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Author has written 54 stories for Wheel of Time, Sailor Moon, X-overs, Naruto, Harry Potter, House, M.D., Death Note, Misc. Games, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Supernatural, Dogma, Dark Angel, Stargate: SG-1, Highlander, Good Omens, Avengers, Thor, Avengers, Baccano!, Watchmen, Psych, Being Human, Thor, and Almighty Johnsons.
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This is a plot bunny that started between classes, and I wrote in notepad on my e-mail. I don't know where it'll go from here, but if anyone wants to take it further go ahead. The idea was to eventually cross it with Supernatural (CW television series), and make it so that Crowley is one of the strongest demons out there as his original abilities still carried over as did Aziraphale's added to the angel traits of SPN. This would put Aziraphale somewhere around Arch-Angel level if not stronger.
"Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous."
Crowley was worried, at first. The only thing more worrisome than having Hell breathing down your neck and whispering threats while simultaneously going through with them is not having them breathing down your neck and whispering threats while simultaneously going through with them. After all, if Hell wasn't telling you what it was going to do in the most horrific detail then that only meant it was planning something even worse. After the initial shock of the Armageddon-That-Wasn't had passed Crowley had locked himself in his rooms and contemplated suicide by holy water bath, but gave up mainly because he didn't have any left.
He decided to drink himself half-way to oblivion instead. Crowley had peered into the bottle and willed it to swallow him up, maybe he could hide within, but Hells agents would surely sniff him out and no-way Heaven would harbor a demon. Aziraphale might, if he asked, but Crowley wasn't so evil as to bring that kind of attack on his best (only) friend. The angel was probably dealing with repercussions of his own, though Crowley doubted they involved death. Heaven was all about forgiveness after all.
So he waited. He waited for the guillotine to drop, for the laughter of retribution to echo from his non-existent speakers, and a Duke of Hell to come through his window.
When he finally came out of his self-inflicted haze of inebriation Crowley relaxed the smallest bit. It'd been a month and he was still alive. Hell could be patient, but not that patient. Looking at his ansaphone he could see that he hadn't even received one 'Don't Leave Town' type message. The angel called once, but the message sounded like he had poor reception.
Maybe he called from Upstairs?
Crowley snapped his fingers summoning up a fresh suit, and headed out the door to his Bentley. He'd get some fresh air, mess with the ducks in the park, and maybe come up with an idea as to what was going on. Maybe, just maybe, Downstairs was so embarrassed about the failed Apocalypse they were pretending it never happened (and it didn't!) so maybe he was off the hook by association.
Queen blasted from the tape-deck as he rolled onto the street, but Crowley didn't allow himself to hope. Not just yet. After all, it could be Downstairs was just trying to decide who to send for him. Crowley imagined there was a long line of volunteers.
He reached for a freshly summoned bottle. Aziraphale had been, not worried per say, but apprehensive after the averted ending of everything. He knew he'd gone against the will of Heaven, though technically he hadn't gone against orders as he hadn't been issued any new ones and it WAS his job to thwart. Still. He didn't think that would count for much and he had been demoted and punished for lesser offenses before.
After a week of rapidly indulging in every mortal pastime he enjoyed (fine wine, books, movies, ski-ball...) he banished the liquid courage from his system and toppled out his shop door because Heaven was nothing if not punctual. With the drinks out of his system it registered in his mind that he 'felt' different. His reactions were off, but Aziraphale didn't remember being discorporated since Adam split him into his own form once again, and it wasn't a feeling of 'lesser' like when he went from Cherubim to Principality.
It was confusing, and he decided to spend the next week or so getting used to it. His power was all over the place and it was plain disconcerting to see the glass on his store front crack as he told a stray cat to leave. The cat itself went running faster than it's back legs could handle.
Aziraphale tip-toed around his bookstore, carefully went through the collection of children's first editions, and wrote letters to a few collectors. He didn't want to sell all of them but they weren't his preferred reading and he needed the room once he began hunting down his old collection.
He was thinking about the revised Genesis he'd done, missing the copy that must have burned with the rest of his things, when he noticed his grip on a signed first edition of 'Neverland' had shifted. Blue eyes looked tiredly at the book in question only to blink in confusion. It was his text. The cover was exact, and upon flipping through the pages he couldn't find any discrepancies. Aziraphale was stumped.
He knew he could miracle it back into being but he always felt like such a thing was cheating. He hadn't actually put the required will into the miracle: it had just been a passing thought.
The angel set the old (new) Bible down carefully. It seemed impossible; he was not going to assume that they had done... that. It didn't make sense. He knew they were upset with him, knew they had wanted that battle so very badly. But enough was enough. Aziraphale huffed and walked determinedly to the backroom to push his desk against the wall.
He was going to call Home.
Crowley almost fainted. He kind of wanted to, but it would be unseemly, so he quickly calmed his blood pressure with a thought and slunk toward the figure sitting on his (their) customary bench. There was surprisingly (or unsurprisingly considering the aura the being on the bench was putting out- it just screamed 'I could smite thee with a thought') little traffic in St. James park that morning.
