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“We have to do something,” Dagon insisted. Their voice was grim, though admittedly that was nothing particularly out of the ordinary when it came to the Master of Torments. “Something to show our—“ their face twisted, as if just saying the word caused physical pain “—good will.”
“We’re demonzzz,” Beelzebub pointed out. A few miscellaneous flies buzzed anxiously around zir office, betraying the facade of unconcern. “We don’t have good will. By definition.”
“I know that, but…”
“And we definitely don’t have good will towardzz traitorzzzz. What would the legionzz think?”
Dagon flinched. “I know, I know! But…” They tried to think of another argument; one that didn’t require saying Look, the fact is I’m bloody terrified and you are too. Just because it was true and they both knew it was true didn’t mean either the Lord of the Flies or the Lord of the Files could ever admit to that kind of thing, even in a private office and top-secret consultation.
“But,” Dagon said in a flash of inspiration, “like you were just saying, we’re demons. And… demons lie, right? ”
“Yez. Right.” The large fly atop Beelzeub’s head flicked an interested antenna. “I’m liszzzening.”
“So if we do something for Crowley — send him some gifts, maybe — as a sign of good will, when in reality we both know all our will is evil… we’d be lying. It would be very demonic.”
“Ah. I zzee.” Beelzebub nodded, relief palpable. “An exczzellent idea.”
Dagon was relieved too, and not only because they’d found a way to get Beelzebub to agree. This line of reasoning felt much more comfortable than We must do something to placate Crowley so he doesn’t try to get revenge after all.
“What do you think the traitor would like?” they asked aloud. “Maybe some kind of theme?”
There was a long pause. Finally, Beelzebub said dubiously, “Well, he did ask for something last time he wazzzz here…”
Crowley gaped at the contents of the box that had appeared on the doorstep of their cottage. He’d been suspicious at first, as had Aziraphale, both of them instantly recognizing the smell on the cardboard even before they saw the return address.
But they’d opened it, carefully and on high alert, with gloves and protective wards. And…
“Is that meant to be a bathrobe?” Aziraphale asked, sounding disbelieving.
Crowley lifted the item folded neatly on top, confirmed that it was indeed a bathrobe, and saw what was underneath it. “And a… rubber duck?”
“And that looks like a bath bomb next to it.”
“Better be careful with that one. Given who it’s from, the bomb part could be literal.”
They looked at each other.
“Why,” said Aziraphale, “did Hell send you a bath-themed package?”
“Great question.”
“Do you think it’s supposed to be some kind of threat? Bathtubs…”
“They already tried that one,” Crowley pointed out. “It didn’t work.”
“True enough.” The angel squinted dubiously at the box. “Maybe a gesture of good will?”
“Um. Hell doesn’t really do good will.”
“I suppose they wouldn’t.” Aziraphale hesitated. “Trap, then?”
“Nah. Our wards would be going off if there was any danger in the vicinity.” Crowley shrugged. “Might just be Beelze’s idea of a joke. Ze always did have a really weird sense of humor.”
“I did ask them for a rubber duck,” Aziraphale recalled.
Crowley laughed, as unutterably delighted as the first time he’d heard that incredible statement. “So that’s probably why, yeah.”
“Oh, well.” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s just a pity the bathrobe stinks too much to wear. Do you think the brimstone would come off in the wash?”