Ineffably Loved; Good Omens Oneshots

Memories [ANGST]

Crowley hadn't thought about his falling from heaven in centuries. Aziraphale had brought up heaven a few times, and Crowley tried to remember. Once you've fallen, who you were and who you knew leaves your memory forever. It had never really bothered Crowley, but Aziraphale didn't like the idea of losing one's memories, especially of those he holds dear. Crowley and Aziraphale were enjoying each other's company at the bookshop.

Aziraphale was reading on a couch while Crowley rested his head on the angel's lap. It was a whole year since their little body swap, and Heaven nor Hell had bothered them since. Life was going swell, and they were never happier. But Heaven had found out about the little trick, and things took a turn for the worst.

The redhead had a little box in his pocket which held a ring. He was trying to find the right time, and he decided the time was during their date at the Ritz later that night. He was feeling jittery and anxious, but he was doing his best to hide it. He eventually decided to run back home to "check on his plants" (or, in other words, pace around the apartment for hours trying not to have a mental breakdown). After a playful argument and a tender kiss, Crowley takes off in the Bentley.

Shortly after Crowley leaves, Aziraphale stands to make himself some tea, and nearly falls back onto the couch. The world spun for a moment and Aziraphale held his forehead, trying to regain balance. After it passed, he shook it off as a mild inconvenience. "Must have stood up too fast," the angel muttered as he went to the mini stove in a back area of the shop, and started boiling water in an old, silver pot. As he stood still, a strange feeling came over him. It was a warmth, starting in his chest; not the normal warmth that angels have from Her or other's love, but actual heat. It spread through his body, and it became uncomfortable. He eventually undid his tie to see if it helped, and it didn't. The teapot let out a tuneless whistle.

When Aziraphale turned off the stove and grabbed the hot teapot, his eyes began to burn. He rubbed them furiously to calm the burning, causing him to stumble. "Owww!" He cried. His pearly wings uncased without his doing, and a hot, acidic, blistering feeling spread from the stem to the tip, making the angel wince. A familiar voice called out his name and he staggered to the front of the shop. After that, things unraveled from there.

Crowley was halfway to his flat when a familiar feeling hit him like a car hitting a biker.

She hit me.

He pulled over and pondered the feeling. After about a minute of silence, it hit him. An angel was falling. But an angel hasn't fallen in a millennium, so who would-?

Aziraphale.

A lump developed in his throat as he threw the Bentley into gear and booked it back to A.Z Fell and Co. He busted through the door and called for Aziraphale, who soon appeared and was not in good shape. His eyes were now an ugly, vibrant, electric blue; his hair was in mid color change to a stark black. The look of fear and panic on the angel's face broke the demon's heart. His halo was barely visible but was very thin and fragile. His wings, oh, his wings, were covered in blisters.

"Oh, Angel..."

The angel goes to speak, but grasp his chest, and his legs give.

Crowley catches him in time, and they wrap each other in their arms, Aziraphale sobbing.

"Crowley, what is happening? I'm scared! My Grace is fading, and Her love is-"

"Angel, I'm sorry..." Crowley whispered in dismay. "You're... you're falling." Aziraphale's teary eyes met the dark shades, tears sliding down the cheeks from behind the spectacles.

"Wh - what?"

Crowley led the panicked angel through the dusty shop to a full body mirror near his desk. He gasped deeply when he saw the changes his body took; His blond, fluffy hair was as dark as night, his once soft blue eyes were now a pulsating Lapis blue.

Aziraphale let out a soft weep as he found the demon's chest. Everything aches and burns, and he's terrified. He knew if he fell, he'd forget everything, including the past six thousand years; Eden. Rome. Stopping Armogeddon. Adam Young. The Bookshop,

Crowley.

He didn't want to forget. He loves the memories, but he loves his dashing demon more.

"No..." he choked. "I don't want to forget you, Crowley! You've treated me better than anyone has! I -" He let out a bellow of pain as his wings burst into flames, and his halo dissaperates. He tenses in Crowley's arms and Crowley recalls how painful it was when he fell, so he could only imagine the immense pain the Principality was in. The back of Aziraphale's waistcoat burned with his wings.

Tears rimmed his eyes as he tried to sooth the falling angel. They both lower to the ground, Aziraphale screaming. Crowley ran his thin fingers through his hair. The flames subside, and Aziraphale's wings were now oily and raven-like instead of his pristin, soft, white feathers that Crowley adored. The blonde's body was charred in some places on his back, and he was now limp and unconscious. Crowley gently carried the ex angel to the couch bridal style, and that where the demon was for the next two weeks.

"Oh, that was certainly unpleasant..." the Fallen tiredly states.

When he opened his eyes, a tall, lanky man with bright red hair and sunglasses was pacing. When the Fallen sat up, the man rushed and gave him a hug.

"Oh, Aziraphale, I'm so sorry! Angel, I am so, so, s -"

"Um, pardon," the Fallen gently interrupted. "I'm afraid we've never met." The demon pulled back, aghast.

"Aziraphale, I'm your mate, Crowley. Don't you re-" he stops. A sick feeling builds in the pit of his stomach. He fell; his sweet, innocent angel fell, and he doesn't remember him.

Crowley's right hand goes to the ring in his pocket, and he mutters; "You used to be my... friend. You will never remember me, but we loved each other. Your name was Aziraphale, and you were an angel as well as a rare book seller."

He sadly gazed back at the confused being on the couch. He stood, and what he was about to say will haunt him more than the memory of his descent from heaven; "I'm afraid it's best if we never see each other again." With that, he sauntered out of the bookshop.

The Fallen sat in silence, absorbing all he was just told. Should he follow the man? Talk to him? He seemed to know an awful lot, but he was sure he could figure it out himself. He was never the one for help.

Crowley fell into the Bentley, angry and exhausted. He slammed the door, tore off his sunglasses, and tossed them to the seat next to him. He sat his forehead against the wheel and unleashed his pent - up emotions in loud wails, tears staining his face and dripping off his nose. He hadn't cried since... well... since the whole bookshop - on - fire incident. He banged the wheel, screamed obscenities, and made a scene inside his beloved Bentley.

After what felt like an eternity, Crowley puts the Bentley into gear and makes his way to the nearest Soho church. They were bound to have holy water - they are a church, after all. He used his supply on Ligur, otherwise he would use that. He took in the Soho buildings, smell, sights, and people for the last time. As he passed the Ritz, he stopped and mumbled three words -

"To the World."