ficlet: Two angels, one demon (Good Omens)
For enigel - note that all I know of Castiel, I gained by watching a few episodes with louiselux!
"Who's this?" Crowley said, walking round Castiel suspiciously.
"Castiel," Aziraphale said quickly, to stop the angel in question speaking.
"And who's Castiel, when he's at home?" Crowley asked.
"I'm an angel of the Lord," Castiel said, eyes narrowed.
"Well, I could tell that from the terrible dress sense and crumpled clothes - but are you a fun angel or," he waved a hand expressively, "An unfun angel?"
Castiel looked between Crowley and Aziraphale. "Why does the enemy think some angels are fun?" he asked in a carefully neutral tone.
Aziraphale smiled weakly. This sort of thing was always embarrassing and so hard to explain in a way that didn't sound highly suspect, as if he was collaborating. Which he wasn't. The Arrangement just made things more efficient, that was all.
"Things get complicated, after the first few thousand years," he said carefully, not liking the expression on Castiel's face. Most angels thought complicated was right next to ungodliness, while Aziraphale had come to see it as more la condition humaine, or to be more accurate, angélique.
"I prefer simplicity," Castiel said. "Lend me your sword."
"Ah, well, you see - " Aziraphale said, going pink.
"Castiel," Crowley said, slithering back a few yards. "Where did I hear that name - Castiel . . . Castiel . . . America."
"Silence, demon," Castiel said quickly.
"America?" Aziraphale said. "That doesn't sound like an angel's name - sorry," he added at Crowley's exasperated look.
"I sent you the memo!" Crowley said, dematerialising as Castiel clearly decided swords were a luxury he'd do without, and jumped him. "Remember? America? Apocalypse?" Crowley said, rematerialising behind Aziraphale.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Aziraphale" Castiel said. "Please believe that I bear you no personal ill-will." He concentrated and a sword appeared in his hand. It burst into flame as he approached.
"Dean Winchester!" Aziraphale and Crowley yelled together.
"What?" Castiel said, stopping dead.
"I know your plans for him," Crowley said in the hearty manner of the incorrigible bluffer as Aziraphale said,
"I've got photos! Really explicit ones!"
Crowley stared at him, open-mouthed, then slowly looked back at Castiel, who went first stark white, then an unflattering shade of grey, and finally, an even more unflattering dark red.
"I -" Castiel said.
"If you don't mind me saying, seducing people to your point of view is more their way of doing things, don't you think?" Aziraphale said, nodding at Crowley. "Current company excepted, of course," he added.
"Um," Castiel said, looking between the prurient disapproval on Aziraphale's face and the clouds of incomprehension on Crowley's, through which was slowly dawning the sun of malicious glee. "Fuck this," Castiel muttered, and vanished.
"He shagged a human?" Crowley said, turning to Aziraphale in the manner of a child about to be given a wonderful treat.
"I don't think he much cared who was on which side of the transitive verb, if you catch my drift," Aziraphale sniffed. "I'm glad he's gone - dreadful fellow. Now, how about a spot of lunch and we can decide what to do about the situation in America?"
"Bring the pictures and I'll pay," Crowley said.
Aziraphale pulled a thick photo album from thin air. "These are worth at least a four star restaurant," he said genially.
Crowley didn't quibble even once.
"Who's this?" Crowley said, walking round Castiel suspiciously.
"Castiel," Aziraphale said quickly, to stop the angel in question speaking.
"And who's Castiel, when he's at home?" Crowley asked.
"I'm an angel of the Lord," Castiel said, eyes narrowed.
"Well, I could tell that from the terrible dress sense and crumpled clothes - but are you a fun angel or," he waved a hand expressively, "An unfun angel?"
Castiel looked between Crowley and Aziraphale. "Why does the enemy think some angels are fun?" he asked in a carefully neutral tone.
Aziraphale smiled weakly. This sort of thing was always embarrassing and so hard to explain in a way that didn't sound highly suspect, as if he was collaborating. Which he wasn't. The Arrangement just made things more efficient, that was all.
"Things get complicated, after the first few thousand years," he said carefully, not liking the expression on Castiel's face. Most angels thought complicated was right next to ungodliness, while Aziraphale had come to see it as more la condition humaine, or to be more accurate, angélique.
"I prefer simplicity," Castiel said. "Lend me your sword."
"Ah, well, you see - " Aziraphale said, going pink.
"Castiel," Crowley said, slithering back a few yards. "Where did I hear that name - Castiel . . . Castiel . . . America."
"Silence, demon," Castiel said quickly.
"America?" Aziraphale said. "That doesn't sound like an angel's name - sorry," he added at Crowley's exasperated look.
"I sent you the memo!" Crowley said, dematerialising as Castiel clearly decided swords were a luxury he'd do without, and jumped him. "Remember? America? Apocalypse?" Crowley said, rematerialising behind Aziraphale.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Aziraphale" Castiel said. "Please believe that I bear you no personal ill-will." He concentrated and a sword appeared in his hand. It burst into flame as he approached.
"Dean Winchester!" Aziraphale and Crowley yelled together.
"What?" Castiel said, stopping dead.
"I know your plans for him," Crowley said in the hearty manner of the incorrigible bluffer as Aziraphale said,
"I've got photos! Really explicit ones!"
Crowley stared at him, open-mouthed, then slowly looked back at Castiel, who went first stark white, then an unflattering shade of grey, and finally, an even more unflattering dark red.
"I -" Castiel said.
"If you don't mind me saying, seducing people to your point of view is more their way of doing things, don't you think?" Aziraphale said, nodding at Crowley. "Current company excepted, of course," he added.
"Um," Castiel said, looking between the prurient disapproval on Aziraphale's face and the clouds of incomprehension on Crowley's, through which was slowly dawning the sun of malicious glee. "Fuck this," Castiel muttered, and vanished.
"He shagged a human?" Crowley said, turning to Aziraphale in the manner of a child about to be given a wonderful treat.
"I don't think he much cared who was on which side of the transitive verb, if you catch my drift," Aziraphale sniffed. "I'm glad he's gone - dreadful fellow. Now, how about a spot of lunch and we can decide what to do about the situation in America?"
"Bring the pictures and I'll pay," Crowley said.
Aziraphale pulled a thick photo album from thin air. "These are worth at least a four star restaurant," he said genially.
Crowley didn't quibble even once.