He had fully intended to walk right up to the being and find out just which side sent it, though he was betting Upstairs for lack of horns, but he only gaped.
"A-Angel?" He stuttered before banishing all traces of alcohol from his bloodstream.
Aziraphale (and he could see now, past the low pulse of power, that it was his tartan wearing friend if a little slimmer and little taller and a little more dangerous) started and turned his head. Washed out eyes (and he couldn't remember seeing those blue eyes to forlorn and gray) suddenly focused on the Armani clad demon and Crowley watched as the angel's breath hitched and he swallowed convulsively. Aziraphale stood, opened his mouth, and Crowley hissed in pain as 'power' pounded into him.
In a second a pair of soft manicured hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him up. (But he didn't remember falling, strangely.) He stumbled over to the bench as his friend (enemy!) fussed and hummed, and peering past his sunglasses Crowley could see just how stressed his friend was.
"Did you, did you get a promotion?"
Aziraphale stilled, and when Crowley squinted he could swear he saw a faint outline of wings. They were tense, and bigger than he remembered. Had have been a promotion.
But the angel only slumped down on the ground and Crowley finally noticed how truly 'lost' he was. Azirapheal kept one hand on Crowley's pant leg where he sat on the grass (grass that was rapidly growing greener from the power-leakage Aziraphale was going through) like a child afraid of going to school for the first time. It was chilling. For a split second Crowley wondered if THIS was his punishment; if Hell had decided to psychologically torture him through Aziraphale or at least a vision of him. No. No. Even if Downstairs had decided to do that there was no way they could copy Aziraphale's eyes, even if they were 'glowing' with intensity as he stared at the demon.
"Aziraphale." Crowley slumped over, graceful, and met Aziraphale's stare. "What happened to you?"
A paper formed in the air, and if the painful noise earlier was any indication Crowley bet he should grab it. "I don't know." He read. "I can't contact Heaven. My usual methods are reaching nothing, as if it isn't where it should be." Crowley frowned at the next bit. "You thought I was dead?"
Ink shifted on the paper forming new words. "You feel different. I feel different. I can't locate any of my brethren." Crowley felt an uncomfortable feeling settle in his stomach. "I thought I was alone."
Crowley slid off the bench, and though it was a most undignified thing for a demon to do, he threw his arms around the angel and pulled him into his lap. He remembered (if dimly) what it was like to be an angel. He remembered how much better it was to be with the others, the feeling of absolute certainty and... well being... that came from knowing you had a family that would back you up. In heaven they had all been together in their purpose of serving Him, and then things happened, and their purpose evolved into Angel and Demon. One side against the other. But demons weren't nearly so united as they would like heaven to think. They were always looking for a chance to back-stab each other.
Yet angels, always, were social creatures. Even fallen angels turned demon were social butterflies that sought out there own; if only to brag and assert superiority.
Stuck on a distant shore, it was inevitable that like would call to like out of a subconscious desire to stave of insanity. They were made from the same stock, after all, and the only two that could say they witnessed the rise and fall of empires (sometimes due to their own interference).
Crowley wasn't good with the whole comfort thing, but he'd seen enough movies, so he sat with his arms holding the angel and pondered. He hadn't heard from Hell, and Aziraphale claimed that he couldn't find Heaven or any sign of other celestials. Adam had banished the forces of Heaven and Hell from Earth. What if, just what if, he had done more than that?
What if Crowley and Aziraphale, the only supernatural entities that had opposed The End, were the only ones left?
Crowley reflexively gripped the angel tighter, more possessively. He felt a distinctly evil grin spread across his lips. He needed to do some investigating, but if that was indeed the case and he and Aziraphale were the only ones left... that suited him just fine.
Aziraphale was the only one he needed. In the End he was the only one he could count on.
The demon (or maybe he was The Demon now, and Aziraphale was The Angel, and had his abilities changed any with the sudden upheaval as it appeared Aziraphale's did?) was certain that once the angel had gotten over the shock of being so changed and alone he'd realize that all he needed, all he ever needed, was Crowley. They had each other. They had the Earth with all it's interesting things.
Crowley wondered if it was possible to send Adam a fruit basket.
"I may not agree with a word you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."- Voltaire
"The only way to win is to forget, and to know you won is to lose. To win, you can't know you won." -The Game
At the request of some people I have tried to find some websites that have information on what I do crossovers with.
Naruto: www.leafninja.com : Leaf Ninja
I got's a deviant art account! Check out my art if you want. PurpleMoon's Deviantness
Also, I post lots of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fics on Twisting the Hellmouth that I don't post here. Why? One: There are a LOT of die-hard Buffy fans there. Two: LKH (Author of Anita Blake series) doesn't want us posting on FF.net, and who am I to break the rules of the Internets?
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