Rated M, but maybe E (just a smidge). Squillions of words.
My Good Omens long fic is nearing its finish. It's been a ridiculous almost three months since I last updated it, and whilst it was never meant to be anywhere near this long between chapters, I can see the end now.
I'm hoping that with a fair wind, and calm seas, both final chapters will be posted by the end of this month.
They are a combined 40,000+ words, hence it's taken a bit of time, and have both been divided into sub-chapters to make it easier for eyeballs(!).
I wrote the initial 3k one-shot, late one night, almost exactly a year ago, and then it sat in my drafts as I debated what to do with it. After two weeks, with great trepidation, I hit post.
Now, it's a behemoth of 220,000-odd words. How did that happen?
This is the first chapter, which I still think functions as a one shot (just, you know, with additional, added, more).
Now, back to chapter 43...
Chapter 1: Aziraphale and Lucifer
The blasting whiteness of Heaven, the crushing static hush, and the soul-destroying loneliness; all three combine to weigh heavily upon the Supreme Archangel, and have done since he first set foot again in its hallowed halls.
His Grace is careful to keep his expression neutrally serene at all times. He is acutely aware that even a minor misstep will be used against him, so endeavours to not betray his true feelings with anything so gauche as a display of emotion.
His fellow Higher Beings, far from offering their assistance with such a huge and demanding role, are eager to catch him out in any perceived infringement of doctrine, and they lay Angelic traps for a (presumed) weak and naive fool. These might lurk in an arch turn of phrase, or the rise of an exquisite brow, and must be navigated with care.
Aziraphale has just left a meeting of the upper echelons of Angels, where he has just regrettably spent yet more pointless and unrewarding hours of his existence. As usual, he has achieved precisely nothing.
The same issues are discussed in an endless repeat, but it makes no difference whatsoever, as they all know that it is the Metatron's Will that is ultimately the only conclusion that will be reached, regardless of what is decided by the Angel allegedly in charge.
Those issues all boil down to the same thing - the Second Coming, and its planning and implementation.
Aziraphale knows that if he has any chance of stopping Armageddon 2.0 he needs Crowley beside him, but he and Crowley are Not Talking.
It's all such a mess, and with the way things between them were left, he is unsure how to go about making it right. He doesn't even know where he should begin.
Aziraphale sighs in a great exhalation of tiredness and frustration, but only once he is quite sure that no one is around to see.
He enters his study, and locks and Wards it. It is one of the only things that he managed to get his way on, a space just for him, with The Metatron making his full displeasure at the preposterous demand known. It had been a small victory in an epic game of Celestial point scoring. Chalk one up for Mr. Fell.
He is surprised, and disconcerted, to see a blood red envelope sitting incongruously on his desk, its bold colour marking it out as not-of-Heaven. He crosses the room, stopping an arms reach from the missive, and considers the unexpected development.
is written in bold and flowing calligraphy across the surface, using a glossy and rich, darkest gold ink. The smooth and expensive paper is enhanced with a fine hand, the letters curlicued with added flourishes and swirls that wouldn't look out of place on a communication from a Monarch.
Aziraphale takes a soothing breath, and then plucks up the crimson paper. He turns it over carefully, and inserts a finger to lift the flap. He takes out the equally red letter, unfolds it and reads thusly:
Aziraphale holds the letter in stiff hands, a wave of emotion running through him. It's not every day a communication arrives from the other place, especially not from Lucifer himself. There is only one candidate for the friend - Crowley.
He is not stupid, Aziraphale knows of course that this could be a trap, but he isn't minded to think it is. He thinks it's more personal.
Permit? The Angel looks inside the envelope, and sees a small, round disc. He tips it out onto the desk, and the light catches it as it rolls to a stop. A small, but perfectly formed, dragon is picked out in relief, his little fangs and claws clearly visible upon the otherwise flat metal surface.
Aziraphale makes a decision - Crowley - and reaches towards the desk.
A moment later it's in his hand, and he feels a sudden jerk sideways; without warning, he finds himself standing on a rugged clifftop far away from Heaven.
He staggers with the shock of the location change, and looks quickly around him. It's night time, complete with a full moon hanging in the sky above, and with The Bentley parked underneath it, bathed in its reflected light.
