Chapter Text
Tuesday, Private Realm of Prince Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies
Beelzebub’s eyelids creaked open. They’d shifted in the night, and were curled up on Gabriel’s chest. The Archangel was already awake. They could feel him stroking their lower back, they closed their eyes and sighed.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” Beelzebub replied, inhaling the booze in their sweat and the smell of the two of them that still permeated the room. The smell was sweet. Like sex and candy, as the song went. They kissed the angel’s chest. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long.”
“Good, because you need to piss, and I’m going to guess you haven’t the slightest clue how to go about it.”
“Is that what that is?” he asked. His voice was still sleepy.
“Come on, angel. Let me introduce you to the toilet.”
Beelzebub slipped out of bed, and took the angel by the hand. He followed them to the bathroom, and they demonstrated how a toilet worked, pissing out what was left of their own booze.
“No, sit down, tall person,” they told him. “I stood for demonstration purposes. You’re going to want to sit down, or there may be issues with aim and backsplash.”
Gabriel nodded and took a seat. Luckily, he was a fast learner.
“Oh, God. This is good, Beez,” he said.
“That’s why they call it relieving yourself. It feels good. Don’t hold it for too long, in the future,” they explained. “It’s hard on the corporation.”
“I guess this is going to be a regular thing...huh?”
“If you want to reduce your miracle consumption, yes,” Beelzebub replied. “You have to eat, you know. Unless you plan to keep healing yourself.”
“You’re going to keep using miracles, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I can’t stop, angel,” they said. “Stand up.”
Beelzebub showed him how to flush and wash his hands.
“I don’t know what She’s going to do if we stop using miracles--but I know what it would do to us,” Beelzebub wrapped their arms around him, pressed their face into his back. “We’ll die.”
They felt him tense. Oh, he hadn’t thought of that. Best to keep explaining it.
“You keep your corporation healthy with your miracles,” they said. “If you just eat, like a mortal, and exercise and all that--it does help, don’t get me wrong. But, you’ll senesce. Even with the exercise and the miracles, you’re senescing. Slowly.”
“I’m what?”
“Senescing. Growing old. Slowly,” Beelzebub said. “I remember what you looked like before I Fell. I did see you--just at a distance. You’re getting older.” They sighed. “So am I, but I wasn’t really putting that much effort into staying young these last few decades. Especially not in the last twelve years. What was the point? I knew that no matter how much I worked to save us, you probably DID have God on your side.”
“You...were suicidal?”
“For a long time,” Beelzebub confirmed, holding him tighter. “Let’s get some breakfast. If I’m going to dump all of this on you, I ought to feed you.”
Gabriel reached around himself and collected them in his arms. “Please don’t ever leave me, Beez.”
“Until yesterday, I didn’t know you’d miss me,” Beelzebub said, watching them in the gold-gilt mirror. He felt so good in their arms. “It was a soft suicide, angel. More of an acceptance. The only way I could go is forward, and so I was walking to my death. Like the souls in line for the Soul Engine. I made peace with it.”
He shuddered and stroked their head. “No dying. Okay?”
“No dying,” they agreed. “Breakfast.”
“I’m willing to try it.”
“Good. I’m an excellent cook,” Beelzebub gave him a gentle squeeze and led him back into their bedroom. “No eating naked,” they said and tossed him a robe. It grew in his hands, and changed from black to a light heather grey.
Gabriel sighed. “Alright. Fine. Miracles.”
“We don’t know what would happen if we stopped,” Beelzebub said with a shrug. They pulled on a giant black hooded robe. It was terry, and soft.
“You look like you’re off to make a sacrifice.”
“A snackrifice, maybe,” Beelzebub said, softly.
Gabriel laughed. It was a lovely sound when it was genuine. They hugged him again, because they wanted to.
“You look like a sacrifice...”
“I do?”
“Oh, yes. They put them in white robes before they cut them up for me.”
“Oooh...that’s right...the Ba’al cults,” Gabriel shuddered. “Why did you do that?”
He waited for an explanation, bright violet eyes sparkling with curiosity. This strange angel, who had opened himself for them, who had spent a few hours calling to them, encouraging them as they brought him to light and joy so many times.
Who still thought of them as a monster. Maybe the best of the monsters, but still a monster.
Can a relationship be built on that? And why would he even want to try, if that’s how he felt about them?
Well, Beelzebub decided to give him a pass. He was an angel, after all. There were many things he didn’t know, didn’t understand, and never gave a moment’s thought.
They’d see if he still wanted them after breakfast and conversation. They’d gotten one night of warmth from him. They could live in that memory, couldn’t they?
