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Chapter Text

It was a lovely spring day, and Spring was springing away for all its worth. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the sound of piano notes being horrendously mangled were emanating from the newly added music room.

Snoop was asleep in his second dog bed, the first having been savagely savaged in under five minutes. Crowley had told him in no uncertain terms what would happen if he destroyed this one. Snoop was now very careful to keep the new one in the condition in which he had received it, even going so far as to hoover it out once a week, and having added two hanging baskets, and a welcome door mat.

The 49 ex-battery hens were in their chicken Ark, safe and sound. The fiftieth one, who sadly no longer graced this mortal coil, had only lasted half a night. Snoop had been told, in no uncertain terms, what would happen if he even touched another. He had now taken it upon himself to stand guard over them, and had already chased off three foxes, and a puma (although that one was only a myth according to the Humans, so didn't actually count).

The red, 1962 Mini Cooper, was parked next to The Bentley. Being that it was a mere scamp, at thirty years her junior, she had taken it under her wing, and was teaching it the proper behaviour for its station in life. So far, it was doing well, and The Bentley was pleased with its progress.

The old and romantic tree had had its rudely protruding limb excised, and now looked several degrees politer. The pruned wood had been made into a coffee table, which was slap, bang in the middle of the lounge.

All was right with the world.

Crowley was also in the lounge, and mindlessly scrolling through his phone, with his feet propped up on the newly positioned table. In the background, the telly was showing a daytime magazine programme, Pam and Sam in the AM.

The two presenters were wittering on about another tv programme, one that apparently everyone was watching. Crowley hadn't seen it, nor did he intend to.

"Last night's Launch Show was the most launchiest, showiest, opening ever, don't you agree, Sam?"

"Why, yes, Pam, I do concur..." Crowley wasn't really listening, but it was better than the sound of strangled cat that was coming from the piano and its operator.

He continued scrolling.

"...and at last we come to the ex-frontman of Serpent's Kiss, AJ...." It was all just Blah, Blah, Blah.

..."and that's time for a break, Pam!"

Thank Someone for that!

The commercial break jingle played, and all was normal. Until.

Grillonator proudly presents... The Flaming Hades 3000!!

(Shots of a ginormous Barbecue are shown, the camera zooming in and out like its a yoyo)

(Very over-exited Voice-Over Man Speaks)

From the company that brought you The Blaze of Glory!! Comes the most powerful Barbecue on the market!! It can roast a whole stag!! It will impress your neighbours!! It can be seen from Space!!!!!!

(Shots of sad-looking neighbours, and an ex-stag lying draped across the Barbeque)

It heats up to 1000 degrees in 60 seconds!! It's 10 foot long, and powered by 6 gas canisters!!! Sleek!!! Powerful!!! Hot as a Volcano!!!! Comes in black, or dark-black!

Don't Barbeque, Grillonate!!!!!

Don't just take our word for it, read the reviews!!!!!!

(Writing appears on screen)

On Completely and Utterly, and Absolutely Unbiased Reviews, No, Really They Are u/Gorilla_Nator3000 wrote:

Oh wow! This BBQ kicks like no other! My eyebrows have mostly grown back now!! And the burns hardly hurt at all!!!

Rated ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐/5

(Writing disappears)

The Flaming Hades 3000 must be seen to be believed! Come to our showroom at the Garden Centre, and see for yourself!!! Only £5000!!!

Fire! Hell, yeah!!!!

(Shots of a caveman waving his club at the newly discovered fire)

The Flaming Hades 3000!! Bring out the Demon in you!!

(Glowing red eyes appear)

Stag not included.

(Spoken very exceedingly quickly) Purchasersmustbeover45,haveanotefromtheirmums,and3yearsclearontheirdrivinglicence.Youmustsignawaiverabsolvingthecompanyofanyliabilityinregardstodeath,fire,flood,plague,pestilence, and/orvertigo.

