Holy water

Good Omens (TV show)
Aziraphale/Crowley

I haven't written anything in a long while. Apparently, I cannot write Remadora right now, because my mind is full of Good Omens, thanks to the dozens and dozens of Aziraphale/Crowley fics I've read over the past few weeks. So here you go.

In spite of the unusually lovely weather at this time of the year and his usual cool, Crowley definitely seems tense. Aziraphale decides to ignore it for the moment, too interested in why the demon asked him to meet in person, and too thrilled to see him again.

His sideburns, Aziraphale notices just a tad disappointed, cover the tattoo under his right ear. He babbles on about needing a favor and things going pear-shaped.

'I like pears' chimes in Aziraphale, starting to get peckish just from the mention of food. Maybe he could stop by that bakery on his way back to the bookshop. Or perhaps that delightful new tea-house just around the corner.

As his mind is filled with different opportunities of getting a second breakfast, the angel takes no notice of Crowley's apparent discomfort - not until the demon hands him a piece of paper, muttering about trees having ears.

If Aziraphale paid any attention to him now, he could see how visibly calmer he seems now, having delivered his message. The built-up pressure is lifting from his chest, as if that piece of paper weighed way more than it actually does. Maybe because it was the content that was so heavy.

'Ducks have ears' he adds pointedly, then frowns. 'Do ducks have ears?'

But Aziraphale hears none of his musings about ducks having or not having ears, distracted by that small piece of paper given to him moments ago.

holy water

Time seems to stop.

Crowley wants holy water.

Crowley thinks about killing himself and that foolish demon had the audacity to ask him, of all beings, to hand him the means. Aziraphale's world is about to crumble on itself. How could he ask me to do that?

'Out of question' he manages to sputter. 'I'm not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.'

Holy water, for Heaven's sake. Why? How? Crowley dead? Never.

'Not what I want it for' spats Crowley, seemingly angry. Now, how on Earth could he be angry with Aziraphale for rejecting the request? Was he so completely out of his mind?

Moreover, what if Heaven found out he was stealing holy water for a demon? They would surely smite both of them down. Was that what the demon was going for? Destroying both of them? That would definitely have fitted his style, the bastard.

'I'm not an idiot, Crowley' says Aziraphale, trying to stay calm, or at least compose himself and pretend calm for the time being. Which quickly goes out the window with his next sentence. Who the hell is he kidding, calm is far from where he is, very far.

Holy water for a demon. For Crowley. He'll never let that happen.

Their argument unwinds and Aziraphale is not sure what exactly is said between them until, just when he turns to leave, basically fleeing the scene, one sentence breaks through the fog and it's like a punch to the gut.

'I don't need you.'

It stops Aziraphale in his tracks. He is so angry, so hurt. So angry.

'And the feeling is mutual' he turns around to say. 'Obviously.'

With that, he turns his back on Crowley, fully prepared to leave. Realizing he is still clutching that offending piece of paper, he throws it into the lake with all his might. Unfortunately, throwing a piece of paper out of anger has never really been a satisfying act whatsoever, since paper can only fly and slowly fall to the ground. Should have been a stone, or a bag, or even a car. Something Aziraphale could actually throw.

He is fuming until he gets back to the bookshop, all thoughts of getting food completely forgotten.

Holy water for the demon. What an absurd request. What an absolutely mad request.

He spends all night contemplating the ramifications. A whole week is dedicated to envisioning the worst of his fears. It's not until years later that he can look at holy water and not shiver instantly.

*

In spite of the ticklish situation he just found himself in, when the demon practically dances into the church, Aziraphale's soul lits up.

Apparently, he has changed his name again, this time adding Anthony J in front of Crowley.

'Anthony?' he says in mild amusement.

'You don't like it?' asks Crowley, actually concerned with the answer.

'I'll get used to it' smirks Aziraphale, and he is grateful for the light topic of conversation, grateful for seeing the demon, grateful for being on speaking terms again.

And then their delicate harmony falls apart when Crowley, being the unpleasant demon he is, looks at the holy water very pointedly, and brings Aziraphale's attention to it. Then, as if to himself, he mutters, 'they don't even guard it."

After which it is a matter of fleeting seconds and a few words traded between nazi spies and the demon and the church gets bombed - the angel successfully performing the asked for miracle to save Crowley and himself. And forgetting about the books, of all things.

