Chapter Text
It starts, of all things, with a rumour.
But first, the setting in which this rumour will begin to take shape must be explored.
When the Apocalypse-that-never-was, - a great war to end all wars, with the Earth as its battlefield, and the Antichrist at its helm - comes and goes within a few short hours on the day it was destined to come to fruition, it’s obvious that those who were to partake in said final battle, are greatly displeased.
Namely, Heaven and Hell.
Six thousand years, hundreds of thousands of plans, hard work filled with miracles and temptations aplenty, goes out the proverbial window.
When the Antichrist stood his ground with those closest to him to battle the famed Horsemen of the Apocalypse, it was no surprise that when they bested those nightmares, it was not the end of their troubles. Even facing down the Archangel Gabriel and a Prince of Hell by the name of Beelzebub, the boy had stood strong with a literal angel and demon standing behind him. Having chosen no side but their own, the clever angel and the devious demon watched on as the young boy told both of the representatives that no, he was quite happy with where he was, thank you very much, and he had no need for anything more than what he had.
In the end, as many children who cause mischief or disobey what is required of them, their guardian is called to bring the child to heel.
When the angel Aziraphale, Principality, former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, and the demon Crowley, the Originator of Sin, former Serpent of Eden, felt the rising tide of blinding rage swell up from deep within the Earth, they knew that the end was truly upon them. However, their long lives, filled with joy and sadness and each other, had come to this final breathless point and they knew without a doubt that they would not go down, no matter how terrified they were, without a fight. And so, wings spread and voices ringing high and loud, they stood with the Antichrist as Lucifer himself broke through the crust of the earth to discipline his errant child.
And with words that landed firm and defiant in the devil’s ears, the Antichrist banished his satanic parent from having any connection with him at all, because, honestly, why would he have a need for such a parent that had not been there to help him learn to ride a bicycle or to sneak cookies before dinner behind his mother’s back or to take long rides through the countryside with the windows down, wind blowing through their hair?
A parent who, for his entire life, had not been there at all, for anything , and had only appeared when he had not listened, had not done as he had been designed to do.
No , thought the boy, he really had no need at all for a father like that. Not when he had a perfectly good father already.
And with a great scream and a moment like a firework exploding, the great devil vanished, and that, in the boy’s mind, was that.
But of course, that’s not quite right, is it?
Even though the world had been saved and the Antichrist newly grounded by his earthly father, there was still the problem of two great armies, having waited millennia, raring to go at one another’s throats, and having their chance ripped from their grasping fingers.
To understand, the reader must consider this:
Picture that you had been informed of a great big party at the end of some indiscernible time.
You knew it would happen, knew that, at some point, you would have to go, but for whatever reason, not to be prepared too far ahead of time, lest you eat too much or too little and the nice outfit you purchased for said party would no longer fit, you must wait. And when the invitation appears in your mailbox to finally tell you that you must be ready within a few short days, you rush to prepare, rush to have everything as it should be, and you find that, with the adrenaline pumping in your ears and the nerves making you jittery, the party has been called off by the host.
All your preparations are for naught, the fancy outfit you purchased must go back into the closet, never to be worn, and all those you were expected to meet?
All of those you were expecting to punch in the face?
Well, you don’t meet them.
You don’t get to punch anyone in the face.
What I mean to say is, dear reader, that you would, understandably, by all points made in this scenario, be quite upset.
You had really been hoping to dress up in your finest and punch someone in the face.
And who else to blame but the two people who had told the party host to call it all off simply because they didn’t want to go to said party.
Yes, I think, very upset indeed.
This is how it comes to be, on the following day after the Apocanot, on the first day of the rest of our lives, the Angel Aziraphale and the Demon Crowley are pulled away from one another during a regular visit to St. James’s Park and taken to be put on trial for their treasonous deeds in averting the end of the world as we know.
The angel Aziraphale is to face a spinning whirlpool of infernal fire.
The demon Crowley is to face a dip into a bath of holy water.
Both of these things are terribly unpleasant, what with them being an angel and a demon respectively after all, and certainly will end in an eternal demise for them both.
