Disclaimer: I own neither Crowley, Aziraphale or the Nac Mac Feegle.
A/N: A friend of mine made a joke about Aziraphale's shop getting invaded by Feegles; needless to say, fic happened.
The Great Nac Mac Feegle invasion of paradise was a subject that the vast majority of the heavenly host tried to avoid discussing at all costs. The memory of hundreds of little blue men in kilts bursting out of nowhere, calling the Metatron a scunner, repeatedly head butting several unsuspecting cherubs, and making off with a celestial chariot and several flaming swords was still very much a sore spot on the collective angelic consciousness. It was for this reason that Aziraphale was struck with cold dread the moment he heard cry of 'crivens' coming from somewhere the back room.
It was with much trepidation that he went to investigate. Armed with the only copy of Miss Perspicasia Tick's Fairies and How to Avoid Them in this narrative reality, he poked his head round the door. "Hello is anybody there?" he called tentatively.
After a prolonged delay a small and incredibly drunk blue man swayed out of the drink's cabinet. "Ye scunner," he slurred, making an obscene gesture.
"Ach, What ye doin' showing yourself to the Bigjobs like that Daft Wullie?" said a voice coming from behind a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. "Do ye want ta meet another of them folklore societies?"
"Tha's no Bigjobs Rob. Tha's one of them ethereal bein's," said another, very drunk, sounding voice
"Oh an' how would yez know?" said the first voice.
What sounded like a highly concentrated mass scuffle then broke out, sending several bottles of rare and highly expensive liquor crashing to the grounds.
"Erm excuse me," said Aziraphale after things had calmed down to the point where he could hear himself speak. "I don't suppose any of you would possibly consider leaving, would you?"
"Weel no' really.'Specially with all this booze lying around." said the Feegle now known as Daft Wullie.
Aziraphale sighed and consulted Fairies and How to Avoid Them. He then formulated a plan of action. He had his collection to protect after all.
—
The first thing Crowley noticed on entering his flat, after what in his opinion had been a very productive days tempting, was the profusion of dust in the air. The second thing he noticed was the piles of grubby boxes littering the formerly pristine floor. The third was of course the angel sitting on the sofa watching the Weakest Link.
"Aziraphale, what the fuck are you doing here? And more to the point, why do the contents of your shop appear to have materialised in my living room."
"Feegle invasion," said Aziraphale simply.
"Ah, and so you've decided to move yourself and all your stuff into my flat. Well thanks for asking."
"I couldn't very well stay at the shop Crowley. You must have heard what happened when... you know, that time that they...they erm caused a bit of a fracas upstairs."
Crowley smirked despite himself. The jokes about that particular incident were still doing the rounds amongst some of the more easily amused denizens of hell.
"... they say that Gabriel still has flashbacks."
At this the demon couldn't help but start to snigger. "You mean he was so traumatised by a few little blue pixies that he's gone all Hollywood Vietnam vet about it."
"Really Crowley it's nothing to laugh about," said Aziraphale, but without much conviction. He would never had admitted it, but the thought of the arch angel being mobbed by a group of tiny blue people in tartan was rather amusing. "Anyway it Pictsies not pixies. "
"Couldn't you just stay in a hotel or something?"
"But where would I put my books?"
"Safety deposit box."
"A safety deposit box? Crowley how do you propose I fit my entire collect... stock into one tiny box."
"Don't tell me you've never meddled with the laws of physics before."
"As an angel I do try not to bend reality for personal convenience."
Crowley muttered something about having a demon to do it for him.
"If you're going to be like that then I'll just have to find somewhere more welcoming" said Aziraphale, sounding hurt.
Crowley was rather used to inspiring negative emotions in people. It was after all part of the job. But the angel's wounded expression, for reasons beyond his understanding, seemed to be causing a heavy feeling just under his rib cage. "Oh alright. Fine, you can stay. But you're going back the instant those things decided to leave."
"Thank you Crowley you really are a true..."
"Please, just don't say things like that," said the demon hurriedly. "Oh and move those blessed boxes to the spare room."
"Already full I'm afraid."
"What. Surely you can't have that many. No I forgot, this is you we're talking about isn't it. You could have that many books. You can put the rest in the study then."
"Ah. That might be a bit of a problem."
"What? Oh Chr... I mean oh Adam. Well just try and put them in a neat pile somewhere."
