Ineffable Interludes: Good Omens

Brimstone and a Demon

T/W: injury, sadness, angst

Brimstone and a Demon

PLAYLIST:

Prayer of the Refugee by Rise Against

The Humbling River by Puscifer

Italy, 79 CE

"Keep going!" Aziraphale shouted. "Leave your bags, everyone onto the boat!"

The ground beneath them rumbled and shook. They were running out of time.

"Run! Go!" Aziraphale grabbed the arm of a young man who was rushing past. "Phaestos, is that everyone?"

"Everyone who's willing to leave," Phaestos answered. "Some people think they'll be safer in their houses."

"A house isn't going to help them!" Aziraphale looked from the overloaded boat to the city. "Get as many people aboard as you can, I'm going door to door."

"Zira, wait!" called Phaestos. "This is the last ship!"

But Aziraphale was gone. He pelted through the empty streets, the pounding of his sandaled feet lost in the cacophony of sounds from the volcano. He banged on every closed door, shouting at the occupants to run, get to the beach, get anywhere but here. It was too late for them—and for him—but he had to try.

Covered in ash and soot, he stopped in the town center. It seemed like the majority of the people were gone, or at least in hiding. Maybe he was wrong, maybe their homes would protect them from the burning rocks that would soon rain down. Maybe the poisonous gases wouldn't make it past their tightly closed doors. Maybe.

The cobbles bucked under Aziraphale's feet, sending him to his knees. He could leave this place, spread his white wings, leap into the air and—no. He would never make it, not with sky itself on fire and the hellish winds whipping ash about. And that was all right. He had failed in his mission to save these people; it was only right that he die with them. Maybe if he discorporated they would let him stay in heaven, instead of with these incredible, fragile, mortal humans.

The side of the mountain trembled, collapsed, and barreled toward the town. Aziraphale closed his eyes.

Something grabbed him and lifted him into the air. The last thing he saw before fainting was the city wall crumbling under an avalanche of fire.

Coolness flowed over his skin and into his mouth. He swallowed reflexively, tasting ash.

"That's it, angel. Don't choke."

"C-crowley?"Aziraphale rasped.

"The one and only." The demon grinned at him. "What were you thinking, standing in the way of a volcanic eruption?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was doing a spot of work in Herculaneum."

"Of course you were." Aziraphale sat up, aching. "City of money and vice. I suppose you had something to do with this?"

Crowley was shocked speechless. "How could you ssssay that?"

"You'rea demon who just happened to be at the site of a catastrophe, what else am I supposed to think?"

"Of course, that's what you'd think," Crowley said bitterly. He stood up,walked to the other side of clearing, and dropped down onto a boulder. "I'm a foul creature, bound to do evil. Never mind that I just ssssaved your life."