Good Omens: The Convoluted and Entertaining Shenanigans of a Fallen and an Angelic Time Lord, a Fanfiction Chapter Two
This is Chapter Two! To start from the beginning read here.
Author’s Note: So… I went over a year without updating this. In my defense I had very little inspiration and lots of work to do throughout this pandemic. I’ve also had other fics taking up my time and attention. That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter! This is the last one that is going to be close to Good Omens canon, after this we are about to veer wildly off the tracks. CW for brief mention of human trafficking.
Chapter Two: What do you do when you’ve lost the antichrist?
“Do you have a plan yet?”
“How about now?”
“I have a tickling of a plan.”
“Do you have a plan now we’ve been on the highway for —”
“Master, I will tell you when I have a — oh! Well that’s rather interesting, innit?” the Doctor paused in the middle of snapping at the master to stare out the car window.
“What is?” the Master asked quickly.
“Two hundred quid prize for tropical fish? Sounds a bit far-fetched to me —”
“For the love of — whatever, DOCTOR WILL YOU PAY ATTENTION!?!? We have lost the antichrist he could be anyone.”
“Well, no he couldn’t.” the Doctor replied, nonchalant, as she pulled a jelly baby out of one of her many pockets.
“What do you mean, he couldn’t?” the Master growled.
“Isn’t it obvious? We know the boy’s birthday. He was born on August 20th 2007. How many boys were born at a nunnery in Tadfield on August 20th 2007. Seriously Master Crowley. I thought you knew everything. Isn’t that why you gave yourself that name?”
“Yes, and then you one-upped me by getting a Doctorate because you always had to be better than me. So get that look off your face —”
“My, my, someone is testy — argh, not so fast, not so fast!” the Doctor moaned and put her head in her hands, though peeked through her fingers, a small part of her, bigger than she’d like to admit, thrilled at the speed of the Bentley. “Don’t hurt anyone!”
“They’re in the road, they know the rules!” the Master roared; though the Doctor smiled at the careful way he swerved wide in order to never hit an actual person who wasn’t paying enough attention to get out of his way. Well, except for the woman on the bicycle, but that would come later.
“The point is, my dear, that humans keep excellent records about these sorts of things, surely we can find out quite easily who else was born that night.”
There are some sentences the Doctor really should stay away from.
As it turned out, when they finally got to their destination, there was a significant deficit in the number of both nuns and records going back past just under eleven years previous, when a fire had all but destroyed the property, and the remaining nuns fled to enjoy what they presumed to be the last decade of humanities collective existence.
Instead, the place had been transformed into a hotel and entertainment center, currently hosting what seemed to be a paintball game. They discovered that the bullets were paint rather than metal when the Doctor’s colorful wardrobe got that much more colorful. She scrunched up her face in dislike.
“I do like to be colorful, but I don’t fancy splotches on my coat today. I only just got it fixed. Rosa did a real nice job on it too, I’d gotten it torn a bit while I was out at the shops.”
The Master rolled his eyes as he lazily waved a hand and miracled away the pink slash marring her raincoat. “That’s what miracles are for love.”
“I don’t want to get sanctioned for too many miracles again, and not be able to use them when I need them. Or don’t you remember France?” the Doctor sniffed as they made their way through the paintball course, this time prepared and gently nudging all paint bullets away from themselves.
“Of course I remember France.” The Master rolled his eyes again. “Now let’s see if there is anyone who might have a clue of what we need here.”
The Master and the Doctor nosed around for a bit, the Master taking particular delight in posing as a staff person and “accidentally” trying to bring room service to rooms where couples were trying to have alone time. The Doctor would never admit to finding this amusing, but spared a wry smile for the Master after the fourth occurrence. Eventually they found an office, but rifling through the papers there wasn’t much help either.
Eventually they stumbled upon an employee of the institution, and, much to the Master’s surprise, he recognized her.
“I know you!”
“Saints and demons preserve us, it’s the Master Crowley!”
“Master, don’t hurt the poor woman!” the Doctor fretted.
“I won’t, as long as she tells us what we need to know,” the Master sniffed. “Now, tell me, and don’t lie, were you a nun here eleven years ago?”
“Well that was a dud of a plan, see if I ever trust a plan of yours again,” the Master muttered, stalking back to the Bentley.
