#force Aziraphale into faithlessness

[sunflowerdigs]

Just started Good Omens S2, and I'm liking the emphasis on Crowley constantly having to drive to Aziraphale instead of just...being there because they live together. It feels like a waste of time to me as a viewer and I think that's on purpose.

[flammableheart]

I was talking with the GC last night about why Aziraphale looks so damn angry after the kiss, and I think it's about choices - specifically being forced to make a hard choice.

Look how happy Aziraphale is when he tells Crowley what Metatron said. This offer is the best thing ever! Crowley gets to come home and Aziraphale is the one who gets to give him that gift.

He can make Crowley smile like this again:

But Crowley says no. He says NO. He won't listen, he doesn't understand. He wants to run away, Aziraphale wants to make a difference. It hurts. It's breaking Aziraphale's heart. But it's Crowley's fault. Crowley is the one walking away. Crowley is the one rejecting him. Aziraphale has the moral high ground.

And then Crowley flips everything upside down by kissing him. Crowley clings on to him and pours all his love and all his desperation into this kiss.

Suddenly Aziraphale is the one rejecting Crowley - and Crowley has put him in that position. He can't claim this was Crowley's choice anymore. It's on him now.

But how can that be? Aziraphale is making the right choice... isn't he? He's the good one, Heaven is the good side, Aziraphale is on the right side. How dare Crowley make it hurt so much? How dare Crowley make him doubt?

For all that Crowley has always been the one to challenge Aziraphale, Aziraphale has never been able to let go of the idea that Heaven is the side of good and light. Ascending as the Supreme Archangel should be the greatest moment of Aziraphale's existence but Crowley has made it hard. As much as it hurt seeing Crowley walk away, it hurts so much more to be the one walking away from Crowley.

"Be not faithless, but believing", says the Bible. Crowley has made him doubt, and that's the worst thing he could have done.

Crowley really had it right when he asked how someone so clever could be so stupid.

[ineffably-effable]

Come up and see me (make me smile)

Golgotha, 33 AD

Summary:  Golgotha, 3004 BC.

Word count: 1934 words

AN: Continues on from the role-reversal au started in  Come up and see me (make me smile)

Thanks again to @mia-ugly for being a wonderful and supportive beta reader.

(read on ao3)

Six hours.

That was how long he suffered before death finally took him.

Six. Fucking . Hours.

(“They call it crucifixion.” Aziraphale had told him once - centuries ago, in a Persian tavern - eyes downcast, as his fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the jar of wine in his hands. “They hammer seven-inch nails between the wrist bones to suspend the body’s weight then, over time, the force wrenches the shoulders from their sockets and crushes the rib cage.” he explained flatly. “The condemned is kept in excruciating pain until they suffocate or their heart gives out.“ The demon drank deeply from the jar.  "It can last for hours, even days depending on the method.” He looked up, meeting Crowley’s eyes for the first time that evening. “Every time I think I’ve seen the full extent of their barbarity - every blessed time - they find a way to outdo themselves.“)

Unlike Aziraphale, this was the first crucifixion Crowley had attended. Although the demon’s description had been accurate Crowley found it hadn’t prepared him for the actual experience.  

In fairness to the demon, Crowley wasn’t sure words existed that could fully convey the experience as well as agonized screams were able to.

Crowley hadn’t attended the trial or the sentencing, it felt pointless when he knew what the outcome would be. He had however attempted to miracle the man impervious to pain. (It seemed like the least he could do). Crowley had felt it take effect with some satisfaction, and then felt it being reverted immediately with annoyance. He tried two more times before he received a strongly-worded communication (i.e. Gabriel yelling directly into his brain) that any further interference would be treated as grounds for Crowliel’s removal from earth. A follow-up from Michael (rather less yelling, but still headache-inducing) warned Crowley that crucifixion had been chosen especially for its brutality (to establish a “convincingly sympathetic religious symbol”) and that he should keep an eye out for demonic interference instead of being a nuisance.

