go_exchange | Happy Holidays, inhonoredglory! (Reply)

Title: Rescuing Me Makes Him So Happy
Summary: Against common misconception from some humans, Aziraphale had never been and never would be what the great stories called a Damsel in Distress. No, no, point one, he wasn’t human and therefore couldn’t identify as a damsel. Point two, he had never, in his six thousand years mingling among the humans, ever been in a moment of Distress – distress, sure – but without the emphasis it surely didn’t count.
Rating: Teen, some descriptions of violence.

Aka the times where Crowley swoops in to save Aziraphale and the one time he was just the getaway driver.

Happy Holidays Inhonoredglory! I loved your prompts for this year's Holiday Exchange and I hope I did them justice.

Against common misconception from some humans, Aziraphale had never been and never would be what the great stories called a Damsel in Distress. No, no, point one, he wasn't human and therefore couldn't identify as a damsel. Point two, he had never, in his six thousand years mingling among the humans, ever been in a moment of Distress – distress, sure – but without the emphasis, it surely didn't count.

Right now though, right now he may have to admit that he was feeling much more distressed than he ever had previously. Traveling to Heaven via the official Holy Elevator feels near a century standing in silence next to the Metatron in a too-white box¹.

"You've made the right decision here, Aziraphale." The Metatron broke the quiet. "I have no doubts that you are the right angel to direct us to see the Great Plan completed through."

The Great Plan. Aziraphale tires of hearing the phrase. He knows – he knew the moment the Metatron uttered those words back before they stepped into the elevator – that any fantasy of easily changing Heaven for the better is a foolish endeavor. As idiotic as Crow – no best not to think of Crowley now, an impossible endeavor. Not when he needed clarity and focus while finally stepping off the elevator into the too-white open space of Heaven. And thinking of Crowley would only lead to remembering the heartbreak and his forlorn expression standing by the Bentley, and Aziraphale missing his demon, which would lead to mistakes he could not afford.

"Aziraphale," the Metatron calls, always a few steps ahead, already striding down perfectly polished floors. "Welcome home."

The Aziraphale of years ago would have been preening at those words – the Aziraphale before the Apocalypse That Wasn't would have given anything to hear those words because Heaven was always Good and Just and it would have meant that he did something Right.

The Aziraphale of now smiles, teeth showing as he thanks the Metatron for their kind words and he is oh so interested in getting started to work as the Supreme Archangel and would like to know where his desk is.

"Of course, Supreme Archangel." The title sounds like a mockery from the Metatron's lips. "Right this way."

"Oh, thank you so much. Heaven knows the last time I was here I didn't get to see much." He gives the expected reply.

"Naturally, I hear you were preoccupied with… other matters during your last visit." The Metatron leads Aziraphale to a space identical to all the others they had passed – a large desk with folders stacked to the side and nothing else.

"Quite," was the only thing Aziraphale would allow himself to say. The last time he had "been" to Heaven, was when "he'd" been dragged up after the botched Apocalypse. Aziraphale knew better than to assume that the Metatron had not been fully aware of what had transpired, even though they had not been physically present based on Crowley's partial retelling of the events. "I might have to, ah, get a few books or plants for the desk. To freshen it up, you know. Make it more – homey."

"Oh, I wouldn't presume to tell the Supreme Archangel what to do, of course. But you know how we angels are, Aziraphale," the Metatron said. "Always a bit on the conservative side of personalization. Could make someone anxious, I've heard."

"Of course." Crowley would have suggested that Aziraphale get a cactus to spite them – Aziraphale rather liked that idea more and more. Amongst others.

It didn't take long for the Metatron to finish their dithering² , citing that they had been called over for some other business and finally leaving Aziraphale slumping on the uncomfortable chair at his new desk.

Looking at the endless white tiles, Aziraphale admits to himself that he might in fact be feeling Distressed. And there was little he could do to squash that growing pit of hope of wanting Crowley to saunter over as he had done so many times over the millennia.

He was on his own now – Crowley wouldn't be coming. And Aziraphale had been the one to divide what they could have been together, he knows.

