Compilation of Good Omens One Shots

Show must go on

Summary: After Crowley and Aziraphale separated, they both start to regret it. Months pass, none of them makes the first step to break the ice between them. But they're both getting tired of this game.

⚠️S2 spoilers again⚠️

I've made it listening to "The Show Must Go On" from Queen, and I wanted to make a video of this story below, but I don't have the talent so... Here you go!

1436 words

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  Aziraphale is alone, in the great hall of Heaven. Everything is quiet. No sound has to be heard in Heaven. In those huge spaces left empty, all white, all pure, all bland. In the great hall of Heaven, Aziraphale has never felt so alone.

  He’s wondering. Wondering why he’s here. What he has to do. What is the meaning of his life, now he’s here? But he knows he can’t stop. He can’t just get away from his work and keep on wondering. He’s the Supreme Archangel of Heaven now. He’s got responsibilities.

  As his fingers brush the cover of one of the dozen of files that are laying on his desk, an old one, he thinks of how long it’s been there. Maybe it's even older than Eden. How many angels have touched it before him? Certainly not many. It was a confidential one – only some of the highest archangels could open it, and not even every archangel. Maybe that sweet one he had met in the stars, the redhead, who obviously was one, had. And this archangel became Crowley, in the end.

  Crowley. No, he shouldn't think about him. He knows it, but he just can't help. He always came back to his mind. What has Crowley done for Falling? It only seems… unfair. He wasn’t even properly bad. He only asked questions. But this is not the time to think of it, he decides. He has to fit in if he wants to stay where he is, without being more excluded. Aziraphale sits back at the desk – apparently, it was Gabriel’s before it was his – and grabs the nearest pile of paperwork. He never liked it, but it helps him to stay focused on something. He needed to focus on something in order not to go mad. Aziraphale has to keep on working, never looking up, never seeing that there always seems to be more. He has to do it. He can’t take it – the pain – anymore. He has to pretend everything’s alright – who knows, maybe it'll make it come true? Although neither Michael, nor anyone, seems to really believe him, he has to carry on. Work is waiting, and it shall be done.

  Aziraphale smiles, forcibly. Everything is alright.

***

  Another bottle falls to the ground. Crowley knew he had no chance. Still, he has tried. That should be enough to get over it, but no. Not for him. Not like this. Laying on the back bench of his Bentley, Crowley's really not willing to do anything today. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And the previous one. He won’t go to Maggie’s record shop, nor to Nina’s “Give me death or give me coffee”, and certainly not to the bookshop where he knows who he’ll find. And who he’ll not find. Nina, Maggie, Muriel, they all visit him once or twice – generally twice per person – a week, and he never misses an occasion to ask Nina for death when she comes to check on him, to which she always answers she’s out of stock.

  ‘What is worth living for anyways?’ he whispered, the last time she came, bringing him a big cup with the usual six shots of Espresso.
  ‘A lot of things,’ she said. ‘And if you try to leave us, we’ll get down in Hell and drag you back here by the skin of your neck if we have to.’ She was only half-joking.

  It's almost dawn. The sky is red this morning. Red, like the blood pouring from the wound in his heart, thinks Crowley. But there's no wound in his heart, he isn't physically bleeding, and he feels like he's dying, but Death won't come pick him up before long. The Bentley's playing “Best of Queen”, as always, picking songs that fit. Or at least she tries. Crowley's getting tired of the poor choices of his car. He’s already heard the ones he can’t hear anymore, not without him. He just wants the car to shut up.