Falling Heavenward: A Good Omens Crowley/Aziraphale Fanfic

Snakes and Hearts

Crowley really, really wanted a chat with Dagon. This was not something that he had often felt in the last sixty centuries. He tended to avoid his superiors except when he was pretty sure a commendation was on the way. But he needed an expert in celestial contract law, and Dagon was the best he knew.

Unfortunately, Dagon was presumably on Asmodeus' side now. Crowley had to be his own expert.

Crowley had obediently left the bookshop on Aziraphale's request. Fifteen minutes later, he headed back in, the doors unlocking at his gesture. Demons couldn't enter angelic ground without permission. Apparently his snowy white wings were enough to change the rules. It probably didn't occur to whoever drew up the rules of contact that angels would even want to break into each other's property. More fool them.

It all depended on how much Adam had changed the bookshop's collection. Aziraphale had seemed quite content with the changes to his stock, the dear old chap, once he'd looked them up in the price guide. What had he said? Whoo-ee. He would, too, head firmly lodged back in-- No. That was wrong. Aziraphale didn't care what his books were worth, their value just made it more difficult to keep track of the tax and insurance, and he detested paperwork. It wasn't like he ever let anyone buy them anyway. Crowley's head was hurting.

He had to concentrate. The entire bookshop couldn't be children's books. Aziraphale would have broken his heart. He specialised. Books of prophecy, Bible misprints, Apocrypha. Angelogy and demonology, Crowley was pretty sure. Aziraphale's sense of humour wouldn't be able to resist it. There had to be something on supernatural contracts there.

Two hours of reading later, Crowley's head was aching. Plenty of stories of getting out of demonic contracts, although he doubted any of them were true, not if Dagon had penned the contracts. In any case, they generally required fasting to show self-denial, which probably didn't count if you didn't exactly require material sustenance in order to survive, and intercessional prayer to retrieve the contract. Which meant appealing to Sandalphon. Crowley considered his chances of getting Sandalphon to intervene on his and Aziraphale's behalf, and groaned.

Heavenly covenants were worse. Do not be rash with your mouth, and let not your heart utter anything hastily before God. For God is in heaven, and you on earth; therefore let your words be few. For a dream comes through much activity, and a fool's voice is known by his many words. When you make a vow to God, do not delay to pay it; for He has no pleasure in fools. Pay what you have vowed—better not to vow than to vow and not pay.

He had uttered hastily, all right, at least in his heart. And he was pretty sure he was a fool. "So what precisely," Crowley asked the air, "did I vow to pay?"

He needed to know the exact words. After all, in contracts, the words, as well as the intent, mattered. Had his intent had been as simple as let me be someone Aziraphale can love? Or even simpler, please stop this hurting? Somewhere, in the gap between intent and wording, was where the loophole Gabriel had exploited would be. And when there was one loophole, there would be another, for Crowley to exploit.

Asmodeus was not going to give him any clues. He was going to have to figure this out himself. As long as Aziraphale didn't remember him, it felt hopeless.

Crowley picked up the books to return them to their places. He really didn't want to be here when Aziraphale and—oh, Heaven and Hell, he really didn't want to know if Asmodeus was with Aziraphale when he returned. Some things were better unseen. One of the books slipped from his arms. The Sepher ha Zohar, which he had picked up on the off chance and not got to reading. One of the many bookmarks the books were bristling with slipped out of it, and Crowley picked it up, guiltily worrying if Aziraphale would, among these thousands of books, notice a bookmark out of place. He wouldn't put it past him.