But that didn't mean that Aziraphale could stop reminiscing about him, especially with very little else to do except read these boring-looking meeting notes and files on his desk. It hurt to think of Crowley; something twisted in his chest that he last saw Crowley looking so forlorn next to his car and Aziraphale had been the one to cause that.

It won't be forever, Aziraphale reasons with himself. This is a temporary setback but Aziraphale has a plan to fix everything in due time. And Crowley will eventually forgive him because he has always done so. Aziraphale sucks a deep breath in and out and pulls one of the folders open. Step one of any plan – gather as much information as possible from the enemy.

Strange that thinking of Heaven as an enemy didn't fill him with the same grief and terror that it usually did. Rather, he thinks this fiery burning running through his veins was anger – he had rarely felt it to this extreme, that had always been Crowley's expertise.

Well, since he couldn't simply speak to Crowley like he wanted, and Aziraphale didn't foresee anyone bothering him for at least some time, there wouldn't be any harm in imagining what Crowley would be doing had he been in Aziraphale's place. After all, Aziraphale had known Crowley for 6,000 years and had numerous experiences to remember.

He couldn't help but smile as the folder in his hands started smoking around the edges.

1. One has to wonder in how much bleach and cleaning supplies Heaven invests in order to maintain their all-white appearance. Who is the unlucky angel in charge of ensuring Heaven keeps up with expectations? In fact, it’s supposed to be Raphael but no one has heard from them in a while so poor Saraqael took over and has been stressed ever since. return to text

2. Dithering was always usually a word used to describe Aziraphale, especially when he was deep in his Regency Era fascination. So he fancies himself an expert on calling out others who may also be dithering as well as an expert on the regency era. Bridgerton has nothing on him. return to text

A time Much Before the Modern Day and Not Long After the Fall of Eden

Aziraphale felt conflicted about the humans. He pitied them, yes, and felt bad for their vulnerability against the new elements that were beginning to distinctly shape the environment. And perhaps he was fascinated by their ingenuity and cleverness in moderate amounts. He'd recently heard a lovely tale that a human had come up with to share with the rest of their tribe during the last meal of the day. Children had been splayed all around the ground fascinated by the story, as was Aziraphale, while the rest of the tribe quietly packed the day's activities away.

That had been a week ago. And today, everyone was gone, leaving only decayed bodies around the common area.

Shame, those stains would be terribly difficult to remove from Shar's pottery over there. She had been so proud to show them off to anyone who walked by. There lay Khem, the storyteller from the week before. Although he wouldn't be able to tell stories around a fire for his friends and family any longer.

Well, the humans had developed a fondness for burials once they died.

Aziraphale kneels on the ground and begins moving the soil with his fingers. He doesn't know how long he stays – time doesn't seem to want to bother with him. He only knows that there is a significantly sized mound of dirt next to him when he hears a heavy thump and grunts from behind.

He wishes he could say it's a surprise when the demon Crawly steps into view – circling the dirt pile to peer at Aziraphale's work. But they'd run into each other a fair few times after the Garden, although usually never more than to exchange some words before separating.

"You, ah, had a friend who wanted to have you join with the rest of them," Crawly finally says. "Just knocked him out before he introduced that axe into the back of your head and discorporated you. In case you were wondering."

He wasn't wondering, thank you Crawly, Aziraphale tells himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a newly sharpened adze, one that hadn't been there before, and next to it, still gripping tightly onto the handle, was a body significantly less bloody and smelly than the other bodies Aziraphale had been next to this whole time.

"Why did you come back here, Crawly?" Aziraphale doesn't stop with his digging. "Wasn't it enough that you had them slaughter each other?"

"Me? Help them with this mess? Are you joking, Angel?" Crawly looms over Aziraphale, long hair falling in its curls around his face. "The humans came up with the idea of killing one another for property all on their own. I'd suggested something more palatable, like putting on a fashion show between the tribes and the winner gets bragging rights and takes whatever they can carry."³

"The humans can't have come up with something this – this demonic!" Aziraphale protests, dirt-filled hands falling to his hips in denial. "That's positively mad thinking to go about spouting, Crawly!" Imagine, the simple humans having the terrible urge to just murder another. God would never have made them in Their image that way, would They? There had been that business with Cain and Abel just recently though.

