Chapter Text
“Alright, last one,” Crowley said, rubbing his hands together. “Does it feel like we’ve been doing this for years, or is it just me?”
“Definitely not you,” Aziraphale replied with a wry smile. “I for one will be very glad when this is all over and done with.”
His voice caught a little on the end, right as he shot a look at Crowley, who had glanced up from his study of the scroll and was watching him with a strange and careful look. After a moment, the demon turned back to the list in front of him, his finger carefully trailing down the lines until he reached the last one.
“Oh, you have to be kidding me.”
Aziraphale winced. Crowley’s tone was not light-hearted. Whatever was on the list was clearly bad – possibly even the worst one yet.
“Tell me.”
“We need to go and fetch some dog from the Underworld.”
Aziraphale bit his lower lip, working it between his teeth. “From Hell?”
“No, that would be easier. If it was just a standard issue hellhound I could requisition one easily enough, the paperwork is a bit of a pain but I have a stamp-”
“From where then?” Aziraphale interrupted, twisting the fabric of his creased tunic between his fingers.
“From their Underworld,” Crowley said, waving at the air distractedly. “The humans. These humans – the Greek Underworld. Hades.”
“I thought that was the name of one of their gods?”
“Oh, it’s the god and the place at the same time. They’re a confused lot.”
“Well that doesn’t make a lick of sense. Are you sure?”
Crowley tapped his nose. “I’m a demon, love. It’s my job to know about these things.”
“Why?”
Crowley stared at him. Clearly no one had ever actually asked him that before.
“Underworld-y stuff, it’s demonic, isn’t it? It’s covered in one of our cultural induction packages… Look, I don’t know, and it’s beside the point. We have to go there. That’s really all there is to it.”
“You have cultural induction packages?”
“Sure. Which god is who, what social faux-pas to avoid, which civilisation is most likely to eat you – trust me, it isn’t any of the ones you’d expect – you know. Useful stuff, makes it easier to tempt people if you know what they actually want. Hell is good with paperwork.”
Aziraphale shook his head. It made complete sense but he certainly wasn’t going to admit that – it was one step too close to blasphemy for him. Angels of the Lord were not supposed to approve of Hellish bureaucracy.
“So,” he said instead, “We have to find a way down there, steal a dog, and give it to a king? This seems so unnecessary. And what does he want with this poor dog anyway?
“I don’t know, all of this has seemed a bit beside the point, hasn’t it? Almost like these tasks are just here to enable another narrative that we’re not aware of, but that just seems far-fetched,” Crowley muttered, peering at the scroll again. “Oh no, hang on a minute – this king doesn’t actually want the dog. He just wants to see it. Apparently we have to take it back afterwards or it doesn’t count.”
“Right, go get the mythical monster, bring it to the king, let him have a look, then pop it back downstairs again. Easy enough,” Aziraphale said, distinctly uneasy.
“You know, this is the kind of thing that makes me want to murder everyone I have ever met.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“Absolutely not.”
Aziraphale sniffed. “At least the dog gets a nice walk out in the sunshine. I don’t suppose it gets much fresh air down in this Underworld place.”
“I’m not sure it’ll be the kind of dog you like,” said Crowley, thinking of the small, yappy animals that trailed after the angel in every city they visited, as though they sensed his endless patience and tendency to slip them scraps. The fondness he had shown for Geryon’s monstrous dog had been... unexpected. As a rule, Aziraphale did not particularly like animals. Of course, he’d never admitted it- they were God’s creations, after all, and Aziraphale’s to Love- but this was exactly the sort of thing you couldn’t keep from Crowley. Dogs were, it seemed, the exception.
“Why?”
“Well,” Crowley began, looking back to the scroll. “It says here it has three heads, and a snake-tail – that doesn’t seem hygienic does it? Poor snake. It guards the gates of the Underworld – bit weird that, there’s a lot of gates. And it’s the monstrous child of Typhon – bloody hell, there I am again. This definitely isn’t my child either, angel. I want to make it clear right now that I’ve never begotten anything, and if I had I wouldn’t have left it down in an Underworld.”
