![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Paradise
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
Genre: Angst/Romance
Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: All Aziraphale has left is Crowley and visa-versa. That may not necessarily be a bad thing.
AN: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
smallfandomfest Fest 15, for the prompt Good Omens - Aziraphale/Crowley - They're all they've got I'm also using it to fill 'Indecent Proposal' on my Trope Bingo table and 'Rainstorm' on my GenPrompt Bingo table
If he was more dramatic, he’d be perched on a church gutter with only his wings for shelter, staring out over the rooftops. But Aziraphale has never really been one for drama – though he’s certainly capable of it – and besides, if he’d perched on a church then the only one he really wanted to talk to wouldn’t have been able to reach him.
So, instead, he sat on a bench in Hyde Park. By the pond with its ducks, who seemed wary of him now that he wasn’t part of a couple or trying to be inconspicuous, and chose to take their bread from an American/Russian pair instead. He even had an umbrella with him, and a book tucked into his inner coat pocket because he felt naked without one. It was a very human foible – one of many – a sign that he had been here too long.
The Apoca-nevermind had been done with for over a month now. In that month, he’d heard nothing from Heaven. There had been no sulphurous rumblings from Hell, either – as far as he knew – and he was beginning to suspect something that he really thought he should have known all along.
He was alone here. Heaven fully intended to forget about him, and probably had thanks to Adam’s powers, and all that was left was…was Crowley.
…
On another rainy day, a millennium earlier, an angel and a demon discussed theology and the nature of ineffability. They started off tense and wary, but by then alcohol was pretty much a way of life for them both, and since they had been in a tavern… Flagons of ale had been miracled into something more palatable, and Aziraphale had discovered that Crowley’s lisp could – under the right circumstances – be endearing.
“Motivation’ssssss very sssssssimple,” he’d slurred. “They’re creative, but it’ssssssssss all money. Or ssssssssex. Power. That ssssssssssssort of thing. I’m – I’m irr- that thing where you don’t matter. Whasssit?”
Aziraphale had shrugged, because human languages were many and most of them were escaping him at that moment.
“It’ssssss meaning I have to get creative. No more applesssssssssss.”
“Harder to, you know, inspire. Goodness. Creativity. They can do it – better than me, but they. You know. Wiggle.”
The demon looked at him blearily. A forked tongue slid out from between his lips, wetting them, and Aziraphale wondered if that’s what all the fuss was about. Then he reminded himself that – as an angel – there shouldn’t be any fuss, and pushed the thought away.
“Wiggle out of things,” he clarified.
Crowley hissed approvingly. Their tankards refilled – at some point, the owner of the tavern had just stopped bothering them – and the ale that was in them was better than anything in the establishment. It tasted faintly of apples. Sinful.
“Angel,” the demon said. “I have a pr-pro-idea. ‘N’idea. Yesssssssss. Why not, you know, do sssssssstuff together.”
Aziraphale jerked in surprise, which led to hiccups. Which led to the demon hissing with laughter, and Aziraphale burning the alcohol from his system in frustration. He felt a flare of familiar tattered grace as the demon did the same.
“Pardon?” he asked, now sober but still entirely unsure of what the demon had been implying. Across the room, the bartender shot a wary look towards the two men who had been drunkenly slumped towards each other quite amicably, but were now back to staring matches.
Crowley waved a hand. “Work together,” he said. “Kind of. More stay out of each other’s way. Humans are…wiggly? That. Hard enough to deal with without the constant battle and the smiting and the queuing up for new vessels when you get discorporated. Smote.”
“Do you have paperwork too?” Aziraphale wondered out loud.
“Yesss.” The hiss came back out of sheer irritation.
Aziraphale drummed his fingers on the table. He knew he shouldn’t consider it. Deals with demons were the sort of thing Heaven disapproved of – and given this demon’s particular talent for disruption, it would be especially disapproved – but…he hadn’t seen any of his brothers since the crucifixion. Since Gabriel had given a last sad look towards the body of a child he’d practically delivered and departed in a flutter of golden feathers, leaving the body on the cross and Aziraphale in the watching crowd with the Serpent by his side. He was alone here, except for Crowley, and if there was one thing he had definitely learned of the millennia, it was that immortality was extremely dull when you were alone.
