Chapter Text
The girl is so young and not only in comparison to him, because Aziraphale is an angel, but in comparison to other humans. It’s his first time on Earth and he’s already fascinated with it, although neither Michael nor Gabriel have allowed him to actually enjoy it.
Well… That’s not actually what he came for, is it?
According to Gabriel, it’ll take a couple of years for the Armageddon to start and an angel has to make sure everything goes according to plan. One of them has to go undercover as a new fallen and Aziraphale was the one chosen for that particular mission.
It’s okay really, Aziraphale wants to, not because he wants to make sure everything happens, but because he wants to stop it. It’s against the rules, but since Gabriel told him Raphael had died recently, Aziraphale no longer cares about rules.
“Don’t bother looking for him down there, he’s dead… gone forever,” Gabriel had said. “You need to focus on the mission.”
Aziraphale cried for years when he found out and he cried even more because he couldn’t remember Raphael’s face; it was part of God’s punishment for the Fallen.
“Aziraphale, it’s really a pleasure to meet you,” the girl–the young woman says.
“How do you know my name?” Aziraphale asks, impressed. The woman, who introduces herself as Anathema, chuckles.
“I’m a witch and my ancestor, Agnes, knew basically everything,” she grins and takes Aziraphale by the arm, leading him to another room. Then she narrows her eyes at Michael and Gabriel and add: “You two can wait here.”
She hands him a bottle with a purple fluid that looks honestly disgusting.
“So… This will make me look like one of them?” Aziraphale asks, there’s no point in trying to hide things from her like Gabriel and Michael wanted to; she seems to know more than them anyway.
They’ve always underestimated humanity.
She pushes her glasses back and sighs, looking worried.
“It’ll turn your wings black,” Anathema explains. “Perhaps it’ll change a little bit your aura, but that’s it.”
Aziraphale keeps staring at the bottle and nods.
“I suppose that’s enough,” he mumbles. He would be a recently fallen angel after all; he knows it takes a couple of decades for the transformation to be completed.
He takes a deep breath, but Anathema stops him before he could take a sip.
“It’ll be painful, very much,” she warns. “Are you sure about this? Because they… the others don’t seem to care about–”
Aziraphale smiles at her and is once again reminded that his decision of giving away his sword was a good one. Humans are incredible and kind and sometimes it doesn’t matter if not all of them are that way, sometimes just a few is enough.
“Don’t worry about me, dear,” he mumbles, trying not to think about Raphael.
It must have been really painful for him.
“This cannot protect you from hellfire,” she whispers. “Be careful.”
“Thank you,” he says before drinking it all.
And she’s definitely right. It’s painful.
Aziraphale falls on his knees, trying not to scream as his wings feel like they’re bursting into flames. It hurts and the pain is making him tear up.
“Perhaps we should… We can stop it–Yes, I can. I have an antidote over–”
“It’s a-alright, dear,” Aziraphale gathers all his strength to get on his feet again; he’s never felt so tired before.
Is that what his Raphael felt? No, it must’ve been worse, since he fell for real.
“Are you ready?” Gabriel asks, both Michael and he have gotten into the room despite that Anathema told them not to.
“He needs to get some rest!” The young woman protests and Aziraphale grins at her courage because not any mortal would go against an angel’s will.
“There’s no time,” Michael frowns and Aziraphale puts a shaking hand over Anathema’s shoulder before she could say anything else.
“It’s alright, dear.”
“Let’s open a gate then,” Gabriel nods and stands at Aziraphale’s left side while Michael moves to the right.
They both miracle their swords in their hands, the famous swords that were used to fight Lucifer and Beelzebub long time ago.
Both swords hit the ground in the blink of an eye with ease, it’s like they’re cutting air.
“The effects will only last a month,” Anathema tells him as soon as the floor underneath him starts to glow. “You have to come back for more potion.”
Aziraphale nods, he can’t even say anything at the moment; everything hurts.