“Oh I do hope she’s alright, I think we gave her a bit of a fright back there. I feel like we should grant her a miracle, maybe a winning lottery ticket?”
“My dear, she’s an ex-satanic nun who runs a hotel, and the world’s about to end. But sure, if you want to give her a winning lottery ticket then go for it,” the Master waved his hand as they got inside the car and the Doctor looked incredibly pleased for a brief moment. She quickly remembered the pickle that they were in and her face scrunched up in a frown.
Soon they were driving along the back country roads of Tadfield, and the Doctor was once more nervous at the speed of the car, especially because of how dark it was. This time she was right to be nervous, because this time the Master didn’t swerve in time and someone got in the way. Someone on a bicycle.
Yasmin Device came from a long line of witches, but she had always been a little bit… different from the rest of her family. Everything, everything was prophesied in the book of course, they all knew that. The family swore by it, and Yaz did too. But one way she was different from the rest of her family was that of all of Agnes’ descendents, she and her sister were the only two that weren’t white. Her grandmother nearly had not wanted to pass on the book to her father and his family after he married Najia, but when Yaz was born her grandmother realized that she was the woman who was foretold to be there at the end of days and so they were part of the family again. But Najia had never forgotten how her mother in law had treated her and continued to treat her and her daughters as tools, and made them aware of their worth as people, more than simply instruments of prophecy.
Still, Yaz was determined to carry out her duty. She had come to Tadfield to investigate the small town which was the source of so much conflicting mystical energy and which the book had alluded to. So far she had met the gruff R.P. Tyler and his adorable dog, and “The Them.” It was as she cycled through town that out of nowhere she found herself his by a car, her bag flying in one direction, herself in another, and with a plop she was suddenly gasping for air as she found herself soaking in what appeared to be a shallow pond. A million thoughts went through her mind at once. Am I bleeding anywhere? Is anything broken? Where’s the shore? Oh god my phone is getting wet! THE BOOK IS GETTING WET!
“Let there be light!” Yaz heard a feminine voice call out and suddenly there was a blinding light out of nowhere, despite the fact that Yaz knew it was a new moon. It seemed to be emanating from the shore, where two figures were standing.
“Don’t do that you idiot!” another person, this one with a lower voice, hissed. “It’s not human!” she couldn’t have heard that right could she? Yaz blinked and the light was gone and she was in the dark again.
“Are you alright?” the higher voice called out again. “Master, I think she needs help, I’m going in — oh!” There was a gasp and a splash, as the person obviously misjudged and fell into the water themself.
“Doctor, you’re going to be the discorporation of me,” the second voice sighed before more splashing sounds as they too waded into the water. “You know we didn’t actually have to get wet to help her.”
Yaz was slightly dazed and more than a little concerned. She was pretty sure that these were the people from the car that had hit her and tossed her into the pond, which she was now waist deep in, and she was also fairly certain at this point that her arm was broken. Her phone was water resistant but had now been underwater for long enough that Yaz was dubious as to how well it would continue to work.
Nevertheless, she knew her best bet was to at the very least get out of the water, and so she hesitantly started walking toward the strangers, who she knew must be nearer the shore than she was. She could just barely make out their figures from the distant street lights.
“Well hello there!” the shorter of them, who had a Northern accent greeted her. “I’m Doctor Fell, and he’s Master Crowley. People tend to call us the Doctor and the Master for short. Terribly sorry about the whole hitting you with the car business.”
“I’m Yaz,” she told them hesitantly. “We should probably get out of this pond, yeah?”
“Yep. Not a good time for a swim. Mind you, I’ve met some lovely fish in my day. They can be great conversationalists. Lead the way Yaz!” the Doctor said cheerfully. As they waded through the muck Yaz overheard the conversation behind her.
“How is it that every time you have a plan it ends up with me being covered in fish?” the Master hissed.
“How is this my fault?”
“It’s always your fault, Doctor.”
“Now that’s not fair, what about the time with the —”
“Can we talk about this when we are not covered in fish?”
