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Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1 . BETRAYAL

3 years ago...

Aziraphale held his breath as the elevator ascended, the feeling of Crowley’s desperate kiss still lingering on his lips; the memory of his slim figure perched against the Bentley unwilling to leave his mind. If only he knew, the angel thought, if only Crowley could know how much he desired to stay with him; how hard it had been to pull away from that kiss, how difficult it had been not to say I love you. To shout it up into the Heavens and down into hell and to just not care. But he couldn’t, The Metatron had made it very clear. Aziraphale could still remember every word the etheral being had said to him.

- With Gabriel’s...untimely retirement, Heaven is in need of new leadership – he had said – who do you think will take his place, Aziraphale? -

- Um... - the angel looked down at his coffee, then back up at the entity sitting opossite him – Michael, perhaps? -

- Oh, no... - The Metatron shook his head – no, no. Don’t be silly. There’s only one candidate on the list, Aziraphale, and that’s you -

- What? - Aziraphale nearly choked on his beverage – Me? Supreme Archangel? - he shook his head, politely – I don’t think that will be possible -

- But of course it is – he explained, a warm, understanding smile on his face – To put forth the next step of the Great Plan we need someone intelligent, with initiative and, most important of all, with experince of how they do things here on Earth. And you, my friend, are just the angel for the job -

- But, you see, ... – the cherub pressed – I don’t want to be Supreme Archangel. I have no interest whatsoever in your offer. You must choose someone else -

- Don’t you want to go back home, after all this time? - The Metatron insisted.

- You don’t uderstand – he glanced over at his bookshop, inside of which a very familiar silhouette paced, and his heart gave a small jump – This is my home – he smiled tenderly – It’s where I belong -

- Ah, Aziraphale – the other replied, not even bothering to follow the angel’s gaze – you always were a stubborn one, weren’t you? Of course, you could choose to stay...- his friendly façade dissolved, leaving a stone-like sterness behind – but, thenagain, one is not to forget the consequences their actions could entail -

- Consequences? - Aziraphale turned his head towards the etheral entity, confused – What are you talking about? -

- You really do care about that demon, don’t you? - The Metatron leaned closer to him, a mischeveous grin on his face – the one who calls himself Crowley? -

- I...I... - the cherub hesitated, not at all liking where the conversation was heading – I .... -

Before the angel could answer the question, however, The Metatron reached inside his coat pocket and slowly produced a small sword, the golden details of the scabard gleaming in the sun, creating an incredible contrast with its deep celestial blue colour. Its locket, pommel and cross-guard, which was formed by two intwined angel wings, had also been carefully crafted out of pure gold. Aziraphale stopped breathing. He had recognized the weapon immediately, and the one who wielded it was perfectly aware, his contempt and proudness palpable through his twisted smile.

- That’s... - the little voice Aziraphale could produce was shaky – that’s the Angel’s Dagger... -

- Very good, cherub – he teased – very good indeed. And I assume you are aware of what it can do? - an evil grin flashed past his face.

- You... - Aziraphale’s eyes darted back towards the bookshop, terrified, desperately looking for a pair of amber eyes, then back at The Metatron – you wouldn’t...you couldn’t... -

- I could – the other snapped – and I absolutely would. You will return to Heaven as its Supreme Arcangel or you will watch the demon you so pathetically love wrythe in agony as I slice his throat and embbed this dagger into his very soul -

- You monster... – tears began to fall from the angel’s pale-blue eyes - You are a monster, Metatron! -

- Perhaps, Aziraphale – he replied, his gaze frightening, almost shadowing – but I am a monster with power. If you stay, he dies. If you tell him of this, he dies. If he follows you, he dies. I will not hesitate to destroy him, cherub, unless you do exactly what I say. The choice is yours -

- What kind of a choice is that? - Aziraphale said in a mere whisper, his voice trembling like gelatine

- The easy kind -

The Metatron made the dagger disappear as suddenly as he had produced it and he stood, proud of himself, beckoning the angel to do the same. Aziraphale followed him to the door of Nina’s café as his tears miraculously disappeared. They stopped directly opposite the shop, and the thought of what he had to do threatened to force tears back down his cheeks. For Crowley’s sake, he had to keep his composure, so he fought the tears back.

- Smile, silly angel – The Metatron teased, Aziraphale struggling not to deck him right there and then – and go tell your friend the good news -

- Yes... - he took a deep breath and plastered a painfully fake cheerful smile on his lips – yes, of course...jolly good... -

And with that he crossed the road to his shop, encountering Nina and Maggie as he entered it, ready to do anything to keep Crowley safe. If he had only known...

Present day...

It was a nice day in London. Not all the days had been nice, and there had been rather too many of them; at least, according to the young girl who sat in silence that night in a completely deserted St. Jame’s Park. It was the first day that it hadn’t rained for the previous few weeks so, of course, the whole of London had stayed indoors, including the ducks. Eleyn didn’t really care, though. In fact, she preferred it this way. She had become used to the loneliness, and she would be leaving soon either way. She looked up at the night sky, taking in its immense beauty and its mind-boggling infinty. She had always loved the stars, ever since she was a little girl. She remembered one night at that same park, many years ago, in which she had asked her mother where the stars came from. She remembered her mother’s tender smile, and she also recalled how she told her that they had been all created by the angels, led by God’s voice, many, many years ago. Her infantile mind had arrived at the conclusion that night that if the angels had created the stars, then they must be very good and kind. And she had continued to believe this throught her chilhood and up to her eighteen years of life. Three days ago, however, she had realized how wrong she had always been.

Three days ago, Eleyn had had a mother, a father and a little brother. Three days ago she had had a beautiful, happy home, wonderful friends, and a dog called Cinnamon. Three days ago she had had grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. She was happy. Incredibly happy. But two nights ago, the angels had appeared. She still couldn’t decide whether it had been a dream or reality, but they had been there, three of them, and they had asked whether she loved all she had. Her family, her home, her life. All she did was reply “yes”, and they destroyed everything.

When she woke up two days ago, she didn’t have anything at all. They were all gone. Every single one of them had simply vanished from reality. It was as if though they had never existed; as if nobody except her remembered that they were ever alive. Eleyn had woken up in a room which wasn’t hers, all her belongings neatly packaged in boxes and bags around her. She had immediately panicked and ran out of the room into a long hallway. There, she was met by a nun she’d never seen before who insisted she knew her. Eleyn immediately demanded to go back to her family, to which the nun had responded that she didn’t have one. Eleyn didn’t believe her then, but she was right. Her home was occupied by people she didn’t know, and nobody remembered her parents, or her brother, or Cinnamon. This morning she had turned eighteen, and the nuns hadn’t been slow to kick her out of the adoption centre. She had nothing. She had nobody. She was alone.

Since then, she had gifted or thrown away everyhting she owned except for the clothes she wore, the pendant that hanged from her neck; and her father’s old gun, which she held lazily in her left hand.
She had chosen this place because of its silence, its loneliness and its darkness.

“After all” she thought, looking straight into the barrel “It wouldn’t be the first time someone came to die at St. Jame’s Park“

A single angel paced in one of the many pearly-white and pristine rooms of Heaven, his crimson hair elegantly resting on his shoulders. As he walked back and forth from one side to the other of the room, the angel muttered nervously under his breath. It had been a year since the creation of the universe, which included his beloved nebula, and the idea that it was one year closer to being destroyed consumed him in such a way that he somehow found the courage to summon the Supreme Arcangel with the intention of asking questions and getting answers. However, while he anticipated his superior’s arrival in that room, an unwelcome feeling had edged itself in his mind: he was nervous. Nothing could happen to him, he was certain, for merely asking questions but, regardless, he began feeling anxious about Gabriel’s reaction. A thought wiggled out from the back of his head. What if that friendly cherub, Aziraphale, had been right in his advice not to push the matter further? But, thenagain, what was he supposed to do? Let everything he had worked on since the beginning of his existence vanish without trying to defend it? Without raising his voice? He was sure that Gabriel would see his point, and together they would explain everything to God and nothing would need to be destroyed.

The sudden noise of footsteps broke the angel’s train of thought, and he looked up just in time to see the Supreme Arcangel Gabriel step into the room, followed by Archangels Michael and Uriel. These two he hadn’t expected, he had asked to talk to Gabriel alone, but he decided not to make an unnecessary fuss about it. Gabriel would tell them everything they had discussed the second the meeting was over anyway. Gabriel put a painfully forced smile on his face and opened his arms in greeting.

- Kokabiel! – he announced – angel of the stars! You, my friend, have done an excellent job on that last nebula of yours! -

- Indeed – Michael swiftly added – the combination of colour is very gentle on the eyes. I’m sure the People will appreciate it -

- Yes, thank you – Kokabiel coughed, his nerves worsening by the second – I’m...I’m really quite proud of it myself -

- So, tell me – Gabriel went straight to the point of the meeting – what was it you wanted to discuss? It seemed urgent -

- It is – Kokabiel nodded – I just...well...there’s something I would like to ask, if...if that’s alright, I mean -

- There is no law against asking questions, is there? - Uriel said, the usual hint of distrust in her voice

- Not that I know of! - Gabriel’s smile somehow became even more forced – what’s bothering you, K? -

- Well – the angel began, still not completely sure whether he should – I...so...so God has created an infinite, wonderful universe full of stars and planets and, well, everything – he laughed nervously.

- That’s right – Gabriel nodded.

- And, um... - Kokabiel gulped hard – and then She’s...She’s simply going to tear it all apart in about six thousand...something...years’ time... -

- Five thousand nine hundred and ninety nine years, to be exact – Michael corrected.

- Thank you, Michael – the Supreme Arcangel said, then directed his attention back at Kokabiel – It’s a little more complicated than that, but essentially, yes -

- Right. Um... - the angel braced himself -...why? -

- Why is it more complicated? - Gabriel hadn’t understood the question – well, for starters there’s the Earth, and then the people, and... - he was abruptly interrupted.

- No, no – Kokabiel gulped – I meant to ask...um...why...why destroy it all? -

Silence fell between the four angelic beings in the room. The Archangels looked at one another, a general understanding setting between them without the need to use words. Gabriel flashed on a smile, this one the most forced yet, and responded.

- Because – he said – God says so. It is the Divine Plan -

- Well, yes – Kokabiel nervously replied – I understand, but... -

- It’s settled then! - Gabriel clapped his hands together – Your question has been answered! Have a good day, Kokabiel -

- I ... - Kokabiel wasn’t at all satisfied with the answer Gabriel had given him, but he knew he had to control himself, so he turned and made for the door – yes...thank you...um...goodbye -

One thing that the Archangels never knew about Kokabiel was he had an exceptional sense of hearing. He could hear mere whispers from a prudent distance like if they were being said to him an inch from his face. He never really knew why, it was just something he could do. And today, his good ear helped him hear what Gabriel said to Uriel and Michael the second he thought Kokabiel was out of earshot. “can you believe that guy?” he told them “worried about his nebula...what a sentimental idiot. And, honestly, I think he overdid it a little bit...I mean, come on, it’s just the background. No need for all that detail“. And that did it. Those words, which hurt like hellfire in his heart, was the last straw. He couldn’t hold back anymore, he was furious, and so, to the Archangels' surprise, he stormed back into the office and began raging at them, his eyes swelling and reddening by the second.

- It’s the universe, not some fancy wallpaper! It’s not put there to twinkle! It’s beautiful, and ethereal, and...and so full of life. Destroying it is complete idiocy! – he took a breath, a veil of unfallen tears covering his eyes – hypocrisy, that’s what it is! -

- I advise you to stop talking, Kokabiel – Gabriel said, his tone threatening.

- No! - Kokabiel continued his furious monologue – Somebody needs to acknowledge the fact that God’s plan doesn’t make a bit of sense! She creates a vast universe with millions of planets, trillions of star systems, billions of...everything, just so a few People can look up and go – his tone turned to one of mockery – “ooooh, look at the little twinkly bits, how pretty” and then just blow everything up!? - tears were on the verge of falling – can nobody really see the pointlessness of it all!? - he sounded desperate.

- You dare question the will of God? - Michael said in utter rage and disgust – You have the audacity to insult the Divine Plan? -

- Yes, I do! - Kokabiel was desperate to make them see his point – Because it’s not fair! None of it is! You can’t create life and then take it away! That is unquestionably cruel! - he groaned – No, Michael. I have the right to doubt the Almighty! The so-called merciful God! -

- ENOUGH! - Gabriel roared out of the blue, scaring Kokabiel out of his mind – I will have no more of your blasphemy! The Great Divine Plan has been written by God and it is perfect and sacred! It must not, cannot, be interfered with! -

- THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT SHOULDN’T BE! – Kokabiel roared back, then fell in complete silence, not believing what he had just said. He had been waiting to say it for ages, but he’d never had the nerve to until now.

Michael, Uriel and Gabriel were left speechless. The Supreme Arcangel’s forced smile was long gone, now replaced by a most natural mixture of anger and utter disgust. Kokabiel felt a chill go down his spine as Gabriel took an autoritary step forward, his wide frame casting a shadow that enveloped the angel like a ferocious claw he couldn’t escape. He had never been so afraid of the Supreme Arcangel, and yet the fiery rage he felt towards his boss only seemed to grow. Gabriel took a deep breath, his terrifyingly infinite magenta gaze locked on Kokabiel.

- Kokabiel – he began – Bringer of the stars. Angel of cosmic creation...you have sinned, you have questioned the Almighty and you have clearly exposed your will to thwart the Divine Plan. You leave me with no choice... -

- Go ahead – Kokabiel spat nonchalantly – demote me. Put me in the 38th, I don’t care. I have made my point -

- Oh, K – Gabriel gave a half-chuckle, clearly amused by the situation – you’re going much, much lower than the 38th. . To bathe in pools of boiling sulphur -

- What?! - the angel’s reality suddenly came to a halt. He could feel the cold dagger of betrayal on his back, and the invisible hand of fear grabbing his neck.

Gabriel forcefully waved his hand, and Kokabiel felt Heaven shake beneath his feet. He looked behind him, and what he saw shattered his soul into a million pieces. A giant precipice had been opened meters away from him, vicious flames of hellfire sprouting out of it. With a pang of horror, Kokabiel realized what was about to happen. He was about to be cast down to hell. He was about to become a demon. His breathing got shallower and shallower, his heart felt like it had gone up to his throat. Tears finally began rolling down his face as the cruel truth settled in. This wasn’t fair. He had just come for answers, he only wanted to protect the beauty of his creation. How was that wrong? How was that sinful?

- Please... - Kokabiel turned back to Gabriel – please, no...you can’t...you can’t do this to me... -

- Oh, but we can – Gabriel stepped forward as he said these words, forcing Kokabiel to walk backwards towards the ripple– and it is a wonderful way to get rid of annoying little pests such as yourself -

- No, no, please... - the angel had begun to hyperventilate – you can’t... - desperate, he looked over Gabriel’s shoulder as they both took another step – Michael! Uriel!...please....please... -

- Your pleads are worthless, Kokabiel – Gabriel recovered the cowering angel’s gaze and accelerated his pace – it is too late. You are no longer an angel, you have fallen -

- Why? - Kokabiel said, gasping for breath between sobs and tears – how? - he took a deep breath for one last, desperate attempt – I JUST WANTED ANSWERS! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! WHY ARE YOU...AHHH! -

When he attempted to take another step back to create more distance between him and Gabriel, Kokabiel’s foot, instead of landing on the surface behind him, found a void of emptiness which made him topple backwards on the very edge of the precipice, the Supreme Arcangel’s tight grip on his robes the only thing keeping him in Heaven. Kokabiel said nothing, terror and shock freezing the words before they could even attempt to exit his being. He hung there, feeling hopeless, feeling small, feeling...rejected.

- You think I want to do this, Kokabiel? - Gabriel said, cruelly igniting a spark of hope inside the fallen angel – I mean, do you have any idea of the amount paperwork this whole circus is going to mean? - he laughed at himself as Kokabiel felt that cold dagger sinking further into his soul – Actually, I guess you never will know – he plastered his impossibly fake smile on his face – Bye bye! -

- NOOO! -

Everything seemed to slow down as Kokabiel’s reality dissolved around him. Gabriel let go of his clothes and, with a forceful push, nudged him off the cliff. He, the other two Archangels and all Heaven disappeared above him. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he extended his wings; but it was useless. Instead of flapping to his command they stayed immobile as the first flames of hellfire reached them. Kokabiel screamed in pain and horror as the fire began to consume him, burning away his clothes, burning each and every one of his well-kept, marble-white feathers and turning them a deep, hellish black. A jolt of immeasurable pain crawled up his spine when his angelic essence began tearing itself apart from his soul. Physically, he was well aware of what was happening, but his mind refused to get around it. The betrayal had left an eternal scar, and Gabriel’s mockery had hurt him deeply. Finally, he decided fighting it was no use, so he just let himself fall, helplessly, to wherever he would arrive. So he fell, and he cried, and he screamed in pain over and over again. And he continued to fall, and fall, and fall. In one instant, a strong blaze of hellfire and sulphur reached his eyes and burnt through them sending a wave of infernal pain; but he couldn’t scream anymore, he had ran out of breath. Then, just as suddenly as he had started to fall, he stopped with a loud thud, his naked body flopping to the ground like a rag doll, covered by his burnt wings. When he managed to breathe again, he sat up and allowed his wings to wrap around him as he watched their darkness in horror. He felt a jolt of pain through his left jaw and clung to it tightly, crying. A symbol of some kind had just been engraved under his ear, leaving behind a stinging ache. He watched as the very last of his grace left his chest and dissipated into thin air despite his desperate attempts to grab it. Then, all the pain subsided, and he was left there, crying, shaking, feeling like a failure, discarded from Heaven just like that, thrown away like a piece of trash. The tears cascaded down his face, tears of impotence, as he muttered under his breath:

It’s not fair...

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2 – SAVE ME

The demon known as Crowley awoke with a start in his vintage 1933 black Bentley, his hand clutching his chest as he drew ragged and shallow breaths, gasping for air. A cold sweat invaded his forehead, sliding down and slightly burning his eyes.

Unable to calm himself, he hectically began feeling around for the door handle, pulling forcefully when his fingers came into contact with the cold metal. He gave a strong push, making the door fly open, and Crowley fell to ground on all fours, his long fiery hair hanging on the sides of his face. He stayed there, paralyzed, hyperventilating, drenched in sweat, tears of shock cascading down his face and onto the floor, as he allowed the cool night air of London envelope him, slowing his breathing little by little. When he had regained the ability to move he pushed himself off the ground and sat up, laying his back on the Bentley and pushing his hair back with a swift move of his hand. It had been a nightmare. Or a memory. Or both.

Out of nowhere, his head begun to pound violently, causing the demon to twitch in pain. After a few initial seconds of shock and confusion, he remembered the three empty bottles of scotch which sat on the back of the Bentley, drained of every single drop of alcohol they contained. After a few groans and hisses Crowley's hellish hangover vanished, and he swore under his breath, like he had done so many times before. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, the feeling of the cool breeze soothing on his skin. Just when he thought the night couldn't get any weirder, he heard a voice, like a whisper, travelling in the air, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

...Crowley... ...she needs you... ...go to her... ...Saint Jame's... ...you must go, now!...

Right that second, the Bentley's radio switched on and Freddie Mercury's potent voice tore through the silence of the night, making Crowley stand and spin around in shock.

Save me, save me, save me!
I can't face this life alone...
Save me, save me, oh!
I'm naked and I'm far from home...

Crowley jumped back inside the car, switching off the radio and allowing the nocturnal calmness to engulf London once again. His heart hammered against his chest as a feeling of profound urgency invaded him. He hadn't the faintest idea why, but he had to go to Saint Jame's Park immediately; he felt it in his gut, in his fingertips. Without giving it a second thought, he glanced at the ignition key and the Bentley's engine roared, eager to move, sensing it's master's anxiety. Crowley pressed hard on the accelerator, making the tires creek as he sped forward.

Aziraphale reopened his eyes, gasping for air as the brightness of Heaven rematerialiez around him. His hands shook violently and he could feel his heart's anxious pounds in his gut. The angel's mind rushed, the gravity of what he had just done beginning to settle.
Since the day he left Earth, Aziraphale had become a slave to The Metatron, the latter controlling him like a mindless puppet; a simple means to get whatever he wanted without the slightest opposition. The angel had wanted to say no every single time; yet The Metatron's threat to Crowley left him with no choice. If he did so much as try to oppose the ethereal being...the thought of it made him shiver, the image of a blue and gold dagger flashing past his mind. His hands were completely tied.

However, even Aziraphale had his limits. A few days ago, The Metatron had summoned him to speak of the Second Coming. God's second child, he explained, was about to reach adulthood, so the process could at last begin. Before it could start, however, there was the matter of her family and friends. They had to go, for the child's only family was to be the Almighty.

- You want me to do what? - the Supreme Archangel had asked the floating head, horrified.

- I dislike repeating myself, cherub - the other had snapped back.

- But...the poor girl...I can't possibly... - his voice shook - she'd be in so much pain... -

- Well, yes, for a little while - The Metatron agreed, pleased with himself - but as soon as she pops up here, I'll do the old mind wipe and she won't remember a thing -

- Up...here? - Aziraphale reiterated in a mere whisper, his breathing shallow and erratic.

A mischievous grin played on The Metatron's lips as shock and impotence grazed the angel's face, the ethereal being's silence a sign that Aziraphale had, indeed, understood his evil intentions.

- She will agonize... - he said, his voice at breaking point.

- Extraordinarily - the other coldly remarked - but it will be for the greater good -

- For your greater good, you mean - Aziraphale said crossly, his hate for The Metatron ascending by the second.

- Perhaps -

- No - said the Supreme Archangel firmly - I won't do it. I...I refuse to hurt that young woman -

- I know you do - the ethereal being stated - Which is why I've already sent Michael, Uriel and Saraquiel in your behalf - his eyes glinted in pure evilness.

- You...- Aziraphale felt the anger surging inside of him, his fists clenched tightly on his sides.

- And, of course, you can do nothing to stop me unless you want your friend, Crowley - he emphasized the name, rubbing salt in the wound - to be destroyed along with the girl's family. Consider this meeting a formality, merely to keep you up to date -

Before Aziraphale could insult him, The Metatron's giant head vanished with a small puff, the echo of his cruel laugh lingering between the pristine, white walls. Right there and then, the Supreme Archangel had decided to act. He couldn't let The Metatron go through with this, and he missed Crowley dearly. Having had enough of being a puppet, he took a few days to prepare his move. It was already too late for her family and friends; but he was still in time to save Eleyn's life. Or, rather, to ask a friend to do it for him.

Here he was now, two days later, having just performed the miracle which would, he hoped, ensure Eleyn's safety, making a run for the giant globe which levitated in the middle of Heaven, his eyes fixed on the silhouete of England. The Metatron hadn't realized yet, but it wouldn't take him long, so Aziraphale had to get the hell out of there before he did. He would be safe once he got to the bookshop. At least, for the time being.

The Bentley skidded to a halt just before the gate which led to St. Jame's Park and it's door flew open, almost spitting Crowley out. The demon ran into the darkened park, cramming his dark glasses onto his face, his heart pounding heavily. He prayed - well, not "technically" prayed, he was a demon after all - that he wasn't too late. For what, he hadn't the faintest idea, but he really hoped he'd got there in time. He sped around the empty pond, still and cold in the darkness, the ducks having retreated to the safety of the lush plants on its shores, until he reached a very familiar part of the park and stopped dead, gasping for air, his golden eyes sparkling in the night. Normally, the animals would have sorrounded him in a matter of seconds, used to the rain of frozen peas which they knew arrived every time the scarlet-haired stranger appeared on the shore; often accompanied by another with white-blonde hair and plump, delicate features. After feeding the ducks, angel and demon would withdraw to their favorite bench and sit together, enjoying each other’s company and conversation throughout the long afternoons.

This time, however, a quiet sob and nervous crying told Crowley that their bench was already occupied. For some reason, a great sense of relief washed over him as he turned and saw the young woman sitting there, in the shadows, alive and...quite not well, but, at least, alive. The demon’s gaze travelled down to the charged fierarm which she held with trembling hands, its barrel pointed dangerously towards her. Crowley understood the situation immediately, the desire to help her burning inside his soul. Now he undersrtood why he needed to be here tonight. Save me. He had to save her from herself.

When he took a slow step towards her, the girl noticed him and looked up, a shocked gasp leaving her dried-up lips. He stopped and raised his hands in a vulnerable position, his amber gaze soft and tender beneath the sunglasses.

- Bit late to feed the ducks, isn’t it? - he said with his trademark nonchallance – They’re all asleep – she didn’t reply, eyeing the demon with pain-struck eyes – Mind if I sit? - Crowley pointed at the free space beside her on the bench.

- I want...to be alone, please – she said, her voice feeble and weak.

- Obviously – the demon nodded his head – that’s why I’m not leaving you alone – he put his hair up in a half-bun as he said this, then walked over to the bench and sat down beside her with a groan in his usual, relaxed manner – so, what’s your story? - he asked, his gaze locked on the pale reflection of the moon in the water.

- Please leave me alone – Eleyn repeated, tears beginning to form in the corners of her already puffy eyes.

- Not until you’ve given me that gun – he sighed heavily as she turned her head towards him in shock, quickly looking back at the floor when he turned to her – Listen, whatever’s happened to you, killing yourself won’t make it better. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Dying is not fun -

- You have...no idea...what I’ve been through – tears now rolled down her reddened cheeks.

- No – Crowley said – no, I don’t. That’s why I asked. What’s your story? - he reiterated his question.

- My story... - she gave a small scoff, followed by a sniff – you wouldn’t believe me if I told you -

- Oh, you’d be surprised of all the things I believe in – he chuckled at himself – witches, ghosts, magic... -

- Angels? - Eleyn interrupted, looking him in the eyes.

Crowley felt a chill up his spine, the image of Aziraphale sitting where she sat materializing in front of his eyes. If he hadn’t had his dark sunglasses over his eyes, Eleyn would have seen his watery eyes. After a few moments of silence he groaned, fighting back the tears, and answered.

- Yes – he simply stated – Angels, demons, God...the lot -

- They did this – she explained tearfully, her voice shaking hard – all of it -

- The angels? - Crowley asked, trying his best to hide his infinite concern, his heart beginning to race.

- Three of them – she continued – They called themselves the Archangels – she took a shallow, nervous breath before beginning her furious rant – Three days ago, I had a family, and friends, and people who cared about me – she began to cry hard – and now I have nothing. They took them all away. My mom, my dad, my little brother...all of them, gone, just like that – she aggresively snapped her fingers – vanished into thin air – she stopped, gasping for air – they took... everything -

- Bastards... - the demon whispered. A deep feeling of compassion for the young girl burst inside of him, making silent tears fall from his eyes.

- I...don’t have...anyone – she said, sniffing hard, her voice cracking – so, I figured, what the hell? It’s not like anyone’s going to miss me, anyway –

She decisively lifted the gun to her head as she said this, determined to pull the trigger. Just as she was about to, however, the strange man grabbed her wrist tightly, making her freeze mid-act. For just a few seconds, only their shallow breathing could be heard throughout the park.

- Don’t – Crowley begged, shaking his head, his own voice beginning to tremble – It’s not worth it. If you pull that trigger, they’ll have won – he took a deep, shaky breath, her skin cold and fragile under his touch – They took everyhting from me, too – he admitted, tears beginning to blur his vision – and there was nothing I could do...so I just drank, and drank, and woke up with a hangover and then drank again. I let them win – he paused to catch his breath – You can’t -

- If whatever I did justifies this kind of punishment – she sobbed – perhaps I deserve to die -

- Nobody deserves death – he hissed, then briefly glanced upwards – and they don’t deserve to win. Don’t give them that satisfaction. For the both of us. – he drew a shallow breath – Please, give me the gun -

She didn’t move, and neither did he. An agonizing silence hung on the air for a long, nerve-wracking moment before Eleyn burst into tears, letting the gun drop and Crowley’s hand slip past her wrist to grab it. As soon as he had it in hand, the demon chucked the pistol away towards the lake and it miraculously disappeared into nothingness. He wrapped a strong arm around her and held her in a tight embrace, his other hand placed securely on the back of her head. Crowley stroked her hair tenderly as she broke down, trying his best not to do the same.

- That’s it... – he whispered – That’s it. You’re alright. I’ve got you... -

He stared up at the darkened sky, his mind racing. Three Archangels... Michael, Uriel and Saraquel. They had rendered unspeakable damage to this poor girl, leaving her scared an alone, doomed to die. The inevitable question crossed his mind, its mere existance making Crowley’s heart shrink in pain. Had Aziraphale given the order? No. He denied it the next second. He was the purest-hearted, most angelic angel of all Heaven. He couldn’t have done this, not his angel. However, the possibilty of it still gnawed at him. After all, three years ago, he would have bet his right arm that Aziraphale would never leave the bookshop; and yet...

Crowley held Eleyn in his soothing embrace for a few long minutes and she slowly calmed down, the sobbing finally subsiding. She knew nothing of this man, nor who he was, but she felt inexplicably safe with him. As she leaned on him, taking deep breaths to pull herself together, she began to feel cold; exhaustion crawling up to her when her adrenaline levels finally plummeted. She began to quiver, and the stranger noticed immediately.

-Come on - he said, carefully releasing her - You need to rest. We should go -

She nodded, her pale face a sign that she could pass out any moment, her knees threatening to give out as she got up. Crowley stood and gently propped her up, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders to keep her from toppling backwards. He then grabbed her arm lightly and guided her towards the Bentley as fast as he could, hoping they'd get there before her legs decided to give up. When they reached the car, its doors flew open as though sensing the urgency of the situation, and Crowley sat Eleyn down on the copilot's seat before jumping in front of the wheel, the girl struggling to remain conscious. He decided then that he would take her to Aziraphale's bookshop, where he could lie her down on the small sofa by the window and let her sleep. Muriel would be quite surprised, but he knew she wouldn't hesitate to give the weakened girl shelter and care. All in all, she wasn't the worst of Heaven's lot.

As he carefully maneuvered through the streets of London Soho, his thoughts trailed back to the impending doubt: Aziraphale. Crowley was well aware of Eleyn's current, fragile state; and he could imagine that answering inquiries was the last thing she wanted to do right now, but the fear that Aziraphale might have been involved gnawed restlessly at him.

-Can I ask you something? - he said, eyes never leaving the road.

-Hmm- the girl said in reply, at the brink of consciousness

-The three archangels - he paused, thinking of a way to articulate the question - did…did they mention a Supreme Archangel? Did they say who sent them? -

-Mhmm - she thought in silence - they said…- she could barely put words together -They…said…the Divine…Principality… - She stopped talking.

-What? - he hissed, his pulse quickening - the Divine Principality what? -

His answer came in the form of a head collapsing onto his shoulder. The exhaustion, and probably dehydration, had finally gotten the better of her. Crowley let out a low groan and sped up, eager to reach the warmth and safety of the bookshop. Not long after, he'd parked just outside "Give me coffee or give me Death" and was carefully scooping Eleyn up from the Bentley. The car shut itself when the demon walked away. Without hesitation, Crowley charged at the door, shielding the girl, making it fly open with a dry hit of the shoulder. The bell chimed violently and Muriel, sat on the red velvet chair reading a book, jumped up in shock.

-You? - she asked in disbelief - what are you…? - she gasped upon noticing the unconscious girl in his arms.

-She needs help - he hissed, setting her gently down on the sofa - and rest. She passed out from exhaustion -

-But - Muriel stammered - Who is she? -

-I don't know, but she has suffered in a way no human ever should - he summarized - I was sent to save her by…I don't know what by, but I had to save her. She tired to take her life -

-Oh, no! - the cherub put a hand over her mouth - the poor thing! Who would do such a thing? -

-How about your bosses? - Crowley snarled

-No! - she shrieked, scandalized - Heaven would never…!-

-Oh, they would! - the demon said, his voice filled with despair - And they have! -

-Um…- she hesitated, unsure what to say - I..I'll go get a blanket for her…and some water for when she wakes up, too - she coughed - Yeah, that's what I'll do -

-Get me some wine and a glass while you're at it, will you?- he demanded - I need a drink -

-I don't have that - she said, fidgeting nervously - but I do have tea if you'd like. Or hot chocolate. If you want, I could…-

-No, It's fine - he growled impatiently - just go get her stuff. Move! -

She nodded and wandered off up the stairs, leaving Crowley alone to throw himself on the puffy armchair, close to Eleyn. The bookshop still smelled of old leather and parchment paper, just like Aziraphale. Its warmth and familiarity enveloped the demon like a fragile embrace, a symphony. Here he felt at home, safe, protected. To this day, it still remained his favorite place in the world.

Another term of the pact the newly-appointed Supreme Archangel and The Metatron had made was that the first would never, under any circumstance, go back to Earth. To ensure this part of the deal was kept, aside from the usual threats to Crowley's existence, The Metatron had doubled security on all gates to heaven under the excuse that a demon had managed to sneak inside. However, behind everybody's backs, he had instructed these guards to avoid Aziraphale's escape at all costs. And this extra security also included having two angels guarding the Globe, which made the Supreme Archangel's evasion that much more complicated. What The Metatron hadn't yet realized, however, was just how intelligent Aziraphale was. Instead of breaking through with sheer force, which would have probably ended with a very inopportune discorporation, he had used a clever little disguise. Before performing the miracle which had allowed him to briefly communicate with Crowley, he had done another, smaller miracle; transforming himself into the Archangel Michael. Metamorphosing, especially into another angel, was imperiously difficult, but Aziraphale had been practicing in preparation for a daring escape like this one. He could now don the face of Michael, whom he had chosen with the toss of a coin, for a good five minutes before he changed back. So, as soon as Crowley had been sent on his way to St. James' , the fake Michael had made his way to the Globe and simply slipped through the guards, no questions asked. Nobody had noticed a thing. Yet.

Now he found himself walking the quiet streets of London Soho, a race against the clock to get to his beloved bookshop where, he hoped, he'd finally see Crowley again. He couldn't be more thrilled; however, he couldn't be more terrified either. The last time they had talked, Aziraphale had said very hurtful things. He'd broken the demon's heart when he wore it on his sleeve. Of course, he didn't have a choice; but Crowley didn't know that and, to make things worse, the angel couldn't explain without putting him in more danger than he already was. To top it all off, he needed Crowley's help and blind trust stopping whatever evil plans The Metatron had put into motion. He sighed, knowing that he was not going to take it well at all. If there was a demon who, ironically, hated being left in the dark, it was Crowley. He was aware of how unfair it all was for his friend; of how much he'd hurt him. Aziraphale had regretted every single word he had said that day since the moment he spoke them.

When he made the last turn and arrived at Whickber street, his stomach began to flutter. A majestic, vintage black Bentley was parked just opposite the bookshop, still unscathed in the slightest. His heart raced as he approached the store's doors, the fear of Crowley's furious reaction etched in his mind. His breathing became shallow as he lifted a very shaky hand to the door handle, hesitating for a few, long seconds before he pulled on it and stepped inside.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3 - WHISKEY AND WINE

Crowley watched in silence as the girl slept on the small sofa, tears still travelling down her rosy cheeks, her delicate features contorted in sufferment. His brow was furrowed as he recalled the unanswered question about the Archangels. The Divine Principality, she had said. The Divine Principality what? His pulse quickened as he thought of the implications; the thought of Aziraphale's possible involvement made him sick. He hadn't been in Heaven for a long time, but he remembered very clearly how things were done. When the Archangels personally intervened, it was because they'd been ordered directly by their superior, the Supreme Archangel of all Heaven. There seemed to be no other possible explanation; but it wasn't right. Aziraphale was the purest-hearted angel in all the realms and Crowley knew, deep down, that he couldn't have done it. He simply couldn't.

He let out a soft, low groan and pushed himself up from the chair, making sure not to wake the child. He began pacing the bookshop, the desire to sleep and the restlessness that usually came with thinking about Aziraphale wrestling inside of him. It had been three years, and he still couldn't decide whether he was angry at the angel or at himself. Or both. Three years, and Mr. The Supreme Archangel hadn't come down once. He turned to the young girl on the sofa once more as she made a little scared sound. She was having a nightmare. Crowley groaned in disgust. After all she'd been through, the least she was owed was a good night's sleep. He went over to her and carefully kneeled down, placing his hand softly on her forehead. He hadn't done a nightmare - dream transformation in ages, but it wasn't a difficult miracle to perform. As the girl's facial muscles relaxed, making a small yet much needed smile appear on her face, the soft chime of a bell disrupted the silence of the cosy bookshop, followed with the sound of a door. Still kneeling down next to Eleyn, Crowley lazily looked up with that swagger of his, expecting a flustered Muriel. And then he stopped breathing. The cherub who stood at the door had short, curly, white hair and cerulean blue eyes. A tender smile graced his lips, highlighting his gorgeous angelic features and, as always, he held his arms behind his back, exposing his impeccably well-kept clothes, including his favourite bow-tie. Crowley slowly stood up, his gaze fixed on the unexpected visitor's eyes. He couldn't believe it

- Angel... - he sighed, the name like a fragile plea on his lips.

- Crowley - the other replied softly, the sound of his voice sending a chill down the demon's spine - it's...been some time - His gaze broke from Crowley's and travelled to the girl on the sofa. He let out a relieved sigh - oh, thank Heavens you found her -

The angel made to walk closer to her, but Crowley stepped defensively in between them, out of instinct, looking the angel in the eyes once again. He felt a fire burst inside of him, his protective mode springing into action. His heart had leapt at the sight of Aziraphale; but he was angry. Very angry. And afraid. Crowley was afraid that the possibility wasn't just a possibility, and that the Supreme Archangel had descended from the Heavens to finish what he had started. Though it pained him to think that there was even a possibility Aziraphale would do such a thing, he stood between them, his ragged breathing echoing through the dusty bookshop.

- Crowley? - the angel inquired, confused - What are you doing? -

- Why are you here, Aziraphale? - he was finally able to manage - what do you want with her? -

- What? -

- I'm not going to let you hurt her - he said, the words painful in his lips, Aziraphale's eyes opening like saucers.

- Hurt her?! - he stammered - n...no! I don't want to hurt...why would I hurt her?! -

- You tell me - the demon hissed - you're the one who sent those three idiots to destroy her life -

The angel let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes in desperation - Damn it, Metatron - he said in a near whisper.

- Secret, was it? - Crowley nagged at him.

- What it is, is not true - Aziraphale's expression was slowly becoming desperate - but he made everyone believe it... -

- So you haven't come to kill her? - Crowley asked in a whisper, a slight hint of distrust in his voice.

- Kill her? - the angel furrowed his brow in confusion - Crowley, I'm...I'm the reason you found her. I needed you to save her -

- The hell are you talking about? - Crowley hissed, confused.

- How did you know to go to St. James's? - the angel asked, gaze fixed on Crowley's golden eyes

- I... - the demon realized he was answering his own question - heard a whisper. The Bentley played a song...I had a feeling - he narrowed his eyes - That was you? -

- Yes - he nodded his head, looking tenderly at the sleeping girl, then back at Crowley - I knew that if anyone could protect her, it was you. - he gave a soft chuckle - Just like you did Elsbeth, remember? -

- Ngk - Crowley responded, relaxing his body and stepping to the side, finally letting Aziraphale go to Eleyn.

That explanation had been enough, and the demon had believed every word. The angel was many things, he thought, but he wasn't a monster, and much less a murderer.

Aziraphale swiftly made his way to the little sofa and gazed at Eleyn fondly, his cerulean eyes sparkling in the dimly-lit room. His heart gave a pang of compassion when he saw her contorted features; when he felt the pain and disdain which held her captive in an eternal sufferment. He knelt down beside her just like the demon had done moments prior. Meanwhile, Crowley's anger continued to rise, a fury unlike what he had ever felt. He wasn't completely sure why he felt it, but it was there, flaming like hellfire.

- Poor thing...- the angel whispered - I'm so sorry, Eleyn. This is all so unfair... you're so young...nobody deserves to suffer like you have...nobody...- he stroked her hair gently with a shaky hand, then stood and faced Crowley once more - Thank you - he said.

The demon didn't reply. He stared into Aziraphale's eyes, tender and round, and something tugged at his heartstrings. The anger was still there, but he couldn't help feeling a profound joy to see him, his heart hammering violently against his chest. His breathing was shallow and tears danced on his amber eyes, threatening to fall. He fought them back. He felt incredibly relieved to see Aziraphale; a part of him had come back to life the moment he had seen the cherub on the bookshop’s doorstep.

Aziraphale stared back into the demon's gorgeous, golden eyes. He had missed them so much. For years, he had been The Metatron's puppet; doing everything he said out of an imposed fear for Crowley's safety, and one such thing was to never speak with the demon again. After the way he'd broken his heart, Aziraphale was sure Crowley would never come looking for him, so he would be safe. However, he knew that his abandonment had caused Crowley an immense amount of pain which, naturally, had  turned to anger. He could see it in the way the demon looked at him. He hated him. And the worst part was that Aziraphale couldn't explain without putting him in even more danger. There was something he had to do, and it wasn't exactly optional. He braced himself, dreading Crowley's reaction to his plea for help, and began to speak.

- Listen - he said, gulping hard - Something's going on. The Metatron is planning something terrible - he glanced at Eleyn - and she is right in the middle of it. We have to... -

- We? - Crowley hissed angrily, not believing what he was hearing - You're...asking me for help? - his eyebrows shot upwards, and his blood boiled beneath his skin. That had done it - after what you did? Seriously? -

There it was. He knew he deserved Crowley's fury,but if he could only make him understand...Aziraphale wasn't an idiot. He knew that Crowley was going to get angrier with every word he said but, as much as it pained him, he had to push forward. The world depended on it.

- Crowley, I... - he was short of breath - I had to...-

- Don't give me that bullshit! - he cut the angel off again, finally exploding, but never raising his trembling voice so as not to wake Eleyn - You abandoned me! I begged you to stay and you left! - he stopped to take a shaky breath, the urge to shout strong within him - and now you prance back in here, three years later, like nothing's happened and ask me for help? What the fuck is wrong with you? -

- I never wanted to leave- Aziraphale's voice quivered, tears at the brink of falling - but there's a reason for everything I did, believe me-

- Oh? - Crowley said - Do enlighten me, Angel -

- I... - Tears began travelling down his plump cheeks - I can't... - he looked away, unable to say the words, and then back at the demon, who was still waiting for an explanation - I can't tell you, Crowley -

The demon gave an exasperated chuckle, looking away from Aziraphale and back at him seconds after.

- There are many things I can't explain yet -the angel quickly added - but I have to ask you to trust me, I... -

- Fuck off - Crowley began walking towards the door, but Aziraphale's voice stopped him.

- Crowley, please! - he begged - this is not some petty favour I'm asking of you, it's about the fate of the universe. Something really big is happening. The Metatron is planning something terrible, and you are the only one who can help me stop him - he paused, breathless, crying hard - I know you hate me, you have every right to. But I also know you adore this planet, this universe, as much as I do. - he took a deep breath - Please don't make humanity pay for what I did to you. Don't do that to me, I beg you...-

The bookshop was filled by a deafening silence which shrunk the angel's heart. Crowley just stood there, not moving an inch, unresponsive. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally took a step towards the angel and spoke.

- And if I don't? - he said, making a chill go down the angel's spine - What if I simply ran away from everything, just like you did? -

- That... - he said, anger beginning to tickle his insides, tears cascading down his face - is not fair...-

-Not fair? - he hissed, tears finally making their way down his face - Not fair? - he reiterated, then took a deep breath - Three years, Angel! Three fucking years, and not a word! Not a whisper from you! Nothing! - his voice broke - And now...-

- I know how much I've hurt you, Crowley, I really do - Aziraphale sobbed - A...And you can't even begin to imagine how sorry I am - he took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together - but right now, I need you to trust me. Please -

- Just give me a reason, Angel - the demon's voice trembled - give me one goddamn reason not to walk away and never come back -

- I could always rely on you, remember? You said that - the angel said without a second thought, a sad smile playing on his lips - We're a team, a group of the two of us. Your words. We've been in this together from the beginning, and we still are. We have been friends for six thousand years. Is that not enough? -

- Friendship? - Crowley scoffed, taking another step and standing mere inches away from the angel, their gazes locked together - Oh, Aziraphale, did you forget? - A single tear fell from each of his eyes as he took a breath - Nothing lasts forever. Your words -

- That... - those words had knocked the air out of him, like if he'd been punched straight to the gut - is not what I meant...-

- But you're right - he hissed, stepping away - I don't want to see all of this destroyed any more than you do - he sighed - So, I'll help you -

- Thank you - Aziraphale sighed in relief, still sobbing.

- Don't - Crowley snapped.

With a swift hand he extracted his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and put them on, hiding his reddened amber eyes from the angel's gaze.

- I need a shot of something drinkable - he hissed - I'm going to grab something from the Bentley -

With that he spun on his heels, made his way to the door and threw it open. He was about to cross it, however, when he turned back around to Aziraphale one last time.

- Angel - he said.

- What? - the other replied, more crossly than he would have liked.

- I'm glad you're back -

Crowley stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind him before he could see the cherub's reaction, his tender look the only thing he did not need right now. He slipped inside his Bentley, flopping down on the driver's seat. After a few seconds of complete silence, he finally allowed himself to break down, crying hard and gasping for breath as he came to grips with the only possible truth: beneath all the anger and resentment, his true feelings thrived. Despite everything; it was there, clear as Holy Water, never changing, an eternal constant: love. He still loved Aziraphale more than anything in the universe; and it was painful.
When he had managed to pull himself together, the demon scanned the back seats and finally decided on a good old (very old, in fact) Whiskey. Just as Crowley was about to open the door, the radio turned on and Freddie Mercury's delicate vocals came out of it, making his every muscle tighten.

Love of my life, you've hurt me
You've taken my love, you now desert me
Love of my life, can't you see
Bring it back, bring it back,
don't take it away from me because
You don't know what it means to me
....

- Thin. Fucking. Ice. - Crowley snarled at the car. The radio turned off immediately. -Good choice -

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale watched from the window as the Bentley's lights flickered on and Crowley slipped inside, a few final tears falling from his eyes. Then, a sudden shift on the other side of the room caught his attention. When he turned around he found a dumbfounded Muriel on the bottom of the stairs, carrying a heavy wool blanket on one hand and a jar full of water on the other. She stood there, nervously staring at Aziraphale, unsure what to say or do.

- Ah, Muriel! - Aziraphale attempted to hide his sorrow behind a tender smile - How have you been? -

-Um...I've...yes, jolly good - she said, then immediately stiffened up - Your angelic principality. Sir. - she did an awkward bow.

-Oh, no, please don't do that - the other said - I'm just Aziraphale - he signalled to the blanket - thank you for bringing it down, I'm sure she will appreciate it -

-Well, it's not going to be much use any more...- Muriel muttered.

-Oh? - Aziraphale furrowed his brow in confusion, then spun around to find an awoken Eleyn sitting up on the couch - Oh! Did we wake you, dear? -

- You whisper a lot louder than you think - she replied with a tired voice - So, both of you are angels? -

- Indeed - chimed Muriel - I am Muriel, 38th order scrivener- she signalled to the other one - and this is...well, I thought he was the Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, but it turns out he's just Aziraphale -

- Yes, thank you, Muriel - he bitterly muttered, then addressed Eleyn - Do you need anything? -

- No, thank you - she politely answered - And him? - She glanced towards the shop's doors - The red-haired man, I mean. What is he? -

- That kind gentleman is Crowley. He's a demon - Aziraphale answered in a near whisper, his eyes filling with affection at the mere mention of his name.

- That's ironic... - Eleyn chuckled - He's the demon, yet he's a million times more angelic than your lot - she gestured towards the two cherubs.

- I know - the angel smiled tenderly - but don't tell him that, he'll get angry -

- Noted - she shifted her legs and placed her feet on the ground, reaching out for the water which Muriel was handing her - Thanks -

- I truly am sorry, Eleyn. For everything. Please know I did everything I could to stop them; and that I will do anything in my power to prevent anyone harming you further. You have my word as an angel...whatever that's worth -

- Hang on - she frowned, confused - If you're an angel, shouldn't you be on their side? I mean, shouldn't you want the same thing they want? -

- He just goes along with Heaven - Crowley's voice suddenly rang through the shop- as far as he can -

In the midst of the moment, nobody had noticed the demon re-entering the shop with a whiskey bottle clutched in one of his hands and a shot glass in the other.

- And you? - she inquired, curious.

- I'm on the side that doesn't want to kill everybody - he answered - and on the side of good liquor - he raised his glass in a toast and took a sip.

- Right - Aziraphale pressed the matter - we're kind of on our own side. Now, I'm afraid we have some urgent matters to attend to -

- Yes. You said there was something big happening - Crowley said - What's that about? Or can you not tell us either? - he added with a hiss.

- Yes, I can - the angel said between gritted teeth, then took a breath and continued to explain - It's called "The Second coming" -

Crowley nearly choked on his whiskey, the liquor splashing all over his suit.

- Second Coming? - he said when he'd finally regained the ability to breathe - As in Jesus part two? -

- As in the second child of God arrives and everything is blown up, yes - Aziraphale summarized.

- Aww, that's too bad - Muriel said with a small voice - Humans are so interesting. Must they be destroyed ? -

- That's the point - the angel said - it's never meant to happen, it's not in the Plan. Not yet, at least. Not like this - he sighed - but The Metatron, I fear, has bad intentions -

- You don't say...- Crowley muttered under his breath, making Aziraphale's nose twitch ever so slightly.

- Hold on- Eleyn interrupted - The Metatron? -

- Also known as the Voice of God. He's an ethereal being whose powers are second only to the Almighty's - the angel explained - and he's also the one who gave the order to destroy your birth family, Eleyn -

- So, the biggest bastard in all Heaven. Got it - she said, nodding her head.

- Beautifully stated- the demon said, an amused grin playing on his lips.

- Anyway - Aziraphale made an effort to move the conversation along - The Metatron placed the child on Earth behind God's back, and now everything has been set into motion -

- How is it even possible to go behind God's back? - Crowley asked, confused - She is literally omnipresent ! -

- Obviously, that was slightly exaggerated - the angel offered.

- I'm sorry, she? - Eleyn asked, her eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise - God is a woman? -

- Eh...- Crowley scratched the back of his head - It's a long story... - he looked at the girl, suddenly realizing - Angel, what does Eleyn have to do with any of this? -

- Oh, she has everything to do with it- Aziraphale answered - you see, the second child of God isn't a son. It's a daughter -

-Shit... - he muttered - Let me guess, Metatron wanted her to almost die so he could lobotomize her and put her back -

- But that's terrible! - Muriel protested - truly awful! You poor thing... - she glanced at Eleyn with tender eyes.

Eleyn had lost her speech. Yesterday she was a normal, average girl and now a demon and an angel were telling her she was the daughter of God. However, it wasn't as bizarre or shocking as it should have been; like if she'd somehow always known. Everything had been so weird the past few days that nothing could really surprise her any more, so she just accepted it.

- Not that bad a chap, he said.... - Crowley mocked, getting on the angel's nerves.

- Oh, will you drop it? - he said, annoyed.

- Not planning to - the demon hissed.

- I had my reasons, I told you! - Aziraphale argued.

- Yeah, you did, right before not telling me what those reasons are! - Crowley challenged.

- Well, excuse me for trying not to get you killed! - Aziraphale challenged back.

- Um... - Muriel interjected - excuse me, but you were saying Eleyn is the daughter of God and the world is going to end? -

- Right, yes, sorry - the angel straightened his tweed jacket, clearing his throat - Eleyn, you are indeed God's second child; and for some reason The Metatron has a special interest in keeping you close -

- So, he wanted to, what, brainwash me to do his bidding? - she asked.

- Something like that - Aziraphale replied - I'm almost certain it has something to do with the signs -

- The Seven Signs of John, you mean? - Crowley inquired.

- Exactly - the angel nodded.

- I don't follow - Eleyn said, the conversation becoming more confusing the longer it went on.

- The Seven Signs of the Divinity of Christ, described in the gospel of John  - Muriel explained - Seven special miracles that only the child of the Almighty can perform. Turning water into wine, curing the man born blind, feeding of the five thousand, and so on - she paused to breathe - it is said that only when the second child has performed all seven will he...or, rather, she become fully and undeniably divine - she concluded her explanation.

- You really are full of surprises, Cherub - Crowley commented, amazed by her amount of knowledge.

- Well, I am a scrivener - she blushed slightly - If there is one thing I know about, it's holy texts -

- We need to figure out what the Metatron is planning and stop him before she performs all seven. After the last one is completed, it will be too late - Aziraphale sighed.

- Can't I just not do them? - Eleyn proposed.

- That's not how it works, I'm afraid - Muriel sighed, too - You are destined to perform them all. It's inevitable -

- Does the gospel say anything else? - Crowley asked the cherub - Does it specify what happens when all seven are completed? -

Muriel thought hard for a few seconds, closing her eyes as if she was picturing the texts in her mind.

- No - she said, reopening her eyes - it just describes the signs and then continues with something completely unrelated -

- Are you sure? - said Eleyn - perhaps in another version or a rare edition? -

- Positive. I don't think there actually are any other versions of... - Muriel stopped talking, suddenly realizing something - Hold on!...no, there is one other version. The original gospel is different than all the rest -

- The original? - Aziraphale reiterated, lifting an eyebrow - As in the one written by John himself? -

- That one. It should be somewhere on Earth, and it is said to contain some passages that were excluded in later editions. So, all of them, really -

- You speak as if you've never seen it - Crowley observed.

- I haven't - she assured - It's a forbidden text. Angels can't touch the book, much less read it. However, I do remember the day of its prohibition very clearly. You see, I was the one who took it off the list; by order of The Metatron himself - she smiled, proud of her memory - You never forget it when a giant head pops up in your office... - she added in a rush.

- That can't be a coincidence - said Aziraphale.

- We need to find that book. - Crowley said - You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you? - he asked Muriel.

- No clue – she swiftly replied - it was erased from all lists in Heaven, so nobody knows it's location -

- Great... - Crowley rolled his eyes - we just have to find a single book in the entire globe - he growled at Aziraphale - before your best friend goes Deus ex machina on us all -

-Oh, for....! - the angel exclaimed, his temper rising - He's not my best friend! -

- Really? - the demon rhetorically asked - because you seemed jolly happy going into that elevator with him, Mr. Supreme Archangel of Heaven! - he said with a tone of mock in his voice.

- Actually, it turns out he's not... - Muriel attempted to say with a small voice before being completely ignored and interrupted.

- You are being utterly childish! - Aziraphale had had enough.

- Childish? - Crowley hissed - what I am is pissed that you ditched me for a promotion; that's what I am! - he pointed an accusatory finger at Aziraphale.

- I did not ditch you! - the angel insisted, his hands folding into fists.

- No? What do you call it then? - Crowley challenged, puffing his chest.

- I call it temporary separation for superior motives! - Aziraphale challenged back, straightening his posture

- Superior motives? - he scoffed, his eyebrows shooting upwards - that's what you're going with? -

- Yes it is! - the angel stood his ground.

- Superior motives which you refuse to tell me about... - Crowley was interrupted mid-sentence.

- For your own safety, you stubborn demon! -Aziraphale interjected.

- Yeah, right - he hissed, aggressively moving towards the angel - you won't tell me because there aren't any superior motives and you have too much of an ego to admit you really fucked up! -

- Angels don't have an ego! - Aziraphale cried.

- Tell that to your best friend! -

- He's not my...! - the angel groaned in desperation - you know what, I'm not arguing with you! -

- Running away! - Crowley scoffed, stepping back - as per usual! -

- Oh, please! It's like talking to a broken record!- Aziraphale said - You are being unreasonable, Crowley! -

-Unreasonable? - the demon hissed - I'll show you unreasonable, you little...! -

- OY! - Eleyn roared out of nowhere, making both of them fall silent - We were discussing how to avert the end of the world?- she raised an eyebrow.

- Until someone sidetracked the conversation...- Crowley rolled his eyes at Aziraphale.

- You started it! - the angel said in reply.

Before the demon could put in another word and reignite the argument, Muriel stepped in with a chime - If I may, I think I have a solution for our literary predicament... - she said, immediately getting their whole attention. - Okay, so it just occurred to me that there is one list in which the gospel should figure alongside its last known location -

- Brilliant! - Crowley clapped his hands together.

- But there's a problem. I'm talking about the list of forbidden texts, which is...well... -

- Well? - Crowley pressed.

- Um... - she pointed a finger at the ground - it's down...there... -

- Of course... - Aziraphale let out an exasperated sigh - of course our only clue would be down below -

- Just to be clear - Eleyn interjected - When you say "down there", you mean... -

-Hell - Crowley answered before she had finished posing the question.

- Right - she said, nodding her head - and what exactly is the problem? I mean, if you're a demon can't you just go down and check it out? -

- I wish it were that simple - the demon groaned, flopping down on the couch beside her - Hell and I aren't really on the same page. And by that I mean I'm a traitorous bastard to them -

- And I am a fugitive Supreme Archangel. My presence in Hell would not go unnoticed - Aziraphale added.

- A demon loathed by Hell and an angel hunted by Heaven taking a stroll between pools of boiling sulphur. What could possibly go wrong? - Crowley said, taking a sip of whiskey.

- I'm sure we can think of a way - said Muriel, ever the optimist - we just need a plan -

- I need a glass of wine - Aziraphale whispered, massaging his temple.

- Good luck with that one - the demon chuckled.

- What do you mean? - the angel furrowed his brow, confused, then turned to look at Muriel - What did you do to my wine? -

- Um...I didn't want it and it was taking up space, so...-

- Oh no, you did not! - Aziraphale said, almost offended - But, my Burdeaux collection! I have had those bottles since 1854! -

- Sorry...- Muriel muttered.

Eleyn, who had been silently observing the scene, couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor cherub. Crowley and Aziraphale were so mad at each other that they were unknowingly taking it out on Muriel, who was just trying her very best to be helpful. She could see the young angel's hands trembling when Aziraphale went off about the wine. The daughter of God stared down at the jug of water held between her hands, wishing she could do something to make the angel less angry and Muriel more comfortable. In that precise moment she felt a tingle travelling up her spine and all the way to her fingertips, which she could swear slightly heated up against the glass. Eleyn blinked and, to her amazement, without knowing how or why, the water in the jug had turned crimson red.

- wine...- she whispered, then realized two seconds later - WINE! - she exclaimed, making Aziraphale spin around towards her in shock - The...the water, it turned to wine. That's one of the signs, isn't it? - she stopped to take a breath, staring at the jug once again - I don't know how it happened, I just... -

- The countdown has begun - Aziraphale said, looking Crowley in the eyes.

- Time's a ticking - the demon said in response.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4 – SHADOW PLAY

The Archangel Michael, aside the notoriety of their high-ranking occupation, was known in Heaven to be elegance incarnate. Their soul-white attire never showed a single wrinkle, their straight posture never shifted a tenth of a degree and their chin was always held high. No angel had ever seen a single hair in their head out of line, and their movements were the definition of grace, always slow and deliberate; often compared to a cloud floating in the sky. At least, this is how it usually was; but now something was clearly amiss because, probably for the first time in eternity, the Archangel Michael ran.

They sped past white offices and pristine hallways, desperately trying to reach their own office as soon as possible. Michael still couldn’t understand how this was possible. A day ago, they had been sent to Earth alongside Uriel and Saraquel to free the Daughter of her human family so she could be one with the Almighty; and everything had gone exactly how it should have. According to the Plan, the Child should have come through the gates of Heaven to meet her true self before being placed back on Earth to divulge the word of God; and the three Archangels had been diligently waiting to greet her by the main entrance. For hours. Too many of them, in fact. Something had gone terribly wrong, because the Daughter had never arrived as she was meant to. While Uriel and Saraquel were off searching for the Supreme Archangel, Michael hurried back to their office to meet with The Metatron who, at this point, they feared, would be slightly unhappy.

Finally reaching their destination, Michel threw themselves into the pearly white room where, sure enough, an enormous and furious floating head awaited them.

- WHERE IS SHE! - The Metatron roared, making the Archangel flinch, his powerful voice echoing in the pristine room.

- Your graceness…. - they panted, trying to catch their breath – the Child never came to the gates. We...we don’t know what could have possibly gone wrong -

- YOU LOST HER, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT! - the head bellowed, flaming with rage – YOU HAD ONE JOB, ARCHANGEL! -

- And we did that job! - Michael assured – We did our jobs to perfection! Someone else must have interfered! -

The Metatron’s head went silent, taking the Archangel’s words into consideration. He pondered for a few minutes until he came to the realization that there was no other explanation for those events. It took him only another moment to realize that there was only one entity in the entire universe with both the information and the power to have thwarted him in such a way. This truth only deepened his anger.

- Aziraphale! – he spat at Michael – Bring him to me, now! -

- Yes, your diviness – they said, taking a small bow – Uriel and Saraquel went searching for the Supreme Archangel -

- Contact them at once! - The Metatron ordered – I am not waiting another second! -

- Of course, of course – Michel fidgeted nervously with their fingers for a second before clicking them, making the smokey figures of her co-supreme Archangels appear out of thin air. They began talking without hesitation – Uriel, Saraquel, please tell me you found him -

- We haven’t – Uriel quickly responded, glancing sideways at Saraquel – He’s not in Heaven -

- How do you know this? - The Metatron demanded.

- Because Michael is – Saraquel responded, locking eyes with them.

- What are you talking about? - Michael asked, confused.

- We spoke to the Globe guards – Saraquel explained – and they said nobody has travelled in or out through it – she paused, moving her gaze up towards The Metatron’s head – except for Michael, who seems to have gone down to Earth a few hours ago -

- Except they haven’t left our side – Uriel added – so whoever used the Globe had adopted their appearance -

- Metamorphosis? - Michael said, incredulous – Into an Archangel? How is that even possible? -

- Apparently, it is for Aziraphale – The Metatron angrily muttered – How dare he…I should have known he would betray Heaven again! - he slightly tergiversated the truth, making sure he would have the three Archangels' support.

- You mean he’s the reason for the Daughter’s absence? - Saraquel inquired.

- Of course he is! - the head raged – Has he not done this before, by adverting the war which the Antichrist should have started? Has he not constantly proven his desire to thwart the will of God? -

- Why did you make him Supreme Archangel, then? - Michael challenged, still slightly cross that it hadn’t been them to succeed Gabriel.

- I… - The Metatron hesitated, thinking fast – I was lied to – the three Archangels gasped – he promised me on his angelic grace that he had changed, and that he was willing to follow every step of the Almighty’s plan. He begged me to give him the promotion so he could prove his loyalty – he sighed – And I was foolish enough to believe him -

- That is terrible! An angel, lying to the Voice of God! Unforgivable! - Uriel exclaimed, enervated.

- Indeed – he played along – I fear he has had too much demonic influence to be considered an angel any longer. He swore he had no more feelings for that demon, the one who calls himself Crowley. Evidently that is not the case -

- The demon is involved, too? - Saraquel asked again, beginning to get on the floating head’s nerves.

- He must be – Michael answered for him – Aziraphale could have never made it in time to stop the Child from coming to us. He must have called upon his…partner – the Archangel had to make an effort not to barf at the though of an angel and a demon sharing romantic feelings.

- For all we know, the innocent cherub I entrusted the bookshop to could be involved as well. If Aziraphale has managed to manipulate her as he did me, that is – The Metatron added, faking guilt.

- What should we do, your graceness? - Uriel asked, waiting for orders.

- Find them – he replied, addressing all three Archangels – and destroy them. All three of them. Then, deliver the girl safely to me. I don’t care how you do it, but I want it done fast. This is the last time that blasphemous angel plays with the Almighty’s trust! -

- We shall rid the universe of their filth! - Michael cried, determined – Not an ounce of their soul will be left in any realm! - they turned to Uriel and Saraquel – Inform the other angels, I will join you shortly! -

They nodded, and their images turned into puffs of smoke before vanishing completely, leaving Michael and The Metatron alone once again. The latter smiled to himself, though he never let it show, as he looked into the eyes of the Archangel whom he’d just so easily fooled. As they stared back at him, The Metatron decided to make sure of Michael’s full cooperation, giving them something which he knew they would be unable to resist.

- If the Daughter is brought to me, as I have requested – he said, his voice never even slightly quivering – I will have no choice but to recognize your contribution to the Great Plan and, hence, make you, Michael, the Supreme Archangel of all Heaven -

- Is this true? - their eyes opened like saucers, as if they were a child on Christmas morning.

- You have my word – he merely stated.

- Thank you, your graceness – they bowed – it will be done, you may rest assured -

With that, Michael spun promptly on their heel and, for the second time in history, raced out of their office to find Uriel and Saraquel. The Metatron, now alone in the office, couldn’t help a loud chuckle.

- Idiots – he whispered before dissipating into a cloud of smoke.

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- This is a very bad plan - Crowley snarled, attempting to move his wrists beneath the golden handcuffs.

- It's a great plan - the angel corrected with an optimistic smile sprawled across his face.

- It's a bloody awful plan! - he reiterated, glancing at Aziraphale - Why do you always make the plans? -

- Certainly not for you to complain about them - the angel pointed out, stretching his neck in preparation for the metamorphosis.

- We're going to get caught - Crowley lamented - we are so going to get caught! -

- If you don't stop whining, yes - Aziraphale snapped, his hushed voice resonating on the walls of the small cabin.

- I'll stop whining when you take these damned things off! - he raised his handcuffed hands for the angel to see - Do you have any idea how itchy they are?! -

- An itch is going to be the least of your problems if we don't find that book, Crowley - Aziraphale reminded him.

- Ngk - the demon leaned against the moving elevator's wall, the light becoming dimmer the more they descended.

He glanced sideways at the angel, whose eyes were closed in deep concentration as he pictured the Archangel Michael in his mind. Metamorphosis was not an easy procedure, and it required an overwhelming amount of mental and physical strength and resistance, hence why Aziraphale could only hold the transformation for a short period of time without hurting himself. He took a deep breath, and Crowley couldn't help staring in silence for a few, long moments as the angel's chest went up and down in a peaceful, constant rhythm. The demon's lips began tracing a small smile as Aziraphale's calmness enveloped him, like it had done so many times before, in a warm embrace. When his heartbeat began to accelerate, however, Crowley forced his eyes away from the angel, reminding himself that it had been that feeling which had led him to so much sufferment in the first place. Suddenly, the elevator was occupied in its entirety by a blinding light which surrounded Aziraphale and dissolved a second after. Crowley immediately threw a concerned glance in the angel's direction; but the moment he laid eyes on him he jumped back in shock, the golden chain connecting his handcuffs clicking and clinging. Staring back at him was the unmistakable figure of Archangel Michael.

- Bloody hell! - he said, taken aback.

- How do I look? - said Aziraphale, doing a full spin for the demon to see.

- It's disgustingly accurate - Crowley muttered in disbelief, moving closer to him and inspecting the fake Michael's face - Impressive... -

- Thank you! - he chimed, smiling broadly - I just have to get the voice right... let's see...- he cleared his throat.

- That's very weird - the demon mused.

- What is? - he replied in a fairly good impression of the Archangel's voice.

- Michael,smiling - he explained - I don't think I've ever seen anything other than contempt on their face -

- Now that you mention it... - Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow.

- How much time did you say you can hold this? - Crowley narrowed his eyes beneath his sunglasses.

- Um...I...I didn't say... - the angel muttered nervously.

- Well?- the demon insisted.

- Well, so far I've only been able to do about...five to six minutes... - he winced, preparing for his reaction.

- Five to...? - Crowley hissed, furious - You expect us to get in, find the documents, localize the book and get back out in under five minutes? -

- Well, I'm sure I can hold it longer if I put my mind to it... - Aziraphale quickly added.

- Oh, yeah, that's very reassuring! - he sarcastically spat at the angel, impatiently pacing the elevator and tugging at his trapped wrists, his long fiery locks dancing behind him.

- I'm risking my neck too, you know! - the angel squeaked.

- Yeah, well, at least you're not in handcuffs! - Crowley hissed, leaning menacingly towards Aziraphale, hidden behind the mask of Michael - Oh, why do you always have to make the bloody plan?! - he exclaimed, desperate, as he leaned back and continued his pacing.

- It's a good plan! - the angel insisted, his patience quickly running out as the elevator slowed down.

- It's not going to work, Angel! - Crowley snarled, nearly losing his footing as the lift's speed decreased.

- It will - Aziraphale straightened Michael's attire - If you just stop moaning and play your part! -

- Ngk - the demon fell silent as the elevator came to a complete halt, standing in front of Aziraphale and letting him grab one of his arms as if he was detained.

- Now, there's a good prisoner - Aziraphale teasingly whispered into his ear.

- Go to hell - Crowley whispered back.

A loud ding announced the lift's arrival in the underground floor, and the doors promptly slid open to show a damp and darkened hallway which stunk of sulphur, moss and rotting flesh. Aziraphale slightly recoiled in disgust, his nose twitching when it was met with the foul stench. Nonetheless, he forcefully shoved his prisoner out of the lift and, playing the part of Michael to the T, shot disdainful glances at the curious demons who lurked past. Aziraphale couldn't resist stopping for a moment and looking around, curiosity nagging at him. Hell, he had always thought, was a curious place. It was gloomy and silent; and its untidiness and filth-lined floors created a sharp contrast with Heaven. Demons of all shapes and sizes hurried past, some frenetically carrying stacks of paperwork from office to office and others simply wandering aimlessly through the long corridor. As an angel, Aziraphale had been taught that Hell was full of evil and hate; a dark place which had lost its light to envy and thirst for power. The cherub, however, had begun to see it in a different way. He pictured Hell as nothing more than a shadow, cast over those to whom God had turned his back. Heaven and Hell, he had come to realize over the years, were exactly the same. It was nothing but a game of light and shadows.

The metallic sound of Crowley's shackles snapped Aziraphale back into the real world. Resuming his act as Archangel Michael, he gave the demon a small shove.

- Walk - he demanded in their bossy, self-concited attitude.

- I'm not about to be ordered around by the likes of you, Archangel - he hissed, his coolness and nonchalance unwavering.

- Very well then, let us find someone of your... - he looked him up and down - ...kind...to deal with this matter. Dagon!- Aziraphale exclaimed into the depths of Hell

A puff of green smoke appeared before them, and the Master of Files appeared within it, her gaze locking onto Michael's for a long moment.

- Michael - she finally greeted them, clearly annoyed - to what do I owe the displeasure? - she sarcastically added.

Aziraphale began breathing again, relieved that Dagon had fallen for his disguise. Her eyes flickered down to the prisoner he had brought, and her face immediately retorted into disgust.

- Crowley, the deserter - she spat at him, then addressed Michael again – Why the hell is he here? -

- May I request that we discuss this in a more...- he looked around, spotting demons who had stopped their lurking to eavesdrop on the conversation - private setting? Your office, perhaps? -

She followed the fake Archangel's gaze and rolled her eyes in exasperation when she saw the onlookers. She mumbled something about nobody in Hell being able to mind their own business and clicked her fingers, green smoke enveloping all three of them completely. When the gas dissipated, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves in a completely different place. The corridor had disappeared, substituted by a fairly large square room lined with high, small windows on all four walls and stacked with an endless array of crates and drawers full of disorganized documents which poured out into the floor. Before them was a large wooden desk, and Dagon sat on the chair behind it with her feet propped up in a comfortable position. Aziraphale chuckled to himself, the scene reminding him of Crowley's usual sprawled manner.

- Make it quick, Archangel. The less time I have to spend looking at you, the better - she yawned.

- Likewise... - Crowley muttered under his breath, casually glancing at Aziraphale.

- This filthy serpent - he shoved the demon forward, and he shot him an unamused glance in return - was lurking around the gates of Heaven, trying to get in -

- Was he? - she sardonically asked, amused - And why would he ever do that, huh? - she asked the red-haired demon, fully aware of his reasons.

- Oh, you know, taking a stroll - he said with his usual swagger - Michael just happened to be there. Pure coincidence -

- I suspect he was attempting to contact the Supreme Archangel - Michael offered.

- Ah, yes, the angel - she teased, her pointy teeth displayed in a playful grin - Can't see what the big deal is, anyway. It's just another dumb, chubby cherub... -

- Careful... - Crowley muttered, a tone of threat in his voice, the nonchalance quickly dissipating to be replaced by anger and disgust.

- Oh, for hell's sake! - she took her feet off the table, leaning closer to Crowley - Can't you just find yourself another plaything? -

The demon felt a fire burst inside of him and for a mild, rage-filled moment all he could think about was ripping Dagon's head off with his bare hands. He made to charge at her, fuelled by the indomitable rage which had suddenly possessed him, but Aziraphale gripped his arm fiercely, just in the nick of time, making him stop dead. Crowley struggled against the angel's grasp for a few seconds before finally giving in, his breathing heavy with rage as he threw her a despising look. She laughed, showing each and every one of her pointy teeth.

- Aww, does the traitor have abandonment issues? - she mocked.

-I'm beginning to have an issue with you - he breathed, furious.

- And I thought a demon couldn't go any lower - she wheezed - Trying to get into Heaven to see his angel! How pathetic is that?! -

- I don't want him nosing about in my doorstep, Dagon! - the fake Michael pressed the matter forward, discreetly squeezing Crowley's arm for him to calm down.

- And what the hell do you want me to do? - she hissed, propping herself up.

- Can't you just throw him in a pit somewhere? - he suggested - Or plug him into an eternal torture machine? -

- This isn't the Spanish inquisition, Michael - Dagon mocked - But if you really want him out of your hair, I suppose I could summon the Dark Council to get a second opinion... - she sighed.

- Right - said Aziraphale - Off you go, then -

- Now? - she moaned.

- Yes, now! - Michael ordered - I need this sorted out immediately, and my superiors can't afford to waste any more time! - he paused - Unless, of course, you'd rather they pay a visit -

- Fine! - Dagon hissed, rolling her eyes and walking around the desk to stand with them, her eyes flickering with mischief - You can wait for me here, I won't be long. But, Michael? -

- Yes? -

- If I were you, I'd be careful around this one - she rocked her head towards Crowley - You may have to watch his pants. After all - she addressed the demon directly, her tone mocking and provoking - It seems like holy little angels make him go hard between the legs -

The demon reacted instantly, the rage erupting from him making Vesuvius look like a tender caress, grabbing Dagon by whichever fabric he could find and pinning her forcefully against the wall, his skin protesting under the golden shackles. Documents and crates scattered on the ground as a result of the aggression, making a loud noise which resonated in Hell's silence. If one had looked very closely, they could have seen small sparkles of electricity emanating from the demon's fingertips for less than half a second. Crowley knew better than to zap a duke of hell at a moment in which they were attempting not to get noticed, but the temptation was strong. Anger coursed through him, making his blood boil and his heart hammer violently against his gut. He took loud, deep breaths between gritted teeth and his golden eyes, itchy and reddened beneath his sunglasses, never released Dagon's. She laughed madly, clearly amused at the ease with which she'd provoked him. Being the Master of Torments, Dagon enjoyed nothing more than to find an exploit the weak points of those she tortured; and she was good at it, too. After a few, tense moments in which only his heavy breathing and her cold laugh could be heard, Crowley slowly loosened his grip. Though the idea of sweeping the floors with her was appealing, and the pavement could have done with a clean, he knew that Aziraphale wasn't going to be able to hold his transformation forever and that they couldn't afford to waste another one of their precious minutes. When he'd released her completely he took half a step back, his jaw still clenched in anger. Aziraphale had to resist the urge to place a hand on the demon's shoulder to ease his distress.

- You are so easy - she taunted, brushing off her military-like uniform.

- I don't have all eternity, Dagon! - Aziraphale reminded her, earning an eye roll.

- Oh, you're no fun - she had already stepped one foot out of her office when she turned to the fake Archangel once again - Don't touch anything! - she hissed.

- I'd be much too disgusted to - he snapped, channelling his inner Michael.

- Good -

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving a fake Archangel and a fuming demon alone behind her. The second he had the chance to, Aziraphale shut the door behind her and immediately turned to Crowley, his concern palpable even from beneath the mask of Michael's face. The demon avoided eye contact, as if though ashamed of something.

- Crowley - the angel said in a hushed tone, clicking his fingers to release him from the shackles, his voice tender but slightly shaky - are you...? -

- 'm okay - he growled, rubbing his wrists, attempting to coolly brush it off - Let's start looking, shall we? - he turned to the stack of papers closest to him, picking the first one up and beginning to read.

- But, are you sure...? - Aziraphale attempted, worried, before being cut off by Crowley.

- I said I'm fine, Angel! - he snapped more crossly than he meant, clearly not fine, making Aziraphale fall silent - Sorry - he mumbled, then turned back to the stack of papers - Blimey, how does Dagon find anything in here? This is worse than your bookshop! -

- Hey! - the angel mused, selecting another stack to inspect - the bookshop is a calculated mess! -

- Ever calculated how much time it takes to find something in there? - he casually asked, all hostility disappearing from his voice - 'cause I reckon the numbers would astonish you -

- I haven't - Aziraphale grinned, suddenly enveloped by the comfortable familiarity of the conversation's tone - but it's certainly less time than what it takes you to choose from a Menu -

Crowley gave a soft snort, which sounded like an ethereal melody in the angel's ears, making him smile.

- Point taken - he spun around, a small grin on his face - Nothing here, let's see those crates over there...-

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The sun had already come out in London, and Whickber Street was slowly beginning to come to life. The first early birds sleepily drove by on their way to work, and a few of the street's shops were already starting to open their doors; including the coffee shop across the street from the bookshop, "Give me Coffee or give me Death", which Nina was prepping for the day ahead, assisted by Maggie, who diligently took chairs off tables and wiped them down. Both of them had come in through the back door; and it was only when Nina opened the blinds covering the front windows that she noticed the sleek, black car parked outside. With an audible gasp, she beckoned Maggie to join her at the window.

- What is it? - she said with a sweet, sleepy voice.

- Look - Nina pointed out the window.

