Good omens bad ideas (GOOD OMENS FIC)

Cars parking everywhere

Someone once said, that in England cars park everywhere. And they really do. For example the M25. It was Crowley's doing that it looked the way it did, he was proud of his achievement. But this time the M25 was completely stuck. He didn't know why. Okay, it rained and it meant that people somehow forgot how to drive, but one would think that in a country like England, where if not always, but it rains pretty often, people would learn to drive in the rain. 

Crowley impatiently tapped on the wheel. There were no music in the car, he didn't feel like music. And he didn't feel like himself. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to tempt a human, or just plain make one miserable. For once, even, toturing someone in hell seemed more appealing than what he was about to do.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the letter. Aziraphale have always had a nice and easy to read handwriting, which was nicer than any calligraphist could have written. Crowley ripped open the envelope, even though it wasn't closed down. 

He didn't dare to open the paper for a few moments. He just laid back into his seat, and let himself cry. He cried loud and ugly. The way you cry only if someting really hurts. 

He was surronded by cars, but it only took him a smaller miracle to make the humans around him see the Bentley, like it was driven by a completely happy and even-minded man. Not by the mess, he was at that moment.

***

For Aziraphale it took some minutes to process what just happened. He sat on the floor, with teary eyes, just waiting for the demon to come back, so he would comfort him, like he usually does. Then after God-know-how-many minutes later he realised. The demon was not coming back. Not this time. So he stood up, and walked downstairs to the bookshop. He faintly remembered an envelope and a letter, he needed to put away from the desk, so no one could read it.

When he stood in front of his desk and his blurry vision cleared up, he realised, that it was missing. A shot of panic ran through his body. Even worse, than what he felt when he realised he had a dark feather. He let the feather on the desk, and ran towards the door. As he opened it, it fell to the ground.

When he was in front of the shop he looked around. He couldn't see the Bentley parking anywhere from where he stood. He started to run. Maybe he parked a few blocks away. Maybe it wasn't late fo find him around himself. Aziraphale ran around, searching for Crowley in panic. That can't be. It can't be that if he confesses, he confesses through some letter. He wasn't sure to know the answer or the consequences. After he couldn't find Crowley around reasonable distance of the shop, he ran into a small alley. He knew that if he was gonna fly, heaven was gonna know about it. He didn't care about heaven anymore. Nor Hell for that matter. He wasn't worried if he was gonna fall anymore. He wanted to get to Crowley before he reads that leter and figures out his answer to him. 

He shot up into the air quicly, he was far above what the humans could easily spot, and even if he wasn't, thanks to his enormous wings, he would have looked like a pigeon. Aziraphale flew through the air, slicing his way between the raindrops, frantically searching for the Bentley. He flew to Crowley's apartment, and descended so he could  peek in the windows. He wasn't there. Then he flew to St. James Park. He flew around, and maybe some spies, or informants saw him, but that was the least of his concers. Crowley wasn't there. The angel felt that his heart was beating fast and loud. He heard the blood inside his ears. 

"Crowley! Where are you? I know you can hear me when I'm calling out for you!" he shouted in despair. He didn't know where else to go, so he just started to look around in London street by street, house by house. He didn't care how many people saw him. He didn't care if he was a target for hell like this, or if heaven could smite him for this. He felt the rain and hot tears running down on his cheeks, and kept calling out for the demon.

God, there are cars parking everywhere in London...

***

When Crowley finshed reading he didn't know what to say. He read again and again the letter that was written by the angel's hands. His angels's hands. He didn't understand what the letter meant. Not by everything that's happened in the morning. The angel felt nostalgic. Sure. The angel couldn't quit being his friend. Sure. He loved him. Of course. Angels are entities made out of pure love and light. He couldn't despise him by nature. It was a cute letter, but it didn't tell him anything he didn't know. He wrote it last night, after he drank. He coulnd't say, he loved a demon, one of his hereditary enemy, without alcohol. Heaven might have killed him, if they'd know.

Crowley heard the angel calling out for him. He didn't want to face him just yet. He needed to bury everything he felt in the last 6000 years, so he won't feel this pain again. He just sat inside the Bentley, slowly going towards a driveway, where he could actually pick up the pace, and disappear for a few decades or so.