Commission fic for underyourwings63 Hope you enjoy!
A/N: This fic is kind of a prequel to "Made In Heaven" as it features the ancestor of an OC in that story but you don't have to read them in any particular order; each story can be enjoyed on its own.
Premonitions
A Good Omens Fanfic
When a seer warns that Aziraphale might be in danger, Crowley vows to protect him at all costs—even at the cost of his own life.
Aziraphale sighed as he packed his bags. They were finally leaving France and heading back to England. The Hundred Years War—as it would one day be called, though at this point there had been quite a lot less of it—had been raging steadily and of course as with all great earthly conflicts, he and Crowley had found themselves right in the middle of rather more of it than they wished.
Thankfully, though, both of them were being reassigned to England once more, so they would at least be closer to what they had come to know as home.
"I'll be sad to see you go."
Aziraphale turned to a young knight he and Crowley had befriended. Sir Hugh Weymouth was a valiant young man, and his courage in battle and loyalty to his comrades knew no bounds. He'd even saved Aziraphale on a couple occasions.
He smiled a little sadly. "I'm sure we'll see each other again before long."
Sir Hugh nodded and turned around as the tent flap opened and Crowley came in. "It's almost dinner time. I know you don't want to miss it."
"Ah," Aziraphale nodded and started out of the tent, Sir Hugh following.
They had only taken a few steps before Sir Hugh stopped, putting a hand to his head with a wince.
"Sir Hugh?" Aziraphale asked worriedly.
"I'm fine, it's just a headache," he said with a small, dismissive smile.
Crowley eyed him. "Another vision?"
Aziraphale pressed his lips together. There was something more to Sir Hugh than just being a gallant knight. He had the powers of a seer. Sometimes, he would have precognitive dreams that would often be beneficial to the army, or sometimes pin-point one person's safety, letting the others know their comrade had to be protected. It didn't happen often, but everything he saw always seemed to come to pass.
"It might be just a headache, it was hot today," Sir Hugh said.
They didn't mention it again, and went to dinner before they went to their tents to sleep. Aziraphale didn't need to sleep but he rested all the same, knowing they would have a bit of a journey across the Channel tomorrow.
However, at the crack of dawn as soon as he and Crowley were getting their things loaded onto the cart that would take them to the boat, Sir Hugh ran up to them, looking pale and frightened.
"Sir Aziraphale! You mustn't go!"
Aziraphale looked at him in surprise. "Why-ever not?"
Crowley glanced over suspiciously.
"I dreamed last night," Sir Hugh told him. "In the dream you were on a boat and you drank something. I think it must have been poisoned because afterward you fell to the floor and couldn't breathe."
Aziraphale looked shocked. "That's what you saw? I have no idea…"
Crowley stepped forward. "That's all you saw? Nothing else?"
The young man shook his head. "It wasn't very clear, patchy. But it was obvious to me that you were in danger, Sir Aziraphale. And I would caution you against going on the boat."
"Well, if it's a matter of my drinking something, then I simply will not drink anything," Aziraphale said with a shrug, and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "I trust your visions, of course, but we know they can be easily altered by decisions as well. I'm sure I will be fine."
"But the implications!" Sir Hugh cried. "If there's an enemy aboard…"
"I'll take care of him," Crowley said firmly. "If there is an enemy we'll root him out before anything happens."
Sir Hugh still looked worried. "Perhaps I should come with you…"
"We'll be fine," Aziraphale assured him. "Your brothers in arms need you here."
Hugh nodded finally and looked to Crowley pleadingly. "Do look after him."
Crowley grinned. "You know I will."
They got on the cart and Aziraphale glanced back at Sir Hugh with a wave as it trundled away.
"What do you suppose that's all about?" Crowley asked. "I mean, what can poison an angel?"
"I don't know," Aziraphale said quietly, wondering that himself. "But he is right, there could be demons afoot."
"Or angels," Crowley shot back.
Aziraphale shot him a look, but obviously, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility either. He supposed they would just have to be alert.
The ship was small with about a ten-man crew, which would make rooting out any enemy that might be around easier at least.
