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lemonfruitfish! (Part 2 of 2)
Dec. 2nd, 2008 09:59 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeAfter All, Part I
The little Virtue wasn't sure how he had got into this mess. The Captain had said it was time to fight--the Final Battle that would bring everything to completion. So he had picked up his sword and gone with the rest of his Choir, trusting that Heaven would triumph, just as the Plan said.
It hadn't really occurred to him to wonder just what part had been written for him, personally, but apparently it involved being stuck behind enemy lines with no idea how to get back to the relative safety of the Host.
Still, he wasn't doing too badly. Every demon that had come at him so far had gone off again missing an appendage or stuck full of holes. He wasn't sure whether he'd actually killed any of them, and wasn't entirely clear on whether he was supposed to; they were the Enemy, but they were also his long-lost kin, and served the Plan in their own fashion. The bodies of several angels he'd come across, though, had shown him that the Enemy had no such compunction about killing his people, so he didn't trouble himself too much about what happened to them, as long as they left him alone.
It seemed odd to him that he was so frightened. Michael certainly wasn't afraid, nor any of his lieutenants, nor the other Archangels. But he was. He supposed there must be some reason why his Lord required it of him, though he didn't understand why. Fighting would be a lot easier if he didn't feel so shaky. And he was starting to get tired, too.
A shout brought him out of his momentary reverie, and he wearily raised his sword as another opponent came running at him. Not just one of Hell's foot soldiers, he realized with a stab of dread; this one was particularly hideous and very, very powerful. A Duke, maybe. Bigger than he was, definitely. He also had four arms, two of which held big, serrated blades. The angel's heart sank further when he spotted a second demon coming in from another direction, but then the big one was on him and he needed all his attention just to hold that one off.
It was a matter of seconds before his opponent slipped past his guard and sliced a deep furrow in his sword arm. The Virtue cried out, dropped his weapon and backpedaled frantically, expecting the other demon to come in behind him and finish the job. Instead, to his confusion, he saw the two of them square off as though they were about to fight each other.
"Well, well. If it isn't good old Crawly," snarled the Duke-or-whatever-he-was. "Looking to slither back into the fold before the hammer falls, are we?"
"Maybe," said the other cautiously.
"Yeah, well, fat chance. Angel-loving traitor. You should've thought twice before you and your halo buddy took out Hastur. No demon in the Legion will back you now for any price." The big demon spat on the ground. "Better skulk back to your hidey-hole, or as soon as I do for this one it'll be your turn."
Crowley raised both hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, Hastur was strictly a matter of self-defense. I'd have let bygones be bygones if he hadn't kept trying to kill me. You hated him anyway, Dagon, don't try to tell me you didn't."
It occurred to the Virtue suddenly that the big one, Dagon, couldn't attack him again until he'd got rid of this Crawly. He wouldn't dare turn his back on the other demon. Unobtrusively, the angel began to creep backward, hoping to get out of harm's way while the distraction lasted.
"So what? At least he didn't keep company with scum-sucking harp-playing pansies like this one." One of the swordless arms suddenly whipped a dagger in the Virtue's direction, missing his head by about a tenth of an inch. Terrified again, he froze in place, not daring to move. "Guess your playmate couldn't wrangle you a pass Upstairs, huh? Sad, sad. You just can't count on anybody these days, huh?" Crawly's face might as well have been carved of stone, and Dagon chuckled diabolically.
"Well, I'll tell you what." A malicious grin split the Duke's face, making it, if possible, even more horrible than before. "I've killed me a lot of angels today, and I'm feeling magnanimous. So maybe I'll cut you a deal after all." He pointed at the Virtue. "Finish this one off for me and I'll put in a good word for you with the Boss. No promises, mind. He must've been plenty ticked to throw you out on your ass. But the way I see it, your options are, shall we say, limited."
Crawly snorted. "What, is that all? One terrified little Virtue? Hell's favors never used to come so cheap." He walked up to the prone angel and set the point of his sword at his throat, reaching down to pull the dagger out of the ground beside him. Serpentine yellow eyes met crystalline blue, and the angel commended himself to his Lord.
Michael's force is to the east. Run, echoed forcefully through his mind. The next second the dagger was flying at Dagon, Crawly was parrying one sword as another lunged at his midsection, and the Virtue was on his feet and sprinting for his life, offering a prayer of thanks and asking mercy for the Enemy who'd turned out to be a friend.
---
Aziraphale's sword flared as it ran through the demon in front of him, and he yanked it back, watching numbly as his Enemy shrieked and went up in flames. He'd lost count of how many that made. It had been hard at first, forcing himself to take the lives of others, even the Fallen who were trying to take his. But repetition and necessity, and the memory of the dead angel whose sword he had picked up and whose death he had avenged, made it easier.
He hadn't seen Crowley since joining the battle. He desperately wanted it to end, and was desperately afraid of what would happen when it did. Provided they both survived so long, he would keep his promise and find his friend, but...what then?
As it turned out, he didn't have to wait that long. Michael's forces pushed back the front line, and as he picked his way across the blasted landscape, he came upon an abandoned sword he recognized. The blade was bloodstained, partly melted and twisted into a crazy shape, but there was no mistaking the elaborate cruciform hilt.
Aziraphale picked it up and stared at it dumbly for a moment, then looked around, swallowing a sudden sick feeling that rose in his throat. "Crowley?" he called, his voice cracking on the name.
The battle receded into meaningless background noise as he combed the area, calling out with growing desperation and getting no response.
Finally, finally, as he was starting to think it might be a lost cause, he heard a quiet cough and a rasping "Here," and skirted around the smoldering remains of a very large demon to find Crowley lying on the other side, bloodied and curled up tightly around himself.
"Hey, angel," he wheezed, feebly attempting a smile, "did we win?"
Aziraphale sank down next to him, his relief short-lived as he realized how much blood there was. "I don't know. The fighting's moved on a ways. How badly are you hurt?"
"Bad enough." Crowley glanced at the nearby corpse. "Gave better'n I got, though. Dagon wasn't expecting a holy pigsticker."
"Well done. Here, let me see." Crowley reluctantly moved his arms away from the injury, and the angel stifled a gasp and immediately laid hands on him, recklessly pouring energy into the attempt to heal it.
Crowley whimpered a little at the sensation, trying not to squirm. "Dunno if it's worth it...he tore me up pretty good."
"Shh. Don't talk like that." Unfortunately, Crowley wasn't wrong. The damage extended beyond the physical; whatever sorcery empowered Dagon's blade was undoubtedly designed with killing angels in mind, but it definitely hadn't done Crowley any good. Aziraphale was able to stem the bleeding and repair some of the worst damage, and he could effectively suppress the pain, but to really put everything right would take both power and skill beyond what he possessed. "Is that better?"
"Yeah. Doesn't hurt anymore. Thanks." Crowley shut his eyes. He was shivering. Aziraphale carefully turned him and gathered him in close, wrapping his wings protectively around them both and gently encouraging his friend's laboring heart to keep beating. As near as he could guess, it was a fifty-fifty chance that Crowley would survive if his body kept functioning, but the angel was fairly certain that a discorporation would be too much for him right now.
Bereft of any other help or comfort, he turned at last to the one place he'd always been able to find both.
Please...I don't know if I'm even allowed to do this. I don't know what You have in mind for Crowley, or if his part in the Plan is finished. But if it has been given to me to find him again before the end, there must be a reason. Please, show me what it is. Lend me the strength I need, to help him live or to help him let go. I am the instrument of Your will. Tell me what I must do. Help me.
How long he kept on like that, silently beseeching as Crowley dozed fitfully in his arms, he had no idea. The sounds of battle drew nearer again, but, knowing he couldn't sustain Crowley while simultaneously defending them both--and that, finding them there together, the forces of either side were equally likely to attack first and ask questions later--he commended both their fates to a power greater than his own, and ignored the clamor.
"Hello?" A clear voice came ringing across the field. "Is anyone alive out here?"
Aziraphale's head snapped up as he fitted a name to the voice. "Raphael," he breathed. "Hello, yes, we're here!" Surely this was the answer he'd been praying for. If there was one angel in all the Host who might be persuaded to help...
"Whozzit?" Crowley muttered groggily.
"It's Raphael, dear heart. The Healer," Aziraphale told him as the archangel came into view.
"Great. Where d'you think he stands on euthanasia?"
"Shush!"
Raphael vaulted over a pile of dead demons and paused in surprise. "Aziraphale? I didn't think you were here. Gabriel said you were a no-show."
"Someone apparently forgot to send me the memo," Aziraphale said bitterly.
"Oh they did, did they?" Raphael frowned as he came up on them and knelt. "Well, we'll just have to see about that. Now who's this?"
"A...a friend." Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale let his wings fall open. Crowley blinked at the sudden light, his sunglasses long since lost in the battle, and waved sheepishly.
Raphael startled to his feet, backing away. "Aziraphale, what are you..."
"It's all right. He's not one of them," Aziraphale said desperately.
"Not one of them? How do you figure?" Raphael shook his head, eyeing Crowley doubtfully. "He's clearly not one of us, and as far as I know we only come in two flavors."
"See?" Crowley sighed and closed his eyes again, letting his head sink on Aziraphale's shoulder. "I knew it wouldn't fly. Just make it quick, won't you, Raph? I've had enough of sitting around leaking."
"Raphael, listen. Crowley hasn't been on Hell's payroll for centuries. Lucifer cut him loose soon after the Tadfield incident," Aziraphale persisted. "Holy items don't hurt him anymore. He killed that demon there with a sanctified blade--what's left of it is just over there to your left if you don't believe me. I don't know what he is, but he is not one of them." He swallowed hard. "But he is badly hurt and I've done as much as I can for him."
Raphael ran a hand through his hair, seemingly at a loss. "I don't know," he said slowly, "this is a lot to swallow, Aziraphale. I heard you'd gone a bit cracked with all that time you spent down here, and that you were keeping some mighty strange company, but honestly..."
Dropping his eyes, Aziraphale hugged Crowley close and started to close his wings up again. "Believe whatever you want. I don't care, but if you won't help, then please just go away. I'm sure there's no shortage of angels around here who need you. And I don't want to fight you." He felt Crowley tense at that, and patted his back soothingly. He would fight Raphael off to protect his friend, if it came to that, but he very much doubted it would.
He nearly wept with relief when Raphael came back to kneel before them again. "I didn't say I wouldn't help," he sighed. "But it's all very irregular, and frankly, I'm not sure it's the kindest thing to do. Lucifer will be surrendering any time now if he wants to have any minions left to rule, and we all know what comes after that. What will your friend do then?"
"Hello. Sitting right here," Crowley grumbled. "I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. Are you going to patch up this bloody great hole or not?"
Raphael's mouth twitched in a suggestion of a smile. "Well, let's have a look at it."
Aziraphale laid Crowley carefully on the ground between them, and the moment the archangel set eyes on the ugly wound, any hesitation vanished before the instincts of the Healer. "Oh, that is nasty," he said softly. "All right then--sorry, what's your name?"
Crowley coughed. "Anthony J. Crowley, at your service."
"All right then, Crowley, just try to relax and keep as still as possible. This may take a while."
It did, and it wasn't pleasant for anyone involved, but by the time Raphael had finished his work, Crowley's immediate survival was no longer in question. The archangel sat back and wiped his forehead, studying his patient thoughtfully. "That's not a Hell-issue body," he observed, "but it's not one of ours either. And it's two owners from new, if I'm not mistaken. Where'd it come from?"
"Adam Young," Aziraphale said simply.
"Long story," Crowley added, slowly sitting upright and poking experimentally at the half-healed scar across his abdomen.
"Now, you leave that alone," Raphael said sternly, pushing himself to his feet. "I suppose it must be a long story, but I haven't got time to hear it right now. You two keep your heads down until the fighting's wrapped up, and for goodness' sake don't let Michael see you until I get back to you. I need to consult with some of the others. I don't think anyone's made any provisions for what to do about defectors."
"Right, heads down. Got it. Thanks! ...Now why does that not surprise me?" Crowley remarked as Raphael headed off.
"Because it's entirely typical and as inconvenient for us as possible?" Aziraphale sighed. "Well, you heard him. I'm going to take that as official sanction to find a good hiding place and stay there for the duration. Come on." He helped Crowley up and supported him as they trudged off in search of a place to hole up and wait things out.
---
The forces of Hell were routed, and Lucifer delivered his surrender to Michael in fulfillment of the Scriptures. Aziraphale and Crowley were forced out of their hiding place as teams of angels swept the valley, rounding up the surviving demon wounded and driving or hauling them to join their brethren at the place of the Final Judgement. They managed to evade notice for a while--by playing dead, on one occasion--but Crowley couldn't move very fast, and eventually one of the patrols caught sight of them.
"You there! Halt and be recognized!"
"Aziraphale. Principality of the Third Sphere," Aziraphale said, stopping and raising his hands. Crowley followed suit as best he could, though straightening up fully was still something of a challenge.
The angel who approached had the no-nonsense look of someone who'd been given an order and had every intention of carrying it out, and extenuating circumstances be damned. "What are you doing out here with this one?" he demanded, sparing Crowley a contemptuous glance. "The Principalities are already gathered on the other side of the field. We have to get these bastards together so the Judgement can commence."
"I don't suppose you'd believe I'm his prisoner?" Crowley inserted helpfully.
Half a second later he was staring at the angel's mailed fist, hovering scent centimeters from his face, and Aziraphale's white-knuckled hand clamped around the wrist it was attached to. "Right. Shutting up now..."
"He is with me," Aziraphale said flatly, shoving the patrolman back, "and I am acting under Raphael's authority. Do you know where he is?"
The other angel gave him a deeply unfriendly look. "I report to Michael. I have no idea where your Healer would be, and he has no jurisdiction where this lot is concerned. Either surrender him to my custody immediately or you'll answer to the Captain."
Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged grim glances. "I guess we'd better go talk to Michael, then," Aziraphale said with a sigh.
---
"Aziraphale." Considering he had just won the battle for which he had been created and had waited so many long centuries to fight, Michael did not look happy. "I might have known you'd turn up and throw a wrench in the works. What, one botched Apocalypse wasn't enough for you?"
Aziraphale folded his arms defensively over his chest. "I'm not trying to make your life difficult, Captain. If you'd just tell me where Raphael has got to, I'm sure we can get this all sorted out without a fuss..."
"Raphael is ministering to the wounded. Our wounded," Michael emphasized, glaring at Crowley, who all things considered, seemed remarkably calm and self-possessed. Aziraphale wondered what kind of meltdown he was saving up for a quiet moment. If he ever got another quiet moment. "Unlike some people I could name, he knows which side he's on and does his job."