"Well, I certainly never thought about it until I saw what happened over at Schletz!" Crawly begins walking away. "Anyways, you're welcome for the save, don't go around telling anybody I did that. I'd hate for you to get reassigned somewhere else."

Aziraphale watches as Crawly saunters off – making sure to step on Aziraphale's would-be-killer as he does.⁴

"Crawly," he calls, "Th-"

"Do not finish that sentence, Angel!" Crawly snarls, never turning around. "And maybe think about working faster to bury those bodies, it took you hours just to make that little hole? I would have just set it all on fire." Crawly disappeared after that.

Aziraphale looks down at his hands, nails broken from scraping in the dirt with his bare fingers and covered in itchy soil. The pile of dirt he had dug up didn't seem that large after he'd spent so long kneeling and even the bodies around him seemed to be rotting more than he remembered first seeing them.

Right, well it's not like Heaven would begrudge him a small Miracle for this. They would understand it as a sign of Goodness towards the humans, a blessing to give them a sign to follow the path of the Righteous. That is what he had been sent down to Earth to do after all.

Arm raises and snaps downward, stopping at face level.

Aziraphale surveys the ground around him – all of the bodies and their wares were no longer visible and a large mound domed a few feet away right where Aziraphale had been digging. A cold wind blew and Aziraphale shivered. How empty the place looked now, buried away to be locked under the earth for all of eternity.⁵

With a sigh, Aziraphale turns on his heel to walk away. Heaven is sure to contact him soon for another mission to look into, but until then, maybe he'll check out some of the newer cities the humans are developing. He grimaces as his feet step on something especially squishy.

"Oh apologies, friend." The man who would have slashed Aziraphale didn't move. Aziraphale didn't worry – he'd be fine in a few hours of course. Crawly would never hit someone that hard.

3. Crawly has a Vision, you see. A Vision of fabulous Ideas and Demonic activities that would create a large snowball effect of Temptations without Crawly needing to do anything in the long run. Hell was still figuring out what projections they wanted to reach, being a brand new cosmic entity and all. return to text

4. The man would wake up hours later and wonder for the rest of his life why the outline of a footprint never left his face. Although, due to the upcoming winter, the rest of his life ended up being just a scant few months after the Incident. return to text

5. Or until white men paid other people to dig up every suspicious looking mound of dirt for the clout. return to text

A Time After the Whole Christ Situation – 367 AD

"What in the world are you doing, Angel?" Aziraphale looks up from where he's been crouching. He pulls on Crowley's black robes, hissing at him to get down, pleased when it only takes two pulls for Crowley to roll his eyes and join Aziraphale squatting behind a bush near one of the guard posts.

"I was following that bloke there – the one with the purple pins because he's been bribing the miles areani to falsify reports on the barbarians from Caledonia." Aziraphale whispers, "I wanted to see what he was up to."

"Right, first off, do you need to be calling them barbarians like the Romans do, really now Aziraphale?"

"I don't know, I just arrived in Britannia last night from Greece, I've no idea what's going on apart from him bribing officials. Bribes, Crowley! Did you give him the idea?"

"No!" Crowley ponders for a moment, "Actually maybe? They all look very similar to me and I was off talking to a lot of folks last night. Some of the Romans are unhappy with their posts and wanted some excitement. I may have tempted some to cause some problems for the Empire."

"Oh, that does sound very exciting. Almost exactly like what Bastwar would have done." Aziraphale claps his hands quietly in glee.

"Are you still reading that book of poetry drivel? I thought you finished it last time we met."

"Oh I did, but I had to reread it, Ayādgār ī Zarērān⁶ is just such a good collection and I wanted a bit of light reading for the road on the ride over."

"Ridiculous," Crowley mutters right as Aziraphale starts shushing them both – his suspicious Roman guard murmuring to the other three on duty.

"Can you hear what they're saying? I can't hear a thing."

"I think we need to go closer, Angel⁷ ."

"Over there, do you see that haystack?"

Crowley and Aziraphale took several minutes to sneak into the haystack closer to the guards' post – it might have gone quicker had the two not bickered quietly about the best way to crawl into a haystack.

