The Improbable Alliance of One Angel and Demon~ Good Omens

Lost

  The duo neared the birthing hospital where Crowley swore he had delivered the baby eleven years ago. Aziraphale hummed under his breath along to the music, but Crowley was much too preoccupied with his newfound feelings to pay attention to Queen, no matter how much he loved them.

  Crowley parked the Bentley haphazardly, the car's back wheels resting on the well-manicured lawn. Almost as soon as the pair stepped outside, Aziraphale was already questioning the hospital's legitimacy. Crowley noted a small garden by the entrance to the hospital, and murmured disapprovingly to himself at the state of the plants. He had to resist the urge to threaten them as he passed by.

  "This doesn't look like a hosp-Oh. It feels loved," Aziraphale blocked Crowley with a gentle arm. At this point, Crowley has also started to doubt if he had driven them to the right location. This drive was first made, after all, eleven years ago under the cover of night.

  "No, this is definitely the place. And what do you mean, loved?" the two continued to banter back and forth right up until they entered the gates. Suddenly, something hit Crowley's chest, hard.

  He groaned, if he had been shot AGAIN, he was pressing charges. He brushed his fingers against where the bullet had presumably struck him, judging by how much blood was coating his clothes. Strange. It had hurt more last time. He rubbed the liquid between his fingers and glanced at Aziraphale. The angel was peering at what Crowley assumed was blood on his fingers.

  "Blue?" the angel asked.The demon's brain kicked into panic mode. Okay, so you need to apply pressure then bandage it, or is it the other way around? Think, think, think you miserable excuse for a demon! He carried on like this for a frankly embarrassing amount of time before coming to two quite relieving realizations. One, he was once a demiurge, so if he could create galaxies, he can heal a bullet wound. And two,

  "It's paint," he said aloud, glancing at the angel, who was still peering over his coat. They both turned their attention to the camouflaged man in front of them.

  "Hey! You've both been hit. I don't know what you're playing at-" Crowley didn't let him finish his sentence, instead opting for some demonic visuals that would surely give the man PTSD for years to come. Crowley watched him drop to the ground with little interest, instead focusing on his friend, who for whatever reason, insisted on not miracling away the stain on his coat. He said he'd always know it was there, or something like that.

  There was already no way Crowley could refuse the angel, but when Aziraphale started pouting, puppy-dog eyes and all, Crowley was a goner. He miracled the paint off of his friend's jacket with a gesture reminiscent of one blowing a kiss, cherishing the look the angel gave him afterwards.

  "Impressive piece of hardware. I looked at this gun, it's not a proper one at all, it just shoots paintballs," Aziraphale picked the man's gun up off the ground, and showed it to Crowley, who immediately took it from his friend. He hefted it back and forth between his hands, then pointed it at Aziraphale.

"Don't your lot disapprove of guns?" he teased, taking a step closer.

"Unless they're in the right hands," the angel sighed, shoving the gun down. "Then they give weight to a moral argument. I think."

"A moral argument. Really," Crowley said, amused. "C'mon." he tossed the gun across the courtyard, continuing his search for Satanic Nuns.

"Last time I was here, this definitely wasn't," he gestured towards fake leaves covering the doorframe, and, horrifyingly enough, the entire courtyard.

"Maybe they've redecorated," the angel offered, ever the optimist.

"I don't like it," he wrinkled his nose, dropping the offending foliage in disgust.

"Yes, well, you never do," Aziraphale huffed, and pushed past him into the building.

"Again with the attitude!" Crowley said, following his friend inside. He was greeted with more fake leaves and no Satanic Nuns.

"This shit is everywhere," Crowley glared at the leaves, miracling a few strands away.

"There's no need for that sort of language!" Aziraphale scoffed. "But, it is a tad excessive," He admitted a moment later. A woman ran past the pair.

"Millie from accounts caught me in the elbow. Who's winning?" she asked.

"You're all going to lose," Crowley muttered. And suddenly, with a snap of his demonic fingers, a moral argument has been given weight. Gunshots echoed in the cavernous hallways, and Crowley allowed himself a smile. He was allowed to be evil sometimes, it was literally his job. And besides, it has been a while since he'd been in the midst of a shootout. His work did not go without notice.

"What the hell did you do?" the angel asked.

"They wanted real guns, so I gave them what they wanted. And there really is no need for that sort of language," Crowley pushed past his friend, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut. You're allowed to be evil, you're allowed to be evil, you're allowed to be evil... He repeated the phrase over and over again. Besides, this is nothing compared to some of the stuff other demons have done. But, once again, Aziraphale's face is what did him in. He sighed. Damn that angel for making me care about humans. He snapped discreetly, trying not to let Aziraphale catch on to what he was doing.

"There are people out there shooting at each other!" Aziraphale cried.

"Lends weight to their moral argument," Crowley said, nonchalantly kicking open a door. He peered inside the room. It was filled with guns and paintballs. He scoffed and continued down the corridor."They've all got free will, including the right to murder."

"They're murdering each other?" Aziraphale asked, worried.

Crowley sighed, his devilish facade crumbling "No, they aren't. No one's killing anyone. They're all having miraculous escapes," He turned toward the angel. "Wouldn't be any fun otherwise." he added in an attempt to salvage his pride.

"You know Crowley, I have always said that deep down, you always were really quite a nice-"

Oh.

No. Crowley knew what was coming next. And he was not going to hear it. He grabbed the angel by the collar, shoving him against the wall. It was meant to be intimidating, but neither of the parties involved thought so. Both were instead focused on how nice the other one smelled. Crowley thought Aziraphale smelled like old books, cocoa and cinnamon. While Aziraphale thought Crowley smelled rather like his Bentley, wine and a hint of something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

  Suddenly, it hit Aziraphale.

  Him. That's what else Crowley smelled like. He smelled like his bookshop. Aziraphale wondered, sinfully, if the demon tasted the same as he smelled. Crowley, was in fact wondering the same thing. Almost unconsciously, the demon began leaning closer to the angel, his lips parted slightly. He was no more than a few inches away from the angel when,

  "Excuse me gentlemen, hate to break up an intimate moment," Crowley swivelled on his heel, about to smite whoever had interrupted the moment he'd been unconsciously working toward for 6,000 years. He came face-to-face with exactly who he had been looking for, a Satanic Nun.

  "Finally," he muttered, then snapped as she began speaking.

"There really was no need for that," Aziraphale huffed.

"Oh. Of course, of course, excuse me ma'am, we're two supernatural entities looking for the notorious son of Satan, wondering if you might help us with our enquires?" Crowley spat. Aziraphale turned back to the Nun and began to, rather politely, ask her about the Antichrist. Only to learn that, sorry, the hospital burned down, which resulted in a loss of all of the files, and the Nun recalled absolutely nothing about the baby.

In other, less polite, terms.

They were fucked.