Virgin Fanfic.
This is my first posted fanfic. I don't really know how to put the footnotes in... so i did the best i could. Please tell me what you think, and if you have any. Lexicon.
Title: "In Touch With Your Inner Demon."
Author: Lexicon
Fandom: Good Omens (Crowley/Azirapahle)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (Bless them) own these characters and Good Omens
This is a very long scenario... but it just kinda took on a life of it's own. (i am not sure about the ending...oh well, got to stop typing at some point!)
Crowley blinked as the sudden bright flashes of light screamed morning at him as the angel jerked back the curtains,letting in a little of the harsh midday sunlight.
“Up. Now. Don’t ask, er… I will tell you in the car.”
“Car… what? What arr … are… “ Crowley stretched and tried helplessly to scratch an out of reach spot between his shoulder blades. “… you… doing here Aziraphale?”
“Tell you in the car I said, get a move on!” The panicked angel huffed as he tossed a pair of Italian leather shoes at his demonic friend, who looked rather less demonic and more like a confused child, half-naked and half-asleep.
Crowley was unsure how he had actually ended up in the drivers seat of the Bentley. One moment he had been dreaming 1 the next moment he had been behind the wheel. Before he started the car he turned to his friend. Aziraphale stared back, with a look of complete frustration on his face.
“Really Crowley! Make this …thing, this car go or I will! We need to get there as soon as we can!”
“Get where, angel?” yawned Crowley, opening the glove box and retrieving his sunglasses before slipping them onto his nose. “What is all this about? Do you really think I can drive anywhere unless I know where it is you wish me, so urgently, to drive to?” His tone suggested he thought Aziraphale a daft tosser. Azirapahle was used to this. For some reason, however, the angel seemed to be functioning on a different level than he usually did. His blue eyes were glazed over, yet at the same time they seemed abnormally clear and distraught.
“Calm down, Aziraphale.” Crowley found himself placing a hand on the angels arm and staring directly into his eyes now, trying to latch onto some sort of coherent thought that might be floating around behind them.
“You have to come with me… now!”
“No I don’t. Whatever it is, I don’t care. Let me go back to bed.” Said Crowley, in whine. As his eye’s adjusted to the glare of day he noticed how gaunt and upset the angel was looking. “Alright, alright… better tell me what the problem is, angel.”
“Okay,yes... er, sorry. It’s Adam. The boy, you remember Adam?”
“Of bloody course I remember Adam!” Crowley snapped, forgetting his concern. “Sorry… you were saying?”
“Adam… right, er…. There seems to have been, at least it was leaked to me from a source, that there has been a, er…”
“Out with it man!”
“Possession. Adam. Demonic. Possessed.” Aziraphale finally spat out, and then clasped his delicate white hands across his mouth as though trying to prevent any more offending words from coming out. His fear and confusion radiated out in energy waves. Crowley seemed to catch the full brunt of these waves like a punch to the stomach, as the angel’s words caught up with his brain and he too suddenly felt very distraught.
The demon’s foot hit the acceleration so heavenly it almost went completely through the floor of the Bentley, but none the less they were away and heading in the direction of Tadfield.
***
(1) Demons tend to dream very vivid and wicked dreams that they usually can’t remember. However, their subconscious does remember. This is a kind of demonic mind-control tactic, a good way for the powers in Hell to impregnate a little bit more evil in the wandering minds of those demons that tend slack off enough to stop doing evil and waste time sleeping. These subliminal suggestions never really work on Crowley, who’s conscious had pretty much terrified his subconscious until it had become nothing more than a blubbering mess.
***
“Speaking in tongues! What the hell does that mean! Is he insane? Will we have to have our son committed?” Screams Mr. Young like a madman himself, as he lunged to grab the frightened young priest.