"- And the Saxons have sent word they are docked an hour off of Ebbracum⁸." Purple Pin Man was saying by the time they were paying attention.

"Will they arrive in time?" Guard #2 who was identifiable by his large mustache was flipping a coin while speaking.

"Even if they don't, the Picts will be more than enough to cause some mayhem." Guard #3 said with a gold star pinned to his uniform. "It's not like any guards will be around to help since none of us have been getting paid."

"Damn Magnentius," Large Mustache muttered. "If he hadn't gone off with his delusions of grandeur of becoming Emperor, he'd still have the coin to pay his guards instead of dragging his coffer to the capital."

"Told you they were unhappy, Angel," Crowley whispers. "Humans are fixated on getting money and they get mad when they don't have it."

"Well, yes I know that. I've also been here for four thousand years, Crowley, thank you."

"You were in Greece! What do they know of commerce in Greece? Don't they just have the wine and such?"

"When was the last time you were in Greece? Regardless, don't you think we ought to warn someone about this?"

"About what?"

"About a potential invading force, obviously. People could get seriously hurt if we don't do anything."

Crowley stares at Aziraphale through his dark lenses. Aziraphale squirms, feeling under scrutiny from Crowley's intense eyes, even hidden as they were. "Angel, what can we do? The Romans are already in on this and they are the ones who are supposed to protect the common citizenry. Why do you even want to get involved?"

"Well, we're here, aren't we? And we can do the right thing, see?"

"Angel."

"Please, Crowley. I know that people die all the time and I know it might be fruitless, but isn't it important that we at least try?"

Crowley shakes his head and Aziraphale dislikes that he isn't in a darker room to hide the stutter in his chest at Crowley's rejection. "Angel, I didn't tell you exactly why I was up in Britannia, did I? Downstairs wants a fight to break out here, they want to see the Roman Empire start to crumble. I can't stop anything."

Aziraphale sighs. "I'm sorry to hear that, Crowley." Not every town in the Northern reaches of Britannia would have corrupt officials, that's just how the humans were. Both good and bad and sometimes both at the same time. Maybe it would be pointless in the long run, but Aziraphale refuses to let the Right Thing slip past him. "I'll see you some other time, then." Metaphysical wings slip out from his back and before Aziraphale can view the look of shock on the guards' faces, he's off in the sky. He thinks he heard Crowley's voice in the growing din but didn't make out the words. Oh well. If it was important, Crowley would have just have to tell him the next time that they met.

6. Multiple priests of the Zoroastrian religion would have died to know Aziraphale’s source for getting a written manuscript of Ayādgār ī Zarērān. Their forefathers (because they were still highly sexist and refused female priests in power) would hide these books with a fervor. As such, their trainees searched for copies with the same fervor. Aziraphale broke into the Agiary and “borrowed” it. return to text

7. Could they have miracled better listening skills for themselves? Yes, but then we wouldn’t have the miscommunication drama, now would we? return to text

8. Modern day York for those who don’t want to hunt down a map of Brittania from circa 400 AD return to text

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon, Crowley," Aziraphale says, voice straining as he held up the roof of a burning building from falling on a crowd of terrified British Roman citizens who had been unable to defend themselves as the invaders started rushing through the streets of the towns around Lugubadlum⁹. Gold Star Guard had been right – Aziraphale hadn't seen any signs of anyone other than the people from beyond the wall rampaging through the town since the bells had started ringing in full force at their arrival. Not that any warnings had done any good – no one had believed Aziraphale when he had gone around trying to warn them about the threat to their safety and now he was here – holding up a rather heavy portion of hot heavy timber and clay structure from falling. Outside, more buildings were up in flames, cobbled streets sticky and wet. The city bells had gone silent but shouting and crying could still be heard from every corner.

Crowley guided a pair of horses to a carriage which rolled smoothly over the bodies that attempted to block his path. "I knew you went off to be an idiot somewhere, so I came prepared. Come on, send out your lot you've hidden away in there. There's more than enough room in the carriage."

Twelve people weren't a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it was still twelve people who hadn't died needlessly tonight and for that, Aziraphale could only thank the Almighty.