They went below with their luggage, setting it in the hold and finding a place to sit.
"So…what is your next mission supposed to be, anyway?" Crowley asked.
"Oh, well, I don't know really. I'm supposed to pick up orders once I get to London," he said, glancing sideways. "You?"
"Ngk," Crowley shrugged noncommittally. "Same old stuff."
They stayed mostly to themselves at first, but it was stuffy in the hold and they both craved fresh air so they ended up on deck.
Aziraphale noticed Crowley looking around nervously and he sighed and touched the demon's shoulder. "I promise nothing will happen. I won't drink anything, dear."
Crowley huffed, folding his arms. "Fine, but you know how his visions work."
"I know," Aziraphale said. "But we don't have too much farther to go."
They made it across the Channel in good time and gathered their luggage, getting off on the docks. Aziraphale felt a moment of relief wash through him. Perhaps they had averted Sir Hugh's premonition after all. Sometimes they had found they could easily do so if the one in danger simply got out of the way of the perceived danger.
In any case, Aziraphale felt better, and went to find lodgings they could stay at until they got their next missions.
The inn Aziraphale stepped into smelled amazing, something cooking at the bar. Being on a battlefield for so long, it had been a while since he'd had decently cooked food, and though he didn't need to eat, he always took pleasure in it.
He ordered two portions and a bottle of wine for him and Crowley and sat down to wait for the demon.
Crowley came struggling in a few moments later with his ridiculous amount of baggage and Aziraphale got up to help him.
"Put those down, dear, and have something to eat."
Crowley followed him over to the table and Aziraphale sat and picked up his cup of wine. "I don't know how good this will be but—"
"Aziraphale, stop!" Crowley cried, gaining several looks from other patrons. "What the hell are you doing?"
Aziraphale looked at him. "Having a glass of wine and some roast beef?"
"Are you insane? What about Sir Hugh's premonition?"
"He only said I was in danger on the boat," Aziraphale protested.
"And yes, you didn't drink anything, but the minute we get back to England that's the first thing you decide to do?" Crowley demanded, snatching the drink away. "At least let me try it first."
"Crowley, no," Aziraphale protested, reaching for the cup, but Crowley pulled it away from him.
"Listen, if it's something that will hurt an angel, it probably won't affect me. But I'll be able to tell if something's wrong with it."
Aziraphale huffed but conceded as Crowley took a swallow of the drink, rolling it around his palate. He frowned, brows furrowing as if trying to figure something out, then slowly set the cup down on the table.
Someone got up from a table in the corner, cloaked in dark clothing with a hood pulled over his head, heading toward the door. Aziraphale had a suddenly very bad feeling about this and turned back to Crowley.
"Crowley, did you…"
The demon suddenly let out a sharp gasp, and clutched the table. Aziraphale was on his feet instantly. "Crowley?"
"Angel, some—something's wrong," Crowley croaked, grabbing his chest and throat as he collapsed onto his knees, before curling up on the floor, gasping for breath.
"Crowley!" Aziraphale cried, kneeling down and settling a hand on Crowley's shoulder as he looked around, pointing to the man who was leaving the inn. "Stop that man!" he cried.
Several patrons got up and dashed for the door but the man seemed to simply melt outside into the ground. A demon then. Then why…
"'Zira," Crowley grunted, every breath wheezing from his throat. "Can't…can't breathe!" He curled up tighter and let out a wracking cough red spattering against his lips.
Aziraphale pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth as he tried to figure out what he should do, in complete shock at this turn of events.
The innkeeper came over. "Sirs, what can I do? Call a physician?"
"I—no," Aziraphale said. "Just, if you have a room I can put him in."
The man nodded and motioned toward the stairs. "Of course. I'll have one of the lads bring up your luggage as well."
Aziraphale nodded and got Crowley to his feet with the help of the innkeeper and somehow managed to get him up the stairs and into the room the innkeeper directed them to.
Aziraphale practically carried Crowley over to the small bed and lowered him down. Crowley was still coughing and wheezing and doubled over. It was a strange poison, that was for sure, and Aziraphale needed to be alone to try and figure out what it was.
