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20 July 2010 @ 10:40 pm
Fic: Echo (3/3) SPN/Good Omens, PG  
Title: Echo (3/3)
Author: nice_girls_play
Category: SPN/Good Omens crossover
Characters: Sam Winchester, Aziraphale/Crowley, implied Sam/Dean.
Word Count: 1300 (so I guess this really isn't a "shortfic" anymore..)
Disclaimer: All belongs to Eric Kripke and Neil Gaiman.
Summary: Another goodbye, some implied threats and a whole lot of ineffability.


“How much time do we have?” They still hadn't made it up off the carpet when he asked two hours later. He'd finally conjured (and subsequently replenished) some tea and raspberry scones on something that vaguely resembled Aziraphale's china.

The angel's chewing slowed. He brushed a crumb from the corner of his mouth.

“A day? A few hours?”

Several moments passed before he finally answered

“LUCIFER LEFT A BIT OF A MESS.” He said it in such a way, the demon knew he didn't mean externally. “NOT QUITE SO MUCH AS HE PLANNED, I'M SURE, BUT ENOUGH. I'M TRYING TO… TIDY UP A LITTLE. HELP WHERE I COULDN'T BEFORE.”

Here was the angel he'd known for centuries: the guilt at getting caught, at enduring two and a half centuries of torture in Hell when he could have been up here trying to stop the world from ending, to prevent the cruelty being visited upon humanity by his own brothers and sisters. He'd watched Aziraphale scream as London burned, weep silently as he walked his way through the pile of half a million bodies on the Somme, never once forgetting the souls he'd saved, but always overwhelmed by those he hadn't.

He'd guided the young hunter out of Hell. That much Crowley had guessed. If you didn't know the way, Hell was very, very hard to navigate your way out of. It was an even trade for his liberation. And yet Aziraphale had remained.

“Has he contacted his brother, yet?”

The plate of scones refilled again – blueberry this time. The angel inhaled two followed by a long swallow of tea.

“I take it he’s reluctant,” Crowley blinked slowly, feeling his reptilian eyes blink just behind his human lenses (another of Lilith’s inspirations: humans were more likely to forfeit their souls to someone who looked like them ).

“HE’S…” Aziraphale struggled with the words. Crowley wondered how much of that was the hunter attempting to restrain him from saying them. “AFRAID. WE WERE THERE FOR SOME TIME, MY DEAR. I DIDN’T HAVE MY BODY BY THE TIME HE FOUND ME…”

Here was something else he’d guessed: if Aziraphale had been incorporeal the whole time, it would have taken centuries for them to walk out of Hell. The youngest Winchester had probably seen more of the place than Daddy and big brother combined. Too much time in Hell turned drove most human beings insane. It turned a select few into demons.

Of course, Sam Winchester didn’t taste demonic. Crowley licked his neck just to be sure, relishing Aziraphale’s soft giggle and breathless rebuff.

“So, how much time are we talking about? How long before you phone up Adam and have him make a man of you again?”

The angel seemed poised to stall again. Crowley moved the cup and saucers out of reach. He sighed – the same irritated sigh he gave whenever the demon bent the spine on one of his books or emptied a couple of Bordeuxs without offering him even a sip. It would have looked funny, if it hadn’t been followed by the same faraway stare he’d seen earlier. Not looking at Crowley or the room, or even the ceiling. Just staring ahead into nothingness.


It was nothing as far as Crowley was concerned. Nothing if was going to keep Aziraphale locked up inside him indefinitely, holding his hand while he tried to stand on his own two feet.

“Is it worth your life?”



The sunrise was shining in through the window – or it would have been if someone hadn’t drawn the drapes and the frames bricked up with salt-laden mortar. It was another little security trick Crowley had picked up in the last few years, one he could materialize and de-materialize at his own will, never having to touch it.

There was no warm glow as they stood to dress, clearing the plates and the crumbs from the carpet with a few mutual waves of their hands.

“You have a bookshop waiting for you, you know.”

The angel nodded, drawing the crumpled and torn flannel shirt back on over his t-shirt. The tears repaired themselves as he began to do up the buttons.

“You also may want to give Madame Shadwell a call – she’s been getting some rather disturbing visions from the Other Side.”


“Nothing I could discern,” he let a pause elapse. “And nothing I directly caused.”

Actually, Madame Tracy hadn’t picked up anything more on demonic or angelic frequencies than she had in all the years she’d been table-tapping. But the pronouncement seemed to give his old friend a horrified pause that made the whole construct of the lie worth it.


He took the taller man’s shoulders in his hands, drawing him close. When the tousled head fell to his shoulder, he knew he had him.

“One more thing,” he said. “If I may, I’d like a word with your host.”

The angel drew back and stared at him. That look in green eyes was hard to get used to. He wondered if his own more human eyes were equally difficult for Aziraphale.

“I need to thank him.”


“When do I not?”

He waited, watching those green eyes for the shift just behind them. He watched as the hunter’s spine unfolded just a little, drawing him up to his full height. Watched as the lines at the corner of his mouth smoothed out and tightened, when he knew he was dealing with the demon hunter alone.

“’Don’t believe I’m sincere?”

Sam Winchester's expression didn't change. Crowley’s hands stayed on his shoulders.

“Well, I am. You didn't believe I wanted to save the world either. Now you know one of the reasons why.” His hands moved down the strong arms, hands hovering near the hunter's waist and still his expression didn't change. He was like one of those statues in the Enlightenment Room at the British Museum (minus the strategic “wear-and-tear” carried out by various Puritans and fanatics over the years).

“I don't need to tell you there's no such thing as destiny,” he reached into his jacket, pulling out a small fob watch. “There's only time and what we decide to do with it. I'll trust you not to take up any more of Aziraphale's.”

He dropped the watch into the taller man's hand.


The watch was in the mud on the side of the road within the first half hour. Crowley could tell from the GPS tracker he'd placed inside it. The charmed coin he'd placed inside Sam's pocket was also in the dirt a few miles further on.

He did however have, from that same pocket, the bit of paper with a handwritten address on it, several quarters, and – yes, there it was! -- the polished amulet still looped on its weathered cord.

He dropped the latter into a postal envelope, copying the address (Cicero, IN...) on the front in dark ink. It was a risk – there was always a chance the lady of the house would open the package first. But then again, things had a way of being inevitable – and ineffable – soulmates in particular. Gay, incestuous sibling soulmates perhaps most of all.

Crowley pulled out his phone, thumbing the speed dial.

“Adam? It's Crowley. Tell me, have you ever wanted to visit Indiana?”

enchantersnight: Crowleyenchantersnight on July 21st, 2010 07:52 am (UTC)
Bittersweet, and all the more lovely for it.
macho slut in librarian drag: Sam/Dean (Supernatural)nice_girls_play on July 21st, 2010 01:40 pm (UTC)
Thank you very much!
pogozebra on September 9th, 2010 07:01 pm (UTC)
Your icon made my day. Best. Thing. Ever. And thanks so much for bringing Good Omens into Suoernatural. That's my favorite crossover.
macho slut in librarian dragnice_girls_play on September 9th, 2010 09:21 pm (UTC)
Thank you very much :) And you're quite welcome. It's one of my favourites as well.