Crowley sat gazing at the TV for several minutes, his eyes much more yellow than normal.

"Angel!" he finally shouted through to his husband.

The horrendous tune mercifully stopped. "Yes, dear?"

"Fancy a trip to the Garden Centre?"

Chapter Text

Crowley was waiting outside for his Angel. Every ten seconds, he would light the tip of his thumb, the flame burning a cheerful yellow. After a moment or two, he would blow it out, and start again.

He was imagining the Barbeque of Dreams that would soon be in his possession. A flame-grilled steak? A haunch of venison? A fast food joint's worth of burgers. It didn't matter that Crowley had no intention of eating any of it, he just wanted to Cook Over Fire. His eyes burned a little brighter at the prospect.

"Angel?! Are you ready, yet?" He checked his watch, but forgot to blow out the current flame, and had to put out his sleeve.

"Just a minute, dear!"

Sounds of faffing could clearly be heard, and Crowley drummed his fingers on The Bentley's perfect exterior.

Five minutes later, Aziraphale appeared with a determined little smile on his face. What did that mean? The Angel was up to something. Surely that was his job?

Crowley made to open the passenger door of The Bentley.

"Oh no, dear. Today, we are taking the Cooper, and I am driving."

"What?!"

"Hmm, we are taking Cooper out for a spin. You don't mind, do you dear?" Aziraphale beamed, and fluttered his lashes.

Crowley's eyebrows twitched. He didn't do being a passenger. He pouted, he "ngk'd," he grumbled. Aziraphale paid him no heed, and was already getting into the Mini.

The Demon looked pleadingly at The Bentley, but she said nothing, only gave her blessing to the little car by the teeniest flick of her wipers. She had faith that it was ready for this. The Cooper blushed red at the exciting prospect.

"Well, you're no help. I'll remember that the next time you want a wax polish."

The Bentley ignored him, she was more than aware of her Demon's ways, and knew he didn't mean it.

Muttering darkly, Crowley folded himself into the tiny seat. His knees were now up to his chin, and his head nearly touched the roof. The funny thing was though, that Aziraphale seemed to have plenty of space on his side. The Demon narrowed his eyes, and started muttering again.

"Lovely!" the Angel declared, and began a complicated series of checking and adjusting. Once he was satisfied, he put the car into gear, and they moved off.

Crowley lasted three seconds before the urge to press buttons became too much.

The radio was first in line.

"....first caller, Karen, calling in to complain about the couple next door, and their very strange dog, who she thinks has been eating the local population of pigeons....", maybe not.

"...today's news will be just after our next programme, 'Kangaroos, and how to train them', narrated by Sheila Bruce...." not that either.

"...want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike..." much better.

Satisfied with the sound choice, the Demon turned his attention to a mysterious black knob.

"What's this?" He pressed the button, and a rectangular section flipped open. It curiously had two round indentations, one larger than the other, and a small clip. "Angel?"

"Ah, that's one of my new modifications," Aziraphale was very pleased with himself.

He reached the first turning, and indicated to turn right; Crowley made a dramatic show of hanging on for dear life. The Angel huffed. "Honestly!"

"Well? What does it do?"

"It's so obvious!" Foolish Demon, he thought, as he checked the speedo. Perfectly, and exactly, on 30 miles an hour. He patted the steering wheel. "Good Car."

"Is it? The button I mean, not the car."

"Yes!" he huffed again. "It's for making tea!"

"Come again?" Crowley was baffled at the information.

"Crowley, I'm sure you do this just to vex me. The big circle is for the teapot, and the smaller one for the cup and saucer! Obviously indented so they don't fall off when I go round a corner."

"Oh... It's unusual..."

"Unique is the word you are looking for, I believe."

"What about the clip?" Teabag, perhaps?

"That is genius, even if I do say so myself! That is where I put the Custard Cream!"

"I see." Crowley was unimpressed, as he would have chosen a chocolate Matchstick.

