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Mimicry	By : Macx Category: G through L > Good Omens Views: 2227 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Mimicry
- 2-part 2
- 3-part 3
- 4-part 4
- 5-part 5
- 2
- 3
- 4
Why wasn't he surprised? Crowley wondered as he walked around the old, battered warehouse building.
It was in an abandoned district that had once served the railroad as a deposit and storage center, but had then been left to rot. The old rails were rusting, broken, here and there a railroad car lived out the remainder of its short life, and there was no one around. Rats, yes. Rats and cockroaches, even human ones that scurried to hide inside the less shabby buildings to peek out at the newcomers.
Aziraphale sniffed a little, standing out like a sore thumb with his clean aura and light way of dressing. Crowley wondered for the umpteenth time whether or not dressing like this was preprogrammed into angels. He really had to have a word with his lover about colours. It was so clichéd!
Ashkat wrapped his arms around his thin middle as they stood in the downright ruined building that had been home to the summoning. Crowley could still feel the remnants of the spell and the power, but it was fading fast.
Aziraphale walked to a barely visible circle and scuffed at the edge with a booted foot. Wind was whipping through the broken walls and empty windows, and the angel buried deeper into his woollen overcoat. The handmade scarf fluttered gently and the blond strands moved lazily with the breeze.
"There is some power left," the angel said softly. "We might be able to follow it."
Crowley nodded. "Yeah. It's not much, though."
Ashkat whimpered at his side, shuffling away from the circle that had banned him, made him into a meal for a human warlock instead of the predator who would have the human's sins as his gain.
"Can we go?" he asked plaintively. "Please?"
Crowley grimaced. Ashkat had truly fallen deep. The shock of becoming human had turned the formerly demonic being into a quivering shadow of his former self, begging and pleading.
"You go. We've got work to do."
"Dear," Aziraphale chastised him softly and turned to the quivering ex-demon. "Do you have a favourite dish?"
Ashkat gazed at him with huge eyes, the thin, frail form still shivering. "Sandwiches," he finally said.
Aziraphale nodded and miracled a take-out bag into his hands, then, as if in an afterthought, he changed the flimsy, scruffy outfit of Ashkat into something more durable and warm.
Ashkat's eyes were wide like saucers.
"Uh," he stammered as the bag was placed into his hands.
"There you go. Don't eat too fast. You might throw up."
"Uh… why… why?"
Aziraphale's expression was so very gentle, Crowley felt a stab of jealousy.
"Because I promised, Ashkat. Now be a good lad and find a nice place to eat this."
The brown eyes, alight with hope and something the demon would never put into words, darted between the two unlikely partners, then he nodded and scurried off.
"You're too good for this world," Crowley muttered.
"He is an unfortunate soul, Crowley," the angel explained as he joined him. "And I gave him my promise. For all our so-called free-lancing, I'm still an angel, my dear."
Crowley smiled a little. "I know," he said softly, then the softness disappeared and he was all business. "Let's find this guy. The sooner this is over, the sooner we'll be out of this bloody place."
Aziraphale nodded, gazing thoughtfully at the barely visible summoning circle. He went down on one knee and reached out, touching the black scorch marks that looked like scars even in this ruined building.
A faint tingle raced up his fingers and shivered along his spine.
Dark magic.
Strong and very much able to bind a demon. Maybe even a stronger one than Ashkat had been. The power felt strange, though. Not truly black, but also not light. It was like a grey mix, taking of both sides, mixing it together, and something inside Aziraphale responded to it all with a little twang.
He pulled his hand away, flexing his fingers.
"Zira?"
Looking up into the yellow eyes, Aziraphale clenched his hand into a fist and rose. "It's strange," he told Crowley. "Powerful. And neither evil nor good. It's like… he used two things, light and dark, and made himself grey."
"Huh?"
Aziraphale shook his head and started to walk out of the warehouse, feeling unwell in the vicinity of the fading circle. Crowley followed him.

Outside it had started to grow dark, but neither the demon nor the angel had trouble seeing through the twilight. They walked silently through the graveyard of ancient buildings, ignored by both rats, cockroaches and those who watched them with human eyes.