Father Kevin had only been in Tadfeild for two days, and he had only been a priest for nine. He hadn’t expected much, a humble congregation and a damp flat out the back of the church. However he was young, only twenty-one in fact, and had been just plain Kevin a week and a half ago. As a kid he had spent his fare share of time watching movies where helpful young priests, sent to investigate some phenomenon or another, ended up impaled by lightning rods or crashing through windows. Father Kevin hadn’t wished to become a priest so that he might deal with possessions or the son of Satan. However, at this very second, unbeknownst to the priest, he was dealing with both.
“I’m just saying…” he looked at his feet, then at the wall, then the ceiling, anywhere to avoid Mr. Young’s flaming stare. “… it might be a little case of the boy being, um… slightly possessed.”
“By the Devil himself!” Mr. Young exclaimed.
“Um… I…. I…..” Stammered the priest.
“No.” the voice came from the doorway. Then the company inside the small hospital room turned to greet the gaze of a textbook cool looking man wearing sunglasses inside and a bookish-looking fellow in a worn, off-white knitted vest. Aziraphale stepped inside the room and approached the bed, where Adam lay. “Not the Devil, a devil… a demon in fact. One demon who thinks he is a little too big for his boots I guess.”
Crowley listened with interest, somehow feeling strangely reassured by the presence of his angelic friend. Aziraphale could sometimes come across very business-like and intense when the need arose. Right now his arms were folded across his inflated chest, making him look to Crowley slightly less like a dandy. The two entered the room. Crowley noticed the priest tense up as he, perhaps against his better judgment, offered the demon his hand to shake. “Who are you two?” he murmured, but Crowley had the distinct impression that Father Kevin knew exactly who they were.
“We might be able to help. Your son, how long has he been this way?”
“A week… all of a sudden he such started regurgitating his dinner all over the lace table cloth and then stated speaking in some other language… though he was putting on a funny voice. We’ve seen those films… you know, not stupid, us… so we called Father Kevin straight away. I was waiting for his head to turn around but it didn’t.” Mr. Young straightened his tie, seeming like someone who was being interviewed for a job and had just realised they had been rambling on like an idiot. “He’s a good lad. Don’t know why a demon would chose him. Now that Wensleydale, he always seemed a bit of a pansy to me. Why not him?”
Crowley and Aziraphale knew exactly why, though they didn’t want to get into it. Those days had been put behind them and they knew Adam would feel the same way. Being the anti-Christ is hard enough, thought Aziraphale, without having your body hijacked by some attention-seeking demon with something to prove.
“Right…” piped up Father Kevin, who stepped forward and looked the angel up and down. The expression he had across his face was one of puzzled recognition, as if he could see the holiness pulsing out from Aziraphale, while at the same time sensing that little gleam of rebellion that the angel also radiated, unknowingly. “Perhaps it is a possession… yes, hmm…. but the way to deal with these things is to go through the proper channels. We will need to firstly…” the priest babbling was suddenly cut short when Mr. Young grew impatient.
“So, which demon is this that is possessing my son and how can we get the bloody thing out?” he exclaimed, his agitated and red face casting irate looks from the angel to the demon and then to his son. Aziraphale turned, and moved aside, letting Crowley move across the room to the bed where Adam slept, his arms strapped to the metal frame.
“I am not sure… couldn’t really say now, when he is asleep like that. Could we wake him up? Then we can see who is in there with him.” Crowley turned back to face his angelic associate, as he began to tap gently on Adam’s arm. The boy stirred only slightly, groaning as if in great pain.
“Best leave the straps on.” Voiced Aziraphale as he moved back behind the demon. He hoped neither Mr. Young nor Crowley could sense his fear. As much as he had grown accustomed to his demonic friend, he still found the earthiness and the dark cruelty of other demons quite revolting, sometimes terrifying.