Well, that was him told .

He arrived at Golgotha just as the procession made its way to the base of the skull-shaped rock. Aziraphale spotted him shortly afterwards, the demon weaving through the crowd to take a place at Crowley’s side. They had both winced - and noticed the other doing so - as the centurion’s hammer was put to its purpose.  Aziraphale threw Crowley a look as if to say ” well, this is certainly fucked up “ but otherwise remained silent.  

As the mourners wailed, and the three men grew more delirious from pain, Crowley wondered why his demonic counterpart was even there. Unlike other demons - Aziraphale was not the type to take pleasure from others’ suffering, yet he also seemed disinclined to interfere. Instead he looked restless, he kept stealing uneasy glances skyward and at Crowley as though he were waiting for divine intervention. 

Good luck with that. Crowely thought bitterly.

The hours passed, the sky darkened - Jesus finally, blessedly, died - and the bodies were brought down and carried away. The mourners and spectators gradually dispersed until it was just the two of them remaining, sitting side by side on a large bench-shaped rock the demon had miracled about three hours into the proceedings.

But now, Aziraphale had taken to his feet - he was pacing back and forth. Crowley watched him and found himself torn. Equal parts longing to start a conversation and unable to think of anything to say. Well, he could think of plenty to say, but there was a low-burning bitter fury in his gut - the type that led him to voice the sort of thoughts that worried his demonic friend. So he remained silent.

“Did you ever meet him?” Aziraphale asked, a little too suddenly, as if the question has been on the tip of his tongue for hours.

Crowley shook his head, still staring out at the now-empty wooden beams. 

“I did once,” Aziraphale started, “I was assigned to tempt him to faithlessness.”  Crowley looked up at that, and Aziraphale smiled wryly at his surprise. “I don’t think anyone below really expected it to take, they just felt like we should be seen to do something .” 

“How did that work out for you?” Crowley asked, genuinely curious.

“He was exceptionally clever and stubbornly devout. How do you think it went?”  Crowley smirked at him, and Aziraphale laughed. “I changed tactics of course. Debated theology and ethics with him until I was blue in the face - we had forty days so thought odds were good I might catch him in some form of  hypocrisy. It was truly vexing. He gave the impression that I amused him.” Aziraphale seemed fond of the memory. “You would have liked him.” 

Crowley didn’t doubt it.

“I’m sure I would have.” 

(It was the reason he had avoided Nazareth since the annunciation. He may have been slow on the uptake - it might have taken forty years of pointless wandering with a tribe of doomed Israelites - but no one could say he didn’t learn from his mistakes. When the Almighty played favourites it was best not to get emotionally invested.

He felt an urge to confess that to Aziraphale, but suppressed it. Crowley was unsure whether Aziraphale would applaud his self-preservation or be disgusted with his cowardice.) 

“Be kind to each other.” the demon said out of the blue, startling Crowley from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“That’s what he said to anger them all.” The demon’s tone was inscrutable, but Crowley thought his words were an over-simplification.

“For my money, it was his knack for drawing crowds and threatening their authority.”

Aziraphale shook his head angrily.

“He was kind and they tortured him for it.” The demon’s voice had a hard edge to it. “He believed in Her and She abandoned him.” he spat.

Oh. 

The demon turned his face away. Crowley heard his breathing hitch. 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley didn’t know what to say, how to approach this type of anger. (A millennia-old question burned in his throat, one he desperately wanted answered but not at the cost of causing his friend more pain.)

“Do you think She felt anything when he cried out for Her?” the demon asked. 

Crowley wanted badly to reach out and grasp Aziraphale’s hand within his own. Wanted to use that grip to pull the demon into his arms. Wanted to offer him whatever comfort he could. Wanted, but didn’t.

Coward. 

His fingers twitched. 