Crowley shut that little door, and pointed to another one. "What about this?"

Aziraphale gave him a look. "That, dear heart, is the Travel Sweet compartment."

Crowley couldn't resist opening it just to check. Inside were a multitude of yellow hard sweets. Aziraphale reached inside, and selected one of them, before popping it in his mouth.

"Mm!"

"Grrrr!" He shut that one as well, and then a thought occurred to him. "Why did you want this car to be red? I thought you liked yellow?"

"I do, but I also like red."

Crowley wondered why.

He spent the next ten minutes pressing, and flipping, and twiddling, until Aziraphale had had enough.

"If you touch one more thing on my car, I will tie pink ribbons in your hair, and Miracle it so they won't come out for a week!!"

The Demon wisely pulled back the hand that had been just about to investigate a particularly promising button, marked Do not touch, this means you, Crowley.

"You spoil all my fun," he mumbled, but did manage to keep his hands to himself for the following five minutes, until they pulled into the car park of the local Garden Centre. A big sign on the building proudly proclaimed the name to be

Flowery Seats

It was busy, with people trundling in and out with their purchases. One person coming out was pushing a large trolley, and sitting on that was a ten foot tall, by four foot wide, tree. The husbands watched as the man stood sadly before his Smart Car. A defeated little sigh could be heard.

"Maybe he could put it through the sunroof?" Aziraphale suggested. He was uncomfortably reminded of their previous visit to IKEA, and watching the customers attempt to arrange their needless items in their too-small cars.

"Shall we go?" Crowley asked, as he unfolded himself from the Cooper.

Aziraphale thought he seemed a bit eager than normal. Still, what could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Text

Crowley came around to Aziraphale's side of the car, and opened the door for him.

"Oh, thank you," the Angel said with a smile.

"Anything for you, oh heart of mine." The Demon made a little bow, and his husband beamed ever wider. "Now, shall we go in?"

"Yes, lets."

Crowley definitely seemed keener than he usually would. It was nice, but also, dare he think it, just a smidgen suspicious.

Crowley strutted off in his usual style, and Aziraphale walked alongside. They crossed the car park, and came to the wide entrance. It was a glassed section, stuck on the front of the main building, and its swishy door was currently closed.

The door opened, in line with company policy, and the husbands went to walk through, but the door was too fast for them, and closed. They exchanged a look, and tried again.

The door innocently opened, then as they took a step, swooshed itself closed. The look they shared this time was of a darker variety.

A third time was attempted. The door opened, with a sound an awful lot like a squeaky giggle. The Angel and the Demon stepped forward, and the door slammed shut so fast, it nearly took Aziraphale's bow tie with it!

Well, Crowley was not about to have that.

He touched the glass, and the door felt heat begin to spread through its glazing.

"Now, I wonder if you've heard the story, of the self-checkout that dared to defy me? That machine had thought it was a hard nut, but then it met me. What do you think, Door? Do you feel lucky today?" The sizzle of molten glass continued.

The Door considered. It had heard the story - the garden centre checkouts were such gossips! It had been of the mind that it was merely an embellished fabrication, a tale that had gotten out of hand in the telling. Now, perhaps, now it might be argued that there had been some truth to the rumour.

Its pane was really getting quite hot.

Reluctantly, but showing the type of good sense that doors, of all varieties, weren't normally known for, it smoothly slid open, and stayed that way.

Crowley, who had ceased contact the moment he had felt movement, smiled wickedly. The door gulped, and broke out in a sweat, as it realised just how close it had come to door-mageddon. It would later converse with the windows, who would all commiserate with it, but for now, it would refuse to shut all day, just in case.

The husbands were now able to gain entry, and passed through with not a jot of trouble.

They stood in a wide, room-like, corridor, filled with garden benches and statues. At least the floor was. The ceiling, on the other hand, had a plethora of banners. There was a whole battalion of them.

The first said

Welcome to Flowery Seats!! 🌼 🪑

which was entirely understandable.

