go_exchange | Happy Holidays, emerald_embers! (Post 3) (Reply)

The Hijinks of Heaven and Hell (Post 3)
Author: Secret! Shh!!
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,205
For: Emerald Embers
Beta: Vulgarweed
Pairings/Characters: Lucifer/God; Beelzebub/Sahaqiel (implied); Crowley/Aziraphale; Crowley/Pollution (implied); Pollution/Famine and the ducks of St. James Park. Plus a whole slew of supporting demons and angels, though no Apocalypse or Anti-Christ(s) making a grand appearance. Maybe next time.
Prompt: I love humour, romance, fluff, gen, Christmas fic; or if it's anything with the horsemen I love dark humour, mild dubcon and POV fics.
Disclaimer: Do I look like Terry Pratchett or Neil Gaiman? No? Then obviously I don’t own any of the characters herein. Except maybe the characterizations of God; Lucifer; Beelzebub and only Someone knows how huge the supporting cast is!

Part 9

Beelzebub had eventually left him to his own devices, stating that he had other business to attend to that involved some civil disagreement in some third world country. The Lord of the Flies was hoping that he could cause the peaceful protesters to riot and start smashing things which would probably get them arrested or shot. Either possibility made the Hellish Prince rub his hands in glee and The Devil let him get back to his work.

The Adversary didn’t need his second-in-command right now anyway. It was his wager and he was probably expected to do most of the plotting. It wouldn’t do, he reasoned, to get called on a small technicality of not having done anything himself. He’d look like a child who had to have someone hold his hand at every step and that would be a major blow. He was an old demon, after all. The oldest! He was quite capable of handling this simple wager all on his own.

He’d been to the Ritz earlier and except for a small scene which had involved an old man and some difficult questions from the local authorities and a ‘would you like to come downtown, sir’ lingo it was pretty much like everything else . . . uneventful.

St. James Park was offering him many more possibilities. The Belgian and French Cultural Attachés were now in a heated argument about which one had done a better job getting a hold of information for their countries. While a bench or two down from where Lucifer was, a CIA and an MI6 operative were now behaving in a lewd and highly embarrassing way that would likely get them thrown in jail and chewed out later by their spouses. All in a day’s work for a king of demons.

He knew that Crowley, and the angel, had been here recently. Their scent was all over this one park bench and he was trying to figure out just what had occurred. Piecing together something like this was always a difficult process. Well, he had to go on with what he knew. The first, Crowley and the angel apparently hung around each other. Quite often if the scent surrounding the bench was anything to go on. Even with the consistently damp weather, a demon’s nose is ten times better than any bloodhound’s and what he could smell was at least several months of activity here. Most recently though was a rather aggrieved demon and a cheerful angel. He couldn’t figure it out. Crowley shouldn’t feel upset about anything. There wasn’t anything he could feel upset about and if They were right and the two were close, shouldn’t the lesser demon be feeling elation right about now?

He sniffed again carefully to see if he could make out anything more. The air suddenly had a metallic tang to it, like the first hint of an arctic thunderstorm before it hits, and Lucifer peered off to the north for a moment to see if he could spot the encroaching rain clouds. There were none. He sucked in air through his lips, holding it and letting it dance on his tongue. It wasn’t as precise as Crowley’s at scenting trouble, but it was accurate enough. A human would easily shrug the heavy, musty air off as a meteorological anomaly that was caused by the over abundance of ozone in the air. The Devil knew better, the instant the cold air hit his tongue that an angelic and demonic confrontation had occurred. Bitter and pungent, the undertones in the air made him gag for breath. It was nauseating and he wondered for a moment just who were the combatants, until another waft of air slipped past his nose.

What the Hell? Had something gone wrong? Surely not, but then again, neither he nor God knew exactly how far either of their servants’ relationship with the other went. Oh God could speculate and Her speculations were 99% of the time correct, but what if this was the 1%? What if this was the one single time She was wrong? Perhaps they weren’t all that close at all, but rather just made it to the main event (which hadn’t turned into much after all) at the same time for the same reason on a pure whim. An utter coincidence and nothing more! Oh Hell! If that were the case, he’d lose the bet for sure. He didn’t have time to chance it and erase everyone’s memory, and he was a demon and was faster than humans. He would make it on time without his wings. Maybe.