"Angel?" Crowley finally prodded.
"This man, Jones, he went to Heaven and stole something, then walked into Hell, pretending to be a Fallen."
Aziraphale stopped at a cross-section of old railway tracks, stubbing his booted foot against the rusting metal.
"To enter Heaven and pretend to be of divine origin takes cunning. More so than to walk into Hell after stealing a demon's power. He had that power when he was Above. He was among angels and he entered a place where something powerful is kept."
"Whatever that is," Crowley muttered. "No one's telling us anything about that thing! Top secret mumbo-jumbo."
Aziraphale nodded. "It must be incredible, something unique, and something a human can touch and move out of Heaven. We don't even know how he got in."
"'Cause they don't want anyone else to get in that way."
"Probably."
"Morons."
Aziraphale didn't even give his demon a scolding look. Secretly he thought the same.
"Hell's no better. Here he took something powerful or unique, too. Something a human can touch."
Crowley exhaled sharply. "It's not like we'll ever get to find out what it is."
"When we find him we will. He has it, Crowley. Jones has the stolen goods and I doubt he took them because they look nice in his collection."
Crowley smirked. "Probably. Must be some ass-kicking whatnot. Up There didn't mention an Apocalypse, so I think it's safe to say he won't use it here on Earth."
Aziraphale chewed on his lower lip, thinking. "We need to find him."
"Follow the trail it is then. How good is your puppy nose?"
Yellow eyes sparkled mischievously and Aziraphale gave him a dark look.
"Hey, you touched that circle. You know what his energy feels like," Crowley added.
Sharp as ever. The demon had paid attention. Not that he had never done so before. Aziraphale knew that his lover was far more intelligent and cunning than he wanted to let on. There was more to him than anyone would ever see, except for Aziraphale, who had seen more than Crowley was probably comfortable with. The demon was complicated, and so had been their friendship. Their relationship now, being lovers, being outside the System, working for neither Side, had become the most complicated of complications there was.
Aziraphale wouldn't change it for the world.
Now he stretched his senses and tried to pick up the faint trail of power.
It was there. A little whiff. Almost dissolved. Close by and leading away from this depressing place. Without a word he started walking, sure in the knowledge that Crowley would follow.
He did.
Having the angel's back against whatever might happen next, Crowley walked after him, all senses on alert.
* * *
It took them most of the night and the next day to follow the faint trail all over town to the apartment building that, according to the name plate on the post box, was the place J. Jones lived it. Crowley, feeling tired and a bit on the short-tempered side, had no patience to convince the security man at the front door to let them in. He simply made him open the door and then wiped his mind.
"Really," Aziraphale muttered.
Crowley ignored him. Demons and angels didn't require sleep, but he had developed a fondness for it, so in turn having no sleep made him testy. He liked the hours of nothingness, of revitalizing unconsciousness, and missing out on them because of some freak wasn't in his book of fun.
The building was home to some very pricey apartments, and Jones lived almost on the top, with a spectacular view of the river not far away, the close-by park, and the skyline of downtown.
Crowley had no trouble breaking the lock, and this time Aziraphale didn't even say anything, and they stood in a huge entrance hall that led to an even larger living room. Everything was laid out in a hardwood floor, the furniture was brand new and stylish, the entertainment center rivalled Crowley's, and the demon delighted in the collection of DVDs.
"At least he has style," he announced with a devilish grin as he went through a sizable collection of porn that had been not at all hidden in a separate DVD holder next to the TV.
Aziraphale plucked the DVD out of his hand. "You don't need that, dear," he purred.
The case vanished into thin air and Crowley cleared his throat, feeling a trickle of excitement at his lover's words. Then he pushed that away and went about searching the place.
Aziraphale was scanning, using what he had picked up at the circle and they both ended up in the bedroom, which was a dream of modern furniture, another entertainment center, a walk-in closet, a huge window front, and satiny sheets. Black, satiny sheets.
Crowley cursed the fact that they were on official business because this was the perfect setting for something sinister in a more erotic department.