"What makes you so certain I'm not doing mine?" Aziraphale shot back. "Must I remind yet another of Heaven's Princes just Whose Plan it is that really counts here? If He was dissatisfied with my performance, don't you think He would have made His displeasure known before now?"
"It isn't for me to second-guess Him," Michael said, "and in case you hadn't noticed, your friend here? Is not exactly overflowing with His grace. That should be enough to tell you which side of the line he belongs on."
"Matthew 5:44-45," Aziraphale retorted. "Or if you prefer, Luke 6:37. Are we, His servants, to hold ourselves to lesser standards than He sets for His chosen people?"
"Don't you quote Scripture at me, you..." Michael's hands curled into fists at his sides. "...you know what, I really don't have time for this." Seizing Crowley by the scruff of the neck and ignoring his surprised yelp, he turned and marched out of his encampment toward the place where Hell's forces had been assembled.
"Michael, wait! Please!" Aziraphale tugged ineffectually for a moment against the hold of his guards. "...oh, bugger all this for a lark," he snapped. He'd seen Crowley do it umpteen times, it couldn't be that hard...
Maggots were, of course, entirely out of the question. The surprised guards abruptly found themselves flanking a mass of fuzzy caterpillars that wriggled away in all directions, reassembling well out of their reach into a winged form that took off flying even before they'd all got back into their proper places.
---
"Can't we talk about this?" Crowley asked without much hope as Michael half-dragged him up to the edge of the holding area. "Seriously, those people like me even less than you do. When they get together to hang you in effigy Downstairs, guess who'll get elected to be the effigy?"
"Don't you ever shut up? Michael grumbled. "I'll say this much for Aziraphale, he must have a guano-load more patience than I do to have put up with you all this time..."
"I grow on people. Like athlete's foot. Or mange," Crowley said. It occurred to him that he probably wasn't helping his own case, but the sound of his own voice was about the only thing staving off complete panic at this point. "Come on, I'm begging you here. You must have an opening for a whipping boy or a potato-peeler or something..."
Michael ignored him, breaking through the line of guards and dumping him unceremoniously (and somewhat painfully) on the ground. Panting a little and holding his half-healed gut, Crowley rolled onto his back and looked up...into the preternaturally beautiful face of his old boss.
"My badness. Crowley. And still alive," Lucifer said bemusedly, raising his eyebrows. He was looking somewhat the worse for wear, his ornate armor dented and scuffed, part of his golden hair burnt away and an assortment of minor cuts and scratches scattered across his once-flawless skin; but the diamond-hard eyes hadn't changed, and neither had the smoothly seductive voice. "I confess I'd nearly forgotten about you. Small Universe, isn't it?"
Crowley grinned lopsidedly. "Surprise. Sorry about Hastur and Dagon. Er, and Ligur, while I'm at it. I've just got unaccountably attached to not being killed, you know?"
"You took out Dagon, too?" the Morningstar sighed. "You know, in retrospect, perhaps instead of laying you off I should have just promoted you. You'd probably have done less damage that way. ...oh, I say, Michael," he called as the archangel started to walk away, "as much as I appreciate the gift, I'm afraid I really can't accept."
Michael froze and slowly turned to look over his shoulder. "...what?"
Lucifer shrugged. "He's not one of mine. And frankly, I have no use for him."
Michael swiveled around and stalked purposefully back to stand face to face with his former kinsman, arms akimbo. "Well, he's not one of ours," he growled. "That means, by default, he goes with you."
"No," said Lucifer pleasantly, "it doesn't. I am bound by the terms of my surrender to accept the Damned into my kingdom, and Crowley here no longer qualifies. If he ever actually did. I'm none too clear on that particular." He made a dismissive gesture. "At any rate, he's not part of the deal, and I won't have him."
Michael's fingers drummed against his thigh, the only outward sign of his agitation. "You just had to be difficult about this, didn't you?"
Lucifer looked affronted. "Me? My dear Michael, I am about to depart to an eternity of unpleasantness the likes of which you, favored son of the Silver City, cannot possibly envision. The one consolation granted to me by Our Father in exchange for this sacrifice, and the only reason I have not pressed my campaign to the bitter end," he was now standing toe to toe with Michael, speaking so softly Crowley had to strain to hear, "is that I am to be given absolute and uncontested authority over my dominion."
"But--"
"Absolute, Michael!" Lucifer roared. Several nearby Crowns of Satan and a number of angelic guards were now looking their way. "Now if you wish to breach the terms of our agreement, forcing me to waste the lives of who knows how many more of your people and mine before this sad charade concludes, all for the sake of one inconsequential little outcast--be my guest." He stepped back, smiling politely. The fractured brightness in his eyes left little doubt that he would carry out his threat. "Personally, I'd just bite the bullet and call it a day, but then I never did understand the workings of the military mind. It's your call."
Michael shut his eyes for a moment, and Crowley wondered whether he was praying for guidance or just counting to ten. "You'd do it, wouldn't you, you mad bastard? It has nothing to do with Crowley. All that matters to you is your own damned pride."
"Got it in one. You're cleverer than I gave you credit for." Lucifer looked past Michael. "Ah, but here comes someone with a slightly different perspective." Aziraphale had made it to the ring of guards, and was now peering anxiously between two of them, dithering for all he was worth. Lucifer nodded to him, then leaned in close to Michael, murmuring, "You know he's really much wiser in his way than either you or I. Which do you think would be the greater crime in His eyes: to spare one who does not deserve mercy? Or to damn one who does?"
Michael dropped his eyes, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He was spared from answering, though, by a sudden shout from outside the ring: "Michael! I think you really ought to hear this."
"What is it, Gabriel? ---You stay here," Michael pointed at Crowley, and turned on his heel, marching out of the ring and past Aziraphale without a word.
"Oaf," Lucifer muttered, and smiled apologetically at Crowley. "Well, never say I didn't try."
"He's right, though," Crowley said contemplatively, still flat on his back, staring at the smoke-shrouded sky. "You didn't do it for me."
"Perhaps not," the Morningstar conceded, "but all other things being equal, I'd just as soon see one of us get some of our own back. Since it's clearly not going to be me, it may as well be you."
The Crowns frowned and muttered among themselves, but none dared to challenge that assessment.
---
"All right, Gabriel, what's so important?" Michael asked impatiently. He gave a perfunctory nod to Raphael, who was tending a Virtue's wounded arm.
"Zachariel, tell the Captain what you told us," Gabriel prompted gently.
Zachariel, wide-eyed at personally addressing the great Captain, said timidly, "Sir, that demon you just put in with the others...he saved my life in the battle."
Michael glanced at the other Archangels, both of whom nodded. "Go on, Zachariel."
"There was another demon, a very large one with two swords. His name was Dagon. He...he was going to kill me. Then this Crawly came and fought him so that I could get away."
Michael sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Zachariel, I don't doubt your word, but I think you may have misunderstood what you saw. The Fallen aren't like us. They war among themselves. It was probably just a coincidence that Craw--Crowley happened along in time to distract Dagon..."
Zachariel shook his head. "N-no, Sir," he said firmly. "Dagon spoke to him as if--as if he was in disgrace. He said if Crowley killed me, he'd try to help him win favor with L-lucifer." He swallowed. "I thought he was going to do it. But he told me to run, told me which way to go, and then he attacked Dagon. There was no mistake. He protected me, and he risked himself to do it."
Michael rubbed the back of his neck. "I see. Thank you, Zachariel."
The Virtue nodded, and asked hesitantly, "Sir? If it's not too impertinent to ask--what's going to happen to him? Will he really go to Hell with the others?"
Gazing at nothing in particular, Michael said, "I honestly don't know..."
Raphael completed his ministrations and sent the little Virtue off to rest. "Well," he said, "it seems we have a bit of a dilemma on our hands."
"That's one way of putting it," Michael snapped. "Trust Aziraphale to redeem a demon, but only do the job halfway."
"That's more than anybody else has ever managed," Raphael pointed out mildly.
"Sure, but he doesn't have to deal with the fallout." Michael folded his arms. "That little Principality is a mystery to me. I still haven't figured out how he didn't Fall after Lower Tadfield, and don't even get me started on the Garden. But Crowley's the real problem right now. Lucifer says he won't take him, and he's willing to break truce to prove his point."
"That sounds like Lucifer," Gabriel sighed. "I suppose that means we get to keep him."
"And do what with him?" Michael made a frustrated gesture. "I know I'm coming across as the bad guy here, but even I wouldn't just leave him here on an Earth that's not going to exist much longer. We could label him a righteous unbeliever and dump him in Limbo, I suppose."
"He wouldn't be happy there," Raphael said. "I've only met him the once, but he and Aziraphale are a pair, that much is obvious. They belong together. ...hello, Uriel."
The fourth archangel smiled at his brethren as he took a seat. "Hello, all. Well done. Michael, well fought. I think He should be pleased." He looked around, and seeing three troubled faces, added, "Now what are we discussing?"
"Aziraphale and Crowley," Gabriel said. "They've presented us with a rather unique challenge."
"Oh, of course." Uriel nodded. "I had a feeling that would come up before all was said and done."
"You could have shared with the rest of the class," Michael grumbled. "But I suppose I should have seen it coming, too. They never did quite fit the mold, not from the very Beginning."
"We all could have shown a little more foresight. What matters now is deciding what to do," Gabriel said, "and we had better do it quickly. The Judgement is almost upon us. Do we play straight by the rules, leave Crowley with Lucifer, and hope we don't wind up with a second battle to fight? Or do we err on the side of caution, send him to Limbo and call it good enough?" He spread his hands. "Personally, I'm leaning toward Limbo. I mean, granted it's not an ideal solution, but it's got to be better than Hell or being left here on Earth. At least then Aziraphale could visit him and know he was all right."
Raphael tapped the tabletop in front of him thoughtfully. "We could go one better," he suggested, "and take him back to Heaven."
Michael snorted. "Oh, good idea. I'm sure the pyrotechnics display would be unforgettable..."
Raphael smiled. "Aziraphale says holy items no longer affect Crowley. And his aura no longer reads as infernal to me. I think he would be all right."
"Really." Michael rubbed his forehead. "I hadn't noticed. Well, that changes things, doesn't it?"
"Perhaps. Even if he can survive there, I'm not sure living among angels who are in a state of grace for all eternity would be that much of a thrill to one who isn't," Gabriel said dubiously.
Michael nodded. "Point. It would help if He would give us a clue what He wants done..."
Raphael shook his head. "If He wanted to weigh in on this, the Metatron would have come around by now to say so. He wants us to figure this one out for ourselves."
Uriel looked very thoughtful. "Has it occurred to anyone," he asked suddenly, looking around at the others, "to ask Crowley and Aziraphale what they want?"
---
Crowley and Aziraphale, meanwhile, were sitting on either side of the ring of guards, as close as they could get without actually touching the watchful angels. Like everyone else on the field, they were watching the sky grow brighter. The valley was now lined from one side to the other with humans; some frightened and confused, others breathless with excitement, praying and singing in jubilation. Soon their numbers would swell into the billions, covering a vast swath of the Earth in a single immense crowd. No matter how far out they might be standing, all would witness what was to come as though from front-row seats.
"It'll be soon now, won't it?" Crowley asked.
"I think so." Aziraphale's eyes had lit with a soft blue glow. "I can feel His Presence. It's never been this close before, except in Heaven."
"I can't," Crowley said a little mournfully.
Aziraphale smiled at him consolingly. "All things considered, that's probably a good thing."
"Yeah. I expect you're right." Lucifer's demons were stirring restlessly; some had begun quarreling softly but heatedly among themselves, and it seemed likely that violence would break out in the ranks before long. Lucifer himself stood a little apart from the rest, calm and ramrod-straight, gazing at the brightening sky with an air of impatience. The angelic guards were being quietly backed up by reinforcements.
"I hope Michael decides what he's going to do with me soon," Crowley said in an undertone. "I don't fancy being in with this lot when the grand finale starts."
"I'm sure he will," Aziraphale said automatically.
"You don't sound sure. But the sentiment is appreciated."
Aziraphale shook his head. "Michael is a rough sort. Impatient, and not one for subtlety. But he's not as unreasonable as he comes across, and he listens to the other Archangels. Raphael and Gabriel will bring him around."
Crowley smiled ruefully. "You have more faith in angelic nature than I do. But I guess that just stands to reason."
"I have faith in a lot of things," Aziraphale said softly. He glanced upward again, and sat up straighter. "Look..."
Crowley looked, and his hair stood on end as he saw an aurora ripple across the sky, spreading glorious color from horizon to horizon. From somewhere nearby, a trumpet call split the air, and the voices of the assembled Choirs rose in choruses of triumphant hallelujahs. From behind him came cries and moans of terror and despair, his onetime colleagues sensing that the final reckoning was upon them; it was all he could do not to cry out with them, fearing that in spite of everything that had happened he was still as doomed as they were, after all.
Aziraphale reached between the guards and grabbed his hand. He clung to his friend like a lifeline, remembering the last time they'd faced a moment like this. It was easier to be brave, he thought, when there was an enemy to fight, even if you were hopelessly outmatched. There was no fighting this. He wasn't sure whether he even wanted to. It was terrifying, and it meant the end of everything. But in more than seven thousand years of existence, he knew he'd never witnessed anything more beautiful, or awe-inspiring, or humbling.
"All right, move aside. Let's get him out of there." Michael's voice cut through his reverie, and Crowley scrambled up as he saw that the guards near him had parted, allowing him to pass. They had also raised their weapons, which confused him until he realized their eyes were trained on something behind him. Not daring to look back, and feeling unaccountably ashamed by the fact, he hurried to get out of the circle and rejoin Aziraphale.
Michael barked orders at several of his subordinates, directing them to tighten up the ring and keep their eyes on the prisoners, not the sky, before turning back to them. "I've got to get to my place. Aziraphale, I can't spare anybody else, so he's your problem for now. Find someplace out of the way to park yourselves, and make it quick." Speaking almost in a shout to be heard over the voices of the Host and the rapidly escalating wind, Michael fixed them each in turn with a steely gaze. "So help me, if you two so much as put one feather out of place..."
"We won't!" they promised in unison.
Looking less than reassured, Michael nevertheless nodded and launched himself into the air, arrowing off toward his appointed place.
"How the hell can he fly in this wind?" Crowley wondered, most of his attention still on the shimmering colors that bathed the sky. "My wings would snap like toothpicks!"
"He's Michael," Aziraphale said. "Come on. Let's put a little distance between us and them," he jerked his head back toward the circle. Crowley was only too happy to comply.