But do not fret, dear reader, because I am pleased to say that they do not meet their eternal demise at such horrendous sentences at all. It is thanks to one Agnes Nutter, witch, and her final prophecy found in a slightly charred and worried first edition copy of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, that these two will survive their trials without issue. They will each switch places with the other, wearing the other’s face, and go in the other’s stead, with the angel facing the holy water and the demon, the infernal flame. No one will know of this but the angel and the demon.
And one witch, of course.
The angel will face the dark trial, and ask that he may remove his new jacket, simply because it is a new jacket, knowing that his demon would be terribly irritated should it get damaged, - it is quite fine, - and he wouldn't want to upset him. He will lay in the tub and flick water at the horrified onlookers, will charmingly ask for a rubber duck to be found in the dark halls of Hell, and ask, with such a sweet, syrupy smile, for the Archangel Michael to bring him a towel.
The Archangel does this, struck silent, and Duke Hastur watches on with sick realization creeping up his spine that the bluff he had called earlier in the demon’s flat may not have been a bluff at all.
He finds himself growing sick at the thought.
The demon will face the pristine whiteness of the Heavenly office, looking out over London in all it’s humanly splendor, and smile that polite smile in the tartan and tweed his angel favours so much. He will look serene, but mildly disappointed in the angels when they spit cruel words to his face, at the order to just die already, and will step into the swirling flames.
The flames do not burn him and instead feel pleasant, like sliding into a lukewarm bath. He watches in obvious amusement at the way the brows will furrow on these angels’ faces, watch as their confusion grows to horror when he does not burn away at all, and just for the hell of it, spews a hiss of flame to watch them jump away all together.
With no earthly or divine idea of what to do, they are released and dumped back onto Earth.
When they return, they will go back to their beloved park and switch back, will laugh at the great trick they have played and as per routine, the demon will tempt the angel to lunch, the angel will accept the temptation, and they will go to the Ritz where a table has miraculously opened for two.
They will dine on good food, drink good wine, and spend time with even better company.
That is how their story will end, with a nightingale singing in Berkeley Square, even if it is not heard over the traffic.
Or at least, that is how their story is meant to end.
It, however, does not end as such.
To understand how the rumour affects those in question, we must first look at who the rumor is about.
Let us begin with the angel.
Aziraphale has been there since the Beginning, since before the Rebellion and the subsequent Fall. He was, and still is, a Principality, a form of angel in the Third Angelic Sphere of Heaven’s divine court. Principalities, as some may not know, are meant to bring blessings to the material world and oversee large groups of people. They are also said to educate and guard the Earth, to inspire humanity to become more than they are. This is why, when God creates Eden and fills it with all of Her beloved creations, namely Her finest and latest creations, Adam and Eve, he is chosen as one of the few angels to act as guard. There he wields his flaming sword and stands watch at the top of the tallest walls of Eden, ready for anything that may come.
There, he also meets the Serpent.
Later, humanity will call this serpent the Satan, the Adversary, the Originator of Sin, the fallen angel Lucifer, one of God’s finest and most loved, who had grown jealous of his parent’s love for something so weak and fragile and not them , tempting humanity away from the divine light and to free thought and free will.
This is not Lucifer.
But we will get to that.
It is by no means a surprise that after the incident with the Garden, - and his giving of his flaming sword to Adam, - he comes to live and find his place on Earth, amongst the Lord’s creations as they grow and live and die and populate the Earth, sprawling out like great fields of wheat on a fertile land. Among them, Aziraphale helps them, leading them into a more pious and generous way of life, springing miracles here and there, helping assist where he feels he should. There are times, of course, where humanity grows too large in their ego, in their free will, and God strikes them down, and the Principality Aziraphale is among them, bearing witness to the harsh hand of a parent disciplining their child when they do not listen.
For what is God but a parent who cares so much for Her children that She is willing to tear them asunder to understand Her word and love.
He finds he hates those times the most, when his belief and faith in the governing forces above is pushed to its limits.
