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FIC: Whistlestop Tour (Good Omens + crossovers, Aziraphale, PG-13)
SUMMARY: Aziraphale is inconvieniently discorporated, and embarks on a mini-Odyssey across the multiverse.
Crowley thought, That smells familiar.
Crowley thought, It's definitely something I recognise.
Crowley thought, No! Oh, the stupid, sodding bastards, no!
Crowley thought, What's the quickest way out of here?
Crowley thought, Not much time left...
Crowley thought, Phew, made it.
Crowley thought, Aziraphale!
Strangely, the only thing Aziraphale thought as the world exploded was, Oh no, not again....
*****
Ponder Stibbons was not having a good day. More accurately, Hex was not having a good day, and was thereby making Ponder's own day miserable.
The ants weren't moving.
He couldn't think of a reason why they shouldn't be moving. They'd moved yesterday. He wondered, somewhat forlornly, if they were on strike.
Without the ants, Hex couldn't work properly. It certainly couldn't communicate. Which is why it came as something of a shock to Ponder to receive a readout from it.
The readout said Excuse me? Could you perhaps input my location, and the date? I'm sorry, this really is a terribly odd sensation. I'm not used to having my conciousness spread between three abstract concepts and a horde of lethargic ants. Don't mean to be any trouble or anything. But to know where I'm going, it really would help to know where I am.
Hex had never rambled before. Broken down, decided to reduce the entire alphabet to the letter 'g', or demanded that the Universe be reinstalled, yes, but never rambled. It was most disconcerting. Nonetheless, Ponder provided the data it had requested. He couldn't really refuse, not when it had asked so nicely. He wondered quietly to himself whether he was finally going mad.
The next readout said Ah.
The one after that read Some sort of parallel dimension, I suppose. Ah well, we can but try. Thanks for the help.
Then Hex fell silent again.
For a long time, Ponder stared at the three readouts. Then his eye lit on the words 'lethargic ants', and, in his insuing investigation into the stimulant properties of sugar water, he forgot all about it.
*****
"Go on, Moony, give us a twirl."
Moony didn't. He was staring fixedly at the mirror.
Sirius felt he had done a damn good job, all things considered. Tight, faded jeans and a loose, white, silken shirt provided an interesting contrast (not to mention that the jeans were very effectively showing off one of Moony's best assets). His shoulder length hair was scrunched into attractively dishevelled curls. They'd fought over how many shirt buttons should be done up; Moony had said he'd freeze with only three closed, but Sirius had prevailed, and as a result both the plain leather choker that snaked around his neck and the tantalising line of hair on his belly were clearly on display. And the make-up.... the make-up was a masterpiece, one of Sirius' best efforts to date. Black eyeliner and smokey eyeshadow brought out Remus' grey eyes, Sirius had smeared silver glitter over the top, and dusted silver powder onto every available skin surface, so that he shimmered all over. The final touch had been a light dab of gloss to the lips, to balance out the face, and a stray curl was clinging to its sticky surface in an utterly adorable manner.
No, all in all, Sirius didn't blame Moony for staring. But not for this long.
(Moony was in fact inspecting his clothes and murmmering under his breath, "Seventies, then, I suppose. I'm getting closer, at any rate..." And then adding with a sigh, "But still the wrong universe," as the mirror began to talk to him.)
Sirius strode up to him, said "Time to share yourself with the world, beauty queen," spun him around by the hips, and planted a forceful kiss on his lips.
The world was still for a second.
Slowly, Moony raised a hand to his lips. Faintly, he said, "Oh my..." Then he blinked.
"Sorry," he said, "I don't know what came over me there."
He walked out of the dorm and into the Common Room, to be greeted with appreciative catcalls from James and Peter.
*****
"Don't bat your eyelashes at me, Ford, I'm immune."
He wasn't, but Arthur was damned if he was going to admit to it.
"And no using your pheremones on me either... Because it's cheating, that's why! I don't care, I don't care if I'm being irrational! The Universe is irrational to me all the time, and do I complain? - That's not the point! Ford, no, I mean it, I'll...mmmph!"
For the next twenty minutes or so, Arthur's mouth was too happily occupied to worry about little things like speaking. For a good ten of them, he forgot what he'd been speaking about.
"As I was saying," he managed, finally, smoothing down his shirt in a vain effort to retain his dignity, "it's not like I'm asking for much. Just one little thing, that's all. One thing that will make up for the rest of this crazy mess."
Ford muttered something unintelligable, even with the aid of a Babelfish.
"I don't know what you're saying and I don't care. This ship can do every other possible thing and some that by rights should be impossible. I want tea!"
Marvin, sitting in the corner, raised his head and said, "Ah, too far forward this time."
