Good Omens: Missing generation (12/12)
Title: Good Omens: Missing generation (12/12)
Pairings: 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!
Note: This chapter makes it plain that there is a Crowley/Aziraphale pairing. Very plain indeed (unfortunately for their students...)
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Damian frowned as the doorbell to his apartment went off. After all, the Apocalypse had nearly happened yesterday and he wasn't expecting any visitors. Cautiously, he reached for his flask of holy water with a pair of oven mitts before pacing over to answer the door. Counting to three, he flung the door open and hurled the contents out at whoever was on his doorstep. When no shrieks of dying agony were heard, he pulled the door open further and glanced out. A drenched, highly unimpressed Muriel glanced back at him.
"...Thanks." she muttered.
"Um... whoops?" Damian offered in response, before continuing, "To be fair, I wasn't exactly expecting you. The last thing I expected was for you to turn up in fact. ...Why are you here, anyway?" He blinked at the expression of mild hurt that appeared on his angelic counterpart's face, before it became unreadable.
"I'm sorry. If I'm intruding, I will do you a favour and go..." she replied, not meeting his eyes. The words he'd used sprang back into Damian's mind and he blessed inwardly.
"No! You aren't, that isn't what I meant. Sorry... Look, come on in. Just... please, get rid of the holy water? Please?" he asked, stepping to one side. Muriel, upon noticing that she was still dripping, blinked. When her eyes opened again, she was completely dry, but she wobbled, steadying herself on the doorframe. Damian watched in concern, glancing at Muriel and noticing how she seemed slightly paler than usual.
"You aren't going to throw up, are you?" he asked. He got a bleary glare and a mild head shake in response, and so decided that it was safe for the angel to come into his apartment. "What I meant earlier," he continued as he led Muriel through to the lounge, "was why aren't you resting at home, or with Aziraphale? I'm perfectly happy for you to be here - I was getting bored."
Muriel sat down with slightly less grace than usual - thanks to the fact that she was walking on unsteady legs - and sighed in contentment as she was able to rest. She grimaced at his question, though. "Home was... too quiet, after everything. I needed sound. So I headed to the bookshop - which, by the way, is back in full! No sign of the inferno - in order to chat with Zira. When I got there, however, my tutor and yours were, uh... dealing with their... emotions, in a way. Towards each other, that is." At Damian's blank look, she sighed before snapping. "They were making out rather passionately in the back room, and I'm mentally scarred and can we please change the subject, now?"
Damian froze, before his expression morphed into one that appeared to fight between sympathy, horror, shock and disgust. "Ugh, now I need mental bleach too. And poor you... So I was next on the list, then?"
"You were, yes. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure about whether or not you'd be with Crowley, which is why I didn't go to yours first. Aziraphale was closer than here, and as you can tell I'm not exactly full to overflowing with energy. Afraid I slightly outdid myself today with the grace and miracles..." she responded, settling back into the sofa and slumping - a rare occurrence for the angel, who usually prided herself on good manners and etiquette. It was proof enough that Muriel was exhausted by everything, and Damian felt a little bad for not noticing sooner.
Popping into the kitchen area, he set the kettle to boil, poking his head around the doorway. "Tea?"
Muriel smiled wearily. "Can't think of anything better to drink right now." She could feel herself beginning to fade, and was struggling to stay awake. She'd seen that Damian was also tired, but then she had used more grace than he'd used... whatever his grace was now. Whilst guarding the children earlier on, she'd slipped some into them all, giving them a boost of security. However, it had managed to drain her of some of the little bit of energy she had remaining.
A few minutes later Damian reappeared carrying two mugs. Instead of sitting down, though, he placed the drinks down before going back into the kitchen area. His reason became apparent when he entered once more, this time carrying a plate of biscuits. He placed them down onto the table between the mugs, before settling on the sofa next to Muriel and grabbing one. The angel shot him a grateful look, before picking up her tea and a biscuit for herself. She alternated between sipping delicately at her drink and nibbling on the chocolate digestive.
Once the biscuits were finished, both demon and angel were feeling slightly more energetic, and so chatted. The conversation eventually led on to the Apocalypse-that-wasn't. "Ah, well. It's all over now." Damian summarised, settling his head lopsidedly on the back of the sofa and glancing sideways at his angelic friend. She also leant against the back of the sofa, but instead of smiling she looked troubled.
"I'm... not so sure. I don't think it is, really." She muttered. Damian frowned at her in confusion.
"What on earth do you mean? Not like you to be a pessimist." He replied, moving closer to her.
"Well, it's just that it all seemed... rushed. Incomplete. I mean, where were the seals? The trumpets and things? It wasn't complete at all. I can't help but feel..." she trailed off, frowning at her hands. "No, that's nonsense, Muri. You're just conflicted right now." She murmured to herself, voice barely audible. Damian stared at her in confusion, and mild worry.
"What's nonsense? What can't you help feeling?" When she didn't respond, the demon sighed. "Muriel. Muri, come on, spill. Because... hate to admit it, but when you have hunches there are times when you're right. Remember that 'silly thought' of yours about the supposed 'flu going around London in the 1600s? You saved us a fair bit of strife, calling us out of the city like that." He continued, remembering the group's lucky escape from the plague. He, especially, was grateful for missing it. After all, Pestilence wasn't best pleased with him at that point...
He was brought back to earth by Muriel sighing. "It's just... I know it's silly, but it's almost like they always knew, in the end. That this was a dummy run - or a distraction. I mean, we've focused solely on England, haven't we? What if something big is happening in Australia? Or America, for that matter?"
Damian snorted. "Australia, perhaps. But America? Not a chance. Nothing major would happen in America. I mean, why would they go there of all places? I think you're wrong on this one. The risk is over, we can relax now. And there is nothing wrong in America right now, I'm sure of it."
With that, the conversation was ended, and the pair changed subject to a lighter topic. They talked until they could stay awake no longer, and fell asleep where they were. The next day would see the pair wandering around London, feeding the ducks in St James' park and generally enjoying their continued existence.
...
That is, until the next time.