“Well this time it really isn’t my fault you were driving way too fast —”
Somehow Yaz found herself in the back of their Bentley with Queen playing, her arm feeling better than it had in years, even her old injury from the torn rotator cuff she got in uni no longer sore with residual pain. Conversation was stilted before it eventually died, and she was relieved beyond belief to finally find herself back in her cottage. All throughout the car ride back all she had been able to think about was how no one knew where she was and how ripe an opportunity this would be if these people worked in human trafficking.
As it was, she was so frantic to get away from the strangers that she didn’t even notice she was leaving behind a very important book.
Eventually the Doctor and the Master made it back to London. They had miracled away the muck as soon as the human was out of sight, but the Bentley still smelled faintly of pond plants.
“Don’t forget your book,” the Master called out to her as she was about to get out of the car.
“That’s not mine, that young woman you hit must have left it,” the Doctor frowned before picking it up out of the backseat. Her eyes widened when she saw the title “I’ll have to see you later Master,” the Doctor said rapidly. “Lots to read.
“Yeah, whatever. Have fun with your books. We’ll catch up if the world’s not over and management hasn’t discorporated us yet,” the Master sniffed before speeding away.
The Doctor hastily let herself into the bookshop before sprinting to her workstation and making space to sit down, reaching for her eyeglasses and eagerly beginning to turn pages.
Ryan Sinclair was doing his best, honestly. But the fact was that he could not even touch an electronic device without it going haywire, and in the age where the Internet reigned supreme that left him with very little options for work. His Nan did her best to understand — Grace O’Brien was nothing if not supportive, and she had known Ryan all his life. Her husband of three years, Graham, did his best as well, but that still did not mean Ryan was about to start calling him Grandad.
It was as he was searching through the newspaper, trying to find a job that would actually pay him well without requiring him to use something more electronically complex than a coffee machine that he found it. Joining the Witchfinder Army? Well it sounded more interesting than working in a cleaning service at least.
Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell was not what he expected, but he was not sure what he expected from a Witchfinder Sergeant. Sifting through newspapers to find evidence of witches was not exactly what the term “army” brought to mind, though. But Ryan had been fired from his last job as an assistant and he did not want Graham and Grace to find out yet. Hence, the Witchfinder Army.
The frustrating thing about Shadwell was that in addition to being zealous about witches he was racist in the way that many old white men tend to be without fully realizing it, which often made Ryan roll his eyes at Shadwell’s antics. He knew he could never allow his Nan and Shadwell to be in the same room together because that would be a fight that Shadwell had no hope of winning.
He was not sure why he was sticking around, especially because he did not particularly believe in witches, except out of boredom and simply having a place to go during the day. Once he found a way to extract himself from Shadwell with a guarantee that the man would not do something wild in retaliation for “abandoning the cause” he would be out of there.
Still, there was something that caught his eye as he was researching on his second day there. Strange occurrences in the town of Tadfield. An idea grew in his mind. If Ryan offered to go research Tadfield he would have a day trip, a whole day away from Shadwell and his wild stories. Even if he found nothing at least he would be out of this stuffy apartment.
It was worth a try.
3008: When the healer readeth these words of mine, in her shoppe of other menne’s books, then the final days are certes upon us. Open thine eyes to understand. Open thine eyes and rede, I do say, foolish angel, for thy cocoa doth grow cold.
The Doctor scrunched her nose. “Cocoa?” out of the corner of her eye she spotted the mug of cocoa she had made earlier and slowly breathed out. “Brilliant.” Her eyes flicked back to the book and continued to read.
Eventually the sun came up, and the Doctor’s phone rang.
“Found the Antichrist yet?” he drawled.
“Nope. Nothing, not a thing. If I had anything I’d tell you right away of course, why wouldn’t I tell you if I did, I’m an open book me!”
“It was just a question, Doctor, I don’t have anything either, blast it. Well, they’re taking the wrong boy to Meggido, which they’ll find out soon enough. Call me if you find anything. Or if you decide you want to run away to the other side of the universe for a tick,” the Master laughed.
The Doctor forced a laugh that she hoped sounded genuine. “Of course! Call you right away if I find something.” She then sat back in her chair, her mind whirring.
Looking at the next entry again the Doctor wondered if things could really be that simple, and after dialing the number and hearing Arthur Young answer, she knew it was.
So she had found the Antichrist. Now what was she going to do about it?