GOOD OMENS 3

FireFenix

Chapter 2

*note: It has been the present day since Eleyn's scene last chapter, I forgot to add that, my bad. Enjoy! :)

CHAPTER 2 – SAVE ME

The demon known as Crowley awoke with a start in his vintage 1933 black Bentley, his hand clutching his chest as he drew ragged and shallow breaths, gasping for air. A cold sweat invaded his forehead, sliding down and slightly burning his eyes.

Unable to calm himself, he hectically began feeling around for the door handle, pulling forcefully when his fingers came into contact with the cold metal. He gave a strong push, making the door fly open, and Crowley fell to the ground on all fours, his long fiery hair hanging on the sides of his face. He stayed there, paralyzed, hyperventilating, drenched in sweat, tears of shock cascading down his face and onto the floor, as he allowed the cool night air of London envelope him, slowing his breathing little by little. When he had regained the ability to move he pushed himself off the ground and sat up, laying his back on the Bentley and pushing his hair back with a swift move of his hand. It had been a nightmare. Or a memory. Or both.

Out of nowhere, his head began to pound violently, causing the demon to twitch in pain. After a few initial seconds of shock and confusion, he remembered the three empty bottles of scotch which sat on the back of the Bentley, drained of every single drop of alcohol they contained. After a few groans and hisses Crowley's hellish hangover vanished, and he swore under his breath, like he had done so many times before. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, the feeling of the cool breeze soothing on his skin. Just when he thought the night couldn't get any weirder, he heard a voice, like a whisper, travelling in the air, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

...Crowley...
...she needs you...
...go to her...
...Saint Jame's...
...you must go, now!...

Right that second, the Bentley's radio switched on and Freddie Mercury's potent voice torn through the silence of the night, making Crowley stand and spin around in shock.

Save me, save me, save me!
I can't face this life alone...
Save me, save me, oh!
I'm naked and I'm far from home...

Crowley jumped back inside the car, switching off the radio and allowing the nocturnal calmness to engulf London once again. His heart hammered against his chest as a feeling of profound urgency invaded him. He hadn't the faintest idea why, but he had to go to Saint James's Park immediately; he felt it in his gut, in his fingertips. Without giving it a second thought, he glanced at the ignition key and the Bentley's engine roared, eager to move, sensing its master's anxiety. Crowley pressed hard on the accelerator, making the tires creek as he sped forward.

...

Aziraphale reopened his eyes, gasping for air as the brightness of Heaven rematerialized around him. His hands shook violently and he could feel his heart's anxious pounds in his gut. The angel's mind rushed, the gravity of what he had just done beginning to settle.

Since the day he left Earth, Aziraphale had become a slave to The Metatron, the latter controlling him like a mindless puppet; a simple means to get whatever he wanted without the slightest opposition. The angel had wanted to say no every single time; yet The Metatron's threat to Crowley left him with no choice. If he did so much as try to oppose the ethereal being...the thought of it made him shiver, the image of a blue and gold dagger flashing past his mind. His hands were completely tied.

However, even Aziraphale had his limits. A few days ago, The Metatron had summoned him to speak of the Second Coming. God's second child, he explained, was about to reach adulthood, so the process could at last begin. Before it could start, however, there was the matter of her family and friends. They had to go, for the child's only family was to be the Almighty.

- You want me to do what? - the Supreme Archangel had asked the floating head, horrified.

- I dislike repeating myself, cherub - the other had snapped back.

- But...the poor girl...I can't possibly... - his voice shook - she'd be in so much pain... -

- Well, yes, for a little while - The Metatron agreed, pleased with himself - but as soon as she pops up here, I'll do the old mind wipe and she won't remember a thing -

- Up...here? - Aziraphale reiterated in a mere whisper, his breathing shallow and erratic.

A mischievous grin played on The Metatron's lips as shock and impotence grazed the angel's face, the ethereal being's silence a sign that Aziraphale had, indeed, understood his evil intentions.

- She will agonize... - he said, his voice at breaking point.

- Extraordinarily - the other coldly remarked - but it will be for the greater good -

- For your greater good, you mean - Aziraphale said crossly, his hate for The Metatron ascending by the second.

- Perhaps -

- No - said the Supreme Archangel firmly - I won't do it. I...I refuse to hurt that young woman -

- I know you do - the ethereal being stated - which is why I've already sent Michael, Uriel and Saraqael on your behalf - his eyes glinted in pure evilness.

- You...- Aziraphale felt the anger surging inside of him, his fists clenched tightly on his sides.