“I believe you,” Aziraphale said comfortingly, patting his arm. “You’d at least make sure it had a nice penthouse apartment somewhere.” Reality shivered a little at that, given that the concept of penthouses didn’t exist yet, but the angel refused to notice. “How do we get there?”
Crowley rolled up the scroll decisively. “Well, it’s a bit of a faff. Either it’s at the far ends of the ocean or deep below the bounds of the earth- depending on who you listen to. Of course, it’s not really either, but you can’t expect humans to grasp the idea of non-corporeal realities and trans-dimensional space. You need to find one of the secret entrances, either by stumbling on it or by getting a psychopomp to guide you-”
“A what?”
“One of the gods that can guide spirits to the Underworld. It’s a complex belief system, angel. With strange geography.”
“Where on earth are we going to find one of those who’s willing to help us?”
Crowley shot him a winning grin. “Well, you’re in luck there, angel.”
“I cannot believe that you’re worshipped as a god here, Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed between his teeth, for approximately the hundredth time since the big reveal. He was deeply offended, though he couldn’t quite put his angelic finger on why. He supposed it was something to do with the whole God/god thing. It was blasphemous, and even though Crowley was a demon and that was sort-of his business, it just seemed wrong.
“Angel, they already think I’m about twenty different mythological monsters, what’s the difference?”
“Gods are different! There is only one God, and She isn’t lounging around here on earth making a nuisance of Herself!”
Crowley shrugged. “You do remember that I’m a demon, don’t you? Sometimes you seem to forget. The whole point is that I offend Her eyes and all that. It’s sort of why I’m here.”
Aziraphale had nothing to say to that, so he focused his glare on the dark cave in front of them. There was a strange quality to the air, an uncomfortable rippling of un-reality that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was very clearly vortex-space, the kind of cave that might take the right person somewhere else entirely, and it was… well, it was unnerving. Aziraphale was pretty sure that this was not a place where angels were supposed to be. It might not be demonic, but it certainly wasn’t right.
Crowley was watching him again, and his eyes were bright in the dim light of the dying day, gold and gleaming. He held out a hand, and it looked like everything that Aziraphale shouldn’t touch, all manner of sin coiled in slim fingers, skin pale, but it was hard to believe that anything evil could truly live in those fine blue veins, light and fragile beneath the skin.
Aziraphale took his hand, and Crowley led him into the cave.
As they left the last tendrils of weak sunlight behind, there was a sudden, sucking feeling, as though the air around them had been pulled out in a massive whoosh. And then the world settled around them again, normal and strange all at once.
“We’re here,” Crowley told him, rather unnecessarily.
“It’s very dark,” Aziraphale remarked, a little unhappily. He was still holding Crowley’s hand, not quite ready to let go: he could see Crowley still, but not clearly, and it was dark enough that he couldn’t even really make out his own feet when he looked down.
“It’s alright,” Crowley told him. “Just hold on and follow me, I won’t steer you wrong.”
There was a whole lot to unpack in that, but Aziraphale decided to do what he did best and ignore it completely. He trailed after him, tucked half-behind Crowley.
“How can you tell where we’re going?” Aziraphale asked, stumbling over his own feet- again.
“Magic,” Crowley told him glibly, but when he turned to offer Aziraphale a smile his eyes were even brighter than usual, as if they were absorbing the light around them, although Aziraphale knew that couldn’t be true. His pupils were bigger than Aziraphale had ever seen them, the colour now just a ring of gold around them.
Huh. Crowley could see in the dark. He supposed it was a useful skill to have, in his line of work.
Slowly, they moved through a landscape that Aziraphale could not see, and slowly it grew lighter around them, until eventually he could make out their surroundings, although they weren’t particularly appealing – grey rubble and dark earth, stretching indeterminately away until they blurred to misty shrouds that seemed to flicker with movement each time Aziraphale began to look away. But soon enough the landscape changed, evening out to pale sand, silvery in the dim light that didn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular.