"Get out here, all of you." Crowley barks at the mass of people who huddled near Aziraphale, a few nursing burned palms. "If you don't want to die today, I expect all of you to be sprinting to the carriage within the next ten seconds."

"But what about Mr. Aziraphale?" a shrill cry comes from the child gripping onto Aziraphale's leg.

"Go on, Beatrice," Aziraphale shakes his leg to encourage little hands to let go. "Mr. Crowley is the nicest person I know, and he'll definitely help."

Hmm, maybe he shouldn't have moved his leg like that. The roof slipped down further a few centimeters from Aziraphale's grip – he'd never been the strongest angel by far and dear lord was he feeling it now. Add in the tremors, scrapes, splinters in his hands, and the flames running down his arms, and Aziraphale was really not having a good time right now.

But at least it scares everyone into dashing outside towards Crowley who pushes them as fast as possible through the carriage doors.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley shouts as Aziraphale's knees buckle and his fingers slip.

Oh, drat it, is all that he can think of before he's submerged in a blazing inferno of warmth. Discorporation is always such a pain.

Aziraphale breathes in the fire but doesn't feel the lick of the flames any longer. A familiar hand reaches and grabs his tunic and hauls him up.

"You idiot," Crowley growls, fingers moving to clench at Aziraphale's wrist like a vice and dragging him away from what had been the old church building in town. "What were you thinking not using a miracle to get yourself out of a burning church?"

Aziraphale giggles, head spinning and chest aching. "You came for me."

Crowley just sighs, nearly throwing Aziraphale on the front seat of the carriage, climbing next to him. He doesn't have any reins – he doesn't need them. One glare and the horses start moving because what else would horses do? Freak out and refuse to do their jobs in a stressful situation? Absolutely not on Crowley's watch.

Aziraphale lists to the side, exhaustion settling in his bones from the excitement of the day, head resting against Crowley's shoulder.

"I'd always try and come for you, you idiot." Crowley says softly, after hours of travel down smooth paths, "I don't want to have to break in a new angel who'd be your replacement, obviously."

"You really are the nicest person I know, Crowley," Aziraphale replies just as quietly, ignoring Crowley's immediate shaking of his head.

"You can't say things like that to a demon, Angel. Someone could get in a lot of trouble for that."

Aziraphale wishes he had been surprised when Crowley vanished in the middle of the night, in a flash of sulfur, leaving Aziraphale alone to drop off the cart and its cargo on the other side of the island. He didn't see Crowley for a long while after.

9. Around modern day Carlisle if again anyone did not have handy a map of Britannia from 400 AD on their walls. return to text

Sometime near the start of the end of the world –

Aziraphale was racing – he didn't think he had ever run faster in his long life, mostly because running was not a pastime he enjoyed partaking in. However, in this instance, anything less than a full sprint meant devastation and he'd like to avoid getting banished for all eternity.

Hence the sprinting down long hallways.

From behind, Aziraphale could hear loud thumps and a roar that could only come from the most terrible foe. Aziraphale was panting¹⁰ as he pushed his legs to move even faster.

"Brother Francis!" thunders down the empty manor hallways, in a piercing shrieking voice that only a five-year-old could claim as a weapon. Aziraphale sobs as he hears tiny footsteps dashing faster than physics should allow, chasing after a wayward angel who only wanted to make sure the Antichrist didn't grow up with only demonic wiles and bring about the apocalypse. That didn't mean he wanted to directly deal with a small child who refused to believe he needed naps to get through the day and would throw a tantrum with the full force of Hell behind his little lungs. There was a reason it was decided that he would take the gardener's post while the direct caretaking for Warlock Dowling fell to –

"Nanny!" Aziraphale did not fall to his knees as Crowley stepped out of one of the many doors in the manor, although it was a close thing.

"Brother Francis?" Nanny Ashtoreth stares from behind her perfectly poised sunglasses, the mobile phone that had been in her hand returning to a hidden pocket on her dress. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Please help!" Aziraphale whimpers, not ashamed to cower behind Nanny Ashtoreth's sharp figure as a large shadow loomed at the end of the hall. "I fear Young Master Warlock has gone absolutely mad."