He keeps his mouth shut, dares not question, lest he Fall.
In the end, no matter the tragedy and the wounds to his divine soul, - for he has come to love these free-thinking humans, and all they have created, mind you, - the Principality Aziraphale remains on Earth.
They build their cities and cook their foods and sing their songs, and Aziraphale is there for all of it. He is there to witness the beauty of towering spires, to taste the delicious cooking that they come up with, and to dance, - though angels are not supposed to dance - to their enthralling songs. He is also there to witness the way their cities crumble to dust, their food rot away to nothing, and their songs grow silent in the face of war and death. His giving of the sword did this, he mourns, he gave them the force to not only protect and defend, but to attack and destroy.
It is his fault he is here to witness this.
He helps when he can, often with tears that he will not allow to fall in his startlingly blue eyes, and moves on.
There is little else he can do.
Humanity, for all its fragility, is a force to be reckoned with, and eventually they spill out like grains of rice from too small of a bag, too many to catch in his hands, slipping between his fingers, and out across the Earth. He can not keep up with them, and he finds himself losing touch, always running half a century off from what is now the norm. Considering how far humanity has come by the 20th century, growing from a small child barely able to stand in the world to an adult, confident in themselves and pushing forward with all kinds of cruelty and mercy in equal measure, it is not all that surprising that other angels in the end make fun of Aziraphale’s job, considering that there seems to be very little to his job at all.
Even the Archangels are not free from this, it seems, as they bypass his status as Principality to mock and belittle him.
He does not like this, of course, as no one likes to belittled, but he bends his head down in forgiveness, as he is made to do, and allows it.
They forget who he had been, who he still is, and that, dear reader, will cost them.
Now we must flip the page and look at the other side of this large expansive story, to the demon this rumour will also speak of, whispered in darkened halls between screams in the Planning department and wails in the halls of Internal Affairs, words so soft as to not be heard at all.
The demon Crowley was not always a demon.
He used to be an angel, quite high ranking, in fact, if one can believe such a thing.
This, much like his previous name and who he used to be, is not important at all.
The only thing one needs to know is that, as one of the original six hundred and sixty-six that had Fallen from Heaven, Crowley was considered to be very important in many circles. One of the few that still carried Heaven’s light in his physical human-shaped form, not deformed or burned away by the sulphur bath they had all taken, not rotting and eaten away by maggots, Crowley remained sharp of feature and handsome, with rich dark hair that grew ruddy. The only damned thing about him were the gleam of his golden snake eyes, his forked tongue, and the splay of scales along his spine. Many would whisper that he had only fallen because he had followed The Adversary down, though he would argue that he sauntered vaguely downwards because he had simply been too curious. Even so, Crowely, for all his self-deprecating comments, was someone to be valued and to be watched, someone who’s keen eyes and even keener mind were the perfect addition to their Great Plan.
Why else would the fallen prince himself, Lucifer, the Morningstar, God’s favourite, call forth Crowley and personally task him with going up top and causing some trouble?
Crowley becomes the Serpent.
Sneaking into Eden is no easy feat, especially with Principalities guarding each gate, but Crowley is no simple demon, his demonic form being that of a massive, dark snake, and manages to make his way in by the way of the shadows and the earth. He does as he has been tasked, tempting the young Eve into picking an apple, to bite into its sweet flesh, and to simply become what she is meant to be. When she shares with Adam, the scent of apple blossoms in the air, they gain free thought, free will, and from there begins the rest of the world.
Crowley will be celebrated for this; such a crowning achievement in Hell’s cap, after all, but he finds he doesn’t care for the celebration at all. The entire thing leaves a terrible taste in his mouth, like fruit gone off and mealy. Instead he finds something of a kinship with these two humans, how they now will be free to speak and to act and to question, and he urges them to escape this Eden, to go out into the vast world beyond the great walls, and make it their own. He hurries them on with a slide of heavy, dark scales and a flash of gleaming silver fangs, - run, you mussst flee, essscape before Ssshe returnsss - hopeful that they will get away before Her heavenly light reaches them and She strikes them down in the same way he had been.
