An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 3/?
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tony Zucco
Additional Tags: Dick and Jason are the same age, both boys are robin at the same time, Batfamily (DCU), Protective Bruce Wayne, Child Abuse, both Dick and Jason need all the hugs, Bruce is a good dad, eventually, Kidnapping, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, dick and Jason love each other and always will, More tags to be added as story goes on
Summary:
Jason was a street kid convicted of stabbing his dad and Dick was an orphan, nothing in common besides the fact they were both tossed in Gotham Juvenile Detention Center.
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Summary: A reverse Omens AU, Crowley is the angel and Aziraphale is the demon with my little twists.
So I know this isnât like amazing and is more bare bones AU summary then anything but i had all these details in my head this morning and threw this together, Iâll post it on A03 later and will probably edit it better and add more details when I post there.
---
Aziraphale was the only demon worth trusting, for that matter he was more trustworthy then any angel in heaven. He was the only one who would give him a straight answer and thatâs what Crowley needed. Give him confirmation of the end times coming and how they could go about this.
He shot through the streets of London, Aziraphale wasnât always easy to find. Right bastard he was, didnât have a place to live, crashed with Crowley when he got tired of roaming. When those gluttonous instincts kicked in and he allowed Crowley to care for him. Crowley grit his teeth, like he deserved to be cared for.
Of course, just of course, it was Crowleyâs rotten luck when he needed his beautiful blind bastard, he was on his stubborn streak.
:
Long before rumored Antichrists and the end nearing, there was a garden and an angel named Aziraphale.
He had seen humanity through its infancy and given away his sacred sword, no one the wiser of his crime.
He looked over humanity with wonder and love, despite the evils he had witnessed and felt on a personal level, he felt like a doting parent watching over them. Or maybe, more appropriately, an older sibling their mother had tasked with looking over them until they could be returned to her and her kingdom.
Humanity and his love for them would be the reason for his fall but he never gave up hope he too would be allowed to return home to his mother one day.
Her one true son had walked through the halls of hell as well and been allowed to return to her arms, he often prayed that same fate would be for him too.
She forgave all and that was the only thing that kept him going.
;
Crowley swerved to a halt in front of a rundown old church in the run down and dying part of Soho. He slammed the door shut of the Bentley and blessed the bum a crisp bill to keep sinful thoughts of touching his car while he attended to business. His demon was in here, he sensed him.
He stepped through the doors and heard him begging, praying like mortals do.
Crowley cringed, covering his scarf to his nose at the scent of searing flesh, Aziraphale must have been at this awhile. He got into these moods every hundred years or so and the result was always destructive, he would kneel on hollow grounds until it burned through his flesh leaving scars that would never heal. He would pray to their mother who never listened, he would beg to ears unwilling to listen, trying desperately to finally be forsaken. To finally be worthy for Crowley, who in his eyes would always be above him as a servant of the lord, what a laugh that was. Or it would be a laugh if it wasnât hurting the only thing in these cosmos he loved.
Gently he took Aziraphale by the shoulders and forced him up, he smelt the blood and he smelled the burned flesh, it gagged him. It happened every single time Aziraphale was called back to Hell, Crowley would guide him into a better view of himself and just as swiftly, Hell would shatter it.
âMy angel,â he whispered in his ears getting to stop mumbling in Latin, âWe have much to discuss, leave this place with me?â
âMy darling,â he sighed grasping Crowleyâs hand tightly, âPlease donât lie in her presence.â
Crowley didnât have the heart to tell him she barely existed in Heaven; it was unlikely she existed in a place such as this.
;
The flood was the first time Aziraphale had ever questioned, had ever felt doubt. Not in Her, never in Her, but in Heaven. Â
He roamed the plains as the rain began to get stronger, it blurred his vision, but he would be fine. Even if his body died, he would be back. He couldnât say the same for those not permitted in Noahâs Ark.
He looked upon families loading carts down, gathering belongings and coming together in a comradery he had never witnessed before. They werenât just accepting fate as Heaven expected and they werenât looting and murdering one another as the demon Ligur had snickered they would.
They were helping one another, helping each other pack, each using the others resources to leave this place and get everyone to safety.
Children and elderly and the sick loaded in carts drawn by livestock, supplies packed, and none of them seemed willing to even let their enemies stay behind to die, they were working together.
âItâs all pointless,â Ligur snickered once more taking a bite into an apple, stealing the precious little the humans had gathered, âFruitless effort. All these souls will be in Hell before the morning sun that will never come.â
Aziraphale ignored the demon who had been following him, his one constant companion, helping an elderly woman back into the cart and giving the humans a safe route to the mountains.
