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DIWS Who Needs a Great Plan?, Tracy & Shadwell-Centric
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Published:
2021-09-29
Completed:
2021-10-16
Words:
2,178
Chapters:
5/5
Comments:
44
Kudos:
40
Bookmarks:
3
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244

No one is more surprised than me about having written this many ficlets with Shadwell

Summary:

The ficlets and art I did for the "Who Needs a Great Plan" event featuring Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy.

  1. Shadwell is ready to headbutt Satan at the airbase- Shadwell brand swearing!
  2. There are lasting effects on Madame Tracy's scooter
  3. Post-Armageddon Shadwell is back to thinking Aziraphale is a demon. Still hasn't figured out Crowley is a demon
  4. Shadwell acquires some cats. He does NOT call them silly names!
  5. ART- two sketches

Chapter 1: Gang fight

Summary:

For the prompt Location: airbase. - Book Omens!

Chapter Text

There was something about a gang all getting together for a big fight against a bigger adversary, THE Adversary in fact, that appealed to Adam’s sense of the dramatic. There should be a big climactic end to all this. His gang had had their go and defeated the Horseman. The adults had shown up late, ready for a fight. A stupid fight to end the world but they had shown up and that was a lot of life, just showing up to things.

Also the old man apparently had a bottomless pit of swears at his command and boundless willingness to fight, so Adam’s curiosity was piqued and that’s a dangerous thing. Lots of things were started by people hanging back and going ‘well, this’ll be fun to watch.”

So there was that slight bit of delay in reality as Adam’s desire to be done with the Great Plan warred with his desire to see a really good show.

“Ye shit gargling, bat-lizard-goat looking bastard can’even pick a single species! Out seducing women with narry a thought fer how its all going to turn out ye great pustulent, dickweasel! You come out here and fight like God can see what ye’ve done and is ready to piss down on ye like a lorry driver after being stuck in a traffic jam in the Chunnel all day, ye lickspittle, flea bitten, louse covered ballscratcher. Get out where I can see ye’an'll take ye on, ye horsethieving shoe stealer! Can’t even be arsed to come to yer own war until y’think ye can beat up a wee little bairn ye get where I can have at ye…”

Shadwell did not seem to have any concept of breathing between invectives or that perhaps screaming at the Devil might end with him actually fighting the Devil. The only thing that slowed him down was that he’d spit out his partial denture on that last one and had to catch it. He stuck it in his pocket since he was likely going to get knocked back out in the upcoming altercation.

The other adults didn’t look nearly so prepared for a fight. They were going to give it a try but they seemed more like it was an obligation they felt they had to take up rather than something that would be a fun end to the afternoon.

There was that swell in power saying the devil really was coming for once and Adam thought better of all this. A swipe of his hand to press away that power and it was all over.

There was a pause as the old man kicked at the ground and issued a few more invectives at it about exactly what sort of foe it was facing. The rest of the adults mostly looked confused and like they really just wanted to go home and have a nice lie down. Adam was starting to see the appeal of that as well.

This must be what getting older was like.

Chapter 2: Beep beep!

Summary:

Aziraphale's miracles leave some lasting effects on Madame Tracy's scooter. NYOOOOOOOM

Notes:

this was also for the location: airbase prompt.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The Bentley had many miracles done to it over the years. But it had been a slow accretion of magical power that had slowly bestowed upon it the ability to travel at truly ridiculous speeds through London. It’s owner expected certain things from it and The Bentley delivered the expected level of performance. However, the demon also expected it had certain limitations and so it behaved like Crowley thought a car should. Crowley was often wrong about how cars behaved, so that wasn’t as big a limitation as you might think

Madame Tracy’s miracled scooter, however, had flown at a far greater rate of speed than the Bentley ever had on London’s roads because it had been on them, not flying above them. The only reason they had followed roads at all was because they were generally free of pesky tree canopies and overhead transmission lines that criss crossed much of the countryside. Also Aziraphale knew, sort of, how to get there by road but not overland, so it really only had the one limitation imposed on it: it was expected to follow roads. It was also expected to do that above the height of other traffic or flaming occult sigils.