“Remember your mission,” Gabriel has to yell because the earth is cracking, it’s shaking and Anathema has to move away from them.
And then… he falls.
***
Hell is dark, but it’s not on fire like he thought. It’s also… weirdly cold despite of looking like a small basement where no one seems to have enough space.
Heaven has a lot of space; it seems empty and also cold and has always made Aziraphale sad. But that’s just because he thinks about Raphael a lot.
“A new Fallen?” Aziraphale has heard Beelzebub’s voice before, that’s the only reason he recognizes it.
He rises from the ground with difficulty; he can barely move his body and his wings still hurt. He’s not sure he can perform a miracle at the moment, even if he wanted to.
“It’s been… a while,” another voice comments.
“He still smells good,” says another demon and the rest of them make clear how disgusting that is.
If Aziraphale wasn’t so tired and hurt, he would’ve been outraged at the reaction.
“What’s your name, fallen?” Beelzebub asks, sounding more irritated than curious.
“Aziraphale?” It’s difficult to see when one has gotten used to the light of Heaven, but Aziraphale manages to see a tall figure getting closer. His voice sounds really soft when he says his name.
How does he know? Did his documents arrive already? Did Gabriel and Michael fake that too?
“Aziraphale is an angel’s name,” Beelzebub says with disgust. “You’ll be Fell from now on.”
“I still remember what it was to be a new fallen,” one demon says, amused; Aziraphale can’t see him yet because he’s behind him. “But I know this used to hurt a lot.”
He grabs one of his wings. Aziraphale groans in pain and almost falls to his knees again, prompting most of the demons to laugh.
Suddenly the hand on his wing is gone and he thanks God before hearing a loud noise and a groan.
“What do you think you’re doing, Crowley?”
“You’re pissing me off, Hastur, that’s the fucking problem, you always piss me off,” Crowley hisses and Aziraphale manages to see a little bit of red… The demon’s hair is red.
He’s tall and has the other one grabbed by the neck; it must be something usual among demons because Beelzebub just rolls their eyes.
“Enough! I don’t have time for this!” They huff, irritated. “Alright, what should we do with Fell?”
“I can take him!” The demon Crowley blurts out suddenly, getting closer to Aziraphale. Everyone in the room shuts up and glances back at him with curiosity. “I mean… Take him to Earth, that way you don’t have to see him… He still looks and smells like one of them and it’ll take a while for him to properly become one of us and if you keep him here…”
“You’re right,” Beelzebub nods, prompting Aziraphale to narrow his eyes.
What’s the problem with the way he smells? Is it really that awful? To him his scent is just like some of the flowers God created for Eden…
“Wait–” Hastur protests and Crowley hisses at him again.
“I don’t want to hear anything else,” Beelzebub huffs, already bored. They get up from their chair and growl at everyone else to go. “But I want him ready for Armageddon. Do you hear me, Crowley?”
“Of course,” the demon smirks and bows in a way that looks more like he’s mocking Beelzebub in Aziraphale’s opinion.
The prince of Hell doesn’t seem to mind though.
As soon as they’re alone, Crowley turns around and approaches Aziraphale.
The angel flinches away.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the demon says, looking like Aziraphale just slapped him.
You just grabbed someone by the throat, Aziraphale wants to point out, but he decides to keep quiet instead.
Crowley takes a step closer and the angel takes one back. He sighs, looking pale and defeated and takes off his sunglasses before staring at Aziraphale with his yellow eyes.
“I will never hurt you,” he mumbles and Aziraphale can see he’s being completely sincere when he says it. But why? “Come, we need to go back to Earth.”
Crowley offers his hand and Aziraphale can see he’s nervous. The angel realizes he doesn’t like seeing him like that so he does something risky, like he did in Eden when he gave away his flaming sword: he takes the demon’s hand.
There’s a huge smile on Crowley’s face and a hopeful glimmer in his eyes before he pulls Aziraphale to the surface.