Good omens bad ideas (GOOD OMENS FIC)

New age

The red haired angel was looking into the water of a puddle that gathered in a little crack near to him. He was deep in thoughts. He was thinking about humans. This week the humanity failed to do anything that he could propose as his own work, and the week was ending. He was sure that if the head office gets to know that he didn't do anything, they will question him, and if there is something not one soul want, then it is being questioned by the guys down there. Still, he felt like there was hope. It was only Friday, and he still had two days and humanity has failed to diappoint him for the last 6000 years or so. So it really was something, that was in the back of his head, but wasn't his biggest concern. The biggest concern, that he had for almost 6000 years was figuring out how he felt towards his dearest frined.

Angel... That's what he was. He wanted to be one at least. So he could be around Aziraphale without disturbing him. He couldn't do anything about the fact that he was fallen. He didn't mean to do it, but to be honest he was grateful for it to happen. Without the fall, he wouldn't ever learn it that you can trust nobody in this life. At least not entirely.

It was the dawn of the new age, that everyone was so oblivious about.  Of course Crowley couldn't expect something else. The people didn't know about the apocalypse coming, so they also didn't notice that it didn't happen. This was all granted. And even though Crowley managed to get out of Hell's grip, he still worked for them. He didn't really have a choice, and it was all just so convenient. He didn't believe that they would start a crusade against him again, after the whole holy water incident, but one can never be sure.

It wasn't raining anymore, but the smell of the prevous storm still lingered around in the air. He was standing next to the bench, he and Aziraphale thought of as their place. He could have easily dried it off with a wave of his hand, but, he didn't. He just stood there staring into the puddle waiting for answers. Answers that the poor little puddle couldn't give to him. A light breeze stirred up the air in the St James Park, which made Crowley abadon his train of thought and let the poor little puddle alone. He started walking. He wasn't waiting for the angel. They had nothing more to do together anymore. He didn't know, what would be a good enough reason to aproach the other. After the Armageddon't every previous reason seemed sloppy, and seetrough.

Crowley walked closer to some ducks. One light brown colored seemed to get an interest in him, as it started to walk closer sometimes quacking at him. Crowley just hissed at the animal to frighten it away. Then he looked around, to see if anyone saw him. The whole place was completely empty. There were no secret meet ups, and no lovebirds walking around. Just him, and the birds. 

Crowley regretted scaring away the bird. It might have been a good company he could pour his heart out. Now he was alone. He hated being that way. That was partially why he kept his plats. And a joke only he, and maybe God could understand. He ruled them, and casted them out for any imperfection just as God did with his angels. 

Crowley walked to the gates of the park. He parked in a wrong place again, so he probably got a ticket and a wheel clamp. Not like he couldn't make them diappear. He sat into the Bentley, turned on the radio, so he could hear some music. 

As for the other angel of the pair, he was in his bookshop, enjoying some of his new findings. There were some new prophecy books, and there were some new novels too. One caught his eye, the moment he looked at the bookshelf. It was a black covered book, from two fine gentelman, who wrote it. The title with big white letters almost mesmereised him. The book called out for him stonger, than any other ever did. He wanted to read it, but not the way he usually reads. As silly as it sounded to him, he wanted to read it out loud for Crowley. He picked up the book and his phone over and over again, but he just couldn't bear himself to say the simple words. "Hey Crowley! It's Aziraphale. Don't you wanna come over? I'd like to read this book for you." He knew what Crowley would have answered to that. He wasn't interested in reading, he would rather stay at home and sleep in. 

So he put the phone and the book back down over and over again. 

He looked a the clock hanging on the wall. It was antique. Like most things in the shop. He looked at it every once in a while just to state it for himself that time has passed painfully slowly. He would then go to the kitchen to fetch some hot cocoa or some tea for himself. Sat back down to his table, or to the couch, just to realise all of them is somehow uncomfortable. He didn't realise this until now, but everywhere he could sit was inconvenient. 

Maybe it was due to the big Nothing that followed the Almostpocalypse. Everything that once was filled with joy, lively humans and the ever oh so sweet smell of history, was gone. Mabe Adam couldn't restore everything to the way it was. Maybe it was always like this, he just didn't notice.

One thing was clear for both angels. They were bored, and missing each other.