Chapter Text
The Arrangement was very simple, so simple in fact that it didn’t really deserve the capital letter, which it had got for simply being in existence for so long. It was the sort of sensible arrangement that many isolated agents, working in awkward conditions a long way from their superiors, reach with their opposite number when they realize that they have more in common with their immediate opponents than their remote allies. It meant a tacit non-interference in certain of each other’s activities. It made certain that while neither really won, also neither really lost, and both were able to demonstrate to their masters the great strides they were making against a cunning and well-informed adversary.
It meant that Crowley had been allowed to develop Manchester, while Aziraphale had a free hand in the whole of Shropshire. Crowley took Glasgow, Aziraphale had Edinburgh (neither claimed any responsibility for Milton Keynes,* but both reported it as a success).
And then, of course, it had seemed even natural that they should, as it were, hold the fort for one another whenever common sense dictated. Both were of angel stock, after all. If one was going to Hell for a quick temptation, it made sense to nip across the city and carry out a standard brief moment of divine ecstasy. It’d get done anyway, and being sensible about it gave everyone more free time and cut down on expenses.
Aziraphale felt the occasional pang of guilt about this, but centuries of association with humanity was having the same effect on him as it was on Crowley, except in the other direction.
Besides, the Authorities didn’t seem to care much who did anything, so long as it got done.
* Note for Americans and other aliens: Milton Keynes is a new city approximately halfway between London and Birmingham. It was built to be modern, efficient, healthy, and, all in all, a pleasant place to live. Many Britons find this amusing.
*
Aziraphale and Crowley were by no means the only members of their respective sides with some serious doubts about the inherently glorious nature of, and certainty of victory in, the Great War to End Everything. They were just the two with enough influence/presence/desperation/lack of self-preservation/just-plain-crazy to actually do something about it.
Independent thinking was Strongly Discouraged in both camps, naturally, but it had not taken much for several of the foot soldiers [1], if you will, to work out that every Glorious Victory comes in the aftermath of a significant number of Dearly Lamented Deceased. And come to think of it, the foot soldiers of both Heaven and Hell had developed a strong suspicion, totally independently, that Gabriel, or Sandalphon, or Uriel, or Beelzebub, or Hastur, or Dagon would not be among that number.
[1] Wing soldiers? Maybe? An unkind mind might have simply dispensed with tact and discretion and just labelled them all as the cannon-fodder, but this is still inaccurate. Neither Heaven nor Hell has cannon-technology. So there.
Of course, knowing with a deep sense of unpleasant resignation that you are to be sacrificed on the egos of your superiors is one thing. The key issue, for these intrepid free-thinkers of Heaven and Hell, is that if you are too lowly to make any of the decisions then you are, crucially, too lowly to make any of the decisions. And even if you could go around making decisions, what could you decide between?
No angel wishes to Fall, after all, it being drilled in with great vigour for over 6000 years both how unpleasant the process of Falling was, and how positively dreadful Hell would be when you go there. And no demon wishes much to return to the condescension of Heaven, regardless of how impossible the idea even is in the first place. Have you actually met Sandalphon? Yes? Did you have any desire to spend any more time in his company at all? No. And neither did they.
And it wasn’t like there was any third option, was there? Nowhere between the unyielding righteousness of Heaven or the unceasing grind of Hell…
Well…
Until there was.
In his defence, Crowley probably had no idea that yelling to Aziraphale - and the universe in general - ‘We’re on our side’ was such an important thing to do. Crowley had tried very hard for 6000 years not to do important things, and he’d be most put out to have ruined his streak like that.
After all, regardless of what mere reality might have to say on a given topic, until you say things out-loud, they aren’t really Real at all. And one should always be careful about what you say at crossroads, as any occult being ought to know, even if that crossroads is a metaphorical one [2]
[2] Especially if the crossroads in question is a metaphorical one! The Trouser Legs of Time are not to be taken lightly, after all!
Not that the effect was immediate, sadly, or the Apocalypse That Couldn’t would not have been forced to come down to one eleven-year-old Antichrist, his three friends, one angel and a demon and some stray adults that they had all somehow picked up along the way.
But afterwards, when their respective Generals proclaimed that the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley had single-handedly prevented the most important event in all of History from taking place… well.
Suffice to say that amid all the groans of disappointment, and the snarls of thwarted bloodlust, and some very carefully hidden sighs of relief from the ranks, there were also a fair few ears being pricked up. Perhaps there was another option out there after all?
A nice, in-the-middle type of option. One strong enough that all of Heaven and Hell had been thwarted in the face of its power and conviction. One strong enough to take in those who sought its protection, perhaps?
And it only made sense, in the minds of these younger angels and demons, that the leaders of this new side were Aziraphale and Crowley. I mean, you’ve heard the stories about them, haven’t you? [3]
[3] Ironically, and yet utterly unsurprisingly, Aziraphale and Crowley have not heard the stories about themselves. They may actually be the only ethereal or occult beings who can say this. In fairness, this is probably just as well, since they would have tried to quash the more outlandish ones and made things so much worse. Worse than what? Oh, boy…