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The zombie apocalypse was rather uneventful, really. Well, to Crowley at least. If anything, Crowley would rather be back in the fourteenth century than be in the sad excuse of an apocalypse.
Those damn nazi zombies from long ago caught up with him once again. As, it seems that those three had a hunger for flesh. Crowley could only assume that somewhere down the line, either the Almighty herself or Satan himself, had decided to play a little prank on humanity.
That, or it was a mutation in the geonome in their saliva. Or a fungal infection those undead creatures neglected to detect. Crowley wasn’t one to deny those possibilities.
And after one fateful meal, it seemed that the outbreak happened rather quickly. With people rationing that ‘patient zero’ was merely a crazed man. Even as he bit those around him and tore through the skin.
Crowley and Aziraphale watched as the world they helped nurture at times deteriorate before their eyes.
Although, primarily contained in London, it was still heartbreaking to watch. Crowley and Aziraphale (more so Aziraphale than Crowley. As, Crowley tended to move place to place years ago,) watched London get built from the ground up.
It was heartbreaking, truly, it was. It was like watching your child’s life get sucked from them.
Those zombies are unable to maintain their humanity. And it seems they’ve ate too much that they’ve stripped those of their own.
Those who were bitten were mindless.
And, although Crowley was bitten, he still maintained his knowledge, his humanity. Probably because he was a celestial being merely wearing a meat suit to blend in.
(Oh, wait... Have I neglected to mention Crowley was bitten?)
Honestly, it’s an easy fix. He could miracle it away. Well, one would assume so, but… Any high amounts of damage to a Demon’s (or Angel’s body. They aren’t exempt from paperwork,) cannot be fixed before paperwork is completed. Which, made the process much more tedious.
It helped push Angels and Demons to take better care of themselves. As in, careful of danger.
It all made Crowley more apprehensive to fill out the paperwork. He was going to do it eventually, don’t get Crowley wrong, he was going to. But, Crowley was, as expected, procrastinating. Nobody in their right mind would happily go through mountains of paperwork.
And, until Crowley finally dragged his ass down to hell, his body was stuck as a zombie.
Now, being a zombie wasn’t all bad. None of those flesh-craving lunatics were after him anymore. Those fucks managed to steal his jacket, take a chunk out of his cheek to expose teeth, ruined his clothes, tear multiple holes in his turtleneck, break his sunglasses that he still wore, and the bite-sized hole in his arm that exposed muscle and bone was what caused the infection to spread through him in the first place.
It was a shame, really. Crowley liked that turtleneck.
“Aziaraphale?” Crowley strolled into the Angel’s bookshop, cautiously. The bookshop itself was in great condition. It must’ve been the miracle he had put onto the establishment the moment Crowley got bitten. He couldn’t risk it. “Angel, you in here? Are you alright?” He called.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, voice trembling slightly. “Your voice is awfully gravely now. Is the infection now messing with your voice?”
“Afraid so. Nothing I can’t handle, though. The miracle you put in place is managing to keep the whole outbreak contained in Soho. Good on you,” Crowley waved off Aziraphale’s worry. He was a celestial being, there were few ways Crowley could die.
And being bitten wasn’t one of them.
“Good… Oh, goodness me…” Aziraphale sighed, wandering to a nearby armchair to fall into woefully. “This is terrible… I still don’t understand the cause of this…”
“I have a couple theories,” Crowley stated, plainly. He approached Aziraphale and sat upon the arm of the chair, arm draping a cross the back of it.
“You’ve told me all of them already, Crowley…”
“Well, it was worth mentioning, wasn’t it?” The demon pursed his lips.
Aziraphale sighed. “I wish we could intervene, Crowley…” Aziraphale didn’t dare look outside as he heard a familiar groan pass by. Now, Aziraphale the type to fret over every little thing. But, what came over Aziraphale wasn’t worry nor anguish. It was fear. Aziaraphale was petrified just from the sound of it.
(One would think angels and demons couldn’t have fears, let alone phobias. That’s wrong, to put simply. They can feel fear. And a fear of Aziraphale’s, the freshly unearthed phobia of his, just so happened to be those undead creatures. Just his luck.)
Crowley noticed. How could he not? He’s known the Angel long before earth came to be. He could tell when the Angel worried, was happy, was sad, was scared… When he was anything.
“They’re back…” said Crowley with a frown. The miracle that had been put into place protected the bookshop, yes, but hadn’t had the ability to keep them away.
And, Aziraphale’s fear has yet to be thwarted. It was unfortunate.
Now, Crowley had asked why Aziaraphale’s fear hadn’t translated onto he himself. He was a bitten, after all. Aziraphale would say, “Well… How do I put this…? You’re you. You didn’t change to be like them, you don’t act like them… You look a little like them, but you’re still… Well, you’re still Crowley.”
It was a little confusing, yes, but Crowley understood.
“I can deal with it,” Crowley assured.
“No, no… I shouldn’t make you. It’s fine, I should be used to it by now. Can’t be afraid of what can’t kill me, right?”
“Angel….”
“Crowley, I shouldn’t make you do that.”
“You’re not making me, Angel. Plenty of people are afraid of things they shouldn’t.”
“Still.”
Crowley cracked a smile, standing and cracking his back. Never once before had his body let him do so before he had gotten bitten. Crowley could only consider it as a plus side.
“I’m doing it, and you can’t stop me.”
And Crowley was outside. Aziaraphale couldn’t lift a finger before then.
“Hello there!” Crowley was quick to greet. The rotting corpses groaned and continued to mosey on. “Oh, sorry, I believe you misheard me…” Crowley cleared his throat a few times.
He then let out a few groans himself, stringing together vowels that made no words yet the intention was known.
Aziraphale hardly got himself to peer out the window. He could see the demon converse with them in a language that wasn’t at all developed.
Grunts, growls, groans and moans that strung together in sloppy sentences that were somehow understood.
And Aziraphale thought French was hard enough. Now there was a new one developing among the dead that the almighty herself hadn’t predetermined.
It looked like a leisurely conversation. One that friends would during a get-together after months apart to catch up.
But it wasn’t.
Aziraphale could see as Crowley lifted a hand, jutting a finger back over his shoulder, towards the shop Aziraphale hid in.
“Oh goodness,” Aziraphale breathed, ducking behind the curtains. They got a glimpse of him. That had his earthly body buzzing with what only could be described as blood curdling fear.
He didn’t know what caused this fear, this phobia of his.
The source may be unknown but, goodness, the fear was real.
And, eventually, the groans stopped. And Crowley was back in the bookshop. He stood a little straighter as he made his way to Aziraphale. “Problem solved!”
Aziraphale could physically feel himself fall for Crowley more.