Adam’s skin was greenish-pale and seemed to be stretched unusually tight across his bones like thin, wet cotton. The veins in his neck throbbed blue and his hair was damp with sweat. This boy was very sick, and Aziraphale and Crowley both felt the sting of guilt, as they considered the fact that it had been a year and a half since either of them had checked up on the lad. Crowley had always considered possession to be the lamest party trick of the underworld. However, despite the inclination of demons to do evil suggestively and stealthily, the “old fashioned way”, some over-zealous moron with delusions of grandeur always took it upon themselves to take a more pro-active stance and just take over some poor mortal’s body. However, in this particular situation the body in question was not what it seemed and Crowley knew that this was no routine joy-ride possession but rather someone, something trying very hard to come through from somewhere, through a gateway that did not want to let it pass.
Whoever this demon was, it must know that possessing Adam could be a way to pass through from hell, onto earth. Crowley knew that most demons could easily come up from Hell on a day trip, without question. This fact scarred him the most, as the realisation suddenly dawned on him that whoever this demon was, they obviously didn’t have a “get out of jail free” card.
“Belial.” He groaned.
“What?” replied Aziraphale, Mr. Young and Father Kevin all at once.
“What was that son?”
“He Who Shall Not Rise. Belial.” Cowley stated, plainly, running his fingers through his messed hair and shaking his head like plumber staring at a burst pipe that had already flooded the basement. “This is not going to be an easy mess to clean up.”
“Mess… this isn’t no mess, lad, this is my son! And I want him back the way God made him, healthy and normal, not blibbering like an idiot!” shouted Mr. Young, who the proceeded to plonk himself down on a near by chair and cover his face with his hands. Father Kevin consoled him with a hand on the shoulder and a series of gentle, but unconvincing “tisking” noises.
“How can we get this Beagle thingy out then?” Mr. Young grunted between sobs.
***
“So…er, Belial, what do you know about him? What is he like?” the two sat alone in a quiet corner of the hospital’s waiting room, where they had relocated in order to design some strategy.
“Oh, charming! What, “He Who Shall Not Rise” doesn’t give you a slight inkling as what he is like, perhaps? Bloody awful that’s what! A right bastard in fact!” Crowley huffed.
“Okay, sorry!” Aziraphale, slightly irked by this sudden out burst from his counterpart decided to let it go. He was getting the distinct impression that Crowley was not terribly keen to meet Belial, and he felt shamefully embarrassed at the fact that he needed Crowley not to be afraid. If Crowley was afraid, then Aziraphale would not be able to cope. He placed a hand on the demon’s arm.
“You bite your fingernails?" Asked Crowley, in a tone of someone who might as well have just discovered the moon was made of cheese. He took the angels soft, mostly perfect hands in one of his and inspected the offending fingertips. “Why on earth would an angel bite his fingernails? They are all short and ragged.”
“Crowley… there are more important issues than my fingernails, really now, are there not?” there was a silence as Crowley sat still perplexed by the discovery of the angels nervous habit.
“Belial, Crowley?”
“Oh, yes… well. I am of the mind that perhaps we should find a way to get Belial out of Adam. As unpleasant as it would be to meet the bastard, it is no doubt more than a tad vexing for poor Adam who has to share a body with it!”
“So…er, we are talking exorcism, right?” said the angel.
“Right.” Replied Crowley.
***
Father Kevin managed to make himself invisible as soon as the words “exorcism” were uttered. He was heading back to London at great speed… back to a hot cup of tea and a nice Disney film, and away from churches with steaples and large, second-story windows.
“Okay… so you will have to do this without me, er… touching anything, okay Azirapahle?” Crowley explained. “With that sorry excuse for a priest gone, it has to be you, I’m afraid. I will, in fact, have to… well, leave the room.”
“Leave the room! You expect me to exorcise a demon, a particularly disagreeable one, all on my own!” the angel flung his arms in the air and tried to come across as angry, rather than afraid, which is what he actually was.
“Well I can’t preforming an exorcism, I am a demon, and not going to risk standing too close when there’s demon's being sent to Hell and all. Wouldn’t want to accidentally hitch a ride. You're Holy… well, somewhat Holy. You will be fine, angel. Just go in there and give em hell… so to speak.”
