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The angel went to Edinburgh.
That was all Beelzebub needed to hear.
Crowley, being the untrustworthy demon that he is, obviously knew more than he was willing to share, and his angel companion clearly knew far more than he plausibly could if he hadn’t been talking to Gabriel.
Truth be told, Beelzebub didn’t care about the bookshop in the least. Giving Shax a war footing was simply a diversion tactic, it bought Beelzebub time to find Gabriel themselves. If FurFur did as Beelzebub had ordered, he’d be stalling long enough for demons to lose interest and quickly; Shax would be lucky to get a hundred demons. Their plan essentially consisted of having enough time to get Gabriel from the bookshop, and then call off the assault against it as truly, they had no interest in the angel’s hovel beyond Gabriel.
Were Crowley or his angel to refuse to hand over Gabriel to them—
—well—
—what happened to them beyond that was no skin off of Beelzebub’s nose.
They take the most direct route to the bookshop—the lift that happens to open right across from it—and when they come out onto the streets of London, it’s already alive and bustling with humans. A smell lingers in the air, sharp, bitter, and they recognize it as coffee; a drink humans tend to live on despite not actually needing it. Humans chatter and laugh about being late for work, or not going at all, or even quitting a job that has grown heavy on their shoulders. Cars drive by, back and forth, up the streets in an endless loop and not one human seems to notice the bookshop they walk by; oblivious of its existence. Anyone that seems to notice it walks up to the door only to find a sign on it that declares it closed, which is about as far as Beelzebub can get before a strong amount of holy energy pushes them back, refusing to let them pass.
Before they can think of their next course of action, the door opens, and Crowley stomps out of the safety of the shop, as if angry. He doesn’t even notice Beelzebub as they stand there until they call out, “Crowley.”
The snake demon doesn’t startle, but he does visibly stiffen as he stops, and slowly pivots back towards them. His sunglasses hide his surprise well enough, but Beelzebub can practically hear him questioning why they are there.
“Lord Beelzebub,” he says with a nod, “To what do I owe the pleasure?
“You’ve been lying to me, Crowley,” they answer.
“About what?” He asks, and begins walking with the assumption that Beelzebub will follow and considering they want answers, they have no choice. He walks across the street, weaving through traffic with the expert precision of someone that does it regularly and hops onto the sidewalk. They follow him, over to a French bistro where he helps himself to a small outdoor table placed beneath a covered patio. The humans that dine don’t seem to notice him, or if they do, they don’t say a word, neither does a woman walking about, carrying a small tray as she goes table to table.
“What are you doing?” Beelzebub asks.
Crowley looks at them over the edge of his glasses and motions to the chair next to him, “You can sit.”
Beelzebub doesn’t bother with the stairs, and simply transfers themselves to the seat, sitting with their right leg crossed over their left, eyes on Crowley.
“I’m in terrible need of alcohol—“
With a sigh, Beelzebub miracles a bottle of champagne to appear in the center of the table, which Crowley reaches out for, tilting his glasses downward to read the label, “Well—at least you’re not cheap—“ he says as a glass appears in his opposite hand that he places down, long enough to pop the cork off the bottle to begin pouring a generous portion. He takes the flute, and downs the contents in one long gulp that leaves him gasping as he goes to refill it again, “Now, Lord Beelzebub, what exactly was I lying about?”
“Gabriel—“ Beelzebub says bluntly, “Your angel went to Edinburgh.”
Crowley pulls a face and sits back far enough for his glasses to hide his eyes. Snakes eyes that visibly shift behind the frames as he forgoes the glass to drink straight from his bottle, “Couldn’t say where Aziraphale goes or doesn’t go—he’s his own person—“
Beelzebub tilts their head, “Except—you do know that the angel went to Edinburgh and I want to know why? Has he hidden Gabriel in Edinburgh?” They ask, already knowing the answer to that question.
Shax had said it: Gabriel is in the bookshop.
However, they were interested in handing Crowley a spade to see how far he could dig his own grave.
Crowley adverts his eyes and takes another long drink from his champagne bottle, before looking at it forlornly as he realizes how quickly he’s emptying it. “Can’t say—“
“—can’t you?”
He shrugs, “Last I heard, he was just enjoying a wee bit of music on a country drive—no crime in that, is there?”
Beelzebub smirks as Crowley, unintentionally, gives them exactly what they are looking for.