The second read

Fancy a Soothing Cup of Tea? ☕ How About a Cake?🍰 Come to our Cafe!! Floury Treats!🫖

and again, it made sense to let their customers know about eating facillities.

But then, it all started to get a little... extra.

In Need of a Relaxing Time? Then Visit our Outdoor Furniture Section? How About Houseplants? We Have Lots! 🪴 We Have a Lovely Portion of our Shop Devoted to Them! Trees? 🌳 Yes? Then Head Over to our Tree Nursery! What About Bulbs? 🌷We have Lots of Those! Pets?🐕‍🦺 🐈 🐢 🦤 We've Got Them Covered, Too! Greetings Cards?🃏Yes! You Too Can Send a Happy Missive! Cuddly Toys?🧸 Tick! Stationery?📜 Tons of the Stuff! Over-Priced Food and Drink?🦞🍷 We Have Shelves-Full For You! Gardening items?🧤 Yeah, Just a Bit! Step This Way, and be Prepared to Spend!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!💷

The banner was so large, that it hung down low into the space, with the upshot being that it was necessary to either crawl, or limbo beneath it.

Crowley, of course, employed his snakey-spine, and bent over backwards to pass underneath it. Aziraphale, not being built that way, chose crawling, which gave him ample opportunity to inspect the small garden statuary as he journeyed past. There was a sweet little rabbit he particularly liked the look of, and he wondered what Crowley would make of it.

Having conquered the low-hanging banner, Aziraphale stood up, only to be greeted by the final banner.

Toilets🚽This Way!🔄 🔃 Don't Forget to Wipe!! 🧻

Ignoring that one, they stepped into the actual Garden Centre, ready for a calm and relaxing browse.

Chapter Text

Inside, all was lovely. There was lovely garden furniture, including lovely parasols sticking out of holey tables. There were lovely house plants, with lovely green leaves, and lovely random household sections, with lovely things such as meerkat milk bath soak, and lovely pine resin tea.

It was all lovely.

Diane surveyed her lovely domain, and thanked someone for her lovely job. She smiled at her lovely customers, and she smiled at her lovely staff (except for William, he was not lovely, and made her shop look messy), and thought lovely thoughts. All was perfectly lovely.

"Angel, I think it's this way?" The voice of terror assailed her ears.

A cloud suddenly passed across the sun. He was back, and now her day was lovely no more. 

Her left eye twitched, and her mouth shrunk into a moue of distaste. "YOU!!!!!!!!"

 She bustled out from behind her Customer Service counter, reinstating the small, polite-adjacent, sign as she went. 

Back in five minutes. Please do not linger here, as you'll make the desk look untidy. Especially you.

Diane strode importantly over to them. The beige one wasn't too bad, but the redhead! Although she could in no way prove it, she knew he was responsible for the Gnome Incident.

She didn't know how, or even why, but it was him, every atom in her green-polo-shirted-and-fetching-polyester-trousers-uniform told her it was true. 

Her Garden Centre was orderly, her Garden Centre was calm. It was quite, quite, lovely. And then they came along. 

The Gnomes had been nicely displayed outside, next to the compost bags. Ordinary, cheerful Gnomes, doing Gnomish things, such as fishing, or sitting on benches, or general standing around. Proper and inoffensive. 

But they darkened her slidey door, and her Gnomes were no longer courteous.

The first Gnome she had come across, on the day of The Incident, stuck it's little plaster tongue out at her! And then it ran off, giggling! 

The second Gnome pulled down it's trousers, and mooned at her!!

And the third Gnome - was a state secret she would never ever, reveal. It had made her come over all peculiar, and she'd had to go and have a sit down on the lovely patio set, and imbibe a fruit tea from the café.

She had not seen them since, but now they were here, in her space. It was not on, and her hands curled into claws in response. 

"Oi! Sunglasses!" Diane didn't yell, because that wouldn't be lovely. She merely communicated directly with the interlopers (from halfway across the shop).