He didnât believe that. Even if they were going to die, he had to believe they were going home. Going home to their mother, going into her embrace. These werenât evil souls; these were poor people who tried the best they could and only needed a helping hand. Â
He would later ask Gabriel about the humans who fought so hard to survive and what became of their souls. He felt something crack hearing the archangels felt they werenât pure enough to enter their kingdom, Ligur had been right.
;
âI had heard about the antichrist,â Aziraphale confirmed allowing Crowley to lead him into his record shop and up the stairs to his apartment they shared where all of Aziraphaleâs books were cluttered.
âWho was assigned it?â Crowley pressed helping the demon sit down in his favorite sitting chair and easing his sunglasses from his pale face, revealing the empty sockets where eyes had once been.
His smoky black hair with grey peppered through it was in quite a state, it looked like he hadnât bothered to brush the tangles out. His nails werenât in their perfectly manicured state as they had been when he had last seen him, they were bitten down to nothing with dirt coating around them. Crowley held his hands, not minding the grime sitting down in front of his love, pressing his concern into him. Aziraphale would get better and then he would just stop caring and do this to himself.
His stomach was no longer round and soft, his clothes no longer pressed and clean, he was deathly thin and his clothing nothing more than beggarsâ rags. He did this as some sort of punishment Crowley would never understand. Punishing himself for falling.
âHastur was but he gave the duty of delivering the child to Ligur and Ligur, never a fan of child rearing, has asked me to lead the child down the dark path and finally prove myself as a demon.â
There was a lot unspoken in the silence, this was Aziraphaleâs last chance to prove himself, if not for the arrangement he would have likely been disposed of by now and Gabriel would have likely found reason to call for Crowleyâs falling.
âDo you mind running a bath darling? I am afraid I am getting you quite filthy.â
Crowley laughed but did what was asked of him. He had never known anything but serving others and had always hated it but taking care of Aziraphale had never felt like a chore.
;
After the rebellion, things had changed much for the worse in Heaven.
Unfortunately for Crowley, he had been in a group that it had hit the worse. He had been low level before but had been treated fairly before Lucifer began praising his gospel. Telling angels like him it could be better, but Crowley had been too cowardly in the end to give everything to his rebellion and after seeing the burning flesh and the severed wings and what became of the losers in this battle, how they were tortured before being thrown into the pits of darkness, he wasnât about to step out of line again.
After the rebellion, he was reduced to nothing more then Heavenâs slave labor. Kept in line like the rest of the fear of falling and being disgraced. If that fear wasnât enough, it wasnât too uncommon for the likes of Sandalphon to lash those who spoke out of place, making it a public spectacle for anyone else who wanted to question Heavenâs Will.
If Crowley had a name before, he didnât after the rebellion, he was referred to like the less of the lower angels as âGuardiansâ. And they were tasked with whatever the other angels wouldnât take care of and treated as those bellow them.
He wouldnât have a name until he met the former disgraced Principality. He would take over for in Rome who had taken to playfully calling him âCrawlyâ, the treacherous snake of Heaven who talked of the angels sinfully when they werenât around to hear. He would later change that to Crowley, it was less demon like and as Aziraphale fell in love with him, he liked to distance him as much as he could from Hell.
;
âWhy do you do this to yourself?â
Aziraphale was curled against Crowley in the bathtub, both soaking and neither up to rising to go back to business just yet. Crowley was carding his fingers through Aziraphaleâs hair, shimmering black as night once more now that the curls were clean.
âHell makes me feel my failures and sins,â he admitted, eyelids closed hiding the cruel fate Heaven itself had given him before tossing him out of their kingdom, âI never wanted to fall. I love her and I believe in Heaven still, I want to believe in good.â
âHurting yerself isnât going to do anyone any good, angel,â he chastised again, afraid to look down at the scars and burns on his legs and thighs from kneeling on hollow ground like he did. Â
âA rational part of me knows that but there is something in me that feels like I must do something. I must prove my worth, show I have learned and am sorry.â
They didnât say anything else; Crowley began reciting him one of his favorite Wilde stories, he knew it by heart he had read it to his love so often. It helped when he got like this, it helped Crowley concentrate on something else other then this.
;
âYou must love my presence.â
Aziraphale ignored the demon, he didnât even look in his direction as he helped a young mother load her cart and put the baby gently inside a basket, kissing it on the cheek blessing it with luck.
