Part Three

It took a lot to surprise one Anthony J. Crowley. He'd been around the block more than a few times (in fact, he'd probably be able to circle the earth ten times in the amount of time he'd really been around) so he'd seen pretty much everything there was to see. He'd lived through the Inquisition, for Manchester's sake, a time which had plumbed the depths of both human creativity and depravity.

So it was certainly a novel experience for him to say that he was surprised by the presence of the three people who were currently inside his nice, state of the art, flat.

There was a girl, young woman really, sitting with her boots propped up on the arm of his white couch. Her long, dark hair was covered by a baseball cap proclaiming the logo of some American sports team, and she was flipping through one of the fancy art books he kept on his coffee table (not that he actually read these books, they just looked nice there). A tall young man with black hair that was really due for a haircut was idling around his houseplants, stroking a leaf here and there. Occasionally he would look out the windows, as if he were waiting for something – or someone – to show up.

The second man, shorter than the other one but still no slouch in the height department, was looking through his music collection. He was another dark haired bloke, slightly better groomed than the other man but still disheveled enough to make him wonder just what the crowd had gone through. Crowley's immediate impulse was to set the man's hands on fire for getting his grubby paws all over his brand new sound system.

The second man turned towards him, meeting Crowley's eyes, and the two froze in place. Crowley felt a distinct sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

'Bugger,' he thought, taking in the man's slender frame, grey eyes that from the right direction could possibly gleam yellow, and surprisingly sharp and familiar cheekbones. 'Shit,' Crowley thought again as the other two turned as well, the woman's boots finally sliding off the couch and onto the floor where they belonged.

The young man smiled, a sarcastic and slightly evil sort of smile. This smile could almost be described as snake-like, which would be appropriate for more reasons than one. "Hi, Dad," he said, the smirk growing wider.

"Fucking Manchester," Crowley finally hissed as he slammed the door to his flat shut.

A/n: short, I know, and doesn't really answer too many questions. However, please consider this a prologue to the monster, soul-sucking sequel that's finally been finished, nearly five years after I finally started it. It ended up taking on a slightly more serious tone, but it's still just as cracked and brings in a couple more fandoms to make things really confusing (but as those other shows helped to inspire finishing the sequel, I felt I should honor them by tossing them into the mix). The sequel can be summed up as:

"They were supposed to die. All they wanted was to be at peace finally after their short, but eventful lives. For Regulus Black and Samantha Mulder, things didn't quite work out as they had intended. A Harry Potter/The X-Files crossover, set in a universe defined by Good Omens, Life on Mars, and Ashes to Ashes."

So if you're interested, either keep an eye on my profile or put me on author alert. The new fic will be called 'Unintended.'

Thanks for reading!