(no subject)
((Revised story.))
It was a rainy Saturday afternoon.
Not in a bad way, mind you. More of the lets stay inside with a mug of tea by our side and stay all warm and cosy kind of rainy day.
Good with bad. Bitter with sweet.
Which wasn’t surprising. In general, there had been a lot less negative vibes going around. There had been a lot less positive vibes going around, too, for that matter. What had been circulating was a general content vibe. Neutrality.
In the back room of a small shop in Soho, two very contented supernatural entities lay entwined on one of those beige couches that would always look ugly but were absolutely exquisite to lie or sit upon. Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. He had been assured by his demon companion that sleep was quite a refreshing hobby, and although Aziraphale wasn’t quite getting the hang of it, he found that the small practise he’d had was enjoyable.
While his friend amicably snoozed, Aziraphale thought back to a few days ago.
<><><><><><><><>
He stood in a temporary area, waiting to speak to the Metatron. Or rather, be spoken to by the Metatron.
While Heaven, and also Hell he presumed, had been caught up in the bureaucracy of the Almost-Armageddon, Crowley and Aziraphale had taken a break from their work and decided to take pleasure in one another’s company.
“After all,” Crowley had said. “It’s the first day of the rest of our lives.”
And they’d talked a lot. About everything and anything. And they’d both enjoyed it.
Then one day, while he had been cataloguing his new book collection, he’d received a message from Heaven. And now he was there. Waiting…
…And then the Metatron was suddenly before him, sitting down at what appeared to be a desk.
“Take a seat, Aziraphale,” he said. He had an open file before him, written in a language that had no human had ever known. Aziraphale tried to hide his curiosity about what it said and focused on the Metatron, who was looking directly at him.
“We need to discuss your affairs with the Fallen angel and current demon, Crawly.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, unable to stop himself. Metatron raised an eyebrow.
“Indeed. We need to negotiate the current state of your dealings, in a fashion, now that the Apocalypse has been averted.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said miserably. His insides churned, a thousand emotions fighting for first place but the main one seemed to be fear. Although fear of what he didn’t exactly know.
“You are going to redeem him,” Metatron said with a slow nod. Aziraphale looked up.
“Pardon?”
“I said,” began the Metatron, pronouncing each syllable slowly and deliberately, “that you are going to redeem him. In your infinite goodness as an angel, a being in the Grace of God, you are going to set out to redeem your Fallen brethren.”
“I am?”
“Yes, you are. Because it would be a real thorn in their side, right now, so to speak. An Armageddon stopped by Satan’s own son and the demon that provoked the first sin to be redeemed. Of course it would, Aziraphale. What other reason could there be?”
Even though there were undertones that there was another reason, Aziraphale gaped. Relief flooded over him. He could feel himself tremble in euphoria.
“Um,” was all he could say. “Gosh. Thank you.”
“Of course, Aziraphale. Know that you must use everything within your power to do so. Are we clear?”
“Yes. Very clear.”
“Good,” the Metatron said. Aziraphale got up to leave.
“Oh, and Aziraphale?”
“Yes, sir?”
“For goodness sake, don’t embarrass us any further.”
<><><><><><><><>
And while Aziraphale thought over the recent dealings in Heaven, Crowley thought of his own in Hell.
<><><><><><><><>
At the same time Aziraphale had stood waiting in Heaven, Crowley had stood in Hell, before Beelzebub, talking about his dealings with Aziraphale.
“You want me to do what?” Crowley asked in shock.
“We wantzz you to tempt the angel to Fall, Crowzley,” Beelzebub had said. Crowley stared at him in disbelief. Beelzebub gave a sigh, as the sort of exasperated being who is fed up dealing with insignificant insubordinates.
“You, azz the cunning little git that you are, the demon to provoke the first zzin, are going to get up there and tempt that angel to Fall. The angel who wazz onze Guardian of the Eazztern Gate. Do you understand?”
Crowley thought for a moment and grinned. “Perfectly. Everything in my power?”
“Everything.”
Crowley got up to walk away.
“Oh, and Crowzley?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t embarazz uzz any further.”
<><><><><><><><>
They had met in the park, ecstatic expressions on each other’s faces; barely able to contain the utter glee they felt. Then they had gone back to Crowley's apartment and they had talked. Although, admittedly, not for very long.
“Do you think they’re letting us get off light?” Aziraphale asked afterwards.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they could have quite easily cast me out of Heaven and tortured you for eternity. Why not?”
“Because that would admit that there was a problem in the first place,” Crowley said. The angel thought for a little bit longer.
“Do you think there’s something else maybe?” he asked.
“Like what?” Crowley asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Do you ever think about how convenient our whole Arrangement has been? How neat everything was for us to start it?”
“Sometimes…”
“Maybe we’re the little part of Them they hate to admit? The part they ignore. Maybe we’re the little part of Them that could have worked out. I mean, they’ve been enemies as long as we have. Maybe they have their own Arrangement.”
Crowley stared at the ceiling.
“Angel?”
“Yes?”
“You think too much. I need to put a stop to that.” Crowley turned to look at him, grinning suggestively.
“Oh do you? Because I’ve been ordered to use everything within my power to redeem you, you know.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
The conversation was put on an indefinite halt. Several times.
<><><><><><><><>
A few days later, in the back room of a small shop in Soho, two very contented supernatural entities lay entwined with each other. Eventually, one of them got up to put the kettle on. It was one of those days.
((Much better, methinks. And a nice little lead on for the RP, maybe.))