AN: I had this idea not long after I met Neil Gaiman for the third time. He signed my copy of "Good Omens" as "to my friend Hayley" so by gum I have to write something. So this is a thing. It's dumb, it's silly, it's very short, and I wanted to get it out of my system before I forgot it existed. Good Omens is property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Freddie Mercury did not die, he simply ascended to a higher plane of existence.

The Bentley sped down the thoroughfare at breakneck speed, Crowley at the wheel and Aziraphale sitting shotgun.

"Shall I play some music, Azzy?" asked Crowley, eyes motioning to the cassette player.

"If you insist," replied Aziraphale, "but for goodness sakes, I hope it isn't another blasted Queen tape. And stop calling me Azzy."

"It won't be, I promise," said Crowley quickly. "I wish this car had tapes that weren't bloody Queen all the bloody time. Also, no, I won't stop calling you that. I think it's cute."

"You never think anything is cute!"

As the Bentley stopped at a red light, Crowley fished around the glove compartment for a tape that wasn't The Best of Queen, pulling out one that was rather dusty and slightly unspooled.

"This one good enough for you?" Crowley handed the battered old tape to Aziraphale. Aziraphale adjusted his spectacles and read the name of the tape.

"Well, this isn't The Best of Queen, that's for damn sure."

"What is it, then?" asked Crowley, impatiently. "Also, why hasn't this bloody red light turned green yet?"

"The tape says A Higher Plane of Existence on it," answered Aziraphale matter-of-factly, "haven't you ever listened to this tape before?"

"I must have left it in that glove compartment a long time ago," Crowley shrugged. He respooled the tape, popped it into the cassette player and pressed the play button. The familiar opening chorus of "Somebody To Love" burst out of the stereo.

"GODDAMNIT, CROWLEY. I JUST WANTED TO LISTEN TO SOMETHING NOT BY QUEEN!" Aziraphale roared.

"It must be this blasted car, it turns all the tapes into Queen tapes when I'm not looking," said Crowley, covering his ears to block the rage of the angel next to him in the car.

Suddenly, the ground in front of the Bentley cracked open, and up from the chasm rose a man wearing tight white pants and a yellow leather jacket, carrying a microphone and sporting very prominent moustache.

"Damnit, Crowley, what did you do now?" Aziraphale gave Crowley a dirty look. (Not that kind of dirty look.) Crowley was speechless, staring at the man floating out of the chasm.

The man hovered in the air, and spoke in a sassy British accent.

"ANTHONY CROWLEY, FALLEN ANGEL." He stared at Crowley, straight into what felt like the very pit of his soul. "I AM THE SPIRIT OF FREDDIE MERCURY. HOW DARE YOU DISLIKE MY MUSIC?"

"I never said I disliked it, Mr. Mercury," Crowley sputtered, clearly starstruck and terrified at the same time. "I only said I wish my car played other music than your Best Of tape…"

"THAT IS NO EXCUSE. YOU MUST HAVE FORGOTTEN WHO I TRULY AM." Freddie's gaze had fixed onto Aziraphale and was not letting go.

"Who are you, really?" Aziraphale asked, his manner suddenly calm and conversational.

"I AM AN ANGEL OF THE LORD!" bellowed Freddie, and suddenly he sprouted large, elegant, luxurious wings from his back. He flapped his wings a couple of times, filling the air with the echoing sound of drumbeats mingled with wingbeats.

"They're bigger than yours," Crowley whispered to Aziraphale.

"Oh, stop it, you," muttered Aziraphale, blushing.

"I AM AN ANGEL OF THE LORD, AND BY YOUR CHOOSING OF THIS TAPE, THE LAST TAPE IN YOUR CAR, I CAN FINALLY ESCAPE THE PRISON OF YOUR CAR AND ASCEND TO WHERE I TRULY BELONG."

"Your soul was trapped in my Bentley?" Crowley cocked his head, utterly confused.

"YES. YES IT WAS," answered the angel Freddie Mercury. "…DON'T QUESTION IT."

And with that, the angel Freddie Mercury flapped his wings and soared higher and higher and higher into the sky until the clouds had swallowed him out of sight.

A minute passed. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other quizzically, until one finally broke the silence.

"I think it's time we go music shopping," Crowley said, ejecting the tape and tossing it out the window of the car.

"The show must go on, indeed," said Aziraphale with a smile. He leaned back in his seat and smiled broadly. "Onwards?"

"Onwards," replied Crowley with a grin. The light turned green, and the Bentley zoomed off, towards the next destination on their unplanned vacation.