Fandom: Good Omens/SPN
Spoilers: To the book, to 5x06 of SPN
Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, mention of SPN characters.
A/N: I just couldn't not write it...
Warnings: I'm easily amused. And there are footnotes. (Also, poking at the issue of consent)
After a long acquaintance* Crowley knew perfectly well when he was simply required to sit down, drink his tea, and nod at the appropriate places, letting Aziraphale carry out most of the conversation.
“It’s all the tv and movies, really. And of course, it’s America. What did you expect? That’s what you get with calling yourself the land of the free, you get an Antichrist who decides to play hookie from the Apocalypse…”
“Adam,” Crowley pointed out dryly.
“That was different. He decided to end the Apocalypse, not participate in truancy and illegal immigration to Australia of all places.”
“Preach it, sister,” Crowley muttered. He wasn’t in the best of moods, and the tea was lacking rum, in his opinion. Unfortunately, Aziraphale considered it rude when guests added their own alcohol to the beverages he served.** “To be honest,” he added more seriously, “I blame the Winchesters. And there’s that Castiel of yours.”
This was, Crowley had to admit in retrospect, the worst possible thing to say. Aziraphale had gotten positively livid, which meant he forgot to bring scones. Crowley had been looking forward to scones.
“That new generations of Angels, no manners, no grace at all!”
“You said grace,” Crowley chucked, just to be promptly ignored.
“And using human bodies. I ask you, what’s that about? You can go perfectly well about requisitioning a new body from upstairs. Sure, they’ve gotten a little skimp as of late, the depression hit us all, but filling a few forms never killed anyone. I tell you, Crowley, if I ever wanted to get inside a human, I’d go about it the right way.”
Crowley thought about it for a longer moment. On the surface it seemed like a great opening (no pun intended, for hell’s sake, even a demon knows when not to push his puns too hard***), but then you started to wonder what Aziraphale would consider the right way, and it stopped you right in your tracks.
“What about Madame Tracy?” he asked instead, going for the less obvious but a much safer jab.
“There were circumstances. And we talked about that, and she was perfectly fine with it.”
“Post hoc, Angel. The lack of consent…oh, hell-heaven, I thought it was our side who came up with the apologists. I thought the short skirts really helped us there.”
“Anyway,” Aziraphale muttered, hiding behind his teacup, and it wasn’t a big teacup, so a lot of guilt was peeking out. “What I was saying was, what’s this taking vessels stuff? So uncivilized, like simple demons.”
“Present company excluded, of course. But I feel that you’re made of better, well, whatever it is that demons are made of. Sinister fog or whatnot.”
“Sugar and spice,” Crowley supplied helpfully, to the general lack of amusement and a cold glare from Aziraphale, chilling enough to make Crowley’s tea instantly lukewarm**** “So, what you were initially saying,” he said a little bit louder, sipping his tea, “was that we’re an Antichrist short of the Apocalypse. Any chances someone forfeits and we can all get on with our unlives?”
“I don’t think so. The War already appeared and She’s a He this time around.”
“Really? How? Why?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Probably safer that way. So, road trip?” At Aziraphale’s look he shrugged. “Someone has to stop it, and we have impeccable record, zero finished Apocalypses on our watch.”
There was that.
*Long enough to no longer deserve the word, and longer still, so the word ‘ancient’ didn’t apply either, as antiquity was just a twinkle in the sky that would later become a constellation known to some as a winged horse, as humanity tend to get weird ideas, especially when it comes to winged creatures.
**Some degree of rudeness and mild evil was, of course, required of every demon, but Aziraphale did not consider it a valid excuse.
***Unless they pushed first. Vengeance was encouraged and often required if you were a demon. If you were an angel it was required as well, but it was much better organized and had fanfare.
****Angels grasped metaphors fairly well when it came to most things, but with the moods and feelings things got tricky. When the tension in the room full of angels grew so thick you could cut it with a knife, someone had to be sent to bring that knife and slowly free all the slightly confused and very sticky angels.