Chapter Text
It was an awful day. There had been rather more than seven of them so far and they’ve all been pretty shit.
The serpent, whose name was Crawly, couldn’t say he liked the garden of Eden. But it beat the vast expanses of sand beyond it that the humans got exiled to. The whole apple bit turned out to cause more trouble than he thought it would.
He slithered up the wall to better see where the humans went. Noticing the guardian of the Eastern Gate had a similar idea, he slid up to him and tried to start a conversation. “Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” he meant to say.
He got as far as the word ‘down’ before he discovered that the angel had been issued a stick up his butt and a flaming sword in his hand. Narrowly escaping getting smitten, he vowed to never again let his guard down in front of an angel. Especially that one. It was not worth the trouble.
Crowley, as he went by these days, was already twenty minutes late. Speeding towards the cemetery, he cursed Hastur and Ligur, and the entirety of Hell for bad measure. He hated these meetings. The other demons always acted terribly smug, like they were better than him just because they didn’t have to spent as much time on this shithole of a planet.
The joke was on them. Soon, everything would change. Crowley was orchestrating a plan to get Armageddon started ahead of schedule. He just had to wait for the arrival of the Antichrist. Shouldn’t be too long now, according to his sources. A few decades, perhaps.
He parked his Bentley haphazardly and clambered out, sauntering towards his annoyed colleagues.
“All hail Satan,” said Hastur and Ligur, in unison.
“Uh. All hail, yeah. Hi, guys,” said Crowley. “Great place,” he added, as if they haven’t been meeting in this exact spot for centuries. “Properly spooky.”
They recounted their evil deeds. Crowley, having been busy plotting, had decided to claim responsibility for a recent surge in hate crimes. It was met with grudging approval, unlike any of the bouts of mischief he actually committed. Hell never appreciated his genius.
He waited to be dismissed. When that didn’t happen, and the silence grew awkward, he searched for a way to fill it. “So, uh,” he said. “Anything noteworthy happen downstairs?”
“Oh yes,” said Ligur.
“Our lord’s son has been born,” said Hastur.
Crowley’s eyes widened behind the sunglasses. “Our- our lord’s son?”
“Yes,” said Ligur.
“As in the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings?”
“Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, yes,” said Hastur.
“It’s only a tittle, he won’t actually end the world.”
“Whyever not?” Crowley asked, feigning nonchalance.
Hastur shrugged. “It’s a lot to put onto a child’s shoulders.”
“Could lead to resentment.”
“Besides, it’d be a waste of a perfectly bad world to be evil in.”
“‘Course.” Crowley nodded. And then he nodded again, just in case it helped subdue his growing panic.1 “Right, well. I should be off. Send my congrats and all.” He started walking off, waiting to see if they were going to stop him. When it became clear they wouldn’t, he high tailed out of there. The M25, as always, slowed him down considerably.
Crowley knew what he had to do. It was unfortunate, but it had always been unavoidable. It came sooner than he thought it would, but this was his only chance and he couldn’t squander it.
He stopped by the side of the road and dialled the number. A beep. Then another. And then a posh voice. “I’m afraid we’re closed.”
“Angel, it’s me.” Humans tended to call each other angel as a term of endearment. Crowley used it because he never bothered to learn the angel’s name. He was the enemy. And an enemy for six thousand years now, which made him something of a pain in the arse.
“Quite definitely closed,” the angel repeated, likely through gritted teeth.
Crowley hurried to speak before the angel decided to hang up on him. “It’s about Armageddon!” he blurted.
There was a pause. “I’m listening.”
“Meet me tomorrow. The usual place.”
An exaggerated sigh met Crowley’s ear. “Very well.”
Crowley hung up, not bothering with pleasantries. The hard part was over. Time to go kidnap Satan’s son.
There is a trick with three cards that is very hard to follow. What happened in Hell was more akin to snatching the ace up before anyone noticed and showing it back into the deck.
Remarkable, the kinds of things people got away with just because they looked like they knew what they were doing. One miraculously sound-proof basket and meticulously carefree swagger was all it took. Wait for the right time to strike and boom. Like taking candy from a baby. Or a baby from Hell.
This was, of course, but the first step of Crowley’s masterful plan. He needed someone to take care of the child. It was the upbringing that mattered, after all. And so he decided to swap the Antichrist with the baby of the worst parents he could imagine2, worse than even Satan himself.