âThey will damn you for this.â
Aziraphale still didnât respond, checking the position of the sun, they had no time to waste. It would happen within days and they all needed to leave. He yelled to the crowd of the poor to take what they had loaded now and just leave with their lives.
They listened to him for they trusted him, he always had that effect on people, they trusted him despite the fact he was betraying Heaven.
Ligur sneered at him, tired of being ignored, knocking Aziraphale from the large rock he was standing upon as the last of the people in the neighborhood left, leaving their home of Sodom behind.
âWhy do you save them?â
Aziraphale thought a moment, he could have said nothing he supposed, but he knew he would be seeing much much more of the demon soon for his actions.
âIt is just. They are innocents. I canât let them die like this, being smited for just existing. I couldnât let the first borns die either in Egypt, I couldnât let Adam and Eve be defenseless. They wonât understand, I know they wonât and maybe they are right, and I am wrong, but I cannot look on to suffering any longer, Ligur.â
Looking back, Aziraphale should have chose his words more appropriately, the other angels had a strange sense of justice when he repeated these words. He would never look onto suffering again, he would never look on to anything again.
;
Crowley had been chosen to take the Principalityâs place after his fall, someone needed to walk among the mortals and bring in reports. Everyone else felt too good for such a role, so it fell on the shoulders of the Guardians, like everything else did.
Crowley tried to hide his utter pleasure at this, he was done living under the archangelâs feet and being worked to the bone doing things they didnât wish to do. He was often forced to do these tasks as mortals did anyway just for the angelsâ amusements, so it wouldnât make much of a difference.
The corporal form took time to get used to, but he found he liked the concept of sleeping, of being allowed rest and time to just shut down.
He even got to take residence in a lovely villa in the Roman capital, not too different from the archangelsâ quarters he often served.
He found himself quite liking alcohol, he even became a regular patron at a little tavern. He liked to play strange games he always lost and barely understood with the annoyed regulars.
It was on a day such as this he met Aziraphale, dressed in rags and filthy, walking into the tavern. He fumbled around, arms stretched forward, guiding him clumsily to the counter. He had an accent, not used to the language, inquiring about the nearest hotel.
Crowley took in his aura, it was demonic, he knew he should be afraid but he was more curious. He had to know if the rebellion was worth it, had to know if it was all better then this.
He grabbed the man by the shoulders and forced him to sit down with him.
âWhatâs it like being a demon?â
Aziraphale had given him a frown at that but shrugged as Crowley sat a glass of wine before him, he greedily took it, chugging it down.
âI will only tell you of that if you do me a favor.â
Crowley had nothing better to do for the day and agreed to it.
âDescribe to me the sunset, it has been so long since I have taken it in and I miss it dearly.â
They became nearly inseparable after that.
;
âHeaven will win you know; it was always meant to be that way.â
Crowley curled tighter around Aziraphale, kissing his neck, trailing kisses down his poor deprived body. It had gotten so thin and deteriorated since he had left Crowley, he had worried he would be this way when he finally came back. Â
âThat would mean an eternity without you and I donât think I could take it.â
Aziraphale chuckled, âYou may call me angel but I havenât been one in a very long time my love nor do I deserve the title.â
âYou deserve it more then every bastard in Heaven,â Crowley growled pulling his love closer.
Aziraphale chuckled but didnât argue, settling into sleep while Crowley held him and planned. He wasnât losing this and going back to the way things were, they would stop the end or die trying.
Aziraphale had stalled, Crowley couldnât take his eyes off him as he took a deep sigh and gripped his pant leg. It was like he was waiting. Waiting for Crowley to react to the statement.
Those pale, breathtaking eyes, those eyes he had spent many nights lying awake and imagining looking down into his own just as love struck as his, glanced at him. The stare held for a moment, he was tempting Crowley to act, to demand him to stay.
Crowley couldnât take his stiff hands from the steering wheel, he couldnât do much but stare at him, his angel, and only dream about the things he could do to make him stay.
Out of a sense of habit, he let him go. It was always going to be here, he knew, he was never going to stay on his own free will, he wasnât going to put him a cage. His love would be a beautiful golden cage for that gentle and loving dove, he would protect him from all the evils of the world and only let him know luxury.
He made sure he was out of sight before revving up his car engine, making sure no one touched a hair on his pretty little head in this dank part of town not fit for an angel before slamming down on the petal and flying past the angel who gripped his heart and gave him a look of disapproval as he shot around the corner.