“Funny. Okay, but for Adam. And you are sure all I need to do is read out this text. And this is the right text? I don’t want to send his being just down round the block a bit, or into some other poor fellow.” Aziraphale looked panicked again, and Crowley felt that guilty pain he always felt (and always ignored) when he looked into the angel’s excruciatingly big and blue eyes.
“Fine, angel… you will be fine.”
***
Reading the words hadn’t been the hard part. Aziraphale was, of course, fluent in Latin. The trouble had been the winds. If he had known about the winds he would have tried to tie the book down. Trying to read the script, especially those angelic symbols, while the pages of the book are fluttering all over the place… and trying to flick Holy water with one hand… and it had all just fallen apart.
Adam looked better, with the colour back in his cheeks. Aziraphale stood in the middle of the room staring at the boy. It was about this point that Crowley burst into the room, shouting “ What the bloody h… what have you done, angel!”
Aziraphale looked up, and managed a smile as he realised that Belial had left Adam’s body, however he appeared slightly confused, quite dishevelled and extremely worried. This reaction was mainly due to the fact that Belial had left Adam but had not exactly left the room. He stood, motionless, like a cat poised, inches away from a pigeon, and he glowed up at Crowley as the door flung open. The two sets of bright, yellow eyes burned into one another.
“Okay, so you got me out. You smarmy little puke, lowly Serpent. I really appreciate it, it was getting crowded in there.”
Crowley didn’t appreciate the name-calling, but he was more concerned with the fact that a former Marshal of Hell and an escaped prisoner stood inches away from his angel, and was looking particularly psychotic. Belial seemed to notice the fleeting glances the Crowley had cast in Aziraphale’s direction.
“Oh! Do I detect a certain element of fear for this exquisite specimen of Cherubim before me?” Spat Belial, his talon-fingers curled towards Aziraphale, lightly brushing aside a ringlet of blond hair with a dagger-sharp nail. An instant, a slight flick of the wrist, and Belial had drawn three deep, crimson gashes in the angel’s cheek. It took less than a human heartbeat for Crowley to dive across the room, scraggling, arms out-stretched and head down, aimed straight for Belial’s stomach. Aziraphale nursed his streaming cheek, and moved to protect the boy in the bed who was about to awaken to the sight of two demons going at it on the floor. Crowley seemed to have the upper hand.
For an instant the demon felt a complete and all-encompassing strength - of will and of body. He wasn’t an unintelligent being, he knew his place and he knew his betters. Belial was a Marshal of Hell, and as strong a warrior as there was. However, he had spent a great deal of time locked in the deepest recesses of a Hell prison, waiting out an eternity, sentenced to rot in a cage for defying his master at some point - way back. However, Crowley’s unexpected burst of strength had taken the demon by surprise, and this surprise lead to Crowley being able to struggle on top of the demon, pinning him to the floor with his knees, in prime position to direct consecutive punches towards the demons head.
“Qu…quick…angel… ho…holy… water…on… throw… now.” Crowley gasped between blows.
Aziraphale turned and grasped the cask with one hand, the preceded to hurl the contents at the riving demon’s head, pushing Crowley out of the way with one arm.
“Back, Crowley…look out.” Crowley rolled off Belial and away from the Holy water, covering his eye’s as he heard the anguished, gurgling sounds come from where he had just been.
***
“Do you think it was the right thing to do…you know, er, leaving so suddenly and all, before Adam awoke?” Aziraphale asked, shifting to face the demon who was currently going much too fast down a very busy road.
“I didn’t want to have to explain it all to the kid… did you?”
“Not really. Though I am really glad that he is okay. It hadn’t occurred to me that Adam’s life was going to continue to be so complicated. Poor dear.”
Crowley curled his fingers around the wheel, and became increasingly conscious of each second that went by in which there was silence.
“Aziraphale?”