“Let each other know if anything big happens,” he suggested charitably, remembering the flood and the way that Crowley – still a snake at that time – had panicked. “On either side.”
Crowley smiled, revealing fangs Aziraphale knew were fatally venomous. “Agreed?”
“Yes.”
…
“Feeling maudlin, Angel?”
Crowley sat down on the bench next to him. He had no umbrella, but the rain suddenly decided to fall somewhere else, leaving his designer suit unmolested. Aziraphale lowered his umbrella and shook it out before folding it, making it vanish with a flick of the wrist. A couple of ducks made their way over, quacking hopefully.
“Have you heard anything?” he asked.
“No.” Crowley’s satisfied stretch seemed to involve far more spine than anything human-shaped had a right to. “Not really complaining, either. Downstairs is Hell, Angel. Literally.”
Aziraphale looked at him. Properly looked. Crowley looked better-rested and more content with life than he’d ever seen him. Oh, there’d been moments over the years, where the care had fallen away from both of them, but he had the feeling that this wasn’t a moment. Or, at least, it was a moment that seemed to be prolonging its stay. He was immaculately dressed as always, but there was a line of tension missing from his shoulders and in the plane only Aziraphale and cats could see, his wings arched proudly up from his back, brushing close to Aziraphale’s own.
His earlier thought, that Crowley was all he had left, returned. Skulking around the edges of his awareness and prodding at him every so often.
“Neither am I,” he said after a moment. “All quiet from Upstairs.” He nudged his wing gently against Crowley’s. “It looks like we’re alone here.”
Crowley looked back at him, yellow eyes gleaming over the rim of his sunglasses. Aziraphale felt like he was being dissected.
“Is that why you’re sitting out here in a rain storm?” Crowley asked. “Are you – are you surprised?”
He sounded faintly disbelieving. Aziraphale sighed. It made sense that Crowley had put the pieces together before him: as an angel, he did require some sort of blind faith.
Angels, contrary to popular opinion, did not often get the chance to meet God. He was busy. The Angels He had Created should all be busy too, with their individual tasks and responsibilities. Before Eden, Aziraphale had never seen Him, and in the one moment he had, he had chosen to lie. To God. He was an angel who had lied to God.
No wonder Heaven thought he was a lost cause, human habits aside.
“Not really,” he said. “I was, but then I actually thought about it for a bit.”
Crowley hissed softly with laughter and – giving in to the quacking – pulled some bread out of his pocket that hadn’t been there when he arrived. He handed half of it to Aziraphale.
…
The twenty-first century was proving to be better than most. The technology was more baffling, and humanity was as glorious and cruel as it had always been, but there were definitely upsides. There was a band of gold around his left ring finger, and a cottage in the South Downs with an apple tree in the garden for Crowley to coil in and a driveway for the Bentley. There were more books than could possibly be considered healthy, a house (and garden) full of extremely well-behaved plants, and a coffee shop just off the village square that sold delicious pastries and whose proprietor thought that Mr Crowley and Mr Fell were just the sweetest couple.
There had not been any lightning bolts. There had been no ominous messages from glowing portals in the bathroom or tape players in the car (Crowley refused to upgrade to an iPod jack – whatever that was), and no demands for paperwork.
“Apple, Angel?” Crowley hissed, lowering a ripe, red fruit into Aziraphale’s field of vision, holding it carefully in the coils of his tail so that it didn’t fall or bruise.
Aziraphale took it, and took a bite. It tasted rather like ale he’d had in a tavern a millennium before, but sweeter and more satisfying. He hummed his thanks and leaned back against the tree trunk, wings fanned out around him, and rearranged his book.
No one Upstairs, or Downstairs, cared. It was Paradise.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
Genre: Angst/Romance
Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: All Aziraphale has left is Crowley and visa-versa. That may not necessarily be a bad thing.
AN: Written for
smallfandomfest Fest 15, for the prompt Good Omens - Aziraphale/Crowley - They're all they've got I'm also using it to fill 'Indecent Proposal' on my Trope Bingo table and 'Rainstorm' on my GenPrompt Bingo tableIf he was more dramatic, he’d be perched on a church gutter with only his wings for shelter, staring out over the rooftops. But Aziraphale has never really been one for drama – though he’s certainly capable of it – and besides, if he’d perched on a church then the only one he really wanted to talk to wouldn’t have been able to reach him.