Heâd been letting him go since Eden.
Letting little touches slip between the cracks, letting silent, intimate pauses go unnoticed, always going slow for him. Never rushing, never grabbing him and stopping this charade and game they played with a long kiss. They had so many chances, so much time.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), War (Good Omens)
Additional Tags: Aziraphale is War's dad
Summary:
Giving away his sword inadvertently created War and Aziraphale must raise her, she is his daughter and no matter the destruction she brings, he loves her all the same.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)
Additional Tags: Boby swap, Budding Romance, probably not that canon, just two friends falling in love in the french country side in each other's bodies
Summary:
There was a stretch of time between Aramagedidn't and being caught by Heaven and Hell, during that stretch of time Crowley and Aziraphale had to learn to make a perfect impression of each other while getting used to a body that was not their own and confessing maybe they are a little more then friends and probably have been for awhile now.
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((I decided to end this with a fade to black but the A03 version might be a little more smutty.))
There was something trulydepressing about being used to be captured. Rusty might even argue he felt moreat ease and more in his element bound and tossed into dark hold cells and leftto his own thoughts while he waited for someone to notice him gone.
He stretched out on the ground, squintingin the dark, his hands were cuffed in front of him. A perk of everyone knowinghe wouldnât do much had always been they didnât go out of their way to keep himcaptive. He had more comfort, more room to stretch in his confined space.Pacing in the dark had always helped him come up with his best ideas.
This was the quietest it had beenin months for Rusty, no Helper beeping at him, no boys screaming at him, no phonegoing off the hook with loan sharks and bill collectors, no Brock demanding hetake care of himself. Rusty found a smile creeping across his lips settling onthe ground, content and comfortable despite everything. Â The mattress on his bed hadnât been replacedsince his dad had slept there, so it wasnât like it didnât feel like sleepingon the ground in his own bed.
He felt something lightly hittingagainst his lower back and he snorted loudly as they became harder and harderthe more he tried to ignore the strikes. A low rattling of chains echoed witheach strike grinding at his nerves. It was only after he loudly whimpered at abruising strike did the blows soften again.
He forced himself up onto hiselbows, his limbs shaking and numb, maybe a side effect from whatever drug hehad been shot with or just from being on the ground for what could have beenhours.
He straightened his glasses andsighed loudly seeing the spiderweb of broken glass impairing his vision.Whoever just threw him here could have taken his glasses off first, they were apain in the ass to replace every time this happened.
His frustration melted a little seeing Brock.To say their captors were being overly cautious was somehow an over statement.Rusty turned his head away to hide his giggle at Brockâs hardening eyes.
His hands were secured in a medievalcuffs bolted tight to the wall, keeping them restrained his head restrictingany movement from them. Rusty realized his foot had been nudging him, he hadmore free movement with them but the captors still felt it necessary to tether themwith shackles on each ankle and a short length chain.
The biggest over kill that hadbrought more giggles from Rusty was the Hannibal lector like muzzle attached toBrockâs face. Someone had heard about the time Brock had severed a manâsjugular vein with his teeth it would seem. Â
The only small level of comforthis poor body guard was allowed was the wooden bench he was sitting on.
A wave of dizziness hit him sittingup, he groaned hard, he could bet money on it that their captors had given himthe same dose of drugs they gave Brock. He laid back down on the ground, hishand cuffs might as well have been an over kill, he didnât know if he would bemaking it very far.
Brock was nudging him impatientlyagain and he groaned loudly forcing himself up again, grabbing onto the benchto keep from immediately going back down.
He took a deep breath and yankedhimself up into Brockâs lap, wrapping his cuffed hands around Brockâs neck tohis annoyance. Rusty shifted himself until he was straddling Brockâs massivelap, this wasnât the first time he had been here but well it was a first outsideof Brockâs car. Playfully rubbing against Brockâs crotch with his ass givinghis body guard his smuggest smile as he did so, easily unmuzzling him and knockingit away from them.
âIsnât it usually me in thissituation?â he asked settling on his lap, too tired to even attempt movingagain.
âNot here you idiot,â he snarledat Rusty, but didnât try to knock him away, letting Rusty place a kiss on hisneck as he rested his head on the manâs broad shoulder. He was sluggish fromthe drugs, but he was feeling frisky.
âNot like you can do much if theydo come back,â Rusty giggled nipping playfully at Brockâs earlobe and smiling feelinghim arch his spine slightly as Rusty continued to playfully rut against him.