“I didn’t create those cults. Humans are awful on their own, and Lucifer was happy with it...so I couldn’t exactly discourage it. I went up once, to watch.” Beelzebub sighed heavily. “Still not as bad as the cages of little children that they burned to Molloch.”
“Beez, you look like you’re going to cry...”
“I’m hungry,” Beelzebub said. “I cry easily when I’m hungry. C’mon. I’m going to feed us.”
Beelzebub took his hand and led him to the kitchen, before he could think too hard about it. As they stepped out of the room, Beelzebub miracled the bed clean and made, and the tangled pile of discarded clothes cleaned and pressed.
Gabriel didn’t seem to notice, and that was good.
“You don’t eat...I’m not going to ask about preferences.” They sat Gabriel at the antique wrought-iron scrollwork café table in the kitchen.
“Did this table come from...that café we used to meet at...in France?”
“Yes. This is our table, actually.”
“Figured the Nazis’ bombs took care of it...”
“I saved this one,” Beelzebub said, running a finger around the edge of the table. “It was ours...and it had...it has...good memories.”
“Yeah, I always liked meeting on Earth.”
Beelzebub laid a kiss on his forehead. They smiled through the kiss, but the tears were there. There was still so much he didn’t know. And Beelzebub was afraid to tell the rest.
Oh, but they would. He deserved to know.
They rummaged through the refrigerator. “Here, try this,” they said, grabbing a spoon from a drawer and handing him a jar. “It’s Dutch oatmeal. Peaches. You always liked peach blossom. Do you know how to use a spoon?”
“In theory...”
Beelzebub showed him, with the same patience that they’d taught him to use the toilet.
“Oh, Beez, this is good...”
“Oatmeal, yogurt, peaches. Cinnamon and nutmeg. And honey,” they explained. “Keep it in the refrigerator overnight and it turns into that. It kind of reminds me of something the humans made in Mesopotamia.”
“It’s...so good.”
“Thanks.”
Beelzebub poked the start button on the coffee maker. They pulled down two cast-iron skillets. Meat from the freezer miraculously thawed in their hands, and they began to rub seasoning into it. Cold meat met hot pan and began to sizzle. The room filled with the smell, and Beelzebub cracked some eggs into the pans. Three seemed right. The angel was a big guy. He’d probably eat as much as they did. Toast, lightly browned, and a plate of tomatoes, lightly peppered.
Coffee with cream and sugar and chocolate. Orange juice and water, both in carafes, and butter and honey on the table.
Beelzebub didn’t bother with plating the meat and eggs, just served it sizzling in the pan. “Do you know how to use a knife and fork?”
“In...theory?”
Beelzebub smiled at his ignorance, and showed the angel how to cut his meat.
Most of the meal was a teaching experience. How to spread butter. How to drink coffee without burning oneself. How to pour a drink from a carafe. Gabriel took his lessons very seriously. Though Beelzebub had learned how earnestly he learned new things the night before, teaching him the banalities of eating was strangely joyful.
Replete, they both sank back into the chairs that they’d used for meetings for the fifty or so years that they’d sat outside a French café. Going out had been Beelzebub’s idea. They thought that the angel should see something of the world. Besides whatever he managed to see before, during, or after a smiting.
He needed a healing, and a proper one. Beelzebub was contemplating whether to do it now (or wait until their food went down more), when Gabriel asked them, “Hey Beez?”
“Yes?”
He grabbed their hand across the table, and his smile was warm. “What happened twelve years ago, huh? What made you want to die?”
Beelzebub laid their hand over Gabriel’s. “Let me get the dishes, and we’ll talk in the living room.”
“Not here?”
“No. Too painful,” Beelzebub said.
Skillets and cutlery flew back to their places, perfectly clean. Beelzebub put the condiments back in the fridge without a miracle.
“Did you have to...with the miracles?”
“Yes, I did. That is three-hundred year old, perfectly seasoned, cast iron. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, so you’re just going to have to trust me that a miracle was necessary,” Beelzebub replied. “Come on, angel. It’s time to talk.”
They held out their hand, and he took it. Back to the living room. They set him down on the couch and then took a seat on his lap. Their arms went around his neck, and their lips found his.
Give me strength, Beelzebub thought.
“Do you remember...” they began, “twelve years ago, I started sending Dagon in my stead for meetings?”
“Yeah. She’s a cold one.”
“You’re an angel, and a male besides,” Beelzebub said, with an eyeroll. “She’s not going to like you. She’s going to be afraid. Those four feathered fools in my satchel? YOU get to hand them over, because I want her to like you.”
“Well, she’s your...friend. Are you still going to be...whatever you’re doing with her?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Well, kind of. Yes.”
“Why?”
“Look, if we’re going to encourage...uh...interoffice unity,” Gabriel said, choosing his words carefully. “She can have her person back, right?”