A poor coach-load of elderly OAP's, visiting from the local home, and unluckily in Diane's horrified vicinity, found their pacemakers, along with their false teeth rattling, and their hearing aids suddenly tuned into Radio 4. Reg and Hilda were happy with this arrangement, but Fred, who liked his hardcore Trance, muttered darkly.

"Miss Diane, why, what a perfect pleasure to see you again!" Beige smiled, and clapped his hands. 

Sunglasses lurked, and smirked, and bordered on suggestively leering.

"None of that! I will not be charmed by your demonic influence!"

The couple looked surprised.

"How do you know about that?" The Dark One asked. 

"What? Know about what? What are you talking about?"

The two of them exchanged bewildered glances. Diane merely carried on regardless.

"You! You spread foment just by being here! You take my lovely, and perfectly perfect store, and make it untidy!" And in her book, being untidy was anathema to her ordered Queendom.

"Well, I'm sure we don't mean to..." Beige tried to placate her.

Diane jabbed her finger at the Smirky Lurker. "He does!"

Sunglasses, hands in pockets, nodded. "I mean, she is right. I can't actually deny it." He grinned wickedly. "Perhaps I should just wander off over there. I could lean untidily against the, ooh, I don't know - the barbeque equipment, maybe?"

Diane felt the conversation was getting away from her. 

"No? I don't want you further in my lovely Garden Centre! I want you to-"

She stopped, as one of her minions was apparently trying to get her attention. 

"Yes?" She snapped, foolishly turning her attention away from the terrible twosome. 

"Diane? I'm afraid it's the Gnomes again? Their pub has run out of beer, and they are getting restless? We've tried giving them a bag and a half of Malteasers, but that's just made them worse? One of them has got a bit lairy, and wants to have a rave?"

(Fred, off in the background, perked up at that. Possibly he'd found a kindred spirit).

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, William! Do I have to sort everything out myself?!"

She turned back to them, and scowled when she realised they had fled the scene. 

Diane's brow furrowed, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. She'd keep an eye on them (when she found them, that is), but right now, the Gnomes were more urgent. The last time they'd run out of beer, they'd gone for a swim in the water features. 

All of them 

At once.

And all of them were in the buff! Even the one playing golf!

The vision was still seared into her retinas.

She sighed, and pushed up her short sleeves, and went off to do battle. 

(Fred segued into furtive mode, and slowly followed her, trying to ignore the sound of Gardener's Question Time. He was hoping for something a little livelier).

Aziraphale, satisfied the coast was clear, came out from behind the seed selection. 

"Thank Heavens she's gone! I can't think why she's so put out by the Gnomes, they're really quite sweet! She just..."

He trailed off as he looked around for his husband. 

"Crowley? Crowley?! Where have you gone?"

Of the Demon there was no sign, which was deeply suspicious. 

"Hmm. Well, you can't have gone far, and surely there's not much trouble you can get yourself into? Not at the Garden Centre?"

Off in the distance came the sound of modern music. It was a bit... thumpy for his liking.

Aziraphale sighed, and went off to find a nice pot plant. 

Crowley, hidden behind the rakes, snickered, and snuck off towards his quarry.

Chapter Text

Without a care in the world, Aziraphale strolled into the houseplant section. 

Oh, what a joy to be amongst so much green! It was simply lovely! 

Of course, the cottage was full of plants, as was the garden, but it was only to be expected. It was a visual feast, he just wished that the flora wasn't quite so terrified all the time. 

The ferns and flowers, spathes and stems, were all verdant in their rainbow beauty, and looked wonderful arrayed on every conceivable surface. There were Tradescantia on the tables, Snake plants (what else?) on the shelves, and Calathea on the (toilet) cistern. Plants everywhere, in fact. 

They were all so very well behaved, but (and here Aziraphale couldn't help a pained wince), they were also incredibly traumatised through the alleged care given to them by Crowley. 

