Good Omens one shots

No less wicked, demon

Crowley was sat at his desk, feet crossed lazily on top of it and hands loose down at the sides of his chair. He was mid way through intimidating his plants, when he just suddenly got bored and went looking for something else to do.

He'd tried to call Aziraphale, multiple times actually, but he hadn't replied to any of them. No answer, no call back, no nothing. And that was definitely unusual for the Angel.

Maybe it was the pure boredom talking, but Crowley couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. He tried to shake off the thought, but no matter what he tried it just stayed solid at the back of his mind. What if something had happened to Aziraphale.

His mind flashed back to the bookshop up in flames, the Angel no where to be found. What if something like that was to happen again?

The demon growled at himself for being so paranoid, after all, he didn't care what happened to that Angel- right? He lent his head back and huffed, already knowing full well how wrong that statement was. Of course he cared about Aziraphale, he loved him.

He'd always loved him, from the moment they met. Maybe the Angel was just oblivious to his desperate flirts and comments, or maybe he just didn't feel the same and was too shy to admit he was uncomfortable. Which ever one it was, Crowley still didn't want anything bad happening to him.

He rose out of his chair, went straight to the phone and pushed in Aziraphale's number, steadying his breathing as the phone began ringing from the other side. He ran through all the possibilities in his mind, and what he'd do for each situation. As soon as the phone would hang up, he would be in the Bentley and off to the bookshop to check on him, if he answered, he'd stay put.

As the phone neared 4 rings and still no answer, Crowley's legs began to shake, his hands tensing around the coil. He prepared himself for the worst as it sent through to the automated voicemail, the line going dead.

The demon flinched, suddenly feeling his heart quicken. "Aziraphale? Aziraphale?! Angel I'm on my way, stay put!" And with that the phone was slammed down and Crowley was running.

His sunglasses steamed up slightly as he rushed into the harsh London heat, foundling around in his pocket for his car keys. "Come on, Come on!" He hissed to himself, finally pulling out the keys and violently unlocking the Bentley.

Red lights, speed limits, roads and pedestrian crossings, none of them mattered as Crowley sped down the streets of central London. He was muttering to himself, trying to stay calm. Why was he so afraid? He'd never really been so scared, of anything. Why now?

As soon as Aziraphale's book shop was in view, Crowley sped to a halt, 'parking' (if you could even call it that) on the side of a busy street and pegging it to the shop. He reached the door and began banging on the door.

"Aziraphale? Aziraphale it's me! Please open the door! Aziraphale?! Come on Angel!" He begged, continuing to practically punch the wooden door.

There was no answer, no shuffling around inside, nothing. Nothing.

Crowley bit his tongue and moved to jiggling the doorknob madly, letting out a grunt as it too was locked. He felt his stomach knot. He knew what he'd have to do.