With a sucked-in breath, Aziraphale dashes to the car, frightened of what he might find. He makes straight for the driver's-side door, and nearly trips over a body sprawled on the floor.
"Crowley!" for it can only be him.
Aziraphale drops to his knees, checking desperately for signs of life. The Demon is unconscious, and does not respond to his repeated name or a pinch on his hand. There is an over-powering whiff of alcohol assaulting the Angel's sense of smell, and he wonders just how much he has consumed. Enough to poison himself?
With a rush of adrenaline coursing through his arteries, Aziraphale forces himself to listen hard through the panicked roaring in his ears, and catches a slow breath sound - it's faint, but steady, thank the Lord! He feels an avalanche of relief crash over him, despite Crowley showing no indication of being anywhere near awakening.
"What have you done to yourself?" he asks rhetorically.
"Drunk himself into a stupor, again."
Startled, and taken unawares, Aziraphale jumps to his feet, and spins to face the deep and rich voice.
"Sorry, didn't mean to alarm you, though actually that's a lie, I did, but at least I'm honest. Charmed to meet you, Supreme Archangel, I'm sure."
Lucifer Morningstar is standing off to one side, his eyes glinting in the bright moonlight. Where did he come from? Or has he been there all along?
"Lucifer! Is this your doing? Look at the state of him! Why have you just left him there? At least have the decency to help me get him into a more comfortable position!"
Aziraphale's heart is racing in his discomfort, and his agitation is bleeding into his babbled words. Realising he is at a disadvantage, he makes a determined effort of will to calm himself.
Throughout his time up in Heaven, and by tedious and painful experience, Aziraphale has learnt a lot about keeping his cards close to his chest. He very much does not want to give away any more than he has to, and absolutely not to this particular Demon.
His over-inflated reputation precedes him, and Aziraphale wouldn't trust him to tie his own shoe laces.
The Demon confidently strolls over to the car, bends down, and picks Crowley effortlessly up, leaving the Angel feeling he is reduced to the status of a by-stander.
It's been a year since he's seen him, twelve months since
I forgive you/Don't bother
and their reunion has been nothing like the fantasies in his head. With poor Crowley unconscious, and that Demon strutting about the cliff as if he owns it! And the cliff! Why here? What was Crowley planning?
Lucifer rudely grunts in reply, and slightly shifts Crowley's position in his arms. "Open the back door," he commands.
Back door? The Bentley doesn't have a back door... Oh, she appears to have one now. Aziraphale duly opens it. The back seat is apparently long and wide enough to function as a bed, despite still being its normal dimensions on the outside. Lucifer carefully lays the Demon down on his side, at least semi in the recovery position.
"Look after him, please."
It takes the Angel a moment to realise that Lucifer is talking to The Bentley, and that she seems to be listening. Crowley looks to be comfortable enough, although it's hard to tell with a six-foot-plus devil in the way.
He deigns to extract himself from the vintage motor, and turns to face him. "And so to business, if you'll kindly step this way?" He grins, showing far too many teeth for the Angel's liking, and indicates a small table and two chairs that weren't there a moment before.
Once they are both settled in a seat, Aziraphale asks, "Would you care to explain?" He feels as if he is in a high-stakes poker game (not that he's ever played, of course), and with Crowley as the prize.
In many ways, he's right.
"That," indicates Lucifer, in the general direction of the car, "is entirely your doing. Crowley's been a mess since you went back to Heaven, pass-out drunk most nights. Dangerous to be by himself. He comes here more and more often, and I think I hardly need to point out the big drop just a short way over there."
"You think he would... discorporate himself?" Aziraphale is aghast. No, surely not! Crowley wouldn't... would he? If he wound up back in Hell, what would they do to him?
Lucifer gives a non-committal shrug. "I've picked him up more times than I can count. The Bentley and I have an understanding, as she knows I have her Master's best interests at heart."
Aziraphale's eyebrows rise at that. If it were anyone else, he would almost think Lucifer cared about Crowley.
He takes the opportunity to have a proper look at him. It has been millennia since he's seen him, but he still looks like the Angel he was. Tall, dark, broad-shouldered, handsome enough, he supposes, with long black hair swinging down his back to his waist. Charismatic, if you like that sort of thing.