“Her person doesn’t remember her, whoever she is,” Beelzebub replied.
“Oh. Fuck. Well, if they fell in love the first time, they’ll fall in love again? Right?”
“Are you the same person you were in the Garden-times?”
“I think so.”
“I don’t,” they said. “You’ve learned new things, and grown and changed because of what you learned. So has Dagon and her mysterious angel. We can hope that they still love each other, but...”
“You said she doesn’t love you.”
“She wants a bit of warmth. I’m not going to withhold that.”
“You said it was sketchy.”
“This is sketchier, isn’t it?” Beelzebub asked, leaning into his chest. “Planning on telling Metatron about us?”
“No...”
“Just say that you want me to yourself,” they said, looking up at him.
“I want you to myself.” His kiss came fast, like lightning. He slowed down when his tongue slipped between their teeth, and his hand slipped into their robe. “I want you. All to myself.”
Beelzebub felt flushed. “We’ll see...after we talk...” they said, demurring.
“Nothing you could say would change that.”
“I’m the mother of the Antichrist.” It slipped out, fluidly. One sentence. Six words.
“You’re...what?” Gabriel reeled, but he didn’t drop them.
“It...wasn’t rape...precisely...” Beelzebub looked down at their hands, clenched tightly in their lap. They were white with the pressure. “I did get a choice. That choice was me...or Dagon. I chose myself.”
“He just used...like an UNholy spirit, or something, right?”
“No, angel. Black altar, candles, and half of Hell watching,” Beelzebub said. “He hurt me...pretty badly. And then, he kept me until I bore the child.”
Beelzebub remembered him wailing, their son, in the darkness of his father’s bed. The one that he’d forced them to share with him for ten long months. Lucifer had been beautiful once, and kind. They remembered him from the Garden. God’s favorite. His gentle protectiveness, his sweet smiles and the way he lit up for Beelzebub’s butterflies. Nothing of their sweet brother remained in the monster that held them down and sang his pain to the child that grew inside of them. The thing that ran gentle claws through their hair and praised their usefulness and their loyalty. That held them to him and ran his hands over their swollen belly, then lower as they tried to hide their tears.
“He took him away from me, my baby. He was beautiful, Gabriel. He looked...like Lucifer used to...before...and then Lucifer banished me back to the higher levels of Hell to prepare his armies.” Beelzebub felt their breakfast lurch upward. They forced their stomach to settle with a miracle. “I knew that Aziraphale and Crowley had the wrong child.”
“You did? And just let them continue?”
“Lucifer is very, very smart,” they said, miserably. “He knew that I didn’t want a war. Knew that I would have hunted the Antichrist down, and cut him down to avoid the war. But I couldn’t kill my own child. I watched, from a distance. In a variety of disguises. I helped him where I could.” They laughed, but their laugh was a humorless thing. “He needed very little help. He had a blessed life.”
“I...how did you manage on the airstrip?”
“I played my part, angel...My boy...he made me proud, but I’m sure I didn’t seem so.”
“You seemed pissed. What happened after? When you told Lucifer?”
“I was blamed, of course. He beat me. Said the boy took after me too much. Called me weak.” They sighed. “Hell is well-accustomed to seeing me bleeding and covered in bruises. I’m his second-in-command, which means first to be blamed. First to bleed,” they said. “I’m a healer. So I wear what he does to me for as long as I’m supposed to. Then I heal it up. Honestly, it’s been a deterrent against those who might want my position.”
“He’s still hurting you?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time?”
“Yesterday, when I brought him my findings on why the traitors survived their trial. He declared the war off, but I persisted. I assumed that your side was going to continue with preparations...or at least have a few rogue agents who decided to take matters into their own hands.”
“Did you want the war, or did you not, Beez?”
“I want peace. Unconditional, no more working against each other. Not a cease-fire, but the whole system dismantled!” They could feel the bite of their fingernails into their own flesh. “I want this. Us. Safe. Dagon, too.”
Gabriel was silent for a moment. He pulled Beelzebub into himself, stroking their hair. Beelzebub could tell that he was thinking. His hand wandered to their shoulder, working the tension out of them.
He hadn’t pushed them away, wasn’t disgusted. The sobs started to wrack them, and he just held them tighter. He began to hum a hymn, a very old one, sweet and light as he rocked them. It was a hymn to Mary.
Beelzebub clung to the lapels of his robe and wailed like their lost baby had, eleven years ago.
When they ran out of tears, Gabriel kissed the top of their head and whispered, “Hey, Beez?”
“Yes?”
“Have you got anything that would fire Holy Water? Because I have an idea.”
The two of them spent the rest of the day outlining the complete destruction of Heaven and Hell.