivable he had claimed himself as just a few hours ago, yet Aziraphale had freely given it to him and him alone. He couldn't do this...
With a soft sigh Aziraphale looked at his best friend (and so much more) one…last...time.
"Good-bye Crowley," he said with a soft kind tone, that the demon knew he didn't deserve. Turning swiftly around to face the bookshop's door he fumbled for keys, trying to hide his tears. This hurt far worse than being struck by any angel. He did not notice that time had stopped all around them. The crowd went silent and still, the rain which began to fall froze in mid-air.
"Be safe and well my dear…" he tried to say, before a black silk handkerchief was shoved over his mouth and nose. Gasping, he accidentally inhaled the fumes of a scent that only his kind could smell. A numbness spread, swiftly paralyzing his limbs and spirit within the body he was given by heaven. It smelled like the salt of tears, burned ashes, and old blood.
Gentle hands caught him, as he fell backwards from the stoop of his bookstore.
"I'm so sorry Aziraphale, but you've left me no choice," Crowley murmured in his ear. He grabbed the fallen keys to his bookshop, before scooping up the paralyzed angel with the ease of supernatural strength, into his arms. Aziraphale's head rested helplessly against the demon's chest. He desperately tried to keep his eyes open, but the warmth of Crowley's heartbeat made it very difficult to do so.
Flowers of the *Judas Tree! How could you Crowley?! Aziraphale silently shouted in his head, willing Crowley to understand him. As if sensing Aziraphale's thoughts, he flinched slightly before he unlocked the bookshop and stepped inside. The demon's heart ached at the thought that he may have lost Aziraphale's forgiveness forever with his actions, but he could not bring himself to leave Aziraphale behind. He strolled through the shop till he found the old, but comfortable couch near the back. Carefully, Crowley set Aziraphale upon it, propping his head on the cushions. Snapping his fingers time started back once more outside.
"I'm going to pick out a few of your favorite books and things to pack Angel. You're the only friend I have anywhere on earth, heaven or hell. I'm not going to lose you," Crowley said firmly, staring deep into Aziraphale's hurt and betrayed gaze. He softly swiped the tears from the corner of his friend's eyes. As he reached over, his arm brushed his tender stomach, causing an involuntary hiss of pain to escape the Angel's numb lips. Crowley's eyes narrowed behind his shades and he gently laid his palm over his gut, feeling left-over celestial energy on the hidden bruise. Shaking his head at heaven's utter hypocrisy of assaulting the one angel who was trying to do the right thing, he blew air over him, healing the injury. Crowley returned his gaze to Aziraphale's.
"And I know you don't want to lose me too."
Aziraphale blushed faintly in embarrassment at Crowley's effortless ability of being able to see right through him, but he couldn't look way. He silently cursed and cried out his objections as Crowley swiftly summoned his plaid red suitcase and levitated his favorite novels into it. The next to go was his teapot, the tea leaves, the wine, and his angel wings snuffbox.
Please don't do this. Not now... Not when I know who and where the Anti-Christ is. If only I can get him to look at Agnus Nutter's book of prophecies...
Turning around, Crowley discovered the white chalk summoning circle that Aziraphale had prepared earlier this morning. He whistled in admiration and noticed that it had not been used yet. He knelt to take a closer look.
" ...you really were prepared to take this to the top weren't you?" Crowley remarked softly, staring at Aziraphale with new found respect.
Please Crowley. Let me contact God. Let me try to fix this...
"We don't have much time Angel...Judas flowers won't fully wear off for at least an hour and Hell's forces are after me..."
His best friend gazed up at him with the most pleading and saddest eyes that gave even puppies and kittens a run for their money. Crowley swore in vividly under his breath and threw his hands in the air once more.
"Alright, Angel have it your way! You won't be able to speak to them like this, so let's do a little costume change yes? After I prove I'm right I'm taking you with me whether you like it or not."
Aziraphale was puzzled until Crowley sat down beside him, took his right hand and closed his eyes. Aziraphale felt his a warm trickling in his body as he began to shift and change, bone popping and his limbs lengthening. Crowley's features began to blur.
Suddenly, the changes stopped and both reverted back to their original forms. Crowley opened his eyes and looked down at his frightened friend, feeling a sharp stab of guilt in his gut. Aziraphale had never been afraid of him before.