Because they were so used to ignoring Marvin under any circumstances, and especially during arguments, Ford and Arthur didn't realise that this was, in fact, a fairly odd thing for Marvin to say.
"I refuse to believe that the universe no longer contains tea! I need tea!"
"I quite agree, dear boy. Tea is a cure for many ills. It certainly makes me feel better after a hard day."
It was impossible to ignore Marvin at close range, so Ford and Arthur paid attention to him. It was also difficult not to notice that he lacked his usual aura of determined gloom.
Marvin did something complicated with the drinks dispenser. It whirred quietly. It clicked. Then, with a soft, contented hiss, it produced a steaming mug of tea.
Arthur's face looked as it might have looked had he discovered the Holy Grail.
"There," said Marvin, contentedly, and his lights blinked off and on again. Something imperceptable in him changed. Arthur, preoccupied with the miracle of the tea, didn't notice.
"I'm back," said Marvin, "not that I expect you noticed I was gone, and I'm sure I don't blame you, why would anybody pay attention to me...."
Arthur was not paying attention to him. Ford was watching Arthur.
"Mind you," said Marvin, more to himself than anyone else, and for a moment it seemed that the black storm cloud around him had faded to a light grey, "the pain in the diodes down my left hand side seems to have been fixed."
Slowly, blissfully, Arthur raised the mug to his lips, and sipped. Ford watched the interesting movements Arthur's throat made when he swallowed.
"I expect it won't last," said Marvin, to nobody in particular, and trundled from the room.
*****
"... and the third guy says, 'Well, picture this: I'm stark naked in a fridge -"
Laughter. Though the warm haze of one too many Martinis, Hawk senses it rather than hears it. He wonders if they're really amused, or if they're just being polite. He wonders if he cares.
Trap's knee is pressed against his under the table.
He decides that he probably doesn't.
Henry's saying, "Come on, Father, your turn to deal."
He considers whether he should still be playing, the state he's in, and comes to the conclusion that it doesn't really matter. He'll be back in the Swamp soon enough, and the longer they leave it the greater the liklihood that Frank will already be asleep when they get there...
Vaguely, he registers the fact that he hasn't yet been dealt any cards.
"You alright, Father?"
Mulcahy has the oddest look on his face. He blinks a couple of times, and peers around the near-darkness of the tent.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
Hawk's fairly drunk, true, but he's sure that that isn't Mulcahy's normal voice.
"Might I perhaps trouble you to tell me where I am?"
Silence for a little while.
"Father, are you sure you're alright?" Trap's voice holds real concern. He adds more jokingly, "Henry's tent? The 4077th? Korea? Any of this ringing any bells?"
Mulcahy's eyes flicker around the tent again, lingering, or seeming to, on their uniforms.
"Ah... ah, I see. Yes, yes, of course. And... just for confirmation you understand... what year is it?"
"1954," Hawk replies, slowly. "Father, I think you ought to go and lie down."
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense, dear chap. I'm perfectly fine. I'm getting close now."
Mulcahy shuffles and deals the cards with alacrity. Then he closes his eyes; for a moment, the room is very still, holding its breath in some unknown anticipation. He lets out a long sigh, and the feeling passes. When he opens them again, his eyes have an odd, unfocussed look. Then he shakes himself, apologises, and the game begins.
As Mulcahy gathers his winnings for a fifth sucessive round, Trap asks him where he gets his luck.
"Friends in high places," Mulcahy replies. And his smile is small, and secret, and full of wonder.
*****
Three ducks were making the circuit of the pond in St. James' Park. They located a solitary stranger in a long raincoat, and swam towards him.
"Quack," said the first duck.
"Quack," said the second duck.
"I say," said the third duck, "this is very odd."
The stranger looked at him sharply.
OH. YOU AGAIN. WELL, WE CAN'T HAVE THIS, CAN WE?
The stranger blinked. The universe blinked with him.
*****
Crowley was standing, watching the smoking wreck of the bombed building. He didn't know why he was still there. He'd seen them bring Aziraphale's body out earlier, or what remained of it. His old body, the rational part of his mind insisted fiercely. He's probably got a new one by now. So there was definately no reason for him to be here. He wasn't even hindering the emergency services. Some things you just didn't do.
"Made an awful mess, didn't it?" inquired a gentle English voice.
Demons didn't hug. Which was why Crowley couldn't explain how he came to find himself with his arms around the angel's new body, which was very like the old body that had just been so inconvieniently blown up.
Everything froze for a second. Then Aziraphale laughed, a little shakily.
"Well, this has been a day of new experiences. Crowley?"
"Yes?" said the demon, as gruffly as he could manage.
"Remind me never to do that again. Dinner at the Ritz?"