Aziraphale went through the book case next to the bed and his eyebrows rose at the openly displayed titles. All of the paranormal, black magic, spells and myths and whatnot.
"Oh, I know some of those," Crowley sighed and ran a finger over the old spines. "The Book of Legendary Spells. Huh. Not so legendary. Some are outright laughable. Carnal Alchemy. Now there's a bedtime story. Fun to read. Might get some humans going. Oh, he even has the Encyclopaedia of Heaven and Hell. Best work the guy ever did. Some really humorous pieces." He picked that one out and leafed through it, snickering. "You should get a copy for your shop, Zira. It would be a major sale!"
"I doubt it," the angel murmured and eyed the rather gaudy collection of magical artifacts. "Really. Such waste."
Crowley turned the Encyclopaedia around and looked at the fold-out. "Uh-huh. Amirata would be so happy to see himself as a woman. Nice breasts, too."
"Crowley!"
He shot his angel a smile and placed the book back into the shelf. "It's true. They are nice. Though I like my type a bit more on the…" He trailed off as blue eyes sparked and reminded him that the topic was over.
Jealous? he mused, secretly making note of that.
"Not much here, hm?" he said out loud, trying to distract the angel from his more lecherous thoughts.
Any other time he would have worked on getting Aziraphale into that bed. Right now, he wasn't really in the mood. No sleep and some freaky human thief were a killer in the lust department.
"No, not really," Aziraphale murmured and went through the walk-in closet.
He rummaged around and finally knocked on the wooden panels, hearing a hollow sound.
"Secret compartment?" Crowley ventured.
"Most likely. All in this place is fake. Maybe he keeps the real thing here…"
And with it Aziraphale worked loose the cover.
Crowley felt a spike of demonic energy and before he could react, Aziraphale cried out and went to his knees, clutching the hand that had opened the compartment.
"Zira!" he yelled and grabbed the angel, hauling him out of the closet.
Aziraphale gasped like he was running out of air and the moment Crowley had him in the open, the sun of the late afternoon highlighting the other man, he saw the terrible burn. It was black. Black and scabbed and covering all of his angel's hand, and Aziraphale was as white as a sheet, almost hyperventilating. The huge eyes were a striking blue, an angelic blue, as the celestial part of his lover was fighting to counteract whatever it was that had attacked him.
Crowley laid a hand over the horrible wound and it crackled under his touch, then began to dissolve as demonic energy counter-acted what had been done. Aziraphale groaned in pain. Unlike Crowley, who rarely had averse reactions to the angel's healing, Aziraphale suffered. Demons weren't meant to heal angels, while angels were meant to be able to heal all entities, even for demons.
Pale, trembling, even sweating slightly, the angel clenched his teeth and sat through it, finally able to add his own healing power to that of Crowley.
The demon pulled back, but the injured hand grabbed him, held on. The blue eyes closed, the tense form relaxing, and Crowley let him sink against him, soothing the slight tremors.
"Better?" he whispered after a minute or two.
"Yes," was the soft reply. "It was a curse. A very strong curse. I never felt like this. It… leeched at my strength and it was invading me… growing inside my hand and reaching deeper…"
Crowley stared at the dark blond head, shocked. His embrace tightened abruptly and Aziraphale made a soft sound of pleasure, almost a sigh.
Yellow eyes, hidden behind shades, gazed at the innocent looking walk-in closet.
"It's demonic," he murmured, his senses telling him that much.
"Yes. And strong."
Crowley disentangled himself from his lover and rose slowly, carefully approaching the closet.
"Crowley," Aziraphale cautioned him.
"I'm a demon. I should be able to deal with it."
Steeling himself, Crowley entered the closet and carefully reached out for the now partially open compartment. Nothing happened, aside from the tell-tale tingle of demonic energy. He peeked into the small box and found it was almost empty. There was nothing there, aside from some wrapping material, cloth if he was any judge of it. Frowning, he reached inside and pulled the cloth out.
It was blood red with an insignia and when it slid into the open, something lighter peeked out from underneath.
There was a yell, then he was grabbed and white feathers shielded him from an explosion of Light. Crowley gasped and toppled over, landing hard on the floor, a soft body on top of him, brilliantly white feathers shielding him from the pulses of celestial power.
