Good Omens (One-Shots)

Your Wings Are Beautiful

     "Inner quarrels? About what?" The angel moved so he sat directly beside Crowley, instead of a chair a few feet away.

     Crowley glanced at his best friend and shook his head, "best if I didn't."

     "Says whom?"

     "Says me, of course."

     Aziraphale sighed, in a faux defeated tone he said, "well... I guess if you don't want to talk to me, I'll just have to go find somewhere else to stay..."

     He got up and almost made it to the door before Crowley interjected, "wait!"

     Aziraphale smiled and turned around, "yes, Crowley dear?"

     "I'll tell you, just.. don't leave, please."

      Aziraphale was taken back by the desperate look the demon gave him. What was going on inside that head of his?

     "Alright," Aziraphale spoke in a soft voice as he walked back over to Crowley and sat down beside him. "I won't leave."

     The serpent nodded distractedly and licked his lips, "I have a confession to make."

     Aziraphale frowned and nodded, "go ahead, dear."

     "I.. Well, you know I wasn't like this before."

     "What do you mean?" The platinum-blond haired angel asked.

      Crowley stammered, not being able to find the right words, "I uh.. well, uhm, you–er." He sighed, "Okay, let me start with this: I hate my wings."

     "What? Why?" The Angel inquired, flabbergasted and very very confused.

     "They.. they remind me of who I was before... before the Fall and how utterly free I was before then, how looked up to I was. I tried regaining that title in Hell but as you can see, I'm not really fit for.. Y'know, Evilness. And free wasn't exactly an option with these guys," Crowley rambled on, despite Aziraphale's lost look.

     "I.. I don't fully understand.."

      Crowley ignored him and continued, "I used to roam the Universe, showering the Void with gifts of my Creations—nebulas, galaxies, planets and stars.. I created a lot. But one day, I was called back to Heaven and.. Well.. I fell. But when stripping me of my angelic abilities, She... She left some. I'm not sure why but She did. I still have my abilities of Life and Creation, I just haven't used them except to breathe life back into that poor dove at Warlock's eleventh birthday party. Though I would rarely call it a part-"

     "Crowley."

     "Right, sorry. Erm, where was I? Right, so I had no idea as to why She would leave any abilities left in me, not until earlier today, at least. In a last attempt to save us, I brought us to the Dunes of Dreamscape."

     "B-but.. that's not possible!!" Aziraphale spluttered. "Only the Archangel Azrael can... oh..."

     The Archangel Azrael, the Angel of Death—practically the Grim Reaper, in a way. He meets souls and helps them transition to death, as well as helping loved ones with their loss and grief, guiding their words and actions. Of course, not just death but any sort of ending; relationships, friendships, addictions, the Apocalypse.. That's why Crowley was the one chosen to deliver the Antichrist — a sign of the end — to the Chattering Order of St Beryl.

     "Now you're getting it," Crowley nodded glumly, turning his gaze to the polished floor, his shoulders slumping. "I was free, Angel. Free-er than a bird with no cage. I could go anywhere, do anything and then.. well, I fell. And because of what? Because I asked too many questions? Because I hung out with the wrong people? The only damned people in Heaven who knew how to have a little fun? I never caused any real trouble—messed with my brothers' a few times but that's to be expected—most of them are a bunch of bloody arseholes."

     As Crowley rambled on and on, Aziraphale sat in shock. Here he was, the missing archangel who just so happened to be the one Aziraphale looked up to the most, sitting in front of him. The missing archangel had been the angel's demon best friend all along. What a plot twist.

     "I can't believe this."

     Crowley looked at him, surprised by the statement. "Well, I suppose it is quite a bit of a sho—"

     Aziraphale ran a hand through his platinum-blond curly hair, "I can't believe this. You're Azrael–"

     "Not anymore," Crowley muttered.

     "You're the Archangel Azrael! You.. you fell..." the angel shook his head. "You fell, Azrael fell all that time ago.. Did you know that the others wonder where you've gone? Everybody—even the other archangels—think you're out there, still creating. Did you know that?"

     "I..." Crowley frowned, "I hadn't really thought about it. Only one person in Hell knows who I am and that's... that's Lucifer, my own brother. Huh, guess that makes Adam my nephew.."

     "Crowley," Aziraphale scolded, exasperatedly running a hand down his face before simply leaning over and hugging the demon.

     "Uh.. what are you.. what are you doing?" Crowley asked, despite hugging back immediately. The longest they've ever touched, the angel and the demon, had been a handshake or a clap on the shoulder. To say it tingled was an understatement, it burned but it was.. a nice burn. Like taking a hot shower after being cold for hours upon hours.

     Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demons neck, sighing, "You needed a hug.. And so did I."

     Crowley smiled, knowing the angel couldn't see the softness in it, "thank you, angel."

     The two were silent for a few minutes, just hugging. Aziraphale added, as if an afterthought, "And by the way, I think your wings are beautiful."