He had read, likely in the 1970's, when he was still sporting that gigantic moustache, about talking to plants, and it being good for them. The Demon had seemingly gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick, and instead of cajoling and praising them into growth, had threatened and browbeaten his charges into being perfect specimens.

As a result, Aziraphale had spent quite a lot of time as a plant therapist. He had waited with the Weeping Fig whilst it wept, stroked the Streptocarpus as it shivered, and muttered kind words to the morose Maranta. Thankfully, he had broken Crowley of the habit of sending those he deemed inferior to the compost heap, and he now just put them behind the greenhouse, as he said he wanted them to think very carefully about exactly what it was they had done.

As Aziraphale was pondering over the plants, and cogitating over the cacti, a hint of movement caught his eye, and the suggestion of a ceramic giggle assailed his ears. A small red hat was making its way stealthily through the lush undergrowth, its passage indicated by the rustling of the leaves and fronds, for all the world like a tiny Velociraptor stalking its jungle prey.

A moment later, a member of staff, with the legend William displayed on his name tag, came scurrying into view.

"Which way did he go?" His eyes were wild, and his gardening gloves askew.

"Excuse me?" It seemed the only available question in the circumstances.

"The Gnome! Can't miss him - wearing a shiny red hat!" William's gaze swept the leafy cover, but presumably he didn't find what he was seeking.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale saw a smidge of a finger press itself to weeny lips.

"Um, that way?" Aziraphale pointed in the opposite direction to where the Gnome was.

"Thanks!" And William scarpered.

The Gnome leered at him, then carried on its way. Aziraphale shrugged, and shook his head. He didn't even get a thank you! Honestly! Manners cost nothing.

He turned his attention back to the plants. Now. He wished to buy a new plant for his husband, but he very much wanted to avoid inflicting any avoidable trauma upon the new recruit. In light of this, it had to be resilient, and be able to stand on its own pot and saucer.

Aziraphale took a long, hard look at his choices.

First up was an ivy, Hedera Squiggliosa, impossible to kill, but with a tendency to take over if left alone for five minutes. No, not after the Creeping Saxifrage incident. The spare wardrobe had been inaccessible for weeks, and he'd been without his emergency bow ties for two months! He couldn't go through that again. Perish the thought.

Hmm. How about an Aloe Vera, Aloe Barbadensis Tentacula? Best not, its leaf-thingys looked too much like its name suggested, and that reminded him heavily of the plumber and the lavatory debacle. He shuddered - absolutely not! He was still upset if he came across an unexpected toilet plunger.

So that left ...

A-ha!

A small plant, hidden in the midst of a group of Venus Fly Traps (Dionaea Buzzcipula), was an innocuous-looking little thing, all curling leaves, and tiny teeth. A fly zzzed past it, and its little jaws went snap snap snap, and it swallowed it whole. Audibly. And then it belched.

"Perfect!" Aziraphale clapped his hands together, then picked up the plant, and checked its label.

Monstrum Diaboli Dentes

It was fortunate he was fluent in Latin, as with all other languages. Except French, of course, although he was, mostly, but not like that. Monsieur Rossignol had taught him well.

La Langage de l'amour...

He sighed happily, then remembered the plant.

Monster Devil Teeth.

Interesting.

Aziraphale regarded the pint-sized flora absurdicus in his hand, and in a rare example of Angels rushing in where fools fear to tread, he dismissed the plants smirk, and the sinister susurrus of its leaves.

"You'll do! I doubt even Crowley will be able to make you cry, although I'm sure he'll try. Now - where is he?"

The Angel looked around, and as if on cue, he heard Customer (dis)Service Diane yell out across the store.

"You again!"

"Ah, this way!" Aziraphale walked in the general direction of the apparent chaos.