Politicians.
All that was left to do was find a heavily pregnant politician, or the wife of one, nearby. As luck would have it, the American cultural attaché’s wife was nearing her due date. Her schedule now included a visit to an airbase in a small town in Oxfordshire bright and early in the morning. There wasn’t anything interesting in Tadfield, save for the defunct airbase and a small religious hospital ran by satanic nuns.3 Unlike the airbase medics, the hospital was equipped to handle childbirth. As such, the soldiers were instructed4 to redirect any expecting parents down the road.
It was a flawless plan. Crowley would pat himself on the back if it wasn’t for the screaming baby in his arms. “Stop it,” he said, shoving the miracled bottle of milk at the infant. The sound died down as the child happily suckled. “It’s hardly my fault you have to wait. How was I supposed to know you’d be born today? No one ever tells me anything.” After all, why bother informing a pawn? Much less a pawn on the outside of the chessboard. “You’re lucky I’m good at working under pressure.”
The child blinked at him. “Don’t give me that look.” He waggled his finger at him. “You might be able to make weak-willed humans do your biding, but not me. I’m made of sterner stuff.”
The Antichrist spat out the bottle’s nipple and opened his mouth as if to scream. “Alright, alright!” Crowley hurried to say. “You’re a right terror, aren’t you?” he added, in a tone that, to his embarrassment, resembled cooing.
The child resumed drinking with an expression too smug for someone only a few hours old. Crowley sighed. Just a little longer and he would hand him to the nuns. They’d swap the babies and there would be no way to trace the kidnapping back to Crowley. For now, he just had to hope the ticking time-bomb in his arms didn’t also have a tracking device.
For the most part, the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley avoided each other. It was to be expected; they were enemies after all. But one couldn’t avoid their nemesis forever.
Their paths tended to cross accidentally. The Earth was not nearly as big as it seemed at first. If their assignments didn’t conflict, they’d leave each other alone5, and if it did, they’d do their best to be the one to come out on top. Sometimes that resulted in a battle, their weapons of choice wits more often than swords.6
Eventually they entered an uneasy truce. Isolated as they were from their respective head offices, they needed alternative sources of information. They agreed to act civil to one another during these rare occasions when they’d meet to discuss business,7 and to keep the alcohol consumption moderate. It was best to limit the chances of another incident.
Amidst all the insults and avoiding doing any more work than strictly necessary, Aziraphale had gotten to know Crowley rather well. Naturally, this only made Aziraphale hate him more. They had nothing whatsoever in common, except for one tiny thing. They both loathed the Earth almost as much as they loathed each other.
“So,” Aziraphale said when Crowley finally sat down on the other end of the bench, well past what might be considered fashionably late. “The end is nigh.”
“Hopefully, yeah.”
Aziraphale nodded, hoping to get this conversation over as fast as possible. “When?”
“The kid needs to grow up.” Crowley shrugged. “Should happen when he’s eleven, I reckon.”
The duck let out an indignant quack at Aziraphale’s lapse in feeding. He threw another pea its way, a tad harder than was necessary. “The antichrist has been born already?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No, I-” He sighed. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s been kept in the dark. “And Hell sent him on Earth?”
Crowley winced. “Not Hell exactly.”
Oh good lord, he thought. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” Crowley insisted. “I haven’t done anything. I just, you know.” He grimaced and then continued, almost too fast for Aziraphale to understand. “I kidnaped the Antichrist and brought him to Earth.”
Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. “You what?!” He expected Crowley to start laughing, to say it had only been a joke or a prank, but instead he turned defensive.
“You would’ve done the same thing!”
“I beg you pardon?!”
Crowley hissed through his teeth. “We want the world to end, don’t we? And neither of our head offices seem to want to deliver, so I-” He shrugged. “Sped things up a little.”
“By kidnaping a child.”
“Yes.”
“Satan’s son.”
“Yes.”
Aziraphale stared at Crowley. “Have you lost your mind?”
Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t ask you to come here so I could listen to all this.”
“Well why did you ask me here?”
Crowley was silent for a moment. “We have to work together,” he said eventually.
Aziraphale blinked slowly.8 He must have misheard. There was no way Crowley was suggesting what he thought he was. “What?”