* * *

It is an uninformed opinion that believes that God does not have hobbies. Or rather, that God’s only hobby is to sit and gush and purr as humans sing their adulation as loud as they can once a week, while the rest of the week they’re a pretty sordid bunch, is entirely false. God, in fact, has developed many hobbies for Herself such as Skee-ball; Croquet; going to conventions for things like Star Wars™; table top and online role playing; etcetera. The list could go on and on. She was sitting at Her desk working away at Her slim soft pink laptop typing in Her character profile for Bellatrix Lestrange when The Metatron walked in to Her office.

"My Lady," it began earnestly. "Something has occurred on the earth that I, nor any of the others have ever witnessed before. In point of fact, Michael is currently having vapors and screeching about how he’ll detrimentally kill the arse bandit."

"I see," She said with a serene smile. "Apparently, I’m to give Him credit."

"What? Him? You mean Lucifer, bloody blazes, is he behind this?" asked The Metatron, now ready to send Michael out in full regalia to destroy the demon once and for all, since it seemed quite clear that Aziraphale would not be able to.

"Oh he is indeed," said God pleasantly though with a small downturn of Her smile. "I didn’t think He could do it though. Pity, I was looking forward to some of His meatloaf."

The Metatron looked stumped for a moment. "My Lady?"

"Oh! I forgot to tell you, did I? So sorry. Yes, well, I made a wager with Him, you see. If He could get Crowley and Aziraphale together and happy with the arrangement, He’d get lots of sex. If, however, He couldn’t do it then I’d get meatloaf."

The Metatron did not blush. It wasn’t the type of being to blush. However, had it been it would have blushed all the way down to its toes. It opened its mouth one or two times trying to come up with something and failing to grasp what it wanted to say.

"Tell Michael that he’s to leave them be. I’ll deal with any ramifications this might bring forth." She looked up and smiled happily. "I hope they like what I have planned for them both now. Though, I’m sure Crowley will be slightly upset, but I don’t think it’ll last too terribly long."

"Of course, My Lady," The Metatron said in bewilderment. He hadn’t heard of any such plan, but perhaps this was how it was supposed to be. Ineffable! That’s what it was.

Part 10

Crowley lay back in an old battered recliner that the angel had in the lounge of the small studio apartment. It was an ugly piece of furniture, but surprisingly comfortable, and the demon* had taken to pacing after leaving the angel curled up in his disheveled wings and duvet.

He’d put on his underpants beforehand though**, because he’d come to the conclusion that Aziraphale had some of the most accurst neighbors the demon had ever encountered***. They were still tartan and Crowley wondered just why he wore them as he should have known the angel would be far too impatient to do anything properly.

He was thinking, though. He’d felt their combined powers spike, had felt it ripping away at the walls, short-circuiting the wiring and stopping the heart beats of thousands of individuals while at the same time fixing all the damage done before it could begin to be noticed. Still, that harsh of a blast would have been noticed and if The Devil was continuing His search for them, then He would probably the one who would see what the humans would not.

"I thought you said you’d never be caught dead in those," came Aziraphale’s rather cheeky voice from somewhere above Crowley’s head as a plump finger hooked into the waistband of the demon’s pants and rubbed along the elastic****.

Crowley’s eyes opened slowly and he glanced at the being standing above him and smirked knowingly. "Couldn’t sleep without me there, could you?" he teased.

"Well, I’ll admit, it did get a bit chilly," Aziraphale said honestly as he hauled himself into Crowley’s lap.

"You do know that your neighbor’s watching, don’t you?" he said piteously, taking in the vision of the very naked angel sitting on him as fast as he could before Aziraphale could slip into something more conservative.

Aziraphale hummed contentedly as he brought his head closer to the demon’s until there was an inch of space between them. "Let her watch then," was the only thing said before he kissed the demon.