"Angel, I need you to trust me. Otherwise this will never work," he said.
Well, you did paralyze me you foul fiend...
Crowley winced at his accusing glare. "Yeah…I really can't blame you for thinking that way. But, I'm trying to do you a favor here and we're running out of time. Please let me do this for you."
Aziraphale's furrowed brow finally relaxed in agreement with his words and he took a shallow breath. Crowley was right. Thinking about it now, despite Crowley's actions, Aziraphale knew that he was truly terrified of hell's demonic forces. The fact that he was willing to risk what little time he had to flee to contact God (the very being who casted him out of heaven and drove him mad with frustration with her ineffable plan) on his behalf evaporated all his foolish fears. Instead he felt ashamed and desperately wished that he had told Crowley truth when he had the chance. But, now he couldn't even speak.
Taking this as a sign to continue Crowley grasped his hand once more and it took only a few seconds before Aziraphale was staring up at himself. Crowley looked down at his now sprawled corporation on the couch, complete with his dark shades and lazy expression. He snapped his fingers to move the couch and Aziraphale around the corner of a tall bookshelf, hiding them both out of view of the celestial circle.
"Right," Crowley in Aziraphale's prim and warm tones. He quickly set and lit the candles around the sacred circle. Clasping his hands together he hesitated for a moment, before closing his eyes and bowed his head in prayer.
"Helloooo? Anyone up there? This is incredibly important, and I need to talk to the highest power." A soft and pure beam of white light spilled down through the dusty skylight, connecting the earth from the heavens upon the holy symbols glowing on the old wooden floor. "I know it's been awhile, but I wouldn't be doing this unless there was no other way."
A floating head of a wrinkled man, with ethereal wisps of hair barely covering his baldness appeared in the light. Crowley wrinkled Aziraphale's nose at the sight for a second, before composing himself with an earnest and falsely respectful expression
"Speak Aziraphale," the ghostly head uttered calmly, with a voice that echoed in the ears and mind.
"Is this God, I'm speaking to on this line?" Crowley asked carefully.
"This is the Metatron."
"Look I need to talk to the actual Almighty..."
"You may speak to me as you would speak to God."
"But you're not actually God and I have a question for…" here Crowley paused for a moment and swallowed as if he had bitten in a particularly sour apple before continuing on.
"Our heavenly lord."
"Ask your question. I will answer it. To speak with me is to speak with God." Metatron said firmly. Crowley sucked in a frustrated breath before speaking.
"All right then. What if I've found the Anti-Christ?" The drug, which paralyzed Aziraphale, had finally began to wear off a bit and allowed the disguised angel to stiffen in alarm. How on earth did Crowley know what he knew? He had to be bluffing. Meanwhile Crowley began to feel incredibly edgy, as he could sense the ominous aura of Hastur and Ligur lurking in his flat just a few blocks away. They were searching for him and while the bookshop had natural wards to keep hellish forces (besides Crowley of course) out, Crowley knew that if they didn't get a move on they would be trapped. Hopefully the trap he set with holy water would be enough to deter his pursuers, if not slow them down. A flare of demonic energy vanished from existence, causing Crowley to relax a little before going on.
"His name and where he is at? We don't have to fight this war. If we just stop the Anti-Christ, we can save everybody!" he pleaded with an earnest look. For a moment Aziraphale and Crowley held on to hope. Hope that heaven would be on their side in preventing Armageddon and sparing all of humanity. The hope that maybe Heaven truly did care for their wayward children and would not make the sacrifice of the Lord's son, Jesus, who died for humanity's sins, in vain. The next words the Metatron said erased the unbearable certainty with the truth. A truth which brutally crucified their fragile hope and left it bleeding out with nothing to staunch the wound.
"The point of Armageddon is not to prevent the war." Metatron said sternly. "It is for us to actually win it against the forces hell. Once and for all. It has been written."
Crowley's lips pressed into thin and angry line, barely holding back a serpentine hiss of utter rage. Despite the fact that he had been proven right he took no joy from it at all. The small twitches of the prostrate figure sobbing silently on the couch made him truly feel demonic for the first time in a long while and he found that he did not care for it one bit.
