Good Omens One Shots 1

Dream 7

Aziraphale barrelled through the bookshop a frustrated nervous anxious mess -- more than usual. He tore through to the back furiously. How dare Crowley suggest such a thing! How dare he ask this of him! Holy water of all things. The nerve!

The angel bit back tears as he pulled the bottle of his strongest alcoholic concoction, trying not to linger on the fact that it was a gift from the demon in question from a few years ago. That didn't matter right now. Right now, Aziraphale just needed to get wasted and fall asleep. Dream-Crowley would make this all better.

Dream-Crowley would never ask for holy water. Dream-Crowley would never shout at him. Dream-Crowley wouldn't treat him like real-Crowley had. Dream-Crowley loved him, cuddled with him, made him crepes when he was sad, actually knew a lot of the books Aziraphale was reading.

Most importantly, Aziraphale just needed a distraction, and when the real-Crowley couldn't do that for him dream-Crowley it was.

He was halfway through the bottle before the effects set in and he set it down, collapsing onto the sofa. Crowley would make this all better... all better...

He awoke between dark sheets and tartan blankets abruptly. The sheets were a mess beside him as if someone had been lying there a few minutes ago. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief, Crowley was here. He could feel it.

Trying not to be too eager, he jumped out of bed and set off to find his favorite dream-demon. He just needed a hug, maybe some comforting words that real-Crowley could never give him. He could pretend it's the real-Crowley for tonight. Pretend that he wasn't in danger of losing a friend. His only friend.

"Crowley!" he called out, as he entered the kitchen searching for the demon. He wasn't here. If he wasn't in the kitchen then he was probably out in the garden.

Aziraphale raced outside and sure enough the demon was there. Short hair, sunglasses, black clothes almost as if he was real. But he wasn't, Aziraphale reminded himself. This Crowley was entirely different, this Crowley didn't want holy water, this Crowley was his.

"Hi angel," Crowley muttered, not looking up from his tending. He seemed sad somehow, or tired. Aziraphale wasn't sure, but he wasn't liking whatever it was that was bothering his demon.

"Are you okay?" the angel frowned.

Crowley shrugged and tugged a rather gnarly looking weed from the plants. Aziraphale found it strange that he wasn't yelling at the poor dears as he usually did.

"Want to go inside? I could read to you one of Shakespeare's funny ones?" the angel offered. He just needed a distraction, and reading while in the arms of his favorite demon would do just that. He just wanted to be near him, when they weren't talking about business or the arrangement or god forsaken holy water.

To the angel's total surprise Crowley shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Okay..." Aziraphale floundered wildly, he just wanted to be near him, just a hug, that's all. Some sweet words maybe. "I could bring a blanket out here, some goodies, we could have a little picnic." Just smile at me, just tell me everything's going to be alright, promise you would never ask for holy water or hurt yourself, please.

Crowley stayed silent, sunglasses resolutely on, giving no reaction to Aziraphale's suggestion.

The angel bit his lip, but bounded inside to grab what he said he would. He didn't know how long he had in dream world, alcohol induced sleep was never as long as he hoped. Hopefully Crowley would come back to himself soon. He grabbed the blanket they always used for picnics and a bottle of red wine and some cheeses, crackers, and grapes. Just whatever it was they had on hand.