----
The next four days were, in Crowley's considered opinion, amongst the most infuriating of his existence to date. The angel vocally expressed his disapproval of everything Crowley tried to watch on television. He'd changed the screen saver on the computer. He'd made numerous suggestions for making the flat 'more homely'. He'd taken to waking Crowley up in the morning because 'it's the best part of the day you know'. Crowley was also pretty certain that he'd been reading the houseplants spiritual literature and life affirming poetry whilst he himself was out.
There was also the dust. The dust just wouldn't go, despite every attempt the demon had made to will it away, it still hung smugly in the air. Aziraphale had explained it away as 'one of the great mysteries of L-Space', but Crowley just found it irritating, especially to the nose. Every time that he suggested Aziraphale move somewhere a bit more suitable however, the angel would suddenly acquire that wounded look, and Crowley's resolve to get him out would instantly crumble.
"I don't know how you can bear to be involved in this sort of thing," said Aziraphale, as they were watching Trinny and Susanna denounce the dress sense of this weeks victims on What Not To Wear. "I can't believe that they're allowed to get away groping respectable women in front of a camera, like that. Honestly, I've a good mind to give them a good dose of soul searching."
"Don't you dare. That show's one of mine. Anyway, do you want another repeat of the Simon Cowell incident?"
"Lets at least watch something else then."
"Well there's Property Ladder on four."
"Inspiring limitless greed through property development. Another one of yours I take it."
"One of theirs actually. Anyway there's nothing else on. Well unless you fancy Channel Five that is." At this Crowley smirked in possibly the sleaziest manner possible.
"Oh and what's on Channel Five. Another one of your dreadful, so called, reality shows?"
"Well, sort of. Its' called Celebrity Sauce. A bunch of z-list has-beens and wannabes desperately seek publicity by road testing the newest sex toys on the market, and then speaking about their... ahem experiences with them on live TV."
"Crowley that's just vile," said Aziraphale, looking thoroughly disgusted. "I don't know how you come up with these disgusting ideas."
"Please. I just inspire them. The executives and producers do the rest. Besides it isn't half as bad as the stuff that went on in Imperial Rome."
"Ah now this is better," said Aziraphale, seizing the remote control
"Aziraphale we are not watching another repeat of Fred Dibnah's World of Steam."
Seemingly forgetting that he could changed the channel just by blinking Crowley made a grab for the remote. Aziraphale however was too quick and moved it out of his reach. Not a demon to be easily defeated, Crowley attempted to pin the angel to the sofa and grab the prize from his hands. He hadn't however counted on Aziraphale be prepared to wrestle him to the floor.
Crowley quickly decided that being straddled by a triumphant angel was an altogether interesting experience. There was that odd, but not unpleasant, sensation in your stomach for one, and of course the feeling that your trousers were suddenly much too tight… Ah…. Oh bugger.
"Get off angel," he said, acutely aware of the immediate and pressing need for either a cold shower or a lie down.
"My dear," said Aziraphale, running a hand down his chest. "I'd able to take that last order a lot more seriously if you weren't holding onto my hips quite so tightly."
After that the remote lay abandoned under the coffee table. The 'who can get the other's shirt off fastest' game was, after all, far more interesting.
—
The following morning a young window cleaner working in Mayfair had to be rushed to hospital after falling from a ladder. Seeing two, very naked, male shaped entities asleep and entwined in the middle of the floor could really startle a boy.
—
"I think I know how to get rid of those Feegle's of yours," said Crowley a week later, as the angel rested his head on his shoulder. There were, he had decided, definite benefits to having Aziraphale around; but lurching between being driven mad and being driven wild was not the most relaxing of ways for one to exist.
"Oh, do tell."
Crowley told him.
Aziraphale laughed until tears of mirth began to streak down his face. "My dear, this really is one of your better ideas."
—
When they got to what had until recently been Aziraphale's bookshop they found the place littered with several thousands empty bottles. It was clear that the Feegles had sent forth a good many raiding parties to the local off-licence.
A large whisky bottle flew in the direction of Crowley's head.
"Ach quick lads, it's one o them lawyers," shouted a voice from somewhere amid the debris.
Hundreds of small blue heads, each wearing a venomous expression, seemingly rose from nowhere.
"Erm...gentlemen. I have a proposition for you," said Crowley, suddenly very much aware of why the creatures had managed to instil such worry in the minds of angels everywhere.
"Wa should we do Big Man?" asked another voice.
There was a long pause.
"Weel. We can always listen to wa he has ta say," said the Feegle who appeared to be the leader.
With that Crowley furnished the pictsies with a very detailed map of hell. It had various areas circled in red ink. Areas, which, due to some remarkable coincidence heavily corresponded to those place in which Dukes Hastur and Ligur were most partial to lurking.