Crowley moaned appreciatively as the angel’s plump fingers of one hand started to pull down on the waistband of his briefs while the other hand was quite busily playing with the bulge in the front.

Both beings were starting to sink into the chair until a powerful aura gave off the impression of going "Knock, knock!" on Crowley’s own, sending the demon jumping up and pushing Aziraphale away.

Looking hurt, the angel pouted. "What was that for?"

"He’s here," hissed Crowley as he materialized a new business suit. All the while wondering if it were too late to get Aziraphale to leave. At least until this whole thing blew over.

* After another bout of "proper appreciation of the angel and vice-versa".
** They were tartan bikini briefs, and remember that discussion we had earlier about not speculating as to what else Crowley had that was tartan? Yes, this is why!
*** Take for example the woman across the alley from them. Aziraphale lacked any sort of covering for his windows and the lady was surely peering in at unknown intervals to see just who was that handsome young man whom her neighbor had brought in.
**** As a demon Crowley hasn’t any special qualifications for making an effort. Unlike Aziraphale who’d only make an effort when Crowley was around and willing to go there.

Lucifer stood outside the row of buildings where one of the rooms held an angel as a tenant. Most humans, having a few more instincts than a mollusk, stayed away from there without quite understanding why and would probably later report that it hadn’t felt right going down that street.

He peered curiously at the front door as Crowley came marching towards him, back straight. He was carrying a fist full of bloody off-white feathers. The Devil’s heart* froze and he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut across in an instant.

"It has been done, My Lord," said Crowley, wheedling as he snaked closer, the feathers held out beseechingly. "I have killed the angel, Israfel or Azrifall or whatever barmy name he had. These feathers I present to you as proof."

Lucifer collected the feathers gently, in his hands fanning them out reverently and carefully cleaning the blood away from them. They weren’t pure white; like most Christian teachings would have one believe, no angel or demon has pure white wings. However, these feathers were the color of champagne. A beautiful iridescent cream. He sighed and handed them back. They were Crowley’s prize after all. He sighed gustily and turned to go, but stopped himself. "Crowley," he said congenially, looking as innocent as possible. "You have done Hell a great disservice. You should be awarded for your painstaking dedication to duty." The Devil crept closer quite willing to tear the lesser demon apart. "In fact, I can’t think of anywhere better to send you than . . ." and that was when the world stopped spinning**.

Crowley winced, ready for the blow that never came, and carefully opened both his eyes. For a moment, he looked around the empty streets. He scrunched up his brow in confusion; he had been quite sure that his boss was going to do something horrible and highly unspeakable to him, and now it was like he was never there at all.

Then Crowley noticed the swirling ashes and rising smoke that came off the pavement a little less than a meter in front of him. Without even a breeze to stir them, the ashes seemed to be trying, vainly, to form something and Crowley knew deep in his little black soul that he would not want to be around for this. The clatter of a pair of stylish pumps on the road was all that alerted him to the new presence before The Almighty stood beside him staring resolutely at the sad little pile of dust.

"Oh shit!" was all Crowley could say as he turned to look at Her.

"Indeed!" She said calmly. "He’s going to be in a lot of pain when He finally makes it out of that."

"I just blew up my boss." Crowley stated this flatly, trying to get his mind around the nonsense. "I’ve just blown up my boss and He’s attempting to reassemble Himself and He’ll kill me once He figures out how." That sounded better. More accurate.

"Well, kill is such a strong word. He can’t exactly kill you, you know. I mean, I made you and He didn’t. So, he can hurt you rather quite a lot, but he can’t kill you."

"And that makes me feel so much better!" said Crowley crossly. "What the hell are You doing here anyway?"

"I knew this was going to turn out nasty and had to try to turn the tide in your favor." She said kindly as She watched the ash finally begin to take a form. "There You are, dear, come on! No little bit of showy powers can keep You down, of course not."

Crowley stared at Her for a moment. "What’s going on? I think You know and I’m tired of playing games . . ."

"Yes, well, I suppose you would be, wouldn’t you. Terribly sorry about using you like this, but well . . ." She sighed flatly. "It was my fault He was after you. It wasn’t even to kill you or Aziraphale. It was a wager."