“Can I hear water?” he asked, but Crowley squeezed his hand quickly.
“It might be best if you don’t say anything for a bit,” he said, apologetically. “Just until we cross the river. Charon can be a bit… particular.”
Aziraphale was about to ask for a little more detail than that but, before he could, a river came into view, its waters dark and unappealing. There was no real differentiation along its banks but for one short pier, its wood dank and rotten looking. Tiedthere was a boat, small and rocking gently in the water.
“This is the river Styx,” Crowley whispered, his hand shifting from Aziraphale’s to grasp him tightly around the wrist instead. “It’s also a goddess, everything can be anything here. She’s the personification of hatred, and not very much fun, particularly if you beat her at poker one too many times. Don’t fall in.”
Aziraphale shot him an unimpressed look, one that said ‘this advice is neither useful nor necessary.’, but Crowley ignored him, leading him out onto the pier. It seemed to shift under their feet, the wood creaking ominously.
“Charon, mate? You around? Need to pop across.”
From inside the boat, a writhing, dark mist appeared, flowing into a rough form of a man and settling eventually into a solid figure. He was tall and broad, but thin, the skin of his face stretched too tight across his bones. Rather than eyes, the hollows in his face were lit with balls of blazing, furious fire, and he levelled a glare at Crowley.
“Hekate,” he said, and though it looked like his voice would be a boom it was actually a hiss, quiet and disconcerting. “You are not your normal form.”
Crowley shook his head and his hair fell longer around his shoulders, his features softening a little at the jaw.
“Better?” he asked, and Charon snorted.
He had not yet looked at Aziraphale, the angel realised: hadn’t even acknowledged him.
“It matters not to me,” the ferryman said. “Look however you please. But you can make your own way across the river, you have no need for me.”
“I’m exhausted, darling,” Crowley said, fluttering his eyelashes a little. “Forgive me? I simply don’t have the energy. I’ve been busy- all that witchy stuff, you know how it is.”
Charon sighed. “Very well. Get in.”
Crowley stepped down, carefully pulling Aziraphale with him. The boat rocked, and Charon narrowed his eyes at Crowley before using his oar to push the boat away from the pier. It glided across the water, making barely a sound.
Aziraphale looked at his friend. There was a fine line of sweat working its way from his brow, down the curve of his cheek, and the grip he had on Aziraphale’s wrist was almost painful. Crowley was disguising him, the angel realised suddenly, and keeping him veiled from view. It took an enormous amount of energy to hide an angel, especially in a place like this, where their own intrinsic power was so diminished, being so far from its natural source. The mortal belief in Crowley as a god here was likely all that made it possible at all, and even so… He wanted to ask Crowley if he was alright, if it hurt, but he already knew the answer, and speaking would only give them both away.
The boat pulled in at a matching pier on the opposite side, rocking against a wooden pillar with a soft thud. The two negotiated their way out of the boat carefully, trying hard not to give the game away. Aziraphale could just imagine tripping now, accidentally wrenching himself out of Crowley’s grip, but he was careful, and soon enough Crowley was waving Charon away. Once the ferryman slipped from view Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale felt the gentle touch of Crowley’s power slip away from him, though he had not felt it gather in the first place.
“Thank you,” he said, and Crowley smiled, a gentle little thing.
“Welcome,” he replied, and his hand slid back into Aziraphale’s. The angel knew he should let go, that he shouldn’t encourage this sort of thing, but he didn’t: he rubbed his thumb tentatively across Crowley’s skin instead.
“Shall we go find a dog?”
Crowley sighed. “I suppose we must.”
On this side of the river things were markedly more distinct and perhaps even a little nicer, though Aziraphale had to avert his eyes from the next river they passed, which seemed to moan at them in a deeply disconcerting, ominously manner. There were a number of other people moving around, strange gods with dark veils across their faces and goddesses crying silver tears, but none spared them a glance other than the occasional, familiar nod in Crowley’s direction.
