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The thing was, even after Crowley Fell, Heaven forgot to delete his login to their system.
That wasn’t a fact that Crowley took advantage of very often, especially for a demon with practically unrestricted access to the celestial cloud. He had poked around a few times, read some classified documents, had spent some time in the 14th century inserting typos into Michael’s memos to her people, occasionally deleted particularly damning records of himself and Aziraphale from the Earth Observation Files.
But in all truth, Heaven was boring. It was like a dry corporation with all its protocols and memorandums and rules, and losing the Almighty’s Grace had hurt like anything but Crowley didn’t exactly miss being on Heaven’s payroll. After a while, though, snooping through Sandalphon’s mail just wasn’t as entertaining as it had been.
The only half interesting thing he had found in Heaven’s archives was their newspaper, even though it was a dreadfully dull rag. But even then, Crowley was never inspired to truly interfere with the Celestial Observer’s contents until the late 1600s, when advice columns were invented on Earth.
As always, brilliant inspiration had struck him like… like whatever inspiration strikes like. So Crowley resolved to meddle, just as a side project. Maybe if he got enough angels heated at each other, he could report it as a victory to Hell. Anyway, Dagon had always liked gossip, and the Celestial Observer’s new advice column was a ready source of that. It was pure genius.
Oh, it had been so embarrassing for Heaven to have lost another archangel to Lucifer, that they had all but covered up Crowley’s Fall from most of the ordinary angels. And even the extraordinary ones, Crowley had heard rumors of an angel performing miracles in his old name ages ago, probably to put down any suspicions that an archangel could Fall. So it was all too easy for him to just slip in, pick up a name he hadn’t seriously held in millennia. Just to spread some demonic discord, of course.
It was hardly his fault that so many of the angels that wrote in were horridly, uniformly unoriginal with their pseudonyms, and so uncreative that they couldn’t even find solutions to their own dumb problems. It was also hardly his fault that many of their problems seemed to stem from the… same source.
Dear Raphael,
I do hope my letter is met with sympathy, for I have quite the dilemma and I hope that you may be able to offer a word of support and perhaps even advice.
I have a coworker, who shall remain unnamed— I will refer to him here as Gebriel— that I have found most vexing to work with as of late. This is not a new problem, but one I have only recently found the words and the will to express. You see, Gebriel frequently exaggerates his involvement in certain Heavenly events for which he has received much praise. One such event was, in fact, an announcement of paramount importance that would be remembered for centuries. I had planned this announcement and had anticipated because of my involvement to deliver it, but Gebriel intervened and assigned himself the praiseworthy task.
It would be remarkably unangelic of me to be irritated, because of course the most important element is that the Almighty’s word was dictated, but I must admit that this incident rather rankled me. And this is only one example of Gebriel taking credit where credit is not due, or intervening where his intervention is not needed in the name of obtaining more of Her glory. Might you have any advice for my plight?
Signed,
Z. A. Chariel, 1698 AD
Hey Zac—
You said this “Gebriel” is your colleague, yeah? Not your boss or your superior? Because if he’s just a coworker and there wouldn’t be repercussions for speaking out, I think you should just tell him to shove it. He sounds like a prick, he probably deserves it.
So, tell him to fuck off and stop taking credit for the stuff you do.
—Raphael
Dear Raphael,
I read your most recent column in last month’s edition of the Celestial Observer, and while I may not have come to exactly the same conclusion as you did, I hope you might be able to offer me some advice regardless.
You see, I have rather a propensity to receive... strongly worded notes from Heaven in relation to my conduct and methods at work, some of which I believe overstate my inability to do my job. The largest issue has been with my use of miracles, many of which my superior has deemed frivolous or unnecessary, despite not knowing the context of some of these miracles.
A dear friend of mine advised me to ignore these notes and their contents as he believes they are unwarranted, and while I value his opinion and know he had my best interests at heart, I remain unconvinced that he has a solid understanding of the consequences that would result from neglecting to comply with my superiors’ requests. Might you have any advice for me?
All the best,
A. Z. Fell, 1793 AD
My dear Fell—
First off, your friend sounds brilliant and also terrifically competent, and you should absolutely follow his advice.
If you remain unwilling to ignore your notes from Head Office, though, might I suggest some malicious compliance? It sounds like your superiors could only take issue with your miracle usage if those miracles are decided to be frivolous, so what I suggest is that you ensure you only perform miracles that Heaven would never be able to condemn. So many of these miracles, in fact, that it floods their records and they’ll be forced to stop monitoring you so closely. Once that happens, you can go back to life as normal.
If you want my say, though, you should follow your friend’s advice first ;D
—Raphael
Dear Raphael,
I have a problem that may seem unusual for an angel to have, and I’m entirely unsure how to present it.