"I'm sorry," he called as they made their way to a sheltered spot well away from ground zero and looked out across the Heavenly Host arrayed in all its splendor. "You should be with the other Principalities. I didn't mean to wreck this for you."
"You aren't." Aziraphale smiled serenely. His halo was welling up around him, like those of every angel on the field, limning his unremarkable human form with silvery-blue radiance. "Wherever I am right now is exactly where I was meant to be. I never got on that well with them, anyway."
And just like that, time ran out. The trumpet sounded again, the Choirs gave a mighty shout, and the sky split asunder in a blinding burst of argent light...a light Crowley hadn't seen since before the count of days began. Tears welled up and spilled unnoticed down his face, and he fell to his knees, overwhelmed with the sense of his own utter insignificance before the Presence of the Lord. Every other living being on the field did the same.
Every being save one.
Lucifer stood alone, tall and defiant, as the light coalesced into a towering figure too bright to look on directly and swept across the field, halting directly before him. The ground underneath cracked, softened and soon liquefied beneath the assault of the sheer unimaginable power it had not been designed to withstand.
What passed between the two in those final moments--Father and wayward son, Adversaries but never equals--was not meant for those others present to know. But the Morningstar's air of cool disdain wavered briefly, and the grief and hatred mingled in his ice-blue eyes were terrible to behold.
Slowly, he bowed low before his Creator, acquiescing at last to the fate that had been written for him...and all who chose to follow him.
Crowley sensed what was coming an instant before it did, and instinctively turned to duck his head against Aziraphale, unable to watch. He felt the angel's arms and wings come around him as the ground beneath the Legion erupted, and couldn't suppress his own cry as their shrieks of agonized despair echoed around the valley, then spread with lightning speed through the vast assembly of humans; one mortal taken and another left untouched, the wheat being sorted from the chaff.
And then it was his turn. The weight of the Divine Judgement fell onto Crowley like the proverbial lead balloon, and he surrendered to it with an odd sense of relief, ready--perhaps even eager, now that it had come down to it--to learn how his part in the story ended.
---
"See, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Crowley opened his eyes and then, sunglasses notwithstanding, had to shut them again against the sudden brightness; not that cold blue-white light on the battlefield of Megiddo, but the warm golden sunshine of an idyllic summer afternoon. Shading his eyes and trying again, he found himself standing in what looked like an old chalk quarry, half-overgrown with weeds and littered with the detritus of a hundred childhood adventures. Before him, a striking young boy with shining golden curls was perched on an overturned milk crate, chewing on a straw and regarding him with an air of benevolent indulgence.
"Adam Young?" Crowley croaked, knowing before he even asked that of course it wasn't.
"Nah." The boy drummed his heels idly against the crate. "He's round here somewhere, though. Diggin' into flavor number four or five about now, I 'spect." He smiled. "I just thought you might rather see a familiar face. Been a while since we talked in person."
Crowley sat down hard on the ground, heedless of the chalk smudges his inexplicably spotless suit acquired in the process. "Oh. Well...thanks, I guess. Nice of you to go to the trouble. Unless everybody's getting the personal touch?"
The boy shook his head. "They did, but ever'body else is already done."
"You work fast," Crowley observed.
"Course I do. Built the whole world in a week, didn't I?" The boy grinned. "Doesn't really matter now, though. There's no such thing as time anymore. You an' Aziraphale are the last bits of unfinished business."
Crowley nodded, brushing off the pang of sadness that came with that thought. "So what now?" he asked. "I take it I wouldn't be here if I was slated to be shuffled off with Lucifer and the rest."
"Uh-uh. You've earned somethin' better than that. But I thought I'd give you a minute to catch your breath before you decide what you're gonna do now, and maybe answer some questions for you I couldn't before."
Crowley blinked. "Before I decide? You mean I get to choose?"
"That's right." The boy nodded. "You kinda got the short end of the stick, way back in the Beginning, I'm not denyin' it. Always felt bad about that, but there was just no gettin' around it. I needed you where you were. An' you did a great job, by the way."
Crowley snorted. "So, what you're basically saying is, 'Good Crowley, you may have a biscuit'?" He rested his head on his drawn-up knees. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be disrespectful, it's just...do you have to look like Adam? You're seriously weirding me out here."
A gentle hand ruffled his hair, and he looked up into a stately, grandfatherly face framed with snowy hair and a long beard. "Is this better? I've got a million of 'em..."
Crowley had to laugh a little. "Yeah. Thanks." The quarry was gone, replaced by a pristine white marble throne room, complete with ornate pillars and a dais with an oversize throne. It, too, was empty except for the two of them. "Retro, yet timeless. I like it."
Ignoring the throne, God nodded and sat down next to him on the floor. "Anyway, don't worry too much about disrespecting. Within reason, at least. I made you to be that way. You couldn't have carried out your part in the Plan otherwise."
Crowley thought about that for a minute. "You needed a wild card," he said slowly. "Someone who'd choose Earth over either Heaven or Hell."
"And more important, someone who would appreciate humans for what they were, not what they thought they should be or what they once had been." God sighed. "You have no idea how much trouble most of your brethren on both sides had with that..."
Crowley remembered Hastur and Ligur and their archaic, single-minded approach to tempting. "I dunno, I think maybe I do. You can't really appreciate humans without practically becoming one of them."
"Exactly. Precisely why I sent my Son down there. It wasn't just a matter of purchasing their redemption; he needed the experience." God smiled ruefully. "I found out the hard way what a lousy ruler you make when you just try to impose divine law from on high without really connecting with your people. He'll do a much better job." He waved his hand dismissively. "But enough about my kid. You have questions, I know. Here's your big chance to get them answered."
"Well, fu...golly, where do I start?" Crowley rubbed his forehead. "All right, here's one. Why'd I have to Fall to do the job you needed me to do? Couldn't you have waved your magic wand and made me see things the way you wanted?"
God stroked his beard contemplatively. "For the same reason I let the Archangels debate what to do with you and come to their own conclusions," he said after a moment. "They arrived at exactly the decision I wanted them to, but they reasoned their way to it, and that makes it theirs in a way my dictating to them never could.
"Some things can be Revealed--some things have to be--but more often the lesson sinks in much better if it's learned through experience. Mankind was Fallen. If all I'd thrown at them was angels who remained in a state of grace..." He shrugged. "Well, look at your friend Aziraphale. Do you really think he could have done your job effectively, if it had been given to him? Without that resentment you bore toward me, or the understanding you had of what it's like to be on the outside?"
Crowley shook his head. "He couldn't tempt a rat with free cheese. That's another thing, though..." He hesitated, then plunged on, "I guess I can see why things had to work out the way they did. But if you don't mind my saying so, speaking up for Lucifer and his boys was a lousy excuse to kick me out. And Aziraphale has done things that are a hundred times worse by just about any measure. How come I Fell and he never did? I'm not saying I'd have wanted him to," he added quickly. "It just seems like a bit of a double standard, you know?"
God gave him that infuriatingly knowing smile. "I suppose it must look that way from where you're standing. But to answer that one, I think another change of venue is in order."
"...I could really get to hate it when you do that," Crowley said a minute later, looking across the table at a slightly bewildered Aziraphale. God sat between them in a very expensive, very conservative suit, looking over the Ritz menu with interest.
He gave Crowley an amused glance over the top of the menu. "I'm sure. And how many times have you pulled similar tricks on humans?" he inquired.
"Point," Crowley muttered, picking up his wine glass and draining most of it in one go.
"The salmon mousse sounds lovely," Aziraphale remarked suddenly, looking over his own menu. Crowley almost inhaled his Chablis, and God reached around to pound him on the back.
"Oh dear. I'm sorry," the angel said, chastened, setting the menu aside. "That was silly of me. I'm afraid I'm just not quite sure what's expected at this juncture."
"We're just tying up a few loose ends," God explained, handing Crowley a napkin. "And on that note, I have a question for you, my child." He folded his hands on the table before him, regarding Aziraphale earnestly. "Why do you imagine, after 'misplacing' your sword--and fibbing about it, shame on you--consorting with the Enemy, indulging in Gluttony, coveting Earthly treasures, derailing an Apocalypse, misappropriating Heavenly property and giving poor Michael three kinds of migraines, you're still sitting here with us right now and not on the express elevator to Dis?"
Flushing bright pink, Aziraphale bowed his head. "I don't know, Father," he said in a small voice. "Although I've sometimes wondered."
"Mm. Well, let me ask you this, then. Suppose I were to tell you, right this moment, that Crowley here was about to be sent to Hell for good, and the only way you could save him was to Fall yourself?" God's face had gone deadly serious. "What would you say to that?"
Crowley was certain he was going to throw up.
Now white as the fine linen table cloth, Aziraphale looked at God in horror, then at Crowley, and then back at God again. "I..."
"Come on now, spit it out. It's not as though I don't already know your answer," God said a bit impatiently.
Aziraphale took a shuddering breath. "I'd do it," he said in a near-whisper. "I'd have to do it."
"Angel, no," Crowley shouted, appalled, jumping up and knocking his chair over.
But God made a placating gesture. "Keep your shirt on, Crowley, sit down. It was a rhetorical question. No one is going to Fall, now or ever again. You have my word on that." As Crowley slowly righted his chair and obeyed, glaring all the while, he added, "And both of you, forgive my seeming cruelty. But this is a very important point. Aziraphale, I saw what was in your heart just now. As terrible a choice as I laid before you, still, you weren't placing your friend above your love or your duty to me, were you?"
"No, Father," Aziraphale said immediately, still looking mildly ill.
"No, you were not," God said emphatically, topping off the angel's wine glass. "You trusted in me and in what your own heart told you, as you have always done, and assumed that I must have a good reason for what I asked. You had faith. The only person you placed Crowley ahead of was yourself." He turned to look at Crowley. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"
"I think so." Crowley was staring at the table in front of him. "I tried to save my friends, but I wouldn't have willingly traded places with them if I'd known what it would cost me. And I--" He swallowed hard. "I didn't just question your decision. I judged."
"There you have it," God said quietly. "You put me out of your heart, gave my place there to someone else--you had lousy taste in friends back then, by the way--and when that happened there was nothing that could have stopped your Fall." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Let me tell you something else. I made you to be the way you are, yes, with certain eventualities in mind. But nothing in my Plan was ever written in stone. You weren't the only angel there who had friends among the Faithless. I knew someone would speak up, and I suspected it would be you, but when it came right down to it, the choice was yours to make. Just as Aziraphale's a moment ago was entirely his."
"So we have had free will all along?" Crowley still couldn't quite bring himself to look at Aziraphale.
"Well, not in the same broad sense that humans do. I needed tools, but tools with a degree of autonomy. ...Ah, cripes, I sound like a heartless Machiavellian bastard, don't I?" God sighed and waved a basket of garlic bread into being on the table between them.
"You said it, Sir, I didn't," Crowley mumbled, grabbing a bread stick and summoning up some marinara sauce to dip it into.
"Yes, well. I'm not going to drag out that tired old trope about breaking eggs to make an omelet. ...Oh for My sake, Aziraphale, eat. Never mind the gluttony crack. I let you stuff your face for seven thousand years, I'm not about to can your ass now over a flippin' bread stick." He pushed the basket the angel's way and continued, "So, getting back to business.
"Crowley, you've got two choices. Earth officially ceased to exist about twenty-two minutes ago, if we were still keeping track. We're actually in Limbo right now. You could stay here and have a pretty decent existence. Poke around a bit and you'd find a lot of righteous unbelievers and unbaptized kids hanging around. They're not bad people; they just wound up dying in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course you haven't got a whole lot in common with most of them." He soaked a chunk of the bread in butter sauce and wolfed it down.
"Or you could come back home with us to Heaven," he went on. "It might be a little rough at first. Some of Michael's boys in particular would have to warm up to you. But the Archangels have got their heads on straight, and between me and them, nobody's going to give you too much flak. And it'd save Aziraphale the nuisance of trekking out into Limbo to find you when he wants to visit."
Crowley sat chewing his bread and considering. It wasn't a small decision to make. "I don't have to decide this minute, do I?"
"Nah, think about it over dinner. We're not on any particular schedule here." God picked up the menu and perused it again. "I think I'm going to start off with a half lobster en gelée..."
It was the single most surreal meal the two friends had ever shared, precisely because it was in most respects so shockingly ordinary. God was a witty conversationalist, well-versed in literally every subject, and turned out to be an old football fan. They reminisced about everything under the sun over several delicious courses, got to hear the rationale behind the existence of the platypus**, and learned there actually was life on other planets (albeit in no form they would recognize.) For a little while, it was almost possible to forget where they were and the weighty matter that still lay unresolved.
---
"Mm. Now that," God finally said, finishing off his last spoonful of crème brûlée, "is what I call a dessert." He pushed the dish away and sighed contentedly. "I think I'd like a cigar. You boys want a cigar?"
"No thank you, Father," Aziraphale said, considerably restored after his own excellent meal. Crowley shook his head. He hadn't eaten much and was now picking disinterestedly at his caramel soufflé, a distant look on his face.
"Ah well, your loss," God said, producing a fine Montecristo whose end cut itself and then lit spontaneously. He leaned back in his chair and savored the aromatic smoke, smiling enigmatically at his two companions.
"Crowley?" the angel ventured after a moment. "Are you all right, my dear? I know this is all very strange." He wished for a moment he could talk to Crowley in private, but realized immediately what a foolish desire that was; nothing was, or ever could be, hidden from their Father. Our Father, he thought then, as it hit him solidly for the first time that Crowley really was, after a fashion, his brother. The revelation left him slightly breathless.
"I'm all right," Crowley said quietly. "Sorry to hold things up. It's just...it's a lot to absorb all at once..."
God chuckled, leaning in Aziraphale's direction. "What he means," he said confidentially, "is that he's still got questions he wants to ask, but he's too embarrassed. And rightly so," he added reprovingly as Crowley looked up in chagrin. "If he was using half the brains I gave him he'd already know the answers. Want me to make it easy for you, son?"
Crowley went red and dropped his gaze. God went on, "You want to know if I love you. Well, what kind of dumbass question is that? I sent him to look after you, didn't I?" He jerked a thumb in Aziraphale's direction, and the angel's mouth dropped open in shock. Sent...? "Your very own guardian angel, for crying out loud, how many demons do you think got one of those?"
Aziraphale couldn't read Crowley's expression, and immediately commenced to fretting. He doesn't think that all this time he's been just an assignment? The angel hadn't known--well, apart from his blanket conviction that the Plan covered all contingencies, in one way or another--and he didn't think he'd have acted much differently if he had. Crowley was dear to him for so many reasons that had nothing to do with his job.