He got an exaggerated eye roll for his trouble. “It’s not like I’m happy about it! But we have to make sure the kid grows up to be evil. So he wants to destroy the world. What did I bring him here for if he still decides to stop it?”
“One cannot actually resist what one is, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a thick layer of condescension. Crowley hated it when he got all sanctimonious, which formed a decent part of the reason he did it.
He pretended not to notice the glare Crowley directed at him. “Shows what you know. We resisted. We fell.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said slowly. “And now you’re demons and you can’t resist that. It’s all part of-”
“If you say ineffable one more time-”
“-the ineffable plan.”
“Ugh, I don’t know why I even bother.”
“Well, frankly, neither do I.”
Crowley shrugged with an evidently forced casualness. “Your choice. If you want to watch people get their grubby little hands on your books for the rest of your immortal existence, suit yourself. But I happen to think you’d be much better off if we put an end to all this.”
Aziraphale knew he was being manipulated, but he couldn’t help raising to the bait. That was the thing about Crowley. He knew exactly how to push Aziraphale’s buttons. “I am an angel! I love all of the almighty’s creatures. For you to even imply that I’d rejoice at their demise is insulting, and exactly what I’d expect from a lowly demon such as yourself.”
“Oh, please, you despise them! You just wanna sit on a cloud, as far away from humans as possible!”
Aziraphale gasped. “I was very drunk when I told you that! It is not fair for you to use that against me.”
“I’m a demon. I don’t play fair.”
Oh, it was going to be like that was it? “Some demon you are, afraid of weasels.”
“They eat snakes! And you said you’d never mention it!”
It was Aziraphale’s turn to roll his eyes. “I lied.”
“Some angel you are, lying,” Crowley mocked. “Isn’t such a thing beneath you, oh holy one?”
“You’re beneath me.”9 Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest. “As if I’d be truthful with a fiend like you. You’re lucky I’ve decided to be merciful. I can still smite you, do not test me.”
Upon being threatened, Crowley seemed to have lost his nerve. “Just think about it, okay? No more customers, no more getting caught in the rain. You won’t ever have to see me again once this is over. Isn’t it worth it?”
Aziraphale sighed. He couldn’t deny it all sounded dreadfully appealing. Especially the last bit. “Out of the question.”
“Oh, come on! You want to, I know you do.”
Infuriating serpent. “Even if I did, I can’t help you. If Heaven found out-”
“No one has to know,” Crowley said, voice low.
“I think someone’s bound to notice the Antichrist is missing.”
“Sure they will. That doesn’t mean they’ll find out what happened.”
“I should just-” Aziraphale gritted his teeth. “I should go and tell them.”
Crowley scoffed. He pushed himself up from the bench. “Good luck with that. No one’s gonna believe you.”
Aziraphale hated to admit it, but he had a point. Telling Heaven wouldn’t achieve anything and Hell had no reason to trust an angel.
Crowley sighed. “Just consider it. That’s all I’m asking. Heaven won’t know a thing, I swear.”
Aziraphale looked skyward. The child was meant to stay in Hell, Heaven wouldn’t know about it yet, would they? Maybe that’s why he wasn’t briefed.
It could work, if they were extremely careful. “Where is he now?”
“Swapped him with the kid of some diplomat.”
Aziraphale nodded. At least the daft demon knew better than to keep the evidence with him. “I shall think about it.”
“Thank you!” Crowley pulled a face. “Ugh, no, forget I said that.”
Aziraphale smiled, a tad too sharp for an upstanding angel. “A demon thanking an angel. Fancy that.”
Crowley was walking away. “I hate you.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual.”
Crowley put on a blazer, ready for his first day at work after a stellar job interview Harriet Dowling would swear must have happened, even though she couldn’t quite remember it. He opened the front door of his flat, only to find Satan standing right there, fist raised as if to knock. Or to punch Crowley.
“Aaargh!”
“Crowley,” the king of Hell greeted him pleasantly. Like they were neighbors who ran into each other at the lift, not the devil and his jumpy underling.
“To, um, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Crowley said when he was confident his heart wasn’t going to jump out of his mouth. He was still clinging to the door handle. He was aware, in the back of his mind, that he was being impolite, that he should invite him in. But he was frozen in place.