-Wh... - Maggie was about to ask again when she stopped half-yawn, her eyes darting from Nina to the black car - Is that...? -

- Must be - Nina said - I mean, you don't see that sort of car around much -

Right across the street in the cosy, dim-lit bookshop, Muriel and Eleyn patiently waited for Crowley and Aziraphale's return from the depths of Hell. Before they left, they had instructed Muriel to cast a miracle over the bookshop to make sure that no demon, angel or human could go over the threshold of it's door frame before receiving the young cherub's explicit permission to do so. Inside their little oasis of protection, the angel and the young girl had engaged in a friendly conversation, the latter's curiosity only growing with each answered question, as they sipped on cups of warm tea which Muriel had kindly prepared.

- To be honest, I was a little hesitant at first. All I would do was look at it - she graciously lifted her cup to remark the point - But curiosity got the better of me, and I haven't been able to stop drinking it since - she took another sip, closing her eyes in delight - And there are so many types and flavours, too! I just want to try them all! - she cheerfully added.

- Ah, but that's what you get with tea - Eleyn said with a tender smile, then stared pensively down at her own cup - But you don't need food and water though, do you? - she asked after a few moments' silence - Being an angel, I mean -

- Not technically - she shrugged her nose, thinking of a way to explain - You see, when an angel or a demon is first issued a body, it doesn't need any nutrients at all to survive; but if you get it used to being fed, then... -

- It begins to depend on food - she concluded the explanation with an understanding nod - Got it. It's like a little kid, if you think about it. If you get them used to getting everything they want, they become spoiled -

- Something like that - Muriel smiled sweetly, taking another sip of tea.

- So, have you tried any food yet? - Eleyn wondered, eyes ablaze with curiosity.

- Well, just a few things here and there... - she answered - Mostly tea biscuits, to be honest -

- Should’ve seen that coming - the other commented, taking a sip out of her own cup.

- Can I ask you something, Eleyn? - Muriel inquired, her voice slightly shaky.

- Sure -

- It's just... - she hesitated - I mean, after all you've been through and now all this... - she went silent, trying to find the right words - My point is that you seem to have taken the news of your real identity far too well, and...and nobody has really asked you if you're okay -

- Oh, Muriel - Eleyn said with a small, sad smile, her gaze tender - You're too sweet for this world - she took a deep breath - I can't say I am okay, I'd be lying. In fact, I’d be lying if I said I was anything other than very not okay; but I guess...I hope,that is...I’ll somehow survive -

Muriel smiled tenderly at her in reply, taking the last sip out of her teacup and setting it on the tray she'd placed on the desk.

- What about you ? - the daughter of God suddenly broke the comfortable silence which had settled between them, making the angel glance confusedly at her - Aren't you going against Heaven by hiding me here? Against your own side? I mean, nobody really asked if you wanted to -

- I...I guess I hadn't really thought about it that way - she said in a near whisper, then raised her head – You see, there are not many things I’m absolutely sure about; but what I am certain of is that The Metatron is doing bad. Because he hurt you, because he… - she stopped herself before she could finish the sentence, shaking her head – And by protecting you, and helping Crowley and Aziraphale, I’m only thwarting whatever bad The Metatron wants to do. I'm doing the right thing, which is certainy not what The Metatron says it is. If that is going against Heaven, against what it is to be an angel, then we really do have an institutional problem… - she finished with a heavy sigh.

Eleyn had already opened her mouth to further inquire about Muriel's words when a loud thump echoed through the shop, catching both their attentions. When the sound repeated itself after a few silent seconds, they realized that it was someone knocking on the front door. The angel jumped to her feet and cautiously stepped towards the doors, beckoning Eleyn to stay behind her. A third knock came through, this time accompanied by a voice which Muriel recognized immediately, sighing in relief.

- Hello? - said Nina's voice - Mr. Fell? Mr. Crowley?Are you there? -

- It's us! - added Maggie's voice - We saw the car; we just wanted to say hi! -

- I've brought some Eccles Cakes! - Nina said, cheerful.

Muriel nodded at Eleyn to tell her it was safe and then proceeded to open one of the doors, revealing a smiling Nina and Maggie behind it. A hint of disappointment seemed to flash through both women's faces when they saw who had opened the door.

- That's very sweet of you - the angel chimed - but I'm afraid that right now they're...uh...running an errand...elsewhere - she fell silent for a few seconds, then stepped out of the way - Please, come in -

She felt the bookshop accepting the two visitors inside deep in her gut, proving that the miracle worked perfectly. Nina and Maggie strolled inside, and they weren't slow to spot Eleyn, standing near the small sofa, holding a sceptic gaze on them.

- And who's this? - Nina asked, a half-grin on her face.

- Friend of the family - Eleyn muttered, her eyes never leaving the two visitors.

- Right- the angel walked towards them, pausing just between Eleyn and the other two - Maggie, Nina, this is Eleyn. Eleyn, this is Nina from the café right across the street and Maggie from the record store; they're our friends - she made sure to pronounce that last word, reassuring the young girl that it was completely safe.

- Nice meeting 'ya - Nina nodded at her, then addressed Muriel - Will they be back soon? We haven't seen them in ages! -

- We hope so - the angel smiled, collecting the bag of pastries from Nina and setting them on the tray next to the empty teacups - But I'm afraid it's really not the best time. We have some important business, you see... -

- But we'll be sure to let them know you came! - Eleyn added with a smile.

- When you do – Maggie promptly said, standing on her tiptoes – Please tell Mr. Fell to come by the record shop! There’s a little something I’ve been dying to give him… -

- Will do, as soon as they come back! – the Daughter of God assured her, receiving a warm smile in thanks.

After a few friendly goodbyes, Maggie and Nina exited the shop and Muriel closed up behind them before turning to Eleyn, whose eyes were laced with worry.

- They will come back, those two, right? - she asked.

- I'm certain of it - Muriel stated - They make a surprisingly good team, Crowley and Aziraphale. They'll be back -

- Provided they don't murder each other first, that is - Eleyn sarcastically added, raising an eyebrow.

- Oh, don't worry - the scrivener let out a soft chuckle - they won't -

- They're in love, aren't they? - she sighed.

- Oh, you noticed? - the angel smiled - It's exactly like in the books, word for word -

- It's a little hard not to notice - Eleyn said, she too smiling - I mean, that was a Soap Opera-worthy domestic they had back there -

Muriel had absolutely no clue what a Soap Opera was but, for the sake of the conversation, she decided to agree.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5 – CHOICES

Down below in the fiery depths of hell, a demon and an Archangel who wasn’t really an Archangel hastily read through hundreds of thousands of documents and paper folders in a desperate attempt to find one which would list the whereabouts of the original Gospel of John. Having already skimmed through the entire rear wall, Aziraphale, still disguised as Michael, had moved on to the desk, searching its drawers for any information that could be of use to them. In the meantime, Crowley continued inspecting crates and boxes on the other side of the room, relentlessly groaning and angrily muttering under his breath, complaining that demons were so inept with technology that they hadn’t even digitalized their archives. The angel had just extracted an ominous blue-black folder from the desk and was about to open it when Crowley produced a softer groan, drawing his attention. When he looked up, he quietly observed as he stretched his serpentine neck to one side and then the other, releasing a small sigh of relief .

Aziraphale noticed then that he hadn’t really had a chance to properly take Crowley in, given the fastness of the night’s events. During the three years that they’d been apart, the demon had let his gorgeous flaming hair grow to about chest length, its curls elegantly lying on his ever-stylish black jacket. His tall and snaky frame was exactly how the angel recalled yet his eyes, now hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, never ceased to leave him breathless. They always had, at least as long as Aziraphale could remember. They were golden and deep, like pools of liquid gold, and his dark, vertical pupils gave him an air of mystery and cryptic elegance which only enhanced his devilish charm. The angel couldn’t help a small, hidden half-smile as he noticed the way Crowley held himself, his slightly slouched posture always conveying that perfect combination of toughness and comfort. His movements, as opposed to Aziraphale’s deliberate, calculated ones, were sharp and quick; and in this occasion, nervous. Said nerves, however, had more than one effect on him. Once in a while, when he was particularly annoyed, he let out a hiss, soft and almost indistinguishable but to the trained ear of the bookseller, whose face would light up every time this occurred. His lips had already begun tracing a tender smile when he felt a jolt of pain through his left arm and clung to his wrist tightly, letting out a gasp which caught the demon's attention immediately.

- Angel? - he said, a slight hint of worry in his voice.

- Nothing - Aziraphale brushed it off, slowly releasing his wrist - I'm quite alright -

-Ngk -

After throwing the angel a worried glance, Crowley spun right back around and resumed his search amongst the crates. With the demon facing the other way, Aziraphale drew a deep, shaky breath and placed a hand on his chest, sweat beginning to trickle down his forehead as a wave of exhaustion took over his senses. Aziraphale was not alright, he was agonizing. He had been in metamorphosis for at least fifteen minutes now; and it was sucking the energy out of him, but it was imperative that they found the list, for humanity's sake. Deciding to get his mind off the pain, the angel opened the folder he'd extracted from the desk drawer and began reading. The moment his eyes hit the first line of the page, however, Aziraphale's blood froze inside his veins and his lungs ceased to work.

- AHA! - Crowley triumphantly cried - Got it! List of forbidden books and texts! Let's see... - he began skimming through the paper folder, his frustration only growing - Is this written in bloody cypher? - he groaned - Oh, forget it, I'll take the whole thing up to the cherub, she'll know what to make of it. C'mon, let's get the hell out of...-

The look of sheer horror on Aziraphale's face made Crowley stop dead mid-sentence and swallow hard. The angel glanced up at him and away from the document he read for a fleeting moment, and the demon could see the panic in his eyes.

- What? - he asked, quickly joining him behind the desk.

- This... - the angel had lost his speech - is much worse than I thought...look...- he beckoned him to read the document and, when he did, his pupils dilated in shock.

- What? - he asked again, this time with an incredulous tone - How is this...what? - he reiterated.

- A signed pact of alliance between Heaven and Hell...but why? - Aziraphale stuttered, his voice a mere whisper.

- You tell me - Crowley snarled, his eyes fixed in the bottom of the page - You were the one who signed it -

It was Aziraphale's pupils which now dilated in pure disbelief as he inspected the bottom left corner of the paper, where his signature had been written in golden ink with utmost delicacy. It was his signature, there was no doubt about it; but how it had ended up in that paper was a complete mystery to the angel.

- Crowley, I... - he breathed, his voice shaking - I have never seen this document before in my life -

The demon was already opening his mouth to say "I know" when a wave of unbearable pain coursed through Aziraphale, making him buckle at the knees and collapse on the table, his fists clenched, as a breathless gasp escaped his lips. It felt as though every muscle in his body was being torn apart at the same time. For a fleeting moment, in which his vision became blurry and his world began to spin, Aziraphale found himself fighting for his consciousness. The demon reacted on instinct and placed one hand on the angel's shoulder and the other on his chest, supporting him. Just when he thought the pain would subside, he felt it again, this time stronger, as if though his intestines were being pulled out and his lungs slowly crushed. Letting out a shriek of pain, he collapsed onto the floor; and Crowley caught him just in time for him not to hit his head on the cold pavement, his precious gold irises full of fear and concern.

- Angel! - he hissed, his voice quivering - Angel, what's going on, why…! - he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes opening wide as realization dawned on him - Fuck. How long has it been? Twenty minutes? Thirty? -

- Doesn't... doesn't matter... - the angel gasped, a delicate white light enveloping him as Michael's form became slowly replaced with his - We found...'m...okay...argh - he groaned.

- You're not okay - Crowley insisted - You're mental. You've been holding the metamorphosis for too long -

- I'm...fine... - the angel too insisted, pain written all through his angelic features, making Crowley's heart give a small, frightened jump.

- I don't like this - the demon began frenetically looking around - Dagon's been gone too long. Something's happening, we have to get out of here. Now - he propped Aziraphale up as he said this, making the angel place his arm around his shoulders.

Determined to make a run for the elevator, Crowley exited the office without hesitation. He knew the demons lurking around would see Aziraphale, and that it wouldn't take long for them to get noticed, but he didn't give a damn. The angel was in pain, and all he cared about was getting both of them out of there before they were discorporated, or worse. He'd only begun to go down the corridor, however, when he noticed a group of demons standing there, frozen in place, blocking the way. He quickly turned Aziraphale and himself around and headed in the opposite direction, his heavy breaths resonating on the walls, only to find the exact same situation. Crowley's blood pressure skyrocketed, his heart thumping far too fast for the human standard, as he frenetically searched for another exit. His eyes came upon a narrow corridor exactly opposite Dagon's office, and he rushed towards it without a second thought. The demon had taken exactly two steps into the darkened corridor when he froze, hesitating for half a second before making the safe choice and taking a few steps back, pressing them both to the opposite wall. Charging towards them from the other side of the hall was the Archangel Michael themselves, the real one, and they weren't happy. They advanced at a breakneck pace, followed closely by Dagon, whose eyes shone with mischief and anticipation. Crowley wasn't easily intimidated; and if he ever was he would never show it, displaying his usual nonchalant, cool demeanour. However, this time it was different, the look of pure rage on Michael's face sent shivers down his spine, and the weight on his shoulders was a constant reminder of what he had to protect. Attempting to look as composed as possible, his protective instincts aflame, Crowley puffed his chest, quickly taking the angel's arm off his back, never letting go of him, and took half a step forward, making Aziraphale stand behind him as Michael emerged from the corridor, stopping mere feet away from them.

- Lost something, Michael?! - Crowley hissed angrily.

- Hand him and the girl over to me and I might consider killing you quickly - they announced, their voice cold and sharp.

- Ngk - the demon scoffed - Any chance I could haggle? - he sardonically asked.

- Do I look to be joking, demon? - they said that last word with despair.

- Here's my bargain - Crowley growled - Fuck off and leave us alone, or you will burn -

- You wouldn't dare - they scoffed - You know you can't overpower me -

- Try me - Crowley breathed, never letting go of the Archangel's eyes.

- Oh, don't temp me - Michael whispered, the tension in the air palpable.

- Crowley... - Aziraphale's weak voice softly said - Don't...you can't... - he could barely put words together.

- My, my - Dagon mocked, clearly having the time of her life - Is the little Angel sleepy from the big miracle? - a mischievous smile flashed past her face - Or did Crowley go a bit too hard on you tonight? -

Aziraphale didn't have the strength to formulate an answer, but his rage was evident in his features, his jaw tightening and his breathing accelerating; and Dagon wasn't slow to notice, her smile a mix of proudness and bratty contemptuousness.

- THAT BLASPHEMOUS ANGEL BETRAYED AND ABANDONED HEAVEN! - Michael roared - THIS PANTOMIME; YOUR PARTNERSHIP, HAS GONE ON LONG ENOUGH! - they took a breath - I WILL NOT REPEAT MYSELF AGAIN! SURRENDER AT ONCE! -

- No thank you - Crowley said, seemingly unfazed by their rage, though internally he was scared to death - You know, this is the second Supreme Archangel that has betrayed - he did air quotes with his fingers - and abandoned Heaven in a row. Perhaps you should, I don't know, take a hint? - he wrinkled his nose.

- Such insolence! - Michael spat, offended.

- Indeed - Dagon took a step towards Crowley, her eyes falling to the folder in his hand - Stealing from your superior, you naughty demon? -

- Oh, just a souvenir - he sarcastically remarked - And you're not my superior - he added between gritted teeth.

- Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take it back, traitor - her fake politeness was painful to watch.

-'m afraid not - Crowley crossly replied.

Dagon raised her chin, her arms never leaving her back, and in a quick and sudden moment all the demons around them were armed with swords and flaming tridents. Crowley's eyes widened, and one of his arms went automatically flying outwards to protect Aziraphale as he took a step back, completely shielding the angel.

- Ha! - her cold laughter pierced through the air, an astonishing contrast to the palpable tension between them - Could you be any more pathetic? Falling for an angel! Shielding it with your own body! Please! - she mocked, both disgusted and amused at Crowley's growing resolve to protect that insignificant cherub - I said earlier I didn't think a demon could go any lower but, hell, I'm going to have to take it back! -

Crowley's breathing was heavy as he tried to decide which of Dagon's limbs to tear off first; but a few seconds after he was hit by a realization, his eyes darting upwards for a brief moment before glancing reassuringly at Aziraphale, then back at Dagon.

- You're right - he hissed, discreetly sliding his hand down Aziraphale's arm until their fingers found each other and became intertwined - We can't go any lower. But you know what the humans say: once you hit rock bottom, the only way left to go... - he relaxed his shoulders, letting his majestic jet-black wings out with a small sigh of relief -...is up -

Half a second later, everything began to go very fast. Crowley's wings flapped forcefully downwards at his command, and both angel and demon lifted off at a breakneck speed, followed closely by hordes of furious demons, battle cries in mouth, carrying sharp weapons and fiery arms. Aziraphale was dazed, only half-aware of what was happening; but the feeling of Crowley's fingers tightly wrapped around his was enough to keep him from unconsciousness. He suddenly felt a jolt of pain as one of the tridents being thrown at them reached him and scratched his arm, ripping the beige jacket and the shirt underneath, golden blood trickling out of the wound. The angel groaned in pain, and Crowley reacted on instinct, pulling forcefully on their intertwined hands to make Aziraphale ascend a few feet and then catching him, placing one arm around his waist and another behind his back for support.

Golden eyes looked into cerulean ones and vice versa, their bodies pressed flush against each other, and time seemed to stop for just one second in which only their shallow breathing could be heard, the battle cries becoming a mere buzz in the background. His heart hammering fast, the angel's precious blue eyes only deepening his resolve to escape, Crowley looked up, focusing his attention in one precise spot. Now came the tricky part. Breaking out of hell required something more than strength of wings. The barrier between realms wasn't at all solid, but the magic which held it was strong enough to pancakeificate anyone who tried to break through with sheer force. No, magic could only be broken by stronger magic; and right now there was nothing stronger than the hellfire burning inside the demon.

The only problem, however, was that if he did it wrong Aziraphale would get caught in the flames and burn, so a second before he called upon his fire he had to miracle some sort of protective bubble to shield the angel. A sense of fear engulfed Crowley as it dawned on him that he wasn't sure whether he could pull it off, but he pushed forward, knowing that the angel's fate would be far worse if he was caught. As the exit point began coming closer, a growing uneasiness engulfed the demon, sweat beginning to invade his forehead and waves of nausea hitting him incessantly. However, all these feelings and sensations vanished when, a moment after, Crowley felt Aziraphale's head fall on his chest, making his heart falter and his breathing stop. Right then he realized that absolutely nothing could stop him from getting the angel, his Angel, to safety. His pupils became even thinner than usual, fixed on the exit point up above, as a thin blue veil enveloped them, surrounding them completely.

And then came the fire. A ferocious flame erupted from the deepest nooks of Crowley's gut, engulfing both angel and demon, though not a spark reached either of them thanks to the protective barrier the demon had created. Mustering all his strength, he accelerated, and allowed the fire to slide out of him, making it burn stronger and harder. When they collided against the barrier, it tried to stop them, but Crowley refused to give in, his own guttural roar mixing in with the fire's as they finally broke through in a spectacular display of flames, magic and colour. The barrier closed behind them the second they tore through, making all the blood-thirsty demon soldiers plunge head-first into it before toppling back downwards.

Crowley and Aziraphale, still engulfed by the hellfire and going vertically upwards at a heart-stopping speed, broke through the layers of the Earth before emerging, by some sort of miracle, just outside the old Soho bookshop. When he felt the warm sunlight in his skin, Crowley opened his wings and both he and the angel paused an inch from the floor before falling onto the hard concrete with a loud thump, landing right next to each other, the angel on his side and Crowley on his back, desperately trying to catch his breath. The paper folder flapped onto the floor between them, completely unharmed by the fire.

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For a few, long moments Crowley couldn't move. He stayed on his back, looking into the calm blueness of the morning sky, his wings slowly retreating behind his back until they disappeared completely. A soft grunt somewhere on his left told him Aziraphale was still alive, which of course was always a good thing, even though the demon very much felt like strangling him to death himself. The angel turned and landed back-first on the concrete floor, too, tilting his head to meet Crowley's gaze. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before the stillness of the morning was interrupted by a bell and hurried steps.

- Crowley! - Eleyn's worried voice said as her steps grew louder - Aziraphale! What happened? -

- Are you both alright? - Muriel said, her voice laced with concern as she kneeled down next to the angel, her eyes adverting the golden blood which stained his sleeve - What happened, why are you bleeding? -

- It's... it's nothing, really - Aziraphale was somehow able to say, his state still fragile. Muriel carefully but decisively placed her hand on the wound and began healing it, a soft warm light emanating from her palm.

- That fireball - Eleyn inquired, helping Crowley sit up - Was that you? Did they set you on fire? - her eyebrows were knitted in both concern and confusion.

- I'm okay - he groaned - Really, I'm fine - he added , seeing he'd not convinced her.

- There, all fixed - Muriel said, finally pulling her hand away from the spot where Aziraphale's wound used to be and helping him up - Is that the list? - her eyes darted to the paper folder on the floor.

- Yes - Aziraphale whispered - We didn't know what to make of it, so we decided to bring it to you... - he winced, finally sitting up.

-Yeah, alongside about a legion of very unhappy demons which will be here as soon as they get through the paperwork - Crowley hissed, trying very hard to keep his composure - So we need to move it. Cherub, grab the folder and run into the bookshop, get anything edible, then go straight into the car. Eleyn - he turned to her as he stood - Help me get Aziraphale into the copilot's -

Muriel followed the demon's instructions without doubt or hesitation, racing into the shop and diligently throwing all her tea biscuits into the bag of Eccles Cakes Nina had brought. Meanwhile, Crowley and Eleyn helped the angel into the Bentley, which seemed to cooperate by leaning slightly down to make it easier for them.

- And the money? - Eleyn reminded, taking the angel's arm off her shoulder- If we're running away, we'll need money -

- I've got us covered - he assured her, closing the door and beckoning her to go into the back.

Crowley jumped in front of the wheel just moments before Muriel came flying into the seat behind him; and the Bentley's engine came to life with a roar even before the demon had a chance to glance at the ignition key. He pressed the accelerator hard and began navigating the streets of London Soho, his objective being exiting the city as soon as possible.

- Where exactly are we going? - the young cherub inquired.

- You tell me - he said, gesturing to the dark blue folder - Here, give me that - he added, snatching the bag of edibles from her hands and throwing it over to Aziraphale.

- Oh, thank God! - the angel sighed, opening the bag and stuffing an entire Eccles Cake in his mouth - Mhm...ignrdnedd thagth...fo gwofg - he swallowed - Sorry, I meant to say they're just what I needed. I take it Nina stopped by? - he took a healthy bite out of another cake.

- Yeah, her and her partner wanted to say hello...- Eleyn said, slightly perplexed at the scene - Listen, you mind explaining to me what the hell happened? -

- Yes, Angel - Crowley hissed, furious - Tell them what happened, hm? -

- Why are you so cross? - Aziraphale asked after swallowing yet another piece of pastry - We found the list, did we not? -

- Why am I...? - he breathed, his blood boiling - You could've died! We could've died! -

- But we didn't - the angel fought back - I knew the risks, Crowley. We both did - he made to take another bite of Eccles cake before the demon's voice interrupted.

- Oh, did you? - he mocked - Did you know the risks of metamorphosing for so long? Huh? -

- Oh, I'm well aware that... - he couldn't even finish the sentence.

- Don't talk to me about fucking risks, Aziraphale! - he raged - Do you have even the slightest idea of the risk I took with the hellfire? Of the risk you made me take? -

- Well, I... - he was cut off by the demon once again.

- I could've burnt you to a fucking crisp! - he insisted - I could've destroyed you, goddammit! -

- But you didn't! - Aziraphale reiterated.

- BUT WHAT IF I HAD?! - Crowley exploded - WHAT THEN?! WHY DON'T YOU GIVE A DAMN?! -

- I don't think there is any need to raise your voice whatsoe... -

- NO NEED ?! FUCK YOU! - he yanked his sunglasses from his face, revealing his bright golden pupils - I'M MAD AS HELL, I'LL RAISE MY DAMN VOICE! - he didn't even pause to breathe - YOU COULD'VE KILLED YOURSELF! -

- I’M ALIVE! I’M FINE! WE’RE ALL FINE! WILL YOU STOP IT?! - Aziraphale couldn’t hold it in any more – I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO! -

-DID WHAT YOU HAD TO DO! - he groaned – HAS THAT BECOME YOUR NEW FAVOURITE BLOODY EXCUSE?! YOU WENT TO BACK HEAVEN BECAUSE YOU WERE DOING WHAT YOU HAD TO DO, YET YOU REFUSE TO… ! -

- OH, HERE WE GO AGAIN! - Aziraphale rolled his eyes in an over-exaggerated manner.

- YES, HERE WE GO AGAIN! - Crowley hissed, his temper only rising – ALL I WANT IS TO KNOW WHY; AND YOU REFUSE TO TELL ME! -

- THAT’S RIGHT, I DO! - the angel stood his ground – AND IT’S EXACTLY WHAT I’M GOING TO KEEP DOING, TO PROTECT YOU! -

- HA! PROTECT MY ASS! -

- SINCE WHEN HAS IT BECOME SO HARD FOR YOU TO TRUST ME?! - Aziraphale inquired, his patience quickly running out – AFTER SIX THOUSAND YEARS…! -

- MORE! - Crowley corrected, the conversation becoming a screaming match at this point – MORE THAN SIX THOUSAND YEARS! AND I TRUSTED THAT WE HAD GOTTEN OVER THE POINT OF CHILDISH FUCKING SIDES-PICKING GAMES, BUT NO, I’M STILL “THE BAD GUY”, AREN’T I? - he stopped for a brief moment, breathless – THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID, REMEMBER?! I TRUSTED THAT YOU GAVE A DAMN ABOUT OUR FRIENDSHIP, ABOUT US, AND I WAS WRONG, SO EXCUSE ME FOR HAVING MY DOUBTS! -

- YOU’RE TALKING LIKE I HAD A CHOICE! - the angel said, desperate – CROWLEY, I DIDN’T HAVE A… !-

- YOU HAD THE CHOICE TO STAY! - the demon hissed, smoke quite literally coming out of his veins and through his skin - YOU HAD THE CHOICE TO STAY, AND YOU LEFT! AND WHAT DO YOU DO, WHEN YOU COME BACK?! TRY AND KILL YOURSELF, NATURALLY! WHAT IF I HAD LOST YOU?! -

- WE HAD TO GET OUR HANDS ON THAT LIST, CROWLEY! IT WAS A BIG RISK, YES, BUT NECESSARY! - Aziraphale raged - FIND THE BOOK, SAFE ELEYN, SAFE THE WORLD! THAT'S WHAT'S IMPORTANT! THAT'S WHAT MATTERS! -

- THAT’S ALL IT IS FOR YOU, THEN?! - Crowley exploded like a volcano – THAT’S THE ONLY REASON YOU CAME BACK?! -

- YES! -

Everything went silent, and Aziraphale's trembling hand sprung to cover his mouth, an immediate sense of regret invading his very being. Crowley, whom the angel dared not look in the eyes, felt his heart shatter inside his chest. He hadn’t expected an answer; and certainly not that one. His lips trembled, and tears adorned the corners of his golden-red eyes, ready to fall any moment and never stop. He had been foolish enough to believe Aziraphale actually cared, and he got hurt. Again. How could he be so stupid? Of course, Crowley knew the answer to that question far too well, but this fact only deepened his pain. He took a shaky breath, considering for the first time in six thousand years that maybe, just maybe, he had gotten it wrong from the beginning. That where he’d seen something special, Aziraphale had seen something completely different. Perhaps, he thought, there was no point in fighting for them.; perhaps it was time to give up. He nodded his head slowly, biting his inner lip to stop himself from crying.

- Okay – he whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek, his voice showing the most vulnerability it ever had.

- Crowley, that’s not what I… - the angel’s voice trembled, just like his hands, his normally cheerful cerulean eyes reddened and full of sorrow.

- I don’t care – Crowley snapped, quickly drying his tears and expertly putting the dark sunglasses back on his face – Cherub – he addressed Muriel, who’d been intently listening alongside Eleyn from the back of the Bentley, making her give a small jump – Tell me where to go – he ordered.

- Um...well, yes...hang on, I’ve seen it here somewhere… - she nervously looked through the page she’d been inspecting before the argument broke out - ...nope...no...not that one either...Gospel of John Manuscript, there it is! - she laughed nervously, and the demon threw her a very unamused glance through the mirror, making her gulp - ...um...last known location...Dalkeith Palace, near Edinburgh, Scotland! -

- We’ll be there in four hours, four and a half if there’s traffic – he pressed the accelerator – Try to hold on -

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The Metatron, now in a corporeal form rather than that of a floating head, angrily paced in front of Michael, Dagon, Uriel and Saraquel, his heavy steps resonating through the marble-white and pristine walls of Heaven. He had had enough of both the two idiots he was trying to hunt down and the idiots doing the hunting; and his exasperation was palpable through his furious groans and irregular breathing, alongside the erratic steps he took back and forth in the isolated room. Michael and Dagon had just finished explaining the events which had gone down in Hell. How Dagon had inadvertently let Aziraphale in, how she’d found herself face to face with the real Michael, already meeting with the dark council discussing reinforcements, when she could swear she’d left the Archangel back at her office with Crowley; and how the two of them, Crowley and Aziraphale, had managed a last-minute miraculous escape. Not long after Dagon finished talking, the Metatron stopped his pacing and turned to her.

- Metamorphosis! - he bellowed, his voice deep and mocking – How could you fall for that, you fool?! -

- How the hell was I supposed to know? - she scoffed, barely intimidated by the powerful entity, as he begun pacing once again – He looked bloody identical to Michael! -

- Please – the Archangel rolled their eyes – That looked nothing like me... -

- What the heavens were they doing down there, anyway? - Uriel inquired, their curiosity piqued.

- They were looking for something – Dagon explained, completely ignoring Uriel and addressing The Metatron instead – Something in my office. A document. They stole it and escaped with it, I saw it in that traitorous demon’s hands -

- A document? - this time it was Saraquel who asked, they too longing to know more – Why in the world would they need a document? -

- Beats me – the demon said, her eyebrows raising to emphasise the point – But they took it. List of Forbidden Books and Texts, stolen right out of my desk drawer! -

Before anyone had the chance to inquire forward, The Metatron stopped dead in his tracks and hastily closed in on Dagon, grabbing the front of her attire with a shockingly strong feet and pulling so that their noses would be left just inches apart. His eyes were wide open in shock and utter disbelief; and his heavy breathing resembled that of a fighting bull ready to charge. When he spoke, his words felt like icy daggers to the throat, making even Dagon gulp.

- What did you say? -

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 6 - CONSEQUENCE

The looks on Muriel and Eleyn's faces were priceless as they listened to the angry banter from the rear part of the Bentley, throwing surprised, worried and amused glances at each other. Eleyn mouthed a "damn", and the other raised her eyebrows in agreement. After the shouting subsided, the driver was told where to go by a flustered Muriel, caught halfway through mouthing the sentence "That wasn't in Jane Austin" to Eleyn. The following hour saw a slightly uncomfortable silence settle in the car, broken only by Crowley's occasional hiss at the traffic up ahead. However, of course, this peace and quiet was far too good to be true. At about ten minutes from Sheffield, the demon resolved to tell Muriel and Eleyn about the other worrisome discovery they had made down in Hell. Upon hearing what sort of document they had found, the young cherub's eyes flew open like saucers.

- A Pact of alliance? - she reiterated, taken aback - No, that's completely impossible! -

- I'm afraid we saw it with our own eyes, Muriel - sighed Aziraphale, finally setting the bag of pastries down. Only one Eccles cake had survived.

- Yeah - Crowley hissed, his tone irritatingly sardonic in the angel's ears - And you won't believe whose signature was on it - he rolled his eyes at Aziraphale.

- I did not sign that thing - the angel firmly stated - It was my signature, but I didn't put it there -

- And who did? - the demon challenged - No, hold on, let me guess...The Metatron! - he mocked.

- Well - the angel said between gritted teeth - Yes, if I had to guess... -

- What a surprise... - he growled, his tone beginning to tire Aziraphale.

- Oh, come on! - the angel squeaked - Even through your ineffable thick-headedness you must know that it's not my style! Going behind everyone's back like that? You know I never would! -

- Who the hell are you calling thick-headed? - Crowley hissed, exaggerating offence, sidetracking the conversation so he wouldn't have to admit Aziraphale was right.

- Who do you think, thick-head?! - Aziraphale replied, putting his foot down.

Muriel and Eleyn glanced at each other at the exact same time; and their eyes said the exact same thing. Oh dear.

The bantering and name-calling had begun; and it continued for the whole remainder of the road trip, three and a half hours in total. The two passengers in the back, completely driven mad by the continuous kindergarten-ish argument, had spent two of those hours pondering how to best throw themselves out the window, with minimum injuries if it were possible. Even the Bentley's patience had run out, the radio spontaneously bursting on at one point, blasting Queen's "Friends will be Friends" at full volume. This had earned the car a scold from his master, the music's volume going down as Aziraphale, in turn, reprimanded the demon for being too harsh on the Bentley; to which the other had replied with a series of very unholy expressions. In the meantime, Muriel, after letting out a chuckle, explained the nature of the Bentley to a perplexed Eleyn who'd just asked how the hell it was possible to scold a car.

The back-and-forth between the pair continued until, four and a half hours after the miraculous escape from Hell, Crowley sped up the driveway to Dalkeith Palace, otherwise known as Midlothian House; an elegant brick manor in the middle of the breath-taking Scot countryside. It was surrounded by a neat, well-kept field and behind it stood a blossoming forest, its treetops dyed with autumn's soft orange and yellow tones. The sun, happily perched up in the sky, shone brightly; its rays reflecting off the Bentley's hood as it came to a halt. The second the engine stopped, the two front doors flew open with what Eleyn could swear was a sigh of relief, almost spitting Crowley and Aziraphale out. The back doors, in contrast, opened slowly and with utmost grace, the Bentley even leaning down to ease the passengers' descent. Crowley and Aziraphale, however, did not take notice of this detail as they were much too occupied with shouting at one another as the group began strolling towards the palace's doors.

- Yeah, well, at least I have the correct child! - Aziraphale said crossly.

- Oh, that's where we're going?!- spat the other - Okay, let's go there! Remind me who was the idiot who found the child and didn't say a fucking word ?! -

- I was going to! - the angel squeaked - I was calling you when I...got inconveniently discorporated! -

- Yeah! - Crowley hissed - Fell into the goddam circle at literally the worst possible time in history, the damn fool! -

- It's not my fault they put it in the middle of the room! - he complained - And, just so you know, I didn't fall into it. It was Sargent Shadwell's fault! - he added with a dignified nod.

- Oh, how opportune! - the demon mocked - Another person to blame for your fuck-ups! -

- It was him! - Aziraphale insisted.

- Was not! - Crowley challenged.

- Was too! -

- Was not! -

Muriel and Eleyn followed them at a small distance, the latter's eyebrows knitted in both confusion and annoyance.

- So, what's the deal with those two? - she sighed.

- Long story - Muriel quickly responded, smiling sweetly at her.

- Which you'll tell me all about later over a cup of tea? - Eleyn raised an eyebrow, a grin sprawling on her face as well.

- Obviously - Muriel winked, nudging her tenderly, making both of them break into a soft giggle.

By the time they arrived at the door, they'd already lost track of the argument, catching up to them just in time to hear Crowley spit out one last "Fuck you" before knocking. The door flew open a moment after, interrupting Aziraphale mid-insult, an educated smile adorning his face the moment he saw the gentleman on the other side of the threshold.

- 'ello - the man said with a thick Scottish accent, his gray eyes reddened and full of sorrow.

- Hello, good sir - the angel said, ever the image of politeness, arms clamped tightly behind his back - We are terribly sorry for the intrusion, but I'm afraid we've come with a very urgent inquiry -

- Oh - he sighed, disappointment written all over his features - 'yer not the doctors, then?...They told me they wouldn't come back, 'cause there was nothing more they could do, but for a moment I thought perhaps... - he sighed, briefly glancing upwards, fighting tears of rage, then looking back at the group on his doorstep - But never mind this wee old man's pains...what was it you wanted, lads? -

- We came here looking for a book - Crowley stated - An original manuscript of the Gospel of John. It's our understanding that it was last seen in this house; and we need to see it as soon as possible - he paused - Would you happen to know anything about it? -

Unexpectedly, the man's friendly and tender façade transformed to rage in a matter of seconds. His jaw tightened and his blood-shot eyes opened like saucers. He furrowed his brow and bore his teeth, breathing heavily, before he spoke.

- No, I don't know anything about that bloody thing! - he barked, furious - And I don't want to know! -

- Sir, please - Muriel interjected from behind Crowley and Aziraphale - This is really important to us; it is imperative that we find the gospel. If you know something, anything, you must tell us -

- Is this some sort of joke ?! - he growled - Who the hell are you, anyway, coming up 'ere and asking all these damn questions ?! -

- Who we are isn't important - said Aziraphale, never raising his voice - We need to know the location of the manuscript, I beg you -

- Look - he breathed, exasperated - All I can tell you is where it went from 'ere; but I can't guarantee it's still there. If I do that, will you lot leave me alone? -

- Where it went...from here? - Reiterated the angel.

- Yes - the man nodded - When I gave it away -

- You what? - Aziraphale seemed almost offended .

- Well, this conversation is oddly familiar... - Crowley muttered, unable to hold back a cuckle.

- Sir - the angel said, glancing at the demon in a very unamused manner and turning to the man at the door once again - Do you have any notion of the historical value those pages have? -

- I don't care! - the other snapped - It's not worth my family! -

- What...do you mean? - Eleyn inquired with a small voice.

- I mean it's none 'o your damn business, that's what I bloody mean! - the man bellowed - Get the hell out of 'ere before I shoot you in yer pretty little guts! -

He made to slam the door in their faces when Crowley grabbed it out of reflex, his lean muscles distinguishable from under the tight turtleneck, and pulled firmly so that he'd find himself face to face with the man.

- You trust us - he stated rather than asking, locking eyes with him.

The gentleman's expression softened, and his demeanor went back to the kindness and tenderness he displayed when he had opened the door. His body relaxed, and all anger disappeared from his being, leaving sorrow and fear in its place. Aziraphale gave Crowley a look, and the latter rolled his eyes.

- Oh, relax - he sighed - it was far too small a miracle to get noticed -

- For all our sakes, I hope so - he whispered, then addressed the man - May we come in, please? -

- Certainly - the other responded, opening the door completely and stepping out of the way - I do trust 'ye, do I not? -

The group stepped inside the manor, and they were met by a warm, candle-lit interior which exuded calmness and serenity. The house itself was open-concept, with a welcoming lobby which led the way into the elegant living room and well-equipped kitchen; and the beautifully-designed chandeliers which hung from the ceiling gave the rooms a touch of historic elegance which Aziraphale found quite charming. The dark wooden flooring made an interesting contrast with the light, beige walls; and every now and then one would run into a gorgeous handmade carpet which adorned the pavement. The last- model TV set and modern decorations, however, gave it an edge of class and modern style which pleased Crowley. Muriel and Eleyn were immediately drawn towards the golden-framed portraits which hung from the walls, each depicting an important historical figure from Britain's medieval ages. Having closed the door behind them, the gentleman who had let them in turned to his guests and called their attention with a polite cough.

- My apologies - said Aziraphale, who had been admiring the chandeliers until that point - I haven't introduced myself. Where are my manners? - he offered his hand in greeting, and the man shook it without hesitation- My name is Azira Fell, I'm a book collector, and these are my...associates - he gestured at the other three - Mr. Anthony J Crowley, Ms. Muriel and Eleyn -

- Nice meeting you, very nice - the man said, shaking Crowley's hand once he let go of the angel's - Names' Harris Scott -

- Likewise - said Muriel with a sweet voice. Eleyn simply smiled and nodded.

- If I may, Mr. Scott - the Daughter of God inquired - What did you mean by the manuscript not being worth your family? - she tried again.

- What I meant - he said - Is that the bloody thing has cursed my family. However much money it's worth, it has brought nothing but tragedy and despair to this house. I just wanted to get rid of it, so I gave it away, ' soon as I could -

- How do you mean, cursed? - Crowley asked, rasing an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

- With death, son - responded Mr. Scott - My father, an enthuthiast of old books such as Mr. Fell, one day became very ill and not long after died in agonizing pain -

- Because he had read the gospel? - Aziraphale said, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

- That's what he'd always say, my old man, in his death bead. The gospel is cursed, he said. Destroy it. Those were his last words. 'Course, I didn't believe it then, I thought of it as a dying man's craze. But now... - his voice broke, tears adorning his already-reddened eyes, and he bit his index finger to stop himself from crying.

- Mr. Scott... - Crowley's voice quivered slightly - Are you... ? -

- No, lad, not me. I never touched the damn thing. Not a big bible guy myself... - he sighed, then glanced up the staircase which led to the rooms on the upper floor - My son...he read it, and now he's... - his voice broke into a million pieces - he's dying -

- I don't understand. It's a book, how can it...- said Eleyn, glancing over at the scrivener - ...Hey, are you okay? -

Muriel had gone completely pale, all blood drained from her face, and her eyes were wide open in shock. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, on the verge of hyperventilation; and she held her trembling fingers as she took an urgent step forward to address Harris, not without first throwing the other three a panic-filled, quick glance.

- Mr. Scott - she said, her voice shaking like gelatine - Your son; is he baptized? -

- I don't see how that has anything to do with... -

- Just answer the question! - Muriel snapped, making him jump, her usual calm façade faltering.

- Y...yes, he is - he gulped, taken aback by the sudden crossness.

- I need to see him - she demanded, a shaky breath escaping her trembling lips - Now -

- Wh...what? - Mr. Scott said, confused.

- Muriel - said Aziraphale, who hadn't been slow to catch on - You don't think...? -

- I hope I'm wrong - she replied, glancing at the angel - I need to see him, Mr. Scott, please - she reiterated.

Mr. Scott, sensing the urgency in the young woman's pleas, decided to comply. He led the group up the wide, carpeted staircase and into a room on the far right of the upper floor. It was the biggest of the bedrooms, and an it had an imposing full-wall window out of which one could see the gorgeous, green Scot countryside, with its rolling hills and bright blue sky. Between the door and the window stood a large, four-poster bed; and on it a young man laid unconscious. He couldn't have been older that twenty-five, yet his pale and drained face gave him an extremely fragile appearance. His features, though frozen in time, were contorted in an agony such as no mortal illness should be able to cause; and he struggled to breathe, his chest going up and down at a pace so slow that practically no oxygen arrived to his lungs. It was undeniable, the boy was dying. He was fighting for his heart to continue beating, but it was obvious that it wouldn't be in a matter of days, maybe even hours.

- This - Mr. Scott said, eyes full of emotion as he glanced at his son - is Thomas, my son. He... - he struggled to put words together - He's been like this for a couple weeks now. It started two months ago. He was healthy and happy, but suddenly... - he had to stop to compose himself, tears at the verge of falling - He began to feel pain. Not in a particular place or way, just pain. And it got worse and worse every day, up to the point where he couldn't eat, couldn't sleep... couldn't even talk. Then, one day, he just collapsed, and he's been unconscious ever since - his voice shook as he recalled the events, a tight knot forming in his throat - He's been examined by about all the doctors in the continent, and they all say the same thing: no poison, no wounds, no microbes, no cancer...nothing. There is absolutely no reason for him to be dying, and yet... - he covered his eyes with his hands as tears began to fall.

Without saying a word, Muriel walked to Thomas' side and slowly brought a trembling hand to touch his forehead. Her fingertips had but caressed his skin, however, when she froze with an audible gasp, her whole body going rigid. She began shaking violently and took two steps back at the same time her hand flew to cover her mouth. Tears cascaded down her face and her breaths became shallow and erratic. With reddened eyes full of sorrow and guilt, she glanced at Mr. Scott, then back at the boy.

- I'm sorry - she whispered, her voice breaking into pieces - I'm so sorry -

- Muriel... - Aziraphale said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder for comfort - There was no way you could've known... -

- I don't understand - hissed Crowley - what's going on? -

- It's... It's a consequence... - the cherub said between sobs.

- What? - the demon spat, scandalized - No, that can't be right. A consequence is burning your toasts or a day of bad luck or something...but death? -

- Not just death - Muriel breathed - Slow, painful death -

- What's "a consequence" ? - Eleyn asked, concern for her friend lacing her every word.

- As you already know, there are certain texts and books that are forbidden by Heaven - Aziraphale explained, and Eleyn nodded in understanding - Now, angels can't phisically open or read these; and demons, well, they can read them with no consequences whatsoever. But humans who have sworn faith to God have a choice. The problem is that Heaven...they really like their rules, you see, so when a mortal decides to break them and read a forbidden book, they get a consequence -

- A punishment? - Eleyn's eyebrows shot up in shock - This man is being punished with death for reading a book? -

- Consequences are supposed to be harmless... - Muriel said, her voice shaking - They should never involve pain...ever.... -

- Are we sure that that's what this is? - the Daughter of God inquired.

- Muriel is a scrivener, Eleyn - Aziraphale explained - She has the ability to feel if someone is being affected by a consequence; especially if it originated from a book she herself forbade -

- It's my fault... - the young cherub sobbed, falling to her knees - It's all my fault! This young man is going to die, and it's my fault! -

- Whoa, whoa! - Eleyn kneeled down beside her, placing her hands on her shoulders- How is any of this your fault? -

- I was the one who signed that paper... - she whispered, eyes burning red.

- It's not like you had a choice, Muriel - Crowley reassured her - You were just doing your job. If anyone is responsible for this, it's The Metatron -

- Whatever is inside that book - Aziraphale observed - He is very interested in keeping it a secret -

- Everyone who has read that book has died in agony, every single one of them, because of me... - she continued to cry uncontrollably.

- No, stop it now! - Eleyn tightened her grip on Muriel - Stop it! - she reiterated, then gently raised her head and dried her tears - You are not responsible for any of this, you hear me? -

- Muriel - Aziraphale took a step forward, then gestured as though he was about to click his fingers - Can I perhaps....? -

- No - she cut him off - Miracles won't work - she took a shaky breath - I've killed him - her hands folded into fists and she began to shake - there's nothing we... - her voice broke, and she was unable to finish the sentence, letting her head drop and the tears flow freely.

Mr. Scott, who had been listening in silence until that point, went around the bed and gently caressed his son's hair, tears pouring down with no restraint whatsoever. He turned to look at Muriel with blood-shot eyes.

- I didn't understand a word you said, lass - he whispered to her - But, for what it's worth, I don't blame you - he turned to his son once again - And neither would he -

An absolute, ominous silence settled in the room; a silence which weighed like death itself. Muriel, whilst having been momentarily soothed by Mr. Scott's words, continued crying silently, Eleyn's reassuring hand never parting from her shoulder. A single tear rolled down Aziraphale's cheek as he watched the dying boy wheighing a war which they all knew he wouldn't win. Crowley didn't cry or, at least, his dark sunglasses didn't let it show; but his eyebrows were knitted and his head was tilted down, compassion tugging at his heartstrings. It was in that absolute silence that the Daughter of God heard something, like a sigh or a whisper. She didn't make much of it at first, but as they intensified she began to take notice; until she felt a tingle. It started at her toes and travelled up her legs, past her ribcage and all the way to her shoulder blades. From there it went down her arms and to her fingertips, where it only intensified. Suddenly, the sighs turned to words, clear and discernable.

You can save him.
Heal him, Daughter
You can save the boy
Heal him

A knot formed in her throat, and her heart felt like it would leap out of her chest any minute. Not entirely sure what she was doing, Eleyn took slow, calculated steps towards the bed and, almost without realizing it, raised her hand to the ailing boy's forehead; her palm burning softly. Aziraphale, confused by her sudden change of behavior, had called out to her; but his voice was nothing more than a distant Echo in Eleyn's mind. When her fingers graced his skin, the whispers subsided and only one voice could be heard. It took her a second to realize that it was her own.

-You will be healed - it didn't sound like her usual voice, it was distorted, that's why she hadn't recognized it -Raise, I said, for you are not to die; not today. Raise, Thomas, and be healed-

A thin veil of light emanated from her fingertips and engulfed him completely. Eleyn felt every inch of her body heat up; and then it was suddenly all gone. She toppled backwards as a wave of drowsiness hit her and Crowley, his reflexes always sharp, grabbed her shoulder in the nick of time so she wouldn't fall over. Silence fell amongst them again; but not for long. First it was a deep, air-filled breath; and then heavy coughs. Thomas, feeling the oxygen flow through him for the first time in weeks, opened his eyes and jolted upright, sitting on the bed with his arm over his mouth. Mr. Scott was unable to speak for the following seconds, but soon enough his lips traced an ear-to-ear smile and he threw himself onto his son, crying in happiness rather than sorrow for the first time in a long while.

- Thomas! - he cried, hugging him tightly - Oh, my dear boy! - he pulled away and cupped the boy's face in his hands - You're feeling better, yes? - he asked.

-The pain, it's... it's gone...- he whispered, visibly shook, his movements still slow and weak - It's completely gone...how on...? oh! -

Muriel, her insides bubbling with happiness from the moment she saw the boy rise, followed Mr. Scott's lead and threw her arms around Thomas, laughing and crying at the same time. He was momentarily taken aback, but returned the hug either way. When she finally separated herself from him, she spoke, the joy in her voice like an infectious melody.

- You're alive! - she exclaimed, her tone at least two octaves above the usual - You're not going to die! I didn't kill you! - she paused, then looked at the other two men, one of which held a dazed girl by her shoulder - But how? - she inquired, then turned back to Thomas, smiling tenderly at him.

- Well, it's certainly nice to see so many people so happy that I'm not going to die - he chuckled, smiling sweetly back at her -...but, if you don't mind me asking, who exactly are you? Doctors? -

- Not quite, Thomas - the man in all-black quickly responded - Let's just say we bring good luck and leave it at that, okay? - he grinned - Now, how the hell are you breathing right now? Miracles were not supposed to work, right? - he glanced at the man in beige.

- No, they weren't, but how did Eleyn...? Oh - the pieces suddenly fell into their very obvious place - Mr. Scott - he addressed Thomas' father - You wouldn't happen to be related to any noble families, would you? - Crowley and Muriel were hit by realization seconds after.

- Why, yes - he replied, drying the last of his tears - I am the youngest brother of the duke of Buccleuch; hence him letting me use this manor. We live back in England, you see, but my son adores this house and the countryside that sorrounds it, and he was dying, so my brother agreed to lend me it until he returned from his travels - he concluded his explanation, then gave Aziraphale a puzzled look - Why? -

-Oh shit - Crowley hissed, letting go of Eleyn and pacing the room – Ohshitohshitohshit -

- What? - Eleyn inquired, still slightly perplexed.

- Healing of the nobleman's son near death - Aziraphale stated - It's the second sign -

- Oh, great- the Daughter of God muttered under her breath.

- We don't have long until they find us, not with that big a miracle - Muriel hurried to Eleyn's side, grabbing her arm -You okay? - she whispered at her. She nodded in response.

- Mr. Scott - Crowley was the one to address him this time, to speed up the conversation - I'm afraid I really must insist that you tell us what you did with that book -

- Right, 'course, yes - he rummaged inside his coat pocket - I gave it to a man, he seemed awfully interested in the damn thing, said he was doing some sort of auction down in Edinburgh. I wrote his address down to drop it off on the way here...ah, there it is - he handed Aziraphale a neatly-folded piece of paper - I hope yer able to find it. Seems important to you -

-You have no idea - Crowley muttered under his breath, then spoke up once again - One other thing, Mr. Scott - he said - If I were you, now that Thomas is all better, I'd go back to England as soon as possible - The man stared at him confusedly, and an exasperated sigh escaped Crowley's lips - Look, I know I said we brought good luck but, as it turns out, we also bring a lot of very unhappy beings whom you are better off not encountering when they find this place; which they will. Trust me, get out of here as soon as you can -

- You gave me my son back - Mr. Scott said - I trust you all. If you say we'll be safer in the city, then so be it. I'll accompany you to the door and then begin packing immediately -

All of them went back downstairs and to the main lobby, Thomas included, the latter in a surprisingly decent shape for having practically been in a coma for two weeks. When the door had already been opened and the four strangers made to step outside, the boy's curiosity got the better of him, his voice making them stop.

- Wait! - He said - It's just...being back on my feet, it feels like such a miracle...so, you see, I have to know...are you...are you angels? -

- Well - Aziraphale glanced at the other three, then back at the boy - At least half of us are - he smiled tenderly, then spun towards the door - Take care, Thomas, Mr. Scott -

With that, they all stepped into the Scottish fields and walked away from the elegant manor. The sun had already begun going down, making the Bentley cast a small shadow. The four of them walked towards it in silence and slipped inside. The engine roared to life almost immediately, and Crowley slowly drove back to the motorway which would ultimately lead them to Edinburgh. Five minutes into the short trip, Aziraphale broke the silence.

- I'm glad it turned out well for them - he sighed, then eyed the back of the car through the rearview mirror - Eleyn, dear, are you feeling alright? -

- I'm good - she said, scratching her head - Just a bit of a headache -

- That's normal - Crowley said - It was a moderately big miracle, and you're not used to them anyway, so they tire you out. We'll lay low for the night -

- Speaking of which - Aziraphale chimed - I daresay it's nearly time for tea. Shall we find a nice place to eat? I'm feeling a little peckish -

- You've eaten a literal bag-full of Eccles Cakes! - the demon groaned - How the fuck are you hungry already? -

- You, Crowley, have known me long enough to know I'm always hungry - he responded, his temper rising again, as he'd not at all liked the demon's tone.

-Yeah, no kidding!- the other rolled his eyes in annoyance, teasing him - No wonder they made gluttony one of the Seven Deadly Sins! -

-I beg your pardon?! - 

As the pointless argument reignited, and the bantering came back to life, the Bentley's engine roared in exasperation and, in the back of the car, Muriel pinched her nose whilst Eleyn massaged her aching temples.

-Bump that up to mild migraine- the latter whispered to her equally irritated friend.

-We're all going to die - Muriel whispered back with a heavy sigh.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 - Echoes of Eternity

Somehow, the Bentley had managed to arrive at the hotel without electrocuting the demon that drove it and the angel with whom he incessantly argued. Crowley had brought the extravagant car to a halt in front of The Balmoral, a castle-like elegant building of which the clock tower proudly stood out, rising above the city. It was located in Princess street, no less, and Edinburgh's main historic centre was practically across the street, St. Mary's cathedral looming tall close by. Eleyn, her curious mind running, couldn't help but stare out the car window at the mesmerizing city lights in the night; which gave Edinburgh that mix of beauty and eeriness for which it was well-known. The four occupants of the vehicle had descended and gone over to the reception desk, where they were told by a somewhat stunned receptionist that the Grand Suit had, by some sort of miracle, just become free. After that, they had enjoyed a delightfully expensive supper in the hotel's restaurant, which had gone by in complete silence except the occasional small sound which Aziraphale made when trying the first bite of a new dish; each time accompanied by a subtle glance from Crowley.

Now, after having settled in the luxurious room (Or, rather, flat; because it included a small living room, a kitchenette, a large marbled bathroom featuring shower and bath, and two bedrooms; each with two separated beds) and distributed the bedrooms, the verdict being that if Crowley and Aziraphale were put in the same room one of them would be murdered by dawn, Muriel and Eleyn enjoyed a cup of herbal tea one the small, round table near the window. The demon was taking a shower, and Aziraphale had locked himself in one of the rooms; so Muriel had resolved to explain the little she knew about the pair's situation to Eleyn.

- No way! - The latter exclaimed, heating her hands on the porcelain cup - They actually danced? -

- Honest to God - said Muriel - Saw it with my own two eyes - she took a sip of her tea.

- But that's adorable! - she excitedly squealed - Did you see who asked who? -

- Well, no - the angel explained with a sad smile - I was standing outside the bookshop, across the street. I had a limited view from the window, unfortunately -

- That's too bad - sighed Eleyn, raising the cup to her lips.

- I did see the looks, though - Muriel broke the silence after taking another sip.

- What looks? - said the other, leaning into the table, eyes ablaze with curiosity.

- The looks they gave each other, especially Aziraphale... - the angel flashed a small smile - I mean, I didn't know what it was I was seeing at first; but then I read the books and...well...it just seemed to click into place -

- You're going to have to give me more details, Muriel - Eleyn playfully said - Exactly how were the looks? -

- Um... - she thought, then adjusted her posture - Well, you know in romance novels, when the main male character is at that stage where he's accepted his feelings but tries very hard not to make it too obvious , and then the main female character walks in looking absolutely stunning ? -

- Mmhm - she nodded fervently, then took another sip of tea.

- And he throws her a look up and down, like that - she mimicked the look she was describing - And literally has to stop himself from planting a kiss in her lips right there and then? -

- Yeah - Eleyn's eyes were wide open, and she couldn't help an excited little smile.

- Well, something like that, except Aziraphale is the male character and Crowley the female character - Muriel concluded her explanation with a chime.

- Aziraphale? - Eleyn gasped in a theatrical manner, placing a hand on her chest - Well, that's rather counter-intuitive, isn't it? One might think the lustful looks would come from the demon, not from the angel -

- Oh, you have no idea how wrong you are - the cherub said with a knowing smirk, lifting the cup a few inches before a hand softly swat at her.

- Stop! - Eleyn squeaked, playfully slapping her arm - You're killing me, Muriel! Oh, they're so in love! -

- Yeah, I know - the cherub sighed with a small smile - At the beginning I thought it was horrible, an angel and a demon together, but when I saw them...They're just made for each other, there' s no way around it. It's too bad that they're the only ones who seem not to realize that... - she finally took a sip of tea.

- Oh, come on - the other said - They're soulmates, they'll have to come round eventually, right? -

- With those two, who knows? - Muriel shrugged her shoulders - They might as well take another six thousand years -

- If we manage to get the world another six thousand years... - sighed Eleyn

- And that is precisely the problem! - Muriel lamented - I mean, don't get me wrong, you know I'm the most optimistic of angels; but I genuinely don't believe there's a way we can pull this off without them working together, as one -

- What do you mean? - Eleyn asked in a near whisper.

- You see, apart they are about as powerful as any other regular angel or demon, perhaps slightly stronger; due to the six thousand years of experience - she took a breath and set her empty teacup down on the small table - But together they become something else entirely. They become powerful, Eleyn. Very, very powerful. Certainly powerful enough to oppose the Metatron -

- But that won't happen if they're jumping at each other's throats every two seconds - the Daughter of God realized.

- Exactly -

- Well, we ought to talk to them, then, right? - Eleyn suggested - Try and knock some sense into them, no? -

- I don't know if that's a good idea... - Muriel closed her eyes and took a breath - What they need is to just listen to each other; to really talk, rather than argue - she reopened her eyes.

- But, given the enormous implications, don't you think it's at least worth a shot? - the other insisted.

- I... - the scrivener thought for a moment - I suppose there really is nothing to lose -

- That's what I like to hear! - Eleyn finished her tea as well and put the mug down - So, I do Aziraphale and you do Crowley? -

- No - Muriel's answer was sharp and immediate- I should be the one to talk to Aziraphale - 

Eleyn had already opened her mouth to ask why, her curious mind ablaze, when the sound of running water coming from the bathroom suddenly subsided; a clear sign that the demon would walk out of it moments after, which he did, so she resolved to end the conversation instead.

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Crowley didn't need showers, not really, but the feeling of cold water running down his bare back put him at such ease that he'd taken the habit of doing it every single day. Normally, the icy coldness would numb his mind in such a way that all his worries, all his problems, simply disappeared from the face of the Earth. He would just stand there, beneath the water, eyes closed shut; and let the drops calmly slide from his hair to his face, down past his nose and towards the neck; not without first gracing his lips. Then, he'd feel them running on his naked torso, past his middle and to his thigh before finally going down his calf and landing on the floor next to his feet. Normally, the drops of water would be the only thing in his mind, pushing away every other notion. But today was different. A single thought consumed him and the water, though well-below freezing point, had no effect on him whatsoever.

Aziraphale...

- No! - he hissed, his fingers curling into fists.

His body began to tremble, which for a Demon is never good, and he suddenly felt something warm on his skin which made a shiver travel up his spine, his every hair standing as it went along. It was a tear, a warm drop of water which emanated from the demon's eyes, creating an extraordinary contrast with the frigid water that showered him. His breaths felt short as his mind flickered back to the angel, and Crowley swore in a low hiss as he pictured his gorgeous cerulean eyes. More tears followed the first as the mere notion of Aziraphale's presence in his life drowned him in an abyss of despair, choking him like a rope around the neck. So close, yet...

Angel...

Crowley wrapped his arms around his middle, cradling his own naked body, and he let himself cry, because he could never be good enough. How could he be? He was nothing but a filthy snake, and Aziraphale was the embodiment of goodness and perfection. The fact that he'd even had the audacity to think...

Us...

With a guttural and primal roar, which was thankfully silenced by the sound of the shower, Crowley dug his fist into the wall, breathing heavily, blood-shot golden eyes lined with tears of rage. He froze there, his whole body going rigid for a few long moments, his wet, red hair dangling in front of his face, temporarily blinding him. Then, he slowly released the tension, separating his fist from the small crack it had created on the concrete wall, and stared up helplessly into the falling water, which made a futile effort to wash away his tears while brushing his hair out of his face.

- Shit... - he hissed, his voice trembling so much he could barely speak - Goddammit... -

When he'd finally managed to compose himself, at least to some degree, Crowley turned the water off and stepped out of the shower with a slight shiver. He slipped back into his underwear, much-too-tight black jeans and slim turtleneck, throwing his usual silver scarf around his neck. Before getting out of the bathroom, the demon opened one of the free hotel combs, carefully brushed and styled his hair in a slicked-back look; and hid his reddened eyes behind his dark shades. After staring at the door for a few seconds, the demon opened it and quietly slithered his way to the comfortable sofa.

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The Metatron looked into the dark, empty eyes of the creature with whom he'd formed an unlikely alliance; and the creature stared right back at him. His imposing, 500 foot frame and fiery skin, alongside the many horns which protruded from his head, were meant to inflict fear and terror in the poor souls who had the misfortune to see him; yet The Metatron wasn't the slightest bit afraid. The voice of God wasn't even vaguely concerned about the fact that it was absolutely furious; and making this particular creature angry was, in general terms, a very, very bad idea. He was known as The Great Adversary and Master of Hell; though most mortals, angels and demons would often refer to him as Satan.

- YOU HAVE LET HIM ESCAPE FROM RIGHT BENEATH YOUR NOSE, METATRON! - The Adversary spoke, spitting ash out of his mouth.

- And you allowed him to walk Hell right beneath your nose, my dear ally - the other said, smugly brushing the ash off his suit - It appears we both underestimated those two bastards -

- THAT SCUM... - said Satan - HAVE THEY DISCOVERED OUR INTENTIONS? -

- Not yet - The Metatron said - But it won't take long for them to figure it out -

-I WILL SEND ALL THE DEMONS IN HELL! - the Devil proclaimed - THE TRAITOROUS ANGEL AND THE BASTARD CROWLEY WILL BE DESTROYED, ONCE AND FOR ALL! -

-Hold on now, dear fellow - the ethereal being calmly said - I know you desire nothing more than to quench your bloodthirst; but may I remind you that the child is with them? - he raised his eyebrows - We cannot risk the Daughter being hurt, under any circumstance. She must perform the seven signs, or all of this will be for nothing -

- AND WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU PROPOSE WE DO? - Inquired Satan, leaning menacingly towards The Metatron.

- We watch them closely - Metatron didn't even blink - And we wait for the child to perform six signs; maybe even give them a little...nudge -

- OUR RESPECTIVE SIDES WILL REALIZE SOMETHIG IS AMISS IF WE ASK THEM TO DO THAT - The Adversary observed.

- Not if we do it correctly - the other explained - They will believe their mission is merely to retrieve the gospel -

- BY DOING THIS YOU RISK THEM FINDING OUT ABOUT OUR PLANS - Satan wasn't very convinced, though he very rarely was.

- It doesn't matter if they know. Can't you see? - The Metatron never raised his voice - No angel in heaven or demon in hell will believe them; and the only thing that matters is that the Daughter is in Heaven, next to me, when she performs the seventh sign -

- AND HOW DO YOU INTEND FOR THAT TO HAPPEN? - like every decent demon, Satan trusted no one, not even his shadow; which in retrospect is actually quite logical, seeing as he didn't usually have a shadow.

- Oh, I have a fun idea for that - the ethereal being's eyes sparkled with evilness, and a mischievous smile crossed his face - You simply make sure that my side doesn't find out about the true nature of our...little agreement, and leave the rest to me -

- YOUR ANGELS HAVE ALREADY BEEN FOOLED BY THE SIGNED PACT OF ALLIANCE. THEY BELIEVE HEAVEN AND HELL WANT THE SAME; THEY SUSPECT NOTHING -

- And it should remain that way; at least until it's too late for them to stop us - The Metatron insisted - Send your battalions when I tell you to, my unlikely friend, and before you know it we shall have victory -

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Aziraphale sat on the edge of the small bed, alone in the darkened room. He could have turned on the lights, but he really didn't feel like it. The little light which did graze the angel's skin came from the moonlight filtered through the small window at which he stared absentmindedly. A single thought, a single image, invaded his mind as he slowly and reverently caressed his lips with trembling fingers.
When he closed his eyes, Aziraphale could still feel the tingly, wonderful sensation of Crowley's lips pressed flush against his in what had been both a desperate attempt to make the angel stay and an outburst of unspoken feelings which had been quietly marinating for over six thousand years. That day, Crowley had given him his heart; and the angel had been forced to throw it away. Now, as a result, the demon despised him.

Crowley...

Aziraphale's fingers recoiled away from his lips as the demon's eyes materialized in his mind. Deep, golden, breathtaking; and full of hatred. The image, as clear as water, knocked the air out of him and tears began finding their way down the angel's face. It was a truth that he hadn't wanted to admit; but it was more obvious with each passing moment. Crowley hated him.

And it wasn't just an impression or a gut-feeling; Aziraphale could sense the despise oozing off the demon. It was everywhere, all the time; and the worst part was that he deserved it. Though he hadn't really had a choice, the angel hated himself for what he had done to Crowley; for the pain he'd caused him. Aziraphale had torn him apart. He had said terrible, awful things; he had broken his heart, and then simply walked away. He had done it to protect him, but that didn't change the fact that the angel was a monster.

Aziraphale covered his mouth with a shaking hand as the moral heaviness of his actions began crushing down on him; tears now positively cascading down his face. Squeezing his eyes shut, he released a breath he didn't know he had been holding and slowly let his head drop, crying all the tears he had wanted to cry for the past three years.

Crowley...

- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.... - he whispered between sobs.

The conflict between guilt and love within him slowly tared him apart from the inside. He wanted Crowley, he longed for Crowley's love; but he knew perfectly well that he didn't deserve it, not after what he'd done. Aziraphale had earned every bit of despise that the demon felt towards him; and nothing could change that. But it still pained his heart, which was why he was trying to bring himself to hate the demon. Aziraphale though that, perhaps, that way it wouldn't be as painful. However, the fact that he simply couldn't bring himself to despise Crowley for even a second made him even angrier; not towards the demon per se, just angrier in general. He began to shake, though he wasn't cold, and he finally reopened his reddened eyes, letting out a gasp. The mere thought of Crowley asfixiated him. So close, yet...

We could've been us...

He raised his head, facing the moon, opening his blood-shot eyes wide, his breathing reminiscent of a bull prepared to charge.

- Are you happy now?! - He cried out to Her - Have you made him suffer enough?! -

Of course, there was no reply. Why would there be? There never was. 

- What sort of a Plan is this?! What the hell are you playing at?! - he had to stop to take a breath - Why can't you just leave him alone?! Why can't you leave them all alone?! They have done nothing to you! NOTHING! -

He had run out of breath again. Aziraphale knew that The Metatron was technically acting in disaccordance to the Plan; but She was doing nothing to stop him. This fact had shattered his faith, adding to the ever-growing mess in his mind. He simply had no clue what to do, or what to believe. He felt lost. So he just continued to cry, wrapping his arms around his body and slowly rocking back and forth, until the sound of the door being opened forced him out of his trance. With a quick glance, the angel determined it was Muriel whose head popped through the threshold and, turning his head back towards the window, he dried his tears as best as he could; though it wasn't much use, seeing as his reddened, puffed-up eyes already gave away the fact he'd been crying.

- Aziraphale? - she said softly, making a point not to let the door creak - You aren't sleeping, are you? -

- I wouldn't even dare to try - the angel replied with a sad chuckle. There was a moment of silence, and he sniffed, trying his very best not to break down in front of the scrivener - Though I was enjoying the loneliness, Muriel - Aziraphale attempted to make it sound as less rude as possible.

- No, you weren't - she replied with a sweet smile, stepping inside and carefully closing the door behind her - Angels shouldn't lie - she promptly went around to the bed and sat beside him, turning on the little lamp on the bedside table with a gesture as she walked past - Most of the time, anyway. Are you okay? - she knew Aziraphale had been crying from the moment she'd opened the door.

- Yes, fine - he said, avoiding eye contact - tip top, absolutely tickety-boo - he fidgeted with his hands, attempting to hide their shakiness.

- I think I'll take that as a no - Muriel whispered, finally catching the angel's eyes as he turned his head to her.

- Gosh, nothing gets past you, does it, Inspector Constable? - he sighed, holding back a sob.

- Not after reading all the Sherlock Holmes books - she said, her voice warm and soothing - I really like books, you know. They're like people, only portable. And they don't tend to talk back as much -

- Yeah - a sad smile played on his lips - I like books, too -

- Do you know what my favorite ones are? - Aziraphale looked at her with the sort of face one would make if starting a conversation was the last thing they wanted - It's those ones where, in the end, the protagonist realizes that they're not alone, and that there are people who love them -

- Metaphors, too? - the angel sarcastically remarked, his eyebrows shooting upwards - You really are a fast learner -

- Aziraphale, please - she gently wrapped the angel's wrist in her hand - You must realize this has gotten out of hand. You have to talk to him -

- You've seen how well that usually goes - he looked away from her, his voice breaking.

- That's not talking, it's madly rambling at each other - Muriel explained - Can't you see? Neither of you ever say what you're really thinking; and you don't listen to eachother. You've got to actually speak to him -

- The last time we actually spoke, things didn't turn out so well - Aziraphale whispered, tears beginning to accumulate in his eyes once again.

- Only because you had to make sure of it - Muriel whispered back without hesitation.

Aziraphale stared up at her in shock. He hadn't at all expected that reply, and the immediate terror in his eyes only proved that further. There was a long silence in which they simply stared at each other. The angel opened his mouth, then closed it, opened it again, and closed it one more time.

- How did you...? - his brain still hadn't fully recovered the ability to put words together.

- For some reason, our bosses always tend to forget that certain angels have an extraordinary sense of hearing - she calmly explained.

- You were at the café - Aziraphale realized - You overheard us -

-Every word - she whispered.

-You've...- he had to pause to stop himself from crying - You've known for the past three years? -

- I have, yes - the scrivener nodded.

- You could've told him, all along... - a tear began to roll down his cheek, and he dried it immediately - And yet... -

- It's not my place to do so - she placed her other hand on his shoulder – It's yours -

- I... - the swirl of emotions now coursing through the angel choked his words -I can't, Muriel-

- I know you're trying to protect him, Aziraphale - Muriel insisted - but The Metatron is going to try to destroy us all anyway, so what's the point of keeping the secret? Just tell him -

- It's not that simple - he shook his head, once again looking out the window at the vast night sky - I've known Crowley for a long time. I know that if he was told the truth, he would go head to head against The Metatron without a second thought; and both you and I know that's a battle he cannot win - he turned back to the scrivener, certain she knew exactly what he was talking about - Either way, his hatred is the least I deserve; so there really is no point in telling him -

- First of all, he doesn't hate you. Second; what do you mean, you deserve it? - Muriel inquired, slightly taken aback - Aziraphale, you acted purely out of love. You saved him; you did the right thing -

- Then why did it feel so wrong? - the angel's trembling voice shattered into a million little pieces as tears began to flow freely once again, the scrivener caressing his shoulders with a delicate hand in an attempt to soothe him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8 – MUCH SPEAKING, LITTLE LISTENING.

Crowley's dripping hair slowly soaked the velvety cushion of the couch on which he had thrown himself with a loud thud. After that, Eleyn had offered to clean the small table and Muriel had excused herself, entering the bedroom which she and Aziraphale shared. The demon, his long limbs  comfortably curled up in a fetal position, had no intention to sleep whatsoever; so instead he just laid there, breathing in and out, concentrating on the distant chime of teacups and china plates in the sink. Then there were steps, small and unhurried, coming towards him.

Eleyn watched the slim figure slumped on the couch with a twinkle of compassion in her eye as she advanced towards him. He laid with his back to her, pretending to sleep, and his eyes were concealed, as usual, behind his dark glasses. The Daughter of God sat down beside him, on the long side of the couch, and spoke with a tender, serene tone:

- Hey - she whispered - You good? -

- Oh, yeah, jumping up and down - he growled, his tone sarcastic - Can't you see me? -

- Whoa - she joked, trying to dissipate the tension - Talk about a grumpy demon... - she rolled her eyes

- Look, Eleyn, just... - he sighed - I just want to be alone, okay? -

- Oh, I'm aware - Eleyn replied with a small smile - That's why I'm not leaving -

Crowley immediately recognized the words as his own and raised his head, throwing her a glance through the dark lenses.

- That - he hissed - was cheap. Very cheap -

- I know - her eyes were full of tenderness - But you didn't leave me alone at St. James', so I figured I'd return the favor -

- If you want to return the favor, you can do it by going to sleep and leaving me to mind my fucking business - the demon growled, turning his head back away from her.

- Oh, come on! - she was slowly beginning to lose her patience.

- No, 'cause I'm curious - he sat up, his infamous temper rising - I'm really curious as to what part of my current demeanor could possibly suggest that I want to have a goddamn conversation right now! -

- How about the broken heart, hm? Or the teary eyes which you try to hide beneath those things? - She gestured towards the sunglasses - You don't fool me with the tough and rough act, Crowley. It's eating at you; and you need to talk to someone -

- Talking talking talking! - he hissed - Always talking! Why do people keep telling me to fucking talk?! -

- Because you don't listen to any of them, you idiot! - Eleyn was scolding the demon at this point - You simply won't understand that it'll make you feel better! -

- Loads better! - he sardonically said - Like that one time I talked to Aziraphale and ruined my entire goddamn existence ?! - he bared his teeth - Yeah, you're right, that made me feel so good! -

- That's not...! - Eleyn sighed, realizing that arguing with the demon wouldn't solve anything, and her tone turned soft once again - Don't be daft, Crowley. You two need to clear the air, and you know it. It's hurting both of you, and Muriel and I are growing tired of the endless celestial row. Heck, even the car is looking at the dismantling centre options in town! - she calmly explained.

- Why the hell do you care so much?! - the demon huffed - It's not your problem! -

- Except it is! - Eleyn took a deep breath - It became my problem when you saved my life and then put yours in danger to protect me! Aziraphale and you...you're my friends. I can't just stand and watch -
Crowley glanced nervously around the room, his breaths heavy, and fought the tears with each and every fiber of his being.

- And what am I supposed to do ? - he was finally able to say, his voice at breaking point - I fucked up. I thought we... - he could barely articulate words - I thought...shit...what does it matter, anyway? He doesn't...He sees something different -

- You're kidding me, right? - Eleyn raised her eyebrows in pure disbelief, and the demon looked at her, confusion etched on his face - Crowley, that angel is madly in love with you. He couldn't physically be more in love with you -

The demon stopped breathing. The mere notion of those words having been said out loud made a tight knot form in his stomach. He wanted to believe them, he truly did, but the small seed of doubt and fear nagged at him incessantly. With trembling fingers, he slowly reached for his glasses and slipped them off, finally letting Eleyn see through to him, his reddened, sorrowful eyes completely exposed. He stared at her for a few, silent seconds and, when he spoke, his voice was the most vulnerable she had ever heard it.

- Don't... - he took a shaky breath – Just don’t, Eleyn -

- But it's true! - she insisted - I promise you, it is. He loves you; he really, really does. He... -

- Stop it! - Crowley hissed, making her fall silent - You don't know anything about... You're a kid, for whoevers sake! You couldn't even drink three days ago! What the fuck do you know about love ?! -

- Yeah, okay, maybe you're right - tears now began forming in her eyes - But do you know what I could do three days ago? I could hug my mother. Give my father a kiss. Play with my little brother - she stopped to take a choked breath - And now all of that is gone, so yes, perhaps I don't know the first thing about love; but I do know about loss. I'm going to have to live the rest of my existence knowing that I could have said "I love you" one more time. Because when you love someone, and then you lose them, you will never have said it enough. But you?! - she had to stop to breathe once again, a tear rolling down her cheek, and Crowley just listened in awe - You have eternity with the one you love. Eternity! Do you have the faintest idea how unfair that is?! Have you got even a slight clue of the lengths any mortal who has ever loved would go to just to have a negligible part of what you have?! - she'd run out of air once again, so she took a few shaky breaths and then spoke in a whisper - Every second, every heartbeat you waste moaning about you misery instead of telling him how much you love him is a sign of disrespect, Crowley. Towards yourself, towards me, and towards anyone who has ever loved and ever lost. - She paused, teary-eyed - I can't have my family back, but I might as well fix my new one. Just give me that. Please - her breathing slowly went back to normal, and she dried her tears as soon as she realized they were there. Then, Eleyn addressed the demon one more time - Think about it, at least. I'm exhausted, I think I'll try to sleep for a few hours. Don't make noise if you come into the room - there was a moment of silence - Good night, Crowley -

The demon watched as she stepped towards the bedroom door, her heartbreaking speech replaying in his head over and over again. Eleyn had almost closed the door when Crowley finally spoke again, his words coming out as nothing more than a breath.