When Crowley hands him the bag with a muttered 'little demonic miracle of my own', Aziraphale's heart melts. He can't say anything, can't even move, all he can do is stare after the demon sauntering through the rubble.

*

In spite of having gotten used to the angel showing up at unexpected times with no sound at all to signal his arrival, Crowley is actually startled when he gets into his car and, as he turns his head, finds Aziraphale sitting there.

He is usually more than happy to see his angel, and this is no exception either, not until he reveals he is here because of the church robbing thing. As if he could persuade him from going through with it. On some level, Crowley hopes he will try to do so, because then he would be able to tell him how it is all his fault, refusing to help him. He does have others to fraternize with, after all.

When the angel says something about it being 'too dangerous', something snaps in Crowley. He has waited for more than a century, hoping the angel would change his mind, hoping to be able to change his mind. He gave up because he knows Aziraphale's reasons all too well. 105 years and he still remembers that argument by the lake clear as day.

Out of question. I don't need you - And the feeling is mutual. Obviously. Feeling is mutual.

He only said that out of fury, to get a rise out of the angel. Perhaps also because he hoped that by saying out loud he could make it true. No such luck. He needed the angel, more than ever. The feeling is mutual. Obviously. And the angel turned around and left him there. The piece of paper, with a piece of his heart, his vulnerability, his need for the angel to trust and help him, a burning pile on the water, falling into ashes and slowly sinking to the depths of the lake. Crowley felt as if a piece of his heart has sunk with it as well, crumbled, discarded by the angel.

'But I can't have you risking your life' says Aziraphale firmly and it tugs Crowley back into the present.

And he hands him a thermos. Crowley doesn't even dare to hope. He cannot believe.

Aziraphale is pale and blushing at the same time, as impossible as that seems.

Crowley, still in disbelief, feels washed away by a wave of gratitude.

'Should I say thank you?' he asks carefully.

'Better not' advises the angel, staring straight ahead. He seems shaken. He might have given him what he wanted, but he is sure as hell not happy about it. Probably not proud of it either. Crowley wonders what reasoning may lie behind this unexpected act.

- It goes along the lines of 'He's going to do this with or without me, and I want to be there for him. Also, I could save him a lot of trouble and danger by helping. The least I can do is make it less dangerous for him. Foolish demon.' But Aziraphale will never say so. He will never want to speak of this again, if possible. -

As Crowley is fighting his emotions, love seeping through his eyes, the angel goes on.

'Perhaps one day we could, I don't know, go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.' He sounds hopeful. The thermos was his bouquet of flowers, in a way.

This all sounds horrifying and amazing at the same time, and Crowley wants to start the Bentley and drive straight to the nearest park, even though they have no picnic basket or any food at all, for that matter, and it's the bloody middle of the night. He discards the idea and starts to think about the fastest route to the Ritz.

Then it occurs to him that 'perhaps one day' might not actually mean 'right now'. But the angel wants to spend time with him. Do something together with him. Eat out with him. That gives him enough of a thrill. Maybe he could do some shopping in the morning, he does not have the church thing on his agenda anymore anyways, so all he has is free time on his hands and eagerness to spend as much of that with the angel as possible.

Yes, that will do. Picnic tomorrow. Dinner at the Ritz sometime next week, maybe.

For now, he politely offers to take Aziraphale anywhere he wants to go. Secretly, he hopes the angel will say 'to the Ritz'. He doesn't. Even in spite of all his insistence of taking him somewhere, anywhere, everywhere, really, just let him enjoy Aziraphale's company for a little longer, the angel does not want to stay.

'You go too fast for me, Crowley' he says, a tinge of sadness in his voice, before he gets out of the car, leaving Crowley to his own darkness, loneliness and crushed dreams.

You go too fast for me.

Did Aziraphale sense his eagerness? Did that scare him away? Maybe he just meant his offer for the far away future. Next century, or so. Maybe it was only pleasantries he tried to lighten the mood with, not actual intention to spend time with a demon.

Crowley bangs his head into the steering wheel. It never occurs to him that Aziraphale meant his driving style, not his dating tactics.

He sighs, welcomes the bitter disappointment in his chest, and drives home to scream at his plants all night long.