"Ooooh! My head!" groaned The Devil who now stood, scaley in some patches, "You," he said wildly, pointing an accusing finger at Crowley. "You hit me! With . . .with some sort of "Superior-Frying-Mojo"! Where the Hell did you come up with that? Did You know this was going to happen?" This time pointing an accusing finger at Her and bristling with rage at being set up.

"Er . . .yes. Yes, I did know that this might happen. It’s in one of the books, you see. I was curious . . ." She trailed off as two sets of snake-like eyes glared meaningfully at Her.

"What exactly is that suppose to mean?" asked Crowley with carefully controlled venom in his voice. Another one of Her blessed experiments! That’s all any of this was and now, it seemed, he and Aziraphale had been added to the equation in a totally new way.

"It’s very simple really. If two of the same kind connect deliberately on a higher state of consciousness than they previously held, then the two beings would then be elevated to a higher standing." She stated carefully.

"Are you mad? I just got blown up, wench, and you planned all this?" asked The Devil incredulously. "I could’ve DIED!" he screamed into the silence that eclipsed the street, causing his voice to echo off the surrounding structures. He winced, then, when his wings, finally, materialized out of the smoke. Not their usual lustrous black, but tainted with ash that clung to him still, some of the feathers were bent and broken and in other places it looked as though he’d been plucked.

Crowley winced in sympathy as he looked The Devil over carefully. "I did this? This is insane! Whatever You’ve done I want it undone right now!"

God looked over at Crowley confused for a moment. "Why?"

"Why?" he asked, shocked that She would ask such a stupid thing. "Why do You think? I shouldn’t be able to do shit like that! I totally fail to see any good coming from this!"

"Shut up, Crowley," said Lucifer calmly, at least as calmly as one can when telling someone who had just blown them up and might do it again can***.

Crowley, being a demon nearly all of his life, had been taught that when The Adversary told you something you damned well did it and didn’t ask questions. Even if you could essentially blow him up.

"I have to admit, I’m confused, why do this? Most of all, why do this to them? Have they not suffered enough for Our stupidity? Was not their mad keening for one another when You let this one Fall not harmonious enough for You!?" he snarled pacing a tight circle around God, eyes still glowing and foam flecking his lips like a mad dog. "Even I, in my agony, Heard It! Felt it! He has killed his own happiness. He has told me so and I can not locate the angel."

Crowley gulped. He had recalled an argument that had gone very much like this one, before the Fall. Where The Morning Star had defended His servants and had questioned Her. What had occurred after was unbearable.

"I didn’t kill him," said Crowley carefully edging towards a newer model Rolls-Royce that was parked nearby. It wouldn’t afford him much cover, but it might buy him some time. Just enough. "I lied."

"You lied?" questioned Lucifer carefully tilting his head to one side.

"Yes, dear," said God carefully placing Her hands on his shoulders. "Aziraphale is fine. He’s perfectly safe. You won the wager about thirty minutes ago."

"I won?" he asked incredulously. At Her nod he relaxed.

"Er . . .do, er, You, either of You that is, need me out here anymore? If not, I’ve really got to see to a very worried angel. At least, I’m quite sure he’s worried," sputtered Crowley, realizing that this was probably how every teenager felt when they walked in on their parents making out.

"Not currently," said God thoughtfully. "I’ll call you when I want to talk to both of you. Understand?"

"Right then," said Crowley uncertain at that. "Ciao!"

* Or at least what stood in for one in a demon.
** Not exactly literally, you see, more of a metaphorical stopped spinning.
*** Which, incidently, seems to be very calmly.

Aziraphale was worriedly peeking through the Venetian blinds at the street the instant it had all gone quiet. He hadn’t seen much at first, just Crowley standing very still as though a statue; however, for some reason this did not worry the angel greatly and on later reflection it would have been because he knew the demon to be fine. He had been very tired, for some odd reason, just as the silence had descended and had he not been feeling so, he would have gone down to see how Crowley was faring. However, now, he was feeling fine and had peeked out again to see God and The Devil standing close with no sign of Crowley anywhere. Not to worry though, the part of him that had always known where and how Crowley was, was registering him coming up the stairs and that he was fine, if a bit tired himself.