“What is that look?!” Crowley asks, scooting back slightly, “What did I say?”
“A song on a jukebox in Edinburgh?”
“I didn’t say the word jukebox. Who said anything about a jukebox?” Crowley says and downs the rest of his champagne, slamming the bottle down on the table. “Think I need to be getting on.”
Beelzebub grabs his arm to pull him back and Crowley grouses about how he’s forgotten how strong they can be, “Only one angel could have given that information to your Aziraphale—and I know that’s Gabriel—“
“Really couldn’t say—“ Crowley mumbles and goes to stand again, “—need to be getting back and all—“
“Crowley—“ Beelzebub says in warning but suddenly, Crowley freezes.
As if there’s a time delay in his brain—possibly due to the full bottle of alcohol he’d just consumed—Crowley blinks and slurs out, “Wait—why did you say jukebox? That was really specific.”
Beelzebub raises a brow and Crowley shakes his head, making a rather ugly face as he gasps, and the bottle between them refills rapidly as Crowley sniffles and Beelzebub realizes he’s just expelled the liquid out of him, “Does that hurt?”
“Yes—“ he says and collapses back against the chair, it’s back hitting the wall behind them, “—now—why did you say jukebox?”
Beelzebub shrugs, and crosses their arms, their eyes rolling over to look back at the street where people continue on in their insignificant lives, unaware of how close they walk to demons. Behind them, in the cafe, someone orders their third piece of cake, and thinks a little over indulgence won’t hurt.
“—his royal holiness of being a absolute dick was meeting someone in Edinburgh—“
Beelzebub smirks.
“You?! He was meeting you?!”
Beelzebub rolls their head back around to see Crowley’s eyes so wide that his glasses have slipped down his nose far enough for them to see the full shape of his snake eyes.
“—you two working together now? Planning the next Armageddon? A hostile takeover of Earth?—do you want to try to execute me and Aziraphale again? The first time didn’t work—maybe the second time will?—I swear if you touch him—“
With a roll of their eyes Beelzebub waves him off as storm clouds roll in, reacting to his ire, “Calm down, Crowley, before you turn yourself into a snake.”
“Don’t you tell me to calm down—“ he hisses, “—you tried to destroy me, need I remind—“
“The world, despite your opinion, doesn’t revolve around you, Crowley.”
“Then, what— what could you two possibly be doing if not contemplating how to make the rest of us miserable in existence.”
Beelzebub glances around. With a snap of their fingers they place up a small barrier around them, one that ensures no one on Earth, Heaven, or Hell, would be able to eavesdrop on what Beelzebub was to divulge. They weren’t going to tell Crowley the depths of what their heart said, but they could surely give him bread crumbs, “We were—enjoying each other’s company.”
To avoid the look on his face—which they see involves his jaw dropping considerably—they bring their claws to eye level to pick at the black specks that build up underneath.
“—enjoying— what?! —“ he exclaims and reaches for the refilled bottle of champagne to start drinking it again, “—trading stories about torturing orphans?—Maybe missing the old days of throwing blokes into lion pits?”
Crowley gives a scoff as he continues to ramble, nursing his bottle like a life line and Beelzebub rolls their eyes at his antics.
“Shax is currently assembling a legion of demons to storm your beloved angel’s bookshop to capture Gabriel—“ Beelzebub shares and that seems to grab his attention, enough for him to drop the bottle and turn his full attention to them.
“—If you even dare —“
“—Give Gabriel to me, and I’ll call her off.”
“You would have had to approve the legion in the first place!” Crowley argues.
Beelzebub shrugs, “Might’ve.”
Crowley appears in front of them to lean forward into their face, boldly grabbing them by the cravat around their throat and tugging them forward; quite careless behavior towards someone that outranks him. His forked tongue flicks out as a low angry hiss begins to emanate from him as he draws even closer, nearly nose to nose, “Here is where you and Gabriel are mistaken—you think threatening Aziraphale will get you what you want—but all it does is piss me off —I do not care for it—Supreme—whatever his title is—isn’t even half the angel that Aziraphale is—Aziraphale is—“
Beelzebub grabs the hand at their throat, and extends their claws to dig into Crowley’s skin, the only warning he’ll get before they begin to rip things off, “You don’t need to wax poetic about your angel to me, Crowley. I truly don’t care one way or another,” they say, “I just want Gabriel—after that—I don't care what you and your angel do—for the rest of eternity—consider this a pardon.”