It was over in a second and only harsh breathing and the shifting of feathery wings could be heard.
"Angel?" he croaked.
Aziraphale stared down at him, straddling his body, the wings still out.
"Are you okay?" Aziraphale demanded.
"Yes, I'm fine. What the fuck was that?"
The white wings folded slowly, but since no new pulses of the harmful energy touched them, Aziraphale finally made them disappear. Both immortals looked at the now very innocent looking scarves, lying discarded on the floor.
One was blood red with golden signs on it. The other was a light blue with equally golden writing. Aziraphale reached out for the celestial one and Crowley unconsciously held his breath. He hadn't been aware of breathing anyway.
Nothing happened.
"The power dispersed," the angel murmured and took the second one before the demon could stop him.
Again, nothing happened.
"What are those things?" Crowley demanded as he got up, brushing dust off his clothes.
Aziraphale frowned, smoothing out a corner of the light blue one to read the writing.
"They are seals, dear. They held something. It seems the residual energy reacted to our presence."
"Fucking stupid security," Crowley hissed, eyes glowing with an edge of red.
Aziraphale let the silky scarf glide through his hand and frowned. "If this was used to secure something… like… something stolen from Heaven and Hell… it was also made to repel our kind, as was just demonstrated. There was hardly any energy left and it still hurt me. I'm not even sure which power touched my hand. They were entwined."
Crowley's frown deepened. "So whatever this thing was he stole, it was protected against demonic or angelic theft, but not a human's."
"Yes."
"How stupid could they be."
"Crowley, my dear, normally humans don't enter either realm. Whatever was stolen from Above and Below, it was safe-guarded, but neither Side took humanity serious enough to add that as a safety-measure."
"So even if we find the guy, we might not be able to touch it. Freakin' great!"
The red glow increased.
"Probably," Aziraphale agreed. "But we still have to find him first to determine that."
He folded the scarves and put them into his jeans pocket. At Crowley's silent question he just shrugged.
"Let's go," the angel only said.
"You think he won't come back?"
"Would you?"
"I'm a demon, not human."
"Exactly. Humans have devious minds, more so than demons, my dear."
Crowley sighed. "Don't I know it."
"He won't be back to a place where he could be tracked down. Whatever he plans to do with the stolen things, he will keep moving to evade probable searchers."
"Like us."
"Yes, like us."
They left again, not bothering with the security guy, and Aziraphale concentrated on finding a new trail once more. It got harder the older it was.
* * *
Crowley's eyebrows twitched a little and the evil smile on his lips promised everything – and nothing good. Aziraphale sighed and shook his head, aware that he was about to enter hell – at least on earth and at least for a pure soul.
Then again, he might not be so pure anymore, sleeping with a demon and all. Still…
He gazed dubiously at the black and chrome sign that told him that he was now entering the 'Cave', an 'in' nightclub in the middle of downtown. Everyone who was someone came here, or so he had heard from the dozens of hopeful girls, men and women waiting to pass the bouncer's critical eyes. Aziraphale and Crowley didn't have to wait at all. A little bit of magic and they were inside.
Alice Cooper's 'Poison' assaulted their ears with hard beat that seemed to reverberate inside their bodies.
"They're playing our song," the demon murmured seductively and his eyes glinted.
Crowley really blended in. Black leather jacket, sinfully tight, equally black pants that showed every curve and every muscle, a black tank-top, the sunglasses… He was sin incarnate, looking to tempt the innocent, though Aziraphale doubted that there was a single innocent soul in this establishment. He himself had briefly argued against a change of wardrobe and had finally agreed to something in the colour range of smoky grey and anthracite, with a blood red tie that Crowley had insisted he had to wear.
He felt ridiculous.
And people were checking him out.
Crowley winked at him from behind the shades and melted into the crowd, drawing lustful looks and more than one offer as he passed by. Aziraphale fought a brief flare of rather uncharacteristic jealousy, and decided to see what he could find out at the bar.