- Sleep well -

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It didn't rain that evening, either. The Edinburgh night sky was lit up by thousands of stars and a breathtaking full moon; and there wasn't a cloud in sight. As the day began coming to an end, shopkeepers closed down or escorted the last client out with tired smiles. Workers of every age abandoned their offices, the desire to rest etched in their faces; and sleepily walked to their cars. Lights began to shut off, and streets began to empty. A park, shrouded in the dark embrace of the night, stood empty and quiet except for the occasional bark of a passerby dog. There, on a bench in the middle of the darkness, sat two figures clad in white-gray suits. They could have been normal people, but there was something in the way they held themselves. Their posture was regal; rigid but nonetheless elegant, and their chins were always raised, as though they were used to looking down at the world rather than staring it in the face.

- Are you sure they're here, Michael? - Uriel asked for what must have been the fifth time that night, their voice showing the usual hint of distrust.

- Again, Uriel - Michael responded, their patience beginning to quiver - The Metatron sent me here personally. They are here -

- Hm - Uriel looked around, still not completely convinced - I just don't understand what their problem is -

- Nobody does - the other corrected - I think they've been on Earth for too long -

- Perhaps - they agreed - I don't see any other reason for their stubborn resolve not to let the world end. I mean, why? What is it about this little planet and its little people that they adore so much? -

- I dare think - Michael suggested - that they have...grown accustomed to it -

The Archangels said nothing for a few moments; a dog walker passing by with a small corgi on a leash.

- The demon - Uriel proclaimed when the passerby had disappeared behind a bush - Crowley, right? -

- What about him? - Michael coldly asked.

- Do you think Aziraphale and him...? - they couldn't bring themselves to complete the question, the mere thought of it making them sick.

- It would seem so - the other replied, their eyes fixed on the lake in front of them - You were there Uriel, in the bookshop, that day. You must have felt it as well. The love which radiated from both demon and angel -

- Yes, but... - they glanced at Michael, their tone slightly confused - Is that even possible? A demon, capable of love? -

- It's unlikely, yes, but evidently not impossible - the Archangel reasoned - Either way, it's disgusting -

- We agree in that respect - Uriel sighed - But what unsettles me most is the fact that Aziraphale reciprocates. An angel! In love with a demon! -

- Don't say such things out loud, Uriel! - Michael scolded them - But I must admit you're not wrong. Aziraphale has betrayed his angelic grace; and She who spoke him into existence along with it -

- Why does She allow it? - the other inquired - She knows, surely, so why not smite them? - they paused for a second - They abducted Her child, for heaven's sake! -

- That's precisely why we are here - Michael explained - To make things right. The Metatron was very clear. Wait until they make a move, take the book from their hands before they can read it and save the Daughter from their tyranny - they took a deep breath - If the demon and the traitor happen to be smitten in the process, well, bad luck -

- And the other cherub? - Uriel asked - The one who was left in the bookshop, I mean. What of her? -

- Who cares? She's nothing more than a scrivener. A quick shove down to Hell and problem solved. No angel will even remember her - Michael dismissively replied, not concerned in the slightest.

- I was going to suggest feather plucking; but that works just as well - the other shrugged, then sighed - I'm curious, Michael. Why is the book so important? Did The Metatron say? -

The soon-to-be Supreme Archangel leaned closer to Uriel, and whispered into their ear.

- No - they shook their head - but whatever it is, it must be very bad. I don't think I've ever seen The Metatron so concerned. Or so furious -

- Neither have I - Uriel said.

With that, they fell into complete silence once again. The moon cast a delicate, silver shilouette in the calm waters of the little lake; and for a few minutes the Archangels simply watched it. Then, Michael spoke again.

- Is everyone in position? - they demanded, their tone that of one who thinks they're already in charge.

- Yes - Uriel replied without hesitation - If they do so much as blink, we'll know immediately -

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It was somewhere around three a.m. and the night had become cold and still; the moonlight completely blocked by dense, low clouds. Aziraphale hadn't slept at all, driven mad by the constant wrestle of his mind and heart. The conversation with Muriel, and the revelation that she had known the truth from the beginning, had been replaying incessantly in his memory. He laid face-up, staring at the gray ceiling like he had been doing for the previous three and a half hours, counting his breaths. Thirst had been nagging at him for some time, half an hour perhaps, but he'd decided to ignore it out of refusal to leave the reclusiveness and safety of the room. However, the dryness of his lips had become so unbearable that he needed to drink something before they began peeling off. Reluctantly, and not making a sound so as not to wake a peacfully slumbering Muriel, he got off the bed and slipped past the bedroom door. The suite was seemingly empty and pitch-black; but he could just barely make out the outline of the couch and the opening which led to the kitchenette. Taking slow, silent and deliberate steps, the angel made his way to it and began searching for the kettle, taking extra care not to make the doors and drawers creak. Oddly, it was nowhere to be found. His eyebrows went down in confusion as he scanned the open cabinets once again. Surely an establishment like that one had to have a kettle, right? He was on his tiptoes, glancing inside one of the higher cabinets, when a low voice suddenly rang through the silence, nearly discorporating Aziraphale out of shock.

- 's already on the boiler – Crowley said in a low growl.

- Good lord, you gave me a scare! - the angel whispered, clutching his chest.

- Ngk - the demon shifted on the couch - Boiled it a little while ago, fancied something warm -

- Ah - Aziraphale nodded, then retrieved a porcelain cup from one of the glass-door cabinets - Not slept, I presume? -

- Nah - the other replied with his usual nonchalance - Don't need to. You? -

- I'd like to - he sighed, pouring himself the warm tea and leaning against the counter - But I can't. Usually, I'd kill time with a good book...oh well - 

Silence fell between them as the angel took the first sip of tea, the liquid warm and soothing in his lips. He glanced towards the darkened couch, where Crowley's voice had come from, and he caught a glimpse of a pair of amber eyes, glistening in the shadows. He felt his heartbeat accelerate and his breath shorten. Those eyes; oh how he had missed those eyes...

- Of course - the angel heard himself say, realizing he had never actually asked - Snakes. Infrared vision, I gather? -

- Yup - he sighed – Mostly just naturally good night vison, though -

- Handy, that - Aziraphale laughed nervously - Stops you from running into things at night -

- Yeah, well - Crowley said in a low hiss, glancing out the window at the night sky - Everything comes at a price... -

- How do you mean? - the angel's curiosity was piqued.

- Doesn't matter - the demon growled, separating his eyes from the window and adjusting his sprawled position on the couch.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them again. Crowley's eyes were fixed on Aziraphale's glowing form, leaned against the cold marble counter. The demon had always been able to see slightly infrared at night, more so when he was in his snake form, and he'd learnt to live with it. He had even managed to use it to his advantage from time to time, and it had become a crucial part of his temptations. Thanks to the slight changes in body temperature, Crowley could know when a certain tactic was working; he would try different paths until he saw the heat rising and figured out what keys to press. That was part of the reason he'd become so good at it. The darker it was, the better he could see the infrared. When there was light, the humanoid part of his eyes would allow him to see almost clearly except for certain colours which just would not register. So he hadn't really ever seen Aziraphale's body temperature like that before. It was rather mesmerizing. He would see most living beings in orange and blue, maybe green. But the angel was glowing in a white-yellowish hue, like the sun on the precise moment it touched the horizon. He couldn't help but stare. Luckily, the darkness between them prevented the angel from realizing.

Crowley let out a silent sigh. Eleyn had a point, he and Aziraphale had the luxury- or curse, depending on the situation- of eternity. Where she was wrong, however, was in the matter of the angel's feelings. Aziraphale didn't reciprocate his feelings. He never had. Though it had hurt him infinitely to admit it, he now understood that he could never make Aziraphale happy in the same way his angel's presence filled him with joy. But he still loved Aziraphale, this remained as unaltered as the Ten Amendments, so he would do anything to make him happy. Even if that meant letting the angel go.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, stared down at his tea. Muriel's words echoed inside his mind. "It's not my place to tell him, it's yours". "It's gotten out of hand". After comforting him for a while, Muriel had fallen asleep; but Aziraphale had been wide awake for hours, pondering over every word she'd said. In the end, his mind had accepted that she was right. Ever since they'd reunited, he and Crowley had done nothing but drive themselves further and further apart. If they were going to stop The Metatron, they needed to work things out. The angel gulped hard, anxious, and finally reignited the conversation.

- Crowley, listen... - his voice trembled slightly - There are some things we should...discuss... -

- Don't - the demon hissed - Stop. I don't wanna hear it - the idea of the angel explaining in detail how he'd decided to abandon him because he wasn't good enough was too much to bear.

- But... - he stopped, unsure what to say - This...It can't go on like this forever, we... -

- It won't - the demon growled - When we finish doing whatever the hell it is we have to do, I'll go my goddamn way and you're free to...go back to Heaven -

What? Aziraphale felt the air leave his body. Was that what Crowley really wanted? The harsh truth finally settled. Where there may have once been a different kind of feelings, now there was only hatred. He could feel it once again, the despise seething out of the demon. Crowley didn't want anything to do with him; and Aziraphale accepted it.

- Very well - he whispered, fighting back the tears - But if we want to pull this off, we at least need to cooperate - he observed.

There it was. Crowley’s heart gave a violent thump. The little doubt he might have had was now gone. Aziraphale had given his answer, and it was final. He wanted Heaven, not him. A wave of anger surged through his veins, making his blood boil. The disgust and despise towards himself, towards what he was, rged inside of him like the winds just before a storm. He was furious, not at the angel, but at everyone and everything else in the universe.

- Cooperate... - he hissed, swinging his legs around and sitting up on the couch, eyes fixed on the window right in front of him – You know what is necessary for cooperation, Angel? -

- Yes – the angel nodded – That we momentarily put our differences aside and work together to... -

- Honesty – the demon growled angrily, completely cutting him off – That’s what. Fucking honesty, Aziraphale -

- I’m sorry – Aziraphale challenged, almost offended by the insinuation – When have I ever been dishonest with you? -

- When?! - Crowley spat out, turning his head and locking eyes with him – Ever since you set foot back in the bookshop you’ve done nothing but hide the goddamn truth! - he scoffed – Just when I thought you trusted me -

- You’re being ridiculous, Crowley! – the angel put his foot down – Of course I trust you! I always have! -

- Yeah, Angel? - His eyebrows shot upwards.

Crowley stood, his snakey form barely distinguishable in the darkness, and strode with resolve into the kitchenette, towards the angel. He closed in on him, but Aziraphale didn’t lean back. The demon stopped mere inches from the angel, their noses almost brushing. The little moonglight which filtered through the window Crowley had been looking out of partially illuminated his features, casting long shadows on his face which only enhanced his amber gaze, the slit-like pupils fixed on Aziraphale’s azure eyes. He looked furious. The angel gulped, but he didn’t step back.

- Yes – he firmly stated, holding his breath.

- Why did you leave? - the demon breathed, his words coming out as a rageful hiss.

Aziraphale let out a breath, and his lips began to tremble. He opened his mouth, but closed it immediately after. He couldn’t tell Crowley the truth. He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn’t risk putting the demon in even more danger than he already was. Muriel’s words reverbrated once more inside his mind, and he opened his mouth again, only to close it moments after. A tear began rolling down his face, and he turned his head away fom Crowley, stating with one gesture that he would not yield. The demon gave a bitter chuckle.

- Yeah, that’s what I thought – he whispered.

- You don’t understand, Crowley! - Aziraphale turned his head back to him, his eyes reddened – You just don’t understand! I’m trying to... -

- Oh, I understand Angel – Crowley hissed – I fucking understand that all it took was one cup of coffee. One goddamn cup of coffe from a man, or angel, or whatever the hell you want to call him, who appeared at the last second, who had done nothing but mock and demean you... – he reluctantly stopped to breathe – And you left, wihout even looking back. Like if the past six thousand years of your existance; of our existance, never even happened. Gone! Like that! - he snapped his fingers.

- I had no...! -

- Yeah, yeah, you had no choice – he sardonically said, overexagerating quotations with his fingers, then rolled his eyes – You could at least come up with a proper lie – he was now the one who turned his head away.

- I’m not lying! Why won't you listen to me?! - Aziraphale was beginning to sound desperate – I was just trying to do the right thing! -

- That’s the problem with you lot! – his and Aziraphale’s eyes met once again, and the demon’s rage finally got the better of him – It’s all about doing the right thing, isn’t it? The right thing for whom?! - he took a deep breath – You’re so caught up in the right fucking thing that you don’t realize that half of the goddamn time you’re being just as selfish as you claim the Devil to be! - he shook his head in disgust – And then you have the nerve to call yourselves the good guys -

- Are you saying.... - Aziraphale could feel the anger begin to boil his blood – Are you saying that Heaven is bad?!

- You still don’t get it, do you? - Crowley’s tone was both incredulous and slightly derisive – Bad, Good; Heaven, Hell...who the fuck cares?! They’re just names, Angel! Both sides are the same!-

- You speak out of resentment! - the angel fought back – Just because you fell, it doesn’t mean...! -

- Fell? I didn’t fall! - the demon hissed – I was pushed off a fucking cliff! Because that’s the other thing. The second somebodey dares to ask why, you exterminate them. How can you not see the hypocrisy?! How can you be so blind?! -

- I never said I agreed with their politics, Crowley! - Aziraphale reciprocated his rage – But you can’t say they’re as evil as your lot! You can’t compare angels to demons! -

- No, you know what? You’re right! – Crowley snarled, to the angel’s surprise – They’re nowhere near the same! Angels are far worse! -

- How dare you say that?! - Aziraphae raged, scandalized, forcefully setting down his plate and teacup, the sound of china echoing through the suite.

- Oh, I dare – the demon hissed – You give them hope! - he pointed out the window – They genuinely believe that you’re all kind and warm and pure-hearted! -

-Because we are! - Aziraphale cried - Where do you think they got that from?! -

- You can’t say that when I’ve just stopped an innocent child from taking her goddamn life because three of those arseholes you call “pure hearted angels” have destroyed her fucking life! - Crowley gestured towards the general direction of his and Eleyn’s shared bedroom – She’s eighteen years old! -

- You’re seeing what you want to see! - Aziraphale angrily scolded him – I grant you that there are bad angels; I mean, The Metatron, for Heaven’s sake! – he threw a hand upwards over his head – But that doesn’t mean we’re all evil! -

- Bollocks! – Crowley spit back – You’re all nothing more than a bunch of demons in white robes! -

- You wouldn’t dare call me a demon! - Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and his tone turned stern – Don’t you dare, Crowley! - his voice trembled with rage, and his words only infuriated the other further.

- Oh, that’s an insult now, is it?! - the demon hissed – Well, do excuse my insolence, oh Supreme Archangel – he mocked, bowing in a derisive and exaggerated manner.

- Really?! - Aziraphale too mocked – You’re that infantile?! -

- Isn’t this what you wanted?! - Crowley was unfazed by the angel’s words – For us all to bow in your presence, your royal excellency?! -

- That’s not...! - the angel cried, anger and exhasperation coursing through him, taking a breath just in time to stop himself from finishing that sentence – Look, this is hardly the time for childish mockery, Crowley! We have more important matters at hand, and all I’m asking you to do is to work with me! – he looked the demon dead in the eyes – Would it kill you to do that?! -

- Ngk – Crowley tore his eyes apart from the angel’s mesmerizing blue gaze – ‘kay, yeah, sure, I’ll cooperate, if that means getting this shit over with sooner, so that I can go back to minding my goddamn buisiness! -

- Good, then we are agreed! – Aziraphale tugged at his knitted vest, straightening it with an elegant yet slightly aggressive movement.

- Fine! -

- Fine! -

With that Crowley spun on his heel, stormed out of the kitchenette and turned on the living room lamp with a swing of the hand. Whilst he did so, both bedroom doors swung open, and the demon stopped dead in his tracks. A sleepy cherub and a drowsy messiah stepped out into the main suite, the latter rubbing her eyes and yawning.

- Jesus, guys, it’s not even four in the morning – Eleyn immediately realized something was wrong – What the hell happened? -

- We talked – Crowley hissed, then opened the front door and charged out of it, slamming it behind him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 – Nerves of steel

The door closed with a loud slam, making both Eleyn and Muriel give a little jump. Their attention was immediately diverted to Aziraphale, stood in the middle of the kitchenette, right where Crowley had left him. His fingers were curled into fists and his lips were trembling; the sorrow and regret which possessed him were palpable. He stared straight ahead into nothingness, his entire willpower concentrated in not letting himself cry. The scrivener and the young girl looked at each other, eyes still half-closed in drowsiness; and, before Muriel could finish asking Aziraphale whether he was alright, the angel had hastily gone into the bedroom, slowly but decisively closing the door. After deciding it was too early for couples therapy, Messiah and cherub slumped themselves on the couch, falling asleep almost instantly.

Then, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and boiling tea drifted through the air, awaking Eleyn again. She opened her eyes slowly, the early sunlight coming through the window making her squint. She sprawled her limbs in a stretch, yawning, and immediately turned her head towards the source of the wonderful aromas: the kitchenette. Muriel was already there, sipping from a porcelain cup. Crowley and Aziraphale, to her astonishment, were also there. The first had a a large cup in one of his hands and was pouring the newly-brewed coffee into another, smaller one. The other held a mug full of cocoa between his hands. He was about to take a sip when he spotted Eleyn's open eyes.

- Ah, welcome back, dear girl - he smiled, the redness of his eyes suggesting he'd been crying - Did you sleep well? -

- Morning - Eleyn groggily replied, sleepily dragging herself over to them - I suppose...what time is it? - she asked, seeing that the sun hadn't fully come out yet.

- Quarter to seven. ish. - Crowley spun around, handing Eleyn the coffee he'd just poured - Here, recharge. You're gonna need it -

- I am, thank you - she snatched the cup from his hands and took a sip, leaning on the counter next to Muriel. The delicious liquid invaded her mouth, sending a chill of pleasure down her spine - Jesus, that's good coffee - she said after swallowing.

- You are aware that he's your brother, right? - Muriel casually asked, her voice still slightly drowsy.

- Hm? - Eleyn looked at the cherub, eyebrows knitted in confusion, her brain still not awake enough to process the question.

- Jesus, I mean - she yawned - He's the son of God, and you're the daughter of God; which makes him your older brother -

- Oh, yeah, that's right... - she muttered, absentmindedly looking around as she tried to assimilate it - Hadn't thought about that. It's weird... - her eyebrows went down once again - God, that's weird -

- And that's your mother - Muriel pointed out, leaning her head towards Eleyn

- Right - she pointed at Muriel, then took a deep breath and gave her coffee a good slurp - ... that's still weird -

- Haven't got your mind around it yet? - the cherub nudged her, smiling sweetly.

- No, no, I've assimilated She's my mother - Eleyn scratched her head - But I still can't get round the fact that She's a She -

Muriel shrugged her shoulders, wondering what it was that made humans think of God as a man in the first place. She was about to ask, her curiosity ticking, when Crowley began to talk.

- Okay, so here's the plan... - he had begun to say.

- Sorry, plan? - Aziraphale interjected - What plan?-

- God's great ineffable plan - Crowley said with a tone of mock - What the hell do you think?! My plan!

So...-

- I haven't heard of any plan - the angel firmly stated, tugging at the ends of his waistcoat.

- If you shut up and listen, perhaps you will - the demon hissed - Or do all matters need to pass by you first, your majesty? -

- Oh, stop it - Aziraphale spat, his annoyance at the mocks beginning to show.

- Can I explain my plan or are you going to interrupt me again? - he asked nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting upwards.

- Please, enlighten us - the angel rolled his eyes.

- Thank you - he said, then turned to the other two - Now, our next move is to find the man Mr. Scott gave the book to; Mr. Mac...something – he waved his hands around - Doesn't matter what his name is, and... -

- MacLeod - Aziraphale interjected, reading the piece of paper Mr. Scott had given them out loud, his spectacles perched on his nose.

- And then - Crowley continued with a growl, throwing him a glance under the dark glasses - We ask him about the book. Gently. We don't want to scare him, we want him to cooperate -

- We can just make up an excuse, like we did with Mr. Scott, and ask him to show us the book - Eleyn suggested - Right? -

- That's it - the demon sniffed - We'll tell him we're collectors or something; that seemed to do the trick last time -

- Okay, tell me this - said Aziraphale, taking off his spectacles and stuffing them in a pocket - We find the book, then what? - he challenged.

- We figure out what the hell Metatron is doing and stop him in his tracks - he confidently stated, matching the angel's defiance.

- And how does the great plan-maker propose we do that, hm? - he raised an eyebrow and stared at Crowley, waiting for an answer.

- Well... - he hesitated - well, that's a then problem, not a now problem. Right now, I'm focusing on the now problems -

- So your great plan is to make everything up as we go along? - Aziraphale stabbed, nodding his head - Marvelous. What could possibly go wrong?- he sardonically said.

- Alright - Crowley turned to him, and their eyes met - Do you want to be thrown out the fucking window?! -

- I'd rather not - the angel puffed his chest - And I do have wings, in case that was supposed to be a threat -

- Yeah?! - the demon scoffed - Well, let's find out how well you can fly with your wings up your... !-

- Hey! - Muriel clapped loudly, making them fall silent - Can we please focus? Gospel of John, Metatron, end of the world? -

- Come on - Crowley snarled - Everyone in the car. We're going to go find MacWhateveritis - he glanced at Aziraphale - Unless, of course, you have a better idea? - he teased.

- I suppose I don't - Aziraphale said between gritted teeth.

- Right then - he nodded, then turned on his heel and started towards the door - Allons-y! -

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Ooh, you make me live
Whenever this world is cruel to me
I got you to help me forgive
Ooh, you make me live now, honey
Ooh, you make me live

Freddie Mercury's sharp vocals continued to echo through the Bentley even after Crowley had killed its engine. Muriel and Eleyn, sat in the back, let out a sigh of relief when the demon pulled up, having arrived at their destination. The previous half an hour had seen an uninterrupted back and forth of mocks and stabs between the demon and the angel and the Bentley, heartbroken - or, more specifically, engine-broken - that the two beings which had shared such joyful moments inside of it were now unable to speak to one another nicely, had resolved to play Queen's "You're my best friend" as a desperate attempt to make them remember how things used to be. But it had been no use. Even Muriel and Eleyn, when they had boarded the Bentley at the hotel thirty minutes before, had noticed the car's disenheartenedness. Its headlights shimmered faintly and almost purposelessly; and its usually magnificent, shiny black hood looked slightly dusty and not well-kept. Its wheels, which had of course never run out of air thanks to Crowley's devilish touch, were slightly deflated, making the front of the car tilt down like any human would tilt their head in a moment of sorrow.

When its engine had died out, Eleyn discreetly patted the door in an attempt to comfort it; still slightly concerned that she was comforting a car, though the idea was slowly beginning to seem normal in her head. In the front of the vehicle, meanwhile, Crowley looked up at the house in front of which he'd pulled up. It was a modest dusty-red brick house, nothing too special, just outside the center of Edinburgh.

You know I'll never be lonely
You're my only one

- I reckon you got us lost - he growled at the angel.

- No, I haven't - the angel straightened his posture to remark the point - 13 Craigleith Hill Avenue . I think I know how to read, thank you -

- Apologies - the demon responded in a mocking tone, raising his hands.

Oh
Oh, you're my best friend

Aziraphale shot Crowley a look before pushing the Bentley's door open. Eleyn and Muriel followed suit, eager to breathe in the fresh air and rest their ears from the endless bantering. The demon retrieved the keys from their socket and, when the song had finished and the car let him, he flipped off the radio and got out, slamming the door.

Ooh, you make me live
Ooh, you're my best friend

- Really, Crowley, must you always have that playing ? - Aziraphale lamented, a hint of disgust in his voice.

- Have what playing? - the demon's eyebrows went down in confusion.

- That... - he gestured towards the car - That Be Bop singing...dolt -

- Okay - Crowley hissed, pointing an accusatory finger at Aziraphale - One more word of disrespect towards Freddie Mercury and it's your head going in the fucking Blaupunkt next, got it?! -

- I'm just saying...- Aziraphale scoffed - You could play something decent every now and then -

- Oh, yeah?! - Crowley walked around the car and to its front, standing face to face with the angel - You want to play this game, Angel?! Fine, let's play! - he hissed - Jane Austen is a mediocre author! At best !-

- How dare you?! - the angel gasped, hand clutched to his chest.

- Stings, doesn't it?! - the demon growled, taking a step forwards - And I'll tell you more! Pride and Prejudice?! - his eyebrows shot upwards to remark the point - The movie is so much better! -

- You... - Aziraphale's mouth opened in disbelief - You take that back! You take that back right this moment! -

- Nope -

- You can't compare the absolute marvel that is Jane Austen's literary work with some... - he hesitated, trying to find the right words - ...some stupid Bebop song which...! -

- Call Queen Be Bop one more time, see what happens! - Crowley threateningly hissed, closing in on the angel, who didn't move an inch.

- And what if I did?! - Aziraphale challenged.

- You want to find out?! Go on, say it again! - the other challenged back.

- You think I'm scared of you?! - the angel spat, raising an eyebrow.

- You fucking will be if the term Be Bop comes out your mouth one more goddamn time! - his and Aziraphale's faces got closer.

- Oh, don't tempt me - their noses practically brushed against one another.

- Maybe I will! -

- Maybe you should! -

Just as Crowley was about to spit something back at the angel, the Bentley's extremely-loud horn blasted though the air, almost sending both of them into cardiac arrest. When the car was sure it had gotten their attention, it very slowly rolled forward, pushing Crowley towards Aziraphale, as though trying to force them closer together. The angel took a step back and the demon spun around, furious.

- WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! - he scolded the Bentley - GO BACK TO WERE YOU WERE! NOW! -

- Oh, don't be so harsh on it! - the angel reproached him.

- Shut up! - Crowley hissed.

The Bentley sadly rolled back to where it had been parked, letting out some air out its wheels in what could only be described as an exasperated sigh. Before they began to argue again, Muriel had been able to make them start towards the house's front door, pleading them to focus on the mission at hand. Eleyn stayed behind for half a second to once again comfort the desperate car. She didn't care that it was a car anymore; she was sorry for it.

- Thanks for trying, love - she whispered at it - I know you just want to help. They'll come around, I promise -

The lights flashed on and off in gratitude, and Eleyn followed the group up the lawn after smiling sweetly at the Bentley one last time. When they arrived at the doorstep, Aziraphale began to insist that he should be the one to talk to Mr. MacLeod; whilst Crowley mocked him for assuming he was in charge. When yet another argument between the two was about to break, Muriel stepped in.

- Please, enough - she said, signaling for them to stop - I'll do the talking, okay ? - the cherub gingerly rang the doorbell, without even waiting for a response.

A few seconds went by and, when the door opened, the figure of a young boy appeared behind it, peering at the unexpected visitors. He couldn't have been older than six; and his short, blonde, mousy hair and light-blue eyes only enhanced his innocent, boyish appearance. His little gaze scanned the four of them through the crack of the door. First he quickly scanned Muriel and Eleyn, then Aziraphale and finally Crowley. The child's gaze lingered on the demon, and he eyed him up and down. Crowley rolled his eyes, convinced that his appearance and demeanor would irrationally scare the kid, but then, much to his surprise, the boy shot him an ear-to-ear smile. The demon's pupils dilated in absolute tenderness, though he regained his composure moments after; before anyone could notice. Smiling sweetly at the boy, Muriel crouched down as he opened the door a little wider.

- Hello there, sweetheart - she chimed - And who are you? -

- 'm Archie - the boy replied in a childish, adorable voice - And whos you? - he tilted his head.

- I'm Muriel - she signaled at herself, then at the other three - And these are my friends; Aziraphale, Crowley, and Eleyn -

- Mu..iel - he repeated the name. Then he pointed at Crowley - Cowwey! - he laughed. The demon felt a chill.

- That's right, Archie! - Muriel smiled at him even wider, his cuteness making her heart flutter - Tell me, does a Mr. MacLeod live in this house? -

- Yeah, daddy! - the boy chimed - But I fink he can't come now... -

- You see, Archie, it's a bit of an emergency - the cherub softly insisted - Could you please go and say that to daddy? -

- Okay! - he said, then disappeared behind the door at a run, shouting "Daddy" at the top of his lungs.

When the boy was out of sight, Eleyn nudged the demon, unable to help herself, and smiled at him.

- You didn't tell me you were so good with children! - she bickered.

- Shut up! I don't get it! - Crowley growled -I'm a scary, threatening demon; the kid should be shaking! -

- Ha! - Aziraphale chuckled - Don't make me laugh! I've met Golden Retriever puppies more scary and threatening than you, Crowley... - Muriel and Eleyn couldn't help a small laugh.

- Golden Retriever puppies?! - the demon reiterated in a hiss - You had to go and be that specific?! -

- Hush! - Eleyn shushed them - He's coming -

The door opened wide, and out of it rolled a gentleman sat on a wheelchair, elegantly dressed head-to-toe except for the black bow-tie, which hung unmade around his neck. Archie appeared behind him, shyly clinging on to one of the chair's metal bars. The father brought the chair to a halt, eyeing the group.

- Ah - said Muriel, smiling as always - Hello! Are you...? -

- Alister MacLeod, in the flesh - he said with a light Scottish accent - Now lads, listen, whatever it is you're selling, I'm not buying - he fumbled with the bow-tie - I'm in an awful hurry; so you can go along and... -

- You're in a rush at seven and a half in the morning? - Crowley mused, surprised - What a life! I could never... -

- Well, the bloody auction isn't going to set itself up, son! - Mr. MacLeod growled, slightly annoyed.

- Auction! - Aziraphale exclaimed, taking a step forward - That, good sir, is precisely what we came to speak to you about. Tonight's auction, yes! -

- Please don't tell me there's been another problem with the evening's program... - the gentleman sounded exasperated.

- Oh no, not at all - chimed the angel - the program is absolutely tip-top perfect! - McLeod let out as sigh of relief - No, you see, we came here to ask about one of the items you'll be auctioning tonight -

- Oh? - he raised an eyebrow.

- As we understand it, you possess a very rare manuscript; the original Gospel of John - Muriel gently approached the subject - Is this true? -

- That's right - he nodded - Some bloke just gave it away to me; he seemed awfully desperate to lose sight of the thing, the poor lad -

- Has anybody read it since then? - the scrivener hurriedly asked, suddenly remembering Thomas' pain-contorted face. She let out a sigh of relief when he shook his head.

- We need to see it, Mr. MacLeod. Now - Crowley said, pressing the matter forward.

- 'm afraid not, lad. Everything's already set up and running for tonight. The book is already at the National Gallery, all packed up and waiting -

- Can't you take it out of the auction or something? We need it! - the demon insisted.

- The hell I will! - Mr. MacLeod spat - Listen, the event is for charity. Every last penny will go to different organizations around the globe; and that bloody thing will give us thousands of pounds. I can't take it out; forget it! -

- Oh, how very kind of you - Aziraphale couldn't help saying, placing his hand on his heart, earning an under-the-glasses eye roll from Crowley. MacLeod nodded proudly.

- But... - Eleyn was about to protest - We just need to see it; after you can have it straight ba... -

- No! - the man reiterated - Look, if you want the book, you'll have to place the highest bid tonight, 'aright? -

- Fair enough - Crowley sighed - Eh, will we need to bring a physical invitation, or...? -

- To show at the door, yes - he was finally able to do his bow-tie as he spoke -Just a formality; don't want anyone who isn't on the guest list getting in, do we? -

- No, yeah - the demon mumbled - 'course not, no. That would be terrible -

- In that case, Mr. MacLeod, we will be on our way. So very sorry to bother you - Aziraphale said, ever the image of politeness - Have a nice day 

- I'll be looking out for your bids tonight! Good day! - he saluted them, then rolled back inside the house, addressing little Archie before he disappeared - Could you please close the door for daddy? - he asked. The boy nodded fervently, as if though it were an honor.

- Goodbye, sunshine! - Muriel bid the kid goodbye, and Eleyn waved at him with a tender smile. He waved back.

The four of them had turned on their heel and started towards the car when, seconds after, Archie's voice came ringing through the air once again, making the demon freeze on the spot.

- Buh-bye Mr. Cowwey! - he called out, waving his little hand.

- Uh, yes - Crowley did a half-turn, not daring to look the child in the eyes, trying to keep up the rough act - See you, Archie. Ciao - the kid laughed and closed the door with a soft click.

- Aww, that's adorable - Eleyn said, clutching the demon's arm - He really likes you -

- Shut up - he growled, going pink in the face, his soft side showing - He doesn't like me! I'm... - he stuttered - ...I'm very menacing...and frightening...and...and... -

- And blushing - the daughter of God pointed out, making him fall silent.

- I am not! - Crowley hissed, going even redder.

Not even Aziraphale, at that point, could resist a silent laugh as he slipped into the car. The angel might have been angry with Crowley; but he couldn't deny the fact that the demon could be quite adorable, when he wanted to. Or, rather, when he didn’t.

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Shax hesitated when she placed a hand on the large, scorching iron doors before her; just as she was about to push them open. There were, after all, only two reasons for anyone to be summoned by Satan himself: He either needed something done urgently or wanted you obliterated. Statistically speaking, the latter was the most probable. However, the Grand Duchess of Hell only had a second of doubt before pushing with all her body weight, burning her palm against the boiling metal as the heavy doors finally opened. She stepped inside her Master’s office – well, it could hardly be called an office; it was more like a dark cave than anything else; with a stone throne in the middle of it – and the doors closed shut behind her. Roaring open fires began to burn, lighting the room just enough for Shax to make out the face of the 500 foot tall creature looming over her. She held her breath, but she never looked away from Him. The Adversary was silent for a few moments; but soon enough began to speak.

- GRAND DUCHESS OF HELL – The Devil stated – YOU REPLIED TO MY SUMMONS WITH GREAT SPEED-

- I would never dare to keep you waiting, my Master – She replied without hesitation

- I HAVE A TASK FOR YOU, SHAX – He went straight to the point – I WANT YOU TO LEAD AN ATTACK AGAINST THE TRAITOR, CROWLEY, AND HIS DISGUSTING LITTLE FRIENDS -

- It will be done – She bowed her head in respect – And it will certainly be great fun. Tell me where they are, and I will call my legions immediately -

- EDINBURGH – the creature said – YOU WILL INTERCEPT THEM JUST OUTSIDE INVERLEITH PARK AND LURE THEM INSIDE, WHERE THE TREES WILL HIDE YOUR SLAUGHTER -

- And how do we do that, my Master? - Shax asked, looking up at him.

- GO FOR THE WEAKEST LINK – Satan ordered – THE REST WILL FOLLOW WITHOUT A DOUBT. THAT IS THE WEAKNESS OF FRIENDSHIP -

- And the girl? - the Duchess tentatively inquired.

- UNSCATHED – the Adversary proclaimed – I WANT HER COMPLETELY UNHARMED. THE GOAL IS NOT TO HARM HER; YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR TASK IS -

- Yes, my Lord – Shax bowed her head once again and, when she looked back up, her eyes were shining with malice and mischief.

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- I said, no! - Crowley growled when Tchaikovsky’s delicate notes began coming out the Bentley’s radio for the fourth time – Play something else! - there was a moment of static, and then Freddie Mercury began singing once again.

You’re missing that one final screw

You’re simply not in the pink, my dear

…

 

- I said, yes! - Aziraphale spat at the demon – I’m not listening to this any longer! Play classical music, please! Thank you! - there was static once again, then a soft piano and violins flooded the car.

- Well, fucking joke’s on you, ‘cause this is my goddamn car and it will play what I want it to play! - he hissed at the Bentley – Change it back! - Static. Then, Queen.

I’m going slightly mad

I’m going slightly mad

It finally happened.

In the back of the car, Eleyn patted the door sympathetically. Crowley and Aziraphale were too busy arguing to notice the lyric of the song; but she and Muriel had picked it up immediately.

- You and me both, Bentley – she sighed, whispering as Tchaikovsky replaced Freddie again; only for the latter to come back moments after – You and me both – the scrivener heard and shot Eleyn a tender look.

It finally happened, oh yes

If finally happened, I’m slightly mad

Just very slightly mad.

 

- Please, we both know it prefers me to you! – Aziraphale scoffed, Crowley’s mouth agape at the incredulity towards that he’d just heard – We’ve been listening to your rubbish since London, so now I’d like some Tchaikovsky, thank you! - the thanks were more aggressive each time but the Bentley, adamant to please them both, did as it was told.

- Rubbish?! - Crowley angrily hissed, recklessly speeding past the intersection into Carrington Road – What the hell are you calling rubbish?! It’s music! - he smiled bitterly – Or did you forget what music is like with all those celestial harmonies?! - he mocked. Aziraphale groaned and rolled his eyes.

- Excuse me… - Muriel tried, the air becoming a little too tense – Can we maybe take a deep brea…? -

- Listen here! - Crowley roared at the car, cutting the cherub off without regard – You better stop playing that before I turn you fucking fuchsia! -

- Honestly, there is no need for threats! - the angel criticized, his tone making Crowley’s eye twitch in rage – Things can be asked for nicely, you know! -

- I’m a demon, I’m not nice! And don’t tell me how to talk to my fucking car! - the demon reproached, then hissed at the Bentley again – I’m warning you, play something I like! Now! -

After a few shouts from either direction, the Bentley’s engine groaned in exasperation, tired of the bickering, the arguing and the fighting. They were supposed to be friends; and the fact that right now they weren’t drove it mad. However, it had an idea. There was static and a click as it shuffled to most played, the words appearing over a screen to the left of the wheel so that Aziraphale’s sharp gaze could immediately pick it up; and then a new song began to play. The Bentley was soon filled with the sound of tambourines and a nice, slow melody.

- That’s what I thought! - Crowley hissed, much too angry to immediately recognize the Velvet Underground song he’d most been listening to for the past three years – Ah, much bett…! - he froze the moment he heard the first lyric.

Sometimes I feel so happy

Sometimes I feel so sad.

- NO! - he roared, making the other three passengers jump and maniacally pressing buttons to turn the radio off – FUCK NO! TURN THAT OFF THIS GODDAMN SECOND! -

- My word! - the principality rolled his eyes, annoyed – You’re not satisfied with anything! -

Sometimes I feel so happy,

But mostly, you just make me mad

The Bentley’s engine made another sound, this time blowing a raspberry at the demon, who panicked exponentially the closer the song got to the chorus.

- YOU FUCKING JUDAS! - he went from pressing to smashing the buttons – TURN! IT! OFF! NOW! -

The car arrived at another crossing, and Crowley yanked the wheel right to enter E Fettes Avenue. The Bentley blew another raspberry, tired of taking rather rude orders.

Baby, you just make mad.

- NO! - the demon was desperate – NO, NO, NO! TURN THE FUCK OFF! YOU GODDAMN TRAITOR!-

- What the hell has gotten into you?! - Aziraphale groaned – It’s supposed to be your favorite song, it says so on the screen! Talk about stubborn! -

Linger on

- SHITSHITSHITSHIT! TURN IT OFF! - the demon yelled for the umpteenth time; though he knew it was too late. Crowley often forgot just how intelligent the Bentley could be; and the little bastard had remembered all those nights in the past few years in which the demon would listen to one Velvet Underground song on repeat, and one alone, because it reminded him of Aziraphale.

- What is…?! - Aziraphale turned to stone on the following lyric, even his speech completely abandoning him.

Your pale blue eyes.

Eleyn and Muriel’s hands immediately flew to cover their mouths in pure disbelief. Crowley fell completely silent, not really looking anywhere; and Aziraphale just stared at the radio, pondering whether he had heard correctly. Confirmation came moments after when the chorus repeated itself.

Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

The Bentley had gone completely silent for the first time in days, all four in much too shock to say a word. Aziraphale’s eyes remained glued to the radio as he listened to the rest of the lyrics until he decided to chance a quick glance at the demon. Crowley’s face was so red he could have hidden in a tomato orchard and nobody would’ve suspected a thing. His eyes flickered to the angel and immediately retreated, trying to look as far away from his as physiologically possible. Before either of them had the chance to say a word, however, and before Aziraphale had the chance to blush, Eleyn’s voice came suddenly booming from the back of the car.

- PEDESTRIAN! -

Crowley tried to dodge it. Too late. There was a loud thud against the hood and the person with which it had just collided flew a few feet forwards. Crowley slammed on the brake, and the radio finally turned off. The four passengers flew out of the car, Muriel in the lead, and knelt down next to the sprawled humanoid figure which had once been the pedestrian. Both scrivener and principality placed their hands on the run-over victim’s chest and closed their eyes. The demon, meanwhile, had gone from tomato-orchard red to baby-boo-pumpkin white in an astonishing two seconds flat.

- Oh fuck – he whispered, rubbing his eyes upon seeing the sprawled body on the pavement – Tell me they’re not dead... – there was a genuine tone of concern in his voice; a subtle change of cadence on which only Aziraphale picked up.

- I… - Muriel’s eyebrows were knitted in deep concentration – I can’t find a heartbeat… -

- Shit! - he swung his head up in rage and exasperation, the guilt already gnawing at him, though there was something odd about the situation – This wasn’t supposed to ever happen! -

- Perhaps – Aziraphale raised, leaving a very concentrated Muriel alone to continue examining the body – If you occasionally respected the speed limits, it wouldn’t have! -

- First off, not my fault they jumped in front of the car – he hissed, raising a pale finger and then another – Second, after the book-witch girl I performed a miracle to avoid any more accidents; so this shouldn’t have fucking happened! -

- Obviously, your miracle doesn’t work as well as you thought! - Aziraphale reprimanded him.

- Odd – Muriel whispered right as Crowley was about to hiss something back at the angel, catching their attention – Very odd -

- What is? - asked Eleyn, kneeling down beside her.

- This...it’s not possible… - she muttered, eyes closed in concentration – This body doesn’t feel alive; but it doesn’t feel dead either...like if it had never lived in the first place –

- What the hell are you… - Crowley stopped mid sentence, the pieces falling into place, making his heart being to thump – oh, fuck! Cherub, get away from that thing, now! – the other three looked at him like he’d just claimed pigeons were government spy robots – The car is supposed to avoid human pedestrians! - the scrivener put two and two together, immediately going rigid, and the other two had the same realization seconds after – Muriel, step away, now! -

The young cherub nodded and made to get up. She was only halfway stood, however, when the non-human opened their demonic eyes and sprung upwards, grabbing Muriel by the neck and. She screamed, and Eleyn stood promptly, grabbing the disgustingly fleshy arm which had trapped the scrivener, trying her hardest to break her friend free. The demon swung, yanking the daughter of God to the side, and Aziraphale immediately knelt down to help her. Crowley stared into the demon’s eyes, recognizing them as a ninth-circle legion warrior thanks to the symbol on their forehead. He wasted no time trying to reason, well aware it wouldn’t be any use. He threw himself onto them, but they managed to spread their wings and pick up flight. Muriel struggled against them, terrified. The demon’s grip tightened around her neck, and the scrivener gasped in pain. Crowley made to charge, but the other demon moved first, dragging Muriel into the trees of a darkened Inverleith park. He chased after them without hesitation and, when Eleyn managed to stand moments after, she and Aziraphale did too.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 10 – BOUND BY CONTRACT

Another one of Muriel's pained screams echoed through the trees and the heavy fog which had spontaneously appeared. Crowley charged towards the elusive shadow of the ninth legion warrior, adamant not to let them out of sight. Eleyn and Aziraphale followed a few paces behind. There was another scream. The silhouette sped up, diving to its right, and the demon in pursuit followed them through an ensemble of trees and bushes full of thorns. When he emerged on the other side, the fog had grown so thick he could barely make out his own feet. He spun his head in all directions, desperately listening for a scream or a gasp; looking for a trace of white and tartan or a flash of a shadow in the distance. Nothing. His breaths grew heavier as he muttered a "fuck" to himself. Eleyn and the principality appeared behind him seconds after, catching their breaths.

- Where... - Eleyn began, having to stop to breathe - ...are they taking her? -

- If I had to make an educated guess; Hell - Crowley snapped, spinning towards them.

- Crowley, I'm no expert - interjected Aziraphale - But the symbol on its forehead...was that a...? -

- Ninth circle, yeah - he blurted out the answer, eyes incessantly darting in every direction under the dark lenses - It had to be the ninth fucking bloody circle, of all things! - he raged.

- What does that mean, the ninth circle?! - Eleyn inquired, worried to death given Crowley's reaction - As in "circle of hell" ?! What are they going to do to Muriel ?! -

- It means - the demon explained - That we are very positively fucked, because those buggers are Hell's most brutal lot! - there was a crack of wood, and the three of them spun their heads around - They can rip out the wings of a thousand angels and not even fucking flinch! -

- Wonderful - Eleyn sighed in exasperation, her anxiety growing exponentially by the second. There was another crack on their other side, and she was the first to spin around - MURIEL?! - she cried. There was a muffled scream a second after - MURIEL! - Eleyn reiterated.

- Good lord - whispered Aziraphale - They're close. Very close - he took a step towards Eleyn, protectively grabbing her shoulders and making her step back.

- Hiding in the fog! - Crowley called out to, apparently, a bunch of suspended water particles - Bloody cowards! Show yourselves and pick a fight the proper way! - he bellowed.

There was a moment of excruciating stillness, and then the heavy clouds finally began thinning out, revealing a series of dark silhouettes behind them. In under a minute, the fog had cleared enough to barely make out the half ninth-circle legion, composed by eighty or so warriors, propped up in the air in the shores of Inverleith lake. They were led by another two demons, the one which held Muriel by the neck and another whom Crowley had recognized immediately even through the darkness. Eleyn wrestled against Aziraphale's grip the moment she laid eyes on Muriel, dangling helplessly from the demon's fist with tears in her eyes, but the Principality refused to release her. Crowley took a step forward, the disgust in his face so palpable the sunglasses could do nothing to hide it.

- Shax - he said in a low, threatening hiss.

- That's Lord Shax to you - she hissed back.

- Ha! - Crowley's bitter chuckle echoed through the empty park - Those idiots actually went and made you the Grand Duchess of Hell? -

- Problem? - she raised her pointed eyebrows, unamused.

- Well, it's just... - he rocked his head to the side - 'would've voted for Dagon is all... - he mumbled.

- Well, too bad Hell isn't big on democracy - she laughed at herself, then looked over her shoulder at the abducted cherub - Besides, I don't seem to be doing that bad a job, do I? -

- Let her go! - screamed Eleyn, still captive between Aziraphale's arms - Let her go! - she turned her head towards the angel - Let me help her! Let go! - he tightened his grip on the girl's shoulder, eyes fixed on Shax's floating figure.

- I do insist you release Muriel - Aziraphale announced, voice serene yet somehow aggressive - Or things might begin to...escalate - he raised his eyebrows to remark that last word.

- Oh, I'm terrified - Shax replied without a second thought, her tone dryer than the autumn leaves on the side of the road, her proud grin never leaving her face.

- What do you know; you got the hang of sarcasm after all... - Crowley muttered, then raised his voice - Tell me one thing, though, Shax. The ninth circle? Really? What the bloody hell did you bring them along for? And half a legion, too. For two cherubiums, a snake and a mortal? - he took a breath, locking eyes with her through the glasses - Are you really that afraid of us? -

- Afraid? - she wheezed, leaning forward - Me? Of you? Oh, please... - she grinned, displaying her pointed teeth - I just wanted to make sure I destroyed you properly this time. RIP THEM APART! - she ordered her troops with a hiss.

Many things happened at the same time right that second. The heavy fog settled again; and about a fourth of Shax’s legion swung fowards at a vertiginous speed, throwing themselves onto Crowley and Aziraphale. The latter forced Eleyn behind him and extended his pearly-white wings, creating an astonishing contrast with the darkness which flooded the park. The serpent extended his own wings, just in time to swing at one of the warriors flying towards him, knocking them right out of the air. The others weren’t slow to arrive. Before Crowley could turn back around, one of the demons reached him and dug their sharp teeth into his shoulder, causing him to hiss angrily. Then, he felt a wave of pain as a set of claws ripped into the flesh of his right thigh, making him groan and buckle foward. He heard a screech somwhere behind him, and he knew there were more on their way. He heard Aziraphale’s defying screams somwhere on his right. His heart thumped violently. He had to fight them, but he had no idea how. The ninth circle warriors had been trained for battle to the point of insanity. Their bloodthirst was said to be unquenchable, and the lack of an actual physical form gave them a perfect defense mechanism. They couldn’t be hurt, and they couldn’t be stopped. Crowley desperately tried to think for a solution, helplessly struggling against the two demons who’d attacked him and a third which had grabbed onto his back, hoping Eleyn and the angel wouldn’t be hurt before he figured it out. He heard another couple of demons heading his way, but his compromised position and the thick veil of clouds blocking out all light made it impossible to know where from.

Crowley took a deep breath, rasing his head, as his brain finally put two and two together. Darkness. That was the answer. Mustering all the strenght he could find, he summoned two fistfuls of hellfire and swung his hands at the demons on him. Exactly like he’d predicted, they released him immediately and recoiled. He let out a hearty chuckle, elated that he was right, and quickly turned the fire in his hands into two flaming whips which he hurled at the warriors who attempted to get near him. They would doge and back off, not even daring to go near them. Crowley smiled to himself. It was working.

- Angel! - he called out when he had an opening – Angel, are you both still in one piece?! -

- We’re quite alright! - Aziraphale shouted back moments after, making Crowley sigh with relief – Is that you with the whips?! -

- Neat, eh ?! Back off, you! Ghyah! - the demon replied, shouting back and forth between Aziraphale and the attackers – Come over to me! Ghyah! Stay away! -

The angel didn’t reply; but a series of hurried steps told Crowley all he needed to know. A few cracks of the whip later, Aziraphale and Eleyn appeared behind his left shoulder, the latter frenetically looking aroud, trying to spot Muriel through the fog.

- I thought demons couldn’t be hurt by hellfire – observed the angel, his curiosity piqued.

- They can’t. Gyah! Gyah! Stay! Back! - Crowley replied, incessantly fighing off the hordes of demons, his breathing growing heavy with tiredness.

- Then why...? -

- It’s not...the fire...Gyah!...drawing them away – He turned to Aziraphale, smiling broadly at him, overly pleased with his own cleverness – It’s the light. Oh no you don’t! Gyah! -

- The light? - Eleyn reiterated, almost as confused as the angel beside her.

- Yaaaaap! You see, these...Gyah!- he whipped a few warriors away, then resumed his explanation – These guys...they come straight from the...Gyah!...ninth circle of hell. That’s...well, it’s as deep as Hell can get; and it’s...Gyah!...dark. Very, very dark. Been down there once, you can’t...Gyah!...see a bloody thing, believe me -

- Oh, of course! - Aziraphale quickly arrived at the same conclusion Crowley had – That’s why Shax miracled the heavy fog and the clouds! Light is their Achilles heel! -

- Because they’re not used to it? - the daughter of God inquired, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

- It’s not just that, Eleyn – the angel explained whilst the demon continued whipping warriors away – They’ve never ever seen light before; they’re terrified of it! -

- Bingo! Don’t you dare, you little...!...Gyah! - He hurtled the whip past Aziraphale at a warrior who was attempting to sneak behind his back, making the angel give a small jump.

- Well, be careful! - he reproached him, brushing off his sleeve.

- A thank you would’ve sufficed...Gyah! -the demon spat back, instantly turning away to ward off another set of attackers.

– I’ll have you know, this coat is 180 years old! - he straightened his vest in that passive-aggresive manner of his - And my body is 5920 years older that that; I don’t need any of the two damaged! -

- So now you’re worried...Gyah!... about being...barbecued alive, huh?! - Crowley snapped, earning a groan from the angel.

- Oh, don’t start! - Aziraphale gave him a full-body eye roll, annoyed.

- No, it’s just...fuck off, you! Gyah!...you seemed...pretty chill about it...last time! - the demon reminded him, still unwiling to drop the subject, his breathing only getting heavier – You know, when I could’ve...Gyah!...burnt you to a fucking crisp! -

- Honestly, don’t you get tired of repeating yourself?! - the angel said with a huff, then finished the sentence quickly before the other could put in another word – For the millionth time, Crowley, do forgive me for trusting you! -

- OY! - Eleyn roared out of the blue, making Crowley fall silent halfway through hissing something back at the angel – Those things have Muriel! They could kill her any second; she’s in danger, and you two are busy...bitching! - she took a deep breath – Could you please just stop it for five minutes and focus?! -

- If ...his beatitude...would do the...Gyah!...honours – he raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale, whose nose twitched angrily - My arms are starting to get...Gyah!...fucking tired! 

- You... - the angel took a deep breath, unable to pick out an umpleasant enough adjective, and snapped his fingers decisively – Let there be light! -

The moment he uttered the words, a masive white luminance appeared out of thin air with no apparent source, making the soldiers screech in pain and cover their faces as they retreated completely. Crowley finally relaxed, letting out a sigh and slumping his shoulders as the fiery whips disintegrated in his hands. After a brief pause to catch his breath, the demon snapped his fingers to undo the Grand Duchess’ miracle, making the fog begin to thin out once more. Seconds after, they were again face to face with the half-legion perched atop Inverleith lake and the two demons in the centre of it. Muriel was still being held by the neck, wincing in pain when the kidnapper tightened his grip around it. Eleyn made to run towards the scrivener, but Aziraphale grabbed her arm in the nick of time, ganing a groan and a death stare from the young woman.

- Let go! - she shrieked, trying to force her way out of his grip, to no avail – Let go of me, Goddammit! -

- Well, she’s feistier than her brother! – Shax hissed, grinning, while Crowley stared daggers at her from beneath the sunglasses – Though you may want to wach it with the blasphemy, princess. Tsk tsk tsk. What would Mommy say.. - she barked out a laugh, having way too much fun.

- Leave her alone! - Eleyn bellowed, tears in her eyes, continuing to wrestle against Aziraphale – You leave her the fuck alone right now! -

- Ugh, fine – she rolled her eyes, and Crowley’s eyebrows went down in confusion – As you wish – she teased, then glanced at the demon which held Muriel captive – Kill her -

- NO! -

Eleyn pulled firmly, finally releasing herself from the angel, and sped fowards before Crowley or Aziraphale could stop her. The latter called after her, but his voice quickly dissolved into nothingness. At the same time, the warrior which had had Muriel by her neck flew upwards and flung the scrivener, making her ascend a few feet before she began plumetting back down, half-conscious. The demons around the lake waited patiently for her to fall past them so they could dive behind her, already licking their lips. The daughter of god continued running, eyes fixed on Muriel; so incredibly focused on her friend that she didn’t even realize she’d run out of soil. Time seemed to slow down for half a second when she realized her next step would fall on water. She held her breath as a tingly sensation traveled from her toes to her legs and up her spine. The moment her feet touched the liquid, she felt a wave of heat beneath them. And then, all to suddenly, she was walking on water. Well, running on it, to be precise. Everyrthing sped back up when Eleyn spotted Muriel, all eighty ferocious demons in pursue, and ran towards her, catching her right before she hit the water. Her arms protested beneath her weight. She fell on her kness and queezed her eyes shut, barcing herself for the warriors’ attack and shielding the scrivener with her own body.

The pointed teeth and sharp claws which Eleyn was sure would dig into her body, however, never came. Everything had gone silent all of a sudden, and only her heavy breathing could be heard. After a few seconds, the daughter of God opened her eyes and slowly turned her head, a gasp escaping her lips when she found herself bare feet away from the bloodthirsty soldiers, whom had all stopped dead in middair, displaying their sharp fangs at her. Crowley and Aziraphale witnessed the scene from the shore of the little lake, both their eyes wide in shock. Shax stared at Eleyn, her face contorted in disgust, finally dropping the sarcastic façade. The young girl darted her eyes around, confused, until the memory of her first ride on the Bentley popped up from the back of her mind. She realized, and grinned broadly, locking eyes with the Grand Duchess of Hell.

- Pact of alliance – Eleyn breathed – You can’t touch me, can you? -

Shax didn’t answer, but the fury etched on her features gave the young woman the only answer she needed.

- No – she replied to her own question, glancing at the frozen legion of warriors – You can’t. The Metatron needs me alive. And, by contract, so does your leader. Isn’t that right? - she addressed Shax once again.

- It really is too bad – the duchess finally hissed between gritted teeth – The princess of Heaven...The things I would give to tear you to shreads right this second... -

- It must be so fustrating – Eleyn smirked up at her, fueled by a sudden flame of confidence – To have all that power and yet be rendered so powerless by nothing more than a piece of paper -

- Cool down, highness – Shax snapped, her eyes a mix of rage and malevolence – The alliance might have saved your skin now; but what saves you one day can be the end of you the next -

- Oh, come on, Shax – Crowley stepped foward, bold as ever – Don’t pretend like you’re still in control. I bet even the ducks in the pond could give you a run for your money! -

- Quite right – added Aziraphale – As of now, you have lost; and as such you will order your troops to stand down. Immediately. - the angel and the demoness stared at eachother for a second. Then, out of nowhere, the latter burst out laughing.

- Lost, have I? - she said, her tone mocking – Do you really think you’re in a position to bargain, Angel? - Crowley flinched at the nickname, not at all liking the sound of it on another’s lips – You see, I know things you don’t. Believe me, Hell is nowhere near defeated -

- Don’t get cocky, now – the serpent hissed, Aziraphale’s eyebrows going down in deep though – A contract is a contract. Whether you like it or not, Shax, you can’t make a move -

- Not against her – she rocked her head towards Eleyn, who was still cradling Muriel in her arms, and licked her lips – But I don’t recall seing a clause about the traitorous serpent and his precious pet. BRING ME THEIR HEADS! -

The legion which had been suspended in the air suddenly moved, all the warriors turning on the spot, ready to charge at Crowley and Aziraphale, who had already acquired defensive positions, ready to recieve the attack. And there would have been an attack, if not for the eerie silence which suddenly settled in the park. The leafs rustling in the wind and the sing of the passing birds could no longer be heard; and even the fog seemed to hush. Eleyn tightened her grip on Muriel, while Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a perplexed glance. Then, a familiar sensation crept into the demon’s conciousness; a telepathic link he hadn’t felt in years. He winced, his hand instinctively flying to clutch his forehead when Satan’s coarse voice echoed inside his mind.

Enough, Grand Duchess. You have done you part, now stand down.

Crowley’s eyes opened wide in disbelief, and he flung his head back up only to find a smirk of triumph on Shax’s face. She held his amber gaze for a moment, gloating in his ignorance, before adressing her troops.

- You heard! Retreat! - she hissed at them, and they begun to vanish into thin air, one by one. The Duchess then addressed the quartet one last time – You have no idea what’s coming -

And with that, she disappeared in a cloud of green smoke after the last of the warriors had vanished, leaving a completely empty park; except for the demon who’s face was frozen in shock, a very confused angel, a practically unconscious scrivener and the girl who had walked on water.

The Celèste cinema, though once upon a time immensely popular, had been abandoned since 1941 due, in great part, to the little time the general public would have for entertainment in the midst of looking for refuge against the bombardments. After the war, the previous owners of the theater had already passed and, despite the fact that it still stood after having endured the brutalities of battle, nobody bothered to reopen it. Instead, it was sealed off and left to rot, year after year after year. Now, the small cinema, which counted with only one hall and one broken-down projector, had more cobwebs than it had celluloid. The entire structure had been erected with wood which had slowly rotted over time to the point that, should somebody sneeze, the building would probably come crumbling down. The seats were, to put it nicely, repulsive; the cushions which had once served as commodity now lined with filth and bugs. The screen on the far wall, on the other hand, was damaged and torn in several spots but otherwise intact; and nothing had been projected on it for the past 82 years. Until today, that is. Because today, miraculously, the projector had begun working; and two of the seats had been cleaned, one in the second row and another in the third, diagonal to the first. Only the one in the second row was occupied, though, by a man so thin and obscure that he seemed more like a shadow rather than a man. It’s dark, blood-red eyes fixed on Maria as she sang to the children huddled up in her bed.

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings

These are a few of my favorite things

 

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

Silver white winters that melt into springs

These are a few of my favorite things

- YOU KNOW – the shadow spoke, glancing upwards – I WILL NEVER, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, UNDERSTAND WHY YOU LIKE IT SO MUCH -

The children began to laugh as Maria jumped off the bed, hurring to close the curtains, but never stopped singing. The prince of Hell barely blinked at the sound of steps on the creaky wooden pavement behind him; and he never bothered turning around when a voice echoed through the small hall.

- One must admit – The Metatron said – That the music isn’t half bad, even after having watched it to the point I abhore it -

- NO SPOLERS – the Devil demanded, eyes still fixed on the screen, a snort escaping him when the Captain came into scene.

- She walked on water – the etheral being stated, sitting down on the other clean seat – Three down, three to go. Your demons, dear Adversary, have done an excellent job -

- FOR ONCE – Satan snapped, his voice still deep and terrifyingly powerful despite the fact that he’d hidden his true face beneath a corporeal form – IT WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN, SOONER OR LATER, THAT THEY DIDN’T FUCK UP – he finally turned his face away from the screen and towards the being sitting behind him – YOUR ANGELS? -

- Aware of the attack, but clueless of the rest – The Metatron replied, proudly, his little smirk betraying his otherwise stoic façade – I won’t be long to send them on their way and put the next step into motion -

- EVERYTHING PROCEEDS ACCORDING TO PLAN – The Adversary declared.

- It does indeed – the other agreed, not even needing to look at the movie for the memorized lines to appear in his mind before they were spoken – Very soon now, everything will change -

-HOW SOON?! - The creature roared – MY PATIENCE WEARS THIN. I WANT MY END OF THE DEAL, METATRON, AND I WANT IT NOW! -

- You will have it, Satan, when I deem it propper – The Metatron defied him, never raising his voice – Your work is not yet done, my ally. You know that. In less than twenty-four hours, all of this will be over, and you will be rewarded -

- GOOD – Satan turned his attention back to the screen, his scarlet gaze sparkling with fury and evil – BEFORE THEY KNOW IT, HELL WILL HAVE RAINED DOWN ON THEM - 

There was never a reply. The seat which had been once occupied by the ethereal being was suddenly empty, and the prince of Hell was alone once again, accompanied only by the echo of his own voice against the corroded walls and the steady melody of Maria’s song as she produced the last notes, now alone in her bedroom after all the children had been sent off to bed.

When the dog bites, when the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don't feel so bad

By the time the Bentley arrived at the Balmoral, the clouds had slowly begun to clear out of the sky, finally allowing the first rays of sunshine creep through them and onto the surface. The car ride back to the hotel had gone by in complete silence, despite the fact that its ocupants were itching to talk about the recent attack, out of fear that they were being watched. The demons had found them, after all, so why would the angels be lesser? No, it was better to wait unil they were safe between the walls of their suite. After carrying her to the hotel room, Aziraphale carefully laid the half-conscious Muriel on the couch and began healing her, gently grazing the marks in her neck and face. Eleyn watched in silence, only starting to breathe again when the scrivener gradually began to look healthier. Meanwhile, Crowley yanked he glasses off his face and paced nervously around the room, low hisses and whispered swears escaping him every now and then. Eventually, Muriel regained enough strenght to sit up; only to have Eleyn’s arms fly around her in relief the moment she did so. Aziraphale smiled tenderly at the scene.

- What happened? - the cherub asked, still slightly dazed – I mean, not that I’m complaining, but...It’s not very demon-like to just leave in the middle of an attack, is it?-

- Satan – Crowley hissed, still pacing – It was Satan. He ordered retreat. I felt him, in my head -

- Are you absolutely sure of that? - Aziraphale asked, trying his best to stay calm.

- Yeah, I’m sure – he breathed, turning and locking eyes with the angel before speaking through gritted teeth – And I don’t like it; I don’t like it one bit. Fuck! - he flung his head upwards with a groan, then began pacing once again – What the hell are they up to?! -

- For my money- Eleyn suggested – Satan just decided there was nothing they could do -

- No no no, you don’t understand – Crowley stopped again, closing in on the daughter of God – You don’t wake up the ninth circle legion to make them retreat! You...you just don’t! -

- What other explanation do you have? - she challenged – They were sent to kill us, and they went back because they couldn’t -

- But they weren’t – Aziraphale stepped in, shaking his head – They weren’t sent to kill us... -

- What are you talking about?! - Eleyn said, rather crossly, the crypticness of their words beginning to tire her.

- He’s right – Crowley growled – Those weren’t just any warriors, Eleyn, I told you. They’re bloodhounds. If they wanted us dead, we’d be dead -

- Then why? - Muriel interjected from the couch, having been quietly listening to the conversation.

- Yeah, exactly! – Eleyn added – Why attack Muriel; why lure us into the park if not for slaughter? -

-I. Don’t. Know! - the demon hissed – And it’s driving me nuts, because whatever they wanted, they got it; and I would like to know what the fuck that is! -

- They...they didn’t just lure us to the park – Aziraphale thought out loud, speaking each word carefully, finally starting to make the connections in his head – They lured us to the lake. Specifically. And they used Muriel as bate because...oh! - the realization struck him like a lighting bolt, the image of Eleyn throwing her arms around the scrivener still vivid in his mind.

- Because what?! - Crowley pressed, his brain begging for answers – What is it, Angel? -

- Because – the angel explained, looking the demon square in the eyes – The objective was Eleyn. They took Muriel because somehow they know she and Eleyn have become very good friends. And they lured her to a lake! - he repeated, the serpent’s eyes going full-blown wide in realization

- Are you saying...? - he had begun asking.

- I think so, yes. I mean, it’s the only feasible explanation I can think of -

- But why?! - the demon hissed, eyebrows going down in confusion.

- No clue – the angel promptly replied – But whatever it is, I’m quite sure the Gospel of John might be able to enlighten us -

- I’m afraid I don’t follow – Muriel said, making the angel look towards her – What exactly are you saying, Aziraphale? -

- What I’m trying to tell you – he clarified – is that everything they did to you was intentional. It was a plan to manipulate Eleyn; because they knew that she wouldn’t hesitate to protect you – the scrivener looked at her best friend, the fondness in her eyes enough to melt the core of the Earth – Even if that meant walking on water – Aziraphale concluded, Muriel looking back at him with widened eyes.

- The sign... – Eleyn uttered, finally connecting the dots – They did it to trigger the third sign! -

- That’s it – the angel nodded, then turned back to Crowley – Whatever The Metatron wants to happen, he’s trying to make it happen faster -

- We need to get our hands on that book – the demon hissed – Now -

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 11 - PERSPECTIVE

- If it's all the same to you, Crowley - Aziraphale spat at the closed door of one of the suite's bedrooms - I would like to arrive before the world ends! -

-Oh, shut up! - a voice hissed from the other side of it - I'll be out in a bloody minute! -

- That's what you said twenty minutes ago - the angel mumbled - And ten minutes before that -

- Aren't angels supposed to be calm and patient beings, Angel?! - Crowley shot back from inside the bedroom.

- Quite! - said Aziraphale, sternly - But you seem to have an innate talent to make my patience run out! - he scolded the door.

- Oh, sit down, beatitude! - the angel didn't have x-ray vision; but he could perfectly see Crowley's hand waving nonchalantly in the air – And let me do my tie in peace, thank you! -

- Honestly - Aziraphale huffed, plopping himself onto the couch, smoke practically coming out of his ears.

To stop himself from throwing the door down and dragging Crowley out by an ear, he turned his attention to Muriel and Eleyn, who were animatedly chatting in the kitchenette, fully taking in their chosen outfits for the night. The scrivener had picked out a light gray suit with an unisex cut and paired it with a white silk blouse which wrapped nicely around her waist. She had a black pocket square on her left breast pocket, which perfectly matched her dark, elegant loafers; and had further adorned herself with a golden necklace and a watch, though she wasn’t completely sure how its little hands worked. The daughter of God, on the other hand, had opted for a beautiful, light maroon, off-shoulder dress which fit her to an absolute T. It’s fabric flowed gracefully, hugging her middle before falling to her feet in a long, sleek skirt. A beautifully tailored slit which made its way halfway up it added a touch of contemporary style to the dress, making it the perfect fit for the formal event, all the while being a daring design choice which ocassionaly showed a glimpse of her leg as she walked. To top it all off, she wore a pair of very painful-looking golden high heels which gave her a few more inches on the vertical. Neither of them had done anything particularly special with their hair; with Muriel wearing it as she usually did and Elyn having just put it up in a tight bun which sat nicely on top of her head, allowing her to fully show off her shoulders and collarbone. Aziraphale himself wore a beige three-piece suit crafted from a rich wool blend, its every fiber shouting sophistication. The jacket boasted a timeless, single breasted cut with peak lapels, while the trousers featured a simple, classic, straight leg. The vest gave the whole attire a polished look, especially with the angel’s usal, straight, regal posture. The shirt he wore underneath was bright white and, of course, its neck was decorated with a blue tartan bowtie which matched the pocket square perfectly in stlye and color. And, just because he could, he’d added an elegant lapel chain to the ensamble, to give it that air of historical je n’sais quoi.

It had been almost five minutes since Crowley had promised he’d be done in a minute; and the ticking of the clock had begun to get on the angel’s nerves. He was about to growl at the door again when the knob clicked and turned as it opened at last. Then, the demon walked out of it, and all of Aziraphale’s thoughts froze on the spot. Crowley wore a sleek, black three-piece suit which fit him like a second skin, hilighting his snakey, gorgeous shape. The entire outfit was a deep, coal-black except for the masterfully tailored vest, which perfectly framed his already tantalizing hips. Crafted from a deep burgundy fabric, which was somehow the exact shade of the demon’s hair, it boasted an aristocratic charm with intricate embroidery reminiscent of the victorian era. A silver belt buckle in the shape of a snake peeked from underneath it, giving the outfit that characheristic Crowley touch. The jacket was pretty much the same stile as Aziraphale’s, but the trousers were slim-cut instead of straight leg, reminding him of the demon’s usual impossibly skinny jeans. A simple, black tie completed the look; but that wasn’t all. The bastard had put his his long crimson locks in an elgant high ponytail, with a few calculated strands loose on the front, perfectly framing his face and emphasizing his amber eyes. The other thing this hairstyle entailed, however, was the fact that it left Crowley’s long, sleek neck completely visible. It was quite lucky that Aziraphale didn’t have any pearls nearby, because he would have clutched them so hard they’d have probably broken. As soon as he realized he was involuntarily staring him up and down, the angel turned his head, right in time for nobody to notice his cheeks turning peach-pink. What he hadn’t realized, however, was the fact that Crowley had reacted in the exact same way; because he’d been looking the angel up and down at the exact same time, with pretty much the exact same thoughts going through his head. Thankfully, the tense silence which had settled between them was broken by Eleyn when she noticed the demon had finally come out of the room.

- Whoa, look at you, handsome devil! - she playfully said, grinning broadly at him – You sure you didn’t use any miracles on that? - she signaled towards the suit.

- If I had, you’d never know – he replied, going from flustered to nonchalant with envious ease, his signature smirk adorning his face as he walked up to her in a series long strides – ‘sides, you’re one to fucking talk! You look stunning, princess! -he praised, gently twirling her around.

- I concurr – Aziraphale added, smiling sweetly up at her as he stood and brushed off his jacket.

- Don’t call me princess – Eleyn pleaded with an exasperated sigh – I’ve realized how much I hate being called that -

- Meaning it’s the only thing I’ll call you from now on – he muttered, winking at her, then turned to Muriel – Lookin’ sharp, cherub! -

- Thanks! - she beamed, then looked down at her outfit with a frown– I wasn’t sure if the gray would fit me at first, but the nice lady at the shop said it complimented my eyes, I think -

- You certainly chose the right color, my dear – Aziraphale straightened his vest with one firm tug, then clapped his hands together – Now then, let’s get going, or we’ll be late. Shall we? - he gestured towards the suite’s main entrance.

Muriel promtly slid up to the door and unlocked it, being the first to walk out into the hallway. Eleyn was about to follow suit, but stopped on her tracks when she realized the angel and demon had stayed frozen in place, staring each other down for a good ten seconds before Crowley realized and slithered out the door behind the scrivener. Aziraphale follwed him with his gaze until he was startled out of his trance by the Daughter of God, who had creeped up beside him and was now talking in excited whispers.

- Oh. My. God – she said – You literally can’t take your eyes of each other. That’s adorable -

- We are not...! That was not...! - he aimlessly tried to justify himself, getting more flustered by the minute – Oh, just shut up – he finally settled on.

- This is going to be a long night for you, my friend – Eleyn nudged him softly on the shoulder – What with the think dark duke sauntering around -

- Oh, for...! - Aziraphale’s eyes went wide open in shock at the nickname, cheeks now a deep crimson – Did you have to? -

- Oh, absolutely – she smirked knowingly at him and walked out of the room, having way too much fun, leaving him to pray his skin would dial back down to its normal shade in the time it took to close the door behind him.

Saraqael had been the caretaker of the Globe ever since Earth's creation more than six thousand years before; and they knew it inch to inch. It was a fantastic tool, used to oversee the development of the world and its people; and to make sure everything proceeded according to the Great Plan. They had been watching as Adam and Eve were placed in Eden; as the people grew, as they prospered and built and helped each other; as they plundered and ravaged, destroyed and killed. They had observed as kingdoms grew, raised to glory and fell. All thanks to the Globe which majestically floated in the centre of Heaven's main chamber, where meetings were held and orders were delivered. Now, Saraqael had used it to closely follow the dark, ostentatious Bentley which was being projected in real time for both them and The Metatron to see.

Michael and Uriel were also there. Or, at least, their practically-transparent, ghostly forms were, after The Metatron had contacted them. The two Archangels were really on the planet below, awaiting instructions, hidden at a place where they could inconspicuously attend the impromptu meeting. Michael bore a pretentious grin which mirrored the Metatron's; while Uriel's façade remained as stoic as it had always been. The four of them had their eyes etched on the vehicle as it stopped at the foot of an elegant, historic-looking building; at which point the Voice of God finally spoke.

- There - he stated - The National Gallery. The book must be hidden within it -

- You are certain, your beatitude? - Uriel asked, not trusting anybody an inch, as per usual - It may be some sort of deceit; or a trap -

- What good would that do them? - he argued - No, there is only one reason for the demon's transport to be there, Uriel, I am sure of it -

- Very well - they decided not to stress the point further.

- What should we do, your grace? - Michael inquired, leaning their head down, a practically unintelligible groan escaping Uriel's lips.

- For now, wait - Metatron replied - Warrior angels will be sent to you. Then, you shall approach cautiously and retrieve that book before they can read its contents; and bring me the Girl safe and sound before those bastards do her any harm-

- As you say, your holiness - they bowed even lower, and the other Archangel had to fight an eye roll.

- And what of the traitors and the demon? - Uriel inquired, raising an eyebrow.

- Smiting, discorporating, feather plucking, wing-ripping... - he listed, unbothered by the brutality of the punishments he was describing - whichever you prefer. Just make sure they stay out of my way -

- Of course - they simply replied, their back straight as a board as they gave him a solemn nod.

- Should they move, I'll be sure to warn you. Good luck! - Saraqael's voice said from somewhere behind Metatron.

Michael nodded, and the communication channel closed, making their and Uriel's ghouls disappear. Satisfied with his orders, the Voice of God turned on his heel, hiding a devilish smile, and addressed the Archangel who sat on the floating wheelchair, fussing and fumbling with the levitating sphere.

- Saraqael -

- Your grace? - they managed, startled, quickly flicking a lever on their chair to turn it around.

- I have a task for you. I trust you will be able to see it through - he declared, stern.

- Certainly - they replied, entwining their fingers at chest level, elbows rested on the armrests.

- Bring me Mashheet - he ordered, Saraqael somehow maintaining a straight face.

- Mashheet? - they reiterated, trying their very best not to show their true reaction – The one they call The Angel of the Lord? -

- Unless you know another Mashheet - Metatron snapped - I must speak to him -

- I believe he is currently in slumber, your grace - Saraqael realized, struggling to keep the shock of the request out of their face and voice.

- Well, wake him! - Metatron's tone turned to mockery - And do it quick, I haven't got until the world ends - he waved a hand, dismissing them.

Saraqael almost opened their mouth once again to request an explanation but, suspecting The Metatron wouldn't be akin to answering more questions, they ultimately decided to nod silently and drive their chair away from him, in the direction of the corner of Heaven where the slumbering angels laid. When they were sure Metatron could no longer see them, they allowed their face to melt into a confused frown. Mashheet, commonly referred to as the Destroying Angel or Angel of the Lord by the mortals, was one of those angels who, while pledging eternal allegiance to the Almighty and the Great Plan, wasn't exactly considered what one would call an angel. Not by the enemies of the Hebrews, at least. They had spent most of the time slumbering, and had been woken only on very punctual occasions. Saraqael vividly recalled a time, around 600 BC, in which the Angel of the Lord had descended upon the planet and slayed 180.000 Assyrian soldiers without so much as breaking a sweat. Not to mention, of course, the famous slaying of the inhabitants of Jerusalem. No, Mashheet wasn't the sort of angel you would wake for a bureaucratic issue, which was what that whole situation was supposed to be. The Metatron had said it himself, it was nothing of great condescendence, just a couple of fugitives with a hostage. So Saraqael had been quite taken aback by the bold order; especially when Uriel and Michael already seemed to have it under control. As their levitating chair whizzed through Heaven, the Archangel fell into a deep state of pensiveness and, for the first time since that whole circus had started, they felt a small sprout of doubt within them. Perhaps The Metatron wasn't sharing everything that he ought to with the Heavenly Host.

It was the second time in days that the Bentley had gone ten straight minutes without an insult thrown around in it. Instead, it was invaded by a tension which hung heavily in the air; so much so that the occupants of the car were afraid to even breathe, lest they break the fragile ropes which held the silent moment. The only sort of movement which ocurred during the enite drive to the National Gallery, building at the foot of which Crowley had just killed the engine, was the occasional shif of Aziraphale’s eyes from the street to the demon beside him, which never lasted long enough for the demon to notice. His serpentine fingers tapped the wheel in a nervous rythm as he eyed the male security guard who stood in front of the open entrance, stopping every guest for their invide and identification.