Crowley rubbed a hand over his face as he clumped up the stairs. After the initial high had worn off of being able to fry The Devil to ash, he had grown very tired and all he wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep for a month, at least. He reached for the door just as Aziraphale opened it and grabbed his hand, leading him in and taking him to the room.

"Come on," said the angel seriously as he took off the demon’s jacket. "You look exhausted. I’m going to assume that The Lord is handling your boss and that everything will be, if not well, at least calm long enough for you to build your fortifications back up."

"Oh please, Aziraphale," whined Crowley unnecessarily. "Please, just don’t talk about Them right now! I feel sick enough and need some bleach to clean out my eyeballs."

"Crowley!" exclaimed the angel, shocked at the innuendo hidden in the demon’s voice. "Whatever are you talking about? They weren’t doing anything!"

"Well, of course not, angel! They aren’t doing anything you can see! Bless it! I felt like I’d just walked in on my parents or something!" said Crowley, putting a pillow over his head and hoping to suffocate himself.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said gently as he pried the pillow away from his associate’s face. "We don’t have parents. Besides, those two have been together for a very long time."

"I meant metaphorically speaking, Aziraphale. I mean, honestly, who would’ve expected it*? And . . . wait, how did you know?" Crowley was still shocked and having another shock on top of all of it was causing his head to spin.

"Honestly, dear boy, I’m surprised you didn’t know. They were together long before The Fall. I do believe I gave you some of Her love-letters to him to be delivered on an occasion."

Crowley looked interested at this. "Really? Do you know what was in them?" he asked.

"Of course not!" proclaimed Aziraphale, horrified. "I’d never read someone else’s mail! Especially not God’s. The very idea!"

"Sorry," said Crowley with a sigh. "I was just asking! And I didn’t mean that you read them. You were Her scribe, surely you got to write a few?"

"Oh dear Heavens, no, I’m afraid not. She kept those close and only wrote them Herself," Aziraphale said sincerely with a small frown.

Crowley hummed seriously. "I believe," he said calmly. "That there is only one thing to do. Go back to the shop or my flat and get properly drunk off our arses. Once we’re drunk, I propose we sleep it off and get proper hangovers and finally go on an extended holiday for, say, a month or two. Either to somewhere very warm with lovely beaches where I can work on my tan or some boggy swamp where happy vampire bunnies and fluffy calico attack kittens lay in wait for unsuspecting tourists to hobble by and leave nothing but their cameras behind."

Aziraphale turned a skeptical eye on the demon sitting beside him and glared warily at the grin, which was that of a very conniving snake**. "Is there a reason exactly?"

"Yes!" It was said with much conviction as one could lace behind one word. "I need a drink, preferably a very stiff one and I need to get out of London. The air’s been contaminated with Deity Cooties. Might take a bit for them to clear out."

"Cooties? My dear, isn’t that a bit . . . juvenile? Even for you!?" asked Aziraphale huffily as Crowley got up and began rifling through his wardrobe and chest of drawers. "What in blazes are you doing, Crowley?!"

"Language, angel, I’m seeing if you have anything suitable to wear on our holiday," said the demon seriously and clucking his tongue severely. "Well, you’ll look the proper part of the historian in Monty Python and the Holy Grail at least, but surely you’ve a swimsuit about, yes?"

"Of course I do!" snapped the angel and pulled it out of his wardrobe. Showing him the out of date thing.

Crowley sighed in exasperation and threw up his hands. "We are getting you a proper swimming costume before we leave!"

"The current trend is highly improper Crowley!" the angel stated testily.

"Of course it is!" leered the demon pointedly. "The entire reason I came up with it was so when your fashion sense caught up I’d have something to look at, because you know the humans are going to find a way to spoil it."

Aziraphale blushed and sighed, trying to will the blood back down where it belonged. "Must we leave now? I mean, as you said I’m very out of date in my fashions. Perhaps it would be best if we waited and went shopping after the Christmas rush. Yes?"