“Yes?” the angel said, wearily
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“But I almost got you…”
“It’s okay. I know you would let anything happen to me.”
The end.
Title: "In Touch With Your Inner Demon."
Author: Lexicon
Fandom: Good Omens (Crowley/Azirapahle)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (Bless them) own these characters and Good Omens
This is a very long scenario... but it just kinda took on a life of it's own. (i am not sure about the ending...oh well, got to stop typing at some point!)
Crowley blinked as the sudden bright flashes of light screamed morning at him as the angel jerked back the curtains,letting in a little of the harsh midday sunlight.
“Up. Now. Don’t ask, er… I will tell you in the car.”
“Car… what? What arr … are… “ Crowley stretched and tried helplessly to scratch an out of reach spot between his shoulder blades. “… you… doing here Aziraphale?”
“Tell you in the car I said, get a move on!” The panicked angel huffed as he tossed a pair of Italian leather shoes at his demonic friend, who looked rather less demonic and more like a confused child, half-naked and half-asleep.
Crowley was unsure how he had actually ended up in the drivers seat of the Bentley. One moment he had been dreaming 1 the next moment he had been behind the wheel. Before he started the car he turned to his friend. Aziraphale stared back, with a look of complete frustration on his face.
“Really Crowley! Make this …thing, this car go or I will! We need to get there as soon as we can!”
“Get where, angel?” yawned Crowley, opening the glove box and retrieving his sunglasses before slipping them onto his nose. “What is all this about? Do you really think I can drive anywhere unless I know where it is you wish me, so urgently, to drive to?” His tone suggested he thought Aziraphale a daft tosser. Azirapahle was used to this. For some reason, however, the angel seemed to be functioning on a different level than he usually did. His blue eyes were glazed over, yet at the same time they seemed abnormally clear and distraught.
“Calm down, Aziraphale.” Crowley found himself placing a hand on the angels arm and staring directly into his eyes now, trying to latch onto some sort of coherent thought that might be floating around behind them.
“You have to come with me… now!”
“No I don’t. Whatever it is, I don’t care. Let me go back to bed.” Said Crowley, in whine. As his eye’s adjusted to the glare of day he noticed how gaunt and upset the angel was looking. “Alright, alright… better tell me what the problem is, angel.”
“Okay,yes... er, sorry. It’s Adam. The boy, you remember Adam?”
“Of bloody course I remember Adam!” Crowley snapped, forgetting his concern. “Sorry… you were saying?”
“Adam… right, er…. There seems to have been, at least it was leaked to me from a source, that there has been a, er…”
“Out with it man!”
“Possession. Adam. Demonic. Possessed.” Aziraphale finally spat out, and then clasped his delicate white hands across his mouth as though trying to prevent any more offending words from coming out. His fear and confusion radiated out in energy waves. Crowley seemed to catch the full brunt of these waves like a punch to the stomach, as the angel’s words caught up with his brain and he too suddenly felt very distraught.
The demon’s foot hit the acceleration so heavenly it almost went completely through the floor of the Bentley, but none the less they were away and heading in the direction of Tadfield.
***
(1) Demons tend to dream very vivid and wicked dreams that they usually can’t remember. However, their subconscious does remember. This is a kind of demonic mind-control tactic, a good way for the powers in Hell to impregnate a little bit more evil in the wandering minds of those demons that tend slack off enough to stop doing evil and waste time sleeping. These subliminal suggestions never really work on Crowley, who’s conscious had pretty much terrified his subconscious until it had become nothing more than a blubbering mess.
***
“Speaking in tongues! What the hell does that mean! Is he insane? Will we have to have our son committed?” Screams Mr. Young like a madman himself, as he lunged to grab the frightened young priest.