- So - Eleyn said, attempting to break the tense silence - What's the plan? How do we get inside? -

-Yeah - Muriel added - We don't have an invite... -

- Don't need one - Crowley sniffed, his voice laced with the usual nonchalant cadence - It's been a while, but it should be an easy enough temptation. A couple hundred pounds ought to do the trick -

- Absolutely not! - snapped Aziraphale, eyes wide like saucers - You'd be putting the poor security guard in a morally compromised position! -

- Oh, you can shove your morals up your arse! - he hissed.

- Pardon?! - Aziraphale spat back, scandalized.

- Do you always have to be such a bloody killjoy?! - the demon growled, his temper rising - We need to get in, and I'm not hurting anybody! 'sides, you're the one who came crying to me for help. I'm helping. What the fuck more do you want?! -

- I had to go and open my mouth...- Eleyn sighed from the back of the car - Guys, please... - she attempted, being cut off immediately.

- It's not fair for them, Crowley! - the angel shot back, making the demon take a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel - There must be another way to...! -

- Fair?! - he interrupted with a hiss, his blood beginning to smoke - You want to talk to me about fucking fairness, Aziraphale?! Where the hell was that sense of fairness when you left me at Soho in pieces?! Hmm?! -

- This again?! - Aziraphale groaned, losing the little composure he had left - I went because I had to, Crowley, and there was nothing else for it! -

- Thank you, that is one hell of an explanation! - Crowley mocked.

- You stubborn demon! - the angel shot back - I will explain everything to you in time! Be patient! -

- I have waited three fucking years for you! With nothing but goddamn hope that you'd ever even come back! - Crowley barked, furious, his voice shaking like gelatine. The dark glasses covered his eyes, but Eleyn could still see the accumulating tears through them - Do you know what that was like?! - his voice almost broke - No, you don't fucking get to tell me to be patient, Angel! You don't have the bloody right! -

- I already said I was sorry! I never meant to hurt you! How many times must I repeat myself?! - Aziraphale cried, frustration accompanying his every word - Should I do the dance, is that what you want?! -

- Perhaps you should calm do... - Muriel shyly tried, to no avail.

- I don't want your bloody apologies! - The words choked-up in his throat, tears no doubt at the verge of falling beneath the dark lenses - I want you to look me in the eyes, like you did the day you left...! - he took a shaky breath - And I want you to tell me why you betrayed everything you were, why you left everything behind, for a...a club of self-righteous, stuck-up, beaurocratic dipshits; without even bothering to look back! - his voice broke into a million pieces.

- Do you think it was easy for me?! - Aziraphale challenged, his voice just as choked as sneaky tears began making their way down his face - Getting into that lift is one of the hardest things I have ever done! It hurt me just as much as it hurt you! -

- Fuck off! - Crowley hissed, a venomous edge to his words - Don't pretend like you weren't over the bloody moon to go back to your precious God! - he mocked, accumulated years of anger and frustration finally leashing out - Tell me, Angel, where the fuck is She now?! When has She ever given a damn?! Not when the children drowned, I'll tell you that! -

- That is beside the point! - the angel fought back - I never had any desire to go back there! -

- Bullshit! - the demon snapped, his rage exploding like a hand grenade.

- It's true! It's always been true! - he insisted, desperate - You just won't understand! -

- You're damn right I won't! - Crowley shot back - Because if you'd really wanted to stay, you would've fought for it! For us! -

- Right, because according to you, everything is so easy, isn't it?! - Aziraphale snapped, heated in fury - Things aren't that simple, Crowley! I couldn't just up and leave with no consequences, I... ! -

- You had no bloody problem with up and fucking leaving me! -the demon spat, hitting his chest with a closed first to make his point.

- I had no choice! - the angel retorted - Why can't you get that into your little demonic head?! -

- Bollocks! You still let yourself be puppeteered by them! - Crowley hissed, seething in anger - Six thousand bloody years, and you still haven't grown a fucking semblance to a spine! - the accusation cut deep, and the demon regretted having said it immediately.

- Are you saying I'm unable to make my own decisions?! - the angel cried, offended.

- I'm saying you don't have the goddamn guts to! - Crowley shot back.

- Both of you, calm down! - Eleyn attempted from the back of the car, once again to no avail.

- The guts?! - Aziraphale fought back, his tone incredulous and his voice at breaking point - It's not about guts! It's about protecting you! -

- I don't fucking need protection! - the demon hissed, venom dripping from his every word - Certainly not from those ass-kissers! - he aggressively gestured upwards.

- You don't know that! - the angel bellowed, furious.

- Don't know?! - he seethed, yanking hiss sunglasses from his face, exposing his thin, serpentine pupils- They threw me to Hell, Angel! They turned me into this monster! - he took a shallow breath, tears rolling down his cheeks - They took my stars from me! Cursed me to know that they'll always be there, but I'll never be able to see them! What the fuck else could they do?! -

- Worse! - Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut as tears travelled down his own face - So much worse! -

- What, like breaking my heart and spitting on its fucking pieces?! - Crowley spat before he could stop himself.

- I DIDN'T WANT TO HURT YOU! - Aziraphale burst, closing his eyes even tighter.

- YOU FUCKING DID! - Crowley matched his volume, not really thinking about the words that came out of his mouth - I NEEDED YOU, NOT BLOODY FORGIVENESS! -

- I WAS TALKING TO MYSELF! - Aziraphale hollered, too furious to dwell on the fact he'd almost spilled his heart right there and then.

- WHILE YOU'RE AT IT, TELL YOURSELF TO GO TO HE...! -

- SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! - Eleyn bellowed, startling Crowley to silence mid-insult - FOR GO...FOR CHRI...OH, FOR MY SAKE, JUST STOP ARGUING! - she took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself and failing miserably - You are driving me insane! And poor Muriel, and the Bentley! I’ve had enough! - she glanced at the scrivener, who immediately took over.

- This is all wrong! - she scolded - All of it! The Crowley and Aziraphale I met three years ago would never speak to each other like that! Are you even listening to yourselves?! - Muriel took a quick breath - You don't mean any of those awful things, and you know it! -

- Exactly! - Eleyn chided, once again taking the lead - That's the problem; you're not talking to each other! You're just speaking, and not listening to what the other has to say! So seeing as you two idiots refuse to, I'll have to set the record straight myself! He loves you...!- she pointed from Crowley to Aziraphale and then the other way around - And you love him back! All you have to do is verbalize that to one another! It's really not that complicated! - she finished, waving her arms around in frustration.

- You are both wrong! - Aziraphale shot back at her, the control over his words not yet fully recovered - He hates me! -

- Hate you?! - Crowley's eyes shot open at that, incredulity bathing his words - What the fuck is wrong with you?! -

- Why do I even bother! - Eleyn swung her arms up in exasperation, defeatingly flopping back into her seat, addressing Muriel at a whisper - I give up, they're hopeless -

- Don't lie to me, Crowley! I'm an angel, you know I can feel it seething out of you, every time you even breathe in my direction! - Aziraphale argued.

- Feel again! - the demon hissed - You want to know why I'm so fucking angry when I look at you, Angel?! Because I see you, that's why! I see the most beautiful, perfect being I've ever met and have to remind myself, every damn time, that I'm a filthy serpent and will never be good enough! And that fucking hurts, and it makes me bloody furious and I... - he took a shaky breath, his voice minutes away from fractioning into pieces - and I... I'm sorry -

Eleyn's jaw fell open in shock as the demon breathed the last words, barely above a whisper, completely taken by surprise; and so did Muriel's half a second after. Aziraphale just stared at the demon in stunned silence, still as stone, the words paralyzed inside of him before they could even take shape. Crowley let out all the air in his lungs, producing a sigh that felt like 6000 years of weight leaving his shoulders, and pushed the Bentley's door open, slithering out of it in one swift move. Crowley charged towards the Gallery without looking back or saying another word; and before anyone could possibly even think to object.

It might have been years since Crowley had tempted anyone, exceptuating the half-an-hour self-speeches he’d often broken into over the past three years to convince himself of indulging in yet another bottle of licor, but he hadn’t been chosen to be the original tempter for nothing. Within five minutes of engaging the young security guard in conversation, he’d ensured a free evening pass for himself and the other three; and hastily wondered into the Gallery before Aziraphale could get out of the car and accidentaly catch his eye

Upon entering the building, which exuded just as much grandeur on the inside as it did on the outside, Crowley was met with an elegantly decorated reception hall flooded by wemen in elegant dresses of all shapes and sorts, save a few who had opted for the more confortable option of a fancy blouse and suit trousers; and men dressed in a more-or-less homogenic array of suits, most of them three-piece but with the occasional smoking and two-piece. Most of them headed in the same general direction, towards the restaurant which had no doubt been temporarily repurposed for the evening’s main event, but some of them meandered through the hallways and explored the galleries, taking advantage of the lack of tourists. His heart still hammering violently against his chest in something between anger and panic at what he’d just done, the demon decided on the second option. Not that he had anything against a room full of people, he was by all means a very social demon, but something told him that a walk between works of art would perhaps help him calm down.

That having been decided, he wondered away from the large group near the door and towards a marble-white staircase which had caught his eye. He walked up the steps slowly, seemingly looking at the paintings on the wall, but really not paying attention to them at all. His mind still raced, going over every single word he’d yelled at Aziraphale, kicking himself all the while. Muriel hadn’t been wrong in saying he hadn’t meant any of it; but the heat of the moment had taken over his senses completely, and he had lost all control over his mouth. The steps suddently stopped, and when Crowley looked up he found himself in a landing, with white concrete archways decorating the dark teal walls on either side of and behind him. Above him, a glass skylight adorned the ceiling, and he thought about how the rays of sunshine coming through in the early afternoon would have made all kinds of graceful shapes and shadows in the ample space. Whipping his head back to the front, he started towards the next row of stairs where, he observed, the original wooden railing had been left without protection, obviously in better condition than the ones below. When he turned another one hundred and eighty degrees following the staircase, he found that the rooms on the second floor were bright red, creating an amusing contrast with the still-teal hallway.

In a desperate attempt to will his thoughts away from the angel, Crowley continued his walk, eyeing the paintings on the wall and ocassionaly stopping to read their name and author, trying to find one that may distract his weary mind for half a second. Each of the chambers on the floor were circular, and arched upwards to end in an elegant dome with a smaller skylight. It was a simple, yet elegant design which strategically drew the visitor’s eyes upwards, making them go through the paintings in a vertical rather than horizontal order. On the rear left wall in the biggest of these chambers hung a portrait of a woman which Crowely recognized almost immediately, and he beelined up to it, muttering under his breath when he was sure nobody could hear him.

- Well, well, Mary Queen of Scots – he said to the brushstrokes which had immortalized her, a mischievous grin playing on his lips – I remember you. Oh, what a piece of work you were. Although – he took a step closer, frowning – They made your eyes too small, didn’t they? -

Just as Crowley leaned away from the portrait, and made to continue his exploration of the exposition, a high-pitched, childish voice rang through the room, calling his name. Or a close approximation of it, anyway.

- Mr. Cowwey! - the boy called, making a chill run down the demon’s spine – Mommy, wook! ’s Mr. Cowwey! He came, he came! -

Had anybody asked him, Crowley would’ve flatly denied that the smile which graced his lips at that moment had anything to do with the adorably excited way in which Archie called out to him, nor the fact that the child remembered his name from the morning’s encounter. He would’ve also argued that he didn’t at all promptly spin on his heel because he was delighted to encounter the boy again; but that it had been nothing else than a matter of good manners. He had been called, after all, and it would have been very rude on his part to ignore it. When he turned, he spotted Archie nestled in the arms of a young woman, wearing a tailored miniature tuxedo and a red bowtie which was clearly too big for him. The woman, whom Crowley had assumed was his mother, wore a long, beautifuly sparkly dark-green gown with cap shoulders and a v-neckline. It hugged her whole body very tightly, gracefully drawing her curves. She had complimented the flattering dress with golden earrings and a necklace of a similar design. She walked over to the demon, greeting him with a warm smile and a hand which he immediately shook.

- The famous Mr.Cowwey – she said, letting go of his hand and adjusting the child’s weight in her arms – We meet at last -

- Uh, it’s Crowley, actually – he corrected, flashing her a grin – I’m sorry, famous? -

- I should think so – she giggled softly, tenderly poking the boy’s chest – This little man has been talking about his new friend Mr. Cowwey nonstop since you visited this morning. – she addressed Archie when he sputtered out a tiny laugh – Haven’t you, baby? -

- Has he now? - Crowley had meant to go for cool and aloof but, to his eternal dismay, landed headfirst on fond instead.

- Oh, belive me, he hasn’t shut up about it for one second – the woman chirped – I’m Clara, by the way. Clara MacLeod. You met my husband this morning, as well -

- Nice meeting you, Mrs. MacLeod – he gave her a polite nod before addressing Archie, with a tone which wasn’t in any way tender or sweet – And what are you doing here, ey? Aren’t you a little too young for these kinds of parties? -

- Yea bu’ Nanny’s sick- he explained, nervously pulling on his pinkie finger – So mommy and daddy said I cwud come! - he beamed.

- Ah, well, in that case... - the demon had begun saying, the conversation abruply interrupted when a soft touch on Clara’s shoulder made her spin around to the older couple who had creeped up behind her.

- Mr. and Mrs. Carson! – she greeted them – Thank you so much for coming! Gosh, it has really been too long -

- It has, hasn’t it? - the elderly woman said – While we’re discussing the topic of long-lost friends, we have just met the McKinley’s in the other room. Perhaps you’d like to say hello to them as well? -

- Goodness, I must! - Clara agreed, then turned back to Crowley, gently putting Archie down – Um, would it be too much trouble if I asked you to look after him? It should only take five minutes... -

- No, ‘course – he gestured agreement with his head, the kid clinging onto his leg before he could say another word, catching him completely off-guard – Oi! -

- Now, stay with Mr. Crowley, alright? Don’t you go running off anywhere – Mrs. MacLeod managed to lecture him before being dragged off by her friends, both child and demon watching in silence as she disappeared amongst the crowd.

A second after, Crowley felt Archie shift and turned his head, only for his concealed eyes to land squarely on the small boy’s light-blue gaze. They stared at eachother for a long moment, with the kid positively gaping at the demon and the latter arching an eyebrow in confusion.

- Why do you like me so much? - he wondered out loud – I’m really mean, you know. And scary -

- I dun’ fink you’re scwawy, Mr.Cowwey! - he replied, never breaking eye contact – ‘sides, your gwasses is funny! -

- They are not! - Crowley feigned offense, dignifingly fixing his very unfunny sunglasses.

- Yea they are! - the child giggled, then raised both his arms up at the demon, pinching the air – Up? - he asked.

- Not even at gunpoint – he hissed, rolling his head away from the child. After a soft giggle, he felt a firm tug on his trousers, and looked back to find the second most stupidly-adorable doe-eyes he’d ever come across in his 6000 years of existance – Stop doing that – Crowley growled.

He didn’t stop; his big, bright eyes fixed on the demon, who felt his own irises widen in tenderness beneath the dark lenses which concealed them. A few seconds of silent guilt-trapping later, Crowley had no choice but to give in. Not many six-year-olds could say they’d managed to tempt the serpent of Eden; but Archie was now one of them.

- Fine – he groaned – But it anyone sees us, I’m blaiming you – he added, making the child bark out a laugh as he scooped him up and sat him in his arms.

Finally on the same eyeline, Crowley and Archie stared at eachother in silence for another few seconds, until the child cocked his head to the side in curiosity and the demon lifted his chin a few inches, frowning.

- What? - he finally spat, unsure what it was the child found so interesting.

- You’s sad... - Archie muttered, his head still loopsided – Why’s you sad, Mr.Cowwey? -

- What?! - he repeated, trying to sound surprised, though the three-sixty change of tone was an immediate dead giveaway – I’m not...! What’d you mean, sad? That’s ridicoulous, I don’t even know what you’re talking about – he rambled – And how would you know, anyway? -

- You’r fwace ‘s all dwoopy ‘n you’r all sniffwly ‘n stuff – he chirped, pointing a little finger at Crowley’s face – You’s sad! - he concluded his explanation.

- Ngk... - Crowley grumbled, embarrassed that he was so obvious even a six-year-old had noticed – Yeah, alright, maybe I’m a little sad – he sighed, then squeezed in another sentence when Archie’s eyes flickered from curious to worried – But, ‘s nothing, really. Just had a fight with my...eh...with...someone -

- Buwwhy? - the child asked, cruelly reminding Crowley of his own endless curiosity, and the way he’d often shoot questions left, right and centre for hours back when he was an angel – Watchha do? -

- Oi, who said it was my fault? - he hissed, making the kid giggle. He apparently found his involuntary snakey sounds amusing, Crowley noted – Anyway, ‘s complicated. You wouldn’t understand -

- Oh – Archie looked mindlessly around for the next few seconds, thinking of something to say, when he suddenly remembered something and perked up in Crowley’s arms – Well, mommy awways says tha’ if I’m sad I cwud fink of fings tha’ make me hawwpy and I’d stop bein’ sad! -

- Does she? - the kid nodded fervently, and Crowley seized the opportuinty to change the subject without a second thought – And would those happy things be for you, Archie? -

- Um...um... - he thought, struggling to order the words in his young brain – I fink ‘bout mommy, an’ daddy...um...and my fwends at schwool, oh and Mrs. Harmony ‘n nanny, too! - the boy listed, quieting down when he’d finished, then excitedly bouncing back upstraight, finger pointed at the skylight above, as he remembered one other thing – Stars! -

How the demon had managed not to melt right then and there would always be a complete mystery to him. In was in situations like that one that Crowley thanked the universe for the invention of sunglasses; because had they not been perched up on his nose that very second, Archie would’ve seen his amber irises expanding in pure tenderness at a concerning speed, absorbing every last speck of white in his eyes and threatening to to spill out. He could only hope that the blush which he felt burning on his face was less than half as bad.

- You... - he began, his voice and softening features completely betraying his sudden fondness for the boy – You like the stars? -

- Uh-huh! - Archie nodded, then looked up at the stars which twinkled through the skylight – They’s so pwetty and spwarkwy! Bling bling! -

- They...they are? - Crowley hated himself for the amount of vulnerability in his voice, and even more so for his glassy eyes, but he couldn’t help it. Archie liked the stars, his stars, and it made him stupidly happy – You really...you really think they’re pretty? -

- Yea! - he cheered, never looking away from the sky – Bu’ they’s so so fwar away! -

- They are, aren’t they? - the demon said with a small, choked laugh, unable to contain his giddyness

- Bu’ s okay, becwous when ‘m big, imma be a spaceman! - he ecitedly extended his arms – And imma go in a wocket, up up, and imma touch ‘em! -

- Thouch them? - Crowley reiterated, his eyebrows shooting upwards – I don’t know about that, Archie. They are quite hot, you know? -

- How‘d you know? - the kid asked, then immediately answered his own question with a big gasp, wide-open doe eyes falling right back down onto the demon – Have you thouched ‘em, Mr.Cowwey?! -

- Well, eh... - he hesitated. He wasn’t really supposed to go around saying “Hey, I’m an immortal being, how’s it hanging” to humans. Not that they would believe him if he did, but the point still stood. However, there was no one else there, just him and Archie, and Crowley was a very selfish demon who desperately wanted this kid’s admiration, so what the hell – If I tell you, you have to promise me you’ll keep it a secret – he whispered, a mischievous grin gracing his lips.

- Mmhmm, mmhmm – Archie nodded, eagerly scooching up to him.

- I made them – Crowley whispered into his ear, gloating in the way the child’s mouth positively dropped.

- Weally?! - he shrieked, placing a finger on his lips when the demon did the same to shush him, then spoke again in a much softer tone – All of ‘em? -

- Well, not every single one – he admitted – But I did do a lot of them. Ever heard of Alpha Centauri? -

- Bu’ how? - Archie completly ignored the question – an’, an’ when? -

- Long time ago – he cooly answered the second question, then paused when thinking how to answer the first – And as for how, well...that’s...complicated – he settled on, realizing it was the second time he’d said that during the conversation.

- Why ‘d you awways say fwings are compwicated? - the kid jokingly pouted, realizing the exact same thing.

- Because unfortunately, Archie, many things are – he replied, eyebrows going up to emphasize the point.

- Hmm – the boy thought, then gazed back up at the stars for a moment before lowering his head to look at Crowley again – Mommy awways says tha’ most fwings tha’ look compwicated weally aren’t, and tha’ s all a mawwer of pur...pwer...puwepewtiv...oh, I can’t say the word! - he lamented, then tried again – puwep...purpw...puwespwetwif... -

- Perspective - he said once he’d understood what the kid was trying to say, smiling tenderly at him.

- Yea, tha’! - Archie nodded - puwes...pwet...wif! -

- Pers...pect...ive – Crowely corrected again – You pronounce it Pers...-

That was the exact moment the penny dropped. The air caught in his throat, and his arms began to shake beneath Archie’s small weight. Perspective. During his walk around the museum, and every other moment of solitude he had had in the past two days for that matter, Crowley had been replaying their arguments in his mind. He had been so busy regretting every other word which had come out of his own mouth, however, to give much thought to what Aziraphale had been saying to him. Hearing but not listening, just as Eleyn had said.

- Here we are! Hello, baby! You haven’t bothered Mr. Crowley too much, have you? - Clara MacLeod’s voice suddenly rang through the air, startling the demon, who spun around like he’d just heard a gunshot.

- Uh, yeah, no – he sputtered, hastily putting the child back on the ground -He was great, I mean. Little ang...uh...yeah, that, very good... – he coughed nervously, his brain refusing to put two coherent thoughts in line, much to occupied in trying to piece Aziraphale’s words together from memory.

- Is everything okay? - Mrs. MacLeod asked, concerned about his sudden strange behaviour – You look a little pale. Would you like something to drink? -

- Uh, no, fine... - he shot nervous glances all around him, and towards the guests which passed them on every direction, the hum of the distant chatter slolwy becoming an overwhelming ring in his ears – Um...actually, uh...perhaps some air, yes...I need to, um, get away from...from all this – the gestured to indicate the room – Just for a minute – he tried his very best to flash them an “everything’s perfectly alright” kind of smile, but failed miserably.

- There would be a nice little balcony all the way down the hall and to your immediate right, if that is amenable to...- Clara kindly offered, rudely cut off by a very not okay Crowley.

- Balcony, yes! - he clapped his hands together – Yes that’s just what I...um...yeah. That way? - he pointed, just to make sure, and the woman nodded, the concern only etchin itself further on her face – Brilliant, thanks! - he took a step in that direction, then took a step back and bent down to talk to the little boy – Cheers, Archie. Tell me when you’ve touched the stars, ey? - he quickly bid him goodbye, saluting him with two fingers as the child happily nodded.

Without another word, he charged through the exhibition hall as fast as he could, desperate to take in a good lungful of Edinburgh’s night air. His heart was beating madly inside his chest, and his palms were beginning to sweat (Which, for one accostumed to hellfire, is saying a lot). His breathing became short and ragged as excrepts of the past days’ conversations drifted through his mind. “Well, excuse me for not wanting to get you killed!” Aziraphale had said to him in the bookshop, the day he returned. “You’re talking like I had a choice! “ the angel had tried to argue during their first fight in the Bentley. “I was just trying to do the right thing!” he’d desperately attempted to explain early that morning, stood in the kitchenette of their suite. “I never wanted to leave! I never wanted to hurt you!”, he’d insisted over and over again. “It was about protecting you!”. That was what Aziraphale had said, amidst the last one of their heated arguments.

Crowley nearly collided with the rear wall of the corridor when it arrived at a dead end, his panic having been enough to cross the building in under a minute. He promptly turned to his right, and sighed in relief when he spotted the ajar wooden door leading to the outdoor balcony, open just enough for a guest to slither through, which the demon very quickly did.

He practically ran to the railing and clung on to it, doing his best to take in deep breaths, one at a time. “I was talking to myself!”, Crowley finally registered that last, desperate cry from Aziraphale. What the hell had he meant by that? By all of it, in fact? What was he playing at? The pieces were all floating around in his head, but no matter how many times he tried he was unable to put them together. The angel had left, breaking them apart, but had betrayed Heaven without batting an eyelash, as though he’d never wanted to be there despite returing on his own foot. Not only that, but he’d asked Crowley to become an angel again, and he’d only then realized how little sense that made. Firstly, the demon-hating Metatron would never have proposed such a thing; and second, Aziraphale had known for a fact that Crowley would refuse. Had he been counting on it? He let out a low, frustrated groan, the many thoughts bubbling and colliding and not making any sense inside his brain driving him mad.

His distress was such that it was only when the sound of a ring scraping on the metallic railing made him jump out of his skin that he noticed there was somebody else on that balcony; and that they’d probably been there since before he’d barged in. When he raised his head, ready to apologize for his ratherpeculiar entrance, his amber gaze fell on cerulean blue eyes and silver-blonde fluffy hair; and his heart skipped a beat.

- Aziraphale – he breathed, all the air having been knocked out of him. They stared at eachother in silence for a moment, then Crowley’s eyebrows went down in a frown – What the fuck did you do? -

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 12 – NIGHTINGALES

The Bentley shifted at the loss of Crowley's weight when he scrambled out of the car and hurtled towards the security guard, leaving Aziraphale in a state of stunned silence. The demon's parting words, now endlessly echoing inside his head, had blocked his synapses in such a way that he didn't have enough brainpower left to even blink. After a few moments of complete stillness, the Bentley clicked Aziraphale's door open, leaving it only slightly ajar, beckoning him to go after Crowley. The angel merely glanced at it. He was barely able to breathe; never mind moving. Instead he just stared, blankly, at the demon who expertly tempted the young guard by waving an obscene amount of money in his face and then disappeared into the National Gallery, slithering out of sight after shooting one last nervous half-glance back at the Bentley.

The angel only breathed when the door suddenly disappeared from his peripheral vision, awakening him from his state of trance and making him snap his head to the left, only to find Muriel holding the door open and Eleyn beside her; both their concerned gazes fixed on Aziraphale.

- Are you you okay? - the scrivener said, in as soft a tone as she could manage.

- N...no...I...I don't... - the angel stuttered, his words choked by the tears he only then realized were traveling down his face - What...What just...? -

- Happened? - the daughter of God finished the sentence for him, her voice tender now her temper had settled - I think you already know that, Aziraphale -

- He...Crow...Crowley, he...he said...- his brain was slowly remembering how words worked - He said he...that he doesn't...hate me -

- I did tell you - Muriel offered with a compassionate smile - But I think you’ll find he said quite more than that -

- Crowley...he...I was sure he...I could feel the despise, I... - he frowned and looked up at them, his lips quivering - He doesn't hate me? -

- We've been trying to tell you - Eleyn carefully insisted, not wanting to distress the poor angel further - You two need to talk, because he's convinced that you hate him. -

- What?! - Aziraphale spit out, hardly believing what he was hearing.

- Yeah - the Messiah continued - He thinks that that's why you left three years ago. Because he's a filthy serpent to you. And what makes it worse is that he genuinely believes he deserves all the pain -

- But... - the angel spluttered, locking eyes with Muriel - That's not... -

- Aziraphale - the scrivener breathed, crouching to be in his eyeline and taking the angel's hands into hers - Go and find him. Tell him everything -

Aziraphale opened his mouth, then closed it and pressed his lips, trying to avert his eyes from Muriel but failing miserably to hide his tears.

- I know - she squeezed his hands, her tone sweet and tender - I know how scared you are, but...well, if Heaven and Hell are going to come down on us anyway; if The Metatron is going after both of you either way, then isn't it best to go into battle hand in hand, with no lies between you? -

The angel raised his eyes again, finding the scrivener's, full of understanding, and his gaze just rested there for a few moments, until his heart and brain finally came to an agreement and his decision was made. His pulse quickened, his mind bubbled, and he slowly nodded at the scrivener, who dutifully stood and allowed him to spring out of the Bentley. He started towards the Gallery's facade, his breathing shallow and uneven as he neared the imposing stone columns which held the tablature with incredible architectural strength. Normally, Aziraphale would take his time to appreciate the intricacies of the ionic architectural order; marveling in the design of the capital and its volutes; or perhaps gaping at the simplistic elegance of the frieze and the cornice. But that day, he walked past without even granting them a glance, his mind completely elsewhere. He shot past the large bannisters which hung at either side of the large, wooden double-door advertising the fundraiser, and stopped dead on his tracks the moment he had crossed them.

Guests were strolling in all directions, waiting for the auction to begin over some friendly chatter and a glass of wine, commenting on the paintings which lined the walls with peers and colleagues. His heart hammering against his ribs, he whipped his head right and left in a futile effort to spot a flicker of crimson hair, and his nerves were only enhanced. After another near minute of pacing towards every possible direction, Aziraphale decided on a long corridor which outstretched itself all the way to the other side of the building, where a marble staircase shyly peeked around the corner. Knowing Crowley, he had probably wandered upstairs to get away from the larger human gatherings, so that was where the angel would be headed. In crossing the lobby, Aziraphale almost ran into a young woman dressed in green, carrying a little tuxedoed boy in her arms. He quickly apologized and continued his way; but had his mind not been revolving only around a certain pair of golden eyes, he might have recognized the boy before he and her mother disappeared up the main staircase.

He continued walking, practically on autopilot, with his eyes fixed on the pavement in front of him. His mind was racing, so fast that he could barely keep up with it, going over every single word Crowley had said to him since his impromptu return to the bookshop. Something inside Aziraphale had finally snapped, and now he realized that he had only been hearing, and not listening, just like Muriel had told him. "You could've killed yourself! What if I had lost you?!" the demon had raged in the aftermath of their eventful trip to Hell, though Aziraphale had no idea why he had misunderstood it as pettiness, when it had been genuine concern. "When we finish doing whatever the hell we have to do, I'll go my goddamn way and you're free to go back to Heaven". Aziraphale had thought that Crowley was kicking him out of his life, telling him to go back and leave him alone, but it only then dawned on him. Free to go. The angel felt a lump in his throat, the air barely making it to his lungs as he began ascending the staircase. Crowley wanted to liberate Aziraphale, as if though he was only a burden for the angel. That hadn't been an act of hatred at all; but an act of respect. More than that, it had been an act of...

Aziraphale's mind dodged that word like a bullet, out of reflex, as it had done many times before. It was always there, it never wavered, but no matter how long he waited there always seemed to be a reason to keep it shut, lo lock it down and scold himself every time his thoughts meandered anywhere near it.

The steps suddenly stopped beneath his feet, and Aziraphale whipped his head up to find himself in another corridor, well-lit and roughly the same size and length as the one on the floor below, though its art-lined walls were cherry red instead of teal. He looked in every direction, but there was still no sign of sunglasses or dark, snakey shadows. Realizing he had to do something to ease the raising panic inside of him, Aziraphale decided to try and distract himself with the paintings, eyeing them as he slowly advanced through the corridor. The first to catch his eye was a portrait of a young woman he recognized almost immediately, an unusual look of confidence on her face. Lady Agnew had always been more on the shy side, at least when walking through her gardens with Aziraphale. He had been helping her husband on a couple of trials which Heaven had ordered must end with the accused behind bars or hanged. Why John Singer Seargent had decided to depict her that way, nobody would ever know.

He continued his stroll, his breathing finally under control, when another picture caught his attention; but for completely different reasons. They were trees, on a field. Nothing more than that. Drawn in the very particular style of Van Gogh, albeit, but still nonthess trees. Olive trees, according to the plaque which hung on its right. But those simple trees in that simple field made the angel think of a garden.The Garden. He fondly remembered Adam and Eve, the first two humans on Earth, happily running around the green, rich land God had gifted them. He also remembered the seventh day, the day it first rained. The day the Original Tempter had convinced the pair to disobey the one rule they had. That was the day he'd met Crowley. Well, not techincally, he had met him as an angel a few years earlier. But it had been the first time they'd seen each other after the fall. That was the day it had begun.

Aziraphale held his breath, the weigh of time suddenly coming to him, popping six thousand years on his shoulders all at the same time. It had been six eons. The whole of human history, he and Crowley had been playing a game of tug-of-war, constantly pulling towards one another and then immediately pushing themselves back apart. It had been six thousand years of must not, of should not, of not yet. Six thousand years of lingering looks, of brushes of the hands and faint, pink blushes. Six thousand years of not telling eachother what their actions had shouted at the top of thier voices. Until today.

"I see the most beautiful, perfect being I've ever met and have to remind myself, every damn time, that I'm not good enough! "

Aziraphale had to purposefully put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sob which came out of him, his eyes glassy and wet. The mere thought of the word made his breathing quicken noticeably, becoming shallower and shallower. He felt a chill crawl up his spine. How could he have let Crowley believe he was so hated? So filthy? How had it gotten so out of hand that the demon repulsed himself in such a way that Aziraphale could actually feel it?

Desperate for some air, and dangerously inching on hyperventilation, the angel turned his head in every direction until he found a little door at the end of the hallway leading to what looked like a small terrace, reserved and hidden away from the thick of the guests. He made a beeline for it, leaving the Van Gogh behind, and slipped out of the slightly ajar door, taking a breathful of Edinburgh evening air the second he had the chance. The humble little balcony overlooked Princess Street Gardens, the treetops shining under the faint moonlight which bathed the entire city, and offered a breath-taking view of the sky, so beautifully packed with stars and planets that one could not have fit a single needle even if they'd wanted to. Aziraphale simply stared at them for a few minutes, his eyes round and tender, vaguely wondering which were the ones Crowley had created.

His lips had only just begun tracing a small smile when the door he'd slipped through moments ago burst open and a mess of limbs and crimson shot through it, taking a white-knuckle grip on the metallic railing. The demon stopped, looking ahead at nothing in particular, and then groaned a deep groan of frustration which echoed through the empty park below. Aziraphale held his breath, too shocked to move a single inch, and simply watched as Crowley juggled through his thoughts, his mind probably as much of a disaster as his own.

After a few silent seconds, Aziraphale took a silent breath, preparing himself for the conversation to come and, when he was ready to tell him the whole truth, he placed a hand on the railing to steady himself. His golden signet ring scraped against the iron, making Crowley snap his head to him. Aziraphale saw the demon's eyes widening from under the dark lenses, his mouth slightly agape, and they both simply stared at each other in stunned silence for the following seconds; until Crowley finally spoke.

- Aziraphale – he breathed, then frowned – What the fuck did you do? -

- What I had to – the angel breathed back.

- What does that mean ?! - Crowley insisted, raising a sleek finger, but never breaking eye contact – And don't say you can't tell me ; I'm sick of that bullshit. I want to know what's going on -

- I... - Aziraphale paused, unsure how to reply, only for his lips to start moving of their own accord – I don't hate you, Crowley. I need you to believe that. I never have, and I never would. Never -

- But you left – the demon said, sharply, just before his voice broke. He produced a deep growl in the bottom of his throat, occupying himself with slipping his glasses off and jamming them in his inside pocket to have an excuse not to look at the angel, his glassy eyes threatening to let the tears lose – You left, and it wasn't to make a difference in Heaven ; we both know you're not that thick; so only one reason comes to mind -

- I did leave – the angel agreed, his voice mildly shaking – And I did that because I needed to get away from you -

- Ngk – Crowley whipped his head to the side, staring blankly at the Edinburgh city lights with tear-clouded eyes – Exactly – he whispered.

- No! – Aziraphale excalimed, urgently stepping half an inch closer to him, making the demon whip his head towards him again – It's not what you think -

- Then why , Angel? - Crowley begged – Why can't you just tell me ? It's almost like you're... - he froze, his eyebrows shooting upwards when the pieces in his head finally fell together with a loud thud which reverbrated through his mind – Afraid -

- I... - the angel started, then suddenly looked down at his shoes, embarrassed at the tears which grazed his eyes.

- Of the angels? - the demon inquired, his frown returning – Of Heaven? -

- No – Aziraphale shook his head, his breathing beginning to shallow – Just...just the one – he said, raising his head to lock eyes with the other's amber gaze

- Metatron – Crowley growled, pronouncing the name with as much disgust as he could muster. His blood began to boil – The fuck did he do to you? -

- He...gave me an ultimatum – the angel finally began to explain, the words pouring out of him like water out of a burst-open dam – The day we had coffee, three years ago. The day I left. He...he swore to destroy you if I didn't accept the post of Supreme Archangel. If I didn't do everything he said without the slightest opposition, I... -

- No, hold on – this time it was Crowley who took half a step foward – You told me he offered to let you take me back to Heaven and reappoint me, not... -

- I'm an angel! - Aziraphale interrupted, throwing his arms up, then whispered as they came plummeting back down – I lied -

- You...? - the demon gaped, completely lost for words – Why? We could've taken him down, we could've fought back! -

- No, we couldn't – the angel shook his head, his voice breaking – It would have been too risky -

- Risky ? - the other reiterated – Angel, we went to Hell a day ago and you almost burnt to death. We hid an amnesiac archangel in your shop; fuck , we even managed to piss Satan off more than once. Since when have we given a shit about risk? -

- Ever since The Metatron has had the Angel's Dagger in his possession – Aziraphale explained, letting all the words out in one breath.

- The Angel's...? – the demon went completely pale, his breaths quickly turining into anxious hisses as his pupils thinned – No, that's not possible. The damn thing was destroyed years ago -

- I know, I was there! - he cried – But either that one was a fake or there have been two all along, because what The Metatron showed me was authentic -

- No, it can't have been...! - Crowley still refused to believe his ears – Couldn't you have mistaken it for another...? -

- I could feel it, Crowley! - Aziraphale insisted, inching on hyperventilation – The stench of pain and death and destruction and bleeding souls...it was it. And I know what that thing can do , I've seen it. The fear which overtook me at that moment, the fear that he could hurt you, I... I panicked! -

- Angel... - the demon tried to say, only to be unapologetically interrupted.

- I needed to draw you away so you could be safe – he continued, not even bothering to take a breath, tears rolling down his cheeks – From me, Metatron, Heaven; all of it. So I lied. I said the one thing I knew would make you furious , I staged every word to make you hate me; to make you never want to see my guts ever again. What I hadn't expected was for you to...to... - he paused, sobbing hard, attempting to recompose himself a little – I didn't know I would have to break your heart; but I did it anyway. Improvised. And I hurt you so much, I tore you apart, I... - he broke down in tears, finally succumbing to three years' worth of regret and bottled-up sorrow – I'm sorry. I know it's worth nothing, but I am. I had no choice, there was nothing else I could do, I had to... -

- Angel – Crowley tried again, but Aziraphale's wall had burst, and there was no stopping it.

- And then you kissed me – he said, making the demon's face flush – You kissed me . And I... - a hand instinctively shot up to his lips – I was selfish. I was so afraid to lose you...I was terrified ...so I broke you. And I forgave myself because I would do it again in a heartbeat . Because I'd rather exist in a universe where you hate me than one where you're not there at all. I need you, that much was true, and I know it's selfish, I know I'm vermin for what I did, but... -

- Aziraphale, stop – the demon walked a few more steps and placed delicate hands on the angel's shoulders, forcing them to lock eyes – Stop . You are not vermin, or selfish. In fact, you don't get to do the self-flagelation; that's my thing – that forced a sad half-chuckle out of the angel. It wasn't a smile, but it was close enough for now – You sacrificed so much. The bookshop, Soho, your quaint, peaceful existence here on Earth – he glanced at the slumbering city, then back into the pale blue eyes which had incessantly plagued his mind for as long as he could remember – You were even willing to sacrifice our... - he hesitated - Our... whatever the fuck it is we've been doing for the past six thousand years ; and you seriously think that was anything less than brave? You were so brave, Angel – he said just above a whisper, the unfallen tears burning in his eyes as he flashed his trademark smirk – Still, too bad that last part of the plan didn't really work out for you. After six thousand years, it'll take you more than that to get rid of me, you know -

- It's funny, really – the angel sniffed, catching Crowley off-guard – I'd never given much thought to the fact that self-hatred would be something I could sense as well. So when I came back, and I felt all that despise bubbling from you, I just assumed... -

- That I hated you? - the demon's face softened, and his lips traced a tender smile as a blush sneaked up to his cheeks – Come on, Angel. You really think so little of me as to assume breaking my heart would make me stop caring? -

- My dear – the fondness in Aziraphale's voice made shivers travel down Crowley's spine, and it only then dawned on him that it was the fist time the angel had used the endearment since he had returned.

Before Crowley had time to recover, however, two angelic arms gently cupped his back and pulled him into a heavenly embrace which, after a starled half a second, he returned without hesitation. He slid one of his arms beneath Aziraphale's and placed his palm between the angel`s shoulderblades; while the other flung across his neck, his fingers softly clinging to the hair in the back of his head and pushing to bring them even closer. When he felt Aziraphale's face nuzzling in the crook of his neck, still slightly damp with tears, he let out the longest exhale his corpration had breathed in six thousand years; and his shoulders relaxed as he rested his own head against his soft, white curls. He breathed, calmly, taking in the scent of old books, pears, Earl Grey and obscenely expensive wine; while Aziraphale reveled in the smell of leather, strong alcohol and smoke which charachterized the demon, alongside a small undertone of hot cocoa which only he was keen enough to notice. The angel squeezed his eyes tighter as their breathing compenetrated, chests raising and falling to the same slow rythm, hearts beating against one another. Crowley felt quite shivery, for a demon, but the strength with which his arms wrapped around Aziraphale betrayed their shared desire that this moment last forever. No impending world endings, no Heaven or Hell, no daring missions. Just the two of them, beneath the stars, in eachother's arms, for eternity.

However, their reverie found itself interrupted after a few moments by a soft, melodious chirp which rang through the air, catching Crowley's attention first. He very gently drew his hand away from Aziraphale's neck, and the angel looked up at him when he felt the cool rush of air, with a frown of both confusion and silent protest at the sudden shift of position. Said frown quickly metamorphosed into concern when he saw Crowley's shocked, widened eyes fixed on the balcony's railing, and slowly unhooked his arms from the demon's back, placing his hands lightly on his chest instead and finally separating them a few more painful inches. That was when Aziraphale first heard the singing of a bird, very close by, and followed Crowley's gaze to its origin. Two things happened in very quick succession the moment his eyes fell on the little bird perched on the metallic railing: first, he stopped breathing, and simply stared blankly at it. Then, when his synapses had the decency to fire up again, his heart set off at twice the speed of what would be considered normal for a healthy, middle-aged man; and the blood which incessantly pumped in his ears - not before making a pit stop in his cheeks, where it created a soft blush - was the only thing he could hear. The small nightingale tilted her head funnily at the angel, her light-maroon feathers glistening under the moonlight as she fixed her dark, beautiful pupils on Aziraphale. She gave an adorable little hop to shift her position, now tilting her head at Crowley instead.

- Hello - the demon purred, silently, making her tilt her head every other way in interest - You're a long way away from Barkley Square, aren't you? -

- She is, rather - Aziraphale sighed, though it did nothing to calm the chaos inside of him.

She ruffled up her feathers in response, chirping another few melodious notes, never breaking eye contact with them. They admired her in silence for a few minutes, with no words said between them, until a thought hit Crowley and made him tense up in horror (though, the fact that he'd just then noticed the angel's hands resting on his chest might have helped a little with that)

- Shit - he muttered, spinning towards the angel, his hands softly clinging to his arms - Fuck, Aziraphale, I've been such an arsehole to you, I... -

- Stop that, dear boy - he cooed, cerulean eyes once again locking on golden ones - You went through a lot of pain because of me, and on top of that I kept the truth from you. You had every right to be furious -

- But I... - Crowley stammered, going through his mess of a brain in search of memories - I said awful things, and I...Shit. I was so angry, I didn't even know what was coming out of my fucking mouth -

- I... - Aziraphale sighed again - I suppose I owe you a bit of an apology as well. I have said things which were very out of place the last few days. I insulted one of the things you enjoy most, your music, and I can't even remember why -

- Well, in your defence, I did insult Jane Austen to your face immediately after - Crowley chuckled, his signature smirk back in play, finally forcing a snicker out of the angel - and Pride and Prejudice. For the record, it killed me to say the movie is better - 

- Oh, I certainly hope so - the angel fake-snapped, grinning, before being struck by a thought which, though obvious, hadn't come to him at the time - Hold on, are you telling me that you actually sat down and read Pride and Prejudice? All 248 pages of it? - he beamed, his hands pressing just a little bit more into Crowley's chest; enough to make the demon's breath catch.

- Ehhh, yeah...Not 'cause I wanted to, though - he mumbled, eyes darting everywhere, the lie shamefully bad for a demon - Just to be able to use it against you. All part of the plan, you see. Very sly demon, me -

Aziraphale finally barked out a proper laugh, his head slightly bucking forward with the force of it. To Crowley, it was like a melody; and he couldn't help but stare in awe. The angel's smile was just as bright as he remembered; like a thousand burning Suns, and his cerulean blue eyes were round and full of joy, in a way the demon hadn't seen in years. The moonlight caught in his soft blond curls and created an ethereal cocoon around him, making him glow. Aziraphale had always glowed like that, at least in the demon's eyes. Every silent night in Soho, passing a bottle of wine back and forth and sharing a laugh over the latest human shenanigans; every busy morning in a market of some city where they had happened to run into each other; every single time they'd had lunch together, and Crowley had looked over to the other side of the table, the angel had been glowing. And he was beautiful. It was strange, thinking those words and not immediately having to kick or scold himself, like he'd done for the past six eons. Because it was too dangerous, because it was too complicated. But now, tonight, on that tiny little balcony in the middle of Edinburgh, it was so simple. So easy, to just accept the truth he'd been ignoring for an eternity, pretending to be deaf when it shouted in his face. Normally, he wouldn't have said anything. He would've felt the blush in his cheeks, just as he had done now, and turned away, making some stupid excuse to leave, and never talked about it again. But not tonight. Tonight he did speak, and he said what he was really thinking, because it really was that simple.

- I've missed you - he breathed, his voice unashamedly vulnerable - So much. I thought...I thought I'd never see that smile again -

Aziraphale's smile turned tender as he lifted one of his hands off the demon's chest, using it to cup his jaw instead, caressing his cheek with soft brushes of his thumb. Crowley's skin tingled under the touch, and he leaned into it immediately, almost urgently, the white in his eyes now long-gone, lost under the fiercely expanding yellow. Chills shot up and down his spine when he flicked his gaze away from the hand and found Aziraphale's full-blown, gorgeous pupils already locked on him with a fondness no mortal was capable of even coming close to.

- I couldn't stop thinking about your eyes - Aziraphale whispered, so softly it was barely audible - All that time, in Heaven. Not a day went by in which I didn't think about them. About you - his eyes flicked to the demon's lips and back, so quickly he'd have missed it if he'd blinked - Even Paradise turns into Hell if you're not there -

- Angel... - Crowley matched his volume and, unable to hold himself back any longer, placed his hands on Aziraphale's waist, pulling gently to get them that little bit closer - I don't... - a growl echoed deep in his throat, but this time he finished the sentence, because this time there was no fear to stop him - I don't regret it. What I did, that day, the day you left. I don't regret a second of it -

- Good - Aziraphale breathed, his eyes never letting go of Crowley's as he wrapped his hand around the demon's tie and pulled to rest their foreheads together, their lips a mere breath apart, the tip of their noses caressing against the other's - That's very good, because I wasn't planning on regretting it either -

Crowley's heart set off like a bulldozer, his breath hitched, and his grip on Aziraphale tightened. And they lingered, just for a second, looking into each other's eyes, giving each other enough time to turn and run away; although they both knew that wasn't going to happen. For more than six thousand years, they had been trapped in an eternal dance; an impossible waltz in which they were constantly twirling and circling around each other, never taking a moment to breathe, very occasionally turning to face each other; but never dawdling too long, out of fear that the music might die. Now they had finally stopped, finally let themselves close to one another, let themselves link their hands, let themselves touch and feel. Now they could finally waltz, the proper way.

And waltz they did. Crowley pulled on Aziraphale's waist at the same time the angel tugged at the demon's tie, and their lips connected, sending shots of electricity down their spines. It was feather-light at first, slow, but powerful; like a quiet hum turning into a deafeningly loud, beautiful symphony. Their hearts beat in unison, their eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to take in every second; every ounce of the feeling of their lips on each other's. Neither of them would ever know whose mouth was first to part, but the fact of the matter was that the moment they did, Crowley caught the angel's soft upper lip in his, and Aziraphale hummed in pleasure at the feeling of it. However, it wasn't much longer until their stupid corporations began to protest at the lack of air; and they had to break apart to breathe.

They said nothing, because for the first time in their shared existence, there was nothing left to say. Aziraphale could feel the demon's chest raising and falling beneath the fist closed around his tie; and he also felt the way his breathing accelerated and became shallower, mirroring his own, the more their gazes lingered on each other. His amber eyes shone like the stars their owner had hung in the sky all those years ago, but they did so with something more than mere affection. It was need. Or desire. Or both. His lips were already parted in invitation; and so were the angel's, because his thoughts were exactly the same. This time, Aziraphale didn't wait. He was sick and tired of waiting; he'd already been doing it for too long. A firm pull on the demon's tie was all it took for their lips to meet again, this time igniting a passionate fire where before there had only been a spark. Their mouths danced fervently and in perfect sync, Aziraphale's tongue brushing daringly on Crowley's lower lip, making a small moan echo in the back of his throat and his breath hitch for the umpteenth time as he lowered his hands to the angel's hips and pulled to bring them even closer. Aziraphale's hand finally let go of the tie and cupped the demon's other cheek, pressing their mouths firmly together. Crowley whimpered, the angel hummed in delight and the nightingale sang, opening her wings and flying happily into the night. Her work there was done.

The feeling of the angel's lips was intoxicating, and the only thing Crowley wanted was more. Screw Heaven, and Hell, and The Metatron and Satan himself. All he wanted, all he ever needed, was this. And, unfortunately, oxygen. They broke apart a second time, their lips flush and tender in the aftermath, and leaned away little enough for their foreheads to still touch. Aziraphale's hands fell to the back of Crowley's neck, mindlessly playing with the little crimson hairs which had been too short to put into his ponytail. The demon nuzzled his nose in the angel's soft blonde curls, taking his scent in with deep breaths until the joy bubbling inside of him became too unbearable, and he let out a soft chuckle.

- What? - Aziraphale asked in a whisper, drawing soft patterns on the demon's nape with his fingers.

- No, it's just... - he gently pushed, letting their eyes fall directly on each other again - It's just funny, really... - He took a breath, his smile never wavering - I love you, Angel - Aziraphale all but stopped breathing - I always have loved you; but until today there was something stopping me from saying it - He chuckled again, louder, eyebrows going up in amusement - And now I can't even remember what it was -

- Crowley... - the angel breathed, trying to find his own words. When he finally did, he smiled his brightest smile - I love you. I have loved you since before the human concept of love. And since before the human concept of a concept, for that matter. I'm sorry if I made you believe you weren't enough; but I don't care what you are - demon, angel, unicorn - as long as you're you. I love you exactly how you are, not in spite of it. You is what I want -

- Well then - Crowley's smile metamorphosed into a smirk, even through his glassy eyes and choked voice - Temptation accomplished -

- You...! - Aziraphale playfully swat at him, making them both burst out giggling as their faces nuzzled together like if they'd already been doing it for thousands of years - You fiendish old serpent! -

- Aren't I just? - the demon managed in between fits of breathy, silent laughter, using two fingers to gently raise the angel's chin with the complete intent to kiss him again.

Their lips had almost locked for a third time when a silent sniffle beside them made Crowley jump out of his skin and snap his head towards the balcony doors, shortly followed by Aziraphale, whose reaction had been pretty much the same. To their utter surprise, Muriel and Eleyn were stood there, right beside the ajar door, the latter trying to hold her tears while the first bore an angelically endearing expression, her hand clapped on top of her heart.

- Well - Eleyn asked just above a whisper, fake-scolding them as she tried to dry her glassy eyes - Was that so difficult?! -

Crowley and Aziraphale blinked twice, then looked back at each other and burst out laughing at the sheer irony of the whole situation. Muriel and Eleyn laughed as well; and that was the first time the four of them had laughed together. It somehow felt exactly right.

- I suppose it wasn't, really, no - the demon managed once he'd stopped laughing his head off - All a big misunderstanding, -

- Quite - Aziraphale quickly agreed, grinning - It turns out we only needed to talk. Can you believe it? If only somebody had told us earlier... -

- Bastard - Crowley muttered, unable to hide the proudness.

- I will throw you off this balcony - Eleyn threatened, offended-but-not-really, barely able to hold in the laughter.

- Why do you all keep threatening to throw me off high places? - the angel joked back, mock-frowning - I do have wings, you know -

- In that case I'll throw you over and over again - she cocked her head in Crowley's direction - Until lover boy over here comes to your rescue -

- Ngk - Crowley blushed, feeling a little exposed - How bloody long have you been standing there, anyway? -

- Long enough - Muriel interjected, throwing a knowing look at Eleyn, which she returned instantly.

- And you were here in the first place because? - the demon insisted, with the tone of one who'd been caught very red-handed.

- Hmm? - the Daughter of God frowned, momentarily confused, before her eyebrows shot upwards in realization - Oh, yeah! The auction's about to start. The Gospel should be one of the first objects up for grabs -

- Alrighty - Crowley sighed, turning back to the angel - Time to save the world - He raised his arm, glancing at his wristwatch - If we're quick about it, we might be in time to catch breakfast at the Ritz -

- Anthony J. Crowley - Aziraphale said, carefully pronouncing all the letters, his tone playful as he draped a hand over the demon's shoulder - Are you asking me out on a date? -

- Maybe - the demon smirked, closing in on the angel, raising his chin and placing a soft peck on his upper lip just because he could - The sooner we get this sorted, the sooner you can find out - he teased back, delighted in the way it made Aziraphale lick his lips.

- What are we waiting for, then? After you - he signaled the doors to the Gallery with a hand, and Crowley started towards them after one last playful smirk.

- Aww - said Eleyn, the moment she caught the demon's eyes - Cute -

- Shut up - he hissed, stepping back indoors, with the Daughter of God close on his tail.

Aziraphale chuckled, remembering too many occasions in which that particular hiss had been directed to him. And, for some reason, it always had something to do with a four letter word. He and Muriel made to follow them, the first placing a hand lightly on the scrivener's arm to beckon her forward. They were just about to cross the threshold, happily listening to the ridiculous banter between Crowley and Eleyn, when they both froze on the spot.

There were trumpets, seven of them, and then all was silent. A chill travelled down Aziraphale's spine, and he turned to find a wide-eyed Muriel already staring right back at him. She had felt it too, of course. It was supposed to be a good thing, that feeling in their gut, the feeling of ethereal power descendant from above. Many humans would've broken down in tears of joy with a tenth of it. But not Aziraphale, and not Muriel. To them, it was terrifying.

The angels had arrived on Earth.

Chapter Text

The original Gospel of John, Crowley thought, was rather a bit of a letdown. It wasn't, as he'd imagined, a big, leather-bound, fantasy-looking spell book encrusted with gems and precious stones; but rather a bunch of age-stained parchment sheets held together by badly knotted pieces of now rotten string, which at this point held on more out of willpower than actual structural integrity. The demon was convinced that, if one were to blow on it hard enough, the book - if it could even be called that- would disintegrate like the ashes of a burnt-out log.

The auction was already well underway by the time Crowley arrived, whisking up a paddle from the table at the entrance of the repurposed museum restaurant as he went along, Eleyn tagging close behind him while Muriel and Aziraphale followed a few steps behind.

The room was ample, open-concept but still structurally stable thanks to the columns which held its weight. It’s light beige walls made a sharp contrast with the vibrant colors which dressed the rest of the Gallery; and a huge, imposing iron chandelier hung from the ceiling like a spider, a fake candle flickering on the end of each arm. Tables and chairs which would usually stock the restaurant had been set aside to make room for a black-panel stage, probably set up a few days prior to the event. Aside from the standard rickety staircases on either side, it had also been equipped with a large, wide ramp specifically built in for the man who was currently hosting the auction with gavel in hand,

- Thirty-five thousand pounds in the back, thank you! Will anybody raise? - MacLeod was announcing just as the demon joined the crowd – No? Going one way, going two… -

- Sixty thousand! - Crowley firmly stated as his paddle rose above his head, a sly smirk sprawled on his face.

The guests went silent for a few moments, then burst out in excited and bewildered whispers, looking back and forth between each other and the thin, elegant and evidently rich man who had just downright doubled the price. MacLeod's head snapped towards the bidder's voice; and the glint in his eyes told Crowley he'd been recognized.

- Are you mad?! - Eleyn silently spluttered beside him, her eyes the size of tea plates.

- Relax - the demon glanced at her, waving his hand nonchalantly - I've got us covered. Besides, 's for charity -

- The red-haired gentleman in the back gives sixty thousand pounds! - the host finally managed, strengthening his grip around the gavel - Do I hear sixty ten? No? Sixty thousand going one way, going two ways... -

- Sixty twenty! - A voice said from the other side of the room, a paddle raising in the air.

- What?! - Crowley heard himself hiss, incredulous, turning to find the old gentleman's eyes already fixed on him - Oh no you don't - he whispered, then raised his paddle again - Sixty five-hundred! -

- Sixty seventy! - the other man bellowed without even waiting for MacLeod's announcement.

- Fuck - the demon breathed – Seventy thousand! - he declared, then looked back towards his opponent, muttering to himself - Don't you dare, you little shit, don't you...! -

- Seventy ten! - a paddle shot into the air.

- Seventy twenty! - Crowley growled directly at him.

At this point, the crowd around the auction stage had gone almost completely silent, save for excited murmurs, as they followed the duel between the old nobleman and the redhead with interested nods. It was at this moment that Muriel and Aziraphale appeared behind Crowley's shoulder; the latter addressing the demon in hushed whispers as the price continued to escalate exponentially.

- I believe we'll be soon expecting company, my dear - the angel said, his voice laced with urgency.

- Seventy eighty! - Crowley hissed, then lowered his tone - What sort of company? -

- The heavenly sort, I'm afraid. Can you go about this any quicker? - he said, gesturing in the stage's general direction with a nod of his head.

- I could - he replied, glancing sideways at his adversary just as he called eighty thousand pounds - If the little bastard didn't have the whole fucking Bank of England in his account! -

- Muriel and I heard the seven trumpets, Crowley. They'll be here any minute. We have to grab that book and go, now! - the angel insisted in whispers.

- I'm trying! - the demon groaned - You know what? Fuck it. Let's be charitable. ONE MILLION POUNDS! - he shouted, almost launching his paddle into the ionosphere with the force with which he'd raised it.

- You are rubbish at being a demon, you know that? - Eleyn snickered, unable to help herself, Muriel having to bite back a laugh at the glare Crowley have her under the sunglasses in response.

- One...one million pounds?! - MacLeod repeated, shocked more than anyone. Crowley turned and nodded at him - One million pounds, it seems! Does anybody raise? Going one way, going two ways... - he raised the gavel, just about to plunge it down when his eyes fell on the other gentleman.

Crowley looked at his rival, eyes widened in shock as he saw his paddle doubtfully but slowly rising to up the price yet again.

- Seriously?! - he hissed in exasperation.

- Oh, for Heaven's sake! - Aziraphale groaned, discreetly but firmly snapping his fingers below his waist.

A moment before the old gentleman had been standing there, and the moment after he was simply not. Miraculously, though, neither the other guests nor the host seemed too puzzled or concerned by this, the fake assumption that he'd just admitted defeat and left materializing in their recent memory, simple a thing as the human brain is.

- And...sold! - MacLeod smashed the gavel on his wooden lectern, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all- Sold for one million pounds to the red-haired gentleman in the back! -

- Where’d you send him? - Crowley squeaked, cocking his head to the side, towards where his rival had been standing moments before.

- I have absolutely no clue - Aziraphale smiled, possibly lying and possibly not - Book, dear. We need to leave -

- Right, yes. Yeah, be right back - he gestured for the other three to wait, then shot past the crowd and up the stage, haphazardly filling in a cheque for MacLeod as the guests cheered.

- Mr...Crowley, was it? - the demon nodded, MacLeod signaling his assistant to pick up the manuscript with delicate, velvet-gloved hands - I give you the Gospel of John, and my thanks for your generous donation. We trust you will take good care of... -

- Yehyeh, give it here! - Crowley yanked the book from the assistant's hands, and ran off the stage into the small, dark corner Aziraphale had procured them, immediately attempting to hand it to Muriel - There you go cherub, do your thing -

- No! - the scrivener jumped back before the pages could touch her skin - Forbidden, remember? Aziraphale and I can't touch it; and Eleyn could risk getting the consequence. It has to be you -

- Shit - he hissed, opening it on a random page, the string holding on for dear life - Fine. What am I looking for? -

- The raising of Lazarus happens around John 11: 40 - Muriel explained - Start there -

- Right, 11:40 - Crowley muttered, turning pages left, right and center - Eleven, eleven...here it is! 11:40! - He began to read, translating the words to English like they hadn't been in Hebrew at all - Then...Jesus said "Did I not...tail? Tell! God, this man's handwriting was atrocious - He put his glasses on his head, squinting his eyes to try and decipher the writing - "Did I not tell you that..." -

- "...that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, "Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice,“Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them,“Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” - Muriel recited from pure memory, Crowley blinking incredulously at her - John 11:40-45. Now it's supposed to move on to the Sanhedrin, and their plot to kill Jesus. But maybe, just maybe, there's something else in this manuscript -

- You're right - the demon breathed, lowering his head to read once again as he turned the page - There's more text here. At least ten verses - he cleared his throat, the other three holding their breaths in anticipation, whilst the auction merrily continued in the background - Then Matthew turned to rest of the disciples once again, and said "Here we have witnessed the definite proof that Jesus Christ is flesh, blood and soul of God. Remember this day, as you have lived a moment which will never be lived again". And at this point Jesus addressed Matthew, placing a hand upon his shoulder, "What you have said is correct on every account except the last, for I will one day have a sister..." - Eleyn's breath audibly hitched -"...and this second child of the light will do as I have done to prove her divinity; commanding the blind to see, the lame to walk and the dead to live. And in the end, when it is complete, my Father will descend to her in flesh as final proof, just before Enoch is proclaimed to have fulfilled his duty and given the eternal rest of his soul" - Crowley stopped when he reached the bottom of the page, his gut falling like a stone, and read it twice more in the hopes that he'd somehow misunderstood the final sentence. A quick glance up at the spine-chilling lack of color on Aziraphale's face told him that, somehow, he hadn't.

- No...- Muriel managed between shaky breaths, the shade of white her skin had dialed to putting chalk to shame - That... that's not possible. No, you've mistranslated, it can't... - She grabbed Crowley's arm and pulled down to get a better view of the page, reading through it thrice herself before letting out a choked gasp - Oh my God... -

- This is bad - Aziraphale whispered once he'd regained the ability to speak - This is really, really bad -

- Descend in flesh... - Eleyn reiterated, eyes widening in mild disbelief - As in...? -

- How?! - Crowley spat, aiming for a hiss but landing resolutely in a terrified squeak as he stuck a thumb at God's daughter - She'll perform the last sign and then the Almighty will just...appear?! With a body?! All limbs and organs and bones and, and...and everything?! -

- It's what it says...- Aziraphale said, glancing warily down at the Gospel like it were about to sprout teeth and jump on him - God in a physical form, for the first and only time in...well, ever -

- And that's exactly what The Metatron wants - Muriel muttered half to herself, loud enough that three heads turned to her instantly - A moment of holy vulnerability. The only moment of holy vulnerability. He’s attempting to trigger Eleyn's signs to get there faster -

- And, what, hurt Her? - God's daughter suggested, growing tired of the growing amount of questions and overwhelming lack of answers - Kill Her? -

- Don't be ridiculous - the demon snapped- You can't kill God. Throw hellfire at Her to your heart's content; it wouldn't even scorch Her. Not possible. In fact, If it were possible, which it isn't, and if it happened, which it can't, reality would immediately collapse. Stars would explode, worlds would fall apart and everything would just cease to exist. Time, space, people, Heaven and Hell, everything. Just gone. Ciao! Vavoom! Good night! - he breathed heavily, raising one pale, shaky finger when Aziraphale opened his mouth - And don't you fucking dare tell me not to panic, because I will bite you! -

- We still don't know what it is that Metatron wants with all of this - the angel explained in as calm a tone as he could force under the circumstances, extending two perfectly manicured hands in front of him - But I very much doubt that his aim is to destroy reality; it would make this entire endeavor of his terribly counterproductive -

- Well, the Gospel isn't telling us much more - Muriel remarked, finally releasing Crowley's arm after re-reading the lost verses for the tenth time - Except this name. Enoch... -

The silent whispers and muttered conversations in the room metamorphosed into claps and roars; and the sudden commotion made Crowley and Aziraphale's nerves jump. They spun towards the stage, praying to anyone listening that what they found was not an ensemble of soldiers in white robes pointing spears at their necks; and breathed only when they realized the commotion had been caused by the announcement of a new auction; this time an elegant medieval broadsword. It was, Aziraphale noted, a one-handed Norman sword; its polished silver blade narrow and slender; more so than it’s predecessor’s. The guard and pommel were also silver, while the handle itself had been decorated with brown leather. It was simple in its design, yet kept in prime condition.
After taking a steadying breath, angel and demon turned back to the group, whilst the auction merrily continued in the background, the price starting at an astounding five thousand pounds and ascending at a vertiginous speed.

- Enoch... - Aziraphale whispered, his voice barely audible over the roars and claps of the guests as paddles flew up and down behind them - Now, where have I heard that name before? -

- Enoch, son of Cain? - Muriel suggested, her brow furrowed in concentration as she went through the files and files of information ingrained in her mind searching for the name - No, hold on, there was another one, a descendant of Seth..argh, I know this! - she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate with the growing noise around them, letting her labyrinthine scrivener brain go through the memorized biblical family tree, her fingers coming up as she counted- ...Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahalaleel, Jared, Enoch, Methuselah, Lamech, Noah -

- Noah's great-grandfather, then? - reasoned Eleyn, and Muriel nodded in agreement.

- Okay, yeah, happy families, amazing! Anyone mind telling me what the hell he has to do with anything?! - Crowley pressed, growing more and more impatient the noisier the room became, excited exclamations now turning into borderline screeches and wails.

- Well... - Aziraphale began, then stopped to think, suddenly frowning - I...how odd, I know there's something important about this Enoch, but it's like my own mind refuses to let me remember what it was -

- Yeah - Muriel agreed, looking up at him - It's there, I know it's there, in my head, but it's all... -

- Blurred out - the demon finished in a breath, eyebrows going down in confusion as the other two spun towards him - That's weird. That's very weird. Why's that happening? And why won't these people shut the fuck up?! -

Someone screamed from behind Crowley's shoulder, the sound echoing in the Gallery's thick marble walls and piercing through both the demon's eardrums and his patience. He spun around once again, scalding hot in anger, ready to swear and hiss at every being in possession of a mouth and vocal chords; but all his rage quickly folded and squished to the approximate size and shape of a ball which lodged itself in his breathing pipe the second his eyes met the cold, unforgiving gaze of Archangel Michael.

He heard Eleyn gasp and swore he could feel Aziraphale's shudder. Muriel's grip became vice-like around his arm when she went rigid from head to toe.

Uriel stood next to Michael on the stage, donning the same straight-cut, light-gray suit and mimicking their posture to the last minute detail. Arms clapped tightly to their back, shoulders rolled back, legs apart in a relaxed yet attack-ready stance and head held infuriatingly high, even tilted slightly upwards, to be able to look down upon the humans like they always did; like they were meant to be lesser. The only difference between the two was the kind of weapon they bore. Michael had a golden spear tightly clung to their back; while Uriel had always been more partial to shortswords.

Tsk. Crowley thought, not releasing Michael's eyes as the initial shock slowly began melting into disgust. Hypocrites.

Three armed-to-the-teeth warrior angels flanked them either side, pearl-white wings completely extended and spears held offensively in front of their bodies, ready to jump into action should the order arrive. Another six had rounded up the terrified human guests in a circle, with their weapons pointed directly at their throats in a clear explanation of what would happen should they get the idea to try and escape. There were two more warriors in the room, cowering a petrified Alistair MacLeod and his wheelchair into the far corner. The man had his arms held up in sign of surrender, breathing heavily against the blade which gently caressed the skin of his neck, not daring to do so much as blink. All color had withdrawn from his face, and his eyes were open wide not in shock; but in fear of his own life.

Aziraphale felt sickened. His hands balled into heating fists almost of their own accord, his jaw clenched and tightened in rage like it hadn't done since Alexandria; and a mass of heat began forming in his chest just as he let his eyes lock on Archangel Michael, aiming daggers and knives at them.

- Release them all at once, Michael! - he demanded, his tone grazing the limit between outraged and furious - This is crossing the line! You can't do this! -

- They will be released once you've handed over the Gospel - they demanded in reply, their stare shifting to Eleyn, who shuddered slightly, then to Aziraphale - And safely returned God's child-

- Here's a better idea! - Crowley snapped, canines bared, his growing rage only throwing wood into the fire of his bravado -Why don't you fuck off back to licking Metatron's arse, eh?! -

- You will watch your tone, demon - Uriel spat, the last word said with the usual hint of disgust.

- I don't take orders from the bloody likes of you! - he bit back, clenching his jaw.

- Obviously - Michael shot, their gaze flicking to meet the demon's - But they do, and I'm sure they'd have no problem making quick work of you - they gestured to the angel beside them, who stepped forward and pointed a spear squarely at Crowley's head in one swift motion, making him shudder and step back.

Aziraphale's arm shot from his side out of reflex, lodging itself protectively between the demon and the menacing weapon. Michael scoffed, their eyes catching Aziraphale's once again. The stare between them was heated, furious, but silent. After twenty seconds and not a blink, the angel's blue eyes flicked down somewhere near Michael's shoulder, then back up. The archangel hesitated, then broke into a wide grin when they caught on, preening proudly.

- How many times have you tried? - they asked, amused, never letting go of his his eyes. Their head rocked back with a laugh when he didn't reply - Out of miracles, Archangel Supreme? -

- Shit - Crowley muttered when he finally caught a glimpse of the rectangular piece of paper in Michael's breast pocket.

- Miracles blocked - breathed Muriel, placing a hand lightly on Eleyn's arm when the latter let out a silent gasp -There's no way out -

- The building is surrounded - Uriel declared, in the tone of voice of one who is really convinced they have won - Your transport is guarded. I'm sure you've had fun in this wild goose chase, but you have reached the end. You are cornered -

- Don't be so sure of that - Aziraphale immediately replied with not a single drop of doubt in his deep, severe voice, making even Crowley get a chill down his spine - I'm not letting you take Eleyn or hurt these people. Whatever that should take -

- Spare your empty threats, cherub - Michael shot back, never releasing his eyes - You have no miracles, no way to escape; you're not even armed! -

- Yet - the angel snapped, livid, and the archangel's stoic façade finally faltered - You often forget, Michael, that I am the angel of the Eastern Gate. I was created to protect; and I will not hesitate to do it, should you give me a reason-

- Who are you trying to intimidate? - the archangel challenged, thought their voice was very slightly higher than before - We outnumber you ten to one -

- And you also threaten those I care about – Aziraphale retorted – Believe me, the odds are not in your favor – he took a steadying breath, never releasing Michael’s gaze – Now, stand down and go back the way you came, before we need to make a mess of things -

- And if I don’t? - the archangel shot back, though this time there was a slight tremor to their voice.

- Then may God forgive me – he breathed, determination burning in his every word.

Silence settled between them, and the few seconds of it told Aziraphale exactly what he needed to know. Michael swallowed, doubt just barely flashing past their eyes before being replaced with a steadfast resolve of their own; but what caught his attention was Uriel. They stared at him for a moment, then their eyes flicked down to the floor in thought. Uriel was thinking, reasoning, and it was enough to ignite a spark of hope in Aziraphale’s gut; which turned into a small, weak little flame when they opened their mouth to address the other archangel. They closed it again, however, when they realized it was too late. Michael had made a choice, and the wrong one at that.

With a furious snarl, they ordered the warrior angels to “kill that filthy traitor”; and soon enough six of them were closing in on Aziraphale, each bearing a spear. He easily dodged the first one, tilting his head just a couple of inches to the right and grabbing it out of reflex as it was about to whiz back past his ear, his signet ring scratching against the metal. He used his other hand to pull down on the golden shaft and yank the spear out of the warrior’s hands, wasting no time at all to knock them out with a dry blow to the gut. Aziraphale rotated the spear in his hands and gripped it properly just in time to block the attack of the second warrior. The spears connected with a loud clang, and the angel quickly swung from the opposite side with enough force to make the warrior’s weapon fly just above his waist, giving Aziraphale enough space to stab his stomach with the round tip of the spearshaft, which made him recoil back and bend in on himself. The angel immediately swung at the warrior’s side, knocking the air right out of them and making them collapse.

Three more warriors charged towards him; and in one swift motion Aziraphale knelt down, extended his wings and spun on himself with as much force as he could muster, knocking all of them from their feet as they collided with his pearly-white feathers; some of which were torn off in the process. With no time to waste, the angel tightened his grip on the spear and whacked the first of three in the back of the head, sending them straight to sleep. The second barely had enough time to sit up when a golden spearshaft connected with their lower back, sending them into a spiral of pain and, eventually, blackout. A sixth warrior angel was quickly advancing on Aziraphale, and without hesitation he jumped behind the last of the ones he’d knocked to the ground, prodding forcibly at their nape without bothering to look, making them pass out on the spot. And just in the nick of time, he drew the spear forwards again and blocked the sixth warrior’s attack.

The force of the collision made Aziraphale’s arms throb as they absorbed the impact; but he’d be damned if he let his stance shift even an inch. The warrior swung again from the other side, and the other blocked, taking a step forwards as he did so, making his opponent step back. The sixth angel continued on the offense, and Aziraphale blocked two successive attacks almost effortlessly. When they were about to swing for the fourth time, however, he saw an in; and he took it. The spears came into contact again; but this time Aziraphale had had enough time and angle to hook his behind the other’s and pull; finally getting a hold on their wrist, and in a quick and aggressive movement twisted their arm behind them, turning them both around as the warrior wailed in pain and loosened their grip on their spear enough for Aziraphale to yank it out of their hand. Then, he released them from the dearth-grip with a firm kick in the backside, sending them tumbling forwards; and, before they even had the chance to turn around completely, swung both spearshafts squarely at their jaw, making their body turn a hundred and eighty degrees in recoil before they collapsed on the floor with a final thud.

Aziraphale took in a few deep inhales to catch his breath, his eyes fixed on the unconscious form of the warrior angel he’d just knocked out, as he let the spears in his hands fall to the ground beside his feet with a metallic clang.

When he looked up the next second, he found Crowley’s exposed, full-blown amber eyes staring appallingly at him. The demon’s mouth was slightly agape, and he’d gone crimson up to his ears somewhere in between the first and second warrior Aziraphale had beat the crap out of. Sure, he’d seen surges of protectiveness from his angel before, on a handful of occasions, but he would never have imagined this. The easiness with which Aziraphale – kind, tender, sweet Aziraphale – had fought six to one without even being armed to begin with and still won by a mile did very many things to him; and not one of the thoughts which crossed his mind the next second was pure.

- Aziraphale is a killing machine - Eleyn said from somewhere behind Crowley's shoulder, sounding every bit as surprised as the demon was - Good to know -

- Holy fuck Angel! - Crowley somehow managed, swallowing half the letters.

- That's blasphemy, my dear - the angel chimed, still breathing heavily as a small, sly grin began playing on his lips.

Smug bastard, Crowley thought, fighting every urge to kiss the smirk right off his angel's face.

- STOP! - Michael ordered, making Aziraphale spin around just in time to see the rest of warrior angels freeze in their attempt to attack him - Don't! Back to your posts, now! -

They began moving as they said this, charging down the stage through the wheelchair ramp towards the group of four, Uriel right beside them.

- I'll deal with the traitor, go get The Girl - the latter said, not bothering to wait for a response before drawing their sword and swinging at Aziraphale's neck.

The angel ducked out of reflex, the sharp blade caressing the blonde curls on the top of his head, then stood upright and hinged back from the waist to dodge a second, diagonal swing. With quick and agile movement, Aziraphale dodged two more attacks and spun around the archangel, taking a step back towards the stage to put Uriel that little bit out of range; which gave him enough time to kick one of the discarded spears up into his hands and block the archangel's new attack, blade and spearshaft connecting with a metallic sound which resonated through the entire National Gallery.

In the meantime, Michael advanced on the other three and drew their spear, pointing it decisively at Crowley's chest. Before they could stab, however, Eleyn jumped between demon and archangel, forcing the latter to stop dead on their tracks and slightly lower their stance.

- If you want to get to him, you'll have to go through me! - she spat at them, looking straight into their eyes.

- They abducted you! - Michael snapped, furious - They interfere with your Mother's plan; they're the ones in the wrong! -

- No! - Eleyn shot back, tears of rage flooding her eyes- You destroyed everything! You stole my life! I wanted to die because of you; and Crowley, he...he rescued me! - she took a breath - I won't let you hurt him! -

- Don't be foolish, Child! He is a demon! - the archangel bit back - A fallen angel! They lie, and they betray; and so will he! They are the bad guys, for Heaven's sake! -

- Really? - Crowley snarled, throwing them a shit-eating grin - Have you looked in the mirror these days, Michael? -

- You insolent little...! - they began, only to be interrupted by another, shy voice.

- He's right - Muriel whispered, softly, her voice shaking - All my existence, I had the notion that Heaven was good and Hell was bad; but now, the past few days, what you did to Eleyn, what you're doing to these people...I can't tell the difference between the two anymore -

- Don't worry, you will - they retorted with malice in their voice - When this charade is over, and I personally throw you to Hell, you'll very well be able to tell the difference, scrivener -

- You lot! - Crowley scoffed, more out of disgust than of rage - Six thousand years and you haven't changed a fucking inch! You punish angels for doing the right thing, only because it's convenient for you! Blind, selfish dipshits, all of you! -

- What, still cross about that? - Michael snapped back with such pointedness it made him flinch - You betrayed God's Great Plan; what did you expect? -

- I only ever asked questions - he breathed between bared teeth, the rage building up inside him making his voice shake.

- And your stars were the price to pay, Starmaker -

- Damn you -

Deep within Princess Street gardens, in the dark Edinburgh night, a thin, cloaked figure roamed in silence through the trees and pathways, the fabric swishing and brushing against the ground.

