The Incarnate (A Good Omens CrowleyxReader)

~Chapter 18~

You're sitting in your room. Today was amazing-- it was just you and your two friends having fun, exactly like you've always wanted your life to look like. No worrying about Armageddon, no focusing on the fact that they're both immortal beings... Yeah, it was great.

At this moment, you're trying to wind down. From how everything's been happening, tomorrow will be a busy day full of difficult Armageddon stuff.

You hear a knock on your door. "Come in," you say. Crowley walks in and sits on the other side of the bed. "Hey, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine. I was just in the mood to talk, so..."

You smile. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Eh, anything. I guess I just have a lot to talk about."

"Alright, go."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. "But I don't want you to freak out. You're going to do... something, I know that."

"Remember what I said? I'm here to help. I want you to feel as good as you can. Whatever's bothering you, you can rant about it to me."

"... Alright. I guess I could talk about falling." He takes off his glasses and puts them on the bedside table. He then leans against the headboard. "I mean, there isn't much to talk about. I just want someone to understand what it feels like besides from me and whatever asshole demons are in Hell."

"They're not nice?"

He sighs. "Yes, unlike me, they're all total douchebags."

"You're finally admitting that you're a nice person!"

"I was being sarcastic."

"Aw. But you are."

He glares at you. "First you call me nice and kind, then you call me a sweet dork, then you call me a muffin, then a jelly pastry, and now you're calling me nice again. What's next?"

"I don't know. It's always spontaneous whenever I call you something."

"Okay, that's fair. Anyways."

You try to nonchalantly scooch as close as you can to him. Falling seems like an awful topic to talk about, so he's going to need some kind of support. He continues.

"Falling was when you had a small blemish on your soul. When you're an angel or a demon, your wings represent your soul. I had one black feather. In the old days, Heaven was exactly how you'd imagine it-- a utopia on a floating cloud. These days, it looks more like a tall office building. I was pushed. The 'pure' angels shoved me off said cloud. Any fallen angel would fall through the Earth and into Hell. Most demons now dove off. They didn't want to live up to Heaven's standards."

"The truly angelic should have helped them get rid of the black feathers, not destroy them."

"I'd agree, but... Things don't ever work out the way you want them to. Anyway, Hell at the time was an ocean of this weird liquid with some islands. This liquid was like boiling tar. Once you fell, the rest of your wings would turn black and you'd be beyond saving."

You reach over and grab his hand. Now is the best time for support. He looks at you, and you find yourself gazing at his eyes. Were they like that before he fell? Or did he become a snake after falling? Either way, they're a beautiful golden with spots of hazel that could never be so strong on a human.

It's now that you realize that you've been lost in his eyes for a while now. So you smile, a gentle push for him to continue.

"And when you finally hit the tar, it burned. Every inch of you burned. Once you finally got out, the burning stopped and all the residue would leave. Except for your wings. They'd stay completely black."