“A—pardon?” Crowley says slowly, drawing back slightly, far enough to release his hold on Beelzebub, and magnanimous as they are, they release their own grip on him, the wounds closing.
“I offered you whatever your little black heart desires, didn’t I?”
“A full pardon,” Crowley repeats in disbelief.
“For all crimes against Hell, at least, and then, a full pardon from Gabriel, for your angel’s crimes against Heaven—you’ll be free to do whatever its you two want to do on this planet or anywhere in the universe—no more intervention or interference from either side—“
Crowley visibly, physically, begins to consider it as his eyes dart left and right, undoubtedly imagining his ideal life with his Principality; whatever that means to the two of them.
No Heaven.
No Hell.
Just them and eternity, and Beelzebub sees all of it dance across his face as it alights with a spark.
Hope.
Hope that presents an opening for them, and they rises from their chair, a step closer to Crowley and whisper, “Take me to Gabriel—take me to Gabriel and it’s yours—“
Either they’ve overplayed their hand or said the wrong thing. Whichever the case may be, the hope dissolves behind a sharp shutter of emotions that turn into rapid distrust and anger.
“Mad world if demons go about trusting other demons,” Crowley says, and raises a finger to wag in their face, “You almost had me—but I’ve been in this game just as long as you have, Prince—the moment you’re with Gabriel—that’s when he’ll reveal this whole thing has been a ruse, yes?—all concocted by the both of you to send us back to Heaven and Hell respectively never to be let out again!—I almost, almost , believe his amnesiac act. Quite convincing—but I knew— I knew —“
Amnesia?
That was new information to Beelzebub.
“What do you mean—amnesia?”
If Crowley hears them he doesn’t acknowledge them, and continues to ramble, pacing the patio back and forth, from one end to the next, and back again, mostly about how he should have trusted his instincts and dumped Gabriel in the middle of nowhere. There’s also something about an incident with a window, and that was how he’d almost been convinced to believe him. All of the words are packaged around severely agitated hisses, and Beelzebub can only make out every other word as he runs his hand through his hair and the storm clouds roll in again.
“Consider me done!” Crowley proclaims as thunder cracks above and he begins to stomp away, intentionally making his boots slam against the wood, louder than strictly necessary.
Beelzebub knows they are out of options, out of things they can play against Crowley, and if they want Gabriel in this moment, there is nothing more they can do but actually tell him the truth. To speak the words they hadn’t even said to Gabriel yet. Words held so tightly to their chest that they have to close their eyes to avoid the look they know will result of confessing them, “I love Gabriel—-I’m in love with him—“
“What did you just say?”
They don’t have to see him to know he’s stopped, that he’s probably turned back to them in some kind of slither like motion in his disbelief.
“I’m not repeating myself—“ they snap with an angry buzz, “—I haven’t said those words to him—if I say them again, they should be to him—“
“Right—“
“—he loves me too—I know he does—-he said he’d fall for me—“ they open their eyes then, turning them on Crowley in narrowed slits, “Can you say the same for your angel?”
“I would never ask such a thing from Aziraphale.”
“I didn’t have to ask,” Beelzebub says, and narrows their eyes even further, “Take me to him—invite me inside—Shax will still be unable to enter, and the bookshop and your angel remain untouched—I just want Gabriel.”
“You’re full of shit,” Crowley says as he crosses his arms over his chest, “I don’t believe you or trust you—I have no reason to—
“Crowley?” The Principality calls from beneath them, the angel in beige walking over to the patio, looking around curiously. Behind him, Crowley’s black vehicle is parked, but it inches closer, as if it’s watching them, and listening, tuned in to particularly good gossip. He comes around the edge, to the stairs, and welcomes himself to stand beside the demon, reaching out to place a hand on his arm, “Whatever is the matter, my dear?”
Crowley motions to Beelzebub, “—they want Gabriel.”
Aziraphale looks over at them with a tilt of his head, and says, more to Crowley than to them, “Is this Beelzebub?” A nod from Crowley, “I’m sure they do want Gabriel—all of Hell must want him—“
“That’s only the half of it—“ Crowley says and leans down to whisper into the angel’s ear. For a moment, Beelzebub feels like they’re witnessing something intimate as Crowley keeps his mouth near the Principality’s ear, and the angel grips his shoulder tighter as he takes in the words Crowley shares. His eyes dart between Crowley who nods, and then to Beelzebub and back again, “—demons lie, angel, remember that.”