Its face wasn't visible beneath the thick wool hood; but the strands of long, yellow-golden hair which flowed from underneath it could be seen at a distance. Where the dark-gray cloak parted below the chest, a robe could be distinguished. Something like the togas ancient Romans or Greeks used to wear, it too of a filthy, grayish tint. Its feet were bare, and the scrunch of small, pointy rocks beneath them after every step should have been incredibly painful but, by some sort of miracle, it barely even tickled.

Mashheet was waiting. The voice of God had given them a time, a place, and an order; and now they simply awaited the precise moment, marveling at the city lights which could, with some difficulty, be seen through the treetops. It had been a long time since Mashheet had last been woken up; and the Earth was different. Its people had barely changed at all, but the planet had. It was new, and unrecognizable, and strange. It barely seemed the same place at all.

Deep down, in a realm of their soul no angel would have ever expected to exist, they longed to go and explore every inch of it. To see all the new things which had appeared, to see some of the old things again. They wondered what had happened during all the years he’d slept. What he’d missed.

But hoping only served the purpose of being let down in the end, when none of it ever happened.

They had an order, they would follow it, and they would go back to sleep. The next time they woke up, there could very well be no Earth at all left to explore.

For now, however, they looked out from the park into the city; and that had to be enough. They still had to wait a little while longer, anyway.

The force of Uriel’s swing made Aziraphale tumble back a few steps when their weapons clashed together; but he was quick to recover and expertly parry another few hits, taking one step back at a time until both angel and archangel had reached the ramp leading up to the stage.

- Uriel, listen to me! - Aziraphale begged, blocking yet another furious swing from them – Please! -

- Shut up! Shut up! - they retorted, livid, taking an aggressive step forwards to force the angel up the ramp.

Aziraphale saw Uriel’s sword coming at him from the left, and raised the spearshaft enough to block the blow; then forcibly shoved the blade back towards them. The archangel’s chest rose and fell in a disheveled, irregular rhythm; almost like a bull getting ready to charge, if the bull found itself In the predicament of not knowing where it was supposed to charge towards. Aziraphale knew what was happening to Uriel; why their blows were getting more and more aggressive and rage-induced every second: they were thinking. They were finally realizing, and it was driving them mad. The angel knew that feeling; it had accompanied him almost every day for nearly six thousand years of existence. That sinking feeling one got upon understanding that everything they thought to be good wasn’t really that good, and everything they thought to be irredeemably bad maybe wasn’t that bad at all.

It had begun with small instances of doubt, for him. The flood, Job, the crucifixion. Then, when the almost-end-of-the-world had rolled around, he’d finally allowed himself to admit Crowley was right. Good and bad, Heaven and Hell. Nothing but names given to two opposing teams of the exact same moral principle: beat the other.

But here, now, it was all coming to Uriel at once; and they were torn between staying in the familiar, comfortable yet false mindset they’d had up until that day or accepting the truth as it was, questioning all their previous beliefs. The indecision drove them insane, and all they could do to ease the pain of not knowing what to do was to fight, to swing their sword in rage and pain and, above all, fear.

Aziraphale finally reached the stage, just as his spearshaft rose parallel to him and blocked a blow headed for his chest, pushing the blade away while Uriel pushed it towards him until the two found a point of equilibrium and stayed, neither of them willing to release the tension. Until Aziraphale did, that is, letting go of the spear altogether with a strong push, making Uriel recoil back slightly. Their two seconds of confusion were enough for the angel to grab a hold of the Norman sword whose auction had been interrupted and draw it in front of him, taking another two steps back to reach the center of the stage.

The archangel wasn’t slow to react, and a heated duel soon began between them. Swing, parry, block, doge, attack, parry. Their swords clashed and slid against the other again and again, the two of them evenly matched in both sheer strength and technique. The swords collided again, and there was another moment of tense push-pull pause.

- Please! You know this isn’t right! - he insisted – Uriel, please! -

- Stop it! - they snarled in return, a discernible moisture beginning to accumulate in their eyes.

They were the one to release this time, drawing their sword back and gaining momentum to swing at Aziraphale’s head. He ducked, then brought their blades together as he stood, making a snap decision. The angel pushed the swords diagonally downwards with as much force as he could, taking advantage of Uriel’s momentary loss of balance and wrapping his free hand around the wrist of their armed hand. Aziraphale pulled, drawing his sword up horizontally as he did so, his blade going to rest directly on their neck. Wasting no time at all, he twisted their arm and clapped it behind their back, neutralizing their attacks and turning the archangel around a hundred and eighty degrees, towards the rest of the room. He then used the sword still tightly clung to their throat to pull them into his body, immobilizing them completely.

- Look at them! - Aziraphale breathlessly ordered from behind their ear as they wrestled against his grip – Look at the humans! Look at them! -

The guests still stood huddled in a circle on one side of the room, cowering against each other, surrounded by attack-ready warrior angels whose spears remained resolutely pointed at their throats. Some of them cried as silently as they could into the hand which they’d tightly clapped atop their mouths, too afraid to move even an inch; while others covered their whole face with shaky palms, not daring to face what they were sure would be their death. The ones who were closer to the angels had frozen in fear, wild, terrified eyes staring down the blades of the spears at their bearers as though they were seeing their worst nightmare in flesh. They were pale as ghosts, most of them were trembling, and a few were on the verge of passing out. Among them was a little boy, crying against his mother’s chest and clutching tight fistfuls of her hair. A small, scared child who would never again be convinced that monster’s weren’t real.

The wrongness of it all hit Uriel hard in the stomach, and they stopped wrestling against Aziraphale’s grip altogether, letting their shoulders drop with a defeated whimper.

- What are we doing? - they whispered, their voice broken – What the hell are we doing?! How is this what God wants?! How?! -

- If I had to guess – Aziraphale answered, as softly as he could, their eyes darting to him the second he spoke – It isn’t -

- What do you mean? - Uriel asked, shakily, though they suspected they already knew the answer.

- The Metatron – the other simply stated, understanding from the lack of surprise in the archangel’s eyes that no further explanation would be necessary.

- I never thought the voice of God could lie – they admitted, eyes flicking back to the crying boy – But there is no point in denying the nature of his actions – they took a small breath – I don’t have a good feeling about this -

- That would make five of us – Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow.

- What do you need me to do? - Uriel offered, turning their head towards the angel as much as the blade on their neck would allow.

- Gather forces. Make them realize like you have, so that if the time must come we have a chance to fight back – he told them, slowly releasing his grip on their wrist and lowering his blade, allowing them to turn and face him – Maybe even another archangel -

- Not Michael – they sighed – They are much too drunk on the promise of power to see reason. Maybe Saraqael will listen -

- Let us hope – Aziraphale whispered.

- What else? - they said, awaiting orders.

- The name Enoch – he recited – Does it mean anything to you? -

- Noah’s great-grandfather, son of Jared, descendant of Seth – they answered immediately, then frowned – No, that’s not what you mean. I did know something about him, something important, but it’s… -

- Gone? - the angel finished, and the other nodded.

- Yes – Uriel agreed, shifting their eyes around in a futile attempt to remember – It must have been wiped from our memories – they looked back at Aziraphale, only to find a confused look on his face – All the memories related to that name, deleted from the memories of every angel in Heaven and demon in Hell -

- I had no idea that was possible – he breathed, taken aback, then swore to himself under his breath – Bugger. Well, there goes that clue -

- Not necessarily – they said out of the blue, making him snap his eyes back at them – There might still be one angel who remembers -

- You can’t possibly mean…? - Aziraphale began, and he was cut immediately.

- It’s unlikely, I admit it - the archangel explained – And probably risky, too. But if you were able to find them; then maybe, just maybe… -

- How?! - he interrupted – Nobody has known anything of them for eons! How on God’s green Earth am I supposed to…?! -

- You found the Antichrist among a planet-full of eleven-year-olds in under a day – they recalled, raising their eyebrows – This isn’t very different -

- Even if I did find them, Uriel, you know it would be no use – he argued the point – There’s the other matter, remember? Unless… - he closed his mouth shut, giving Uriel a “please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking” kind of look.

- I did say it could be risky – they said in reply, making his eyes go wide – But if knowing the truth about this Enoch could help us stop The Metatron, it has to be worth it -

- Perhaps – Aziraphale whispered, not entirely convinced but still filing the idea to discuss with the other three later on, then changed the topic when another thought hit him, setting his curiosity ablaze – One other thing… -

The archangel nodded, and he finished posing his question.

- What exactly are the terms of your pact with Hell? - he asked.

Uriel’s reaction had been completely unexpected. They frowned, confused, tilting their head slightly to the right. They eyed him silently for a few seconds, possibly waiting for a correction of the question, and finally replying when none came:

- What pact? -

- Move! - Michael spat, unnerved, spear pointed at Eleyn but not moving an inch.

- And let you butcher my friends like you did my family? I’m fine where I am, thanks – she bit back, staying firmly in place.

- It was necessary! - the archangel argued – They weren’t your family; God is! -

- Oh yeah? - Eleyn snapped, her voice choked by the tears which adorned her eyes – Was it God who changed my diapers when I was a baby?! Who brought me up and stood by me in some of the roughest moments of my life?! Who played with me as a kid and endlessly lectured me when I was a stupid teenager?! - she took a deep breath – You haven’t got a damn clue what family is! -

- Enough of this nonsense! - they snarled, their grip becoming vice-like on the spearshaft – Hand me that book right now, or I’ll…! -

- Never really took you for a reading type - Crowley sneered, scrunching his nose, unable to help himself with the small tease – New hobby, is it? -

He discreetly glanced over their shoulder as he said this, spotting Aziraphale and Uriel on the stage behind them. The angel had lost the spear somewhere along the way, and now bore the sword which had been halfway through being auctioned when all Hell – or, rather, Heaven – had broken loose. One second they had been heatedly dueling, swords swishing and swinging against each other; and the next Aziraphale had managed to gain the upper hand, using some kind of maneuver to immobilize Uriel, leaving them completely at his blade’s mercy. The demon felt a chill down his spine, which might or might not have been in part induced by a small, almost imperceptible pang of jealousy. Was it weird to imagine himself as the one being effortlessly manhandled by the angel? Probably, yeah.

Michael’s voice snapped him back to reality before his thoughts could meander further than that. But, just before he turned his eyes back on the archangel, Crowley swore he’d seen Aziraphale’s lips move to form words and Uriel’s entire demeanor change.

- I do not have time for your idiocy! – Michael shot back, furious – Plans have to be brought forward, and you and your little friends – their sharp gaze shifted briefly to Muriel, making her shudder – are being a complete pain in my backside! -

- Good – the demon hissed, staring defiantly at them.

- Give me the damn…! -

They were halfway through spatting at them when they were interrupted by the clear, resounding sound of bells from nowhere in particular, and everywhere at once. One, then another, all the way up to seven heavenly chimes. Michael glanced upwards with a frustrated growl, and Crowley chuckled, bearing his trademark smirk like a weapon.

- Look at that! - he sneered, never passing up an opportunity to take the piss - Daddy's calling you home for lunch! You wouldn't want to be late, now would you? -

- You got lucky, demon - they snarled, looking at him dead in the eyes once again.

- Didn't I just? - he mocked, having way to much fun with it.

- But your luck will run out - they threatened as they began to be enveloped in a soft, white light- And when it does, I will be there, laughing over your rotting cadaver! -

- Lovely - Crowley replied, raising his voice as they began to vanish - See you then! I'll bring biscuits for tea! -

There was a blinding flash of the same white light; and then Michael was - quite literally - gone from the surface of the Earth. Muriel and Eleyn finally began breathing again, and the latter relaxed, letting her arms fall to her sides. Several more flashes of light followed as the guardian angels both inside and out began to disappear up to Heaven; and Crowley glanced up at stage as soon as he could, relief flooding over him when he caught sight of Aziraphale sanding face to face with Uriel, who had yet to leave the planet.

He gave them a firm nod, then mouthed the words "Be careful" just before they too were enveloped by the light. A second after, Uriel was gone.

Aziraphale let his arms and shoulders drop, the point of the sword falling against the floor with a little cling. His cerulean eyes found Crowley's amber ones almost immediately, and the angel's face softened, his lips drawing a tender, relieved smile. The demon smiled back an utterly smitten smile, and their moment lasted for just a few wonderful seconds before Aziraphale was startled out of it.

- What the fuck just happened?! - A voice croaked from the corner of the room.

- Oh, Mr. MacLeod! - the angel finally reacted and dashed down the stage to the man - Are you okay? Did they hurt you? -

- I'm 'aright, lad - he said, rubbing the little red marks the blades had left on his neck. Aziraphale winced at them - Scared the shite right out 'o me, though -
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Crowley, Muriel and Eleyn had followed the angel's lead and strode towards the group of ex-hostages, which was now buried deep within a cacophony of relief, tears and screams of delayed shock. Muriel quickly went around the group making sure nobody had been hurt, while the Daughter of God tried to help a woman who'd collapsed in the midst of a panic attack, rubbing her back and inciting her to count to ten.

Crowley stood in the middle of the chaos, looking around for someone who might need help, and a soft hand suddenly fell on his shoulder, making him jump and spin promptly on his heel. His eyes fell on a woman dressed in green, cradling a child in her arms.

- Clara! - he hissed, his eyes darting down to the sobbing, red-eyed kid and back up to her - Are you both alright? Is Archie hurt? -

- We're fine - she sighed, tilting her head down to Archie - Poor thing is scared out of his mind, but there's not a scratch on either of us, thank God -

- Not exactly - the demon muttered under his breath.

- What was that? - she asked, whipping her head up.

- Nothing - he quickly waved it off, stepping closer to the disconsolate boy.

- Shh, shh - Clara soothed him, rocking him gently up and down in her arms - It's okay, baby; it's okay. Hey, look who's here! It's Mr. Crowley! Look!-

He raised his little head with a small sob, and his puffy eyes came to rest on Crowley. The demon's heart fluttered when the tips of the kid's lip began to pull into a sad smile.

- Hey - he cooed, the act to hide the affection in his voice now long forgotten - Hey, little starman! You okay? -

Archie hadn't had time to answer or nod, however, when a loud, low noise pierced through the air. It was a rumble, like thunder, except it kept getting louder and louder rather than the opposite. The closest simile Crowley could think of was the start of the Bentley's engine; at first nothing but a small sound, but quickly building up and up, gathering strength, until…vroom.

The sound turned into movement before anyone could guess what would happen, and the ground began to shake violently, making the inhabitants of the room go on a whole new spiral of panic and screams, thousands of hands flying around in a frenzied attempt to grab onto anything or anyone they reached.

Crowley was sent flying backwards onto his butt immediately, and Clara managed to maintain balance only out of sheer motherly instinct, her grip becoming vice-like around Archie's small form. Eleyn had managed to cling onto a windowsill, and Muriel held an elderly man firmly in place with impressive strength. Aziraphale had reacted quickly by grabbing one of the arms of MacLeod's wheelchair out of reflex, his knuckles whitening around the cold metal as small pieces of debris began to fall around them.

- Really now?! - he groaned, the tingle in his fingertips betraying the miraculous origin of the tremors - You have got to be kidding me! -

- An earthquake?!- the man cried out in complete disbelief - In Scotland?! What the hell is wrong with the universe today?! -

- Long story, I'm afraid! - the angel replied with an exasperated huff, not realizing the question was rhetorical.

The ceiling cracked right that moment, and a deafening, horrible sound echoed through the air, making the whole room snap their head up towards the ceiling at once. Aziraphale did too, and his breathing caught when he saw the cracking and splintering begin to spread like fungi on a log through the white concrete, eventually reaching the metal chains holding the chandelier, which creaked and moaned under the slowly adding weight.

- Oh, great - Aziraphale muttered between gritted teeth, just before he heard a familiar, raspy voice bellowing over the screams of the guests.

- Right! - Crowley hissed, pointing a long finger at the restaurant's main entrance - Anybody who doesn't want to become a human pancake, out that door now! Go, go, go! -

They all ran in a mad, chaotic scramble, pushing and pulling to get to safety first in a spark of pure survival instinct; whilst a demon, a scrivener and God's daughter shepherded them towards the door. Muriel followed the crowd out of the room, trying to calm the general panic, whilst the other two stayed behind, waiting for two more to cross the threshold.

Aziraphale let go of MacLeod's chair, allowing him to stride off with a strong tug of the wheels, and followed suit. He ran across the room as fast as he could, avoiding the large pieces of rubble - or, at this point, ceiling - which fell from above at vertiginous speeds. He looked up as he ran when the bearings of the chandelier screeched and moaned once again, louder, the large metallic structure moving dangerously from side to side. He then stopped dead and looked around him, realizing he'd lost complete sight of the wheelchair. He squinted his eyes in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse of iron whizzing past him, but he couldn't see a thing through the thick dust the falling debris was producing. He spun around, coughing out the dust from his lungs, completely disoriented; and then a hand suddenly grasped his and pulled him around. Aziraphale's heart performed a triple somersault in his chest when he saw the flaming-red hair and concerned, slitted eyes of his savior.

- Gotcha- Crowley hissed, then took off running, pulling the angel with him, until the silhouette of a young girl became visible through the dust - Eleyn! I've got him! Let's go! -

- Right! -

She began running in front of them, then stopped dead a few seconds after, her eyes going wide. The demon muttered a shit when he realized what had stopped her, and Aziraphale gasped. MacLeod was there, wrestling against his wheelchair within the accumulating rubble, immobilized right beneath the dangerously dangling chandelier which, ever so opportune, chose that moment to descend another couple of millimeters, the chains barely holding on.

- Move! - he cried, pulling the wheels with all his might- Move, 'ye fucking piece 'o shite! Move! -

Crowley snapped his fingers on instinct, but the only thing he achieved was a sound which wasn't even audible through the rumble of the ground and the crashing of the ceiling.

- Fuck! - he growled - How long was that fucking miracle block?! -

- Mr. MacLeod! - Eleyn called out, beginning to move towards him, the man's eyes flickering up to her.

The chandelier descended again, this time a good centimeter, the ceiling begging to peel off where the chains were fixed to it. MacLeod looked up at it in horror, tears in his eyes, chest heaving up and down. Then he made a decision, letting go of the chair's wheels in admitted defeat.

- Go! - he screamed at her - Leave me! -

- No! - she cried, stepping forwards - I'm getting you out! -

- Don't kid 'yerself, lass! - he bit back - You can't carry my weight, and that thing 'll crush both of us before you even get to me! So get the hell out of here and tell my wife I...! -

- Run! - Eleyn cried, realizing only a second after.

- What?! - MacLeod croaked.

- Eleyn! - Aziraphale gasped, aware what was about to happen.

- I have to! - she shouted back at the angel, reading his mind, tears in her eyes.

Something warm had burst in her stomach, traveling up and down her spine and to her fingers and toes in waves of heat and energy. Eleyn felt like she was glowing, tingling all over like she'd done at the Scot Manor; and at Inverleith park. Except this time she knew exactly what was happening, and she extended out a hand without hesitation.

- Run! - she repeated.

- Are you fu- ?! This is no time for handicap jokes, 'ye idiot! - he bellowed - GO. AWAY! -

- Trust me! - she insisted, the heat intensifying in her open palm - Just...just run! Get up! Run! -

The chandelier creaked and the chains gave in a little more, the entire metallic structure bouncing with a loud thud where it had stopped dead.

- 'ye think I hadn't thought of that?! - MacLeod scoffed, though it was more of a half-sob than an actual scoff - Get away before it collapses on 'yer head lass! Go! -

- Listen to me, you stupid man! - she screamed at the top of her lungs - Put your damn feet on the ground, get your ass up off that chair and fucking run! - she took a breath, then screamed again before he could complain - Now! -

The pieces of ceiling around the base of the chains cracked all at once, and the chandelier continued its fall, stopping and bouncing every few millimeters when the chains attempted to hold the weight of the structure, to no avail.

MacLeod looked into Eleyn's eyes, and she looked back into his. The air pulsed between them, once, twice, and then his leg muscles clenched. His eyes opened wide when he realized he could feel them, for the first time in nearly twenty years. After having been told by every doctor in the country he'd never walk again, he moved his legs, planting his feet on the shaking, grumbling ground. After twenty years of sitting still, he stood, and he walked, and then he ran.

He ran towards the girl, grabbing her outstretched hand. She pulled, and just as they both made it out of the crash zone, the chandelier came plummeting down with a crush which resonated through the whole of Edinburgh, flattening the discarded wheelchair without a minimum of resistance.

Shortly after, a demon, an angel, a girl who wasn't exactly just a girl and the lame man she'd just taught to walk crossed the door to the hallway, leaving the destroyed restaurant behind.

Muriel's arms flew around Eleyn's neck the moment they saw each other and she reciprocated the hug with a relieved sigh, her hand releasing MacLeod's to land behind the scrivener's back.

Clara MacLeod rushed up to her husband, Archie trotting close behind him, and then she froze when she realized, staring down at the two very functional legs his husband was standing on. She clapped a hand over her mouth, and he began to cry with joy.

- Alister! - she gasped, once she'd regained the ability to speak – Wh...You’re...How?! -

- I don’t know! - he replied between sobs – I was stuck, the chair I mean, and I thought I was going to die, but that girl...she told me to run. And I did! I ran! I can walk, Clara! -

- Oh, my… - Clara covered her mouth again, too stunned to speak, tears streaming down her face as he wrapped his arms around her.

- I can walk – he reiterated in a breath – It’s a mir…! -

- Don’t – Crowley snapped at him, breathless, raising a pale, shaky finger – Just...don’t -

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 14 – THE DESTROYING ANGEL

- Yup – Crowley growled with a last, defeated tug at the heavy doors – Miraculously sealed; and all the bloody windows too -

- Oh dear – Aziraphale sighed – It looks like we’re stuck in here -

- Until the miracle blocker wears out – the demon added, then frowned – Michael took it with them, though. Since when do those things have lingering effect? -

- Oh, they have for a few years now – the angel said, matter-of-factly – It’s a new model of them. Not sure of the details, it wasn’t my department. They rarely get used on Earth -

- Right. And I don’t suppose you happen to know how long…? - Crowley began asking, though the other replied before he could finish posing the question.

- Well, it’s hard to tell. A couple of hours, at the most, if I had to guess – said Aziraphale, his tone concerned, turning his gaze onto the huddled-up humans sitting in the hall.

It had been some thirty minutes since the ground had stopped shaking, and the general panic and chaos had calmed down to the point it seemed like nothing had happened at all. Still covered in dust and debris, they idly chatted about the recent events; though, Aziraphale noted, all of them held their loved ones and closest friends tightly. It must have been the fear of losing them in the midst of the accident, he thought, that had ignited their resolve not to let them out of their sight again.

The angel’s gaze shifted to the demon beside him almost automatically, the sight of his beautiful profile making his lips break into a tender smile. He had been momentarily afraid of losing him too, when that celestial spear had been pointed so resolutely at his chest. But now he could breathe, because they were – at least for the time being – safe.

Their fingers brushed like they had done so many times before and this time, without thinking much, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and intertwined their fingers together. The demon snapped his head towards the angel, eyes flickering down to their conjoined hands and up to meet Aziraphale’s cerulean gaze as a soft blush began creeping up his neck. Crowley swallowed at the other’s sweet, bright smile.

- We’re really… - he whispered, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand – We’re really doing this? -

- It would seem so – the angel squeezed back – Although, after all this time, it hardly does seem real -

-Well, if it is a dream, please don’t pinch me. I really don’t wanna wake up – Crowley breathed.

- I would never let you, my dear – Aziraphale replied in the same tone of voice without a second thought, and it was his turn to blush.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, smiling softly, their fingers never leaving the other’s. Then, the demon growled a swear beneath his breath and, just for the sake of it, leaned forwards to plant a kiss on Aziraphale’s plush upper lip, his hand travelling up to rest on the angel’s neck. Aziraphale hummed in appreciation and returned the kiss, softly, before they released each other to breathe.

- Aww – Eleyn’s voice said to their right, making both of them jump out of their skins – Adorable -

- Will you stop doing that?! - Crowley hissed, flustered, letting go of Aziraphale’s hand so only their fingers brushed.

- No – she replied with a smirk, then turned to an equally flustered angel – Muriel and I finished the round. Nobody seems too badly hurt -

- Only a few cuts and bruises – the scrivener added – Nothing more serious than a couple of stitches, I think. Although, none of their mobile telephones seem to be working, so we can’t call for help -

- Ah – Aziraphale sighed – We’re not only physically sealed in, then. I suspect this will be a while -

- Eh, could’ve been worse – the demon sniffed, letting himself collapse against the wall in a mess of limbs – Eleyn is with us, so at least we’re sure the world won’t end while we’re in here -

- Speaking of which – the angel raised his head, looking straight at him – Whatever became of the Gospel? -

- Ngk...eh... - Crowley stuttered, suddenly sweating beneath the collar, Aziraphale’s eyebrow raising in question – W...well, I, um… is it hot in here? -

- Well? - The angel beckoned, his tone becoming the same tint of passive-aggressive as when he dealt with stubborn costumers in the shop – Spit it out. Where. Is. The book? -

- I, uh...dropped it – He winced at Aziraphale’s sudden change of expression, answering his next question before it was even asked – In...In there – he pointed at the spill of rubble coming from what used to be the Gallery’s restaurant.

- Oh, you’re in trouble – Eleyn whispered, sparks practically coming out of Aziraphale’s eyes.

- He’s in luck that murder is a sin – Muriel whispered back, unable to bite down a small giggle.

- That was possibly one of the rarest and most valuable biblical manuscripts in existence! – the angel said, counting to ten under his breath – And you are telling me that you dropped it?!-

- In my defence, there was an earthquake – Crowley explained, nervously fidgeting with his sunglasses – When the ground began to shake it threw me off my feet; must’ve dropped it then. And between getting the humans out and getting you out, I...forgot -

- I’d already picked a spot for it in the bookshop! - Aziraphale whined – And now the original Gospel of John is squished under a giant chandelier?! -

- I’m sorry? - the demon held his hands up in surrender, a wide, silly smile sprawled on his face. The angel shook his head and pointedly clicked his tongue in response, making him gulp.

- Well, we’ve already got everything we needed from it anyway – Eleyn swooped in to save him, the daggers disappearing from Aziraphale’s eyes as he turned towards her – A vague explanation of what’s going on, and a name -

- Enoch – Crowley muttered, then scrunched his nose – Still can’t put my finger on it. Why can’t I put my finger on it? -

- Ah, yes, about that – Aziraphale raised a finger, beckoning all attention to him – Uriel might have shed some light on the subject; they said… -

- Uriel? - Muriel interjected, a confused frown sprawled on her face – As in Archangel Uriel, who tried to kill you and everyone in this building about forty-five minutes ago? That Uriel? -

-I knew it – Crowley grinned proudly at the angel – You talked them into joining our side, didn’t you? -

-Well, not to brag...- Aziraphale said with a bright smile, practically glowing in satisfaction, a sight which sent a shock of fondness through the demon’s body – But yes, I spoke to them and they...they soon realized the error of The Metatron’s ways. They decided to help us -

- Really? - Eleyn asked with a sarcastic, unimpressed tone in her voice – Out of the goodness of their heart? -

-That, and the fact that they hate Michael – the angel replied without a second thought, making her shrug and nod in acknowledgment of his point.

-Do they know who Enoch is? - Muriel pressed the matter forward, anxious – Did they tell you? -

-I’m afraid not – her face dropped, so he quickly continued his explanation – They have the same kind of memory impediment as all the rest of us; but what they did tell me was that said impediment was fabricated. Somebody made every angel and demon forget who Enoch is at the exact time -

-Excuse me, since fucking when is that a thing?! - Crowley spat, scandalized, his eyebrows shooting upwards in raw disbelief.

-You know as much as I do on that front – Aziraphale sighed – But the fact is, that it is possible; and it happened -

-Which leaves us at an impasse, because the only beings who could know...well, they don’t – Muriel reasoned.

-Dead end – Eleyn added in a whisper, just as the group fell in death-like silence – Deep, dark alleyway with no exit -

- Except perhaps it isn’t – the angel countered, breaking the silence and making all three snap their attention towards him – Uriel seemed to think that there might still be one angel who might be able to maybe give us answers – none of them verbalized it, but their eyes begged to know who. Aziraphale took a breath in, and pronounced his answer carefully – Raphael-

-What?! - now it was the scrivener’s turn to spat, her eyes wide like tea plates – You mean…?! Archangel Raphael?! The Archangel Raphael?! -

-I realize it is quite unlikely, but… - Aziraphale attempted, only to be cut off by a panicked Muriel.

-It’s quite impossible, actually – she corrected, still shocked by the mere suggestion.

-Uh...ahem – Crowley interjected, looking confusedly back and forth between the two angels – Not to interrupt, but...what’s wrong with Raphael? -

-You don’t know?! - Aziraphale shot at him, with such intensity it made the demon slightly recoil back, whilst Muriel simply gaped at him.

- Err...not as such? - Crowley uttered, raising one very confused eyebrow.

-How could you not know?! It was all over both sides’ newspapers for weeks! - the scrivener insisted.

-Might’ve been napping – the demon said with a shrug – But now I think about it, haven’t heard of them in millennia -

-Obviously not – huffed Aziraphale, exasperated – Seeing as they were cast from Heaven circa 1000 BC -

-They were what?! - the demon shrieked – And you never told me?! -

- I thought you knew! - the angel shrieked back.

- But...no, that’s not possible – Crowley spluttered out the chaotic sentences in his mind at a mile a minute – Because if...hold on, hold up...if Raphael became a demon, I would’ve known -

- But that’s the thing – Muriel explained, holding up a finger – Raphael was cast out; but not into Hell. They were sentenced to an immortal, suffered, painful existence here on Earth -

The demon looked unblinkingly from Aziraphale to the scrivener and back a couple of times, his amber eyes wide and expanded, almost consuming all the white which lay below.

-Right... – he said, finally blinking once. He winced, as though trying to make sense of what he’d just been told, and gave up with a defeated sight moments after – Nope, I’m still lost -

-You and me both – Eleyn muttered from behind his shoulder, every bit as confused as the demon was.

-Archangel Raphael was a powerful being – Aziraphale began, speaking each word carefully to make sure he’d be heard over the murmur of the guests – Almost as much as Gabriel. While they were mostly associated with healing and compassion; Raphael had another ability, one which not many mortals knew about: his sight -

- Sight? - she repeated in a whisper, genuinely curious – As in seeing the future? Visions? -

- Not exactly – replied Muriel, taking over for Aziraphale and continuing the story – They could see beyond the physical plains of existence, and that allowed them to have infinite knowledge; although it rarely made sense to anyone but Raphael – the scrivener shifted her gaze to Crowley and Aziraphale – I mean, I’d never talked to them, but I had heard that they would often say...bizarre things; things which nobody could understand -

- The stars will weep for what you lose, but rejoice for what you gain – the demon muttered beneath his breath, raising his eyes when he felt three silent gazes lock onto him – They said that to me once, back when I was still an angel -

- What does it mean? - asked God’s daughter, talking in a near whisper.

- Still don’t know – Crowley sniffed – That’s how cryptic Raph could be. What I don’t understand is how going around doing riddles got them the Divine Boot -

- We weren’t given many explanations either – Aziraphale recalled with a soft sigh – All I know was that they began having a series of visions, or premonitions, or whatever you wish to call them. Something about a matter close to the Almighty herself – he stopped to swallow – Raphael began to go insane; and it seems that, in their craze, they attempted to overthrow the archangels -

- That doesn’t sound like them – the demon pointed out immediately – Not at all. Hell, okay, they were weird sometimes; but they were dead-loyal to God -

-I was never sure of the veracity of those claims either, my dear – said the angel – But the fact is that Raphael never defended his case, so nobody really knew what to believe -

-During the trial, Raphael was declared guilty of treason against Heaven – Muriel explained, and the others listened intently – But given their ability, their sight, the high commands didn’t want Hell to have them. They would’ve been too much of an asset. So, instead, they stripped them of their sight, thus all their knowledge of past, present or future; and cast them to Earth, were they would live an eternal mortal life in pain and solitude -

-Lovely. Fucking charming – grunted Crowley – Another being cast from Heaven just because it was convenient. Arseholes -

-What happened to them sounds terrible – Eleyn weighed in, her tone still low – But what does it have to do with the whole Enoch business? -

- That’s where I get lost too, I’m afraid – the scrivener replied, pointedly looking Aziraphale in the eyes.

- It has to do because Raphael’s memory can’t have been wiped like the rest of ours – the angel said, gaining three confused faces in reply – It can’t have been because they’ve never had any memories whatsoever. What for? They could see everything anyway. Because there are no, shall we say, conventional memories in their subconscious, nothing got altered; and the knowledge of who Enoch is is still accessible to them -

-So if we found them, they could tell us – Crowley finally got there, a grin beginning to sprawl on his face when Aziraphale nodded in response.

- Except they’re blind – Muriel argued – So even if we got to them, which would already be quite a feat, it would be useless -

-Perhaps not – Aziraphale insisted, his voice beginning to tremble – You see, Raphael was blinded before they were made mortal -

- Yeah – Eleyn nodded slowly, squinting, following-but-not-quite – I thought we’d already established that -

- Right – he coughed, nervous, and the other three became gradually more and more confused – So, um, very, very technically speaking… - he swallowed when Crowley raised that pointed eyebrow of his – Raphael could be considered...well, in all theory, they would be a… a man born blind -

- No – Crowley immediately snapped, a menacing finger pointed at the angel – Fuck no -

- It’s risky, I know it is, but… - Aziraphale attempted, only to be cut off.

- It’s not just risky, it’s bloody suicide! – the demon hissed – There has to be another way -

- I’d love to hear another idea – the angel sassily snapped back – I really, really would. But I don’t think there is one -

- There has to be – Crowley insisted, beginning to pace and mutter to himself in his anxiety – There always is. Come on, come on, think of something you old demon….! -

-You’re saying that I could… - Eleyn began, having finally arrived, only for the demon to interrupt her.

- You could nothing! – he threateningly hissed – We’re not saying a bloody thing, shut the fuck up! -

- But I could restore his sight, couldn’t I? - she stubbornly continued, earning a series of groans from the demon – Healing of the man born blind. It’s one of the signs -

- You sure as hell won’t! - Crowley hissed again, his tone becoming more snake-like the more stressed he became – It’s too risky for you; and The Metatron would be one step closer to succeeding. Absolutely fucking not! -

- Crowley… - Eleyn breathed his name, then clenched her jaw – It’s not about me. Raphael’s sight could be the key to stopping this madness -

- Yeah, or the key to unleashing the end of the fucking world! - the demon retorted, stopping dead in his pacing, his chest heaving up and down.

- My dear – Aziraphale stepped in, placing a gentle hand on his arm – I know you wish to protect her, but we are quickly running out of options. Raphael’s knowledge could be necessary -

- The Metatron could use it against us. A miracle that big? He’d have our location like that – Crowley snapped his fingers – He could hurt any and all of us -

- That’s a risk we’d be willing to take – the scrivener stepped forward, her tone final.

- Exactly. It’s the world and humanity over us – Eleyn added.

- Shut up – the demon hissed at them, barely granting them a glance – You’re kids, don’t get a damn say in this -

- No, you shut up! - God’s daughter snapped back, sick of the whining demon, her eyes shining with determination – I’m the one who does the miracles; it’s my choice! And I choose to get the information we need to save these people! – she gestured towards the auction guests, still huddled up with their families held tightly close – This is the entire planet we’re talking about; possibly the entire universe! Never mind me! -

- Heh – Crowley scoffed affectionately at the cruel irony of the situation, seeing in her the same sort of determination he’d seen on another’s face a long, long time ago – Like brother, like sister -

Aziraphale had opened his mouth to argue the point further; but before words had the chance to come out, a chill travelled up his spine and all the way to his fingertips, which were quickly invaded by a soft tingle.

He lifted his head on the act, his heart in his throat, and scanned the room for anyone who could’ve gotten in. The angel only resumed breathing once he made sure there were no angels other than Muriel and himself inside the building, locking eyes with Crowley as he shifted his gaze back down to the group.

- Did you…? - Aziraphale began, but he didn’t need to finish the question.

- Yeah, I felt it – he hissed, his anxiety only going from bad to worse – Angelic miracle. Fuck -

- Whoever cast it is outside the Gallery – said Muriel – They’re still blocked in here -

- Shit, shit, shit – the demon panicked, running over to the closest window and looking out of it – There you are, you little heavenly bastard -

The cloaked figure Crowley had spotted stood inert in the middle of the parking lot, a good ten meters from the building’s façade. Out of its back sprouted two majestic ash-grey wings which loomed over it; and tufts of yellow-golden hair came trickling out of its darkened hood.

- There’s no doubt they’re an angel - Aziraphale muttered when they’d all joined the demon at the window – But those wings… I don’t think I’ve seen any like them before -

- I think I might have – the demon frowned, trying to recall – Long time ago. Remember the slaughter of Jerusalem? There was an angel there, an angel with grey feathers -

- The Destroying Angel – breathed Aziraphale, suddenly remembering – They were also responsible for the deaths of all those Assyrians around 600 BC...Oh, what was their name? - he whined, racking his brains for an answer he couldn’t find.

- Mashheet – Muriel suddenly whispered, her eyes dead-locked on the figure at the other side of the window.

Before Crowley or Aziraphale could ask, a raw scream of pain shot through the building, making all four of them spin towards the humans in the act; only to find a true horror scene unfolding before them. The first scream was soon echoed by others, each more visceral than the last, all coming from the auction guests who, up to that point, had remained calm.

The woman closest to them had collapsed onto her knees and curled in on herself, clutching her middle in agony, tears streaming down her face. She rocked back and forth, gasping and sobbing like all the rest of them. Some had managed to keep their footing, but were doubled over by the pain; whilst others writhed and wriggled on the floor, holding their stomachs tightly. Amongst them, Crowley could make out a little boy wailing in his mother’s arms. Archie’s face was tinted in a pinkish-rosy hue; and tears fell from his eyes with no form of restraint. Clara, on the other side, had been drained of any and all colour her face might have had. She looked pale to the point of sickness; just like her husband and everybody else in that building.

A young man sprawled on the floor a few feet from them let out another guttural shriek, his face contorting in pain, and Eleyn lurched forwards towards him without a second thought. She knelt down beside him, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her with suffering eyes.

- Help… - he gasped, clutching his middle – So...so hungry...my stomach...ARGHHH! - he retorted in place, and Eleyn recoiled back from the stench of his breath.

- He’s starving – she said to the other three when she stood back up – It’s like he hasn’t eaten anything for the past four days; he’s starving to death – God’s daughter glanced at the rest of the guests, all in deprecate states – They all are -

- What the fu… - Crowley had properly began to hyperventilate, his sentences coming out in halves – The miracle, this must’ve been...shit...what do we do? Oh, fuck, what do we…? -

- MASHHEET! - Muriel suddenly bellowed, locking her eyes on their hooded figure from the other side of the window – ANGEL OF THE LORD! MASHHEET! - she reiterated.

- What the hell are you doing?! - Aziraphale admonished her, only to be glanced at and replied to in a quick murmur.

- Talking to them. We know each other – she breathed, then called out again – MASHHEET! - the figure finally turned their head towards the window, and their head seemed to jerk up in recognition upon the sight of the scrivener peering out of it – Mashheet, it’s me! Sweet dreams, remember?! -

They rocked their head slightly to the side, and then spoke with a voice composed of a thousand whispers.

- Muriel -

- Yeah! - her voice became tender as she placed a palm on the cold glass – Yes, that’s it! Let me come out! -

- I cannot -

- I just want to speak with you! – she gently insisted – Please, old friend. I only wish to speak, nothing more! -

They considered it for a few long, silent seconds; and finally drew an arm from under the dark cloak.

- Only you. Not the other three -

- Okay – she nodded, then closed her eyes as though preparing for something.

- Very well -

The snap of their fingers echoed through the Edinburgh night, another miraculous tingle invaded Crowley and Aziraphale’s senses; and then Muriel was gone.

- What just happened?! - Eleyn shrieked, walking up to the spot where Muriel had stood moments earlier – Where did she go?! -

- Look out the window – Crowley replied without missing a beat, his eyes fixed on the other side of it.

God’s daughter closed the distance between her and the glass; and felt her breath shorten when she peered out of it. Muriel stood there, face to face with the grey-winged creature; the same creature who was about to starve hundreds of people to death.

- She seemed to know what she was doing – said Aziraphale, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder – Trust her -

- If there was ever anyone capable of befriending The Destroying Angel, it’s that cherub – the demon briefly reflected, before turning back around to the agonizing humans – Now, what the hell do we do about this? -

- They’re hungry, right? - said Eleyn, drawing up a plan – Then let’s get them food -

- There is a restaurant in this Gallery – Aziraphale reminded them, glancing at the collapsed rubble of the room next door – Or, rather, there was. But the point is that, there being a restaurant, there ought to be a kitchen, wouldn’t you say? -

- We’re not getting there through the dining room, though – Crowley hissed, looking in every direction, his breathing still nowhere near normal – Back door. C’mon, Angel – he turned, and took Aziraphale’s hand without a second of hesitation before looking Eleyn in the eyes – You stay here; take care of them...and make sure Muriel comes back in one piece -

- Be quick – she replied with a nod, calling out to them as they began to move away – And be careful! -

- Always, princess – the demon called back, a smirk sprawling on his face as he and Aziraphale doubled the corner and disappeared into the Gallery hallways.

She stared after them for a long moment, then with a sigh turned back to the famished people who still shrieked and tossed on the hallway floor, hoping that Muriel really did know what she was doing.

She felt the cold breeze on her skin before she ever opened her eyes, but Muriel had already known what would happen. The snap of Mashheet’s fingers still resonated in her ears when she finally blinked her eyes open, fixing her gaze on their figure; which stood roughly ten feet away.

- Mashheet – she breathed, a small smile tugging at her lips – It’s been a long time -

- How long? - they asked, their voice resonating like a million whispers in the air.

- About a thousand years – Muriel chimed, her tone as soft as she could make it – give or take half a century -

- A thousand years – they reiterated, turning their gaze to the city lights which could still be seen through the treetops – Hm. They are quite fast -

- They are, aren’t they? - she agreed, following his eyes – They’ve done so many things, you know. Some amazing, some terrible; but so, so many -

- I missed everything – they said in a nearly imperceptible murmur, then looked back at the scrivener before their voice could begin to shake – Either way, it hardly matters. It will all end soon -

- It doesn’t have to, Mashheet – Muriel fought back – It really doesn’t. You could help us stop it -

- There is no stopping it! – they replied, the sharp crack in their voice resonating through the ribs of Muriel’s corporation – And I cannot disobey! You know this, old friend...-

- Is that why you’re doing this? - she breathed, tears beginning to accumulate in her eyes – Why you’re killing them? You’re following orders? -

- The voice of God has spoken – they explained, forcing their tone to remain solemn – And I do what I am told -

- The voice of God does not speak honestly – she countered without missing a beat – Mashheet, he does not speak for the Almighty; only for himself -

- This is impossible – Mashheet claimed, though Muriel could tell there was a small ounce of doubt in their statement.

- I thought the same – she threw her arms up in exasperation – And yet here we are. I’m fighting to stop him, and you’re murdering innocent people on his behalf -

- They are enemies of the Lord! - they snapped.

- They are guests of a party! - she snapped back, her voice cracking. She took a breath before addressing them again – There’s a child in there, Mashheet. A child you are starving to death. How is a child anybody’s enemy? -

- That is not for me to know – they said after a sharp swallow – I simply… -

- Follow orders, yes, I know! - Muriel finished the sentence for them, exasperated – You always have, haven’t you? But you and I both know it’s not what you want to do -

- Stop talking – they breathed, their tone threatening.

- Don’t tell me now you’ve forgotten, Mashheet – she soldiered on, unbothered by the other’s building rage – The last time you were put to sleep, when I was putting you to sleep, you told me -

- Muriel – they threatened again.

- You want to see it – she insisted – You told me you wanted to see it all; to be free to explore the word, not to mindlessly follow orders for the rest of your existence -

- I was tired, and weak – Mashheet desperately attempted to undo that admission – I did not know what I was saying. Those words were untrue -

- No, they weren’t – she breathed, smiling sadly at them – But you still don’t believe it’s possible, do you old friend? -

- Because it is not – they snarled, unnerved – I cannot betray Heaven like you have; it is wrong! -

- Beg to differ, Mashheet – Muriel shot back – You know, I have been living on Earth for three years. Three long, beautiful, amazing years – she couldn’t see well beneath their hood; but she could practically feel their eyes going wide.

- Three years? - they asked, incredulous, voice slightly trembling.

- Yes. After Aziraphale… - she stopped herself, shaking her head – It’s a long story. But the fact is that I have lived amongst them for a time; and I have learnt so much from them. Per example, their notion of what is good and what is bad is so...complex -

-I do not understand why you are telling me this – the Angel of the Lord said, confused.

- For instance – she kept talking, completely ignoring his implied question – Stealing is wrong, but what if the perpetrator is a mother who only wants to feed her child? Is it still wrong? There are even certain circumstances, I learnt in a book about the law, in which a murder could be deemed as “self-defence” and go completely unpunished – Muriel took a breath – I mean, in comparison, our system is utterly basic -

- Our system is correct. Good is good, and bad is bad. No exceptions – Mashheet countered.

- And then, there’s the matter of betrayal – the scrivener continued – It can be deemed both a punishable crime and an act of heroism. Isn’t that extraordinary? -

- Betrayal is wrong – they firmly stated, reiterating their stand in the matter.

- In general terms, yes – she held up a finger – But what if the one who would become the betrayed is the one doing wrong in the first place? What if, by betraying the Metatron, you save the entire universe; including the world you desperately want to see? Is it wrong then? -

- I… - they hesitated for half a second, and Muriel seized the opportunity.

- There! - she pointed that finger at them – You’re not sure. That’s the same thing that happened to me; when I realized it’s much more than just good or bad – Muriel took a breath – Much more than just following orders -

- You simply do not understand – Mashheet muttered, their voice fragile.

- Perhaps not, but I would love to! - she begged, stepping a few inches closer, making them step back – I’m your friend, Mashheet. Let me help you -

- I cannot be helped! - they began raising their voice, their own confusion making them furious – There is nothing I need to be helped with, Muriel! -

- Well, seeing how things are, perhaps I could help you grow a spine! - Muriel snapped.

- Enough! - they bellowed, throwing their hood off in their anger and revealing their face beneath it.

The scrivener was taken aback by the brusque change in Mashheet’s appearance; they looked nothing like the previous time they’d met. Their face was white, paler than those of the humans currently starving to death, and the greyness of their eyes almost matched the tone of their wings. Their once shining, long golden locks had become filthy and of a murky brown.

Mashheet looked decidedly dreadful, and Muriel was sure their long, restless slumbers were the reason.

- Oh, Mashheet… - she breathed, attempting once again to step closer, only for them to once again go back a few inches.

- I exist to follow orders – they proclaimed, sadness hanging on their every word, their voice violently shaking – If I cease to do that, then what am I? -

- Free – she replied after a silent beat, her tone soft once again – Free to decide who you want to be and what you want to do -

- Free… - Mashheet pronounced the word slowly, savouring the idea of the possibility of a notion he had never even spared a thought to.

- Mashheet, I beg you, stop this – Muriel whispered, never letting go of their eyes – Please -

- Muriel… - they held the scrivener’s gaze, then glanced at the Gallery behind her and back. Mashheet took a few breaths, elongating the silence between them as he considered the scrivener’s words – I… I cannot -

- They’re dying! - she pleaded – Mashheet, please! -

- I must follow orders – they insisted for the umpteenth time, their voice shattering – That is what I am. I was not created to be free -

- You are so much more, old friend – Muriel said, the sheer honesty in her voice sending a chill down their spine; even if it didn’t stop them from raising a hand, ready to snap their fingers.

- You are to go back inside – they breathed, their arm beginning to shake – And I must now return to Heaven -

- No, no don’t! They’ll put you back to sleep! - the scrivener begged, and they froze – If we fail, you might never see the world again! -

- When my work is done, I sleep – they said, very slowly, their eyes growing moist – That is what I am -

- Please -

- I’m sorry – they breathed, a single tear rolling down their face as they finally pushed their fingers together.

Their snap echoed through the Edinburgh night, another miraculous tingle travelled through the scrivener’s body, and then both of them were gone.

Finding the kitchen had proven to be a much more difficult task that either Crowley or Aziraphale had anticipated; but after a few long, frustrating laps of the hallways they finally managed to find a service door which had thankfully been left open.

On the other side of it was a pretty standard industrial kitchen, with a row of four identical islands; each dressed with a cold, metallic counter-top and equipped with stoves and ovens of the same brand. Above them, large extractors invaded the tin ceiling, accompanied by the bronze pans and pots which hung from metallic railings. The floor, in contrast, was made of a light wood; and the walls were composed of plain, white tiles.

Crowley and Aziraphale both let out a sigh when their eyes fell on the large fridges on the opposite side of the room, which stood right next to an iron door labelled “Pantry”.

They glanced at each other, smiled when they realized they were thinking the exact same thing, and charged towards the end of the room, zooming past the islands, their steps echoing between the walls of the large, empty kitchen. With a firm pull, Crowley opened the first of three fridges, only for his stomach to fall like a stone when it turned out to be absolutely empty. Aziraphale opened the other two, with the same luck.

- Well, fuck – Crowley hissed – Now what? -

- There must be food in here somewhere – Aziraphale replied, his breathing becoming shallow and erratic – It’s a restaurant, for Heaven’s sake. Come now, let’s look around -

- Right – the demon performed a three-sixty spin to scan the room – Right. Uh, if you were a misplaced fruit, where would you hide? -

- Perhaps in the pantry - the angel walked towards the labelled door and tugged the handle; but it didn’t move an inch – Which, of course, is locked – he huffed, exasperated.

Crowley snapped his fingers out of pure muscle memory, only to be met with the irritatingly miracle-less sound.

- Shit -he growled – Okay, alright...I don’t suppose you have hidden master locksmith abilities? -

- I have read on the subject – Aziraphale frowned, inspecting the lock – It didn’t seem complicated, but I’ve never actually tried... -

- There you go then, unlock it – Crowley waved a hand vaguely towards the door, then spun on his heel and started towards the first island – I’ll dismantle these, see if I find anything edible -

- Did you perhaps not hear me say the words “never actually tried” ? - the angel huffed again, displaying his adorable little pout, the one which made butterflies fly in the demon’s stomach every single time.

- First time for everything, Angel – he smirked as he opened a drawer, throwing spoons and spatulas out of it.

- Well, I’d need a couple of pins, for starters – Aziraphale explained out loud, something Crowley was all-too accustomed to.

- Like the safety pins in your inner breast pocket? - He replied without missing a beat, his eyebrow arching in a teasingly manner as the angel’s shot up in surprise.

- How did you…? - he’d begun asking, though he was cut off halfway through.

- 1809 – Crowley stated, as though that alone would answer the question – The regency era. We met at one of the parties, in the spring season I think...shit, nothing here either – he moved to the other side of the island, now facing Aziraphale but keeping his head down as he searched another drawer – We were both dressed up all fancy ‘n all, and you told me you “never go anywhere without safety pins when wearing formal attires” – he punctuated the end of his sentence with a flying salad spoon.

- You...you remember that? - the angel frowned, his tone somewhere between incredulous and giddy. Crowley then looked up, locking eyes with Aziraphale.

- I remember everything you ever said to me– he admitted, his voice fragile, almost vulnerable.

Aziraphale gave him a look tender enough to melt the core of the earth, and the demon coughed to purposefully break the spell before it had a chance to settle, reminding himself there were hundreds of starving humans depending on them.

– Including the fact that you could open that thing – he nodded towards the door, then lowered his head to unstick his eyes from the angel’s puppy-dog ceruleans – So get on with it, before they begin eating each other -

The angel finally reacted, extracting the pins from his inner pocket and bending them to the ideal shape as he spun towards the door and got down on one knee. Very carefully, he introduced the first of two pins into the lock, and began feeling around for a piece he could push down.

Meanwhile, Crowley finished emptying the drawers and cabinets in the first island, muttering a string of curses beneath his breath when he found absolutely nothing. A comfortable, focusing silence invaded the room as both angel and demon continued their ministrations; the only sound being the faint click-clicks of the metallic pins against the lock.

Said silence was broken only when the demon finished the first side of the second island with a swear and rounded it to get to the other side, giving it a long, thoughtful look.

- We should have an island – he suddenly said, surprising both Aziraphale and himself, probably out of the need to think about something slightly less stressful than the hundreds of lives which right now depended on them.

- What do you mean, dear? - the angel replied, talking slowly while he attempted to pick the lock.

- In our kitchen – Crowley continued talking without thinking, the clicking coming to an abrupt halt – We should put a huge island in the middle, where we can sit for breakfast -

- Our...our kitchen? - Aziraphale slightly raised his head, though he didn’t turn around.

Crowley froze at the emphasis on that first word, realizing he’d just asked the angel to live with him and abandon the bookshop all at the same time.

- Er...I mean...ngk – he managed to blurt out, momentarily forgetting how to put words together – Y’know, I thought...Muriel has the bookshop, and now you’re back, and we’re...we’re us, and… - he bit his tongue, then shook his head – Nah, never mind, forget I said anything...shit – he added that last swear just to himself.

Silence fell again, but this time Crowley could feel its awkwardness tying a knot around his throat. However, when Aziraphale spoke a second later, the demon realized he had been the only one feeling awkward.

- Marble – he simply stated.

- Marble? - the demon reiterated.

- The island – Aziraphale explained, resuming the lock-picking, the soft clicking invading the air once again – It will be light-gray marble, matching the kitchen counter...There you are – he muttered when he found the piece he’d been looking for, pushing down on it with the pin.

The angel didn’t see it, and Crowley would never admit it, but his heart fluttered and his lips drew a smile bigger and brighter than they ever had. Feeling a new rush of energy, the demon continued looking through the rest of the kitchen, practically bouncing.

- Open concept, yeah? - he asked, the grin washing away from his face as he finished emptying a cabinet – Nothing -

- Evidently – the angel chimed, clicking his tongue when the second pin slipped out the keyhole – The kitchen, living room and dining room will be connected. And there will be a chimney -

- Fuck yeah. I hate being cold in winter – Crowley said, then added an afterthought – I’m also sticking my TV set in there, though -

- Very well – Aziraphale laughed, then let a beat go by in silence, carefully moving the pin through the mechanism – So long as you let me have a library upstairs, with all my favourite books -

- Two floors, then? We’re going big here, Angel – the demon joked, finishing off the second island with still nothing edible in his hands, growing sweatier the more those humans seemed to be doomed.

- Of course there’ll be two floors, dear – the angel sassily shot back – Where else would you put our bedroom? -

The demon’s brain all but short-circuited at the notion of those two words being put together, but he made a quick recovery before Aziraphale could realize, although the bastard probably already knew exactly what he’d done to Crowley

- Bedroom, ‘course – he coughed – A guest one, too. Y’know, in case the kids ever want to visit when this is over -

- Certainly – Aziraphale agreed – Tartan curtains? -

- Hell no – the demon hissed as he moved to the third and final island, making the other cackle.

- Oh, come now – the angel insisted, groaning as he tried and failed to turn the lock – How many times do I have to tell you tartan’s stylish? -

- Angel, tartan’s never been stylish – Crowley teased, and could practically see the angel’s eye roll through the back of his head – Not once -

- Piffle – he fought back, the demon delighting in the use of one of those words only the angel knew the existence of - You leave me no choice, dear boy. It’s either the curtains or the couch upholstery -

- Fine – Crowley fake-growled, painting a wide grin in both their faces – Tartan curtains. But I’m not allowing any text-based brick computers through the door….What the fuck do they cook in here, spoons?!- he growled after the umpteenth emptied drawer, growing impatient.

- Deal – Aziraphale compromised, his voice too becoming more strained as a thin sweat began covering his forehead. He tugged on the pin, to no avail – Oh, come on!...I hope you’ll move your houseplants in? -

- Yeah! - he jerked his head up, excited by the mere thought - Oh, I already know where I’m putting the Ficus. And the Aspidistra is going on the kitchen island. Beautiful -

- While we’re making demands...bugger, almost had it! - the angel swore when the second pin re-emerged unsuccessful from the lock – I demand my red chair and the gramophone; and that’s final -

- Sure. We can squeeze a little study for you somewhere – Crowley suggested, then hissed a couple of swears when he finished the last drawer of last island – Shit. I’ve dismantled the entire room, and not a fucking crumb. That Mashheet must’ve miracled it all away -

- It seems it’s up to me then – Aziraphale muttered, frowning in his concentration as he continued wrestling with the stubborn lock, a thousand starving faces materializing in his mind.

- No pressure – the demon commented, unable to help himself, and almost thought he’d have to run for his life after the glare the angel gave him – Er...wooden floors? - he attempted to distract Aziraphale from the wanting to kill him.

- Parquet – the angel said, turning back to the lock, his palms beginning to sweat as well – A light tone, maybe Maple, so the rooms seem more illuminated -

- And rugs – Crowley pointed out, startling a laugh out of the angel, who would never have guessed the demon was about to say that – Oi, I’m serious! Do you have any idea how snuggle-able wool rugs are when you’re a snake? -

- I’ll take your word for it, my dear. We’ll have very many rugs, and... – Aziraphale muttered, frowning, suddenly ceasing to talk, deep in concentration. After another tug of the pin, he cheered triumphantly – Ahá! -

There was a loud clack, and then the door screeched open. Aziraphale raised on his feet, preening proudly, and Crowley cupped his soft face instantly, smiling ear to ear.

- Oh, you miracle worker, you beautiful Angel! - he said, leaving Aziraphale completely breathless just as a peck was pressed to his lower lip – I could kiss you endlessly, but y’know, people dying ‘n all – he smirked.

- Pity – Aziraphale muttered under his breath, a second before Crowley released him and they both ran into the pantry.

The room was, to their dismay, completely empty. However, their stomachs hadn’t yet reached their feet when they felt another miraculous tingle crawl through their corporations, making them look at each other in the act.

- Another one – breathed Aziraphale, glancing towards the kitchen on the other side of the door.

- Yup – the demon replied in the same tone of voice, briefly following the angel’s gaze and then turning back towards the empty room, freezing suddenly – Oh -

- What is it? - the angel turned back around, and this time it was him who followed Crowley’s gaze – Oh. Well, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there a second ago -

They both stared at the small linen basket which had appeared out of thin air, sat in the middle of the pantry floor. Hesitantly, they stepped towards it, already dreading what they would find within it. Angel and demon glanced at each other as they approached it, brows furrowed, and then finally looked inside it.

The groan they simultaneously let out was of pure, sheer exasperation.

- Oh, you have got to be kidding me -

- I’m fucking sick of everything -

Chapter Text

The pristine, white walls of Heaven, Uriel thought, were lately sauntering vaguely towards a light gray. If that had always been the case and they’d simply never noticed, they had yet to decide it.. 

Three archangels currently stood within said not-quite-white walls, and all of them followed The Metatron with their gaze as he paced back and forth in front of them, his eyes fixed on the floor as he walked. The silence which enveloped them, the one which Uriel had somehow found soothing in the past, was now nothing less than eerie and cold; like the stillness of a clearing moments before the predator jumps on its prey. The archangel noticed now more than ever the cherubims and scriveners walking past in all directions, mumbling to themselves, working like automated machines. They had never before realized how gloomy, how empty, those halls were. How dim that white light really was.. How lonely it felt, compared to the energy and never-ending movement of the planet below. 

Heaven was supposed to be a place of light, of joy. Paradise, for Christ’s sake! What kind of filter had they been wearing all this time, not to see how wrong things were? 

Whatever spell they were under, it had vanished in that Gallery; lost amidst all those faces. All those humans, terrified to the point of tears and fainting, by the beings which should be symbols of peace, of love, of holiness; of kindness. How had they managed to become exactly the opposite of that? And if Aziraphale had been able to notice it from the beginning, why hadn’t the chain of command done the same?

They glanced sideways, discreetly, at the two archangels on their left; one the antithesis of the other. Saraquael, who was closest to them, had their face contorted into an expression of confusion, concern; and almost fear. Their hands, which usually laid comfortably on the floating chair’s armrests, fidgeted anxiously on their lap; and they were practically unable to look at Metatron, their eyes shooting back and forth from his pacing form. 

Michael, on the other hand, stood straight and regal on the far right of the group. Their posture was spotless, as was the usual, although the tension in their jaw and shoulders were clearly visible. The archangel’s eyes followed The Metatron as he moved back and forth, not releasing him for a single second. Their expression was cold, of stone, the face of a soldier awaiting orders from the General who had promised an ascension in the ranks. 

“Licking Metatron’s arse”, the demon had said. Uriel had to suppress a chuckle when they remembered the expression: it was every bit as accurate as it was funny. 

Right then, The Metatron stopped dead in his tracks, and Uriel yanked their gaze back forward, mirroring Michael’s posture like nothing had happened. 

-So it’s lost? Destroyed? - he asked, his stern voice echoing through Heaven.

-We believe so, your holiness - Michael responded without missing a beat - We didn’t manage to get ahold of the book, but this…unexpected attack from the other side will probably have seen to its disappearance - 

-If I may, your grace - Saraquael intervened, willing their voice not to shake - Are we sure the tremor was the result of a demonic attack? - 

-And what else could it possibly be? - Michael answered for him, glaring sideways at them - Who else would want the Child of God hurt, if not downstairs? They already attacked Her once, with the legion of the ninth circle, no less - 

- Precisely, Michael. Thank you - Metatron nodded, as though giving a dog a treat after a trick well done - Thank the Lord Almighty I was able to get you lot out before they got there - 

-And why not protect Her? - Uriel asked, calmly, looking The Metatron in the eyes -  Why run away when the opposing side strikes, if our mission is to keep Her alive? Why not fight?  -

-A confrontation would only have made things worse - he claimed, stepping closer to them - The butcher would have been endless, and in the end She would have been in more danger - 

-And how do you know the demons won’t kill Her? - the archangel insisted, trying really hard not to sound as furious as they actually were - How are we sure the Child is safe? - 

-Don’t be thick, Uriel - Michael spat at them, earning a pointed glare - Of course we wouldn’t leave Her without protection. The miracle block we established - they slipped the paper out of their breast pocket as they spoke - will linger long enough for them to find a way to safety. I sealed all of the doors and windows upon our retreat, as his divineness instructed me to do prior to the mission in case of emergency - they nodded slowly at Metatron. Uriel had to bite their inner lip to suppress a groan - As long as the miracles are blocked, they won’t be able to get out of that building; and as long as they don’t get out, She will be safe from Hell - 

Uriel wanted to bite back, to ask if the human lives caught in between these plans meant nothing; but much to their annoyance, they had to be careful not to raise suspicions; especially not in front of The Metatron. So they decided on a stern nod, and the coldest expression in their arsenal.

- I see - they said, not meaning even one of the words which came out of their mouth - Very clever, Michael. I applaud your strategy - 

-As you should - they responded with a huff. The nerve.

-What is more - The Metatron continued - And though it pains me to admit it, that bastard angel and his little… crew have proven capable of defending themselves - 

-What are we to do now, your grace? - Saraquael inquired, holding onto the control of their chair to stop their hands from fidgeting - Should we intervene again, once the demonic attack subsides? - 

- No - he ordered, the firmness of his voice suggesting it was not a debate - For the time being, we will wait and see. If I am right, the Child will continue performing the Divine Signs as Her destiny decrees; and that will be when we act. Only if something goes truly wrong will we intervene, is that clear? - 

-Crystal, your excellency - Michael responded without missing a beat. The other two nodded their understanding. 

-Good. You are dismissed - he turned to leave them, but glanced back before beginning to move - Michael, with me - 

He charged forward, and the archangel followed suit; both of them disappearing from sight after only a few moments. Now only two archangels stood in that room, whose walls were getting darker and darker by the minute. A tense silence fell between Saraquael and Uriel, neither of them moving from where they’d been left standing, until the latter braved a sideways glance at the other; at which point they both realized they were looking at each other. 

Uriel hesitated for a second, their corporation’s heart pounding in its throat, and then decided to take the risk

- Something is very wrong - they breathed, forcing calmness into their voice. They heard a heavy sigh of relief beside them, and turned to face the other archangel in their own relief. 

-Thank goodness you said that - they breathed back, then looked in every direction before speaking again, their chairs beginning to move at their command- Come. I think you and I need to talk - 

-An Eccles cake - Eleyn stated, appalled, staring unblinkingly at the contents of the linen basket Crowley and Aziraphale had brought back with them from the kitchen. 

-An Eccles cake, yes - Aziraphale confirmed, equally as appalled - The one I didn't eat yesterday, I believe - 

-A fucking Eccles cake - Crowley double confirmed, even more appalled.

- It seems like it - Muriel triple confirmed, more confused than appalled. She prodded the pastry with a finger. Nothing happened.

- And you’re sure there was nothing else in that kitchen? - God’s daughter asked, looking Crowley straight in the eyes - Nothing edible, at all? - 

- Unless you count iron pots and forks as edible - the demon responded with a sarcastic hiss 

- Mashheet must have miracled it gone - sighed Muriel, turning to look at the guests- At the same time they made the humans hungry - 

It had been at least five minutes since the wailing and screaming had subsided, and now all of them lay still, huddled up together against the wall; most of them in a side position and hugging their middles. When the four of them were silent, they could hear them crying silently. Sniffing, sobbing. Crowley could hear Archie whimpering, and it made him want to rip the head off that gray-winged wanker.

- Shit - he hissed, immediately starting to pace back and forth in front of the other three - Okay, what now? What do we do? - 

-The doors continue to be locked, and we still can’t perform any miracles - Aziraphale briefed, clicking his fingers to prove the point. 

-I said what do we do, not what can’t we do - Crowley growled - Anyone else? - 

-It’s pretty obvious - Eleyn sighed, clutching the basket with one hand - One piece of food, many mouths to feed. Bread and fish - 

- Hell no - the demon hissed at her -Not that . Anything other than that - 

-What do you mean, anything other than…?! - she squeaked - Crowley, it’s the only thing we can do! - 

-And get that bastard closer to what he wants? - he countered, teeth bared - I don't think so . Something else, we need other ideas. Muriel? - 

-I… - she hesitated, glancing at the half-dead guests and then back at the demon with a sigh - I think Eleyn’s right. There’s no other way, Metatron and Mashheet have made sure of it - 

-Nope. Nu-uh - Crowley shook his head, then turned to Aziraphale. He was about to ask, but the look on the angel’s face was enough for him to understand he agreed with the other two. He groaned - You too? Angel, we can’t let her do it! - 

- This again?! - Eleyn huffed - The choice isn’t yours! I don’t need permission, you’re not my mom ! - 

- No, God is - he shot back at her - And the more of these signs you perform, the closer she’ll be to danger. Is that what you want? - 

-The same God who allowed my entire reality to be destroyed? - she snapped - Excuse me for caring about these people more than I do about Her. And since when do you give a damn about Her anyway? - 

Crowley growled, frustrated by how unbearably proud he was of her; and how irritatingly right she was. 

- Hell knows what Metatron is planning with all of this! - he hissed - You may be putting the entire universe at risk! - 

- Or I may not be, and I can save these people now ! - Eleyn insisted - Besides, wasn’t I meant to perform all of them anyway? The only thing I can control is when , and I choose now! - 

-She’s not wrong, my dear - Aziraphale whispered, placing a hand softly on the demon’s arm - I don’t see any other way out of this - 

-But… - he stammered, his eyes shifting between the three of them - Ngk . Maybe if we…if we cut it in pieces or, or…! - he gripped the other handle of the basket, but Eleyn didn’t let go. 

- Oh, yeah, sure . Two crumbs each, that’ll save them from starving for sure! Great idea! - she snapped, glaring at him - Are you even listening to yourself, Crowley?- 

-Let’s wait, then! - he proclaimed, throwing his free arm up in the air - We wait until the fucking miracle blocker wears out, ‘n then we miracle them a five-course meal each, yeah? - 

-Except we don’t know how long the lingering effect is going to last - objected Muriel without missing a beat - It could be hours - 

- So? - the demon hissed before thinking, stubborn as he was.

- So - said Eleyn, arm outstretched and finger pointed at the suffering humans - Half of them will be dead in two, or even less - she lowered her voice to a near-whisper and stepped towards the demon - And Archie's going to be the first to go - 

Cowley flinched at that, and took a sharp inhale. He stared at God's daughter for a long moment, and then his eyes snapped onto the guests, that mass of dying people whose only offense had been being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He searched amongst them, one by one, until his gaze fell on the smallest of them all. The little boy looked scaringly fragile, rolled up like a ball on the floor between his parents, who held him tightly. The demon felt a lump in his throat when he swallowed, a lump of concern and impotence; maybe even of rage. He couldn't save him; he couldn't do a damned thing for Archie. Or for his father, who had just regained the ability to walk and was about to die anyway, nor for any of the innocent human beings who’d only come to donate money for a good cause. 

But Eleyn could help them, and she was right. They had to act now if they intended for all of them to live. 

 He let out a primal groan, deep from within his throat, and looked back at the group. 

- Fuck - he hissed beneath his breath- Shit shit shit - 

He locked eyes with Eleyn for a short moment, and then released the basket.

- Do it - he breathed. She nodded, gripping both handles to set it on the floor and then sitting down herself. 

-Do you know how, dear? - asked Aziraphale, speaking softly so as not to unfocus her.

-I…I think so - she muttered, eyes fixed on the singular Eccles cake - I couldn't explain it, though. It's too… - 

- Ineffable? - the angel finished for her, and she sprung her eyes onto him for a moment. He smiled softly - These sorts of things tend to be -

She nodded slowly, then turned back to the linen basket in front of her 

There was about half a minute of complete silence; thirty seconds in which Eleyn just stared at the pastry, calculating every breath. Then, she took it in her hands an looked up towards the ceiling; at the heavens. She let out a sigh, deep and relieved, and let the air slip slowly past her lips. Only when she'd ran out of breath did she speak, eyes still locked upwards.

- Thank you - she whispered.

Crowley gasped when Eleyn tugged at both sides of the little pastry and broke it in half, then in fourths. Without saying a word, she handed one piece to Muriel, one to Aziraphale and one to himself. The demon had opened his mouth to say something, to ask what the hell was going on, but then a feeling jutted down his spine; and he looked down on pure instinct. 

Sure enough, three basketfuls of perfectly intact and warmed-up Eccles cakes rested at his feet, like if they had always been there. There were another three at Aziraphale feet; and the same went for Muriel and Eleyn. Twelve in total. He felt himself smile, because he knew it would be more than enough to feed the two hundred fifty-ish guests. 

- Fuck me sideways - he said, cracking a smirk - It worked - 

-Of course it worked - Eleyn fake-snapped, unable to hold back a pleased grin - I told you I could do it - 

-You certainly did - Aziraphale agreed, one of his three baskets hauled up in his arms - Go on then, distribute them, get a wiggle on - 

-Eh, right. Shit. Sorry - the demon spluttered, heaving one of his own Eccles cake basketfuls; which was much heavier than the angel had made it look.

It only took about two minutes after the sign had been performed for the starving humans to notice the warm smell of the pastries and turn towards them, moving for the first time in nearly an hour. Their eyes blew wide and wild the second they saw the overflowing baskets; and they all began launching themselves onto the Eccles cakes, pushing and pulling others out of the way, grabbing as many as they could in what had become a chaotic free-for-all and swallowing them whole, practically without chewing. 

-Now now, there's more than enough for everyone, no need for any of that - Aziraphale tried to calm them, a joyful smile on his face as he watched them eat - There's plenty more where that came from - 

Crowley, the selfish demon he was, made an immediate beeline towards Archie, giving out cakes as he went and hissing at anyone who tried to jump over him for them. When he arrived at the spot where the MacLeod family had been laying, he found both dad and mom sitting up, the latter with the weak little boy cradled between her arms, staring hungrily at the warm pastries. Without saying a word, Crowley offered a few to Alister and then to Clara. He squeezed his arm as thanks, and she looked at him like he'd hung the stars. Very softly, Clara stroked the boy's hair and held the pastry close to him, so that he could smell it. Crowley held his breath until Archie opened his eyes - albeit with some difficulty - almost a minute later. His eyes became adorably watery as soon as he realized what his mother was holding, and he immediately began nibbling the Eccles Cake. The demon sighed, relieved, and continued distributing the pastries.

Muriel and Eleyn, having been the first to arrive with the baskets, had been cleaned out of Eccles cakes almost immediately. However, by the time they attempted to go back across the hall and grab another, some of the guests had already begun piling up around them and snatching pastries left, right and center. They looked at one another, a fond sigh escaping them at the exact same time, and walked over to where the baskets were to make sure the cakes were divided as fairly as possible. Scrivener and Child of God found themselves sitting down on the floor distributing Eccles cakes for the next half hour or so, calmly chatting as they did so. 

-How did you know them? - Eleyn asked at one point, a question Muriel had been slightly dreading - The angel who did this? - 

-They… - the Scrivener began, unsure how to phrase it, silently passing a pastry to an elderly woman as she thought. She took a sharp inhale when she made up her mind - Mashheet is not bad, Eleyn. I have known them for…a number of years now - 

-I understand they are, or were at some point, your friend - she argued, though she never raised her voice - But you can't deny they nearly murdered all these people - 

-I'm not trying to - she assured her - But I'm sure they would never do it if they knew they had a choice. They were just following orders - 

-What do you mean, if they knew ? - Eleyn looked at her, frowning in confusion; so much so that she didn't notice a young man yank the cake she was holding from her hands. 

-Mashheet is a complicated being - Muriel explained - They're not like other angels; they have slumbered throughout almost their entire existence, and they have been awoken in very few occasions, when the Lord or, by extension, Metatron ordered it - she sighed - They only called them when extreme measures against enemies of the Lord were considered necessary - 

-Crowley and Aziraphale said something earlier, about slaughters - God's daughter recalled, turning back to the guests and continued distributing cakes

-Yes. Jerusalem, the Assyrians…that was all them - the scrivener admitted - They are something like God's problem-solver. A mercenary, if you will - her voice began to quiver - And they abhor it -  

Eleyn didn't reply, and instead eyed her curiously, asking a silent question

 - I know because they told me, when we met. Another angel always has to put him back to sleep once his task is finished, and after the Assyrians they assigned me to do it - she took a breath -When I was about to perform the miracle, they held my arm and stopped me; and they begged me to listen. They said that I seemed kind, and that they needed someone to hear what they had to say. They looked so desperate, Eleyn… - 

-They weren't wrong about the kind part, I'll give them that - Eleyn mumbled just loud enough for the scrivener to hear, earning herself a small smile - So, what did they say? - 

-They told me they were exhausted, that the sheer amount of guilt inside them would not let them rest, no matter how long the slumber - she paused, trying to recall the exact words - They said they had never wanted to be The Destroying Angel . That they wished to see that universe they'd been created into, not to hurt it - 

-Why don't they, then? - Eleyn insisted, more confused with each word the scrivener said - Why do they kill if they don't want to? - 

-Because they genuinely do not believe they have a choice - Muriel too insisted - They don't have a concept of freedom or free will. Their loyalty to Heaven is something which they believe to be unshakable, a fact. I know for you it must sound stupid, but when it's all you’ve ever known…- 

-That's… - she tried to find the words, and abysmally failed to do so - Damn - 

-And what makes it worse is that it's not just them - the scrivener breathed, her voice now positively shaking - That blind, chaining loyalty to God…it's all of us. I was like that - she raised her head to meet Eleyn's eyes; and the latter felt her breath hitch when she saw the tears which adorned Muriel's - I still remember the day they took Job's children. How concerned Aziraphale was…and I just let it happen, because I'd been told it was right. How was I so blind?! - she stopped to take a shallow breath, letting tears slide down her face, her voice shaken when she spoke again - Unlike him, I was a stupid little brainless minion. So stupid - 

-Don't say that - Eleyn practically ordered, wrapping a hand tenderly around her forearm and using her other to carefully dry her tears- You're not stupid, Muriel. Or brainless. It wasn't your fault -

- It doesn't change the fact that that poor man almost lost his three children - she breathed.  

A heavy silence fell between them, but Eleyn never released the scrivener's arm. Instead, after a few moments, she gave it a soft squeeze. 

-You broke out of the cycle - she said, her words dripping with sympathy - You’re fighting against the system now; you’re making a difference - she raised her eyes briefly to the sky - You are the very best of them. Got it?   - 

The scrivener eyed her silently for a few seconds, the gratefulness blooming in her gut clashing with the feeling that she couldn't accept those compliments; that they weren't true. In the end, Muriel smiled a bittersweet smile and nodded. Eleyn, as if in response, squeezed her forearm softly one last time and then released it, going back to the pastries in her basket. Muriel did the same, quicky drying the tears which still danced in her eyes, and picked up a warm cake when she spotted a middle-aged woman shyly approaching her.

That was when a thought hit her. Eccles cakes. If Mashheet had, as Crowley and Aziraphale had said, used a miracle to make the food appear in the kitchen; then why the angel's left-over Eccles cake?

Muriel smiled to herself, a small little glimmer of hope appearing within her. Maybe Mashheet had intended to send a message to her, one that neither of them could interpret, for the time being. It was far-fetched; but it was better than nothing; and it meant that Mashheet was finally thinking. Her little speech had maybe worked after all.

She smiled sweetly at the woman who'd walked up to her and handed over the warm cake. She took a bite and hummed in delight. 

-God, these are gorgeous ! - she said with a thick Scottish accent - I could eat a million, they're to die for! - 

-A friend of mine, Nina, makes them in her shop! - she chimed - “Give me coffee or give me death”, it's called. She's very nice - 

-And that's in London, is it? - the woman asked, her eyes curious as she took another bite.

