The Incarnate (A Good Omens CrowleyxReader)

~Chapter 16~

You're still sitting in your room, hiding from everything. You check the clock hanging on your wall-- it's around five pm and you're hungry.

So you inch out of your room. You can hear Crowley in his study, doing... whatever.

You quickly make yourself some toast. That'll do. You don't feel like making anything too big. You consider making something for Crowley, then remember that he's a demon and doesn't enjoy eating. Oh, well.

And then you hear the study door open.

"Hey, I'm just making some toast." He walks in.

"Okay. You do that. I'm going to go talk to a guy. Want to come?"

"Sure." You eat quickly and turn back to him.

"Okay, let's go." He turns and leaves and you follow.

In the car, you decide to ask him who this guy is.

"So. Who are we meeting?"

"His name's Shadwell. He's a general in the witchfinder army and he can probably send someone to check out this Adam."

"But he isn't a witch...?"

"But it's close enough to send him to find the kid. And probably kill him."

"What? No! He's only a kid and he doesn't know his powers!"

"But it's one life for billions. It's worth it." You don't say anything because you know he has a point.

"Anyways, we're here, meeting at this diner."

"Okay." He stops the car and you both get out.

You sit next to Crowley across from a man who looks to be in his late fifties. A bit grody, but... he seems alright. Just a little bit insane. You decide you'll let Crowley do the talking. No point in messing things up.

"Hello, Mr. Shadwell."

"That'sSergeant Shadwell for ya. Is your father doin' well? Look just like 'im." Mr. Shadwell has a very strong Scottish accent.

"Yes, yes, he's doing fine. And I'm told that a lot. Anyway, you have an army, correct? Could you help me find a kid?"

"Possibly. Is 'e a witch?"

"Ah, no."

"How many nipples does 'e have?"

"Uh, the normal two...?"

"Oh, very well, then. I'll put my best men on it. What's the name and address?" As Crowley tells Shadwell about the antichrist, you look into the back of the diner. There's a man, flipping burgers, quietly singing Elvis's Ain't Nothin' But A Hound Dog. He's doing a decent job. Even though he's cooking, his apron has sequins and such on it and his jet-black hair is slicked back. Must be an Elvis geek.

"Alright, izzat all?" That's Shadwell. You turn back to the conversation.

"Yeah. Call me when you find something." Crowley stands to go and so do you.

"Right away. You and your wife have a nice day." He takes a sip from his coffee and you jump in.

"Oh, no, we're not--"

"Y/N, let it go, we're done. Let him think what he wants to think." He refuses eye contact with you and turns to go. You follow, glancing back to Shadwell, who's draining his cup. Oh well.

The rest of the car ride is spent in awkward silence. So you do what you can to break it.

"How'd you meet that guy?"