“This would be a dangerous lie, darling—“ Aziraphale reasons, “—this isn’t just deception—it would be treachery—blasphemy, even—“ he says with hesitation, eyes coming back around to Beelzebub as if to gauge their reaction to the words. However, neither traitor receives what he is hoping, as Beelzebub had long come to accept the truth of the matter.
They are a traitor.
Their feelings for Gabriel made them a traitor, and they didn’t really care.
“I may be willing to invite you inside my shop under one condition—“
“Angel?”
“Name it,” Beelzebub says without hesitation.
“—I’m not saying Gabriel in the bookshop—or that he’s not—but, hypothetically, if he were and hypothetically if he were singing a song—“ Aziraphale’s hand twists in Crowley’s jacket, “—if you can name the song, I’ll invite you in.”
“Strange condition, angel.”
“I told you, the barkeep said Gabriel had been meeting someone he thought was a mason—between that information and what you just told me—if it’s true—Beelzebub should know the song.”
“ Everyday ,” Beelzebub answers, interrupting whatever it was that Crowley was going to say next; both their attentions turn back to them. “The song—it’s called Everyday— Gabriel miracled the jukebox to play that song—“
Aziraphale nods, straightens his suit coat and walks off the patio with Crowley at his heels. Beelzebub follows them both as they head back across the street to the silent bookshop where the Heavenly barrier still stands, ready to repel them but yielding to Crowley who ducks in first and disappears into the back. Aziraphale steps in after him, and holds the door from the opposite side, keeping it wide open as he gestures with his arm, “Beelzebub, please, do come in.”
With those few simple words, the oppressive weight of holy energy dissipates and with one step forward, they’re able to cross the threshold without being thrown back or discorporated. The entire, ironically enough, reminds them of the disorganized state of Hell, while simultaneously, being actually quite well organized. They were sure if they asked the Principality to find something within the confines of the bookshop, he could do so without question.
“Jim, come greet our new guest,” he calls as he closes the door behind them, the lock clicking into place.
“Jim?” Beelzebub asks as Crowley comes out of the back area, followed closely by a tall angel, dressed horrendously in a knit jumper and long beige coat that looked to be more than Principality’s style. As he comes closer, there’s a twinge of something familiar about him that they attempt to grasp, but it’s as if, the moment they reach to grab it, it escapes, and they can’t piece together what it was. A fog sits in front of their eyes and they’re unable to clear it.
“Hi,” the tall angel beams with a dopey smile, “I’m Jim, short for James, long for—“
“Shh,” Crowley hushes with a gesture to zip one’s lips as Jim smiles and nods.
“Where’s Gabriel?” Beelzebub asks as the tall angel comes closer to them, his eyes—green and vacant—eyeing them up and down. His survey of them doesn’t make them feel uncomfortable in the way a gaze from a human would. In fact, it makes them feel—excited—in the way only Gabriel could elicit and that makes them look closer. But it seems, the harder they try, the thicker the fog gets, as if telling them to look away, look somewhere else, don’t push harder or peer any closer as there’s nothing to be seen.
“This is Beelzebub—“ Aziraphale says in a way to ignore Beelzebub’s previous question, “—they’re a friend of Crowley’s.”
“Not a friend,” Crowley says before Beelzebub gets the chance.
“Beelzebub,” the angel repeats and takes their hand into his, his thumb rubbing small circles against their knuckles and their heart jumps as he brings it upwards to their lips, pressing a small kiss against their netted fingers, “You’re gorgeous—has anyone said that—“
Their heart pounds to their ears, eyes wide as he continues to hold their hand, tears appearing at the corner of void eyes. The angel, as he stands, with their hand in his, his eyes on them, begins to cry as if he’s lost something so important that he can’t grasp it and his hand tightens around theirs.
“Jim, why don’t you go and get us all some hot chocolate, yes?” Aziraphale says kindly and the angel reaches up to wipe at his eyes to look at the tears with interest for a moment.
“Have you had hot chocolate, Beelzebub?”
“No—I don’t often consume human foods—“
“Me neither! Hot chocolate is wonderful though! It does so many things—makes you all warm—I’ll get you some—don’t leave, alright—“ he says and takes off towards the back, tripping over something as he continues to attempt to look back at them every step he takes.