- And, of course, you can do nothing to stop me unless you want your friend, Crowley - he emphasized the name, rubbing salt in the wound - to be destroyed along with the girl's family. Consider this meeting a formality, merely to keep you up to date -

Before Aziraphale could insult him, The Metatron's giant head vanished with a small puff, the echo of his cruel laugh lingering between the pristine, white walls. Right there and then, the Supreme Archangel had decided to act. He couldn't let The Metatron go through with this, and he missed Crowley dearly. Having had enough of being a puppet, he took a few days to prepare his move. It was already too late for her family and friends; but he was still in time to save Eleyn's life. Or, rather, to ask a friend to do it for him.

Here he was now, two days later, having just performed the miracle which would, he hoped, ensure Eleyn's safety, making a run for the giant globe which levitated in the middle of Heaven, his eyes fixed on the silhouette of England. The Metatron hadn't realized yet, but it wouldn't take him long, so Aziraphale had to get the hell out of there before he did. He would be safe once he got to the bookshop. At least, for the time being.

...

The Bentley skidded to a halt just before the gate which led to St. James's Park and its door flew open, almost spitting Crowley out. The demon ran into the darkened park, his heart pounding heavily. He prayed - well, not "technically" prayed, he was a demon after all - that he wasn't too late. For what, he hadn't the faintest idea, but he really hoped he'd got there in time. He sped around the empty pond, still and cold in the darkness, the ducks having retreated to the safety of the lush plants on its shores, until he reached a very familiar part of the park and stopped dead, gasping for air, his golden eyes sparkling in the night. Normally, the animals would have surrounded him in a matter of seconds, used to the rain of frozen peas which they knew arrived every time the scarlet-haired stranger appeared on the shore; often accompanied by another with white-blonde hair and plump, delicate features. After feeding the ducks, angel and demon would withdraw to their favorite bench and sit together, enjoying each other's company and conversation throughout the long afternoons.

This time, however, a quiet sob and nervous crying told Crowley that their bench was already occupied. For some reason, a great sense of relief washed over him as he turned and saw the young woman sitting there, in the shadows, alive and...quite not well, but, at least, alive. The demon's gaze travelled down to the charged firearm which she held with trembling hands, its barrel pointed dangerously towards her. Crowley understood the situation immediately, the desire to help her burning inside his soul. Now he understood why he needed to be here tonight. Save me. He had to save her from herself.

When he took a slow step towards her, the girl noticed him and looked up, a shocked gasp leaving her dried-up lips. He stopped and raised his hands in a vulnerable position, his amber gaze soft and tender.

- Bit late to feed the ducks, isn't it? - he said with his trademark nonchalance – They're all asleep – she didn't reply, eyeing the demon with pain-struck eyes – Mind if I sit? - Crowley pointed at the free space beside her on the bench.

- I want...to be alone, please – she said, her voice feeble and weak.

- Obviously – the demon nodded his head – that's why I'm not leaving you alone – he put his hair up in a half-bun as he said this, then walked over to the bench and sat down beside her with a groan in his usual, relaxed manner – so, what's your story? - he asked, his gaze locked on the pale reflection of the moon in the water.

- Please leave me alone – Eleyn repeated, tears beginning to form in the corners of her already puffy eyes.

- Not until you've given me that gun – he sighed heavily as she turned her head towards him in shock, quickly looking back at the floor when he turned to her – Listen, whatever happened to you, killing yourself won't make it better. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Dying is not fun -

- You have...no idea...what I've been through – tears now rolled down her reddened cheeks.

- No – Crowley said – no, I don't. That's why I asked. What's your story? - he reiterated his question.

- My story... - she gave a small scoff, followed by a sniff – you wouldn't believe me if I told you -

- Oh, you'd be surprised of all the things I believe in – he chuckled at himself – witches, ghosts, magic... -

- Angels? - Eleyn interrupted, looking him in the eyes.

Crowley felt a chill up his spine, the image of Aziraphale sitting where she sat materializing in front of his eyes. If he hadn't had his dark sunglasses over his eyes, Eleyn would have seen his watery eyes. After a few moments of silence he groaned, fighting back the tears, and answered.

- Yes – he simply stated – Angels, demons, God...the lot -

- They did this – she explained tearfully, her voice shaking hard – all of it -

- The angels? - Crowley asked, trying his best to hide his infinite concern, his heart beginning to race.

- Three of them – she continued – They called themselves the Archangels – she took a shallow, nervous breath before beginning her furious rant – Three days ago, I had a family, and friends, and people who cared about me – she began to cry hard – and now I have nothing. They took them all away. My mom, my dad, my little brother...all of them, gone, just like that – she aggressively snapped her fingers – vanished into thin air – she stopped, gasping for air – they took... everything -

- Bastards... - the demon whispered. A deep feeling of compassion for the young girl burst inside of him, making silent tears fall from his eyes.