Brock did a quick glance at thelarge steel door that had yet to open and then glanced down at Rusty snugglingagainst him, might as well be comfortable if they were going to be here awhile.
Rusty began to snicker as hisbody guard sneered a loud âfuck itâ and shifted his head enough to catch Rustyin a rough kiss, biting down into his lip, grinding it a moment before pushinghis tongue deep into his boyfriendâs mouth. Rusty grabbed onto Brockâs hair tobetter position himself into the kiss, his handcuffs coming in handy for once, keeping him from tumbling onto his ass while Brock kept trying to be thedominant one even in the position he was in currently making Rusty giggle as hepulled away enough to take a breather.
He felt Brockâs erection hittingagainst him and smiled playfully, glancing at the cell door. Well, it wasnâtlike they had anything better to do waiting for their captors to come back.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling
Additional Tags: Child Death, Grief, a what if Azi had killed Warlock
Summary:
âIâve never killed anything, I donât think I couldâ, Aziraphale had said firmly even if there was a shred of doubt coating his heart.
âNot even to saveâŠeverything? One life against the universe?â
(( I donât know why I wrote this. Just have some Johnnyâs perspective on Rustyâs shitty childhood. TW budding addiction problems and suicidal thoughts))
It was a social gala the Fitzcarraldos were throwing for their anniversary Johnny first learned Rusty was a coward. He was always going to be looking for the easy way out.
It was exactly the kind of party you would expect of rich New York socialites, rented out hotel, upper floor transformed into a night dancing under the stars standing high above everyone else in the city. Trendy decorations, the finest food, but Johnny didnât care about that. His eye was on the booze that was unmanned and unguarded, a sixteen-year-old could steal without anyone noticing. He only saw the scantly dressed women Team Venture had invited.
He was also the only one who saw eleven-year-old Rusty staring over the side of the building, seemingly in deep thought. He pushed a glass over the side someone had left near him and stood on his tip toes to watch it shatter on the side walk bellow. Â
He glanced behind him towards his guardians, they definitely didnât notice him contemplating jumping. Jonas had his arms slung around two women, Johnny heard for him to yell out for someone to take care of his son, not telling said son good bye before disappearing down stairs. Horace was eying a young man who looked a few years older then Johnny, a member of food service by the way he was dressed, whispering in his ear. He was blushing, but took his offer, trying to discreetly leave without anyone noticing. Rodney noticed and was yelling out to him he was supposed to be in charge of Rusty tonight, the woman wrapped around him giggling, she was drunk and not his wife.
Rodney yelled towards no one in particular he was leaving as well, someone make sure Rusty made it back to Jonasâs New York home tonight, it wasnât about to be him.
Rusty had a frown as he glanced back at them but decided if they werenât going to pay him any mind, he wasnât going to pay attention to them either. He rolled up the sleeves on his nicely pressed shirt, the dress jacket for his suit must have been lost somewhere, Johnny knew he had been wearing a creepy identical outfit as his father when he came in. He cringed a little seeing the deep lacerations on his wrists but everyone knew Jonas had just snagged him back from some nut job, dragging his feet leaving his son with him for two weeks to do god knew what.
And here he was leaving him again to go satisfy his own needs.
Rusty was sitting on the edge of the building now, looking down at the side walk where he had previously dropped a glass, the hotel wasnât exactly a sky scraper but it was tall enough to kill a twerp like him on impact.
Johnny hated the little shit, hated how he took what his family had leaving them with nothing, but his insides were turning just seeing the little bastardâs determined look staring down at the street bellow them. You donât get an easy way out of this life. He felt angrier then he was even thinking about it.
He wanted to yank him off the ledge himself and knock some sense into the little coward.
He didnât need to, he had never felt more relieved in his life watching Don Fitzcarraldo himself abandon his own party to bend next to the little coward. Whispering something into his ear making that look leave Rustyâs face and be replaced with guilt.
The Blue Morpho would know what a suicide attempt looked like he supposed watching him pick Rusty up and hold him close to him. Whispering in his ear he wasnât about to leave him, he loved him.
He watched Rusty cling tight to Don and felt a new anger festering bellow the surface. The Blue Morpho would never intervene for him, he was on his sixth drink, his dad was passed out already on a bench being the light weight he was.
Rusty wasnât the only lost boy here but Don would only abandon his party for him. Johnny just sneered at that and went back to his budding addiction, stealing a cigarette off his dadâs passed out body and lighting it up shamelessly and no one continued to care.