But God carried on, "And you're wondering how I can offer you Heaven when I know that you don't love me." He sighed. "That one's not quite so idiotic. It's usually a deal-breaker. And I won't lie to you, Crowley...I know better than anyone exactly how and why things turned out the way they did, and I'll shoulder my share of the blame. But it still hurts." Crowley gave him a skeptical look, and he added, "No, I mean it. When you give somebody a personality and free will--even in a limited capacity--you give them the power to hurt you. Turn their backs. That's the price I've paid for not spending eternity alone, you know? I could've filled the place with mindless automatons who'd obey me without question, but what would be the point?" He spread his hands. "The problem with Solitaire is, even if you win, all you've done is beaten yourself. And there's nobody there to be happy for you. Having that means taking some risks."
"Okay, so it hurts. You still haven't explained why you'd let me back in," Crowley said.
God smiled. "I'm taking the long view here. Seven thousand years ago, you were a cocky little Virtue with a big mouth who by your own admission would never have stuck his neck out for his friends if he'd understood the price. Earlier today, you attacked an Under-Duke of Hell to protect an angel you didn't even know. And half an hour ago--knowing exactly what Hell is and staring eternity in the face--you wouldn't let Aziraphale trade himself for you."
Aziraphale watched the light of comprehension dawn in Crowley's face as God concluded, "In short, you've learned to care for someone else more than yourself. If you can do that, then I can take it on faith that you'll make it the rest of the way. So yeah. If you want to come home, all you have to do is say so."
Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who smiled encouragingly. He knew which option he hoped his friend would choose, but he wouldn't try to influence things; Crowley had earned the right to make this choice for himself.
---
"I think," Crowley said finally, none too certain he knew what he was talking about, "I think I'd like that."
"Hot damn!" God laughed and jumped up out of his chair, doing a little victory dance. "Michael owes me a steak dinner. Whoo!"
Crowley shook his head bemusedly. "Only..."
God stopped and gave him a disgruntled look. "Oh come on, what now?"
"Can we just walk this time, please?"
"Ha! Sure, sure. Whatever you like. C'mon, boys, let's blow this joint." Aziraphale and Crowley got up and walked with him toward the door. "You know you really don't need those bodies anymore..."
Crowley shrugged. "I've actually got kind of attached to this one," he admitted.
Aziraphale chuckled. "I told you so."
"Shaddup, you."
"I most certainly will not. I'm rather fond of mine as well, Father."
"Ah, well, that's all right, they're made in my image, right? Hold up just a minute though." God stopped and turned Crowley to face him. Whisking the sunglasses off, he passed his other hand over Crowley's face.
Crowley blinked and rubbed his eyes, which suddenly felt very strange. When he dropped his hands, he saw Aziraphale smiling and nodding approvingly, and needed no mirror to guess that had happened. "Why did they always do that, anyway?" he asked.
"Psychosomatic. You did it to yourself every time, Crowley." Handing him back his shades, God paused with his hand on the door. "Crowley. That's not the name I gave you."
Crowley fidgeted. "I know. I don't remember the other one anymore."
"I could give it back to you," God offered.
"Thanks, but to be honest, I'm rather attached to the name, too..."
God looked a little disappointed, but said, "It does suit you, can't deny that. One thing at a time then, eh? It'll be there when you're ready."
Then he grinned and shoved open the door, leading them into what Crowley dimly recognized as an antechamber in Heaven's great temple that mirrored the one in Jerusalem.
The four Archangels were gathered there, talking quietly among themselves. They turned as one when the door opened and bowed before their Lord.
"All right, all right, no standing on formality today of all days," God told them, waving them upright. "Got everything wrapped up then, have we? Chairs up on the tables, turned off all the lights?"
"Azrael is just tidying up now, Father. He should be coming along soon," Raphael said, and then looked at Crowley. "He's made his choice, then?"
God put his hands on Crowley's shoulders, giving him a little shake. "Make merry, and be glad!" he said in a booming voice. "For this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and has been found."
Crowley rolled his eyes, but the Archangels laughed and applauded.
"Welcome home, little brother," Uriel said. Gabriel came up to shake his hand, and Raphael embraced him. "We'd just about given up hope," he said, sounding a little choked up.
"What, for me?" Crowley said, surprised.
"For any of the Fallen," Gabriel clarified, grinning from ear to ear. "We always thought some might find their way back into the fold, but after all those millennia..."
"Well done, Aziraphale," Uriel said. "Very well done indeed."
The Principality blushed. "Oh, well, I had very little to do with it, actually..."
Crowley shook his head, breaking away from his well-wishers to go and grab his old friend by the shoulders. "You couldn't possibly be any more wrong about that," he said fiercely. "I'm still not sure I have any business being here, but if I do, it's because of you. Because you had faith in me." The events of the day caught up to him suddenly, and he gulped back a rush of tears as the magnitude of his debt became clear to him. "I owe you everything."
Aziraphale could find no answer to that but to hug him hard.
"Ahh, that's nice. All's well that ends well," God said happily. "Now if I know my business, and I usually do, there's one hell of a party going on outside--metaphorically speaking. Who feels like celebrating?"
The little group moved toward the outer doors, which opened at God's gesture to reveal the glimmering spires of the Silver City. Its crystalline streets overflowed with the souls of the blessed, and the air with angels of all the choirs as far as the eye could see, all laughing and singing and praising their Lord in a glorious cacophony of pure joy.
Crowley glanced up as Michael came to stand beside him in the doorway, a grudging smile on his face. "Well, there you are, little brother. It's all yours." He cuffed him lightly in the back of the head. "Try not to bollix it up."
"Ow. Duly noted." Crowley laughed and flung his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. They walked out into Paradise together as a flight of luminous Seraphs winged their way overhead, proclaiming God's glory in choruses of jubilant hosannas.
And after all that we've been through,
it all comes down to me and you.
I guess it's meant to be
forever you and me,
after all.
---
*He'd finally settled on a career as a personal counselor. It allowed him to be helpful, subversive or indifferent as he preferred, and no matter what advice he offered from his somewhat unique perspective on the human condition, his mortal clients would pretty much do whatever the hell they saw fit. While paying him a princely sum for the privilege. Life, the occasional demonic assassination attempt notwithstanding, was good.
**You wouldn't believe me if I told you.
---
EPILOGUE
Somewhere else entirely, Death hummed contentedly to himself as he attended to the last few tasks of his long and weary tour of duty, looking forward after all his labors to joining the party Up Above.
It would be nice, he thought, to find out what it felt like to kick back with a brewski and let someone else take care of business.
Going down his checklist one last time to be certain nothing was overlooked, he nodded to himself, leaned his broom against the wall and, after one final satisfied look around, locked the Universe behind him as he left.
The little Virtue wasn't sure how he had got into this mess. The Captain had said it was time to fight--the Final Battle that would bring everything to completion. So he had picked up his sword and gone with the rest of his Choir, trusting that Heaven would triumph, just as the Plan said.
It hadn't really occurred to him to wonder just what part had been written for him, personally, but apparently it involved being stuck behind enemy lines with no idea how to get back to the relative safety of the Host.
Still, he wasn't doing too badly. Every demon that had come at him so far had gone off again missing an appendage or stuck full of holes. He wasn't sure whether he'd actually killed any of them, and wasn't entirely clear on whether he was supposed to; they were the Enemy, but they were also his long-lost kin, and served the Plan in their own fashion. The bodies of several angels he'd come across, though, had shown him that the Enemy had no such compunction about killing his people, so he didn't trouble himself too much about what happened to them, as long as they left him alone.
It seemed odd to him that he was so frightened. Michael certainly wasn't afraid, nor any of his lieutenants, nor the other Archangels. But he was. He supposed there must be some reason why his Lord required it of him, though he didn't understand why. Fighting would be a lot easier if he didn't feel so shaky. And he was starting to get tired, too.
A shout brought him out of his momentary reverie, and he wearily raised his sword as another opponent came running at him. Not just one of Hell's foot soldiers, he realized with a stab of dread; this one was particularly hideous and very, very powerful. A Duke, maybe. Bigger than he was, definitely. He also had four arms, two of which held big, serrated blades. The angel's heart sank further when he spotted a second demon coming in from another direction, but then the big one was on him and he needed all his attention just to hold that one off.
It was a matter of seconds before his opponent slipped past his guard and sliced a deep furrow in his sword arm. The Virtue cried out, dropped his weapon and backpedaled frantically, expecting the other demon to come in behind him and finish the job. Instead, to his confusion, he saw the two of them square off as though they were about to fight each other.
"Well, well. If it isn't good old Crawly," snarled the Duke-or-whatever-he-was. "Looking to slither back into the fold before the hammer falls, are we?"
"Maybe," said the other cautiously.
"Yeah, well, fat chance. Angel-loving traitor. You should've thought twice before you and your halo buddy took out Hastur. No demon in the Legion will back you now for any price." The big demon spat on the ground. "Better skulk back to your hidey-hole, or as soon as I do for this one it'll be your turn."
Crowley raised both hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, Hastur was strictly a matter of self-defense. I'd have let bygones be bygones if he hadn't kept trying to kill me. You hated him anyway, Dagon, don't try to tell me you didn't."
It occurred to the Virtue suddenly that the big one, Dagon, couldn't attack him again until he'd got rid of this Crawly. He wouldn't dare turn his back on the other demon. Unobtrusively, the angel began to creep backward, hoping to get out of harm's way while the distraction lasted.
"So what? At least he didn't keep company with scum-sucking harp-playing pansies like this one." One of the swordless arms suddenly whipped a dagger in the Virtue's direction, missing his head by about a tenth of an inch. Terrified again, he froze in place, not daring to move. "Guess your playmate couldn't wrangle you a pass Upstairs, huh? Sad, sad. You just can't count on anybody these days, huh?" Crawly's face might as well have been carved of stone, and Dagon chuckled diabolically.
"Well, I'll tell you what." A malicious grin split the Duke's face, making it, if possible, even more horrible than before. "I've killed me a lot of angels today, and I'm feeling magnanimous. So maybe I'll cut you a deal after all." He pointed at the Virtue. "Finish this one off for me and I'll put in a good word for you with the Boss. No promises, mind. He must've been plenty ticked to throw you out on your ass. But the way I see it, your options are, shall we say, limited."
Crawly snorted. "What, is that all? One terrified little Virtue? Hell's favors never used to come so cheap." He walked up to the prone angel and set the point of his sword at his throat, reaching down to pull the dagger out of the ground beside him. Serpentine yellow eyes met crystalline blue, and the angel commended himself to his Lord.
Michael's force is to the east. Run, echoed forcefully through his mind. The next second the dagger was flying at Dagon, Crawly was parrying one sword as another lunged at his midsection, and the Virtue was on his feet and sprinting for his life, offering a prayer of thanks and asking mercy for the Enemy who'd turned out to be a friend.
---
Aziraphale's sword flared as it ran through the demon in front of him, and he yanked it back, watching numbly as his Enemy shrieked and went up in flames. He'd lost count of how many that made. It had been hard at first, forcing himself to take the lives of others, even the Fallen who were trying to take his. But repetition and necessity, and the memory of the dead angel whose sword he had picked up and whose death he had avenged, made it easier.
He hadn't seen Crowley since joining the battle. He desperately wanted it to end, and was desperately afraid of what would happen when it did. Provided they both survived so long, he would keep his promise and find his friend, but...what then?
As it turned out, he didn't have to wait that long. Michael's forces pushed back the front line, and as he picked his way across the blasted landscape, he came upon an abandoned sword he recognized. The blade was bloodstained, partly melted and twisted into a crazy shape, but there was no mistaking the elaborate cruciform hilt.
Aziraphale picked it up and stared at it dumbly for a moment, then looked around, swallowing a sudden sick feeling that rose in his throat. "Crowley?" he called, his voice cracking on the name.
The battle receded into meaningless background noise as he combed the area, calling out with growing desperation and getting no response.
Finally, finally, as he was starting to think it might be a lost cause, he heard a quiet cough and a rasping "Here," and skirted around the smoldering remains of a very large demon to find Crowley lying on the other side, bloodied and curled up tightly around himself.
"Hey, angel," he wheezed, feebly attempting a smile, "did we win?"
Aziraphale sank down next to him, his relief short-lived as he realized how much blood there was. "I don't know. The fighting's moved on a ways. How badly are you hurt?"
"Bad enough." Crowley glanced at the nearby corpse. "Gave better'n I got, though. Dagon wasn't expecting a holy pigsticker."
"Well done. Here, let me see." Crowley reluctantly moved his arms away from the injury, and the angel stifled a gasp and immediately laid hands on him, recklessly pouring energy into the attempt to heal it.
Crowley whimpered a little at the sensation, trying not to squirm. "Dunno if it's worth it...he tore me up pretty good."
"Shh. Don't talk like that." Unfortunately, Crowley wasn't wrong. The damage extended beyond the physical; whatever sorcery empowered Dagon's blade was undoubtedly designed with killing angels in mind, but it definitely hadn't done Crowley any good. Aziraphale was able to stem the bleeding and repair some of the worst damage, and he could effectively suppress the pain, but to really put everything right would take both power and skill beyond what he possessed. "Is that better?"
"Yeah. Doesn't hurt anymore. Thanks." Crowley shut his eyes. He was shivering. Aziraphale carefully turned him and gathered him in close, wrapping his wings protectively around them both and gently encouraging his friend's laboring heart to keep beating. As near as he could guess, it was a fifty-fifty chance that Crowley would survive if his body kept functioning, but the angel was fairly certain that a discorporation would be too much for him right now.
Bereft of any other help or comfort, he turned at last to the one place he'd always been able to find both.
Please...I don't know if I'm even allowed to do this. I don't know what You have in mind for Crowley, or if his part in the Plan is finished. But if it has been given to me to find him again before the end, there must be a reason. Please, show me what it is. Lend me the strength I need, to help him live or to help him let go. I am the instrument of Your will. Tell me what I must do. Help me.
How long he kept on like that, silently beseeching as Crowley dozed fitfully in his arms, he had no idea. The sounds of battle drew nearer again, but, knowing he couldn't sustain Crowley while simultaneously defending them both--and that, finding them there together, the forces of either side were equally likely to attack first and ask questions later--he commended both their fates to a power greater than his own, and ignored the clamor.
"Hello?" A clear voice came ringing across the field. "Is anyone alive out here?"
Aziraphale's head snapped up as he fitted a name to the voice. "Raphael," he breathed. "Hello, yes, we're here!" Surely this was the answer he'd been praying for. If there was one angel in all the Host who might be persuaded to help...