Father Kevin had only been in Tadfeild for two days, and he had only been a priest for nine. He hadn’t expected much, a humble congregation and a damp flat out the back of the church. However he was young, only twenty-one in fact, and had been just plain Kevin a week and a half ago. As a kid he had spent his fare share of time watching movies where helpful young priests, sent to investigate some phenomenon or another, ended up impaled by lightning rods or crashing through windows. Father Kevin hadn’t wished to become a priest so that he might deal with possessions or the son of Satan. However, at this very second, unbeknownst to the priest, he was dealing with both.
“I’m just saying…” he looked at his feet, then at the wall, then the ceiling, anywhere to avoid Mr. Young’s flaming stare. “… it might be a little case of the boy being, um… slightly possessed.”
“By the Devil himself!” Mr. Young exclaimed.
“Um… I…. I…..” Stammered the priest.
“No.” the voice came from the doorway. Then the company inside the small hospital room turned to greet the gaze of a textbook cool looking man wearing sunglasses inside and a bookish-looking fellow in a worn, off-white knitted vest. Aziraphale stepped inside the room and approached the bed, where Adam lay. “Not the Devil, a devil… a demon in fact. One demon who thinks he is a little too big for his boots I guess.”
Crowley listened with interest, somehow feeling strangely reassured by the presence of his angelic friend. Aziraphale could sometimes come across very business-like and intense when the need arose. Right now his arms were folded across his inflated chest, making him look to Crowley slightly less like a dandy. The two entered the room. Crowley noticed the priest tense up as he, perhaps against his better judgment, offered the demon his hand to shake. “Who are you two?” he murmured, but Crowley had the distinct impression that Father Kevin knew exactly who they were.
“We might be able to help. Your son, how long has he been this way?”
“A week… all of a sudden he such started regurgitating his dinner all over the lace table cloth and then stated speaking in some other language… though he was putting on a funny voice. We’ve seen those films… you know, not stupid, us… so we called Father Kevin straight away. I was waiting for his head to turn around but it didn’t.” Mr. Young straightened his tie, seeming like someone who was being interviewed for a job and had just realised they had been rambling on like an idiot. “He’s a good lad. Don’t know why a demon would chose him. Now that Wensleydale, he always seemed a bit of a pansy to me. Why not him?”
Crowley and Aziraphale knew exactly why, though they didn’t want to get into it. Those days had been put behind them and they knew Adam would feel the same way. Being the anti-Christ is hard enough, thought Aziraphale, without having your body hijacked by some attention-seeking demon with something to prove.
“Right…” piped up Father Kevin, who stepped forward and looked the angel up and down. The expression he had across his face was one of puzzled recognition, as if he could see the holiness pulsing out from Aziraphale, while at the same time sensing that little gleam of rebellion that the angel also radiated, unknowingly. “Perhaps it is a possession… yes, hmm…. but the way to deal with these things is to go through the proper channels. We will need to firstly…” the priest babbling was suddenly cut short when Mr. Young grew impatient.
“So, which demon is this that is possessing my son and how can we get the bloody thing out?” he exclaimed, his agitated and red face casting irate looks from the angel to the demon and then to his son. Aziraphale turned, and moved aside, letting Crowley move across the room to the bed where Adam slept, his arms strapped to the metal frame.
“I am not sure… couldn’t really say now, when he is asleep like that. Could we wake him up? Then we can see who is in there with him.” Crowley turned back to face his angelic associate, as he began to tap gently on Adam’s arm. The boy stirred only slightly, groaning as if in great pain.
“Best leave the straps on.” Voiced Aziraphale as he moved back behind the demon. He hoped neither Mr. Young nor Crowley could sense his fear. As much as he had grown accustomed to his demonic friend, he still found the earthiness and the dark cruelty of other demons quite revolting, sometimes terrifying.