The trail had led here, into this goth nightmare, where people dressed up as all kinds of other people. Jones had come here and maybe he was a regular.
Aziraphale started his campaign of discreetly picking people's minds and then wiping the interview from their memory. Almost every single one of them approached him one way or another, making a pass, trying to get into very close contact. There wasn't much information to go with. Not even the bartender could help him.
"Well, hello, handsome," a voice purred and Aziraphale blinked.
In front of him stood the pinnacle of make-up artistry. The woman was probably a head smaller than him, but her stiletto heels made her taller. Her hair was bleached an almost white blonde, the eyes mascaraed to compete with ancient Egyptians, and she wore a dress that screamed 'take me here and now'. The skirt wasn't more than a broad belt that barely covered her buttocks and the black leather panties underneath were flashed every step of the way. She wore thigh-high boots and gloves that went up all to her armpits. The gloves made up for the missing clothing around her breasts, which were just about covered with the black leather bikini top she had deigned to put on.
"Uh?" Aziraphale managed.
"So lonely? What's a nice looking guy like you doing in a place like that?" Her voice was sweet and sultry, but also damaged from probably smoking too much. The angel detected some very bad drug habits, too.
"I'm not alone," he murmured.
"Oh? I didn't see you come in with anyone, let alone in the last ten minutes." She slinked closer, running manicured nails that looked like blood red talons over his equally blood red tie. "We could make it a quick one."
"Like I said, I'm not interested."
"They all say that. It's just a phrase."
Her hand slipped down south and Aziraphale tried to step back but bumped into a pillar behind him.
"I do threesomes, too, love," she breathed.
Another hand snaked around his waist, pulling him away from the platinum vulture in black leather and against a very familiar form that was radiating barely veiled possessiveness.
Crowley didn't say anything, just stared at the woman, who sighed dejectedly. Her eyes glazed over a little and suddenly she turned away, seeking a new prey and finding it in a steroid-laden guy who was kissing her like there was no tomorrow five seconds later.
A soft rumble alerted Aziraphale to Crowley's state.
"Oh dear," he murmured. "Are you okay?"
"Let's go," the demon hissed.
The moment they were outside, Aziraphale was pushed against the wall and Crowley's lips were on his. He felt the fangs, fully exposed, as he kissed his lover, and the beginning of claws pressed into his skin.
"Dear?" he asked when Crowley let him up for air he didn't really need, thanks to no breathing.
"Too much," the demon whispered, exhaling sharply. "Thrice-blessed place! You think it's bad out front? Go behind. At it like rabbits doesn't even describe it. Some are even using incantations."
"Sex spells?"
Crowley nodded, his head against Aziraphale's shoulder. He was as tense as a bow and thrumming like a live wire. The clawed fingers flexed and his lips nibbled at one exposed patch of skin. Aziraphale closed his eyes, moaning a little. This wasn't really the time or place for something like this, but…
"Crowley, dear…" he managed.
Fangs graced his neck and he shuddered.
"I'll be fine in a minute," the demon whispered, sounding strained. "Fuck!"
They stayed together, Aziraphale holding his lover in a tight embrace, feeling him truly get it out of his system. Each shudder told him so as energy dispersed, seeping into the surrounding people, buildings and the very air. Any other time, the angel mused, and they'd be doing something much more physical in a very nice hotel room.
Crowley finally pulled back, the tension flowing out of his body, though a little thrumming remained. He took Aziraphale's mouth in a soft kiss.
"Thank you."
The angel cupped his face. "You're welcome. And we're not going back in there."
"No, we're not. At least not while I can't take advantage of the result." The evil smile was back and Aziraphale gave him a frown.
"Did you at least find anything?" he asked.
"Aside from the fact that Jones loved to partake in the kinky stuff they do? Not much. No one's seen him in a while." Crowley smoothed the rumpled shirt of his angel where his hands had dug into the silky fabric. "They all think he's a weirdo. Coming from them, it means he's a total freak."
"Uh-huh. Now what?"
"We continue looking, angel."
Aziraphale sighed and nodded. "Alright. Give me a moment to wade through all the residual energy, then we can go on."
And they did.
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Mimicry