No, he doesn’t care for it at all.
Instead, he finds that he cares more for the Principality that he meets upon a wall and shares a time together when the first rains fall, hidden beneath the Angel’s wing.
He has lovely blue eyes and a halo of curls and has given away his sword of all things.
The demon falls a second time.
He still remains important to the inner circles of Hell, let the author state, but as centuries pass with him living upon the Earth, among humanity, and tempting them on their fields, he grows distant to the standard that Hell holds for all of its denizens. He finds he likes these humans, the kinship from Eden burning a low flame in his chest, and he enjoys teasing them, tempting them, watching them rejoice and despair in equal measure.
In the Garden, they will have known none of this.
In Eden, they would have been as blind to Her light as cattle to the slaughter.
Eventually, they too would have been removed.
Or at least, he assumes they would have been.
It must be said, however, that he wishes at times that he had not given Eve the apple. He doesn’t tell this to anyone, of course, for those words are not meant to be heard, but when humanity turns cruel, even without his hissing words and pushing hands, when murder and rape and torture become the common stomping ground for most, he finds himself at a loss. Eventually, it does get better, centuries into the creeping future, but he still lives it, witnesses it, and finds some deep part of him aching in an emotion he can not quite decipher.
If he sleeps away the 15th century, it is no one’s business but his own.
Demons, much like angels, tend to forget about how important people are, it seems. They remain old-fashioned, tempting a single person at a time, and even though Crowley’s plans will, eventually, bring many people down to them, his views of the bigger picture are often not understood or mocked. Only Satan himself seems to get it, and to be completely honest, Crowley’s not sure that that’s the attention he wants.
Much in the way a snake can disappear into the long grass, Hell forgets about who Crowley was - in the Beginning and in the Before, - forgets how long his teeth can be, how dangerous his venom, and he allows it.
It suits him just fine.
In the days and weeks following the trials, the angel and demon will spend more time than ever with one another. With the end of the world having nearly torn them apart, it seems like this is the perfect time for them to come together, to press ever closer to one another. One drunken night, tucked away into Aziraphale’s bookshop on his soft, well worn couch, - one can not say who had leaned forward first after their usual discussions, - there had been a kiss.
Confessions drip out like water, soft and sweet, followed by more kisses, and even more confessions spilling out from gasping lips, painful and fearful, worried for the future.
They do not leave the bookshop for a few days, at least.
Afterward, they will go to their park and feed the ducks, will go dine in their usual restaurants, and quietly fall more in love with one another at every turn, a romance six thousand years in the making.
Unbeknownst to them, Hell’s whispers become ever more pronounced.
Those who had been there at the trial, had stood in murmuring shock and fear, and watched as the demon Crowley laid in holy water and did not die, will spread the rumour to the rest of the rings of Hell. It’ll slide through the halls, whispered in every ear from every mouth, until the myriads of demons are churning with horror, disbelief, and most importantly, a bone-chilling awe.
Crowley has always been more than what they say he is, but now, he has become even greater. Not changed enough to Rise, if such a thing is even possible for a demon now, but enough to withstand the holiest of waters and the hottest infernal flames without issue is something no demon should ever be able to do. Mind as keen as a blade and a silver-tongue as sharp as his fangs, Crowley becomes something other to them, something more dangerous than the hundreds of thousands of them combined, something so different that it puts genuine fear back into the scores of Hell.
One of the six hundred and sixty-six.
The one who had Lucifer’s ear and in the end times stood with the Antichrist to banish Satan himself from the Earth and back to the lowest pits of Hell.
The Serpent of Eden.
Eventually, like all rumours, it slides even further out of control, and Hell can barely hold on to it. It travels up through the back channels, curling up through the ground like steam off hot pavement, and reaches Above.
Fledgling guardian angels hear it first, the dark snake who rivals the strength of Lucifer, rolling beneath the Earth’s crust, a massive beast with gleaming gold eyes and salivating silver teeth, able to withstand fire and water without harm. It causes a minor uproar in the ranks, of course, for fledgling angels used to be humans, - they are not of the original stock, you see, - and do not know that the Serpent used to be one of the original divine court.
