Reversed Omens
Pretty much a proof of concept from this post. Also on ao3 cause why not
Heavenly Demons and Damned Angels
He was Falling.
It was a simple order, Aziraphale supposed.
“Just go be a leader. Confident.”
Angels in kilts lined the white halls of Heaven. It was always pristine. A sterile, perfect white. The most interesting thing about Heaven, he found out later, was that it really didn’t smell like anything. The second most was how there was a permanent coolness in the air. Enough to make a person just uncomfortable enough to notice. He always had goosebumps.
Everyone was in a tight line, shoulder to shoulder, kilts brushed together. Their chests bulged so far they almost seemed deformed, an unnatural curve. Rigid arms were lifted to their foreheads, a perfect, angular salute. Statues.
Aziraphale couldn't help but notice the burning anger in their eyes. The clicks of his heels reverberated in silence as he walked past dozens upon dozens of waiting soldiers.
Lucifer- Satan now- had gone against the Almighty Herself, and brought down a third of the angels with him. He’d seen them, some of them, Fall.
It started with a question, a slight attitude. And then their eyes would widen. Some dropped to the ground, a few clutched their chests as they stared into space. Some sobbed. And then the fire would come. He swallowed.
“Aziraphale!”
A man with a twisted, brown mustache yelled at him a few paces ahead. A row of stars adorned his white, militarist jacket. Not a single soldier flinched at the noise. Aziraphale fidgeted with his pinky ring.
“Yes?” he called out.
“Your platoon is waiting for you!” The man snapped, and a sword appeared in his hand. He shoved it towards him. “You’ll be on the front lines.”
He took the sword, and it lit, flames consumed its crystal-like blade. “The fire. It’ll hurt them, the demons.”
Demons. The ones born in fire. Fire and tears- “I-I don’t think that's the case.”
His eyes widened, “Is that dissent, soldier?”
He tried to smile, but looked at the floor. “No.”
“Good-”
“But,” a glare, “Our-our siblings, they’re born in fire, are they not?”
He was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and yanked to the man's face. “They are not our siblings. They’re the enemy.”
He could feel ten thousand eyes on him, staring at his back. All of them ready to fight.
But Aziraphale.
Aziraphale had seen them cry. He saw angels go from having a bad day, maybe saying something not exactly tasteful, to having the worst possible day imaginable.
Angels weren’t meant to crumble and sob. And the fire. He could see the orange and red fury of flames dance out of the corner of his eye, as the General held him in place, examined him.
He was expected to burn them again.
“I-can’t- can't someone else, lead them?” He tried to swallow again, but it wouldn't go down. “Someone more qu-qualified?”
He heard the clanks of the sword as it hit the ground before he realised he fell too.
It was like his blood was replaced with a liquified, concentrated panic. His breath quickened. All the whites meshed into one, singular blur as he looked from side to side.
He could feel his skin prickle. The goosebumps that littered his skin moments before multiplied. They pulled. Twisted. And then, then they burned. It was a slow and fast transition all at once. Each little craves between warmed first. Hotter, hotter, hotter.
He didn't hear himself scream, but he felt the hoarseness. His skin popped and crackled, busted open into flame.
All he could see was red.
He felt his wings erupt open. The fire jumped to them, and his back snapped backwards.
And then he was falling.
The solid ground had dissipated.
And he was Falling. There was an emptiness that spread from his chest and consumed
Everything was dark and red and seemed to go on for an eternity, or an instant.
He passed out before the lake of burning sulfur consumed him.
---
God's green garden was the most radiant shade of green imaginable. The plants were perfect- crisp, spotless leaves. Each tree and bush was artistically spread. Nothing was too close to anything else. There were no uneven sides. Hints of color were dotted around in a way that made everything feel like it had a place, a purpose.
Anthony, Angel of the Eastern Gate, frowned. It was all… Boring.
He’d been stationed here for over two weeks. The flaming sword he’d been assigned hadn't left the spot on the wall he’d leaned it against. Nothing happened, nothing changed. Paradise.
“Go and look after the Almighty Human creations. Ensure no trouble comes.”
He’d agreed easily enough, the thought of actually seeing trouble was alluring. It seemed he missed a whole rebellion due to a particularly long nap, and was quite confused when he woke up. Briefly thought he managed to sleep all the way up to the holidays, with all the missing angels.
Not that he wanted to fight, but. Well. It would've been at least a little interesting, see what was happening.
Instead of walking around the same wall again and again and again. It was punishment, he supposed. All the other artists were still crafting the wonders of the Earth. Which was fair, sleeping for two weeks straight had been a little excessive.
But still, the wall was exactly 3,879 paces around. Which he’d counted. Several dozen times.
A soft yelp below caught his attention. He peered over the edge of the wall, and saw someone that definitely was not one of the humans.
