Good Omens One Shots 1

Lovely Part 3

1862

Saying that the matrimony between Aziraphale and Cassandra was taxing on the demon would have been an understatement. Crowley remembered laughing into his drink after the wedding, alone, back at his flat. Tears were on his face but he was giggling like a lunatic. The universe sure never gave him a break; first it was falling, then surviving hell and it's infinite tortures, but this... This was the worst by far. He admitted it was funny. He was the butt of every joke it seemed, and he was exhausted.

Hadn't he suffered enough? Why couldn't it be over already?

Well... there was one way. No. He couldn't do that... but maybe if things got really bad. There was talk of the apocalypse approaching downstairs. If there was another war like it was predicted in the great plan, Crowley would never be able to go to bat for Lucifer again, especially against Aziraphale; with his luck that is exactly what would happen. He could imagine it:

Hell would win the war. They had so much more to fight for, heaven didn't stand a chance. Hell would destroy all the angels and call it justice. That meant Aziraphale would be gone, and Crowley couldn't find it in himself to live in a world his angel wasn't; that's where the holy water came in.

After the end of the world, there probably wouldn't be any way to get fully rid of a demon. All holy weapons would be destroyed, the demons would make sure of that. Holy water would be soiled and consecrated ground would be burned with hellfire. He would be forced to live out eternity in Hell without his angel and he couldn't bear that.

If he got a suicide pill now, then he would have an escape route when things turned bad. He just wanted insurance that at any point he saw no point to live anymore (aka Aziraphale was gone for good) he could leave too. Lucky for him, he had an angel that considered him a close enough friend that he might just consider getting him some holy water. OR this could be just the absurd proposition that would push the angel away from him for good. There was only one way to find out.

Crowley finally worked up the courage to ask in 1862 in St. James Park. He was very nervous, dressed primly, posture immaculate, note clutched in his gloved hand.

The last time he had seen the angel was at his second wife's funeral. To clarify, he wasn't at the ceremony but he did approach at her gravestone once the other guests had left and it was just the grieving angel. The demon didn't say anything in fear that he would say the wrong things. He just let Aziraphale cry into his shoulder and mutter sweet nothings into his blonde curls as he embraced the poor angel. That was the closest he had ever been physically with the angel in a millennia and he could still feel the buzzing warmth of his body under his fingertips. He just wished that it had been under better circumstances that they came to embrace. Crowley couldn't help but hope that the event would sway the angel into giving into his request, prove that he wasn't some ill intentioned demon.

The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that the angel would turn him down and they wouldn't speak for another century, or ever. The apocalypse might happen and Aziraphale would still be mad at him. Crowley bit his lip, too late to back out now, Aziraphale was already approaching.

"Look, I've been thinking," Crowley struggled to come up with a good way to phrase this. Best to tell the truth and let his clever tongue do the work, "what if it all goes wrong? You have a lot in common you and me."

Aziraphale began to feed the ducks some bread crumbs he miracled into his hat. "I don't know, we both may have started out as angels but you are fallen."

Crowley fought the urge to hiss. That was a low blow, this already wasn't going well. "Oh I didn't really fall. I just you know..." He gulped as memories of the pain flashed before his eyes again, "sauntered vaguely downwards." He was getting off topic, time to get back on. "I need a favor."