"Don't see why not."
And they left together, to enjoy the pleasures of the twenty first century in London.
Crowley thought, That smells familiar.
Crowley thought, It's definitely something I recognise.
Crowley thought, No! Oh, the stupid, sodding bastards, no!
Crowley thought, What's the quickest way out of here?
Crowley thought, Not much time left...
Crowley thought, Phew, made it.
Crowley thought, Aziraphale!
Strangely, the only thing Aziraphale thought as the world exploded was, Oh no, not again....
*****
Ponder Stibbons was not having a good day. More accurately, Hex was not having a good day, and was thereby making Ponder's own day miserable.
The ants weren't moving.
He couldn't think of a reason why they shouldn't be moving. They'd moved yesterday. He wondered, somewhat forlornly, if they were on strike.
Without the ants, Hex couldn't work properly. It certainly couldn't communicate. Which is why it came as something of a shock to Ponder to receive a readout from it.
The readout said Excuse me? Could you perhaps input my location, and the date? I'm sorry, this really is a terribly odd sensation. I'm not used to having my conciousness spread between three abstract concepts and a horde of lethargic ants. Don't mean to be any trouble or anything. But to know where I'm going, it really would help to know where I am.
Hex had never rambled before. Broken down, decided to reduce the entire alphabet to the letter 'g', or demanded that the Universe be reinstalled, yes, but never rambled. It was most disconcerting. Nonetheless, Ponder provided the data it had requested. He couldn't really refuse, not when it had asked so nicely. He wondered quietly to himself whether he was finally going mad.
The next readout said Ah.
The one after that read Some sort of parallel dimension, I suppose. Ah well, we can but try. Thanks for the help.
Then Hex fell silent again.
For a long time, Ponder stared at the three readouts. Then his eye lit on the words 'lethargic ants', and, in his insuing investigation into the stimulant properties of sugar water, he forgot all about it.
*****
"Go on, Moony, give us a twirl."
Moony didn't. He was staring fixedly at the mirror.
Sirius felt he had done a damn good job, all things considered. Tight, faded jeans and a loose, white, silken shirt provided an interesting contrast (not to mention that the jeans were very effectively showing off one of Moony's best assets). His shoulder length hair was scrunched into attractively dishevelled curls. They'd fought over how many shirt buttons should be done up; Moony had said he'd freeze with only three closed, but Sirius had prevailed, and as a result both the plain leather choker that snaked around his neck and the tantalising line of hair on his belly were clearly on display. And the make-up.... the make-up was a masterpiece, one of Sirius' best efforts to date. Black eyeliner and smokey eyeshadow brought out Remus' grey eyes, Sirius had smeared silver glitter over the top, and dusted silver powder onto every available skin surface, so that he shimmered all over. The final touch had been a light dab of gloss to the lips, to balance out the face, and a stray curl was clinging to its sticky surface in an utterly adorable manner.
No, all in all, Sirius didn't blame Moony for staring. But not for this long.
(Moony was in fact inspecting his clothes and murmmering under his breath, "Seventies, then, I suppose. I'm getting closer, at any rate..." And then adding with a sigh, "But still the wrong universe," as the mirror began to talk to him.)
Sirius strode up to him, said "Time to share yourself with the world, beauty queen," spun him around by the hips, and planted a forceful kiss on his lips.
The world was still for a second.
Slowly, Moony raised a hand to his lips. Faintly, he said, "Oh my..." Then he blinked.
"Sorry," he said, "I don't know what came over me there."
He walked out of the dorm and into the Common Room, to be greeted with appreciative catcalls from James and Peter.
*****
"Don't bat your eyelashes at me, Ford, I'm immune."
He wasn't, but Arthur was damned if he was going to admit to it.
"And no using your pheremones on me either... Because it's cheating, that's why! I don't care, I don't care if I'm being irrational! The Universe is irrational to me all the time, and do I complain? - That's not the point! Ford, no, I mean it, I'll...mmmph!"
For the next twenty minutes or so, Arthur's mouth was too happily occupied to worry about little things like speaking. For a good ten of them, he forgot what he'd been speaking about.
"As I was saying," he managed, finally, smoothing down his shirt in a vain effort to retain his dignity, "it's not like I'm asking for much. Just one little thing, that's all. One thing that will make up for the rest of this crazy mess."
Ford muttered something unintelligable, even with the aid of a Babelfish.
"I don't know what you're saying and I don't care. This ship can do every other possible thing and some that by rights should be impossible. I want tea!"
Marvin, sitting in the corner, raised his head and said, "Ah, too far forward this time."
Because they were so used to ignoring Marvin under any circumstances, and especially during arguments, Ford and Arthur didn't realise that this was, in fact, a fairly odd thing for Marvin to say.