Unnoticed in the house plant section, the remaining Venus Fly Traps breathed a sigh of relief that the interloper had gone, plucked from the sky by a fluffy god. The strange plant had worried them, by giving them extremely funny looks, and trying to eat its neighbours.

Even more unnoticed, a small creature wearing a red hat looked thoughtfully at the retreating giant, and scratched his beard exceptionally thoughtfully. He knew trouble when he saw it, and now he could smell it, big time.

Chapter Text

Crowley had made his way further into the shop, past the Fabley handbags, expensive bath doodads, the Jammy Dog plushies, and the organic pet supplies. He had glanced at the price label on a box of pet food, and nearly had a heart attack.

Billie's Kitchen x 12 tins, Smoked Salmon, Caviar, Beef Wellington, Lobster. 'That loving home touch for your dog' £100.

After recovering from the shock, he had rounded a display of bucolic jigsaws, and passed into another world. His fingers began tingling, as did his legs, as a curiously familiar feeling, akin to the buzz of electricity, started pulsing through his corporation.

Once upon a time, a very exceedingly long time ago, Crowley had felt the need (for reasons that shall remain thankfully unclear) to pose as a hermit. Not one of those smelly old ones - no, perish the thought, but a sleek and shiny one, one with lovely long locks that fell in a smooth and silky waterfall down his back.

He had worn the latest fashion (naturally), which at the time had been an indigo-and-madder-dyed tunic, stylishly accessorised by hose, and big pointy shoes. The whole vibe was very 804AD. Anyway, whilst he had been living the life of a hermit - which was not bad on the whole, aside from the solitary thing, so Crowley hadn't, and lived with six other people (well not other people because Demon (although Maud had been the worst, and especially after she got sat on by the cow), but it all counted for the same thing in the end), and he had practised the ancient art of water divining. Obviously, otherwise what else was a social butterfly masquerading as a hermit supposed to do with his time?

So, that feeling of holding two sticks in your hands, experiencing the pull of a water course, and suddenly really needing to pee, is exactly what this electrical feeling didn't feel like. Which is probably just as well, as elastic trickery and H₂O really don't mix, despite what he may or may not have told Hastur. The stench of his wig, satisfyingly sizzling as it burned, is something Crowley will unfortunately never forget.

Anyway, all this is a roundabout way of saying that Crowley had tracked down the Barbeque Zone. He could truly say that although it was only an hour or so since he'd first seen the advert, it actually felt like months since he had begun this trip, such was his want for the inanimate object. But none of that mattered - not now that he had vanquished the large shop, and was finally here!

There was a quiet hush that permeated the air, a reverence for all things flamey. Assorted books on barbequing could be spied in garish arrangements, their pages stuffed with plastic burgers and sausages as bookmarks.

The Sizzle! A Culinary Ursine Odyssey of Alaska By Bear Grills

Grill-i-ant! Now with scratch and sniff! By Chris P. Baycone

Barbers/Barbecue - where cuts meet cutlets! By Derek Snip.

Eye-popping photographs of thick slabs of meat oozed out of each page, so vivid, Crowley could nearly taste the delicious cooking.

He saw another book, but chose not to glance at that one's interior too closely. 

Road Kill - A Guide For Food Reclaimers!

They were lifestyle books, and whilst no one was ever going to actually use them for their intended purpose, they looked pretty. Mostly. It mattered not though, as they were only an amuse bouche for the main event, and Crowley was famished.

He ventured further into the manly arena, his eyes caught by huge black aprons with ludicrous statements

Real Barbequers Don't Need Eyebrows! and King Of The Grill!!! or Grillsters Unite!!!!! Exclamation marks were sadly much in evidence.

Endless shiny tools were arranged in vases, like very utilitarian bouquets of flowers, their silvery stems stretching out in a bid to impale unwary shoppers upon their tines. One particularly obnoxious fork was three-foot-long, and seemed to delight in trying to collect tufts of hair from passersby. Who knows what it planned to do with them?

