Fallen ~•A Good Omens Fanfiction •~

Chapter 17: Someone who cares

Chapter 17: Someone who cares
Almighty's narration

  The Not-Armageddon was almost long-forgotten, in the mind of the many people who took part in it. Only Aziraphale and Crowley kept it in mind. They didn't really think about Apocalypse itself, more about the one they thought would cause it. It had been four years that they hadn't seen him the way he knew them, and they had promised they would come back.
  Crowley told Aziraphale what he planned to do, and the angel agreed.

***

  ‘Warlock Dowling, someone’s there for you!’
  Warlock was twelve years old and in a private school, and his parents never came to pick him up. Who would that be? Not anyone had cared about him since he was eight.
  ‘I don't think so,’ he called back.
  ‘She says her name is Miss Ashtoreth and that you know her.’
  He stayed still, silent. He didn't move an inch, eyes wide open. In his mind, je was back to being a little boy. Ashtoreth. He hadn’t heard that name in ages. He had almost forgotten it. It brought back so many memories. Happy memories. Warlock didn't even know he had so many good memories.
  ‘I’m coming.’
  He got up and calmly walked to the door. She stood there, just like he remembered, black dress, small sunglasses and her red hair, which had been cut, hidden under her hat.
  ‘Hello, Nanny,’ he said.
  She smiled and opened her arms. He ran to her and hugged her tight.
  ‘I missed you…’ he murmured.
  ‘I missed you too, darling. But I'm here now, I'm here.’
  He brought her to his room and they talked, as long as they were allowed to, taking back time. They had been separated for far too long, and so they enjoyed every single moment. The goodbyes came, and he looked at peace. Finally… All that he had always needed was someone who cared.

***

  Time is vicious. It takes the good moments away too soon, always. It’s always too soon. The only thing that’s left of it is the memories we keep and cherish. Even the things we believed eternal must at once come to an end.
  Even more those.
  Crowley had lived long enough to be well aware of that, but it still surprised him. He thought it could be the exception, that against all odds, it would last. It had lasted long enough already, why wouldn't it last a little longer?
  But it didn't.
  Aziraphale…
  Aziraphale was gone.
  He had left him. He had chosen Heaven over him, and Crowley didn't understand. He couldn't understand, and he didn't want to understand. He believed he did, though, but hoped he was wrong.
  Muriel, the angel who took care of the bookshop now that Aziraphale was gone, tried to help him, as well as Nina and Maggie. It didn’t really work. There was somebody special he needed, and he wasn't there.
  That didn't mean Crowley didn't care about them, he did. Very deep down, he was thankful for their dedication, and was sorry he made them do that for him. He wanted to be able to do what they told him to do, but he missed Aziraphale too much. They had been together so long, it felt like a part of himself had been torn off. All the efforts Nina, Maggie and Muriel made couldn’t fill the hole he had left in his heart, no matter how hard they tried.
  ‘Mr Crowley, you shouldn't drink that much,’ the little voice of an angel took him out of his thoughts.
  He was surrounded by empty wine and whisky bottles, as it often seemed to happen. Muriel looked worried, a few books in her arms. She knew Crowley wouldn't follow her advice, he never did.
  ‘Nah, it’s fine,’ sharply said Crowley, who had just sobered up.
  ‘You’re just going to drink the same bottles over and over again, are you?’
  ‘What else could I do?’
  ‘Well, I have done all I could, but your plants seem to deperish, and even the Bentley looks grayish now…’
  It was true the plants didn't look well. A few months before, that would have made the demon go mad and shout at his plants, but he didn't care anymore. The plants weren't really sick, Muriel took good care of them, they were sad because of their owner’s attitude. They were like him, in some way, they liked Aziraphale too. But they were just plants.
  ‘Water them. And shout, that’ll do.’
  ‘I’m not sure it will…’ muttered the angel, too low for Crowley to hear.
  She went away with the books, sighing, and the demon grabbed a bottle and drank it all in one go. The good thing about being drunk, thought the demon, is that it hurts less.
  And it was painful.

***

  ‘Where are you going?’
  ‘Don’t worry, I'm sober,’ replied Crowley. ‘Just going for a ride. Don’t wait for me for dinner.’
  The fact that he was actually joking reassured Muriel, for the first time in what seemed like ages. She let him go, a worried smile on her face, and decided to open the bookshop. She knew she wouldn't sell anything, but it was heartwarming to know she could do it without a drunk demon inside.
  He drove forth, in the silence of his car, that seemed almost “dead”, not knowing where he was going. He had some kind of idea, but his mind couldn’t focus on anything. He seemed alright, but it was only on the outside. He had never been so lost, so depressed, so desperate, crying immensely loud in his head, but no words crossed the barrier of his lips.
  He drove forth, in the silence of his car, not knowing where he was going.