Satan closed his eyes. “We found my boy.”
It was a good thing, Crowley decided, that he still had that coffin from when he tried to fool his noisy neighbor into thinking he was a vampire. Not that there would be much of him left to bury once Satan was done with him.
Satan looked pained. It couldn’t be easy to find out one of your favorite employees has kidnapped your kid, he supposed. “And I don’t know what to do, Crowley.”
“Um. You don’t?” And here Crowley was thinking it would have been obvious. Maybe he was having trouble settling on the dismemberment method.
“He…he looks happy.”
“He does?” Crowley was under the impression that the Dowlings were not the greatest of parents. Perhaps he’s chosen wrong, not that it would matter now.
“Yes.” Satan nodded and walked over to the hallway window, looking out over London. “And I don’t know if I should tear him away from that.”
Crowley was beginning to suspect this conversation was not about his gruesome death, preceded by gruesome torture. Which meant there might still be a chance to salvage what was left of his plan. Or, baring that, to at least save his hide. “If I may, your disgrace.”
“Crowley. We are friends, aren’t we? Or we used to be, at least. There is no need for such formalities. Just call me Lucifer.”
“Right.” Crowley hasn’t heard that name in a long time. Satan – Lucifer – didn’t often show up in the office downstairs. It seemed sensible to refer to him by tittles or monikers. Demons were a superstitious bunch, but they had a good reason to be. “Lucifer, if I may. I think it might be better for the boy to stay on Earth. He’s human, or so he thinks. It would be a shock to drag him to Hell now, at such an impressionable age.”10
Lucifer sighed. “I fear you are right. But I cannot leave him without supervision. Someone has to make sure he will stay happy, and won’t start Armageddon.” He turned to look at Crowley. “Can you be the one to do it? You know the most about Earth and humans. I would go myself, but I don’t think I could stand it. Being so close without revealing myself.”
Crowley was the luckiest bastard in all existence. “It would be an honor.”
Aziraphale fought to keep his face neutral as he ascended the escalator to Heaven. It was bittersweet, being called up for a briefing. Not that he didn’t want to go, but he hasn’t received good news on a visit upstairs in centuries. Just rejections to his requests to relocate back there, more missions on Earth, same old, same old.
The stakes were higher now. Aziraphale has barely done anything, but then, he’s done enough, hasn’t he? Conspiracy to commit treason. If Heaven knew about it he’d be toast, and not the kind humans ate.
“Aziraphale!” Gabriel called, his stiff smile as wide as ever. “Good of you to join us.”
Aziraphale nodded politely, holding his hands behind his back to stop himself from fidgeting. “Of course.”
They were in one of the big empty hallways Heaven was full of. The archangels stood opposite him in a row, staring at him without blinking or breathing. Having lived on Earth for so long, it felt unsettling to watch them. It was frustrating, to be so cut off from his brothers in arms.
“There have been some developments regarding the Antichrist. As our primary agent on Earth we thought it best to bring you up to speed.”
Aziraphale willed his corporation to cease shivering. It was a bit chilly, compared to the summer weather down on Earth. “Oh?” he asked carefully.
“He has been found,” Sandalphon said.
That stupid snake. Aziraphale was going to kill him, if Hell didn’t get to him first.
“It would seem Hell has decided to keep him amongst humans for now,” Uriel explained. “We need someone from our side to monitor the situation.”
“I can do it!” Aziraphale blurted out.
Some of the tension left the archangels. “Oh, good,” Gabriel said. “Not that we wouldn’t love to go, it’s just. Well. You’re the Earth expert, aren’t you?”
Aziraphale tried not to grimace. “That I am.”
“Your mission is observation only,” Michael said. “Interfere only to prevent the Apocalypse. According to our intel, Hell is also in favor of upholding the armistice for now, but you never know what their agent might do.”
Easy enough orders to follow, with some creative interpretation. “Would that be such a bad thing?” he asked, in what he hoped was a casual way. “If the world ended, I mean.”
“The worst. We’d win the war, of course.” Gabriel flashed a grin. “But there’s no need to have it so soon.”
“No need,” Aziraphale repeated faintly.
Aziraphale could not wait for the world to end. Working with Crowley was regrettably necessary, but the sooner they were as far away from each other as possible, the better.