I will just say it outright— as you likely know, we have here in Heaven designated locations for the restoring of one’s Grace to presentable condition, or the adjusting of one’s feathers in the event that they get ruffled. Humans might call it a washroom, although clearly, angels need not sully our celestial beings with earthly chemicals such as water.
Regardless, Heaven has such places to make oneself presentable if need be, and lately I have found that this designated area has been… monopolized. I shan’t say who is at the crux of the issue, as I do not wish to draw his ire, so I shall call him Gabrielo here.
After a visit to Earth, I found my wings in quite a state, and wished to fix them in the privacy of Heaven’s ‘washroom.’ However, when I arrived, I found Gabrielo already in there, and he did not emerge for what I estimate to be a good several days by Earth’s standards, all the while singing songs from the Almighty’s favorite musical The Sound of Music. As vanity is a sin unheard of in angels, I cannot begin to imagine what he was doing in there for so long.
This has occurred more than once, which is the reason I am writing in. How do I convince Gabrielo to cease with his monopolization of Heaven’s washroom without Falling from Her Grace?
Signed,
R. A. Ziel, 1966 AD
Hey Razzie—
Sounds like vanity might be a sin experienced by angels after all. Well, some angels, anyway.
If you really want this Gabrielo to stop hogging the can, maybe clue him in to the fact that he’s committing not only the sins of vanity and Pride, but also hitting Greed and Gluttony as well? I’m sure you’ll find a way to spin it. He seemed like the kind of angel to have a celestial conniption if there’s ever the slightest indication of a hint that he might be behaving sinfully.
If you follow my advice, make sure you get a picture and send it in to the column, yeah?
—Raphael
Dear Raphael,
I work very hard at my job, and I’m good at what I do. In the old days, I was famous for some excellent smiting, and I got the praise I deserved. These days, though, I feel as though I hardly get any recognition for all the hard work I do in Her name. My boss especially, Gobrial, doesn’t appreciate me and really takes me for granted. How do I fix this?
From,
Sandy Alphon, 1984 AD
Alph—
Honestly, I think your only course of action is to stop doing things entirely for a while. Yep. If you stop doing everything your job requires— smiting and singing and whatever else angels get up to— then your boss will have no choice but to appreciate you when you do the bare minimum. It’s brilliant! You definitely won't get fired.
—Raphael
Dear Raphael,
My boss sends the worst electronic messages (emails, as I believe they are called on Earth, likely the work of Hell). I will give you an example, with names changed to protect privacy.
Team! Don’t forget! We’re meeting with our agent on Earth Azdksprvskwof today! Don’t be late! And Urel, bring teh files!
From, Gurbglurb
~*You can’t have heaven without Heaven*~
Sent from my CelestialPhone
Please make it stop.
Signed,
Urel, 1992 AD
Hi, url—
Sorry, there’s no cure for being annoying.
—Raphael
Dear Raphael,
I hardly even know where to begin. I have no choice but to be as delicate as possible, for I cannot begin to think of a way to both politely and clearly put my problem.
Raphael, I do believe that one of my coworkers reads Earthly material of a more… salacious nature… in the workplace. Pornography, if you will.[1] I’m sure you know, as an angel, what kind of workplace Heaven is. We do not come into contact with the products of human Lust, so there is no explanation but to assume that my coworker Gibrel had acquired his erotica on Earth and deemed it appropriate to bring back to his celestial office for consumption.
I am certain that he is not aware of my knowledge— I found the tome in his office, where it stood out to me as not being of celestial stock, and therefore grossly out of place. Inside were such graphic, detailed, lascivious descriptions of sin as I have never seen in all my millennia. I cannot comprehend how an archangel would partake in such and remain Unfallen, but for the possibility that Gibrel is not yet aware of his book’s contents. However, this possibility is quite unlikely, for I cannot fathom why he would return to Heaven with this book, if not to read it.
In short, Raphael— my coworker appears to be in the habit of obtaining pornography on Earth and then bringing it to work, and I would very much like this to cease. Have you any advice for me?
Regards,
M. I. Chael, 2019 AD
Oh boy, Mikey—
You’ve got quite the pickle, haven’t you? I think the only solution is to do a dramatic reading of your coworker’s porn for the entire office, see if he still wants to bring it in. I wouldn’t bother trying to track down the source of his books, though, probably wouldn’t be worth it.
Record your dramatic reading if you can! I have some friends who'd love to see it.
—Raphael
Dear Raphael,
A renegade angel and traitorous demon have halted Armageddon, and against all odds the archangels seem to be complying with their ridiculous disobedience. How might we, the loyal angels still in Heaven, restart the Apocalypse and successfully fulfill Her Great Plan?
Jophiel, 2020 AD
Crowley stared down at the letter on his laptop screen, a frown on his lips. At his elbow, his tea had long gone cold.