“All the best gods hang out down here,” Crowley whispered. “There’s Anxiety, Grief, Agony… all the fun stuff. I think they like the flaming river, myself. You can toast surprisingly good marshmallows on it if you’re willing to risk falling in.”
Aziraphale did not answer him- he had just caught sight of Cerberus.
“Oh, that’s bloody ridiculous,” he mumbled. “No dog needs that many heads. The poor thing must be so confused.”
Crowley didn’t say anything; he was looking pale but determined, and had apparently procured the most impossibly comedic-looking link of sausages from somewhere about his person.
“You have to be kidding,” said Aziraphale flatly.
“I never kid,” Crowley lied, lyingly. “Now, I’ll throw the sausages to distract it, you grab one head and I’ll get another, and then between us-”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The voice that cut over the demon’s attempt at a plan was not particularly loud, but it did not have to be. It was the kind of voice that would sneak up behind you in a dark alley and slit your throat before you had even realised you weren’t alone anymore.
Crowley froze, a look of abject misery settling over his features.
“Your Highness,” he said, turning to face the goddess watching them, her arms folded and face carved from diamond. Everything about Crowley was a little bit snake-y, but his voice right now practically slithered. His eyes darted back and forth, clearly trying to think up a good excuse – particularly for the presence of Aziraphale, who he was no longer disguising.
“Are you trying to steal my husband’s dog?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have you smuggled a hero in here and are actually trying to help him steal from the Underworld?”
She said the word ‘hero’ the way most people said cockroach and Aziraphale felt vaguely offended, even though he was pretty sure that applying the word ‘hero’ to him was an exercise in creative thinking at best, and an offence to all actual heroes at worst.
“No?” Crowley said, looking even paler now. “Because I definitely wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that.”
“The Underworld has no tolerance for thieves, and our punishments are strict,” she said, frowning. Her face wasn’t pretty, really, though it might have been once, when she was much younger. There was a grace to her features, but something terrifying too, something about the haunted power that lit her skin, the echoes of the scythe in her collarbones.
“In fairness, we haven’t actually stolen anything,” Aziraphale remarked, helpfully. “Well, I’m not sure where the sausages came from, but I’m pretty sure even if Crow- Hekate did steal them, it wasn’t from here.”
“Stop talking,” Crowley hissed through his teeth as the goddess’ cool gaze turned to examine the angel instead.
“Do you know who I am, mortal?” she asked, her voice rich and heavy in the way of putrefying flesh, deeply unpleasant.
“I could use the context clues to hazard a guess,” Aziraphale said with what he thought was a winning grin but actually just made him look like an overly keen street magician.
“I am the Queen of this realm,” she said, and though she did not raise her voice it seemed that the very air was standing to attention, as if every molecule had straightened up perceptibly, “second to no one, equal only to my husband and king. I am melinoia, aristi cthonia, dems-potnia. I heap the curses and torment on those souls of mortals who have earned punishment, and it is my name they fear to say whilst living, in case I should pay too much attention to them.”
“Persephone,” Aziraphale said unnecessarily, without any of his characteristic fluster. There were many ranks of angels above him, and a lot of them liked to do this sort of thing. None of this grandstanding was new to him.
His lack of fear seemed to take the goddess by surprise and she stared at him, taking him in properly. Beside him, Crowley slapped his forehead.
“Many apologies, your Highness,” Aziraphale said, but Persephone raised a hand, palm outwards, to silence him. Her eyes were dark pools of liquid glass, shining and sharp. She reached her other hand out to Aziraphale.
“I would read your palm,” she said, and it was not a request. Aziraphale put out his hand, expecting her to grasp and study it, but all she did was place her fingertips against his skin- they were oddly cool- and closed her eyes.