He was plump, and blond hair was a ball of short, blond twists. The edges were frayed. A black tunic hung like a satin blanket around his pale skin. The contrast made him smile.
“Hey! You down there!”
The man jumped, his head flicked up and he squinted at him. “Uh, yes?”
“What’re you doing down there?” he called out.
He gave a response, but Anthony couldn’t really make it out.
“What?”
The man repeated it, to no avail.
“Alright, alright look. I need you,” he pointed down, and motioned back upwards, “to come up here.”
He watched the blond man struggle to climb the wide of the wall for a few moments before sighing, and snapped.
The stranger materialized next to him, and instantly fell on the floor. He looked up and smiled, “Oh-oh thank you,” he stood himself up. “That would've been dreadful, to go up the whole thing.”
His eyes were like pools of plasma. Swirling streams of blue that engulfed his iris. The pupil, while circular, was more of a deep indigo than a true black. He’d made stars that looked like them, in a way. His wings were as dark as the depths of creation itself, the endless void they’d painted with spirals and nebulas.
They were like crow's wings. A very newly named animal. Cunning creatures, ones he could respect
“So, you’re a demon, hm?” His head tilted to the side as he examined him, from his feet to the crown of his head.
He sighed, “I’m afraid so. Aziraphale.”
“That’s an angelic name.”
Aziraphale looked like he was punched. ‘Well, I missed the renaming ceremony since I was a, uh, late arrival.”
“Well, that's unfortunate.” And he did, suppose, it was. A permanent reminder of something lost. “Could change it anyway.”
And that was a thought. The freedom to choose one's name. An identity crafted by yourself. A crow flew past them.
“Oh no, I quite like my given name.”
He chuckled. “Very demonic of you.”
The demon fidgeted with his tunic, and seemed to find the floor quite interesting. “Lord Beelzebub wasn't too pleased.”
He hummed as he watched the birds fly over distant trees. “Well, if a demons keeping his name, I suppose I could change mine. If I wanted, hm?”
“Oh, I’m not sure if that’s the best idea-”
“Oh I’m sure fallen angels know all about great ideas,” he stuck his hand out, “I think I’ll go with Crowley.”
Aziraphale returned the gesture and they shook. His nails were as black as his wings. “Crows,” he made the connection instantly. “Clever creatures, those one’s.”
“So what brings you to Eden, demon?”
He let out a long breath, shoulders slumped. “I’m supposed to be causing trouble, but I haven’t the slightest idea how to do that. Very,” he searched for a word, “vague. I think Lord Beelzebub sent me here to get me away from them, really.”
“I can relate to that one. Punishment and nonsense orders.” He motioned towards the garden, and then leaned towards him. “I'm only here because I slept through the rebellion. And then I'm given some silly order to protect this place-” he stopped, and snapped his gaze to Aziraphale. “And what's with this apple business?”
“Oh, I wouldn't know,” he shrugged, “No briefings in Hell it seems.”
“You know what I think,” He looked back to the greenery, “None of this makes any sense. If the Almighty’s so concerned with some fruit, why not put it on the moon?”
Aziraphale instantly glares at him, “That's- That’s borderline blasphemy! Are you trying to Fall?”
His eyebrows shot up, “And why would that concern you, hm? Shouldn’t you want more soldiers down there?”
“What I want is to never have to go back to that dreary place,” his nose scrunched as he scowled, “Hell desperately needs new plumping.” He motioned to his body, “And color pallet.”
He was- he was pouting. Was this seriously the dastardly enemy he’d been warned about?
Crowley cackled, laughter shook his whole body. “You,” he gave an airy laugh, “You know. Heaven, while clean, is rather dull too.”
“At least they have manners upstairs.”
He laughed again before he spoke. “You know,” he let the words drag out, “I bet they’d leave you alone for quite some time if you got the humans to eat that apple.” He put his hands in the air. “Not that I’m telling you to do that, of course.”
The demon just stared at him, and quite bewildered, said, “Are you sure you’re an angel?”
“Hey- I’m the one with the white wings here.”
Aziraphale's eyes trailed their way to the middle of the forest. Looking at the tree, perhaps. He bit his lip for a moment. “I do think you might be right about that.”
“Plus, the almighty can't be too mad. She did put a pretty big neon sign on the blasted thing.”
Soon enough, Aziraphale had slipped away, and stumbled down the wall. Off to do thing Crowley assumed he was meant to thwart, but he really did want some sort of change to happen. And if head office asked, he’d just spin some story about how he thought they meant dangers outside the walls.
By the end of the week, humanity had been banished, and Crowley was demoted down to a principality.
“Go and watch over the humans, and this time actually do some thwarting, Anthony.”
He thought of the odd demon, and how he was probably tasked something similar and smiled.
“Of course Gabriel. My pleasure.”
This could be fun