Crowley's eyes had grown glassy as he stared around him at all things dark and bold - their shiny chrome grills, and their lids with twirly hole things that no one had ever used, but it all just made his hunger for the Faming Hades 3000 even worse. Where was it? Where was his prize?

His attention was suddenly caught by movement to his left, and he turned in time to see a Gnome trying to eat one of the plastic sausages.

"That can't taste nice..." he said by way of observation, not really expecting an answer.

The Gnome glared at him, appalled that he should comment on his dinner. "That's what you think, flesh mountain!"

"Charming!" So rude!

The Gnome continued to consume the not-food. It was...educational...how it had added a line of ketchup, along with a sprinkling of salt, and had a tiny knife and fork with which it was diligently attempting to saw another piece off. It was already halfway through the pink monstrosity, and fast approaching the end.

Trying to ignore its masticating and munching, Crowley turned in a circle, and... There it was! In all its glory!

Poetically, the sun chose that moment to beam through the skylight just above, and bathed the shop floor below with a soft golden light, that haloed and caressed the Barbeque to end all Barbeques. 

The Flaming Hades 3000!

Crowley fell to his knees, and wept tears of joy! He had found it! At last it would be his! Never had a needless item been quite so needful!! It was a truly overwhelming moment, made easier to bear when a Gnome (it was unlikely this was still the same one, he thought, as this one had a straw hat and a pair of dungarees, whilst the other one, the one with the sausage, had a top hat and a waistcoat, but you could never really tell with Gnomes) handed him a tiny hanky.

"Thank you," he told it, and was able to use the scrap of fabric for one nostril. "Do you want it back?" The Gnome looked aghast. "I'll keep it then."

Just as Crowley was getting up to go and drool over his heart's desire, he heard a sound that made his insides shrivel up.

"You again!!"

It was Diane, she'd found him. Curses.

The Gnome chuckled, and ran off.

"Thanks for your support," he snarked, and rolled his eyes. Gnomes, eh?

The wsst! of Diane's cheap polyester trousers was getting nearer, but before she could reach him, Crowley jumped up, leapt over six lesser barbeques that could only dream of being able to cook a whole deer (they did dream, night after night, about haunches of venison, and sides of boar. All except the catchily named Outdoor Kitchen 143-6785-943377-94847466-928272262525-b, who was going through a vegetarian phase, and kept fantasising over aubergines and cauliflowers), and held on tight to his new baby.

"It's mine!" he yelled, "and you can't stop me purchasing it!"

"Oh yes I can!" Diane yelled back. "What do you think this is? A shop?"

Crowley looked around at his current environs. "Er... yes?"

The small crowd of Gnomes (because it was very hard for them to be considered a large crowd) that had sneakily gathered, agreed with Crowley. It was definitely a shop.

Diane snarled, her plum lipstick stretching thin, and gnashed her teeth. "Damn capitalism!"

It was at this point Aziraphale appeared, carrying his plant. The Gnomes took one long at its terrifying grin, and as a unit, took one step backwards. A sound was heard not dissimilar to twenty nine tiny ceramic shoes all moving at the same time. 

"Crowley? Would you be so good as to explain why you are embracing that large appliance for telegraphing masculinity?"

"Er... not as such."

"Oh. Should I be jealous?"

In lieu of answer, several things happened at once.

The plant hugged tightly in Aziraphale's hands was drooling, and snapped up a string of plastic sausages, then burped loudly.

The coachload of elderly OAP's, who previously had their medical devices assaulted by Diane's dulcet tones, also rocked up at that moment. Reg and Hilda were still listening to Radio 4, but Fred was MIA, currently living his best life dancing it up with the raving Gnomes.

Diane howled, from the very bottom of her soul, the sound echoing through the garden centre.

There was a drawn out pause, and then the PA system crackled into life.

Tannoy annoucement: Would William please collect Diane's emergency coffee from the counter.

The sound of William's sad huff echoed through the shop. "Again? That's the third time today!"