The Antichrist was an awful little brat and Aziraphale couldn’t see what made him any worse than other humans that age. Regardless of how spoiled and annoying he could be, everyone seemed to like little Warlock. Alarming as it was, Aziraphale, who hasn’t let himself get close to a human since it proved unwise in the early years, found himself with a fondness for the child. He even caught Crowley treating him in a way he’d call kind, if he didn’t know any better.
As the estate’s gardener, Aziraphale didn’t spent as much time with Warlock as Crowley did, being his nanny, which suited him fine. Being a demon, Crowley was better equipped to teach him how to be evil. Besides, if Warlock’s infernal charm made an agent of Hell sing lullabies (albeit with rather gruesome imagery) and kiss scraped knees better, Aziraphale would prefer not to find out what heightened exposure would do to an angel.
An unfortunate side effect was, this meant Crowley had ample time and opportunity to teach Warlock about pranks. Which was how Aziraphale found himself standing in front of the garden shed, absolutely drenched. “A bucket over the door,” he said dryly. “How clever.”
Warlock giggled. He was lucky he was cute, and integral to the plan.
“Now, you are not tall enough to have done this on your own, Master Warlock,” he said, in the accent he assumed as Brother Francis, his disguise for the assignment. “Where’s your accomplice?”
Warlock pointed to a rose bush. “Nanny’s wight hewe!”
A groan came from the bush and Crowley stood up, elaborate up-do not a pin out of place despite his hiding spot. “Snitching are we? Is that one of ours or one of yours?”
Aziraphale moved over to the roses, watering can in hand. “Oh, I wouldn’t know,” he said and heaved the can up, before dumping all of its contents on Crowley’s head.
Crowley gaped at him, water dripping from his no longer perfect hair. Warlock was laughing.
“My apologies, miss Ashtoreth,” he said, not bothering to pretend he was sorry. “The roses needed watering.”
The next morning Aziraphale woke up and saw that all his roses have been uprooted.
Just six more years, he reminded himself. Then you never have to see him again.
Aziraphale was in middle of a very gripping story when Crowley barged into the gardener’s cottage. “I need to get drunk,” he announced.
“I believe that’s what pubs are for.”
“That’s boring. Nobody to complain to.”
Aziraphale gently shut the book closed, gritting his teeth. “I am not here so you could complain to me either.”
“You can complain first if it makes you feel better.”
Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest. “This isn’t- We’re not friends, Crowley.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Obviously. You’re too annoying for one. Not to mention we’re an angel and a demon. We don’t get to have friends.”
“And we’re hereditary enemies.”
“Sure, that too. Look, if I piss you off, just kick me out, alright? I’m a grown demon, I can take it. But this job is killing me and you’re the only one I can talk to about it. It’s not like it would be the first time we drink together. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Crowley was tempting fate with those words, but then, Crowley tempted fate all the time. It was practically in his job description. Aziraphale’s eyes flicked upwards, then back at Crowley. He could go for a glass or two. “The wine better be excellent.”
Crowley grinned. “Nothing but the best for you, angel.”
“So. Today is the day,” the angel said when Crowley joined him on the bench.
“Yup,” Crowley agreed.
“What is meant to happen, exactly?”
Crowley let out a breath. “He’ll get a hellhound and name it. And then bam, full powers, horsemen of the apocalypse, raining fish, all that. Within a couple of days the world as we know it will be over.”
“Right.” The angel nodded, frowning. He was looking around the park, probably making sure no one was watching. “You’ve never actually mentioned a hellhound before.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Well, downstairs is going to send him one, the biggest they’ve got. That’s how the end of the world starts.”
“Are you sure they intend to do that?”
“…yeah,” Crowley said, less certain than he was a moment ago.
“Only, from what I was told, Hell doesn’t want the world to end prematurely any more than Heaven does.”
“Yeah.”
“So, maybe you should go make sure they actually do that? So that we don’t have to wait for a hellhound that will never come?”
Crowley rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Yeah, whatever,” he said. It wouldn’t do to let the angel know he might be right. Off to Hell it was then. “See you at the party, angel.”
Crowley hated being on Earth, but that didn’t mean he liked Hell. It was Hell. It wasn’t created to be enjoyable, not for humans and certainly not for the demons. It was damp and way too cold for a place with access to infernal flame. It was only preferable in comparison to Heaven.