"Whozzit?" Crowley muttered groggily.
"It's Raphael, dear heart. The Healer," Aziraphale told him as the archangel came into view.
"Great. Where d'you think he stands on euthanasia?"
"Shush!"
Raphael vaulted over a pile of dead demons and paused in surprise. "Aziraphale? I didn't think you were here. Gabriel said you were a no-show."
"Someone apparently forgot to send me the memo," Aziraphale said bitterly.
"Oh they did, did they?" Raphael frowned as he came up on them and knelt. "Well, we'll just have to see about that. Now who's this?"
"A...a friend." Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale let his wings fall open. Crowley blinked at the sudden light, his sunglasses long since lost in the battle, and waved sheepishly.
Raphael startled to his feet, backing away. "Aziraphale, what are you..."
"It's all right. He's not one of them," Aziraphale said desperately.
"Not one of them? How do you figure?" Raphael shook his head, eyeing Crowley doubtfully. "He's clearly not one of us, and as far as I know we only come in two flavors."
"See?" Crowley sighed and closed his eyes again, letting his head sink on Aziraphale's shoulder. "I knew it wouldn't fly. Just make it quick, won't you, Raph? I've had enough of sitting around leaking."
"Raphael, listen. Crowley hasn't been on Hell's payroll for centuries. Lucifer cut him loose soon after the Tadfield incident," Aziraphale persisted. "Holy items don't hurt him anymore. He killed that demon there with a sanctified blade--what's left of it is just over there to your left if you don't believe me. I don't know what he is, but he is not one of them." He swallowed hard. "But he is badly hurt and I've done as much as I can for him."
Raphael ran a hand through his hair, seemingly at a loss. "I don't know," he said slowly, "this is a lot to swallow, Aziraphale. I heard you'd gone a bit cracked with all that time you spent down here, and that you were keeping some mighty strange company, but honestly..."
Dropping his eyes, Aziraphale hugged Crowley close and started to close his wings up again. "Believe whatever you want. I don't care, but if you won't help, then please just go away. I'm sure there's no shortage of angels around here who need you. And I don't want to fight you." He felt Crowley tense at that, and patted his back soothingly. He would fight Raphael off to protect his friend, if it came to that, but he very much doubted it would.
He nearly wept with relief when Raphael came back to kneel before them again. "I didn't say I wouldn't help," he sighed. "But it's all very irregular, and frankly, I'm not sure it's the kindest thing to do. Lucifer will be surrendering any time now if he wants to have any minions left to rule, and we all know what comes after that. What will your friend do then?"
"Hello. Sitting right here," Crowley grumbled. "I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. Are you going to patch up this bloody great hole or not?"
Raphael's mouth twitched in a suggestion of a smile. "Well, let's have a look at it."
Aziraphale laid Crowley carefully on the ground between them, and the moment the archangel set eyes on the ugly wound, any hesitation vanished before the instincts of the Healer. "Oh, that is nasty," he said softly. "All right then--sorry, what's your name?"
Crowley coughed. "Anthony J. Crowley, at your service."
"All right then, Crowley, just try to relax and keep as still as possible. This may take a while."
It did, and it wasn't pleasant for anyone involved, but by the time Raphael had finished his work, Crowley's immediate survival was no longer in question. The archangel sat back and wiped his forehead, studying his patient thoughtfully. "That's not a Hell-issue body," he observed, "but it's not one of ours either. And it's two owners from new, if I'm not mistaken. Where'd it come from?"
"Adam Young," Aziraphale said simply.
"Long story," Crowley added, slowly sitting upright and poking experimentally at the half-healed scar across his abdomen.
"Now, you leave that alone," Raphael said sternly, pushing himself to his feet. "I suppose it must be a long story, but I haven't got time to hear it right now. You two keep your heads down until the fighting's wrapped up, and for goodness' sake don't let Michael see you until I get back to you. I need to consult with some of the others. I don't think anyone's made any provisions for what to do about defectors."
"Right, heads down. Got it. Thanks! ...Now why does that not surprise me?" Crowley remarked as Raphael headed off.
"Because it's entirely typical and as inconvenient for us as possible?" Aziraphale sighed. "Well, you heard him. I'm going to take that as official sanction to find a good hiding place and stay there for the duration. Come on." He helped Crowley up and supported him as they trudged off in search of a place to hole up and wait things out.
---
The forces of Hell were routed, and Lucifer delivered his surrender to Michael in fulfillment of the Scriptures. Aziraphale and Crowley were forced out of their hiding place as teams of angels swept the valley, rounding up the surviving demon wounded and driving or hauling them to join their brethren at the place of the Final Judgement. They managed to evade notice for a while--by playing dead, on one occasion--but Crowley couldn't move very fast, and eventually one of the patrols caught sight of them.
"You there! Halt and be recognized!"
"Aziraphale. Principality of the Third Sphere," Aziraphale said, stopping and raising his hands. Crowley followed suit as best he could, though straightening up fully was still something of a challenge.
The angel who approached had the no-nonsense look of someone who'd been given an order and had every intention of carrying it out, and extenuating circumstances be damned. "What are you doing out here with this one?" he demanded, sparing Crowley a contemptuous glance. "The Principalities are already gathered on the other side of the field. We have to get these bastards together so the Judgement can commence."
"I don't suppose you'd believe I'm his prisoner?" Crowley inserted helpfully.
Half a second later he was staring at the angel's mailed fist, hovering scent centimeters from his face, and Aziraphale's white-knuckled hand clamped around the wrist it was attached to. "Right. Shutting up now..."
"He is with me," Aziraphale said flatly, shoving the patrolman back, "and I am acting under Raphael's authority. Do you know where he is?"
The other angel gave him a deeply unfriendly look. "I report to Michael. I have no idea where your Healer would be, and he has no jurisdiction where this lot is concerned. Either surrender him to my custody immediately or you'll answer to the Captain."
Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged grim glances. "I guess we'd better go talk to Michael, then," Aziraphale said with a sigh.
---
"Aziraphale." Considering he had just won the battle for which he had been created and had waited so many long centuries to fight, Michael did not look happy. "I might have known you'd turn up and throw a wrench in the works. What, one botched Apocalypse wasn't enough for you?"
Aziraphale folded his arms defensively over his chest. "I'm not trying to make your life difficult, Captain. If you'd just tell me where Raphael has got to, I'm sure we can get this all sorted out without a fuss..."
"Raphael is ministering to the wounded. Our wounded," Michael emphasized, glaring at Crowley, who all things considered, seemed remarkably calm and self-possessed. Aziraphale wondered what kind of meltdown he was saving up for a quiet moment. If he ever got another quiet moment. "Unlike some people I could name, he knows which side he's on and does his job."
"What makes you so certain I'm not doing mine?" Aziraphale shot back. "Must I remind yet another of Heaven's Princes just Whose Plan it is that really counts here? If He was dissatisfied with my performance, don't you think He would have made His displeasure known before now?"
"It isn't for me to second-guess Him," Michael said, "and in case you hadn't noticed, your friend here? Is not exactly overflowing with His grace. That should be enough to tell you which side of the line he belongs on."
"Matthew 5:44-45," Aziraphale retorted. "Or if you prefer, Luke 6:37. Are we, His servants, to hold ourselves to lesser standards than He sets for His chosen people?"
"Don't you quote Scripture at me, you..." Michael's hands curled into fists at his sides. "...you know what, I really don't have time for this." Seizing Crowley by the scruff of the neck and ignoring his surprised yelp, he turned and marched out of his encampment toward the place where Hell's forces had been assembled.
"Michael, wait! Please!" Aziraphale tugged ineffectually for a moment against the hold of his guards. "...oh, bugger all this for a lark," he snapped. He'd seen Crowley do it umpteen times, it couldn't be that hard...
Maggots were, of course, entirely out of the question. The surprised guards abruptly found themselves flanking a mass of fuzzy caterpillars that wriggled away in all directions, reassembling well out of their reach into a winged form that took off flying even before they'd all got back into their proper places.
---
"Can't we talk about this?" Crowley asked without much hope as Michael half-dragged him up to the edge of the holding area. "Seriously, those people like me even less than you do. When they get together to hang you in effigy Downstairs, guess who'll get elected to be the effigy?"
"Don't you ever shut up? Michael grumbled. "I'll say this much for Aziraphale, he must have a guano-load more patience than I do to have put up with you all this time..."
"I grow on people. Like athlete's foot. Or mange," Crowley said. It occurred to him that he probably wasn't helping his own case, but the sound of his own voice was about the only thing staving off complete panic at this point. "Come on, I'm begging you here. You must have an opening for a whipping boy or a potato-peeler or something..."
Michael ignored him, breaking through the line of guards and dumping him unceremoniously (and somewhat painfully) on the ground. Panting a little and holding his half-healed gut, Crowley rolled onto his back and looked up...into the preternaturally beautiful face of his old boss.
"My badness. Crowley. And still alive," Lucifer said bemusedly, raising his eyebrows. He was looking somewhat the worse for wear, his ornate armor dented and scuffed, part of his golden hair burnt away and an assortment of minor cuts and scratches scattered across his once-flawless skin; but the diamond-hard eyes hadn't changed, and neither had the smoothly seductive voice. "I confess I'd nearly forgotten about you. Small Universe, isn't it?"
Crowley grinned lopsidedly. "Surprise. Sorry about Hastur and Dagon. Er, and Ligur, while I'm at it. I've just got unaccountably attached to not being killed, you know?"
"You took out Dagon, too?" the Morningstar sighed. "You know, in retrospect, perhaps instead of laying you off I should have just promoted you. You'd probably have done less damage that way. ...oh, I say, Michael," he called as the archangel started to walk away, "as much as I appreciate the gift, I'm afraid I really can't accept."
Michael froze and slowly turned to look over his shoulder. "...what?"
Lucifer shrugged. "He's not one of mine. And frankly, I have no use for him."
Michael swiveled around and stalked purposefully back to stand face to face with his former kinsman, arms akimbo. "Well, he's not one of ours," he growled. "That means, by default, he goes with you."
"No," said Lucifer pleasantly, "it doesn't. I am bound by the terms of my surrender to accept the Damned into my kingdom, and Crowley here no longer qualifies. If he ever actually did. I'm none too clear on that particular." He made a dismissive gesture. "At any rate, he's not part of the deal, and I won't have him."
Michael's fingers drummed against his thigh, the only outward sign of his agitation. "You just had to be difficult about this, didn't you?"
Lucifer looked affronted. "Me? My dear Michael, I am about to depart to an eternity of unpleasantness the likes of which you, favored son of the Silver City, cannot possibly envision. The one consolation granted to me by Our Father in exchange for this sacrifice, and the only reason I have not pressed my campaign to the bitter end," he was now standing toe to toe with Michael, speaking so softly Crowley had to strain to hear, "is that I am to be given absolute and uncontested authority over my dominion."
"But--"
"Absolute, Michael!" Lucifer roared. Several nearby Crowns of Satan and a number of angelic guards were now looking their way. "Now if you wish to breach the terms of our agreement, forcing me to waste the lives of who knows how many more of your people and mine before this sad charade concludes, all for the sake of one inconsequential little outcast--be my guest." He stepped back, smiling politely. The fractured brightness in his eyes left little doubt that he would carry out his threat. "Personally, I'd just bite the bullet and call it a day, but then I never did understand the workings of the military mind. It's your call."
Michael shut his eyes for a moment, and Crowley wondered whether he was praying for guidance or just counting to ten. "You'd do it, wouldn't you, you mad bastard? It has nothing to do with Crowley. All that matters to you is your own damned pride."
"Got it in one. You're cleverer than I gave you credit for." Lucifer looked past Michael. "Ah, but here comes someone with a slightly different perspective." Aziraphale had made it to the ring of guards, and was now peering anxiously between two of them, dithering for all he was worth. Lucifer nodded to him, then leaned in close to Michael, murmuring, "You know he's really much wiser in his way than either you or I. Which do you think would be the greater crime in His eyes: to spare one who does not deserve mercy? Or to damn one who does?"
Michael dropped his eyes, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He was spared from answering, though, by a sudden shout from outside the ring: "Michael! I think you really ought to hear this."
"What is it, Gabriel? ---You stay here," Michael pointed at Crowley, and turned on his heel, marching out of the ring and past Aziraphale without a word.
"Oaf," Lucifer muttered, and smiled apologetically at Crowley. "Well, never say I didn't try."
"He's right, though," Crowley said contemplatively, still flat on his back, staring at the smoke-shrouded sky. "You didn't do it for me."
"Perhaps not," the Morningstar conceded, "but all other things being equal, I'd just as soon see one of us get some of our own back. Since it's clearly not going to be me, it may as well be you."
The Crowns frowned and muttered among themselves, but none dared to challenge that assessment.
---
"All right, Gabriel, what's so important?" Michael asked impatiently. He gave a perfunctory nod to Raphael, who was tending a Virtue's wounded arm.
"Zachariel, tell the Captain what you told us," Gabriel prompted gently.
Zachariel, wide-eyed at personally addressing the great Captain, said timidly, "Sir, that demon you just put in with the others...he saved my life in the battle."
Michael glanced at the other Archangels, both of whom nodded. "Go on, Zachariel."
"There was another demon, a very large one with two swords. His name was Dagon. He...he was going to kill me. Then this Crawly came and fought him so that I could get away."
Michael sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Zachariel, I don't doubt your word, but I think you may have misunderstood what you saw. The Fallen aren't like us. They war among themselves. It was probably just a coincidence that Craw--Crowley happened along in time to distract Dagon..."
Zachariel shook his head. "N-no, Sir," he said firmly. "Dagon spoke to him as if--as if he was in disgrace. He said if Crowley killed me, he'd try to help him win favor with L-lucifer." He swallowed. "I thought he was going to do it. But he told me to run, told me which way to go, and then he attacked Dagon. There was no mistake. He protected me, and he risked himself to do it."
Michael rubbed the back of his neck. "I see. Thank you, Zachariel."
The Virtue nodded, and asked hesitantly, "Sir? If it's not too impertinent to ask--what's going to happen to him? Will he really go to Hell with the others?"
Gazing at nothing in particular, Michael said, "I honestly don't know..."
Raphael completed his ministrations and sent the little Virtue off to rest. "Well," he said, "it seems we have a bit of a dilemma on our hands."
"That's one way of putting it," Michael snapped. "Trust Aziraphale to redeem a demon, but only do the job halfway."
"That's more than anybody else has ever managed," Raphael pointed out mildly.
