Good Omens: The Pharaoh's Son (Aziraphale x Crowley)

Chapter Six: Under the Stars

Crawley stared at the fluffy-haired angel. He stood up straight, refusing to cower or beg. Impressive to the demon. He appeared to accept that for whatever reason Crawley had tricked him with, what? That he'd used something as sappy as friendship as a way to deceive Aziraphale? Well, that was bollocks.

"Think I'll pass," Crawley huffed, glancing around the dunes once more. No other angels or demons for that matter seemed to be around. They still had a bit of time. "What's your plan?"

Aziraphale stared at him, blinking. He had his held halfway up his collar as though to adjust his blasted robes again. Apparently, he'd wanted to look his best before being annihilated or something. The angel licked his lips and raised an eyebrow at him as though it were all some sort of trick. Granted, Crawley was a demon, but he should've realized the truth by now.

"My dear fellow, what in heaven's name are you talking about? What plan?"

"Come on," Crawley groaned. He paced across the sandy ground, kicking at bits of earth. "I know you've got some clever plan in there. You always do."

"Wh-, I," Aziraphale hesitated then stepped closer to the pacing bundle of stress. "Does that mean that you aren't going to discorporate me?"

"Angel, I already told you that, didn't I? I'm not killing you, you're not killing me, hopefully. So, let's just figure out a way to pop off together and get away from this whole bloody nightmare." He gestured wildly back toward Thebes.

Aziraphale stared at him another moment, then worried at his lip. "Why do you call me that? The um, angel part. Isn't that a bit redundant?"

Crawley glanced at him, pausing his sauntering stride that was digging a slight groove into the sand. "What? You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that."

Crawley didn't respond. He probably could've said something about needing to be reminded that Aziraphale was the enemy or something. Still, he wasn't sure that was the whole truth. And digging at that train of thought any longer brought about emotions that he didn't particularly care for.

Aziraphale was staring at him again. His face seemed etched with worry and something else that Crawley couldn't place. However, before he could ask, Aziraphale's face brightened. "Oh!"

"What? Got something, have you?"

Aziraphale hurried forward. His eyes sparkled with obvious delight. "I think I've figured out a way we can both follow our orders, and, in theory, escape punishment."

Crawley held up his hands. "I'm listening, angel. But if it's some horrible, double suicide thing, I'm not doing it. I mean it'd probably work, but I don't like it. Not a fan of...temporary death. Any death, really. Probably supposed to be, but yeah, not my style."

"That's not what I was suggesting, at all. Really, dear," he scoffed and all but rolled his eyes at the demon.

"Fine, then. My apologies. What is this grand master plan of yours?" Crawley folded his arms and stood to wait patiently. Or as patiently as he could muster.

"Well," Aziraphale began with his hands waving about as he spoke. "Given that the parameters are, um, torturing you, keeping you away from Thebes, and, eh, holding you captive. I think I have just the scenario to keep up with each of those pretenses."

Crawley's mouth spread into a sneer. "Torture, eh? Suppose it could be worse. Never thought you'd be one for that, though. How'd you plan to do this? Knives? Chain me up? Going to find the biggest club you can get your hands on?"

"Certainly not," Aziraphale scowled. "We both know I have no desire to do such a thing. However," —he reached forward, causing Crawley to flinch—"What's this?" His voice had taken on an over-done surprised quality with a hint of false amazement. He produced a bright red ball that had clearly been up his sleeve and showed it to the demon.