Aziraphale remembers running into his trajectory in the halls of Heaven sometimes, just casually and without any agenda. He also remembers Crowley being with him there, and feeling envious of their obvious closeness. He shakes his head to clear the unhelpful thought away, and steeples his hands in front of him as he does so.
"Why are you helping him?" A lot will ride on this answer. Is it all a game to the Demon, or something more? What else could it be?
"Why aren't you? Oh, I forgot. Nothing lasts forever," Lucifer delivers his pronouncement with a twist of his mouth.
Aziraphale flinches as if he's been slapped. "What? No, that's..."
Lucifer cuts him off. "Crowley drinks to forget, but sometimes the alcohol brings on a bout of remembering. On the rare occasions I find him early enough, just before he's so far gone that he falls unconscious, he'll tell me things. Oh certainly, you could say it's the drink talking, but it doesn't make what he's saying any less true."
The too-handsome-by-half Demon has a very direct stare, and Aziraphale is feeling the full weight of it. He has to work hard not to fidget beneath the glare.
"I'm asking for your honesty tonight, Supreme Archangel, cards on the table. I believe you and I both want the same thing, and he's lying in The Bentley."
Aziraphale's face is still calm, but inside his emotions are swirling fit to burst.
He has desperately wanted to be reconciled with Crowley since that awful moment he had left The Bookshop, and ever has he been at the forefront of Aziraphale's thoughts. All he wants to do is to go over and...and...well, many things spring to mind. What he does not want to be is sat here with Lucifer, having this very weird and awkward conversation. He particularly does not want to be having a conversation with Crowley's...ex.
Maybe not so ex, if all this is anything to go by.
"Why did you want to talk to me? I would have thought if I'm up in Heaven, it would make it easier for you to get your hands on him." Without strictly meaning to, a sharp and pinched tone has begun to edge into the Angel's voice. He can't help it, and is not sure he wants to.
"So you do have some feelings lurking." Lucifer stretches out his ridiculously long legs, apparently completely at his ease.
There is the ghost of a smirk writhing around his mouth, and Aziraphale wonders if those lips have tasted Crowley's recently?
"Crowley thinks your nothing lasts forever, means you shrugged off any feelings that you did have, as soon as you had the chance to go back to Heaven."
"No! No! How can he think that?" Aziraphale is horrified that Crowley might indeed think this. "I meant the Bookshop, being here on Earth! Surely, surely he didn't think I meant him? Us? He can't have done. Surely...?"
The sudden realisation of yes, that's exactly what the Demon had thought hits him. "Oh Lord, that explains the good luck, I couldn't understand why he said it."
Aziraphale rests his head in his hands at the epiphany.
For a long moment nothing is said, then he continues in a voice that has deepened with regretful comprehension. "Tell me, what else has he said that might have been the drink talking?"
Lucifer's eyes catch the bright moonlight, and glitter malevolently. "Crowley told me you wanted him with you as a subordinate."
"No! Well I only meant..." he blusters, trying to find a way to convince Lucifer (or himself?) of exactly what he had meant.
"And that you only wanted him back as the Angel he had been." Lucifer's own voice hardens, and he seems to take particular offence at this.
"No! Absolutely not! Why would he say such a thing?"
At the back of his mind, Aziraphale knows this might all be a trick, he also knows that it's not. The evidence is the car whose loyalty to Crowley is absolute.
"I don't understand! I would never..." His voice trails off as he re-runs The Incident through his mind.
We could be angels, together, like the old times.
"Oh no, no! I didn't mean... I didn't mean that he wasn't good enough as he was!"
"Then what did you mean?" It feels like they are in a courtroom, with Aziraphale in the Dock, and Lucifer in the role of ferocious prosecutor.
"I only wanted Crowley to be safe, for us to be together! Properly, without fear. He should never have fallen in the first place! I only wanted to put everything right again! I thought Crowley would want that!" Aziraphale trails off as for the first time, he really considers his words, and his intentions. How and why, in just those fateful fifteen minutes, it had all fallen apart so quickly.
"You know The Metatron played you for a fool?"
Aziraphale's brow furrows, and a frown pulls down the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, please tell me you at least understood that?!" Lucifer scoffs. "The Metatron is a selfish bastard that will do anything to get what he wants."