He did like the hellhounds though. They were simple creatures, motivated mostly by food and capable of intense loyalty. Not that different from regular dogs, if you ignored the bloodlust. Crowley never had high enough standing in Hell, and it suited him just fine, but it was a pity he couldn’t get one. He imagined immortality would be slightly more bearable if you didn’t face it alone.
Instead of Hanni, who took care of the hounds and occasionally let Crowley come by to pet them, it was Lucifer who sat in the kennel, scratching behind the ears of one of them. It looked like he was crying.
Upon seeing that, Crowley tried to back away, but it was too late. Lucifer had already seen him. “Crowley.”
“Um. Hi.”
“You’re a bad boy, aren’t you?” Lucifer said to the dog, or at least Crowley was hoping it was directed at the dog. “It’s my son’s birthday today.”
Crowley sat down on one of the chairs. “It is,” he said, unsure if he was expected to reply.
“I was supposed to give him a hellhound for his eleventh birthday.” He sniffled and pated the dog’s head.
“You could still give it to him.”
Lucifer shook his head. “I can’t. If he accepts it, it would mean the start of Armageddon. And if he doesn’t-” He dragged a hand down his face. “Then what hope do I have of him accepting me?”
Crowley needed to get out of there. “Um.” He’s never learned how to deal with tears, at least not with adults. He couldn’t very well offer a cuddle and a lullaby to the king of Hell.
He looked away, biting his lip. He hadn’t realised how much it would affect Lucifer when he made his plan. “Are those all the options?”
Lucifer looked up at him, eyebrows raised.
“I mean, the Hellhound’s purpose is to protect your son, right? Not to actually help him start the process.”
“That is its role. But it is also the catalyst.” He looked down at the dog he was petting. “There are no good choices.”
Crowley frowned. He knew that feeling well.
Lucifer got up and straightened his tie. It was red, the only pop of color in otherwise bleak Hell. “I have duties to attend to. You’ll lock the hounds up, won’t you? Hanni is on sick leave.”
“Since when do we have si- oh. Did she get mauled again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Right. Yeah, ‘course, I’ll do it.”
Crowley was exactly where he wanted to be and he couldn’t do anything. He was lucky enough that Lucifer didn’t question his presence. If he was the last demon seen with the hellhounds before one mysteriously disappeared, only to reappear with the Antichrist, there would not be a shovel big enough to dig himself out of that hole.
Plan B it was, then.
Hellhounds came to be like any other kind of dogs, mostly through selective breeding. But there was another way to get a hellhound.
Back in the day when horses were all the rage, Crowley had the misfortune to discover that perhaps throwing hellfire around just because he got bucked off again was not the brightest idea. In his defense, he couldn’t have foreseen the stupid thing would eat smoldering grass.
The hellhorse didn’t like Crowley any better than it did before its transformation, and now it could show it properly. Unwilling to keep it and too worried about what it would do left to its own devices, Crowley brought it to Hell as his newest achievement.11 For a while, various new hellcreatures were all the rage. Ultimately, though efficient, the process didn’t bring the most stable results. Instead of having their entire lives to get used to their infernal natures, these creatures went from regular animals into immortal beasts in a blink. Handling them was even worse than with normal hellhounds and training was a nightmare and so the trend eventually died down.
Finding a stray dog and feeding it some hellfire-baked kibble was a piece of cake. “Go on, then,” he told the hellhound, which seemed a bit confused at its newfound size and the sharpness of its teeth. “Find your master.”
Warlock’s birthday party was a disaster, and not even the apocalyptic kind. Just the kind you could expect from making a bunch of spoiled preadolescents deal with the angel’s attempts at a magic show. If they didn’t have a truce, Crowley would throw cake at him too.
But something was missing, and it wasn’t just good entertainment.
“Maybe it got lost.”
Crowley rolled his eyes and continued pacing. They were out on the driveway, out of sight of the guests. “Do you think I’m completely useless?”
The angel didn’t answer, which was a little insulting. “No dog.”
“No dog,” Crowley echoed.
“Wrong boy.”
“Wrong boy.”
“Bugger.” The angel sat down on the curb. “Well done, Crowley. Magnificent plan.”
Crowley sighed and sat down next to him. “It might still work out.”
