Good Omens: Missing generation (10/12)
Title: Good Omens: Missing generation (10/12)
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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To say that he was concerned for Muriel would be an understatement. The angel appeared to be in a mild form of shock, from what he could work out. She had jumped at the sound of the car door closing, and her gaze kept darting everywhere, never focusing on one particular point. She was nervous about something too, then.
Stopping at a red light on their way to Crowley's flat, Damian found himself reaching over and placing a hand on top of her arm briefly, squeezing it gently. She'd flinched, before glancing over. Realising who it was, she relaxed and placed her other hand on top of his briefly, as if silently thanking him. For what, the demon hadn't the faintest idea.
After a few minutes of Saturday afternoon traffic in London, they'd made it over to Crowley's apartment. The car journey had been silent, but as they got out Muriel spoke quietly. "It's not just your side acting." She muttered, glancing over. At his puzzled look, she sighed. "I ended up with a ...call, of sorts. They want me Upstairs, getting ready to start with the angelic smiting. I was on my way over to tell you, and basically to run like Hel- Heav- Somewhere from them."
Damian swallowed. "Kinda glad they didn't do what Downstairs did, then. A demon you can fight, but another angel? I can't see that ending too well for you. And, consequently, for me!" he added when he thought about how disgustingly concerned and selfless he'd sounded. After all, it may have been the apocalypse but that didn't mean he had to lose all of his self-respect.
Muriel nodded solemnly, glancing over at him as they made their way inside and up the stairs. "I don't think I could, really. Kill one of my brethren. I mean, you're technically a member yourself, and I couldn't kill you - not permanently, anyway."
"Gee, thanks."
An exasperated sigh. "You know what I mean! Our duties were to, temporarily, wipe each other off of the playing field. But after getting to know you... I don't think I could even temporarily kill you now. You or Crowley."
Damian nodded, understanding the serious undertone in the conversation:
'I don't want to fight you, not anymore.'
At that point, they reached the door to Crowley's apartment. The ruined, open door. Cursing or blessing (depending on who you're looking at), the pair rushed in and were greeted by chaos.
Well, not literally. For one thing, there were no butterflies, even with all of Crowley's plants. But that's beside the point. The apartment was a mess, and there was no sign of the elder demon anywhere. Looking around, Muriel shrieked as she found a puddle of melted demon on the floor, and their silent worry that Crowley had been attacked like Damian was confirmed, but also lessened.
Deciding that there was no obvious sign of the older demon in the apartment, the younger pair were about to leave when they noticed one word, written on the window in red.
Apparently, all that Crowley could find at the time was ketchup.
Either way, the word was a place, and one that made both demon and angel want to repeatedly hit their heads against the wall.
TADLFIELD, read the ketchup-message. 'Oops' the pair thought.
Heading over to Aziraphale's bookshop, Muriel didn't think things could possibly be worse. However, she hadn't opened the window to the car yet. In the end, though, she really didn't need to. As they turned the corner, they saw it could get worse.
The shop was on fire.
And not any small fire, either. Currently, it looked as if it was one big ball of fire, conveniently placed between two buildings. Bystanders were watching in shock as the inferno grew ever higher. Damian had barely pulled to a stop before Muriel practically threw herself out of the car, racing down the street. He followed quickly, catching up with her as a fireman tried to stand in her way.
"Now listen, sweetheart, that's really not the best-"
Muriel gave the poor man a look that could quite possibly freeze the entire blaze into ice. "Don't call me 'sweetheart', alright? Now, I'm going to ask some questions, and you will answer them carefully and clearly. Do you understand?" she asked, voice deceptively calm but with a rather terrifying undertone. The man nodded, terrified.
"Y-yes, miss."
Muriel nodded, breathing carefully before starting. "Is there anyone within the building?" He shook his head. "Has anyone gone in?" He nodded. "A man?" Nod. "Business suit and glasses." Two nods. "Did he say anything?" There was another nod, before the man hesitated. "Go ahead. Quickly, now."
"He said I looked like a prat. Then he ran inside and came out after a few minutes with a book." The man told her weakly. Damian could tell that this would be the guy's last day as a fireman.
"Thank you. Now, if you don't mind..." She turned away, stopping as she saw Damian in front of her. Briefly, she looked vaguely guilty, before moving again. "He's not there. And he's not dead, I'd know." She commented, jumping back into the car. "Now, we need to get out to Oxfordshire, and then-" she broke off, an odd look on her face.
"What is it?" Damian asked in concern. Muriel stared at him.
"Your tutor's caused us an issue. Think. What's the only way towards Oxfordshire?"
"The M40, why?"
"And what, Damian, do we need to cross over to get there?"
"Well, the M... M25. Bless it..."
"Exactly. Alright. Detour. Head to St James park."
"What? Muri, mate, now really isn't a good time to feed the ducks."
"Don't question me, darling. Just drive. I have an idea." She muttered, glancing over at him with a dangerous smile on her face. Swallowing, Damian nodded, heading towards the park.
20 minutes later found the pair sitting on a hotwired motorcycle and preparing to drive headfirst into the duck pond. "Are you sure about this?" Damian asked in concern. Muriel, whose arms were wrapped around Damian's chest, nodded.
"Trust me! It's the best option we have."
That being all he needed to hear, Damian revved the engine and drove into the pond, submerging them both completely. The engine miraculously didn't give out at all, although that may have been because both demon and angel believed that it was perfectly reasonable for a motorbike to work underwater. If anyone had been watching the other side of the pond as they came out, the person may have had this thought:
'Is it a bird? Is it a plane?'
Really, it could have been either. But it was, in fact, a motorcycle with two riders appearing from the water drenched. Funnily enough, one of the riders had wings.
As they approached the overpass, Damian started to panic. After all, it was going to hurt, and...
He felt Muriel's grip on him tighten, just as he heard something in his head.
"It'll be fine! Just keep going straight and believe as hard as you can."
"How are you doing that?"
"It's easy. Angels can read minds, why wouldn't they be able to be telepathic?"
"But why only now?"
"Well... I think the end of the world is a suitable time to start with the mildly intrusive powers, don't you? Oh, look, we're over."
And they were. With that, an angel and a demon on a flaming motorcycle powered along the M40, only a few minutes behind their tutors.
At least Muriel's wings were hidden again, though.
Didn't want to confuse people after all.