Sharp cackles echo as Warlock Dowling, five-year-old Antichrist¹¹ slows his run to a stroll, the muddy shovel he'd been carrying over his head dropped to his side, the metal scraping against the wooden flooring. His face was eerily blank, not counting the large overly stretched smile, and seemed to be coated in darkness, eyes red-rimmed.

"I told him he needed to start getting ready for his nap time and that digging could wait for later in the afternoon," Aziraphale whispers to Nanny, who does not seem as terrified as Aziraphale thinks she should be. "And well, he picked up the shovel and started chasing me with it."

"Are you telling me that you can't deal with a five-year-old who's being stubborn? You, an angel?" Nanny scoffs.

"Well excuse me for not wanting to accidentally hurt the Antichrist and find myself in smithereens, thank you very much! Besides, have you seen how much mud is on that shovel?"¹²

"Oh please, Warlock isn't going to be getting into his Antichrist powers for at least another six years. He's just being a typical child right now." Nanny whistles. "Hellspawn, darling! Come here to Nanny and put that shovel down. You may be the future King of all the Dammed, but that doesn't mean you can ruin the floors."

A screech is the only reply Nanny gets.

"Uh huh, I know Brother Francis was rude to you and he'll apologize soon."

Two vocal ranges of chitters this time.

"No, you can't eat Brother Francis – he hasn't showered today and would taste rather bland."

A loud thump and grumbles as Warlock drops the shovel and shuffles over where he is swooped up into Nanny's arms. "I don't care if Brother Francis told you that Sister Worm is one of your friends, she still doesn't need to be taken away from her home in the flowerbed."

"But Nanny-" Warlock yawns as Nanny shifts his weight in her arms so his head is cushioned on her bony shoulder.

"No buts, it's nap time, Hellspawn. And later we'll sing our hymns of worldly destruction while Brother Francis plays the piano."

It only takes a minute before Warlock is sound asleep, limp, and dead to the world after a long day of exploration and exercising demonic rule against future minions.

"Thank you, Nanny," Aziraphale says, snapping his fingers for the hall to be as pristine as it had been before being attacked by a shovel-wielding terror.

"I'm not sure what you're thanking me for, Angel. I'm just doing my job as the Nanny."

"For saving me, naturally."

"Warlock is no taller than your hip; how in the name of Someone were you so scared of him that you needed me to save you?"

"He can be a very terrifying child you know!"

"Don't be ridiculous, all children are like this at this age."¹³

Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth walk together to Warlock's room, bickering all the while – if any of the other help had been around, they would have thought nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth always did spend a lot of time together, after all.

10. As an angel, Aziraphale technically had no need for breathing – but for some reason these clowns seem to forget that. return to text

11. Wrongfully presumed return to text

12. While Aziraphale may have elected to work in the Gardens – he never actually touches anything with his bare hands or skins. He can’t go near any of his books if there is dirt under his fingernails, after all! return to text

13. It may be worth knowing that Crowley also doesn’t know exactly how children act at any age but he did watch The Omen as part of his research in raising the Antichrist. Take that as you will. return to text

Present Day – years after the Apocalypse that Wasn't

You are a 1926 Bentley and you have only ever had one owner.

You love your owner very much and you love his favorite passenger even more so because he loves them. Not they will ever admit it and you will never admit to playing specific songs whenever they both sit inside.¹⁴

You hate fire and flames and excessive heat after you and your owner enabled each other to drive through an inferno to rescue your owner's passenger and you don't recall what happened once everything burned away but when you next woke, it was to a favorite parking spot outside of the bookshop and your owner and passenger were both fine.

You hope you never have to be near a fire ever again.

This hope does not last.

14. All Queen versions of the UK Top 40 Love Songs, naturally. return to text

"I can't believe you set Heaven on fire." Crowley shakes in the front seat of the Bentley, his rearview mirror showing Muriel in the backseat with their face pressed against the back window with sparkles in their eyes. Aziraphale giggles next to him in the passenger seat, coat singed and smoking.

He had Willed the Bentley to drive to Heaven because any car of his would have no problems making the trip, with Muriel stowed away as they refused to stay in the bookshop by themselves. He had expected to break into Heaven and drag Aziraphale with him back to Earth or the stars or somewhere where he and the Angel would be safe from both Heaven and Hell.

