One-Shots - Good Omens | Ineffable Husbands

Fire and Flame

This one is rather long, my apologies.

TW: One singular cuss word. Also fire. 

Heat.

Light.

Heat.

Pain.

Screaming.

Heat.

Not enough time.

Smoke poured out from the windows of Aziraphale's bookshop. Lights and sirens flooded the area, but that didn't compare to the light coming from the flames. Crowley had rushed inside, the heat smacking him in the face almost instantly.

Thick flames lapped at the walls, the smoke polluting the air and making it hard to see. Shreds of paper were blown around in the air accompanied by the sound of popping wood and a melting record player.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley screamed out, navigating his way around the flames.

"Aziraphale?! Where the Heaven are you, you idiot?!" He spun aimlessly in circles as if looking at the growing flames would answer his question. "I can't find you!"

"Aziraphale! For God- For Sata- Oh for somebody's sake where are you?!" The demon stumbled over his words, not really caring about how he couldn't form a coherent sentence. All he cared about was that maybe Aziraphale would hear him.

Crowley stopped when he saw something in the flames- a body.

"No, no, no..." He mumbled, rushing over to the body lying on the floor.

The flames obscured most of his vision, but Crowley could see all he needed. He saw a seared, tan, pant leg. He saw shimmering gold shoes.

"Somebody killed my best friend!" Crowley screamed, falling to his knees.

The flames danced around him as he began to sob. He screamed out, no words in particular. Just anger. Just sadness. Shaking sobs racked through his body as he pounded his fists onto the hardwood floor. He felt empty.

A set of firefighters suddenly burst through the door, followed by a stream of water smashing through one of the windows.

"Sir!" one of them yelled, rushing to Crowley and grabbing him by the arm. "You need to come with us!"

"No!" Crowley yanked his arm from the firefighter's thick glove.

"Sir, it isn't safe!"

The firefighters grabbed onto Crowley, pulling him to his feet and dragging him to the door.

Crowley thrashed in their grip. "Aziraphale!"

Crowley woke with a sharp gasp. He shot up in his bed, suddenly out of breath.

"Aziraphale..." He murmured, the name still fresh on his tongue as if he really had been screaming out for him.

Crowley fell back onto the pillows and dragged his hands down his face. He hated that dream and unfortunately, he had it quite frequently. Usually, Crowley loved to sleep. Hell, he once slept for a whole century! Yet this dream, this reoccurring nightmare, was enough to make him want to stop sleeping.

For some reason, though, this time it felt different. This time, instead of waking up and dismissing it as an awful dream, he felt empty. Just as he had in the dream. He felt like someone had come along and ripped the heart out of his chest leaving an open cavity. He had only felt that way one other time and that was when he had really found Aziraphale's shop on fire. Luckily, though, he wasn't dead.