So, instead, he sat on a bench in Hyde Park. By the pond with its ducks, who seemed wary of him now that he wasn’t part of a couple or trying to be inconspicuous, and chose to take their bread from an American/Russian pair instead. He even had an umbrella with him, and a book tucked into his inner coat pocket because he felt naked without one. It was a very human foible – one of many – a sign that he had been here too long.
The Apoca-nevermind had been done with for over a month now. In that month, he’d heard nothing from Heaven. There had been no sulphurous rumblings from Hell, either – as far as he knew – and he was beginning to suspect something that he really thought he should have known all along.
He was alone here. Heaven fully intended to forget about him, and probably had thanks to Adam’s powers, and all that was left was…was Crowley.
…
On another rainy day, a millennium earlier, an angel and a demon discussed theology and the nature of ineffability. They started off tense and wary, but by then alcohol was pretty much a way of life for them both, and since they had been in a tavern… Flagons of ale had been miracled into something more palatable, and Aziraphale had discovered that Crowley’s lisp could – under the right circumstances – be endearing.
“Motivation’ssssss very sssssssimple,” he’d slurred. “They’re creative, but it’ssssssssss all money. Or ssssssssex. Power. That ssssssssssssort of thing. I’m – I’m irr- that thing where you don’t matter. Whasssit?”
Aziraphale had shrugged, because human languages were many and most of them were escaping him at that moment.
“It’ssssss meaning I have to get creative. No more applesssssssssss.”
“Harder to, you know, inspire. Goodness. Creativity. They can do it – better than me, but they. You know. Wiggle.”
The demon looked at him blearily. A forked tongue slid out from between his lips, wetting them, and Aziraphale wondered if that’s what all the fuss was about. Then he reminded himself that – as an angel – there shouldn’t be any fuss, and pushed the thought away.
“Wiggle out of things,” he clarified.
Crowley hissed approvingly. Their tankards refilled – at some point, the owner of the tavern had just stopped bothering them – and the ale that was in them was better than anything in the establishment. It tasted faintly of apples. Sinful.
“Angel,” the demon said. “I have a pr-pro-idea. ‘N’idea. Yesssssssss. Why not, you know, do sssssssstuff together.”
Aziraphale jerked in surprise, which led to hiccups. Which led to the demon hissing with laughter, and Aziraphale burning the alcohol from his system in frustration. He felt a flare of familiar tattered grace as the demon did the same.
“Pardon?” he asked, now sober but still entirely unsure of what the demon had been implying. Across the room, the bartender shot a wary look towards the two men who had been drunkenly slumped towards each other quite amicably, but were now back to staring matches.
Crowley waved a hand. “Work together,” he said. “Kind of. More stay out of each other’s way. Humans are…wiggly? That. Hard enough to deal with without the constant battle and the smiting and the queuing up for new vessels when you get discorporated. Smote.”
“Do you have paperwork too?” Aziraphale wondered out loud.
“Yesss.” The hiss came back out of sheer irritation.
Aziraphale drummed his fingers on the table. He knew he shouldn’t consider it. Deals with demons were the sort of thing Heaven disapproved of – and given this demon’s particular talent for disruption, it would be especially disapproved – but…he hadn’t seen any of his brothers since the crucifixion. Since Gabriel had given a last sad look towards the body of a child he’d practically delivered and departed in a flutter of golden feathers, leaving the body on the cross and Aziraphale in the watching crowd with the Serpent by his side. He was alone here, except for Crowley, and if there was one thing he had definitely learned of the millennia, it was that immortality was extremely dull when you were alone.
“Let each other know if anything big happens,” he suggested charitably, remembering the flood and the way that Crowley – still a snake at that time – had panicked. “On either side.”
Crowley smiled, revealing fangs Aziraphale knew were fatally venomous. “Agreed?”
“Yes.”
…
“Feeling maudlin, Angel?”