When Armageddon failed to materialize it was ready to do exactly as expected once more. That it was being ridden by one less person than before had no bearing on its performance capabilities. It would perform exactly as it had was expected to by that missing person.

Madame Tracy had been used to it taking several blocks to get up to any kind of speed and only if you opened it all the way up, so initially dumped Mr Shadwell right off the back since he still hadn’t figured “hold on tight” actually meant “hold on as if you’re about to fall to your death.”

Fortunately he was wearing a helmet and his great big coat, so it did no more damage to him than any of the times he’d decided to headbutt men twice his size.

Opening it all the way up meant it took Tracy a few minutes to return as she first needed to slow down, find a place to turn around, and then make her way back at a pace that wouldn’t result in her potentially running Shadwell over on her return.

It gave Shadwell time to get back to his feet. He didn’t recover his dignity as he hadn’t had any for several decades. He’d left it in a spare coat somewhere along with someone else’s teeth. He wasn’t welcome at that bar anymore.

The ride home was very, very fast and some of the best fun Tracy had had in awhile now that she knew what was coming. There were clearly some rewards for having helped do… something. Her mind was a little fuzzy on what exactly, other than the gentleman they’d helped had been ever so polite about it. He’d even helped fix up her hair after they arrived since it was such a fright from the speed they’d gotten there. The other fellow had even said something nice about it! Such polite young men.

Adam’s attempts to put it all back the way it had been did not entirely work on the scooter. The problem was this required Adam to want it to go back to normal. And what boy of any age would ever want to make a superfast flying scooter any less fast?

So any time Madame Tracy took it out, she made sure to bring it up and down to the road where nobody would see or just let it hover an inch or so above the tarmac. She made sure to put her hair in a net and apply extra hold hair spray before leaving the house or it would be absolute fright by the time she got anywhere. A small price to pay.

Notes:

Shadwell eventually learns not to fall off the scooter. EVENTUALLY.

Chapter 3: Shadwell is very wrong

Summary:

Post-Armageddon, Shadwell comes to all the wrong conclusions about the nature of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship. Also he should write Mr. Crowley senior a letter.

Notes:

I think this was also for the location: airbase prompt but past me forgot to write it down.

Chapter Text

Shadwell had a long time to think on his way back from the airfield. The scooter had gotten them there at a terrifying rate of speed but it was a lot slower going on the way back. It only went at about the speed a young human could jog, so this was plenty fast for Shadwell. They also had to stop frequently for breaks to stretch out their stiff knees, let the engine cool back down, get tea, and take a break for the loo. The frequency of the last two might have been connected.

It left him a long time to think about things other than having his arms around Madame Tracy's waist. Which he was trying not to think about too much. Instead he was trying to make sense of what had just happened, or as much sense as he ever made of anything.

Mr. Fell said he was an angel. But he’d been banished like a demon. He’d possessed Madame Tracy like a demon. He’d wanted them to shoot a child. Even if he was supposed to be the Antichrist. Never had found out how many nipples the Antichrist had. He certainly didn’t seem to have pots of nipples, but maybe he’d left them home. Would be awkward carrying around pots of nipples.

Shadwell suspected Mr. Fell was probably lying about a lot of things. Name like Mr. Fell, didn’t sound very angelic. Aziraphale did sound a bit more angelic, but that’s what he’d told Tracy when he wanted something. All the rest of the time he’d been Mr. Fell.

That’d be a good demon name.

Mr. Crowley seemed to know him. He’d always liked Mr. Crowley and now his son. Maybe he should write old Mr. Crowley a letter. Something about almost having the world end made you want to check up on old friends. He’d have to ask Tracy for stamps.

