What can fly without wings? | GOOD OMENS ONE SHOT |

What can fly without wings?

Crowley didn't know where he was.

It was a small space which wasn't illuminated, not like there was anything to see. Not quite big enough to fully stand or stretch his arms to the sides without touching a hard cold wall.

Only thing he had to figure out was how to get out of this Box.

Upon the first hour in the Box he had managed to throw multiple tantrums and scream at nothingness. A bit later he came upon realization that he wasn't wearing anything and had no possession of any kind with him.

When the fist day was over he was frustrated and bored. If not a bit annoyed.

The next 2 days were spend almost the same. Crowley would wake up from his not really sleep and then try to miracle himself out. It never worked.

After he would start shouting swears and many blasphemies at the dark walls.

After a week had passed he started to wonder about food. He didn't need to eat, never had or wanted to. But if he remembered correctly humans had to digest it to survive. Did his captors know he wasn't human?

When 2 weeks had passed he had started to wonder what Aziraphale must be doing. Surely his Angel was worried. Or maybe not, he tended to get lost in his Books without any concept of time. The thought made Crowley smile.

He imagined for just a second taking in the old smell of the Shop, a soft smile and a hand going through his Hair.

Crowley decided he'd rather keep his eyes open for the rest of his wait.

It had become dreadfully boring. Sure he had spend a good amount if time in Hell in which, in all honesty, everyone was just really bland, but he never really felt quite this alone..
He had also stopped counting the hours which Crowley now regretted considering it was the only activity that had kept his mind off things from endless over thinking.

This surely couldn't play any part in the ineffable plan. That was just ridiculous..
It's ineffable.
It's frustrating.

It's been at least a month. Probably more. Crowley hasn't moved in a while.
Granted he didn't gave to but he now found that he rather enjoyed moving. Walking. Slithering around. Smelling, Seeing.. Touching.

A shiver went through him.

In the Box it wasn't Cold or Warm. Some Humans might've considered it the 'perfect' temperature. Humans aren't snakes.

It felt small. Crowley felt small. No miracles were working, no contact, no nothing. He didn't dare to try getting his wings out. He couldn't bring himself to stop thinking about Zira.
It hurt.
It shouldn't.

Crowley had spent centuries without seeing him.

But he deserved to see him, no?
They stopped Armageddon, they figured everything out.
They figured themselves out.
They figured love.

If he died, would hell assign him a new Body?

He started to feel icky, disgusting, dirty.
Sure he physically was as clean as he first woke up in the Box and he wasn't wearing anything but before he had loved to indulge in long baths, expensive soaps and scents.

Oh
His plants.
If they had dared to die off while he was in there he would show them what torture really felt like!

Was he being tortured?