“You’re different,” she said, slowly. “It is not just that the golden god has placed a curse on you... You both are, but Hekate is something similar enough to us. You, however – you are something shining wrapped in the flesh of a man. I don’t like it, because I can feel my own end in there somewhere, wrapped up in histories that haven’t happened yet.”
She looked away abruptly. “I am a legislator of the dead, a judge of the soul, and every mortal and immortal has a core of feeling deep within them. Some people hold something rotten and, no matter what they do, that rot always festers eventually, like fruit on a tree not meant to be picked. Mine is anger, you know, or that’s what they tell me. It is why my mother knew I would not be content to be by her side forever, an innocent girl picking flowers. My husband’s is hope – deep down, in the silver veins of his heart, he dreams, and he waits to see the good in people. Hekate – or whatever their real name is – is held together by fear. But not the rotten kind – the watchful, anxious kind. He’s waiting for people to leave him, for the story to have a sad ending.”
Crowley looked away, a flush of crimson staining his high cheekbones.
“And what did you read in me?” Aziraphale asked, curious.
She smiled, just a little, for the first time.
“You are strange and joyful- there is much hope in you, too,” she said. For a moment, her eyes were a little softer and Aziraphale wondered if she was thinking about her husband. “But your core is love, you strange creature. A love so huge and expansive that it will get you into trouble in the end, I think. You love this world, you love the people in it.”
Her gaze flickered to Crowley, imperceptibly.
“It is very difficult not to trust that kind of love.”
Aziraphale let out the sigh he hadn’t known he was holding.
“Does that mean we might be able to borrow your dog for a bit?”
Unexpectedly- delightfully- Persephone smiled broadly.
“I think we can probably arrange something.”
“Well, that turned out a lot better than I was expecting,” Aziraphale said, though he was holding tightly to Cerberus’ lead and looking rather discomforted. The dog, despite their worst fears, had been very well behaved, though it had made little difference to the mortal king, who had been absolutely terrified at the sight and had hidden behind his throne until they took the dog away. . Apparently he had asked for the dog in an attempt to piss off a local hero, never actually expecting anyone to go through with the quest. He had refused to even look at Cerberus, and as such, they had spent less than five minutes inside before being unceremoniously kicked out. Technically, the King had already decreed the task completed as part of his attempts to get rid of them, so they didn’t have to return the dog, but neither of them were willing to get on Persephone’s bad side by not doing as they had promised.
They walked slowly through the countryside at they returned to the entrance to the Underworld. The day was getting on, but Cerberus seemed to be enjoying himself, and so Aziraphale was insisting that they take their time to let him enjoy himself. Mist had settled over the land, thick, heavy and clinging, so that Aziraphale found himself shivering and slightly damp- until, that is, Crowley summoned him a pleasantly warm wrap. It had been black when Crowley handed it to him, but over the last few minutes it had been struggling its way to white, so that now it was a rather streaky grey.
The evening had set in, the light of the low sun muted by mist so that everything around them was grey too, ethereal and strange, not too dissimilar from the Underworld. Drops of water clung to low-hanging branches of the cypress trees around them, silvery and delicate like jewels.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, staring off into the indistinct distance. “Is it just me, or is there something strange and glowing in front of us?”
“Oh, it’s not just you,” Crowley replied. “I’ve been watching it for a while. I don’t think it’s moving, but we’re definitely getting closer to it.”
“Do we… do we try and go around?”
Crowley huffed a small sound through his nose. “I suspect no matter where we go, we’ll end up there with it. It feels like one of those unavoidable narrative scenes that we’re going to have to engage with at some point.”
“That’s not reassuring at all.”
The glow was getting brighter, light leeching through the softness of the mist in a way that made it appear thicker, rather than less. As they got closer, they began to make out the shape of a man amongst the glow. He appeared to be perching on a low wall, watching them approach.
“Hello,” said Apollo, as they drew level. The glow, they realised, was coming from his skin, his eyes, his hair – from all of him, and it was far more dramatic than it had appeared the first time Aziraphale had seen him, although whether that was by accident or design was unclear.
