Good Omens

“I’m sorry about the car,” Aziraphale was saying. “I know how much you liked it. Perhaps if you concentrated really hard.. ”

“It wouldn’t be the same,” said Crowley.

“I suppose not.”

“I had it from new, you know. It wasn’t a car, it was more a sort of whole body glove.”

He sniffed.

“What’s burning?” he said.

A breeze swept up the dust and dropped it again. The air became hot and heavy, imprisoning those within it like flies in syrup.

He turned his head, and looked into Aziraphale’s horrified expression.

“But it’s over, ” he said. “It can’t happen now! The.. the thing, the correct moment or whatever.. it’s gone past! It’s over!”

The ground began to shake. The noise was like a subway train, but not one passing under. It was more like the sound of one coming up.

Crowley fumbled madly with the gear shift.

“That’s not Beelzebub!” he shouted, above the noise of the wind. “That’s Him. His Father! This isn’t Armageddon, this is personal. Start, you bloody thing!”

The ground moved under Anathema and Newt, flinging them onto the dancing concrete. Yellow smoke gushed from between the cracks.

“It feels like a volcano!” shouted Newt. “What is it?”

“Whatever it is, it’s pretty angry,” said Anathema.

In the jeep, Crowley was cursing. Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder.

“There are humans here,” he said.

“Yes,” said Crowley. “And me.”

“I mean we shouldn’t let this happen to them.”

“Well, what.. ” Crowley began, and stopped.

“I mean, when you think about it, we’ve got them into enough trouble as it is. You and me. Over the years. What with one thing and another.”

“We were only doing our jobs,” muttered Crowley.

“Yes. So what? Lots of people in history have only done their jobs and look at the trouble they caused.”

“You don’t mean we should actually try to stop Him?”

“What have you got to lose?”

Crowley started to argue, and realized that he hadn’t anything. There was nothing he could lose that he hadn’t lost already. They couldn’t do anything worse to him than he had coming to him already. He felt free at last.

He also felt under the seat and found a tire iron. It wouldn’t be any good, but then, nothing would. In fact it’d be much more terrible facing the Adversary with anything like a decent weapon. That way you might have a bit of hope, which would make it worse.

Aziraphale picked up the sword lately dropped by War, and hefted its weight thoughtfully.

“Gosh, it’s been years since I used this,” he murmured.

“About six thousand,” said Crowley.

“My word, yes,” said the angel. “What a day that was, and no mistake. Good old days.”

“Not really,” said Crowley. The noise was growing.

“People knew the difference between right and wrong in those days,” said Aziraphale dreamily.

“Well, yes. Think about it.”

“Ah. Yes. Too much messin’ about?” “yes. ”

Aziraphale held up the sword. There was a whoomph as it suddenly flamed like a bar of magnesium.

“Once you’ve learned how to do it, you never forget,” he said.

He smiled at Crowley.

“I’d just like to say,” he said, “if we don’t get out of this, that … I’ll have known, deep down inside, that there was a spark of goodness in you.”

“That’s right,” said Crowley bitterly. “Make my day.”

Aziraphale held out his hand.

“Nice knowing you,” he said.

Crowley took it.

“Here’s to the next time,” he said. “And … Aziraphale?”

“Yes.”

“Just remember I’ll have known that, deep down inside, you were just enough of a bastard to be worth liking.”

There was a scuffing noise, and they were pushed aside by the small but dynamic shape of Shadwell, waving the Thundergun purposefully.

“I wouldna’ trust you two Southern nancy boys to kill a lame rat in a barrel,” he said. “Who’re we fightin’ noo?”

“The Devil,” said Aziraphale, simply.

Shadwell nodded, as if this hadn’t come as a surprise, threw the gun down, and took off his hat to expose a forehead known and feared wherever street.. fighting men were gathered together.

“Ah reckoned so,” he said. “In that case, I’m gonna use mah haid.”

Newt and Anathema watched the three of them walk unsteadily away from the jeep. With Shadwell in the middle, they looked like a stylized W.

“What on earth are they going to do?” said Newt. “And what’s happening.. what’s happening to them?”

The coats of Aziraphale and Crowley split along the seams. If you were going to go, you might as well go in your own true shape. Feathers unfolded towards the sky.

Contrary to popular belief, the wings of demons are the same as the wings of angels, although they’re often better groomed.

“Shadwell shouldn’t be going with them!” said Newt, staggering to his feet.

“What’s a Shadwell?”

“He’s my serg.. he’s this amazing old man, you’d never believe it … I’ve got to help him!”

“Help him?” said Anathema.

“I took an oath and everything.” Newt hesitated. “Well, sort of an oath. And he gave me a month’s wages in advance!”

“Who’re those other two, then? Friends of yours.. ” Anathema began, and stopped. Aziraphale had half turned, and the profile had finally clicked into place.

“I know where I’ve seen him before!” she shouted, pulling herself upright against Newt as the ground bounced up and down. “Come on!”

“But something dreadful’s going to happen!”

“If he’s damaged the book, you’re bloody well right!”

Newt fumbled in his lapel and found his official pin. He didn’t know what they were going up against this time, but a pin was all he had.

They ran …

Adam looked around. He looked down. His face took on an expression of calculated innocence.

There was a moment of conflict.

But Adam was on his own ground.

Always, and ultimately, on his own ground.

He moved one hand around in a blurred half circle.

… Aziraphale and Crowley felt the world change.

There was no noise. There were no cracks. There was just that where there had been the beginnings of a volcano of Satanic power, there was just clearing smoke, and a car drawing slowly to a halt, its engine loud in the evening hush.