He turned to the innkeeper. "Can I get some extra blankets and water perhaps?" he asked.
The man nodded and hurried away.
Aziraphale turned back to the suffering demon and bent to loosen his tabard, pulling off his outer clothing to help him feel less constricted.
"Hold on, dear, let me have a look at you," he said and placed his hand against Crowley's chest, using his powers to try and see what was going on.
He wasn't entirely sure, to be honest, it was hard to see what was going on with demons, but he could tell there was great turmoil in his body.
"Feels like…fire," Crowley gasped before he coughed again, his lungs sounding wet. He swallowed convulsively and Aziraphale was pretty sure he had coughed up more blood.
"Like holy water?" he asked suspiciously.
Crowley shook his head and started hacking again, curling onto his side. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him, pulling him upright to better breathe. Blood spattered onto his shoulder and Crowley slumped against him, panting raggedly, clutching his chest.
"Don't know," he panted. "Demon, wasn't it?"
"I think so," Aziraphale told him. "It was meant for me. Oh, Crowley I'm so sorry. I should have listened to you. Why on earth did you have to go and drink the wine?!"
"Doesn't matter," the demon wheezed. "Was gonna happen." He choked again and clutched his throat.
Aziraphale frantically tried to think of what he could do. If this was a poison, then how long did Crowley even have? And would this be a permanent discorperation or would he be able to come back from it?
Aziraphale was pretty sure that it wouldn't be the latter.
The innkeeper came back in with some blankets and a bowl of water and cloths. Aziraphale thanked him and took the items, wrapping a couple of the blankets around Crowley. He didn't know if he was cold, but the demon was always cold so it was a good bet.
"Is there anything else I can do?" the innkeeper asked nervously.
"I don't know, I don't know what to do," Aziraphale said.
"I can call the doctor…"
"I don't think that will work either. Ask the men down there if they saw where the man in the cloak went. I believe he's the one who did this."
The man looked suddenly suspicious. "You some kind of spy or something?"
"No!" Aziraphale said firmly, turning back to Crowley as he fell into another coughing fit. "I promise we're not dangerous, my friend is just very sick."
The innkeeper nodded and left the room, leaving Aziraphale to go back to tending Crowley. The demon clutched at his arm.
"Zira," he rasped. "Look, if that demon comes back… you shouldn't be here."
"I'm not leaving," Aziraphale said firmly, taking his hand and pushing him back down onto the bed and wrapping the blankets around his shoulders. "And you'll be all right. Just hold on. I'll try to find something that will help."
Crowley coughed and groaned, weakly wiping blood from his lower lip. "I just feel like my lungs are being torn out."
Aziraphale felt his heart squeeze at this admission, hating to see his friend in so much pain.
"I'll do what I can. Just stay here for a moment while I go grab a few things."
Crowley hacked up more blood and nodded.
Aziraphale wiped his mouth and left the room, heading down to see if he could find some herbs that might work in a tea or a mustard plaster.
He found some things that the cook gave him and hurried back up to the room, finding Crowley in the midst of a coughing fit so violent that he was nearly falling off the bed. Aziraphale set the things on a table and rushed over and caught him, holding the demon as he finished the fit and began to breathe again—even if it was only raspy, short pants.
"I got some things that might help," he said. "Some tea, if you can drink."
Crowley tried as Aziraphale put the cup to his lips, but most of it slid out of the side of his mouth as he swallowed convulsively, his throat also seeming to be rather rough and painful.
Aziraphale helped him drink several sips of the tea, but then got up and went to the other stuff he had collected for a mustard plaster.
"Hopefully, this will help a little," he said.
Crowley groaned and Aziraphale mushed up the mixture, bringing it over to the bed and turning down Crowley's blankets, opening his tunic to apply the plaster to his thin chest.
"Ngk!" Crowley cried as the cold substance was applied.
"I know it doesn't feel nice, but hopefully it will help," the angel said.
"Burns!" Crowley complained, but his breath did seem to sound less labored afterward. Crowley lay in discomfort, several coughs breaking out as Aziraphale reached for more tea.
"Just try to relax and let it work," he said.
