Title: Get Off My Cloud
Fandom: Good Omens
Author: Cat Moon
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Word Count: 786
Notes: This is my first Good Omens story! I blame the prompt. I've watched the series, but not read the book.
Summary: Aziraphale gets a Time Out



Get Off My Cloud


It was peaceful up here, he had to admit that. White, fluffy nothingness. A nice place for quiet contemplation, but then that was the point, wasn't it? He huffed in annoyance, wondering how long he was going to have to stay. And was there some test he had to pass in order to be released? It wasn't so bad though, could be worse. He'd already experienced worse. This wasn't bad at all, really.

A bit boring, though. No one for company, no books...

As if thoughts could conjure, a whirl of noise and commotion spun up into his peaceful place. A flash of darkness coalesced into a familiar countenance.

“Crowley?!” He wasn't smiling, not at all. It wasn't appropriate to smile at the sight of a demon. Even if it was his best friend. (Well, maybe he was smiling. Just a little.)

Crowley looked around with a grimace of disgust. He'd landed flat on his back, flailing at the air to find purchase. He tried to raise up, but the clouds were worse than a waterbed to maneuver on. “Oh, yuck! It's like candy floss!” He shook out his hands, but the clouds stuck to them stubbornly. He tried in vain to wipe off the offending mess, but that only made things worse.

Aziraphale raised one of his own hands in curiosity, but the fluff wasn't sticking to him.

“Show off,” Crowley muttered darkly.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked. “I don't think you're supposed to be here.”

“Obviously,” the demon said, still trying to wipe the cloud residue off on his jacket. “Got to check up on you, don't I? After everything that happened.”

Aziraphale's face lit up. “You wanted to make sure I was all right,” he said, pleased.

“Whatever. What are you doing here anyway? Up in the clouds like some neophyte.”

The angel sighed. “Time out.”

“Whot?”

“I'm in a Time Out,” he explained. “So I can 'think' about my behavior.”

Crowley studied their surroundings. “Well, I suppose it could be worse. Bit boring though, innit? Nothing to do. Well, till I got here anyway. Did they give you a harp?” He checked the vicinity over. “Where's your harp?”

Aziraphale hit him on the arm, half-heartedly. “It's not nice to make fun of me,” he pouted.

Crowley gave him a nonplussed gaze. “I'm a demon, remember? We're not nice.”

“You are to me.”

Crowley lunged at Aziraphale, landing on top of them and sending them sinking into the clouds. “Take that back!” he growled.

“I don't think I will,” Aziraphale told him defiantly. Well, why ever would he want to do that, what with Crowley on top of him? “You don't scare me.” He rather liked him there. It was doing pleasant things to his insides.

He had a feeling there were a lot of reasons they'd put him in Time Out.

The demon moved off him, to his chagrin. A moment later the air was filled with music and the voice of Mick Jagger singing, “hey, you, get off of my cloud.”

“That's better,” Crowley pronounced, head bobbing to the music. “Although I do prefer Sympathy for the Devil.”

“Why would anyone feel sorry for Satan?” Aziraphale asked.

“It's not—no, never mind. “So, is it working then?”

“Is what working?”

He gestured to the clouds around them. “The punishment. Have you mended your ways?” he asked with a smirk.

“No,” the angel sighed.

“Good,” Crowley said. “I like you just the way you are, don't I?”

Aziraphale beamed at him.

“Alright, can we leave now? This stuff is getting itchy,” Crowley told the angel, scratching at his arms.

“Oh, you must be allergic.”

“The things I do for you, Angel.”

“It's going to get worse. You need to leave, we don't know how much damage it might do.” Hopefully angel clouds weren't as bad as hallowed ground or holy water, but he didn't want to take a chance with his companion's welfare. Not to mention, he couldn't abide his dearest friend being in any pain.

“Are you ready then?” the demon asked, putting out an arm for him to grasp.

“I don't know... that would be defiant.”

“The Heaven with that,” Crowley spat. “You're a Principality, aren't ya?”

“Well... I don't like to show off...”

“”That's your problem, you're too nice. C'mon,” he jiggled his arm in invitation. “I'll do it. You can blame it on the demon.”

Aziraphale finally slipped his own arm through the offered one. “I do like the way you think.”

“Of course you do.”

“Can we get some dinner?”

“And several drinks.” Crowley gave one last glance to the clouds. “Too bad it's so sticky. I always did like waterbeds.” He snapped his fingers and they vanished.

the end