- I...don't have...anyone – she said, sniffing hard, her voice cracking – so, I figured, what the hell? It's not like anyone's going to miss me, anyway –

She decisively lifted the gun to her head as she said this, determined to pull the trigger. Just as she was about to, however, the strange man grabbed her wrist tightly, making her freeze mid-act. For just a few seconds, only their shallow breathing could be heard throughout the park.

- Don't – Crowley begged, shaking his head, his own voice beginning to tremble – It's not worth it. If you pull that trigger, they'll have won – he took a deep, shaky breath, her skin cold and fragile under his touch – They took everything from me, too – he admitted, the tears beginning to blur his vision under the sunglasses – and there was nothing I could do...so I just drank, and drank, and woke up with a hangover and then drank again. I let them win – he paused to catch his breath – You can't -

- If whatever I did justifies this kind of punishment – she sobbed – perhaps I deserve to die -

- Nobody deserves death – he hissed, then briefly glanced upwards – and they don't deserve to win. Don't give them that satisfaction. For the both of us. – he drew a shallow breath – Please, give me the gun -

She didn't move, and neither did he. An agonizing silence hung on the air for a long, nerve-wracking moment before Eleyn burst into tears, letting the gun drop and Crowley's hand slip past her wrist to grab it. As soon as he had it in hand, the demon chucked the pistol away towards the lake and it miraculously disappeared into nothingness. He wrapped a strong arm around her and held her in a tight embrace, his other hand placed securely on the back of her head. Crowley stroked her hair tenderly as she broke down, trying his best not to do the same.

-That's it... – he whispered – that's it. You're alright. I've got you... -

He stared up at the darkened sky, his mind racing. Three Archangels... Michael, Uriel and Saraqael. They had rendered unspeakable damage to this poor girl, leaving her scared and alone, doomed to die. The inevitable question crossed his mind, its mere existence making Crowley's heart shrink in pain. Had Aziraphale given the order? No. He denied it the next second. He was the purest-hearted, most angelic angel of all Heaven. He couldn't have done this, not his angel. However, the possibility of it still gnawed at him. After all, three years ago, he would have bet his right arm that Aziraphale would never leave the bookshop; and yet...

Crowley held Eleyn in his soothing embrace for a few long minutes and she slowly calmed down, the sobbing finally subsiding. She knew nothing of this man, nor who he was, but she felt inexplicably safe with him. As she leaned on him, taking deep breaths to pull herself together, she began to feel cold; exhaustion crawling up to her when her adrenaline levels finally plummeted. She began to quiver, and the stranger noticed immediately.

-Come on - he said, carefully releasing her - you need to rest. We should go -

She nodded, her pale face a sign that she could pass out any moment, her knees threatening to give out as she got up. Crowley stood and gently propped her up, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders to keep her from toppling backwards. He then grabbed her arm lightly and guided her towards the Bentley as fast as he could, hoping they'd get there before her legs decided to give up. When they reached the car, its doors flew open as though sensing the urgency of the situation, and Crowley sat Eleyn down on the copilot's seat before jumping in front of the wheel, the girl struggling to remain conscious. He decided then that he would take her to Aziraphale's bookshop, where he could lie her down on the small sofa by the window and let her sleep. Muriel would be quite surprised, but he knew she wouldn't hesitate to give the weakened girl shelter and care. All in all, she wasn't the worst of Heaven's lot.

As he carefully maneuvered through the streets of London Soho, his thoughts trailed back to the impending doubt: Aziraphale. Crowley was well aware of Eleyn's current, fragile state; and he could imagine that answering inquiries was the last thing she wanted to do right now, but the fear that Aziraphale might have been involved gnawed restlessly at him.

-Can I ask you something? - he said, eyes never leaving the road.

-Hmm- the girl said in reply, at the brink of consciousness

-The three archangels - he paused, thinking of a way to articulate the question - did…did they mention a Supreme Archangel? Did they say who sent them? -

-Mhmm - she thought in silence - they said…- she could barely put words together - they…said…the Divine…Principality… - She stopped talking.

-What? - he hissed, his pulse quickening - the Divine Principality what? -

His answer came in the form of a head collapsing onto his shoulder. The exhaustion, and probably dehydration, had finally gotten the better of her. Crowley let out a low groan and sped up, eager to reach the warmth and safety of the bookshop. Not long after, he'd parked just outside "Give me coffee or give me Death" and was carefully scooping Eleyn up from the Bentley. The car shut itself when the demon walked away. Without hesitation, Crowley charged at the door, shielding the girl, making it fly open with a dry hit of the shoulder. The bell chimed violently and Muriel, sat on the red velvet chair reading a book, jumped up in shock.