Mr. Crowley was in the Mafia. He never said he was, but not like you ever said that sort of thing. And his son was too now, just like you got with the Mafia. Wasn’t something you could just join, the Mafia. Gangs, yes, those were always recruiting. You could work for the Mafia but you couldn’t just become Mafia. Had to come that way.

He’d heard rumors about the Mafia trying to buy up Mr. Fell’s shop. Never went well for the Mafia. Course there was more than one Mafia family, so he wasn’t sure exactly which one it was. They’d seemed too friendly for it to be Mr. Crowley’s. Awfully friendly. Very familiar. Mr. Crowley knew exactly who he was dealing with. What he was dealing with.

Mr. Crowley, both of them, had always been very generous when it came to funding the Witchfinder Army. So had Mr. Fell. Not the sort of thing a demon would do on his own. Especially since Shadwell had banished him once already. But iIf you had a demon bound, you could tell him to do anything, including funding a Witchfinder or running other Mafia out of town All those books were probably Mr. Crowley’s too. He was always reading when Shadwell saw him: newspapers, magazines, spy novels, those little stand up displays on tables. Explain why nothing ever got sold out of that bookshop if it was all Mr. Crowley's. Good bait for getting rid of the competition.

But the bookshop had been there a long time. A very long time. Two Mr. Crowley’s worth of time. But, the son was just like his father, so that made more sense. Clearly his father had passed along the family crime business and the demon that went with it. Lot of responsibility, keeping a demon in check. Hopefully Mr. Crowley had a son somewhere to pass the demon onto eventually. Or a daughter. Times were changing.

Chapter 4: Cat Names

Summary:

Shadwell never calls his cats silly names. He knows their True Names.

Notes:

For the prompt- Virtue: Prudence

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shadwell had never had any truck with calling cats funny names. They had several cats at the new bungalow. They were old and cranky things and had come with the place. The owner had moved just a few blocks away to a new apartment block with new appliances and proper heating and cooling. The cats had not appreciated the move and stayed with the bungalow. Two more had appeared since they moved in.

They had come with names which they did not respond to. Tracy had fed them all anyway and called them by silly names like Mr. Bigglesworth, Fluffymupkins, Emperor Boots Van Scooper, and Bananananamomana. Getting any particular cat to come when called didn’t seem to matter to her at all. She’d feed the lot and pick up whichever one most looked like it needed brushing. Sometimes it took several days to catch one that really needed a thorough brushing, but they warmed up to the idea eventually.

Shadwell however knew the cats names and more importantly the cats knew theirs. There wasa power in a Name.

He surveyed his Army of Righteousness, seeing which of them looked ready for action. Most of them were busy napping. But he had a schedule to keep, surveying the area and making sure it was still free of witchcraft. They could just take a nap on his lap later.

He stuck fingers in his mouth and gave a whistle he’d used many times to call birds out of the bush where he could see them with his binoculars.

There was a chorus of little “mrps?” as he had the cats’ attention.

“Fortitude! Prudence!”

The two named cats came bounding over and he clipped the little leashes to them as they’d be walking along the road ‘til he got to his favorite spot. He’d have a good view of all the local goings on.

“Hup hup, let's go! Places to be!’ The two bounded up on his shoulder and dug in claws on his thick coat.

“Be back by tea!” Marjorie called from the kitchen. “I got cress for egg sandwiches.”

He saluted and headed out. Nothing drew out possible witches like seeing him out on patrol. They couldn’t resist trying to guess his cat's names.

Notes:

Next chapter: just art, including Shadwell and his cats!

Chapter 5: Two pieces of art

Summary:

Just two very silly sketches of Shadwell.

Each was done in 20 minutes (I was using a timer) and are very rough.

I can't figure out where I put the sketchbook with them so these are the original phone photos rather than clean versions.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

PROMPT- Numbers: Two

if you can't read my handwriting it says: "Aye, that's the right number!"

PROMPT: Virtues: Prudence

Notes:

And we're done! All the Shadwell content from "Who Needs a Great Plan!" which is about 500% more Shadwell content than I though I was gonna make.