He had been sitting and thinking for a good while, contemplating the merits of simply making ‘Raphael’ disappear off the face of the Earth and from the Heavens, when Aziraphale padded down the stairs from the bedroom. He had taken to sleeping a little more, lately, much to Crowley’s delight. It was incredibly nice to be able to cuddle his angel all night long, after so many centuries of sleeping alone.
“Good morning, dearest,” Aziraphale said mildly, dropping a kiss on top of Crowley’s head on his way past to the kettle. “Oh, lovely,” he said softly when he found it already full of hot water— Crowley couldn’t be bothered to keep his own tea warm, but he’d be blessed if he didn’t make the kettle stay piping hot for his husband.
“Morning,” Crowley murmured in reply, rubbing his jaw and thinking. He didn’t take his eyes off the computer screen until Aziraphale sat down next to him at their kitchen table and gently touched his arm.
“Is everything alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head slightly. The sunlight coming in from the window over the sink made his blonde hair glow golden, almost like a halo, and his pale eyes shone with loving concern.
Crowley swallowed hard. “Um, I don’t know,” he said and then sighed, slumping back in his chair and covering his eyes with his hand. Since he and Aziraphale had moved into their little cottage in the South Downs together he had more or less stopped wearing his sunglasses around the house, but now he could do with a little bit of an emotional barrier. “Er, you’re probably not going to like it.”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Crowley sighed, long and slow, and wordlessly nudged his computer screen over so that Aziraphale could see. It wasn’t like he had been hiding his meddling with the Celestial Observer from his angel, and Aziraphale undoubtedly knew what kind of demon he was married to, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be tetchy all day once he figured out what Crowley had been doing on and off for the last few centuries.
Aziraphale squinted at the computer screen, his lips pursed. “How are you going to answer, my love?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning over the letter for a second time.
Crowley blinked. “You’re not— you—“ he started.
Aziraphale raised one eyebrow. “Crowley, it’s not as though I didn’t know it was you, writing this column,” he said. “There aren’t any angels who would tell Gabriel to fuck off.”
“There’s one angel,” Crowley pointed out, and Aziraphale blushed just slightly.
“Well. That’s. Not the point,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “I won’t ask about whether that name was yours or not in the past, my dear, I’m perfectly happy to wait until you want to talk about it, if ever. But I know you’re been giving advice under the name Raphael for a good few centuries.”
Crowley bit his lip, stared up at the ceiling. “How long have you known, then?”
“Oh, since you advised me to listen to my brilliant friend and ignore Heaven’s edicts,” Aziraphale said with a teasing smile. “It was rather a bit of a giveaway. That, and the aforementioned fuck-off advice.”
“Hmph,” Crowley grumbled. He picked up his tea and reheated it with a miracle before asking, “So, then, how do you think I should answer this one? Because obviously it’s talking about us. And obviously, any loyal angel would advise his brethren to get the Apocalypse restarted ASAP, but I’m very much not a loyal angel. The opposite, actually.”
“Nor do we much want the Apocalypse to restart,” Aziraphale added quietly. “That would put rather a damper on our dinner plans this weekend.”
“Hm,” Crowley agreed. “So?”
“You could just not answer,” Aziraphale suggested, shrugging. “After all, your past may be what it is, but they have no way of knowing that the demon Crowley has been writing as the advice columnist Raphael for four hundred years.”
“They could probably figure it out,” Crowley pointed out. “I’m sure someone up in Heaven could dig up enough files to prove it.”
Aziraphale gave him an unusually firm look, belied only a little by his worn-out cable-knit sweater and angelic disposition. “And what, then? They think you’re immune to holy water, my dear, and if I have my way they’ll never learn anything different.”
Crowley felt himself heat a little at that, at the unwavering protectiveness in Aziraphale’s voice. “I know, angel.”
Aziraphale’s demeanor changed, his eyes suddenly sparkling mischievously. “Or,” he said slowly. “You could write back.”
Crowley’s eyebrows went up. “And say…?”
Aziraphale gave him a cheeky grin. “I believe I might have some suggestions.
Dear Jophiel—
Maybe you should do your research a little better before assuming that you know what God’s plan is. Have you considered that perhaps, maybe, everything is still on track? That the Apocalypse isn’t meant to happen yet? That the Almighty’s test was just a test? Who can say for sure?
As my husband would say, it’s ineffable. Think about that for a little bit.
—Raphael and Ezra
1 Where did 'Gibrel' get pornography, a discerning reader might ask? A certain demon heard him and his associate shouting about it the last time they visited a certain bookshop, and made sure to miracle a little gift into Gibrel's pocket. Angels should get what they ask for, after all. And the demon had not liked the way Gibrel talked to his angel.[return to text]