"Sure, but he doesn't have to deal with the fallout." Michael folded his arms. "That little Principality is a mystery to me. I still haven't figured out how he didn't Fall after Lower Tadfield, and don't even get me started on the Garden. But Crowley's the real problem right now. Lucifer says he won't take him, and he's willing to break truce to prove his point."
"That sounds like Lucifer," Gabriel sighed. "I suppose that means we get to keep him."
"And do what with him?" Michael made a frustrated gesture. "I know I'm coming across as the bad guy here, but even I wouldn't just leave him here on an Earth that's not going to exist much longer. We could label him a righteous unbeliever and dump him in Limbo, I suppose."
"He wouldn't be happy there," Raphael said. "I've only met him the once, but he and Aziraphale are a pair, that much is obvious. They belong together. ...hello, Uriel."
The fourth archangel smiled at his brethren as he took a seat. "Hello, all. Well done. Michael, well fought. I think He should be pleased." He looked around, and seeing three troubled faces, added, "Now what are we discussing?"
"Aziraphale and Crowley," Gabriel said. "They've presented us with a rather unique challenge."
"Oh, of course." Uriel nodded. "I had a feeling that would come up before all was said and done."
"You could have shared with the rest of the class," Michael grumbled. "But I suppose I should have seen it coming, too. They never did quite fit the mold, not from the very Beginning."
"We all could have shown a little more foresight. What matters now is deciding what to do," Gabriel said, "and we had better do it quickly. The Judgement is almost upon us. Do we play straight by the rules, leave Crowley with Lucifer, and hope we don't wind up with a second battle to fight? Or do we err on the side of caution, send him to Limbo and call it good enough?" He spread his hands. "Personally, I'm leaning toward Limbo. I mean, granted it's not an ideal solution, but it's got to be better than Hell or being left here on Earth. At least then Aziraphale could visit him and know he was all right."
Raphael tapped the tabletop in front of him thoughtfully. "We could go one better," he suggested, "and take him back to Heaven."
Michael snorted. "Oh, good idea. I'm sure the pyrotechnics display would be unforgettable..."
Raphael smiled. "Aziraphale says holy items no longer affect Crowley. And his aura no longer reads as infernal to me. I think he would be all right."
"Really." Michael rubbed his forehead. "I hadn't noticed. Well, that changes things, doesn't it?"
"Perhaps. Even if he can survive there, I'm not sure living among angels who are in a state of grace for all eternity would be that much of a thrill to one who isn't," Gabriel said dubiously.
Michael nodded. "Point. It would help if He would give us a clue what He wants done..."
Raphael shook his head. "If He wanted to weigh in on this, the Metatron would have come around by now to say so. He wants us to figure this one out for ourselves."
Uriel looked very thoughtful. "Has it occurred to anyone," he asked suddenly, looking around at the others, "to ask Crowley and Aziraphale what they want?"
---
Crowley and Aziraphale, meanwhile, were sitting on either side of the ring of guards, as close as they could get without actually touching the watchful angels. Like everyone else on the field, they were watching the sky grow brighter. The valley was now lined from one side to the other with humans; some frightened and confused, others breathless with excitement, praying and singing in jubilation. Soon their numbers would swell into the billions, covering a vast swath of the Earth in a single immense crowd. No matter how far out they might be standing, all would witness what was to come as though from front-row seats.
"It'll be soon now, won't it?" Crowley asked.
"I think so." Aziraphale's eyes had lit with a soft blue glow. "I can feel His Presence. It's never been this close before, except in Heaven."
"I can't," Crowley said a little mournfully.
Aziraphale smiled at him consolingly. "All things considered, that's probably a good thing."
"Yeah. I expect you're right." Lucifer's demons were stirring restlessly; some had begun quarreling softly but heatedly among themselves, and it seemed likely that violence would break out in the ranks before long. Lucifer himself stood a little apart from the rest, calm and ramrod-straight, gazing at the brightening sky with an air of impatience. The angelic guards were being quietly backed up by reinforcements.
"I hope Michael decides what he's going to do with me soon," Crowley said in an undertone. "I don't fancy being in with this lot when the grand finale starts."
"I'm sure he will," Aziraphale said automatically.
"You don't sound sure. But the sentiment is appreciated."
Aziraphale shook his head. "Michael is a rough sort. Impatient, and not one for subtlety. But he's not as unreasonable as he comes across, and he listens to the other Archangels. Raphael and Gabriel will bring him around."
Crowley smiled ruefully. "You have more faith in angelic nature than I do. But I guess that just stands to reason."
"I have faith in a lot of things," Aziraphale said softly. He glanced upward again, and sat up straighter. "Look..."
Crowley looked, and his hair stood on end as he saw an aurora ripple across the sky, spreading glorious color from horizon to horizon. From somewhere nearby, a trumpet call split the air, and the voices of the assembled Choirs rose in choruses of triumphant hallelujahs. From behind him came cries and moans of terror and despair, his onetime colleagues sensing that the final reckoning was upon them; it was all he could do not to cry out with them, fearing that in spite of everything that had happened he was still as doomed as they were, after all.
Aziraphale reached between the guards and grabbed his hand. He clung to his friend like a lifeline, remembering the last time they'd faced a moment like this. It was easier to be brave, he thought, when there was an enemy to fight, even if you were hopelessly outmatched. There was no fighting this. He wasn't sure whether he even wanted to. It was terrifying, and it meant the end of everything. But in more than seven thousand years of existence, he knew he'd never witnessed anything more beautiful, or awe-inspiring, or humbling.
"All right, move aside. Let's get him out of there." Michael's voice cut through his reverie, and Crowley scrambled up as he saw that the guards near him had parted, allowing him to pass. They had also raised their weapons, which confused him until he realized their eyes were trained on something behind him. Not daring to look back, and feeling unaccountably ashamed by the fact, he hurried to get out of the circle and rejoin Aziraphale.
Michael barked orders at several of his subordinates, directing them to tighten up the ring and keep their eyes on the prisoners, not the sky, before turning back to them. "I've got to get to my place. Aziraphale, I can't spare anybody else, so he's your problem for now. Find someplace out of the way to park yourselves, and make it quick." Speaking almost in a shout to be heard over the voices of the Host and the rapidly escalating wind, Michael fixed them each in turn with a steely gaze. "So help me, if you two so much as put one feather out of place..."
"We won't!" they promised in unison.
Looking less than reassured, Michael nevertheless nodded and launched himself into the air, arrowing off toward his appointed place.
"How the hell can he fly in this wind?" Crowley wondered, most of his attention still on the shimmering colors that bathed the sky. "My wings would snap like toothpicks!"
"He's Michael," Aziraphale said. "Come on. Let's put a little distance between us and them," he jerked his head back toward the circle. Crowley was only too happy to comply.
"I'm sorry," he called as they made their way to a sheltered spot well away from ground zero and looked out across the Heavenly Host arrayed in all its splendor. "You should be with the other Principalities. I didn't mean to wreck this for you."
"You aren't." Aziraphale smiled serenely. His halo was welling up around him, like those of every angel on the field, limning his unremarkable human form with silvery-blue radiance. "Wherever I am right now is exactly where I was meant to be. I never got on that well with them, anyway."
And just like that, time ran out. The trumpet sounded again, the Choirs gave a mighty shout, and the sky split asunder in a blinding burst of argent light...a light Crowley hadn't seen since before the count of days began. Tears welled up and spilled unnoticed down his face, and he fell to his knees, overwhelmed with the sense of his own utter insignificance before the Presence of the Lord. Every other living being on the field did the same.
Every being save one.
Lucifer stood alone, tall and defiant, as the light coalesced into a towering figure too bright to look on directly and swept across the field, halting directly before him. The ground underneath cracked, softened and soon liquefied beneath the assault of the sheer unimaginable power it had not been designed to withstand.
What passed between the two in those final moments--Father and wayward son, Adversaries but never equals--was not meant for those others present to know. But the Morningstar's air of cool disdain wavered briefly, and the grief and hatred mingled in his ice-blue eyes were terrible to behold.
Slowly, he bowed low before his Creator, acquiescing at last to the fate that had been written for him...and all who chose to follow him.
Crowley sensed what was coming an instant before it did, and instinctively turned to duck his head against Aziraphale, unable to watch. He felt the angel's arms and wings come around him as the ground beneath the Legion erupted, and couldn't suppress his own cry as their shrieks of agonized despair echoed around the valley, then spread with lightning speed through the vast assembly of humans; one mortal taken and another left untouched, the wheat being sorted from the chaff.
And then it was his turn. The weight of the Divine Judgement fell onto Crowley like the proverbial lead balloon, and he surrendered to it with an odd sense of relief, ready--perhaps even eager, now that it had come down to it--to learn how his part in the story ended.
---
"See, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Crowley opened his eyes and then, sunglasses notwithstanding, had to shut them again against the sudden brightness; not that cold blue-white light on the battlefield of Megiddo, but the warm golden sunshine of an idyllic summer afternoon. Shading his eyes and trying again, he found himself standing in what looked like an old chalk quarry, half-overgrown with weeds and littered with the detritus of a hundred childhood adventures. Before him, a striking young boy with shining golden curls was perched on an overturned milk crate, chewing on a straw and regarding him with an air of benevolent indulgence.
"Adam Young?" Crowley croaked, knowing before he even asked that of course it wasn't.
"Nah." The boy drummed his heels idly against the crate. "He's round here somewhere, though. Diggin' into flavor number four or five about now, I 'spect." He smiled. "I just thought you might rather see a familiar face. Been a while since we talked in person."
Crowley sat down hard on the ground, heedless of the chalk smudges his inexplicably spotless suit acquired in the process. "Oh. Well...thanks, I guess. Nice of you to go to the trouble. Unless everybody's getting the personal touch?"
The boy shook his head. "They did, but ever'body else is already done."
"You work fast," Crowley observed.
"Course I do. Built the whole world in a week, didn't I?" The boy grinned. "Doesn't really matter now, though. There's no such thing as time anymore. You an' Aziraphale are the last bits of unfinished business."
Crowley nodded, brushing off the pang of sadness that came with that thought. "So what now?" he asked. "I take it I wouldn't be here if I was slated to be shuffled off with Lucifer and the rest."
"Uh-uh. You've earned somethin' better than that. But I thought I'd give you a minute to catch your breath before you decide what you're gonna do now, and maybe answer some questions for you I couldn't before."
Crowley blinked. "Before I decide? You mean I get to choose?"
"That's right." The boy nodded. "You kinda got the short end of the stick, way back in the Beginning, I'm not denyin' it. Always felt bad about that, but there was just no gettin' around it. I needed you where you were. An' you did a great job, by the way."
Crowley snorted. "So, what you're basically saying is, 'Good Crowley, you may have a biscuit'?" He rested his head on his drawn-up knees. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be disrespectful, it's just...do you have to look like Adam? You're seriously weirding me out here."
A gentle hand ruffled his hair, and he looked up into a stately, grandfatherly face framed with snowy hair and a long beard. "Is this better? I've got a million of 'em..."
Crowley had to laugh a little. "Yeah. Thanks." The quarry was gone, replaced by a pristine white marble throne room, complete with ornate pillars and a dais with an oversize throne. It, too, was empty except for the two of them. "Retro, yet timeless. I like it."
Ignoring the throne, God nodded and sat down next to him on the floor. "Anyway, don't worry too much about disrespecting. Within reason, at least. I made you to be that way. You couldn't have carried out your part in the Plan otherwise."
Crowley thought about that for a minute. "You needed a wild card," he said slowly. "Someone who'd choose Earth over either Heaven or Hell."
"And more important, someone who would appreciate humans for what they were, not what they thought they should be or what they once had been." God sighed. "You have no idea how much trouble most of your brethren on both sides had with that..."
Crowley remembered Hastur and Ligur and their archaic, single-minded approach to tempting. "I dunno, I think maybe I do. You can't really appreciate humans without practically becoming one of them."
"Exactly. Precisely why I sent my Son down there. It wasn't just a matter of purchasing their redemption; he needed the experience." God smiled ruefully. "I found out the hard way what a lousy ruler you make when you just try to impose divine law from on high without really connecting with your people. He'll do a much better job." He waved his hand dismissively. "But enough about my kid. You have questions, I know. Here's your big chance to get them answered."
"Well, fu...golly, where do I start?" Crowley rubbed his forehead. "All right, here's one. Why'd I have to Fall to do the job you needed me to do? Couldn't you have waved your magic wand and made me see things the way you wanted?"
God stroked his beard contemplatively. "For the same reason I let the Archangels debate what to do with you and come to their own conclusions," he said after a moment. "They arrived at exactly the decision I wanted them to, but they reasoned their way to it, and that makes it theirs in a way my dictating to them never could.
"Some things can be Revealed--some things have to be--but more often the lesson sinks in much better if it's learned through experience. Mankind was Fallen. If all I'd thrown at them was angels who remained in a state of grace..." He shrugged. "Well, look at your friend Aziraphale. Do you really think he could have done your job effectively, if it had been given to him? Without that resentment you bore toward me, or the understanding you had of what it's like to be on the outside?"
Crowley shook his head. "He couldn't tempt a rat with free cheese. That's another thing, though..." He hesitated, then plunged on, "I guess I can see why things had to work out the way they did. But if you don't mind my saying so, speaking up for Lucifer and his boys was a lousy excuse to kick me out. And Aziraphale has done things that are a hundred times worse by just about any measure. How come I Fell and he never did? I'm not saying I'd have wanted him to," he added quickly. "It just seems like a bit of a double standard, you know?"
God gave him that infuriatingly knowing smile. "I suppose it must look that way from where you're standing. But to answer that one, I think another change of venue is in order."
"...I could really get to hate it when you do that," Crowley said a minute later, looking across the table at a slightly bewildered Aziraphale. God sat between them in a very expensive, very conservative suit, looking over the Ritz menu with interest.
He gave Crowley an amused glance over the top of the menu. "I'm sure. And how many times have you pulled similar tricks on humans?" he inquired.
"Point," Crowley muttered, picking up his wine glass and draining most of it in one go.
"The salmon mousse sounds lovely," Aziraphale remarked suddenly, looking over his own menu. Crowley almost inhaled his Chablis, and God reached around to pound him on the back.
"Oh dear. I'm sorry," the angel said, chastened, setting the menu aside. "That was silly of me. I'm afraid I'm just not quite sure what's expected at this juncture."