He got Crowley to drink some more tea, and then the demon fell into a doze, interrupted every once in a while with more coughing.
Aziraphale began to hope that he had been able to halt the progress of whatever poison Crowley had ingested, but later that night, the demon seemed to take a turn for the worst.
He started coughing uncontrollably again, and was so pale and out of breath, Aziraphale wondered what he could do.
More blood came from Crowley's lungs and he curled up and sobbed for breath. The plaster wasn't working anymore, so Aziraphale washed it off and bundled Crowley under the blankets again as he sat in a chair by the demon's bedside, clutching his hand and trying to do what he could to offer comfort.
"Don't have to stay, angel," Crowley rasped.
"I told you I was staying anyway, there's no way I'm leaving you like this," he said firmly.
Crowley's eyes drooped in exhaustion and he fell into a light doze as Aziraphale readjusted the blankets around him before slumping down and covering his face with a hand.
He couldn't believe he had been the cause of this. If he had just decided not to eat…
It should be him lying there, not Crowley.
If something terrible happened to the demon because of this, if he didn't recover…
Aziraphale was sure he would never forgive himself.
Sir Hugh shot up with a gasp breathing heavily, memories of the dream washing over him.
How could it be? First Sir Aziraphale and now Sir Crowley?
"Sir Hugh?"
He startled slightly at the voice of his squire coming from the pallet at his feet. "Is everything all right?"
"I had another vision, Gregory. I fear Sir Crowley might be in danger."
The boy sat up. "But him and Sir Aziraphale went back to England."
"I know, that's why I'm worried. Unless I can find out where they are exactly, I have no way of warning them. That is…if it hasn't already happened."
Gregory got up and lit a lamp, fetching a cup of water for Hugh. "Perhaps you will dream again. You know how it is. You don't always see everything all at once."
Hugh nodded and eagerly wet his mouth. "You're right. I can't do anything until I know more." Still, they were his friends and it hurt to leave them like this.
A man wearing a hood, walking out of an inn, taking a small glass vial from his pocket and smirking at it. When he put it away another bottle could be seen inside his belt pouch. The vision turned back toward the inn, showing the name "Sailor's Dream", then showed the man boarding a boat heading for France…
Sir Hugh woke in the morning to those strange premonitions and he instantly started putting them all together. That man, he had poison. But also an antidote? Could this be the man who had attacked both Sir Aziraphale and Sir Crowley in his visions? He still didn't know what had actually happened to his friends, but if this was the man he was looking for, then he needed to get to the port now.
"Gregory, saddle the horses," he said as he dressed quickly in traveling clothes and hurried out to tell his commander what he needed to do.
Soon he and his squire were on their way to the port, and got there in good time and stood watching the bustling crowds.
"We need to find any ships that have come from England," he said and they set out to do just that.
However, that turned unnecessary when Sir Hugh saw the man from his vision, walking along the docks.
"Gregory, that's him!" he cried and he and his squire pushed through the crowds to get to him.
The man seemed to see them coming, and he turned around, his eyes flashing red. Sir Hugh cried out in shock, drawing his sword. "Stop!" he shouted. "I have reason to believe you poisoned someone!"
The man—or whatever he was—snarled, looking suspicious. "Who are you then? You don't smell like an angel…"
He started to melt into the ground, but Sir Hugh acted quickly, slicing with his sword and severing the man's belt. It and the pouch fell to the ground as the man disappeared completely.
"Sir, what was that?" Gregory cried, shaken.
"I don't know," Sir Hugh said as he knelt and looked into the pouch, indeed pulling out two vials of liquid, one the red he had seen the man carrying, and the other a blue. Perhaps it was the antidote!
"We need to get to England," he told Gregory. "Sir Crowley's life depends on it!"
It was three days and Crowley only faded more each day.
Aziraphale did everything he could, but the demon looked like he was wasting away before his very eyes. He'd grown so pale and thin and the continuous coughing had damaged his lungs and cracked a couple ribs, which made every subsequent coughing fit even more torturous.
Crowley looked like he was on death's door and Aziraphale had no idea what he could do, wracked with guilt over the fact that this should have been him and one stupid, meaningless decision had put his friend in this position.