“How? We’ve spent a decade mentoring the wrong child!”
Crowley shrugged. He had a bit of a strained relationship with optimism, though he was trying to mend it. “The real Antichrist might still name the dog.”
“Because children are so prone to ending the world.”
“Eh, you know how humans are. Unpredictable, yeah?”
The angel wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t like being out of the loop.”
“I should be able to feel it, when it happens. Demon and all.”
“Lovely. So now I need to rely on the honesty of a demon who does nothing but lie.”
“Hey, I don’t just lie. I have all sorts of other vices, too.” He looked down at his hands. “Listen,” he tried, voice softer this time. “We’re in this together, right? I don’t like it anymore that you do, but we are. You don’t need to trust me, just trust that I’m not dumb enough to keep my only ally in the dark.”
“You say it as if that’s easier,” the angel retorted, his pink mouth curving into a smile.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I bow to your superior intellect, oh mighty princi-”
It was then that Crowley felt something shift. He shivered. It reminded him of that one time he got caught in the middle of an earthquake. “He did it. He named the dog.”
It was Adam’s birthday and that meant everyone had to listen to him. Well, maybe not everyone and maybe not to all his suggestions, but they had to at least pretend to consider them. This was not that different from any other day, really.
But today there would be cake, presents and, most importantly, a dog.
“Are you sure your parents are getting you a dog, Adam?” Brian, one of Adam’s best friends, asked.
Maybe if Adam was older, he’d express some doubt in this situation. Perhaps he’d say that he hoped so, but was not at all certain. But Adam only just turned eleven, and he was used to things going his way. “Definitely.”
He could just see him, the perfect dog. Large and fluffy, perfect for cuddling up to. He’d have floppy ears, because everyone knew the best dogs have floppy ears. He’d be smart and loyal and always run up to Adam with his tail wagging. “I’m going to call him Dog,” he decided.
The hellhound that was stalking through the forest was rather confused to find himself changing form for the second time that day. But he had a name now, and a purpose.
And most importantly, a master.
Aziraphale looked up. “Are you certain?”
Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Did you not feel anything? That was intense.”
“No, I-” he paused. It was only then that he noticed how close they were sitting. “I’m an angel!” He got to his feet and stepped away, dusting himself off. “I can’t sense such things.”
“Right.” He stayed sitting, head turned in Aziraphale’s direction.12
“So we’ve succeeded after all.” He could acknowledge the situation, but he wasn’t going to admit Crowley had been right.
“I s’ppose we have. Should be fairly straightforward now.”
“Then there’s no need for us to cooperate anymore.”
Crowley opened his mouth and then closed it with an audible click. “Like I promised. You never have to see me again.”
“Well. I wouldn’t say it’s been pleasant to work with you.” He paused, wondering if it was sensible to say such a thing. “But I am grateful, nonetheless.”
“An angel thanking a demon.” Crowley grinned. “Fancy that.”
Aziraphale shook his head and began waking away. “I still hate you.”
There was laughter behind him. “No, you don’t.”
The sound kept on following him, even as the distance grew. Aziraphale hoped Crowley would truly keep his promise. It would be such a shame for him to go through all this trouble only to perish at Aziraphale’s hand once the war came. The destruction of a demon should have excited him, but all it did was leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
1.It didn’t.
2.And unlike most demons, Crowley had quite the imagination.
3.Crowley didn’t enjoy working with satanists. In his opinion, worshipping his mediocre absentee boss was a step too far, but needs must. It would all be worth it in the end.
4.It hardly mattered who issued the order, did it?
5.Neither of them wanted to take on extra work.
6.Aziraphale was an excellent swordsman, but the same could not be said for Crowley. If he wanted a quick and easy victory, he would have fought a training dummy, thank you very much.
7.Within reason, of course. They still argued to their hearts’ discontent.
8.The duck got fed up and swam away to bother someone else.
9.“You wish,” Crowley muttered.
10.Since this job had more personal stakes than most assignments, Crowley’s done his homework, reading all sorts of books on child development. Turns out wrecking someone’s childhood was easier than he thought. Which explained that whole mess with Cain.
11.And then went to see if he could tempt someone into inventing cars ahead of schedule.
12.He could never tell if Crowley was looking at him with the sunglasses. But Crowley never took them off, not since they got invented.