"We're just tying up a few loose ends," God explained, handing Crowley a napkin. "And on that note, I have a question for you, my child." He folded his hands on the table before him, regarding Aziraphale earnestly. "Why do you imagine, after 'misplacing' your sword--and fibbing about it, shame on you--consorting with the Enemy, indulging in Gluttony, coveting Earthly treasures, derailing an Apocalypse, misappropriating Heavenly property and giving poor Michael three kinds of migraines, you're still sitting here with us right now and not on the express elevator to Dis?"
Flushing bright pink, Aziraphale bowed his head. "I don't know, Father," he said in a small voice. "Although I've sometimes wondered."
"Mm. Well, let me ask you this, then. Suppose I were to tell you, right this moment, that Crowley here was about to be sent to Hell for good, and the only way you could save him was to Fall yourself?" God's face had gone deadly serious. "What would you say to that?"
Crowley was certain he was going to throw up.
Now white as the fine linen table cloth, Aziraphale looked at God in horror, then at Crowley, and then back at God again. "I..."
"Come on now, spit it out. It's not as though I don't already know your answer," God said a bit impatiently.
Aziraphale took a shuddering breath. "I'd do it," he said in a near-whisper. "I'd have to do it."
"Angel, no," Crowley shouted, appalled, jumping up and knocking his chair over.
But God made a placating gesture. "Keep your shirt on, Crowley, sit down. It was a rhetorical question. No one is going to Fall, now or ever again. You have my word on that." As Crowley slowly righted his chair and obeyed, glaring all the while, he added, "And both of you, forgive my seeming cruelty. But this is a very important point. Aziraphale, I saw what was in your heart just now. As terrible a choice as I laid before you, still, you weren't placing your friend above your love or your duty to me, were you?"
"No, Father," Aziraphale said immediately, still looking mildly ill.
"No, you were not," God said emphatically, topping off the angel's wine glass. "You trusted in me and in what your own heart told you, as you have always done, and assumed that I must have a good reason for what I asked. You had faith. The only person you placed Crowley ahead of was yourself." He turned to look at Crowley. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"
"I think so." Crowley was staring at the table in front of him. "I tried to save my friends, but I wouldn't have willingly traded places with them if I'd known what it would cost me. And I--" He swallowed hard. "I didn't just question your decision. I judged."
"There you have it," God said quietly. "You put me out of your heart, gave my place there to someone else--you had lousy taste in friends back then, by the way--and when that happened there was nothing that could have stopped your Fall." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Let me tell you something else. I made you to be the way you are, yes, with certain eventualities in mind. But nothing in my Plan was ever written in stone. You weren't the only angel there who had friends among the Faithless. I knew someone would speak up, and I suspected it would be you, but when it came right down to it, the choice was yours to make. Just as Aziraphale's a moment ago was entirely his."
"So we have had free will all along?" Crowley still couldn't quite bring himself to look at Aziraphale.
"Well, not in the same broad sense that humans do. I needed tools, but tools with a degree of autonomy. ...Ah, cripes, I sound like a heartless Machiavellian bastard, don't I?" God sighed and waved a basket of garlic bread into being on the table between them.
"You said it, Sir, I didn't," Crowley mumbled, grabbing a bread stick and summoning up some marinara sauce to dip it into.
"Yes, well. I'm not going to drag out that tired old trope about breaking eggs to make an omelet. ...Oh for My sake, Aziraphale, eat. Never mind the gluttony crack. I let you stuff your face for seven thousand years, I'm not about to can your ass now over a flippin' bread stick." He pushed the basket the angel's way and continued, "So, getting back to business.
"Crowley, you've got two choices. Earth officially ceased to exist about twenty-two minutes ago, if we were still keeping track. We're actually in Limbo right now. You could stay here and have a pretty decent existence. Poke around a bit and you'd find a lot of righteous unbelievers and unbaptized kids hanging around. They're not bad people; they just wound up dying in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course you haven't got a whole lot in common with most of them." He soaked a chunk of the bread in butter sauce and wolfed it down.
"Or you could come back home with us to Heaven," he went on. "It might be a little rough at first. Some of Michael's boys in particular would have to warm up to you. But the Archangels have got their heads on straight, and between me and them, nobody's going to give you too much flak. And it'd save Aziraphale the nuisance of trekking out into Limbo to find you when he wants to visit."
Crowley sat chewing his bread and considering. It wasn't a small decision to make. "I don't have to decide this minute, do I?"
"Nah, think about it over dinner. We're not on any particular schedule here." God picked up the menu and perused it again. "I think I'm going to start off with a half lobster en gelée..."
It was the single most surreal meal the two friends had ever shared, precisely because it was in most respects so shockingly ordinary. God was a witty conversationalist, well-versed in literally every subject, and turned out to be an old football fan. They reminisced about everything under the sun over several delicious courses, got to hear the rationale behind the existence of the platypus**, and learned there actually was life on other planets (albeit in no form they would recognize.) For a little while, it was almost possible to forget where they were and the weighty matter that still lay unresolved.
---
"Mm. Now that," God finally said, finishing off his last spoonful of crème brûlée, "is what I call a dessert." He pushed the dish away and sighed contentedly. "I think I'd like a cigar. You boys want a cigar?"
"No thank you, Father," Aziraphale said, considerably restored after his own excellent meal. Crowley shook his head. He hadn't eaten much and was now picking disinterestedly at his caramel soufflé, a distant look on his face.
"Ah well, your loss," God said, producing a fine Montecristo whose end cut itself and then lit spontaneously. He leaned back in his chair and savored the aromatic smoke, smiling enigmatically at his two companions.
"Crowley?" the angel ventured after a moment. "Are you all right, my dear? I know this is all very strange." He wished for a moment he could talk to Crowley in private, but realized immediately what a foolish desire that was; nothing was, or ever could be, hidden from their Father. Our Father, he thought then, as it hit him solidly for the first time that Crowley really was, after a fashion, his brother. The revelation left him slightly breathless.
"I'm all right," Crowley said quietly. "Sorry to hold things up. It's just...it's a lot to absorb all at once..."
God chuckled, leaning in Aziraphale's direction. "What he means," he said confidentially, "is that he's still got questions he wants to ask, but he's too embarrassed. And rightly so," he added reprovingly as Crowley looked up in chagrin. "If he was using half the brains I gave him he'd already know the answers. Want me to make it easy for you, son?"
Crowley went red and dropped his gaze. God went on, "You want to know if I love you. Well, what kind of dumbass question is that? I sent him to look after you, didn't I?" He jerked a thumb in Aziraphale's direction, and the angel's mouth dropped open in shock. Sent...? "Your very own guardian angel, for crying out loud, how many demons do you think got one of those?"
Aziraphale couldn't read Crowley's expression, and immediately commenced to fretting. He doesn't think that all this time he's been just an assignment? The angel hadn't known--well, apart from his blanket conviction that the Plan covered all contingencies, in one way or another--and he didn't think he'd have acted much differently if he had. Crowley was dear to him for so many reasons that had nothing to do with his job.
But God carried on, "And you're wondering how I can offer you Heaven when I know that you don't love me." He sighed. "That one's not quite so idiotic. It's usually a deal-breaker. And I won't lie to you, Crowley...I know better than anyone exactly how and why things turned out the way they did, and I'll shoulder my share of the blame. But it still hurts." Crowley gave him a skeptical look, and he added, "No, I mean it. When you give somebody a personality and free will--even in a limited capacity--you give them the power to hurt you. Turn their backs. That's the price I've paid for not spending eternity alone, you know? I could've filled the place with mindless automatons who'd obey me without question, but what would be the point?" He spread his hands. "The problem with Solitaire is, even if you win, all you've done is beaten yourself. And there's nobody there to be happy for you. Having that means taking some risks."
"Okay, so it hurts. You still haven't explained why you'd let me back in," Crowley said.
God smiled. "I'm taking the long view here. Seven thousand years ago, you were a cocky little Virtue with a big mouth who by your own admission would never have stuck his neck out for his friends if he'd understood the price. Earlier today, you attacked an Under-Duke of Hell to protect an angel you didn't even know. And half an hour ago--knowing exactly what Hell is and staring eternity in the face--you wouldn't let Aziraphale trade himself for you."
Aziraphale watched the light of comprehension dawn in Crowley's face as God concluded, "In short, you've learned to care for someone else more than yourself. If you can do that, then I can take it on faith that you'll make it the rest of the way. So yeah. If you want to come home, all you have to do is say so."
Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who smiled encouragingly. He knew which option he hoped his friend would choose, but he wouldn't try to influence things; Crowley had earned the right to make this choice for himself.
---
"I think," Crowley said finally, none too certain he knew what he was talking about, "I think I'd like that."
"Hot damn!" God laughed and jumped up out of his chair, doing a little victory dance. "Michael owes me a steak dinner. Whoo!"
Crowley shook his head bemusedly. "Only..."
God stopped and gave him a disgruntled look. "Oh come on, what now?"
"Can we just walk this time, please?"
"Ha! Sure, sure. Whatever you like. C'mon, boys, let's blow this joint." Aziraphale and Crowley got up and walked with him toward the door. "You know you really don't need those bodies anymore..."
Crowley shrugged. "I've actually got kind of attached to this one," he admitted.
Aziraphale chuckled. "I told you so."
"Shaddup, you."
"I most certainly will not. I'm rather fond of mine as well, Father."
"Ah, well, that's all right, they're made in my image, right? Hold up just a minute though." God stopped and turned Crowley to face him. Whisking the sunglasses off, he passed his other hand over Crowley's face.
Crowley blinked and rubbed his eyes, which suddenly felt very strange. When he dropped his hands, he saw Aziraphale smiling and nodding approvingly, and needed no mirror to guess that had happened. "Why did they always do that, anyway?" he asked.
"Psychosomatic. You did it to yourself every time, Crowley." Handing him back his shades, God paused with his hand on the door. "Crowley. That's not the name I gave you."
Crowley fidgeted. "I know. I don't remember the other one anymore."
"I could give it back to you," God offered.
"Thanks, but to be honest, I'm rather attached to the name, too..."
God looked a little disappointed, but said, "It does suit you, can't deny that. One thing at a time then, eh? It'll be there when you're ready."
Then he grinned and shoved open the door, leading them into what Crowley dimly recognized as an antechamber in Heaven's great temple that mirrored the one in Jerusalem.
The four Archangels were gathered there, talking quietly among themselves. They turned as one when the door opened and bowed before their Lord.
"All right, all right, no standing on formality today of all days," God told them, waving them upright. "Got everything wrapped up then, have we? Chairs up on the tables, turned off all the lights?"
"Azrael is just tidying up now, Father. He should be coming along soon," Raphael said, and then looked at Crowley. "He's made his choice, then?"
God put his hands on Crowley's shoulders, giving him a little shake. "Make merry, and be glad!" he said in a booming voice. "For this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and has been found."
Crowley rolled his eyes, but the Archangels laughed and applauded.
"Welcome home, little brother," Uriel said. Gabriel came up to shake his hand, and Raphael embraced him. "We'd just about given up hope," he said, sounding a little choked up.
"What, for me?" Crowley said, surprised.
"For any of the Fallen," Gabriel clarified, grinning from ear to ear. "We always thought some might find their way back into the fold, but after all those millennia..."
"Well done, Aziraphale," Uriel said. "Very well done indeed."
The Principality blushed. "Oh, well, I had very little to do with it, actually..."
Crowley shook his head, breaking away from his well-wishers to go and grab his old friend by the shoulders. "You couldn't possibly be any more wrong about that," he said fiercely. "I'm still not sure I have any business being here, but if I do, it's because of you. Because you had faith in me." The events of the day caught up to him suddenly, and he gulped back a rush of tears as the magnitude of his debt became clear to him. "I owe you everything."
Aziraphale could find no answer to that but to hug him hard.
"Ahh, that's nice. All's well that ends well," God said happily. "Now if I know my business, and I usually do, there's one hell of a party going on outside--metaphorically speaking. Who feels like celebrating?"
The little group moved toward the outer doors, which opened at God's gesture to reveal the glimmering spires of the Silver City. Its crystalline streets overflowed with the souls of the blessed, and the air with angels of all the choirs as far as the eye could see, all laughing and singing and praising their Lord in a glorious cacophony of pure joy.
Crowley glanced up as Michael came to stand beside him in the doorway, a grudging smile on his face. "Well, there you are, little brother. It's all yours." He cuffed him lightly in the back of the head. "Try not to bollix it up."
"Ow. Duly noted." Crowley laughed and flung his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. They walked out into Paradise together as a flight of luminous Seraphs winged their way overhead, proclaiming God's glory in choruses of jubilant hosannas.
it all comes down to me and you.
I guess it's meant to be
forever you and me,
after all.
---
*He'd finally settled on a career as a personal counselor. It allowed him to be helpful, subversive or indifferent as he preferred, and no matter what advice he offered from his somewhat unique perspective on the human condition, his mortal clients would pretty much do whatever the hell they saw fit. While paying him a princely sum for the privilege. Life, the occasional demonic assassination attempt notwithstanding, was good.
**You wouldn't believe me if I told you.
---
EPILOGUE
Somewhere else entirely, Death hummed contentedly to himself as he attended to the last few tasks of his long and weary tour of duty, looking forward after all his labors to joining the party Up Above.
It would be nice, he thought, to find out what it felt like to kick back with a brewski and let someone else take care of business.
Going down his checklist one last time to be certain nothing was overlooked, he nodded to himself, leaned his broom against the wall and, after one final satisfied look around, locked the Universe behind him as he left.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 07:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 07:12 am (UTC)That was just wonderful! I don't recall ever reading a fic where the Apocalypse finally happened, and this was just.... Wow. Perfect ending, if you ask me. And your take on God and Lucifer was just great. *goes to read again*
(Okay, so maybe I found a few words. *cheesy thumbs up*)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 08:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 08:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 10:10 am (UTC)Ral
....Michael betting with God... XD
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 12:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 02:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 03:37 pm (UTC)I mean, you've managed to make me enjoy sci-fi in a Good Omens fic, thats... quite a feat, to say at least. I just love everything about this story, the humour, how you wrote the characters, Crowley and Aziraphale, the archangels and God's just adorable. Very original and refreshing
Thank you so much this one
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-15 06:49 pm (UTC)I mean, you've managed to make me enjoy sci-fi in a Good Omens fic, thats... quite a feat, to say at least. I just love everything about this story, the humour, how you wrote the characters, Crowley and Aziraphale, the archangels and God's just adorable. Very original and refreshing
Thank you so much this one
Please forgive me, I know it's been an insanely long time, but I did want to answer the nice comments I got for this...
Thanks so very much! There sort of had to be a little 'sci-fi' in it, since it spanned such a long time in the future, but I tried not to call much attention to it; it was just there for background flavor. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 04:35 pm (UTC)...I will say this, though. The epilogue? Friggin' AWESOME.