He didn't know if it was actually possible to find a safe haven, but he needed to have that optimism that neither side would search for them if they vanished from the public eye.

Crowley hadn't expected that he, Muriel, and Bentley would arrive at the gates of Heaven with angels scattering and screaming as flames covered the walls. Michael had some embers in their hair as they ran out a window and into the clouds that added to the white ambiance Heaven prided itself on. Aziraphale had been the only angel walking calmly outside and brightening immediately upon seeing the Bentley.

"I've understood why Heaven is a non-smoking area," is the first thing Aziraphale says as he grins maniacally while climbing into the Bentley. "Hello, Muriel dear. How've you been?" was the second.

"I guess all that paperwork really caught on fire, huh, Mister Aziraphale?" Muriel remarks.

"That and apparently the floors and walls were never updated to be fireproof, funny enough." Aziraphale replies.

Crowley pats the Bentley above the radio as it trembles when the flames burst higher into the air.

"Also, the Metatron doesn't have any fire extinguishers, so I don't think we need to worry about them for a bit."

"Right, well I was expecting a bit more of a rescue mission, if I'm to be perfectly honest." Crowley wants to look at Aziraphale, wants to squeeze him tightly so he never parts again, and at the same time, he'd like to shake him. Just a bit. He doesn't, sunglasses on and glaring at the fire which reminded him so much of a more contained pillar of hellish flames that had once been meant for Aziraphale. He pats the Bentley again as another tremor shudders through his seat. "Not sure where to go from here."

Aziraphale reaches over and slowly removes Crowley's glasses from his face. "Might we pop back to the bookstore first? I've got some packing to do."

"Going to leave the bookshop, Angel?" Crowley doesn't move to reach for his glasses, but he doesn't turn his head either.

"Well, this won't stop Heaven forever and they definitely know where the bookshop is, as does Hell. I was thinking, maybe we can look for a new place out in the country? Muriel, you're welcome to come along as well."

"Oh, am I, Mr. Aziraphale? That would be jolly well splendid, it will!"

Crowley remains silent.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale touches his arm. "Thank you for coming to rescue me. As always. I'm sorry you didn't get to dramatically swoop in this time." The I didn't think you would come isn't said aloud but both hear it just the same.

"You idiot," Crowley whispers. "Don't you know by now that I'll always show up?" The apology isn't enough for everything, not yet. But they have more time to talk about it now.

"Anyways," Crowley shakes his head, reaching over to grab his glasses and shove them back on his face. "We better get a move on – don't want to still be in Heaven when they finally get their heads on straight. Back home we go."

The Bentley eagerly moves through space back down to Earth. Back home.

And for the Bentley, away from that terrible thing known as fire.

Writer Notes:
1. The first past rescue is technically a historical event that would have occurred prior to the start of Universe as per the novel in 4004 BC. These were the one of the first signs of a mass grave during the Neolithic era and one of the first potential archaeological evidence of habitual warfare in Neolithic Europe. The specific area Aziraphale and Crawly were in has been labeled as the Talheim Death Pit near Talheim, Germany and the site dates back to about 5000 BC based on skeletal remains. Schletz was another mass grave site found in a similar time period (probably about 500 years earlier) nearby with similar skeletal remains and weaponry. But Time is a social construct, and no questions will be taken regarding this.

2. As many may have guessed, the second flashback sequence is the start of the fall of the Roman Britannia state in 367 AD. Was there as much research as could have been done on the event? No, but getting sidetracked by old maps is always a win.

3. Aziraphale gets threatened by the local sleep-deprived Antichrist and then rescued by goth Mary Poppins, more on the 17:30 news report. Mrs. Dowling is living for the relationship drama happening right underneath her nose and has already been saving Pinterest boards for wedding inspirations if they ever get a brain cell.

4. For the Heaven as a non-smoking area line, several years ago, a New Year's Resolutions list for Crowley and Aziraphale were released by Gaiman and Pratchett. Highlights include Crowley’s resolution to stop Googling himself while being proud about inventing the concept, Aziraphale to find out exactly what an “internet” is, and both to discover why Heaven/Hell are non-smoking areas.