Adam’s skin was greenish-pale and seemed to be stretched unusually tight across his bones like thin, wet cotton. The veins in his neck throbbed blue and his hair was damp with sweat. This boy was very sick, and Aziraphale and Crowley both felt the sting of guilt, as they considered the fact that it had been a year and a half since either of them had checked up on the lad. Crowley had always considered possession to be the lamest party trick of the underworld. However, despite the inclination of demons to do evil suggestively and stealthily, the “old fashioned way”, some over-zealous moron with delusions of grandeur always took it upon themselves to take a more pro-active stance and just take over some poor mortal’s body. However, in this particular situation the body in question was not what it seemed and Crowley knew that this was no routine joy-ride possession but rather someone, something trying very hard to come through from somewhere, through a gateway that did not want to let it pass.
Whoever this demon was, it must know that possessing Adam could be a way to pass through from hell, onto earth. Crowley knew that most demons could easily come up from Hell on a day trip, without question. This fact scarred him the most, as the realisation suddenly dawned on him that whoever this demon was, they obviously didn’t have a “get out of jail free” card.
“Belial.” He groaned.
“What?” replied Aziraphale, Mr. Young and Father Kevin all at once.
“What was that son?”
“He Who Shall Not Rise. Belial.” Cowley stated, plainly, running his fingers through his messed hair and shaking his head like plumber staring at a burst pipe that had already flooded the basement. “This is not going to be an easy mess to clean up.”
“Mess… this isn’t no mess, lad, this is my son! And I want him back the way God made him, healthy and normal, not blibbering like an idiot!” shouted Mr. Young, who the proceeded to plonk himself down on a near by chair and cover his face with his hands. Father Kevin consoled him with a hand on the shoulder and a series of gentle, but unconvincing “tisking” noises.
“How can we get this Beagle thingy out then?” Mr. Young grunted between sobs.
***
“So…er, Belial, what do you know about him? What is he like?” the two sat alone in a quiet corner of the hospital’s waiting room, where they had relocated in order to design some strategy.
“Oh, charming! What, “He Who Shall Not Rise” doesn’t give you a slight inkling as what he is like, perhaps? Bloody awful that’s what! A right bastard in fact!” Crowley huffed.
“Okay, sorry!” Aziraphale, slightly irked by this sudden out burst from his counterpart decided to let it go. He was getting the distinct impression that Crowley was not terribly keen to meet Belial, and he felt shamefully embarrassed at the fact that he needed Crowley not to be afraid. If Crowley was afraid, then Aziraphale would not be able to cope. He placed a hand on the demon’s arm.
“You bite your fingernails?" Asked Crowley, in a tone of someone who might as well have just discovered the moon was made of cheese. He took the angels soft, mostly perfect hands in one of his and inspected the offending fingertips. “Why on earth would an angel bite his fingernails? They are all short and ragged.”
“Crowley… there are more important issues than my fingernails, really now, are there not?” there was a silence as Crowley sat still perplexed by the discovery of the angels nervous habit.
“Belial, Crowley?”
“Oh, yes… well. I am of the mind that perhaps we should find a way to get Belial out of Adam. As unpleasant as it would be to meet the bastard, it is no doubt more than a tad vexing for poor Adam who has to share a body with it!”
“So…er, we are talking exorcism, right?” said the angel.
“Right.” Replied Crowley.
***
Father Kevin managed to make himself invisible as soon as the words “exorcism” were uttered. He was heading back to London at great speed… back to a hot cup of tea and a nice Disney film, and away from churches with steaples and large, second-story windows.
“Okay… so you will have to do this without me, er… touching anything, okay Azirapahle?” Crowley explained. “With that sorry excuse for a priest gone, it has to be you, I’m afraid. I will, in fact, have to… well, leave the room.”
“Leave the room! You expect me to exorcise a demon, a particularly disagreeable one, all on my own!” the angel flung his arms in the air and tried to come across as angry, rather than afraid, which is what he actually was.
“Well I can’t preforming an exorcism, I am a demon, and not going to risk standing too close when there’s demon's being sent to Hell and all. Wouldn’t want to accidentally hitch a ride. You're Holy… well, somewhat Holy. You will be fine, angel. Just go in there and give em hell… so to speak.”