Crowley sat down on the bench next to him. He had no umbrella, but the rain suddenly decided to fall somewhere else, leaving his designer suit unmolested. Aziraphale lowered his umbrella and shook it out before folding it, making it vanish with a flick of the wrist. A couple of ducks made their way over, quacking hopefully.
“Have you heard anything?” he asked.
“No.” Crowley’s satisfied stretch seemed to involve far more spine than anything human-shaped had a right to. “Not really complaining, either. Downstairs is Hell, Angel. Literally.”
Aziraphale looked at him. Properly looked. Crowley looked better-rested and more content with life than he’d ever seen him. Oh, there’d been moments over the years, where the care had fallen away from both of them, but he had the feeling that this wasn’t a moment. Or, at least, it was a moment that seemed to be prolonging its stay. He was immaculately dressed as always, but there was a line of tension missing from his shoulders and in the plane only Aziraphale and cats could see, his wings arched proudly up from his back, brushing close to Aziraphale’s own.
His earlier thought, that Crowley was all he had left, returned. Skulking around the edges of his awareness and prodding at him every so often.
“Neither am I,” he said after a moment. “All quiet from Upstairs.” He nudged his wing gently against Crowley’s. “It looks like we’re alone here.”
Crowley looked back at him, yellow eyes gleaming over the rim of his sunglasses. Aziraphale felt like he was being dissected.
“Is that why you’re sitting out here in a rain storm?” Crowley asked. “Are you – are you surprised?”
He sounded faintly disbelieving. Aziraphale sighed. It made sense that Crowley had put the pieces together before him: as an angel, he did require some sort of blind faith.
Angels, contrary to popular opinion, did not often get the chance to meet God. He was busy. The Angels He had Created should all be busy too, with their individual tasks and responsibilities. Before Eden, Aziraphale had never seen Him, and in the one moment he had, he had chosen to lie. To God. He was an angel who had lied to God.
No wonder Heaven thought he was a lost cause, human habits aside.
“Not really,” he said. “I was, but then I actually thought about it for a bit.”
Crowley hissed softly with laughter and – giving in to the quacking – pulled some bread out of his pocket that hadn’t been there when he arrived. He handed half of it to Aziraphale.
…
The twenty-first century was proving to be better than most. The technology was more baffling, and humanity was as glorious and cruel as it had always been, but there were definitely upsides. There was a band of gold around his left ring finger, and a cottage in the South Downs with an apple tree in the garden for Crowley to coil in and a driveway for the Bentley. There were more books than could possibly be considered healthy, a house (and garden) full of extremely well-behaved plants, and a coffee shop just off the village square that sold delicious pastries and whose proprietor thought that Mr Crowley and Mr Fell were just the sweetest couple.
There had not been any lightning bolts. There had been no ominous messages from glowing portals in the bathroom or tape players in the car (Crowley refused to upgrade to an iPod jack – whatever that was), and no demands for paperwork.
“Apple, Angel?” Crowley hissed, lowering a ripe, red fruit into Aziraphale’s field of vision, holding it carefully in the coils of his tail so that it didn’t fall or bruise.
Aziraphale took it, and took a bite. It tasted rather like ale he’d had in a tavern a millennium before, but sweeter and more satisfying. He hummed his thanks and leaned back against the tree trunk, wings fanned out around him, and rearranged his book.
No one Upstairs, or Downstairs, cared. It was Paradise.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-05-28 09:40 am (UTC)From:Truthfully, this is like the perfect end. In the books both were shown as the two beings who very closes to God's real plan, and I think this might reflect it.
Also in some way it's like a circle. For both of them it began with Paradiese - why not let it end there too? :D
Absolutely love this.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-28 01:26 pm (UTC)From:I thought that about them too! And they deserve a happy ending, and this was the best I could give them. I liked working in the parallels between Eden and their garden too.
I'm glad you like it <3
no subject
Date: 2014-06-04 02:53 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2014-06-04 12:48 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2014-06-05 05:54 pm (UTC)From:That band of gold was the icing on the cake.
(And in my mind it's all in the great big plan from Upstairs and who's to say that they're not getting they're well deserved reward?)
no subject
Date: 2014-06-05 08:25 pm (UTC)From:I think it's all part of the Plan too <3