Suddenly, Crowley's gaze fell upon a battered green book, opened on a certain page and for a single second his heart stopped. Tadsfield. He glanced towards his trembling self who gave a single slow nod in his direction. Tear tracks slipped from behind black shades in a silent plea, and at that moment Crowley made his choice. It was dangerous gamble and went against all his instincts of self-preservation, but now... they finally had a chance. Through gritted teeth he forced himself to ask.
"So how would it be brought forth exactly?"
"We thought a nuclear exchange would be a good start. You must join our ranks to prepare for war. Do not dawdle." Metatron said in the strict tone of a school-teacher reprimanding a student's tardiness. Crowley nodded absently, his mind already focused on the future ahead.
"Yes, yes, alright. I just need to wrap up a few things here."
"We will leave this portal open for you. Go forth Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate!"
The floating head of Metatron vanished, but the light remained. For a long and terrible moment there was a heavy and suffocating silence. Aziraphale waited for the metaphorical ax to fall. He expected nothing less from Crowley, especially with the revelations that had been exposed upon his person. Crowley took one long deep breath, staring at the holy light before him and then turned around. He silently walked over to the paralyzed angel and stared down at him with an unreadable look.
"You know where the antichrist is." It was not a question.
Aziraphale closed his eyes both in confirmation and resignation, as he nodded once more. There was no point in hiding it now. His faith in heaven was broken and only Crowley stood with him to save the earth and humanity from destruction. And it was quite possible that he had lost Crowley's friendship for good with his actions.
God...Why? Does your Great Plan really lead to the start of another war? Must humanity and the world die for our foolish battle? Aziraphale thought feverishly, still coming to terms that he was the only angel of Heaven who actually cared about stopping Armageddon.
"Right then," Crowley said briskly, rubbing his palms together. "Let's get out here and fix all this. Switch back?" Aziraphale stared at him, shocked at his nonplussed attitude, but an ominous risen brow told the angel that he was not quite off the hook yet and that if they made it through Armageddon, then they would be having words. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel the same way, considering what Crowley had done. He reached down to grab Aziraphale's hand...
"YOU DEMON! SEDUCING WOMEN AND SOUTHERN PANSIES TO DO YOUR DIRTY WORK?"
Crowley jumped and spun around to find a purpling Sergeant Shadwell, stabbing an accusing finger towards his chest.
"I'm not a demon. I'm Mr. Fell!" he protested in his most injured Aziraphalian tone. But Shadwell was not fooled. "Besides this isn't that kind of shop. If you just go two doors down…"
"I did see what you did to my poor sponsor! Your filthy beast!" Shadwell ranted as he pressed forward causing Crowley to step back, dangerously close to the holy circle.
No Crowley don't step into the circle! You'll be discorperated! Aziraphale tried to say, but all that came out was a muffled "No..." from numb lips. Luckily, Crowley understood his moan and gracefully danced backwards to the left, towards the couch.
"This day can't possibly get any worse," Crowley moaned.
"Crooowwwlleeyy, Oh Croooowwllleyy?" Hastur crooned insidiously from the doorway. Crowley groaned again. Worst. Timing. Ever. The wards had failed due to Aziraphale being incapacitated and unable to sustain them. Shadwell had immediately ducked behind a bookshelf, glaring warningly at Crowley.
"Well fuck..." he swore, and Aziraphale glared at the blasphemy that Crowley let escape from his cooperation's mouth. However, considering the occasion, one could hardly blame him for doing so.
"You're hiding that bastard Crowley!" Hastur sneered, stalking towards who he believed was the hapless angel, that Crowley dared to fraternize with. "He murdered Ligur with Holy Water!" Aziraphale felt a surge of both relief and satisfaction at hearing his words. Hastur's beady slimy black eyes fell on him and gone were Aziraphale's happy thoughts. He couldn't help, but mentally echo the same sentiment as Crowley did just moments ago. Crowley placed himself between him and the murderous duke of hell.
"Hell will not forgive you Crowley! Give him to us!" Hastur growled menacingly, shoving the real Crowley violently out of the way, his grubby hand reached out to seize him. So, focused on wrecking vengeance on the treacherous serpent, Hastur failed to take in the presence of the first intruder.