“What’s happened to him?!” Beelzebub demands once he’s gone.
They weren’t entirely sure—
—but they also were—
—that bumbling fool was their angel.
“Well, you see we—that is, Crowley and I—did a miracle to hide him from the eyes of Heaven and Hell—respectively—“ Aziraphale says, illustrating each point with his hands, motioning to himself and Crowley, and then the skies above, and Beelzebub as his point for Heaven and Hell.
“Not that,” they bite, “His memories—where is Gabriel?”
“I told you,” Crowley says with a shrugs, “Amnesia—“
Beelzebub buzzes their annoyance at him.
Aziraphale shifts nervously, foot to foot, “I, unfortunately, don’t have an answer for that. He showed up like that—no memories—carrying nothing but a box with him—“
Beelzebub takes a step forward and Crowley moves in front of Aziraphale, arms extended, as if to protect him from them. “Did they do this to him?”
“I don’t know—“ Aziraphale says and something on their face makes him reiterate, “—I really don’t—he doesn’t know either—he said something about there being big trouble and—oh—,” he gasps, eyes going wide, “—I suppose that other thing makes sense now—“
“What other thing?!” Beezlebub demands and Crowley moves ever closer, more protectively in front of his angel.
“He said, everything would be better if he was just with one particular person—he must have meant you—“
Beelzebub inhales sharply and slowly exhales as Crowley peers closer at them.
“Are you blushing?”
They shoot him a glare, “Demons don’t blush—“ they say and turn their attention away from Crowley to focus solely on Aziraphale. “—you said he had a box—was it a matchbox?”
“Oh, no, much larger—it was a moving box.”
“Where is it?”
“The box?”
Beelzebub shoots him a look that says: Don’t make me discoporate you .
They grit their teeth and reel in their vexation to say, slowly, “You still have it, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, but it was empty.”
“Hot chocolate!” The angel— Gabriel— comes around the corner with two mugs, both steaming that he brings right over to Beelzebub with a pleased smile. One of the mugs has angel wings on it and states clearly: Jim’s mug. The other is more sedate and red, and that is the one he hands to Beelzebub who accepts it without looking away from Aziraphale. Once he has a hand free, he boldly asks, “Can I hold your hand?”
Beelzebub places the hot chocolate in their left hand and raises their right in offering to the angel who immediately grasps it to thread their fingers together with a pleased hum.
“The hellfire—“
“Hm?” Beelzebub hums, and turns to the angel to see his eyes a very dim purple; Gabriel’s eyes.
“—is that what makes you so warm?”
For the briefest of moments the fog clears and Beelzebub sees Gabriel, his face, his brow furrowed, his eyes flickering with purple as they fight to grasp hold of something. Whatever has happened, whatever has been done to his memories, it wasn’t enough to completely wipe Beelzebub from them, and remembering is allowing them to see him.
“Gabriel—“
Then, it’s gone, the purple fades, and green is left in its place as the fog returns and Gabriel disappears behind the face of “Jim”, who states, happily, “I want to take you upstairs, wrap you up in a blanket, and just hold you forever.”
“Aww—“ is the response from Aziraphale.
“—disgusting—“ is the response from Crowley.
Beelzebub has no response except to turn away and look back towards the Principality. “The box—“
“Oh, yes, it was empty—“ Aziraphale says and reaches across his desk for a plain brown cardboard box.
As described, it’s a moving box, the flaps fold in over each other, and when Aziraphale opens it, it’s to show he’s placed several documents and scrolls inside.
“This is it?” Beelzebub asks, “There was nothing inside, or outside the box when he arrived?”
“No—there wasn’t—“ Aziraphale says slowly as he re-examines the box, “—though—actually—come to think of it—I didn’t look to closely at the outside,” he admits, twisting and turning it to look at all sides before raising it above his head to look at the bottom which results in a gasp, “There’s a message on the bottom!”
“What? Really?” Crowley asks, moving closer, and kneeling down to look with his angel at what it says, “I am in the fly?”
Beelzebub looks up at Gabriel who obviously sips his hot chocolate and relief washes over them instantly. Heaven hadn’t tried to destroy his memories.
No.
Gabriel had entrusted his entire self to Beelzebub.
He’d used their gift to shield themselves from Heaven, and was sure Beelzebub would keep him safe.
