Chapter Text
Adam Young liked a well-written story.
Yes, it’s true, there was amusement to be derived from poorly constructed narratives. He laughed at plot holes big enough to fall through, and characters who spoke as though the author was an alien who had learned how humans talked through a thorough study of Grey’s Anatomy. On a deeper level, Adam loved to pick apart what made a story tick, what made it so diabolical and heinous, and what could be fixed. 1
But the fact of the matter was that there was nothing better than a story which flowed so seamlessly, with people who acted like people and a good proper ending. Not in Adam’s eyes, at least. He’d read Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy on many a cloudy day, and he’d binged Breaking Bad more times than he could count, and he loathed La La Land. 2
Not a day went by when he wasn’t dreaming up new stories, new adventures, new tales of good triumphing over evil. It was his duty. Adam’s story had concluded with a bow, and now he got to watch others’ unfold. Quite literally, actually.
During the lockdown, he’d found himself so bored that he discovered a new ability of his, one that hadn’t vanished upon resetting the universe. It was a remnant of his grasp on the world, perhaps not as strong as before but still an ember not ready to fizzle out. If he so chose to, he could project his spirit out of his body and go anywhere. He couldn’t touch anything. But he could watch. And watch he did.
Adam’s favorite places to go were public parks (which held many possibilities), pubs (which he thought was very mature of him), and the movies (it kept him from paying!). He especially loved seeing the couples frolicking about. First dates filled with the awkwardness of a budding bond. Newlyweds chatting about their futures. Old people, having already lived through the trials and tribulations of both, and now content to sit back and watch just as he did.
At some point, Adam grew bored again. Sure, it was sweet, but he wanted more. A deeper connection. He wished to understand these people privately.
The first time was his Maths teacher. She mentioned in class that she’d been seeing an landlord, and he proceeded to track them down and study them until one particularly painful argument over what color they considered each subject to be ended their relationship in one fell swoop. 3
After that, there were a few other people. A sweet, queerplatonic relationship that was almost tooth-rotting. Then a classic boy-meets-girl turned into boy-thinks-he-is-an-alpha-male-and-therefore-denies-real-love-to-anyone-and-takes-out-frustration-on-girl. He abandoned that one quite quickly. A few celebrities here and there.
None of these couples compared to Aziraphale and Crowley.
He’d taken interest in the two during the Apocalypse, obviously, but this interest hadn’t really flourished until two-ish years later. Adam was amazed at how they’d gone 6000 years without realizing how deeply in love they were.
The day that changed everything, Adam had been in his room, sketching out a drawing of the angel and devil. Recently, some particularly interesting events had been occurring in their lives. An archangel turning up naked on Aziraphale’s doorstep, a pining girl next door, and a song that wouldn’t stop chasing them around.
“Everyday, it’s-a getting closer… mm mm something than a rollercoaster,” He hummed, taking a second to sharpen his pencil.
Actually, Adam was convinced that everyday, it was, indeed, getting closer. The moment he’d been waiting for. A romantic confession followed by a passionate kiss and an immediate wedding. 4 Certain people in the pair’s lives kept alluding to it, and it seemed as though they were about to come to the conclusion themselves. They had just danced together at a ball, and Crowley had risked himself going up to heaven all to save Aziraphale.
He put down his pencil. It was worth checking in on them, he supposed.
Birds are smarter creatures than many would anticipate.
Perhaps not surprising to conspiracy theorists claiming they are puppets of the government or those who frequent St. James’s park, but to most. The term “birdbrain” was highly offensive to them, actually. They’d been dinosaurs once. They’d ruled the planet. And now they were viewed as a nuisance.
On that bright, sunny day, all of the birds in Tadfield vacated their trees. Perhaps in preparation of what they knew was to come.
Except, of course, for one lonely nightingale, who sang sweetly in his backyard.
“WHAT?!”
The scream that erupted from Adam Young’s mouth was earth-shattering. That final nightingale realized its lapse in judgement and leapt from the tree it perched upon.
“Is everything all right, Adam?” Mr. Young asked, just barely peeking into his son’s room from the doorframe. Adam was turned away from him, staring intently into his desk.
Slowly his son turned around, a wide, painful smile plastered onto his face. His eye twitched.
Adam said, “Everything is great!” and his pencil snapped in half.
It didn’t make any sense. 5 None at all. Why in his name would Aziraphale choose to be an archangel, instead of being with Crowley? And why wouldn’t Crowley have dramatically saved him, pulling him away from the elevator, helping him realize the err in his ways?
And why did Gabriel and Beelzebub get the happy ending?!
Where were Anathema, and her boyfriend, and the grumpy old witchfinder, and his psychic gal? And, most importantly, where was he?
At least he’d gotten his romantic confession. And his passionate kiss. But he didn’t want it like this.
Adam could not wrap his head around any of it. So he took out a fresh, unbroken pencil and a pad of paper.
The first thing he wrote was a letter. It read as follows:
Dear God,
Firstly, I hope this letter finds you in good health and prosperity. I understand the nature of my identity may be jarring to you, as I am technically still the Antichrist. I like to think of myself as more than that, though. I’m quite good at Maths.
Secondly, what the fuck is wrong with you?
Please undo the recent happenings in Crowley and Aziraphale’s existences immediately. I’ll be waiting.
Thanks,
Adam Young
He went outside and figured that if he just threw the letter into the air, it would find its way to God somehow. So he chucked it as high as he could, over his head.
It didn’t come down. It just kept going up.
The letter did nothing to settle Adam’s temper, as he broke another pencil.
Instead, he pulled out a pen, one that he’d stolen a long time ago from the Tadsfield Neighborhood Watch. Every so often he considered returning it to its rightful owner, and then would promptly remember how stupid that would be. “Sorry, I took your pen when I was 9, also there’s barely any ink left, also I’ve chewed on it, also my Dog has chewed on it. Do you want it back?” Knowing the Neighborhood Watchman, he’d probably still want it back. That made it all the more important to Adam.
With as much conviction as he could muster, he pulled out a piece of paper, and began to write.
He began with a title, as many stories do.
He called it “Great Omens: A Fix-It Azicrow Fic”.
1. At least, in his mind, as a naive 15 year old boy from the English countryside. What he thought needed fixing tended to be a little askew. return to text
2. This was due to a fundamental misunderstanding of his. He also hated 500 Days of Summer for similar reasons. return to text
3. The correct answer was that English is red, History is yellow, Science is green, and Maths are blue. For the first time in history, a landlord was in the right. return to text
4. Adam still held onto the romantic notion that all good relationships should result in a big white wedding. Again, he was a fifteen year old from the English countryside. return to text
5. In the back of his mind, Adam knew that it did, in fact, make sense, and that all of the actions taken were perfectly in character. Even if quite disappointing. return to text