Aziraphale nods in agreement at that - he had at least got that one himself.
"Do you know why he was so quick to get you to Heaven? Well? I thought you might have worked that one out. No? Hmm, not the brightest star in the sky, are we?"
The Angel glares daggers at the arrogant Demon.
"The reason he offered you a job you are so obviously unsuited for, is that he wanted you and Crowley split up."
"Minding your own business? You hadn't, say, performed a massive Miracle together that week?"
"But, what? The only way to neutralise the pair of you was to bring you under his control. And you, dear Aziraphale," (said with utmost contempt), "walked right into it."
"Crowley? The Metatron has his own issues with Crowley! If for some unfathomable reason he had gone with you, he no doubt would have been in a cell the moment he stepped foot in Heaven. Or at any rate, under some form of control," the Demon hisses the words out. "Either way, The Metatron got what he wanted."
Lucifer sits back and firmly folds his arms. Even in his overwhelmed distress, Aziraphale can see some familiarity in him, but he can't quite place it.
"There was... there was a threat, too." Aziraphale's voice is quieter now. "He knew about Crowley and I - knew about many of the things we had done together. He knew."
Lucifer sits watching him for a long moment; he is weighing and judging the quality of the Angel's evidence, and deciding what his next step forward will be.
"I asked you here to give you the chance to put your side. Clearly, you two had the most almighty miscommunication. Mistakes were royally made, and here we are. You, stuck up in Heaven, the only one who plays by the rules..."
That stings, all the more so for it being the truth.
"...and Crowley being a mess down here. The Metatron being a smug bastard thinking he's got everything just as he wants it, and I'm having to clear up your mess."
There is a brief pause, and then Lucifer leans forward. This is the business end of the conversation.
"I would be happy for you to fuck off and never see him again, but that wouldn't do for Crowley. So I'm giving you the chance that you don't deserve," harsh, "to get your shit together. Decide you want him, and do something about it, or leave, and I'll get my hands on him, as you so eloquently put it. Crowley was mine before he ever was yours, up in Heaven, and when we first Fell down to Hell. He began to slip through my fingers when he went to Eden, though I can't imagine why."
The two Beings hold each other's gaze, and then Lucifer continues.
"Yours or mine, Aziraphale? Tick tock, tick tock." He shakes his head."You think we're the Bad Guys..."
Aziraphale flinches again as he recalls saying that to his Demon. Of course he didn't mean Crowley himself, but Crowley had obviously thought he did.
"...but I'm proving you wrong. I'm doing the Right Thing, if only so I can look at Crowley and say honestly that I tried. I've never lied to him, can you say the same? Make your decision, Aziraphale. If you decide to stay Heaven's good little Angel, then I'll do everything in my power to make Crowley mine again. You won't get a second chance." And with that, Lucifer abruptly stands up, clearly deciding their meeting has run its course.
Aziraphale sits frozen for a long moment, then gets to his feet with all the grace he can muster. "I can't fault you for your honesty, I suppose. How does your boss feel about you doing all this? I don't imagine he'd be happy about it." The Angel is trying to catch Lucifer off guard, anything to try and level the playing field between them. Besides which, he is genuinely curious.
"Not so much a boss, as a peer, but as I expect you can gather, this is all done off the record. I've kept an eye on Crowley-"
"I'll bet you have!" The Angel is indignant as he imagines what Lucifer might have seen over the years.
"I'm going to ignore that. I've kept an eye on Crowley always," he says the last word with a quiet and resounding emphasis. "Whenever I could I've managed to arrange things so his, and your, little adventures went undiscovered."
"What? We were always so careful! At least..."
Lucifer shakes his head disbelievingly, his hands angrily on his hips. "No. No, you weren't. It didn't always work of course, I couldn't stop every punishment." Regret tinges his speech, and Aziraphale flinches at the possibilities that it suggests.
He's aware that Hell does things differently from Heaven,
my side doesn't send rude notes,
but has never known any details. Crowley has kept it all to himself, and the Angel has never asked. Not once.
He is shamed by that thought. "It seems I should thank you, then."
"Best not. Time for you to go, Supreme Archangel. Have you made your choice?"