“Aziraphale, I-” 

The demon turned to look at Crowley and studied him. He forced a smile. 

“It’s alright dear.” 

“No it’s…”

“Let’s not speak of it.” he says firmly. “I shouldn’t have sa-”.

“She’s bringing him back.”  Crowley blurted out, stopping the demon in his tracks.

“What?” 

“In three days, he’ll be resurrected. Then he’ll ascend to a seat by her side. She didn’t-”  abandon him. Crowley cut himself off.  “It wasn’t a punishment.” he said instead.

Aziraphale stared at him. Crowley stood, approaching the demon slowly as though he might bolt. 

“I’m glad for him.” Aziraphale said finally, voice raw.

Liar. Crowley thought. His expression must give him away because Aziraphale’s lips twisted into a smile. “No, really. He didn’t deserve that.” 

“No he didn’t.”  Crowley stressed with absolute certainty, hoping he’d made himself clear. He received a sharp look in response. 

“Don’t. I was indulging in self-pity and you shouldn’t humour me- just don’t.”

Crowley raised both hands placatingly.

“OK I won’t.” 

“Good.”  Aziraphale pronounced. 

A beat of awkward silence hung between them.

Aziraphale fumbled with his outer tunic and produced a leather pouch. He unfastened the tie and held it out to Crowley. “Apricot?” 

Crowley stared at him blankly.

“You brought snacks?“  (A small, easily dismissed, part of Crowley's brain delighted in how precious that was.)

  “I always carry something,” the demon replied defensively. “And I haven’t eaten all day!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “We don’t need to eat.”

Aziraphale shrugged and stuffed a few apricots into his mouth. “It does feel awfully good though.” he responded, while chewing. The innocent pleasure on his face cheered Crowley considerably.

“Oh go on,” he held a hand out. 

Aziraphale grinned, and dumped five or six pieces onto Crowley’s palm. Then the cheeky bastard laughed.

“Who knew tempting an angel would be so easy?”

Crowley stared at the dried fruit in his hand and then back at the demon. He picked up a piece and regarded it carefully, enjoying the weight of Aziraphale’s anticipation. Then, he pelted it at him. He grinned at the demon’s surprised yelp.

“Will you stay here long?” Crowley asked innocently, entertained by the way Aziraphale was warily eyeing the remaining apricots in his hand.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Received orders last night, it’s Rome for me. You?”

Crowley popped the rest of the dried fruit in his mouth. “Here for the time being,” he replied, chewing thoughtfully,  “although Heaven knows I should look in on the empire if you’ve been left there unattended.”

Aziraphale groaned at the familiar jibe.

“It’s been over five decades, surely we can move past this?" 

"Of course, as soon as you stop insulting my intelligence and just admit what you did.”

“You have no proof whatsoever.”

“Four years of you whinging about Alexandria, then his senators turn on him the very week you arrive in the city.”

"Coincidence?” Aziraphale offered sheepishly.

“Try again.”

“Divine justice?” 

Crowley glared at him. Aziraphale gave him a charming smile.

“It really was a beautiful library.”

Crowley tried to maintain the glare, but failed miserably. Completely unable to contain an amused huff. 

He turned to look in the east, where the sun was beginning to rise. “I should probably be off soon.”

“Go on, I’m planning to fly to Jaffa from here anyway.”

Crowley hung back. Though the demon had hinted at his other form several times Crowley had never seen it. 

“You know you can transform in front of me right? I wouldn’t think less of you for it.”

“Oh I know that,” the demon responded far too quickly, “it’s just not very impressive that’s all.”

“I don’t mind.”

Aziraphale looked uncomfortable. “They’re meant to be a bad omen, I wouldn’t want to curse you inadvertently.”

Crowley smirked.

“I’ll take my chances.”

Aziraphale sighed and then changed. Shrinking rapidly, his black and white curls morphed into brown and white feathers. His yellow eyes were the only part of him that remained the same. Crowley stretched out a hand and Aziraphale flew up to perch on it. He couldn’t have been more than eight inches tall. 