“Um,” Aziraphale replied, floundering.
“So, it seems you have completed your list of tasks,” said the god, not looking very happy about it, “and I have a few questions.”
“No congratulations?” Crowley asked, causing Apollo to turn the force of his glare to him.
“You cheated.”
“I absolutely did not,” Aziraphale replied, offended. He had completed every one of his tasks, and sure maybe not all of them were strictly by the book, but as far as he was concerned the end result was the same. After all, the kings had signed off on them.
Apollo was still scowling at Crowley. “It doesn’t count if you have help!”
Crowley pulled a face. “I haven’t been helping. If anything, I’ve been a hindrance. I’m a terrible demon of the darkest pits: I only do mean, terrible things. Terribly.”
“Are you… do you actually think you’re kidding anyone or is this some kind of a skit?”
Crowley shrugged indifferently. “Whichever keeps you up at night.”
Apollo stared at him for a moment before shaking his head as if to clear a fog of confusion, and then he turned back to Aziraphale, still looking distinctly unimpressed.
“I don’t know what part of this whole system you don’t understand-”
“I understood it fully,” Aziraphale retorted. “And I completed the tasks. I don’t think I should have had to do them in the first place, but even so, I did, and just because you don’t like my methods or my friend doesn’t mean that you get to come here and tell us off. Thank you.”
Crowley was grinning. “You tell him, angel.”
A spike of light hit them both in the chest, and the tickle of power running through their bodies, crackling along their ribcages, made them clench their jaws, grinding their teeth. They felt the threat of it, the divine, shaping power leeching into their cells to try to force them into another form. But Apollo’s power did not have true dominance over them: their forms had been constructed by a higher power, and he had no authority to shift it. After a moment the feeling receded, leaving them unchanged and unaffected.
Apollo was blinking, looking for all the world like a child being told no for the first time in his spoiled life. And it might well be that this was the first time that he hadn’t managed to get his way.
“Sorry mate,” Crowley said, grinning in a slightly threatening way. “No dice.”
Aziraphale smiled, in a kinder manner than Apollo technically deserved.
“Now, are you going to lift this curse and let us return this dog, or are we going to have a problem?”
Unsurprisingly, Apollo lifted the curse.
Persephone was waiting, arms folded, at the entrance of the cave, though her expression softened a little at the sight of them. Behind her, reclining against the cave wall and mostly hidden by shadow, was a tall and serious looking god with threads of silver and gold running across his skin, semi-precious veins. It had taken them all night to walk back to the entrance, but neither of them had fancied making her wait any longer than they had to. The path down to the cave was slippery and would have been difficult to see in the faint light of pre-dawn, but a line of torches flared to life as they approached, lighting their way.
“Well done,” she said, as Aziraphale handed the lead over. “I see the curse has lifted.”
“Yes, apparently so,” the angel replied with a smile. “Thanks to you. And, I suppose, your dog.”
Persephone reached down to Cerberus, running her hands gently over each of his heads, as if to check he was quite okay. The dog made a surprisingly high-pitched yip of pleasure, and she ruffled his – several pairs of – ears.
“Do you think the people will tell tales of your exploits?” she asked.
“If they do, I’m sure they will get most of the details wrong.”
“They do have a habit of doing that,” she replied with a wry smile.
“I suppose you would know about that,” Aziraphale said carefully. The goddess did not say anything but behind her the god snorted, though its meaning was unclear. Persephone nodded to them, before turning and retreating further into the cave. Cerberus followed without question, watching his queen with adoring eyes. Passing the god, she reached out and he took her hand, raising it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles.
Aziraphale and Crowley stood a moment, waiting, as the King and Queen disappeared into shadow. Then Crowley sighed, and it sounded exactly as exhausted as he felt, finally having finished this ridiculous few weeks. He turned, and Aziraphale followed, making their slow way down the path away from the cave. The torches extinguished themselves with a small huff of displaced air as the light grew slowly brighter, though the day had not dawned yet.
