Mar 04, 2007 23:45
200 words on Crowley and the fourteenth century
He likes to complain that the fourteenth century was boring; even tells himself that's how he feels, though he doesn't mention it around other demons, who like to reminisce about the Plague and the subsequent collapse of society much in the same way that elderly humans sit around and talk about how things were cheaper and better-made in their youth. When Aziraphale questions him about it - I thought that would have been your sort of thing, old boy - he passes it off with a sneer and a comment about the lack of creature comforts during the worst epidemic the world had ever seen.
The truth is that it was horrible. The truth is that there were bodies everywhere, and the stench of burning corpses, and Crowley, who hadn't seen the Pit in five thousand years, was vividly reminded of his reasons for staying on Earth.
He'd been afraid the world was ending, that it was all over and no one had told him, and he hadn't known then why the thought made him sick with fear. He'd figured it out centuries later, while Aziraphale's books burned and the world truly was ending.
crowley,
good omens,
fic