“There has been a flying buzzing about—“ Aziraphale comments, now looking around his shop. “I’m not sure where it’s gotten to.”
As if on cue, or perhaps having heard them talking about him, the fly buzzes from a nearby bookshelf, where it sits perched, out of reach from the angels and demons below. Beelzebub looks towards it with a smile and sets the hot chocolate Gabriel gave them down on a nearby table to hold out their hand to it, “Come on, you—don’t be shy now—good boy—“
The fly buzzes happily and zooms right over to them without a complaint to land on the tip of their finger with a rub of its legs. They can feel Gabriel’s angelic magic as it resides within the fly, hiding it away from anyone who didn’t know where to look and Beelzebub can’t help but gaze at it adoringly. It was a rather brilliant use of their gift. Inside the fly, not even Heaven could touch him.
“You’re perfect,” Beelzebub praises and the fly buzzes happily.
Next to them, Gabriel releases their hand and sets down his hot drink in anticipation of something coming. Perhaps he can feel himself in the fly, maybe he was calling out to himself, either way, he obediently holds out his finger for Beelzebub when they ask him to, pressing the tip of his index finger to theirs. His memories hop from Beelzebub’s fingers to Gabriel’s, and they urge, “Gently,” as Gabriel lifts it to eye level, “Go on—open it—“
Gabriel gives them one small smile before he places it near his right eye where he must have extracted the memories. The fly goes without hesitation and flies straight into his pupil which forces Gabriel to close his eyes, and almost immediately the miracle around him begins to break, the fog clearing to make way for clear skies, and a clear identity of the angel. The angel who gasps in surprise as he opens his eyes back and the human green bleeds into his beautiful angelic purple that glows as his world turns over and comes back to focus.
There’s a solid minute of him simply grounding himself before he turns to Aziraphale and laughs, “Aziraphale!”
Aziraphale offers a look that’s something between a half smile and a half grimace.
Gabriel doesn’t both to give Crowley more than a nod before his attention turns to Beelzebub and the smile that lights up his face seems to be entirely involuntary as he says, “You,” with a pleased sigh, and a cross of his hands over his heart. Hands that drop and reach for Beelzebub’s, “Thank you, Bee—“
“Gabriel—,” they whisper and slide their hands into his; hands that pull them close with a hard tug.
In his excitement he seems to forget they have an audience. His hands slide out of theirs to grab at their waist, bringing them closer; close enough to lean down and press his lips to theirs. Honestly, once their lips touch, Beelzebub could care less about an audience or if all of Heaven and Hell were watching because now they have what they want; they have Gabriel. Their arms go around his neck, their fingers slip into his hair, as they happily kiss back, their lips moving in a desperate hunger with more finesse than they’d shared during their first few kisses.
Gabriel’s arms tighten around him, and if he never lets go, they wouldn’t complain.
“Silly angel—“ Beelzebub exhales when their kiss does break, long enough for them to reach up, touch his cheek, feel that he is real under their touch. Gabriel lets go of them with one arm only, to bring his hand up to cover theirs.
“I was coming to you—“ he says, leaning down far enough to press his forehead against theirs.
Beelzebub’s eyes close as they smile, “You trusted me to protect you.”
“I always will.”
“Angel—“ they say and tilt their head to kiss him again.
Aziraphale clears his throat, and Beelzebub breaks their kiss to glare at him for interrupting their moment, “Ah, I don’t meant to interrupt such a beautiful reunion—“ he says and dabs at his eyes with a kerchief, “—but, perhaps you would like a bit more privacy? Not—the middle of my shop?”
“I’ll go anywhere Beelzebub wants to go—“ Gabriel says, “Wherever they are is my Heaven.”
“Good luck getting them to give up Hell,” Crowley scoffs under his breath.
“Shut up, Crowley,” they snap and look back at Gabriel, “Wherever Gabriel is, is forever my Hell.”
“Fine—“ Crowley says with a sigh, “—one last thing—now that you two are committing the same crime , you accused Aziraphale and I for—tried to execute us for—“
“My dear, I’ve forgiven them for that, as I’m sure at the time, it was their only option.”
“I don’t—I don’t forgive them—“
“We, demons, are notoriously horrible at forgiveness,” Beelzebub says off-handedly as Crowley bristles.
