Good Omens: Of Body and Earth (Famine (the Horseman), Cold, M/M)

[Mercury]

A/N: Just to mix up the Good Omen's fandom a little, a pairing other than Crowley/Zira was suggested to me and I pounced on it. This contains the headcanon I've had about Pollution since reading the book, and is the only place I've even included it in a story since it seemed to fit so perfectly.

you also don't have to be overly familiar with Good Omen's to read this, just the concept of the apocolyptic horsepersons.

And just to give you a visual, I've always pictured Famine to look like Cliff Simon. I have no solid visual for Pollution, but here's his info.

Enjoy

Of Body and Earth

Famine knew he had somehow become more human than the others; more aware of his place in and out of the world. He had created a business empire for himself, which had involved a certain amount of human interaction and salesmanship. In contemporary times people tended to be very sceptical of salesmen, and most could detect even minute amounts of insincerity or snake-oil when being convinced to part with their oh-so-precious legal tender.

Others, however, were so gullible and dense that Famine wondered how they hadn’t been picked off by natural selection.

It usually amused him immensely.

Despite his odd and unequalled affinity for the species, he did not think himself so human that he could fall ill.

He was still an anthropomorphic personification and simple things such as viruses shouldn’t have any sort of affect on him. He had been walking the earth for six millennia and had existed for an age longer than that, but had never heard of even the whispered possibility of one of The Four catching anything, let along something as mundane as a common cold.

He steepled spindly fingers over his nose and refrained from muttering an expletive as his felt his nostrils flair.

“Eh’Gitchhh!”

It was sharp, fast and left no room for argument.

His PA handed over a tissue as they recovered from his stalling interruption and resumed walking down the hallway. She had long since discovered that any verbal acknowledgement of her boss’s condition would not be appreciated; to describe it in the absolute minimum.

“Alright,” he conceded, disappointed with how thick and unresponsive his consonants sounded, “You may finish up for the day.”

“Thank you, Doctor Sable.” She took the large folder off of him so that she may file it away and handed him the diminished box of tissues. “Good night, Sir.”

“Yes, and I shall see you tomorrow.”

She shot him a look, one which very much doubted he would be showing up for work the next day given his current state. The words that accompanied this look were, “Of course, Doctor.”

Famine gave her a curt nod and broke away from her company to enter his office. He leant his back against the door and took a moment to breathe. In the past he would have assumed that oxygen was unnecessary for his form, as would have also assumed that he couldn’t get sick, but he was willing to entertain the notion that ‘all bets were off’.

He had trouble inhaling; his nose being completely blocked and any attempt to inhale through his mouth resulting in a fit of thick coughs.

Pulling out a tissue and placing the box on his desk, Famine placed it around his nose and held it there with his hands held straight and rigid on either side of his nose. He hadn’t quite found a comfortable way to do such a thing, but with the increasing sensitiveness of his nostrils from dry reddened skin, he suspected that touching it would never be comfortable. Still, it was customary to cover and he wasn’t sure what was happening to him so it was better to play it safe.

“Hih’Gattchhoo! Ektcha! Hahhh.. Aetchhh!”

Sniffling, the being dabbed at his nose for a moment.

Although this had been the first time he had experienced such a phenomenon, the sneezing didn’t seem overly foreign. He had spent a lot of time around humans and the sensation always seems to show so clearly on their faces that it indeed felt exactly as he had witnessed.

It was everything else about the experience that seemed so wrong to him.

He had, for nearly millennia, existed around his physical form. Famine had never really felt connected to it, yet in the illness he could actually feel himself in the physical space; the aching muscles, tight swollen throat and dripping nose. He didn’t quite understand how humans could stand it.

A shiver ran through his body and he gripped the back of his very expensive leather deck-chair in a brief moment of uncharacteristic panic.

Something was very wrong.

On his desk lay a pair of scales; they were timeless and made out of something humans couldn’t fathom, let alone perceive, and Famine rested his hand on top of them. He shut his eyes for a moment, reaching out and tugging at one of the four corners that determined his existence.

The sensation he received rippled across his history and responded to his connection.

Satisfied, Famine put his overcoat on and reclaimed the tissue box before walking from the office with as much dignity and inhumanity that he could muster. He gave a curt nod goodbye to everyone who pointedly ignored his condition, but once he had left the building he strolled casually into an alleyway and then his apartment.

It wasn’t so much as much transporting himself, as it was shifting the rest of the universe around him.

“Hello, Sable.”

“White.”

The second personification looked around, his pale eyes taking in the room. “What is this place for?”

“Appearances.”

Pollution looked to him. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

As the youngest of the four horsemen, Pollution hadn’t quite grasped what it was like to blend in with humanity. He did a good job of not being noticed or appearing particularly spectacular, but he didn’t understand the mortals the way Famine, and to some extent, War, did.

However, it made sense. War had always had one finger in the minds of men, and Famine had learnt to manipulate humans into starving themselves by selling himself to them, whereas Pollution just sort of... happened.

