Good Omens
As sugguested by cygny
Again, short because I am being silly but the plot-tribble for this is serious.
Disclaimer: Pterry and Gneil own all. I merely amuse myself (and hopefully friends, with it)
Anthony J. Crowley strides out of the burning wreckage of Aziraphale's bookshop and feels very much alone. Is this how humans feel? He remembers how, no matter how feverent they were in trying to gain it, no human ever really and truly wanted imortality.
This is the first time he's had even an inkling of what it must be like to want to commit suicide. He cradles the worn, aged book as if it were a child and strides to the Bentley. It is pure reflex to slip into the driver seat and put into gear. His Bentley is in many ways the definition of Crowley and he flees to it as his last sanctuary. The purr of her engine soothes him enough that the dreadful, mind-numbing shock starts to fade.
He glances down at the book and the Bentley shifts down a gear to cruise the less travelled roads while he read. Fifteen minutes later, he closes the book and the Bentley stops.
So. This really is the Big One. Armageddon. He should be happy. This is what he's worked for all his li-existance. But he doesn't want to. He likes the humans. He likes the planet. He was happy here. Happier than he'd been since the Fall.
He couldn't even explain it to himself. Here where there was sunlight, rich food and fine wine, it was easier to forget the darkness racing up to engulf him. To forget the despair and bitterness. The endless forlorn wishing and shedding of bitter tears. The soul-deep agony of being able to see home and remember its perfection to the finest detail and knowing you can never go back.
Earth wasn't heaven. But it was a new home, a new chance. Everywhere humans and animals and even houseplants so he never had to think of what he hadn't got, only what he had. And now They're going to take it away. Smash it to pieces and sweep it out the door to be lost forever.
Crowley stares at his hands as they lift towards the wheel of the Bentley. He remembers.
A muddy trench. Men - hollow-cheeked and gaunt with hunger - clutching rifles, bayonents and praying. The flash of madness in their eyes as they look at him. He feels mud flake away as he smiles - a grotesque contortion of his usual sly grin.
"Fuck the consequences!"
The Bentley's gears crash and the car roars to life as he grabs the wheel. The vintage car slews around and roars into the night.
And Crowley smiles.
Again, short because I am being silly but the plot-tribble for this is serious.
Disclaimer: Pterry and Gneil own all. I merely amuse myself (and hopefully friends, with it)
Anthony J. Crowley strides out of the burning wreckage of Aziraphale's bookshop and feels very much alone. Is this how humans feel? He remembers how, no matter how feverent they were in trying to gain it, no human ever really and truly wanted imortality.
This is the first time he's had even an inkling of what it must be like to want to commit suicide. He cradles the worn, aged book as if it were a child and strides to the Bentley. It is pure reflex to slip into the driver seat and put into gear. His Bentley is in many ways the definition of Crowley and he flees to it as his last sanctuary. The purr of her engine soothes him enough that the dreadful, mind-numbing shock starts to fade.
He glances down at the book and the Bentley shifts down a gear to cruise the less travelled roads while he read. Fifteen minutes later, he closes the book and the Bentley stops.
So. This really is the Big One. Armageddon. He should be happy. This is what he's worked for all his li-existance. But he doesn't want to. He likes the humans. He likes the planet. He was happy here. Happier than he'd been since the Fall.
He couldn't even explain it to himself. Here where there was sunlight, rich food and fine wine, it was easier to forget the darkness racing up to engulf him. To forget the despair and bitterness. The endless forlorn wishing and shedding of bitter tears. The soul-deep agony of being able to see home and remember its perfection to the finest detail and knowing you can never go back.
Earth wasn't heaven. But it was a new home, a new chance. Everywhere humans and animals and even houseplants so he never had to think of what he hadn't got, only what he had. And now They're going to take it away. Smash it to pieces and sweep it out the door to be lost forever.
Crowley stares at his hands as they lift towards the wheel of the Bentley. He remembers.
A muddy trench. Men - hollow-cheeked and gaunt with hunger - clutching rifles, bayonents and praying. The flash of madness in their eyes as they look at him. He feels mud flake away as he smiles - a grotesque contortion of his usual sly grin.
"Fuck the consequences!"
The Bentley's gears crash and the car roars to life as he grabs the wheel. The vintage car slews around and roars into the night.
And Crowley smiles.