-Yes, London Soho! - the scrivener beamed at her - Right across the street from the bookshop! -

-How nice! - she beamed back - You best believe I'm noting that, I'm ordering these by the kilogram! - 

With one last smile and another bite of the pastry, she turned and walked back the way she’d come. Muriel followed her with her gaze, but her eyes stopped dead when they met cerulean-blue ones from across the hallway. Aziraphale, who now sat with Crowley in pretty much the same way she and Eleyn were, was looking directly at her, eyebrows high, completely frozen. He seemed so transfixed that, for a moment, Muriel wondered whether the angel was looking at her or simply into the distance, but in her general direction.  

Only Aziraphale, at the other side of the corridor, knew that it was a bit of both. 

Since the situation had gotten under control and they had ceased to be assaulted by starving people, Crowley and he had been sitting against the wall, taking a much needed breather. But then, a thought had wriggled out from the back of Aziraphale’s mind and had begun bouncing around.

What pact?

Uriel had seemed surprised when Aziraphale had asked about it. Like they’d never expected it. Aziraphale had briefly thought they might have been bluffing;  but then he remembered how broken their words had sounded, and the determination to help which had burned in their eyes. No, they weren’t purposefully hiding information, that didn’t make sense. His next thought had been that, perhaps, for some reason Uriel had been the only archangel who hadn’t been informed about it. Somehow, that seemed even less probable. It was Archangel Uriel ; everything that happened in Head Office went through them first. One could even argue their authority was pretty much parallel to Michael’s. So no, that wasn’t it either. 

Two things then happened at the exact same time. The third and most plausible thought hit him, sending a chill down his spine; and his eyes met Muriel’s across the hall. If one thing had triggered the other, he would never know. What he did know was that he felt his lips go dry. 

If the archangels don’t know, nobody else in Heaven does.

His blood froze. The pact existed, it had to, otherwise all four of them would right now be corpses lying in the depths of Inverleith lake. But Heaven didn’t seem to know. Yes, Michael had not dared to attack Eleyn before, but it was only logical; after all, She was God’s daughter. Pact or no pact, no angel in their right mind would touch the Girl. 

So, why? What was the reason behind it? What was that blessed pact? 

- Angel? - Crowley’s soft voice snapped Aziraphale out of his trance, and he finally broke his and Muriel's shared gaze. The demon’s amber eyes, in contrast, had a glint of concern - You alright? - 

-Yes - he replied in an equally soft tone - I was just…thinking - 

-Yeah, me too - he breathed - About our next move - 

-There’s only two signs left to go - Aziraphale sighed, briefly glancing at Eleyn, who handed an elderly woman a cake with a sweet smile painted on her lips - The poor thing…You don't think Metatron will do anything to hurt her, do you? - He looked back at Crowley, blue eyes full of fear. 

- He better fucking not - the demon hissed, glancing upwards as though threatening the Voice of God to his divine face.

-We could find someplace to hide away - the angel suggested, anxiously fidgeting with his signet ring - Somewhere safe, where we can lay low. I could ward it, perhaps. It would only be temporary, but… - 

Sleek, soft fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrists, and Aziraphale released the small golden ring almost automatically. His eyes immediately went up to Crowley's, and the sight of those yellow-golden irises was enough to calm him. 

-No - he whispered, Aziraphale’s eyes blowing wide when he spoke again - Raphael - 

- But you said… - the angel began, only to be cut immediately.

-It’s all we have  - Crowley groaned, out of exasperation more than anything else - As much as I don’t like it, all of you were right. It’s our best bet. Still bloody suicide ; but at this point, so is doing anything else - 

-I… - the angel was unable to form sentences for a second, because of all the feelings that had overcome him at once, gripping him by the throat with such force that words became stuck halfway - I don’t know, Crowley…What if we have to face Metatron after? What if he…? - he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and fantastically failed - What if he uses the dagger? - 

-Hey, none of that - the demon squeezed his wrists, sending a pulse of calmness through his body - The last thing that bastard will do is separate you and me again - 

-Right… - Aziraphale took a deep breath to ground himself, his eyes fluttering closed as he did so, and then reopened them to find his favorite smirk on the face of his favorite demon. He felt himself smile back - Right - 

Without thinking much, the angel leaned forward and kissed the grin off his demon with one swift peck to the upper lip. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d done it, but he’d needed to feel the demon’s warmth in that moment, to make sure he was right there and he wasn’t going anywhere, to anchor himself. And it had worked a charm. 

Crowley took a sharp inhale in surprise at first, but immediately relaxed into his angel’s soft lips. Like clockwork, one of his arms slid around Aziraphale’s neck and slim fingers began caressing the short curls they could find. 

When they leaned back, after a moment which had seemed to last another 6000 years, the angel’s cheeks were adorably rosy; and the demon’s irresistible smirk had somehow grown wider.

-So - he said, softly, after letting a few beats go by in silence, fingers still playing with fluffy blonde hair - How the hell do we find an archangel whose divine punishment was to never be found again? - 

-Excellent question, my dear - the angel took a sharp exhale, like if he was about to explain an already-plotted plan complete with five different steps and illustrations, only for a sigh to slip out of his mouth instead - I haven’t the faintest - 

-You found the antichrist in under a day! - Crowley half-whined, taking his arm back. The angel felt a chill at the sudden lack of contact.

- Why does everybody keep…? - Aziraphale let out a small, exasperated groan - I just read a prophecy and guessed ! It was more luck than ability, really… - 

- Right, and I don’t suppose you have a crystal ball on you? - he tried, aiming to get a chuckle but getting an unimpressed glare instead. 

-Not at the moment, no - the angel sighed - Where is a mad witch when you need her? - 

-Tadfield, actually - the demon replied without missing a beat.

- Pardon? - 

- Tadfield - Crowley reiterated - The witch lives in Tadfield, no? Book Girl? - 

- Anathema - the angel pronounced the name slowly, chastising the demon.

-That one - he snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes at him - Maybe she has a “Nice and Accurate Prophecies: The Sequel” ? - 

-And even if she didn’t …- the angel slowly came to realize - She found the Antichrist as well. She got much closer to him; and in half the time! - 

- Bingo - Crowley smiled proudly at himself - If Ane …eh… Book Girl found little Adam, Raph’s gonna be easy peasy - he paused - I hope - 

- A-na-the-ma - Aziraphale repeated, pronouncing every syllable carefully and gaining a dismissive wave of snakey fingers in return - But yes, I rather think she might be able to help - 

-Right then, settled - the demon clapped his hands together, then raised his voice and shouted at Muriel and Eleyn, who were scared out of their souls on the other side of the corridor - OI, KIDS! WE’RE GOING ON A FIELD TRIP! - 

-Did you feel that? - asked Saraquael, their levitating chair coming to an abrupt halt when a chill traveled down their back

-I did - replied Uriel, their voice hushed and their eyes looking in the distance - Another sign. We're running out of time - 

-Indeed we are - the other archangel agreed, pulling on a small lever on the armrest to make their chair go forwards - Come, I know of a place where we can talk discreetly - 

Uriel followed them through the winding, graying hallways; nearly running to keep up with the miraculous chair. After a few minutes and about a thousand turns, they arrived at a small office; piled almost to the ceiling with drawers upon drawers upon cabinets of files- the humble wooden desk which sat in the middle of the room had been practically buried. The sight made Uriel vaguely wonder if Aziraphale might have had a point with the digitalization proposition he'd pitched some decades ago. 

With a decisive snap of Saraquael's fingers, the door behind them closed shut. They also soundproofed the room, for good measure, just to make sure the upcoming conversation was heard by nobody. When they turned their chair around, the archangel discovered Uriel already eyeing them, one eyebrow raised. 

-I'm honored to be shown your little secret spot - they teased, though the question that followed was of genuine curiosity - Do you lock yourself in here often? - 

-Sometimes - they confessed, hands interlocked and resting on their lap - For the last couple centuries or so. It's calm, and quiet. Good for thinking - 

-I could've done with a thinking spot myself - Uriel muttered, glancing around, then back at the other archangel - I might have been able to realize something was out of place much sooner - 

- Very out of place - Saraquael corrected - Uriel, the earthquake and whatever happened in that building…it wasn't Hell - 

-What do you mean? - the archangel frowned, their breath slightly starting to shallow - Who was it, then? - 

-Well, I can't be absolutely certain but… - the other began, but their words seemed to get stuck in their throat, unable to come out and complete the sentence. Uriel felt the dread crawling down their spine.

-What?! - they pressed, unable to bear the silence any longer - Who, Saraquael?! - 

-I never heard Metatron give them the order - they responded after a long, deep breath - But I was sent to awaken the Destroying Angel by him, right before you and Michael went in - 

-He…?! - they froze, and the dread they'd been feeling landed in the pit of their stomach with a resounding thump , sending chills through their skin - Mashheet …is awake?! - 

-Yes - the other archangel nodded - Yes, they are. And what happened down there…Two more signs, in the same evening… Uriel, I don't think that's coincidence - 

-What the Heavens is he doing? - they whispered, still trying and abysmally failing to settle their breathing - Is he trying to trigger the signs faster? Why? She's going to end up doing them all anyway, it doesn't make sense! - 

- I know! - Saraquael interrupted their rant - That's why I wanted to talk to you. I don't like this, not at all; and I would very much love to get to the bottom of it. But I can't do it alone! - they took a breath, then lowered their voice, glaring at the document-walled room -  Not that I'd know where to start either - 

Both archangels fell into silence once again as Uriel followed the other's gaze and glanced around the room themselves, waiting for the question they knew Saraquael wanted to ask; the one they barely dared to. After another few minutes of the archangel fidgeting with their hands atop their knees, Uriel decided to answer said question even if it had yet to be asked; entirely out of spite. 

-I spoke with Aziraphale - they said, still not looking at Saraquael; and not needing to to see their face of relief - Briefly and very discreetly. Michael didn't notice - 

When the reply didn't come immediately, Uriel thought they might've misjudged the situation and messed up in divine proportions. Their heart traveled all the way from their thoracic cavity to their throat, where it firmly stayed, beating furiously. 

-And? - came Saraquael's voice a few long moments after. Uriel began breathing again - Does he know anything? - 

-Not much more than us - they responded without missing a beat - He asked about a name; Enoch - the other archangel was about to open their mouth, but Uriel jumped ahead - Son of Jared, descendant of Seth. Or son of Cain. Either way, the name sounds familiar and of great importance to you, but you don't know why, am I right? - 

-You think it's a wipe - they stated rather than asked, making for their chair’s controls - And I think you're right. We need to tell Aziraphale and the rest to look for Raphael - 

-Already have - Uriel assured, signaling them to stop with a palm - He got there practically on his own, really. I didn't even have to mention the name - 

-Good - the other nodded.

-And - they added - I think I know what you and I can do in the meantime - 

-I'm listening - Saraquael said, hand at the ready over the chair's lever.

-Aziraphale said something else, something about… - they lowered their voice despite knowing all four walls and probably ceiling were completely soundproof - ...about a pact with Hell - 

-What pact? - the hand on the lever visibly relaxed, and their eyebrow shot upwards.

-That's what I said - Uriel explained - He asked me about the terms of it; he was absolutely certain I would know  - 

-I don't think we’ve signed anything with the dark council or any representative of Hell for at least the past decade - Saraquael frowned, then whizzed their chair around and headed towards the millions of documents which cluttered the room. 

-Yes, when Michael agreed to lend Beelzebub some Holy Water in return for Hellfire - Uriel recalled - I remember that, we were all present when it was signed - 

-Precisely - they raised a finger - We archangels would have had to be there if such a pact had been signed - Saraquael turned their head towards Uriel, lowering their voice - If it had been done by the rules, that is - 

-You don’t think…? - the oher began, the second half of the sentence falling to their stomach like a rock - The Metatron…? That deep of a betrayal? - 

-Before today, I wouldn’t even have dared to consider it - Saraquael admitted - But now…he has lied to our faces, to the archangels ! Who’s to say he’s not capable of worse? - 

As they let those words sink in, Uriel was hit by one solid, hard, unmovable thought. 

What has he done?

-We need to find that pact - they breathed, steadying their voice as much as they could - Now - 

The other’s reply came in a resounding snap of their fingers, at which various small stacks of files appeared on the wooden desk - or what peeked out of it from under the paper mountain. The first of one of the stacks was one which Uriel recognized immediately, without even having to read the title. The beat-up, overused state of it and its sheer thickness was more than enough indication that that was the file pertaining to the Great Rebellion and subsequent punishments. The falls from grace. They could remember each one of them almost to the last detail; including…

They shook the thought, seeing as that wasn’t the time or place to question each and every one of their past decisions, and gently picked the large file up. The next folder, not quite as thick as the last but just as stained, had one single name sprawled across the cover: Job. The pang of guilt was practically instantaneous. 

When they opened the folder with a single finger, they found a summarized copy of the bet; the strange, momentary agreement between God and Satan. Reading it back now, Uriel could not fathom how they could have ever thought this to be even remotely right.

Uriel’s eyes fell to the bottom of the page, and their chills were immediate once they spotted their own signature in between Michael’s and Saraquael’s. 

They closed the page with a resounding thud and looked up at the other archangel, who eyed them silently from the floating chair. 

-Why these documents? - Uriel asked, trying their best not to sound too disgusted at the mere presence of those files. 

-Well, if the pact does exist, there has to be a physical signed document. You know how much Hell loves having signatures - the other nodded, following Saraquael’s reasoning - And if no angel is meant to know, Metatron will have hidden it inside another file, somewhere nobody wouldn’t even accidentally come across it - 

-I see - they nodded slowly, their eyes glinting with understanding, and then glanced at the stacks of files - So you miracled up a compendium of Heaven’s most shameful moments in the history of Earth - 

-We’re looking for a file no angel would ever go back to. Something we’ve all turned a blind eye to - Saraquael continued, closing the distance between them and the desk and taking a few files into their lap - Any ideas are welcome - they added when Uriel followed their lead, without responding. 

-Let’s see… - they read the folder’s labels out loud - Cain and Abel, The Binding of Isaac…oh, what about The Flood? A lot of casualties, many infants. It’s not exactly the sort of light reading I would pick… - 

-You can try and have a look, but I think it’s quite unlikely - the other said with a wave of their hand - Some angels go back and check some data on the Ark from time to time. Cross-referencing with new species found by humankind, you know… - 

- Ah, yes, of course - they sighed, then lowered their voice to a mutter - God knows it’s taking them absolute ages… - 

-Tower of Babel? - Saraquael suggested, holding up the file for Uriel to see - That entails a whole lot of suffering. Split families and everything. Aziraphale came up to Head Office, all fussed up, to complain, do you remember? - 

-Of course I remember - they replied instantly, their tone still low, without even having to think about it - Another instance in which he was so right and we were so blind - they sighed - But no, it’s also unlikely. We still haven’t cataloged all the languages and dialects which spawned from there, the file is opened often - 

-Too right - they opened it and glanced at the pages briefly, but nothing seemed out of order, so they set it back down on the table - Besides, it’s not like any angel would be ashamed of these things. As far as we were concerned, back then, it wasn’t our fault in the slightest - 

-What’s something all of Heaven would be ashamed of, then? - Uriel inquired, raising a questioning eyebrow - Something we know was pretty much our fault? - 

Both archangels stared at one another in silence for a long moment, going through millions of memories at the exact same time; until both came across the same one at the same time. Two pairs of eyes widened at the realization, and two archangels said the exact same thing at the exact same time. 

- Jeptha -

Without another word, Saraquael began snapping their fingers around trying to find the exact file; and Uriel did the same shortly after. A couple of minor miracles later, a thin paper folder labeled “Daughter of Jeptha” fell into Uriel’s hands. 

-Found it! - they called out to the other archangel, whose chair was shortly stationed beside them - A father who killed his own daughter because he was convinced he had to; and because we never bothered to say otherwise. The day the kid died, there was a pretty much unanimous vow never to speak of this again - 

-It’s the perfect hiding place - Saraquael agreed, throwing the cover open without further hesitation

Much to both their delights, a very new and very recently written and very unofficial document sat right behind it; a document entitled “Pact of Allegiance”. 

- Oh, we’re good - Uriel breathed, a small, proud smile tugging at their lips - We found it, Saraquael - 

-I think so, yes - they fumbled around their pockets, pulling out some reading glasses which they promptly slid onto their nose - Let’s see… ”This scripture is the only real physical proof, with inclusion of the fake version made for discretion purposes and kept in Hell, of the pact made between The Voice of God and Satan, master of Hell…” - 

- What?! - Uriel could barely hold back a gasp. Saraquael’s fear-struck eyes were enough to show they were equally as shocked. 

-Well, at least these “fake versions” would explain how Aziraphale and the rest caught wind - they reasoned - Crowley and he must have come across one of those while they were snooping in Dagon’s office - 

-It also explains why The Metatron was so angry when Dagon said they’d taken some documents - the other added - It was never about the Gospel, was it? - 

- I don’t think so, no - Saraquael breathed, then turned back to the page and continued reading - .. .”master of Hell, in which on the one hand Satan promises aid in the matter of the Second Coming and any other requirement of the Voice of God in relation to it…” - 

-Hence the attack with the Ninth Circle Legion - Uriel pointed out. The other nodded in agreement and continued reading. 

-.. .”relation to it; and in return for which, on the other hand, the Voice of God swears to pay Satan, master of Hell, with…” - 

Both archangels stopped breathing altogether when they read the last few words. All color drained from their face to the point the shade of white on their clothes was ten times darker than that of their skin. Uriel felt like they were about to collapse, and Saraquael didn’t simply because they were already sitting down. Their stomachs dropped, they could feel the bile and acids of their corporations rush up their throats; they were about to be sick from the sheer horror of what they’d just learnt.

After a long silence, Uriel finally regained the ability to speak; saying the only thing that could possibly be said in that moment.

- Fuck - 

Exactly an hour and half after all twelve baskets had been cleaned empty of Eccles cakes, in such a way that not a single crumb remained, Crowley’s eyes shot open. 

Once the situation had gotten under control and nobody was starving anymore, the demon, both angels and God’s daughter had retreated to the rear wall of the corridor and sat next to the door, waiting for the miracle blocker to finally wear out. Not five minutes had passed when Crowley felt the exhaustion begin to creep up on him. He had wanted to say awake, in guard, but his eyelids had felt so, so heavy. 

It hadn't been until he’d felt the soft weight of Aziraphale’s head coming to rest on his shoulder that he’d realized he was the only one out of the four still awake. Eleyn had thrown her high heels off a good while before, her feet red and blistered, and had fallen asleep with her head on Muriel's lap and her knees slightly bent; the most comfortable position she’d been able to find with that tight dress. The scrivener, meanwhile, had simply let her head relax back onto the wall and had gone out like a light, almost instantaneously. 

Aziraphale, of course, had rolled into a beige and tartan ball right next to Crowley, his head of white-fluffy curls having chosen the demon's shoulder as an ideal pillow. 

It was only natural that they were all tired; they had hardly slept in days, and they hadn't stopped to breathe since that morning. Hell, Crowley had only had three shots of espresso in the entire day, no wonder he’d collapsed the way he’d done a few minutes later, when he’d let his own head fall onto those soft curls and closed his eyes.

And now, almost an hour later, all four of them had jolted awake. Aziraphale had felt a solid, cold chill shot down his spine which propelled him from the cuddle (much to Crowley's momentary disappointment), and then his fingertips had begun to warm up. For Muriel and Crowley, it had been exactly the same.

Eleyn, bless her soul, had been jolted awake when the scrivener had jumped in shock and sent the girl’s head straight to the floor with a thud . If he hadn't been so occupied booting up his own brain, Crowley would have probably had a good laugh about it. 

- Wha…? - she said, still not completely awake, rubbing her thwacked head. 

-The block has been lifted! - Muriel cheered - We can get out of here! - the scrivener then glanced at the other’s head, scrunching her nose - Sorry about that - 

Eleyn waved her other hand in the air, dismissing it altogether, and hoisted herself to her feet with the scrivener's help, the dress pulling and protesting all throughout. 

-Fucking finally! - Crowley growled as he stretched his long limbs in the most serpentine way possible - Goodbye, National bloody Gallery! - 

He snapped his fingers as he proclaimed this, and the heavy wooden door, to everyone’s utter delight, flew open; the cold, wonderful Edinburgh air flowing inside.

All four of them watched as the party guests, with stomachs full of Eccles cakes, stampeded outside and practically kissed the floor; most of them tearfully thanking God, much to Aziraphale's annoyance. The Gallery was emptied fairly quickly, and ambulances had been kindly called by those whose phone signal had returned first. 

Only three people remained inside; two adults and the sweetest kid Crowley had ever met. (Not that he’d ever admit it out loud). Mr. MacLeod walked ahead of the other two, and reached out for the demon's hand the second he was close enough. 

-I don't even know what to say - he admitted, moving on to shake Aziraphale, Eleyn and Muriel’s hands as well - You saved our skins. Multiple times. Thank you doesn't even scratch the surface - 

-You are very welcome - Aziraphale smiled brightly at him - Do make sure you are all okay after the… events - 

-Yeah, ‘course. Although… - he looked down at his still-very-functional legs - I still ‘ave no idea how to break it to my doctor - 

-Oh, well, y’know - Crowley responded in his signature nonchalance, staring him straight in the eyes - Medical miracle and all that, sometimes happens. Just like sometimes earthquakes naturally hit the most unlikely places, am I right? - 

-Guess I can't argue with that, lad - he cheerfully responded, patting the demon amicably on the shoulder before turning around to his family

Eleyn raised an eyebrow at the demon, as though asking if he'd done what she thought he'd done. Her reply came in the form of a look; one single look which told her exactly what she needed to know.

They'll be safer this way.  

She nodded at him in understanding, but their silent conversation was right then interrupted by two little arms which flew around Crowley's right leg. The demon beamed down at the kid, and instantly hoisted him into his arms. 

- Starman! We had quite the adventure today, didn't we? - he said, gently tapping his tummy to make him laugh - You're such a brave boy; you’ll make one hell of an astronaut one day! -

- Weawy?! - the kid genuinely asked, his little bright eyes widening almost like he was a cartoon. When Crowley nodded, Archie hooked his arms around the demon's neck; and the latter’s knees very nearly gave out when the little one spoke - I wuv you Mr.Cowwey! - 

-What’s all this, then? - Aziraphale intervened with a fake offended tone, hands on his hips, making the child giggle - I wasn't told I had competition - he raised an eyebrow at Crowley, and Archie laughed even harder. 

When Clara called Archie, saying it was time to go, the demon felt the boy’s grip on him tighten; and he was tempted to tighten his own grip as well. But he knew the four of them had important matters to attend to, saving the world for a start, so as much as it pained him he would have to say goodbye to Archie. For the time being, at least.

He’d been about to release the little boy from his arms when Archie tugged at his collar, trying to propel himself up. Crowley was confused for about half a second, until he realized what the kid wanted to do and lowered his head so that Archie could whisper into his ear. 

- When I go in the wocket in space, Imma look for a star you made, and Imma touch tha one fwist! - he softly spoke, his words sending tears of joy straight to Crowley's eyes - I pwomise! -

- I’d be honored, Archie - he replied just as softly, and just as genuinely. Then he raised his voice a little, and continued speaking as he set Archie down on the ground - Don't forget to wear gloves ‘n sunglasses when you do though, eh? - 

The kid nodded enthusiastically and, after squeezing one last hug against the demon's legs, ran to his mother. Clara took his little hand in hers and walked him over to their car, into which he hopped without complaint. When she opened her own door and made to get in, Mrs. MacLeod shot Crowley and the rest of them a wide, bright smile; which they reciprocated immediately.

When the family car pulled out from the parking spot and rolled past them, the demon spotted Archie waving a little hand at him from across the car window. He waved back, and a small tear slid down his face. He dried it before any of the other three noticed. 

- Selfish demon - Aziraphale whispered just loud enough for them to hear, giving him a side-eye - You didn't modify Archie's memories like all the rest of the guests - 

-Didn’t I? - he smirked at the angel, nonchalance dripping from his every word - Must’ve slipped my mind. Honest mistake - 

-Of course it was, dear - he sighed, smiling at the demon's steel-like stubbornness. 

-Yeah, absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve fallen in love with that kid and didn't want him to forget you - Eleyn took the piss, unable to help herself - Right, Mr.Cowwey ? - 

- Shut up - he hissed, and the other three chuckled -Let’s get a fucking move on already, shall we? - he gestured in the Bentley’s general direction. 

-We should, yes - Aziraphale agreed, though he raised a hand - But first things first - 

He snapped his fingers, and Eleyn suddenly felt every fiber in her body relax when the tight dress she’d been wearing was replaced by a pair of comfortable beige sweatpants, a blue shirt and a white, cozy woolen hoodie. In the same fraction of a second, a couple of brand new sneakers had appeared on her feet which, she was grateful to note, no longer hurt. 

- Bless you, Aziraphale - she breathed, relaxing into her new outfit.

Crowley and Aziraphale’s attires had also been switched back to what they regularly wore, the first rocking the impossibly skinny black jeans, turtleneck and black coat; and the second the customary beige three-piece suit and tartan bow tie. 

When she looked over at Muriel, Eleyn realized her clothes had changed as well. She wore the same tartan skirt and pale blue jumper as before, accompanied by those funny knee-height white socks and brown loafers. 

-Oi, what the hell happened to you? - Crowley’s voice suddenly said, snapping the other three out of their comfy clothing reverie.

In the midst of the moment, none of them had realized Crowley turning on his heel and marching toward his beloved Bentley. 

When he’d arrived, however, he’d been met by four half-deflated wheels carrying a beat-up and bruised car body, the hood full of bumps and scratches; topped off with a couple of droopy, dim headlights. And he was not happy about it.

-Who the fuck gave you permission to let air out your wheels?! - he told it off - Huh?! And what is that hood, the bloody moon?! -

-Don’t be harsh on it, dear - Aziraphale calmly said, placing a hand on the demon's arm. 

-Yeah, but… look at it! - he gestured to the Bentley with both hands.

-Not to worry, I’m sure we can find a solution - the angel chimed, hoisting himself up to his tip-toes and placing a peck on the demon’s cheek, which promptly turned a light shade of pink. 

In a blink-and-miss-it sort of moment, the Bentley came back to life. Its tires became inflated to the point of perfection, the headlights suddenly blasted a brilliant, potent, white light, nearly blinding all of them; and the hood looked like it had just been painted for the first time.

All four doors flew open, and the radio turned on with a faint click, sending Freddie Mercury’s sharp-clear vocals booming through the empty parking lot. 

Oooh, love

Oooh, lover boy 

 

-Ah, that's more like it - Crowley smirked at the Bentley, patting the shiny new hood as he rounded it and climbed into the driver's seat, singing along to “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” as the other three followed his lead and got in the car - Right then, let's get…! - 

Before he could even finish the sentence, the ignition set itself off, making the engine roar like never before. The gearshift placed itself on first, and the next few verses of the song became muffled under the robotic voice of the GPS which the Bentley had just produced out of thin air.

“Destination: Edinburgh Ritz Hotel and Restaurant, open, estimated time for arrival, fifteen minutes”  

Silence invaded the car for a few long moments, until all four passengers burst out laughing at the exact same time. 

-Looks like we’re not the only ones happy for the both of you - Eleyn snickered, signaling both Muriel and herself before patting the Bentley's door - See? I told you they’d get there eventually -

-Oh, poor dear - said Aziraphale, caressing the dashboard with tears of laughter in his eyes - You must’ve felt so confused. Everything’s taken care of now, not to worry - 

- Nnnhhh fine , I’ll let you off for the flat tires this time, ‘cause it was kind of on us that you were depressed as fuck - Crowley finally conceded, the grin unmovable from his face - But never again, got it?! - 

The Bentley revved up its engine, letting out another potent roar. 

- Good . Right, so, Ritz after we save the world - the GPS turned off with a slightly sad ping as the demon explained the plan to the two rear passengers - We’re going to Tadfield, Oxfordshire, to see a friend slash witch who can help find Raph. Questions? - 

-Raphael? - Eleyn’s eyebrows shot up - We’re doing it? -

-We’re fucking doing it - he replied, though from his tone he still wasn't completely free of doubt - You only have two signs left to go, we’re running out of time, and we need to know who the hell Enoch is if we want to have a fighting chance - 

-Raphael is our best option - Muriel sighed, glancing at Eleyn - Even if that'll leave you on only one sign - 

-I’ll be okay - God’s daughter assured them, even though she wasn't so sure herself - So long as we learn what Metatron wants with all of this, and what Enoch has to do with it, it's worth it - 

-I don't think it's only Enoch - Aziraphale suddenly interjected, talking slowly, as if giving his thoughts ime to arrange themselves - I think the pact has something to do with his plans as well - 

-The pact? - Muriel reiterated, frowning - I thought it was pretty straightforward. Heaven and Hell united forces to make sure the Second Coming unfolds and they can go into war with each other when it ends. - she briefly explained - Just like the last time the world almost ended-

-Right. Seems logical - said Eleyn, not having yet processed all the information. Her brain caught up a second later, and she turned to look at the scrivener so fast her neck almost snapped - Last time?! - 

- Long story - the scrivener whispered, gesturing that she’d explain another time.

-It would be that straightforward, if the angels happened to know that the pact existed - Aziraphale pointed out, getting three sets of very wide eyes locked on himself -...which, judging by Uriel’s response when I asked them about it, is not the case - 

- What?! - Crowley spat, being the first of the three to talk after two beats of complete silence. 

-I asked them what the terms of the pact were, they looked at me like I was mad - Aziraphale insisted - They had no idea, Crowley - 

-But…Uriel is an archangel! - Muriel protested - If anything, they’d be the very first to know! It doesn't make sense! - she’d already opened her mouth to further prove her point when she was hit by a thought which momentarily paralyzed her, eyebrows going up as realization settled - Unless… - 

- Unless? - Eleyn beckoned her to speak, somehow feeling like whatever the scrivener had realized wasn't good.

-Unless we've been seeing it all wrong from the beginning - she said, locking eyes with Crowley through the rearview mirror. The slit pupils thinned in shock when the demon inevitably understood what Muriel meant and The Bentley, as though realizing with him, killed the music immediately.

-Oh, we’re such fucking morons! - he shouted, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand -It’s not a pact between Heaven and Hell! It's between Metatron and Hell! - 

- No - Aziraphale breathed, catching the demon completely off-guard, counting his inhales as his chain of thought finally became clear - If that were true, we wouldn't have found that fake version of the pact in Dagon's office - 

-How do you know it was fake? - asked Eleyn, her reflection frowning. 

-My signature, for a start - he replied instantly - I can assure you my quill never went near that document - 

-It would also be contradictory for your signature to be on it, if not even the archangels are supposed to know - Muriel added - Granted, you were the supreme archan gel, but if you think about it your escape was never in Metatron’s plans - 

-Yeah, she's right, actually - Crowley agreed - If you were meant to stay in Heaven, then you weren't meant to know - 

-Exactly. And , the fact that it was just laying in Dagon's drawer. I mean, if that information was so precious to Metatron, I doubt he'd simply allow that - Aziraphale pointed out - No, that document is there to make the demons cooperate without raising suspicion that something much bigger is going on - 

-That way the ninth legion demons are forced not to attack Eleyn, without compromising Metatron’s plan. As far as they’re concerned, the pact exists and mustn't be broken; even if they don't know its real terms - Muriel summarized, and the other two nodded in agreement. 

-Okay, yeah, but then who’s the actual pact between? - asked Eleyn, still not sure where Aziraphale had been going with all of that. 

-I think the real terms of this pact are known only by the two beings who made it - he took a breath - Metatron and Satan - 

- Oh, fuck - Crowley hissed, pressing his palms to his face. 

God’s Daughter and the scrivener were silent in the back of the car, wide-blown eyes fixed on Aziraphale. 

-You…you think Metatron made a pact with the Devil? - Muriel muttered, the words struggling to come out. 

-He must have - the angel insisted - It's what makes more sense. Satan can provide Metatron with aid to make the Second Coming happen, hence the demonic attack -

Crowley shot upright that very moment; and going by the genuine horror with which those amber eyes had locked on Aziraphale, he’d realized something. Something terrible. 

For a moment he looked like would be sick, the color slowly draining from his face and highlighting the golden irises, which were filled with such fear it made Aziraphale gulp. The demon's hands had started trembling, the other three could clearly see their shakiness even when he tried to hide them; and his breathing became shallower and shallower. 

For a few, long moments he opened and closed his mouth in failed attempts to speak, the words crashing and disintegrating in his throat before he could get them out. 

The angel stared back at him, his cerulean blue eyes full of concern; and the other two watched silently from the back, counting their breaths, not daring to make a sound. 

When Crowley finally managed to speak, his voice began shaking almost violently. 

- Wh…when you make a pact with the Devil - he began, speaking slowly and attempting to swallow down the ball in his throat, to no avail - The Devil…The Devil always asks for something in return - 

- But what does Metatron have that Satan…? - 

Aziraphale answered his own question before he'd even finished posing it, because that was the exact moment the penny dropped. It dropped into Aziraphale's stomach like a rock, sending bile and acid rushing up his esophagus, burning his throat. His lungs stopped working altogether, his heart missed not one but several consecutive beats, his every thought simply evaporated. Cold sweat slid down his back as an insuperable fear gripped him by the base of his spine and slowly clawed its way up, all the way to his terrified cerulean blue eyes, which sparkled within the sickly-pale tone his face had acquired. 

Aziraphale would never know what had given him the strength to speak at that very moment, but four extremely shaky words somehow managed to sneak out past his lips.

- The angels don't know - 

The Angel squeezed his eyes shut, unfallen tears burning inside of them, and let his head hang in utter and complete impotence. 

- I don't… - Eleyn breathed, scared, unsure what was happening - I don't understand, what…Muriel! - 

God’s Daughter had turned to look at the scrivener, assuming she’d have the same confused expression on her face, and had found her gasping and sobbing into a hand which she’d firmly clapped atop her mouth, crying in fear and shock. 

Muriel's breathing was erratic to say the least, nearing the hyperventilation limit, and the hazel in her eyes had been replaced by the color of absolute terror. Her face was so pale it could make ghosts run away screaming; she looked like she was about to pass out.

Eleyn instantly made to comfort the scrivener, placing one hand on her thigh and the other on the back of her arm. Muriel reacted to the touch, locking eyes with her, and slowly let her own hand slip from her mouth. 

She tried her best attempt at a breath and then spoke, very slowly and very quietly, because that was all she could manage.

- The angels don't know because they're part of the deal. The Metatron has sold the souls of every last angel in Heaven to Satan - 

Muriel felt Eleyn's grip tighten and her eyes blow wide. The tension inside the Bentley on that precise moment could have been cut with a butter knife. 

The four of them not only had to save Earth; they had to save all of Heaven as well. And they had no idea if they could.

Without another word, Crowley smashed the accelerator and shot the Bentley forward, determined to make the seven-hour trip to Oxfordshire in three. 

Chapter Text

16 - THE WITCH'S HUT

The journey to Oxfordshire, which had gone by in complete and utter silence, was completed in a miraculous record of two and a half hours. All four of them knew that the demon had broken about several dozen traffic laws to achieve this, but none of them cared. Aziraphale hadn't even complained about the obscene speed Crowley was driving at; not even once.

Not even the Bentley, always eager to fill the empty spaces with a cheerful tune, dared to make a noise. Crowley’s eyes had been fixed exclusively on the road for the entire duration of the drive, something which only the impending end of the universe as they knew it had been able to achieve, and Aziraphale’s hadn't shifted much from it either, if only to check on the two passengers in the back of the car from time to time.

Muriel had been crying for a good half of the journey, and Eleyn had been trying to comfort her. She’d taken her hand and squeezed; and the scrivener had almost automatically laid her head on the other’s shoulder, sobbing into it whilst God’s daughter tenderly caressed her hair, attempting to soothe her.

About an hour and twenty minutes after their departure, Aziraphale had suddenly heard Muriel's soft sobbing come to halt; and realized with a glance at the rearview mirror that both her and Eleyn had fallen asleep in their embrace. Their faces seemed contorted with fear, and tears still hung on the corners of the scrivener's eyes. It wasn't a peaceful slumber, but the angel was glad they would get some rest, however horrible the nightmares, before the final push.

As they drove across a familiar road which stretched between dense masses of trees, the angel glanced up at the mirror once again, confirming both of them still slept.

-How are they? - Crowley whispered to the angel then, causing him to shift his eyes from the mirror to the demon.

-Asleep - Aziraphale sighed back - Poor dears, they must be exhausted -

-How are you? - the demon asked in another whisper, glancing away from the road for only half a second to meet Aziraphale's shocked blue eyes.

-Terrified - the angel admitted with a shaky breath, a sneaky tear threatening to fall down his own face.

A tense, somber silence fell between them again as the demon maneuvered through a closed curve, and Aziraphale could feel his breathing get heavier the closer they got to Tadfield. He could feel his stomach churning to the beat of the passing seconds, every one of which seemed to make the world pulse.

Terrified had been an understatement; Aziraphale was completely numb with fear. The stillness of his body throughout the entire journey had been an extraordinary contrast to his mind, which had gone into overdrive about half a second after he’d understood what was going to happen, thoughts shooting across back and forth like bullets, the impact of them making him hurt more every time. 

The Metatron had fooled them all, every single angel in Heaven. All those innocent cherubims and scriveners, all those angels who would fall for no reason whatsoever. Who would suffer like Crowley had. The sheer unfairness of it made Aziraphale's blood boil, but the fear was enough to completely counter the adrenaline. 

Every time the angel felt his rage toward Metatron build, every time he thought about fighting him, about punishing him for his traitorous crime, there was a flash before his eyes. A flash of deep blue and angelic gold, an image of lifeless amber eyes, a pound of fear so heavy it drowned every possible thought of revenge.

And then he would become paralyzed, just as he had the first time Metatron had shown him the Angel’s Dagger. It hurt him to admit it, but as long as the voice of God possessed the weapon, he would have the upper hand. Metatron knew that Aziraphale would do everything in his power to keep Crowley safe; and he’d already proved that he knew how to take advantage of it.

It was only when Aziraphale felt a warm hand wrap tenderly around his own that he realized he’d been anxiously fidgeting whilst lost in his labyrinth of thoughts. The light touch of the demon's skin, however, managed to ground him enough to be able to stop and breathe.

He turned his own hand around a second after, so their palms would be facing each other, and intertwined their fingers firmly together; the joined hands going to rest on the angel’s left thigh. Crowley squeezed lightly in return, and once again tore his eyes from the road for a fraction of a second, to aim a small smile at the angel.

-We’ll come through - he whispered, just as they passed a sign informing them they’d entered upper Tadfield - We always do -

-I hope you're right - Aziraphale replied, casting a glance in the direction of the rearview mirror, which still showed Muriel and Eleyn snuggled against each other in the back of the car.

He smiled fondly at the reflection, only a touch jealous of their momentary state of calm; of the way all they had to worry about in that instance was to breathe in and breathe out. It's not that Aziraphale hadn't tried to sleep during the journey, in fact Crowley had repeatedly suggested it, but he hadn't been able to close his eyes without his mind being instantly flooded with images of a dead, crumbling universe; so he’d opted for keeping the demon company instead.

When Crowley finally stepped on the brakes as the Bentley neared Tadfield’s narrow streets, Eleyn began to stir; and Aziraphale imperceptibly straightened up. Muriel was awakened by her sudden shifting a few seconds after, and they both slowly blinked themselves awake, sheepishly but tenderly moving away from their shared embrace with small, drowsy smiles.

-Morning, dears - Aziraphale breathed after a little bit, speaking quietly so they wouldn't be startled - How are you feeling? -

-A little better - Muriel sighed, speaking just above a whisper - Still sick, and terrified, but… - she smiled fondly at Eleyn - hopeful -

Eleyn smiled back at her friend instantly, just as fondly; and her attention was drawn away from the scrivener only when Crowley quietly called her name.

-Eleyn? - he said, locking eyes with her through the rearview mirror - Are you doing alright? All those signs must have taken a damn big bite out of you -

-I’m fine, I’m fine - she waved it off immediately, slightly frowning as she rubbed two fingers against her pulsing forehead- Just a little headache, don't worry about me -

-Poor dear - Aziraphale worried nonetheless, shooting her with puppy dog eyes which made her sigh in fond exasperation - I hope Anathema has some sort of remedy she can give you. I'd use a miracle, but, well… -

-They could find us, yeah, I know - she smiled sweetly at him - I’m okay, seriously. Stop worrying -

-Not a chance, princess - Crowley answered for the angel, stealing the words out of his mouth - You’re our problem now, we can and we will worry - he added that last part when he saw her open her mouth to reply, shifting down to second gear when Jasmine cottage came into view - And speaking of the Ana girl, witch’s hut straight ahead!-

-A-na-the…oh, why do I even bother? - Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the demon, making him chuckle softly. It was little, almost imperceptible, but it made the tension in the angel’s chest dissipate just a smidge.

The Bentley groaned as Crowley brought it to halt by the garden gate and killed its engine, affectionately patting the steering wheel as the other three hurried to get off and stretch their legs.

-Two and a half hours - the demon stated in a whisper, smirking at the car, still unsure how they’d managed it - Best fucking car in the world, you are -

After a second, the wheel began heating up below Crowley's fingertips, giving the impression that the Bentley was blushing. It forced a half-sardonic, half-affectionate sigh out of the demon who, with one final pat at the dashboard, threw the door open and stepped onto Tadfield for the first time since the world almost ended.

Jasmine cottage looked almost exactly how it did a couple of years ago, when he and Aziraphale had driven a ran-over, disoriented Anathema back to it, bike rack and everything. If he had a nickel for every time he’d arrived at that house in the middle of the night trying to avoid the end of the world, he would have two whole nickels; which doesn't feel like a lot but in the context of apocalypses is actually very concerning.

The house itself was made of a pretty standard orange stone brick, and the façade was decorated with an overlay of white paint between the windows; covered in turn by dark green vines which had been perfectly trimmed to occupy the entirety of the white surface. A little porch also sprouted from the front of the house, cocooning the front door, a metal horseshoe hanging ends-down over it.

A tall chimney sprouted from the orange tile roof, but no smoke emanated from it, as expected from the early hour. The sun hadn't come up yet, but the smallest glimmer of light could be seen beginning to creep from the horizon, a single lamppost casting delicate shadows through the cottage’s slumbering garden.

Crowley couldn't help casting a glance around at the different plants when he walked through the leafy archway atop the ajar garden fence; and he had to admit (though he never would our loud) that he was slightly jealous of the perfectly trimmed Daphne bushes which lined the porch on both sides, all of them chalk-full of colorful flowers. On the other side of the garden, close to the fence, he spotted a concentration of what one would call the witchy kind of herbs: rosemary, lavender, sage, thyme, sweet woodruff; and even an Aloe Vera plant, the size of which was quite respectable.

The rest of the garden was covered in grass and very common potted plants; but a witch's hazel sat in the middle of the yard, its stump encircled by rocks, sticking out like a sore thumb. With the little light, Crowley couldn't quite make out the color of the flowers, but he was about ninety percent sure it was an Aphrodite.

Crowley had always had a very lively imagination, which had in this moment led him to picture which plants he would have in a garden like that one: One or two Ficus, for sure. Forget-me-nots over there, tulips over here, Azaleas lining the flower beds, maybe even orchids. And an apple tree, slap bang in the center of the garden, full of fruits, with a big “don't touch” sign on the trunk. Hopefully God had a sense of humor.

He was gently snapped out of his thoughts right then, when he felt the weight of an angelic hand on his lower back, and he turned his head sideways to look at Aziraphale, who even at the crack of dawn looked positively stunning. He couldn't help imagining his beautiful angel standing in his beautiful garden, picking apples to make a pie; or simply sipping a cup of tea in the morning.

But that was not the moment to daydream; there would be plenty of time to plan the rest of their lives together after they’d successfully saved the world (again) and the universe (first time).

With a decisive, deep breath; Crowley turned away from Aziraphale and towards the door of the cottage, slipping onto the porch to ring the bell, the other three standing right beside him.

Newton still didn't believe he’d been using a computer for five whole minutes without having it burst into a ball of fire, but there he was, typing a report, clicking key after key without sending the whole of Tadfield into a days-long blackout. He felt so proud of himself, and Anathema looked very pleasantly surprised. So much so, in fact, that she proposed right then and there, pulling out a ring which was interestingly made out of electrical components, an LED singing green on top of it instead of a jewel. She slipped it onto his finger, it was a perfect fit, and then she was suddenly in a wedding gown and pushing him onto a magic broom to fly them to the moon and…

And then somebody rang the doorbell, making Newt wake up with a start. He felt Anathema stir under the bed sheets beside him, but he didn't move, hoping he’d just imagined the cold, sharp sound of the bell and he could go back to sleep and resume his dream. Unfortunately for him, the doorbell rang again twice about thirty seconds later, at which point his girlfriend sat up on the bed.

-We should mayb… - she yawned mid sentence - maybe get that, Newt -

-It’s the middle of the bloody night! - he complained, staying firmly put under the bedsheets- Who the hell could need us now?! -

-It could be an emergency - Anathema pointed out, already getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom, not allowing Newt to argue further.

He groaned in annoyment, but finally pulled the bed sheets away and sat on the edge of the bed, just as the doorbell rang two more times. Newt completely ignored it, glancing sideways at his bedside table instead, his phone lying upside-down on it. He slowly and tentatively grabbed it, and the screen lit up the second he turned it around, displaying the time. Half past five in the morning.

He should have put the phone down then, but Anathema had told him about premonitions in the form of dreams before, something which one would dream and then would actually happen, so he clicked the on switch to unlock the phone. He was almost hopeful when the lock screen popped up, exactly like it was meant to, and allowed him to type in the password (which was “password”). He filled it in, hit enter and the phone promptly died.

Oh well. One day.

The bell rang three more times right then, one after the other, causing Newt to almost drop his phone from the scare. Then it rang again, and again, and again, and again.

-Alright, alright, I’m coming - he growled, clumsily slipping on a sweater over his pajamas and stumbling out the room down the stairs as the bell incessantly chimed - I’m coming, I said! -

He finally reached the front door, turned the lobby light on, and threw it open with the last obnoxious few rings of the bell.

-Jesus! - he said before registering who was on the other side of the door.

When his eyes fell on Crowley, who’d been the culprit of the crazy bell, Newton went completely pale.

-More like friends of the family - the demon smirked at the witch hunter.

Newt then glanced sideways to spot Aziraphale, who gave him a little wave, and went even paler. The last time those two had been anywhere near him, he’d been face to face with the actual Devil, the world had almost ended, and he had almost died; all before tea time. And now they were here, on his doorstep, smashing his doorbell into the wall. And they looked scared.

Why oh why had he gotten out of bed?

-Ah, Newton. Good morning - Aziraphale finally greeted him after a few moments of awkward silence, smiling politely at him - We are ever so sorry to wake you. How have you been, dear boy? -

-I…have…I’m…. good. Great. Um - he stuttered, the fingers gripping the door slowly becoming whiter than their owner’s face. He swallowed, his eyes jumping frantically between the four of them, finally blurting out the first thing that crossed his mind- Erm. Am I going to die? -

-Eventually - Crowley replied before the angel could put in a word, flashing an already badly shaking Newt one of his signature devilish smirks - But if you were talking about the upcoming end of the world and the universe as we all know it, then no, we hope not -

-Oh - he breathed back, shaking head to toe.

Aziraphale glared at the demon, silently judging his beloved pastime of scaring Newton to the bone; to which Crowley replied with an equally silent “what?!”

-Yes, well, anyway - The angel took the reigns of the conversation once again, catching Newt’s eyes - Like my fiend of a demon has so kindly told you - he didn't need to look towards Crowley to see the eye-roll - We find ourselves in a teeny weeny bit of a pickle; and we were hoping Anathema could give us a hand. Is she home, by any chance? -

-Um. Well, yes, but… - the witchfinder stumbled through his words, as though trying to summon the courage to speak his mind - Err…I don't think… -

He didn't have time to finish the sentence before a perfectly-groomed, perfectly-dressed and perfectly fresh looking Anathema materialized on the doorstep right behind Newt, her eyes fixed on her quivering boyfriend.

-I heard my name, is everything…? - when she finally turned her gaze towards the group on the other side of the door she realized that no, everything was very much not okay - Oh -

-Anathema, dear! - Aziraphale all but pranced on her the second their eyes met - I'm afraid we're in need of assistance once again. You see, the world and possibly universe is about to completely collapse but we were hoping to stop it, for which we need to find a fallen Archangel who is trapped here on Earth; and you are our only remaining hope -

-Good…morning? - she replied, blinking slowly, trying her very best to register whatever it was the angel had said after “the world and the universe are about to end” - Nice to see you again? -

-Oh, uhm, yes, quite, very nice, good morning - the angel rushed through the forgotten pleasantries, trying his best not to let his rising anxiety show in his voice - Now, about Raphael. We really need you to help us find them, you see, they have a certain piece of information which is vital to our saving the universe from the second coming, and… -

-Whoa, whoa! - Anathema raised both her hands in the air, cutting Aziraphale off - Second coming?! As in…?! -

-Jesus part two, yeah - Crowley butted in, paraphrasing himself before going down the lengthy explanation in as little time as possible - Except not quite Jesus. She - he gestured at Eleyn over his shoulder, and she gave Anathema a shy smile. Newt was staring at the demon, completely lost - is Jesus part two. His sister. God’s daughter. Whatever fucks you up the least. Anyway, she’s been performing the same miracles Jesus did, walking on water, water to wine, blah blah blah; so now she only has two left to perform and the moment she does the last one everything starts going to shit. And I mean everything. To absolute shit - he paused - You following me? -

-No - said Newt, without a shade of doubt.

-Kinda - the witch replied, with only a little doubt.

-Good - he continued, wasting no time - Right, okay, so The Metatron, or the Voice of God; or whatever you want to call him, is behind the everything going to shit thing; and he could really fuck the universe up if we don’t stop him pronto - he stopped to make sure that point had been understood, then moved swiftly on -  And how do we stop him? No damn clue. Yet. What we do know is that there’s a bloke called “Enoch” up to his neck in this mess. Problem is we don’t exactly know what he has to do with it. Nobody does, there was some sort of existence-plain-wide memory wipe; because in a very unexpected and very badly fucking timed addition of Heaven lore, that’s apparently a thing! And now our only hope is to find Raph and pray that they remember who the hell Enoch is- he concluded, finally taking a breath - Questions? -

-Many - Newt, once again, answered without hesitation, raising a finger which he pointed at the scrivener- Did you say she’s God’s daughter? -

-No, she is Muriel, another angel who has seen the error of Metatron’s ways and is now helping us. She - Aziraphale explained, gesturing from Muriel to Eleyn -is God’s daughter -

-Right - he blinked, slowly, trying to piece everything together in his still-groggy mind - So you’re essentially Jesus’ baby sister? -

-Yep - Eleyn sighed, popping the p - Trust me, it’s best just to accept it -

-But… - the witchfinder began, only to be ruthlessly cut off by Crowley.

-Okay, the questions thing was meant to be rhetorical - he said, flatly, making the witchfinder close his mouth in the act. He then addressed Anathema, who looked like she’d processed at least half the information - So you’ll help us, yeah? -

-Um… - she looked back and forth between the angel and the demon on her doorstep, one more desperate than the other - I…I don’t know if… -

-Listen, we know it's a whole lot of shit to deal with at five in the morning - Crowley insisted, his anxiety levels spiking more each second of time that was wasted - We’d explain over tea and biscuits, really, we would. But we don't have the damn time. We need your help and we need it right fucking now if we want to save humanity's ass again -

-Please - Muriel added, taking a step forward, the desperation in her light amber eyes making the witch’s breath hitch - There is so much at stake. So much more than you can imagine -

-Come in - Anathema sighed after a beat of silence, stepping out of the way to let them through - I’ll see what I can do -

Muriel let out a sigh of relief and directed a small smile at the witch in thanks, which Anathema returned, and followed the other three inside. The cottage already seemed charming from the outside, but the brick façade had nothing to do against the warm, cozy interior. It wasn’t huge, or fancy, but it didn’t need to be. They were greeted by a small foyer which instantly widened into the main hallway, a beautiful wood-carved staircase sauntering upwards from the left of it, preceded by a door which led to a lovely kitchen, not much larger than the one in the bookshop. An old, thick wooden table sat in the centre in lieu of an island, giving it a hint of rustic charm which Aziraphale appreciated. The group was led past the staircase to another door on the right, on the other side of which was the living room.

It was tiny, nothing more than a wooden table, a sofa, an armchair and a modern TV on the far right corner; but the soft yellow paint which covered its wall made it spectacularly…calm. The first rays of sunshine just about made it through the window, casting a warm glow in the room. It reminded Muriel of the bookshop. She missed the bookshop. The scrivener took a deep breath, for the first time since they’d left Edinburgh, and tried to let the soft early light soothe her like she had so many times while sitting on that comfortable velvet chair. She realized it might not have been the best time for meditation, but after all the craziness she just needed to breathe.

The puff of Eleyn throwing herself onto the little couch snapped Muriel out of her little trance, and she copied her friend, feeling very slightly calmer. Slightly.

Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t sit, the latter because he would be unable to stay still for more than three seconds until the universe was safe and he knew it; and the first because he considered the upcoming one a standing-up kind of conversation.

- Okay - said Anathema as she came through the door, Newt trailing close behind her - So, explain it to me again. What is it you want me to do? -

-Archangel Raphael - Aziraphale repeated, calmly this time, not tripping over his words - They were cast out of Heaven and into the mortal realm a number of eons ago, and now we need to find them -

-Right, because they have information you need - she began piecing it together, talking slowly so that they could stop her at any point - Information about somebody called Enoch -

-Precisely - the angel nodded - It, and by extension you, might be our only remaining hope to stop the Metatron -

-No pressure then - she muttered.

-Hold on - Newt stepped forward, raising a finger - Are we sure this bloke is even still alive? I mean, you said they were cast out to Earth a long time ago, and mortals don’t live forever. That’s…literally the definition of a mortal -

- Raphael isn’t immortal, but they aren't t mortal either - Aziraphale explained with a sigh - Think about it, if after about a hundred years they’d died and returned to heaven, it would have defeated the purpose of their being cast out in the first place -

-I suppose so, but how…? - the witchfinder insisted, still not convinced.

-Imagine somebody in a coma - Muriel explained, her voice suddenly filling the room - Or a brain-dead patient. They are technically not alive, but their bodies can continue to live without a consciousness for however time the live support concedes. That is what they did to Raphael when they stripped them of their vision. Their perception of reality is gone, only a shell remains. Mortal but immortal -

-That makes sense - said Anathema, her cogs turning - But if they are in a coma-like state, how would they be able to help you, even if you found them? -

- That’s where having God’s offspring comes in handy - Crowley explained, sticking a thumb in Eleyn’s direction - Remember when I told you she’s only got two signs left to perform? -

- Let me guess - she caught on immediately - One of them happens to be the healing of the man born blind -

-Bingo - the demon snapped his fingers - And since Raphael is technically mortal, it should work beautifully -

-So, in summary - Newt said, his voice flat - What you’re saying is that you’re hoping to save the whole of the universe on a technicality -

There was a beat of silence. Witchfinder and demon stared at one another.

-Well. Yes - replied Crowley, seeing no point in denying it.

-Fantastic. Where do we begin? -

-With Anathema helping us find Raphael - Eleyn intervened, looking from the witchfinder to the witch - Can you do it? -

-I want to help, I really do - she half-muttered - But I don’t know what you’re expecting me to do… -

- My dear girl, back when the Antichrist was a boy, you found him - Aziraphale recalled, lightly grabbing her forearm - You knew to come to Tadfield, didn’t you? You have a way of sensing things which other humans can’t. We were hoping you could do the same for Raphael -

-I knew to come here because Agnes told me so - she explained - I was following a prophecy, like I always did -

-Yeah, so give us a prophecy to find Raphael - Crowely prompted her. She’d opened her mouth to speak but the demon held up a finger - And we know the book ended after the whole Adam conundrum, but we also know Nutter wasn’t an idiot -

-She must have known the world wouldn’t end, she knew practically everything - Aziraphale continued - So surely, there are more prophecies! A second book, or some loose ones in a manuscript or… - he paused - What? -

The second Aziraphale had mentioned the extra prophecies, Newt and Anathema had given each other a look. Not just any look, but a look. The sort of look you give someone when you know something, when you’re thinking exactly what they’re thinking and it’s not good. The angel glanced between one and the other a few times.

- What?! - he repeated, concerned - What is it? -

-The day after Armaggeddon, I got a package - the witch explained - One that had been waiting to be delivered for thousands of years. I think you know where this is going… -

-There is a second part! - Muriel cheered, standing - That’s amazing! Where is it? -

All four houseguests leaned towards her, eyes wide open, impatient.

-It’s…ehh… - she hesitated, swallowing at the hopeful looks she was about to shatter - Gone - she finally managed to say.

-Gone - Crowley reiterated, slowly, in case he’d misheard. Judging from the witch’s face, he hadn’t - What do mean, gone? Gone where? -

-Turned to ashes - Newt replied for Anathema, immediately receiving four horrified stares - We…burnt it -

There was an exact second of silence. Muriel flopped down onto the couch, Eleyn swore silently, Crowley swore loudly and Aziraphale just stared, blinking slowly twice.

-I beg your pardon? - the angel asked, raising his eyebrows - You did what? -

-We burnt it. It was my idea - the witchfinder explained, taking the bullet - She would have had to live her whole life as a descendant instead of her own person, and…well, it was time for Anathema to decide what to do with her life, not Agnes -

-All of which is completely reasonable, my dear - Aziraphale said in the kind of tone which sounds calm but is bubbling with anger underneath - But if you didn’t want the book, there wereother ways to be freed of it. For instance, oh, I don’t know…Giving it to the angel who has a bookshop filled to the brim with rare prophecy books which will be kept safe for eternity?! -

-We… - Anathema glanced at Newt, then back at Aziraphale - We didn’t think of that at the time, bu… -

-You clearly didn’t think at all! Burninga book! Animals! - the angel wailed, profoundly offended, then took a breath and cleared his throat - I apologize for raising my voice, it was terribly impolite of me. But just combusting knowledge like that…I mean, really! -

-You burnt it. Okay. Well, fuck it - Crowley threw his arms in the air, crestfallen, not having enough energy left to even be angry - There goes the universe, the world, and all the plains of existence! Literally up in fucking flames! -

-I’m sorry, I really am… - whispered Newt, his tone defeated - But there’s nothing we can do… -

- Actually, there might be - Anathema was finally able to say, and she felt five pairs of eyes lock on her in the act, Newt’s included - Not all the prophecies burnt -

-What do you mean they didn’t? I was there, I saw it all hap… - he answered his own question, his eyes going wide - oh no you did not -

-We burnt the book and, when it was done, Newt left me for a bit to go get something to drink. To celebrate, I mean - she sighed - And when I was alone I noticed that one scrap had survived the fire. Only one. I picked it up and realized it was a full prophecy, so I…kept it -

-Why didn’t you tell me?! - the witchfinder protested.

-Because! - she protested back - You would have convinced me to burn it too, and if it didn’t burn it was because Agnes knew it wouldn’t! -

-I thought you were done doing Agnes’ bidding! - he shot at her - Deciding for yourself and all that? -

-I am! - she shot back - It was just the one prophecy! And it said specifically to keep it safe! -

-Hello, excuse me - Crowley interjected, sardonically waving a hand in the air - Can we finish the domestic after we save the world? Thanks -

-Where is it? - Eleyn begged, she and Muriel having shot to their feet the second the prophecy had been mentioned - Show us, please! -

Anathema left the room without another word, Newt sighing in defeat, and returned about a minute later holding a small wooden box, decorations resembling vines and flowers carefully and meticulously carved into the surface. She opened it to reveal a small piece of paper, burnt around the edges, about three or four inches across. Crowley was closest to her, and he made a grab for it immediately, the other three huddling around him to read it.

-The serpent and the dove - Aziraphale muttered beneath his breath, lightly grabbing the demon’s wrist - I assume that means you and me -

-I know this is an objectively bad situation - said Eleyn, pressing a palm to her heart - But aww -

-Shut up - Crowley bit at her, earning an eye roll, then turned back to the prophecy, reading another bit out loud - The fallen eye…That’s Raph, right? -

-It has to be - Muriel assured - And then there’s this; the one who time did know. I doubt that’s a coincidence -

-Right, so all we do is look underneath the painted sky and voilà, one Archangel! - Crowley prattled - If only we knew what she meant by that…painted sky… -

-Somewhere with a different colored sky? - Aziraphale thought out loud - I’m pretty certain we agreed it would be blue all over. Thenagain, that was years ago…-

-No, I don’t think that’s what she meant - Anathema weighed in, Crowley’s eyes traveling up to her - Trust me, I’ve spent a good chunk of my life deciphering Agnes. She would never be that literal -

-Hey, what about all these other bits with saints and words whispered low? - Eleyn pointed out, eyeing the piece of paper - Maybe it’s talking about a library or…or a church! -

-Oh, of course! - Aziraphale hit his forehead with an open palm - That would make sense, many churches have decorated ceilings! -

- Hence the painted sky metaphor - Muriel nodded her agreement.

-Okay, but how the fuck are we supposed to know which one? There’s thousands of catholic churches out there. Tens of thousands - Crowley pressed, rereading the sentence time and time again.

-The prophecy doesn’t give us much more to go on - Aziraphale sighed - Just “a painted sky” -

-The - said Newt, suddenly, almost gulping when the quartet pinned him with their gazes - It…it doesn’t say a painted sky, it says the painted sky. I…I just thought it might be important… -

The neighbors might have woken up then from how loudly the penny dropped. Crowley’s eyes flew open, and he turned his neck towards the angel so fast it could have snapped. Aziraphale was already waiting for him there, just as shocked. Muriel gasped, grabbing Eleyn by the arm, and God’s daughter let her eyes close slowly, muttering something indiscernible under her breath.

-Oh, Pulsifer! - Crowley spun right around, clapping a hand to the witchfinder’s back, the impact making him hunch over - You are a genius, you are! -

-Um... - Newt responded, a nervous smile on his face - Thanks? -

-Ohhhh, the painted sky - Anathema suddenly realized - She’s talking about Michelangelo’s frescoes! Good job, sweetie -

She placed a chaste peck on his cheek, and the witchfinder smiled, pleased.

-The Sistine chapel - Eleyn said - Of course Raphael is in the Sistine Chapel. Typical dick move Metatron would pull-

-Underneath it, to be precise - Aziraphale corrected - Where light hath fade, I believe, refers to the notoriously dark catacombs beneath the chapel -

-Wait, hold on - Anathema interrupted the excitement - You said Raphael was cast out eons ago. If they were moved into the catacombs of the Vatican City, wouldn’t somebody have noticed them by now? -

-Not necessarily - the angel raised a finger - Human perception tends to get…fuzzy…when one begins blurring the edges between planes of existence -

-Metatrash must have put them there when the chapel was built - Crowley thought out loud - Heaven has constant eyes on the Vatican, the bastard took advantage of that to keep an eye on Raph with nobody noticing - he raised an eyebrow - Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a fucking arsehole; but that was a good move, I’ll give him that -

-And if for some reason an angel would have wanted to search for them, the greatest symbol of the almighty on Earth would be about the last place they’d think of - Muriel added - After all, the official account is that Raphael attempted to betray heaven. You’d expect them to be rotting in a cave somewhere -

-Precisely - the angel pointed at the scrivener - Hidden in plain sight. He might as well have put up a flashing neon sign pointed directly at Raphael -

-Plus, that building is practically impenetrable to demons - Crowley sighed - It’s as consecrated as it gets, that chapel. Pity, really. I’d always wanted to visit -

-You can’t go in? - Eleyn gaped, surprised. They hadn’t explained that bit to her yet, so it figured - How are we supposed to do this if you can’t go in?! -

-Can’t go in as in you’ll…what? Die?- Anathema followed up the question, curious - Vaporize? -

-You know when you walk on the beach in bare feet in the middle of August? - the demon explained. Witchfinder and daughter of God nodded - Well, that’s a normal church. The Sistine would be like walking on hot, molten lava mid-eruption. Fuck, there's a good chance my shoes will catch fire if I so much as grace that floor -

-I suppose we’ll have to be rather careful to miracle ourselves outside the chapel - Aziraphale reasoned - And from there, we can surely figure something out. Hopefully -

-That’s another thing - The scrivener suddenly perked up - We can’t just miracle ourselves into theVatican City, we’d set off a million different alarms in heaven within ten seconds -

-Yeah, but won’t the sign do that anyway? - Crowley countered - Might as well just go for it -

-No, she’s right - God’s daughter interjected - If Metatron realizes what we’re doing before we can get to Raphael, it’s over -

The demon groaned an ensemble of vowels and consonants in what seemed like a mildly annoyed recognition of her point, and the six people standing in the cottage’s little living room fell into a thoughtful silence.

-Perhaps - Aziraphale said a little bit later - It is time we exploit our new contact up above -

-Is it? - Crowley wrinkled his nose - Not to doubt your judgement, Angel; but they were working for the Metatron two minutes ago. Call me biased, but I don't trust any of them one fucking inch -

-I saw the pain in Uriel’s eyes - the angel said, his steady voice leaving no room for doubt - The horror. The disgust. I don't trust Uriel any more than you do, but I do trust their rage-

-Nghhh…fine - the demon growled - ‘s much as it hurts my pride to ask those pricks for help, I guess it's our best shot  - 

Aziraphale gently stroked the back of the demon's arm in a comforting motion and, without removing his hand, turned his gaze towards Muriel and Eleyn, asking a silent question.

-I agree - the scrivener nodded - It’s the best way. Probably the only one -

-Yeah - God’s daughter doubled it down - Go ahead, do it -

-Splendid - the angel clapped his hands together, then spun on the ball of his foot and faced Newt, who perked up at the sudden eye contact - Do you know how to pray, Newton? -

Aziraphale all but jumped back the second Saraqael’s image materialized in front of them. It took him a second to realize they hadn't been caught and humanity wasn't doomed; but rather, that the archangel had decided to join Uriel and the four of them in their fight against the Metatron.

Once his jumpy nerves had gotten back under control, the angel preened at how well his plan had actually worked. He, of course, couldn't have just begun praying; it would have given away their position immediately had it reached the wrong pair of ears. The same went for Muriel and Eleyn; and Crowley’s demonic status never even made him an option. Newt, however, was nothing more than an inconspicuous human; nothing to suspect about him at all. They could have used Anathema as well, but Aziraphale was worried they’d recognise her name or her relation to Armageddon. So, Newton remained the only viable, risk-free option.

The plan itself was quite simple: Uriel was known amongst the most religious humans as the angel of transformation. They would pray to them to ask for prosperity, balance, wisdom, protection, aid in difficult situations and so on; and those prayers would be immediately filtered to Uriel’s consciousness, and only to them. That was how the praying system worked. A sorter which threw jumbles of prayers into Archangels’ minds, some of which would occasionally catch their attention. Of course, most never did, which was why it was so incredibly inefficient.

All Newt had to do, he and Muriel had explained, was pray for any of those things and slip in a message which would pick up Uriel’s attention. Something pertaining to Raphael, perhaps, or a vague comment about a snake. An inconspicuous phrase which, to anyone else, would have sounded like complete nonsense; but not to Uriel.

In the end, they had managed to put a story of sorts together, and Newton hadn’t wasted a second to fall on his knees and pray following the script they’d designed. It had been a nerve-wracking five minutes, but a connection had been made in the end, making them all sigh in relief.

-We don't have much time - Uriel immediately stated, stern as ever - This is stupidly risky, you know this, yes? -

-We’re aware - Aziraphale nodded - We wouldn't have if it wasn't absolutely necessary -

-We found Raphael! - Muriel butted in, unable to help herself - We know where they are! -

-Fantastic! - the archangel exclaimed, showing a small smile for once - Where? -

-You’ll never guess - Crowley hissed. Both Archangels' eyebrows went down in a frown. The demon spoke slowly - The Sistine fucking chapel -

Uriel and Saraqael's eyes shot wide open, their mouths hanging agape. They couldn't believe what they were hearing.

-That son of a…! - Saraqael caught themselves before committing blasphemy, clearing their throat - He put them in the Vatican?! All this time… -

-Yup - Crowley popped the p - Right under your divine noses. Normally I’d laugh my ass off at your stupidity but, well… -

-Sly move, Metatron. Credit where credit's due - whispered Uriel, raising an eyebrow. Their gaze then met Aziraphale’s - I’m guessing the reason you need our help is to get into the city without heaven alarms blaring your position away -

-Exactly, yes - the angel nodded.

-And to help us get Crowley in there without him getting cooked medium rare - added Eleyn, the demon grumbling his agreement.

-Can you do it? - the scrivener beckoned them, worried - Is such a thing even possible?-

-I’m not sure - Uriel sighed, then looked at the other archangel - Saraqael? -

-It is possible, but it would require me to be alone in the globe room - they sighed as well - Which will be difficult, given the re-doubling of the guards -

-Again?! - Aziraphale whined, annoyed - Did he not already double it when I escaped? -

-He did - they nodded - Very impressive metamorphosis, might I add. Anyway, once the four of you exited the National Gallery and stopped performing miracles, Metatron lost track of you. As a precaution, he placed more guards in the globe room and in all other entrances to Heaven - 

Well, the good news was Metatron didn't know where they were, Crowley thought. Their non-miracle plan had actually worked. As long as they didn't break that rule, they would be safe. The bad news was that they were going to have to break it to get to Raphael.

-But - the archangel continued - Perhaps something can be done between guard shifts. If I’m able to get the guards out early and you, Uriel, distract the new coming ones, I might have enough time to sneak them in -

Uriel thought for a long moment, pondering the idea.

-It could work - they finally said - If we time it right. After all, they still believe we are under Metatron’s orders. They wouldn't dare challenge us -

-Great! - Muriel cheered, relieved - When is the shift change? -

-Not soon - Saraqael's reply came immediately - You will have to wait at least a couple of hours. Once I’m ready, I’ll briefly re-establish this connection. After that, you’ll have about a minute to miracle yourselves there -

-Right, okay- the demon growled, his tone sardonic,, then stepped forwards and leaned toward the archangel - And you’re absolutely sure we'll be undetectable? ‘cos if you fuck this up… -

-I guarantee it - they assured him - I’ve been the guardian of that globe for eons, I know how to manipulate it. Trust me -

-Oh, I’m not quite there yet - he half-snarled, looking them square in the eye. They seemed to flinch for a split-second, and the demon took a sharp inhale to break the sudden tension - But, for now, sure. Not like I have a choice -

-The plan sounds solid enough - Aziraphale stepped in, grabbing the back of the demon’s arm once again -And what about Crowley? He can’t get into the Sistine Chapel without bursting into flames, he’s… -

-Oh, that won't be a problem - Uriel waved a dismissing hand in the air - A visitor’s pass should suffice, I can hand it to you right before you go -

-Visitor's pass? - the demon frowned, genuinely confused.

-Oh, yeah, of course! - piped Muriel, a palm pressed to her forehead - The ones given to demons to grant them access to an embassy when negotiations are held! They give some sort of temporal protection against consecrated ground, so that they don't get hurt, right? Why didn’tI think of that?! -

-What?! - Crowley spat, even more confused - Since fucking when?! -

-Quite a while, actually - said Uriel, matter-of-factly - Since churches were first built, if I’m not mistaken -

-Huh. Well fuck me - he muttered - You lot up there a full of surprises aren't you? -

-Heaven keeps its secrets well - without warning, Saraqael's voice had gone lower, more severe - A little too well, perhaps -

Aziraphale swallowed. Hard. He knew what they meant, the four of them had already figured it out; but a teeny, tiny part of him had still dared to hope that they'd been wrong. That the angels weren't in any real danger after all.

Going by the expression on the archangels’ faces, they’d been dead right. He heard Muriel's soft gasp as Saraqael produced a paper folder from somewhere beyond the connection window and opened it to reveal the document Aziraphale had silently prayed didn't exist, two very recognizable signatures sitting in the bottom of the page.

Uriel and Saraqael had found the contract. The real one. It was there, it existed.

-Damnit… - breathed Eleyn, furious - Damnit damnit damnit! -

-If what it says here is true… - Uriel glanced at it nervously, a slight tremor in their voice - If Metatron wins… -

-We know - Muriel stated, barely able to breathe from the fear which had gripped her by the neck once again - They…we burn. All of us -

-That’s not gonna happen - Crowley growled, determination blazing in his eyes - It’s only if he wins, and that’s a pretty big-ass if - He gripped Muriel’s shaking form by the shoulder, and she whipped her head around to meet his flaming gaze - We’re going to end this, you hear me? -

-He is exactly right - Aziraphale nodded, straightening his vest to emphasize the point - You make sure you get us to the Vatican, and we will finish this once and for all -

-Very well - said Uriel, solemn as ever - Two hours. For all our sakes, be ready -

With a resonating snap of their fingers, the archangels were gone, and all was silent. The four of them just stood there for a long moment, breathing. Crowley still held on to the scrivener, who had since stopped trembling. Aziraphale and Eleyn looked at one another, their minds racing like never before.

-And now we wait? - God’s daughter muttered, not having any other words.

-And now we wait - Aziraphale repeated, his soft tone barely hiding the fear in his voice.

Anathema, who had been silently watching the scene alongside Newt, raised from where they’d both been sitting on the couch. She let out a long, heavy sigh.

-Tea? -

Aziraphale took a deep breath as he witnessed the beautiful, calm, perfect sunrise. The sun had already crept up a bit more than halfway through the horizon, and the warm light it cast flooded the cottage’s backyard in a delicate, golden hue. The sky at that very moment was composed of a thousand different tones of blue, pink and light orange; and the early songbirds grazed through it, fluttering on and off the nearby branches as they welcomed the morning with their melodious chirps.

The angel took another breath, longer, deeper, this time letting his eyes flutter closed for no more than a second. It was such a beautiful sunrise, so calm, so peaceful; so betrayingly ordinary that for a second, only for a second, Aziraphale could have believed that it was just any other day.

It was strange, Aziraphale thought. With Adam, the potential end of the world hadn't had such an impact on him. He’d been sad and terrified at the possibility of it, certainly, but not quite like this. Not in a way that made his every muscle clench in fear, not in a way that made his every thought try to drown him. Perhaps, he wondered, it was because last time he hadn't really had a moment to reflect once the potentially final days had arrived - even now it was all a bit of a blur in his memories.

Or, maybe, Aziraphale reflected as his eyes flickered up to the demon sitting beside him on the garden bench, he hadn't realized then just how much he really had to lose.

Crowley’s profile looked striking in the soft morning light, his amber eyes glistening a thousand times brighter than the sun itself and his coppery locks softly dancing in the small breeze. From where he sat, huddled close to the demon, Aziraphale could see each and every feature of his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the intricate snake tattoo coiled below his ear. Gorgeous was the only word the angel could think of to describe what he was seeing, and words were not precisely something he often had a lack of. He smiled to himself and, for the first time ever, closed the small distance between them by planting a soft, paper-light kiss on Crowley’s cheek.

The demon jumped, startled out of his thoughts by the sudden touch, but immediately turned his gaze to meet his angel’s soft cerulean eyes. They were full of fear, and Crowley didn’t like that at all, so in an attempt to comfort him he leaned every so slightly forward and kissed his upper lip softly;  getting a small, satisfied huff from Aziraphale in response. When he leaned back, he realized his fingers had crawled up to the short curls in the back of the angel’s neck of their own accord. Aziraphale smiled, making his heart flutter in his chest - would that ever stop happening? - and finally laid his head on the demon’s shoulder, letting out a long sigh as Crowley’s fingers caressed his skin.

For a long moment, both of them just sat there, chests heaving up and down in the same slow, peaceful rhythm. For a moment, they decided to just watch the sunrise together. To just be.

-What if… - Crowley said after a bit, talking slowly, his deep voice making Aziraphale feel a pleasant rumble - What if we make it a cottage? -

-Hm? - the angel replied, not understanding what the demon was talking about but wanting him to continue speaking nonetheless.

-The house - he clarified - With the gray marble counters, and the TV set and the tartan curtains…it should be a cottage -

-Oh - Aziraphale whispered, finally remembering the conversation they’d had in the National Gallery’s kitchen - Yes. Wouldn’t that be lovely? -

-Yeah - Crowley nodded, tilting his head down to meet the angel’s gaze, a small smile inevitably pulling at his lips - Like this one, only in the middle of absolutely nowhere, where it’s just you and me -

-Just you and me… - he reiterated in a whisper, smiling fondly back at the demon - I can think of no better way to spend eternity, my dear - he frowned slightly - But, where? -

-Somewhere in the south, I reckon - the other said - Sunnier. Or, well, less rainy -

-Hm… - Aziraphale thought for a second, picturing the many atlases he’d studied in the bookshop. After a few seconds, an idea came to him - How about the South Downs? -

-Yeah….yeah, that’s perfect, Angel! - Crowley smirked, and it only made the angel smile wider - Perfect weather to grow geraniums, maybe some peace lilies…can you imagine; our very own garden? -

-I see a porch - the other said, closing his eyes as though picturing it in his mind - Not too big, just enough to fit a quaint tea table in its shade. I can read and have a cup while you tend to the garden plants…-

-Right, and you definitely will not be pretending to read while you watch me - the demon teased as his signature cheeky grin invaded his face, making Aziraphale giggle softly. Crowley thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

-I really don’t know what you mean - the angel responded with an over-dramatically prim and proper voice, a playful spark in his eyes; and the demon arched an eyebrow in response, making him giggle again before he promptly changed the subject - We should also have a pond in the garden; what do you think? -

-Oooh, yes! - the demon cracked a wide smile, perking up all of a sudden, like a kid who’d just been offered a piece of candy - We can have ducks, and ducklings and…oh, and I could grow peas to freeze and feed them! - he paused - No geese though, those are scary -

-Only ducks then. Some fish, perhaps - Aziraphale chuckled, never getting tired of his demon’s infatuation with anatids - Anything else you’d like to add, my dear? -

-Hmm… - he thought for a moment, still smiling, a sudden playfulness invading his eyes - What about a bandstand? -

Aziraphale straightened up slightly and punched his arm, harder this time.