There is no choice to be made. Not this time. He cannot abandon Heaven, not when doing so will leave the World defenceless against the Second Coming, but he also cannot, will not, leave Crowley again.
Realisation hits him on several points. He is the only one to play by the rules, at least amongst the higher Angelic ranks. Where has that got him? He has had it on good authority that he's just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, so it's time to make good on that.
The other point that suddenly seems so obvious, is that the familiarity he's been feeling from Lucifer is a certain Crowley-esque attitude, and he can now see why they would have been drawn to each other. It's not a particularly welcome thought, but there it is.
"I'm going back to Heaven," Lucifer's eyes light up, but Aziraphale holds up a hand, "but I'm not giving up on Crowley. I have... business I need to take care of Upstairs, so I do have to return, but it's time The Metatron understands that I am the Supreme Archangel."
"A backbone at last?" Lucifer looks surprised.
The Angel bristles at the astonishment. "Yes, as it happens, and now I want to say goodbye to Crowley. A little privacy, if you would be so kind?"
Lucifer nods, although he doesn't look terribly happy about it.
Aziraphale walks over to The Bentley, and pats her gently on the bonnet.
"You are a Good Car my dear. Thank you for looking after Crowley for me."
She flashes her lights in response.
The unexpected back door is wide open, letting the warm and fresh air in, and Crowley is still out-cold, his hair falling over his eyes. It's grown a fair amount in the last year, a not-so subtle reminder of how long they've been parted.
The Angel delicately checks him over. He performs a Miracle to take away the worst of the alcohol, and with understanding drawn from many years experience, something extra. The Demon should now be sleeping, rather than being unconscious. Aziraphale longs to touch him, but it feels wrong when he is so vulnerable.
He shuts his eyes, sighs and then opens them again, with the words he wants to say ready on his tongue.
"Wait for me, please, my Dear. I'm terribly sorry we parted on such bad terms, and I'm sorry we misunderstood each other so utterly. We will need to talk, properly, when you are... more yourself. I will need your help though, Crowley, I can't do it on my own. If I am to change the course of Heaven, I will need you at my side. I'll be back to you soon. Sleep well, Dearest."
An extra Miracle ensures that Crowley will remember Aziraphale's words on waking, though quite what he'll make of them is anyone's guess. The Angel turns back to Hell's Creative Director.
"Is there a similar way to get back to how I came here?"
Lucifer tosses Aziraphale another of the small coins. The moment he catches it, he feels that same sideways jerk, and he's back in his office. A tiny wisp of black smoke is all that's left of the letter - not even a pile of ash remains.
It starts now, the fightback against the coming destruction. He has learnt much this past year, but until now has been afraid to act on it. He's been scared in case the Metatron moved against Crowley, but seeing as the Demon is now doing an outstanding job of trying to destroy himself on his own (and that's a wounding thought in itself), desperate times call for desperate measures.
There is a knock on the door.
She is one of the frequent Messenger Angels that bring endless, mind-numbing administration to his desk. He removes the Ward, and unlocks the door, then bids her enter.
"More paperwork for you from the Metatron, Sir." She makes to put it down in front of him, but Aziraphale forestalls her.
"No. I think that can be dealt with by someone lower down."
"But Sir, The Metatron said..."
"That's as maybe, but I am saying no. I have important work to do. Now please close the door on your way out, thank you."
There, that wasn't so hard, he thinks. One small refusal, and the first battle line has been drawn.
Luc watches as Aziraphale disappears. He waves away the tables and chairs, and walks over to the car, his mind whirring away as he thinks over the meeting that has just occurred. He crouches down by the open door, and checks on the precious cargo.
"You always said you saw the good in me, Crowley." His voice is low, and weary-sounding. "Well, for once I thought I'd try to act it, much good it will do me though. You're safe in the car, The Bentley will look after you." He pauses, and runs a hand through his impeccable hair. There is much he would like to say, but settles for "See you around, Snake."
He rises, and nods his thanks to The Bentley. He has done all he can for the moment, he just hopes it will be enough. He disappears quietly into the night.
Crowley, asleep on his car's back seat, will remember his words as well, but Luc is unaware of that.
Chapter 2: The Bentley and Crowley