There was a commotion out in the hall and he frowned, wishing the other people would be quieter, until the door to their room slammed open and Aziraphale whipped around, seeing a familiar face barge inside.
"Sir, I'm sorry!" he innkeeper cried from behind the new arrival. "'e just forced 'is way in!"
"Sir Hugh!" Aziraphale cried, then quickly turned to the innkeeper. "It's all right, he's a friend."
"Sir Aziraphale!" Hugh cried, then his eyes fell onto the bed and his breath caught in his throat. Crowley chose that moment to start another coughing fit, wheezing weakly, and Aziraphale rushed over to try and help him.
"It's all my fault!" the angel cried. "Your vision was correct, someone poisoned my wine, but I didn't drink it until we got here on land, and Crowley insisted on tasting it first and now..." Crowley whimpered and curled around his damaged ribs.
Sir Hugh strode forward, settling a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. "It's all right, I brought the antidote." He reached into his belt pouch and brought out the vial, handing it to Aziraphale. "I saw what happened and met with the man who did it on the docks."
Aziraphale exclaimed in relief, taking the small bottle and popping the cork. "Oh, Sir Hugh, thank you."
The knight helped to prop Crowley up while Aziraphale coaxed the antidote into his mouth. It took a little for Crowley to swallow it, but Aziraphale felt better when it all got into Crowley.
"What now?" he wondered out loud.
"I didn't see his recovery, but I am sure that I was meant to find this for a reason," Sir Hugh said as he pulled up another chair and sat down beside Aziraphale while they both watched Crowley sleep.
"You can't blame yourself," he said after a while, seeing the guilt radiating from the angel.
"But it's my fault," Aziraphale said wretchedly. "If you hadn't come…"
"Just be glad I was guided here then," Sir Hugh said with a small smile, squeezing Aziraphale's shoulder.
They sat until dawn, and when the sun broke above the horizon, Crowley stirred and opened his eyes.
Aziraphale was leaning over him instantly, noticing the color back on his cheeks. "Crowley?"
"Mmm," the demon murmured, reaching up to rub his throat. "Hey."
His voice was still rough, but he hadn't coughed since the antidote had been delivered either so Aziraphale was sure he was on the mend. He grinned broadly. "How are you feeling?"
Crowley looked around. "Tired, sore but…better."
"I'm glad," Aziraphale said, setting his hand on Crowley's arm. "I'm so sorry, dear, I was foolish and this is really my fault."
"Stop blaming yourself," Crowley murmured. "Promised to keep you safe didn't I?"
"You did," Sir Hugh added with a small smile.
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale sighed, but felt a warmth in his heart that he had such good friends.
They parted ways a couple days later after Crowley had had sufficient time to recover. Sir Hugh was headed back to France of course, and Aziraphale and Crowley were heading to their next jobs.
"I wish you the best, Sir Hugh," Aziraphale told the young man. "Do be sure to let us know if we can ever return the favor."
Sir Hugh smiled and clasped his hand. "I will let you know if my dreams indicate you are in danger again."
"Thanks," Crowley told him with a nod before Hugh and Gregory boarded their ship that would take them back to the battlefield. Aziraphale sighed.
"Stop it, angel," Crowley growled. "I'm fine."
"You weren't," Aziraphale returned.
It was Crowley's turn to sigh. "Look, way I see it, could have happened anyway. I'm just glad he didn't find out the two of us were having dinner together."
Aziraphale hadn't even thought of that, but now that he realized it, perhaps the situation could have gone far worse than it had. "I suppose you're right."
Crowley snorted. "Imagine me looking on the bright side." He glanced around and his shoulders slumped. "I need to go, though. I'm sure we'll see each other around."
"Yes," Aziraphale agreed sadly, and shook the demon's hand. "Do be careful, Crowley."
"You too, you don't have me around to look after you," Crowley said with a small smirk and turned around to disappear into the crowd.
Aziraphale turned in the opposite direction and went off to find a coach to London, wishing he could stay with his friend for a little bit longer.
But then, that was the job, and Crowley was right. Somehow they always managed to meet up no matter where they went.