The nice and accurate oneshots of Good omens

inferno

Ever since the apoca-wasn't Crowley had been plagued with near constant, debilitating nightmares.Crowley loved his sleep, he had slept through the majority of the 19th century just because he could and now? Now he could barely take a nap without being plunged into fears he swore he would repress.

You see, despite what he would claim, Crowley had never gotten over the body swap.It had been over 6000 years since he had sauntered vaguely downwards and heaven had only managed to get worse in that time.Crowley could hardly believe that angels, of all beings, would so readily wish to cast their own into hellfire. Of course there was also the matter of the supreme archangel himself: Gabriel. Now Crowley had never liked him, the smug bastard with his 'I am so much holier than thou' bullshit. But, when Gabriel had told him, thinking he was his angel, to 'Shut his stupid mouth and die already,'.Well that had really been the last straw.As if that hadn't been bad enough his damn imagination seemed to enjoy it's nocturnal visits to the inferno which the bookshop had became. Fear stabbed through his chest at just the memory and he decided that he could really do without reliving the terror and anguish night after night.

Crowley had taken to staying at his flat more often. Atleast when he was alone, the only beings he could bother with his thrashing and screaming were his shell shocked houseplants.It had come to be every night now that Crowley would awake with his heart racing, a scream catching in his throat and a cold sweat dragging it's icy fingers down his spine.

***

Aziraphale had become painfully aware of Crowley's absence. His trips to the bookshop had become far less frequent and he never stayed over anymore. It had made the angel sad that his demon no longer wanted to spend time with him.He was also worried about the demon.When they had last met he had seemed jumpy and also really tired. Crowley was always well rested, his favourite thing was sleep but now he had dark circles beneath his eyes. Something had to be going on, Crowley had never avoided the bookshop like this before. Aziraphale decided he had to find out and reached for his telephone. He was going to ring Crowley and ask him to come over, plead him too, if he had to.

***

A shrill ring brought Crowley suddenly to consciousness.He blinked hard, trying to organise his jumbled mind.Connecting the dots Crowley realised he had fallen asleep despite his efforts to remain awake.Stiffly, he pulled himself up from the uncomfortable but ornate chair. Crowley rubbed his eyes before dragging his hand down his face ; that last night had been really awful. The sharp ring of his phone sounded again slicing through the mess of his thoughts. The demon walked over to the damn thing, much of his normal swagger absent. He picked up the phone. 'Yes?' he began flatly.

'Crowley!' came the angel's relieved reply.He started to ramble through the phone line prompting the demon to remind him to get to the point. 'Ah, yes' came Aziraphale's slightly sheepish reply. 'You haven't been over to the bookshop in ages and I wanted to invite you over more formally. We could drink wine and watch that show you like. What was it called? Ah! The golden girls. What do you say my dear?' Crowley's heart sank. He hadn't been to the bookshop since he had started visiting it in his dreams. He closed his eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't say no when his angel sounded so excited. He couldn't disappoint his angel like that he just -. His internal monologue was cut off by his angel: 'Crowley? Are you still there?' Crowley pulled himself together. 'Hm? Yeah I'll see you there angel.' He placed down the receiver without waiting for a reply.

Leaning against the wall, Crowley buried his head in his hands cursing heaven. Why had he agreed to this? He loved his angel he really did but after all he had seen? Being at the bookshop was not going to be the same calming experience it had been before.Crowley looked up, his gaze settling on the half drunk black coffee which was placed upon his desk. He walked over to it, swallowing down the rest of the bitter, cold liquid in one smooth movement.