Hi again, lovely readers! The inspiration for what could happen next after season 2 just won't cease, so here is my first ever multichaptered Good Omens fic. It's going to be a rescue story and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please note that I made up my own rules for angel/demon physiology and there's also a little bit of swearing involved because Crowley is stressed, haha. ;)
We pick up right after season 2 ended so get ready for some emotional ineffable idiots. Happy reading!
Chapter 1:
Crowley had been driving in total silence for Satan knows how long. The soft purr of the engine that always used to make him smile did nothing to calm him this time. In his demonic mind a cacophony of angry thoughts were blaring at him at full volume:
Why did you have to say anything at all? Why couldn't you just shut your mouth? Stupid demon! Bloody, fucking disaster! How could you think he cares about you? Shouldn't he care about everything? Not about a demon, you idiot! Not like that. Why did you think there could be more? Why do you even care!? He could never love you!
That last thought repeated itself over and over again. The loudest of them all. Causing Crowley to put his foot down on the accelerator even though his trusty Bentley was at its top speed already. He didn't know where he was going. Had just picked a direction at random and stuck with it. He just needed to get away from it all.
Crowley reached for the bottle clamped between his legs and took a swig, emptying it fully. He threw it in the legroom next to him and grabbed a new bottle from the passenger seat. Just any old booze. Anything but wine. Crowley didn't want to stop anywhere to buy alcohol so he just miracled himself some. It just seemed like it wasn't doing the trick it usually did. I didn't make him tipsy. Make him don't care. Make him forget.
It was all still there. All these feelings. And if Crowley would stop, he might actually have to think about how much it all hurt.
The road has ended a while back. He had come to a crossroad that only seemed to take him back where he came from, so, instead of following it, he just went straight on over the grassy fields. The Bentley moaned under the uneven path; it preferred the tarred streets of central London, but Crowley's sheer stubborn will had kept it going.
In front of him the horizon suddenly, abruptly, opened to blue. The sky met the sea and the path finally ended for good at the edge of a cliff.
Crowley clamped his hands around the steering wheel. It would be so easy to just drive on. To just not care. Maybe the Bentley would fly. He could make it fly, he thought. But wasn't it easier to fall? Wasn't he destined to fall? Always and forever?
The demon clenched his teeth and stomped onto the break with both feet. The tyres moaned as the car slid over the ground, carving deep furrows into the grass.
The Bentley stopped. Inches away from the abyss.
Crowley kept sitting there, staring ahead. He listened to the soft ticking of the engine as it cooled down and to his own haggard, unnecessary breathing. Then he got out of the car.
He stumbled a bit. So the booze did have some effect at least. Just not enough to quell the pain. Crowley stood like a sharp, trembling black finger on the edge of a white cliff. Presumably the south border of the island he'd called home for quite a long time now.
Couldn't go forward. Couldn't go back. Home was filled with memories now. Too many of them and even the good ones, in a cruel twist of faith, caused his chest to burn with unbearable pain.
Because Aziraphale was everywhere. All the time. Crowley had followed him all these years like a lost puppy, hoping for attention. Nudging at him only to get rejected again and again. He should have seen it coming. It was never meant to work out, was it? Their natures were too conflictive to find common ground.
Did he ever fully trust me?
The demon's body shook. His insides pulsing and throbbing with rage and pain. Sadness and rejection. Too much to keep it in for one more second. And at the same time the world was mocking him. With its blue sky and calm breeze and with the stupid steady push and pull of the waves.
Nothing was steady anymore for Crowley! He had lost everything. His counterpart. His companion. His friend. And if he were here now, he would probably smile at the stunning view and remark how beautiful it all is. But he wouldn't look at him. He wouldn't see him. Never him!
He could never love you!
The storm cloud appeared very suddenly and instantly darkened the sky from blue to an ominous grey and violet. When the first thunder clapped the noise almost swallowed the heartbroken scream of the demon standing on top of the cliff. Crowley finally allowed himself to cry and the rain started to pour hard and fat and unrelenting. Lightning flashed across the sky, but it had an unusual, dangerously-looking red colour. Then the wind was picking up and spread the dark cloud as far as the eye could reach.
Crowley was drenched to the bone in seconds. He stomped towards the car, opened the passenger seat and started hurling every last bottle of alcohol over the edge of the cliff. Every time the glass smashed to the rocks below the thunder roared, drowning out Crowley's earth-shattering cries of agony. Heartbroken over the love he had lost. When he had no more bottles to throw, he continued with his potted plants on the back seat.
As the storm raged and Crowley cried, the sudden change of direction of the wind caused a boat to shatter on the coast. Several large branches fell onto the only road that lead to this part of the countryside, blocking it for several hours. A tree even took down an electrical tower. Some parts of a nearby village were flooded and the power should only come back on the next day.
It was a miracle that no one was seriously hurt. No one but one, but he wasn't human. And he felt like he deserved the pain.
"And this would be your office, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale." The Metatron emphasized with flourish. "You're generally too important to even have a desk, but I thought you would want one."
There was a pause in which Aziraphale realized he should say something. "Oh… oh, yes… j-jolly good." he stammered. The Metatron grinned, pleased with themselves. Then they turned around, continuing to tell Aziraphale all about his new workplace and the fussy angel was back to not really listening.
Ever since they had stepped out of the lift and arrived in Heaven, Aziraphale had desperately tried to freeze his facial features to a somewhat friendly half-smile while behind this mask he was in agonising turmoil.
And all because of… his lips twitched, thinking about him... all because of Crowley.