-Ow! - Crowley burst out laughing - ‘kidding, Angel; I’m kidding! -

-Not funny - the angel said, laughing all the same as he let his head lightly fall back on Crowley’s shoulder - You fiendish thing -

-A bench -the demon finally said - Where we can just sit together, like this one. Tell you what, I’ll steal the one in St. James’ park. Love that bench -

-Crowley, you can’t just steal a bench - Aziraphale protested - Someone is bound to notice it’s missing, don’t you think? -

-Ehh - he replied, dismissing the angel’s concerns with a wave of his hand - So long as they don’t know where it’s gone… -

The demon’s gaze wandered upwards as he finished talking, and both of them fell into a comfortable silence, Crowley gently caressing the back of Aziraphale’s neck, playing with his angel’s soft curls; and Aziraphale closing his eyes as he let himself be lulled to tranquility by the demon’s silky, mesmerizing touch. They stayed like that for a long moment, both of them wishing that moment would last forever.

-You know - Aziraphale broke the silence after a bit, his voice soft, his breath grazing Crowley’s skin with every word - I read about this place in the South Downs once, Devil’s Dyke it’s called -

-Rings a bell - the demon murmured, his eyes still fixed on the sky as though half-lost in thought - Might’ve seen it in the paper sometime -

-They say it’s one of the best stargazing locations in the country, if not the world - the angel explained, finally making Crowley meet his eyes again - Apparently, one could see even our galaxy from there. I thought, if we lived nearby, we could perhaps go for a stargazing picnic one evening -

-Sounds amazing - Crowley said, smiling at the mere thought of it. Both of them laid down in the grass, hand in hand, looking up at the sky and…oh - Well, you gaze at the stars; I’ll gaze at you -

Aziraphale bolted upright the second he noticed, clapping a hand over his mouth, his eyes full of guilt.

-Oh, Dear, I’m so sorry, I… - he began firing apologies at a mile a minute - I wasn’t thinking, I…I forgot. I never should have brought it up… -

-Hey, hey, c’mon - the demon wrapped a hand lightly around his wrist - ‘s okay, Angel. Don’t worry about it, eh? -

-But…but you can’t… - Aziraphale began, unable to shake the awful feeling that he’d been cruel - And I suggested… -

-Seriously, it’s fine - Crowley smiled sweetly at him to prove his point, then turned his gaze to the sky - I can’t see them, and that fucking sucks; but after a few thousand years I got used to the darkness at night - he paused, taking a small breath - ‘Sides, I’ve got my own stars to look at whenever I want -

The demon shifted his gaze again, this time making it land squarely on Aziraphale’s eyes. The angel’s breath hitched, and he felt his face begin to burn. He must have blushed hard then, because the next second Crowley shot him one of those smirks; one of those Aziraphale had always wanted to kiss right of his face.

He didn’t think about it twice, his heart beating so fast it would’ve gotten out of his chest and kissed Crowley itself had the angel taken a second longer to lock their lips together. The demon let out a coarse noise from the back of his throat and kissed the angel back instantly, his chest exploding in pure unfiltered joy.

After a few seconds they parted, foreheads still touching, and Aziraphale rested his palms on the demon’s chest as it heaved up and down, out of breath. They both smiled, reveling in the moment.

-Cheesy - the angel teased, only making the other grin harder - Are you now going to tell me that I’ve bewitched you body and soul? -

-And I love, I love, I love you - Crowley instantly replied, his tone overly dramatic, making them both go into a laughing fit.

Their laughter cracked through the air of a barely awoken Tadfield, seamlessly blending in with the chirping birds and the leaves rustling in the wind. Right then, right that moment, it felt so right. So natural. Like that was what they were always meant to be, all this time. Embraced, laughing at one another, enveloped by a perfect, beautiful sunrise in a day just like any other.

But no happily ever afters came without a fight.

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered past Crowley when he noticed the cottage’s back door move and, when his eyes fell on Eleyn’s figure behind it, he stopped laughing immediately. His throat closed, his smile dropped, his eyes became moist. Crowley frowned at the angel’s sudden change of demeanor, but as soon as he realized where Aziraphale was looking, the penny dropped. It was over. The moment of respite they’d shared, the very last second of calmness before the biggest storm they’d ever faced - it was gone, and now it was time to jump headfirst into a probable catastrophe.

-Uriel is here - God’s daughter said without needing to be asked, only letting her voice barely tremble - It’s time -

-We…we’ll be right there, dear - Aziraphale finally managed, once his breathing pipes had the decency to open back up - Won’t take a second -

- They said we have less than two minutes - she whispered, lingering her gaze on both of them for just a second before slipping back into the cottage once again, the door purposefully left ajar.

Crowley took a deep breath the second he heard her steps retreat further away into the house, watching as Aziraphale averted his terrified, tear-struck azure eyes. He felt the angel’s arms go limp and, right as his hands slipped off where they’d been resting on his chest, Crowley grabbed them softly out of reflex, enveloping Aziraphale’s fingers with his own. The latter’s eyes flickered right back up to Crowley's amber gaze, equally fear-struck but with a small hint of something else which Aziraphale couldn't quite place.

His voice was soft when he spoke, the honesty in his tone shaking the angel to his core.

-It will be alright, Angel- he whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

One of his hands released Aziraphale’s, traveling up to his face instead, where Crowley gently, delicately, caressed the angel’s skin with his knuckles. The sweetness of that touch made Aziraphale shiver, rendering him speechless. That thing in the demon's eyes shone harder, and the angel was finally able to place it. It was a promise.

-I swear it-

Chapter Text

17. RAPHAEL

The first few steps Crowley took into the chapel were slow, as if he was concerned the plastic visitor pass pinned onto his chest pocket wouldn't work. He could feel the warmth on the soles of his feet, but it didn't burn. Like if the divine flame which was supposed to roast him alive was barely contained below him. Once he was sure the device worked, Crowley looked away from the floor; and was instantly hit in the face by the magnificence of the Sistine chapel.

Everywhere the demon looked, he was met by pieces of priceless, beautiful art; figures painted with the delicacy and care of a great artist. The building was so full of colors, of shapes, of stories and of styles that he simply did not know what to look at first. He finally settled on the walls, and the panels that decorated them.

Crowley knew those scenes had been painted far before the ceiling had even been touched by  Michelangelo; in fact, he could remember as clear as day the five young artists who had been brought to Rome to work on the pictures: Botticeli, Ghirlandaio, Roselli, Signorelli and Perugino. It had been the talk of Caesar's city for weeks. Naturally, Crowley recognized the twelve scenes painted along the building at a glance; he’d been there in flesh and/or scales for most of them. He stopped right in front of Perugino's “Baptism of Christ”, scrutinizing the painting. He could remember the river, and the man who'd carried out the ceremony; but he was quite sure that the crowd standing at the shores of the stream had been slightly exaggerated. And there, right there, barely visible in the upper left corner of the painting, was a very familiar head of white curls poking out of the crowd. Whether it had been a coincidence he would never know; but it still made him smile.

Once he'd been satisfied with the walls, Crowley took a deep breath and raised his eyes to the ceiling, eager to see the famous masterpiece which he knew lived there.

The air was knocked out of him instantly.

Nine frescoes, nine panels, decorated the ceiling and the altar, each depicting a different scene; much like with the walls. The colors were so warm and the brushstrokes so soft that it felt like those figures painted in the stone were floating above them, watching as much as they were being watched. Then again, knowing Michelangelo - which he fortunately had - that had likely been the entire point. The demon had seen the frescoes before, one evening in the early 2010s when curiosity had gotten the better of him and he'd looked the chapel up in his very modern computer. Seeing them in real life couldn't have been a more different experience; in the best way.

- Wow - he whistled, advancing towards the altar with small steps, his neck craned upwards to see The creation of Adam - Mikey really outdid himself here, ey? Holy shit - 

-Quite - Aziraphale whispered from behind him, tenderly grabbing the demon’s hand as he too looked up at the frescoes. He could feel Crowley smile beneath his touch - That young man did a magnificent job, I must say - 

-Hmm - the demon agreed, his attention completely divided between the paintings in the ceiling and the fingers that wrapped around his own - I met him, you know. Michelangelo - 

-Oh, I know. You bastard - Aziraphale replied almost instantly, making Crowley glance down at him. Fuck, he was as beautiful as any of those paintings. 

He’d been about to ask the angel what he’d meant when Eleyn spoke, her voice echoing in the empty chapel. 

- Answer me this, though - she said - If God is a woman, why is she always represented as an old man with an overgrown beard? - 

-It is quite curious - Muriel added, looking up at one of the other frescoes - I believe this is one of the first times she was depicted at all, in fact - 

- Well - Aziraphale laughed, softly, then lowered his gaze and gave Crowley a friendly glare - Perhaps you should ask the demon in the room - 

Ah. That’s what Aziraphale had meant. 

Crowley could barely believe it when Michelangelo - in the flesh - had walked into the tavern where the demon was having an evening drink that night in Rome, some 530 years earlier. The young artist couldn’t have been much older than thirty from what he remembered, and he’d just arrived to Rome by order of the Pope himself, to finish up the sistine chapel’s interior. Crowley had tried not to get involved, but in the end he couldn’t help himself: he walked up to Michelangelo and very politely expressed his admiration, to which the young man had replied by smiling and offering to buy him a drink. And who was Crowley to refuse?

What had followed had been a drunken and near-tearful confession from the artist. Turned out the poor sod was terrified to the bone of messing up the paintings; he’d even told Crowley that the Pope scared him stiff. Having absolutely no clue what else to do, the demon had offered some reassurance. And some advice, which might or might not have had anything to do with God having been depicted as a grumpy old man with a glorious beard. 

Of course Aziraphale had recognized the joke the moment he’d seen it, all those years ago. Crowley had never said a  word about it—hadn’t needed to. One look at the Almighty stretched across the ceiling, and the angel had immediately clocked it. 

- Yeeeah , that was me - he smiled, trying not to look too proud of himself - Harmless little prank. But in my defense, the beard was Mikey’s idea - 

-You knew Michela…?! - Eleyn had been halfway through freaking out when she stopped, recomposing herself in an instant - Of course you knew Michelangelo. Honestly at this point I don't know why I keep getting surprised - 

-Ha! - Crowley barked out a laugh - Oh, do I have stories to tell you . Ever wonder where Stoker got the idea for Dracula? - 

- No! - she gasped, grabbing an equally flabbergasted Muriel by the arm.

-Absolutely not! - said the scrivener - Really?! - 

- Oh yeah - the demon grinned, barely holding back a fit of laughter seeing their expressions - So I was in this bar in Romania, bloody cold place by the way, and I… - 

-Darling, excuse me for interrupting - Aziraphale cut him off, gently placing a hand on his arm - I would love nothing more than to tell our stories all day, but we are on a bit of a schedule - 

-Ah, shit, yeah - he propped up, suddenly invaded by nervous energy as if he'd just remembered what was on the line - We need to find that Archangel ASAP - 

-Right, but after we've sorted this mess you and I… - the daughter of God gestured between herself and Crowley - are going to have a long conversation. I want all the historical tea - 

- After… - the demon reiterated in a soft voice. There was something unreadable in his eyes for less than a second, something heavy. Aziraphale frowned, almost imperceptibly, but Crowley was already grinning -You got it, princess - he said, nudging Eleyn on the shoulder. She and Muriel smiled at him, evidently not having noticed a thing - ‘s soon as we kick Metaturd’s ass - 

He spun on his heel, the angel's hand slipping off his arm, and started towards the altar at a slow, even pace, scrivener and daughter of God tagging right behind him. Aziraphale followed them with his gaze for a moment, still unable to place what he swore he'd heard in Crowley's voice; in his tone. He waved the thought away after a few seconds. Of course the demon was scared, they all were. 

With a few quick steps, the angel reached Crowley's side, taking his hand without so much as a second of hesitation. The other let out a small breath, his lips curving into a small smile, and squeezed back.

Behind them, Muriel and Eleyn walked together, gazing at the artworks which surrounded them. It was only when they became close enough to the altar that God's daughter stopped dead. Behind it, on the rear wall, was the largest of the nine frescoes painted by Michelangelo. The mural covered the entire stone surface at the end of the chapel, fiercely dominated by tones of sky blue and human skin. Hundreds of figures populated the scene, scattered all around the painting. Some sat on clouds, playing instruments or doing some kind of labor; others scrambled around in a field below what Eleyn assumed was the heavens. There was also a group on the lower right corner, all aboard a boat they seemed to desperately want to get off of; and a devil-like, green figure stood at its end holding an oar. The very corner of the picture showed a glimpse of what must have been Hell, with orange skies and a dozen or so figures contorted in pain. One of them, she observed, had what seemed to be a snake wrapped around his body. 

-What…is this? - Eleyn asked in a near whisper. 

-Marvelous, isn't it? - Aziraphale sighed - It's curious really. Every other scene painted in this chapel represents something that has already happened, but this one - he took a step closer, reluctantly letting go of Crowley's hand  - This one hasn't. Not for another few hours, anyway - 

-W…what do you mean? - she suddenly felt her heartbeat pick up - What does it depict? - 

-I believe it's called “The Final Judgement” - Muriel explained, her voice soft but severe. She placed a hand on her friend's shoulder - And it supposedly represents the second coming, followed by the judgement itself - 

Eleyn felt herself go chalk-white, her eyes fixed on the central figure of the painting. It was, of course, a man - nobody knew what John's gospel really said about the second coming after all. He stood on a cloud, gesturing with his arms, Mary kneeling down beside him. Staring at him, at the depiction of her older brother, Eleyn couldn't shake the thought that it was really her in that painting. It was her in the middle of all that chaos. It was her who was supposed to be on that wall. 

-According to the stories - Aziraphale spoke, gently snapping her out of her trance - Christ is to return in absolute glory and every human on Earth to be judged by God. The deserving ones - he pointed at the left side of the mural, where scrambling figures were picked up by angels and lifted to the clouds - are forgiven and are taken to Heaven - 

-And the undeserving ones are stuck in a boat and taken to Hell - Crowley added, then pointed at the green demon - That's Minos, I think. Doesn't actually exist, but y’know, Dante's Inferno was all the rage - 

-But then… - Eleyn's voice shook - When I complete all the miracles, this is what'll happen? - 

- Nah - the demon answered immediately, waving a hand in the air - Probably not, anyway. This is just an interpretation. Humans and their artistic licenses - 

-All we angels have been told is that there is such a thing as a “final judgement”, but we don't know if, where or when it will happen - Aziraphale assured her - We are not even certain it'll have anything to do with the second coming - 

-Still - God's daughter whispered, once again glancing up at the mural - Look at all their faces. All those people, being judged. They all look so…scared. So sad. None of them want this, not a single one - she glanced back at the figure who was meant to be her, tears in her eyes - The one who returns to make them suffer. Is that what I am? - 

-Don't be ridiculous - Muriel snapped at once, circling Eleyn to look her in the eyes - This painting behind me is just what they think you are, what Michelangelo thought. But he didn't know you , did he? - 

Eleyn stared at her, confused, the unfallen tears burning in her eyes. After a few moments of silence, much to her surprise, Muriel smiled. 

-You don't know, do you? - she said, softly - Has anyone ever told you what your name means? - 

-My…name? - God's daughter repeated, not sure what to answer. 

- Eleyn - Aziraphale pronounced it slowly, almost sweetly - It's Welsh for the greek name Helen - 

-It means light - Crowley whispered, offering the girl a warm smile - It can mean moon or sun but, fundamentally, light - 

-You see? - Muriel chimed, placing a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder - You bring light. Hope. You don't cause pain, you prevent it. It's what you've been doing the past few days, after all - 

Eleyn stared at the scrivener for a moment, then raised her gaze to the mural one last time. She looked at the same figure, the one in the centre, and right then realized that it wasn't her. It might have been supposed to be her; but it wasn't, and that was the point. With a sniff and a mental “fuck you”, she shifted her gaze down on her friends once again. A demon, two angels and the princess of Heaven; now that was a team. The thought made her smile. 

-And, y'know, as far as messiahses go - Crowley smirked at her - You're not half bad - 

All four of them burst into laughter, bright and defiant against the eerie hush of the chapel, as though daring the world to tell them they couldn't still laugh. Their soft giggles began to die out, their echoes bouncing around the chapel, and a smile lingered on Eleyn's face. Right that second, however, it froze in place. She felt the air catch in her throat, her heart thumped with joy. The laughter vanished, and it was replaced by something else.

Presence.

She could feel them, all three of them. Not just see or hear them; but feel them. Their essence, their divinity, their - them. Their light and shadow and infinite contradictions. Like having three little stars brushing against her skin, saying “we're here” with their warmth. She staggered a little, the smile on her face turning into a bright grin.

-Whoa - she muttered, still half-laughing - I can…I feel you. All three of you - 

-Well, that's new - Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, fascinated - You must be getting closer to you divine identity, hence discovering the abilities that it entails - 

-All angels and demons have their unique presence, and all of us can feel them - Muriel chimed - And not only that. We sense feelings - 

-Joy - stated Eleyn, almost immediately - I can sense our joy. And our fear, and our hope - 

She closed her eyes and took a breath. There they were. Warm, bright, present. Three little stars. One, two, three… then a flicker of a fourth. Distant, weak, titillating with the last of its will, fighting not to lose its light. 

- Four?! - her heart pounced, her eyes opening wide. The other three stared - There's you three, and then…there's another one. It's…it's weak…it's hurt - 

- Rapahael - Aziraphale stopped breathing, and Crowley let out a small gasp.

-Do you know where they are, Eleyn? - the demon breathed, closing in on her - Can you get us there? - 

-I… - she hesitated for a second, but then she felt it again. A pull. Like a string of light, begging her to follow - Yes. Yes I can - 

Out of pure instinct, without thinking, she rushed up the stairs to the altar and placed both hands on the communion table. In her mind, the fourth little star flickered once, twice…Under. It was under them, under their feet. Eleyn went around the table, where a thick woolen rug decorated the marble floor. The string of light became tenser, pulling her downwards. She grabbed the edge of the rug, its weight palpable, and pulled hard. Much to her delight, and the delight of the three that followed closely behind, a trapdoor hid beneath it. The wood it was made of - dark ebony - was old and worn; half-rotten. A round, metallic ring was built close to the opposite edge, it too aged and oxidized. 

-There - Eleyn said, pointing at the thick, wooden door - They're under there - 

-Let’s knock then - Crowley stepped round the other side of it, cracking his knuckles as he went, and grabbed the ring decisively with both hands - Oof - 

With a good pull, he managed to lift the trapdoor enough to be able to grab it from underneath it and push it open the rest of the way. There were no stairs leading down from the hole, just a darkened void that could've dropped to the center of the Earth for all they knew. There wasn't a single light below, not even a candle, just like Agnes had predicted. 

- Right - the demon thought out loud, then glanced up at the other three -Any volunteers for the jump of faith? - 

Aziraphale stepped forward without another word, hand already outstretched before him. 

- Let there be light - he declared, snapping his fingers. A luminous orb appeared right above their heads, and with a simple command the angel made it move down towards the hole. He sighed. - Thank goodness we can use our miracles again, even though it's only for a few hours -

The small light orb made its way through the trapdoor, and then dropped lower still, revealing solid ground about two feet below and the beginning of a narrow passage which would probably lead them to the catacombs. 

-Ladies first, then - the angel politely beckoned Muriel and Eleyn, gesturing towards the hole. 

The latter jumped first, landing on both feet with a soft thud , then turned and outstretched a hand to help Muriel down. Aziraphale followed them a few seconds later, dusting off his jacket the second he touched the floor, and Crowley hopped down behind him. Once all four of them had made it into the narrow hall, a snap of demon's fingers closed the trapdoor behind him; and the orb of soft light Aziraphale had invoked became their only source of light. 

-Eleyn - Muriel softly called out her name, making her turn - Can you still feel them? Do you know where to go from here? - 

-I think so - she replied in a whisper, closing her eyes. 

The stars spun gently in her mind. Three of them were bright and warm as flames, and then… there . The fourth one, flickering like a dying ember, pleading for help. The string attached to her chest became taut, pulling her forward with a silent, urgent tug. 

- This way -

They followed her down the small, narrow passageway taking slow and steady steps, Aziraphale’s orb of light idly floating along with them. The catacombs, they would soon realize, were composed of thousands of identical stone passages which bent and forked into every direction. It was a labyrinth of rock and dust and darkness, impossible to navigate in without getting completely and utterly lost; at least not without someone who knew where they were going. Eleyn stopped at every crossing and closed her eyes, listening for the call of that little star, waiting for a tug of the strings in one of the possible directions; and it never took more than a couple seconds. 

They’d already been walking for about ten minutes, and her pace had become more urgent. They were getting close. The group had just passed a spot where the path forked into three possible directions, and after another few seconds Eleyn had decisively begun to march down the central corridor, the light following suit. Muriel went behind her at a trot to keep up, and Crowley and Aziraphale were close behind. About a minute after, Crowley felt the ground beneath his feet suddenly disappear, his foot falling with a thud below where the path should have been. His stomach gave a small jump as he regained his footing, realizing only a second after what had happened. Almost out of instinct, he looked back at Aziraphale, his face barely illuminated by the light which floated further and further away. 

-Careful, Angel - he whispered, his voice soft, quiet. Aziraphale slowed his step, and Crowley offered a hand - There’s a step. Nearly killed myself - 

- Oh - he breathed back, taking the offered hand and placing his other on the wall for balance - Thank you, dear - 

Aziraphale stepped down slowly, the feeling of Crowley’s skin assuring him he’d be perfectly fine. Once he’d safely put both his feet on the lower level, he looked up to find himself merely inches away from the demon. Crowley smiled sweetly down at him, and Aziraphale smiled back, his heart slightly stammering at the way the demon held his gaze. Then, without warning, two slender fingers brushed his cheek with such tenderness it sent a pleasing chill down the angel’s back.

-Are you alright, Crowley? - he gently asked, his eyes sparkling.

The demon’s grin flickered wider, but it was soft; sincere

-Yeah, ‘course - he said, leaning in just a little to place the barest kiss on Aziraphale’s upper lip, light and almost reverent - ‘cmon - 

He turned and began walking down the corridor towards the small light, smirking to himself. Aziraphale watched him go, his lips curving into a faint smile, and followed a second after. 

-They’re very close, Muriel - they were barely able to hear Eleyn say - So, so very close. But they’re in so much… pain . They’re screaming for help, like they’re trapped -

-If we find them, we can help them - the scrivener assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder - You can - 

She took a deep breath, concentrating on the feeling of that star, on the pull which guided her. With each step, the tug grew more urgent; more desperate. Eleyn let it guide her down the corridor, advancing slowly; and then it was suddenly gone. She stopped dead, and the other three did the same. A deafening silence hung in the air for just a minute; a minute which seemed to stretch for eternity. Eleyn’s pulse quickened. She’d lost them, lost the trace, the string which she had been following had simply disappeared. What now? Where was she supposed to go? How would she tell the others? 

A flicker, a pull. Eleyn let out the air she’d been holding the second she felt it again. 

It was still there, it hadn’t gone; but it had changed direction. Instead of beckoning her forward, it told her to turn to her left where she stood; and she listened. At first it seemed like she was looking at a stone wall, nothing more than bricks stacked one on top of the other, but when the orb of light closed in her heart thumped against her ribs.

It was an opening, a hole, barely big enough to fit them; and it seemed to lead into some kind of wide chamber. She looked back at Muriel, Crowley and Aziraphale, signaling towards the gap.

-Raphael is in there - she stated without a doubt - I’m sure of it. They’re there - 

-Very well - Aziraphale stepped cautiously up to the opening and peeked inside. As expected, it was pitch-black - We’d better get down there and talk to them. I don’t know how much time we have - he paused, then looked up at Eleyn with a tender smile - You’ve done wonderfully, dear girl - 

She staggered for a moment, feeling the knot in her stomach slightly loosen, and smiled back at him in silent gratitude. 

All four of them made it safely across the hole, and the little orb followed them. Once he’d dusted his jacket once again, Aziraphale stretched out a hand, and the orb landed gingerly on it. He gave it a silent command and launched it upwards, where it expanded, unfurling like a flower in bloom until it bathed the entire chamber.

It was a spacious square room, made out of the same stone and dust as the passageways, and it seemed at first to be completely empty. Then the light reached the far right corner, lifting the darkness and revealing a figure. 

They all stopped breathing, frozen in place. 

If it had heard them come in, it hadn’t given a sign. It sat still, completely frozen, hunched into a ball of white, torn cloth at the edge of the room. 

- Raph? - Crowley called out, quietly, tentatively.

Nothing. Not even a twitch, not so much as the sound of breathing. He glanced sideways at Aziraphale, and the angel eyed him nervously. They both looked back towards the figure when Eleyn took a step forward, then another. 

- Raphael - she whispered - You called me. You told me to come here - she took another step - I know you’re there. I can feel you - 

Silence. Then, a ruffle of cloth, the slightest movement. The figure raised its head slightly, glaring sideways at the girl from behind their arm, their eye completely colorless. Lifeless. Expressionless. Empty. 

Except Eleyn could see a glint, a faint sparkle, a star struggling to stay lit. 

-I hear you - Eleyn took another step - You’re trapped. We came to help you - 

Stillness. Then the eye glaring at her softened, and the star flickered again, brighter. She took the last two steps she needed to reach the figure, then kneeled down right in front of them, sorrow etching into her features as she realized. 

Raphael was trapped, yes, in a shell of their own body. The body which had been made mortal, now thin and frail, their ribs clearly distinguishable from underneath the ancient robe. Their face was drained, weak, contorted in a pain which seemed to have been frozen there for eternity. She had the impression that they would shatter and break if she even breathed at them. 

- God - she breathed, with the full intention of calling her out - What have they done to you? - 

- Oh , fuck - Crowley whispered, right behind her. Aziraphale clung to his arm, shocked beyond words - This…this is even worse than Hell . How was this bloody allowed?! - 

- We… - Muriel muttered, completely pale head to toe, her voice shaking - I…I didn’t…If I had known… - 

- It’s not your fault - Eleyn glanced up at the scrivener, then back at the archangel - They wouldn’t blame you - 

There was another soft ruffle. All four of them held their breath as Raphael - or the shell of them - raised their head higher, revealing the rest of their face to be just as contorted, just as tormented, just as broken. They tilted their head just a little, their empty eyes staring right into Eleyn. Their lips very slowly parted, and they took in a small, weak inhale. Then, they made a sound. It was quiet, undecipherable, a failed attempt at a word; but it was something. The girl nodded slowly, a silent encouragement. They tried again. 

- ch…o… - they exhaled, the few letters requiring all their strength. They took another breath, they’d ran out of air - ch…o…sh..eth - 

- Hebrew - Aziraphale breathed, his quivering voice breaking - It means “dark” - 

- ch…ch…ose…th - they repeated, using all the willpower they could muster, a single tear rolling slowly down their face - ch…o..s… -  

- Raphael - Eleyn whispered their name once again, firmly - You called me for help. I can help you - 

She stretched her hand out, slowly, and they must have heard the movement because the next second they recoiled back slightly. Eleyn stopped immediately, her hand floating mid air, and spoke to the little star clinging onto its light for dear life. The little star which cried “save me” .

- Let me - she breathed - Please - 

They stared for a heavy, slow second; and then their shoulders slightly dropped. They leaned in a little, almost imperceptibly, as though inviting her. As though they’d understood and were begging her. She gave a small nod, and slowly stretched her hand the rest of the way, letting it rest just over the archangel’s lifeless eyes. Their skin was so cold it shot a chill right down her spine, so dry it made her hairs stand on edge. If she didn’t know any better, she would believe they were a statue made of stone. Maybe that was what Aziraphale had meant before, with the edge between life and death becoming blurred. Perhaps that was the very thing that had kept them hidden all this time.

Eleyn took a deep breath and closed her eyes. There it was, flickering with the last of its will. A lone star. Right then, right that moment, the little star which had been fighting tooth and claw to stay lit looked at her; and it stopped . After thousands of years, after countless centuries of loneliness and pain and suffering, Raphael stopped fighting; because they knew they didn’t need to anymore. They knew they were safe. They knew it was over. She smiled, feeling the hope which had suddenly invaded them, and felt the light from her own star envelope theirs. 

It flickered, once, twice; then it finally became stable, emanating a constant, beautiful glow. Their star began to burn brighter, brighter, brighter …

- I order you - Eleyn whispered, her voice ironclad, steady - to open your eyes, and to see - 

And then it flared to life.

She felt her palm grow warm, a pleasant buzz invading her body as a wide grin cracked her face in two. Very slowly, she lifted her hand from Raphael’s face, revealing underneath it a pair of deep, dark purple - and most importantly, very functional - eyes. 

Eleyn stared at them, and they stared back, the tear still wet in their skin. Their eyes sparkled. They flickered to Muriel, then Aziraphale, Crowley, and back to Eleyn. All four of them had fallen into complete silence, the moment seeming to stretch forever, even the dust and air seeming to freeze in place.

Then Raphael gasped. That kind of gasp that feels like the first breath after drowning, the kind that drags eternity back into your lungs. Their chest heaved up and down, their breathing became manic and uncontrolled. They desperately clawed at the floor and kicked with their feet, trying and failing to move their frail, broken, little body. They managed to push themselves back into the wall, with enough force to momentarily knock the air out of them, a faint grunt of pain escaping their lips. They muttered beneath their breath in the same language they’d spoken in before, erratic words which sounded like the babble of a madman.

- Zen matchil, zen nigmar. Hakol nigmar. Hakol matchil me’chadash. Heres. Ani ro’eh et zeh. Sakana. Ezrah. Ezrah… - they tried to get up again, only to fall back down with a grunt - Kol. Hakol. Klum. Chayim. Mavet, or, or… - 

-What…what are they…? - Eleyn began, only to be cut off by Muriel.

- Everything, all, nothing, life, death ... .it's just gibberish - she translated - They repeated “ or” a few times. It’s hebrew for “light” -

- Hakol nikach mimeni. Lo yacholti lehazir. Lo shamati otam. Rak hake'ev. Rak ha'or. Tafsiku! Tafsiku! TAFSIKU! - they cried, again and again, now clawing and pulling at their hair; at the skin in their scalp - TISHMA! TISMA LI! BEVASHKA! TISHMA! TAFSIKU! - 

-Whoa, whoa, okay - Crowley took a broad step forward and dropped to his knees, grabbing the manic archangel firmly by the shoulders - Raph. Raph. RAPH. Breathe - 

- Stop. Stop. Stop. Listen. Listen to me. Please. Listen - Aziraphale quietly recited, Eleyn turning sharply towards him - That’s what they’re saying. It’s like… - 

-They’re remembering - she completed the sentence - when they were thrown out… - 

- TISHMA! BEVASHKA! TISHMA LI! - they yelled - BEVASHKA! TAFSIKU! TAF…! - 

- RAPHAEL! - Crowley roared, interrupting them - Raph, breathe. You’re alright. That’s over. It’s okay - 

They stopped, and took a breath. Then another. They lifted their eyes, and the demon felt himself go slightly rigid when he met that infinite gaze. Raphael raised a hand, and lightly wrapped it around Crowley’s wrist.

- Yotzer…kokhavim - they said, their voice calmer. 

Crowley’s breath hitched, the color slightly draining from his face.

- Yotzer kokhavim - they repeated - Maker of stars - 

- Ngk . Yeah. Kinda - he stuttered, still taken aback - Not anymore - 

- Always - Raphael countered, his tone absolute, not missing a beat.

-Ngk - the demon gulped, then changed the subject altogether - Listen, everything’s just coming back to you, and that’s fucking everything . You alright? -

-I was shaken. Overwhelmed - they nodded - Now I am fine. I apologize for my outburst - 

-It’s okay - Muriel chimed gently. Raphael’s eyes flickered onto her. They smiled.

- Ha’chasudah . The kind one - they said. The scrivener smiled back - The kindest one. Such kindness often returns when one least expects it - 

Their gaze shifted to Aziraphale next, and the angel held it with the utmost respect. 

-And ha’shomer - Raphael bowed their head a little, as though reciprocating that respect - the one who protects - they stopped, suddenly. Something in their eyes flickered, something heavy - I…am sorry - 

-We’ve told you it’s quite alright… - Aziraphale waved a dismissive hand in the air, his tone sweet.

-No - they shook their head - That is not what I meant. You do not yet understand, but you will. I really am sorry - 

The angel cocked his head, thoroughly confused, but Raphael’s attention was already on Eleyn.

- Yalda shel or . Child of light - the archangel outstretched a bony hand which she instantly took, kneeling down beside Crowley - You have freed me. Thank you - 

- Pleasure - she smiled, placing her other hand over theirs.

-Remember this - they whispered, loud enough for only her and the demon to hear - A good phrase should never be left unfinished  - 

-Told you they spoke in riddles. No offence - Crowley quipped, startling a giggle out of God’s daughter and drawing a small smile on the archangel’s face - Listen, Raph, we need to… - 

-Ask me something, yes - they interjected, releasing Eleyn’s hand to sit themselves up straight against the wall - Tell me what it is you wish to know. It is the least I owe you - 

-Enoch - Aziraphale cut straight to the point - We read the name in the original gospel of John, the one that includes the passage regarding the truth about the second coming. We know he has something to do with all this, something important, but we don’t know what - 

-Something to do? Yes. Everything, in fact - Raphael answered without a second of hesitation - You wish to know who Enoch is, and I am telling you that you have known all along - 

-Well, yes, technically - Muriel explained - Um…we do know, or we have assumed, that Enoch is Noah’s great grandfather, but everything else regarding his identity has been…wiped - 

-And you would be correct. Enoch was born as son of Jared, grew old and became father to Methuselah and grandfather to Lamech - they stopped, their voice heavy - But what Enoch has become…I warned them, I warned them all of what I saw. I tried to warn Her. But they all refused to listen - 

- We’re listening - Crowley hissed, softly - Those assholes wouldn’t, but we will. Who did Enoch become? -

- Ha’reik - they whispered - The empty one. Rotten by the desire for more, though he is not the only one to blame. What else was to be expected from a man made immortal and given such divine power? I knew this would happen, I saw it. The pain, the destruction, the betrayal… - 

-You don’t mean… - Eleyn finally felt the pieces fall into place, and her heart skipped several beats - The Metatron? - 

Raphael held her gaze for a long moment, the name hanging in the room like a bomb about to explode. For a few seconds, just a few seconds, everything went completely silent; and completely still. 

And then they remembered. 

That memory, the memory which had been blurred out and taken from their minds, suddenly became clear. And painfully obvious. 

-You… - Crowley’s voice cracked. He stared at the archangel, shaking his head -No. No no. You have got… - he raised to his feet, slowly, trying his best not to combust into a ball of flames - TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME! - 

-I regret to tell you I am not - Raphael said, calmly - Enoch was taken to Heaven without terminating his life and became the Voice of God. Of course, now you all remember - 

-But…- Muriel muttered, her chest heaving up and down in erratic breaths - Enoch was supposed to be the key to defeating Metatron, not… - 

-Fuck fuck fuck fuck - the demon paced round the small chamber -  We are fucked . Metatron’s gonna find us any minute and we have nothing - 

-Do you not? - the archangel asked, catching Crowley’s eyes just as he turned. The demon stopped, looking back at them, and tore apart from their stare a second after.

A silence pressed in, sharp and thick as glass. Crowley didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He already had.

-There has to be something we can do…right? - Eleyn begged them - We can’t just give in now, we can win this! - 

-Not as long as The Metatron is in possession of the Angel’s Dagger - Aziraphale breathed, picking at the golden signet ring in his left hand. Raphael turned sharply towards him - As long as he has it, he has the upper hand - 

-You keep saying that, “Angel’s Dagger” - God’s child repeated - What the hell is that? - 

-A weapon - Raphael explained - One far too powerful. One which should have been destroyed long ago - 

-We all thought it had been - Aziraphale sighed - Evidently, it’s not the case. I do not know how he came to have it, but the fact is that it's in his possession now - 

-But what does it do ? - Eleyn insisted, the panic building up inside her chest. 

-Kills a demon - Crowley hissed. She looked back at him, ready to object, but he clarified before she could speak - And I don’t mean the pretty little thing we call discorporation, I mean actually properly bloody kill. No come-backsies. Kiss your existence goodbye - 

- Shit - the answer fell down her stomach like a rock - Okay…Okay, so we just take it. We take the dagger of doom from him and we win. Right? - 

- Eleyn… - Aziraphale whispered, his voice slightly trembling. 

-No! - she bolted to her feet and turned, pointing a shaky finger at the angel, her eyes burning with unfallen tears - Don’t give me that crap, Aziraphale, just don’t - she aimed her finger up, at the chamber’s ceiling - Out there is a world full of people; wonderful, amazing, flawed, innocent people. We are their last line of defense. If we give up, it’s over. It’s all over - 

Crowley stopped his pacing to turn towards her. Despite everything, despite who she was, despite everything they had gone through, Eleyn was still so…human. She cared so much and about so many, odds be damned. That rage in her eyes; that silent, burning determination, was the exact same one he’d seen in the eyes of a young carpenter thousands of years ago. He realized right then, right that second, that Eleyn would do anything to save them all. It was in her blood, after all. 

In that same exact second, however, Crowley realized that he was willing to do anything as well. Anything, to keep that girl safe. To protect Muriel. To ensure Aziraphale would be alright. 

Fuck it.

-I’m with her - the demon stepped up to Eleyn, placing a hand on her shoulder - I’ll be damned again before I let that power-drunk ponce in a halo decide the ending - 

-How?! - Aziraphale cried - We’re powerless against him, like a footnote trying to change the plot! Quietly present, terribly concerned, but all the same useless!   - 

-I’ve read some books with terribly good footnotes, actually - Muriel intervened, grabbing on to Eleyn’s other arm - Something about a turtle and four elephants…what was it called? Oh well, it’s not important, you get the point - 

The angel sighed fondly at the three, glancing from one to the other. Stubborn as they came, but they never gave up a fight. So why should he? Aziraphale had just opened his mouth when Raphael - the poor thing still unable to stand - spoke again. 

-If I may - they said, gaining the attention of all four - You said before that you thought Enoch would be the key to stopping this madness. I never said you were wrong - 

Aziraphale frowned at them, but the next moment it hit him, and the penny dropped so loudly it could have easily been mistaken with the Vatican’s church bells. 

-Oh! Oh of course! - he pressed his palm to his forehead, then turned to look at the other three - That’s our weapon! We know who he is! - 

-If we could make the others realize… - the scrivener quickly caught on, and Aziraphale grinned at her - If they all knew what he’d done, they could help us - 

-All of Heaven against a petty self-important paperclip with a God complex - Crowley grinned, completely on board with the idea - Now that’s what I’m talking about - 

-The only problem is convincing them - Eleyn pointed out, ever the buzzkill - I mean, he’s The Voice of God. They’d jump down a bridge if he told them it was the Divine Plan - 

-Yeah, well, you’re God’s daughter - the demon argued - In fact, if you remember from the Gospel, his non-divine ass is supposed to be fired so you can take his place - 

-You mean the Gospel that is currently ashes beneath a chandelier the size of Belgium? - she snapped, and he grumbled in acknowledgment of her point. 

-It’s our word against his - Muriel nodded in agreement - So, our word has to be very convincing - 

-What if our word is his word? - Crowley offered, receiving three confused looks - Think about it. Nothing that can convince a crowd that someone’s an arse better than that someone saying “Hey, I’m an arse” - 

-And you honestly think that Metatron is stupid enough to lay his cards bare in front of all Heaven? - Aziraphale asked, eyebrows raised. 

-Stupid enough, no - Raphael intervened for the demon - Egotistical and self-centered enough, on the other hand… - 

- Exactly - Crowley pointed briefly at the archangel - Look, Angel, I’ve dealt with power thirsty pricks before, tempted them all. You wind them up, stroke their egos, give ‘em enough rope… - there was a beat, something heavy in the demon’s eyes. Then it was gone -  and they’ll hang themselves. Every time - 

-You’d have to get close - Aziraphale’s voice became lower, shakier - You’d have to talk to him, and get close, and he’s got that bloody dagger… - 

He trailed off, something stirring inside him, his eyes narrowing for just a second. A bad feeling. He looked back up at the demon but, before he had a chance to worry, their gazes met. Crowley’s was warm, decided. “Trust me”, it said.

-You’re certain this will work? - the angel finally said, remembering the silent promise the demon had made at Jasmine’s cottage. 

-Certain? - he scoffed - ‘course not. But I do know we only have one shot - he looked sideways at Muriel and Eleyn - One shot to make that bastard show the world what he is - 

-And if he doesn’t? - Muriel asked, still unconvinced, eyes flickering between the two. 

-Then we make him - Crowley said, his lips bending into the same crooked grin he wore every time he was about to do something very, very stupid - If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to hone a man’s pride till it bites him. All I need is an audience and a bit of theatrics - 

-There’s something else - Eleyn spoke, softly claiming their attention - Me. The Metatron won’t risk hurting me, not whilst I’ve got one more sign to perform - 

- The rising of Lazarus - the scrivener muttered, the heaviness of it hanging in the air - If he’s already done terrible things to ensure the other signs, I can’t even imagine… - 

- Lazarus… - God’s daughter repeated. Then, a thought hit her, and she turned sharply towards Crowley - Could that work? If you…I mean, if the dagger… - 

Aziraphale’s face lit up, just a little bit, a small fragment of hope slipping through the fear. The latter became absolute when the demon replied a moment after. 

-I…don’t think so, Eleyn - he said, his voice deep - That’s just not how it works with the dagger. ‘preciate the thought though - 

-Raphael? - she turned to the archangel, still not convinced - What do you think? Could it work? - 

They held the girl's eyes for a moment, then their gaze shifted to Crowley.

-There are certain questions to which not even I have the answer - they said, their tone final. The demon swallowed, then Raphael looked back at Eleyn - I apologise - 

She let out a small sigh, her face falling just as the glimmer of hope she'd had floated away. 

-Hey - Crowley grabbed her by the shoulder, forcing Eleyn to look up at him. He smirked - I'll be fine, princess. Swear on your mum - 

-You better be - she shot him a sad little smile in return, then pointed an accusing finger at him - And don't call me that - 

-It does seem like a good plan… - Aziraphale took half a step towards the demon - But isn't there something else? There must be…- 

-Whatever it is you decide to do - Raphael's voice crept up from the corner of the room, interrupting him - I suggest you decide soon. They know you're here - 

- Already?! - Muriel shot the archangel a panicked glance, then looked back at the other three, the brief silence between them becoming heavy.

-Right, okay, now or never - the demon spoke up, his heart racing as he circled the group to stand between the three of them - All on board with the plan? - 

-Yeah - Eleyn answered first, nodding decisively at him, though the smallest sliver of doubt remained in her voice  - Go for it - 

- Please let this work… - the scrivener muttered to herself, then looked Crowley in the eyes - Yes. Do it - 

-Angel? - he looked at Aziraphale, who still hadn't answered. 

The angel stared silently for two seconds, their gazes locked together. He looked into those amber eyes, those ones he would trust if his life depended on it, and took a deep breath. 

- Very well - he sighed, then grabbed the demon by the scarf before he could get away - But if you get hurt, I swear on all that's holy I will kill you - 

- Fair enough - he muttered, then swiftly turned to Raphael - You coming, Riddles? - 

-I am too weak - they shook their head - This is, for now, the safest place for me - 

-Are you sure? - Eleyn insisted - What if the angels attack you? - 

-They know who I am - they replied, something sparkling in their eyes - Even if they were to find me in this state, they wouldn't dare. Now go, quickly - 

Aziraphale stepped up to the hole the four of them had used to get in before, then looked back at the archangel. 

-We'll come back for you - he promised in a whisper, and Raphael smiled. Then, he hoisted himself up and disappeared through the opening. 

Muriel and Eleyn followed suit, and Crowley was about to do the same when the archangel’s voice reached him once again. 

-What you will do is brave, but not as brave as what you have already done. Le'ehov - 

He didn't look back at them, because he knew exactly what he would have found in their eyes and he didn't have time to feel sorry about himself. His silence, however, spoke volumes to them. 

-Good luck - they whispered.

-Thank you - he whispered back.

He took a breath, then followed Aziraphale and the others through the hole.

The moment Crowley's feet hit the stone at the other side of the wall, he felt it. The air had changed. It was buzzing, expectant. He felt a chill. The corridors hadn't seemed that cold before. Even the little orb of light which floated above their heads felt dimmer; like it was trying to hide. 

Aziraphale signaled for them to move down the hallway the same way they'd come, but all four froze on the spot about ten steps in. Movement, up above. Steps, wings, muffled voices. Muriel wrapped a hand around Eleyn's arm, and the latter counted her breaths, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Crowley's heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest, and Aziraphale's terrified stare told him as much. 

Angels. They were there, right there. Just above their heads.

They looked at one another, their shallow breaths the only sound echoing within the narrow corridor. When his limbs finally decided to function, Crowley took half a step forward and then looked back at the others, signaling for them to do the same. 

Eleyn followed, slowly stepping forward, and the others copied. She advanced towards the demon, one breath at a time, as quietly as she could. A knot formed in her stomach. Fear began creeping up her spine. Before her body could panic, she counted the stars softly floating in her mind. 

One in front of her, bright with adrenaline. Crowley. Then three behind. Aziraphale, flickering slowly; Muriel, slightly trembling, and…

Oh no. 

She turned sharply, but it was too late. An angel had already materialized behind the group. 

-There you are! - they bellowed, extracting a small trumpet from their uniform’s breast pocket. 

Eleyn felt a hand wrap around her own and pull. 

-RUN! - Crowley roared, taking off with God’s daughter as the sound of trumpets split the air. 

They sped down the corridor as fast as their legs would allow, their feet pounding against the cold stone. All four gasped for air as they advanced, going up and down the windy path and not looking back. Just as Crowley took a sharp turn to their left, however, two more angels flashed into existence in front of them. 

Their swords drew with a dreadful metallic hiss. 

-BACK, BACK! - the demon ordered, stopping dead and beginning to retrace his steps. 

Another group of angels had already caught up behind them. They were trapped. 

- Traitors! - one of them spoke, their voice booming across the narrow space - In the name of The Voice I order you to surrender immedia… - 

Another flash. 

Another angel appeared in front of them. Sickly pale, with long golden hair reduced to a filthy murky color. Their gray eyes locked on the group, then flickered down to Muriel’s. She gasped.

Mashheet.

They stared at her, she stared back. Time didn’t freeze, it only slowed for the breath of one second. The scrivener looked at her friend’s eyes, sharp and determined. Then they softened. Hers widened. She had understood. She smiled, and they nodded. 

A memory shared, a decision made. 

Their spear was out before anyone had the chance to react. They moved like a falling star; fast, silent and without remorse. One of the soldier angels went out without a sound, the other barely had enough time to cry out when their weapon clattered to the floor and their head was knocked against the stone wall. 

-GO! - the Destroying Angel barked, not even looking at them. 

They turned towards the echoing corridor as more footfalls approached them; more angels. They planted their feet like a wall, their shoulders square, spear at the ready. 

Crowley didn’t hesitate. He squeezed Eleyn’s hand tighter and ran in the opposite direction, as fast as he could. Aziraphale attempted to do the same with Muriel, but she stayed put, just for a moment.

-Mashheet! - she screamed at the top of her lungs. They didn’t turn, but she knew they were listening - Thank you - 

- Thank you - they replied without missing a beat - You were kind. No one else ever said goodnight - 

By the time Muriel had taken another breath, Aziraphale had already grabbed her by the arm and yanked her forward, both of them barrelling past the fallen angels just as the sound of combat echoed from where Mashheet stood.

They didn’t stop running, they couldn’t. 

Vaulting over half fallen statues, weaving between collapsed columns and broken pews, the group tore through the winding guts of the Vatican like damnation had grown teeth and was thirsty for blood. 

Mashheet’s battle cry echoed in the distance, accompanied by the clash of steel and divine screams which cut through the air. 

They hit a flight of stairs and ran up them without slowing down. 

They were almost out, they were close, Crowley could feel it. He could sense the presence of Heaven in the mortal realm, pressing down on them like the air itself had become judgement. He sped up, adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heart thumping in his ear. 

And then, like breaking into the surface after nearly drowning, they burst into the light. 

Piazza san Pietro stretched out in front of them like a titan, the colonnades arching around them like ribs. It was open and sunny and quiet - too quiet . The basilica towered in front, casting its monstrous shadow on the square.

For a second, only the air seemed to move. 

Then there was a flutter. A bad feeling. A chill down a spine. 

The glint of metal.

One angel. Two. Ten. A hundred . 

Materializing from nowhere, appearing atop the columns, behind the colonnades, suspended in the air above them. An entire legion, armed to the teeth, slowly closed in on them. 

Muriel clenched her fists, taking a small step back as her eyes flickered between them all. There were too many. Eleyn extended her arms out slightly, an involuntary protection reflex. She took a shaky breath, then another. Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley, their hands briefly brushing together. The demon glanced sideways at his terrified azure gaze, then without a second thought turned his back on all three of them and took a few broad steps back.

- Stick close - he hissed between gritted teeth.

The circle formed, instinctively. Four against the wrath of God. 

The angels closed in, relentless but unrushed, and then they stopped. 

A single voice cracked through the air, full of venom and self-importance. 

-I have had enough - 

They all turned sharply towards the basilica, and there, on its steps, backlit by the Holy See, stood the Metatron. No wings. No weapons. No spectacle. Just a shadow wrapped in arrogance, haloed by twisted divinity. 

He looked down on them as if they were insects, their stare tainted with hatred and disgust. 

Crowley met his gaze, and a defiant fire roared to life like an ancient beast.

This was the endgame.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 18 - LE’EHOV (TO LOVE). FINALE PART 1

Crowley noticed a chilly breeze had picked up when he walked inside the cottage, closely following Aziraphale. Both of them moved towards the living room, but the demon stopped just short of the threshold, for no more than a heartbeat. 

Just as Eleyn had said, Uriel was already waiting for them in the center of the room, something held rightly between their hands and something unreadable in their eyes. Their gaze flickered onto the two individuals entering the room, and they straightened up immediately. 

Before anyone had the chance to notice, Crowley had already caught up to Aziraphale. He glanced to the right to meet the angel’s azure eyes, then to the left. Muriel and Eleyn stood there, determined gazes fixed on the archangel, the scrivener holding on tightly to the other’s arm to stop herself from trembling. 

Fear was the sort of thing Crowley could sense from a mile away, he could smell it, and he’d never once been wrong. Right there, in that room, all of them stunk of it; and nobody more than himself. 

-Saraquael has successfully tampered with the globe - Uriel finally spoke, trying their best to steady their voice. They did have an image to maintain - You should have a couple of hours. Probably less. We’ve done all we could - 

- Any miracles? - the demon pointedly asked - Without being traced? - 

-Indeed - their reply came immediately - For as long as Saraquael can hold off suspicion - 

- Thank you - Aziraphale breathed, nodding courteously at them. 

They returned the gesture, then unwrapped their hand from the object they’d been holding on to. As Crowley had imagined, they extended their other hand towards him. In it they held a laminated piece of paper with the word VISITOR emblazoned on it with thick, blue letters. 

-This should be enough to keep you from being harmed on holy ground - they explained - I faked the paperwork. Of course, when they realize where you are, I suspect The Metatron will order its immediate inactivation - 

-It’d be pretty fucking stupid of him not to - Crowley hissed, reaching out to grab the other end of the badge - Still, anything’s better than being roasted alive - 

The second his hands came into contact with the plastic, Uriel felt something around them change. The air had shifted, it had become…still. Butterflies outside hung frozen mid flight, Aziraphale and the others had been suspended mid-breath. 

For a moment they feared the worst. Panic prickled at the end of their consciousness. Had Saraquael been caught? Was the host descending right there and then?

They heard a breath, and looked right in front of them, immediately meeting Crowley’s eyes. His chest heaved up and down, he’d gone pale. Something was very, very wrong.

Before they could produce a single sound, however, the demon spoke. 

-I’ve frozen time  - he explained in a whisper - It’s just us. Don’t let go of the badge or you’ll freeze too - 

-Why? - they asked, matching his tone.

-Because I need to ask you a favor, Uriel - he replied, his tone clear, the trembling of his voice barely contained - An important one - 

The silence had settled like a lead balloon in the Piazza . The legion of angels were frozen in place, weapons at the ready, awaiting orders from the man who stood atop the steps to the basilica . The Metatron held Crowley’s fiery stare for a few eternal moments, and then one of the corners of his mouth went up in pure contempt, as though unbothered by the fact that the demon was glaring at him like he was trying to come up with the most painful way to kill a man. 

Finally, after what had seemed forever, he spoke again.

-You’ve had your fun, you and your traitorous little friends - his eyes flickered onto Aziraphale, then onto Muriel, then landed back on the demon - But it ends now. The Child is coming with us - 

-The hell she is - the demon growled, something so furious it was almost animalistic - You took her family, you wrecked her life and you made her fucking miserable to the point of… - he bit his own tongue - The last thing I’ll let you do is to take advantage of her again - 

- Take advantage?! - The Metatron reiterated, producing an annoyingly fake tone of offence - You kidnapped her! The Lord’s Child, the most precious being in all creation! I simply wish to protect her - 

- Yeah? - the demon hissed, staring defiantly into the bastard’s eyes - What’s her name? - 

The Metatron stuttered for a moment, only for a heartbeat. Most would have missed it, but not Crowley. He barely held back a sardonic smirk. 

-Go on then, ey? - he insisted when The Metatron didn’t answer - If you care so much about her, what’s her name? - 

-Such trivial matters do not concern me - the other finally spat back - I only do as the Almighty requests of me - 

- Ha! - the demon barked out a laugh, his tone becoming louder - This? God’s will? My arse! - 

-I will not tolerate such insolence from a…a…! - he began, only for Crowley to cut him off with a wave of his hand.

-Yeah, yeah, filthy serpent, treacherous demon, whatever you wanna call me - he said, dripping nonchalance in that way only he knew how to do - I’ve heard them all. Can’t help but wonder though, do your angels know you’ve committed as much treason as you say I have, hm? - 

A small gasp went around the legion of angels flocking around the four, a low whisper. Perhaps even some looks. Crowley knew that reaction had come from the incredulity that he’d dared to say such a thing and not out of the fact that they believed him; but they’d heard it, and that was exactly what he needed. That, and The Metatron point-blank denying it. He did not disappoint.

-How dare you speak of me this way? - he howled, his voice echoing through the colonnades like the ripple of a tidal wave - I am the Voice of God! You truly think they will believe the lies of a demon before the word of the holiest of angels? - 

- Well, that is severely offensive - Aziraphale muttered, barely loud enough for Metatron to hear, then raised his voice as the bastard’s gaze fixed on him - If you represent the maximum amount of holiness an angel is capable of, Heaven really is in a lot of trouble - 

-I quite agree - Muriel raised her voice as well, forcing The Metatron’s fiery stare onto herself - You have lied, stolen, caused pain and near death to innocent human beings. You are no angel - 

The angels of the legion gasped softly once again, and Crowley smirked the sort of smirk he used when things were going his way. They were following, engaged. He had his audience. 

-How dare you?! - The Voice of God roared, anger beginning to boil his blood. 

-Well, she’s not wrong - the demon attacked right there and then. He’d seen an opening, and he’d decided to bite - Is she, Enoch? - 

The name hung in the air like a bullet. The shift in The Metatron’s eyes had been almost imperceptible, but it had been there. Crowley had seen it, plain as day. The rage was still there, hot and flaming like anything, but a spark of something else had stoked the flames like a fresh log. Fear.

- How do you know that name? - he seethed, furious.

- Ouch - the demon mock-winced, smirk indelible from his face - Struck a nerve, have I? - 

- Answer me! - The Metatron barked, giving an unmistakable reply to his question.

-Look where we are, arsehole - he hissed - Piece it together - 

The heat in The Metatron’s stare became stronger with every word the demon said. He was neatly setting a trap right under his nose and the Voice of God was giving him all the materials. 

-So, funny story - Crowley raised his voice, glancing around at the legion of angels - The Metatron, the one who claims to be the, and I quote, holiest of angels is, in fact, a human! - 

Another gasp, more whispers. The demon took a step forward, extending his arms. The stage was his, now it all came down to his performance.

-What a fucking plot twist, I know! - he continued, bringing his arms back down to instead stick a thumb in Metatron’s direction - Turns out, this here is Enoch. You know, Noah’s great gramps. I bet you're all starting to remember right about now, yeah? - 

-Do not listen to him! - the other ordered - He will get into your heads! He is a demon, it’s what they do! - 

-The amnesia thing was also him, by the way - Crowley added, completely ignoring The Metaron’s remarks - A mortal given immortality and divine power beyond the comprehension of any human being. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? - he scoffed, half-directing the jab at God.

-That is enough - The Voice of God thundered, his tone severe. 

-Why so defensive, Enoch? - he pursed his lips, a smug look on his face - Is it because you’re using Eleyn and the Second Coming to get God out of your way or is it because you put the only being who knew what you were planning through eternal torture? - he glanced back up at the legions - Oh, yeah, almost forgot. Raphael says hi - 

What before had been whispers between the dozens of white-cloaked figures in the Piazza had now become a consistent buzz, interrupted by the occasional gasp or gulp. Crowley still wasn’t sure whether it would work, but he held onto his last sliver of hope, because the alternative would not be fun. 

-Oh no, wait, hold on. I know what it is - the demon pointed two fingers theatrically at The Metatron, his smirk expanding into a broad grin  - It’s the fact that you made a super secret pact with Satan, isn’t it?  - 

- Oh, please! - he laughed, mockingly, his words dripping with vitriol, his anger barely contained - This is ridiculous. Though, I must admit, that was amongst the more original lies you’ve told so far - 

- Cut the shit - Crowley hissed, loudly - We know everything. All of it. How you sold the soul of every angel in Heaven to the Devil, in exchange for his help. We know the truth, Metatron, and so will they - 

-What, and they’ll take your word for it? - he growled, scowling at the demon - You, Hell’s spawn? You, the walking definition of sin? - 

-Oh no, I’m not just the definition of sin - Crowley said, deadly calm- I’m the Serpent of Eden. I invented sin. And I know exactly how to make fuckers like you admit every. single. word -  

-If you won’t believe Crowley - Eleyn stepped up, chin high, addressing the legion with authority. The demon glanced sideways at her - Then believe me . You all know who I am, whether you want to see reason is your choice. I ask you to choose right - 

-You see what they did to her! - The Metatron didn’t even hesitate to gesture at the girl - Somehow, they have gotten control of her mind! God’s Daughter, contradicting her Mother’s wishes! It is the work of the serpent and the traitor! You mustn’t let them do the same to you! - 

-Oh, fuck off! - the demon bit back, stepping closer. He’d reached the stairs to the Basilica - We didn’t do shit , you did all the work yourself like a big boy - he taunted The Voice of God, his tone infantile. Then Crowley’s expression turned serious - But why? Why go through all that trouble? The pact with Satan, this whole elaborate plan…what could you possibly have to gain? ‘Cause, in case you forgot, you’re the second most powerful being in crea… - 

There it was. That flinch. That slight flaring of his nostrils, that small twitch of his nose, that flash of something deep and dark behind his eyes. 

- Ohhh… - the demon relaxed into his smirk once again - It’s that word, isn’t it? Second - he pronounced every syllable, tasting each letter - Oh, it makes you furious, doesn’t it? Can’t bear second best. Once a man, always a man, ey Enoch? - 

- You will stop using that name - The Metatron growled, barely containing the eruption boiling inside of him.

-Why? You prefer the other one? - Crowley played with him like it was the easiest thing in the world - Metatronos . The one behind the throne, sat on a squeaky wooden stool, drooling over God’s golden chair. But you got tired, didn't you? Admiring the throne from afar wasn’t enough, so you decided to take it. How very human of you - 

- Silence - 

-Ah, I’m on the right track then, cheers - the demon carried on with his game - So everything, the Second Coming, the signs, the pact. All of it, just to be able to sit your big fat human arse on the throne. ‘s a creative plan, don’t get me wrong. Only one teeny tiny little problem - he paused, giving The Metatron enough time to dare a guess, then raised his eyebrows when there was no reply - You’re not gonna win - 

There was a beat of silence. Then, The Metatron smiled.

- I already have - he seethed, just loud enough for Crowley to hear.

Then, he raised his voice and roared at the legion.

- BRING ME THE GIRL, KILL THE OTHERS! NOW! - 

There was a moment of hesitation, only a heartbeat. Crowley, Aziraphale, Muriel and Eleyn looked up at the host above. They had dared to hope that the words had landed, that they wouldn’t attack, that they would lower their weapons. 

Nothing further from the truth. They hadn’t believed a single word, or worse: they hadn’t wanted to. 

The silence cracked, and with it, so did hope.

All one hundred of them plummeted towards the group, weapons at the ready, wings slicing through the sky, no mercy in their eyes. 

Crowley stepped back out of instinct, but the angels were deadly fast. Four of them were already closing in on him, spears outstretched in front of them. Without a second thought, he summoned a flame of hellfire. The angels scrambled out of the way to avoid it. 

The demon sighed in relief, but it didn't last long. Up ahead, he heard Muriel scream. 

Two angels held her by the arms as she kicked and yelled. Another one was about to attack, sword raised above their head. Crowley sprinted towards her, but froze on his tracks the next second. 

With a defiant scream, the scrivener extended her wings with as much force as she could muster, sending her captors stumbling a few steps backwards. Enough to break free and duck out of the way just in time to avoid the coming sword. Taking advantage of the angel’s momentum, Muriel grabbed their arm and quite literally flung them forwards, making them crash with the other two. 

Huh , Crowley thought. 

Something made contact with his jaw then, sending a wave of pain through him. His sunglasses, broken into pieces, flew off his face in the recoil. An angel had just struck him with the rear end of their spear, and another blow was on the way. 

Out of reflex he grabbed the spear as it came down and pulled it out of the way, delivering a clean punch right into that angel’s gut. His fist made contact with a thump , and they let go of the spear as they stumbled back. Before they could react, Crowley returned the hit to the ribs and took them out on the spot. 

A second later, he was already blocking another attack. The demon raised his eyes as he fought, catching just a small glimpse of beige and tartan.

Up ahead, about a dozen feet from him, Aziraphale scrambled with an angel who had Eleyn grabbed by her arm. Without hesitation, he yanked her out of his grip and twisted the angel’s arm, forcing a yelp of pain out of them. He shoved them back, then extended his wings to protect the girl. 

Behind him, Eleyn scrambled to the floor and picked up a fallen sword, just in time to block the oncoming spear of a warrior. She pushed them back with a grunt, then hit them as hard as she could with the rear end of the sword. It hit their arm, but they lunged forward nonetheless. She struck again, this time hitting them square on the jaw. They collapsed. She stepped back, her chest heaving up and down. 

By the time she raised her eyes, two more were already on her. She felt Aziraphale turn. 

- Eleyn! - she heard him scream, just as two white-feathered wings cocooned her. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for an impact, but nothing happened. A muffled sound came from the other side of the impromptu shield, something which sounded awfully like two angels getting their behinds handed to them. 

The wings slowly came apart, letting the sound of the battle rip through Eleyn’s ears once again. She gasped. 

Standing right in front of her, grey wings extended and sticking out like a sore thumb, was none other than Mashheet. They’d made it out of the tunnels alive. 

They held a sword which they immediately handed to Aziraphale; one which the angel recognized immediately. 

-Apologies - they said, offering him the weapon - What with helping you escape, it slipped my mind. I believe this belongs to you, Supreme Archangel - 

He stared at it. Then at Mashheet. He hadn’t seen the flaming sword since he’d handed it off to the delivery man, all those years ago. Yet here it was, right in front of him. 

-How did you…? - he began asking. 

-If I may, this is hardly the time for questions - they cut him off.

Aziraphale shrugged. They weren’t wrong. 

The sound of a battle cry getting closer behind him made the decision for him. He took the sword, and it lit up at his touch. He smiled. Oh, how he’d missed the weight of it. 

He swung it at the coming angel, and they dodged out of the way, completely missing Eleyn and him. 

He turned to Mashheet, and nodded in thanks. 

They nodded back, then took out a sword of their own and started towards Muriel, engaging warrior angels as they came.

-On your right! - Eleyn screamed. 

Aziraphale spun. Just in time. His sword and the angel’s connected with a metallic clang, then slid off each other with a hiss. He stuck once, twice; both blows blocked. When their swords came apart again, the angel attempted a strike at Aziraphale’s throat. He blocked, grabbed their wrist, pulled down to stretch their arm and slammed his pommel into it, hard . There was a crack, then a scream, and Aziraphale struck them on the back as they knelt down in pain, knocking them out cold. 

Another angel rapidly closed in on him from his left, but they were knocked out mid-flight by a spear which shot out from Aziraphale’s blind spot. He made to turn, but the hissed swear that got to him a second after gave him all the information he needed. 

He smiled, mostly in joy and just a little bit in relief. 

His and Crowley’s backs almost automatically found each other. 

- Playing with old toys, Angel? - the demon teased, just as he blocked an oncoming attack. 

-Oh well, you know me - Aziraphale teased back, knocking an angel right off their feet and sending them to sleep with a hit on the top of the head - Always had a penchant for tradition - 

In perfect sync, angel and demon spun one hundred and eighty degrees, still back to back. Crowley spat a flame of hellfire at an oncoming angel, making them fly out of the way. Aziraphale swung the flaming sword, and the angel attacking him jumped back. 

-Nothing more traditional… - Crowley spoke again, interrupted by another spear clashing into his  - Than you and me against the rest of the world, ey?  - 

- Story of our lives - Aziraphale shot back at him, cracking a smile just as the angel jumped back towards him, only for their stomach to collide against his crossguard.

A dry whack on the side was all it took for them to go out like a light. The demon managed to disarm the other angel and took them down just as easily. 

Right then, right that moment, Crowley made a mistake. For a heartbeat, and no more than a heartbeat, he had hoped. He had thought, only for a second, that they might win. 

But the only thing that got him was for the blow to hit even harder.

Thunder roared through the air, heavenly and raw and powerful. Then there was a presence, regal and unmistakable. 

The archangels had arrived. 

The demon raised his gaze, and his gut went to his feet. Michael, wings outstretched and floating in the sky like they owned it, surrounded by another legion of angels. 

Their order rang through the air. Kill them, seize the girl .

Another hundred angels plummeted down towards them, and they were surrounded in less than a breath. Crowley’s grip on the spear tightened. He could feel his heart palpitating in his throat. His hands began to sweat. 

But there was no time to lose. 

He blocked an attack from an angel, then from another. The third one hit him, making astounding contact with his stomach. Another wave of pain irradiated through him, but he didn’t double over. He couldn’t. 

Right then he heard a groan from Aziraphale. All of a sudden, their contact broke. Crowley swung the spear at an oncoming angel, hitting them in the face, and they toppled back onto another. Then he turned to face Aziraphale. 

But he wasn’t there. 

His angel stood a few feet away, wings fully outstretched, taking on warrior angels left and right. He blocked the first handful of attacks, but the impacts were taking a toll on his arms. Another sword collided against his, and the angel to whom it belonged pushed Aziraphale back. His arms gave out, and he toppled. Then, the warrior angel slashed through his shoulder. 

He let out a scream as he gripped the wound, golden blood staining his fingertips. 

-AZIRAPHALE! - Crowley howled. 

He tried to lurch towards the angel who’d hurt him, but another two were already on him. He prodded the first one with the rear end of the spear as hard as he could, making them topple backwards, but the other grabbed his arm. Desperate, he summoned a spark of hellfire. They let go before they could get burnt. Crowley decked them, then swung the spear at both them and their friend. They went down like stones. 

Right then he heard another scream. He looked up. Time seemed to slow, if only to mock him. His eyes shot open. His breath caught in his throat. 

Muriel

An angelic spear had just violently torn through her right wing. Her knees buckled, but she scrambled to her feet as best she could, fists outstretched in front of her. Before she could do anything, however, a spear shaft made resounding contact with her lower back, making her fall to her knees with a wail of pain. Just in the nick of time, Mashheet embraced her and used their wings as a shield.

The angels struck them again and again, wounding and scarring them, but they wouldn’t budge. 

They wouldn’t be able to hold them back for very long, and Crowley knew it. 

Shit . 

Eleyn’s voice rippled through the air. The demon spun in its direction. Two angels had grabbed her, each by an arm, and a third had torn the sword out of her hand and thrown it far. They were saying something to her, their lips moved, but she kicked and demanded to be let go. They didn’t listen. 

Why couldn’t they just have listened? 

Shit, shit, shit .

His heart beat violently against his chest, he could barely breathe. His hands had begun to tremble. 

Another hiss of pain from Aziraphale on his left. Crowley’s eyes shot towards where the angel had been standing less than a second ago. Now, he was down on one knee, one hand clutching the flaming sword and the other clinging onto his injured shoulder. 

He stood up straight as best he could, swinging the sword with a groan of pain, but a spear collided against his forearm. He let go of the sword against his will, and it hit the stone with a clang. Another spear struck Aziraphale on the side.

And then Crowley stopped breathing. 

There were too many. 

They weren’t going to win. 

Not like this. 

Just as Aziraphale’s knees gave out from the impact, the demon raised his gaze to the steps of the Basilica . 

The Metatron, up on top, preened proudly at the scene.

On the step below, Michael enjoyed the show just as much. 

On the second to last step, Crowley stopped. 

His eyes met Uriel’s immediately. 

He felt the shaking get worse. He was scared. Fuck . He didn’t have time for that. 

Uriel stared at him. 

He nodded. 

-You…you won’t survive - 

 

-I know - 

 

-I… - 

 

-Uriel, please. If everything else fails, and there’s a big chance it will, this will be our only shot - 

 

-And if it doesn’t work? - 

 

-It will - 

They raised their head, only slightly, then lifted their eyebrows in a silent question. 

He took a shaky breath, glancing past them into nothing.

Three thoughts, three images. Muriel, barely conscious between Mashheet’s arms. Eleyn, being dragged away into Metatron’s claws. Aziraphale, bleeding, hurt. His pale blue eyes struck with pain as the angels beat him.

Crowley stopped shaking, his grip on the spear shaft tightened to the point his knuckles turned white. His heart settled. His throat opened up and he took a steadying breath. The fear was gone, burnt within the fire of his determination.

It was gone because the choice was made. 

He met Uriel’s eyes once again, and nodded. Firmly. Uriel nodded back. 

He’d gone past the point of no return. 

-Right, when you get the signal, if you get the signal… -

 

-I will alert Saraquael and they will go down to Hell, yes - 

 

-He has to be there, Uriel. He has to see it with his own eyes, and so do the rest of them. If He doesn’t, then it’s all for nothing - 

 

-He will be there. You have my word, or whatever’s left of its worth - 

 

-That’s enough for me  - 

 

Uriel lifted their hand to their ear, and uttered a single word. 

The countdown had begun. There was only one more thing Crowley needed to do. 

Using all the strength his limbs could muster, he charged forwards. 

He swung the spear between his hands at any angel who tried to stop him, at any warrior who got in his way. 

He had to get to Aziraphale, whatever it took. 

Crowley felt a sword slash through his jacket, cutting his arm, but it barely hurt. Nothing could remotely hurt, not compared to what was next. 

He flung the spear at them, hitting them right on the teeth. They fell backwards, unconscious. 

The sound of wings reached him from above, and he lifted his gaze. At least seven of them were about to attack, not counting the ones that were probably approaching him from behind. 

His eyes fell back down. Aziraphale was right there, only a handful of feet away. A rush of adrenaline tore through Crowley’s body.

He sprinted. 

Aziraphale lifted his head then. He’d heard the steps running towards him. 

When he realized who they belonged to, his eyes shone. He extended a hand, and the demon took it. 

The second they touched, the world seemed to stop.

 

 There’s one more thing - 

 

-Yes? - 

 

-Aziraphale. One minute, that’s all I need. And then, when that minute’s over, there’s something else I need you to do - 

It seemed to stop because it had. Almost. 

The group of angels who were about to attack them were still there, above their heads, but they moved so slow they were practically frozen. Aziraphale looked around. All the other angels were the same; so were Muriel and Eleyn. Suspended in a moment in time, like a millisecond had been stretched to its limits. 

- Angel - Crowley breathed.

-Crowley, what…? - he’d begun to ask, only to be cut off. 

-I’ve put us out of sync with the rest of the universe - the demon explained, gently raising Aziraphale to his feet. 

-Michael… - the angel sighed, wincing as Crowley incorporated him - We…were winning, and then… - 

-Aziraphale… - Crowley tried to cut him off, his fingers tightening around the other’s wrists

-And then there was another legion… - he continued, spiraling - Too many of them. I think Muriel screamed, and Eleyn…- 

- Aziraphale! -  the demon silenced him, then released one of his wrists and cupped the angel’s cheek with impossible tenderness - I’ve broken the laws of physics and reality at the same time to make this possible, so I need you to listen to me . Don’t talk, just listen. I don’t have much time - 

Silence. Then, a small nod. His eyes filled with concern, those gorgeous eyes. He’d been accused of many sins, of many heresies. But what he was about to do to those eyes… that was even worse. 

-We can’t win, not like this - his voice broke. He took a shaky breath. The clock was ticking - We can’t fight them all and even if we could it’ll be pointless if The Metatron still has his claws on them. The only way we can win this is by showing them who he really is - 

- We tried, Crowley. You tried, you did your best, but he… - Aziraphale raised a hand to caress his face with his knuckles, but the demon caught it before it could touch him. 

-No, Angel, that was all just laying the trap. All part of the plan…of my plan - tears began burning in his eyes. Shit . He had to hold himself together - It was a backup plan, really. I was really hoping it didn’t have to get to this, that they would listen after all, but…just in case, I prepared it - 

-Prepared? Prepared what? - the angel breathed, his eyes never letting Crowley’s go.

-Everything. The Metatron, winding him up, making him furious, getting him to the point of eruption - he explained, using every fiber of his will not to let his voice crack, not now - Giving him the rope . All to ensure he won’t hesitate to… - 

He stopped talking, the words stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. He swallowed, but the lump stayed put. 

- To? - Aziraphale softly nudged, his grip on the demon’s hand tightening imperceptibly.

Crowley didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just stared back at the angel, at the being he loved most in the entire universe, at his star. He turned the angel’s hand around in his and began caressing his knuckles, softly, tenderly. He felt the touch, the warmth. His heart hammered in his chest. It quickly became hard to breathe. He gazed at that beautiful angel, his beautiful angel. He gazed at him knowing that he was about to destroy him, and he was unable to hold back another second. 

A tear rolled down his cheek, then another. He raised his hand, caressed the angel’s hair, then his cheek. Crowley cupped it, slowly, and finally let out a sigh. Choked, broken, full of pain and guilt. 

And then Aziraphale stopped breathing. 

That heaviness he’d seen behind the demon’s eyes, back at the chapel. That stolen kiss in the tunnels. Raphael’s cryptic words. 

“I really am sorry”

Now he knew what they meant.

Those azure eyes, the ones which had been so full of concern, were suddenly invaded by tears. By pain. That alone, to Crowley, felt like dying. 

- No -  Aziraphale cried, barely able to process - No no no no… . - 

Crowley lifted his other hand, attempting to cup the angel’s face completely. Aziraphale shoved both the demon’s hands down and held them firmly, refusing to let go. 

- NO! - he cried, his voice breaking into a million pieces - You can’t…! Crowley, you can’t! I won’t…I won’t let you!  - 

-Aziraphale, please, just… - 

- I SAID NO! - the angel screamed - We’ll find another way, there has to be another…! - 

Crowley managed to break one of his hands free from the angel’s grip, and without hesitation he laid it gently on Aziraphale’s jawline, thumb lightly brushing his lip. 

-There’s no other way, Angel - he whispered - I’ve got to do this. For you. For Muriel, for Eleyn. For the world. Our world - 

- You are my world! - Aziraphale breathed, his voice choked by the tears. Crowley’s heart faltered at that, and just for a second he forgot how to breathe - I don’t care what it’ll mean, but I won’t… I won’t let you do this - 

The demon sighed, tears running down his cheeks without restraint. They were almost out of time. Ten seconds. 

His grip on the angel’s face tightened, only a little bit. 

- I know  - he breathed back

He leaned in, and pulled. Aziraphale did the rest. Their lips collided in a fervent kiss, wet with tears, one which tasted of the saddest thing a kiss could taste of; goodbye . Crowley pushed just a little bit more, just for one more second. He wanted to memorize every second, every feeling, every goosebump, every palpitation of his heart. Every touch. 

Five seconds. 

Against the will of every single fiber in his body, Crowley pulled away. He looked into those eyes one last time, those hauntingly beautiful eyes, and he spoke once again. 

- I love you - he said - Forgive me - 

Three.

Two.

One.

Right as time snapped back into place, Crowley spun them around a hundred and eighty degrees and shoved Aziraphale back, with as much force as he could. Then, he extended his wings, and with one firm flap he shot upwards, knocking the angels who’d been suspended around them right out of the air. 

- CROWLEY! - 

Aziraphale made to follow the second he regained his footing, but just as he was about to take a first step towards the demon, something held him back.

Someone. 

Uriel had grabbed him by an arm, their grip ironclad.

- NO, NO! LET ME GO! URIEL, LET ME GO! - he kicked and screamed, tears flushing down his face - CROWLEY! - 

They pulled Aziraphale even closer, securing a grip on both his arms, and whispered into his ear as he screamed; their voice a small, broken thing.

- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I promised him, I have to. I’m so sorry… - 

 

-He’ll try to come after me, he’ll try to stop me. If he succeeds, it’s over. Over for the whole universe. You need to keep him safe and where he is, do you understand? - 

 

-I… - 

 

-Uriel, do you understand? - 

 

- You really…you really do love him. All of them. You would sacrifice your own existence - 

 

-What, didn’t think I was actually capable? - 

 

-As a matter of fact, no. But then I also thought The Voice of God could never lie, so I guess I was wrong about many things - 

 

-Yeah, you were. So start being right for a change and promise me you’ll protect Aziraphale. Please - 

 

-I promise - 

 

-Thank you - 

 

With Aziraphale’s screams tearing a hole into his heart, Crowley flew. He flew as fast and as hard as he could towards Basilica di San Pietro . Towards the steps, towards the man who stood atop them. 