“I won’t apologize for the sentence,” Gabriel says, “Your fraternizing aside, you both did actively work against Heaven and Hell to stop the antichrist from bringing about the Armageddon, and that is treason—but perhaps execution was a bit extreme—“
“A bit extreme?!” Crowley argues and Aziraphale grabs his arm.
“I think what he is saying is—given the current state of things—perhaps he would see things differently in regards to our friendship—however—we did encourage Adam to stop the war—it would still require a punishment, I’m sure.”
"They should be thanking us!" Crowley exclaims, "If we hadn't stopped Armageddon then none of this—" and motions grandly between Beelzebub and Gabriel, who tightens his hold on them, “—would have happened!"
“Your logic is sound,” Beelzebub agrees, “However, your actions were still treacherous—and I am ignoring your love affair with the angel when I say that. You were sent the antichrist for one reason and that reason was not fulfilled—so, at the time, with the information we had—I see no fault in my decisions as a ruler.”
“Of course you don’t," Crowley scowls.
“However, I am a demon of my word—“ Beelzebub says and snaps their fingers, “—as promised, a full pardon for your crimes against Hell."
“I don’t care about me—“ Crowley grouses, his arms crossing back over his chest and eyes moving, unsubtly towards the angel.
Of course.
For Crowley, it's all about Aziraphale and his safety.
"My sweet," Beelzebub says and ignores Crowley's gagging commentary, "Can you issue that angel a full pardon for his crimes against Heaven?"
"Well, they haven't appointed a new Supreme Archangel so technically, I'm still in charge—" he says and waves his hand in an absentminded gesture. “—done."
Aziraphale blinks as if in disbelief, "It's that easy?"
"Of course. Heaven is always a bit behind and they never change the passwords—"
Beelzebub turns to Crowley and asks, "Happy?"
"Overjoyed," he says, tone leaking sarcasm. "I suppose now that this is all sorted, you two will be disappearing from our lives—-preferably for the rest of eternity—"
"Crowley—" Aziraphale says the demon’s name like an admonishment.
"In fact, that's exactly what we plan to do—among—other unspeakable things I plan to do to this angel—“
Crowley slides his hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes with the heel of his palm, “I don’t need that much information.”
"Actually—" Gabriel chimes in, “—I have something I'd like to confess."
Beelzebub sees Crowley stiffen, his arm going out once again as if to protect Aziraphale, and they distinctly hear him hiss, "I knew it—" as if he'd been right about their motivations all along and this was some elaborate trap.
Which Beelzebub knew for a fact, it wasn’t.
Although, truthfully, even Beelzebub isn't sure what Gabriel wants to confess. What they do know, however, is that they're not expecting him to kneel down, on one knee in front of them, and take their hand, holding it between their own. If Aziraphale didn't audibly gasp, Beelzebub is sure they would have.
Undoubtedly, it made quite the picture.
A Prince of Heaven on bended knee before a Prince of Hell.
A show of reverence they could not anticipate.
"There was something I wanted to say and had anything gone wrong I would have never had the chance—so, now, in front of witnesses, I want to tell you—I love you—"
"Gabriel—" they say, at a loss for words.
“—I'm in love with you—you've made eternity worth existing in and I want to spend the rest of that existence by your side."
Beezlebub couldn't stop the laugh that bubbles out of them even if they tried. They laugh as they fall to their knees, arms wrapping around Gabriel in the sweet bliss of joy. “I love you too—you’re the only being in this entire universe who has made me feel this way—and I know, for the rest of eternity you will be the only one worthy of my love.”
Gabriel hugs them in turn, nuzzling against them as he whispers, for only them to hear, “I’d still, happily, Fall for you—anytime—“
"It's all quite sweet," Aziraphale says with a sniffle, his arms now wrapped around Crowley’s arm as tears flow freely from his eyes, “—like witnessing a wedding—"
A wedding?
Perhaps to human for Beelzebub’s taste.
What they and Gabriel had felt so much more than what humans considered to be a holy union. They loved each other in a way no one would probably ever comprehend except for the two of them; no angel, or demon, and certainly not a human. They were tied together by their love and Beelzebub knew no matter where or when they were in the universe as long as they were together they would be happy.
Gabriel presses a kiss to their forehead, keeping his lips pressed against their skin, “Now we can go.”
"You lead the way, and I'll follow."
It didn’t matter where in the universe they went, as long as they were together, Beelzebub was happy.
Together, they were home.