Good Omens: Missing generation (8/12)
Title: Good Omens: Missing generation (8/12)
Pairings: Late Aziraphale/Crowley, hinted Adam/Pepper, hinted OC/OC (likely to develop in future fic)
Warnings: None as long as you've read Good Omens
Summary: What if Crowley and Aziraphale weren't the only agents on Earth? What if there had been another pair, there all along but simply forgotten - lost - from the story? View the Apocalypse-that-wasn't through the eyes of their two respective students, Damian and Muriel, and find out the truth of the missing generation!
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It turned out that both Chippenham and Bath were also false alarms, in the end. Really, Damian and Muriel knew that they should be rushing back to London, but it had been a while since the pair had last been in the Somerset city. Therefore, they had decided to stick around for the rest of the afternoon touring the various sites and generally enjoying themselves. After all, there was a fairly high chance that it would be their last visit. Damian had even managed to take some photos of the pair of them. Muriel had been taken by the beauty of the old buildings, and Damian by the hilarity of exactly what the symbols used for the design of the city streets meant. Silly humans, misunderstanding things again...
They had rounded off the afternoon going on a tour bus of Bath and muttering to each other about the truth behind the various histories. The idea that the angels on the side of Bath Abbey were to do with Jacob's ladder, for example, was hilarious. Little did the poor tour guide know that, actually, the image had been caused by a drunken Aziraphale and Crowley scaling a wall on one of the older buildings - with their wings on full display. To be fair, they'd been too busy trying to discorporate each other again - and too drunk - to notice that they had ended up with a few spectators. Equally drunken spectators, mind.
Evening eventually came around, and the pair went out to a decent Chinese restaurant that they'd spotted earlier. It had a lovely view over the river, considering, and so they'd grabbed a small, secluded table by one of the large windows. They spent the meal talking about various small, unimportant things and generally enjoying each others' company. Not to say that they didn't usually enjoy each others' company, that it, but it seemed to be increased now that they had the real threat of an apocalypse over their heads. They continued to talk as they headed over to the hotel they had booked into, only saying goodnight at around ten in the evening. They had an early start, after all. Like Crowley, Damian had grown accustomed to sleep. Unlike Aziraphale, Muriel had done the same.
After a while of pottering around the room getting sorted, Damian realised that for some odd reason he felt lonely without his companion there - even though she was only in the next room. He tried to get to sleep anyway, but found himself restless and unable to settle at all. A few hours later, however, the demon froze as he heard the sound of a door closing. In the next room. A few seconds later, he heard it open again, before closing once more. The sound was followed by one of footsteps. Unable to focus on the logical explanations with his sleep-deprived mind, he sat in silence before hurriedly tugging on his jeans and a shirt. He opened the door as he grabbed his jacket and followed the sound of footsteps out of the passage, down the stairs and into the lobby.
As he reached the entrance hall, he saw a hooded figure making their way out silently. Ignoring the fact that he was barefoot he followed, mind racing with thoughts. Hell had been suspicious already with the lack of heartless cruelty and the equal lack of angel-killing happening on earth. What if they'd worked it out? What if they'd found the pair somehow, tracked them? What if the sounds of the door were caused by an assassin from Downstairs, sent out to remove the angel? Spying the figure leaning against the bridge, overlooking the night sky and ignoring their surroundings, Damian reached into his jacket to pull out his trusted dagger. He silently walked up behind the mystery figure, counting mentally to 3 before grasping the shoulder and spinning them. In a flash he moved his hand to the figure's mouth, simultaneously placing the dagger against their throat. Satisfied, he looked up.
A pair of wide blue eyes stared back at him. Familiar blue eyes... Damian jolted, narrowly missing Muriel's artery by about an inch. He caught her neck, though, and a thin cut appeared. Behind his hand, the angel hissed. The demon removed the dagger quickly. Letting go of her mouth, he backed up a step and held his hands up to show he wouldn't hurt her. "Muri! Bless it, I thought... I mean... I heard the door and..." he trailed off, looking lost and more than slightly guilty. Muriel blinked, a hand absently going to her throat and wiping away the thin trickle of blood that had started up. After a pause, she spoke up.
"Damian... what was that about?" she asked him, quietly. Quietly but not accusingly - typical angel. Damian sighed, leaning against the wall to the bridge and glancing at Muriel. "I'm sorry. I just heard your door opening and... panicked, I guess. I thought that Downstairs had sent an assassin or something." He explained sheepishly.
The angel stared at him, before smiling warmly. "You mean... you were worried for me?" She asked teasingly. Damian glared.
"Yeah, rub my face in it why don't you..." he muttered, before huffing a laugh. "So, yeah. Maybe I worried. It was only because if they wiped you out I'd have to deal with Zira. And then, by annoying default, Crowley." 'And I would be freaking out even more over the apocalypse. I wouldn't see you again.' He thought at the same time, but he wasn't about to admit that to his angelic counterpart.
After a while, Muriel sighed. Glancing across the river, she looked briefly at Damian before focusing on the silvery waters below them. "I guess you couldn't sleep either then?" She asked, before frowning. "I truly hope that our tutors have found him. Because if they haven't, our chances are even slimmer." The angel mused, thinking. After a few more minutes, she clapped her hands together and rubbed them, as if she was warming them. "So," she said, offering a small smile, "Would you do me the honour of joining me for a midnight walk?"
Damian looked thoughtful, before smirking. "The honour would be mine." He replied with a flamboyant bow, offering his arm. "Shall we?"
"Yes, lets." The angel replied, placing her own through his.
And with that, a demon and an angel walked off into the night.