"I refuse to believe that the universe no longer contains tea! I need tea!"
"I quite agree, dear boy. Tea is a cure for many ills. It certainly makes me feel better after a hard day."
It was impossible to ignore Marvin at close range, so Ford and Arthur paid attention to him. It was also difficult not to notice that he lacked his usual aura of determined gloom.
Marvin did something complicated with the drinks dispenser. It whirred quietly. It clicked. Then, with a soft, contented hiss, it produced a steaming mug of tea.
Arthur's face looked as it might have looked had he discovered the Holy Grail.
"There," said Marvin, contentedly, and his lights blinked off and on again. Something imperceptable in him changed. Arthur, preoccupied with the miracle of the tea, didn't notice.
"I'm back," said Marvin, "not that I expect you noticed I was gone, and I'm sure I don't blame you, why would anybody pay attention to me...."
Arthur was not paying attention to him. Ford was watching Arthur.
"Mind you," said Marvin, more to himself than anyone else, and for a moment it seemed that the black storm cloud around him had faded to a light grey, "the pain in the diodes down my left hand side seems to have been fixed."
Slowly, blissfully, Arthur raised the mug to his lips, and sipped. Ford watched the interesting movements Arthur's throat made when he swallowed.
"I expect it won't last," said Marvin, to nobody in particular, and trundled from the room.
*****
"... and the third guy says, 'Well, picture this: I'm stark naked in a fridge -"
Laughter. Though the warm haze of one too many Martinis, Hawk senses it rather than hears it. He wonders if they're really amused, or if they're just being polite. He wonders if he cares.
Trap's knee is pressed against his under the table.
He decides that he probably doesn't.
Henry's saying, "Come on, Father, your turn to deal."
He considers whether he should still be playing, the state he's in, and comes to the conclusion that it doesn't really matter. He'll be back in the Swamp soon enough, and the longer they leave it the greater the liklihood that Frank will already be asleep when they get there...
Vaguely, he registers the fact that he hasn't yet been dealt any cards.
"You alright, Father?"
Mulcahy has the oddest look on his face. He blinks a couple of times, and peers around the near-darkness of the tent.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
Hawk's fairly drunk, true, but he's sure that that isn't Mulcahy's normal voice.
"Might I perhaps trouble you to tell me where I am?"
Silence for a little while.
"Father, are you sure you're alright?" Trap's voice holds real concern. He adds more jokingly, "Henry's tent? The 4077th? Korea? Any of this ringing any bells?"
Mulcahy's eyes flicker around the tent again, lingering, or seeming to, on their uniforms.
"Ah... ah, I see. Yes, yes, of course. And... just for confirmation you understand... what year is it?"
"1954," Hawk replies, slowly. "Father, I think you ought to go and lie down."
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense, dear chap. I'm perfectly fine. I'm getting close now."
Mulcahy shuffles and deals the cards with alacrity. Then he closes his eyes; for a moment, the room is very still, holding its breath in some unknown anticipation. He lets out a long sigh, and the feeling passes. When he opens them again, his eyes have an odd, unfocussed look. Then he shakes himself, apologises, and the game begins.
As Mulcahy gathers his winnings for a fifth sucessive round, Trap asks him where he gets his luck.
"Friends in high places," Mulcahy replies. And his smile is small, and secret, and full of wonder.
*****
Three ducks were making the circuit of the pond in St. James' Park. They located a solitary stranger in a long raincoat, and swam towards him.
"Quack," said the first duck.
"Quack," said the second duck.
"I say," said the third duck, "this is very odd."
The stranger looked at him sharply.
OH. YOU AGAIN. WELL, WE CAN'T HAVE THIS, CAN WE?
The stranger blinked. The universe blinked with him.
*****
Crowley was standing, watching the smoking wreck of the bombed building. He didn't know why he was still there. He'd seen them bring Aziraphale's body out earlier, or what remained of it. His old body, the rational part of his mind insisted fiercely. He's probably got a new one by now. So there was definately no reason for him to be here. He wasn't even hindering the emergency services. Some things you just didn't do.
"Made an awful mess, didn't it?" inquired a gentle English voice.
Demons didn't hug. Which was why Crowley couldn't explain how he came to find himself with his arms around the angel's new body, which was very like the old body that had just been so inconvieniently blown up.
Everything froze for a second. Then Aziraphale laughed, a little shakily.
"Well, this has been a day of new experiences. Crowley?"
"Yes?" said the demon, as gruffly as he could manage.
"Remind me never to do that again. Dinner at the Ritz?"
"Don't see why not."
And they left together, to enjoy the pleasures of the twenty first century in London.