Until now Aziraphale didn't have one moment to himself to process what had happened and what it all meant. Well, he knew what it meant; he'd always known somehow. He'd felt it. Felt it coming off of his companion in big, glaringly loud waves down in the bookshop. But why did Crowley have to choose now to tell him? Why not four years ago after preventing Armageddon?
Aziraphale could still feel Crowley's lips upon his. The action had come so sudden, so hard and desperate that it had scared the angel. But ever since, every time he felt the burning of the kiss beginning to fade, Aziraphale wanted to hold on to it by touching his lips. He had to fight the urge, though; he couldn't risk drawing attention to himself. Couldn't risk them realizing how distraught he still was by leaving Earth and his only true friend behind or everything would've been in vain.
If there had been more time, he could have explained it all to Crowley. The chance they have been given. He could change things in Heaven now; he had the authority to do so. Naturally, Aziraphale would have loved to have his soulmate beside him, but even if Crowley didn't want to return, he could still make things better for them, right?
Why couldn't Crowley see that?
Aziraphale could change things for the long haul. He could make it so that they would never be followed or spied upon again. So that they would never have to fear consequences for being in love. That was all Aziraphale wanted. Wasn't it what Crowley wanted, too?
When Aziraphale would return successful from foiling whatever Heaven's new battle plan was, would Crowley still be there, waiting for him? What if he wasn't? What if his hasty departure to Heaven without explaining his full intentions had broken their 6000 year friendship forever?
Aziraphale was shaking terribly by now, but hastily reminded himself to keep smiling and nodding whenever The Metatron spoke to him. His angelic heart that pumped celestial life force through him, throbbed quickly. He wanted to cry but couldn't. Not before this was all over. Not before they were together once more.
If they would ever be together again.
The thought of ending up alone in the end scared Aziraphale so much that it must've been clearly visible on his face, but fortunately everyone was distracted when, all of a sudden, an alarm rang out. Worriedly, he looked at The Metatron, expecting to be found out by the loud turmoil in his mind. But instead Uriel stepped towards them.
"Your Eminence, there has been a miraculous disturbance… downstairs." Uriel emphasized.
"Down down?" The Metatron asked.
Uriel looked cautiously between Aziraphale and The Metatron. "No." they then said calmly. "Earth."
Aziraphale raised his brows, but before he could say anything, The Metatron jumped into action. "Then I should take care of this myself. I trust you find everything to your liking, Aziraphale?"
"Um, ah… yes, of course." mumbled Aziraphale.
"Excellent. I leave you to your duties then."
The Metatron and Uriel started to leave this large, open space of Heaven that was supposed to be Aziraphale's office. "Um, I-I'm sorry… Your, ah… Metatron?" he said hurriedly and followed the two angels. "Shouldn't it be my call to look into this disturbance?"
"Not to worry." said The Metatron dismissively. "You're just settling in. Let me handle this. You'll soon have more important things to do."
They wanted to walk on, but Aziraphale wouldn't let them. "Oh, but I insist!" he said, offering what he hoped was a disarming smile. "I… I still feel quite attached to my old stomping ground and as the one who knows Earth best, as you said, I feel it is my duty to see to this." Without waiting for a reply, Aziraphale eagerly strode past the two entities. Missing a glance they were throwing at each other.
"As you wish." said The Metatron ominously.
They all made their way to a model of Earth, floating in place like a large blue-green beach ball. A bright red cone of light radiated from one point on the surface. "Oh." said Aziraphale in surprise. "It seems to be of demonic nature."
The Metatron and Uriel exchanged another look.
"Must be something quite big if we pick up on it, mustn't it? A grand scale demonic attack maybe? So soon?" wondered Aziraphale and carefully put his fingers onto the origin point of the red light to zoom in.
He was nervous about possibly having to make decisions about battle strategics already. After all, he was here because he hoped for peace not for war. But, on the other hand, it was a welcome distraction. Something he really had to take his mind to. It wasn't like he hadn't just smitten his fair share of demons in the bookshop. Aziraphale was sure he could handle this.
But then he saw the thunderstorm. And the lone figure clad in black that stood in the eye of it. Not a whole legion, just one demon.
Crowley.
Kneeling at the edge of a cliff. Screaming and crying his heart out.
Aziraphale couldn't stop himself from gasping audibly. All his carefully compiled composure was shaking and breaking apart at the sight of his beloved demon. He wasn't able to hear what Crowley was screaming, but he knew him for millennia and he'd never seen him so upset.
Tears were streaming from his face that was pinched in sorrow, mixing with the rain. He could see the pain, the rejection, the desperate question of why in his yellow-gleaming eyes. He could feel the heartbreak like it was his own.
And all because of him?
Aziraphale didn't realize that he had started crying, too. Tears were running from his face without resistance and when he finally noticed he was too scared to turn around and show them.
But he knew with absolute certainty what he had to do.
"I… I need to return to Earth." Aziraphale sobbed gingerly. "There w-were things left unsaid… between me and the demon Crowley."
"It's too late for that." said The Metatron. "Your duties lie elsewhere."
Quickly, Aziraphale wiped over his cheeks and turned around. "I-I know, but…" He lost his breath, faced with the mistake he'd made and choked by the horrible guilt within him. "I can make this stop. I can make him understand. Please..." he pleaded, turning away from the angels once more to look at Crowley. The demon had slung his arms around his own rake-thin body, rocking himself. A lonely embrace. He must think it was all over. But it wasn't! Not for Aziraphale.
"We just need to talk." whispered the angel after a pause.
"I'm afraid we can't let you do that." The Metatron said firmly. "We can't risk you figuring out what you can do together."
Aziraphale furrowed his brows. He wanted to turn around and ask what they meant by that, but before he had the chance something struck him severely from behind and, all of a sudden, Aziraphale's whole world turned pitch black.