Good Omens oneshots

You Were Right, I Was Wrong

It was a nice day.

But not all the days had been nice days. In fact, this was the first nice day in almost two months. Crowley had made sure of that. He wanted everyone to feel as drab and miserable as he did, which he accomplished by making it rain for eight weeks solid.

(Now, he didn't know this, but this feat had rather impressed Hell. They hadn't so far thought that making the weather cold and dreary would affect humans so dramatically.)

The only reason he had stopped making it rain was because he was no longer interested in making others suffer for his misery. It wasn't like he was gaining anything, and frankly, he felt the need to suffer alone at this point.

Plus, once he cleared the clouds, his thoughts suddenly felt a lot more coherent, and he had realized that he had had what was the equivalent of a temper tantrum for two full months.

(Which wasn't a lot of time, he supposed, considering he had been on Earth for over 6,000 years, but it still felt longer than necessary.)
Plus plus, he had nearly given up on the prospect of Aziraphale coming back at all. Crowley had thought that perhaps the angel would have noticed it raining across nearly all of England and come down to see what was causing such a phenomenon, but four weeks came and passed, and there was still no sight of the angel. So he waited four more weeks, and still nothing.

He assumed it had to do with their shared ability to sense one another's miracles, a skill they had picked up after spending so long on Earth together. Perhaps Aziraphale thought he was still angry with him and was waiting for him to calm down in order to visit.

So today marked the start of a dry spell, which may or may not turn into a drought, depending on how Crowley was feeling about everything in a week or so.

***

As he walked from his car to the bookshop, he noticed Nina and Maggie sitting outside the coffee shop, talking together. They noticed him noticing them and they both gave a wave. He gave back something that could possibly resemble a wave if you thought about it hard enough.

He crossed the street, hoping a car would rocket down the street at 90 mph and discorporate him on the spot. The Bentley seemed to hear his thoughts and it inched forward behind him.

Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes under his glasses and stopped the car with a flick of his wrist. It rolled back to its spot and settled there, looking uneasy at best.

He reached the shop, the door opening with a little ding. Muriel was likely in the back, Crowley guessed, when they didn't come rushing to the front.

It was too quiet in here. It had been for months. At least the incessant rain had dampened the pressurized silence, but now nothing stopped it from smothering Crowley, clinging to him like the dust that sat on the less-read books.

He had noticed a few days ago, with a rather depressed feeling that had caused the rain to turn into a violent thunderstorm, that Aziraphale's scent was fading underneath Muriel's. Not that they had a bad scent to her, it was just that while Aziraphale smelled of books and cocoa and caramel, Muriel had the scent about her that was reminiscent of a doctor's office or a newly renovated building. Instead of a carefully procured scent that smelled like heaven, they were making the whole place smell like Heaven.

(The first being Crowley's personal heaven, and the second being, well... Heaven.)

The upstairs was left relatively untouched, however. Crowley had found that it still smelled the way he wanted it to, but he never went up there. Because smelling the angel made it feel like he was still here, and he wasn't.