It had even been happening for centuries before Pestilence had retired and Pollution had come to being.

“Do you...” Famine hesitated and saw White tilt his head in confusion at the uncharacteristic gesture, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I feel as I always feel.”

“Right,” Famine pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to sneeze in front of the other being, “Yes, of course you do.” His body felt heavy and tired. He stepped over to the couch and collapsed onto it, “I haven’t been. I was concerned that perhaps something was effecting our connection to this plane.”

He rubbed his forehead and placed his tissue box down on the coffee table with a thump that echoed throughout the sharp, too quiet apartment. He kept his head in his hands as he coughed downward.

He sniffed thickly as the angle made his nose run, and he grabbed another tissue without looking up to dab at the mess.

As the silence continued, and the tickle that was creeping into his sinus was about to spill over, his lips parted and he started to draw breath.

However, he was interrupted by Pollution, who his voice carried over like the soft ruffling of a plastic bag.

“How does it feel, to feel different?”

“It fehhhh... Egitchhh! Hit’Iktchhhh!... Eichhhhhtttt!” He held the tissue to his nose and tipped his head back against the couch.

“Horrible, White, it feels awful.” He closed his eyes, coughed, and wished he could pull himself out of his physical form for a short time, while knowing he didn’t have the energy.

A lukewarm, only slightly oily hand rested against his cheek.

“I am sorry, Sable.”

Famine sighed, “Whad for?”

“I think this is my fault; a result from two nights ago.”

Bringing his head back down, Famine levelled a look at Pollution. It had been the first time either of them had acknowledged their casual sexual encounters. It was the one time he ever allowed his physical form any human indulgences, and he suspected that it was the same for the other being. They had been coming to each other for centuries, usually to pass time as neither had the capacity to sleep.

“Whad do you beab ‘your fauld’? You could’t have dond this. Dow one could have.”

“I could have.” Pollution looked away, “I did. Accidentally. I must have lost focus.”

“Whhhh... Hih’Ihditttchhh! What?”

Pollution gave him a sad smile. “You must know there is only one being who could cause a horseperson to fall ill.”

Famine frowned, trying to think around his aching head and throbbing sinuses. “... But he’s gode. You’re dot...”

“I was.” Pollution said in his wistful voice, “I am. I one day may be again.” He looked at Famine and smiled in a way that was so unlike Pollution but so eerily familiar. “My creations, my children, could spread, reproduce and evolve on their own. Pestilence, as a concept, didn’t need me to exist anymore. So I became this,” he gestured, his smiling setting into the dreamy expressions of Pollution. “After all, isn’t pollution just pestilence of the earth?”

“So you...” Famine hesitated. He wouldn’t say ‘reincarnated’, because that was ridiculous.

“I was reimagined.”

“I sehhhhh... see.”

“I do apologize.”

It was such an un-Pestilence thing, to apologize for getting someone sick, that Famine almost decided that Pollution was lying. He smothered another few sneezes into the tissue, but when he resurfaced he saw something glittering in Pollution’s eye; a familiar sort of arousal at the sight of someone ill.

“I can’t reverse it, I don’t know how, but I can help.” He shifted closer to Famine, “I used to watch them take care of each other. Contagion between lovers used to be my favourite.”

“Eiktttchhttt! Hih’Titchhhh!” Famine closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the strange urge to sleep for the first time, as his body ached and his nose protested the silence.

“Please,” he consented in a small voice.

Pollution nodded and rose from the couch. He glistened slightly, the colours of an oil-slick reflecting from under his skin. “I can make you some soup. I’ll use those mixes of yours that you sell, with no nutrition and the lovely coloured packaging,” he smiled, pure Pollution, “I know you made them non-biodegradable just for me. And you can just,” he gestured to the tissues that had been dropped to the floor, “leave them there. They look pretty there.”

Famine watched as Pollution, his old friend and new lover, moved from the apartment and he smiled.

Edited March 22, 2014 by Mercury

[Quell]

asdfghjkl; the Horsepersons are one of my favorite parts about GO oh my goodness this is so wonderful.

"And you can just,” he gestured to the tissues that had been dropped to the floor, “leave them there. They look pretty there.”

YES. I love Pollution's character so much. You have done so well here. Insert further keyboard smashing.

[snuffles]

Oh.My.Lord.

That. Was--

I love you?? O_____O

And Pestilence/Pollution merge was nothing short of pure brilliance! I had seriously toyed with the idea of Pestilence coming out of retirement, it seemed such a shame for such a character with a huge fanfic world of potential to be written off. But good Lordy, you've nailed it straight thru and with keeping everything in perfect character!

Edited March 22, 2014 by snuffles

[AngelEyes]

Wow this is lovely and brilliant!

[LeapYearKisses]

This is brilliant. I'm so glad you took this prompt! You did it an inhuman amount of justice.