Summary: The angel's in Hell, and Crowley is well decided to get him out of it.
(First GO fic ever, so be gentle...)
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters: Crowley
Warnings: Non-con, Squick potential, Violence (mild)
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8072 Read: 1262
Published: 28 Nov 2009 Updated: 28 Nov 2009
Of course nothing GO-related is mine...
Just enjoy, 'kay?
Chapter 1 : The day was closing to an end. by Kujaku
The day was closing to an end, and the first stars were winking in the darkening sky as a young man (or at least, man-shaped creature) walked away from lightened streets towards a badly-parked vintage Bentley. Crowley sighed, his breath clouding the air (not that he really needed to breathe, but habits died hard after 4 000 years or so on this planet...) as he walked towards his well-loved car. He hated the cold, really hated the cold...really hated it. He hated it more than he hated anything else in the whole history of Creation; the boring speeches of the Lower Spheres, the human race, those annoying plastic toys you got inside Rice Krispie packets...all of this was nothing compared to the special hatred he reserved for cold.
Of course Aziraphale was going to love the upcoming weather...for some very deep and unfathomable reason, the angel was at his happiest when walking through the brittle cold, the (rare) snowflakes falling on his outdated tweed suit, eyes shining and breath hanging around his face like mist... Then again, mused the demon as he kept walking on, hands firmly in his pockets, the cold weather was helping him to spread disjoy and bother. Freak ice-storms, unexpected blizzards, "miraculous" hail and freezing winds...he was busy these days, smiling at the curses erupting around him. Shame it had to be so bloody cold! The gust of wind that blew into the small street made Crowley's teeth shudder and he lept into the Bentley as fast as a flash and drove off, destination his impeccable flat and a very hot cup of something. Spiked with something else.
Arriving back at his flat, he turned the heat up as high as it would go and rapidly found himself huddled up in the couch, warm fluffy blanket covering him and warm cup of soup spiked with breadcrumbs in his hand. He briefly imagined the look on Aziraphale's face, seeing a Spawn of Satan lounging in a designer armchair, with a mug marked To my Best Friend in his hand. Yes it had a smiling rabbit on it, and yes the rabbit was pink and fluffy. One things angels didn't have was a sense of good taste. Or was it just this one particular angel?
He moved his other hand and the loud blast of the television covered the silence outside. What a truely dismal day, he thought, looking at the news flashing on ths screen. And then he started to smile as more and more bad news echoed around him. The day was starting to brighten up, in a manner of speaking. The strange golfball-sized hailstones that had broken at least six of the greenhouses at Kew Gardens were a definate must... Not a classic, but still something to cheer him up. Feeling almost warm, Crowley got off the couch and started walking around the flat, inspecting the plants (that, thanks to their inbred terror of him, had bloomed even in full winter), checked his ansaphone (which was a complete waste of time: no-one called him anyway, and the only one who did still hadn't got the grasp of the machine...) and suddenly stopped.
CROWLEY. CROWLEY WE KNOW YOU ARE THERE, said the television.
"Um...yes?" answered Crowley, staring blankly at the wall.
WE HAVE SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT TO TELL YOU CROWLEY, SO LISTEN.
He didn't really have a choice, the voice (voices, whatever...) was blasting directly into his brain. So he listened.
WE HAVE DECIDED CROWLEY, TO RESUME THE WAR. YOU WILL BE HELPING US CROWLEY, AND YOU WILL DO IT WILLINGLY.
"Um...of course...um, who is this?"
YOU DON'T NEED TO KNOW, YOU JUST NEED TO FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS OR WE'LL START FOLLOWING YOU CROWLEY. AND YOU WON'T LIKE IT.
I'm sure I won't... thought the demon
"So, what's the plan?"
WE HOPE THAT YOU WILL WELCOME THE CHANCE TO PROVE YOURSELF MORE USEFUL THAN DURING THE PREDICTED APOCALYPSE CROWLEY... WE HAVE LOCATED YOUR ENEMY.
"Which one?" started Crowley, trying to make his now-panicking brain calm down.
Ok, think...there's no way they could've got the hint yet...They're good, but not that good...
HE IS CURRANTLY IN A BOOKSHOP IN SOHO.
Oh holy fuck. They got better...
YOUR FIRST JOB IS TO DISPOSE OF THE ANGEL AZIRAPHALE. THEN YOU SHALL REPORT TO US.
"Dispose of, meaning..?" strained Crowley desperately playing for time.
DISPOSE OF MEANING THAT WE WOULD LIKE TO HAVE HIS HEAD CROWLEY. OR ANY OTHER PART OF HIS ANATOMY. BUT ALIVE WOULD BE ACCEPTED, THERE IS ALWAYS A USE FOR THEM DOWN HERE.
Crowley closed his eyes, safely shielded beind his sunglasses. He knew very well what "use" angels were Down-There, and he didn't wish it on his worst enemy. Or enemies as it were... Hell, even Britney Spears didn't deserve a fate like that, even if Aziraphale had made the biggest cock-up since the Fourteenth Century with her...
WE SHALL BE EXPECTING A RAPID VISIT CROWLEY.
The voice(s) disappeared, but Crowley hardly noticed it. He was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at the deodorant advert that had replaced the booming voice of Hell. And he heard Aziraphale's voice screaming his name in the distance...
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