It eventually reaches even the Archangels, who technically rank among the second to last in the spheres, but are the ones who push and delegate the most in Heaven proper in this modern day. When they hear of it, at first, all they can do is laugh, finding it unbelievable and fantastic, because really, the demon Crowley as some great, unbeatable monster that stands on par with Lucifer, the fallen prince, the Morningstar? Such a thing can’t be real, he’s nothing more than a garden snake under their heavenly heels.
Archangel Michael’s silence seems to ring in the ensuing silence once the laughter dies down, and when all turn to listen to the account of how Crowley, truly, had fallen into the tub of holy water and had not screamed or twisted or burned, hadn’t died at all, there is a sudden chill in the air.
No one knows who said it first, or how it ends up in the circulating gossip and rumor mill in Heaven, but the Principality Aziraphale’s trial is brought up in rebuttal. They speak of how the angel had stepped into the rising inferno at his trial, fire strong enough to singe the divine aura of the angels standing witness, and had not burst into flame. They murmer how the angel had seemed to almost relax into the glaring heat, and had even, in a moment of insanity surely, spit flame out at them, blue eyes gleaming like white embers amongst the licking tongues.
A fledgling scribe who had been taking the record of events down will later whisper to an acquaintance of how the flames had died away and Aziraphale had remained standing, not a haphazard curl out of place, and smiled at them all. This same scribe will mutter on, after Archangel Uriel has passed her and a fellow angel with a stern look, how the feeling of seeing those gleaming blue eyes, nearly silver with heavenly light, the quiet strength in the soft, normally gentle face of the former guard, had shook her to the core. She will go on to tell even more that watching the Principality, who outranked her in status and power both by an immeasurable degree, had drawn back his surprisingly broad shoulders, tipped his head in a polite nod over his tartan collar, and asked to leave if there was nothing else they had required of him.
An angel that could not be killed with infernal fire.
The flaming sword-wielding guardian of Eden, who for the last six thousand and some odd years, had been the only being keeping the demon Crowley at bay.
The Principality Aziraphale.
He is so dangerous, so other, more so than any angel, even the strongest archangels, - God’s strongest and fiercest warriors, said to battle Lucifer in the end times and defeat him, - that it sends a ripple of unease through the divine ranks.
An angel that cannot be killed, cannot be controlled?
An unparalleled danger to be sure.
The rumour funnels back into Hell about the Principality as it had done with the Serpent, and the demons hear now of the angel with dozens of wings and hundreds of molten silver eyes, gleaming golden and divine and dangerous, with a sword of flame in hand. The rising terror this rumour instills creates a feedback loop that has both sides uneasy and near rioting. A demon and an angel, especially as ancient as they are, to become so powerful, to strip their bonds to Heaven and Hell, and remain without consequence is a terrifying thing
Someone whispers that they are made to destroy one another when the true end of the world rises to meet them all.
Another hisses that they will destroy everything instead of one another, that their duty in life is to cleanse the world in flame and holy water so God may begin anew.
A third hums into someone’s ear that they are not enemies at all, but lovers, entwined with one another through the millennia, and if one should try to harm either of them, the deadly force of their powers shall raze all of Heaven, Hell, and everything in between.
The softest voices of all, away from the ears of the dukes and princes and archangels, whisper of movement and change, of a new life away from the turning wheel of their predetermined sides. That the Serpent and the Principality have been made greater to pull away and protect all those who no longer wish to fight in a war that is not their own. That the two shall stage a revolution, neither for Heaven or for Hell, but for their own created side to rival that of the original battle that cast so many from the divine land.
They whisper of Rebellion.
No one is sure who to believe, but during the time that an angel and a demon will laze in their shared bed in the early morning, planning for another day out in the park, to dine at the Ritz, and to drink away their night in the backroom of a small bookshop in Soho, the unrest on both sides begins to grow.
Like a cup filling up with too much water, it will eventually overflow.
What will happen after is anyone's guess.