"We can miracle you what you need, you know!"

"Yes, of course, but well, I’d really rather stay here, you understand?" the angel explained in a brittle voice.

"Why?" hedged Crowley carefully and not liking this one bit. Aziraphale was being dodgy. Oh Hell! Here it came, the: ‘I’m sorry Crowley, but I believe I need some breathing space’ lecture. It always happened after they’d had really good sex. He crossed his arms, waiting for the blow to come.

Aziraphale sighed watching Crowley and sensing his disapproval. Oh dear, he hadn’t meant to put the demon on the defensive like that. Best to get it over with. "I’ve been wanting to do the shop up for Christmas this year. I’ve got everything I need and then some. I’ve even got a little fake tree for the counter and I’ve also found you some rather lovely gifts I think you might like. If it’s not too much of an imposition . . ."

Crowley perked up instantly. "That’s it?" he questioned carefully, not wanting to get his hopes up, and at Aziraphale’s reassuring nod he grinned and nodded himself. "Of course we can! I mean, after December 25^th it should be easy to get a plane out of Heathrow."

* Actually quite a few angels and demons knew about God and Lucifer’s escapades. They dealt with them much better than Crowley though, but that was to be expected.
** That grin always put Aziraphale on edge because it had been the grin given to Eve as she took a bite of apple.

Part 11

December 25^th, 2008

Crowley sat on the floor of his flat looking through the presents at the base of the huge Christmas tree he had on display a few feet from his balcony’s French doors. He was quite sure that Aziraphale’s package was here somewhere. Ah ha! There it was, hiding amongst the few baubles that had fallen off the tree in his shuffle to get the really large parcel out from under the lowest branches. That one had been for Aziraphale too; he had bought it himself, and the angel was clearly enjoying his new cappuccino-express machine. Once the demon could be pulled away from his own presents to show him how to work it.

"Here it is," Crowley announced towards the kitchenette and getting up to go in there. "Took me a bit to find it, but I’m sure you’ll like it. I mean, who wouldn’t?"

Aziraphale turned an indulgent smile towards the demon and handed him a steaming cup of cappuccino while accepting the small wrapped box. "Just tell me it isn’t a ring, dear," he said carefully removing the tape.

"Hardly," said Crowley before he took a sip. "It’s good."
Slipping the paper off and carefully removing the lid left the angel stumped. It was a set of keys. Aziraphale blinked for a moment, bewildered. "My dear, tell me you haven’t gone and got me a car!" the angel looking warily at the keys as though they might bite.

Crowley grinned pleasantly. "No. Remember what I said about leaving London a couple of weeks ago? These are the keys to our new cottage!"

"Our cottage?" said Aziraphale stunned into near silence. He’d known Crowley had been planning something big ever since he’d announced to the demon that he wanted to decorate this year.

Yes, ever since, Crowley had been leaving frequently. Sometimes just for an afternoon. Sometimes for a whole two days and not coming in until very late. It had worried Aziraphale a bit, but he had put up a brave front and just assumed Crowley had work to do where ever he went. That was the real problem. Crowley wouldn’t talk about it. Now, the angel knew why. He had expected, for his Christmas the demon would try to update his wardrobe or get him something utterly tacky, but a cottage? A little cottage of their own? Never in his wildest dreams!

Crowley saw the look on Aziraphale’s face and blanched. "You don’t want it?" he said softly and looked crestfallen until Aziraphale smiled softly.

"Of course I want it!" he chided gently, stroking the demon’s cheek with a warm, dry hand. "You got it for us! I can’t wait to see it."

"Would you like to go now?" asked Crowley, anticipation making him antsy.

Aziraphale grinned cheekily and shook his head. "Not yet, my dear, this needs a proper sanctification, don’t you think my dear?"

"Couch or bed?" asked Crowley already tugging the wool scarf off his shoulders where he’d draped it to keep it out of the way.

"Oh definitely the bed, my dear boy, otherwise we’ll crush the other presents."