-You? - she asked in disbelief - what are you…? - she gasped upon noticing the unconscious girl in his arms.

-She needs help - he hissed, setting her gently down on the sofa - and rest. She passed out from exhaustion -

-But - Muriel stammered - Who is she? -

-I don't know, but she has suffered in a way no human ever should - he summarized - I was sent to save her by…I don't know what by, but I had to save her. She tired to take her life -

-Oh, no! - the cherub put a hand over her mouth - the poor thing! Who would do such a thing? -

-How about your bosses? - Crowley snarled

-No! - she shrieked, scandalized - Heaven would never…-

-Oh, they would - the demon said, his voice filled with despair - and they have -

-Um…- she hesitated, unsure what to say - I..I'll go get a blanket for her…and some water for when she wakes up, too - she coughed - Yeah, that's what I'll do -

-Get me some wine and a glass while you're at it, will you?- he demanded - I need a drink -

-I don't have that - she said, fidgeting nervously - but I do have tea if you'd like. Or hot chocolate. If you want, I could…-

-No, It's fine - he growled impatiently - just go get her stuff. Move! -

She nodded and wandered off up the stairs, leaving Crowley alone to throw himself on the puffy chair, close to Eleyn. The bookshop still smelled of old leather and parchment paper, just like Aziraphale. Its warmth and familiarity enveloped the demon like a fragile embrace, a symphony. Here he felt at home, safe, protected. To this day, it still remained his favorite place in the world.

...

Another term of the pact the newly-appointed Supreme Archangel and The Metatron had made was that the first would never, under any circumstance, go back to Earth. To ensure this part of the deal was kept, aside from the usual threats to Crowley's existence, The Metatron had doubled security on all gates to heaven under the excuse that a demon had managed to sneak inside. However, behind everybody's backs, he had instructed these guards to avoid Aziraphale's escape at all costs. And this extra security also included having two angels guarding the Globe, which made the Supreme Archangel's evasion that much more complicated. What The Metatron hadn't yet realized, however, was just how intelligent Aziraphale was. Instead of breaking through with sheer force, which would have probably ended with a very inopportune discorporation, he had used a clever little disguise. Before performing the miracle which had allowed him to briefly communicate with Crowley, he had done another, smaller miracle; transforming himself into the Archangel Michael. Metamorphosing, especially into another angel, was imperiously difficult, but Aziraphale had been practicing in preparation for a daring escape like this one. He could now don the face of Michael, whom he had chosen with the toss of a coin, for a good five minutes before he changed back. So, as soon as Crowley had been sent on his way to St. James' , the fake Michael had made his way to the Globe and simply slipped through the guards, no questions asked. Nobody had noticed a thing. Yet.

Now he found himself walking the quiet streets of London Soho, a race against the clock to get to his beloved bookshop where, he hoped, he'd finally see Crowley again. He couldn't be more thrilled; however, he couldn't be more terrified either. The last time they had talked, Aziraphale had said very hurtful things. He'd broken the demon's heart when he wore it on his sleeve. Of course, he didn't have a choice; but Crowley didn't know that and, to make things worse, the angel couldn't explain without putting him in more danger than he already was. To top it all off, he needed Crowley's help and blind trust stopping whatever evil plans The Metatron had put into motion. He sighed, knowing that he was not going to take it well at all. If there was a demon who, ironically, hated being left in the dark, it was Crowley. He was aware of how unfair it all was for his friend; of how much he'd hurt him. Aziraphale had regretted every single word he had said that day since the moment he spoke them.

When he made the last turn and arrived at Whickber street, his stomach began to flutter. A majestic, vintage black Bentley was parked just opposite the bookshop, still unscathed in the slightest. His heart raced as he approached the store's doors, the fear of Crowley's furious reaction etched in his mind. His breathing became shallow as he lifted a very shaky hand to the door handle, hesitating for a few, long seconds before he pulled on it and stepped inside.

—-

First of all, I hope you enjoyed and please feel free to review, for good or for bad.

Secondly, I am going to have to ask for a bit of patience regarding the updates because I cannot guarantee to be able to publish more than a chapter per week (roughly). Uni has a nasty habit of taking up all my free time…either way, I promise to do the absolute best I can to make this story interesting and engaging.

(PD: I kindly recommend having handkerchiefs at hand for the next part)

Infinite thanks for making time to read this little story of mine and have a wonderful day! 3