He had arrived in less than a heartbeat. The battle still roared behind him, but it was only a muffled sound compared to his angel’s cries, his screams. Uriel had done their part well. The only thing left now was for him to do his, and for Saraquael to come through. 

The Metatron barely had time to react before the demon crashed into him, pushing him back at the same time he used his wings to stop himself from stumbling forwards. The Voice of God regained his footing immediately, and when his eyes met Crowley’s they were full of such rage even the wrath of Satan would’ve seemed docile and sweet in comparison.

Well , Crowley thought, last words. Might as well make ‘em good.

-Listen here, you self-important, entitled little shit - he hissed at The Voice of God - You will never be God, you were never even fucking divine. All you are is a little bitch who thinks they’re worth a damn, but do you know what? However hard you try, however high you whine, you will always be the bitch behind the throne. - 

The Metatron’s hand went up to his jacket. There was a flash of gold and blue, then the sound of a blade coming out of its scabbard. 

Crowley took a breath, knowing perfectly well they were counted, and hissed one last insult for good luck. 

- You. Are. Fucking. Nobody - 

And then the blade struck.

The Metatron plunged it into him with such force it tore right through his stomach, and Crowley grabbed his arm out of reflex. He cried, hit by wave after wave of nausea and pain like he’d never felt it before. He cried as he felt his soul begin to tear apart, he cried as he felt his blood trickle out of the wound, but his grip on The Metatron’s arm remained ironclad. He couldn’t let go, not yet. 

Not yet. 

Not-

There.

He heard the hellish flames, felt their heat on his skin. He felt their presence as they arrived. Hastur, Ligur, Dagon, Shax…and finally, finally…. Satan. He felt the shift in the air, those few degrees dropping in the presence of the first fallen angel. He had seen. The Devil had seen. 

He waited another few seconds, just to make sure.

Then he used all the strength he had left, every last drop, to pull himself closer to The Voice of God. He took in his very last breath, all the air his lungs could allow, and whispered into his ear. He’d be damned if he let that bastard have the last laugh.

- Gotcha - 

The Metatron growled, and with one violent motion pulled the blade of the Angel’s Dagger right out of his body. He wailed in pain, and the consciousness slipped from him just as he buckled and collapsed down the steps onto the cold stone floor of Piazza San Pietro. 

The scream which left Aziraphale’s lips that very second tore through the air with such raw, violent force that both Heaven and Hell shook . It wasn’t a sound so much as a force, as if the very fabric of the cosmos had cracked under the weight of his grief. 

The warrior angels scattered around the piazza , no matter who they were fighting or trying to kill, all froze on the spot. The roar of battle died, within seconds, swallowed by an unnatural stillness. They all stopped, every single member of the Host, unable almost to breathe. One of them stepped back, clutching their chest. Another dropped their sword. Angels were beings of empathy, it was the entire point of their existence, but nothing would have ever prepared them to feel a pain like that. Not even God.

For a moment, there was no sound. Not even a breath could be heard in the entire Vatican City. Only an echo of something sacred torn in half, and the screams of the half that remained.

Aziraphale wailed, fighting against Uriel’s iron grip, his eyes completely fixed on the figure crumpled below the stairs, on the demonic blood seething out of him. Then, without prior warning, the archangel’s grip loosened. He stumbled forward from the force of his pull, nearly tripping over himself, but he didn’t hesitate for a single second. 

He ran towards Crowley, all Heaven and Hell and God herself be damned. 

Eleyn’s chest hurt, it felt like it would explode. Two angels had her trapped, her arms immobilized, but then something had happened. She squeezed her eyes shut, her head spinning violently. There was a star, flaring brighter than Copernicus itself, and then it broke. It was torn, with no restraint and no remorse. Its light dissolved into nothingness, and it hurt. It felt like her intestines were being twisted, like her chest was being hammered again and again and again. 

And then she heard the scream. Her eyes shot open. The angels released her, as though they’d gone numb. 

When she turned, Eleyn saw Aziraphale run and followed his direction to the Basilica , to where The Metatron stood. Her throat closed. He had the Angel’s Dagger in his hand, golden blood dripping from its point. She dragged her eyes down the steps, until she reached the figure which laid below them. Her heart sank .

No. 

No no no. 

A hand flew to cover her mouth. 

- No! - another voice shot through the air somewhere on her left, something between a gasp and a scream. 

Eleyn followed the sound. Muriel stared at Aziraphale, and at the figure he ran towards, her eyes wide in shock. Mashheet held her by the shoulders, unbothered by the scathes and wounds their wings bore. The scrivener shoved herself out of Mashheet’s soft grip and sprinted towards Crowley. Eleyn followed without a second thought.

Aziraphale was the first to reach him. He stopped dead a couple feet from Crowley, out of breath. He wanted to cry, to scream; but all he could do was stare in horror. The demon laid immobile, his wings limp, feathers scattered through the steps. His clothes were torn and stained of the golden blood which seeped out of the wound, his chest didn’t move. Aziraphale’s hands began to shake as he shifted his gaze to the demon’s face. His skin was pale, his pupils fixed and the yellow in his eyes dark. 

 - C…Crowley? - he breathed.

Nothing. No response, no movement, not a single sound. The silence rang in Aziraphale’s ears, stronger and stronger, until he was hit by a feeling of absence so great it made him collapse onto his knees. He couldn’t breathe. When you've spent six thousand years with another being, the feeling of their presence is so constant that it becomes an intrinsicate part of you, part of your soul, and there comes a point when you don't even remember a time before it was there. Until you lose it. Until it disappears and leaves behind it a great big nothingness which breaks you apart.

He was gone. His essence, the feeling of him, his presence, his scent, his... him . And Aziraphale cried, because it felt like his insides had been ripped out, leaving behind an empty, broken shell of just Aziraphale. Of an angel without his demon. 

- N…no. Please…Crowley… - 

He reached out with a trembling hand, carefully laid it on the demon’s arm and pulled just enough to lay him on his back. Aziraphale took a shallow breath, the sight of those eyes like a blow to the heart. Those eyes with such a lack of life. The angel cupped his jawline, carefully, and stopped for a heartbeat at the touch of his skin. With two fingers, he softly brushed Crowley’s crimson locks aside and brought their foreheads closer together. He sobbed uncontrollably, tears cascading down his face and going to land on the demon’s.

- Don’t leave me… - he muttered between sobs - You can’t…Crowley…please… - he caressed his face - There’s…there’s the cottage, remember? With that beautiful kitchen and…and the tartan curtains and the pond in the garden and…Crowley, don’t leave me alone…I love you ... .I can’t… - 

The words became lodged inside his throat, choked by the tears. When his only reply was silence, he crumbled. He broke down completely, his head falling to the crook of the demon’s neck, his hands curling into fists at the height of Crowley’s chest. He screamed and cried, his shrieks shaking the ground itself.

Muriel and Eleyn weren’t slow to arrive, but they stopped just short of Crowley and Aziraphale. The scrivener gasped, both hands covering her mouth as tears began streaming from her eyes. She turned on the spot, unable to watch, and God’s daughter embraced her immediately. 

- This…this wasn’t supposed to happen - Muriel sobbed - H..how did this…? - 

Eleyn’s grip on her became stronger. 

- I know, I know…shit - 

Despite her best efforts, she also had to look away. She couldn’t bear the pain, it was too much and too unfair. An hour ago, just no more than an hour, four little stars floated softly in her conscience, shining brightly and unapologetically; and now one of them was broken and the other three wept .

The stars will weep for what you lose…

The words echoed in her memory, those words which had been said to Crowley all those eons ago. Dammit Rapahel, she thought. Couldn’t you be wrong for once?

There was another beat of silence, and then…laughter. Coarse, cruel. The Metatron stood where he had, bloodied dagger still in hand, his head tilted back as a mirthless cackle burst from his chest. 

-Oh don’t be dramatic, Aziraphale - his voice cracked through the heaviness of the air, always so full of condescension and self-importance. If the angel had heard, he’d given no indication - You knew this would happen, I warned you. Three years ago . You disobeyed and this is the consequence. The only one to blame here is y…- 

- Stop - Eleyn cut him off, her reddened eyes fixed not on the Voice of God but on the bastard who had killed his friend - Just stop. Don’t you dare . Don’t you dare do so much as look at that angel, you hear me? You do not deserve to speak to him, or to speak at all. You barely deserve to exist - 

-Do not tell me that you, daughter of God, have developed affections towards this… - he glanced down at Crowley with disgust, almost like his being sprawled there was an inconvenience - …this creature of Hell - 

-He is our FRIEND! - she yelled, carefully letting Muriel go and taking a step forward . She made sure to raise her voice so every single angel could hear her - He saved me, took me in, protected me! You hunted me like a dog . Used me, hurt others to get to me. You nearly killed a child . Tell me, which of those sounds like the bad guy to you? - 

-Demons are traitors. They are disposable, and they always will be - he claimed, his voice chillingly calm - Now you will be silent and fulfill your mother’s wishes. Warriors, seize her! - 

He snapped his fingers as he barked the order, but nobody moved. There was no flapping of wings, no battle cry, no metallic hiss of the spears. Eleyn, her gaze pinned firmly on The Metatron’s eyes, was the first to make a move. She raised her arms and outstretched them at her sides, daring them to take her. She took a breath. Still, not one angel moved. Not towards her. 

They dropped to their knees, one by one, their weapons discarded on the floor and their hands clutching their hearts. In a matter of seconds, every single one had made their choice; and it had been the correct one. They knelt, heads bowed. Two hundred angels paying their respects to the demon who had left them all to shame, Uriel and Mashheet between them. Saraquael, in their floating chair, bowed their head as well. The only one left standing up straight, to nobody’s surprise, was Archangel Michael.

Eleyn glanced back at them all briefly, the sight painting a small, sad smile on her face. Then, she turned back to the metatron and shifted the position of her arms, now gesturing at the host behind her. 

-You see? They know what you are, now. They know the truth, Metatron - her gaze fell on Crowley as she lowered her arms, Aziraphale still desperately clung to him - Just like he said . He beat you. Crowley won, you lost  - she looked back up at the Voice of God - You were always going to lose - 

- Pathetic , all of you - The Metatron roared, glaring at the angels, at the host who had had the audacity to disobey me - Angels. Always so predictably sentimental - 

- Spoken like a man - Muriel spat at him, out of the blue, staring daggers at the bastard.

-You dare speak to me, dim one ? - he shot back, vitriol dripping from his words -  Very well then, you shall be the first one - He turned towards the Devil, who’d been watching the scene unfold in silence, and pointed the dagger at the piazza, its blade still stained with demonic blood - Claim your prize my dear ally, they are all yours! Feast, and then assist me in finishing what we started. We shall ascend to heaven with the child and we will…! - 

-NO- 

Satan’s voice reverberated like the echo of a church. It was firm, final, unsettling without Him needing to raise it. The Metatron stood there, frozen in place, a shadow of fear passing his face. 

- What? - he growled. 

- NO - The Devil repeated, furious- YOU WIELD THE ANGEL’S DAGGER, A WEAPON WHICH HAS ENDED THE EXISTENCE OF MANY OF MY OWN AND WAS JUSTLY PROHIBITED BY BOTH HEAVEN AND HELL. YOU USE IT TO MURDER ONE OF MY DEMONS IN COLD BLOOD INCHES FROM MY FACE. AND YOU DARE BELIEVE THERE IS STILL SUCH A THING AS A “WE”?! - 

-But… - his eyes shot open. He looked at the lifeless demon at the bottom of the steps, then back at Satan - But he is a filthy traitor, he’s scum, he stopped Armageddon and refused to thwart…! - 

- THAT DOES NOT MATTER TO ME! - the prince of darkness roared  - BY MERELY TOUCHING THAT DAGGER, YOU HAVE BETRAYED ME. TELL ME, HOW AM I TO KNOW YOU WILL NOT USE IT AGAINST ME OR OTHERS OF MY KIND; SEEING AS YOU DEEM US AS, IN YOUR OWN WORDS, SO DISPOSABLE? NO, METATRON. THIS DAY, YOU HAVE LOST MY TRUST AND, THUS, MY AID - 

-We have a deal! - The Voice of God roared back. 

- DEAL?! - Satan outstretched his hand and produced a column of smoke, out of which emerged a sealed scroll - A PACT SIGNED IN THE BLOOD OF DEMONS AND COMPOSED OF NOTHING BUT LIES AND BETRAYALS IS NO WORTH TO ME. WE HAVE NO DEAL! -

He closed his fist tighter, crumpling the parchment, and a flame of hellfire burst from his fingers, turning the pact to ashes right in The Metatron’s face. 

Eleyn held her breath, her eyes widening in shock. She looked over at Muriel, who stared at the two figures atop the stairs with the same perplexed awe. They had done it. The angels were safe, The Metatron was powerless and the universe was not going to end. She and the scrivener looked at one another, caught somewhere between relief, confusion, and aching grief. 

Then, Eleyn gasped softly. It had finally hit her. That’s why he had done it, why Crowley had launched himself into a minefield and set off the bomb. He had known about the prohibition, known it from the start. He’d been planning this from the beginning; he knew he was going to die before stepping foot in the Vatican. It could have not worked, it could have gone wrong in so many places; but he still did it. And not out of martyrdom, that wasn’t Crowley’s style. It had been for love. 

She smiled, sad but fond. The sentimental idiot , she thought. 

The Metatron’s coarse, insufferable voice, opportune as ever, forced her eyes back up to the Basilica .

- No! No, you cannot turn your back to me, Satan! - he demanded, nothing short of an entitled child - I…I have offered you the souls of every angel in Heaven; that is not something you can just refuse! - 

Like clockwork, all two hundred angels lifted their heads. Archangel Michael stared in shock, while Uriel and Saraquael smiled to themselves.

-I BELIEVE I JUST HAVE - The Devil replied without missing a beat.

-NO, NO, NO! - The Metatron whined, having lost all semblance of composure - I AM A GOD! I WILL BECOME THE MOST POWERFUL BEING IN THE UNIVERSE, I WILL CONTROL THE COSMOS, I WILL…! - 

There was a shift, the barest sound of movement. Aziraphale had raised his head from Crowley’s chest, slowly. He pinned The Metatron with his gaze, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and full of such pain and wrath that it had done the impossible task of rendering the Voice of God silent.

Then the angel spoke, just loud enough for him to hear, his voice hushed but trembling in rage. With just one sentence, he made the Earth rattle.

- The only thing you will ever be is a monster - 

By the time The Metatron had opened his mouth to resume his tantrum, he’d already been surrounded by a dozen of very angry, very betrayed warrior angels; spearpoints pointed squarely at his throat. Mashheet and Uriel led them; and the latter wasted no time to spare Michael a scolding glare. The first, in the meantime, summoned chains to appear around The Metatron with a snap of their fingers.

-I advise you to stay silent - Mashheet calmly spoke to the Voice of God - Otherwise, one of these angels’ hands might just… slip - 

One of them pushed the point of their spear a touch more, just to make the point come across. The Metatron made to speak but, for what must have been the first time in his existence, he made the sensible choice and shut his mouth right back up.

And that was that. Metatron was defeated, their mission was completed. It was over.

However, as Muriel and Eleyn knelt down either side of Aziraphale, before Crowley’s lifeless body, they couldn’t help but feel like they’d lost after all. Above the ruins of Heaven’s authority, three stars still wept and one was still broken. 

The stars will weep for what you lose… 

The phrase echoed still in Eleyn’s mind, almost like it wanted to tease her. Then, from nowhere, Raphael’s voice whispered something else, another memory.

A good phrase should never be left unfinished .

She thought for a second. Then her eyes immediately flickered to the demon’s yellow-grey eyes. Her heartbeat picked up, her breath hitched. It couldn’t be…could it? 

The stars will weep for what you lose…

…but rejoice for what you gain

Eleyn had no idea if it would work, not even Raphael had known; but she owed it to Crowley to at least try. She took a breath, and muttered under her breath. 

                                        - Get up and walk -

Chapter Text

- Get up and walk - Eleyn repeated, a little louder, her gaze fixed on the demon’s dim once-amber eyes. 

The little star didn't move, didn't make a sound, not even the faintest flicker. But Eleyn knew, or perhaps just hoped, that there was something still there. He wouldn't just give up like that, not Crowley, not with all he had to lose.

-Get up and walk! - God’s daughter ordered once again. Something stirred within the ashes.

Aziraphale looked up at her slowly, his eyes bloodshot from crying, his face torn in helplessness and impotence. 

- Eleyn, please… - he whispered, his voice a broken thing. 

She ignored him. 

-Get up, now! Get up and walk! - she repeated, raising to her feet, the tears still wet in her eyes. 

A flicker. The faintest little spark, practically an echo, but undoubtedly there.

-Get up and…! - 

-Eleyn! - Aziraphale cried. The girl shifted her gaze to him that time, and saw how the angel’s eyes pleaded to her. They pleaded not to give him hope, a hope which would only make it hurt more - It's not going to work, you know it's not… - 

-Stop me, then - she snapped, not missing a beat, fiercely pinning the angel down with her gaze. 

Aziraphale stared at her for a heartbeat, only a heartbeat, and replied without hesitation.

- No - 

Eleyn nodded, then shifted her gaze to once again meet Crowley's eyes. They were still empty, devoid of life, but there was something there; something desperately trying to claw its way back. 

-Get up and walk! - She insisted, her voice now loud - Get up! -

There was a flicker, almost imperceptible, strong and warm in the core of that broken little star. Eleyn's pulse picked up, her breathing accelerated. Crowley was there, and she could feel him. 

-Listen here, you self-sacrificing dumbass of a demon! - she told him off, tears of stubborn affection swelling up in her eyes - You think you're getting away with this? - 

The little star pulsed once, weakly, as if in response. Her lips curved into the smallest smile.

-Six thousand bloody years it takes you to tell the angel you love him!  You go through Heaven and Hell – literally . You get your heart shattered, then rebuilt. And the second you're finally happy that bastard - she gestured in Metatron's general direction with despise - makes you use the sacrifice card? Oh, hell no - 

The star pulsed again, stronger; and then a second time. 

-You have people who love you. You have a world – a whole damn universe – that you just saved. You've got a cottage to build, a pond to fill and ducks to feed. This is not how this ends - 

It pulsed again and again. Dim, struggling, like a candle against a storm. Eleyn could feel its warmth now, just barely. She could feel him clinging to life, not ready to let go. She took a deep breath, her skin beginning to tingle in what had become a familiar feeling.

-Fuck the Angel's Dagger. Fuck divine rules. Fuck the whole system. I am the daughter of God. I am the second coming and I. Am not. Done - 

The weak little star flared, for less than a second; a strong, fierce pulse full of fire and full of life. Then it dimmed again. Her chest heaved up and down, tears rolled down her cheeks. 

- Get. Your arse. The fuck up. Right. Now - 

The light got stronger, stronger and warmer and fuller. It flared vivaciously, like it was about to burst in flames and life and then –

Nothing . 

Just darkness. 

Eleyn's breath hitched. She stumbled back half a step, trembling hands raising to cover her mouth. She had failed. The little star was gone, turned to ashes. It was really gone. 

Crowley was gone. 

- Please… - she whispered, her voice barely making it though her lips - …shit - 

Aziraphale lowered his head, crying silently, barely breathing. Muriel froze where she was, knelt beside the body. The entire Vatican was silent, the entire world – the whole of the cosmos – held its breath. 

And suddenly –

  Light . 

Crowley bolted upright, taking in a sharp gasp of air which felt like fire as his lungs opened. His heart pounded fiercely against his chest like it had never stopped, any trace of a fatal wound completely vanished. The lively amber color returned to his eyes. 

Muriel let out a shriek of joy, jumping to her feet and tightly embracing Eleyn. The latter sighed in utter relief, still perplexed at the fact that it had actually worked. Four little stars, shining brightly and rejoicing, exactly how it was always meant to be. 

Aziraphale's heart fluttered, but he stayed exactly where he was, not moving an inch. The demon coughed again and again, his lungs protesting from the lack of oxygen and his body for the lack of a soul.  

-I'm… - Crowley hissed in between gasps - I'm alive?… cough cough… I'm actually fucking bloody alive! -  

Aziraphale's trembling fingers curled into fists, slowly, tears of rage accumulating in his eyes. When the demon raised his eyes to meet his own blood-shot reddened gaze, the angel snapped. 

-You! - he punched Crowley's arm again and again - You! Stupid! Bastard! You…! How dare you…! Never, NEVER do that to me again, you…! - 

-Ow, OW! - the demon cried, curling in on himself as his arm was abused - Jesus fucking … ow! Stop it! Aziraphale! Angel! -

Aziraphale stopped dead, a fist still hovering in the air. He thought he would never hear that voice call him that again, he thought he'd never see those eyes or feel that bright presence ever again. And there he was, the ridiculous demon, staring bewilderingly back at him. 

The angel wasn't able to hold back any longer. He broke down in tears of joy and relief, throwing his arms around Crowley's neck. The demon relaxed into the embrace immediately, a hand raising practically out of reflex to caress the white curls in the back of Aziraphale's head. They breathed together, finding their sync without their even realising. 

- I thought… - he breathed, his voice still shaking - I thought… - 

-Yeah, I know - the other breathed back  - I know. It's okay now. I'm sorry about the scare - 

-I meant it - the angel said, pushing himself away just enough to be able to look into those amber eyes - Never do this to me again - 

-Not throw myself against the one weapon which can actually kill me in a last-ditch attempt to save the universe again? - Crowley smirked, gaining an immediate glare - Don't worry, wasn't planning to -  

-Oh, you… - 

With all Heaven and Hell as witnesses and no care in the world worth a damn, Aziraphale crushed the demon's smirk against his own mouth in a passionate kiss. It was still wet and damp with tears; but this time it tasted of the most joyous thing a kiss can taste of: hello again .

They came apart slowly, just enough to still let their foreheads touch. Crowley smiled warmly at his angel and raised a hand to tenderly dry the tears which fell from his azure eyes. Aziraphale leaned into the touch, finally cracking a smile of his own. He sighed. 

- You’re back - he breathed

- I’m back - Crowley confirmed, his smirk widening into a grin. 

-You're welcome, by the way - Another voice said from above them. 

The demon lifted his gaze towards its origin, and found Eleyn beaming at her, Muriel tightly clung to her arm, a little pale in the face. He smiled right back up at them. 

-Was it you who screamed me back to life? - he joked - t'was a little rude, I’ll have you know - 

- Shut up - she chuckled, her voice still choked by tears, pointing an accusing finger at him - Or I'm bruising your other arm - 

- What she said - Muriel managed to say between happy sobs. 

-So then - the demon finally sat up straight with a groan, Aziraphale holding him by the arms - Did it work, the whole being stabbed to death thing? - 

-Oh, beautifully - the angel’s smile widened - The pact is broken, Metatron has no power, no followers, not even a shred of dignity intact I'm afraid - 

-Good, because it bloody well hurt - he hissed as he rubbed the sore part of his chest where the wound had been - What's up with them? - he added when he raised his eyes and saw the two legions of angels staring, still on their knees. 

-Oh, they were showing their respects - Muriel explained, turning towards them - It's okay everybody, he's alive! - 

The silent, grim Piazza became light and abuzz with cheers and thunderous applause within seconds. Some angels stood, others stayed on their knees, their weapons nowhere to be seen. Atop the steps, Uriel, Saraqael and Mashheet joined in on the encore; the circle of warrior angels surrounding the Metatron not shifting even an inch. Even the demons, stood off to the side of the steps, reluctantly clapped. 

-Oh, um… - Crowley blinked at the scene, unsure whether to take it as quite moving or deeply unsettling - Thanks? - 

Archangel Michael, however, stood frozen in place, their face a poem as they replayed Metatron's crazed confession over and over in their mind.

-I…but…I don't… - they uttered, all their usual eloquence gone down the drain - He…he lied? Wh…? - 

-Surprised? - Uriel glared at them. Oh how they had waited for this moment - You shouldn't be. You should have seen, but you reduced yourself to following him like a lapdog -

-You were on his side too! - they clapped back, never shocked enough not to argue with Uriel.

-Until he almost killed a child! - the other archangel snapped - You, however, were much too drunk in the promise of power to see reason as Saraqael and I did! - 

-You could've shown me the pact! - Michael whined, stubborn as they came - Or said something! - 

-How could I when you were hovering over the Metatron like it was your job?! - Uriel argued, gesturing towards the ex-Voice of God with a wave of their hand. 

-Well, I…! - 

-No, Michael - they cut them off. Then they sighed, their tone softening from anger to disappointment - There are lines that can't be crossed, and you let them blur for the sake of obedience. That is not angelic behavior - 

-I…just…! - 

Eleyn couldn't help a chuckle at the archangels. As far as arguments with siblings went, it was certainly the most interesting one she'd seen to date. Two stars, literally spitting flames at one another. 

Hold on

She could feel them. The archangels. Michael, Uriel, Saraquael…bright, powerful. Beside them, Mashheet, a star forced behind gray clouds, flickering with fear of its own potential brilliance. Then there was the demons. Pulsing bodies of fire, more than light; full of anger, of impotence, of sadness. One was larger than the rest, and the smaller ones orbited around it. Satan . 

She could feel the two hundred angels which surrounded them, all simmering, brimming happily. They formed constellations within constellations around one another, an intricate, impossible, divine web which she somehow could make sense of. 

And in the center of it all, her three favourite stars. Muriel, with her bubbling simmer, bright as day itself; and the two which outshone all the rest. They orbited around one another, destined by every law of physics never to be apart. The Alpha Centauri of her own cosmos of perception. One demon and one angel; lighting up the entire night sky.

And then, suddenly, there was humanity. Millions upon millions of smaller, bright, twinkling little stars.

Eleyn stepped back, slightly overwhelmed by the enormity of an universe she could suddenly sense; all pulsing inside of her. She took a deep breath to settle herself, then another as she closed her eyes. 

There was another presence, one she couldn't yet place. It was a constant, warm glow. She could feel it on her skin, tingling. A big, fiery star; as though it had just been born, fresh out of the nebulae of nothingness. Eleyn felt it on the palms of her hands, warm and soft, on her cheeks, on the tip of her nose; even deep in her stomach. Whatever - or whoever - it was, it was close. Very close. Almost as if…

Oh. Oh hell. Or, heaven, technically.

It was her . Her own, new, divine presence. A star which a few minutes ago had been one of many little twinkles in a giant web had become something else, something beyond human nature. Something… something which had just returned.  

The second coming. 

The daughter of God. 

“Eleyn?” a voice said from somewhere in that infinite universe, barely an echo.

-Eleyn! - it said again. 

She took a breath, suddenly back in the present, in the Piazza , in real time. Muriel held her arm softly, grounding her, a worried glint in her eyes which mirrored the ones of Crowley and Aziraphale. They stood behind the scrivener, hand in hand, the demon having finally been able to stand. 

Whilst lost in the infinity of her new perception, she must have looked off to the other three, Eleyn thought. 

-Are you okay? You were kind of…gone - the scrivener went on to ask, still concerned. 

-It’s all good - God’s daughter smiled - It's just…I can feel everything now. The angels, the demons… -

-Oh, yes, of course - Aziraphale thought out loud - The signs are all done, meaning the second coming has officially…well, come - 

-Welcome to being divine! - Crowley smirked, gesturing dramatically with his free hand - It's long, it's weird, but somehow never dull. How's it feel? - 

-Like I’ve just had a software update and can't find half the apps - she said, flatly, raising an eyebrow, a grin slowly splitting her face in two. 

The demon barked out a laugh. Muriel and Aziraphale giggled. 

- That’s one way to describe it  - a voice said from behind all four. It was soft, quiet, calm. Almost like a soft breeze, followed by the click click of heels on stone. 

Four heads turned immediately towards its source, and their gazes fell on a woman. She stood there like She had always been standing there, tall and elegant and the slightest bit amused, clad in a crisp white blouse which was neatly tucked into sharp blue jeans. Her hair formed short, gentle, gray-white curls which framed Her cheekbones and a pair of large, square sunglasses covered Her eyes. Her lips, lazily stretched into a small lopsided smile, shone in a divinely glossy shade of red. She held a latte in a to-go cup in one hand, a Louis Vuitton bag in the other and, on Her feet, bore a glorious pair of thick black and gold heels with an intricate diamond finish. 

Eleyn stared at Her for two seconds, and two seconds was all it took for her to realize who She was. Upon her eyes falling onto the definition of expensive turned to shoes, however, she gasped.

-Are those… are those Vietri? ! - Eleyn shrieked, her eyes blowing wide.

- I've got to make an impression, darling - She extended Her arms gracefully, the coffee miraculously not spilling a drop.

-Well, you're not doing great so far - God’s daughter grumbled - You're late - 

She slid Her sunglasses down Her nose, revealing beneath them a pair of striking, fierce magenta eyes which effortlessly slid up and down Eleyn's figure. Then, Her omnipotent gaze flickered to Muriel, Crowley and Aziraphale. 

- Hello - She smirked at them, then gestured at Herself with long, delicate, perfectly manicured fingers - God. Charmed. Do try not to stare - 

The speed at which every single being in that Piazza turned their gaze onto the woman could have easily broken every single law of physics. The stunned silence was so heavy it might as well have been felt on the other side of the planet. The only one who glanced at Her like God hadn't just literally descended on Earth straight from a Vogue photoshoot was Satan; who rolled His eyes like he'd just ran into an annoying ex and muttered: “ FOR FUCK'S SAKE.”

As for Crowley, Muriel and Aziraphale; their jaws hit the floor so hard it actually hurt. 

-G..God?! Oh…oh my…um…Your Holiness! - Muriel stammered all over her words, not having a clue what to do with herself - Um…do…do we bow…or curtsy…or? - 

- Oh heavens no - She extended a palm elegantly in front of Her, looking away from the scrivener in an indignified manner - It wrinkles - 

Aziraphale’s eyes shot open, his grip becoming vice-like around Crowley’s arm. 

- You’ve got to be kidding me - the latter managed to say, mostly shocked and also slightly annoyed at how immaculate Her outfit was. 

- They usually say that - Her smirk remained on Her face as She glanced between the demon and the angel who clung onto him for dear life, finally taking Her glasses off - At last, the famous couple. You’ve given me endless drama, darlings. Quite a show. I was starting to think you’d drag the will-they-won’t-they until the end of time - 

- Sh…show?! - Aziraphale spat out, offended enough to forget his shock - We’re not a…! How long have you been watching us?! - he thought for a beat, then retracted, lifting a finger - Actually, no, don't answer that - 

-You can answer this though - Crowley hissed at Her, all surprise gone and substituted by overwhelming irritation - With not an ounce of all do respect; where the fuck have you been?! - 

- How do you mean, dear? - She blinked, smiling, knowing full well what he meant. 

-Oh, I dunno, maybe while we saved your daughter from your crazy-ass secretary? - the demon threw his arms up - While we risked our necks for your universe?! While I literally died?! - 

- Oh, yes, that - She chucked softly, dropping Her glasses onto the crook of Her blouse, almost bored - Darling, if I solved every problem myself the universe would be a very boring place. Don't you think? - 

-I’m gonna pretend you actually listened to a word I said and haven't just asked that - Crowley muttered back in reply, his flat tone suggesting he didn't get paid enough. Or at all. 

-Actually, um… - Muriel braved, hesitating for a moment when the omniscience of those magenta eyes landed squarely on her - You…you could've been helpful… you know…with The Metatron - 

- You four resolved everything without my assistance, like I knew you would - She insisted, her voice irritably calm - Why, then, should I have done such a thing? - 

-Out of basic decency, I should think - Aziraphale sassed Her right back, not yet aware of the fact that he’d just sassed God .

-Not to mention out of harrowing concern for your daughter - Eleyn added, every bit sarcastic as she was boiling in anger, looking Her straight in the eyes - Mother - 

- Come now, my darling - She smirked down at her daughter - Parental worry is for amateurs. I don't do amateur. I knew you would be in excellent hands - 

She gestured at the other three with an elegant flick of the wrist, and Eleyn let out a small breath as her gaze shifted from Muriel, to Crowley, to Aziraphale. Her family. Her stars.

-You were right about that, at least - 

- As always - God sighed, irritably unsurprised by the fact. 

Crowley rolled his eyes, barely suppressing a groan. 

-You are fucking unbelievable -  he hissed - Here we are, playing Apocalypse bloody dodgeball, and you just saunter along the second we’ve fixed your mess. Thanks for nothing - 

- Unbelievable? Please. I am entirely believable dear, you just never listen - She chuckled, unimpressed, taking a sip from Her latte. 

-Oh, I listen just fine - the demon spat back, jaw clenched - You’re just never bloody there - 

- And yet, somehow, here you stand. Breathing again - the foam in Her coffee formed a perfect heart once again as She spoke - You’re welcome - 

-Now hold on, that was me . I brought him back - Eleyn declared, taking a step forward - You’re not taking credit for that. What you could take it for though, for a change, is your colossal fuck-up with Enoch - 

God tilted Her head, lips curving into that lazy half-smile.

- Colossal? Darling, such melodrama. The Metatron was a hiccup. A tedious one, granted. He just got a touch jealous of me - She flicked a hand down Her immaculate blouse, as though the existence of wrinkles would prove Her point - And honestly, who could blame him? Look at me, I’m fabulous - 

-He did nearly end the world - Aziraphale pointed out, eyebrows pointedly raised, trying his best to defuse the sparks flying out of Crowley’s eyes - And the universe. Not to mention what he was planning to do with the angels - 

- Nearly. But he didn’t, did he? - She pursed Her lips - It all turned out fine, no need to be so touchy about it. - 

-Touchy?! - Crowley spat, furious - Oh, that’s it! I’m done. This is like arguing with a bloody brick wall in Prada - 

- Prada? - She fixed Her magenta stare on him like he’d just uttered blasphemy, a little scoff escaping Her lips - Don’t be ridiculous, dear. You wouldn’t catch me dead in something so…affordable - 

-Oh you smug little fucking… ! - 

-Crowley, dear, please don’t antagonize… -  Aziraphale had begun, unwrapping his fingers from the demon’s to lightly wrap them around his arm instead, only to be ruthlessly cut off by God.

- Oh Aziraphale, he’s been antagonizing for more than six millenia. And you’ve been sighing about it for just as long. Spare me the pretense – the whole cosmos ships it -

Satan couldn’t help a snort at that and, for the life of them, neither could Muriel and Eleyn. 

-I…well…I mean…that’s…um… - the angel stuttered, more flustered than he’d ever felt in those six millennia, a blush rapidly creeping up his neck. 

- I hate everything - Crowley growled, defeated, having grown crimson up to the tip of his ears.

- Adorable - God sipped Her latte, eyes sparkling - Crowley, dear, you grumpiness is half the attraction. Aziraphale, sunshine, your swooning is the other half. Truly, a match made in heaven. Go me - 

-Mother… - Eleyn stepped closer to Her, speaking at a whisper, Crowley and Aziraphale’s mortified eyes snapping onto her with relief that the topic was being changed - Were you planning to do something useful for once or did you just descend to treat us like we’re a reality show?  - 

- Sweetheart, reality itself is my favorite show. But you’re right, time to get to business - She smirked at Her daughter, one eyebrow raised, then finally looked up at the rest of the angels in the piazza. Her voice boomed out like thunder without effort - Everyone not Masheet, an archangel or actively pointing a spear at Metatron’s throat, scoot. Beat it. I need space to glare fabulously - 

One by one, the angels in the Piazza melted away, disappearing within rays of celestial light once they had finished staring bewilderedly at God. Some muttered under their breath as they went, but never dared to look in Her direction; whilst others risked a small glance and looked away immediately, cheeks flaming. Pretty soon, the two legions of warriors had thinned out, leaving behind only the circle of angels keeping watch over The Metatron and the others She had explicitly ordered to stay.

The demons, on the other hand, made a point of groaning and rolling their eyes as they slipped into the flames of Hell, each glare pointed at Crowley as if only he were to blame for the cosmic interruption. Satan paused at the end of the exodus, muttering something about wasted time under His breath as He lifted a hand to snap Himself out of His misery.  

- Ah ah ah, Cherie - God purred, Her tone once again soft as a breeze yet cutting through the Piazza like a velvet whip. He froze - Leaving so soon? - 

Satan stared for a few heartbeats, then glared at Her with such pointedness it could have popped a balloon. He let out a huff-groan as He let His hand drop to His side. 

-LET’S SEE - He snapped at Her, impatient - NOT AN ARCHANGEL, NO SPEAR, AND NOT A FUCK TO GIVE. SPARE ME THE MIGRAINE, WILL YOU? - 

- I knew you’d stooped low lately, mon Chère, but this? Really? - She scoffed, gesturing at The Metatron without even looking at him, as though dismissing last season’s collection - You thought you could overthrow me by teaming up with Enoch? You disappoint me, Luci -

- EH - He shrugged like he hadn’t been minutes away from ending the universe - WORTH A SHOT - 

-Worth a…?! - Crowley butted in, feeling completely insulted - I died! - 

- As you incessantly keep reminding us all… - God muttered under Her breath.

-I’m bloody well reminding you! - the demon hissed, now properly pissed - I felt my soul literally bleed out of my body and it was not fun! - 

-I wasn’t having an exactly marvellous time either in all of this - Aziraphale pointed out, then gestured at the other three - And neither were they. You could show a little compassion - 

- OH GET OVER IT - Satan growled, throwing them an eye roll which violated at least three amendments.

- They do have a point, My troublesome dear adversary - God cut in smoothly just as Aziraphale drew breath to protest. All four turned their gaze to Her - As entertaining as your grand finale was, I suppose a touch of compensation is in order. Massive emotional trauma so does not go with your aesthetic - 

-That’s more your style, isn’t it Mother? - Eleyn sassed Her, a cheeky knowing grin on her face. 

She glanced at her daughter, once again sweeping up and down her figure with those eternal magenta eyes, Her lips bending into something dangerously close to pride.

- Hmm - She pursed Her lips - Good. Very good. You will make an excellent successor for Enoch’s position, darling - 

-I…what? - she stammered, all the smugness draining from her face in a second - Me? Be the Voice of…of you? - 

- Evidently - God frowned like it should’ve been obvious - You did read it, didn’t you? In that little gospel you chased halfway across the country? That position was always yours, honey. The Metatron was just keeping your seat warm, until he decided to be a brat -  

-It…didn’t exactly…- Eleyn took a breath to steady herself - It said Enoch would get the eternal rest of his soul, not that I would take his place! - 

- Well, it’s in his contract. Which he signed without reading, might I add. - She crunched Her nose in distaste - I mean, he was about to die and that contract was literally his last hope, but still; you never sign without reading the fine print. Honestly. Amateur - 

-And I suppose when he did, he devised this whole ghastly plan - Aziraphale thought out loud, sighing - He must have realized the original gospel was the only one which mentioned it, so he made everyone forget who Enoch was and buried the book - 

-That way nobody knew what he was planning to do - added Muriel - Except Raphael. They saw it and tried to warn the other archangels, so Metatron got rid of them too - 

-Poor bastard - Crowley muttered - Divine boot, just so half-ass mortal over there could soothe his ego - 

- Fabulous summary, dears. - God made their attention snap back to Her - Riveting. But we have an agenda to get through, so: are you taking the position or not, my child? - 

Eleyn thought for a moment, her eyes instinctively finding Muriel’s, Crowley’s, Aziraphale’s. Less than a week ago, she had been an ordinary teenager whose only worry was the half-term exams and uni drama, and now…now she had an entire cosmos inside of her. Spinning and pulsing and dancing and doing the most incredible things, always in movement, always changing. And above and below it, Heaven and Hell. What should have been cosmic balance. But the scales were off. Way off. That was the one thing she had learnt from her friends. The divine system was broken, unjust, undermining its angels and its demons. That was her chance to fix Metatron's mess. To make it better. 

So she took a deep breath, and waved normal teenage life goodbye. That’s what you got for being God’s daughter. 

- Fine - she finally said - I’ll do it. But on my terms, and with a few conditions. Also, nice of you to let me believe I actually had a choice - 

- Pleasure - She grinned, cheeky, although somewhere deep down Eleyn was sure She was happy she’d accepted - Now, tell me these terms and conditions. I so love a good contract negotiation - 

-First of all, full access to Earth. Me or any angel who wants it. No questions, no leashes, no paperwork- she folded her arms, chin high - Second, I want three weeks of Christmas leave. Non-negotiable. I don’t care if the third apocalypse needs to be rescheduled, Christmas is mine  - 

- Acceptable, go on - 

-Third, I’m redecorating. Muriel and Aziraphale have told me things, and frankly, clouds and marble get old. Gardens, fountains…a little color. And for the love of You, somewhere to get a coffee - 

- Are you telling me My Heaven has bad interior design? - She frowned, affronted - Rude. But…valid. Proceed - She sipped Her latte, the foam returning to perfection as soon as she had.

-Also, communal spaces - she glanced at Muriel - No angel deserves to rot away alone in an office for centuries, not even the lowest-ranking scriveners. No more isolation - 

- Aww - Muriel sighed under her breath - Thanks - 

- Ugh, compassion. How terribly on-brand - God softened only for a heartbeat, quickly hiding it under a dramatic flick of Her hand - Very well - 

-Good - Eleyn turned back to her Mother, arms still crossed - And fourth… - 

- Fourth?! Darling, you’re multiplying… - 

- Fourth - she pressed on - You don’t get to vanish for another six millennia while everything falls to shit. You actually show up and do your job - 

God choked on Her latte mid-sip, a hand pressing against Her chest in overdramatic indignation. 

- Excuse me?! Diva, yes. Absent landlord? No! - She scoffed. 

Eleyn raised one eyebrow. 

God stared. Eleyn stared back. 

- Alright, maybe a little - She finally huffed, rolling Her eyes - But actually telling them what to do? Where’s the fun in that? - 

-In that your angels don’t end up destroying the universe thinking it’s your will, per example? - Eleyn suggested. 

- Oh, but it’s absolutely hilarious - God chuckled, low and amused - They’re so convinced they know what my ineffable plan is. Some of them honestly thought I built an entire universe only to shut it down six thousand years later. Come on. Absolute idiocy - 

Crowley shot up, face alight, not choking on a latte himself purely because he didn’t have one. 

-THAT’S WHAT I FUCKING SAID!! - 

-Language, dear - Aziraphale muttered, prim and proper - It is God after all - 

-Never mind bloody language, Angel! I feel so validated right now - he beamed, making Aziraphale giggle fondly. The demon jabbed a finger up in the air before addressing Her again - Hey, while we’re at it, what would you say to a suggestion box? - 

- Suggestion box? - God tilted Her head, intrigued - Hm. Not your worst idea, darling. It’s exhausting to think of all the designs myself, after all - 

-Heh. Knew it - Crowley leaned back, practically glowing with pride, throwing Aziraphale a smug little smile as he muttered it. 

-Alright, alright - the angel rolled his eyes in fond exasperation - point proven, dear -

-So? - Eleyn asked, God’s eyes snapping back onto her - Do we have a deal, Mother? - 

- Oh, I suppose - She sighed - But I will not share everything. Certain things must remain silent, for the time being   -

-Such as? -  her daughter inquired, curious. 

God’s lips drew a playful smile. 

- Spoilers - 

-Well, that’s not concerning at all - Aziraphale muttered, raising an eyebrow. 

-Absolutely nothing to worry about - the demon theatrically growled between gritted teeth. 

-Not at all - Muriel added, giggling.

- Oh, don’t be so dramatic dears - God tilted Her head towards them, smugness incarnate, then turned back to Eleyn - Now then, sweetheart. Time for your first order of business. Come along - 

With all the grace in the universe, She turned towards the Basilica; Her latte vanishing like it had never been there in the first place, and went up the steps, the click of Her heels echoing throughout the Vatican. Eleyn followed, as did the other three. When they had all finally reached the top, God stopped dead, methodically eyeing the beings who stood there with a silence heavier than Heaven itself. 

Metatron and the angels who surrounded him, Satan to one side. To the other; Mashheet, Uriel, Saraquael and…

- Michael - the name clapped through the air like thunder, making them jump. God pinned them with their omnipotent gaze, slowly extending a hand and gesturing towards Herself with a finger, her voice laced with sweet venom - Come, sweetness. Let’s catch up - 

- This’ll be good… - Crowley muttered at Aziraphale, who glanced sideways at him like one who wished they had popcorn handy. 

The archangel swallowed, slowly making their way towards God in the manner of a sad puppy, determined not to let the trembling of their legs be seen. When She deemed they were close enough, She raised a hand. They froze on the spot. Archangel and God stared at one another in silence, and without warning Michael bowed dramatically low. Uriel’s groan was audible throughout the whole of Rome. 

-Almighty! Your absolute holiness, your…your majesty… - they blabbed, the disgust on God’s face becoming more palpable with each word - It is such an honor to stand in thee presence, the presence of such a gorgeous…! - 

- No - She raised a palm in front of Her, Her tone so final it drew the color from the archangel’s face - Stop. You will give me an ulcer if you utter one more word. Or worse, a bad hair day. I don’t care for your praise, so do save your breath darling. You’ll need it to scream - 

They swallowed, hard. They tried to answer, but the words were stuck in their throat, alongside most of their dignity.

- Now then, let us review. You believed Enoch’s every word like an imbecile, embarrassed me, participated in the near murder of mortals including a child, held a weapon against my daughter multiple times and, worst of all - her gaze dragged up and down Michael’s figure with theatrical repulsion - You did it all dressed like that -

-I…! - they attempted, only to be fabulously stomped over once again.

- Don’t - God raised a slender finger - I will not hear any ludicrous excuses. It’s unbecoming both for Me and for you. Honestly, honey, if it were up to me you would already be bathing in pools of sulphur - 

-WORKS FOR ME! - Satan barged in like He was included in the conversation, rubbing His hands together. Michael gulped.

- But… - She went on smoothly, ignoring Him - The pleasure of your punishment falls to my darling child. Eleyn - She turned towards her, and she felt a chill. That was the first time God had said her name - You are free to rip them apart. Select your preferred limb - 

The archangel’s eyes darted from Mother to daughter, begging for a mercy which they knew perfectly well was off the table. Eleyn’s lips curled into a smile which could only be described as feral delight.

-Oh, ho ho...have I waited for this - she crossed her arms, eyeing Michael like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. 

The archangel stiffened, bracing themself for fire and brimstone; maybe even dismemberment. 

-The idea of tossing you headfirst into hell is tempting - She said, suddenly glancing sideways at Crowley - But that wouldn’t make me much better than you, would it, Michael? - 

The demon held her gaze for a couple heartbeats, then smiled fondly at his princess. She smiled back, then returned her eyes to the archangel. 

-So, instead, you will be demoted. Effective immediately - their eyes widened like saucers - And you will be assigned to the archives, where you’ll be assisting fellow angels in the task of digitalization. For eternity- 

-You can’t…! - they gasped, completely aghast. 

-I just did - she snapped. 

-Working alongside the angels you almost sent to Satan’s oven - Crowley retorted, unable to help himself, Michael’s indignified gaze flickering onto him - Have fun - 

-But… but …! - 

- Darling, stop wasting everyone’s valuable time - God cut in, her tone sharp as a needle - You have been given your punishment, now move along. And try not to misfile the Psalms. Bye - 

Michael opened and closed their mouth multiple times, each time with the intention to utter some kind of blasphemy and each time stopping themselves before it was too late. Finally, with an entirely undignified groan, they snapped their fingers and disappeared into a beam of light, leaving any semblance of dignity behind, never to be found again.

God took a breath, like She’d finally gotten rid of a persistent cockroach infestation, and turned back to her daughter. 

- Not bad for your first time, sweetheart - She pursed Her lips, too proud to admit She was pleased. 

-Not bad? - Aziraphale reiterated, chuckling softly - I daresay that was gorgeous - 

-Likewise - Muriel added with barely contained laughter - The look on their face… - 

-I have to admit I enjoyed that - she smiled - Just a little bit - 

-I enjoyed it a lot - Crowley smirked. 

- How about we have a touch more fun then? - God suggested, a sly smile on Her face - Whilst we’re on the topic of punishment… - 

She gestured somewhere behind Her with a nod of the head, the other four frowning. Once they turned and realized what She meant, however, their faces lit up. 

The Metatron stared back at them all, eight spears still pointed squarely at his throat. The Angel’s Dagger, Eleyn noted, had been tossed aside by one of the warrior angels. After a beat of silence, God spoke again. 

- Enoch - She purred. He tensed up, not daring to utter a word - Whatever shall I do with you? Such a disappointment. Tsk tsk tsk - 

-I say eternal torture - Crowley immediately suggested, grin indelible from his face. Metatron swallowed. He thought it had been subtle, but the demon caught it - A little hellfire, pinch of sulphur. Lots of screaming. Very poetic - 

-AGREED - Satan intervened once again, His eyes glowing red,  the demon giving him a small nod in acknowledgement.

-I rather think prison would suit him well - Aziraphale countered primly. Enoch’s eyes darted onto him, but they weren’t any calmer - Very boring. And it’ll allow him to have a think of what he’s done. For the rest of his existence. - 

-Enforced apology letters? - Muriel piped up, demon an angel turning to look at her with an amused glint in their eyes. Metatron, at that point, had begun to sweat - Tediously long ones. To everyone - 

-That’s… - Crowley considered it for a moment - Not such a bad form of torture, actually. Take notes, Satan - he added to the Devil, who had thought the exact same thing. 

-Thanks for your input, guys - Eleyn giggled, smiling fondly at them, then turned her gaze back on the Metatron - But I'd thought…a second chance - 

- What?! - The outburst came from all sides. God raised Her eyebrows, surprised. Satan frowned, pissed; and Crowley nearly choked on his own tongue. Even Aziraphale was appalled. 

-It's just… - she sighed - It's what Raphael said, isn't it? What’s to be expected from a mortal man given eternal life and this much power? - she quoted softly.

-Eleyn, after all the things the bloody prick has done… - Crowley hissed, only for the girl to interrupt him. 

-I know. I’m not excusing it, but my point is; was that Enoch, or The Metatron? - she turned to her Mother - If you hadn't selected him – recklessly, might I add – to be your voice, would he have fallen so far? Would he have ended up in paradise… or damnation? - 

God didn't answer. She eyed Her daughter silently, carefully considering her words. 

-He was driven mad by the power You gave him. By the desire for more - Eleyn pressed on - Don't get me wrong, part of me is so ready to side with Crowley’s plan. But another part…another part tells me that it's not fair to judge him whilst he’s still trapped under that insanity. And everyone deserves fairness. Even him - 

-You make a good point, but by that same logic, Michael…- Aziraphale began, but Eleyn cut him, knowing exactly what he was heading for. 

-Michael was already born into eternity and power - she explained - They knew better, but chose arrogance anyway. Enoch was mortal, and he was broken by eternity thrust upon him. That's the difference - she paused for a second, glancing at each of them and then at Metatron himself - So, my question is this: is Enoch innately evil, or are we only seeing him in a poisoned circumstance? - 

Silence fell between them, her question hanging heavily in the air. They all thought for a moment, then followed her gaze onto The Metatron’s eyes. For the first time, even if it was barely perceptible, they saw something in them. Something deep and small. Something... human . Uncertainty. Perhaps the thought had crossed his corrupted, twisted mind that Eleyn might be right. Maybe, just maybe, he had finally realized what he’d become. 

Muriel sighed, her eyes still fixed on the apprehended figure. 

-...yeah. It makes sense -  she muttered softly. 

- Ahhhh, bollocks! - Crowley swung his head up with something between a groan and a whine  - Whyyyy did you have to make it make sense? Dammit  - 

Eleyn dedicated them a soft smile, then turned to look at her Mother, a silent question hanging from the glint of her eyes. God studied carefully for another few seconds, and then finally took a small breath.

- I understand - She said, with more softness in her voice than anyone expected - I’m surprised, which doesn’t happen often; and I can’t say I would’ve taken the same decision…but I understand. What do you suggest, exactly? - 

-One more chance  - she explained - Wipe his memory, and give him a new life on Earth. A last opportunity to prove himself. If he fails again… his fate will be out of my or anyone’s hands - 

There was a beat of silence, then God clapped Her hands together like She’d just wrapped up a Broadway number. 

- Fabulous! Mortal life, clean slate, all that jazz - She returned to CEO diva mode in a snap, waving Her hands in the air before turning to the man behind the spears - You heard, darling. Immortality never did suit you, did it? Oh well, have fun! Ta-ta! - 

She snapped Her fingers, and the entire universe shook as Enoch disappeared into fragments of light which drifted away in the breeze, heading for who knew where. Dancing in the wind. The angels who had been guarding him finally relaxed, returning to Heaven in an instant as per God’s command.

-OH, COME ON! - Satan whined, throwing His arms up in protest - YOU COULD AT LEAST LET ME ROAST ONE OF THEM! WHAT THE HELL AM I EVEN HERE FOR IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA LET ME ROAST ‘EM?! - 

- I’ll get to you in a second, mon Chère - God raised a finger at Him, and He growled something undiscernible under his breath.

-Well, that’s over then - Aziraphale sighed, following the little trail of light with his gaze - The decision was very honorable, of course, but I have to say he got off quite a lot easier that I would’ve liked - 

- Hm - God pursed her lips, a dangerously mischievous glint in Her eyes - That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun. You know, to compensate for the emotional damage he has provoked -

-I’m listening - the angel raised his eyebrows, immediately interested. Eleyn sighed in exasperation. 

-Mother, please don’t… - 

- I decree - She announced, swiftly ignoring her daughter - That every single time he dunks a biscuit in tea, it will crumble into soggy pieces before it ever reaches his mouth - 

- No! - Aziraphale gasped in genuine horror, a palm flat against his chest - Oh, the monstrosity! - 

- Ha! - Crowley burst out laughing so hard he nearly doubled over - That’s bloody brilliant ! Forget eternal damnation, that is evil! - 

-A little too much for Aziraphale, I think - Muriel giggled, amused by her friend’s terror - But won’t he stop dunking them, then? - 

- Good point, darling - She pointed at the scrivener, then thought for a moment. A small, cheeky smile spread across Her face - I also decree that he will always get rained on the one day he forgets his umbrella. For his entire life - 

Crowley howled, practically rolling on the floor, and Aziraphale chuckled through the scandalization. Muriel couldn’t help laughing alongside Crowley as Eleyn pinched the bridge of her nose, a smile creeping onto her lips as well. 

-You’re having way too much fun with this… - she muttered at her Mother. 

- Sweetheart - She tilted Her head, Her tone playful - What’s the point of being omnipotent if you can’t be naughty from time to time? -  

Eleyn laughed, despite herself, and the Piazza became invaded by the buzz of their shared delight. Once Crowley had managed to start breathing again and Aziraphale had begun to recover from the image of soggy biscuits, Uriel carefully stepped forward, clearing their throat. A chill ran down their spine when God’s eyes fell upon them. 

-Um. Sorry to…interrupt, but Saraquael and I were wondering… - they looked back at the other archangel, who nodded in encouragement - Now that The Metatron is gone and Michael is…well…out of the equation…who will be Supreme Archangel now? - 

- Interesting predicament - God eyed them up and down with not an ounce of subtlety, then turned to look back at her daughter - Eleyn, dear, what do you think? -

-Well…- she looked around at her peers, carefully thinking of an answer. Her eyes came to rest on Aziraphale. She smiled - Aziraphale is not an option either, that much I know - 

- Oh, I should think so - God grinned, glancing at the angel - Quite the resignation letter. Complete with daring escape. Very well played, might I add, love - 

Aziraphale bowed his head politely at the compliment, his lips bending into a small smile, but the quiet warmth spreading across his face betrayed just how much it meant to him. Eleyn chuckled softly at him, then turned to Uriel and Saraquael. 

-Of course, you understand I cannot give the position to either of you - she said, gently, an apologetic look in her eyes. 

-Naturally, yes - Uriel nodded, slightly inclining their head in silent respect. 

-Nor had we expected you to - Saraquael added, doing the same from their chair.

- Who, then, do you suggest? - asked God, lopsided smile in place, clearly aware of what her answer would be. 

-I know a certain archangel… - Eleyn began, her gaze quickly darting from where they’d emerged from the catacombs before the battle - Raphael. They’re in a bit of a rough shape at the moment; but they are intelligent, steady enough to take on a crisis, devoted; and, most importantly, not prone to idiotic tantrums which could bring about the end of the world - 

-Damned good resume - Crowley shrugged - Sounds good to me. Angel? - 

- I think they would be perfect, yes - Aziraphale agreed without hesitation. As did Muriel.

-Yes! Oh, the poor thing. They’ll be delighted! - she chimed, a huge grin splitting her face in two. 

The other two archangels glanced at one another, smiled, and gave God’s daughter a firm nod. 

- It seems we have reached an agreement - God said, signaling at all of them with a flourish of Her hands - Uriel, Saraquael, darlings; would you be dears and go fetch Raphael? And for the love of Me, make them presentable - 

-It would be an honor - Saraqael said, setting their hands to the rims of their chair and rolling forward at a steady pace. Uriel bowed; beside them, the other archangel inclined their head with a crisp, formal nod -We’ll see to it -

With that, both archangels passed the group down the stairs and ventured into the catacombs beneath the Vatican, hoping to find their new leader – and an old friend. 

- Marvellous! - God turned back to them after having watched both archangels stroll away - Now, last order of business. Time for presents! Lucifer, Cherie… - the Devil perked up at once, just as God wrapped Her hands around Crowley’s shoulders. The latter couldn’t help a shudder - Your time to shine has come at last. Isn’t there something you’d like to say to our dear Crowley? - 

Satan stared at Her for a few seconds, confused, but it clicked quickly enough. He raised His eyebrows at Her, unconvinced, and She gestured down towards the demon in response, Her stare final. 

- UGH, FINE! - he groaned, not at all thrilled, then threw Crowley a glare - DEMON CROWLEY, I HEREBY GRANT YOU ETERNAL POLITICAL ASYLUM FROM HELL, MEANING YOU WILL NO LONGER BE INVOLVED IN ANY HELLISH ENDEAVOR YATTA YATTA YATTA AND WE GENERALLY STOP BEING A PAIN IN YOUR TRAITOROUS ARSE - He turned his attention back to God - THERE . IS THAT IT, CAN I GO NOW? - 

- Aziraphale, darling, the same thing goes for you. Obviously - God added, the angel grinning brighter than the sun itself - You and your demon may go live your life of domestic bliss. I believe there was something about a cottage? - 

Crowley blinked once, then blinked again, letting the heaviness of the words settle in. His heartbeat picked up, his chest lightened like a millennial weight had just been lifted. A shaky laugh escaped him, half out of shock and half out of genuine, unfiltered joy. 

Aziraphale’s hand brushed his almost unconsciously as he turned, and their eyes met. The angel’s face was radiant; a poem of love and joy just in the way his eyes sparkled. Crowley’s lips formed a huge grin to mirror his angel’s; and for a perfect, beautiful heartbeat nothing needed to be said. The universe had finally, irrevocably, tipped in their favor. 

The demon stepped closer, resting their foreheads together, his amber eyes bright as stars. 

-We’ve done it - Aziraphale sighed, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Or perhaps both.

-Fucking finally - Crowley breathed back as he caressed the angel’s cheek, startling a giggle out of him.

-FOR FUCK’S SAKE, I’M GONNA BE SICK - Satan whined, making both of them turn - I’M GOING BACK DOWN BEFORE I GET THE URGE TO MURDER SOMEONE - 

- See you at poker, darling - God waved Her fingers poshly at the Adversary, then signaled the dagger which was still laid on the stone floor - Oh, and take that dreadful thing with you, won’t you? It’s obliteration is long overdue I’m afraid. Be a dear and throw it in a lava pit  - 

-PLEASURE - he growled, picking up the weapon by the pommel with two fingers and holding it at arm’s length, as if the thing would try to bite Him.

- Thank you, Luci. Always knew I could count on you for garbage disposal - She chimed, gracefully spinning away from Him.

-OH GO TO HELL - he grumbled. God sneered.

- As soon as it freezes over, darling - She sang back, not even bothering to turn around.

With a resonant snap of His fingers and a groan which sounded suspiciously like a blasphemous insult, the Devil was finally gone in a spectacle of fire, brimstone, ashes and sulphur. Crowley and Aziraphale glanced at one another, fingers still interlocked, and the latter squeezed lightly. The demon smiled in response. Everything was finally how it had always been supposed to be. His angel and him; and nothing else.

- Okay, let’s move on before we all get cavities, shall we? - God quipped, unable to resist a jab. Crowley rolled his eyes at Her just as she turned towards the scrivener - Muriel, sunshine, I do believe it is your turn - 

-Me? - she propped up, like she hadn’t expected it at all. 

- Yes, sweetheart, you - God grinned at her - You were brave, you were wise. And you’re my daughter’s BFF. So gifs it is! - 

-O…okay! - she stammered, beaming up at Her - Um. Thank you - 

- Oh no, not yet - She chuckled softly, then took in a small breath - Angel Muriel, for the services to Heaven and its host I personally promote you. Principality, from this point forth. Official new representative of Heaven on Earth. Jurisdiction, Embassy…the whole package, darling! -   she stopped for a moment, purely for dramatic effect, and smiled - Now you can thank me - 

Muriel’s eyes blew wide with surprise. For a few seconds, she just stared at God in shock, as if waiting for Her to laugh and tell her it was all a joke. When that didn’t happen, the now ex-scrivener swallowed.

-I…I don’t know what to… - she attempted and miserably failed to construct a coherent sentence, tears forming on the corners of her eyes - I…I get to stay on Earth and…oh, and the bookshop! - 

- Assuming, of course, that your predecessor doesn’t have an issue with it - She briefly glanced at Aziraphale - It is yours - 

-None whatsoever - Aziraphale beamed at Muriel, the latter flying into his arms with a sob the second he opened them - Congratulations, my dear - 

He embraced her for a couple of seconds, then very gently pushed her a few inches apart. A tear rolled down her cheek, and Aziraphale raised a hand to dry it, the touch tender.

-I cannot think of any angel more deserving of the honor, nor of one more capable - he whispered, lightly squeezing her arm. She sniffed, her lips forming a small smile. Behind him, Eleyn stuck two thumbs up, grinning - Of course, you’ll pardon me for collecting some books and affairs to move to the cottage - 

-Yeah, yeah of course - she nodded, drying another tear herself, a grin stretching across her face - And you can come visit, any time you like! I’ll be there all by myself, after all - 

- About that - God interjected, a finger raised matter-of-factly - I’m feeling a little extra generous today, with such joyful ambience, so I thought you might want some…company. Assistance, if you will. Your second gift, sunshine, is that you get to choose who. And I have the strangest feeling I might already know… - 

She looked sideways at the Destroying Angel not at all subtly, a pleased smile on Her lips. They had been watching the scene silently, not making a sound nor a move until they felt the infinite power of God’s gaze upon them. Their breath hitched. When Muriel followed God’s gaze to Mashheet, her grin somehow became larger. 

-Mashheet - the newly-assigned principality said, making them snap their eyes onto her, still not having pieced it together. Muriel looked back up at God - I’d like Mashheet to be my assistant, please. That way, I can finally show them the world! - 

- Called it - God muttered to Herself, overly pleased. She then addressed the gray-winged angel - Mashheet, I relieve you from your duties as Destroying Angel. Murdering all your enemies is out of style anyway. Enjoy your new life. And do get some sleep, love - 

Mashheet stared at God for a few silent moments, eyes wide as saucers, then glanced at Muriel. They looked back and forth between the two a couple times, trying to decide whether it was real or they were dreaming once again. Once they’d realized the latter was not the case, they took a shaky breath, the tears forming in their eyes mirroring Muriel’s. 

-I… - they attempted, only to choke on the words. They took another breath - I…am honored. I will serve proudly and… - 

They turned to Muriel, still dirty and broken and exhausted and, for the first time in centuries, they smiled. The clouds finally began to drift away, giving that little star a chance to show off its brilliant shine. 

- Thank you - they breathed. 

The scrivener smiled back sweetly at them in reply, then extended a hand which they softly shook. 

-Don’t mention it - she whispered at them, her smile radiant as she squeezed their hand - Partner - 

- Aww - God clicked Her tongue, watching the two of them with a soft glint in Her eyes, both Muriel and Mashheet looking up at Her - Adorable. I love wholesome friendship moments as much as the next God, but there’s still one more thing to be done I’m afraid - 

She spun around, the mischievous twinkle having returned to Her gaze, which landed straight on Crowley. He couldn’t help his breath hitching when those magenta eyes fell on him again; his hand instinctively finding Aziraphale’s. 

- My darling serpent - She purred at him - I am not quite done with you yet - 

- Look, no offence - he raised a palm in front of Her, then glanced at Aziraphale - But I’ve already got everything I ever wanted - the angel muttered a silent ‘Aw’ , just as the demon looked back at God - There’s literally nothing else you could gift me - 

- Agree to disagree, love - Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile - You were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for my little creation, and for the ones you care about. Perhaps a touch over-dramatic, truth be told… - 

- You were doing so well… - Crowley muttered. Aziraphale giggled softly.

-But nevertheless - She ignored the comment altogether, Her eyes deadlocked on His - Not even I can deny that it was an act of extraordinary bravery. I will deny having ever said this at gunpoint, but…I have made a mistake. And that was letting you fall. For that, and for the extraordinary courage you have shown, allow me to repay you - 

She extended a hand, fingers at the ready to snap. Just before She could, however, the demon protested. 

-If what you want is to make me an angel again - he said, his tone serious - I don’t… - 

-Ah, pa pa pa pa - She shushed him - This is my kind benevolent God moment, darling. Don’t ruin it for me. Of course I’m not making you an angel. White is really not your colour, you know. - 

Her grin widened, sharp and delighted, and with an elegant flick of the wrist she snapped Her fingers. A soft ripple of something ancient and warmed caressed Crowley’s insides; so subtle it was barely there. The demon took a breath, his amber eyes narrowing. Something ... .something had been put back into place, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

-I…don’t feel any different - he breathed, shooting God a quizzical look. 

- Hm. Give it a couple hours, you impatient little demon - She teased, overly pleased with Herself - You will know when the time is right - 

- Bloody hate surprises… - Crowley muttered under his breath, scowling.

-I have a feeling you’ll enjoy this one, my dear - Aziraphale squeezed his hand, smiling softly - Patience has it rewards, after all - 

God clapped her hands together with a flourish, eyes alight. 

-Et voilà. That’s all the boxes checked. Promotions, pardons, gifts – and even a touch of waste management. Thorough work, if I do say so Myself - 

She straightened Her crisp white blouse, smoothed the sleeve just so, and plucked a familiar latte cup out of thin air like it had never left Her hand. A satisfied sip punctuated Her words, the foam once again forming a perfect heart as She spoke. 

- Now, my darlings, I really must be going - She lazily drew Her sunglasses from the hem of Her blouse and clicked them open - Universe to uphold, humanity to babysit, black holes to keep from eating the décor. You know how it is - 

Crowley snorted softly despite himself, his lips bending into a familiar smirk. 

-Okay, never thought I’d say this…but you’re kinda cool - 

God’s grin turned downright wicked, Her magenta eyes sparkling over the rim of the cup. 

-Oh no, darling. I’m divine -  

Every angel, demon and celestial being within a two-reality-plain radius groaned in unison. Muriel and Mashheet stared deadpanly at Her. Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. 

- Really? - the angel huffed, equal parts exasperated and exhausted. 

- He handed it to me on a silver platter - She said innocently, feigning wounded pride. 

-I take it back - the demon winced - Ouch, that pun hurt - 

-So not only is my Mother God… - Eleyn muttered, dryly - But She also does dad jokes. Brilliant - 

- You can blame your brother for that, sweetheart - She smiled at her daughter, unoffended, popping the large sunglasses back over Her eyes - Whom, by the way, is exhilarated to meet you. On we go, come along now  - 

She extended a graceful hand, and Eleyn made to take it, but she stopped just for a moment. She stopped and looked to her side, where her three favorite beings in the entire cosmos smiled proudly at her. Crowley and Aziraphale stood hand in hand, Muriel right beside them. She had an arm softly hooked around Mashheet, who witnessed the scene in respectful silence. Eleyn couldn’t help the tears which reached the corner of her eyes with the mere thought of parting from all of them, even if just temporarily. 

She looked up at her Mother again, a certain glint in her eyes, and She understood without the need for a word to be passed between them. God nodded, withdrawing Her arm just a smidge, a small smile on Her lips as She raised the latte to take a sip. 

Eleyn took a breath, and turned back to her friends, taking a few short steps towards Muriel. Mashheet released themself from the ex-scrivener’s soft grip, just in time for the latter to throw her arms open. Eleyn flew straight into them, one of those tears dropping from her eyes as she settled into the warm embrace. 

- I’ll miss you - she whispered into the crook of Muriel’s neck. 

- I know. I will too - she whispered back, then gently peeled herself away, only to be able to look Eleyn in the eyes - As soon as you can, come by the bookshop, okay? I’ll have the kettle ready - 

-I will, I promise - Eleyn smiled at her friend, drying the tears before turning to Aziraphale, whose fond look alone threatened to make her cry again - Aziraphale - 

-Oh, my dear girl - he wrapped a hand around her forearm and gently squeezed - You’ve been through so much. Have a well-deserved rest, and then put that enormous heart of yours to good use, yes? - 

-Well, you have fun building your cottage - she smiled, glancing sideways at the demon as well - And show Muriel and I around someday, yeah? - Eleyn sighed, looking back and forth between Crowley and Aziraphale - I’m so happy for you - 

-So are we, princess - Crowley smirked, attempting to be cheeky, betrayed by the softness in his amber eyes. He extended a hand - ‘s been a good one, ey? Would’ve been better without the apocalypse ‘n all, but, y’know… - 

Eleyn scoffed at him, rolling her eyes with as much stubborn affection as she could, and ignored the stretched out hand to embrace him instead, hooking two arms behind his back. He froze for only a heartbeat, then tightly hugged her back, his traitorous eyes shedding a tear. 

-I never thanked you - she muttered to him - For what you did in the park that night. You…you saved my life, Crowley. Thank you - 

-Believe me, Eleyn. The pleasure was all mine - he squeezed a little harder and, when they finally released each other, he grinned at her - ‘sides, you saved me back there, so I guess we’re even - 

She giggled, quickly drying another fugitive tear. Eleyn glanced back at her Mother, who watched silently from her latte, then turned back to all three. She took a deep breath. 

-Okay then. Time for me to start my new gig - she smiled, half excitement and half sorrow, and the other three mirrored her - So, see you later. In less world-ending circumstances, hopefully - 

They laughed together, the four of them. Yeah, it still felt right. It felt exactly right. Four stars shining in unison, harmonizing with one another like it was second nature. Like one would never fade whilst the other three still shone. 

Once they’d settled, Eleyn took one last, long glance at each of them and grinned, ear to ear. She took a couple of steps back, until she stood beside her Mother, and this time it was her who extended her hand. God took it, grace incarnate as always, and gave Crowley, Muriel and Aziraphale a look which could almost, almost, be described as grateful.

–Adieu, my darlings. Until we next meet - She breathed, Her voice back to that soft breeze. 

-Goodbye - added Eleyn, propping up a moment after as though the thought had only just hit her - Oh, and give the Bentley a kiss for me! - 

-Will do, princess - Crowley grinned.

With a wink and a snap, deity and daughter vanished, leaving behind a fading echo of laughter and the lingering smell of roasted coffee beans.

We are the champions, my friends…

…and we’ll keep on fighting, till the end.

Oh we are the champions,

We are the champions…

…of the world.

The quiet hum of Freddie Mercury’s voice hung in the air like a lullaby, the Bentley dimming its lights down accordingly. The only other thing which could be heard was the soft crunch of the car’s wheels on gravel; and the slow, synched breathing of its two passengers. Crowley glanced sideways at his angel, one hand in the steering wheel and the other caressing Aziraphale’s. They smiled at one another, sweet and exhausted, cocooned by the comfortable silence which had settled between them during the road trip. It had been much needed, after everything. The universe had finally had the decency to let them breathe.

The Bentley’s engine hummed, quietly, as though afraid to interrupt; gently redirecting the demon’s gaze to the road. When he saw the softly sloping in the soft glow of the headlights, he sighed, unsure whether it had been in relief or in general exhaustion at the thought of a soft bed. 

They could have been there hours before with the smallest of miracles, but they had decided that they needed a little normalcy after the day they had had; so a drive it had been. A couple hours after rendezvousing with the Bentley at Jasmine cottage, and after a warm cup of tea Anathema had kindly offered them, they had arrived in the South Downs. 

But it’s been no bed of roses,

No pleasure cruise,

I consider it a challenge before the whole human race,

… and I ain’t gonna lose.

 

The sun had already gone down, clothing the fields of English countryside in a dark, peaceful, gorgeous blanket. In the distance, Crowley and Aziraphale could barely make out the outline of a little house, the small lamplights above the door a dot of light within the night. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand squeeze his own, and lightly pressed the accelerator in response. 

They straightened up as the cottage came more and more into view, the Bently turning the music’s volume down as they approached. A few minutes later, Crowley eased the car onto the slightly inclined driveway and softly killed the engine. Aziraphale let out a delicate yawn, covering his mouth with a hand. The demon glanced at him, and released his hand to slowly tuck a white curl behind the angel’s ear. Aziraphale looked at him, smiling softly, a tired glint in his eyes. 

-You too, huh? - the demon whispered, then stretched his neck with a soft hiss - I think I’m gonna sleep for three days straight. ‘S like I’ve been hit by a lorry… - 

-Well, you did die for about ten minutes, my dear - the angel breathed back with a soft giggle, then threw the house a quick, impatient glance- Shall we, then? - 

-Angel, you’ve read my mind - he grinned. 

They never even had to pull on the handles; the Bentley’s doors drifted open of their own accord. Aziraphale stepped out first, Crowley following after muttering a quiet thanks. He let out a long sigh, stretching out his long limbs just as the angel rounded the car to meet him. He looked at his beautiful angel, then at his beautiful cottage. It was everything he could have hoped for; just a tiny, cozy place they could call their own, below the starry night sky, in the middle of the quiet countryside where no one could…

Wait. 

Crowley froze, very slowly tilting his head skyward. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. His throat closed, his heart missed a beat. 

Stars. 

They were everywhere, covering the entire night sky, twinkling and shining like everything. And he could see them. He could see them all. Not even the soft hum of Aziraphale’s voice was enough to make him peel his eyes away.

-Crowley? - the angel stepped towards him, concerned - My dear, is everything…? - 

The demon raised a hand, slowly, and pointed it upwards, tears of joy beginning to swell in his eyes. Aziraphale followed Crowley’s finger, followed his gaze to the sky; and when it finally dawned upon him he let out a soft gasp, both his hands covering his mouth. 

-Oh…oh Crowley! - he breathed, smiling softly, resting a tender hand on the demon’s shoulder. 

-Angel, I… -he whispered, his voice trembling, broken by the sheer joy pumping through his veins - The…the stars. I can… - 

Before he could finish the sentence, he chuckled at the sky; a small, soft thing. Then the dam broke, leaving all the bubbling joy free to course through his veins. He barked out a laugh, this time louder, then another. Aziraphale looked down at him, unable to help a soft giggle when he saw the pure, unfiltered happiness on his demon’s face.

- Holy sh – I can see them! - he declared, walking forwards and spinning on himself, eyes still fixed on the sky - Fuck me…oh there’s so many of ‘em! The sky’s bloody full! - 

-Well, we finally know what your last gift was - Aziraphale quietly commented, following the demon with his eyes.

He spun for a bit, then stopped and pointed excitedly back up. 

-There! That’s Sirius! - Crowley explained, then pointed at another - And Polaris! Ow, still a bit isolated, are you? Oh, oh! - he jumped around like a child on Christmas morning, tracing an invisible line from the north star - Yeah, there she is! Ursa Major!  And there’s Orion, the big fella! And Cassiopeia, and…! - 

His gaze finally fell down from the sky and onto his personal two favorite stars, which sparkled in that irresistibly gorgeous cerulean color they had ever since…

Crowley grinned, half joy half mischief, like he’d just realized something. He looked up at the sky again, stepped back a little to the side. When he finally found what he was looking for, his grin widened. He walked back to Aziraphale, and softly dragged him to where he’d been standing. Once they’d arrived, the demon pointed up at the sky again.

- There, look - he breathed, signaling a point in the darkness of space - The horsehead nebula. Can’t see it from Earth though, I was right - he looked back down at the angel -‘S where you and I first met, remember?  - 

Aziraphale smiled softly at the demon, then took a step towards him, their faces mere inches apart. 

-How could I forget? - he breathed, then raised his hands to gently caress the demon’s jawline - The very first time I saw you. The first time… - he got imperceptibly closer, placing a palm flat on Crowley’s chest. He could feel his heart racing beneath his palm, and it made him smile - …the first time my heart did that. Except it wasn’t because of the stars - 

Crowley exhaled, softly, then glanced down at the angel’s lips. He raised his eyes back to his angel’s cerulean gaze, his lips forming a playful smile as he too moved closer. They remained a breath apart. 

- It’s not because of them - Crowley breathed, barely a sigh. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened a little, but before his breath could even hitch, Crowley leaned in the rest of their way and locked their lips together in a tender, reverent kiss. 

After a few seconds they leaned away, foreheads brushing for one last moment, both of them smiling as though everything had finally been set right in the universe. No more words were needed. Crowley intertwined his fingers with Aziraphale’s, and together they walked around the Bentley to the little path which led to the door of their cottage. 

Just beside it, a small brass plaque gleamed beside it in the lamplight. Aziraphale read the name and stopped, giving it a fond little smile just as he nudged Crowley’s hand.

Nightingale Cottage

Crowley huffed a laugh, his amber eyes gleaming. 

- Yeah - he murmured, giving Aziraphale’s hand the gentlest squeeze - It figures - 

Aziraphale giggled softly. Crowley smiled. And together, hand in hand, they crossed the threshold of their new home. Of their new life. 

And this time, nothing stopped them from loving one another. Nothing at all. So they chose love. 

For eternity.

                                                                                                         THE END