You. Are. Brilliant. Guh.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 05:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 05:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 07:26 pm (UTC)"I grow on people. Like athlete's foot. Or mange," - so true, heee.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 07:32 pm (UTC)While you deal with an epic canvas, you don't twist theology into a pretzel in order to redeem Crowley; both Lucifer and God are given scenes in which to explain their reasoning where the demon's role was set up from both sides. Nicer still is the way both Angel and "demon" were give free will in how they would proceed. Crowley was part of the Ineffable Plan all along, but how he would "turn out" was entirely his choice--and the influence of Aziraphale.
I love how Aziraphale was revealed--even to his own surprise--as Crowley's guardian angel.
I like how you treated the Archangels, each a distinct personality, not even Michael was all hardened warrior only as he's sometimes been portrayed. I like that they genuinely wrestled in good conscience with the dilemma of Crowley and didn't cast him off out of hand.
Even Death is looking forward to joining the party "upstairs" as he finishes up. The fact you allude to Adam being there gives hope all the other "good guys" from Good Omens also made it in. There's even a hint of C.S. Lewis' paradise with everything that was good about Earth having it's Platonic Absolute there so that Adam can work his way through ice cream.
My only quibble would be the continuation of Limbo which seems not only an injustice on the blameless but I think isn't strictly scriptural. Still you depict it as not an unhappy or unpleasant place and I can see why you need it as an option for Crowley. *grin* and it's not exactly as if you are using Revelation as a strict blueprint!
Altogether a lovely--and loving--long tale to kick off the exchange, full of forgiveness and selflessness--even a touch from Lucifer???
Siiiiigggghhhhh
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-15 06:55 pm (UTC)While you deal with an epic canvas, you don't twist theology into a pretzel in order to redeem Crowley; both Lucifer and God are given scenes in which to explain their reasoning where the demon's role was set up from both sides. Nicer still is the way both Angel and "demon" were give free will in how they would proceed. Crowley was part of the Ineffable Plan all along, but how he would "turn out" was entirely his choice--and the influence of Aziraphale.
I love how Aziraphale was revealed--even to his own surprise--as Crowley's guardian angel.
I like how you treated the Archangels, each a distinct personality, not even Michael was all hardened warrior only as he's sometimes been portrayed. I like that they genuinely wrestled in good conscience with the dilemma of Crowley and didn't cast him off out of hand.
Even Death is looking forward to joining the party "upstairs" as he finishes up. The fact you allude to Adam being there gives hope all the other "good guys" from Good Omens also made it in. There's even a hint of C.S. Lewis' paradise with everything that was good about Earth having it's Platonic Absolute there so that Adam can work his way through ice cream.
My only quibble would be the continuation of Limbo which seems not only an injustice on the blameless but I think isn't strictly scriptural. Still you depict it as not an unhappy or unpleasant place and I can see why you need it as an option for Crowley. *grin* and it's not exactly as if you are using Revelation as a strict blueprint!
Altogether a lovely--and loving--long tale to kick off the exchange, full of forgiveness and selflessness--even a touch from Lucifer???
Siiiiigggghhhhh
Please forgive me, I know it's been an insanely long time, but I did want to answer the nice comments I got for this...
Thanks very much! I feel for poor Michael; in my head, he's a basically good guy who just doesn't deal well with gray areas. :) I did sort of need Limbo to give a not-too-awful third option so there'd be an actual choice for Crowley, and honestly, I like the idea that there's a place where good people who aren't that fond of the whole Judeo-Christian thing can still go and be happy. And no, I didn't stick that close to Revelations...but then, neither did Neil and Terry. XD
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 08:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 08:28 pm (UTC)So, I'm like, uh, going to stand over there in the corner and sob a little because of the tiny glimpse of utter prefection that was revealed to me while reading this fic?
:D
Really. This was brilliant. I adore the characterizations; Aziraphale and Crowley are perfectly IC and the rest of the divine and infernal cast is lovely represented. This fic made me both giggle and wibble while reading. The idea is also original and the resolution a lot better than what I've managed to conjure myself the nights I spend thinking way too much half-asleep, pondering this subject. *Nods*
Aaah... The ending is too much for me to handle without grinning like a lunatic. It's perfectly imperfectly perfect. |D
Anyway: I want to thank you for being awesome.
Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 09:44 pm (UTC)-sobs-
Wonderful.
Perfect. Exactly as it should be. And I'm really liking your version of Limbo.
And the caterpillars and the Buggere alle thise for a larke. Brilliant.
Platypus, life on other planets? Ooooh, spot-on work! I am amazed and in utter adoration and it's...
It's great.
Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-03 11:27 pm (UTC)-and Michael's and God's bet *snicker*
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Date: 2008-12-04 01:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-04 03:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-04 12:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-04 03:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-05 01:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-04 09:59 pm (UTC)Eee I love it. Your prose is a perfect mix of, I don't know, solemn and light and funny, and very descriptive without being too heavy-handed about it. Your characterisations are fantastic, as well. (Bits I loved, among others: Aziraphale turning into fuzzy caterpillars, Death locking the door behind him, the platypus bit, Crowley's snake eyes... I could go on forever.)
Just. Words aren't quite good enough. Wow. This is so going into my bookmarks.
(Man, I hope Crowley doesn't get dreadfully bored of Heaven in, like, three days.)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-15 06:58 pm (UTC)Eee I love it. Your prose is a perfect mix of, I don't know, solemn and light and funny, and very descriptive without being too heavy-handed about it. Your characterisations are fantastic, as well. (Bits I loved, among others: Aziraphale turning into fuzzy caterpillars, Death locking the door behind him, the platypus bit, Crowley's snake eyes... I could go on forever.)
Just. Words aren't quite good enough. Wow. This is so going into my bookmarks.
(Man, I hope Crowley doesn't get dreadfully bored of Heaven in, like, three days.)
Please forgive me, I know it's been an insanely long time, but I did want to answer the nice comments I got for this...
Thanks so much. He might get a little bored, but I've got an idea that Heaven, being the place of perfect happiness, has contingencies even for those borderline cases who barely squeaked in and wouldn't be happy without some less-than-purely-virtuous diversions. Sometime I might write up a ficlet about it. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-04 10:22 pm (UTC)Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-06 07:19 am (UTC)There are a number of Falling-Aziraphale stories mined for easy heavy angst, but I've always thought that, potentially at least, Redeemed-Crowley stories can be so much more theologically interesting! I think lots of writers would agree with me that cynicism is easy, hope is hard - to present with all its challenges and difficulties.
I especially love the way God is hurt by Crowley's rejection, but has compassion for it; after all, from Crowley's POV, he was rejected first. I like the way it's strongly suggested that emotional and spiritual growth and development doesn't end even after the End, even in Heaven.
I hope after the reveal, this becomes one of the classics of the fandom with your name attached.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-15 07:08 pm (UTC)There are a number of Falling-Aziraphale stories mined for easy heavy angst, but I've always thought that, potentially at least, Redeemed-Crowley stories can be so much more theologically interesting! I think lots of writers would agree with me that cynicism is easy, hope is hard - to present with all its challenges and difficulties.
I especially love the way God is hurt by Crowley's rejection, but has compassion for it; after all, from Crowley's POV, he was rejected first. I like the way it's strongly suggested that emotional and spiritual growth and development doesn't end even after the End, even in Heaven.
I hope after the reveal, this becomes one of the classics of the fandom with your name attached.
Please forgive me, dear, I know it's been an insanely long time, but I did want to answer the nice comments I got for this...
*Blushes* Thank you so much. I think the big challenge with redeemed!Crowley stories is to put him in a position where he can make it into Heaven without turning him into an utter goody-two-shoes (in other words, not Crowley anymore.) It seemed to me that the only way it could happen is if a special exception was made, 'cause God's not quite such a bastard that he'd eternally damn someone for being exactly what he made them to be and doing the job he needed them to do. I also don't think I've seen many fics that explore the 'family issues' between God and his angels, Fallen and not, so it was fun to play around with that a bit.
I'm really glad you liked it!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-07 08:13 am (UTC)I like how you started this chapter out through the eyes of a third party. I also really like how Aziraphale shows his roots and calls on God in his time of need--somehow, I haven't seen that often in fanfiction before.
The bit with Raphael refusing to help makes me bawwwwww. Thank goodness he chose to help in the end or I seriously would have broken down into real tears.
But oh man, the fuzzy caterpillar bit had me busting a gut right after. Haha "
Maggots were, of course, entirely out of the question."...and the idea of Crowley being lifted by his scruff?! Hilarious. And gah, "guano-load!" XD And and "My badness"! Great lines there, yes<3
The interaction between Lucifer and Michael is great too. Love how nonchalent Lucifer is, vs. how infuriated Michael is getting...and how badly Lucifer pwns him in the end. I like how even though Michael is against Crowley (our "protagonist, persay), he still doesn't come off as an arse, but rather just a stressed out military leader at the end of a long day.
I really like how pretty much everybody knows and accepts that Crowley and Aziraphale are a matched set<3 And d'aw, having God use Adam's form is a nice touch. Your God written exactly the way I would want him to be, if I ever met him.
Then darnit, you have me bawwing again over the scene where God asks Aziraphale if he'd fall for Crowley. You do the transitions between lightheartedness and serious matters quite well.
And oh snap--THIS! "Our Father, he thought then, as it hit him solidly for the first time that Crowley really was, after a fashion, his brother." No one has ever brought up THIS point as far as I know! And what a stunner it is. Kudos to you for remembering all angel type things are related. The family-love time at the end is just wonderful<3
This whole piece was epic and full of beauty. Thanks for writing this for me and my partner, I feel very honored<3 Bawwww, and yay, happy ending for most everyone :)
-S (of L&S)
P.S. On a side note, I'm quite curious what happened with the Hellish side of things after the whole battle ended.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-15 07:16 pm (UTC)I am unutterably pleased that you enjoyed your gift. :D And I wanted to say, in regards to this: Your God written exactly the way I would want him to be, if I ever met him. Although it wasn't my intention when I wrote the story, I realized afterward that I wrote Him pretty much the way I would like to think He actually is, too. (In my head, he looks a bit like pre-surgery Kenny Rogers and sounds a bit like George Carlin. XD)
Also, regarding this: "Our Father, he thought then, as it hit him solidly for the first time that Crowley really was, after a fashion, his brother." No one has ever brought up THIS point as far as I know! And what a stunner it is. I think a lot of authors in this fandom carefully avoid realizing this, since it puts kind of a damper on the whole slash relationship thing. XD Although of course you can't really apply the same rules to angelic beings as humans.
I thoroughly enjoyed writing this for you, and thanks so much for your nice comments. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-16 09:26 am (UTC)In my head, he looks a bit like pre-surgery Kenny Rogers and sounds a bit like George Carlin. Dude, with that kind of description, I wouldn't mind meeting him any day XD and hurr, I figure that people would slash them anyways, even if they were technically "brothers".
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-07 11:44 am (UTC)I love how strong you make Aziraphale. In so many stories he somehow comes across as the weaker, lesser, more goofy counterpart to Crowley, but you manage to have the humor and the cuteness in there without forgetting that he's an angel; and making him Crowley's guardian is such a beautiful, lasting display of that strength. (I particularly loved the scene at the end of The End, where Crowley turns his face into Aziraphale because he can't watch, and Aziraphale just puts his arms around him. That was *beautiful*.)
And of course, everything else about this is amazing as well. ♥ I can't wait for the reveal! You've done such an incrediable job here and more than deserve the credit.
So epic, and yet keeping with the feel of the origional story. This line will never stop being hilarious to me:
...Oh for My sake, Aziraphale, eat. Never mind the gluttony crack. I let you stuff your face for seven thousand years, I'm not about to can your ass now over a flippin' bread stick."
XD Thank you so much for writing and sharing this. ♥ ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-15 07:24 pm (UTC)I love how strong you make Aziraphale. In so many stories he somehow comes across as the weaker, lesser, more goofy counterpart to Crowley, but you manage to have the humor and the cuteness in there without forgetting that he's an angel; and making him Crowley's guardian is such a beautiful, lasting display of that strength. (I particularly loved the scene at the end of The End, where Crowley turns his face into Aziraphale because he can't watch, and Aziraphale just puts his arms around him. That was *beautiful*.)
And of course, everything else about this is amazing as well. ♥ I can't wait for the reveal! You've done such an incrediable job here and more than deserve the credit.
So epic, and yet keeping with the feel of the origional story. This line will never stop being hilarious to me:
...Oh for My sake, Aziraphale, eat. Never mind the gluttony crack. I let you stuff your face for seven thousand years, I'm not about to can your ass now over a flippin' bread stick."
XD Thank you so much for writing and sharing this. ♥ ♥
Please forgive me, I know it's been an insanely long time, but I did want to answer the nice comments I got for this.
Thanks very much! To me, it has always seemed that, as goofy and absent-minded as Aziraphale can be, in some ways, he is the stronger one: it's clear from several incidents in the book (although for the most part, fairly subtly presented) that Crowley is the needier of the two. Which makes perfect sense, when you consider that Aziraphale still has his connection with God to fall back on for support, and Crowley does not. He basically has no one but Aziraphale. In the book, Azi isn't particularly cognizant of this fact, which is why I sort of smacked him in the face with it at the start of this story. XD
Also, regarding this: (I particularly loved the scene at the end of The End, where Crowley turns his face into Aziraphale because he can't watch, and Aziraphale just puts his arms around him. That was *beautiful*.) That's one of my favorite parts, too. :)
Thank you again, I'm very glad you enjoyed it!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-09 02:32 am (UTC)Um. Yeah. Epilogue is a good touch.
Wow.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-10 04:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-21 02:41 am (UTC)And all the sweet moments between Azi and Crowley are awesome. Especially when Azi said he'd Fall for Crowley. I love those two. Azi being Crowley's guardian angel was awesome, Crowley getting to go to Heaven with Azi was awesome. Raphael and Gabriel getting all emotional over Crowley coming back to the fold was awesome.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-11-12 01:37 am (UTC)Yeah, woah.
Great piece, great voices, great everything... truly epic. I feel a little peculiar – in a good way! Wish I could write a better comment to convey the awe I'm feeling right now. Actually, 'awesome' is pretty appropriate!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-13 04:11 am (UTC)Like, I have no words for it but just...it's fucking awesome. Best thing I've read in ages. Wow.
Bookmarking!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-13 04:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-13 04:41 am (UTC)Do you have any other writing online? :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-13 04:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-13 04:52 am (UTC)