“You’re adorable.” Crowley raised a finger to stroke the downy patch underneath his beak and received a (gentle peck).

“I’m formidable.” The owl grumbled back.

“You’re so little.” Another peck, this time sharper. “None of that now.” Crowley chastised. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t show this form off more, you’re very handsome like this.”

“Oh handsome ‘like this’ am I? Thank you very much.” Crowley tried not to laugh as the annoyed demon literally ruffled its feathers.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Your eyes are always very striking, demon.”

“I’ll see you in Rome, angel . That is if you can bear to see my hideous human form." 

That did make Crowley laugh. "You’re just fishing for compliments now.” he stroked Aziraphale’s head, somewhat surprised the demon was allowing such an affectionate gesture. The owl made a happy sounding trill noise which it cut off abruptly - as though it had taken him by surprise. Without another word the demon head-butted Crowley’s fingers away and flew off.

Crowley watched until Aziraphale disappeared from view before he made his way back to the town.

[theniceandaccurategoodomensblog]

Love so much of this. Tracks Aziraphale’s progress and thinking so well.

I definitely think Heaven is no longer being run by God. Whether or not God is a Benevolent force as Aziraphale believes or something else is up for grabs. I think she’s doing exactly as she says in the beginning: playing a game and amusing herself. She doesn’t act because she wants to watch her game play out and enjoy it. There’s no care for the chess pieces IMHO.

It fascinates me that Good Omens manages to make its key points and then have a faithful solution and a faithless solution — an Aziraphale and a Crowley solution. I personally, can’t believe the Aziraphale solution, but I’m a spiritual Crowley (damned for questioning). Good luck to you Aziraphales of the Good Omens fandom. And it boggles the mind that Good Omens was written with both solutions there. That’s fantastic writing.

I think the bandstand breakup conversation is the direct cause of Aziraphale defecting from heaven’s army. Crowley howls about the horror of the Plan, and Aziraphale recoils like Crowley’s blasphemed God. He actually says “May you be forgiven,” and Crowley says he’s “unforgivable.” I don’t think that’s self-condemnation. I think Crowley means he’s unforgivable because he won’t repent for it. He’s six steps ahead of Aziraphale here: the Plan isn’t holy. The Plan is absurd. Even their terrible plan to rewire the child Antichrist, failed and fallible as it was, was a better plan than heaven’s, because it was kinder. When Crowley shows up again at the bookshop and keeps begging Aziraphale to leave and calls him a clever idiot for not understanding that heaven’s never going to save the world, Aziraphale tries to offer him forgiveness for his sin in saying that, again. And Crowley gets offended. Rightfully. Because Aziraphale is missing the point.

Aziraphale thinks blaspheming the Plan is offending God because the two concepts have been synonymous in heaven for millennia, to the point where no one up there has noticed that they haven’t heard from God in years. No one’s realized not even the Metatron has a direct line to Her. Nobody’s ever thought to question Gabriel’s right to run the show like it’s his personal Broadway revue, because he’s following the Plan. They don’t worship God, they worship the Plan. Somewhere between Crowley making one last appeal to God Herself not to go through with it, alone in his flat, and showing up at the bookshop shouting at Aziraphale about his stupidity, Crowley’s gotten his confirmation that God’s not even involved with this, and nothing’s going to stop it unless they do.

Which is good, because for all Aziraphale’s trying to pardon Crowley’s insubordination, he is having the same realization: the Plan must be stopped. It’s wrong, it’s cruel, it’s unforgivable. He goes to the angels about it, and when they refuse to see that, and threaten Crowley to boot, he takes another step out of line and shouts at them for being bad angels, with the first real fury we’ve ever seen from him. He’s beginning to own his agency–we’re seeing Aziraphale discover the duty of choice, which is so essentially sacred it makes the Plan look profane. I don’t think this would have happened if he hadn’t had six thousand years of friendship with Crowley topped by ten years’ working with him to prove that there were kinder ways to live than heaven’s. Propaganda is pretty hard to work through. Crowley couldn’t just shout at him about a choice: he had to show him how to make it.