Aziraphale sighed too, but in a slightly satisfied way. “I’ve rather enjoyed this.”
Crowley rounded on him, his eyes wide. “You’ve enjoyed it?”
“Well… yes, kind of. It’s been a bit of fun, hasn’t it?”
Crowley was still staring. “Aziraphale, this has been horrible and you’ve hated every minute of it.”
The angel shifted, not quite looking at him. “Not every minute.”
“Most of them,” Crowley said with a huff. “I mean, I’ve had fun but I’m a demon.”
“Which part did you find fun?”
“Oh, I don’t know, most of the things we do together are pretty fun.” Crowley, having realised what he had said, suddenly found the stony path beneath their feet absolutely fascinating. They came to a fork in the path, one side heading back to the fields and eventually the rest of the world – and the other to the sea. He took the second choice, hoping Aziraphale would follow. Which, of course, he did.
“Hush,” Aziraphale told him, but there was a flustered blush lingering somewhere around his collarbones, “you don’t mean that.”
“I do mean that. You know I do.”
Aziraphale didn’t say anything to that, but he didn’t really need to. It was clear enough that the angel knew the truth of it.
“Where are we going?” he asked, after a moment. They were walking down a cliff path, the sea an endless stretch to their side. On the horizon the sun was about to rise, just about to peek over that faint line between sea and sky: a glow of the faintest pinks and golds fading into the navy blue of the receding night.
A faint smattering of stars lingered, only the brightest and closest left, and as Crowley looked up at them he remembered briefly a time long ago, when he was a whole other person with a whole other name, and his job had been to paint them into creation. A whole other life, a whole other time, and there was no part of him willing to trade the person he was now for that person who had existed so long ago, no matter how much the aching cavern in his chest sometimes longed to belong to a bigger order again. The sea air tasted clean in his mouth, the brine making him think of changing tides and new beginnings.
“I don’t mind,” Crowley replied eventually. “We could go anywhere. Anywhere you like, angel.”
He waited for the inevitable distancing, the moment Aziraphale would separate himself from Crowley and say it was time to go their separate ways, to return to their different lines.
Somewhere above them gods were watching, and somewhere below them too, and no doubt, in some unfathomable and distant place, the actual God might well have had Her eyes on them as well. There were things they had to do and personas they had to maintain, plans and places and the whole of human history laid out before them. Crowley knew they should spend all that time together, but he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale had quite caught up with that yet.
“Alright,” the angel replied, and Crowley looked to him in surprise, out of the corner of his eyes, trying not to make too dramatic a movement in case it should startle Aziraphale and remind him of what they should and should not be doing.
“I fancy breakfast,” Aziraphale continued, and his fingertips brushed against Crowley’s. “Shall we find somewhere? I imagine there’ll be a little place around here somewhere.”
“You’re the eternal optimist,” Crowley said, but he moved a little closer.
Then again, perhaps She wasn’t watching – there was a whole universe after all, and no doubt there were more exciting things out there than the two of them, walking slowly together as the sun rose again, and the heat of the dawn warmed their skin.
An indeterminate amount of time later...
"And you're absolutely sure that's what happened?" the mythographer asked, staring incredulously at the group of old women, who were all nodding their heads. "It's not that I doubt you, I fully respect the traditions and accuracy of oral histories and so on, but doesn't all this seem a little... strange to you?"
"Not sure what you mean," one particularly wizened looking grandmother replied. "That's just what happened. It might not be as fancy or magical or heroic as you want it to be, but that's not really our problem."
The mythographer stared down at his notes. "I may have to change some things if I want to get this published."
The grandmother sighed. "I suspected as much."
"And what did you say his name was again?"
"My grandmother, and her grandmother before her, always said that the name of the hero was Aziraphale. Apparently he really liked grapes."
"Yeah, you see, that kind of name won't sell. We need something a bit more Greek. A bit more... heroic."
"What were you thinking?"
The mythographer paused for a moment, staring off into space.
"How about... Herakles?"
