Good Omens Fics

Peace is God's Gift to the Earth

The cobblestone alleyways of London twisted around Aziraphale and Crowley as they strolled in the gentle evening light, their steps echoing off the ancient stones. A soft mist curled around them, hinting at the impending rain. Above, the sky was a canvas of fading purples and oranges, the last breath of day giving way to the whispers of night.

The bell above the door of the quaint, antique book"shop" tinkled as Aziraphale pushed it open with a gentle nudge. The scent of aged leather and dusty pages filled the air, a comforting embrace to the angel's senses. Inside, the shelves stretched towards the ceiling, laden with books that whispered of forgotten lore and old secrets.

Crowley followed closely behind, pulling up in his Bentley, his eyes scanning the familiar layout with a hint of boredom, though a glimmer of affection for the place was unmistakable.

Aziraphale made his way to the counter, being careful to avoid knocking over any of the meticulously placed trinkets. He picked up a book called "The Lost Language of Angels" his eyes lighting up with excitement as he traced the embossed gold letters with his finger.

Crowley sauntered over to Aziraphale, his snake-like smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he leaned on the counter. He glanced at the book, then back at Aziraphale, his eyes lingering on the angel's profile.

"You know, you're the only angel I know that still reads that stuff," he says, his tone a mix of teasing and genuine curiosity. The air in the room feels charged with an unspoken understanding, a silent dance of words and glances that have been shared over many lifetimes of friendship.

Aziraphale chuckles softly, not looking up from the book. "Well, someone has to keep the knowledge of heaven alive on Earth," he quips, his cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment.

He opened the book to a random page, revealing a beautifully illuminated manuscript. The colors seemed to glow in the dim light of the shop, casting a warm halo around his face.

"Besides, it's quite fascinating, really. The nuances of the language, the poetry of the words..." His voice trails off as he slowly became lost in the text. Crowley watches him, his gaze lingering on the graceful arch of Aziraphale's face as he reads.

He clears his throat, suddenly feeling a bit too warm. "I suppose it it, if you're into that sort of thing," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. He picked up a book titled "The Art of Hellish Persuasion," flipping through the pages with practices ease. "But i'd rather be reading something with a bit more...bite to it."

Aziraphale looks up from his book, his eyes widening slightly. "Crowley, i didn't know you enjoyed reading," he said, genuine surprise coloring his voice. Crowley raises an eyebrow, holding up the book with a smirk.

"Well, you know, I have to keep up with the times," he replies, his tone light. "But really, it's because i know how much you love it. It makes me happy to see you happy angel." The angel's cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, causing him to set down his book and face Crowley fully.

"That's incredibly sweet of you Crowley," Aziraphale said, his voice earnest. "I had no idea." He pauses, then adds with a soft chuckle," Though i'm not sure a book about angels would be your usual cup of tea."

Crowley's smile falters, his eyes darkening for a brief moment before he catches himself. "Well, you know me," he says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "I'm a demon, after all. I can't go around being sweet all the time, can I?" He runs a hand through his hair, the leather of the jacket creaking as he does so."It's not exactly in the job description."

The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that separates their natures.Aziraphale nods slowly, understanding in his eyes. "But you are sweet, Crowley," he murmurs. "In your own way, and that's what makes you...well you."

Crowley's eyes narrow at Aziraphale's words, a hint of aggression flaring in his gaze. He slams the book shut with a thump that echoes through the shop.

"I'm not sweet!" he snaps, his eyes growing wider with every word he says. "I'm a demon!"

The air in the room seems to tighten, a sudden tension there that wasn't there before. But Aziraphale remains unfazed, his own eyes soft and gentle. He steps closer to Crowley, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"Yes, you are," he agrees, his voice soothing. "But you're also kind, and witty, and surprisingly...endearing." Crowley's posture relaxes, the aggression in his eyes fading.

"You've got a way with words, Angel," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "But I'm not sweet, I'm meant to be the opposite of sweet..." Aziraphale squeezes his arm gently.

"You're more than just a demon, Crowley, you're a friend, and friends are always sweet, even in their own demonic ways," Aziraphale says, a warm smile on his face. The demon's expression softens, and he sighs, looking down at the book in his hand.

I suppose you're right," he concedes, his voice a mix of amusement and acceptance. "Now, about this book..."

The tension in the room dissipates like the last of the mist outside, leaving only the soft glow of the bookshop's lights and the gentle rustle of pages turning. Crowley allows himself to be drawn into Aziraphale's world, his curiosity piques by the book in the angel's hand.

He leans in, his eyes scanning the text over his angel's shoulder. The silence between them no longer tense, but rather filled with the quiet comfort of two beings who have seen so much together, but stick together regardless.

Aziraphale's fingers trace the delicate illustrations, explaining the intricacies of the old text. Crowley nods, genuinely intrigued, his earlier protests forgotten.

They stand there, lost in the ancient lore, until the first drops of rain tap gently against the shop window, pulling them back to the present. The world outside is ever changing, but in this small dusty corner of it, they have found eternal sanctuary.