“Funny. Okay, but for Adam. And you are sure all I need to do is read out this text. And this is the right text? I don’t want to send his being just down round the block a bit, or into some other poor fellow.” Aziraphale looked panicked again, and Crowley felt that guilty pain he always felt (and always ignored) when he looked into the angel’s excruciatingly big and blue eyes.
“Fine, angel… you will be fine.”
***
Reading the words hadn’t been the hard part. Aziraphale was, of course, fluent in Latin. The trouble had been the winds. If he had known about the winds he would have tried to tie the book down. Trying to read the script, especially those angelic symbols, while the pages of the book are fluttering all over the place… and trying to flick Holy water with one hand… and it had all just fallen apart.
Adam looked better, with the colour back in his cheeks. Aziraphale stood in the middle of the room staring at the boy. It was about this point that Crowley burst into the room, shouting “ What the bloody h… what have you done, angel!”
Aziraphale looked up, and managed a smile as he realised that Belial had left Adam’s body, however he appeared slightly confused, quite dishevelled and extremely worried. This reaction was mainly due to the fact that Belial had left Adam but had not exactly left the room. He stood, motionless, like a cat poised, inches away from a pigeon, and he glowed up at Crowley as the door flung open. The two sets of bright, yellow eyes burned into one another.
“Okay, so you got me out. You smarmy little puke, lowly Serpent. I really appreciate it, it was getting crowded in there.”
Crowley didn’t appreciate the name-calling, but he was more concerned with the fact that a former Marshal of Hell and an escaped prisoner stood inches away from his angel, and was looking particularly psychotic. Belial seemed to notice the fleeting glances the Crowley had cast in Aziraphale’s direction.
“Oh! Do I detect a certain element of fear for this exquisite specimen of Cherubim before me?” Spat Belial, his talon-fingers curled towards Aziraphale, lightly brushing aside a ringlet of blond hair with a dagger-sharp nail. An instant, a slight flick of the wrist, and Belial had drawn three deep, crimson gashes in the angel’s cheek. It took less than a human heartbeat for Crowley to dive across the room, scraggling, arms out-stretched and head down, aimed straight for Belial’s stomach. Aziraphale nursed his streaming cheek, and moved to protect the boy in the bed who was about to awaken to the sight of two demons going at it on the floor. Crowley seemed to have the upper hand.
For an instant the demon felt a complete and all-encompassing strength - of will and of body. He wasn’t an unintelligent being, he knew his place and he knew his betters. Belial was a Marshal of Hell, and as strong a warrior as there was. However, he had spent a great deal of time locked in the deepest recesses of a Hell prison, waiting out an eternity, sentenced to rot in a cage for defying his master at some point - way back. However, Crowley’s unexpected burst of strength had taken the demon by surprise, and this surprise lead to Crowley being able to struggle on top of the demon, pinning him to the floor with his knees, in prime position to direct consecutive punches towards the demons head.
“Qu…quick…angel… ho…holy… water…on… throw… now.” Crowley gasped between blows.
Aziraphale turned and grasped the cask with one hand, the preceded to hurl the contents at the riving demon’s head, pushing Crowley out of the way with one arm.
“Back, Crowley…look out.” Crowley rolled off Belial and away from the Holy water, covering his eye’s as he heard the anguished, gurgling sounds come from where he had just been.
***
“Do you think it was the right thing to do…you know, er, leaving so suddenly and all, before Adam awoke?” Aziraphale asked, shifting to face the demon who was currently going much too fast down a very busy road.
“I didn’t want to have to explain it all to the kid… did you?”
“Not really. Though I am really glad that he is okay. It hadn’t occurred to me that Adam’s life was going to continue to be so complicated. Poor dear.”
Crowley curled his fingers around the wheel, and became increasingly conscious of each second that went by in which there was silence.
“Aziraphale?”
“Yes?” the angel said, wearily
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“But I almost got you…”
“It’s okay. I know you would let anything happen to me.”
The end.