One-Shots - Good Omens | Ineffable Husbands

I Hate Street Performers

Aziraphale and Crowley were walking down the street one sunny afternoon when Aziraphale pointed out a crowd.

"What do you think is going on?" Aziraphale asked, gesturing to the small hoard of people gathered on the sidewalk.

Crowley shrugged and rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Let's just go around them,"

Aziraphale huffed. "Well, maybe there's something interesting going on. If there's a crowd of people there must be something worth seeing. Let's investigate!"

Crowley ambled behind Aziraphale as they approached the crowd. There were plenty of children sitting atop their parent's shoulders making it almost impossible to see. Crowley had now become slightly intrigued, so he took charge and shoved his way up to the front, Aziraphale following behind him.

When they had parted through the sea of people, a man was revealed. He was sitting in the center of the crowd, perched on a little metal stool. He was clutching an acoustic guitar, coated with stickers from various countries and landmarks. In front of him was his guitar case, which had been propped open and filled with coins or paper bills.

"I hate street performers," Crowley murmured to Aziraphale.

"He must be good if he's gathered this many people," Aziraphale defended.

Crowley just scoffed and realized there was no way he was pulling Aziraphale away from the traveling man and his guitar.

"Okay," the performer coughed. "This next song that I'm going to do I actually wrote myself,"

A couple of people in the crowd clapped and he smiled at them.

"My ancestors came from a small fishing village, and there's a story that has been passed down through generations. It's about an angel who saved the village from a fire," He explained as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. "The strange thing about it was that the angel was said to have wings as dark as night, hair the colour of fire and eyes that portrayed the devil and such," He chuckled a little, inviting the rest of the audience to do so as well.

"Hey, Crowley?" Aziraphale nudged Crowley with his elbow.

"Hmm?"

"As part of our... arrangement didn't I send you to go save a burning village?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley paused for a moment, his face scrunching up in thought. "No, I don't think so,"

Aziraphale gasped. "I did! Crowley, do you think he could be singing about the same village you saved?"

"I didn't save any villages," Crowley hissed, "I'm a demon,"

Aziraphale sighed. "I know that! But you took care of the village and in exchange I... I can't quite remember. Something with a train, perhaps?"

Crowley scowled as the performer lightly strummed his guitar.

"Oh here we go," Crowley complained.

The performer, as promised, proceeded to sing. "We thought we were done for, thought we were left for dead."

Another strum.

"But that's when we were saved, by the angel redhead,"

Aziraphale broke out into a grin and grabbed Crowley by the arm as if silently conveying 'See! I told you! It is about you!'

The performer began to pick at the strings of the guitar very quickly as he suddenly burst into fast song.

"He came down from the Heaven's, or maybe just down the street

As he made his way into town, he seemed to drag his feet

He was sent here to save us, that we know is true

But yet he had such evil eyes, which left us all confused

The fire climbed into the sky, burning up the houses

But then he swooped in and rescued the children and the spouses

We thought we were done for, thought we were left for dead

But my ancestors and my lineage

Give thanks to the angel redhead,"

Barely halfway through the song, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and dragged him away from the crowd, the performer entering into another of the song in the background.

"Oh, Crowley! That was about you! That's so sweet!" Aziraphale exclaimed.

Crowley just shook his head. "I'm an angel, though. Imagine if Beelzebub or somebody had been walking down this street and heard that,"

Aziraphale let out a defeated sigh. "I, for one, think that it is superb that people are still recalling tales about you,"

"I'm sure there are people out there telling stories about you too, Angel,"

Aziraphale lit up. "You really think that?!"

Crowley crumpled up his face in confusion. "Of course I do, you've done way more miracles than I have. You leave a lasting impression,"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, well, I just... I meant it like a lot of people are going to remember their lives being saved," Crowley stammered.

Aziraphale beamed. "I guess you're quite right,"

They walked down the street, Aziraphale glowing with the idea that humans could be telling stories about him. Stories! Like in books! Aziraphale loved his books and the thought that someone could be talking about him like a character in a book- well, it made the sun shine just a little brighter.

Crowley, though reluctant to acknowledge it, thought fondly of the idea as well. Down in Hell he was just another screw-up demon who annoyed the daylights out of everyone. Yet, here on Earth, he was a story. A hero, even. Some days, Crowley felt as if he had never fallen in the first place.  

- 868 Words - 

I thought this was kind of a cute idea. Please don't judge the song I'm no lyricist, I just kinda threw together words that rhymed lol. I promise I'll do some more fluffy one-shots.