But he has been shown how. And now he’s upset. The power of discovering anger and the sudden momentum of making a choice to yell at angels gives him the hubris to go right on to the Metatron about calling off the Plan–and the Metatron has nothing worth saying about it either. Certainly nothing divine. Whether God has any answers for him or not depends, I think, completely on whether Aziraphale’s urgent need to do something is from Her, because when the room stays silent Aziraphale turns to the only person who’s ever actually told him how to choose love, like heaven says God wants him to: he picks up the phone to call Crowley. The bandstand conversation has taken over all his other motivations; the shock of the blasphemy has shaken him out of his certainties and into better ones. He has to stop the Plan.

So when he’s accidentally sucked back up to Heaven he already knows he doesn’t belong there; he’s made the leap from “you bad angels” to the terrifying conclusion–they’re all bad angels. They don’t love the world. They don’t understand what it means to have a duty to love stronger than the duty to heaven. There’s no such thing as a good angel, any more, which is why he says quite calmly, “I’m not a very good angel,” as he turns his back on them to make the leap back to earth. When he confronts everyone he’s ever followed or feared at Armageddon with the question: how do we know that the Plan is good? How do we know that the Plan is God’s? How do we know what’s meant to happen next?–Crowley taught him that. The Plan doesn’t have to be worshipped. The Plan can be blasphemed. The Plan isn’t God. It’s all up to them.

[theniceandaccurategoodomensblog]

@aziraphale-rights I don’t think the faithful solution depends upon a ‘loving lie’ from the faithless one. That isn’t what I meant at all. If it sounded like that I apologise. That would be terribly out of character for Crowley and not at all my attitude. I think the two solutions genuinely and fully exist in their own rights.

I don’t think Crowley is lying. He is asking a question. I think it does consider it possible that God planned it all along. Not likely, but possible. That is what allows him to throw the question out there. But I do think he throws the question out there with the knowledge that, given Aziraphale’s own perspective, it may support Aziraphale in finding his own answers. Crowley knows Aziraphale’s answers will be different to his own. He doesn’t lie about what his own perspective is. But he doesn’t force it on Aziraphale either. He is supporting Aziraphale in questioning and reaching his own conclusions.

I think it is the most respectful and honest dialogue between a faithless and a faithful person I’ve ever seen. And I think Crowley is deliberately being kind in offering up that question. I think he realises that it will be helpful to Aziraphale in that moment. I don’t think he is merely sharing his own train of thought (but that doesn’t mean he is lying either).

Bus bench scene…

There’s something about how Crowley throws out that line: what if the Almighty planned it like this all along? that is just so empathetic and caring and selfless… He knows that Aziraphale has had the ground ripped out from under him, he’s lost all faith in Heaven, he’s literally lost Heaven in fact, he will have to discover what exactly being on his own side with Crowley means (Crowley has been on his own side for a very long time now I think, not so much has changed for him). But Crowley sees there’s something that could make it easier. Aziraphale could retain his faith in God herself choosing to believe that it was all God’s plan, including Aziraphale and Crowley forming their own side. I don’t for a moment believe Crowley actually thinks that’s likely (possible perhaps but not likely) or even particularly cares in a sense (he does what he thinks is right, he follows his own compass and doesn’t need to be told it is in the plan to be alright with that). But he gets where Aziraphale is and he just offers this up as a gift, says it casually like it is no big deal and let’s the seed take root. Like he could have tried to get Aziraphale to see it all as he does but he doesn’t, he helps Aziraphale to make his own peace with it all, to figure it out in his own way. Wow, even here he’s the ultimate defender of free will isn’t he?