Sergeant Shadwell roared "Another one of ye demon spawn!" and sprung out from his hiding spot with a crazed look in his eyes, brandishing his lit lighter. Hastur yelped, as he was yanked forward by the mental human. Getting caught wrong-footed and thrown off balance, Hastur, Duke of Hell, capable of devouring a whole room of people in a flood of maggots within five seconds, was reduced to tussling with Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell. Their struggle was remarkably similar to that of a couple of five-year-olds squaring off on who would be the supreme ruler of the playground, but with one of aforementioned toddlers sneaking behind the opposition and placing them in an unbreakable headlock. The lighter flew out his hand and nearly caught fire on a wayward Sound of Music pamphlet only to be smothered out by Crowley stamping repeatedly on it.
"What are you doing bloody bastard! Get your hands off me!" Hastur garbled, flailing against Shadwell's hold, but pure fear and the adrenaline of having an actual spawn of the devil in his grasp kept Shadwell holding on as they spun around the bookshop in a mad whirling dervish of chaos. Crowley pressed back against the couch, covering Aziraphale as much as possible from the struggling pair. Aziraphale groaned discontentedly as Shadwell was slammed into one of his bookshelves, knocking priceless first editions rudely to the floor.
"Bell, book, and candle I will exorcise you all!" Shadwell howled dementedly as Hastur finally slipped free, stumbling backwards towards...
"Stay out of the circle you idiot human!" Crowley hissed frantically, trying to snatch his arm. Idiot or not Shadwell was the head of the witch finder army making him a valuable resource and he knew that Aziraphale himself would try to stop him. But Sergeant Shadwell passed the point of no return. He dodged Crowley's grasp, lunged forward to tackled Hastur...
Holy light flared over both and they screamed simultaneously, one in shock and the other in mortal agony. Levitating in the air, Hastur's corporation crumbled into black searing ashes while Sergeant Shadwell disappeared with a blinding white flash. For a moment Crowley sat wide-eyed in disbelief, hardly daring to believe their luck, but feeling a pang of regret at the same time. A moan from Aziraphale snapped him out of his stupor and he acted quickly.
Crowley picked up Aziraphale once more and with the book of prophecy tucked under his arm he ran through the bookshop and kicked out the front door. Crowley knocked as many pedestrians out of the way as possible till he reached his car. The Bentley's passenger door automatically sprang open and Crowley deposited him in the front passenger seat up right and miracled up a seatbelt to strap him in. He carefully tucked The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch into Aziraphale's arms and threw himself into the driver seat. Turning the key and with a squeal of burning rubber the Bentley roared out of its parking space, barreling towards Tadsfield. Turning towards him with a reckless grin, he clasped his shoulder with a reassuring grip. They reverted to their original corporations seconds later, but the warmth of his grip remained on Aziraphale's shoulder.
Aziraphale took a deep breath and found that he could move his numbed limbs sluggishly, but most important of all he could speak.
"It's Adam," he rasped.
"Wot?" Crowley asked, his eyes on the road.
"Adam Young. He's the Anti-Christ. Armageddon happening at Tadsfield Airbase. Please...hurry," he begged hoarsely, his voice thick with remorse. Crowley turned to stare at him for a moment, his golden snake eyes widened to a point where no whites were visible before he whooped loudly and floored it, Queens blasting joyfully through his Bentley's speakers. It was not only because he finally had the information he had been desperately searching for, but that his angel despite everything that happened, had clearly chosen to side with him by sharing it.
"Aziraphale thank you so much you brilliant, beautiful, angelic bastard you," he crowed. He quickly pecked him on the cheek, which caused the angel to go several shades red out of shock and awe. Crowley, with his corporation high on adrenaline kept going, without looking at his now starry-eyed passenger, but carefully tucked he tucked the angel's reaction into his mind to examine later. He and Aziraphale would have to deal with the aftermath of their actions towards each other, but right now they had everything they needed. Aziraphale couldn't help that a relieved smile spread across his face as he heard Crowley's cheerful declaration.
"Let's go save the world together!"
*The Judas tree is the red bud tree and it does have the story that the disciple, Judas, hung himself from the berry tree when he betrayed Jesus Christ. There is no smell that we as humans can sense, but I figured it would be fitting that angels could smell the true scent of such a tragic flower.
I hope you all enjoyed reading this. I might write an epilogue after this one shot. I think Crowley and Aziraphale need to have that talk after averting Armageddon, how they stopped it, and the fate of our dear Sergeant Shadwell. Please favorite or view my story. It means a lot to all fan fiction authors. Especially me.